#It’s literally so unimportant to your life

[fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma]

It really makes me laugh when I see people taking atla so seriously. like u guys. if a person wants to ship 2 characters together then let them. u don’t need to go on a whole impassioned rant about how ‘oh but- but that’s not- but they’d never’ I’m squishing my hand over your mouth and shushing you and placing a soft fuzzy blanket over your shoulders and handing you warm tea. like guys. yes it’s cool that this show has so many important themes and a lot of stuff to unpack. But it is, at its core, a goofy little kids show.

There’s also stuff to say about how people slander characters for no reason other than them having trauma/ being flawed human beings but that’s another conversation.

[iamthedukeofurl]

Scott Pilgrim is, I think, the best example I can think of for establishing a setting's Nonsense Limit. The setting's Nonsense Limit isn't quite "How high-fantasy is this". It's mostly a question of presentation, to what degree does the audience feel that they know the rules the world operates by, such that they are primed to accept a random new element being introduced. A setting with a Nonsense Limit of 0 is, like, an everyday story. Something larger than life, but theoretically taking place in our world, like your standard spy thriller action movie has a limit of 1. Some sort of hidden world urban fantasy with wizards and stuff operating in secret has a nonsense limit around 3 or 4. A Superhero setting, presenting an alternate version of our world, is a 5 or 6. High fantasy comes in around a 7 or so, "Oh yeah, Wizards exist and they can do crazy stuff" is pretty commonly accepted. Scott Pilgrim comes in at a 10. If you read the Scott Pilgrim book, it starts off looking like a purely mundane slice of life. The first hint at the fantastical is Ramona appearing repeatedly in Scott's Dreams, and then later showing up in real life. When we finally get an explanation, it's this:

Apparently Subspace Highways are a thing? And they go through people's heads? And Ramona treats this like it's obscure, but not secret knowledge. Ramona doesn't think she's doing anything weird here. At this point, it's not clear if Scott is accepting Ramona's explanation or not, things kind of move on as mundane as ever until their Date, when Ramona takes Scott through subspace, and he doesn't act like his world was just blown open or anything, although I guess that could have been a metaphor. there's a couple other moments, but everything with Ramona could be a metaphor, or Scott not recognizing what's going on. Maybe Ramona is uniquely fantastical in this otherwise normal world. And then, this happens

Suddenly, a fantastical element (A shitty local indie band finishing their set with a song that knocks out most of the audience) is introduced unrelated to Ramona, and undeniably literal. We see the crowd knocked out by Crash and The Boys. but the story doesn't linger on the implications of that, the whole point of that sequence is to raise the Nonsense Level, such that you accept it when This happens

Matthew Patel comes flying down onto the stage, Scott, who until this point is presented as a terrible person and a loser, but otherwise is extremely ordinary, proceeds to flawlessly block and counter him before doing a 64-hit air juggle combo. Scott's friends treat this like Scott is showing off a mildly interesting party trick, like being really good at darts. The establish that Scott is the "Best Fighter in the Province", not only are street-fighter battles a thing, Scott is Very Good at it, but they're so unimportant that being the best fighter in the province doesn't make Scott NOT a loser. So when Matthew Patel shows off his magic powers and then explodes into a pile of coins, we've established "Oh, this is how silly the setting gets". It's not about establishing the RULES of the setting so much as it is about establishing a lack of rules. Scott's skill at street-fighter battles doesn't translate to any sort of social prestige. Ramona can access Subspace Highways and she uses it to do a basic delivery job. It doesn't make sense and it's clear that it's not supposed to. So later on, when Todd Ingram starts throwing around telekinesis, and the explanation we're given is "He's a Vegan" , you're already so primed by the mixture of weirdness and mundanity that rather than trying to incorporate this new knowledge into any sort of coherent setting ruleset, you just go "Ah, yeah, Vegans".

[pr0cyon-lotor]

AU where instead of Shen Yuan being obsessed with Luo Binghe, he's instead obsessed with the scum villain himself. I mean we all know Bingge is Very Not Good Person™ but you know who else a Very Not Good Person™? Say it with me: Shen Jiu

Like just imagine a timeline where Shen Yuan is writing paragraph after paragraph about how Shen Qingqiu might actually be a good person but Airplane is wasting his potential. The other commenters are saying he's delusional because he abused the protagonist and as all these TERRIBLE allegations towards him. So he's a clear cut villain.

But Shen Yuan is defending his fav with the vigor of a devout worshipper. He's constantly siting parts that are obvious plot holes and how they could give much needed context to Shen Qingqiu's character.

Other people are demanding for worst things to happen to Shen Qingqiu to spite him. Airplane caves. Shen Yuan actively commissions art and fics where Shen Qingqiu is happy. People tell him "Shen Qingqiu won't fuck you bro"

Shen Yuan isn't interested in that. He's a freaky little man with freaky little likes. He'd gladly take Shen Qingqiu's cold glares and even volunteer to have tea poured on him.

When he finishes PIDW, he's been outraged that Shen Qingqiu was killed off a while back. He's even more outraged that Shen Qingqiu wasn't given any mention at the end.

Now, imagine with me that he gets transmigrated into some NPC, literally Unimportant Character No°5. Probably as the head disciple for drama reasons. And as soon as Shen Jiu is brought in, scruffy and hissing as he is. He immediately hugging his thighs and saying he'll be peak lord for sure.

Please follow me into this suspicious alleyway as I continue to explain my vision fueled by sleep deprivation.

So now imagine your Shen Jiu. You're a former street rat and demonic cultivator, you aren't expecting to be liked or respected. You're expecting it, you've come to terms with it a long time ago. What you weren't expecting was for this random ass guy you have to call da-shixiong is immediately insane about you.

He met you first day, literally saw you bite a guy, and immediately started spouting out how you'll be the next peak lord and the absolute envy of Cang Qiong Mountain. You conclude he's missing a few screws because he said it in the most disgustingly sincere way.

You try to continue on with your life, trying to beat him and he looks almost... Excited about you beating him. So he's an M, you think to yourself. But then you see someone trying to beat him or you on something, and this guy immediately gets aggressive. Okay so he's just weird with you.

You continue to deal with him. He's weird but also weirdly respectful. He leaves if you tell him to leave. He defends you like it's his very birth right. He's always there to tend to you as if you were a god. He doesn't touch you and only sits around like a dog waiting for a command.

You eventually get strong enough to beat him, and this absolute buffoon is over the moon about it, already spouting about your supposed success again.

When you actually become peak lord, it isn't surprising. Your hype man has been saying it since day one, he was expecting it for some reason. He continues to spout out nonsense about how he just knew you were going to do it.

So what now? You obviously desire him carnally. What is the next step?

Okay so I know this wouldn't fix them. Almost without question this would make they both worse. But, hear me out, it would be funny. (Especially since just know Shen Yuan's entire inner monologue would be him saying he's just being a good friend as if he isn't being the gayest man in the sect and Shang Qinghua is there. That's an accomplishment to outgay the author)

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion��and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[stawbeemilk]

⤷ their love language – hq

✩ characters: various

✩ warnings: none

✩ a/n: i finally managed to get the motivation to actually sit down and write something, thank you for being so patient with me!!

⭑ physical touch

he's definitely a little touch starved, regardless of how much he might try to deny it. it was definitely a bit of a shock when you first started dating and you saw a completely new side to him, discovering just how clingy he could be and how much he loves to be close to you. there's nothing that makes his heart flutter more than feeling the warmth of your body against his own, and he finds himself unable to stop from initiating physical contact at every chance he gets. he appreciates the little things such as linking pinkies or having his hand on your lower back when the two of you are in a crowd, but he especially loves cuddling with you after a long day while you play with his hair, and when you randomly hug him from behind he literally melts.

⤷ bokuto, hanamaki, nishinoya, konoha, goshiki, atsumu, yahaba

⭑ words of affirmation

he's always encouraging you, not only with actual words but also through smaller gestures, such as leaving you little notes on the fridge for you to read before you leave for work or by sending you sweet messages throughout the day. he loves to tell you how proud he is of you, congratulating you for all of your achievements, regardless of how small or unimportant you might think they are. if you're ever feeling insecure about yourself he will reassure you as if his life depends on it, complimenting you and reminding you that he thinks you're perfect— but at the same time he also likes to hear encouraging words from you, especially at times when he tends to doubt himself and needs nothing more than to hear that he's enough.

⤷ akaashi, yaku, oikawa, ennoshita, yamaguchi, tanaka

⭑ quality time

he's not always the best with words, and so he prefers to show you he cares by spending time with you. sometimes it's a case of not doing anything in particular, and instead just being in the same room as you and enjoying your company. he really appriciates the fact that the two of you feel comfortable enough to simply be in a room with each other, not feeling the need to try and fill the silence with small talk and finding the lack of conversation to be comforting rather than awkward. he also enjoys doing chores with you such as getting groceries together or cleaning the house, things which others might find mundane, but he likes doing them purely because it means he gets to spend time with you.

⤷ kenma, tsukishima, kyotani, ushijima, kunimi, sakusa, kageyama

⭑ gift giving

he shows his appreciation for you by giving you things, whether that's something he knows you've been wanting for a long time or just an item he's seen when he was out shopping that immediately made him think of you. he's very observant of the things you like and dislike, and when the two of you go out together and you subconsciously start eyeing a particular item in a store he'll definitely notice, making a mental note of it so that he can buy it for you later as a surprise. he's also quite sentimental and will keep absolutely everything you give to him, from birthday cards to polaroids to the matching bracelets you made when you first started dating— no matter how insignificant you think it might be, he keeps it.

⤷ kuroo, hinata, sugawara, matsukawa, semi, yamamoto, suna

⭑ acts of service

he loves doing favours for you, especially when he knows you've been feeling stressed or overwhelmed, and when you're sick and need someone to look after you he'll always be there for you no matter what. he's the type to make sure that you're taking care of yourself and will frequently ask you if you've eaten— if you say you haven't he will insist on making you food or ordering you takeout, telling you that you shouldn't go without a proper meal. while he loves taking care of you, he feels so warm inside when you do the same for him, and having you there to support him when you know he needs it the most will never fail to make him feel loved.

⤷ daichi, kai, fukunaga, iwaizumi, kita, osamu, hirugami

⤷ please do not repost my works on any other sites!

[revelboo]

You are literally feeding my starscream needs. Someone I know talked me into seeing transformers one and I can never tell him about the robot fetish that developed because of it 😭 it altered my brain chemistry so fast

Welcome to the dark side, we have thirst

Everything is Alright pt 35

Starscream x Reader- jealousy

• It almost feels like trespassing, moving through your space. Even mass displaced, the door had been too narrow and locked besides, but it hadn’t taken much effort to rip it free of the frame. His wings and helm scrape the ceiling as he moves through the house, the damage unimportant. You’re never returning to this place, but it was yours. His wings gouge into the walls in the hallway, knocking down things no matter how he holds them. On a table beside a plush chair is a picture of you and another human, an arm about you as you both smile. Happy. He knocks the picture off the table in passing. The sound of breaking glass so satisfying, because that person, that moment is from before he found you. A life he knows nothing about and for some reason, that bothers him.

• It’s easy to find your sleeping space, your scent lingering everywhere. Realizing getting your things out through the bedroom door is going to be problematic, he steps back and blasts a hole in the wall. Begins to ferry things out in a pile he’ll be able to pick up when he returns to his full size. You’ll be pleased with him, thank him. Smile up at him like you did in that picture and warmth spreads through his spark. Picking up a red and blue checkered covering, his servos crush the material, because the scent on it isn’t yours. The human in the photo? Even though the they seem to be gone, haven’t come for you, anger sparks through him. This human shared your space? A mate? Running his glossa over his denta, he lets the covering drop, unsettled by how furious the thought makes him. How off balance when it shouldn’t matter, you’re his now.

• That human’s scent and yours both on the bed has him ripping the sheets off, wings trembling with the need to hunt that stranger down for touching what’s his. Ripping drawers free to dump your coverings on top of the bed. His servos won’t stop shaking, that anger a living thing because now he’s thinking of that human touching his caged little bird. Holding you while you sleep against them. No longer trying to not disturb your space, he rips open cabinets, taking anything you might like or need, most of it just weird and alien. When he’s satisfied, he steps outside and mass shifts, scooping up your things. And then slowly and methodically destroys the house. Destroys the reminder that you had a life before him, but also every trace of that stranger.

• Head laying on Ravage’s side, you wheeze as Lazerbeak lands on you hard enough to knock the breath out of you, not seeming to realize or care how heavy he is. Soundwave is busily typing away at his desk, and the huge mecha panther was warm, sprawled out, and hadn’t immediately snapped at you for trying to heat leech. Apparently, Lazerbeak had the same idea, though and while heavy, he’s also warm. You’re not sure where Rumble and Frenzy are, but also fairly sure you wouldn’t be so relaxed if they were here. Ravage and Lazerbeak much mellower and a lot more tolerant of being clung to.

• Head tipping to covertly check on the human and cassettes curled together on a corner of his desk, his spark twists a bit, because it feels right. Like you belong there with them. He might not particularly care for Starscream, but he did bring you to him and he’s grateful for it. Not that he’ll ever bring it up to the Seeker. As territorial as he is, it might drive him to make more of an effort to keep his pet isolated. It’s only Starscream’s worry that he might use you to hurt him that keeps the Seeker in line. Like he’d tell Megatron about you knowing the likely outcome. On the corner of his desk, your breathing evens out as you fall asleep. Feeling safe with him, home where you belong.

Previous Next

[noiriarti]

Just Practice: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Modern Best Friends AU) Ch. 3

NSFW!!!!!!! Literally so NSFW!!! Summary: Anakin is your best friend, the one person you can't survive without, and you're about to go to different colleges. You bring up your worries about your inexperience and he offers to help. Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x AFAB!Reader Word Count: 5.4k CW: usage of 'good girl,' rough sex, lots of masturbation, orgasm delay/denial, overstimulation AN: All the love for this fic has really blown me away!! This is quite possibly the raunchiest thing I've ever written and I hope you all enjoy it! As always, requests and asks are open!

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, [Ch. 3], Ch. 4, Bonus Chapter

Chapter 3: Black Lace

Did you love Anakin? Laying on your bed that night after he had just upended your world by kissing you for the first time, you were coming to realize that the answer was likely yes. You loved him platonically, that was a given, but the amount of desire you felt to hold his hand and kiss him wasn't quite normal friend behavior. Over the past year, you had found yourself breathless a couple of times that surprised you. Once, the two of you were wrestling over something (a water bottle? A keychain? It was unimportant), and he pinned you down harshly, a memory that plagued you when you were in bed touching yourself for three whole months after. His eyes, boring into you with that look that you now realized was desire haunted you.

Now that you had finally had his lips on yours, you had started thinking that you weren't just horny, that there was something there. Maybe you had always wanted him a little. Hearing about him and Padmé had made you jealous, but you chalked it up to how he had pulled away from you just slightly to spend more time with Padmé. But that was normal friend stuff, right? Sometimes, when you were in the stands, watching him play, and he ran over to the bench for a drink of water or during a break, his golden brown hair glinted in the sunlight, fluffy pulled back with a headband. The thin sheen of sweat would cover his brow, and Padmé would rush up to the front of the bleachers to wave to him and get his attention. When he waved back, which he always did, though with differing degrees of enthusiasm, you wished he was waving at you. Playing for you. That he'd run to you when he won the game like he ran to Padmé.

So that settled it. It turned out that you were in love with Anakin. What you would do about it depended entirely on him. If he was into you, awesome, but, if not, you couldn't risk your friendship. It was too important.

You made three decisions that night. First, you had to get through tomorrow at the airport with dignity, and not shake things up too much. Second, you had to "practice" with him again, and as soon as possible. Third, you could not get naked in front of him before you knew that he felt the same way about you. The third decision came from your own knowledge. If you were naked in front of him, and he didn't want to date you, you'd spend the rest of your life thinking this man has seen me naked, and he knows how my nipples look whenever you laid eyes on him. So you couldn't get naked yet, but you were planning to tell him how you felt as soon as you were more certain that he liked you than not.

It had been an incredibly horny two weeks for you. Your discovery that you, in fact, loved Anakin resulted in you getting horrendously turned on by every single move he made. Every text had you rushing to the lecture hall's bathroom to shove your hand down your pants. One time, he sent you his official team photo, in his pretty jersey, and you literally ran across campus to your dorm to jerk off. You were down horrendous.

Ahsoka had listened to all this (minus all the masturbation) with an amused expression and insisted that you were stupid, and he obviously liked you. But she didn't know him like you knew him. He was really, really friendly. This was all plausibly deniable. Ahsoka, however, was not stupid, so she just rolled her eyes. It was kind of cute, watching this develop. Ahsoka asked you if you'd seen any cute guys, and you mentioned that the guy who sat next to you in Intro to Sociology was passable, some guy named Jake who you exchanged numbers with for homework sessions. Jake didn't matter at all, though, really. You had eyes only for Anakin.

In your horny haze, you started watching more and more porn featuring men who kind of looked like him. When they would call the girls they were fucking sluts, you felt a shiver as you imagined Anakin saying that to you. In that one session, you really dropped down a rabbit hole that culminated in you taking the BDSM test and lighting up like a Christmas tree. Well, shit.

You desperately wanted to try some of what you had seen, so you found a local sex store and decided to go on Tuesday. There, you walked through the aisles and made mental notes, like research. In the back, you found a rack of lingerie in your size, one of which was a black lace set on sale. Perfect. They were out of fishnets in your size, which you cursed. You really wanted him to rip them. After that, you still had an hour left to explore the store before Ahsoka would be home. For a long time, you stood in front of a display of plugs and debated whether to buy one. Then you moved on to the wall of vibrators, which was overwhelmingly brightly colored. Every box yelled out the benefits--Xtreme Suction, Boyfriend Experience, 17 Vibrating Settings--and you almost didn't buy one. Almost. You took a big vibrating wand off the wall, which at least seemed beginner-friendly. So, after spending altogether too much, you half-walked, half-ran back to your room to try out your new toy while you thought of Anakin. It turned out that the vibrator was incredibly powerful and made you cum in one minute flat, which was lucky because Ahsoka's class let out early.

For the rest of the week, every time you thought of what he was going to do to you, you used the vibrator. Even on the day he was arriving, when the two of you texted about kinks, you pulled the vibe out even though Ahsoka was due to return any minute. You were halfway to your orgasm when you heard the key in the door, so you turned it off in a hurry, shoved it under your pillow, and pulled up your blanket. You just had to masturbate as soon as you heard about him enjoying thinking about you two doing kinky stuff. That's how crazy Anakin made you. 

One short hour later, Anakin was with you. You were trying your best to be normal around him, but that was an impossible mission. When Ahsoka brought up Jake in front of Anakin, you died inside. It wasn't like that with Jake. Only for Anakin. Then, when she asked if you were dating, you had to deny it, hard, so that Anakin wouldn't think you were telling your roommate how in love with him you were.

But you did love him, and you were about to do your best to rock his world. (This failed, almost immediately. He was about to rock yours, hard.)

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"Okay. First of all, I won. You touched me first," he said. He was right, you had, but it was unfair. How were you supposed to resist when he asked you like that? He was always telling you what to do teasingly, but when he did it seriously, it set something off within you. You opened your mouth to snark back in defense, but he interrupted you. 

"And, second of all, shut up and kiss me." You rose up on your toes, tangling your hands in his hair and giving him a long look before finally connecting your lips. His kisses were needy and bruising as he devoured you, wrapping his strong arms around your lower back and drawing you to him. Your bodies slammed into one another, connecting from thigh to chest, and you felt him grow harder against you. You definitely weren't imagining it last time, he was big. You mewled into his mouth, and felt him smile against you at your noisiness. Then he grabbed your bottom lip between his, swiping his tongue across it, and you made an even louder noise, which drew a groan from him. As you tilted your heads this way and that, trying to get even deeper, he slipped his tongue past your lips, exploring tentatively. He had a vague aftertaste of mint, and some distant part of your brain registered that he had probably prepared for this with a mint or gum or something. When you started teasing his lips with you tongue, he pulled away, and you feared for a moment that he was about to tell you that you had done something wrong. Instead, he just said, with his telltale smirk and half-lidden eyes full of desire,

"You're such a good kisser. Been practicing without me?" You shook your head no, and that was the truth. Was he worried about someone else? There was no one. There hadn't been anyone but him in your heart for a very long time.

"Good," he growled. You weren't sure what that meant, and it didn't seem like Anakin thought about it before saying it, based on the way his face fell for a millisecond before he recovered his cool. He dove back into kissing you with grace, like that didn't even happen. Somehow, you found yourself pulling him toward you so much that the back of your knees hit the bed, and you almost lost your balance. He caught you with those strong arms and turned you around so that he sat on the bed, with you standing over him. Just like last time, you yearned to be in his lap, so you straddled him. As soon as you sat on his dick, Anakin groaned, and you dragged yourself along the length trapped by his zipper. He rolled his hips in tandem, which only made you intensify your actions, rutting against him and practically bouncing on his lap. At some point, the friction finally rubbed your clit in exactly the right way, and you threw your head back while you rode him as a broken moan tumbled from your lips. The denim skirt you were wearing was intentionally short and tight, and, with your feverish movements, it rode up until it sat on your hips. You could feel the cool air hit your warm pussy and thighs, so knew he could definitely see the lace you were wearing underneath it. You just hoped it was something he liked.

"What are you wearing? Let me see, baby," he cooed. That pet name, baby, and the sultry way he said it, were enough for you to let the hope in your chest that he felt the same way about you flourish. He pushed up the hem just a bit more with his right hand, running his finger along the top of the underwear, back and forth. You were about to scream in frustration, and you tried to thrust into his hand, but he shook his head.

"Patience," he tutted, as if he had any himself. Anakin's thumb moved down the front, tracing you until he reached your clit. He cast a tentative look at you before he touched it, but you tapped him twice with your hand, and he gently pressed against it. Your moan sounded so loud in the small space that you were worried the neighbors would complain, but he kept going. The little bundle of nerves was so sensitive under his touch that you were shocked it could even feel this way, so intense just because someone else was there. Anakin moved his thumb in small circles, the tendons in his hands jumping as he applied more and more pressure. You kept letting out a string of curses and his name, not caring who could hear. This was too good not to enjoy fully. His other hand gripped your hip so roughly that you were certain it would leave bruises that you would masturbate over for weeks.

Just as you felt it all start to build, not quite there yet but definitely on the right track, he drew his hand away. He tugged on your skirt, which was like an extra-thick belt at this point.

"Why don't we get this off you, baby?" You nodded, and Anakin quickly popped the button and helped you stand up and kick it off. You could pick it up later. You felt a bit silly in your crop top and nothing else, so you took it off in what you hoped was a sexy way, lifting it over your head to expose the black lace bralette you had bought just for him. Anakin's gaze was locked onto your body, practically drooling. When your shirt was off too, he grabbed his cock through his pants and stroked it, to your joy. He found you sexy. You didn't know if he loved you, or if he wanted to date you, but, in this second, it was enough just for him to want you.

You climbed back up onto him and tugged at the simple burgundy tee he was wearing, as if to say I want to see you too. He obliged, shirking it quickly. As he did, you took a long look at his bare chest. 

When you were kids, you would go to the pool, so you knew what he looked like shirtless. But he had started training so much more since then, and some of the softness was gone, replaced with nothing but muscle and sinew, taut under your touch. You ran a hand down his pecs, to his abs--he had actual abs-- going lower and lower until you reached the trail of hair under his belly button. Anakin's eyes were following your hand, then flitted up to your face. His skin pressed against yours when he tightened his arms, letting them fall to touch your ass. A tense second passed with you staring at one another before he continued to kiss you feverishly. One of his hands trailed up your body to grab your tits, pawing at them and occasionally rubbing gentle circles where he could feel your nipples hard under the fabric. The feeling was so intense that, as you groaned into his mouth, you kept moving your hips until he grabbed your hips to hold you still.

"If you keep going like that, baby, I'm going to cum," he whispered raggedly into your ear, still holding you tight. Hearing your best friend say those words, so dirty and sexy, almost drove you mad. You wanted to see him try to hold back as you rutted against him, then get overwhelmed by pleasure. Next time, you vowed.

"Can I go down on you?" You asked, not sure of the sexiest way to phrase the question, but it seemed to work for him. He smiled widely, nodded, and leaned back on his arms as you got down to your knees on the floor, sitting between his legs while he stayed on the bed.

Nervousness washed over you again. After this, there was no going back. You would have seen all of him, and touched it. He wasn't just your best friend anymore, he was more if you did this. So much more. And that was exactly what you wanted.

You fumbled with the button of his pants for a second before it finally opened, then you pulled the zipper down slowly. You'd never understood why people found that sound sexy, but, now, it was making you soaked. You were met with his briefs, which had a wet spot on them that turned the grey fabric dark. You grabbed the waistband and pulled them down, following the dark brown hairs until you saw the base of his cock. When you pulled it down, and his cock sprang out, you paused, sitting completely and utterly still. Seconds passed in silence, and Anakin started staring at you.

"You okay?" He asked the question so gently, so caringly with those eyes full of worry that you thought for a moment, just for a second, that you could sense a flicker of love. It was enough to keep you going for years. You nodded up at him, eyes wide, and he cupped your face tenderly. He could tell you were a little worried that you would be bad, but he was going to make it better.

Holy fuck. This was Anakin's cock. Of course, you'd seen photos before of penises. This was something completely different. He was big--almost huge, as far as you were concerned, and thick. The tan skin of his cock accentuated the darker head. The gently upward curve of his shaft was wrapped in veins, some bluish and some purplish, and you felt a pull to trace them with your tongue. At the very tip, a bead of precum was gathering, and you wanted desperately to see if it tasted how you imagined. You looked up into his eyes, and he was giving you a concerned look, like he was about to suggest you pause for your sake. Instead, you reached out one shaking hand to grip the base of his cock, which was so much warmer than you imagined. Anakin hissed at the contact, then muttered out a "good" as you started stroking the base gently. His praise sent a rush of joy and arousal through you, and you vowed to get more. 

You lowered your lips on the tip of his cock, kissing it with your slightly open mouth as Anakin hissed. Your tongue flicked out to lick off the precum, which was salty, musky, and a bit bitter, but definitely better than you expected. You licked your lips before tracing the contours of the head of his cock, teasing the slit and the edge before trying to take some of it into your mouth. You opened your jaw as wide as you could, because, based on what you read, teeth were to be used sparingly. His cock was surprisingly warm and wet in your mouth, and when you glanced up at him from between his knees, his lips were parted and his face had gone slack as he groaned your name. You sank down further on his cock until the entire head was in your mouth. His skin was so smooth under your tongue as you swirled it around, so incredibly delicate. As you started to bob up and down, getting a bit deeper each time, the noises and words started pouring out of him.

"God, that's great--ah, right there baby, fuck, that's my good girl." The words were so dirty, so right. The praise tumbled out of his mouth so easily, and it only made you get more and more frantic on his cock, taking him in deeper and deeper. At one point, you went too deep, and he hit the back of your throat, making you gag around him. The spasm of your throat around his cock drew out another groan from Anakin, but he gently grabbed your hair and pulled you off.

"Are you alright?" It was your first time gagging around it, taking it deep, and all you could think was how you wanted him to make you do that. To make you gag on him over and over until you couldn't think straight.

"Yeah, Ani, I'm fine. I just--I. I want to do that again," you admitted. He leaned down to kiss you gently, then took your chin in his fingers.

"Can I fuck your throat, baby?" He hid it well, but you could tell he was a bit nervous, most likely worried about hurting you. Anakin was always like that with you, so gentle, so considerate, that it made you all the more certain. You nodded emphatically, because God yes you wanted that, and then he stood up, getting to his full height above you. You shifted to your knees, which were aching from the carpet at this point, then looked up and found yourself in line perfectly with his cock. He dug his fingers into your hair, grabbing hold of it at the root, then started drawing your head closer until he was engulfed in your mouth again. Once he reached a bit of resistance, he drew back and thrust, shallow and quick, then drew back again. Anakin went a bit deeper the next time, then started thrusting faster. The physical feeling itself was nothing compared to the heady rush from the look he was giving you. Anakin was always sunshine, but now he was dark and sinful, using your throat for his pleasure. Your eyes locked, which obviously affected him based on the way he took a ragged breath and tipped his head back.

Watching him get so much pleasure from you made your right hand go down to your pussy, giving it much-needed relief by slipping underneath your underwear and rubbing your clit directly. The stimulation only made you more relaxed, which then allowed him to thrust further into your throat. He was getting faster, so you hollowed your cheeks and put your left hand on his tense thigh, which was almost shaking, before wrapping it around the base of his cock and stroking. Anakin growled and sped up, losing himself in the pleasure of your mouth, about to cum.

"Fuck, baby, I'm gonna--ah, fuck, I'm cumming," he choked out as he buried himself deep inside you. Your hand sped up as you felt his cock start to spasm. It was thick and warm and incredibly bitter, but it tasted like Anakin, so you swallowed it as the cum slid down your throat in spurts. After he came, he pulled out of your mouth with a sigh, then slid his thumb over your swollen and spit-covered lips.

"That was amazing," he said, out of breath, "How are you feeling?" The hand on your mouth went to your cheek, holding it gently.

"Good," you breathed. "Horny." He chuckled, still panting and looking down at you with genuine adoration. Anakin sat down on the bed, then got on it as he pulled up his briefs to cover up his sensitive cock.

"Come up here. I'll take care of you," he said as he shifted backward onto the bed, leaving space for you to lay down next to him. As he moved, then adjusted your pillow so you could be comfortable, you realized you had made a mistake. You stood up to try and stop it, but it was too late. You hadn't moved the goddamn vibrator. He found it, of course, with a gentle "oh." He held it up for you to see what he had found, and the dread nestled in your stomach. He was so going to make fun of you for this.

"Someone's been practicing on their own, I see," he said with a raised eyebrow as he flicked the on button, sending the tip of the vibrator shaking in a frenzy. Anakin gave you a shit-eating grin. You felt your cheeks and the tips of your ears grow warm.

"Fuck, I meant to move that, I--" He interrupted you with intense eyes. His hair was wild around his face, waves messed by your hands earlier.

"Embarrassed?" Yes, obviously. You nodded, looking away and adjusting a strand of your hair that had fallen into your face from when he fucked it. He was obviously enjoying this more than a little bit, and you started to wonder how much he really enjoyed you being embarrassed in other situations too. If his teasing was all platonic. His grin grew wolfish.

"How many times have you used it?" That caught you off guard. Your teasing was something you had both enjoyed, but the way he turned it into a little game for his own pleasure made you want to be teased by him all the time. Your stunned silence had obviously riled him up, so he kept going.

"Huh? How many times, baby? How many times have you made yourself cum with this?" Oh, he really wanted to know. He brought the still-humming vibrator to the inside of your knee, then slowly started tracing it up your thigh. You jolted, but answered him.

"Got it four days ago. I--five times," you whispered as he brought it closer and closer to where you wanted it. Anakin chuckled, a sound so dark and almost condescending that you could hardly believe it came from your best friend. It flared in your pussy, sending blood to your clit until you could feel your heartbeat in it. The vibrator was so close, you could practically feel it already.

"Twice in one day?" Anakin gritted the question out with a hungry smirk, the dark echo of the one you knew so well. You loved it. You wanted him to devour you and destroy you. You nodded slowly, well aware of how close he was to finally touching you. He finally reached your clit, and gave you one-two-three seconds of pleasure before he switched the vibrator off.

"Get on the bed," he commanded, pulling you by the hips into his embrace on the bed. He shifted to the headboard, so that you were between his legs and laying back on his chest. Anakin was so warm, so comforting behind you as his arms wrapped around you and brought the vibrator back to your clit. When it hummed to life, you turned your face and buried it in his arm, muffling the moans and words you babbled out.

"Ah, FUCK. God yesyesyesyes more, please, Ani!" The vibe never failed you before, and it wasn't now. The stimulation, the aftertaste of cum in your mouth, and the smell of Anakin's sweat and shampoo all mingled together to bring you closer and closer, until you were about to finally--Anakin ripped the vibrator off of you, and your hips thrust up into the empty air as you mewled and cried out for him.

"Fuck, please let me cum! I'm so fucking horny Ani, please," you begged, not even caring about dignity anymore. You needed this, so so fucking badly.

"You want to cum? Fine. You get to cum, but you're gonna do it twice." He pressed the vibrator to you again and gently circled it on you. It was so much, the heat of the room, the strain in your legs, the way your mind was going fuzzy at the edges, filled with nothing but Anakin. You came like you never had before, jolting as your legs shook and making a series of strangled noises that included shouts of his name intermixed with breathy moans. You could hear him, vaguely, curse at the sight in front of him. The waves hit you over and over, extending longer than you thought you could, your pussy twitching repeatedly. But Anakin didn't take the vibrator off you. It almost hurt, but your sensitivity made it overwhelmingly good, like the breath was leaving your chest. Getting back to being able to cum took a minute, but you were feeling it build again, stronger this time. Your abs clenched, and Anakin started to read your tells. He could tell, just like you could, that you were about to cum.

"That's it, baby. Cum again for me, you can do it," he murmured in your ear as you let out a desperate wail and came violently. Your whole body was shaking, back arched, and your breathing was ragged like you had just run a marathon. Your pussy was desperately clenching on nothing as the feeling surged over you, so much stronger this time around. The knowledge that it was Anakin making you cum only made it more powerful. When you had come down from the peak of it, and were just riding out the last aftershocks, Anakin turned off the vibrator and rested his hand on your knee.

"That was perfect, baby. You were so good for me. So amazing," he whispered as he pulled you closer. If you were less floaty and light-headed, you would have thought more of his use of baby, like this was something more than practice. Now that he had touched you like this, you knew that there wasn't any going back, and that you were going to tell him eventually. Tell him how you felt. But not right now. Right now, all that mattered was his strong arms engulfing you, keeping you warm and safe after everything you had done. 

Nearly fifteen minutes passed with him holding you like that before you realized that you should probably pee and change. But he was so comfortable, rubbing your knee with his thumb idly as he monitored you. His hands supported you as you tried to sit up, still tired and shaky from the effort of all of it.

"I should really go pee," you said, obviously unenthusiastic. 

"You okay? Feel good about everything?" When you turned around to look at him, Anakin was so visibly concerned, it was too sweet. His pupils were blown wide, his features soft in the low light. Your heart tugged when you realized this was only making you love him more.

"Yeah, you?" And that was the truth. You did feel good about everything, almost too good. He was so perfect for you, kinky in just the right ways, and you were terrified you wouldn't find that again. When he heard you were alright, he grinned, back to his usual bright, happy self. There was also that. You were terrified you wouldn't find someone who loved you this much, even if he only loved you as a friend.

"Fuck yeah. Alright, go clean up," he said. His hands on your lower back gave you a gentle push to help you get going. With your PJs, you stepped into the bathroom you shared with the double bedroom next door, locking both doors, and tried to wipe up the wetness on your underwear. There was no use, they would go straight into the wash. Whatever. You tossed them into your hamper and got ready for bed.

When you left the bathroom, you were shocked to find Anakin naked in the middle of the room, halfway through changing. It felt almost normal, which was weird, given that you couldn't conceive of him having a penis a year ago. He noticed your strange look and pulled up his flannel pajama pants.

"What? It's not like you've never seen me naked before," he joked with a wink. You supposed that was true, but this seemed very... intimate, somehow. The first time was practice, but what was this?

"Oh, could you grab my phone charger? It's in the big pocket of my backpack," he called idly from the bed. His shirt was still off, and the flannel pants sat low on his hips, so you found your eyes roving over the wide expanse of his chest. On your way back to the bed from the bathroom, you stopped by the bag he had left on the floor. As you dug through it, you found underwear (ew, though really not ew because you had just had his cock down your throat ten minutes ago), his computer, and a couple shirts, but no tell-tale charger cord.

"I don't think it's in here," you said to him, but you stuck your hand deeper into the layers of his overstuffed backpack. This must be what performing a colonoscopy is like, you thought. Your fingers closed around something thin, wrapped up with what felt like a crumpled paper, and you started fishing it out. He was notorious for stuffing paper in his bag without thinking in high school, and you once found his report card somewhere in the depths of it during senior year. It was from four years ago. You chuckled to yourself at the memory as you finally got the knot loose, along with the crumpled paper trapped within it.

You unwrapped it carefully. The piece of notebook paper looked frequently used but recently discarded, and was covered in Anakin's distinctive scrawl. Your flitted over the first line, expecting to read something about resistors. Instead, you saw something else. Since we were kids, I've considered you my closest friend. You kept reading.

"Anakin, what the fuck is this?"

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Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @doblasftcisco @aliciaasky @cultofsin @avalovesjoe1 @akixxrafiiy @princearthur4 @sythethecarrot

[muzansfangs]

Bloodstain.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to past Shuhei Hisagi x f!reader; Rukia, Ichigo and Renji;

Format: multi-chapers story;

General warnings for the following chapters: nsfw, age gap between Sosuke and the reader (who is twenty-three years old), post TYBW events, solitude, touch-starved Aizen, possible spoilers, mention to hook-ups, vaginal sex, use of alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, marking the partner, breeding kink, rough sex, dom!Aizen, sub!reader, accidental pregnancy, protective Aizen, struggling with emotions, mutual pining, self-doubting, domestic fluff, conflict with the Central 46, mention to violence and gore;

Warnings for this chapter: mention to war, casual hook-up between Shuhei and the reader, use of alcohol, self-deprecating behavior, fainting, mention to pregnancy;

Plot: With Yhwach’s defeat, you can finally go back to your ordinary life in the World of the livings, or so you thought. Staying in the Soul Society for another day to attend the celebration of the glorious victory over the Sternritters did not sound that bad, until you crossed paths with your recent fling. Drinking too much to forget about it, you end up falling at the feet of your greatest source of distress: Aizen Sosuke.

MASTERLIST | PROLOGUE | TO THE NEXT CHAPTER

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𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐧.

People chattering about unimportant matters, taking swigs of saké, finally enjoying the gentle breeze of a summer night without drawing their blades to defend their lives were delightfully comforting. The Seireitei was gradually going back to restore its former beauty. Some buildings were still undergoing renovations, the injured soldiers and Captains were still recovering from the fierce battles they had fought, but that night people were, at least, leaving their barracks and homes to enjoy the jollifications of Yhwach's downfall.

No more battlecries and bloodcurdling screams of agony echoed through the streets, replaced by the unmistakable glee of a crowd of people who had survived the brutality of a war no one was prepared for. There was hope twinkling in the eyes of the kids playing around the Soul Society, looking for the officers who had saved their lives to thank them and proudly announcing they were soon going to enroll at the Academy. Their parents, injured and tired, watched them from afar, not frightened anymore by the idea of a Sternritter slicing their heads off of their shoulders.

You faintly smiled, your eyes searching for your friends to join them. You were pretty sure you had caught a glimpse of Renji's crimson hair in your peripheral, but you had been dragged in the opposite direction by the human tide marching towards the drinking stalls.

Perhaps, you should have accepted Rukia's suggestion to spend the day at the Kuchiki Estate and attending the festival together. Yet, the idea of bumping into her stolid, grumpy brother, who tended to pop out of no where and make you regret stepping into his manor every single time you wandered through the intricate corridors of his mazy house, sounded unappealing back then.

Still, the perspective of being humiliated by Byakuya's paternalistic way of chiding you did not seem that awful now that you were literally adrift and in need of assistance to find your way out of the flood of drunk and dancing people surrounding you.

You were genuinely frustrated, head whipping around erratically, yearning to spot a familiar face. Apparently, you were destined to spend the night alone. Or so you thought.

Hands sliding down your hips and dragging you out of the crowd made you both let out a pathetic screech and almost draw your blade. The risk of accidentally slashing someone, though, worked as a deterrent to unsheathe your zanpakuto and therefore you resolved on the self-defence lessons you had received from Urahara. Swinging your right arm on your right, you tried to backhand your kidnapper across the jaw. Missing your target, you scoffed and, when your feet touched the ground again, you were determined to knock your aggressor down.

His hand promptly wrapping around your ankle the moment your foot tried to hit his side, prevented you two from spending a most likely awkward night in the Fourth Division's hospital wing. Now, face to face with the stranger, your jaw went slack and you were glad he decided to break the ice first. Out of everyone you could run into, of course you had to meet your most recent fling.

"We need to stop meeting like that" Shuhei jested, cocking his head to the side upon letting go of your ankle and granting you the chance to lower your leg.

Your parted lips closed, hands tugging the hem of your skirt down, whilst the angles of your lips lifted in a soft smile "Definitely" you agreed, nodding your head and raising your hands apologetically.

"I think you owe me a 'thank you, Lieutenant Hisagi'. Maybe also a kiss, or two to idolatrize me like I deserve, you know?" he bantered, folding his arms against his chest, his dark grey eyes vainly attempting to fathom the layers of your mind .

But you both knew there was only one person around who could do that and, surely, it was not Shuhei Hisagi.

You scrunched up your nose and waved your hand at him dismissively, mentally cursing yourself for not having cleared things out between you two before the commotion caused by the war. How could you, though? With you living in the World of the livings and being a university student with a part-time job at Urahara's shop, you did not have much time left to visit the Soul Society.

On the other hand, Shuhei was always swamped with work and dealing with his new Captain was decidedly a challenge. After that one-night stand you had a couple of months ago, when you offered him a place to stay to spend the night after a mission in Karakura, you had not talked about your relationship anymore. What were you two? Allies and friends aside, obviously.

"There's no need to gloat. I'm not a damsel in distress. I would have found my way out of there anyway. — you replied, a tinge of feigned annoyance in your voice as you shot an arrogant look at him — Sorry about it, but no kisses tonight" you added, right before you heard someone calling out your name at your back.

You glanced above your shoulder quickly, eyes landing on Rukia and your younger step-brother, Ichigo, waving at you enthusiastically. It was refreshing seeing them smile again after everything you all had been through. It still felt surreal.

Shuhei followed your gaze, quirking a dark eyebrow up resignedly. Another day wasted in trying to figure you out, another chance to confess his feelings evaporating before his eyes.

"Just tonight? What about tomorrow?" he asked you, a small grin crossing his lips as you felt cold sweat collect on the back of your neck. He was undoubtedly giving it his best shot.

"You are persistent. The war changed you, I see" you commented, avoiding his question as you always did.

"I know what I want now. Or better, who I want".

His words caused you to falter, lips parting as you let the implications of his assertion sink in. He wanted you, he had really just thrown his intentions at your face and left you with the burden of making such a decision over a night, letting it weigh on your shoulders at the worst moment possible. Maybe you deserved it: striving and ripping your heart out of your chest, while everyone else cheered and celebrated the incoming years of peace and stability, was nothing but the law of retaliation you had ended up subjecting yourself to with your evasive way of handling love-issues.

You swallowed forcefully, but before you could even pronounce his name again, Ichigo's voice pierced your ears again and you shrugged in defeat, taking some lumpish steps back to join your crew.

"I really should go. See you tomorrow, okay?" you stated way too quickly for your own likings, hoping he would drop the topic for the time being.

Shuhei nodded his head at you, hands raising to give you the thumbs-up "No problem" he reassured you, but you could tell he yearned to spend more time talking with you. His gaze was longing for more than a frivolous chit-chat, just like it did that infamous night spent in talking on the small balcony of your flat, among the bittersweet scent of peonies.

You two had an undeniable connection. But it was not enough for you. It would have never been enough, because you had, much to your dismay, molded your standards over the worst person ever. You refused to even say his name, to add another problem to deal with to your already plagued mind, even if you had to admit you had not been able to get him out of your head since you crossed paths again on the battlefield a few days ago.

That man, your nemesis, the achetype of everything you should have viscerally hated, was undeniably the only one who knew what secrets your eyes harboured. Your relationship with him was far from being healthy.

It was the antonym of healthy, actually.

A public enemy, an emotionally unavaiable man with a pretty evident god complex could never be able to show empathy to anyone, not even to himself. Surprisingly, though, your interactions had always been quite inspiring. Who was this man? A brilliant genius gone bad, alone, utterly alone. It was infuriating how he could read your mind the same way he read your body language during a fight. Drawn to him, you wondered why you had always had such a low sense of self-preservation and found yourself enticed by unreliable men with a debatable scheme of things.

"Gosh, what did Shuhei tell you? You look distraught" Rukia noted, furrowing her brows.

"Distraught? You've been way too kind. She looks more like a cantankerous granny who got rolled over by a car" Ichigo interjected, earning a kick in the shins by the short shinigami.

Or, as you loved to call her, his biggest 'what if'.

Fixing your attitude, you forcefully smiled, shrugging it off with a nod "Oh, it's nothing! I haven't slept well in that Inn. — you partially lied, albeit your back agreed with your complaint — It's more like I'm not used to sleep on the floor" you added, as the three of you took what you assumed was a short-cut to the village square.

"I will pretend to buy your words. Frankly, just because I heard there's a stall selling plushies of Chappy and I intend to purchase the limited edition one" Rukia saved you, tugging at the hem of Ichigo's sleeve to drag him along and leave you some space to clear out your mind.

You were glad Rukia had seen it in your eyes. You would have caught up with them later on. For the time being, all you needed was a distraction. A distraction in the form of saké and candy floss, to be precise. A weird mix, way too sugary and disgusting, but with your head in the clouds and your heart sinking into a sea of sorrow you did not feel like self-deprecating about your eating habits.

Distancing yourself from the jolly atmosphere around you sounded like a good idea and you therefore decided to venture towards the old barracks. You did not pay much attention to where you were going, your feet led you up through a wooden staircase, your hands occupied by your snacks, as you kept on brooding over your shortcomings. On top of that stood your inability of trying to be happy, for once.

"Fuck it all, fuck me and fuck him" you grumbled, gulping down the alcohol in search for a magical solution to your problem.

You were soon spent, the taste of the saké mixed with sugar left such a syrupy taste indulging on your tongue that you almost felt like puking. The Moon was no longer shining up above, ominous and dark clouds gathered on the horizon, ironically matching your mood. Not long after the first thunder rolled out in the distance, a droplet of water splashed onto the tip of your nose and you pouted. Rain. It was raining.

You could not make it back to your room at the Inn to find shelter and you were way too far from your friends's quarters to make it in time before it began to pour. Also, how would you have made it there in the first place, when you kept on stumbling on your feet and your vision was beginning to get blurry?

Cussing under your breath, you glanced at the doors at your right. No officers were there, or at least so you had been told. The idea of getting soaked not to barge in and wait for you to sober up out in the rain did not even crossed your mind for a second. Marching towards one of the doors, you sighed and raised your hand to slide it open. Your grip on the jug, thoug, loosened, your hands trembling all of a sudden making you frown, as the sound of pottery shattering into a million splinters made you flinch. How did it happen? Were you really that far gone?

What you did not expect, though, was for your knees to buckle as the wave of a familiar reiatsu hit you with such a force to make your rotula ungraciously hit the floor. You were drunk, there was no doubt about it, but you were not hallucinating. Your wary eyes flicked up, the sharp jawline of the man you had been cursing for years and longing for blessing your vision like a lucid dream. The eye-patch, the way his lips curled into a cocky grin upon watching you struggle onto the floor, even his posture gave away the fact that it was not a trick your mind was playing on you.

He was there, a palm away from you.

You gawked, the tall man in front of you peering down at you like someone who was inspecting a wounded animal at their doorway with unbridled curiosity. There you were, unable to move a muscle, out of your mind and puzzled by his presence. He was not supposed to be there.

"Fancy meeting you here" he chimed, hands behind his back, as he leaned forward just enough to make sure your eyes were staring deeply into his shimmering caramel one.

Your mouth had gone dry, it felt like chalk, a million of questions popping into your mind one after the other made your head spin. You were supposed to talk, to say something, to stand up and leave but all you did was whispering a name, his name.

"Sosuke" your vision darkening, as you eventually slumped down at his feet with a thud, unable to withstand the stress and his reiatsu in the poor state you were in.

How he had missed the way you, only you out of everyone, called him by his first name, even if he had almost killed your step-brother and your beloved father. There was no way he was going to leave you, the potential form of entertainment at hand, stay out there alone, unconscious, and miss his opportunity to get under your skin as he always had done.

“Pitiful” he uttered, rolling you over your back with his foot and bending down to hook his hands underneath your armpits to drag you inside the warm room.

You two could not know it back then, but this was the first link in a chain leading to a series of unfortunate events that were going to inevitably end in only one way. The day you were going to hold a pregnancy test in your hand, standing on the threshold of Kisuke’s shop, staring at him with a dumbfounded expression on your face, was not that far.

AUTHOR NOTE.

My dear readers, I am honored to finally introduce you to my Aizen Sosuke fan fiction. I had been thinking about this for months. I still have no idea of how many chapters long it will be. Stick around and find out yourselves. All I know is that the next chapter is going to be shameless filth. The same story will be uploaded on my Wattpad profile under the username of @/muzansfangs. As per usual, likes, comments and, mostly, re-posts are greatly appreciated.

Love, Luce ✨

TAGS: @pseudowho @stygianoir @onyxino @sashi-ya

[demonicbaby666]

iii. Take Out with a Side of Make-out

Feelings are Fatal Masterlist | Masterlists | iv

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Words: 5.4k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, there's literally no warnings for this chapter though...

When you woke, it was to an empty apartment. Your quiet movements to lounge were of no importance because she was gone. JJ was gone. The only mark left of another having inhabited the space was a lonely, loosely folded blanket on the couch that sent a cold shiver up your spine. You walked forward and took the material into your hands, cradling it between your arms and chest as though you could trick yourself into believing it was the woman who marked its fibres with her scent. 

The question of JJ’s whereabouts or sudden departure remained unanswered as you scoured the room for clues. There was no note, no remnants of a coffee made before her leave, nothing but a few strands of golden hair that glinted off the sofa and pillows in the morning light. Still, you stood there for a few more minutes. Eyes closed, mind racing, you breathed in the last bit of JJ you had left held precious in your grasp. 

You allowed self-pity to settle into each slow step leading back to your room, praying your floorboards would turn to quicksand and put you out of your misery. The door creaked open, the hinges crying to be oiled and reminding you of yet another task you had left unchecked. Beside your bed was your phone, a beckon of hope for your worrisome mind that you ran to in desperate hopes an explanation lay waiting in a grey bubble. 

With a single tap, the black screen lit up. You scrolled through everything unimportant without an ounce of remorse. So brutal in your search for answers, you ignored even Garcia, her clump of twenty-odd messages moving up and up till they disappeared entirely. She could wait till later to hear about the so-called ‘hot date’ and how he turned out to be a grimy creep. 

With every passing icon, hope dwindled. The last notification stared at you with its time stamp so ancient that all it read was yesterday. In a late ditch effort, you clicked the text chain with JJ, thinking things could slip between the cracks when it came to faulty technology; you’d dropped your phone once or twice, surely that was enough to dislodge a wire or two. The chat was desolate of new messages. 

The dread you felt that Sunday set the tone for the upcoming week, which was entirely bleak. 

Work was work, and managing an independent bookstore had its good moments. Informing your colleague a friend of hers, or what turned out to be a friend of a friend of a friend of hers, attempted to spike you was not one of them. The only consolation to the awkward encounter was the consoling hug you received, which, for all intents and purposes, filled the gaping space in your chest that yearned for some form of physical intimacy on that first Monday back. 

Police reports were filed, and comfort was found in the awaiting punishment your date would face, but it was hollow and sapless. Each dying day, when the sun took its rest, you still stood in front of your mirror and noted the toll life without solace took on you. The dark circles under your eyes had worsened, taking on the appearance of bruises a person would sustain in a fighting ring. The fullness of your face was no more. Your cheeks looked gaunt and hollow. There was no colour to your face, no life force spare to light up your eyes after days of endless sorrow. The longer you looked, the more you realised you had fallen victim to a situation that was of your own making. 

There was little news on JJ. When a text finally came through on a bleak Wednesday, it was direct and uninformative. 

‘How are you?’ 

The reprieve from your anxieties was short-lived, and you scolded yourself for thinking JJ owed you anything when she disappeared out of thin air the moment the question of how she was doing was posed. 

That’s when the anger came. The blinking cursor mocked you with its potential. Endless texts filled with barbed remarks and pointed accusations were written, deleted, and edited until only the worst of the worst were left. It tore at your chest to read the message back and come face to face with the literate poison you had conjured. The words were sour on your tongue, and your voice was broken between sobs of a pained acknowledgement as you read. There is nothing hurt people do better than share their hurt, but that would not be you. You would not inflict damage upon the person you knew you would always love. No message was sent that day or the following. 

Time moved, and you clung to each new day's possibilities. Maybe if you gave JJ the space she appeared to need, she’d find her way back to you, but no matter how hard you fought to find hope and happiness where there wasn’t any, every passing hour you lived and breathed remained a quiet torment. Despair followed you like a shadow you couldn’t shuck, and for the first time since you parted ways with JJ, you considered the elicit relationship between you was coming to its inevitable end. 

The thought plagued you throughout the week till Thursday and Friday came and left, leaving you empty and tired, ready for Saturday’s promise of a day you could spend under your bedsheets utterly and tragically alone. 

The stages of grief had run their course, and you found yourself at the finale. 

There’s a misconception that when you find acceptance, it’s freeing and beautiful; tranquillity sheds beams of light over all the gloom and loss, like the sun peaking through a winter forest, thawing frostbitten earth. This contrived interpretation does not paint the harsh reality of acceptance. The hole cut through your chest did not feel less hollow; if anything, it was more prominent, leaving an imprint on your past, present and future. Songs, places and faces were draped in black garments, polluted by the faint air of heartache and neglect. 

Acceptance was the sword at the end of a fight that found your throat and put you out of your misery. Acceptance was realising in the death of your old self, you’d strive to be someone better in the next. Acceptance was knowing that you wouldn’t be victim to your circumstances anymore, that you’d carry your pain like armour, wear it proudly as you built your walls back up and never let anyone bulldoze them again. There would be no cracks in the foundations this time, JJ would not sneak her way into your heart, and the parts of her that remained would be snuffed out. 

So Saturday became the closing of a chapter, and Sunday began anew with the shrill of your phone waking you up at 7 am. Not quite how you expected the day to start, but you tried to avoid taking the abrupt start to the day as a bad omen. 

It was an easy decision to silence the call and reclaim the morning as your own. The first step—going back to sleep. 

The second call came through three hours later, and you couldn’t excuse ignoring it under the guise of self-care when sleeping past 10 am was bordering on excessive for someone who went to bed before the sun had fully left the sky the night before. Begrudgingly, you threw an arm over the side of your bed, violently clambering until your hand landed over the vibrating device. Too familiar with the screen layout, your finger pressed the general location of the answer icon as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Hello,” you mumbled, too tired to acknowledge the gruffness of your voice, though you could feel the greeting grate against your throat like sandpaper. 

“Shit. Did I wake you up?” 

Of course, it was her. Out of everyone who could’ve called to be greeted by your crackled, prepubescent morning lilt, it had to be JJ. 

Shooting up, suddenly very awake, you gripped the phone tighter and cleared your throat. 

“I had to get up anyway,” you stated blankly. 

“Oh.” She was off-put. You could hear it in her scattered tone. It was unknown whether it was from your lack of enthusiasm or the reason for her calling.

There was only silence for a beat, and you could hear the thoughts churning inside JJ’s head from the other side of the phone speaker. The responsibility to fill the silence was not yours. You weren’t the one to call, and you wouldn’t be the one to encourage JJ to speak now that she had suddenly re-founded her interest in you. 

“You still there?” she asked, sounding nervous enough for you almost to abandon your indifference to the unknown subject matter of the call. Almost. 

“Yes,” you replied, seemingly unbothered despite feeling the exact opposite. “Just waiting.” 

There came a sigh, and you steeled yourself to remain calm for what was to follow. No one’s heart ought to be beating as fast as yours was at 10 am. 

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve been MIA this week. Work has been hectic, and I’ve had a lot going on, but I should’ve checked in more.” 

“Yes, you should have.” There was another bout of silence, then a drawn-out breath shared by you and JJ. You knew for this conversation to lead anywhere, you needed to give leeway. But you were hurt and still harboured anger towards JJ, enough to leave her sitting in the static atmosphere for a few more seconds. 

“You’re right.” She finally relented, sounding surer than she had been in the last few minutes. There was a bit of shuffling coming from JJ’s end of the call before everything stilled. “I was stupid and blindsided by unimportant things when my attention should have been on you. I should have called. I should have come over and comforted you and kept you safe after everything that happened. There are so many things I should have said and done, but I’m calling now and asking for just a fraction of forgiveness. Let me make it up to you.” 

“And how do you plan on doing that?” you asked, waves of curiously eroding the shores of lasting anger. 

“There’s this thing…”

“Oh well, that changes everything. A thing. Why didn’t you say that earlier? That makes everything okay then.” You were sure she could hear the roll of your eyes in your bit-off tone. 

“My mom’s coming to town next week and I’m being forced to host a luncheon, or what a normal person would call a barbeque.” She paused momentarily, taking a deep breath before rushing through the rest of her request. “I thought you could come along as my date so I could avoid all the badgerings over my lack of love life.” 

“Let me get this right,” you began with a humourless laugh. “To make up for not being there when I needed you, you want me to do you a favour by pretending to be your date so your family and friends don’t pester you?” 

“It doesn't sound so great when you say it like that.” 

“Probably because it isn’t,” you stated matter of factly, the amusement peeking through the cracks of your tone. 

“Free food.” 

“Not happening.” 

“Good company.” 

“I'm assuming you’re dubbing yourself the so-called good company?”

“You like my company!” JJ feigned offence so well that you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I tolerate it at best,” you stated, failing to hold back a smile. “It’s still a hard no.” 

“I’ll pick you up and drop you back home.” 

This particular clause in the imaginary contract piqued your interest. For reasons unknown, the image of JJ being at your beck and call, wanting your company at her side so badly she’d go out of her way to make it happen, elicited a fuzzy feeling in your chest. A week away from her was good. It was the breathing space you needed to realise things had to change. And as unconventional as it may be, perhaps this was the opportunity to enforce the change you strived for. 

“Will you at least consider it?” 

“Fine,” you dramatically sighed, dropping your body back on your bed and looking at the barren ceiling. 

The conversation came to a natural close after JJ graced you with more details of her week, this time holding little back. She asked question after question, making it silently known your morning would be hers. Your allotted time to make coffee and sip on it also belonged to her, and try as you might have, though you tried little, there was nothing to be done about the rather annoying fact you quite clearly did crave JJ’s company after going so long without it. So you allowed time to spill through your fingers and words to flow from your mouth. It didn't sting or hurt when it was time to part ways. You didn’t yearn for anything more. It was nice: being content with the mediocre. 

The following week, you hoped for more of the same. Finally, you were happy to settle for normal, but the week presented nothing of the sort. First, the box of chocolates came, waiting for you outside your apartment on Monday evening. Innocent enough. Then came the bouquet of flowers the following Tuesday that you discovered within the walls of your apartment, sitting idly and beautifully on your kitchen counter. You pondered on the time JJ must have set aside to hand deliver the array of thalictrums, tulips and gardenias, wanting so badly to place meaning to the gift that was left to coerce you into agreeing to accompany JJ next weekend.��

Buds took root in the soil of your heart, and ever-present weeds of affection sprouted. Thwacking away at the blooms, knowing the conditions were no longer suitable for sustaining a garden of pathetic hope, you placed the second gift JJ bestowed upon you in a cream vase you found locked away under your sink. 

Placed by the window, the sun bled colour through petals like stained glass the following Wednesday morning, a bright sight to gape at whilst mindlessly stirring milk into coffee. 

That evening, as you swept through the doors of your apartment, you fiddled with a parcel left in your mailbox. It was no bigger than your palm, neatly wrapped in Kraft paper. Attached was a note written for Saturday. The handwriting gave away who had sent the gift but did nothing to alleviate the boding curiosity running rampant in your belly. 

Under the brown coverings was a black box, its contents half unmasked from the lid taking the brunt end of your less than gentle treatment. It was a bracelet. A dainty thing comprised of thin gold chains looped together and delicately placed opposite the clasp was a single tiny diamond. It was perfect. It was too much. 

Pulling your phone out, clicking JJ’s contact highlighted under favourites, you listened to the rings chime by your ear. You reached her voicemail, and having been unprepared to leave a strongly worded message, you hung up, navigating your way to your text chain, only to be greeted by three dots. 

17:30 (JJ) - On a case. But no, I’m not returning it. I’m not taking it back. You’re keeping it, and if you choose to come with me on Saturday (which you should), you’ll wear it. 

17:31 - It’s too much, JJ. 

17:31 (JJ) - No, it’s not. If anything, it’s not enough. 

17:32 - I’m hiding it in your bag next time I see you. 

17:33 (JJ) - Can you accept the gift like a normal person and say thank you?

17:34 - No. 

17:35 (JJ) - The bracelet stays with you. You deserve to be spoiled. So, suck it up cause I’ve got to go. 

And just like that, you were alone. A sappy smile in place, standing in your kitchen gazing at your pretty flowers and your pretty bracelet. It was right about then that you realised how utterly fucked you were. There wasn’t a force on earth strong enough to hold you back from attending Saturday’s luncheon as JJ’s honorary date. 

Questions of motives and intentions sprouted fast in your mind like pockets of unruly weeds. Doubt reared its head, peeking through the cracks of cheap blinders fabricated on broken dreams. Once upon a time, you may have tricked yourself into believing your own delusions. JJ felt the same way you did. That’s why she called you at ungodly hours for pleasure and only that. JJ searched for opportunity after opportunity to be in your company, and that’s why she ignored you for a whole week. You really had been blinded by love.  

You greeted the petulant childlike dreams with the fortification of your guard. There would be no more longing, pining, or losing yourself in a make-believe future you thought you could see through the rose-tinted lenses of JJ’s unreadable gaze. There would be no mistake about it, when Saturday arrived, you would play your part, and you would do no more than that. 

By Thursday evening, you were convinced the gifts had stopped. Sluggishly trailing upstairs after a tiresome day and unlocking your apartment, nothing awaited you. It was both a relief and a hard-to-admit disappointment. Surely, through some type of psychic link, JJ must have known she’d swayed your better judgment and swindled you into agreeing to her terms. 

Of course, no such thing existed, and the blonde was very much still on the train of buying her way back into your heart. You discovered this when sitting down, scrolling through the endless list of restaurants on delivery apps. The options were vast, and your indecisive mind was too worn out to take on the challenge of picking which cuisine spoke most to your palette, let alone what you wanted off the menu if you ever managed to dwindle the options down to one. 

Your fridge was barren, and the contents of your cupboards were mainly noodles and dried foods that didn’t sound all that appetising, given that you’d have to find the energy to move to the kitchen and engage in making something. So, after thirty minutes of idle scrolling and scornful glances at your kitchen, you gave up, choosing to sit in the glum of adulthood and responsibility. 

At that precise moment of defeat, a buzzing rang from beside your door. You weren’t expecting anyone and most friends knew the code to let themselves in so they wouldn’t ring up. Maybe they had the wrong apartment? 

Another buzz. 

Huffing, you stood and walked over to the intercom. The quality on the screen was grainy, but you saw the delivery driver clear enough, hands filled with bags of food as a motorcycle sat idly behind him. 

“I think you might have the wrong apartment,” you said, ignoring the pang of hunger that shot through your belly. “I can buzz you in, though.” 

He held a receipt up to his face, scanning it momentarily. “Second floor. Apartment five?”

“Yes.” 

“Well then, this stuff is for you,” he declared, motioning to the bags he had in hand. 

“Come on up,” you sighed, admitting defeat. 

When the food arrived, you apologised to the delivery driver, realising he was carrying not one, not two, but three bags filled with containers of food. The waiting time, plus the journey up flights of stairs, can’t have been enjoyable, and you felt bad for only being able to offer a sympathetic smile as consolation. The guilt reduced once your eyes landed on the receipt and you discovered two things. One: JJ was indeed the one to send the surplus of food. And two: she’d left a hefty tip that more than made up for the inconvenience. 

Aware the blonde may still be busy on a case you didn’t bother calling. 

18:40- You know I can’t eat all of this, right?

18:46 (JJ) - Is that an invitation to come and help? 

18:47- Are you going to make me ask, or would you rather I not fit into the dress I’ve picked for this Saturday? 

18:47 (JJ)- On my way! 

18:56 (JJ)- Wait… WAS THAT A YES TO COMING? 

19:00- Yes, Jennifer Jareau, I’ll be your date for your family BBQ. 

19:04 (JJ)- You know I only like it when you use my full name when your mid orgasm ): 

19:05- If you crash whilst texting and driving, then you’ll be lucky if you ever get to see me again, let alone touch me. 

19:09 (JJ)- Texting + driving = no sex. Noted. 

19:10- I’m eating all the spring rolls. You don’t deserve any. 

Not even ten minutes later, JJ barged in, reaffirming your theories regarding texting and driving. Additionally, it led you to believe she’d picked up speeding as a habit outside of work. You were about ready to scold her when you turned to the door to see the blonde in a bit of a state. Her eyes were bulging, scouring around the kitchen, paying no mind to her hands as she yanked the keys out the door and came scurrying towards you, panicked. 

“Please tell me you didn’t.” 

You dropped the breath you had been holding, rolling your eyes. “The spring rolls, as well as everything else, are untouched,” you said, hiding your smile with the turn of your head. “Stop being dramatic and help me plate all this food.” 

Satisfied, JJ made her way to the counter, eyeing its contents like a hawk ready to strike. To her credit, she followed the orders, picking noodles up with chopsticks and plopping a healthy amount on each plate, divvying curried meats and sides between you. There was a reprimand on the tip of your tongue, watching rolls of crispy filo pastry piled one after the other, the distribution system far from fair. Any feelings of injustice died at the sight of JJ’s smile. 

“Happy?” you asked, sidling up to her, wanting so badly to kiss the corner of her lips, where her cheery smile sank ever so slightly into her cheek. 

“Yup,” she answered, popping the p at the end of her sentence as she grinned, handing you your plate. “Couch?”

“Sure.” You took your food and padded over to the living room, settling comfortably into plush pillows. 

There were nearly twenty shows you could list that had safely made it into the category of ‘background noise’, and you settled for throwing one of them on, happy to chat with JJ rather than get sucked into a fantasy world. 

It was the right choice because as soon as the blonde came to join you, her mouth would not close, safe from when she politely cut her sentences short to shovel food into her mouth. She was animated like this—talking about her work, friends, family, and anything really. Warmth pooled in your stomach, seeping into your bloodstream and circulating your body till all you knew was comfort. This was home. The couch, noodles, light conversation and JJ. It was all the epitome of belonging. 

The light from the TV abruptly dimmed. An ‘Are you still watching?’ message appeared on the screen, bathing empty glasses, plates and take-out boxes that had migrated from the kitchen to your coffee table in a tinted red glow. 

At the exact same moment, your and JJ’s eyes landed on the screen and then shot back to one another. Laughter rumbled through your chests at the sore sight of guilty lopsided smiles. It seemed you both had lost track of time, too focused on idle chatter. 

Once the excitement had died down, JJ moved to stand. “I don’t think we ever were watching,” she muttered, shooting you a mischievous smirk as she walked towards the door. 

“You know,” you drawled, eyeing JJ speculatively. “I hear it’s usually good manners to say goodbye to the host before you leave.” 

She glanced back, mouth set in a firm line, giving you a specific look that translated directly to ‘Are you serious?’ and you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I’m getting something from my bag if you must know.” And she did just that. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a black box similar to the one you received on Wednesday, only this one was slightly bigger and flatter. 

“I’ve already agreed to Saturday JJ. I don't need any more bribes.” 

“That’s not-” she cut herself off, shaking her head and returning to the couch. “Just open it already,” she ordered, plopping beside you. Despite her carefree persona, there was no mistaking the nervousness to JJ as she bit at the side of her mouth, waiting for you to take the proffered gift. 

“Alright, alright.” You raised both hands with a grin, surrendering and taking the box from her hand, hoping to dispel some of her anxieties. “No need to get feisty.” 

She continued to fidget, your teasing going right over her head as you drew your eyes away from her ringing fingers to the lid of the black box. It bore the same mark as the one you’d previously received, a local jeweller by the looks of it, but not one you recognised. 

The lid came off with a pop of trapped air, and underneath lay a familiar sight. You recognised the gold chain, simple and elegant, but where a single gem was placed on your bracelet, on this necklace, lay a cluster of small diamonds, all circling a polished ruby. 

“JJ, it’s-” you gasped. 

“I swear if you say too much again,” she rushed to say. 

“Actually,” you went on, straightening your neck to face the blonde. “I was going to say beautiful.” 

Her face lit up. A bright smile pulled at the contours of her cheeks as her eyes fixed solely on you. 

“Yes, it is.” 

A shy smile blossomed over your lips, and your cheeks flushed with the distinct impression she wasn’t talking about the necklace anymore. Tension grew heated in the silence, leaving you breathless as you darted your attention back to the little box in your hand, thumbing over the golden chain. 

“Let me?” JJ asked, and you watched as her fingers slithered into view beside your own. 

Cautiously looking up at her, seeing hope beam so openly over her features, you nodded. 

She took care in taking the necklace from its home, running the chain through her fingers as she pulled it through two divots puncturing velvet. She let the chain hang between her fingers, holding it up and waiting patiently for you to turn. 

“Oh, right,” you muttered, shifting your position so you had one leg tucked under the other, your back facing JJ. 

There was some shuffling behind you before you felt the warm press of JJ’s chest against your shoulder blades, her fingers tickling your neck as she swept your hair aside. Fighting to keep composure, you swallowed down the beginnings of a whimper. 

Appearing to be in no rush, JJ brought both hands around your head and rested her palms over your collarbones. You shivered as the cold metal fell against your heated skin, failing to ignore the way JJ had paused to let the small gem dangle between your breasts. 

Her warm breath grazed your neck, and you could feel the tip of her nose press against the underside of your ear. Arousal bubbled low in your stomach, fizzling beneath the fluttering butterflies that had claimed your body as their play place, and a week without JJ’s touch suddenly started feeling a lot more like years. You craved her kisses, her hands, her tongue keeping you vocal from between your legs. The memories were coming waves, pulling you backwards both physically and metaphorically to JJ. 

Finally, the necklace was dragged along your chest, and JJ leaned back to clasp it shut. The brief reprieve from the mounting traction you felt towards the woman behind you was, unfortunately, short-lived, and it wasn't long before the soft pad of fingers grazed the line of your jaw. The touch was light and easy to dissuade if you so chose. You could push against the angling of your head and remain an unwilling participant in this nefarious scheme JJ was conjuring up. 

Instead, you closed your eyes and allowed JJ to guide your face to hers. 

The air was thick, and silence rang through the room, disrupted only by your bated breath and hastening heartbeat. A kiss ghosted over your parted lips. All it would take to bridge the gap between you was one minute move forward. 

She smelt like beef and bean sprouts and burning desire, but you knew the taste of lips only promised regret. 

With one long exhale, you pulled away. 

“I should put the food away,” you announced, leaning forward to grab the plates and cutlery off the coffee table. Standing and moving to the kitchen, you didn't look back, too focused on berating yourself between stilled breaths. 

You’d been in your apartment long enough to know the water always ran cold for a few seconds before eventually shifting to a temperature sufficient to clean your dishes. However, this didn’t stop you from plunging your hands under the icy waters. It was a needed relief, and the pull back to reality was instant, allowing you to see the mistake you’d almost made. Still, the feel of JJ’s lips haunted you. 

Her presence was felt more than ever as she appeared behind you, and you hoped, for the umpteenth time, that your better judgment would emerge victorious in the fight against clouded lust. But your restraint was pulled taut and on the brink of snapping. You knew if JJ pushed, you’d break. 

For someone consumed by thoughts of another, you paid little mind to the person in question, leaving yourself vulnerable and ripe for the taking. 

The tap spluttered, and a messy display of steaming water burst through the faucet. The shock pulled you from your anxieties, though another surprise awaited you when JJ crept up closer behind you, sliding her hands around your waist and resting them over your belly. 

“I can help,” she whispered hotly into your ear.

Your full-bodied shiver left JJ feeling emboldened. Her fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. Her wicked smirk pressed against your neck. And her chest pressed firm against your back, locking you in place with the edge of the sink cutting into your hips. 

The trail of her fingers against your stomach was scorching, never settling on one spot long before moving to another. Too lost in the sensations coaxing your body into a state of relaxation, you scarcely reacted to JJ flipping you around and settling your thighs over the soft curve of the sink. 

Her tongue slid into your mouth with a sense of urgency as she savoured the taste of you with languid strokes, moans vibrating from her chest and tunnelling down into your throat. 

You held both hands to JJ’s chest, applying enough pressure to push her away, maintaining it to prevent her from getting close again. You couldn’t do this. Not again. “It’s late, and we’ve both got to get up early for work tomorrow.” 

Even if this was for the best, it was hard not to leave caution to the wind, take JJ’s hand and guide her straight to her bedroom, especially when she looked so much like a kicked puppy with the pout she was sporting. 

“I’ll see you Saturday,” you said with a sorrowful smile, jumping down and ushering her towards the door. “And JJ?”

She turned instantly, looking half-ready to run back into your apartment before her smile faltered, “Yes?” 

“Thank you for tonight.” You dug your chin into your chest, peering down at your newly acquired necklace. “And this, and the food, and the flowers,” you tried hard not to choke on your own words, “and well, everything.” 

“I’d do anything for you.” 

There was so much sincerity in the way JJ had said it. It left no space for doubt. The only problem was that she seemed pained by the admission, so much so her eyes looked glassy and far off. 

You wanted to ask her what she meant, why she seemed so saddened by her own words, but by the time you found your voice, she was gone. 

Taglist: @sincerestlove @hot4milfs @chestnutninny @theoneforhobbies @lez-talk1 @obsessedwjill @wastdstime @hopelesslyfallenninlove @luna7-7 @fanficreadinglesbian @ara-a-bird @blueredg52 @blkmxrvel @allofphii @coffee-is-my-oxygen @marinawolf @iheartdilfssss @spencerreidsknee @adainesfroggieboggy | Click here to be added to the series taglist

[doodle-pops]

Elrond With A Modern Medical!Reader in Valinor

Request: Not sure if this is fic or just headcanons but: Modern!reader in middle earth who was a neurosurgeon in her old life and is now in Valinor working with Elrond to translate medical concepts to elven language before she dies and help advance their medical practice. Some differences between elven and human biology are found out in the process, it’s all quite fascinating to them both. She assists in a few operations but I imagine they don’t have many surgical operations to do in times of peace because people just aren’t getting injured like they used to during the famed battles against Morgoth and Sauron in middle earth. She helps on occasion but them elves are graceful and not injury-prone. - Anon

A/N: I was having trouble turning this into a fic, and since you gave me the option, not minding if I did a headcanon, I went with the latter. I had fun writing this, I also made their relationship ambiguous. Enjoy!

When you happen to arrive in Valinor, dazed by its eternal beauty and tranquillity, Elrond, with all his calming presence and wise demeanour was the first to greet and help you settle down. He was kind to welcome you into his new home.

During your time there, you and Elrond spend countless hours in his extensive library, trying to translate complex medical texts and concepts into Quenya, while he marvels at the intricacies of human detail in neurosurgery. To him, the ability to heal the brain by getting so practical and up close was fascinating.

“You humans certainly love your precision and details,” he would say as he smiled while reading through a description of a delicate brain surgery. You on the other hand would laugh and tell him that not all humans are so meticulous, following up your comment by sharing more medical mishaps from your world.

It is when you discover the biological differences between elves and humans, that things in the work become all the more interesting. You discover that elves’ regenerative abilities allow for healing preparations to be cut down and rushed to the healing wing, unimportant. Just knowing this, leaves you speechless as he casually mentions recovering from an injury that would have left a human incapacitated.

“So you’re telling me that you can heal from a stab wound in a matter of days?” you ask, incredulously with jealousy lingering. Elrond would simply nod along with a serene smile as he continued to translate the prewritten text on the paper you provided. “I wish I had that. Would have saved me all those trips to the ER.”

Assisting in medical practices in Valinor is rare but rewarding. Elrond’s precise, yet holistic approach to medicine complements your surgical expertise perfectly. Together, you manage to save a few elves who came in with nasty injuries, mostly from hunting trips gone bad.

As time passes, you are further blown away when Elrond teaches you their famous art of healing through song and rare herbs, enchanting your understanding of medicine. You do find the elves’ ability to enter healing trances particularly fascinating.

“So you just…sing them better? Like kumbaya and poof! Healed?!” you asked one day as you attempted to wrap your head around the concept, prompting Elrond to chuckle. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

As time passes, your collaboration deepens both your understanding and respect for each other’s knowledge and expertise. Elrond is continually impressed but your surgical and modern techniques, while you are captivated by the elves’ natural form of advanced healing practices. This welcomed late nights in the library often turning into philosophical discussions as Elrond is thrilled by your stories of modern technology, and you are equally captivated by his tales of Middle-Earth.

You even meet a few of his family members during your stay as words of another human dwelling in Valinor. “Wait, you all fought a literal Balrog? Those fiery beasts?” you asked one evening as you sat around a table chatting with those who encountered the creature. “If you all were in my world, you could have used a fire extinguisher to put the flames out, or just douse water on them.” You leave most of them in laughter and confusion.

Due to meeting other elves beside him, you get the opportunity to practice your healing methods on them, though, they rarely allow you to since they usually appear fine even when injured. “So you couldn’t have hit your head a little harder for me to have something to examine instead of magically healing?” you disappointedly asked one of Elrond’s family members.

That has been the relationship for most of the encounters when an elf decides to come in sporting an ‘injury’. “You said you cracked your skull four days ago while hunting but I’m not seeing any injury. Do you mind if I hit you so I can have an actual injury to work with?”

Like you, even Elrond has his moments of being light-hearted, despite his dry sense of humour, when things don’t go according to plan. If the technique is too complex, he’ll jokingly say, “Of course, if all else fails, we just use magic.” Of course, you blink at him wondering if he was being serious or joking.

The partnership between you and Elrond as your work in Valinor developed certain areas of elven magical was tedious but also worthwhile. Even the relationship between you brought each other comfort and upliftment. “I suppose I’ll be remembered as the strange human who brought surgical scalpels to the Blessed Realm and threatened to beat people in their heads,” you joked.

Elrond usual response is filled with a sense of gratitude as he makes a toast in your honour. “You will be remembered as a pioneer and someone we are grateful to have encountered. I am glad you were brought here,” he fondly cheered.

Even as your time in Valinor progresses, you and Elrond continue to explore new ways to incorporate your medical practices into their elven healing. Each time an elf stops by for healing, you sometimes have to threaten them to come in with noticeable head injuries or you’d give them, while other times, you are lucky to have something to deal with. At least, during your years there, you managed to get a lot done.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @addaigio @lamemaster @elficially-done-with-life

[apostaterevolutionary]

I am so sorry, apparently it’s 2024 and I’m arguing about dragon age again lmao. How did I get here! Why is this happening!! Time is a flat circle!!!

Anyway. People can feel how they want about the past games not mattering in this game. If you’re cool with it, I’m happy for you. But there’s one particular argument in defence of this choice that is really, really bothering me and I have to rant

The thing I keep seeing is “well all this other stuff has nothing to do with the main plot or Rook, so it should be cut” and that’s. Not a good way to tell stories in my opinion. Because here’s the thing: it’s not about the Big Overall Plot. It’s about the characters that live in this world, big and small

I’m going to use the example of Varric and Hawke cause I think it’s the easiest to explain quickly. Varric is a storyteller. That’s the defining trait of his character. He tells stories, and sometimes they’re true and sometimes they’re not and sometimes it’s something in between. In DA2 he tells you about his brother. In inquisition, he talks about hawke and there’s banter about several of the companions. Most of these are just little one liners that don’t “serve the overall plot” but they serve Varric’s character

And that matters

So if we take this character known for telling stories about people that have been in his life, well, he largely can’t do that now. How can he talk about Hawke, someone who can be a very close friend of his, without even their gender being a choice you can select? Or whether Varric should be saying ‘is’ or ‘was’ about them? How can he talk about the companions in DA2 or inquisition when a lot of them don’t have to be recruited or can die? Will he limit himself to only characters that are guaranteed to be a part of it and alive? Or is it that he and Rook will have such a shallow relationship that Varric, of all characters, never talks about his life and past exploits?

Or has Varric as a character changed so much that he doesn’t even want to tell stories anymore? That Hawke living or dying means nothing to him? That the friendships he built with people in 2 games mean nothing to him? That he’s become literally unrecognizable?

This is where the problem is. Sure, Rook maybe doesn’t care about these people they’ve never met. But do they care about Varric? What about if a companion mentions an old friend of theirs, talks about an experience they had that made them who they are - is that only okay if that experience isn’t from a previous game? Or are all the characters so flat that we never learn anything about their connections to others outside of Rook? Is this story SO focused on this player character and this plot that NOTHING else matters, even within the world, and there’s no depth to be found in any of the characters that feature in it?

Writing characters so that they only ever talk about things that “directly serve the plot” is how you get flat, unremarkable, boring, forgettable characters. And that’s not something I would have accused bioware of doing even if some instalments are stronger in this area than others. But it sounds like that’s what they’re doing here, at least with the past characters. Cause sure, maybe Morrigan is so closed off she’ll never mention her son and partner. That’s believable, even if iffy given that they’ve said she’s going to be more involved than we think. But Varric? VARRIC??? Never mentioning ANY of the people he used to spend time with and care about except Solas and maybe some of the inquisition characters that can’t die or not be recruited but also carefully skirting around what happened to them in the game? That’s literally not the same character

And I would expand this to like. A letter mentioning this or a codex mentioning that, or ambient dialogue about so and so - that makes the world feel deep and those random, unimportant NPCs feel richer by connecting them to the larger world. It’s not about “serving the plot”, it’s about making your world and characters deep enough that they feel real, lived in, and like something we can actually care about

[adviceformefromme]

YOUR RE-SET PART 2

Part one is here for reference.

Once you start removing all the shit from your life, they’ll be an empty space. You might not like this, but it really is an opportunity to start planting the seeds of your dreams, creating your dream life. Part 1 was clearing your garden, preparing the soil. Part 2, is actually planting the seeds. You've removed the weeds in your life, you’ve distanced yourself from the friends who bitch and moan, you also decided to create some space from the toxic relatives that remind you of the shame, and traumas from childhood. You started a little meditation and journalling practise, eating a little better, thinking kinder thoughts… but this is where you really start creating a magical life. This is your moment, no distractions, you are truly re-rewriting the script of your life. 

See it as a cross roads. Do you choose to go back to what you know, or do you spend the next four months of this year taking serious actions to become who you were destined to be? 

So how do you bring the vision boards to life? How do you truly re-set so that you finally shed the old skin of your past and become who you were designed to be?

1 - You need a vision. This needs to inspire and motivate you, so trade in one of your Netflix shows, or social media binges to create your vision. Screenshot images from Pinterest or wherever, add them into a keynote on your laptop, or use Canva, however you make your vision board let it be your absolute wildest dreams. If it's living in one of those houses from Architect Digest magazine in the middle of Norway, go find those images. If its being a badass CEO who makes eight figures, find an image that represents that. Add activities what your day is like, fashion inspo, locations, events, whatever you want your life to look like go create the vision. And make sure it inspires you. You want to feel that little fire in your belly when you look at it, if it’s not giving that energy, keep working on it till it does. Its really important you remind your self of this vision with affirmations as you look at it, ‘I am’, ‘I feel’, ‘I love’ use these power statements as you speak life as you go through each image e.g ‘I am living in my beautiful home on the coast of Spain, it feels so peaceful to wake up to the sunrise and hear the crashing waves as I look out from my balcony, I am so in love with my home, its represents who I truly am, I love my coffee table books (list them out).' Go on a rampage as you speak life into your vision board (do this as a consistent practise daily or weekly).

2 - Part of your re-set is looking the part. You will have a vision completely unique to you of what the dream version for you looks like, smells like, walks like, dresses like. Your goal is to get crystal clear on this and BRING HER TO LIFE. This will be done in steps, but literally start figuring out what you need to do in order to look the part. This might involve a different hair style. If you always dreamed of long hair but your hair is textured - go get a weave or hair extensions, if you are obsessed with those lamination brows and lashes, go figure out how you can look and feel as your dream girl. Stop using money as an excuse, if your hair is too expensive, find someone more affordable, or do it at home. If you can’t afford designers but see yourself living that life go buy a replica and FEEL the part until you can get there. This is about you looking and feeling like your best self, and it might seem unimportant but how you look affects how you feel and that physical glow up adds LEVELS of confidence to a woman. So start moving away from what you know, have known and step into your truth. Let go of the shame from family, friends. Stop living in their shadows, hiding from their opinions and judgements. This is your moment. 

3 - Create a routine of greatness. What does your day need to involve for you to show up as your best self? As you reflect you’ll see there are things that work and things that absolutely don’t work in your life and now is your moment is to start adjusting. This is for food, exercise, keeping your home clean, keeping organised. This is also about knowing yourself. For example, if you usually walk your dog in the morning but by the time you come home, you don’t have enough time to do your hair and make-up or eat a healthy breakfast - SHUFFLE your morning. This is about making life work for you. Not you working for life, working to survive, rushing everywhere. No, this is about your life, working to suit you best. So take inventory of what is not working and what is and start adapting. Another example. If you want to whiten your teeth and those strips are not working out for you because they feel horrible and you always forget. Go get a whitening powder you can brush on your teeth after you clean them, plus you brush your teeth everyday, so adding an extra step of brushing with the whitening powder at the sink is a much more effective routine that works for you. Do you get the message? Start re-adjusting your routine so there is more flow, and structure aligned with how you want to live.

4 - You need to fucking exercise. It doesn’t matter how you do it. Just make sure you do it. And exercise that is actually consistent and motivates you. This is your confidence booster, your discipline trainer, your toned body enabler, your energy replenisher, your anti-depressants, your anti-anxiety medication, your meditation, your self love. It’s all that and so much more. If you’re new to exercise start small, and progress. Keep those little promises to yourself and if your annoying friends want to see you, only meet them if they join you on a class which allows you to kill two birds with one stone. 

5 - Your passions. Remember those things. The things as a a child that used to bring you joy. Now you have all this free time since you stopped scrolling you can actually remember life before 4 hour binges on tiktok and Netflix. Go grab your skates, your paint brushes, your boombox, your knitting kit, your colouring pencils, your baking materials, your swimming goggles, your library card - whatever the fuck is your passion. GO POUR INTO THAT. Just once a week, even for an hour if that’s all you can manage, but focus on that. This is how you attract more of that positive energy into your life, you connect with your inner child, you soothe her and make her feel so wholesome. 

6 - KEEP REFLECTING, as you continue on this journey to becoming your best self, things will work, you’ll trip up a few times, you’ll learn so much about yourself but it's SO important to keep moving forward. For example if you realised you don’t like your social circle, but noticed you keep judging your friends - you are still swirling in low vibration, because that judgmental inner voice is still keeping you in the gutter. Your daily meditation practise, and reflecting would reveal this to you, and without noticing you are still staying stuck. The purpose of this whole re-set is to elevate yourself, your life and start living your dreams. So daily, weekly, as often as you can. Reflect. This worked, this didn’t, this is what I can do better next time, become your own fucking guru. Know thy self. Keep moving forward. Keep checking yourself.

...And remember know one gives a fuck about this journey you’re on, no one is rooting for you, no one cares if you literally remain the same person you’ve always been. This is truly on you. This is your opportunity to take major leap. To quit being the person who feels like she deserves a better life, who wants more. Now you get to actually BE more, live more. This is a transition. You’re moving out of the old shadows and into the light. This is your moment for change, so embrace it. Live it and keep pushing forward. 

[paradlselost]

Everybody 𝓛oves Somebody

earving x gn!reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ this was supposed to be fluff when i started writing but it sorta turned to hurt/comfort 💀. write an actual happy scene challenge (impossible) for me i guess. anyways this is the first fic I’ve posted on here with no smut so you know i have to make a part two with it 🙏

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ light breaking and entering 🤷 , hurt/comfort , Earving being a bit insecure , DEAN MARTIN ON THE TRACK WOOO , Earving being completely smitten with the reader , also being kinda a dork about old music , literally like 3 lines of dialog , no beta reading we die like Noir . 1.6k words

He doesn’t need to talk for you to understand him; the way desire laps at his every movement like cleansing flames. It’s what drove him here at this hour, to your little apartment in the city. And, if he had a bigger ego, to give you the opportunity to bask in the presence of one of the Seven.

His silence is unnerving in your quiet home. Somewhere in the distance cars go by and horns blare but it is muffled and seemingly unimportant in this room you stand in. There is a monster of a man in front of you, flakes of dried blood still marred the matte black armor that had become a second skin long before you two ever got acquainted.

You are acutely aware of his gaze from behind his soulless mask and every fiber of your being knows that, in this moment, you are his.

It feels strange sitting on his tongue; unable to escape his lips and be formed into words, how long has it been since he craved speech? How long since he had something for him and him only? He doesn’t know if he can answer that question, Vought takes everything sacred and turns it green. But he won’t let that happen, not this time, not with you.

If you weren’t pressed up against the counter by now, you would have been when he took a step forward. Measured and calculated; not too close as to push any boundaries or make you feel trapped, but to allow him to have a better view of you and your entirety. How beautiful you were, you are, to a being like him - who walks the line between monster and man so gracefully you might think he takes pride in it.

His breathing is audible and labored; like an overexcited dog, he pants against the balaclava that covers his lips and nose. A pitiful noise escapes his lips; choked and raw as though he hadn’t attempted to use it in years. He had learned to stop trying, to become the silent and deadly machine Vought had wanted him to be all along. But with you he suddenly found himself feeling inadequate.

Under the roof of your apartment and the stars in the night sky above; he is nothing but Earving, and that may be the scariest thing he’s ever had to face. Being entirely himself, entirely yours.

“It’s late, I didn’t think you would show up.” Your voice is soft as it breaks the quiet atmosphere, a hand gently reaching to caress his face through the thin black fabric. You’d never tire of the way he leaned into your touch.

A soft noise is all you get in response, something between a grumble and a murmur that lets you know how sorry he is to have kept you up so late, to have scared you with his entrance. It is never his intention to make you afraid; his heart simply yearns for the comfort of normalcy in a life with you.

It’s just him; no monster hiding in the shadows or figure at the end of the hall, he buries those for you - forces himself to push aside his machine like conditioning and display his heart and soul for your eyes only. How lucky you are, how lucky he is.

He wishes he would’ve met you sooner; that you could see him without his mask in the back of some room after a Payback meeting. That you could’ve kissed away the bruises left by Soldier Boy or the hot tears that stained his skin after not making his dream audition. What he wouldn’t give to have you then, to be able to whisper sweet nothings in your ear and feel the giddiness of a teenage boy falling in love for the first time.

But he has to be content with the here and now; and while the feelings still drum in the back of his mind and fill his heart he can never be complete again. Never leave Vought to be yours, never take you to his grandmother's ranch upstate, never get married or give you children. He is broken and flawed, pieces of his past self flaked off and buried in time.

And you love him all the same; you look at him and his mask like he was crafted by the gods to answer any prayers you whispered to yourself in the dead of night. He hates it, in a way, because you give him all of you and he knows he can never return that. He knows in sixty years you will be dying and he will only just be feeling the effects of aging.

How cruel is the world that he only thinks these things around you? That when he sees your smiling face and feels the warmth of your touch he is reminded of how fleeting it all is; of how in a second it can be stripped from him like his speech, like half his brain.

You only watch as he steps away for a moment, he shys away once again and leaves you standing there, fingertips lingering with the warmth of his mask. He is careful as he makes his way over to a shelf in your living area, like he’s worried about breaking the floorboards under him or waking up your neighbors with his boots. It’s practiced, you’ve picked up on by now, how he is acutely aware of every sound he makes and how to minimize them.

Though, the quiet doesn’t seem to matter for long. A record is set on its player; Dean Martin’s “Everybody Loves Somebody” crooning through the room. He seems stagnant over it for a moment, fingers grazing the speakers to feel the vibrations that leave it. He’s always been enamored with vinyls but he especially loves yours, loves using the music as an excuse to see you.

For tonight he can bury the insecurities that bubble in his chest and remind him how human he truly is; he can turn and take your hand in his and invite you to dance with him. And God, can he relish in the blush that coats your cheeks as you wrap your arms loosely around the back of his neck. He is lucky, he doesn’t need to remind himself of this fact.

His gloved hands rest on your hips, feeling the sway between the two of you. How he always wished to have someone to think of like the men in older songs sang about. The kind of pining and love one could only feel from someone truly special; he knew it was you, every moment away from your presence only meant you were the first thing on his mind constantly. Meetings, missions, his mind would wander back to his love he would be able to see again.

His heart yearned for nights like these, when your chest was flush with his and you rested your head against his breastplate. You don’t mind the blood that is still caked to him, a contrast between the black and dark silver accents of his armor. An arm moves from draping over his shoulders to tracing lazily around the now deep crimson.

The song was near complete by the time his gloved hand traveled up to grasp your chin gently, to tilt your head up and meet the eyes of his mask. He wants to be complete for you, to give you everything he has even if he’s a broken mess. He wants to show you the scars that mar his skin and let you be privy to the pain he has gone through, to the dull ache on his burns and the milky white of his eye.

He wants to lift his mask and kiss you for the first time; to let you feel his rough lips against your own.

But his prayers aren’t answered, wishes aren’t granted as a sudden knock on your door drives you two apart. It’s late, far too much so for uninvited visitors, you’re tentative as you step over to the door and peer through the hole. A sigh gracing your lips at the sight of your neighbor on the other side.

“Hey, could you turn the music down? It’s late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” Grumbles are the only thing you’re met with as they walk off, back down the hall to their own door. Soft crackles sound through the room now, the song over and leaving you with nothing but the end of the vinyl.

The living room is empty when you return, he’s gone, having taken his leave sometime during your two second conversation with the neighbor down the hall. It’s not a surprise, though it leaves you with an empty feeling in your chest. How close you had been to getting to see the man behind the mask, to feeling his lips against yours. You know he can’t stay, that he won’t jeopardize his job for you. Or, better yet, jeopardize you with his job, but the feeling still isn’t one you like.

The record player is turned off after a moment, leaving you back in the silence you had just left, but this time without him standing in front of you. Maybe he won’t ever show you his face, let you be privy to his life before his silence, but you hold the knowledge that the machine of the Seven will always flock to you like a lamb to its shepherd, walls up and all.

And for now; that is enough.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

How did it end?

Summary: A flashback to the night that changed your lives forever.

Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Rating: T

Warnings: angst (so much angst), flashbacks, some really hurtful words, cursing, crying, pregnancy tests, Joel being a dick, Calvin being the best supportive brother

A/N: somehow I feel in my mind like this should have been worse, but I am sure you all do not feel like that at all so I'm sorry lol

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part three of invisible string

Even before the outbreak you dealt with your anxiety or with big life decisions the same way.

You were stress cleaning. 

After walking out from Joel you made your way into the town centre, picking up your kids and then got back home where your brother Calvin was already trying to cook something but you mutually made the decision that you were gonna cook while he bathed the kids. 

You both did not want him to burn the house down.

He wanted to ask you how it went, having run into Maria on his way home from the Patrol meeting, who had told her that you had been at the clinic to see Joel. 

But this wasn’t the time or the place. 

It ended up being a nice evening all things considered. 

You had dinner, played some boardgames, read a good night stories to your kids and watched them sleep in their little beds until the nervous energy in your body left you walking back downstairs.

Once the house got quiet after the kids and you brother were asleep (he had an early morning with his first big day on Patrol the next day) you were alone with your thoughts. 

And your thoughts were loud, and demanded to be heard. 

So you went into the kitchen, took a look at all the cleaning supplies that were still stocked under the kitchen sink and got to work. 

You started with the top of the kitchen cabinets, standing on the counter as you scrubbed what felt like centuries of dust off of them until you were satisfied and moved to inside the cabinets. 

What a picture it would be if one of your new neighbours caught the crazy lady next door deep cleaning the kitchen at 2 am during the literal apocalypse.

Cleaning usually had the power to make the thoughts inside your head shut up. 

But as you emptied the cabinets so you could clean them inside, your mind drifted to the last time you had tried to deal with whatever was going on in your life by extensively deep cleaning every surface around you. 

The Outbreak might have been an excuse for many people to let things like cleaning the place where they lived become unimportant. 

Which deep down it was of course.

Why have a clean kitchen when just down the street, behind the fences and walls the so called new government had pulled up, there were people and what once were people dying or fighting (or eating) each other?

But you always lived by the mindset of clean home, clean mind. 

And what you desperately needed right now was a clean mind. 

Two ten year old positive pregnancy tests you took this morning after feeling off for the last couple of weeks and missing you period were enough reason to freak out. 

But you couldn’t freak out. 

Joel would do that for you, you were sure. 

That was, if he ever decided to come home to you again after being on a run with Tess for the last four days. 

He hadn’t even told you or kissed you goodbye this time. 

You had woken up to a note on the kitchen table telling you that he’d be gone on a run with Tess and he didn’t know how long.

Something about your husband had changed in the last few months. 

It changed ever since Tommy left and Tess was his only influence outside of you. Not that you had much influence on anything he did nowadays. 

It wasn’t like he was the most attentive men to begin with. 

But you fell for him. 

You fell for the complicated, traumatised and closed off man who to this day was the most handsome man you had ever met. 

And deep down you knew he fell for you, mumbling his confessions of love into your skin when he thought you were asleep. 

It was the way he looked at you. 

The way he brought home a new book to read whenever he went out of the QZ. 

The way he made you forget about the fucked up word outside of the walls you made your home whenever he gave you his full attention. 

He wouldn’t have put a ring on your finger years earlier as you laid in his arms, asking you to be his until the day you both died, if he did not love you, would he?

You loved him, you loved him even when he seemed to make it his personal goal to make you hate him. 

He used to be home every night in the beginning. 

He used to love to spend time with you and you with him. Staying up just talking for hours if he wasn’t making love to you. 

Because even when he was fucking you, it felt different. More… intense. More passionate.  

He used to smile at you. 

By now you couldn’t remember the last time he smiled at you now. 

And by the time you had practically polished the whole shitty apartment you and Joel lived in it was dark outside and he still wasn’t home. 

In hopes he would be home and it would lift his mood you had made dinner that now sat cold on the stove.

It was after 11pm and you were tired, having been in the bathroom brushing your teeth when you heard the door unlock and open. 

A nervous flutter in your stomach made the dinner you had earlier almost come up but you took a deep breath, looking at yourself in the small mirror over the sink. 

You were wearing one of Joel’s old worn flannels, his familiar scent in your nose. 

What was the worst that could happen?

It was not like you could just turn back time?

You were pregnant and he just would have to deal with it. 

Right?

You would never forget the way his eyes hardened once you said the words

„I am pregnant.“

He had been in a relatively good mood when you joined him in the small kitchen, having already taken his shoes and coat off, his hair damp from the rain outside. 

It made you reconsider telling him for a tiny moment, wanting to just enjoy this with him. But maybe he would not react like you thought he would? Maybe he would be happy?

You wanted to ask a million question about how it went but you were too nervous, having instead kissed his cheek with a whispered „I miss you“ and then offered to warm up some food for him. 

He had put his hand on your waist, his fingers brushing over your stomach as he went into the bathroom, his lips against your temple telling you that he would just take a quick shower. 

It was after he ate, the table cleaned that you told him. 

Sitting across from him at the tiny shitty table you had, your hands flat on the surface, the silence after you told him the news sickening.

His whole face had changed, expression hard, by the time he opened his mouth to speak. 

„Is it mine?“ He asked and you just blinked at him, speechless, your head falling back as if he had slapped you, before you answered. 

„What do you mean? Who else would it be? We’re married,“ you said and he scoffed. 

„Doesn’t mean you don’t open your legs for anyone else while I’m gone,“ he sneered and you flinched at the accusation and the tone he used. 

Sucking your bottom lip in you looked at your hands, still on the table, nodding your head slowly. 

„Good to know what you think of me after all these years,“ you whispered, still trying to process his words. 

„What did you think would happen? That I’ll be happy? Newsflash darlin’, this isn’t one of your dumb romance novels you keep reading,“ he said, before he brought his fist down on the table, making you jump. He got up from where he was sitting, walking over to the cabinet that held all the liquor he scavenged, opening the one bottle of original Jack Daniel’s and taking a long sip. 

„You gonna get rid of it,“ he said and you looked at him. 

„Excuse me?“ You asked. 

„Don’t want no kids of mine in this fucked up world. And especially not with you,“ he said and you felt slapped again. One blow after the next coming from him. You crossed your arms in front of your stomach protectively. 

You had imagined his reaction would be bad, but this wasn’t bad. This was destroying you.

„So that’s it, you don’t want a kid, and I have to just comply?“

„That’s exactly how it is, sweetheart,“ he grinned darkly at you, shaking his head and leaning against the wall and you desperately tried to find the tiniest part of the person you had fallen in love with as you looked at him. 

But there was nothing left. 

Maybe you just had been too blind to see it until now.

„I thought you loved me,“ you whispered, tears in your eyes. 

„How can someone love you? You thought because I put a ring on your finger everything would be okay? We’d be a happy little family and live in this shitty apartment in this shitty QZ while the world around us is fucking dying? How did you think this would go?“ He asked. 

„You made it sound like I planned this. Do you think I like this? Do you think I like being pregnant by a man who even though treated me like the fucking dirt beneath his shoes for the last months, was still the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with?“ 

„Then get rid of it and we can get back to it,“ he said and you scoffed.

„You really think things are gonna get back to how they were after you said all that?“ You asked. 

He shrugged. 

„Where would you go? You have no family. No friends. All you have is me,“ he said. 

„And you’re so different? Who do you have? Tommy left because…“

„Do not talk about my brother,“ he threatened and glared at you. 

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. 

He was drunk. 

This was not going anywhere. 

This would never go anywhere.

„Things are not going to go back. I can find someone better than you on every corner,“ he said and you could not stop the sob that shook your body and you were pretty sure you could hear your heart breaking. 

„I don’t love you. I never did,“ he said and the tears you had tried to hold in finally fell. 

„Get rid of this, before I take care of it,“ he said, and a chill ran down your spine at his tone. 

„And then get the fuck out of my life.“

You were in the last touches of finishing cleaning the kitchen when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. 

You hadn’t even noticed the tears until Calvin pulled against his chest, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. 

„You wanna talk about it?“ He asked and you shook your head. 

„Not yet. Not ever if I’m honest,“ you mumbled and he chuckled. 

„Need to talk to him though,“ you said and leaned back, turning around to turn on the stove to heat up some water and make some tea for the both of you. Looking at the clock hanging on the wall you noticed that it was just before 5 am. 

„Don’t need to do anything,“ he said and opened the fridge, getting the lunch he had prepared the day before for his day out and grabbing some stuff to make himself a sandwich. 

„I can’t ignore him forever. As much as I would like to. He’s…. He’s here and he won’t go anywhere. Neither will we. So we have to…. Co-exist somehow.“

You both get to your tasks before you both sat down at the table, you with two mugs of tea, one for him, him with two sandwiches, one which he pushed towards you. 

„You still love him,“ your brother said after a while and you sighed, looking up at him. 

„Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’l ever be able to forgive him for everything that happened,“ you smiled sadly. 

„Well,“ your brother said before he got up and put his plate in the sink.

„Then you should talk to him and tell him that so you can both move on with your lives.“

You followed him towards the front of the house where he put his shoes on and checked if he had everything in his little backpack for this first patrol. 

„What if he wants to be in their lives?“ You asked, nodding upstairs to where both your children were still sleeping. 

„Do you think he wants to? He made himself pretty clear from what you’ve told me,“ Calvin said. 

„I don’t know. It’s been a long time and he seemed…. He seemed really sorry? I just….“ You took a deep breath, shaking your head.

„Nope. I am not gonna spend any more time thinking about Joel Miller. I’m gonna go upstairs and take a two hour nap and then I’m gonna go and explore our new home while my children are learning stuff in an actual school,“ you said. 

„There you go!“ Calvin grinned.

„Be safe today!“ You said, grinning back and hugged him quickly. 

„You too,“ he smiled, before he opened the door, your face falling as you saw Joel stand on the porch, his hand held up in a fist as if he was about to knock. 

„I’m here to pick you up for patrol? Tommy’s gotta stay home today,“ Joel said as he looked between you and your brother. 

„Well that is gonna be fun,“ Calvin said, winking at you, before he stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him, giving Joel no chance to try to say anything more if he wanted to.

You watched them through the window next to the door as they walked down the porch and then down the street until they were out of sight. 

Letting your shoulders fall while you exhaled with a sigh you shook your head before you made your way upstairs. 

This was gonna be a long day. 

[girlwtdragontattoo]

Yandere Masseur - Micolai Introduction

Yandere Masseur x You (gender neutral)

Summary: A masseur you visit often is enthralled with you, planning to take every session one step further.

WARNINGS: 18+, no minors interact!, dubcon, explicit language, explicit sexual thoughts, touching, obsessive, toxic behavior

I chose the name Micolai, sorry lol Laoire is hard for me pronounce

-----

You were a regular. And you were his favorite.

Whenever he saw your name on his list of clients, he couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. It had to mean something, that you came back so frequently.  

You told him it was due to your stressful day to day life. But he knew it wasn’t just that. You must yearn for his touch. The second his skilled fingers met your skin; he felt you shake slightly at the soft impact.

Micolai had many returning customers. He was the best in the parlor. It helped that he was good-looking, too. But it wasn’t just that, his hands were strong and well-trained.

Older customers complimented his complexion, a light tawny tone he didn’t need to try hard to get. A split second in the sun and his skin absorbed it instantly, drinking in every ray. His black hair curled at their tips, the wavy bangs reaching his strong brows and enveloping his dark chocolate eyes. An, older female customer he didn’t care for continuously complimented his steely eyes. They only softened for you.

Micolai had a way of smiling without his eyes. Most customers didn’t notice. They sparkled for the first time when he met you. It started when he answered the phone and heard your sweet voice for the first time. You had asked for a 60-minute session. Micolai immediately put you into his own time table, curious to meet the siren.  When your eyes met in the waiting room, he had trouble speaking. You literally took his breath away. He left the door open a crack while you undressed, peaking in, excited that you would let him touch you. The first time he felt your skin, he noticed a tremble in his own muscles, an extremely unusual occurrence. No one ever managed to unnerve him like that before.

The madam had given him the biggest room in the massage parlor, since he earned her the most profit. He decorated it to his (and your) liking, adorning the wooden shelves with many candles, dim fairy lights and fake plants. He carried his trusty speaker to his new room and set it up near the table, so he could adjust the volume when he saw fit. You loved the sound of the ocean; you were less tense when you heard waves between calming piano notes in the background. He had a beautiful vase that he used for tips, which was always full to the brim. One day he followed you home and noticed you looking at this particular one in a shop mirror. You hadn’t recognized it, yet. Maybe it hadn’t been what you were looking at in the store.

He didn’t accept tips from you, much to your chagrin. You tried every time. He couldn’t muster up the courage to ask for something else as a tip. One day, he would.

He learned that you loved orchids. Every time you visited him, a new bloom appeared in his room, which you complimented furiously. He wanted you to feel comfortable here. An entire relaxation area – just with you in mind.

Micolai crafted his own massage oil, mostly out of necessity due to the parlor’s cheap oil giving him itchy rashes. It had too many harsh ingredients that clashed with his soft skin. He couldn’t risk losing the smoothness that you loved. He had been experimenting with scents for you. He settled on lavender and lemon, two fragrances that made you moan when the scent reached your nostrils. A sound that drove him wild.

While he prepared the room for the next unimportant client, he wrapped his bathrobe tight around his waist. He only left it loose for you, in case you wanted to see more. You never did, but he was hopeful. When he worked on others, he thought of you. Every second of his day revolved around you, when would you come again? How could he take this further?

Seeing your divine naked form before him… it was like God was tempting him every time. He resisted the violent urge to pull the towel away from you, to see you in all your glory before him. To touch you in your intimate space and swirl out all the stress you say befalls you. He could make it all melt away, with two fingers. With one hand.

He already touched you where he shouldn’t, massaging your glutes and taking it in. The first time he dared this move, you jolted up a bit, but his slick voice soothed you quickly: “Shh, it’s alright. You carry a lot of tightness here. I know what I’m doing.”

This time, he would try to brush his lips against your skin while massaging your legs. For a brief taste. If you reacted negatively, he would claim he slipped in the oil. It was all part of the plan.

Each and every time, Micolai became more daring and more pent up. When you left his room, he had to relieve himself. He did it all over the towels you were wrapped in. Smelling your scent that lingered on the ones you laid on; he busted onto the one wrapped around your waist. His room was far in the back, so no one heard his cries of relief.

It was the perfect area to please you. You could be as loud as you want.

Eventually, he will get to experience every part of your form.

And feel all of you.

[batboyblog]

I keep seeing the take of "vote blue no matter who is fascism/leads to fascism" literal days before the election and people going on tirades about how we're licking their boots while they kick our teeth in and I'm just so fucking tired. I just. Am so tired. I also saw someone explicitly mention "they could eviscerate a baby on the stage and you'd still vote for them" and that just SEEMS anti-Semitic. I sincerely hate this so much. I see people also claiming that "withholding your vote is the only political power you have" and I want to scream.

And I'm straight up seeing people say "Oh so republicans will be so much worse? Then we die together" and holy fucking shit these people are awful, straight up the most selfish motherfuckers I've ever seen in my life. They really are just hoping for a "revolution" so they can cosplay as the anarchists they've always wanted to for a few brief moments before they get jailed/straight-up killed. They don't care about the millions, billions of people who's lives are about to get so much worse thanks to this.

I'm sorry for doing such a rant but oh my god. Why are people like this.

where's that tweet about firebombing Wal-Mart and then not?

maybe the greatest tweet of all time.

any ways, I was just out and about in the real world knocking on doors and yeah I was knocking easy turf (every other house was a Democrat pride float of signs and banners) but I can tell you these internet edge lords aren't real, I mean in some cases literally not real being fake people meant to demotivate voters. But even those who are real Americans who really feel that way, they're such a tiny unimportant minority that they're not really real and spoiler most people like that are NEVER voters, they don't vote, ever so like "I'm not gonna vote" you didn't before so you don't really factor in, its like children, how they feel doesn't matter because they can't vote.

The real feeling out there is good, you know, I'm tired, and I'm going out again tomorrow, thats what its really about, they bitch about Democrats and shit but we're out talking to people, organizing, mobilizing, and voting, they want a Revolution, well then here it is you can turn the world if you do the work.

people saying they won't vote for a better world is stupid, and its childish, I think of all the fights we've fought, all the little wins that build up to national victories, we have a chance to keep going forward, to break down more barriers, to right more wrongs to make the American Dream available to more people who never before had a shot, we can be a more perfect union, and we can do great things together. Or we can allow the gift we have been given, guarded by generations in blood and pain in the fields of Gettysburg, Beaches of Normandy, in the dirt of Philadelphia, Mississippi, and in the street in front of the Stonewall Inn to be take away from us, to allow a Government for, by and of the people to vanish from the Earth. Thats the choice, the rest is noise.