#WHY DID YOU DO THAT WALLACE

[cannedchelsea]

sparks

[transexuality]

scott pilgrim takes off was good but i have my issues with it... from eps 1-5 i loved it & its perfect

[mushroompoisoning]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

have finished scott pilgrim takes off!!! i have many thoughts

[kitkatscabinet]

BROTHERS BEST FRIEND

Pairings: Wally West, Roy Harper, Conner Kent, Clark Kent x fem reader. Platonic batfamily x sister reader.

Summary: Your brother finds out you’re dating his best friend. It goes about as well as you’d think.

A/N: Nsfw themes 18+, minors dni

WALLY WEST & DICK GRAYSON

"Can't wait to see you later baby <3"

Dick stares at the text from Wally, a frown on his face as he tries to recall if they'd made any plans. Though baby was definitely an odd new term of endearment from his best friend. After spending a few minutes wracking his mind and deciding he hadn't forgotten any important plans, he replies:

"What are we doing later?"

He sees the dots indicating Wally's typing

"Why would you assume that was for you?!"

Dick's frown deepened, if that wasn't for him, then who was monopolising his friend's time? More importantly, who was he calling baby?

“Who’s it for then? :((" He conveniently gets left on read.

"Wally!"

"WALLACE RUDOLPH WEST!!"

His messages turn green. That annoying little fuck! Did Wally just block him? Oh, this was so far from over.

If Wally thought Dick was going to just let this go then he was sorely mistaken.

Dick was a man on a mission, determined to catch Wally with his new partner. Only, the redhead suddenly seemed to be a master at avoiding him. It was driving him insane, but Dick was a dog with a bone and this was the one thing he was never going to let go.

He's so focused on his hunt for the perp, that he doesn't notice the clues right in front of his face. The way you seemed so amused whenever he whined or ranted to you or the way you reached for your phone to send Wally a heads-up text. Or the second toothbrush in your bathroom or the men's hoodie slung over the back of your desk chair.

You were starting to feel a little bad, and you'd finally convinced Wally to let Dick in on your secret when the beans get accidentally spilled, in the Titans group chat of all things.

You were texting Wally privately, looking away from your phone the exact second you accidentally clicked on the notification taking you to a different chat, not noticing until it was far too late.

TheSexiestBat: I love you, idiot. Even if you leave dirty dishes in the sink like a war criminal <3.

SpeedyGonzalez: and I love YOU even if you steal the blanket every night 😘

WingDing: BLANKET. EVERY. NIGHT?

LeanMeanGreenMachine: They sleep together. They sleep. Together. They’re sleeping. TOGETHER.

That'sSoRaven: It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. Except I live in the car and the driver is texting.

Pwincess: Shall we begin making couple name suggestions now?? WalliBat? BatAlly? SpeedWayne?

SpeedyGonzalez: SpeedWayne kinda goes hard not gonna lie

TheSexiestBat: oh god oh GOD wrong chat WRONG CHATTTTT

WingDing: WALLY.

SpeedyGonzalez: it was gonna be a soft launch 😭

LeanMeanGreenMachine: BRO WE JUST GOT HARD LAUNCHED INTO ORBIT

SpeedyGonzalez: So like are we officially telling everyone now? Should I change my bio to “taken by the most gorgeous woman on the planet?"

WingDing: BLOCKED REPORTED BANNED EXCOMMUNICATED FROM THE GROUP LEAVE THE TITANS AND THE PLANET

TheSexiestBat: I'm erasing myself from the narrative :D

TheSexiestBat has left the chat.

SpeedyGonzalez: in my defense your sister is hot and emotionally stable and laughs at my jokes. She's literally the perfect woman.

WingDing: Count ur days West.

That'sSoRaven: I call dibs on the funeral playlist I’m thinking something upbeat. “Dumb Ways to Die” maybe?

Dick screams so loud his neighbours call the cops, fearing he'd been murdered.

Meanwhile you and Wally decide it might be time to give up texting.

ROY HARPER & JASON TODD

It’s been a long night. He’s tired, cranky and covered in mud and blood. He also might be nursing a concussion. Whatever the case, he was ready to crash and Roy’s place was closer than any of his.

He stumbles through the window with a thud, uncaring of the noise he's making. Roy's always been a heavy sleeper. Still, it's a bit disconcerting when he doesn't come to investigate the noise.

Ok, that was a little concerning; what kind of vigilante slept through a potential break-in?

He's just checking his friend's not bleeding out or dead, is what Jason tells himself as he throws back the covers on Roy's bed. Flicking the lights on with an amused laugh that quickly turns into a horrified scream at the sight of his friend, naked, an arm wrapped around his chest from behind.

"Dude, what the fuck?” You croaked, lifting your face from Roy’s back to blink blearily at whoever had interrupted your sleep. Jason's scream turning into a stream of scandalised expletives at the sight of your face.

"Seriously?! MY SISTER, ROY? MY ACTUAL SISTER?!"

"Jason, I swear to god, you better—" you grumbled, still half asleep as you tried to hide your face against the back of your barely conscious boyfriend.

"I better what? Calm down? Don't you dare tell me to CALM DOWN. My SISTER! MY SISTER and my BEST FRIEND!" He shrieks, tugging at his hair as he paced restlessly. Suddenly, he whirled on Roy, grabbing the man's shoulders. "How could you do this to me?"

"You’re talking like I’m the one who got into her bed. She climbed in here herself, dude." Roy mumbled, still sleep-laden and beyond over the situation already.

"You—YOU—climbed into his bed?!"

"I mean yeah? This is Roy's apartment." You whined, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, ignoring his unintelligible stutters.

"Quit clutching your pearls Jay, we're both adults." The scandalised gasp he lets out, hand clutching his chest is one you'd remember forever.

You finally sit up, making him screech and cover his eyes, blindly trying to throw his jacket at you. "Cover them up, you slut!"

"I dunno, Roy likes when my tits are out. Don't you honey?" You mock, relishing in the way Jason's ears turn bright red behind his hand.

Roy hums in agreement before remembering exactly who was standing before him. Your very overprotective brother, who had some very real guns.

"You know, Jase, you’re acting like I’m a bad influence on your sister, but" he turns to look at you, making you melt a little "—who could resist? She’s a catch, man."

"Did you just flirt with my sister in front of me?!" He takes his hand away from his eyes only to nearly run into the doorframe when he realises you're still naked.

"Jason give it a rest." You snickered, finally pulling on the jacket he'd thrown at you, your brother turning around at the sound of the zipper. "Besides. I've known him for longer than you."

Jason sputtered, arms crossed over his chest in extreme offence. "Well, I know him better!"

You let out a screech of outrage, smacking Roy's chest. "Baby! Tell him he's wrong!"

Roy simply turned and buried his face in his pillow, wondering if it was too late to break up with both of you.

CONNER KENT & TIM DRAKE

It wasn't exactly out of the norm for Tim to call you down to the Batcave, he often did so when he was having trouble with a case. But there was something different about the text he'd sent you. It was short and sharp, with perfect grammar and spelling, and most telling, no emojis. Yeah, something was definitely wrong.

The sight of your very much still secret boyfriend standing behind Tim with his arms crossed is enough for your stomach to sink. Luckily, years of exposure to your family's bullshit had let you perfect the art of the poker face.

"Kon? What are you doing here?" You try to remain calm; Kon visits Tim all the time; they're best friends. Yet you can't shake the sinking suspicion that starts to settle in your gut. Just as your boyfriend's about to answer, Tim swivels in the large chair facing the bat computer like a cliche supervillain.

"Now that we're all here, we can begin."

You almost don't want to ask, "begin what?"

Tim's fingers are interlaced in front of his stone-cold expression as the monitor whirs to life, showcasing a PowerPoint slide titled 'Evidence'.

"Evidence of what?" You sigh.

"Of you two dating."

"Tim," you sigh in exasperation, "you're being ridiculous."

Conner, however, is as convincing in his denial as a little girl with lipstick all over her face, swearing she didn't touch Mum's makeup.

"So we're doing this the hard way. Are you ready?"

"Tim, we really don't need - "

"Yes." You throw an incredulous look Conner's way.

"What?" He shrugs, "Kind of seems like he put a lot of effort into this."

"I did." Tim confirms.

"Oh for fuck's sake, fine, Kon and I are dating." You exclaim, throwing your arms up in exasperation.

"Thank you for your honesty, we can skip ahead a few slides." Tim nods serenely, flicking through an absurd amount of slides until he stops on.

"What this means & the consequences"

“Breakup = emotional devastation = forced to choose = loss of sibling"

“They work out = I have to hear them be gross for eternity???”

“Bruce finds out = He kills Kon = I lose my best friend.

"Hold on, you'd choose Conner over me if we broke up?" You squawk in offence.

"Obviously. No offence, babe, but we are best friends." Conner grins and you turn your mutinous glare on him.

"You're sleeping on the couch for a week." You hiss, watching in satisfaction as his grin evaporates.

"Wait, you're sleeping together?!" Tim shrieks, reaching for a suspicious batarang.

"On second thought I'm on your side!" Conner laughs nervously.

"No offence, babe, but you made your choice." You smile unnervingly widely before turning and leaving him to deal with Tim's meltdown.

CLARK KENT & BRUCE WAYNE

Bruce had given a lot of thought to how he'd die over the years, how couldn't he with the life he led? Of all the possibilities he'd imagined, choking on the tea Alfred had prepared him from the image plastered across his morning newspaper.

The picture. The picture of you. His beloved sister. You and Clark Kent. His best friend. Kissing. That picture.

"Wayne Princess spotted with new beau?" The newspaper he holds in his hands stares up at him mockingly until he accidentally rips the offending paper in half.

Plans for the day-long forgotten, Bruce hunkers down at his computer, obsessively scrolling through gossip columns, collecting information. The headlines were nearly endless: “Wayne Royalty Meets Smallville Simplicity", “Billionaire Bloodline and the Boy Next Door?", He Stole Her From Us! Gotham Mourns as Beloved Socialite Taken Off the Market.”

“BREAKING: Gotham’s IT Girl is Dating… WHO???”

The Wayne Princess: You know her, you love her, women want to be her, everyone wants to be with her — was spotted yesterday cosying up to a mystery man. It turns out, that man is Clark Kent, a journalist at the Daily Planet. Yes, a journalist. With GLASSES. Not a billionaire, not a pop star, not even an actor. Just... Clark. Look, we’re not here to judge true love or whatever, but Gotham is reeling. Our queen, our light, our socialite supreme… has chosen a man who probably thinks khakis and cardigans are acceptable date attire. The internet is in mourning. Group chats are in shambles. Thirst edits are being watched through mournful tears. Meanwhile, Clark Kent? Unbothered. Thriving. Possibly winning the “man most likely to be assassinated by bitter Gothamites" award.

All the while, he's sending countless texts and voicemails to his currently wayward sister. You'd always answered him immediately, even when you were busy; yeah he smelled a conspiracy.

Guess it was time to pull out the big guns, his kids, you never could ignore them. He calls Tim and Damian into his office, trying not to feel a little unnerved when the oldest announces that you're in Metropolis with no prompting.

"I figured you'd seen the news." The teen shrugged, answering the silent question in Bruce's eyes.

"What news?" Damian scowls, looking between his father and brother in suspicion. The kid was a Wayne alright.

"Auntie's dating Superman." Tim yawns.

"Father, I require some Kryptonite... for completely unrelated reasons," Damian says so unconvincingly that any other day Bruce might have been amused. Now though, he considered it for a few seconds.

"Ooookay, I'm going to take this one to school now." Tim chuckles awkwardly, grabbing Damian by the shoulders and hauling him out of Bruce's office before the two could plan to murder one of the greatest heroes on Earth.

(Though not before he drops your exact location for his adoptive father, he wasn't that magnanimous.)

Bruce strikes when you're in the shower, waiting until he hears the water start to run before he steps out of the shadows.

"What are your intentions with my sister?"

"Jesus Christ! Bruce!" Clark practically screamed, pulling the sheets up to cover his chest like a blushing maiden.

"Answer the question, Clark." He reiterates.

"Bruce, seriously," Clark tries to placate, only to pause at the deadly look on his friend's face. "I love her."

The earnest sincerity in Clark's gaze knocks the wind right out of his sails.

"Listen to me, Bruce, I love her, I'd protect her with my life. You have to know that." The dopey, lovesick grin that grows on his face is disgustingly sweet. "I'd marry her if she let me."

"Really?" Your breathless voice cuts in. Bruce's eyes narrowed; you tended to take long showers; there was no way you'd finished already. Unless, you intended to set him up.

Unwilling to stay and witness the inevitable sap fest, Bruce turns to you for confirmation.

"Is he good to you?" You nod and something in him softens just a little. "Then I trust you. Both of you." He pauses, barriers going back up when he notices the way you relax into Clark's welcoming embrace. "But if he breaks your heart, I will break his kneecaps"

[jadegrey711]

Wally Clark x Reader Drabble

Just a quick little drabble about Wally and reader trying out some thigh riding. Really more banter than smut, but enjoy!

*NOT MY GIF*

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting​ to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711) 

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake. 

"I really don't understand why you wore shorts on top of the grey sweatpants?" you teased as you sat in Wally's lap. "I mean you died after the movie Rocky came out and he was just rocking the grey sweatpants."

"It was the style!" Wally groaned.

"This is why the 90s were WAY better than the 80s."

"Excuse me?" Wally gasped. "The Goonies? Stand by Me? E. freaking T! Not to mention Dirty Dancing, which I know you love. So don't even try." He acused pointing a finger at you. "As well as MTV. The 80s were the shit."

"The 80s had great movies no doubt but fashion please! The 80s will forever be the spandex era, and you my wonderful Wally, are a victim of that." You said making your point, and trying to get up from Wally's lap.

"You think I'm a fashion victim?" Wally gaped, and pulled you back down to where you were stradling his thigh, the heat of his strong thighs radiating through the grey sweatpants he always wore. "Please I might have been dead but I watched everyone go through the 2010s, all that galaxy print still makes me shudder." He made an exasperated shivering motion which made you laugh as he wrapped his arms back around your torso.

"I never said that the 2010s fashion wasn't shit either. I think that galaxy print and spandex go hand in hand with the fashion victim department."

"Oh you're going to pay for that comment, baby. I ain't nobody's fashion victim." The grip on your waist tightened just a fraction.

"Oh yeah? And whatcha gonna do...Wallace?" You sassed staring those dark brown eyes down. And watched as they flicked down to your precarious position, straddling his thigh.

"Hmmm. Let's see what this will do." He said as he grabbed the hem of your jeans, and brought you forward on his thigh. You let out a small gasp, as the seam of your jeans hit just right on your clit as he brought you up his thigh.

"Wally!" You gasped.

"Did it feel good baby?"

"That's not the point." You said softly still trying to sound stern. "People will hear us." Wally leaned in close for a kiss.

"I promise I'll keep you quiet." He smirked, then pulled you back down his leg and back up again. You let out a reluctant moan and Wally was quick to cover your mouth with his, hushing your moans.

"Wally." You tried again, but he was having fun now and there's no stopping Wally not until he's made you cream your pants.

"You're so sensitive baby. We're going to have to do this more in the future." He growled, as he brought you back down and up again. "Do you think I could make you cum like this? It's going to be fun trying." He chuckled, kissing you again and deepening it this time, his tongue invading your mouth, eating the small moans he pulled from you.

"Maybe next time, I'll do this when you've only got your panties on, see how fast this fashion victim can make you cum, huh?"

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped, you and the heat that the thought of you two doing this again brought to your core.

[xavistarlight]

Love bites ‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

“pips I really don’t understand why they need to be covered up” Caleb says in a slightly whiny tone with a beauty blender in his hand dabbing at the hickeys he left on your neck.

“ nope we’re not having this discussion again, you know why bubs, you really think the association is gonna take me seriously with a bunch of bruises on my neck” you say sternly looking him in his puppy dog violet eyes

“ butttt there not bruises there love bites, they’ll know you have someone at home who loves you dearly ” his eyes lighting up

“ they’ll know I have someone who blew my back out last night” you reply blankly

“EVEN BETTER!” Caleb sticks his finger up excitedly

“okay im all done honey, your ready to go” he kisses the back of your neck

“thank you baby, you really didn’t have to I could’ve done it myself” you lean into his kiss.

But little did you know he’d specifically requested to do the cover up job so he could leave the hickey on the back of your neck visible, from where he had you bent over the counter relentlessly giving you backshots the night before.

Taglist 🏷️ : @calistaxoxo24 @mariojins @nezuswritingdesk @swaggyv1v1

@ashsillyrants @wintereve3 @deejse @lucidreamsea @monsochhichi @sxkura-blxssxm @princessofenkanomiya @yeompei @lady-wallace @weepingangel2222 @eolivy @inspiredfairy @wordsgodeep

[l1tw1ck]

I wanna be Wallace’s sugar daddy 😋

bottom!ftm Wallace x top!amab reader

god me too

cw: sugar daddy/baby, daddy kink, creampie

After a year of dating, Wallace finally agreed to move in with you and he absolutely did not regret his decision. Aside from the fact that your house is both Huge and gorgeously decorated, he's been nothing short of pampered since moving in. It's a ginormous step up from the shitty apartment he shared with Scott. His closet is bigger than the living room and it's filled with designer clothing. He gets to live in luxury thanks to you and the only thing he has to do in return is have sex with you and that's not a difficult task at all for Wallace.

You gently drop all the shopping bags to the ground and turn to Wallace. He already knows what you're looking for and hurries over to you. He kneels down in front of you and quickly frees your length from your pants. "Thanks, Daddy." He kisses your tip before dragging his tongue seductively along your shaft, smiling as he does so. He likes teasing you and seeing your reactions.

"Don't tease me, not today, baby." You grip his hair. "I don't have the patience." Wallace looked too sexy today, his tight jeans were driving you crazy. You can't wait to take them off.

He licks his lips. "Then why don't we skip to the good part."

Wallace loses all his confidence and focuses entirely on his pleasure as you ram into him from behind, groping and slapping his ass. He knew he did the right thing by wearing those jeans. His pussy's just as tight. It's hard to fuck him with the way he keeps trying to suck you in. You reach over to his t-dick and he almost collapses from the pleasure. All he can do is moan and drool. "fu- fuck- fuckfuck-" He rolls his eyes back as he squirts on the bed, adding to the copious amounts of slick. You know he doesn't want you to stop so you don't, you fuck him even harder instead. He likes to be fucked until he passes out and you're always happy to oblige.

He always looks so pretty when he's sound asleep with cum dripping out of his cunt.

[pokemonblack3white3]

Ranking evil team leaders by how well they would wear the champion of their region's outfit

17. Piers > Leon: lmao could you fucking imagine

16. Giovanni > Blue: the only thing Giovanni should ever wear is a plain black suit he looks like a clown in anything else. Pokemas has proved this.

15. Ghetsis > Alder: this was almost higher but the sandals did it in for me. Everything else was passable until I realized we could see his ankles

14. Rose > Leon: there's literally only one man in the world who can pull off that fit. That's why he's Galar number one babyyy

13. Lusamine > Hau: faces a similar problem as Giovanni where it's very difficult to try and put her in anything that isn't her original outfit. This especially is way too casual for her.

12. Archer > Lance: needs a personality or at least three more pseudo legendaries before he has the right to even think about donning that cape

11. Penny > Geeta: Penny isn't quite cool enough yet to pull this off but I believe in her wholeheartedly that she can grow into it

10. Guzma > Hau: a little silly but fine

9. Maxie > Wallace: I respect a man who wants to show off but that would require having literally anything to show off

8. Lusamine > Kukui: she DOES actually have something to show off but you only get so many points for tits out

7. Guzma > Kukui: another solid "fine" for Guzma. Doesn't look as stupid as lusamine would he just has nothing going besides that for this look

6. Colress > Iris: colress doesn't have enough weird girl whimsy to fully pull this off but of all of the evil team leaders he comes the closest to it so I have to give him points for that

5. Maxie > Steven: this is just a suit for a guy who already dresses pretty formally. It looks fine but where's the sauce

4. Archie > Steven: now THERE'S a man I want to see in a suit

3. Lysandre > Diantha: if pokemon was braver these two would have swapped outfits from the get-go. And XY would have made 3 billion trillion dollars.

2. Archie > Wallace: he would wear it better than Wallace actually.

1.Cyrus > Cynthia: as per usual Cynthia CANNOT be topped in any way shape or form. Cyrus would kill this look. He's one of the chosen few with the necessary stone cold confidence to do it justice.

[gatorbites-imagines]

PLEASEE todd ingram x male reader just fluff & comfort helping him get over wallace that leads to hardcore makeout sesh ???

Todd Ingram x male reader

Headcanons

Tried to stick close to the request, but this also took a life of its own hehe. Hope you enjoy.

You were the guitarist of The Clash At Demonhead. Youd been friends with Todd for years and held a candle for him just as long, but you had accepted you’d never get him to be yours, with him being with Envy, and Ramona for that time.

You had never dreamed of him being into guys, so you tried to live your life with that Todd shaped hole in your heart. You became kinda the Cool gay guitarist in the band, which was probably why you clashed with Wallace Wells so much the first time you met him.

Kinda like putting two male hamsters together who are used to being the only one of their kind. You guys weren’t the same obviously, but there was something about it.

Maybe it was the fact that you showed zero attraction to Wallace, or that you weren’t someone who liked to gossip like he seemed to do. But when he started “running lines” with Todd, you became suspicious.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what they had been doing, only a man who got laid, and laid good, strutted around like Wallace Wells. You could even see how Todd was spiraling dealing with his sexuality.

But you were also friends with Envy, so you didn’t wanna spill the beans and instead acted like you had no idea what was going on. You never claimed to be a good person. So as the others were bust acting, you just sit in the back writing songs or tuning your guitar.

You tried not to let it break your heart when Todd pretty much confessed to Wallace in front of everyone. It made part of you feel worse somehow, like you weren’t enough. What did Wells have that you didn’t?

Was it his looks? His personality? His… everything? Maybe you were just the problem, and Todd had always liked guys somewhere inside him, but you just weren’t what he wanted.

There was no time for self-pity though, as everything fell apart, Envy left to become a solo act, and Todd was spiraling worse than you’d ever seen him. So, as his friend, it was your duty to pull up the bootstraps and drag him out of that funk.

He spends a lot of time crying about Wallace, and you guessed you could get it, the first time a boyfriend broke up with you, you had been pretty broken about it too. But you didn’t think Wells was all worth it, but maybe that was because you were still annoyed that he was apparently Todds gay awakening and not you.

It takes some time and a lot of bad romcom movies to get Todd in a better headspace, where he starts eating right again and taking care of himself. But as time passes, he seems to be doing better, thankfully. And even better, he stops talking about Wallace.

After the band falls apart, you guys become roommates, as you still make money off your music you did together. You start making solo music, but at some point, when Todd starts feeling better, he joins you.

Its making music that seems to get him out of that funk more than anything, and maybe its also spending time with you.

After everything, Todd starts to see sparks whenever he looks at you, or feel his entire body buzz when you touch him, or when you guys are sitting on your guys small couch and your legs are touching.

Todd doesn’t even realize he stops thinking about Wallace Wells after a while as you distract him by keeping him busy, be it through working out, music, watching movies, or anything else you can think of.

There is a time you guys even pass Wells and his group of friends, and Todd doesn’t even feel the misery he had felt last time. Even when his eyes meet Wallace’s he feels nothing, because you are grinning beside him, digging through a box of CDs looking like you had found gold.

Todd starts noticing things about you. Like how you are smiling so much more now that the band is over, or the way you are always playing with the strap of your guitar, or how you are always dotting down song ideas on any scrap of paper or tissue you can find.

He knows he’s hooked when one day when you guys are at the second cup, you start looking around for something to write on and Todd offers you his arm, because why not. And you just grin and start writing down lyrics on his arm, and Todd feels his entire face go red and his heart starts racing.

You still believe he likes Wallace, because the human mind just works like that. So, when you one day find him sitting on the couch with his face in his hands, you assume its because of his unreturned crush.

You go about it like you always do, finding vegan snacks and putting on a movie, and plotting down on the couch, pulling Todd on top of you so you can “bro cuddle”

Todd of course goes bright red as you hold him, completely speechless and with no idea what to do with himself. But he knows how it went last time he tried to confess, so he starts spiraling again in fear of rejection.

Its not hard to sense he’s spiraling again, so you grab him to look him in the eyes to ask what is wrong. And Todd, deciding to bite the bullet, kisses you. You freeze up, eyes wide as his hands grip the sides of your jaw, kissing you like his life depends on it.

Grabbing his face, you push him back to really look at him, look at his almost glowing red face, and swear you even catch sparks of his vegan superpowers run across his face and arms.

“I’m… I’m not a rebound of something Todd” you force out, not wanting to let the hope bloom in your chest, the rejection you’d felt in the past still stinging. Hes quick to try and stutter out that, that’s not what he wants or means, but he’s horrible at it. Its only thanks to your many years as his friend that you know what he means. You swear your heart starts doing backflips.

Before either of you can think about it too much, you pull him back into the kiss, hands gripping the back of his neck as Todds fingers wound through your hair, hanging on like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Hes unsurprisingly pliable, letting his lips split open when you tongue at them, letting you control the kiss as you please, tiny huffs and whimpers leaving him as you stroke the top of his mouth with your tongue.

Hes sensitive, and though he has a lot of experience with kissing from his exes, Todd still seems timid with you, like he doesn’t know what you personally enjoy and he wants to please you.

You have no idea how long you guys kiss, for you there’s years of pent up feelings, and for Todd there’s very strong feelings he still cant seem to fully comprehend the vastness of. Theres so many sparks as your lips are locked, spit running down chins and soft noises leaving you both as tongues rub together and across teeth as you try to explore the others mouth as much as possible.

When the kiss finally disconnects and you pull back, it’s impossible not to cackle at him. Todds pupils are blown huge, his face even redder than before, and you fear he’s gonna get a nosebleed from all the blood rushing to his head.

Todds hair is sticking up in every which direction, almost looking like the spikey style it takes on when he’s using his vegan powers. His lips move like he wants to say something, but no words form, only making you laugh more.

Instead you just pull him closer, letting him hide his red face in your neck as you rub his back, giving him all the time he needs to collect himself, but now he’s yours, and you are never gonna let him go as long as he wants you around.

[kandyscorner]

Do I Know You? Part 29

Synopsis: You chat with Wally and Darla. Jason comes back.

Additional Note: I had a family reunion at the beginning half of this week, so I did not have as much time to write(I’m still behind). This chapters a little shorter and it’s made of a few different scenes rather than one continuous. I mentioned to some people that while I am adding some backstory for now it will be kind of vague. For now enjoy!!

Masterlist

Wally had been, unsurprisingly, not helpful. You didn’t share what you knew, that Dick Grayson was Nightwing, or what you assumed you knew. You did ask him if you had a strong theory about a hero’s identity and they were a friend of a friend, should you confront them about?

He was sketchy about it and battered you about which hero in Gotham you knew the secret identity of.

“Why does it matter?” you had questioned.

“It would change whether or not you should confront them or not.” He sounded like he was lying, like he just wanted to know what you knew.

“Let’s hypothetically say it was Red Hood,” you said because that had been what was on your mind for some reason.

“If its Red Hood, you should leave it alone. He hasn’t always been a hero you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” especially recently. People were really up in arms over his sudden aggression, “what about the others?”

“I would just leave it alone, kiddo. You could be entirely wrong and that would just be embarrassing for you,” his snicker echoed across the phone, “or maybe you should do it just make sure there’s a recording so I can see your face when your inevitable wrong.”

“You’re totally lame, Wallace. I was right about you and Barry.”

“That’s only because you were totally infatuated with me, my little shadow.” He teased and you rolled your eyes.

“I was 12. Can’t you let it go already?”

“Never.”

Before he could continue to tease you, you ask him about Linda, about the kids, Iris and Barry and everything about Central City and Keystone you may have missed since you last talked to him nearly a year ago. It was the longest you had talked to him since the accident, and you realized how much you missed Wally.

Eventually duties called. He promised he’d come and visit you in Gotham if you promised you’d be home for Christmas. He mentioned having some other friends he could visit while he was there too. It was only after you hung up that you realized he probably knew all of the bats and if you told him what you knew he probably could’ve confirmed it.

****

A week later, you started to get antsy. You hadn’t realized what a constant Jason was in your life until he wasn’t there. You were starting to feel like you did something wrong too. At first you thought you could just fill your time with work and hanging out with Cass and Steph but that quickly went down the drain.

Every time you called or texted them to see if they wanted to hang out, they were always busy with something. They wouldn’t be free until you were at work again. You couldn’t understand what you had done.

You assumed it was when you were drunk. You still couldn’t remember anything, and it bothered you because it seemed to have chased everyone away.

Beyond that you were worried. Weeks prior you had told Darla that your apartment was safe from Penguin and his men because Jason was there almost all the time.

Now he wasn’t. It made you jumpy, even at work. Enough so for Darla to notice. It was a slow morning when she asked you about it.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked flatly, and you jumped at the suddenness of her voice having thought she was in the restroom. You nearly drop the drink you were refilling.

“Nothing’s wrongs,” you reply setting the cup down trying to stabilize the shake in your hand.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days, and you’ve been walking home alone all week. Did you and your boyfriend get into a fight?” she was right, you hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep since Jason left, plagued by nightmares and the sudden what if’s of being a woman living alone haunted you.

“He’s not- I don’t know,” you feel weepy suddenly, no doubt from the lack of sleep.

“Hey, hey. What happened, baby doll?” she curls an arm around your shoulder as you bury your face in your hands.

“I don’t know,” Your voice cracks, “I can’t remember.”

She draws you into a hug and you bury your face into her shoulder and cry.

Jason left you alone and evidently nobody in his family wanted to be around you. You didn’t know why but you can only assume it has something to do with the brunch. Something you’d said or done. You just wish they would tell you.

“What do you mean you can’t remember?” she asks as she rubs at your back.

“I was drunk.”

Her hand pauses, “but I thought you didn’t drink, not after happened to your sister, right?” she asks slowly, pulling back from the hug slightly. You nod and wipe at the tears on your cheeks.

“I didn’t know mimosas had alcohol in them.” You admit to her. Her face hardens slightly.

“This was at the Wayne brunch thing, wasn’t it? I knew those rich people were no good. You only do that much good for Gotham if you feel guilty about something. You should stay far away from them, do you-“

“Darla, it was an accident. They didn’t know and I should’ve paid more attention to what I was drinking.” You cut her off because you were not in the mood to listen to Darla’s politics.

“Sorry, sweet thing.” A guilty look flashes across her features, “alright so blackout drunk and your boyfriend, what, ditched you?”

“He said he had to go out of town for work and I just, I feel so alone, Darla.” You sigh and scrub your face with your hands again. She tugs at your wrist and makes you look at her.

“You’re not alone. Listen, you can come home with me today if you want. I’m watching Claire tonight. She’s started babbling. You could hold her and try to translate her nonsense for me.” You laugh wetly at her offer. You suck in a breath to calm yourself down. The offer sounded nice, but you just want to sleep as much as you can before your mind tries to terrorize you instead.

“That sounds lovely,” you tell her.

“But your just tired,” she finishes your sentence for you. You nod and she pulls you in for another hug, “Okay but the minute you feel something is wrong, you call me. I’ll load up the little girl in the car and we’ll come and get you together. Understand?”

You hug Darla back, a sudden ache for physical affection thrumming through your veins. It made you think of Jason, and you tried to stamp it down.

“Thank you, Darla. Really.” You pull back and wipe your cheeks a final time.

“No need, baby doll. I gotta take care of the only sweet girl I work with,” she rubs at your shoulder, “and you should take care of Jonny Bravo over there. He looks like he’s gonna have a stroke if he doesn’t get his refill.”

You laugh at her words and get back to work and make the refill. You feel a tad lighter. You still miss Jason and still worry. But now you knew you had someone in your corner.

****

Darla drove you home that night. She didn’t want you to walk home if your knight in shining armor wasn’t going to be there at the drop of a hat. It was sweet of her and made you feel less lonely.

Once you had made it to your apartment, you collapsed on your couch. You were exhausted. Your apartment was a mess, and you needed to shower. You pulled out your phone instead. You hadn’t talked to Jason since he left. No texting, no calls. You had hoped that it was all in your head, that he would reach out to you after his workday at some point. But you still had no notifications from him.

You opened up your messages with him. Mostly nonsense. You sent stuff to each other so you would remember. Movies you wanted to watch with him, the book he wanted to rant to you about, a motorcycle on the street that made you think of him. It was hardly a coherent conversation. You start typing.

Hope work is okay. I miss you.

Was that too much? Too needy? You weren’t dating but you had become accustomed to seeing each other nearly every day. Surely that meant something to him. At least you hoped.

There was no use in stressing over it, especially if he was going to ignore you. It was a simple statement. You hit send and set your phone down. You sent it, now you need to forget about it. That shower suddenly sounded really good.

You took a long warm shower, trying to drown at your thoughts but also trying to grasp the fragments of your mind from the brunch. It had been a week, and you still weren’t close to gathering what happened.

After your shower, you didn’t even eat dinner, just crashed into your bed. The sun was still up but the trickling light made it easier to fall asleep, no darkness for make believe monsters to hide in.

****

It was the middle of the night again. You weren’t entirely shocked that you were awake, but you were surprised that it wasn’t a nightmare what woke you. You didn’t know what woke you up. You lay there with your eyes closed, trying to will yourself back to sleep.

A moment later you hear what woke you up. A knock that you can just barely hear in your bedroom. You finally open your eyes to check what time it was. 2:48 am. You slept a lot longer than you thought you would have. You hear the knocking again and finally bring yourself to stand up.

You had taken to leaving the taser Jason had gifted you on the nightstand while you slept for some peace of mind, that and the locket around your neck. You grab the taser and hold the locket in your other hand. You poke your head out of your bedroom and listen. There is another knock, a little bit louder this time and you urge yourself to move out into the living room.

The knocks come from your front door, and you think maybe you should relax. If someone was trying to hurt you, wouldn’t they have broken in? You don’t relax though. It could be a trap. You look through the peep hole and spot black hair. The person moves and you find the green eyes you have been missing so much.

You rush to set the taser on the kitchen counter and unlock the door. You open it wide and stare at him, suddenly and oddly unsure of yourself. He looks as exhausted as you feel and he was hurt, a cut along his temple held together with butterfly band aids, his lip split.

“Jason?” you ask in concern cause you’ve never seen him beat up. You knew he was hurt sometimes. Watched him wince when he did things that wouldn’t have hurt him prior. But every adult has their random aches and pains. His face was different.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he tries to grin at you, but it comes out as more of a grimace, like it hurt to smile, “heard you might be missing me?”

You flush at his words but mostly your heart warms. It was the middle of the night and Jason had been working somewhere else and saw that you missed him and came home. He couldn’t have been that upset with you then.

You take a step forward and he meets you halfway, dragging you into a hug that makes you exhale in relief. The tension in your body mellows when you feel him relaxing against you too. You take a step back and he follows, never breaking the hug. You manage to get the door shut and locked with Jason like a koala attached to you. You wonder if he missed you more than you missed him.

Door locked, your hands creep up to his neck and in the hair at the nap of his neck. You stroke your thumb lovingly under his ear. You try to pull back enough to see his face, but he just buries his face into your neck instead, like he needed to be as close as possible.

“Can we go to bed?” you ask softly, petting gently at his neck. He scoops you up, an arm under your knees and back. Your arms reflexively tighten around his neck, startled by the movement. He carries you quietly to your bedroom and you finally have a chance to look closer at his face. You let your hand trace from the cut on his temple to his cheek. He watches you from the corner of his eye.

He gently sets you down on the bed and presses a kiss on your forehead. He finally meets your eye and your heart jumps to your throat with the way he’s looking at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He tells you and presses another kiss to your cheek, “Far more than I probably should.” He murmurs against your skin, and you don’t know how to respond. The suddenness of Jason’s presence after nothing for a week was giving a shock to your system. It didn’t matter though. His affection was like a balm on cracked skin.

He scoots you across the bed to your designated spot and moves to climb in. You stop him with a hand on his arm and for the first time since he’s arrived at your door, he seems hesitant. He edges back off the bed like he’s done something wrong. Your hand on his arm turns from a press to a grip, willing him to not run away.

“You should change your clothes. Want you to be comfortable, Jay.” you explain quietly, and his shoulders relax. Once again you can’t help but wonder what’s happened. With Jason here maybe you can get some answers for the gaps your memory.

You lay down on your side when he moves for the dresser. You watch him in the dark lighting of the room, barely making out the form of him as your eyes adjust. As he pulls his shirt from his body, you think you see a dark bruise along his rib. It makes you want to worry but he pulls a new shirt on before you can decide whether or not it was a trick of the eye.

It doesn’t take long for him to be completely changed. He comes to stand at the edge of the bed, and you can feel him staring down at you. You open your arms wide.

“Well come here, I need my cuddles.” You whisper to him despite being the only two people in the room. He settles on top of you then, head to your chest and your hands slide through his hair as he curls his arms under you.

It’s quiet and dark. The way you had been this past week it would have had every nerve stuck in overdrive. But with the weight of Jason, the feel of his hands pressed against you, your nerves practically lose all their sense aside from his touch. You’re nearly asleep, mind drifting between the line of conscious and unconscious, when you feel a wetness seeping into your shirt where Jason lays.

It wakes you back up. Jason wasn’t one to drool and if he did it was usually light, definitely not enough for you to feel it through your shirt. You move one of your hands to press into his back. Jason takes a stuttered breath then you hear sniffling. Your entire body freezes.

Jason was crying, albeit quietly. It throws a shock through your body. You’d never seen Jason cry. He’d seen you time and time again but he’d never broken down like this. You didn’t know what to do because you didn’t know why he was crying.

“Jason?” you say his name quietly and slide your other hand in his hair to his cheek, gently cradling it and wiping at the wetness under his eye with your thumb. You feel the flutter of his lashes against the tip of your finger. He makes a gargled noise, and you think he’s trying to clear his throat.

“It’s nothing sweetheart,” he murmurs sounding just a little broken and it makes your heart ache. You tip your head slightly and kiss at the crown of his head.

“You can talk to me, Jay,” you mumble against his hair, “please.”

He holds you tighter, his breath evening out, “later,” he presses a kiss to your sternum where he lays, and it makes your heart jump. You beat yourself up for the feeling when Jason’s being vulnerable, “I’m tired, baby. Just want to sleep here with you.”

He settles back down but your mind hypes up at the three second interaction. Jason hadn’t called you ‘baby’ since the willow tree. It made you feel a lot of things that you would keep deep in your mind. The way he said it, the way he kissed at your chest…

Had you told Jason you liked him? Was that why he had run away? Because you pushed your feelings onto him in a drunken state?

He came back; a quiet voice tells you. If you had told him that you liked him a lot more than a friend, he left you and came back. He was here and he was holding you.

You wouldn’t ask what happened then. You were content with this, with Jason choosing to come back to you. If he wanted to talk to you about it, that worked too. You would want to know what his thoughts on the matter were, but you wouldn’t pry. You’d let him bring his feelings to you.

Additional note: Denial and avoidance are terrible and definitely not how you should live in a relationship. That will not stop these two though. The next chapter is chapter 30!!! That’s so crazy! Considering this was supposed to be a one and done short blurb. I’m so grateful to everyone that reads and comments. I think I might want to do something special but I’m not totally sure what. If you have any ideas let me know! <3<3

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant, @alma-ru3, @13fresh, @anuttellaa, @nekotaetae, @redsakura101, @sleepy-head1, @aejabba, @asteria33, @princessbl0ss0m, @sinnamon-bunn

[deadbeatbirdmom]

One of the themes in RWBY is about the current generation being failed by the previous one. We see it a lot with the mess that is the Xiao Long-Rose-Branwen family.

Every single member of Team STRQ failed Yang and Ruby, to a greater and/or lesser extent.

(read more cut because this gets long, although I make no promises that I'll cover everything, and please forgive any typos, I'm very tired)

Raven abandoned her daughter and her husband (yes, husband, according to 'The World of RWBY' book by Daniel Wallace, written with input from CRWBY), and the rest of her team. Yang wasn't old enough to remember her, and may well have still been a baby at the time. The reason why seems to have been for Raven to take the leadership of the Branwen tribe of bandits, although I think it was more complicated than that, which would fit with Raven being such a complicated woman.

Summer. Yang's super-mom. The mother who stepped up. I deeply respect that. She had the best of intentions when she left on that super secret mission with Raven, presumably to confront Salem. To protect her family, and hopefully so she'd never need to leave them again. Unfortunately good intentions pave the road to hell, and she ended up never going home to her girls. That truly tore the family apart, and it never really recovered. Yang's abandonment issues aren't only from Raven leaving, and a lot of Ruby's issues come from trying to live up to the memory of Summer while being held to impossible standards.

Tai didn't react well to the loss of Summer. To quote Yang: he shut down. Yang had to pick up the pieces and keep things together. Alone. Because Tai was always busy with school, and Ruby couldn't talk yet. It's striking that Yang refers to her dad by name in Alone Together when talking to Weiss about it. Most kids don't do that when referring to their parents. Your mileage may vary about what that means, but to me it sounds a lot like resentment. Don't get me wrong, Yang loves her dad. But it's entirely possible to feel both love and resentment.

I do empathise with Tai. I'm all too familiar with grief and loss and depression. I'm sure he did his best, and as far as we know he did keep his kids fed and clothed, and gave them treats from time to time like the boba tea mentioned in the RWBY Beyond episode. But the fact remains that Yang ended up doing more to raise Ruby than she ever should have or would have if at least one of her mothers had stayed. Yang had no reason to lie to Weiss about that.

And Tai definitely failed his daughters. Even without anything else, there's the incident when Yang and Ruby were left alone when clearly too young to be unattended, and Yang went in search of Raven, with Ruby pulled in a wagon. That they weren't devoured by Grimm is thanks to Qrow, and possibly Raven for getting Qrow there, because I don't know how else he found them in time besides good luck for once (or very bad luck for the Grimm).

Does that mean Raven might have given Yang more than one save, or wriggled out of her rule about that by getting Qrow to do the saving? Does she secretly have a bond with Ruby, and that was Ruby's save? Whatever the case, Raven failed them too, because Yang wouldn't have been looking for her if she hadn't needed a mother, and Raven was well aware she no longer had one.

I do think it quite likely that by this point Raven had become the Spring Maiden, so might not have felt able to return even if she wanted to - it would have risked endangering the girls if someone learned Raven was a Maiden and tried to take the power for themselves.

Did that near disaster give Tai a wake up call? Did Yang only raise Ruby until then? We don't know for sure, but as someone raised by a single mother for a while, I can tell you that single parents can't work and raise children without help. There doesn't seem to be any extended family around to have done so, probably all killed by Grimm in the dangerous world that is Remnant... Plus there's Ruby's words to Yang when they're reunited in Volume 9: "If you thought we wouldn’t come for you, then you must’ve forgotten who raised me." I really don't think Ruby is referring to Tai there. Especially with referring to just herself and not both Yang and herself with 'who raised me.'

Childcare exists in Remnant, at least in Argus (there's a mention of needing to collect Jaune's nephew from childcare in Volume 6). I can't imagine it's unheard of in Patch. Yet Tai doesn't seem to have used it. To be clear, if any of the rest of Team STRQ had been left as a single parent they'd have needed help with childcare too, you can't both work and raise children at the same time. That goes for Summer too, even super-mom would need help. Maybe Tai's teaching job didn't pay well enough for him to afford it. Maybe he feared reaching out for help would mean losing his daughters, and I have no doubt that he loves them, and not just because they're all he has left of their mothers.

The way Tai talks to Yang during her training session in Volume 4 does make me wonder if he associates her far too closely with Raven, because while there are similarities Yang is very much her own person and also influenced by Summer far more than by Raven. We don't see him interact much with Ruby, but I wouldn't be surprised if he similarly associates her too much with Summer.

It doesn't help that Yang and Ruby so closely resemble their mothers - and they do, despite Yang's hair and eyes being different to Raven's, apart from when her eyes turn red. That must've given Tai quite a shock the first time it happened... Anyway, my point is that Raven is like a dark reflection of Yang. Or Yang a bright reflection of Raven, I'm not sure which. The physical resemblance of mothers and daughters can't have helped Tai with constant reminders of them, especially as they grew older and the resemblance more striking.

Qrow... I'm sure Drunkle Qrow did his best to help out, but at the time his mindset on his Semblance would have limited him to fleeting visits rather than living with Tai and the girls. He simply loved them too much to want to risk Misfortune hurting them.

That and Qrow was raised by bandits, a rough upbringing where he was made to feel like a bad luck charm. I'm not entirely certain he'd have seen the problem with Yang having to raise Ruby. There is a story in the Yang official manga anthology where Qrow acknowledges kid!Yang has every right to be angry about being burdened with the responsibilities of grown ups, but how canon those anthologies are is ambiguous.

One thing for sure: both Yang and Ruby were familiar with Qrow being drunk, and having to deal with that, although never as bad as it got in Volume 6.

And yes, Ruby does talk about Qrow teaching at Signal, and having taught her to fight, and that Tai taught Yang, but that does not mean they were a happy family living together while that happened. Sorry, this family has been haunted and broken ever since Summer disappeared, and the cracks appeared when Raven noped out of there to be a bandit queen.

I've mostly talked about how Yang was affected. But Ruby was too. Sure, she had more of a childhood than Yang did, because to some extent Yang made sure of that. Chances are Ruby got good at pretending things are fine when they aren't. That and Ruby is quite possibly socially awkward for a reason: she was at least partly raised by a child only two years older than she was. Yang did her best, I've no doubt about that, but there's no way she knew what she was doing.

Why does Yang seem comparatively normal if she at least in part raised herself? Because she's good at blending in and wearing masks. She'd have to be to avoid raising suspicions with her teachers about the situation at home, because Tai couldn't have been the only one who afraid about the kids being taken away. One of Yang's worst nightmares must've been about being taken into care by social services and separated from Ruby. Presuming of course that Remnant has social services. It surely has to have something because of the likelihood of those orphaned by Grimm attacks, in addition to the more usual family breakdowns.

In conclusion: this is such a messy family, and as has been noted by @one-real-wrimonkey that's part of what makes them so interesting (sorry, I hope you don't mind being tagged).

[phregnancy]

i saw someone say they blanked on coming up with tit preshow questions so here are 40 questions i would ask that you can take

- does phil consume cannabis in any form for his migraines

- list three book recommendations

- will sister philip made an appearance for halloween this year

- will phil try a slutty halloween costume from spirit halloween

- if you had to change your height, what height would you be

- who bought the precious baby angel shirts

- can phil walk us through his philognese cooking process

- are you ordering deliveroo multiple times a day or do you get enough for leftovers

- what was dan’s clumsiest moment recently

- phil what are your favorite musicians/bands that aren’t muse

- dan what was the last song you learned to play on piano

- what is one aspect of your personality that you feel has changed the most over the last fifteen years

- phil once said he knows how to make salad, what does he put in his salads

- what is your least favorite liquor

- what was the most sentimental gift you’ve received recently

- has phil hurt himself since the rib breakage

- dan have you taken any color blindness tests since hearing about this theory

- phil shares little linguist facts every now and then, dan, is there anything you learned in university that’s worth sharing

- when was the last time you cried and what prompted it

- fmk: chappell roan, janelle monáe, kehlani

- who is your favorite character from scott pilgrim, and you can’t pick wallace

- what bingeworthy tv series have you watched recently

- if you couldn’t get a corgi or a shibe, what type of dog would you get

- how would you cope with going bald

- if you could each change one thing about each other what would it be

- has phil gotten more comfortable around babies since becoming a guncle

- what are your most embarrassing food moments (public spillage, being caught eating something you shouldn’t, etc)

- can’t be career related, what is one thing you both are looking forward to

- what studio ghibli character do you most relate to

- what is something not many people know about you / would assume about you

- what is your favorite quality in the other person

- has phil always been a gentle princess or is this a phlonde-era development

- when eating cereal, do you prefer to use a tablespoon or a teaspoon

- if dan is concerned with phil stealing his cereal, why doesn’t he start buying two boxes

- phil have you had any interesting dreams lately

- if dan has to cook, what is his go-to meal

- where did you get your mario piranha bouquet from

- you two have gone to many award shows and events wearing two button suits, with both buttons buttoned. are you aware that you’re always supposed to leave the bottom button open

- any nailsinki plans? will phil get his nails painted this time?

- what do you like more about manchester than you do london

[speaknow-sw]

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : mdni, smut, pussy eating, PiV.

A/N : erm…8.2k words guys ??? Is this too long ? Idk but this chapter is very Shakespearean I reckon…anyway here’s your smut @anisangeldust try not to cheer too loud, you’re gonna wake the kids up.

꧁ Chapter 4 : Letters in the Dark ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The ink whispers secrets the tongue cannot bare,

A fragile bridge between despair and care.

In shadows, hearts awaken to yearn,

Letters ignite what words cannot discern.

The mist clung to the rolling hills, softening the edges of the battlefield that had been marked by blood and valor. Anakin Skywalker stood at the crest of a hill, his dark cloak brushing against his boots, a sharp contrast to the pale light of dawn. The air was still, thick with the aftermath of war and the unspoken tension of what was to come. He waited, hands resting loosely on his belt, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon.

A lone figure emerged from the fog, his steps deliberate and his broad frame unmistakable. William Wallace, the Guardian of Scotland, approached with the bearing of a man who carried the weight of his people’s dreams on his shoulders. He wore no armor, only a simple cloak, the fabric frayed but dignified. His weathered face bore the scars of countless battles, his blue eyes sharp and unyielding.

When they met, there were no guards, no banners, no intermediaries—only two men who had come to speak plainly in the fragile quiet of dawn.

"You came alone," Wallace said, his voice rough but not unfriendly.

"As did you," Anakin replied. "It’s the least we could do, given the blood that’s already been spilled."

Wallace nodded, his gaze sweeping the hills. "Aye, too much blood. And for what? Kings with greed in their hearts and chains for their people."

Anakin’s jaw tightened. "I didn’t come here to defend my king, nor to apologize for the crown I serve. But I agree—wars are seldom fought for noble reasons, even when noble men die in them."

Wallace turned to face him fully, his towering presence unyielding but calm. "Then why do you fight, Skywalker? You’re no tyrant’s lapdog—I can see that much. So why march under his banner?"

Anakin hesitated, the weight of the question settling on him. His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, not out of threat but as if seeking an anchor. "I fight for the men who follow me. For the farmers turned soldiers who trust me to bring them home. For the people who want nothing more than to live without fear."

"And yet, you march into Scotland, where those same people bleed for their land," Wallace countered, his voice steady but laced with quiet fury. "Do you see the irony in that, General?"

Anakin met his gaze, unflinching. "I do. But if I laid down my sword, another would take my place—one who cares nothing for mercy or reason. At least I can temper the madness."

Wallace studied him for a long moment, the silence between them heavy with understanding. "You’re a good man caught in a bad war," he said finally. "But no amount of tempering will change the truth—Scotland will never bow to England. We’ll fight until there’s nothing left of us, because freedom is worth more than our lives."

Anakin’s voice softened, a trace of respect in his tone. "You fight for freedom. I fight for peace. And yet, here we are, enemies on the same field."

"A cruel jest by the gods," Wallace said with a bitter chuckle.

They stood in silence for a moment, two warriors bound by the same honor, the same burden of leading men into battle.

"Do you ever wonder," Anakin said quietly, "if all of this will be remembered? If the men who die for us, the families torn apart—if any of it will matter in the end?"

Wallace’s expression hardened, but his voice was tinged with sorrow. "Aye, I wonder. But I’d rather die fighting for something than live on my knees for nothing."

Anakin nodded slowly, his respect for the man before him deepening. "I wish we’d met under different circumstances, Wallace. Perhaps in another life, we’d have fought side by side instead of against each other."

Wallace smiled faintly, the expression fleeting but genuine. "Aye, perhaps. But in this life, we fight. And if I fall, I’ll fall knowing I stood for what mattered."

The sun began to rise, its light breaking through the mist and casting long shadows across the hills. The moment of fragile peace between them passed, the inevitability of their roles pulling them back into their separate paths.

"Until the next battle," Wallace said, turning to leave.

"Until then," Anakin replied, watching as the Scottish leader disappeared into the mist.

As the first rays of sunlight warmed the earth, Anakin stood alone on the hill, the words of their conversation echoing in his mind. A good man caught in a bad war. And for the first time in years, he felt the weight of those words press against his soul.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Chains may bind the flesh, but not the fire,

A dream that climbs, relentless, higher.

Through blood and stone, through ash and pain,

Freedom is the breath we fight to regain.

Anakin sat at a rough-hewn table in his tent, the candle’s weak flame flickering against the soft night breeze that crept through the seams of the fabric. The clamor of the camp had begun to fade, soldiers retreating to their bedrolls after another day of skirmishes and hard marches. Yet for Anakin, rest remained elusive.

His armor lay discarded in the corner, the dented metal a testament to the brutality of recent battles. Dirt and blood clung to his hands, faint smudges smearing across the blank parchment before him. He hadn’t written a letter in years—not since his mother passed. Words weren’t his craft; they never had been.

And yet, here he sat, quill in hand, staring down at the blank page as though it were an adversary.

The faintest image of you surfaced in his mind—the way your fingers had moved over your canvas as if weaving life into color, the soft arch of your brow as you’d stolen glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. He shook his head, willing the memory away. But it clung stubbornly to him, just as your presence had lingered in the halls of the castle long after he’d left.

With a sigh, he pressed the quill to the page. The first words came haltingly, their formality feeling both a shield and a chain.

“My rose, I trust this letter reaches you swiftly and in good health.”

He stared at the words, his jaw tightening. Too cold, too distant. But wasn’t that safer? Still, something inside him rebelled against leaving it there.

“The days here are long and unforgiving, but it is the nights that weigh heaviest. When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle��to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

Anakin paused, his brow furrowing. He had always been a man of action, not introspection. But the words seemed to pour from a place within him he didn’t fully understand.

“I am no poet, nor a man given to sentiment. Yet, as the days pass, I find myself curious. You are not what I expected. Your quiet strength is a balm I did not know I needed, though I lacked the grace to see it before I left.”

The quill hovered over the page, its tip trembling as he fought against the vulnerability clawing its way into his chest. He thought of the way your eyes had flickered with defiance during the wedding reception when Count Aulbry had dared to slight him. The memory stirred something deep within him—a flicker of admiration and something else he dared not name.

“Perhaps you see me as a hard man. I would not blame you for it. The battlefield has no room for softness, and I have worn that truth like armor for many years. But in the quiet moments, I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?”

Anakin leaned back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The words felt foreign, almost too raw, but there was no taking them back now.

“When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

He glanced at the folded leather notebook lying on the edge of the table, the same one he had taken to scribbling in after long days of battle. It was filled with fragments—half-formed thoughts, lines of poetry he would never dare to share. He briefly considered copying a verse into the letter but shook his head. That would be too much.

Instead, he signed the letter with practiced precision.

“Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker”

He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with his family’s insignia. As he handed it to his most trusted messenger, his voice was low and firm. “This is for Lady Skywalker. Ensure it reaches her swiftly and safely. Do not linger.”

The messenger saluted and disappeared into the darkness. Anakin stood alone in the dim glow of the tent, staring at the candle’s flame as it danced and sputtered.

Why had he written to you? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was guilt for the way he’d left, or perhaps it was the way your painting had lingered in his mind’s eye, haunting him with its quiet beauty. Whatever the reason, the act of putting his thoughts to paper felt like loosening a knot in his chest.

He reached for the notebook and opened it to the last page, where a half-finished poem lay scrawled in his uneven hand. The words seemed to taunt him, unfinished and raw, but they felt truer than anything he had spoken aloud.

“Beneath the armor, beneath the steel, Lies a yearning I dare not reveal. For peace, for light, for a hand to hold, In her gaze, I find my soul.”

Anakin snapped the notebook shut, tossing it onto the table. His gaze lingered on the shadows dancing across the walls, his thoughts torn between the battlefield before him and the woman he had left behind.

The letter arrived two days later, just as the sun was setting, its light spilling through the tall, narrow windows of your chamber. You sat at your desk, your brush poised above the unfinished painting of Anakin, the colors of his armor muted and incomplete. The messenger bowed as he handed you the parchment, sealed with the unmistakable insignia of House Skywalker.

Your heart stumbled. Anakin had never written to you before.

The wax seal broke easily under your trembling fingers. You unfolded the letter, your eyes scanning the elegant but reserved handwriting. The first words were formal, distant even, but as you read on, the tone shifted. Subtle hints of longing emerged between the lines, soft admissions cloaked in restraint.

“When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

A breath caught in your throat. You reread the words, each line piercing through the defenses you had built around your heart. There was something unspoken here—something fragile.

The letter ended simply: “Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker.”

The parchment fluttered slightly in your hands as you set it down, the weight of his words pressing against the knowledge you carried. Your father’s betrayal.

The intercepted letter was still hidden in the bottom of a chest in the corner of your room. Its contents had unraveled the delicate threads of trust you had begun to weave with Anakin. Your father had plotted to manipulate both sides, using your marriage as a pawn in his schemes. If Anakin knew, would he believe you complicit?

You rose from the desk and began to pace, your gown brushing softly against the stone floor. The walls of your chamber seemed to close in around you as the dilemma clawed at your mind.

Anakin’s words lingered. “I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?”

Could you risk breaking this fragile connection by telling him the truth? Would he see you as a spy for your father, as another piece in a game of politics and power? The thought of losing whatever tenuous bond was forming between you left a hollow ache in your chest.

But silence, too, was its own betrayal.

You moved back to your desk, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the room as you dipped your quill into the inkwell.

“Dear Husband,” you began, the words coming slowly, each one weighed with care.

“Your letter reached me as the sun was setting, casting the castle in hues of gold and crimson. I find it fitting, for your words carried a similar light—unexpected and strangely warming.”

You hesitated, your quill hovering above the page. How much could you reveal without unraveling everything? How much of your heart could you show?

“You speak of carving paths through stone and steel, of wondering what might lie beyond them. I, too, have wondered. Perhaps we are not so different in this—both searching for something that feels just out of reach.”

The quill paused again. You closed your eyes, picturing Anakin as you had last seen him: the determined set of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, the unspoken weight he carried.

“I hope this letter brings you some measure of comfort, as yours has brought me. Though we are apart, know that my thoughts are with you. May the stars guide you safely home.”

You signed the letter with a simple “Yours,” leaving the rest unspoken.

As you sealed the parchment, the weight of the intercepted letter still loomed in the back of your mind. The decision to remain silent gnawed at your conscience, but for now, you pushed it aside.

The messenger was summoned again, his footsteps echoing through the corridor as he carried your words back to the man who haunted your thoughts.

You returned to your desk, your gaze falling on the unfinished painting. The armor was only half-complete, the strokes hesitant, as if you feared finishing it would solidify the distance between you. You reached for your brush, but your hands trembled too much to paint.

Instead, you turned to the window, staring out into the growing darkness. Somewhere out there, Anakin was reading your words, just as you had read his. And somewhere within that exchange, a fragile thread of connection began to form, even as shadows of doubt lingered on the edges.

The first letter had been cautious, a measured exchange of pleasantries cloaked in formality. But as weeks turned into months, and the battles stretched endlessly across the rugged Scottish terrain, the tone of the letters began to change.

“Lady Skywalker,

The campaign against Wallace progresses steadily. Though victory is within reach, the cost has been high. I trust the castle remains secure and that you are well.

Yours,

Anakin Skywalker”

The letter had been brief, almost impersonal, yet it was the first time he had reached out since departing. It stirred something in you, a faint flicker of hope. You responded in kind, careful not to reveal too much of yourself.

“General,

The castle remains quiet, though I must admit its halls feel emptier in your absence. I hope the tides of battle turn in your favor soon. Yours, Your Wife”

The next letter came weeks later, its tone slightly warmer. His words hinted at exhaustion but carried a thread of something more personal.

“My Lady,

The battles are fierce, and the Scots fight with the desperation of men who have nothing left to lose. There is an honesty to their resistance that I cannot help but respect, though it makes victory no less bitter. In the quiet moments, I think of the castle—of its stillness and the sanctuary it must offer. I hope you find peace within its walls, even as I find none here.”

His words lingered in your mind long after you read them. You wrote back that night, pouring a small piece of yourself into the ink.

“My Dear Husband,

The castle is peaceful, though it is a hollow peace. The roses have begun to bloom again, their petals bright against the gray walls. They remind me of you—unyielding, even amidst hardship. I hope you return soon to see them for yourself.”

The letters became a lifeline, weaving an intimacy neither of you had anticipated. Anakin began writing more frequently, his words shedding their rigid armor. Each letter revealed a man wrestling with the weight of his role, his responsibilities, and the yearning for something he could not name.

“My Rose,

The days are long, the nights longer still. In the quiet hours, I find myself thinking not of the battles but of the life I might have had—one without swords or blood. It is foolish, perhaps, but I wonder what such a life would have looked like, and whether you might have been part of it.”

You read his letters with trembling hands, your heart caught between longing and fear. His vulnerability was disarming, his words a window into the man hidden beneath the hardened general.

Your responses grew bolder, though you still held back the secret of your father’s betrayal. That knowledge weighed heavily on you, a dark cloud over your growing bond with Anakin. Yet in your letters, you allowed yourself to dream, to share pieces of a future you knew might never come.

“Anakin,

Your words are not foolish. I, too, wonder what our lives might have been if the world were kinder. I see glimpses of that life in your letters—in the tenderness you try to hide, in the dreams you dare to share. Perhaps there is a part of us that can still claim it, even amidst the chaos.”

In the heart of the Scottish highlands, Anakin read your letter beneath the dim light of a lantern in his tent. He traced your words with calloused fingers, his chest tightening. For years, he had buried his softer inclinations beneath layers of duty and discipline. Yet your letters stirred something he had thought long dead: hope.

One evening, his letter arrived with a small addition—a fragment of poetry hastily scrawled at the bottom of the page.

“I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, But they carry the echoes of nights I cannot sleep. In their frailty, they whisper of the stars, And of a face I see in every dream.”

You read those lines over and over, your heart pounding. His words were unpolished but raw, a glimpse into a side of him he had kept hidden even from himself.

Anakin’s words grew softer, more unguarded, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. Each letter carried with it the weight of exhaustion and longing, but also a vulnerability he hadn’t shown before.

"The days blur into one another—steel clashing, men falling, the air thick with smoke. Yet amidst it all, your image anchors me. Your words remind me there is a world beyond this chaos, a reason to hope."

You read his letters in the quiet of your chambers, clutching the parchment like it was a lifeline. Each line drew you closer to the man you had once seen only as a distant, stoic general. In his words, you found a soul searching for meaning amidst the violence, a man yearning for something gentler, even if he didn’t know how to name it.

Your own responses began to mirror his, shedding the formality that had first marked them. Where his letters spoke of the horrors of war, you offered solace, painting images of the castle’s gardens in bloom, of the birds nesting in the eaves outside your window, of the peaceful moments you dreamed of sharing with him.

“I wish you could see the roses this spring—they climb higher than ever, their petals like drops of blood against the gray stone. I think of you when I walk among them, wondering if you are safe, if you feel the warmth of the sun through the armor you wear.”

Anakin's next letter arrived on a rain-soaked evening, its ink slightly smudged but his words unmistakably clear.

"You write of roses, and I think of the ones that grow wild near the fields we fight on. They are stubborn things, surviving against all odds. I wonder if that is why I thought of you, unyielding in your strength, even in a place where others might falter."

You traced the words with your fingers, your heart tightening at his unexpected tenderness. Each exchange stripped away another layer of distance between you, revealing the raw humanity beneath.

As the weeks wore on, the letters grew bolder. Anakin began sharing fragments of the poetry he wrote in his leather notebook, words he had once kept hidden from everyone, even himself.

"I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, but they have been my solace on nights when sleep refuses to come. Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be, rather than the one I am."

His poetry spoke of the stars, of fleeting dreams, of longing that burned like a fire too fierce to contain.

"You haunt me in sleep—your eyes in a thousand forms, your voice a melody that slips through my grasp. I am a fool to cling to such visions, yet they are the only peace I know."

Your letters in return began to echo his vulnerability, though always with a touch of guardedness. You had not yet told him of your father’s betrayal, the weight of that knowledge still pressing against your chest.

One evening, you sat by the fire, Anakin’s latest letter spread before you. The castle was quiet, the servants retired for the night. You dipped your quill into ink and wrote with a courage you hadn’t known you possessed.

“There is a line in your last letter that has stayed with me: ‘Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be.’ I want you to know that I do. In your words, I see someone who yearns for more than war and bloodshed, someone who carries the weight of others' burdens yet still dreams of a gentler world. That man is already worthy, though he may not yet believe it.”

You hesitated, then added a final line: “I, too, dream of that world, though I am not sure I will ever know it.”

As you sealed the letter, you felt the sting of unshed tears. For the first time, you wondered if you and Anakin might have been different people, had the world been kinder.

The letters continued, carrying your words back and forth like a bridge over an unspoken chasm. Though you remained separated by miles, the distance between your hearts began to shrink. In the ink-stained pages, you found something you had both longed for, though neither dared to name it yet: connection.

The castle was bathed in the faint hues of dawn when the sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard. The guards rushed to the gates, startled by the unannounced arrival of riders cloaked in frost and exhaustion. At their head was Anakin Skywalker, his armor dulled by battle and travel, his features shadowed by fatigue.

The news of his return spread quickly through the castle. You were still in your chamber, seated at your easel, a brush poised over the canvas. The unfinished painting of Anakin stood before you, a labor of longing and frustration. You had been adding the slightest details to his eyes, trying to capture the sharpness and sorrow you remembered, when the knock came at your door.

"My lady," a servant announced, "the general has returned."

The brush slipped from your fingers, leaving a streak of paint across the edge of the canvas. Your heart leapt and then sank. You hadn’t expected him back—not yet, not like this. A thousand emotions surged through you: relief, excitement, fear. How would he look at you after all these months? Would the intimacy of your letters translate into the flesh, or would the distance you had felt before his departure return?

You stood, smoothing your gown and composing yourself as best you could. When you descended to the great hall, Anakin was already there, speaking in low tones with his second-in-command. His presence was magnetic, as always, drawing every eye in the room.

For a moment, you hesitated at the edge of the hall, watching him. His face was sharper, leaner than when he had left, and there was a new weight in his gaze. Yet when his eyes found yours across the room, something shifted. His stern expression softened, just for an instant, before he turned back to his conversation.

When he finally approached you, he gave a slight bow. “My lady,” he said, his voice formal but warm.

“General,” you replied, feeling the strange distance of titles again.

“I trust you have been well?” he asked, searching your face.

You nodded, unsure what to say. His presence was overwhelming, and you couldn’t reconcile the man standing before you with the one whose tender words had filled your letters.

"I must speak with the king," he said after a pause, his tone turning serious. "There are matters of unrest in the kingdom. Whispers among the courtiers, rumors spreading like fire. I sense that something is brewing in the shadows. It is not just the threat of external enemies; it's the court itself that is beginning to fracture."

His words sent a chill through you, and the weight of them lingered. Anakin’s sharp instincts had always been his strength. He was never one to ignore the subtle stirrings of danger.

“I will find out what is happening, my lady,” he continued, his gaze hardening. “But for now, I must meet with the king. I trust you will be well while I’m away?”

You nodded again, though your mind was already swirling with thoughts. What did this unrest mean? Could your father’s machinations already be coming to a head?

Anakin hesitated, then stepped closer. “Later, we will talk,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed you.”

He turned and walked briskly toward the king’s chambers, leaving you standing in the hall, torn between the need to understand his sudden tension and the fear that you might already be too late to prevent the kingdom’s ruin.

Later that evening, after he had met with the king and addressed the court, Anakin wandered through the castle, finding himself drawn to the tower where your chambers were. He had meant to wait, to give you time to adjust to his return, but something pulled him forward.

The door to your chamber was slightly ajar, and he hesitated before stepping inside. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The room was filled with paintings—of landscapes, of still lifes—but most prominently, of him. There were sketches of his profile, studies of his hands, and in the center of it all, the large, unfinished portrait.

It was him as you remembered him, clad in his armor, his expression resolute yet touched by something softer. The details were painstaking: the curve of his jaw, the strands of his hair, the sharp focus in his eyes. But it wasn’t complete. His gauntlets were left as rough outlines, and the background faded into blank canvas.

Anakin moved closer, his breath caught in his chest. He reached out, his fingers hovering over the painted surface as if afraid to disturb it.

Behind him, you entered the room quietly, startled to find him there. “Anakin?” you said softly.

He turned, his eyes meeting yours. “You painted these,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, stepping closer. “I... I wanted to keep you close, even when you were far away.”

He looked back at the painting, his expression unreadable. “You see me differently than I see myself,” he said after a long pause. “In your eyes, I am... more than I feel I am.”

“You are more,” you replied without hesitation. “You’ve carried so much, fought so hard. I see it in every line of you.”

His gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, the stoic mask he wore fell away. “Your letters kept me alive,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “And now this... I don’t know if I deserve it.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You do.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, as if breaking from a trance, Anakin straightened. “I should let you rest,” he said, his voice once again guarded. “Thank you, my lady.”

He left before you could stop him, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Yet as he walked away, you saw him glance back, his eyes lingering on the painting one last time.

The weight of the day’s events hung heavily between you, the silence stretching longer than either of you was comfortable with. Anakin had returned to the castle, but the shadow of the kingdom’s unrest still loomed over him, and the tension in the air was palpable. He had been gone for so long, and now, with the sharp edges of his absence still fresh, it was difficult to reconcile the man before you with the man who had filled the pages of your letters.

You watched him from across the room, his back to you as he examined a map of the kingdom, his fingers tracing the contours of the land, drawing lines of strategy and war. There was a distance between you now—one that you both seemed to carry, unspoken but undeniable.

You couldn't bear it anymore. Not the cold, not the distance, not the gnawing feeling in your chest that kept you awake at night. You couldn’t stand to watch him walk out again, leaving your heart behind. Without thinking, you pushed yourself off the chair and crossed the room, stopping just behind him. Your breath caught in your throat, but you forced yourself to speak.

“Anakin,” you said softly, the name slipping from your lips like a plea. His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing as he saw the resolve in your face. It was as if he had already known what was coming, and yet he was unwilling to acknowledge it.

“I cannot let you leave again,” you continued, voice trembling with something you could not name. “Not like this. I… I have missed you. Every day, every moment you were gone, I felt it.”

He took a step closer to you, his eyes searching your face, his expression unreadable. “I know you have, my lady. But there is much that must be done—there is unrest in the kingdom, and there are threats that must be confronted.”

“I understand that,” you whispered, “But I—” You hesitated, unable to say what you truly felt. Your heart felt torn between the loyalty to your father, who you still feared, and the love that had slowly, painfully, bloomed in the cracks of your isolation. You had learned so much during his absence, and yet you felt as though your trust was slipping through your fingers like sand.

He reached for your hand, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. “You don’t have to explain,” he murmured. “I know. It’s never easy, being torn between duty and love.”

“I can’t,” you said quickly, almost pleading with him. “I can’t lose you, Anakin. Not now, not after everything that has happened. But I—I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore. Not even my own blood.” You let out a shaky breath, the confession more difficult than you had imagined.

Anakin stepped closer, his hand lifting to gently cradle your cheek. “Trust is fragile,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “But love… love is built on it. And I want you to know, whatever happens, I am here. I will stand by you. But you must be honest with me, Aurelia. All of it. No more hiding.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you closed your eyes, unable to hold it back. “I don’t know how to tell you,” you whispered, “What if you look at me like I’m just another pawn in this cruel game? What if you—”

He placed his fingers against your lips, silencing your fears. His voice was low, filled with a raw tenderness that cut through the tension. “You’re not a pawn. You’re the woman I’ve come to love. And nothing will change that.”

For a moment, you stood there in the silence, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket, warm and secure. And then, as if the storm inside your chest had finally subsided, you closed the distance between you. Your hands reached up to pull him close, your lips finding his in a kiss that was both desperate and tender.

Anakin's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. He held you tightly, his fingers splaying across your back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you with a hunger that stole your breath away.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours, his body pressed against your own. The world fell away, the weight of the day's revelations and fears momentarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the taste and feel of him.

Anakin's hands roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on the swell of your hips. He pulled you impossibly closer, his hips rocking against your own in a slow, sensual rhythm that sent molten heat coursing through your veins.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless, your chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Anakin's eyes were dark, filled with a desire that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

"My rose…" he murmured, his voice rough with want.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your cheeks. "I know the path ahead will not be an easy one. But I swear to you, here and now, that I will stand by your side. Through whatever trials and tribulations may come, I will be your constant companion and your fiercest protector."

His gaze bored into yours, intense and unwavering. "And I need you to trust me, my love. To be honest with me, always. Hold nothing back, no matter how painful or frightening it may be. We can withstand anything - but only if we face it together."

You nodded, your voice thick with emotion as you spoke. "I trust you, Anakin. With my life, with my heart... with everything I have. I know the road ahead is uncertain and fraught with peril, but I choose to walk it with you. Always."

Anakin's hands roamed your curves, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your gown to caress the smooth skin beneath. He tugged at the fastenings of his armor, impatiently loosening the straps and buckles until the heavy plates fell away, clattering to the floor.

His lips trailed down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh. You arched into him, your head falling back to grant him better access as a breathy moan escaped your lips.

Anakin's hands slid lower, his fingers splaying across your lower back before gripping the globes of your rear. He lifted you effortlessly, his strength evident in the way he positioned you on the edge of the strategy table, the maps and parchment crinkling beneath you.

He stepped between your parted thighs, his hips nestling against your core as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue delved deep, tangling with your own in a dance of passion and desperation.

Your husband’s hands roamed your body with reverent fervor, his touch a balm to your weary soul. He traced the delicate lines of your face, marveling at the beauty he found there. "My rose," he whispered, "a bloom of purest grace, your beauty far outshines the fairest flower's face."

His fingers trailed down your neck, skimming over the delicate curve of your collarbone. "These hands, once stained with battle's crimson hue, now tremble to unbind the silken threads that cloak your tender form. A sacred trust, a privilege I've earned by love's own code."

Anakin's gaze smoldered with adoration and unspoken promises as he slowly peeled away the layers of your gown, revealing the creamy skin beneath. "As I lay bare your flesh, I swear to lay bare my heart, to open wide the chamber where it beats for you alone."

He leaned in to press fervent kisses along your shoulder, his lips a brand of branding love upon your skin. "Behold, I am the thorn entwined within your stem, the guard and shield that shall defend you evermore. My life, my honor, my eternal troth, I pledge in this moment to love's eternal shore."

Anakin's hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks. "These buds of beauty, tender and unrivaled, shall be my constant stars, my north and south in life's vast sea. I'll cherish them, as I shall cherish you, until the end of days, our hearts entwined as one eternity."

As he lowered his head to worship at the altar of your flesh, his voice rumbled with solemn vows. "Fair lady, my sweet rose, I am your loyal knight, your champion, your eternal friend. With every breath, with every beat of this heart that beats for you, I vow to love you, honor you, and stand by you, forevermore. Let no foe, no fate, no force on heaven or earth sunder the bond that joins us now and evermore."

His hand pressed gently on your stomach lowering you on the table as he send sweeping all his strategy papers off. “Wait…your plans…” you whispered trying to stop him. 

Anakin paused, his hands stilling on your waist as he sensed your gentle protest. He looked up at you, his gaze intense and filled with a fierce, burning love. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he took in your flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

"My rose," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, "No strategy, no plan, no matter how carefully crafted or vital to the kingdom's fate, could ever be as precious or as worth the sight of my beloved wife laid out before me like a feast for the senses."

Anakin's hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the last remnants of your tears. "I would gladly burn my maps and scatter my plans to the wind, if it meant I could hold you like this for eternity. You are my everything, my reason for living, my love."

He leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his ardor and desire into the caress. "Let the world wait, let the kingdoms crumble, let the wars rage on," he declared fervently. "For in this moment, with your sweet body beneath me and your loving heart entwined with my own, I have found paradise. And I will cherish it, and you, above all else."

Anakin knelt between your parted thighs, his gaze locked onto your glistening sex. The flickering candlelight cast a dance of shadows across your curves, illuminating the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "I could spend a lifetime exploring every inch of you."

Slowly, reverently, he leaned forward, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. The first touch of his tongue was electric, a bolt of lightning that shot straight through you.

"Anakin!" you gasped, your fingers fisting in his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibrations adding to the pleasure that already threatened to overwhelm you. His tongue delved deeper, stroking along your slit, teasing your entrance.

"What do you want, my rose?" he asked, his voice low and intimate. "Tell me what you need."

His fingers teased your thighs, his thumbs brushing against the tender skin of your inner thighs. He could feel your muscles quivering, your body coiled tight with anticipation.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips rocking slightly as you sought more of his touch. "Please, Anakin..."

He smiled against your flesh, the action sending a new wave of sensation crashing over you. "Please what, my love? I need you to tell me."

His fingers slid higher, brushing against your sensitive clit. The touch was fleeting, a promise of more to come.

"I want...I want you to make me come," you gasped out, your cheeks flushing hotly at your own boldness. "I want to feel your mouth on me, your tongue inside me, your fingers filling me...please, Anakin, make me come."

Anakin licked a long, slow stripe up your dripping slit, savoring your essence on his tongue. At the top, he found your sensitive clit, swollen and throbbing with need. He flicked his tongue over the tender bud, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair as pleasure sparked through you.

Emboldened by your response, Anakin sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. He could feel you trembling beneath him, your body winding tighter and tighter.

As he pleasured you with his mouth, Anakin tugged down his trousers, freeing his aching cock. It sprang forth, long and hard, the thick length pulsing with each beat of his heart. The sight of his manhood, so powerful and ready, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through your veins.

Anakin's hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking himself as he continued his ministrations between your thighs. His tongue delved deeper, thrusting into your entrance, fucking you with his mouth.

The dual sensations of his lips and tongue on your most sensitive spots, combined with the erotic sight of him pleasuring himself, pushed you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Anakin, I'm...I'm going to..." you panted, your body tensing as your climax approached.

He could feel your walls fluttering around his invading tongue, your body desperate for release. With a low groan, he suckled your clit harder, determined to bring you to your peak.

"Come for me, my love," he growled against your sex. "Let me feel you come undone."

He thrust two fingers deep inside you, pumping in and out, as his tongue and lips worked in tandem to drive you wild. The combined stimulation was too much, and with a scream of his name, you shattered in his arms.

Anakin held you close as you rode out the waves of your intense climax, your body trembling and quaking against his. He gentled you through it, his strong arms wrapped around you like a protective cocoon.

"Shh, I have you," he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble in your ear. "You're safe with me."

As your trembling subsided, Anakin pressed soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, his touch reverent and tender. He could feel the pounding of your heart, the way your skin glistened with a sheen of sweat.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his eyes shining with admiration and desire. "You're exquisite when you let go."

His hand slid up your side, cupping the curve of your breast. He could feel the soft weight of it in his palm, the way your nipple pebbled beneath his touch.

"Tell me, my rose," he asked softly, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. "Did that feel good?"

He knew the answer, of course. He could feel the way your body had responded, the way you'd cried out his name in ecstasy. But he wanted to hear it from your own lips, wanted to cement the connection that had begun to blossom between you.

Anakin's own need was a throbbing ache, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh. But he held himself back, determined to focus on your pleasure first. This moment was about you, about the trust and intimacy you were building.

He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, for your response. Whatever you said, whatever you chose, Anakin knew he would follow. This was your journey now, as much as his own.

“Anakin….please…take me…”You whispered, clinging to his strong back. You probably left crescent marks in his shoulder but he didn’t care. He wanted you to brand him with every single part of your body. 

“Anakin, ”you cried out his name, your voice resembling a divine plea in his ears “Don’t stop…” you gasped. 

Anakin's heart swelled at the desperate, needy sound of his name falling from your lips. With a primal growl, he redoubled his efforts, his hips slamming against yours with increasing force and speed.

"Never, my love," he rasped, his voice strained with exertion and desire. "I'll never stop. I'll take you again and again until you're fully satisfied."

His fingers continued their relentless assault on your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in tight, rapid circles. The combination of his thick cock driving into you and his fingers stroking your most sensitive spot pushed you closer and closer to the brink of another shattering climax.

Anakin could feel your walls starting to flutter around his plunging length, your body tensing as your peak approached. He leaned down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting and sucking the hardened peak as he fucked you with abandon.

"That's it, my rose," he urged, his hot breath washing over your skin. "Come for me. Scream my name as you shatter. Let all the world hear who you belong to."

His words, rough and raw with passion, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through you. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. "Oh God, Anakin!"

Your body convulsed beneath his, your inner muscles clenching and rippling around his pistoning cock. The sensation was exquisite, your silken heat gripping him like a velvet vise.

"Yes, my love!" Anakin roared, his own release fast approaching. "Milk my cock. Take every last drop of my seed."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. His cock jerked and throbbed as he spilled his hot, thick essence deep within your spasming channel. He continued to grind against you, working you through the aftershocks of your shared climax.

Anakin collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the table as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, his skin slick with sweat from the exertion of their lovemaking.

He could feel your nails raking down his back, the slight pain only heightening his pleasure. The marks you left on his skin would be a badge of honor, a reminder of your passion and desire.

"My love," he murmured, his voice rough and sated. "That was...transcendent."

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a satisfied smile. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glazed with post-coital bliss. The sight of you, disheveled and glowing, filled him with a profound sense of masculine pride.

Anakin leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It was a kiss of thanks, of gratitude, of deepening affection. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As they kissed, Anakin's hand slid down your side, tracing the curve of your hip, the flare of your waist. He marveled at the softness of your skin, the way you yielded beneath his touch.

"You're exquisite," he whispered against your lips. "A goddess, made of flesh."

He knew he was being overly sentimental, but he couldn't help himself. In your arms, he felt a sense of peace, of belonging, that he had never known before. It was a feeling he wanted to hold onto, to nurture, to let grow.

Anakin's hand slid lower, cupping the rounded globe of your buttock. He squeezed gently, pulling your hip forward to grind against his own. Even in the aftermath of their lovemaking, he could feel his spent cock beginning to stir, to harden once more.

"Again?" you asked, your voice breathless with surprise and a hint of trepidation.

Anakin smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge, my rose?" he teased, his voice low and intimate. "Because I assure you, I'm up for it."

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

In your eyes, the heavens rest,

A goddess clothed in love’s caress.

You walk the earth with light divine,

And in your heart, the stars align.

[mimikyusrealform]

dreamcatcher

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1765.

Summary: Haunted and housed by the warmth of a paramedic who comforted him after the Anthrax incident.

Around her eyes there's traces of blue kohl. Spencer remembers the blue, from before. The light had been blue; there had been red, too, but it was indistinct and blurry. The blue had been clear; he could have held it in his hands. Deep down, he knows it’s just the ambulance's lights. The moment is gone.

She's skipping and skimming through his kitchen. In nothing but a Nirvana t-shirt and underwear. It's been a while now since the sight has flustered him. She's barefoot. He's told her many times not to be barefoot in the kitchen, but she never listens.

Spencer watches her. If he could, he would watch her every second. Even when he blinks, he is watching her. It's sweetly disgusting. It’s when you love someone, in a moment that is the blink of eternity—it’s living by a love trapped in that moment, even if it is gone. There's a 4/10 second delay in the brain. It takes 13 milliseconds for the information in the retinas to get to the brain. He lives in the past.

“You should put on shoes,” he says. For the pattern, the comfortable repetition.

She smiles at him. She skips and skims through his apartment like it's a compacted universe, balancing two heavy cups and a plate of cookies. He takes the plate from where it's lodged between her brachium and antebrachium, within her elbow. She settles both cups down; settles herself across him.

“I don't know how you do it.” She waves a hand at his cup of coffee, carelessly, a movement beyond logic. “Honestly, I would like to open up your stomach, to see if there's truly a black hole in there. Did you swallow that, too? How you do it. How can you drink this much sweetness and not die?”

There's a point when sweetness becomes spoiled. Vulgar, even, she finishes.

“I think you're being dramatic,” he says simply. He leans to peer at his coffee, the whipped cream swirling atop of it. It's pretty nice.

“I'm not being dramatic. I'm not dramatic.” She folds one of her legs against her chest after picking up her cup. “Explain our connection to monkeys,” she asks, because she's cradling her coffee and munching on a cookie and she likes hearing him talk. He complies.

“The common theory is that we descend from monkeys. But that is not it. Well, not quite it. What the theory actually defines is that humans share an ape ancestor with the chimpanzees. What you would say it's survival of the fittest is known as natural selection—the term associated with Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace. Roughly paraphrased, nature selects the mutations of a species that are best suited to survive in the current environment and this results in transformations coded in the DNA of the next life. That is the reason behind what we call a human.”

She is quiet, musing, for a while. He figures out it's because the chocolate from the cookie is melting on her tongue, and that's a religious experience. “Spencer,” she says suddenly, like she had an epiphany. “Why am I here?”

He falters. There's a crack when the cookie between his long and bony fingers snaps. “W-what do you mean?” He peels both parts of the cookie away from each other. It's for the best of them.

She purses her lips. Her beautiful mouth, twisted in distaste, or something wry. “There's something scary about the people who unknowingly use others.” There's a pause in time, like the world is submerged in resin. His eyes are static and his ears are full of static. She notices this. “I don't mean you. I was just—saying. Because I say a lot of things, you know that, you shouldn't pay attention to everything I say. It would be like drinking unfiltered water.”

“Of course,” he says faintly, tries to smile.

She means him. She wouldn't have made the clarification if she hadn't meant him. Of course, he couldn't blame her. She's here because he uses her to balm his loneliness. She's here because he's selfish, and his body is meager and sensible. He lives in a grave made by his bones pressing against his flesh and his nerves lightning stricken by the colors. And she's the flowers and vines that grow around his grave.

“You're here,” he says slowly, “because you needed an apartment, and I had an apartment in need of a roommate.”

“Right,” she smiles brightly, but that's because of the angle he sees her at. The overhead light makes her smile brilliant and dim at the same time, depending on the perspective. “Right. Uhm. How are the cookies?”

Stale. “Sweet. Good.”

Her eyes are framed with blue kohl, just like the night. That night, well, that day. The belief of God has never haunted him, nor has housed him. He thinks the blue around her eyes is the same as the one that drowned him at the edge of death. Before she fished him from it, still flapping and flailing like a real fish from the exposure to Anthrax.

He understands divinity, primitively as opposed to intellectually, as he convulses on a gurney. He sees her—divine—in flashes. “Stay with me,” her mouth says, over the shoulder of another paramedic. It's a perfect mouth, so he stays, because it's a terribly beautiful sight. He slips back into unconsciousness with the picture of her glistening teeth between her lips burned in his brain. It stays with him.

He's firm in forgetting about her for four months before he asks—pleads, begs—Garcia to find her, with nothing but a first name and a face. They've been texting for two months when she tells him she's searching for an apartment and he tells her you could live with me. No understanding what that would entail or intending to find out whatsoever. He said it because he liked her and wanted her and desired her; not because he knew her.

When she moved in with him, the first thing that should have alarmed him was Coronel. Her cat. Her cat was named Coronel, after the character in Gabriel García Márquez's book, El coronel no tiene quien le escriba. He had worriedly informed her that his building doesn't allow pets. She had smiled—that brilliant, radiant smile—and easily, so easily, resolved to just—give her cat up for adoption. Give her cat of three years up for adoption. Spencer has never had pets, but he imagines it should be heartbreaking to let one go. She hadn't seemed to mind. She doesn't seem to mind, or even think about Coronel anymore. It hadn't alarmed him, back then. Now, it sort of feels like it was a premonition.

Living with her is like tasting honey in a bitter tea. It's the small things with her.

She is the type of person that decants for the “red is the color of our blood” explanation as to why red is generally associated with danger. This is why all the important Post-it notes she sticks to the fridge are written in red. The self-centered notes to remind him of her amazingness are in blue. The fun comments are in orange. Random scientific facts are in pink. Small things that brighten up his days.

Whenever Spencer wakes up, however ungodly the hour it is, he finds his fridge restocked with a new note, sometimes two. He's never managed to catch her in the act. One time, he went to sleep at midnight and woke up at 2:00 a.m. to grab a glass of water and found tomorrow's note already set up. He woke up again later at 7:00 a.m. and found a different note on the fridge.

“What's the most beautiful part of the human body to you?” she asks him abruptly, as if nothing happened before. He takes the peace offering. The cookie between her teeth crunches when she bites it. She takes the rest of it in her hand. “As you've never watched porn, you're the only guy I trust enough to give a reasonable answer.”

His eyebrows pinch together. He clears his throat. “I've watched porn,” he says in a nasal voice, because that's the type of retort she would smile at. Lo and behold, she smiles. Satisfied, he rambles, “The Greeks were fixated on the human body, but it was mostly on the human male body. The female body was associated with fertility, but the male one was representative of glory, athleticism and health. As the fall of Rome gave way to medieval times, those ideas fell as well, and the human body was instead seen as nothing more than a frail container of the soul. Actually, it was seen as dirty and unholy. It wasn't until the Renaissance that the Greek values were reintegrated into art and science, and the human body was again exalted for its beauty. Fun fact: Leonardo da Vinci dissected corpses, and used them to both model his sculptures and make very, very detailed drawings of human anatomy.”

She is looking at him, swirling her cup of bitter dark coffee. He thinks she is beautiful in a way that couldn't be communicated, just admired. “My favorite part of the human body is the arms, up to the hands,” she tells him. “The forelimbs of all mammals are constructed from the same basic skeletal elements. That's fascinating to me.” She pauses to take a sip of her coffee; he waits patiently for her to finish. “It’s either that or the hair. I've never dated a guy I could imagine balding. But then, you didn't answer my question.”

After some careful thinking, he says, “The mouth.”

Instantly, she throws a napkin from the coffee table at his face. It lands perfectly; it hangs from the tip of his nose. “That’s such a man-answer!” she exclaims indignantly.

He stammers, “No, it's not!” And throws the napkin back at her, though unlike him, she catches it midair. “It’s not the eyes, but there's nothing inherently objectifying or sexual about my answer!”

“I would actually prefer it if you had said you like tits!” she replies brazenly, loudly. “The mouth is so obscene to me! Like, that's the organ from where words come out! It's practically public indecency!”

Spencer chokes on his sweet coffee. Then, he bursts out laughing, and she laughs with him, and their hearts must beat and bleed the same.

Still, he worries her love is just as flighty as she is.

He worries that she is ephemeral, like a dream, and he is the fool trying to catch her.

[oldwritingm]

Hey guys!! Dipping my toes back into writing!! (See my pinned post for new fandoms!)

I wanted to try something light, and my sibling got me into Scott Pilgrim, so… here we are…

Scott Pilgrim - Holding Hands

Characters: Scott Pilgrim, Wallace Wells, Lucas Lee, Gideon Graves, Lisa Miller

Scott

He always asks before holding hands

At first it’s verbal, but after a while he just starts holding out his hand with wide puppy-dog eyes

He absolutely RADIATES when you comply

He gets this massive grin and keeps glancing at you with hearts in his eyes

To him it’s a way of showing you’re together, plus it’s physical affection, which he loves

He likes to hold hands in public more than in private

He’ll swing your arms merrily while you walk along the sidewalk, maybe even humming a little tune

You will have to ask him to let go of your hand; he gets so lost in his joy that he doesn’t think to let go (even if you try to pull away)

“Uh, Scott? My hand?”

“Hm? Oh, you want it back. Right. Haha.”

At least his hands are always soft (from gamer sweat) and warm

Wallace

Holding hands isn’t a big deal for him

It’s not really a show of affection for him, just something random he does when he feels like it

He’ll just grab yours casually, not caring who sees

He won’t even pause his sentence/task/whatever he’s doing, he just grabs it and carries on

He thinks it’s adorable if you get all flustered

He WILL tease you about it too

“What’s wrong? Aw, are you embarrassed?”

“Shut up…”

“Love you too.”

His hands are sooo soft, with nicely trimmed nails, and they smell like expensive lotion

Which he might share if you ask really nicely…

Lucas

He LOVES holding hands

He acts nonchalant about it in public, but he’s beaming on the inside

He thinks it’s cute :)

He also uses it as a way to show you’re his (both in a “back off” way and a “look at my smoking hot s/o” way)

“Um, hello? They’re literally holding my hand. Back off, pal.”

In private he shows how he feels a little more, with a little smile playing on his lips as he squeezes your hand

Just chilling on the couch while holding hands is one of his favorite things in the world

(Also when in private) he compliments your hands

His hands are a just a little rough, and he keeps his nails trimmed really short

Gideon

Holding hands is mainly a territorial thing for him

He’ll only grab your hand when he knows people are watching

He might also use it to “prove his affection”

In reality he doesn’t really like it at all

And you can definitely guess as much: he’ll sigh when he takes your hand, and the way he holds it… it’s like he’s afraid you’ve got diseases

“Did you wash your hands?”

“Yes..? Why are you whispering? …oh.”

He’ll begrudgingly place a kiss on it anyway

Hand holding is just not your guys’ thing

But his hands are very soft and clean, and he always has a killer manicure

Somehow his cuticles still suck though…

Lisa

She also really likes holding hands

She thinks it’s cute, plus she likes to show you off

So she mainly does it when in public

Her hands always smell like fruity lotion, which she uses often to make them silky smooth :)

She insists you also use the lotion, especially if/when your hands are calloused

When your hand is in hers, it’s just another part of her hand

She’ll continue to use it like you’re not holding her hand

But if you try to pull away, she gets confused

“You don’t want to hold hands anymore??” :(

“Huh? I thought you wanted it back so you could grab the thing…”

“I can grab it while still holding hands!!”

Thank you so much for reading!! I’m still trying to figure out if I want to finish the requests in my inbox… idk, I’m just not very motivated rn :( I’m so sorry guys

(divider by saradika)