#WHY DID YOU DO THAT WALLACE

[cannedchelsea]

sparks

[heyitsno0ne]

Wallace Miku

[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

[timothyslucy]

gabby: "i wanna be detailed to arson" 🥺

boden: "why? why do you wanna leave me?!" 😠

gabby: "i-i'm pregnant!" 😨

boden: "GABRIELA DAWSON GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!! OH MY GOD!!!!" 😃💖

[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.

[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.

[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.

[amannottobefuckedwith]

Rewrote the leitner rant for Larson. I know I got some things wrong and didn’t change a lot but I do not care for that man enough to put effort into it

WALLACE LARSON? STUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING WALLACE LARSON GOD DAMN CHILD KILLING COLLECTING DUST RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIOT ORDER OF THE WHORE BIGGEST CLOWN IN THE CIRCUS LAUGHED OUT OF TOWN COWBOY MOTHERFUCKING WALLACE LARSON.

STOP PINNING ME WHEN I TALK ABOUT WALLACE LARSON I HATE HIM SO MUCH WHY DOES HE HAVE A MONSTER UNDER HIS ESTATE?WHY DID HE DECIDE TO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT JUST SET THEM LOOSE IS HE DEAD IS HE A BASTARD MAN HAS SUCH A VISCERAL AFFECT ON ME NOT EVEN IN THE ROOM NEVER SEEN THIS MANS FACE AND I KNOW HE HAS THE WORLDS SHITTIEST BEARD GET AWAY FROM ME.

if i wanted to get into heaven and god said Wallace Larsons inside i would piss on gods feet for the sole purpose of getting sent back down.

if i have to deal with Wallace Larson speaking one word in person on voice in podcast not only will i close the tab i will delete my bookmark out of spite and have to rewatch the entire series again for the experience of being able to skip all the times when he is mentioned or alive

i dont even know why i hate him so much. he’s part of a cult but i am just mad because i am angy.

he better have some fucked up backstory to explain this if hes just some rich shithead whos a fan of creepypasta and wanted the irl version ill go ham

BETTER have had a god force him to kill a man cuz if he didnt Im going to make him

paypal.com/IFuckingHateWallaceLarson

episodes not even about him. vaguely mentioned what is supposed to maybe in the mines and I lost it

where the fuck is Wallace Larson if hes still alive im going to so deeply wish he wasnt

crusty old man

ill punch Larson and his sad frail old man twig bones will simply flake apart under my epic huge meat fist and he will disintegrate until all thats left is one sad king fragment he kept on him at all times simply now named Now You Fucked Up in ancient yiddish

im not breathing im hyperventilating at this point

i hope theres a date given for when Wallace died or will die so i can make it a reminder on my phone

everyday once a year i will see it and do anything but pay respects to the man who was part of a cult AND KILLED HIS OWN CHILD -Arthur

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (1)

Reader never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Reader and Spencer face the aftermath of their tryst. wc: 2,8k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

"YOU NEED TO LEAVE."

Since when did her life come to this?

She wasn't sure what to make of when the words softly left his lips. The words weren't exactly pronounced in a way that the urgency was prominent, but she could still sense the weight of them as she stared into the dark walls of his bedroom, sprawled out across the bed of this foreign man she had spent the past two hours with.

What was his name again? Stephen? Sean? Or was it Sebastian?

It definitely started with an S.

Her eyes slowly made their way toward him, eying his tall figure as he carefully walked over to his drawers. He awkwardly tripped over a piece of her clothing which lay on the floor before mumbling some incoherent words. He shot her a dubious look past his shoulder and turned his body away, quickly grabbing the first thing he saw on top of his pile of clothes.

His sudden modesty seemed amusing to her when it was barely minutes ago they had shared the sex-induced fantasy of sharing body heat between complete strangers. It was as if he wasn't the one thrusting above her, eyes glazed in desire and mouth open in ecstasy, reaching the peak of his high with her legs wrapped around his narrowed waist.

Surely he hadn't forgotten all of that?

She prompted herself on her elbows and found the piece of clothing he had grabbed in his haste was a pair of brown pants and a nice clean dark shirt. She watched him again and under her scrutinizing gaze, he backed away even further.

His sudden discomfort should've offended her, but it didn't. Somehow it intrigued her how much he was trying to be oblivious of everything around him—the lustful tryst that took place moments ago. The naked woman under his covers. The sudden shrill of his phone ringing on the bedside table.

The latter seemed to catch his attention as he glanced at the source of sound with an alert expression. He crossed the room and quickly answered the call.

"Yes?" There was a muffled reply from the other end before he glanced at the still-naked woman staring at him with curiosity. He cleared his throat again and gave her a look. "I need to take this."

She shrugged. "Sure."

She saw him hesitate for a split second before slipping out of his room, throwing a short reply to the receiving end of his call that didn't go unheard. "Yes, Garcia, I have company." More mumbling. "What? I'm not answering that..."

His words were cut off as he closed the door behind him, leaving her to grasp the situation she had put herself in.

Having a one-night stand wasn't something she often did. She wasn't sure it ever happened again since her freshman year of college when sleeping with a senior at a raging party would solidify her college experience. It seemed right at that time. It was what everybody was doing and her innocent mind believed it was a good idea to expand her nonexistent romantic life.

New place, new experience, new beginnings.

The experience wasn't so bad. Brandon Wallace—who was now happily married according to his recent social media post—wasn't exactly the best lover she ever had, but he also wasn't that bad. It was the awkward moment after the endeavor that made her avoid any repeated situations with somebody she barely knew.

Which was why she was questioning why she let that exact avoidance happen tonight. Why she had stepped into her favorite bar on a random Wednesday night and laid her eyes onto the awkward man sitting a few stools away from her.

Maybe it was the way he seemed out of place. Wearing a crisp blue shirt and a vest over it, he sat in a poised manner while constantly wiping down the bar counter with the napkin he seemed to keep requesting the bartender for.

She was there because she needed the kick of alcohol to calm down the stress from her current work assignment. Jamison, her strict boss who didn't take no for an answer, was starting to make her consider the act of murder. But committing such a heinous crime wasn't exactly nifty, so alcohol was the safe bet.

And thus, what was he here for? The cold beer sitting in front of him was barely touched as he looked around the room in a very uncomfortable manner.

Maybe the fact that she was sitting in an almost empty bar had loneliness wash over her, or maybe it was the alcohol finally kicking in, that she found herself making her way over to him. She was only going to greet him, introduce herself, and remark on how he stuck out like a sore thumb when he clearly was trying to keep to himself.

The hue of the bar lights reflected into a golden halo around his head. She slid beside him, tipped her drink towards his way, and gave him a simple smile.

He shifted in his seat and turned sideways, throwing her a questioning look. Up close, she could see his features clearly. The sharpness of his jaw, his hooded eyes, the unruly mess of brown hair on top of his head. She could tell he wasn't sure how to react to her sudden appearance, but he didn't seem to mind.

She sat there, her lips inching wider at the frown forming on his brows. How could someone be awkward yet adorable at the same time? Y/n was about to introduce herself when he suddenly sat forward, threw her a hesitant smile, and slowly asked, "Do you have any change?"

The random question startled her. "Excuse me?"

"I... I need to pay for my drink."

She shot him a ludicrous look, not sure she was hearing him right. Was he really trying to ask a stranger to pay for his drink? So much for spending the night with what looked like good company. But before she could counter her disappointment, he reached out his hand and in a swift motion revealed a ten-dollar bill from the back of her ear.

"Never mind.” He waved the money in front of her face and cleared his throat. “Found it.”

She blinked, once, twice, trying to comprehend the past few seconds. Then her lips twisted into a wide grin, his own lips twitching into a shy smile.

His attempt at an introduction based on a silly magic trick tugged her heart in a way that had her leaning closer, fingers tracing across his other hand that rested on the table. She didn't know what had impulsed her to be so brazen. It was very unlike her to show interest in the opposite sex, but here she was, touching the warmth of his skin.

But then his breath hitched and her stomach dropped. What the hell was she thinking? Touching a complete stranger without consent as if she was trying to maul him in public.

She shook her head and backed away, an apology already hanging at the tip of her tongue when he suddenly leaned in and wrapped a hand around her wrist. The gesture was very innocent, but somehow his fingers manage to burn her skin. She looked up and held his gaze, found the same bashful smile still playing on his lips, and relaxed at the warmth radiating from his body.

And then the rest was history, to say the least.

Yet even after the travel from the bar to his place, after the haste of removing each other's clothes, and after the post-orgasm that left them both satisfied—although to be completely honest, she would've been more satisfied if he'd let her have her second orgasm—she was starting to question her decision.

She finally threw his covers away and slipped out of his bed. She picked up all her clothing scattered around the room and slowly dressed herself as she carefully tried to listen to the conversation in the other room. But all she heard was muffled voices, and deciding that she couldn't pick out his exact words, she tuned out his voice and smoothed down her hair with her fingers.

Feeling more presentable, she stepped out of his room and finally took in the personal space he lived in. Now that she wasn't preoccupied with unbuckling his belt, she realized how dark his apartment actually was.

There were stacks of books lined up on the walls and scattered papers laying around every corner. He clearly wasn't a clean freak. Although he did seem to dislike public spaces, and honestly she couldn't argue on that when her mind considered the sticky, sugary residue that coated the floorboards and every other surface of the bar.

His hushed voice sounded aggravating and she turned to find him standing in what looked like his kitchen, his back facing her. Not wanting to interrupt him, she decided to look around her surroundings, eying the few framed certificates hanging on one side of his walls. There were a lot of certified achievements he was definitely very proud of with his name glorified on each frame.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

His name was Spencer!

She let out a chuckle. She wasn't exactly good at remembering names. Hold on—doctor Spencer Reid?

Her eyes went wide. But before she could feed her curiosity, she heard footsteps coming closer behind. She quickly turned away and found him glaring at his phone as he strode into the room.

"Bad call?"

Spencer—it was nice to finally put a name on him—abruptly looked up. His eyes studied her in bewilderment as if realizing she was still there. Then his expression slightly softened as he threw his phone away on his couch. "Not really, it was a work thing."

She raised her eyebrows. "You still work this late?"

"I don't exactly have a scheduled working hour."

There were a lot of questions she wanted to ask. What kind of work did he have to be getting calls this late? Why was he inside that bar when he clearly looked like he didn't want to be there? Was he really a doctor? And why did he look so adorable with that frown across his face?

There was something strange and hollow in his eyes that she couldn't quite put on as his hand rubbed over the back of his neck. She could sense the awkwardness stretching between them and needed to fill in the silence.

"So..."

"So..."

She let out an awkward laugh. He, on the other hand, started to fumble with his words as he suddenly spoke, "Did you know that awkward silence is the result of a disconnect between people?" She peered up at him with raised eyebrows. "When there is nothing to say, or maybe one person feels uncomfortable in a situation and doesn't know how to respond."

She blinked in confusion. But he wasn't finished.

"Statistically speaking, 80% of communication is nonverbal, whereas 20% is verbal. So in a way, silence can also communicate just as much information as speaking does. It is used to express anger, sadness, excitement, and other emotion. It can also create tension in a conversation or release it..." He trailed off before letting out a sigh. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"You most definitely are," she confirmed. "Where did that suddenly come from?"

He looked away as a blush crept on his cheeks. "I have an incredibly active imagination. It—uh, it leads to a tendency for me to ramble as my thoughts are constantly flowing."

"And you just know all these random facts?"

"I have an eidetic memory."

"You don’t say?" Her sarcasm was followed by eying the framed achievements plastered on his wall before glancing back at his confused face. She sighed. "Look, I'm not better at this than you are. Let's just... I don't know, thank each other? Say goodbye? Shake our hands?"

His eyes lit up as another piece of information filled his brain. "You know, the number of pathogens shared during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to..." He trailed off again and suddenly gulped, mentally kicking himself when he realized the fact he was about share. "...kiss."

She couldn't help the smirk twitching on her lips. "Is that so?"

He absentmindedly nodded as his eyes glanced toward her mouth. She instinctively took a step closer, noticing the tension in his body as he quickly looked away. This man had just flirted with her using an adorable magic trick, had his head between her thighs minutes ago, and reached an earth-shattering orgasm... yet he had the audacity to act all flustered.

She should probably leave. That was what he wanted moments ago, wasn't it? The words came out of his mouth the moment he checked his phone before jumping out of bed at lightning speed to dress his naked body. He needed to be somewhere. He had this somewhat confidential work he had to do.

Yet somehow he was warm and her hands were surprisingly very cold. The heat radiating from his body called out to her and without registering what she was about to do, she softly placed the palm of her hands on his chest.

She was internally screaming when she inhaled a sharp breath, his scent suddenly engulfing her senses. He smelled slightly sweet with a hint of spice; a woody, earthy musk that was mixed with his natural scent of sweat and hormones. She peered up into his eyes, traveling down to his cheekbones before they rested on his lips.

A riot of emotion burst inside her as she saw his tongue flicking out and holy shit—she just stared at him, completely, utterly enraptured.

Her focus was on his hot breath against her mouth, his lips a mere inches away from hers. He was so close she could practically hear the fast pace of his heartbeat. She could feel him everywhere, his hard body flushed against hers, his head moving closer to her and—

Then his damn phone started to ring again and all her senses went to alert. She quickly took a step back.

Now that was her cue to leave.

And it was a pity because whether she liked it or not, a part of her wanted to stay. But that was not an option. He wanted her to leave and she needed to do just that. She needed this to be a one-time thing.

Because there was never going to be another time. The moment she walked out the front door, they were back to being strangers. She would go back to her life and he would go back to his, probably back to his seemingly not-so-normal job with the way he described his working hours. Or the lack of it, anyway.

His phone stopped its ring and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He was back to being awkward and she was back to being rational. Although her heart was beating fast and she was as flustered as he was, she didn't him to know what, especially when it seemed like he was about to kick her out again for the second time.

She was too busy oscillating between stunned, mortified, and turned on. She refused to blush. She refused to appear even an ounce embarrassed.

His phone rang again and he looked flustered about what to do. She helped him decide by grabbing her bag that was conveniently hanging by the door. "I should probably go."

She knew she was slightly disappointed, but she'd be damned if he knew the truth. Her mother used to describe her as a spiteful person ever since she was young. But then again, was it so wrong to feel that way? She figured she was just evening the misery out. If something was making her unhappy she felt it was her right to bring at least equal measures of unhappiness.

It seemed relatively immature, but she didn't feel like caring especially how her night had turned out. She took a deep breath and worked out her pettiness.

"Thank you for tonight... Stephen."

He suddenly tensed. "It's Spencer."

She studied the frown on his face. God, she was evil. She would probably regret this childish behavior of hers, although that was something she could deal with later. The very least she could do now was to give him a proper goodbye before she turned her back towards him for good.

"Well, good night, Spencer."

She wasn't sure he even remembered her name or whether he was just as petty as she was. It was more likely the latter considering he had an eidetic memory. "Good night."

She gave him a final nod. He answered by throwing her an awkward wave, a tight-lipped smile, and an even deeper frown as she slipped into the cold air.

>> NEXT PART

[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)

[spideyhexx]

in the jailhouse now - billy bonney

Saccharine!Billy Bonney x Female!Reader

mdni!!! wc; 3k cw; guns, blood, grinding, exhibitionism-ish

saccharine masterlist (this can be read standalone!)

a/n; this was long overdo from kinktober!!! Very happy you guys can have this now :)))))))) um. enjoy >:)

If you could punch Billy in the face right now you would. But you can’t. Why? Cause he’s in fucking jail. Again. Granted, it was not his fault but also maybe it was his fault for sneaking into Lincoln and trusting a new player in the game.

Maybe if he told you, but he didn’t. 

He never mentioned he was leaving to meet with him and Governor Wallace. He’s been telling you most things lately so why the fuck didn’t he tell you this?

Your emotions are all over. Fuck him. But also fuck, he’s in jail and they’re saying he’ll have a trial, but by god, everyone saw him shoot Sheriff Brady among all the other crimes he's committed since. He’ll hang in no time and you cannot bear that thought. 

Charlie tried to calm you down. Everyone did, but you were close to pulling out your own goddamn hair. This might’ve been the stupidest thing Billy has ever done and he was going to meet your wrath before they could wrap that noose around his neck.

You’ll be his demise, not a rope. 

When those thoughts settle, tears prick your eyes and you’re barking orders to the rest of the regulators about a jail escape. None of the men showed an ounce of hesitation. Billy’s laid his life on the line for everyone here, so they’d do the same for him. Even when he made an idiotic choice. You make sure to throw that in there when you speak. Multiple times. 

Billy’s lucky because he has to sit in jail only one night before the plan is enacted. There was a benefit to the way you dressed and how you kept your hair tucked beneath your hat. When you wore a dress and wore your hair like a proper lady, you became almost unrecognizable. 

And thanks to Billy’s smothering over you, not letting you be directly involved with his little missions (p.s. fuck you for that Billy) and Pat’s disinterest in you since like, forever, it was easy to play the role of Billy’s lover. A sweet woman who just wants to see her love before he’s sent to death. 

When you are dolled up, Manuela smoothing down the skirt of the dress and then fixing the hat atop your head, your body is stiff and awkward, she pokes your side, “you need to act like you wear this everyday.”

You resist an eyeroll. You’re sure this will work. Almost positive, but there’s always the slight chance Pat looks too long. Recognizes you. The fact you cannot remember the last time you’ve been that close to Pat gives you some semblance of optimism. Manuela even adds the smallest bit of rouge to your cheeks, indicating it does wonders. 

You ignore the teasing glances from the regulators when you all congregate to go over the plan. It doesn’t matter what they say. What they think. What you feel in this getup because the only thing that matters is getting Billy, and everyone else, out alive. And it all hinders on you. For the most part. It was your plan. If it fails, there’s nobody to blame but yourself and you’ll hope to God that you don’t survive to hear Billy chastise you for it. Or maybe you’d like to hear the timbre of his voice slightly angry, slightly amused. And his intense eyes glimmering, staring right into your soul in-

Deep breaths. 

You separate from the rest. Time is of the essence. The sun has fallen out of the sky and the dark of the night wisps at your cheeks as you make the walk to the sheriff’s office. You go over in your head what you’ve prepared to say, your heart beating incessantly. Soon enough you’ll (hopefully) be able to see your Billy and smack him.

A man, one of Garret’s deputies, stands up from his chair on the porch as you approach. He holds his hand out as if to ask you to stop. Lets you state your business. 

The man studies you for a quick few seconds, then opens the door, peeking his head inside, “Sheriff, a lady is here to talk to you,” he says and you can vaguely hear Pat mumble something. 

You steel yourself, thinking about Billy’s typical words of encouragement to the gang. To you. 

Steady on. You’re better than you think. Now get the fuck outta my face. That last part being just for you and no one else.

The smile that spreads on your face at the sight of Garret is tight and polite. The kind you would see women give men in passing. An ounce of kindness. A way to say, I am not an outlaw but a humble woman. It feels ridiculous. 

“Ma’am. To what do I owe this visit?” He asks and your chest soars. A win. He doesn’t recognize you. 

“Well, first I oughta say, I think…I think the way you’ve been handlin’ the…war in this town is quite…well. Bad,” you say, easing your voice into a soft one that’s reserved only for times like these. 

It strikes a nerve with Pat, but the man is good at keeping himself in check. He gives a nod and sighs, “We’re all doing are best, ma’am.”

“Mm,” you wring your gloved hands together then say, “Supposedly, I need your permission to enter the jail and visit a prisoner here.” 

His brow raises, then he glances to his deputy. Pat tilts his head at you, “Are you talking ‘bout Billy the Kid?”

You nod, “I am, sir.”

“Knew he’d have a sweetheart,” Pat chuckles, shaking his head and rubbing a hand pensively over his face, “I see no harm. Unfortunately, I will need to check if you’re not taking anything to him that…might be useful.”

Charlie mentioned Pat might want to check you so this doesn’t come as a surprise. Nonetheless, it still makes your blood boil and your nerves tick. 

Pat stands up, rounding off to the front of his desk, “Do I have your permission?” His eyes are light. Amused, almost. Like he expects you to fold. Or to definitely have something on you. He would not be wrong about the second thing, but you’re too good to let his have the satisfaction. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. Steady on.

Once you nod, Pat gestures for you to hold your arms out. He pats them down first, a thorough check that you block out. When he gets to your middle, you even out your breaths to keep them as calm as possible. Pat leans down to pat down your legs over the thick dress, and you take the moment of not having his gaze on you to roll your eyes. However as his hands raise higher, he hesitates. 

He clears his throat, then stands up, “Okay. You can go.”

Thank fuck! You give that sweet-fake smile to him and follow after the deputy. The pounding in your chest tightens and you squeeze your hands together to ease the shakiness which is a mixture of the cold and excitement to see Billy. Would he look bad? Probably not. You’ve seen him downright filthy and still look good. A treachery upon life, he is. 

Would he be mad? Surely. That’s the good part. 

The door opens to the jailhouse and you step inside, first making eye contact with the jailer, then to your Billy, sitting on the bench in the cell. 

He stands immediately, his mouth parting and uttering your name. Not cowgirl. Not some other miscellaneous nickname him or one of the regulators has given you over the months, years you’ve been around them. He says your fucking name. 

“Hello, Billy,” you respond, as calm as you can, though every inch of your body is on fire. The prickling starts in your fingertips and your toes and at the bottom of your spine, circulating to every other nook and cranny within you. 

“You got two minutes,” the jailer says as he pushes the key into the lock and turns it, opening the cell door for you. 

Billy’s furrowed brow and parted mouth are almost frozen in time, but your feet are moving. 

“What are you-”

Your lips lock onto his, your hands finding his face, pushing yourself up to meet him with more force. He moves his face to the side for only a second before you’re on his mouth again. With how he doesn’t kiss back, it makes you want to scream. It takes one nip at his bottom lip for something to snap into him and Billy’s holding to your waist, kissing you with so much need that it breaks your heart. 

You’re not sure if you’re leaning into him too much or if he’s walking backwards on his own accord, but your heart leaps when he sits back on the bench, your mouth never leaving his as you straddle his lap. 

You break the kiss to study his face. No cuts. No bruises. Your thumb swipes at his cheekbone in a soothing gesture, a silent, I’m rescuing you now.

His eyes, full of unadulterated feeling, break from you to look towards the jailer. You turn too, and the jailer shakes his head in an amused chuckle, “oh,” he says, setting the keys down on his desk and turning away so as to not watch the two of you. 

When you find his eyes once more, Billy’s mouth breaks into an easy smile. The easiest smile you think you’ve ever seen from him and in immediate response, you rock your hips down on him. 

Billy captures your mouth with his to hide his moan, his hand snaking to your lower back. It’s big, pressing you forward, chest to chest with him. His kiss is all desperation. Lips catching yours whenever you almost miss his. Tongue licking out to caress your lips or feel your tongue for himself. Teeth making a home in the skin of your lip before departing. Quick. Incessant. Fucking needy, is your Billy. 

He’s hard under you, pushing you down against him enough that you feel right where you need it. It almost makes you forget your mission. Almost. Hell, what if you abandon the plan right now and ride his dick for one last hoorah before you’re both whisked away from one another? Or you refuse to leave and become tragic lovers in a cell, set to hang together while holding hands?

Billy must sense your pondering because he’s whispering ever so softly, “you’re crazy.”

“You, my dear cowboy, are an idiot,” you mumble, before kissing him with so much force his head knocks against the wooded wall and he pushes his hips up like it’s pure instinct. What you would give to feel the full effect of it. The jailer being in the room does nothing to stop the heat in your belly. If anything, you feel a sense to prove your devotion. You feel the result of that devotion poking up at you.

Deep breaths.

You take his wrist, moving his hand to your knee and Billy smiles into the kiss. You’re going to make fun of him for this later. For how quick he got hard. For how happy he seems to take you right here in this cell with the jailer no doubt sneaking glances. 

You slide his hand up your thigh until it reaches its destination. The kiss breaks, but your noses stay together. It's impossible to be further from one another. 

His brow knits and slowly, he pulls out the gun from under your dress, holding it between the two of you. 

The look he gives, you can’t decipher at first. His jaw tightens and his eyes are boring into your soul in that excruciating way he does, when you know he’s thinking. Billy’s mind is working over every little thing he ever knows about you. All you get is the faintest shake of his head and he’s surging forward to kiss you again.

This one feels different. The need is still there. Palpable. Hard and pulsing under you. But this kiss overwhelms you. It gives you relief. Whispers it into your mouth so your ears can know it. The warmth you feel is not something solely for you, but for him too. 

“Be ready,” you tell him, taking every inch of energy left in your body to pull yourself away from him. “Jailer, I’m ready to leave.”

Billy stays seated, leaning his forearms on his legs, either to get ready or to hide his erection. You bite your cheek to not snort out a laugh. 

“True love, huh?” The jailer smirks at you and you step out of the cell, watching him lock Billy right up just as the guards outside can be heard speaking in distress. 

The jailer looks towards the door, pulling the key out of the lock and the moment the noise outside ramps up, you’re pulling the gun, shooting at the man. It’s a rush of adrenaline so quick, you’re not sure where you shot, but your fingers are finding the keys and unlocking Billy. 

He smothers you in a hug, his hand holding your head to his shoulder and he gives the top of your head a kiss, “‘M so happy to see you, cowgirl,” he mutters into your hair, his breath invigorating as much life into you as he can give. 

Billy leans down and grabs the jailer’s gun, his body never straying far from you, like he’s refusing to not be touching you. It sends you ablaze, explosions ricocheting outside. That’s the cue but you find yourself frozen, watching him cock the gun. 

“You in there?” 

His voice. That low timbre is not full of any anger like you may have expected. Selfishly wanted. He knocks his knuckles to your head and gives your collar a tug, “I ain’t never seein’ you in that again,” he says, taking a purposeful look over your body and you take that moment to snap out of your thoughts, striking your hand on his shoulder. 

Billy’s expecting it. He laughs, then catches your arm, pulling you right up against him, “later, okay? Later you can do that all you want,” he murmurs, nose nudging to yours. Is he trying to soothe you? Amuse you? Anger you more?

“Bonney-”

“Stay right behind me, ‘kay?” Billy turns to the door but you keep a firm grip on the sleeve of his coat to pull him back.

“Bonney.”

He stops, giving you a pointed look. Smackable face. Kissable lips. Lovable for eternity eyes. You realize you’re not sure why you have stopped him. The words are on the tip of your tongue. Something unheard of in your vocabulary. Something you can only remember saying jokingly, but as it tastes itself on your taste buds, you know it isn’t a joke. It’s real. The feeling is real and it’s right there and-

“You’re very hard.” Your voice cracks on the last word and your resolve almost spirals. He knows it. You’re sure he knows it. Do you mean his erection or something else? There’s a passing sense of recognition floating into his eyes before it disperses from him the way it did you.

Billy’s lips do their little side quirk and he shakes his head, “Yes. Stay behind me?”

You nod. 

The adrenaline you felt before is no match for what’s waiting for you outside. Guns firing. Flames blocking your view. Screaming and yelling men, both yours and ones against you, it’s difficult to tell who is who. You know Billy’s though. His voice is always distinct, always pulling you to him. His eyes glance to you after every shot he takes. You hold your own, shooting when Billy is occupied, staying close enough to him to feel the weight of each of his actions. 

It’s a flurry. A blur, almost. Pushing through the snow in your (annoying) dress to get to the horses. You hear Billy yell, “Over here! Over here!”

You laugh in both exasperation and relief as you hear the hooves of the horses and catch a glimpse of Charlie and the others. 

“Boy, am I happy to see you,” Billy says to him, laughing himself. A sound you’d like to burrow your head into. You’ve saved your Billy. His words of later echo in your mind and the heart in your chest spikes its beating. Your blood is pumping, dancing at the chance that yes, you’ve fucking done it. With no hesitation, he grabs your waist to help hoist you up to the horse. Billy gets up on the same one without a thought. 

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Billy says, right at your ear as your horse gallops off into the trees. 

Every part of your body is buzzing. Is it the fact Billy’s right up against you from behind? Or the fact you’ve managed to narrowly escape from a jailbreak? Both, you reckon. 

An overwhelming urge overtakes you. It tells you to sink back into Billy. It tells you to loosen your grip on the saddle, only to feel Billy’s arm hold you in a more secure manner. Yes, we're safe, you think. I've done what I needed to. You feel the tip of his nose edge down on your skin as he looks at you, a slight mutter of your name, but it’s a question. 

Your head swims. Your fingers go numb under the warm gloves. Your breath labors and your eyes barely catch the sight of Billy pulling his hand up and seeing the red coating his fingertips. 

“Fuck! Charlie!”  You hear him curse out, but he sounds distant. There’s a distaste for that in your mind, and you sink back further into him, suddenly frightened at the idea of being so far from him. Limbs are feeling useless but needy for Billy and he holds onto you even tighter, a warm sting of something hitting your neck. Tears? Can’t be. 

“Fuck, you’ll be fine, cowgirl, okay? Just…no,” he almost yells as your eyes droop, “Don’t close your eyes, you’ll be fine, it’s not so bad, I promise, fuck,” his breath hits in quick pants your ear and his hand presses to the sensitive spot on your side. 

Your Billy is holding you. And Your Billy whispers, “I love you,” before your vision goes out.

[om-nom-snom]

[Domestic Chores]

Rika x Reader, Leon x Reader, Steven x Reader

Rika <3

Rika is very on top of household chores, despite her relaxed nature

We all have that one chore we hate having to do around the house, however, even esteemed members of the elite four

Rika hates washing the dishes

Honestly, she'd be happy to eat exclusively off paper plates

You bet that every time it's her turn to wash up she insists on you keeping her company

"You can't leave your ol' pal to suffer through this alone..."

"You're my girlfriend Rika, not my pal-"

Rika is not above picking you up and setting you down on the counter beside her

She tries to kiss you until you have push her away and remind her to clean

Absolutely puts on some quiet music and insists you tell her about your day

And, naturally, she blows soap bubbles at you if you get distracted or silent

Expect plenty of dishwash bubble fights with her around

If there's anything that makes washing up fun for Rika, it's having you around

Leon <3

Leon is a domestic king

Real husband material right there

Unfortunately, there's one chore he can't be trusted to do alone

Grocery shopping

After multiple failed attempts in the past, it became a mutual agreement that grocery shopping would be a joint outing

He tries to make it like a mini weekly date, though

Buys you both drinks beforehand, coffee or bubble tea are Leons go-to choices

As you go through the store Leon is often in charge of the shopping list

He does always keep a hand on the trolley as you steer it, and him, through the store

"Oh, we forgot onions, I'll run back and grab them! ...Stop giving me that look."

He has good intentions but as soon as he's out of your sight it'll be hours before you find him again

Exactly why he needs to either hold you or the trolley

Leon is also definitely the type to slip extra goodies into the shopping when you aren't looking, usually things he knows you like

Steven <3

Steven has never had any issues staying on top of chores, when he is home

Having a regular cleaner that comes in a couple times a month certainly helps with that

Though, something he insists on caring for himself are the houseplants

What started as an off hand joke Wallace made has now turned into a new hobby for Steven

He does include you in it too, from shopping to repotting to watering

After his extensive houseplant research he'll point out and id any plant he sees

"Look at that one! Most people would think it's a monstera but it's actually a pothos, did you know they can have fenestrated leaves too?"

He gets you both matching Pokémon watering cans too

Steven has a wailmer one and he got you a load one

Before he goes on trips he entrusts you with plants care, too

Steven asks how they are when you two call, and when he gets back you can expect a very sweet 'thank you' kiss from the champion

[felinecyan]

Brat Tamer

[Derek Danforth x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: With every brat in the universe, there is always one who can put them in their place. In the case of the president’s spoiled son, this case is no different.

WC: 1555

Category: Fluff, Comfort

I need some fluff for this man, so I made some fluff for this man 😤

『••✎••』

The second you heard the frustrated yell through the walls of the house, you knew it was going to be a rough day, not for the Danforth's, but for you.

Derek was always an interesting one, though his parents tried to make him blend in with the crowd. He was the epitome of a rich kid. And like many rich kids, he was a brat. However, the brattiness didn't come from his parents spoiling him. He had a natural sense of entitlement, but his parents never fueled the fire. If anything, they tried to keep him in line, but their methods were... well...ineffective.

They had money, which meant they could do anything to keep their son out of trouble. They paid off teachers, bribed the local law enforcement, and made sure everyone looked the other way when it came to Derek's behavior. But when his father unfortunately passed, and his mother became preoccupied with her own work, you were like an angel sent down from heaven in Wallace's eyes when Derek introduced you.

You didn't put up with his shit, and you weren't afraid to tell him off. It's why, out of all the girls fawning over him, he chose you. He picked you. The most headstrong, assertive girl he could find because you were exactly what he needed. And it wasn't like you were uninterested. You were always a sucker for a good romance, and Derek was the textbook definition of a tall (he's not, but he promises he's at least 5'7), dashingly handsome, brooding young man.

But as much as you cared about him, there were moments when you just wanted to throttle him, like now.

"I thought you said you could handle it!" Derek's voice boomed when you opened the office door. You found him in his usual spot, in front of the window, the phone pressed to his ear, his eyes trained on the pool where a few maids were doing laundry. "And here you are... doing everything BUT handling it."

He listened to whoever was on the other line for a few moments, then scoffed, "It's one fucking guy! How can he be giving you so much trouble?"

When his eyes locked onto yours, you raised your eyebrows expectantly. He motioned for you to come inside, then rolled his eyes, "No, no... just shut the fuck up for a minute. Let me think."

You took a seat in one of the plush armchairs and watched him pace around the room, still on the phone. It was a sight that should've been amusing, but instead, it was exhausting. It was too early to deal with Derek's temper.

He did look particularly stressed today, though. You knew something was off the moment you woke up to an empty bed. Very uncommon. Usually, Derek liked to sleep in. He was a late sleeper, and if he was forced out of bed before noon, he was a grouch.

But that morning, the bed was empty, pajamas were on the floor, and there was a half-empty mug of coffee on the bedside table. It was a rare occurrence, and it made you uneasy.

And now that you found him like this, you knew something was up.

"Are you going to hang up or what?" you finally asked after a few more minutes of watching him pace around the room. "Or am I just supposed to sit here and watch you stomp a hole into the floor?"

He ignored your comment and continued his conversation, though it was clear he wasn't paying attention. "Yeah...no, it's fine. Do whatever the fuck you want. It's not like this is important or anything." He pulled the phone away from his ear and ended the call. He tossed it onto the desk and dropped into the seat across from you.

"I pity you." You said. "That must've been a very stressful phone call."

"Oh, fuck you too."

You had to give it to him. He could always pick up on your sarcasm. "Alright, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He crossed his arms and turned his head to look out the window.

"Bullshit." You rolled your eyes, "I know when something's up. Now spill. What's wrong?"

He groaned, "Nothing, it's just this random guy keeps fucking with me and the business. He's a fucking nuisance, and now I'm forced to deal with him. It's ridiculous."

"Oh, really?" you leaned forward, "So it's nothing, then? Just a little setback of you being forced to do your actual job?"

He looked at you like you were the devil. He could tell you weren't going to stop, and he didn't have the energy to fight. So he gave in, "Look, it's this guy, okay? I don't know who he is or what his deal is, but he's a fucking thorn in my side. Mickey says he's like... a bee lover or some shit. I don't know what the fuck he's talking about, but it's annoying."

"Bee lover?" You asked, "As in, a beekeeper? or a Vanessa Bloome fanatic?"

If looks could kill, the glare he gave you would've left you in a puddle of blood, but there was also a little twinkle of amusement in his eye, "Can you not reference that fucking animated movie for a single fucking second?"

"Not likely," You said with a smile, "Now, can we please move on from the random bee thing and get back to you and I?"

"There is no 'you and I," he said, "I have a problem. I was handling it. You have no place in this."

"Well, I do now," you said. You got up from your seat and made your way over to his chair. "You woke me up this morning. You have a problem, and I'm the only one who can help."

He shook his head, "Fuck off. I can handle this."

"Really?" you challenged him, "Because I'm pretty sure I can handle it better than you."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck me yourself, coward," you joked and ran your hands over his shoulders. It is quite hilarious how quickly his attitude changed. A few gentle touches and he was like a putty, caving beneath your fingertips.

Even his mother was shocked. You were the first person to ever have a positive effect on Derek's behavior. Usually, he would push anyone who touched him away, and if he liked them, he was even rougher.

But with you, it was a different story. He loved it when you touched him. He melted in your hands, groaned when they massaged the knots out of his neck and purred when they brushed his hair back. He loved it, and it was the ultimate power play.

"We're not talking about this." he sighed, "It's a stupid idea. Besides, I need you to—"

"What do you need me to do?" You asked. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, then his jaw.

He hummed and reached a hand up to the back of your neck, pulling you down to meet him for a proper kiss. When you parted, he was looking at you with dark eyes, "You have no idea how much I fucking love you."

"I have an idea," you said, "But it's always nice to hear you say it."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off," he said. He pulled you in for another kiss, this time letting his tongue trace along your bottom lip. He tasted like coffee, the spoiled brat kind that had an absurd amount of sugar in it and was probably worth more than a kidney. It was a taste that grew on you, just like the man.

You straddled his waist and wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close while you deepened the kiss. His hands roamed down your body, resting on your hips, his thumbs running over the exposed skin of your midriff.

"How about some pancakes for our Mr. Problem Solver, hm?" you offered when you parted, "You know, a good ol' breakfast to help start your day."

He scoffed and kissed the corner of your lips, "What are you? My maid?"

"With how you act? It would be more appropriate to call me your mom," you teased.

"Okay, that's gross."

You chuckled and kissed his forehead, "So is your obsession with that… well, you know. Still, I endure."

He groaned and pushed you off his lap, "Don't remind me."

"Come on, you have a big day ahead of you." You took his hand and pulled him up, leading him out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen, "Let's go solve some problems, starting with the missing syrup."

He let you pull him along, not even bothering to make a snide remark.

It was one of the many things you loved about him. No matter how much he complained, he would let you have your way. It was an odd feeling, having someone who was so used to getting their way to bend to your will. But he never seemed to mind, especially not when you made it worthwhile.

In fact, you'd argue he enjoyed it. You enjoyed it. The thrill of being able to order him around, to have him follow every one of your commands, was invigorating. And Derek, the stubborn man that he was, found comfort in someone telling him what to do.

It was a match made in heaven.

[lackofspace]

Hey! this has been on my head for a while, so I'm just gonna leave it here and hope that it leaves my mind :)

ps: I wrote this really fast, I did not check for misspellings at all, english is not my first language and it's my first time writing anything!!! so please thread lightly lol

birdflash where they've been friends so long that Wally has known Dick's and Bruce's id's before most of the rest of the family were even adopted, close enough that when Wally 'retires' and goes to college he still recieves texts from Dick's siblings asking for help with cases or homework when Dick himself isn't available and so, we come to our plot

Bruce is getting married (to whom is up to you) and while Wally sees himself as a close family friend he doesn't get an invite, which, in his mind it's fine since well it's Bruce Wayne/Batman it'll probably be a really small lowkey thing only family and some friends and he's honestly not upset at all until he's hanging out in the Manor a couple of weeks before the wedding with Jason and Damian that it comes up

'Did you get fitted today?' Jason asks Damian, he's typing in his phone slanted over a armchair in the corner of the library

'Yes, although I do not see the need for another suit' He's in front of Wally with his physics homework open in the room's coffe table, 'Father seems to think we are all heathens who cannot keep a suit intact for more than a night' the comment clearly a jab

'Ah yes, I'm sorry mister prim and proper, it was not my intention to inconvenience you' Jason rolls his eyes still glued to his phone

'What about you, Wallace? Do you have a suit? Do make sure you get an approval from Alfred, the ceremony will be an informal one but he would hate the family photos not looking proper because of your two sizes bigger attire' Damian says not even looking up from his notebook

'Well then Alfred will be happy to hear he does not have to worry because I'm not coming' He responds laughing a bit

And that makes them both look up in sync with matching glares that make Wally jump a bit

'Why ever not? Do you have prior arrangements? I understand if that's the case but surely they can be postponed?' Damian frowns

'Is it college stuff? The wedding is going to be on a sunday, no way it's college, you're a nerd so there's also no way you can't skip having to study for a test for one day' Jason remarks, he's sitting up now phone forgotten

Wally is surprised with how much his absence at the wedding seems to annoy them

'It's nothing like that guys, I just didn't get an invitation, I figured your dad is doing a lowkey thing and there's not going to be many guests so I get it, I'm not mad or anything' He says in a tone that seems to be to placate them and he does not understand why

'But I swear I'm not upset! Don't tell your dad, I don't want to cause any trouble for the preparations and I'm sure everything will be beautiful' he spills the words quickly before they can interrupt him

'You were not invited?' Damian says face contorting into a frown even more

'Uh yeah, Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris got one, it wasn't metioned I could come and I swear I wasn't- am not! upset but, I asked Donna if she was invited and she said that she was, through Diana, so I guessed that if Barry and Iris' invitation didn't mention anything then... yeah' he says shrugging

'What the hell?' Jason exclaims picking up his phone and texting someone 'Did you only ask Donna?'

'Yeah?' Wally says, unsure

'Roy is coming too' Jason tells him

'Oh?' Wally doesn't know if that's supposed to make him feel better

'I invited him, dipshit, we were all granted plus ones, even the demon brat is bringing someone'

'They are coming as a friend' Damian remarks glaring 'Richard should have communicated you sooner'

'Uh well maybe Dick is bringing someone else?' and if until now nothing about the situation had particularly made him sad, this thought springing in to his head and out his mouth made his hands ache because of course, of course he was just another among many in love with the absolute sun that was Dick Grayson

While they remained friends Wally had made his feelings known sometime ago, the rejection had hit hard but it was true that their friendship was more important so they tried to keep as they were, unfortunately communication became strained and they didn't hang out as much that with college and Wally's feelings between them and so it escaped Wally why his siblings thought that he would be Dick's plus one for a wedding, his father's wedding no less

'This is important, maybe he thought bringing me might be weird?' This is not where Wally thought his impromptu tutoring session/hang out was going to go, he feels somehow like he's in the wrong for not getting an invitation with the way they are looking at him

'Bruce didn't send invites to those he knew were coming anyway' Jason states 'Dickhead was supposed to invite you'

'I'm sorry...? but he didn't, guys let's forget about this ok? I'm sure Dick has his reasons, the ceremony is going to look amazing and you guys can show me pictures later, how about that?' trying to end the subject less they discover why he does not appear at the manor unannounced anymore and why he chose a university so far away

that's kind all I have in me ya'll, this was mostly trying to show how much Dick and Wally are so involved in each other's lives that they become a package deal to everyone else, the story is supposed to go: batgossip and confusion since they know Dick is in fact in L O V E with Wally and bat siblings scheming while birdflash pine, ANGST!!! (the whole reason I wrote this honestly, I love angst and requited unrequited feelings), feelings realization and their happy ever after weeks later when Wally shows up as Dick's plus one