#after almost a year of not doing as often

[meazalykov]

the critic

lena oberdorf x commentator!reader

summary: when lena gets tagged in a video clip, she approaches you

before the cameras, before the viral clips, before the edits, before your voice became synonymous with women’s soccer commentary, there was your games itself.

you used to play, back in the day. soccer was your life—practices in the morning, matches on weekends, hours spent refining your craft, the feel of the ball at your feet something almost sacred. 

you had dreams, big ones, of playing at the highest level, maybe even for the national team. but that all came crashing down when a spinal injury took you out of the game. 

one bad fall, a rough tackle by three players at once in a crucial match, and suddenly, everything you had worked for was gone. 

the doctors said you were lucky to be walking and running again, but for a long time, it didn’t feel like luck. 

it felt like a curse, like soccer was ripped away from you when you were just starting to get your footing in the world of professional sports. 

lyon was close to signing you from your childhood club. however, that changed. the deal had to fail and so did your dream.

so you had to shift gears. you couldn’t play anymore, but you could talk about the game, share your insights, your passion, your love for it with the world. 

and, as it turned out, people loved listening to you. your analysis was sharp, your delivery honest, your humor was sweet, and soon enough, you became a well-known voice in women’s soccer commentary. 

you poured everything you couldn’t put on the pitch into your work, and it paid off.

now, here you are—2023, world cup, germany vs colombia. the stadium is electric, fans buzzing with anticipation. 

it’s your job to capture all of it, to bring the game to life for those watching at home. 

alongside you in the commentator’s booth is tyrell, your close friend and co-host for one of the biggest sports streaming sites in the world. 

you adjust your headset, eyes scanning the field as the camera pans over the players. 

"alright, tyrell, we’ve got quite the matchup today," you say, your voice carrying across the broadcast. 

"germany is looking to bounce back after their last game, and colombia has been on fire in their latest matches with caicedo. it’s anyone’s game today."

"no doubt," tyrell agrees. 

“but you know i’ve got my eye on germany’s midfield. lena oberdorf, she’s got a lot of weight on her shoulders in this one. one of the best defensive midfielders in the world is on the pitch tonight." he finishes. 

you nod, your gaze locking onto oberdorf as she moves across the pitch. 

she’s been a standout for years—strong, composed, a true force in the midfield. 

you’ve always admired the way she plays, the way she commands respect on the field as she will roughly stop any opponent attack. 

but today, something feels off. you’ve been watching her closely during the first half, and you can’t help but feel like she’s holding back.

"honestly," you start, pausing to gather your thoughts, "i expected more from oberdorf during that first half."

there’s a brief silence as tyrell turns to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. 

it’s not often that you call out a player like that, especially someone as highly regarded as oberdorf. 

"really?" he asks, curious. "what do you think’s going on with her?"

you lean forward slightly, watching as the replay of germany’s midfield play rolls across your monitor. 

"she’s not playing with her usual aggression. oberdorf is known for her ability to dominate the midfield, to break up play and transition quickly. but today, she’s been hesitant. this can’t continue if they don’t want someone like caicedo to get in their box. oberdorf needs to press harder, get more involved in the attack. if she steps it up in the second half, she can make the difference that germany needs."

your words hang in the air for a moment before tyrell responds, and the conversation shifts back to the overall match. 

but you can’t shake the feeling that your comment will stir something up. 

sure enough, by the time the game is over—colombia managing to scrape by with a fantastic win—your phone is buzzing nonstop. 

social media is ablaze with the clip of you critiquing oberdorf, the internet having latched onto the rare moment where you offered up something negative about a player you so clearly admired.

fans of both you and lena are eating it up, dissecting your analysis, making memes, and some even suggesting you had ulterior motives. 

it doesn’t help that you’ve been vocal in the past about your respect for oberdorf’s game. 

and maybe, if you’re being totally honest, there’s more to it than just respect. 

you’ve followed her career closely, always a little more interested in her games than others. not that you’d ever admit to having a bit of a crush on her—not publicly, anyway.

across the city, at the team hotel, lena oberdorf is stretched out on her bed, headphones in, trying to decompress after the match. 

her body is exhausted, germany didn’t get the result they needed. her phone buzzes with notifications, but she ignores it for now, lost in her thoughts.

that is, until laura freigang walks in, a mischievous grin on her face and her phone in hand. 

"lena," she says, her voice sings, "it looks like someone’s got their eye on you."

lena sits up, raising an eyebrow. "what are you talking about?"

laura tosses her phone onto the bed, and lena catches it, her eyes narrowing as she watches the video that’s already queued up. 

it’s you, sitting in the commentator’s booth, talking about her. her. 

"honestly, i expected more from oberdorf during that first half."

lena blinks, her mind processing the words. she’s used to hearing praise, especially from someone like you, who’s usually more positive in your analysis. 

but this? it feels different. not harsh, but… honest. like you know she could do better, and that, in a weird way, feels almost flattering.

"see?" laura says, flopping onto the bed next to her. 

"she noticed you. she expects more from you, lena."

lena rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. 

it’s no secret, at least among her teammates, that she’s always found you attractive. she’s mentioned it once or twice—half-joking, half-serious—how she watches your broadcasts not just for the analysis but because, well, you’re easy on the eyes. 

but she never thought it would go beyond that. you were based in new york city, worlds away from her, and probably didn’t even know she existed outside of your job.

but now? maybe things have changed.

"i don’t want to get your hopes up because it could’ve been a simple analysis but maybe this is your shot," laura adds, nudging lena with her elbow. 

"go for it. what’s the worst that could happen?"

lena hesitates, the idea forming in her mind. it’s bold, sure, but she’s never been one to shy away from taking risks. "yeah… maybe i will."

later that night, you’re sitting in the hotel bar, winding down after a long day of commentary in australia. 

the buzz from the viral clip still lingers in the back of your mind, and you’re half-expecting to get some flak for it. but instead, it seems like people are more entertained by the whole thing than anything else. 

you take a sip of your drink, eyes scanning the room, when you hear a voice behind you.

"hey y/n-- I'm sorry, uh I hope i’m not interrupting."

you turn, and your breath catches in your throat for just a second. it’s lena oberdorf, standing right in front of you, looking a little nervous but still carrying that air of confidence she always has on the pitch.

how did she find you? maybe the german national team stayed nearby? i mean, you were told this was a popular bar in sydney.

however, why would lena go to a bar if she has to prepare for the important match against south korea?

"not at all," you manage, trying to keep your cool despite the sudden rush of nerves.

"what’s up?"

"i, uh, saw the clip," she says, rubbing the back of her neck. "the one where you talked about me."

you chuckle softly, feeling a slight flush in your cheeks. "yeah… i didn’t mean to come off too harsh. just being honest, you know?"

you didn’t know how to react, so you smile. no player has confronted you about your comments before. this is a first.

"no, i get it," she smiles, her eyes locking onto yours. 

"honesty’s good. i just… wanted to ask if you’d like to grab dinner sometime. maybe when you’re in germany next? i’d love to take you out." lena speaks in perfect english. 

you blink, surprised by the offer. of all the things you expected tonight, this wasn’t one of them. but looking at her now, her smile genuine and her eyes soft with hope, you can’t help but smile back.

"yeah," you say, heart racing just a little. "i’d like that."

you were a little older than her, older by two years, but she carried herself in a way that pulled you to her.

the world feels a little smaller, the distance between you and lena shrinking with a single conversation. 

you think that maybe you should critic her more often, kidding— of course.

my masterlist is here if you want to read more fics <3

[rosemariiaa]

~Echoes Of You~

pairing- Paige x Azzi

a/n: cute little song fic because we all missed those, and yes i have delivered fluff 💌

song: Pink in the Night - my love Mitski

theme- fluff

Enjoy!!!

Paige can’t sleep again.

She lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling as the pink glow of her nightlight washes over the room. It’s late, probably too late to still be awake, but she’s not in the mood to close her eyes. Not when her mind’s too full of her. She bites her lip, annoyed with herself, the way her thoughts keep circling back to Azzi. It’s been happening more often lately, and she hates it.

“I glow pink in the night in my room,”

Paige thinks, frustrated. It’s stupid how much she’s let this feeling grow—like she’s been blossoming alone over someone she shouldn’t even be thinking about. They’re teammates, just friends. Paige had drawn the line a long time ago, but somehow, Azzi had crossed it without even knowing.

“And I hear my heart breaking tonight.”

She shifts on her bed, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest. The silence in the room makes it worse. Her heart beats so loud, she swears she can hear it cracking. “Do you hear it too?” Of course, Azzi can’t hear it. She’s probably fast asleep in her own room, not knowing that Paige is losing sleep over her. God, this is so stupid.

Paige gets up, hoping to clear her head. She pads down the hallway, not bothering to turn on the lights. When she reaches the living room, she freezes.

Azzi is already there.

Sitting on the couch with her knees pulled up, Azzi’s face is illuminated by the soft glow of the TV screen, but the sound is muted. It’s almost eerie, seeing her there like this, alone and silent. Paige’s breath catches in her throat. She should turn back. She should leave.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she stands awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do. Azzi notices her after a moment, turning her head slightly. “Couldn’t sleep either?” she asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige shrugs, her body tense. “Yeah. Something like that.”

The silence stretches between them, heavy with everything unsaid. Paige moves to sit on the other side of the couch, careful to keep her distance. But it doesn’t matter. Azzi’s presence is enough to make her chest tighten. It’s stupid, but she wants to reach out, to close the gap, to say something that would break this unbearable tension. She doesn’t.

Instead, she just watches Azzi, stealing glances when she thinks she won’t notice.

“I could stare at your back all day.”

The thought hits Paige out of nowhere, and she has to bite her tongue to keep from saying it out loud. Azzi’s back is turned slightly, her posture relaxed in a way that makes Paige feel anything but calm. There’s something about the way Azzi carries herself that drives her crazy—not in an obvious, in-your-face way, but in the subtle things. The way her curls fall over her shoulders, the way her lips twitch when she’s deep in thought. Paige feels like an idiot for noticing these things.

Azzi shifts, turning to face her fully now, and Paige’s eyes snap away like she’s been caught. “You okay?” Azzi’s voice is soft, but there’s something in her tone that makes Paige’s stomach churn. It’s like she knows. Or maybe Paige is just paranoid.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Paige lies. She’s not fine. She hasn’t been fine in weeks, but she’s not about to admit that, especially not to Azzi.

They sit in silence for what feels like forever, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. Paige’s mind keeps replaying the same memories over and over again. That one night, 2 years ago at Azzi’s grandparents lake. The way Azzi had looked at her, how close they’d been. They’d kissed, but it hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t felt right.

“I know I’ve kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right.”

She wonders if Azzi remembers it too, or if it was just another fleeting moment for her. Paige curses herself for not doing more, for not saying what she really wanted to say back then. She swallows hard, the words lodged in her throat.

“Paige…” Azzi’s voice pulls her back to the present, and there’s something different in it now—something hesitant. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Paige freezes. Her mind blanks for a second, panic setting in. Has she been that obvious? She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Azzi’s eyes are on her, waiting for an answer, and Paige feels like she’s suffocating under the weight of it all.

“I… I don’t know,” Paige finally manages to say, but it’s a weak excuse, and she knows it.

Azzi shifts closer, her gaze never leaving Paige’s face. “That’s not true,” she whispers. “You know exactly why.”

“And I hear my heart breaking tonight.”

Paige’s heart is pounding now, louder than ever. She wants to deny it, to brush it off, but the look in Azzi’s eyes stops her cold. There’s no more hiding. No more pretending.

Without thinking, Paige reaches out, her hand brushing Azzi’s cheek. The touch is hesitant, unsure, but when Azzi leans into it, Paige feels a surge of emotion she can’t control. “I’m sorry,” Paige whispers, her voice breaking. “I didn’t do it right before. Can I… can I try again?”

Azzi’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she nods, her eyes softening. Paige leans in slowly, her heart racing, but this time, when their lips meet, it feels right. It feels like everything she’s been wanting to say but couldn’t. The kiss is soft, slow, filled with all the things they never said.

When they finally pull apart, Azzi rests her forehead against Paige’s. “We’ll get it right this time,” Azzi whispers.

“Try again, and again, and again.”

They don’t need to say anything else. The silence between them feels different now—lighter, filled with possibility. Paige knows they’ll keep trying, keep figuring it out together. And this time, they won’t be alone.

[periprose]

May i request a Logan x angel!reader fic where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

anon I loved this ask ahhhh thank you. I'm like half considering making this a series if people want it (so send more angel requests if you're into it!) <3 I may have made it more angsty but there is fluff at the end :) also reader goes by Angel in this fic.

When Flight Comes to Fire (or, Logan gains an Angel)

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: Best friends to lovers, mutual pining, X-Men stuff, idiots in love, angst, hurt no comfort, fluff, kissing

The first time your mutation made it’s appearance– sharp shoulder blades growing into thick appendages, soft, buttery white feathers extending from them in that unhuman way, your wingspan making it clear you would never be normal– your mother retched and said she would have done anything to chop them off of you. Would’ve done anything to have a normal kid.

In fact, she tried, multiple times, to do so. You were only twelve when she came at you for the first time, in your sleep, feeling falsely secure in your father’s platitudes about how she would never really do anything. You woke up to her reaching inside your blanket, grasping one of your wings as she brandished a knife in her other hand. Luckily, your wings were strong enough to shove her off, but you remember how you screamed at her.

Why, mom? It’s me! It’s me–

She didn’t listen, coming at you again, promising in delirious anger that everything would be okay soon if you would just let her fix it, and she had to be held back by your father, as he called the police. 

Because you were her kid, she got let off with a warning, and you were stuck. So you would often fly to the tallest treetops and take your rest there, trying your best to ignore your mother’s other attempts on your life. She didn’t seem to ever get it. You would never be normal.

The final attempt was probably the worst, and the one that caused you to fly away in the end to Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

You were twenty years old, just old enough to legally leave home– you only stayed because your father insisted. 

She set your favourite tree on fire. You had no idea your mom had been in enough anguish to essentially murder you for daring to be different.

You awoke to the deep smell of smoke, of tree bark charring, and then you heard the cracking and sparks. The tree quickly caught fire, and you shrieked in pure terror as the heat of the flames approached you. The immense light emitting from the fire blinded you, and suddenly there was a sharp pain from your wings and back– you were getting scorched.

So you flew upwards, high enough that the fire dissipated off your back instantly in the cool night sky’s air, and you were fine. Nothing to show other than a little scar, and the sounds of mutiny coming from your mother below. 

You chose to forget her– no point in repairing a relationship with a woman who didn’t want you as you were.

But you’ve never forgotten the pain of being burned alive.

/

“Angel. You ready?” Logan is to your right in the foyer of the mansion. “Everyone else is waiting in the helicarrier.”

He’s your best friend, has been ever since you came to the X-Mansion as a runaway. It’s not an uncommon story among mutants, but Logan always felt you were like him. Rough, not the easiest to speak to, having a tendency to keep to yourself.

The major difference to him is that you’re a lot easier on the eyes. 

Seriously, it was almost like the universe was playing a joke on him. Here was a beautiful girl with literal angel wings, just missing a halo as she arrived at the door for the School for the first time, and he just happened to be the first ugly motherfucker to open the door.

Logan’s never quite sure why you keep up with him, why you stay friends with him, if he was just lucky enough to be the first person you saw and liked. It drives him nuts, the way in which you rely on him, trust him more than he thinks he deserves, you come to him at every moment just to talk over everyone else, when surely you could have anyone else’s attention.

Especially any stupid guy, like him. He’s not sure how you haven’t noticed– even now on the staircase, he can’t tear his gaze away from you. Logan feels bad to be so in love with you, too– he wonders if he’s reading into things too much, if he’s pushing for something that isn’t really there.

And he’ll never know, because you’re so damn flighty. Logan can barely keep up with your whims, and he only knows as much as you’ll tell him about yourself (he hardly knows where you came from that fateful first day), so he just lets you come and go as you please. He’ll keep his feelings deep inside, where you can’t possibly find out about it.

“Yup, I’m fine.” You have a brief smile for him, which gives him that familiar twist of the stomach. “Oh. You’re not wearing your uniform?”

“It’s better to be incognito for this one, according to Scott.” Logan says, adjusting his flannel, mildly enjoying how you check him out. 

You’re wearing the typical X-Men uniform– bright yellow, blue stripes down your sides, room for wings with a removable panel in the back. You let them loose, now, telling Logan you’ll be right back.

When you return, with quite a flourish, flapping wings in a true superhero-landing– Logan sees that you’re wearing a tank-top, and some jeans that really, really highlight your ass– but he tries not to focus on that.

“Hey. Tank’s inside out, Angel.” Logan says, waiting for you to fly off again, but you simply take off the tank top, and pull it back on the right way, exposing your bra-covered chest and lithe waist for the briefest of moments, while Logan loses whatever he was about to say. “I…”

“Don’t be a perv, Logan.” You jokingly side-eye him, never suspecting that that could actually be true as you tease him. “You’ve seen me change tons of times.”

“Yeah, but out in the open?” Logan stares at you. “You’re gonna have a shit-ton of admirers if you keep that up.”

“It’s just me, please.” You start up this whole I’m-not-pretty schtick that Logan is pretty sick of hearing, and he shakes his head. “Let’s go. They’re waiting.”

Yeah, Logan thinks, they are waiting, but he’s not sure you needed to be all quick and nonchalant about changing, just to get there faster.

That’s what he means by you being flighty– who knows what’s really in your heart, when you act so quickly?

/

“Listen up, X-Men. We’re gonna do our best to avoid damages today, right?” Scott speaks with the air of a leader who’s very fed up with his team members. 

There’s a resounding yes from everyone, including you, Logan, Jean, Storm, Bobby, Rogue, Jubilee, and Kitty.

“What’s our mission?” Scott says, and you answer first.

“Find the new mutant.” You state, and Scott nods, while Logan hides a smile at how adept you’ve gotten at these missions.

“Make sure he doesn’t defect to the Brotherhood.” Jean adds, looking at you and Logan, seeing how close you two sit to each other. She’s kept it to herself– but Jean thinks if you and Logan really do have something going on, that would be nice. For the both of you.

“No damages.” Logan chimes in, and Scott visibly loses a little composure.

“I already said that.” Scott points out, and Logan shrugs. 

“Well, it’s part of the plan, isn’t it?” Logan leans back in his seat on the helicarrier, nestling his head next to your shoulder, not noticing the way your eyebrows raise at the sudden contact. “Better than me not listening at all.”

“Sure, Logan. Fine.” Scott lets it go, knowing better than to ask more from the most “chill” (read: laziest) member of the team.

You laugh a little as Logan smiles a cocky grin.

/

The new mutant is kind of old– you’re looking for a 19 year old with severe singing around his clothes, pale skin, and black hair. You suppose he’d be extremely frightened.

Most mutants don’t deal well with becoming different all so suddenly, let alone at the very late age of 19, when you could assume that you’re pretty much normal. So you and Jean are hoping to find him first– you figure you’re the two that could calm him down.

Unfortunately, you find Jubilee talking to him first. She’s okay, but she has a tendency to be a little too bombastic, as Jean says quite often.

“And there she goes.” Jean grimaces as Jubilee taps the new mutant’s shoulder, and you pick up her saying that “she’s just like him,” which you’re not sure is a delicate way to deal with the topic.

There are crowds of people walking through the streets, too, and a lot of them are glancing at this yellow-jacketed girl talking to a boy with burnt clothes.

If you had found him, you would have brought him to the side, away from people, and–

“His face turned white. He’s freaking out.” You tell Jean, and her eyes narrow.

Bobby, Rogue, and Kitty are nowhere in sight, so this is just one weird young adult speaking to another one, and you really, really wish the rest were here. You, Jean, Logan and Scott are a bit older– perhaps comforting in your age– but you feel like the boy would’ve done well with more peers.

Jubilee raises her hand as you and Jean approach her. “Guys, I got it under control. See, Kyle, these are more people like us. More mutants.”

“...” Kyle looks on in disbelief.

“Kyle?” You try, and he looks at you– there’s something in his eyes that tells you he wants to trust you, but he’s scared– it reminds you of yourself. “We’re here for you if you want us to be. Take your time. Don’t worry.”

You smile, Jean smiles, Jubilee grins, and Kyle seems okay.

It lasts for about two seconds.

Someone drops what sounds like a glass bottle in the distance, and the shattering sound is enough for Jubilee to gasp, a little spark of fireworks launching from her fingertips, towards Kyle, who watches on in trepidation, and his body starts shaking, moving of it’s own accord, clearly reacting to being so close to another form of heat– and you and Jean move, as you yell out “Wait!–”

Kyle shrieks in fear as his body becomes overtaken with flames, combusting with such intensity that the flames roar at least 100 feet over, and Jean– Phoenix that she is– is able to withstand the heat, but you find yourself being pushed back by hot gusts of wind.

It hurts, it feels as if your skin is melting with every passing second. You grit your teeth, trying to breathe as Kyle loses control of his body, and you open your wings, deciding that flying off into the cool air would be a better alternative.

That was a mistake on your part.

The moment you open your wings, Kyle’s fire pushes you backwards, and up, into the hot air, and your wings catch fire as you come too close–

You scream, but it’s unheard through the roar of the flames, and you barely have time to catch yourself as you fall towards the ground, smoking, fiery tendrils engulfing you.

The last thing you remember is your mother’s face.

/

Logan sees it happen from a distance.

Scott wanted him to be as close as possible, something about keeping watch on him– and Logan gets it, he’s not always the most responsible, but later on, in hindsight, he wishes he was, because then he wouldn’t have missed what happened to you– and they both turn as a fire overtakes a block of the city.

“Shit, that must be him!” Scott starts running, Logan not far behind.

It’s only when he sees a pair of white wings, a woman flying up, up, up, the fire approaching dangerously close to her– to you– he starts speeding up, overtaking Scott, pushing people out of the way.

Logan wonders what he could do, anyways. He’s invincible, practically, incapable of taking on much damage as his regenerative abilities heal him– perhaps he could run to the kid and knock him out, sustaining burns in the process, but better him than you.

Never you.

Any second now– Logan sees the boy, and he’s got an open fist ready to lightly tap the back of his neck.

He’s not fast enough. Scott yells out, and Logan looks up to see you engulfed in flames, as you scream, and it’s awful to hear– usually you seemed so speedy, so ready to fly at a moment’s notice, that Logan forgot you could be hurt.

He calls out your name. It’s unheard by you as you crash on the ground, still burning– Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue have caught up to you from the other side of the street, and Bobby quickly makes an icy mist that subdues the flames on you, and Kyle’s roaring fire back into him.  

You’re unconscious as the X-Men approach you. 

Logan touches your face as he kneels next to you, the only one willing to come close right now. “Hey, Angel…”

There’s that unspoken fondness between you two, yet again. Everyone knows, even when Logan has tried to act cool about it. Even now, when Logan attempts to act like he isn’t totally hanging on to your potential words, searching for a breath, a little movement of your head. 

Jean, Scott, Jubilee, and the rest look on in trepidation.

You don’t respond, and he feels his heart plummet. You’re covered in burns, mostly across your stomach and back, and he inhales sharply as he turns you over– there’s fresh, scalded skin, crispy-red to the touch.

Your back, your wings– they’re damaged so badly, with feathers singed straight off, the muscular appendages more visible and wounded, and Logan doesn’t know if you’re alive. He almost removes his hands from you, the very thought seeming to scald him from the inside, and he glares at the kid– the one who looks terribly guilty, now, as he runs away.

“Get back here!” Kitty shouts at him, anger in her eyes, and Scott pulls her aside, explaining that it was clearly an accident of sorts– something that Jean confirms for him with a nod of her head.

Right, Jean. Logan knows that if anyone could confirm if you’re alive, it would be her.  

As Scott, Kitty, Bobby, and Jubilee go hunting for the kid– Rogue stays behind because she’s always felt close to you and Logan– Logan looks up at Jean in a solemn, teary-eyed look that has her understanding immediately.

“C’mon, Angel… stay with us.” She mutters, as she presses her fingers to your head, and she smiles comfortingly at Logan.

“She’s still here. Just barely, but still here.” Jean says, and Logan sighs, an angry, long sigh that tells Jean and Rogue that he’s going to be insufferably feeling at-fault here, even though no one is.

“Let’s go.” He picks you up, feeling the burnt skin through that damn tank-top, now barely being held together as tatters– for modesty’s sake, he takes off his flannel and wraps it around you.

Rogue lets Logan and you walk forward a bit, not wanting him to hear what she’s about to say, and then looks towards Jean. “He really loves her, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Jean exhales. “Let’s hope for his sake that she’ll be okay.”

/

Stupid bitch! You’ve been nothing but a curse on this family– fuck you, I hope your future daughter is just as fucked up as you are–

You awake suddenly, with a loud gasp and yell, your mother’s last words to you flashing on your mind– you attempt to pull yourself forward restrained back by tubing in your arm. You’re stuck in a bed. In a hospital bed of sorts.

Not just any hospital bed, one in the hospital wing of the X-Mansion.

You’re calm, at first, until there’s a sudden ache echoing from your back, through your body, through your wings.

“Ah–!” You groan in pain. Trying to move suddenly has hurt you.

There’s a knock at your door. It’s Beast– or, Dr. Hank McCoy, as he’s better known around the hospital wing.

“You’re awake.” Hank says in relief. “It’s been a few days since your accident.”

“It has?” You widen your eyes in shock. “How, w-what… am I okay?”

The last thing you remember is Kyle exploding in flames, causing you to catch fire– then you blacked out, and– you’re having terrible memories of your mother.

“Hank?” You mutter, and he’s quick to come to your side, blue paw-hand holding your own.

“My mother didn’t…”

“No, she’s not here. She’s never come close to you. You’re safe.” Hank states, as Charles has told him to, remembering the few times you’ve had to come to the hospital wing for comfort before. 

So many mutants have troubled backstories, and he doesn’t quite understand why you don’t try to connect with others about it. Hank feels it could really help, but you’ve always changed the subject away from you.

You’re hurt, mentally, in a way that no one can really fix, and Hank is a big believer in letting people progress when they need to– but he’s so glad that you’ve bonded with Logan. 

“Am I going to be okay?” You tap the side of the bed, fears present in your eyes. “Last thing I remember is Kyle going crazy, and I– I got all burnt–”

“Yes, you’re going to be okay. We’ve administered lots of injections, topical ointments, everything that boosts your healing. You might have some scarring after this is all over, but no injuries. You’re very lucky, Angel.” Hank comforts you, and encourages you to lie back.  

“Lucky. Is that what you’d call a girl with a fucked up state of mind?” You murmur, and Hank shakes his head.

“We’re all fucked up.” Hank gets back up, leaving you in your room. “It’s a prerogative to being in the X-Men.”

You smile softly at that. He’s not wrong, but you wish, you really wish you could’ve just been that normal girl that your parents would’ve loved.

You look down at yourself. You’re wearing hospital scrubs, but there’s an unfamiliar fabric underneath the blanket.

Logan’s flannel is splayed across your stomach, a comforting, soft feeling that has you missing him almost instantly. Had he visited you, when you were unconscious, and decided to leave you this as a token, to help you feel at home? 

You lift it up, taking a deep smell of Logan’s signature scent– pinewood, smoke, and something kind of sweet, like… marshmallows? 

It makes you blush, but almost immediately after, you place the flannel back under the blanket. Logan doesn’t need your silly crush, your overt attachment, and you’re smart enough to keep that to yourself.

/

Logan hears from Hank that you’re awake, and although he wonders why Hank told him first, rather than Charles, or Jean, he’s glad to be the first one to see you.

“Hey.” He knocks on your door. To Logan’s surprise, he lets go of a breath he was holding– you don’t look horrific, you have some colour in your face, and there’s a soft smile on your lips when you see him.

You look just like Angel. His best friend. And he comes in real close, ruffling your hair as he often does, maybe more gentle because he doesn’t want to add any more pain.

“Hey, Logan.” You grab his hand, squeezing it with warmth, grateful to see him, before letting go suddenly and looking away bashfully, and he pauses, reminding himself not to think too highly of it.

“Angel. You’re feeling better?” He asks, and you motion for him to sit down on the edge of your bed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel okay.” You stare at him. It’s only been a few days, but Logan looks kind of awful– he’s got some serious dark under-eye bags going on, and stubble that is slowly turning into a beard, and there’s an apparent worry on his face that makes you just want to comfort him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Logan tries to ward off your answer with a stern, one word reply, but you’re not having it.

“Really? You don’t look so great.” You say, not without tact. “I hope you weren’t all cooped up in your room, worrying about me.”

Logan makes a sound that’s half way between a sigh, and a laugh at how close you always seem to get to the truth.

“Alright, yeah. Yeah, I was worried to hell about you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He jokes, but your face falls.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m good now, I don’t…” There’s an air of seriousness coming from you, that Logan doesn’t typically see, something you usually don’t let yourself do. 

“Are you good? Let me see your back, Angel–” Before Logan can even move you to the side, you turn in defiance, letting him see that you are healing. There are still parts of your flesh, red and angry, but for the most part it seems okay, already far better than it was a couple days ago.

Logan breathes a sigh of relief, touching your wings with a tenderness that has you leaning into his touch, and he gently skims over a scar of yours, glad to see that you’re genuinely not as hurt as he thought– but you pull away quite quickly.

“See? You don’t need to care so much, I’m fine.” You sound accidentally very accusatory, but Logan is just as much of a stubborn asshole as you are sometimes, and he narrows his eyes.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He stares at you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends care about each other. Jesus, you’re the one who always– you’re always checking up on me, sneaking into my room, touching my face and arms and– how else am I supposed to take that?”

It sounds romantic, Logan realizes, after he’s spit all that out– and it does sound like he’s putting the blame of your dynamic on you. And, even worse, it’s all just out there in the open.

“Really. I’m not the only one who cares, Logan, you…” You shake your head, and instead pull his flannel out from under the blanket. “You left this for me. Why do you make it sound like it’s all just me?”

“Okay, fine, it isn’t. Leave it alone, Angel.” Logan pleads a little, his face turning red.

“You’re always acting like I’m gorgeous, you constantly hug me and lean into me, there was that time you let me sleep on top of you–” You continue, feeling more and more confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you sound like an asshole.”

Logan blinks, feeling the argument dissipate, as it often does, whenever you get close to confronting each other about feelings– you always manage to fly away.

He won’t let you, not this time.

“You didn’t. I am an asshole– I’ve never bothered to tell you how I feel.” Logan mutters, and the way your face blanches in fear, shyness, tells him to keep going, to push the boundaries. “I let my own stupid ego get in the way of actually caring about you, and I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’ve always– I really love you, Angel. And I’m sorry I never made you feel like that was true, I’m sorry that it’s taken until you got hurt for it to be real.”

You have an incredulous look on your face, one Logan wishes he could take a picture of and frame somewhere, because it’s genuinely funny, but then your lip quivers, and he feels like an asshole again.

You feel like an idiot. You think, all this time, what’s bothered you is that you’ve been avoiding the fire– the real ones, sure, but more the things your mother fostered in you. Your trust issues, the way how you hold people dearly in your heart but you can’t let them get close because you worry you’ll never be enough, it’s all been burning for years inside you, and you’ve never had to confront it until Logan decided to stoke the flames.

“It’s always been real for me, too.” You whisper, trying not to cry. “I just… I don’t always believe if people care about me, I never feel good enough to be something for anyone. It’s not you, Logan, it’s my mom, my upbringing, really.”

You give him a short, brief explanation of what your mom did– something you’ll surely expand on later, when it’s not so fresh, when you haven’t been literally burned recently, and the memories pain you more than ever– and Logan’s face turns sharp, his brows furrow, he’s clearly deeply angry by whatever you’ve just told him. 

“I’m stupid. I just assumed– it was me putting too much pressure on you. You shouldn’t have been on this mission, that’s fucking awful.” He finally says, and then scowls. “I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but fuck that lady.”

You snort at that. “Yeah. Yeah, it was never you– I’ve always loved you too, Logan, more than you know. I’m sorry I’m always running from you.”

“Oh, so you’re consciously doing that?” He teases, trying not to react too much to your proclamation of love for him, although his brain feels as if it’s short-circuited. He squeezes your hand, and you laugh.

“Yup. I’m almost glad I got hurt, if it makes us more serious.” You comment, but Logan turns glum at that.

“Don’t say that, Angel. I still feel bad about it.” Logan holds your face, caressing your cheeks, staring into your eyes, glad now that you’re not going to shove him away. “Next time, I’ll try to take the hits. I’ll live.”

“You don’t have to–” Before you can start rejecting Logan’s offer, he leans in really close, almost kissing you but not quite, his breath hot on your own mouth.

“I want you to live.” He murmurs, and you feel yourself turn warm at that. 

When he presses his lips to yours, it’s almost chaste, because Logan still isn’t sure how many of your walls he can break down in one day– but for once you’re quick to act in the opposite direction now, lifting tubes out of your arm (irresponsible as hell, Logan would say later on) so you can better reach his face, and you run your fingers through his hair as you kiss him, again, and again. 

It’s soft, pliant, and warm, and Logan doesn’t quite know what to say when you come back up for air, breathing deeply, body sweaty from both recovery and how intense this is– he feels around you, around your waist as he leans in again, and you giggle, pulling away for just a moment before kissing him again.

His hands are gentle, skimming over your body without trying to hurt the burns on your back– but Logan feels you clamber onto him, onto his lap, and then he feels the soft feathers of your wings as they pull themselves outward, into the open.

He opens his eyes, and grins in a wolfish manner. Maybe you’ve been changed by what happened, maybe you aren’t the same, but you’re his Angel now, and he prefers that.

He kisses you again.

[only-1-a]

Imagining this within the first week of Charles and Edwin knowing each other. Charles has helped Edwin catch up on a BIT of what’s happened in the last 70 years, but Edwin can tell that Charles’ knowledge and strengths are not in history (finding out there was an even worse world war right after The Great War was certainly horrific though). So Edwin decides his best bet is to look in the public archives. Charles is sitting in the room with him absolutely bored out of his skull when he comments “Wow, you weren’t joking about not being great at people, were you?”

To which Edwin’s patience runs out, and he snidely responds, “Evidently not. If my researching the events of the last seventy years is so off-putting to you, then you can leave.”

Edwin was expecting some kind of token protest, but instead Charles just hops up, and says, “Cheers mate. See you.” Then LEAVES. Just like that. Edwin would like to be offended, but he supposes he did tell Charles to go. He just thought there would have been more to it than that? It almost feels…anticlimactic. At least he and Charles barely knew each other. Better to cut their losses now than get attached. Even as he thinks it he can’t help but feel maybe he was already growing attached.

So he spends the whole day digging through the archive and he learns so much about the past half century. It’s amazing and daunting just how much as changed. No wonder Charles hadn’t been able to go over even a fraction of it. It’s like the world is a completely different place.

He’s engrossed in his research when a head pops in through the door, and violently startles him with a cheerful, “Hey mate!” Edwin doesn’t have a heartbeat, but if he did it would be running a mile a minute from that fright. Charles is just grinning as he walks through the door. “I have to say, that’s my favourite part of being dead so far. I can just walk through walls.” Charles continues to chat happily, completely oblivious to Edwin’s shock.

Eventually Edwin gains enough of his senses back to interrupt Charles and say, “You came back.”

Charles just cocks his head, but he’s still smiling. “Yeah bruv. You’ve been here ALL DAY. The sun’s started going down. I know we don’t need to eat or sleep, but I figure you should take a break. Plus all the people playing football at the park left, so I got bored.”

Edwin doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He’s still working on the fact Charles came back. Charles hadn’t planned on leaving in any permanent way. He just went to do his own thing while Edwin did his. Yet instead of anything intelligent coming out of his mouth, he says “Football?”

“Oh c’mon! I know you had football even a thousand years ago. Yeah, I went to play with some other guys at the park across the street.”

Edwin snorts at that, and isn’t that a strange and wonderful feeling, laughing after all this time. He doesn’t even know if he did it often before he went to Hell, but here Charles has been making him laugh on and off for the week they’ve known each other. “Yes, we had football. You’ll have to explain how you managed to play a team sport without being seen by either team. You are right though. If it’s getting dark out, they’ll be turning the lights out in here soon. We might as well leave for the day.”

“Cheers. Mostly it involved messing with the ball so it went the wrong way when they kicked it. Oh! I kicked one over a fence. Do you think we can go grab it? How about your day? Learn anything exciting?”

Edwin leads them out, and now in a much better mood he shares something he thinks Charles will enjoy. “As a matter of fact, there was quite a lot about how music evolved, and styles from the Americas really took off since the 20s.”

[idyllcy]

you make me wanna make ya fall in love

word count: 1.97k || EMT Leon || slightly ooc + flirting (HIPAA violation)

summary: the 2000s called, they want their romcom plot back

"I'm actually gonna pass out." You sit on the couch, blinking rapidly as your head goes light.

"I called 911 already, so hang in there, alright?!" Ashley stays connected to the call, holding you up as you groan, stomach caving in on itself and your eyes giving out. Oh, god, is this how you die? You focus on breathing through your mouth, ignoring the way Ashley's voice is reduced to ringing and the way you're sweating buckets. Ew. Maybe you should've— oh. this is because you didn't eat, huh? It is 8pm. Yeah, this one's on you. Maybe the heavens will be nice and let a nice hot EMT show up to your door and save your ass— yeah, tough luck.

You can't believe you're about to pass out and all you can think about is men. You're literally failing the Bechdel test. What are you? Some poor girl in a teenage romcom? You're not even a teenager.

You close your eyes for some shut-eye, disrupted when you're shaken awake, blinking slowly as you catch sight of Ashley first, holding her chest in relief when you stare at her.

Then, you notice him—

Beautiful blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, arms hard as a rock, you might've just died and landed in heaven. Are you in heaven? Surely you must be. This man looks so gorgeous it's incredible. You have to be in heaven right now. You blink at him with doe-eyes, confusion visible on your face. Ashley's here, so you're not in heaven. Did you just happen to have a super hot EMT show up to your door like you had been imagining? Oh, god, are you... psychic? This is a revelation! This is insane! You have to—

No, seriously. You're not in a romcom. Can the narrator stop describing it like it's some sort of a romcom? The 2000s called, they want their cheesy romcom plotline back.

"Fucking hell." You groan, shifting against the wall. "How long was I out?"

"Ten minutes." The man reads. "You're just low in blood sugar. We have some orange juice, would you like that?"

"Yeah. Sure." You furrow your brows. "God, wow, count on my body to shut down without sugar."

"It happens." He thanks his coworker for the glass, holding it to your lips. "Tilt, please."

You tilt your head back slightly to press your lips to the glass, drinking it as you lean back to lick your lips, offering to take the glass from him as your arms start cooperating. "I can do it."

"Best not to." He nods. "Just finish the glass. We'll stay until your blood sugar rises."

"Isn't it almost immediate?"

"Takes around 15 minutes."

You raise a brow at Ashley, who shakes her head, and you finish the rest of the glass, watching as Leon checks your stats.

"How often does this happen..." You glance at his nameplate. "Leon?"

"More often than you'd think." He hums, tilting his head at you as Ashley talks to the other worker about your insurance. "Let me guess, you forgot to eat?"

"Yeah. My body stops feeling hunger after a certain point." You hum. "It's not super good, huh?"

"Yeah. Try to have some candy or juice throughout the day. It helps." He nods. "College student life, huh?"

You tilt your head. "How old are you?"

"Been a few years since school." He nods. "Your blood sugar's back to normal, sugar."

You hold your hand over your mouth, raising a brow at him. "That definitely breaks some sort of work protocol."

He smiles, sneaking you a candy from his pocket with a wink.

Huh. Hard caramel.

"Are you alright?" Ashley rests a hand on your shoulder, and you give her a thumbs up.

"All good." You lean against the wall to get up. "I should eat, though."

Leon grabs your arm, helping you up. "Definitely. Have something high in sugar or carbs."

"Will do, Leon." You nod. "Wishing you an uneventful work day. May no emergency be absolutely awful."

"Thank you. Those days are the best."

You send them off as Ashley starts nagging about not eating, and you pout as you lock eyes with her, door locked, ambulance gone.

"Yeah, he was hot."

"YEAH, HE WAS."

You forget about him, though. You start popping candy throughout the day, same brand as the one Leon had given you, your lips curled upwards sweetly when it hits your tongue. It's not food, but at least you won't be passing out because your blood sugar's low again.

You're also never going to see him again, so it's fine if you carry a piece of him around with you.

Except you do. You see him at the EMT booth at a local concert, Ashley in your arms because there's something wrong with her this time. (You really ought to start taking care of yourselves, huh?)

"Ah, sugar." Leon smiles. "Friend this time?"

"Yes." You set her down as he checks up on her. "Is she okay?"

"Seems fine. Just needs some water. Dehydration. How long you been out there?"

"Since morning." You glance at the venue. "Didn't eat either, though I've been having candy."

"That's not good for you, sugar." He hands Ashley a bottle of water, sending her off with you. "Go grab some food."

You watch as he fishes out a twenty from his pocket, blinking as he holds it out to you.

"I can't take that from you, sir."

"Nonsense. Concert food is expensive. It's on me." He smiles.

"You're still breaking workplace rules, I see." You rummage through your pockets, taking Leon's hand as you place a caramel in his hand. "As a thank you."

"I'm sure it'll be delicious later." He smiles. "Now, off you go. We've got quite a line."

"Wouldn't dream of holding you up, Leon." You lead Ashley to the side by the crowds, waiting for her to grab a drink before pulling her to grab something to eat. You pay for her food first, setting Ashley with the rest of your friends before waving to get something of your own.

"Get his number!" She manages to yell as you disappear into the crowd.

Now that's breaking protocol.

Yet, you use the remainder of Leon's money to get him something to eat, waiting for the line to dissipate slightly before handing him a drink.

"For me?"

"It's got... liquid IV in it." You scrunch your nose. "Hopefully that's not a scam."

"Not completely." He takes it from you, pinching at the straw to mix it. "Did you eat?"

"I was about to."

He glances at his coworker and then the intermission.

"That'd be bad, Kennedy." The woman next to him warns.

Leon sighs. "Have fun eating."

"Thank you again." You grin.

"Ah, and for dessert." He reaches for your hand, placing another candy in it. "A hard caramel."

"I'm starting to think you have a thing for caramels, Leon." You raise a brow, taking two steps back before throwing a wave his way. "I'll pay you back later!"

You grab dinner with the rest of your friends, waving bye to them when they leave to continue, Ashley making sure that you've got candy on you before she's gone. You have one final singer that you'd like to see before you leave the event. You're glad you live close to the venue. You could probably walk back or uber if you were really desperate. Though, you wonder just how long the EMT are staying.

You find yourself mixed into the crowd as you wait, jumping when your favorite artist finally appears, cheering with everyone else. You don't blame the rest of them for retiring early. You're the only one who listens to this artist anyway. The setlist has you jumping, cheering at the live vocals, yelling your heart out with the lyrics, and when the set finishes, the sun's almost down. It'd be smart of you to head out at this point.

You make a turn to head back, popping the caramel in your mouth, stopping in your tracks when a man blocks your way.

"Where ya off to, sweetheart?"

"...Oh, you know." You smile, nodding to excuse yourself.

"Need a ride home?"

"Truly, it's alright—"

"I insist."

You wrack your brain for a solution, yelping when you feel hands on your waist instead, pulling you backwards. Your back is flush against someone's chest, smile on his lips as you blink. Sure hope it's not some other creep.

"Hey, you good bro? Had one too many to drink? I suggest the EMT tent."

You let out a sigh in relief, watching as the guy notices the uniform and scrambles.

"Thank you." You turn around, smile on your lips as Leon nods.

"You're just too lovely, sugar. Gotta keep those flies off of ya." He nods. "You feeling alright?"

You nod.

"Gone all quiet on me?" He tilts his head. "Alright, up you go."

You yelp as he lifts you into his arms effortlessly, arms wrapping around his neck as he carries you out of the crowd. He presses his forehead to yours to check your temperature, looking to the side when you don't react at all.

"You good?"

"I'm fine, Leon. You didn't need to." You let him take your vitals, the tent practically empty now that the concert was finishing up. His coworker nods at him and heads out, and leaves you with Leon. That's gotta be illegal in some way. There is no way a law is not being broken right there. Aren't they both supposed to get off at the same time? Is that?? legal? Is their shift over?

"You seem fine." He kneels at your chair, fingers on your wrist as he takes your heartbeat. "Heart's a little fast, though."

"Yeah?" You mumble. You're sure you look embarrassed beyond belief right now, so you opt for sucking on the caramel in your mouth.

You're not surprised he takes notice. "Actually, I think my head's spinning just a little. Must be the lack of sugar. You got any on you?"

"Well, I kind of ate my last one..." You mumble, sticking your tongue out with the candy.

"I don't mind."

"Yeah?" You suck on the candy.

"Of course not, sugar." He leans in, tilting his head. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, who am I to say no?"

You let him kiss you, tongue with the caramel offered to him, sugar on your lips and his from it, though you would argue that the only reason the candy seemed to taste so good was because of him. You tilt your head to angle better, Leon's hands finding yours on the chair, pushing himself to you with a hum in his throat, tongue in your mouth as he steals the caramel from you. You don't mind. You might've just tasted a slice of heaven of your own.

You pant, tongue stuck out and mouth open as Leon shows you the candy on his tongue, smiling.

"You got a ride home, sugar?"

"You gonna kidnap me?" You raise a brow, licking your lips for whatever remnant of him is left on you.

"Not with this pretty lady, no." He smiles.

"Breaking work protocol again, I see."

"I'm off duty." He glances to the side as the new shift arrives, and Leon offers a hand to help you up. "Don't worry, sugar, you can pass out on my car. I've got all the candy you could want."

"Hm..." You tap your chin, taking his hand as he pulls you with him, not letting go.

"Hm what?"

"How about we grab brunch sometimes nearby? Just to make sure my sugar levels don't drop from forgetting to eat?" You tilt your head, watching as Leon tilts his head back to you.

"Oh, sugar. You don't even need to ask."

[lovelybotblog]

— suguru geto x reader, college au, slight smut.

academic rival!geto who constantly gets a headache from the fact that you're not only a painfully know-it-all, but you're also a beloved campus sweatheart, and also a hotshot.

academic rival!geto whose eye twitch when he sees your name written on the book loan tracker in almost every book he has taken out from the library.

academic rival!geto who knows that if you two share a class, it will be a battle of who answers the most questions from the professors.

academic rival!geto who sits behind you so he doesn't see your face and yet every time he adjusts in his seat or he speaks up to ask a question, you turn around and stare at him with a piercing glare and furrowed eyebrows since the past one and a half year.

academic rival!geto with whom you often have obnoxious duels of intelligent and subtly offhand comments in front of the entire lecture hall.

academic rival!geto who rarely sees you without your groupies (friends of your sorority) surrounding you.

academic rival!geto who pretends not to notice the way your friends just happens to have something to do the moment a frat boy comes up to you ludicrously cocky, flexing his biceps with a cringy pick up line to ask for your socials.

nerd/academic rival!geto who knows you are way too smart to agree to the man’s offer, -wait, no way- why you’re laughing and slowly blinking and twisting your hair?!

academic rival!geto who doesn't care what you do but always stays long enough to eavesdrop when he hears someone mention your name.

academic rival!geto who gets dragged by his high school friend satoru to the party his fraternity is hosting.

academic rival!geto who is plopped on the living room couch of the fraternity, playing with the plastic cup of beer resting on his chest when his attention is stolen by the glorious way you make your entrance to the place, a shiny, golden aura around you.

academic rival!geto who tries not to look too much in your direction while you're talking to the monkey-man who asked for your number in the hallway a few days ago and wonders if your bar it that low.

academic rival!geto who gets nauseous from the way you dance close to the guy, his hands running along the sides of your body and his front hip stuck to your bum.

academic rival!geto who now can't take his eyes off your silhouette coiled around the boy's neck while you kiss him fervently, suddenly a tick in the back of his head begins to annoy him.

academic rival!geto who feels an immense heat grow and his soul leave his body when your gaze catches him staring at you.

academic rival!geto who throat’s go dry as you throw a mocking smirk his way with your chin resting on the frat boy's shoulders.

academic rival!geto with whom next monday of the party you get paired with to do the final presentation of the semester.

academic rival!geto who you invite to your sorority to do the work.

academic rival!geto whose calculator distant gloomy demeanor disappears when finds himself alone with you in your room and turns into a fidgety, easily blushed bag of flesh.

academic rival!geto who gets teased by you with double meaning sentences about the happenings in the party.

academic rival!geto who can’t get focused into the writing in his computer after he put on his reading glasses and your eyes got stick in him.

academic rival!geto who gives in to your bombardment of questions and explains that he doesn't wear his glasses in class because he doesn't like the way it makes his eyes smaller.

academic rival!geto who gets flushed when you steal his glasses and put them on you, asking him if you look nice, and he denies so you get closer to him and tell him to be honest, and he says yes just so you don’t get close again.

academic rival!geto who kinda starts liking his glasses when you smile pleased and put his glasses on him again, slightly brushing your soft fingers to his cheekbones and hair when you do it, telling him it looks good on him too.

academic rival!geto who after a couple of work sessions realizes how much stuff you have to put up with and carry because people think highly of your pretty, popular, intelligent self. Not forgetting how busy you must be for being the leader of your sorority and cheerleader for the university rugby team.

academic rival!geto who finally accepts his friends invitation to go to the rugby game where -oh surprise- you are cheering.

academic rival!geto who’s the one that catches your eye from the massive crowd while you are up in the air doing a torch motion.

academic rival!geto whose gaze constantly drifts from the field to the bench on the sides where you rest after you finish your set.

academic rival!geto who at the last meeting for the project invites you to his bedroom.

academic rival!geto who invites you to his bedroom to practice your presentation for the project.

academic rival!geto who tries not to think that you stood him up because of the rain when it was already more than forty minutes after the agreed time.

academic rival!geto who gets surprised by your soaking figure at his door.

academic rival!geto who lends you a t-shirt and sweatpants while he puts your clothes in the dryer.

academic rival!geto who feels like a creep when his eyes linger on your exposed collarbone because of how big his shirt suits you or the way your hips get exposed when you raise your arms to stretch.

academic rival!geto with whom you obviously succeed with the work and receive an exceptional grade.

academic rival!geto whom you invite to go get a coffee at the local cafe on campus to celebrate.

academic rival!geto who has you pinned into the cafe bathroom wall while making out with you.

academic rival!geto who finally went down and filled you with two of his fingers with his right hand while his left covered your mouth because you couldn't keep quiet.

academic rival!geto who you hear chuckle as your nails dug into his shoulders while his head is buried between your legs tasting you, hungry and messy.

academic rival!geto who you watch redo his bun after messing it up when you pulled him by his hair to bring him back into your mouth.

academic rival!geto who leaves the bathroom after you, smirking and strolling all-mighty as if he had just won a war when almost a month ago he was sat next to you on the verge of falling off the edge of the bed because his hands sweat if he got closer to you.

[toiletclown]

breathless.

spencer agnew x gn!reader

mostly fluff, a little angst.

part one of four or five, depending how much more i add.

summary: you've had feelings for your best friend, spencer, almost as long as you have known him. it isn't getting any easier, and you need to tell him soon, whether he feels the same or not. your friends are pushing you, the fans already ship you, and after courtney and shayne's success, you just couldn’t bare to keep lying anymore. to yourself, or to him.

word count: 2028 for part one.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

It’s been two years since you graduated from Smosh crew member to Smosh cast member. You weren’t the first, and are unlikely to be the last, but it’s still a bit nerve-wracking. You were moved to cast not long after Spencer made his switch to cast, but that was exactly your problem, wasn’t it? When you were both on crew, it was easier. Small smiles, hidden glances, a blush forming under your mask. Once or twice, Brennan had swiveled his camera to the crew to get their reactions and you couldn’t duck fast enough to dodge the shot. 

You both shared moments without fear of judgment, knowing everyone at Smosh knew how close you were. Some more than others. But once you were both on camera more often, those moments dwindled to near nothingness. You couldn’t make eyes at him, he couldn’t flirt with you. Plenty of the cast flirted with each other on and off camera, of course, but it was different somehow. The office flirting became private hangout flirting, which then became no flirting at all. 

He didn’t get jealous anymore when Amanda or Angela flirted with you, and you did your best not to get jealous when he flirted with Tommy or Shayne. It was like your friendship was entirely platonic again. And while that was all it had ever been – platonic – it hurt a little. It was like something happened overnight, and the flirting wasn’t cool anymore.

The last time something happened before your promotion to cast, Spencer, Angela, and Chanse were doing Who Meme’d It with Shayne, and someone had sent in a meme about you always looking at Spencer. As soon as it popped up, everyone was laughing, and Brennan promptly turned his camera to get your face. You were smart enough to expect it, and you managed to push out a laugh and shrug to the camera. All in good fun, it seemed. But really, it was a little bit upsetting to realize you were so obvious about your affection for Spencer. You thought that you were fairly secretive and weren’t too over the top, but apparently not so much.

“Okay, ‘Y/N pretending they weren’t just staring at Spencer’! Spencer, any thoughts?” Shayne said through giggles. 

Spencer made eye contact with you, and you did your best to hold it. “Gotta be honest, Shayne, I wasn’t even aware they stared at me. Guess they’re sneakier than I thought!” Everyone was laughing again, and you joined in. Instead of making a joke about him staring at you, or a joke about you two flirting in your pod, he went with a PR answer. You could barely admit to yourself how bad it had stung. And sure, most people got roasted in Who Meme’d It, especially with the lack of funeral roasts, but it didn’t really feel good to have your private crush on Spencer blasted to not only cast and crew, but whoever ends up watching this video. And his comment was making it seem more one-sided than you liked.

After the laughter settled down, Shayne got back to hosting. “Alright, who meme’d it! Was it Erin Dougal? Courtney? Or Y/N themselves?” You made a silly face when Brennan panned to you, channeling your best mad scientist look. Your face dropped immediately after. No one saw it.

The cast members debated for a second before writing down their answers. It was Courtney across the board. “Alright, so we all think Courtney made this meme. Angela, what makes you think it was Courtney?” 

“Shayne, that’s a great question, thank you so much for being here with me today. I said Court because I have seen them having little whisper sessions with Y/N and I simply don’t trust like that!” Angela laughed, a bright smile on her face. She winked at you once the camera had moved away from her face. She was actually your go-to confidant, and you were sure she knew that. She was your best friend, behind Spencer, after all.

After a dramatic pause, it was revealed that Erin Dougal was the one who made the meme. You could have called that from a mile away, but that was because Erin was constantly telling you to ask Spencer out. You shot her down every time, knowing it was safer and easier to suffer in silence with your feelings rather than to possibly fuck everything up with your best friend. Besides, suffering in silence was what you were best at.

//

And now, a few months later, you were the one in front of the camera for a Who Meme’d It. It was your first time actually competing, although you’ve sent your fair share of memes in. Spencer and Angela were the only two people to continuously guess you correctly, which in the grand scheme of things made the most sense as they were your closest friends at Smosh. However, you were now competing against both of them, and your competitive side didn’t have a concept of “friendship”, unfortunately. 

“Okay! Welcome back to Who Meme’d It! Today we have Angela, Y/N, and Spencer competing. And Y/N is quite competitive so let’s hope they still have their best friends after this!” Shayne introduced you all, smiling at you to ease your anxiety. 

“Lest we forget what happened when they were on Don’t Win Mario Party and nearly killed me,” Spencer said, turning towards you with his hands folded on the table. His eyes were smiling, but he was trying his best to keep a serious face.

You turned to face him, mirroring his expression and hands. “Lest we forget you deserved that attack because you fucked with my controller mid-lap so that you could get seventh.”

“Okay, are we doing Who Meme’d It or the Newlywed Game?” Angela joked, and you and Spencer returned to your normal positions, excited to play.

//

After the shoot, Spencer caught up with you in the kitchen. “You got your first Who Meme’d It win, how’s it feel?” You had indeed won, but only by two points. Spencer was right behind you and Angela frankly tanked it this episode. Usually she wasn’t too bad, but perhaps she knew how competitive you were going to be and decided to focus more on having fun instead of winning. Especially considering there was content being made that needed to be entertaining.

“Eh, I feel like my competitiveness isn’t very fun on camera. I’m hoping we don’t have to scrap the ep simply because I was too locked in.” You grabbed some fruit from the fridge and prepared to make your way to a table so you could sit and destress before your next shoot. You weren’t needed on set for over an hour so you were ready to mindlessly doomscroll while you snacked on your peaches.

Spencer chuckled at your comment, which made your heart flutter a bit. Suddenly, you had the urge to touch him. You put your hand on his shoulder, mostly unconsciously, not actively making the decision but simply just doing it. His giggling stopped instantly, and he looked at your hand cryptically, his expression unreadable. All too suddenly, it felt too serious, too personal, so you instantly pivoted. “But at least you didn’t win, right?” You smiled, patting his shoulder and turning to head to your seat. 

You were hoping, for the first time ever if you were being honest, that he wouldn’t follow you. Things had been weird between you two for a few weeks now, and you almost wanted some space to deal with the pain of your best friend seeming to lose interest in your friendship. And once again, Erin had submitted a meme that made you a little upset. You knew it was unreasonable to be upset with her, as it was all in good fun and she wasn’t actually trying to hurt your feelings. You should probably try to talk to her about that, since you knew she wouldn’t take your upset personally.

This one was arguably worse than the first one though, because instead of it being at your expense, it was technically at Spencer’s. The meme wasn’t mean in any regard, but it was making fun of Spencer for consistently getting “lost in his thoughts” whenever you were on a shoot together. Of course, Erin alluded to those thoughts being romantic in nature, which earned a few oohs and aahs from the crew and cast alike. You had felt your face get warm and tried to remind yourself you were on camera and it was all in good fun. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Courtney approaching you. “Y/N, Spence! Just the two people I wanted to see. I have a question for you guys.” 

Clearly, Spencer had intended on following you, since Courtney had greeted you both. You sighed as quietly as possible, before asking Court if you could sit down before you all got to talking. Your castmates followed you to a table, and you popped a piece of fruit in your mouth. “Okay, what's up?” 

“Well, we wanted to do a Guitar Hero stream next week. I know you haven't been on any of the livestreams, so I figured I’d ask if you wanted to be in this one. You don't have to play but if you sit and make commentary I’m sure that'll be enough! But of course you can play if you want to.” Courtney was always so thoughtful, and you made a mental note to thank her for always being so considerate. 

“Oh hell yeah, I finally get to show off my guitar skills. It’s been a minute since I’ve played, but if Y/N’s down, I’m down!” Spencer’s eyes lit up. He had been trying to figure out a way to impress you and gauge your reaction before he finally took the leap and asked you on a date.

Everyone had been encouraging him to do so for months at this point, but he still wasn’t so sure about it. Yeah, you blushed whenever he mentioned you on camera and you blushed a lot during the shoot today when Erin’s meme came up. But some part of him felt like that had less to do with reciprocating a crush and more to do with embarrassment. 

You thought for a minute, munching on your peach slice. “Sure, that sounds fun. Spencer, maybe you could teach me how to play?”

Spencer broke out in a grin, “Of course I can. Although I’m surprised you’ve never played it before, it’s an iconic franchise.”

Courtney worked out a few more details with the two of you before making their way back to their pod. When she had left, Spencer turned his attention back to you. “Have you seriously never played Guitar Hero before?” He genuinely was having trouble believing that.

Truthfully, you had played before. Many times. And you were actually quite skilled at it. But it’s been quite some time since you picked up and played it, and you knew you would be rusty. Plus, you were mentally hatching a plan. Have Spence “teach” you the game, play extremely badly the whole time, then on stream you can kick his ass on Expert mode. Perfect plan.

“I have not. I might have played once or twice as a kid but I don’t really remember the controls or, like, speed, since I know some of the songs are really fast.”

“Okay, do you wanna come by my place tonight after work? I have a bunch of the Guitar Hero games but I also have Clone Hero which will probably be what we use on the stream anyway.”

Oh, right. Not-so-perfect plan. If you were to be taught, you needed to be taught before the livestream. Which means you had to hang out with Spencer outside of work. You can survive one night alone with him, right? You’ve done it so many times before. Sure, it’s been a few weeks since you guys hung out, and with your increasing feelings for him you were sure to be awkward. But it was Spencer! Your best friend in the whole world! It would be just fine. Right?

[pressureplus]

HEYA HELLO HI

first, i want to genuinely thank you guys for the account's existence and your hard work. reading through the posts is often the highlight of my bleak days, and im immensely grateful for you providing those moments of joy :]

SECOND UH ID LIKE TO ORDER A SPECIFIC KINDA HEADCANONS LIST IF NO ONE MINDS AND IT HASN'T BEEN WRITTEN ALREADY ALRIGHT YEAH

a nonbinary reader who is pretty similar to Seb's stubborn, independent and sassy persona but WOMP WOMP, they're suddenly head over heels for him. NEITHER WANTS TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE FEELINGS (aka "HE'S FUCKING MARRIED, IT'S NOT MUTUAL AND IM BUSY WITH NOT DYING, BUT I CANT GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD" & "I HAVE A WIFE AND THEY'RE JUST SOME EXPENDABLE BASTARD, GET OVER IT, SOLACE"). the distracting, unnecessary, painful pining. how do both cope and who's gonna break first? and most importantly, is either gonna throw their ego and rationality out the window to confess despite the fear of looking pathetic?

oooof i hope it's not too much and it's not breaking any rules. thank you in advance if you find it interesting enough for writing! :D

Awww, thanks so much! Although I should make it very clear the wife in question will remain vague and is NOT BASED ON ANYONE! Thanks for the request ❤️

♡Married! Sebastian Solace x NB! Similar! Reader Headcannons♡

Warnings: Sebastian is Married and Y/N is technically an Affair Partner

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He had found you interesting from the moment you opened your mouth and got sassy with him, mostly because most people don't have the balls to do it

Despite finding this slightly irritating, he also found it refreshing, so he didn't immediately shoot you if only for his own entertainment

A terrible mistake he'd soon find out

He developed some definitely unhealthy feelings the first time one of your comebacks had an almost flirtatious undertone

It was an accident on your part, but it got him thinking

He was a married man fawning quietly over you, how awful is that?

I mean of course he’s flashed the wedding band, and of course he's mentioned his wife when others flirt with him, but that doesn't change his feelings

If you flirted with him, would he really reject you?

Could he?

He hadn't known the touch of his wife in years, the softness of her hands, the warmth of her kisses

After everything that's happened he couldn't even remember her name. He should be able to remember his wifes name right?

Does he really even care about her? Does he love her now? Did he love her then?

It comes with an odd sense of guilt he doesn't like to look at. Especially when you do something that makes his heart flutter.

You, on the other hand, probably didn't develop any real feelings until he actually saved your ass.

You'd been running for your life and he’d snatched you up and into the vents, tossing you easily into his shop and shutting it behind you

His gaze transfixed on said vent, a hand on his gun. Something about him choosing to save your life while also putting up with your attitude was a little attractive…

Okay, insanely attractive

Sure, Sebastian’s guilt for being attracted to you is bad, but so is yours

You’re attracted to a married man who has absolutely gushed about his wife in front of you before. Even if it was only because someone tried to get a little flirty, what does that matter?

Honestly the mutual attraction makes it hard for you both to focus

Everything about that man is intoxicating, his smile, his laugh, his attitude. Can you really be judged for this?

Neither of you can focus on anything but each other whenever you’re both in a room.

It’s led to Sebastian getting surprised whenever another person buys something off him because he had no idea anyone else was in here

Its also led to you freaking out whenever one of the other expendable touches your shoulder without you having realized anyone was standing behind you

You hide it well…at least you hope you do?

The longing glances and quiet staring on both sides is unbearable though

Especially considering you’re both making those dolly eyes at each other, batting lashes and daydreaming

It’s cute but it’s also incredibly wrong of you two and you’re painfully aware of it

No amount of sharing food and acting like it’s not a date will make it less of a date

He’s already long since decided that he’s going to offer you come with him so you both can leave together

And though neither of you will have the heart to confess for quite a while, I think he’d do it on your way out. Something about you almost dying when you both escape makes him desperate to tell you how he really feels

When that ‘I think I’m in love with you’ slips out while he’s bandaging your arm that’s been cut by glass, how can you refuse?

Especially when you’re in love with him too?

He’ll toss that ring into the ocean once you reach the surface, his wife never loved him like you did anyway

[wrennyfics]

The way I RAN to the ask button after reading the other requests 😭🙏🏽 this is gonna be a wild 18+ request if you are okay with it. Snape x fem reader who’s also a professor at Hogwarts trying cockwarming for the first time, snape has no idea what it is so the reader sits on his lap and shows him while he’s trying to mark assignments late at night in his classroom to see how long he lasts 🥴🤭

that is disgus-GIVE IT TO ME NOW

minors dni >:(

warnings: explicit smut, kinda sub snape, kinda dom reader, light begging

~

Shadows danced across the stone walls of Snapes office, the candlelight casting a faint, warm glow upon the room. Sitting in an arm chair in the corner of the room, you looked up from your grading to look at Severus.

Your partner had the odd tendency to get as close to the paper as humanly possible while grading. As if the students calling him a "dungeon bat" wasn't accurate enough, it didn't help that the man could not see what was right below his eyes for the life of him. No matter how often you urged him to get reading glasses, he would always respond with a scoff.

And so now, you watched, half amused, half annoyed, at the sight of Severus leaning over his papers, quill in hand, eyes inches from the parchment, brows furrowed.

"Severus." You said, putting down your own grading on the coffee table beside you.

He glanced up only for a second before continuing to focus on his work, responding with a questioning grunt.

"You're gonna give yourself a headache."

Severus ignored you, his only response the gentle scratching of his quill upon the parchment.

Sighing, you stood up from the chair and walked over to his desk. Resting your chin on his shoulder, you peered down at the papers he was grading.

In the candle light, you could make out his thin, cramped handwriting written in the blank space between students, his feedback blunt and harsh.

"Severus you can't call an eleven year old a..." you squinted, "dim-witted imbecile."

Severus smirked, setting the quill down and turning his head to the right to look at you.

"If you had to read these assignments, you would call them the same thing." He said.

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped your lips. You silenced it by placing small, playful kisses on his neck just below his jaw, relishing in the feeling of him relaxing under your touch.

"Take a break, love." You whispered in between kisses, "We've been grading all night."

Severus sighed, tapping his quill against the desk. "I'm almost done, I have two left."

Your arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, head still buried in his neck. "Maybe I could help you, focus..." You murmered.

You didn't need to see his face to know his brow was raised. The sound of his quill tapping against the desk stopped, replaced by an anticipatory silence.

His rough hand reached up to touch your cheek, callosed fingers softly tracing your skin. "I can't leave this chair."

An idea weaved itself through the silence and into your mind. You hummed slightly, the sound muffled in his neck.

"You won't have to." You murmered in between kisses before pulling away to look at him.

"Severus... Do you want to.. try something?" You asked.

He looked at you, brow still raised. "Go on." He said, lowly.

"What if.. I sit on your lap while you grade?"

Severus smirked. "Because that worked so well for you last time?"

You playfully hit his chest, moving now so that you were infront of him, between him and the desk. "Not like that! I mean in a different way."

His dark eyes flicked between yours. "Show me."

Your hands felt their way down his chest to his trousers, unbuttoning them, unzipping. You paused, looking up at him. His facial expression was blank, but the slight tint of his cheeks and subtle depth of the rise and fall of his chest showed his anticipation.

You pulled your hands away, only to reach up under your dress and pull your underwear down, tossing it to the floor beside his chair. Severus' gaze flicked to it, before looking back up at you, pupils dilating.

Straddling him, your hands rested on his thighs, eyes looking into his. "May I?"

His gaze softened, but his breathing quickened as he nodded, hands reaching up to grip your waists as you pulled him out and positoned yourself on top of him. After a teasingly long second, you sank down slowly, hissing as you took in his length, until your thighs rested comfortably on his.

Severus exhaled shakily, looking down at the sight of your hips flush together, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. Through gritted teeth he spoke at last: "I hardly see how this is going to help me focus."

You leaned in, bringing your lips to his ear and biting gently. "Go back to grading." You whispered.

His caressing of your hips and thighs stopped, hands paused. "Keep grading? With you on me like... this?"

You bit his ear again, lips trailing down his jaw and neck, placing tender, gentle kisses. "Keep grading."

Severus hesitated for a moment, before pulling a hand away from your waist and reaching for the quill again. A hiss escaped his lips at the movement, the slightest sensation echoing through him as he adjusted the paper before him.

"Darling..." He murmered, his voice low. "Are you...."

Your right hand trailed up his back, fingers weaving between strands of his black hair, pulling his head in closer. "I'm not moving until you're finished grading."

An almost shaky exhale left his lips, his grip on your waist tightening as you heard the faint sound of quill on paper resume.

His breathing was deep, but shaky as he wrote, the sound quite slower than it was minutes ago.

"That's it." You murmered in between kisses, fingers now gently pulling his hair as you grinded down slightly, in one simple, teasing movement. "Keep going, love."

Severus hissed, his left hand gripping your hip tighter as his other hand began to write faster, scribbling his notes down with an increased motivation.

Inhaling, you allowed your fingers to continue playing with his hair as you took in his herbal, smokey scent.

For another minute there was only the sound of his laboured breathing and desperate writing, accompanied by the soft murmers and sounds of your kissing on his neck.

His breathing was getting increasingly louder, his grip on your hip tighter.

"Almost done, my love?" You whispered, placing another kiss on the sweet spot just below his ear. In another teasing movement, you rose slightly, only to sink back down on him and cease your movements once again, a soft moan leaving your mouth at the temporary satisfaction.

Severus inhaled sharply, his fingers digging into your waist almost painfully. "Y/N." He hissed.

Continuing to leave kisses on his neck, you asked: "What?"

The sound that left his lips was more or less a groan as his free hand flipped the roll of parchment and the sound of quill on paper filled the tiny office once again.

"Move.." He murmered quietly, shyly. "Please."

Your fingers once again tugged gently on his hair, eliciting a small, sharp inhale from him. "Not until you finish grading."

He sighed through gritted teeth as tried his hardest to focus his attention back on the task at hand. But it was difficult to focus on anything else, with the feeling of you warm around him, your hands in his hair, mouth on his neck.... If only you would just.... move...

"However..." You whispered. "I would find it quite entertaining to keep you like this, even after you finish your grading..."

He grit his teeth.

"I wonder how long you'd last... How long it would take before you beg for me to move.. Or to let you fuck me properly.."

He stayed inhaled shakily, hand gripping you somehow even tighter as he continued to grade. "You wouldn't..." He murmered, the sound strained.

You responded immediately, your steady voice almost cutting him off: "Oh, but I would."

He twitched inside you, eliciting a small, breathy laugh from your lips. He only clenched his jaw in response, his hands trembling slightly as he marked with an increased desperation, quill working furiously over the paper.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity, he dropped the quill, both hands now on your waist, pulling you away from his neck so he could look you in the eyes.

The look in his eyes was something you'd never seen before. In the dim candlelight, his darkened gaze was intense, pupils completely dialeted, eyes flicking between yours in a silent plea. His hands gripped your waist, almost trembling.

"It's done." He said lowly.

"Is it?" You asked, moving slightly to look behind you at the now single stack of parchments and the quill lazily abandoned on the table. Black ink was spilling from the quill onto the wood of his desk. You turned back to face him, relishing in the clench of his jaw at the friction of your slightest movements.

His black hair hung across the soft flush of his cheeks as his lips parted, eyes into yours. "Please..." He murmered, the sound so low you could barely hear it.

You smirked, pulling off of him slightly only to sink back down at an agonizingly slow pace. He groaned, dark eyes fluttering shut as his hips involuntarily jerked up to greet yours.

"Please what?" You said.

His eyes remained close, cheeks flushing deeper as his voice came out barely a whisper. "Please... Darling.. Move..."

You weren't sure if it was the desperate look on his face, or your own need growing within you, but you gave in without asking him to beg any longer. Your hands resting themselves on his shoulders as you began to rise and sink back down on him, riding him slowly at first.

He let his head fall back against the chair, a soft moan escaping his mouth as his lips parted. "Yes..." He groaned. "Like that... Please..."

You moaned softly at the feeling of him, moving slowly but deliberately. Your hands tightened their grip on his shoulders as you watched every micro expression on his pleasure striken face, the slight twitch of his mouth, the furrow of his brow... All arousing you even more. Knowing that you were the one who made him feel this way.... That he had begged for you... That he needed you...

His breathing quickened, eyes opening, lids heavy as he looked at you. "Love.. I'm not going to... Last long like this..." He whispered.

You moaned softly as you continued to grind down on him, moving at the same slow, passionate pace you had set.

"I know.." You moaned, "Take what you need."

That was all the permission he needed. Without pulling out of you, his hands held your thighs as he lifted you up, placing you on his desk and holding you body flush against his chest as he began to fuck you at the pace he needed for his release.

A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, nails clawing at his clothed back, legs wrapping around his waist. You moaned into his chest, listening to the sound of his quiet grunts.

His hands roamed over your body desperately, as if he was searching for a part of you to cling to, his grip finally settling on the back of your neck, pulling you closer against him as he continued to move faster.

"Love.." He moaned, the sound echoing off the stone walls, his rhythm faltering. "Please... I.. Can't...."

"I know." You said, the sound coming out a quick gasp. "It's okay. It's okay."

His grip on the back of your neck tightened, his other hand grasping at your waist as his hips began to stutter, shaky breathes escaping his lips.

He came with a sound that was akin to a whimper, his hips shaking, holding you tight against him as he rode out his high. He clung to you, panting for several moments as he recovered, before gently pulling your head away to look you in the eyes.

His raven hair was a mess, cheeks pink, eyes darkened as he looked down at you, expression a mix of pure relief and love. He reached down, his lips finding yours as he kissed you passionately, gently, his hands still roaming your body.

When he finally did pull his lips away, he did so only to murmer lowly against your lips: "Show me... How I can make that up to you..."

~

yall i hope to god this was okay. i love sub snape and tbh he probably is a sub more than a dom in a lot of instances but i feel like i just didnt do this justice for some reason but i tried so i hope its okay :((

thank u for the request <3

[summeroumbis-if]

ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴꜱɴᴀʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍöʙɪᴜꜱ ꜱᴛʀɪᴘ ᴏꜰ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʏɪɴɢ, ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇɴᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ.

Sunlight dappled through the leaves, casting fragmented patterns on the car window. A dry heat wave hung heavy in the air.

The car engine hummed low and steady as the tires crunched along the dusty country road. Cornfields stretched endlessly on either side, their swaying stalks resembling a vast ocean of green.

You leaned back against the seat, your arm draped languidly over the window sill, fingers tapping idly against the glass. Luggage piled high beside you, crowding the backseat. Your mother drove in the front, occasionally making small talk. But your gaze remained fixed on the landscape outside, watching the occasional wooden fences and weathered farmhouses flicker by. A subtle stillness pervaded the air, as if the usual summer cacophony of cicadas and chatter had been muted, tucked away in some inaccessible corner beyond your reach.

ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪʙʙᴏɴ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴊᴏɪɴᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴛʀᴀᴄᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ.

The story begins in a fictional town in the year 2005.

As a high school senior about to embark on your final summer break, you've been shipped off by your mother to stay with your uncle in a different town. All thanks to a nature observation summer camp specifically organized by your school.

For a restless, newly-turned-adult like you, this kind of activity is a bit too mundane and boring. So much so that you often "accidentally" stray from the group, venturing deeper into the woods in search of excitement. Up until now, you sound exactly like the stereotypical, death-seeking silly in horror movies, even though you always manage to return home safe and sound, with all your limbs intact.

When the two-month summer break comes to an end, you open the door to your uncle's house and find yourself back in the evening of June 30th.

The crimson hidden in a peaceful corner begins to spread, seeping through the branches and infiltrating the reality you held as truth.

Realizing that all this is not an illusion, what should you do to escape this summer? Or perhaps, sever the summer?

Customize your MC. Play as male, female, or non-binary. This will not affect the Love Interests. (Their sexual orientation is mc)

The prey being hunted, or the hunter who sets the trap? Which role do you prefer?

Use your hunting skills to eliminate threats around you! You know, the choices you have to make to survive.

Escape from the clutches of supernatural monsters and break the loop? It's like movie!

Love Interests with customizable genders too. As your eyes meet, what does the other hand conceal? A knife, a bouquet?

:O | Fugaien [M-19] Your classmate. After arriving at your uncle's house, you discover that the work-study student who your uncle mentioned would be helping out on the farm is actually your classmate. According to your uncle, he's saving up for college. So when he found out that his boss is your uncle, he started wondering whether he should call you "boss" too. You stumbled upon the scene of his 'resurrection.'

Even when vital parts of the human body are severed, they can regenerate. What would you name such a thing?

:O | Ayunis [M/F-19] Your classmate, a popular jerk among the students. They possess an almost unnervingly keen intuition and react to danger with incredible speed. Despite their laundry list of flaws, they're not entirely without merit… maybe. They always seem lucky enough to guess what you’re going to do one step ahead of you.

It’s easy to perform such simple tricks without opening my eyes, for the eyes in the dark have already done the work for me.

:O | Memorin [M/F-26]

The second doctor in town. Cheerful and perhaps a touch scatterbrained, they radiate professionalism only when wielding a scalpel. They're lending their medical expertise to the summer camp. When you fainted and were sent to the infirmary, they had you try some sweets they made to help you regain strength; it was a flavor unlike anything you'd ever encountered. You have a distinct impression that they're proficient with a shotgun, though you've never actually witnessed it. Why is that?

My love, don’t panic, don’t fret. Just sit at the dining table, ring the bell, and the most delicious desserts will be served to you.

:O | Ozaeus [M/F-34]

The town's tavern owner. They possess a fiery temper and little patience for troublemakers, yet they harbor a soft spot for young people. You can work at their tavern in exchange for money, though they suspect it might be akin to child labor or that you might be a runaway fleeing abuse, so they always insist on paying you double. They hate the forest and advise you not to go there often.

My excitement was so intense that it nearly stole my breath away. The only sound I could perceive was the frantic pounding of my heart. I must look utterly disheveled, like a rabid dog.

[More LIs to be unlocked]

Disclaimer: Summer ōumbis is rated 18+ for the following mature and potentially disturbing content: depictions of character injury or death, blood, violence, toxic relationships, non-consensual acts, and optional sexual content. All characters depicted in the game are assumed to be of legal age.

Thank you for reading! English is not my first language, and I'm navigating Tumblr like someone encountering a computer for the first time, so the text formatting might be a bit lackluster. The demo is still a work in progress, and the initial release will cover the storyline up to the end of the two months mentioned in the synopsis. It's a big project, and I hope to make it something readable. Thank you again.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

The Princess and The Knight(Chapter Two)

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: mentions of the basilisk

By your second year, Mattheo had made a reputation of being a dick and getting into fights. Many people avoided him, only his few friends you met on the train on the way to Hogwarts talked with him.

And you. You tried, at least. He would give short replies the whole time. ‘Yes’ ‘No’ ‘Maybe’ ‘I don’t know’ ‘Okay’ “Whatever’ That was pretty much his whole vocabulary with you.

His friends were okay with you. Not particularly friendly or went out of their way for you, but they weren’t rude to you and you were never one of their targets, which you were thankful for.

Second year started, and that was the year that there was something roaming Hogwarts, killing students. You were terrified, as any normal person would be.

You sat down in Potions next to Mattheo the day after the first attack, still a bit shaken up from the news.

“Did you hear about what happened?” You asked Mattheo as you started setting up your things for class.

“With the cat? Yes.” Mattheo answered, seeming unphased.

“I can’t believe something like that could happen here.” You said, shaking your head in disbelief.

“It's just a cat. It'll be fine, probably.” Mattheo shrugged.

“What if it happens to a student though?” You ask, leaning forward to lean on the desk.

“Are you scared?” He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at you, like he was confused about your reaction.

“Well, yeah. That could've happened to anybody. That's terrifying.”

“You don't have to be scared. Nothing's gonna happen to you.” His expression softened slightly.

“How can you be so sure? How are you not scared?” You asked, confused about his laid back attitude about it all.

He shrugged again, refusing to answer the questions. “Do you need me to protect you? Will that make you feel safe?” He asked in a sarcastic tone.

It almost took you back for a second. He was sarcastic with you often, but the question caught you off guard. But you quickly recovered. “Aw, are you offering to be my knight in shining armor?” You smiled at him.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “As if. You're not a princess, you know.”

“Only princesses get knights then?”

“Correct.”

You were about to respond, but Snape spoke up, starting his lesson.

After some more attacks, the school implemented a rule that you couldn’t walk alone and to always walk with someone else. You didn’t really know anyone in your potions class other than Mattheo, so you weren’t sure who you were going to walk with, but you figured you’d find someone when the time came.

So now, potions class had ended and you were packing up, watching everyone walk in pairs or groups out of the classroom. You grabbed your bag and headed to the door, but noticed everyone was gone. You frowned, but figured since the halls were filled with students, you shouldn’t have an issue getting to your next class and headed out of the classroom.

“Breaking the rules now?” You heard Mattheo say after you took a few steps out the door.

“What?” You turned to see him pushing himself off the wall and coming to your side.

“Not following the ‘walking with someone’ rule. You’re alone.” He said, grabbing your arm to make you keep walking before letting go.

“Everyone had someone else already.” You shrugged as you fell into step beside him.

“I guess that leaves us then.”

“You didn’t want to walk with anyone else?” You asked curiously.

“They’re all idiots, I’m not walking with them.” He answered simply.

“You know, I think I recall you saying something about only princesses getting knights.” You said in a playful tone.

“Yeah, and?”

“Does that mean I’m a princess now?” You joked.

“And I’m a knight then?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah.” You smiled at him.

“Fine then, princess. I guess I’ll be your knight for our 5 minute walk to your class.” He said sarcastically.

He walked with you between classes when he could, still keeping up the defense that he didn’t want to walk with anyone else since they were idiots. When they finally lifted the rule, he walked you to class one last time.

“Guess you won’t be needing my protection anymore, princess.” He said as you approached your class.

“Unfortunate. I was getting used to you walking with me.” You said, pouting playfully.

“Not like you’re never going to see me again.” He rolled his eyes at your pout.

“Might as well, though. It was the most you ever spoke to me.”

“Oh, shut up.” He stopped in front of your classroom.

“Well, I guess you’re retired now, my knight. Your services were appreciated.” You said with a small smile, chuckling when he rolled his eyes again, but this time with his own small smile.

“You’re stupid.”

“I know.”

There was a small moment of silence as you stared at each other, finally breaking when another student squeezed past you two to get into the classroom.

“Well, I better get to class. I’ll see you later, Mattheo.” You said and headed to your classroom.

“Yeah, later.” You heard him say before he started heading to his own classroom.

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[l-in-the-light]

Why is Law more stressed, more serious and often grumpy and annoyed in Wano? Thought he would be relieved after Luffy defeated Deflamingo 🤔he couldn't even relax at the banquet 😑

Broody Law is actually my favourite Law, which means I enjoyed him so much in Wano ❤ But why is he delivering behaving like that, indeed? Let's summarize the Wano experience from his side, shall we?

his alliance with Strawhats gets sidetracked because Luffy went to Big Mom to retrieve Sanji. He barely avoided a conflict (not really)

he's stuck at Wano, worrying his ass off for Luffy, hoping he's not left with half of Strawhats crew to take care for forever now

everyone is dying of hunger and getting sick in Wano, because they can't stop drinking water from the polluted river

Luffy finally arrives, Bepo gets sick, Luffy in the meantime does The Worst Thing Possible and Law's efforts to patch up the situation do not work out

Luffy snaps and runs off to fight Kaido

Kaido bombs away Strawhats and Hearts crews while Luffy and Law are already near town and can't do shit about it

he fails to stop Luffy from fighting Kaido

he fails to stop Kaido from putting Luffy in prison

freaking Hawkins getting in his way

crews turn out to be fine, but freaking Kinemon soon leaves to find remaining Akazaya samurais. Now the whole raid plan and making sure it's not exposed is Law's job. On top of that, he needs to take care not only of his Heart Pirates, but also Strawhats, because their captain is in jail. Two crews, a raid plan and the weight of 20 years of revenge is all hanging on Law's neck.

freaking Germa (he's a Sora follower, ok)

he almost throws it all away when Hearts get put in prison

he's got accussed that his crew is crap and he should just kill them off, all that coming from his very own allies he's been taking care of for last couple of weeks!

freaking Hawkins again

getting tortured (just another monday morning amirite)

finding traitor and making sure the raid doesn't fail in the process. Is Luffy finally out of that prison, what is he doing there? Or maybe, that's for the best, he can't make the situation even worse...

Luffy arrives late to the raid and late to the rooftop battle

Luffy brought freaking Eustass Kid to the raid

Luffy is ordering him around in front of freaking Eustass Kid

Luffy tells him to get along with freaking Eustass Kid

Zoro-ya almost died on his watch

Kurashi-ya (literally) caught him in a middle of an embarrassing blunder

Eustass Kid is behaving like a newborn baby and Law has to babysit him

LUFFY BROUGHT FREAKING BIG MOM TOGETHER WITH HIM

now it's Law's job to fight Big Mom. He didn't sign up for this!

Luffy nearly drowned in the sea while fighting Kaido

Luffy lost and died while fighting Kaido

Luffy got revived and won against Kaido

Law had to make bigass room, bigger than anything he made in Dressrosa, probably cutting down on his lifespan in the process

Law has to take care of stuff no one cares about after the raid succeeds, which is taking care of the ships, searching for the poneglyphs (no one but him cared for that in the middle of the raid!) and probably patching many, many people up

he ends up stranded with Robin in some moldy underground chamber for hours, while being seriously exhausted, sleep deprived and in the middle of recovery from his injuries

he doesn't join in the banquet out of spite (no one told him about Jimbei joining the Strawhats. Is Law a joke to them?!), besides just in case a certain Luffy would assault him there, make him go all night long eating and playing around and celebrating, all the while probably bugging him to become a 100% part of the Strawhat crew or at least extend their alliance to together forever status.

And that's just the major things listed! I'm sure I missed some details here and there.

Overall, I think he was stressed and exhausted, because he was carrying a lot of responsibility (and the stakes were extremely high!), at certain points almost the whole raid plan's success was depending solely on him, while others merrily ignored the dangers. He also had two crews to take care of for the whole arc, constantly worried himself over Luffy, got pissed at Eustass Kid and had to cooperate with him (he hates that dude!), and at the end of it his world got almost turned upside down in worst possible way (Luffy dying and raid failing as the result, and the vision of all of them dying flashed before his eyes).

As Bepo reveals to us in the midst of Winner Island escape, Law wants to stay behind with his crew even if it kills him and needs to be reassured that no one is dying there. That suggests Law doesn't deal well with people close to him dying, which shouldn't surprise us after what happened in Flevance and later also to Cora-san. I'm sure Wano hit Law harder than we expect, because there he was, finally believing in people again (Luffy), only for Luffy to die on him as well. Old issues must have resurfaced and his fear of losing people worsened as the result.

I think we should cut him some slack, shouldn't we? Wano was definitely not a walk in the park for Law, especially psychologically-wise. Though to be fair, he could relax and laze around a bit, we see it happen, right before Strawhat Luffy waltzes into the country. That was the last time we saw him actually calm and resting, so I guess that alone gives us another answer to your question as well ;)

And then his alliance ended, and we know Law doesn't like dramatic things, which also means overly emotional goodbyes. It was probably pretty difficult for him to part ways and maybe he thought it would be easier if he avoided Luffy for most of the time after the raid finished. And then Chopper went and almost blew all his efforts up with his warm send-off! Law owes a lot to Strawhats and his debt is only getting bigger, but it won't change his withholding personality.

Did Law find peace after Mingo was defeated? Not exactly, because I don't believe Doflamingo was Law's end goal. Just take a look at his reaction when Luffy finally wins:

Everyone is crying and celebrating, but Law's face looks like this instead. Does this look like a face of a person who finally got rid of his demons and is set free? What about Flevance, are we forgetting that? Law has a lot on his plate, Mingo was simply one of the obstacles in his way (but an important one!). If you want to know more about what I think about Law's end goals, I wrote about it here: https://www.tumblr.com/l-in-the-light/761556630027616256 (the topic starts somewhere around the second picture). That's why I don't think he is at peace or that his revenge is over and we shouldn't expect him to completely "move on" or reach perfect closure just because Mingo is now out of the picture.

There's one exception though. I do believe Law is showing his emotions more openly after Dressrosa. And I think it's actually a sign of him healing and partially moving on.

Because just look at this. Law was always annoyed with his beloved Cora-san as well, and yet we never doubt he loved him dearly. In Wano Law is acting the same way towards the Strawhats, openly showing when he's annoyed and angry. That's how he shows affection and worry. Compare it to Punk Hazard, when he's always holding back, stoic and cold, keeping his comments and reactions to bare minimum. Dressrosa changed everything in Law's emotional department. And the result is that he did open up to his allies.

Also I feel like it's my duty to remind the world about this, often overlooked, fact: so far Law celebrated in the feast exactly one time, in Dressrosa. He didn't join in on Punk Hazard, Zou or Wano. So it's not really a "Wano thing", but more like Law almost always choosing other things over feasting ;) personally, I think it's because of that "30 minutes on festival" rule he had in his household as a child. He's probably not used to just playing around for hours. Besides, we should never underestimate Law's pettiness. Not joining the celebration might have been as well just a petty payback of his, for every offense that happened to him in Wano, lol.

I'm not sure if you liked my answer, anon, but I hope you at least smiled a bit when I tried to mimick Law's grumpiness in this post :D

[vodika-vibes]

Hey Vodika!

I hope you're feeling better. I don't know if you accept requests, but I'll leave this here. Could I ask for a story with Commander Neyo? The situation would be that Neyo is eavesdropping on her S/O's conversation with her friends. He hears her friends say that she should break up with Neyo because he is a harsh, cold, uncaring clone and that she will not be happy with him. Neyo hears this and is devastated. He knows he may not be the best when it comes to feelings, but he loves his S/O. His S/O finds him and learns that Neyo overheard the conversation. That's why she wants to do everything to prove to him that she loves him and wants to be with him no matter what. 💓

Take care of yourself!

People Who Matter

Summary: Neyo overhears a conversation between his cyare and her friends after returning home from a long deployment.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1082

Warnings: Toxic friends

A/N: Hi there! I do take requests almost constantly, even if it might take a bit for me to get to your request! I hope you like this!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist!

 Commander Neyo is an asshole.

He knows it. His men know it. His General knows it.

It’s a carefully cultivated persona that keeps his brothers from prying too much into his private life and keeps him from getting too close to men who probably won’t survive the year.

That might make him a cold person, but being raised to die in a war will do that to a man.

The one good thing in his life, the only good thing in his life, is his cyare.

So far as he’s concerned, she’s perfect in every way.

His cyare isn’t a Coruscant native. She’s from some small planet in the mid-rim and came to Coruscant for school. And, once she graduated, she just refused to return home.

He once asked why, late one evening, and she just laughed and told him that she was happy on Coruscant, happy with him, and she was not quite ready for the responsibility that came with returning home.

Neyo didn’t push at the time, and he still won’t push now, if she’s happy then that’s enough for him. Though a large part of him can’t quite understand why she’s so happy with someone like him. 

But, right now, he’s not going to question it.

Because her love for him means that he’s allowed to decompress from the war in an actual apartment, with a proper bed and an even better shower. Not to mention home-cooked meals and as many kisses as he could ever want.

Silently, Neyo keys in the code to the apartment that he half lives in, and he pauses in the doorway, just before he calls out to his cyare. He hadn’t warned her that he was returning early, wanting to surprise her, though now he feels like he should have.

Since the shoes piled at the door suggest that she has company.

He steps into the laundry room, which is right next to the front door, and tugs his armor off, setting it on the shelf that she bought for that very purpose. Then he peels off his blacks and pulls on the casual clothes that she leaves in the laundry room for this very scenario.

It’s not much, a tee shirt and dark red lounge pants, but to him, they’re more comfortable than the softest shimmersilk.

Only then does he step back into the hallway and head towards the living room. However, he stops before he opens the door.

He stops because he hears his name.

“So, the reason we invited ourselves over,” Neyo scowls at the comment and the voice. That is Nalia, his cyare’s oldest friend on Coruscant, and, in his humble opinion, the worst person in the galaxy. “We wanted to talk to you about Neyo.”

There’s no reply for a moment, and then his cyare speaks, “You want to talk about Neyo?” Her accent is thicker than it normally is, and Neyo knows without having to ask that her “friends” have been bothering her about things again.

“We do.” Another woman says. That’s Linly, another one of his cyare’s friends, though she most often plays the role of Nalia’s flying monkey. “I know that you love him.” She almost sounds concerned. Almost.

“You need to break up with him.” Nalia interrupts.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“Listen, he’s cold and mean and uncaring and he’s only using you for your body—” Nalia lists.

“You don’t know him, at all.” His cyare counters flatly, “I’m not breaking up with him.”

“Look,” Linly interjects, “He is very handsome, but if it’s his looks you want, he has millions of identical brothers—”

“Enough.”

“He’s not good for you,” Linly continues, undaunted. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Neyo winces. As much as he loathes these two women…they’re right. He doesn’t deserve his cyare. He never has. She deserves someone as amazing as she is, and that’s definitely not him. 

He grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, he shouldn’t be listening to this. This conversation isn’t for his ears. And he’s about he walk away, when his cyare replies.

“You don’t get to decide if someone deserves me or not.” Her voice is flat and unimpressed, “The only person who gets to decide that is me, and I’ve decided that Neyo is perfect for me. And now I’d like you to leave.”

“Look,” Nalia says with a sigh, “We’re not leaving until you agree to break up with him.”

Oh.

Oh, absolutely not.

Neyo decides that he’s heard enough, and he slides the panel door open and steps into the living room. Immediately, he feels bad for not interjecting earlier.

His cyare is pressed into the corner of the couch, her hands curled into fists, while her “friends” loom over her.

“She said she wants you to leave.” Neyo says flatly, throwing every ounce of “unimpressed Commander” into his countenance as he can.

“Neyo!”

His gaze flickers over to his cyare as she pushes between her friends and hurries to his side, her arms sliding around his waist and burying her face against his shoulder. Neyo doesn’t bother to stop himself from lazily rubbing her back, pleased to have her against him again.

“You can leave,” Neyo says, his tone just on this side of polite, though the death glare he’s directing at them is enough to have them scurrying out of the apartment.

He doesn’t relax until the front door slides shut, and the lock automatically clicks into place. And then he’s wholly distracted by his cyare’s arms sliding around his neck.

“Welcome home,” Her smile is soft and small, and Neyo leans in to press his forehead against hers.

“Glad to be back,” He replies, his gaze scanning her face for any signs of distress, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” She shifts and lightly rubs her nose against his, “Just annoyed.” Her arms tighten around his neck, “They’re not right, you know?”

“About?”

“You not deserving me. You deserve everything and more.”

“I don’t want everything. I just want you.” Neyo counters with a small smile. “But you know, you could do better than me.”

“Never. Not in a million years.” She corrects, shifting once more to brush her lips against his.

Neyo doesn’t let her get away with that, pulling her closer so that he’s able to kiss her properly. “You need better friends, cyare.” He mumbles against her lips.

“A problem for later,” She replies as she tugs on the collar of his shirt, “I need to welcome you home now.”

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[thelordofgifs]

For the prompt thing, number 24 on the Silmarils list; choked with weeds and slime? IDK seems like a line you could do something interesting with.

Another one I’m answering a year late, but have some War of Wrath-era Elros and Elrond growing slowly apart! Thank you for the prompt 💕

“Just a little further,” Elrond says confidently, raising his torch. It does very little to illuminate the dank forest path ahead of them, but he does not seem deterred. “We’ll know it when we feel it.”

“Elrond,” Elros says quietly, trailing after him. He is not used to this position – not used to being the one to doubt. For so much of their lives it has been the other way around, has Elrond followed Elros charging head-first into wherever his will led them.

“You remember,” Elrond insists. “Naneth told us that the air inside Melian’s Girdle was cleaner and purer than any she had ever breathed since.”

Elros inhales, takes in the stench of rot and decay that clogs the forest, and thinks with longing of the clean salt air of the Sea. “The Girdle was fallen almost before Naneth was born,” he says. “It is not here, Elrond.”

“The forest will remember it, even so,” Elrond says. “Doriath was once the most blessed realm in Beleriand – and we its last heirs! It will remember us.”

Too often these days, in Elros’ view, does Elrond’s talk turn towards the power of memory. It makes him uneasy: he does not like to feel the edges of a rift between them, to understand so little the drift of his brother’s thought. Perhaps it is the knowledge of burned Sirion, and all that was lost with it, that haunts Elrond now – or perhaps the long shadow of Amon Ereb, that mausoleum in which they came of age, where the sons of Fëanor mourned the lost days of their glory, and Maglor’s every lullaby was half a dirge.

Beleriand was splendid once, it is true – but the land is breaking now, and the interminable war drawing into its final act, and Elros is more concerned with building something from the ashes than weeping for what was burned. But he does not know how to say this to Elrond, who is still leading him towards the forest’s heart, where Menegroth once flourished.

“Do you even know how to enter the city?” he asks instead. The path, choked with weeds and slime, clings unpleasantly to his feet and makes a squelching sound with every step. “The hidden entrance may now be lost.”

“Not lost,” Elrond murmurs, his voice losing a little of its bravado. “Perhaps it has forgotten itself – but we can call it back.”

“And how long will that take?” Elros argues. “Elrond, my men are waiting for me. I have not the time for a fool’s errand.”

Elrond turns back to look at him for the first time. For a moment Elros is oddly glad of that, that he might still capture his brother’s attention with a sharp word: but the thought is almost immediately followed by a hot flash of shame, for hurt flickers briefly in Elrond’s eyes. It is the sort of thing Maedhros used to do, in his worst moods – goad and goad until at last Maglor gave him some reaction, often too imperceptible for the twins to see. Elros does not want to be like Maedhros. Does not want to think of Maedhros, wants to shake off all the clinging ghosts of his childhood and look now to the world ahead.

But: “It ought not take long,” is all Elrond says, mildly.

They walk in silence, Elros breathing through his nose. He thinks again of the Edain under his command, whom he left waiting at their new outpost a little south of the forest. It has been long enough since he and Elrond last went away on an adventure of their own, for Gil-galad cannot often spare his brother from his duties, and Elros too is a commander in his own right. Besides, he did not think his men would understand their object: most of them have grandparents too young to remember Doriath before its fall. Still he does not like to abandon them, does not want them to think him just another elvish princeling, a stranger to mortal troubles and mortal woes.

But nor could he have let Elrond set out on this quest alone.

In the silence Elrond begins to sing a canto of the Lay of Leithian, of Lúthien dancing in the forest glades to Daeron’s music. Elros joins him, for their voices yet ring stronger together than apart – but he can put little conviction behind the song. The forest that his foremother loved is dead now, and so is she – they cannot resurrect her with their poems and their songs, necromancy dressed up as memorials, she is fled where they cannot reach her. Elros wonders if she was glad to do it.

Elrond’s eyes keep flitting between the dark, foreboding tree-trunks, as though he cannot quite understand why they do not become green and fair again under the influence of his song. At last he stops singing, a little frustrated now. “I cannot find a way,” he says, “it is all dark and rotten.”

“Well, there have been all manner of foul creatures crawling through these forests since Doriath fell,” Elros says sensibly. “I would be surprised were it not polluted.” 

“Why will it not cleanse itself?” Elrond says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why will it not remember how it used to be?”

Every two years or so Elrond will come to Elros with a plan to reach out to Maglor and his brother, and bring them before Gil-galad to face justice and redemption. Each time Elros tries to make him understand how impossible the idea is – and it works, for a year or two. 

He is not accustomed to thinking of his brother as childish – not accustomed to feeling so very old as he does right now, seeing the stunned bewildered hurt on Elrond’s face.

“It is tired, Elrond,” he says. “Let it sleep.”

For a moment Elrond’s face crumples, and Elros thinks he must weep; then he says, quite calmly and cheerfully, “Well then, we had best be getting you back to your men,” and sets his course for the forest’s southern border.

The victory feels hollow, to Elros: but then, they all do. 

[hyun3hk3y]

Symbolism in "Portrait of Lady Edelgard Von Hresvelg"

This is something that I’ve usually never really felt comfortable doing. If you ever wonder why some artists are a bit more reluctant to actually *talk* about the “meaning” of their work, its because it strikes the same tenor as having to explain why a joke is funny.  If I have to actually lay it out for the viewer why certain decisions were made in the execution of a work of art, the magic of the whole experience may be lost.  Moreover, many artists avoid making definitive statements on their work because they do not wish to deprive viewers the opportunity to derive their own unique explanation. 

While I chiefly view myself as a fine artist, most of my artistic training was as an illustrator.  As an artist, this can lead to an interesting dichotomy when it comes to creating paintings.  During my studies, I was told that the job of an illustrator is to solve pictorial problems for people often by making pictures that tell a story or convey an idea.  Fine art’s definition, in contrast, tends to be more nebulous.  But I digress, on to the painting…

A number of people on reddit and Tumblr have remarked on the candle with the snuffed-out flame.  No interpretations on it have been offered, the mere presence of a candle with a smoldering wick is a strong enough implication.  However, this is one instance where I drew inspiration from art history so I believe it is worth elaborating on.  The animus for the candle originates in the Arnolfini Portrait by Jan Van Eyck.  Below is an image of the painting with the pertinent candle circled.

Art history scholars have a number of different readings about the candle’s presence, but the one I was taught in Art History is that the lit candle indicates the presence of the holy ghost or the watchful eye of God.  Three Houses draws from a number of religions for its world building, in the case of The Church of Serios, the developers took the majority of their cues from The Catholic Church.  If a lit candle would suggest Edelgard’s faith in the Goddess, then an extinguished one must imply Edelgard’s *loss* of faith. 

In addition to the extinguished candle, I would also like to direct viewers to the reflection of the candle in the polished wood table surface. In the reflection the candle is still burning very brightly, almost down to the base of the candelabra.

The purpose of this image is to recall a saying from old Taoism Philosophy in China: “The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long.”  Those who are familiar with Edelgard’s back story in Three Houses will find its relevance obvious.  I doubt I am the only one to make the allusion.

This brings me to the next major piece of symbolism I employed in the painting, the dagger and the drapery on the table.  The dagger’s significance should go without saying, but its application as a device will become more apparent after I explain the table cloth.  To put it succinctly, the majority of the dark shadow shapes made by the tablecloth are arranged to evoke the shape of the crest of flames.  Below is another visual to help illuminate this detail. 

The immediate implication here is the detail of Edelgard possessing the crest of flames.  As for why I decided to depict it in a more concealed way…When I first got the idea for this painting, the whole concept was that if a person saw this painting in a gallery, they would be looking at an actual artifact from Fodlan, one that created by an artist who actually lived there.  This is why the second row of the inscription reads “In the Imperial Year” on the left side and “1179” on the right.  This means the painting would have been completed just before Edelgard starts attending Gareg Mach, and long before the greater public would know she has the crest of flames.  How the artist came to know this would remain a mystery.  I like to imagine it as a detail that Fodlan’s historians would debate over for years after the game’s narrative.

There is also a second message that I have intended with the dagger’s placement cutting (heh) across the crest…Gripping the dagger over the crest of flames is a statement about what the path is that Edelgard will take, especially when the crest is examined as representing the Goddess Sothis.  In fact, there are two (technically three) lines of dialogue from Three Houses I had in mind for this symbolism.

That about sums it up!  I may do a couple more posts in the future where I show how the painting evolved from thumbnails, to studies to the finished image if theres interest in that sort of thing.

[wakacreations]

Raphael: I Am Always Waiting

Author's Note:

I saw this neat animation by @smnc45. I do not write Raphael often but I wanted to try my shot at their prompt.

Prompt:

Can someone please write Raphael x reader angst where they’ve been married for like 50 years and now it’s time for reader to pass on and they’re having this bittersweet moment together in reader’s final moments

Word Count: 2935

Summary:

The cat and mouse game has come to an end. When the mouse's time draws near who came out victorious?

It is almost that time again when a devil would celebrate the most joyous occasion. When a thumping of a heart becomes a precious coin. Currency to pocket, to twiddle between one's claws and to eye at the brilliance of its metallic polish. The great tragedies within these circular vessels tell tales to other archdevils of the beautiful follies of man. What depraved sacrifices they would make out of their own hubris. I have acquired many a coin through my millennia. There to amass my strength in the hells but I have grown fond of a few in my possession. There is but one that awaits, a soul coin that holds my palm so dear. I find you laying on your death bed.

You were but a mere mortal for some unforeseen circumstances were chosen by fate to be a tadpole inhibitor. It would be easy for I to acquire such a desperate soul. You truly were desperate you know. I watched from afar to see you squirm. You did shop around quite a bit before you accepted your only option left, mine. There were the words of a lullaby from Cormyr that I spoke to you when we first met. In those times, I called you mouse and I the fox but these days you call me a domestic house pet, a cat. You are lucky that I am quite fond of such creatures. Dogs are duller but I thought through your journey you would become one. You do look lovely chasing after my heels. Whether it be for that spawnling or that little swindler of a tiefling girl, you were adamant she wouldn't be in good care. Like an irritating pest, you entered my sactome where you do not belong despite your agreement to meet at Sharess’ Caress. You left quite a bit of chaos in your wake. Your flowing locks looked beautiful against the emerald glow of my pillars. Even now as you have aged so gracefully. I pluck a hair back behind your ear. 

“You had every right to kill me on that day.”

There were tears in your eyes as you resheaved your blade. Was that pity you showed me back then? You brought mercy on me as I was prone at my own door. You jumped through the portal with Hope and Mol’s contract in hand with not even a glance back. I am but the big bad devil in those fairytale stories you listen to when you slumber.

“I could never be anything more,” pulling back my hand.

Those all too familiar taunting eyes that stoked my obsession were before me. There is not anymore of you left in that feeble mind of yours. “You never did give me that crown I desire,” I chuckled dryly. You blinked at me trying to recognize these human features of mine.

“You spent the good first ten years running away from me, mouse.”

Through the hells you searched for the cure for one of Zariel’s warmachines and the “Blade of Avernus” close behind.

“All you needed to do was ask and we could have cut another deal.”

The next ten you were off in the Underdark away from the sunlight. You and that Spawn were off to find a cure. You knew I was still waiting for you as you felt my infernal heat lurking in the shadows. I held the artifact of your sole desire for your little “friend”.

“I could have dragged you into the Hells against your will, you contemptuous creature. You went willingly for that decade only in exchange for his precious sunlight!”

You just smiled at the words I uttered. Even when I had opened my doors for you, my House of Hope. Yet, you chose to find any means of escape for that time you spent with me in the Hells.

“I allowed you to rest in your own company in Faerun. I do take care of my pets.” I closed my eyes.

You wandered through the material plane with no company but my watchful eyes. The ten years you spent there, you looked so peaceful but what joy it was to tear you away from it all.

“You asked me to form one last contract with you. When your time ran out on your home plane.”

Your words echoed in my mind like an accursed song.

“I will show you why devils obsess with mortals. Why you yearn so desperately to chase me through the planes?” You looked up at the sky as you laid in a field of wildflowers. You never looked so at ease for as long as I watched you. “That's quite a presumption on your part, little mouse. I know when something or someone is of value,” blocking your view of the clear skies above. “Make this contract with me and in exchange my time will end as fate decides.” You reached your palm out to me. There is still that tenaciousness in your eyes. “What do I gain out of this exchange? It seems you think contracts are only for your benefit? Make me an offer I can't refuse.” I leaned down to get a better look at you. You waved your arm waiting for me to shake it. You never grew out of your childish ways have you? “Aren't you curious, Raphael? What is life's value to a mortal? You know the answer to. What is life's value to an immortal? Maybe I would change your mind? You would have my soul coin for all eternity, no?” You smiled that mischievous grin as such from the day you inked your name on our first contract. Your small hand wrapped in my heated infernal clawed grasp.

I have watched your struggles and your despair on the long nights on your journey. The begging to your companions to stay right of justice when uncertainty lies in wait for them. The screams of agony of whom you rescued meeting their untimely destined fate. The endless slaying of the army of the Absolute who set to cause chaos to your home, Faerun. The chosen three all prone to your blade but when it came time to pay your dues for a sacrifice to be made I answered your call. You couldn't stand by and become a mindflayer. Yet, you put that horrible image of tentacles caressing your body in the forefront of my mind out of fear of what is to befall you. There was luck I still held use for you when I put the Orphic Hammer in your palms. I reopened my eyes.

"You owe me more than you are worth." I restoked the fire when a little sneezed escaped you.

We have two different minds when it comes to being a savior. Your body is still riddled with scars as you take in your shallow breaths. I could have kept you the way you were before. I turned my head away from the sight of you now. Korrilla kept updates on your whereabouts after the fall of the Netherbrain. You still sacrificed yourself for those companions who've left nothing for you in return. There is a madness to you, mouse but perhaps is there abyssal that runs through your family's line?

“A debt is still owed by you, little mouse.” I attempted to coax a reaction out of you.

How many times must I catch you out of the clutches of Kelemvor? Day after day I watched you writhed in pain for unnecessary sacrifices you've made. Do you choose to run after death so eagerly? Withers, your Jergal will not be bringing you back! In the Hells, I helped vanquish Zariel’s forces when you scurried into her forges. I presented you with the means to free your darling, Astarion. I turned a blind eye when you still chose to meet with the other companions in your “solitude” in Faerun. What mouse could you show me what I haven't already known? What am I an immortal being could I experience that I haven't in my entire existence? You have proven to always surprise me.

“This last contract with you will be the death of me. I spent decades chasing you but I could enjoy this last one. We would make for such a great tragedy that would be played throughout the Nine Hells.”

For the last time you grabbed my hand into your own. You kept your promise and your word.

On the first night, you whispered such sweet words that could rival the burning alluring taste of succubi/incubi spittle. Was it because you have accepted your fate? When sleep cradled your head you sang a lullaby of your restless heart. Let your tears fall. There will be no other who will witness them. One night I overheard a confession in the privacy of the company of you and that Astarion many moons ago. “I like him too. But I'd never say it to his smarmy face.” Was such a thing true, little mouse? I watched as you stirred in your sleep. I left you that morning in your final home called Hope. 

Time is but a blink to the eyes of the Hells. I took you to see all I could offer you and what otherworldly indulgences mortals have spent with the precious coin they held in their chest. We watched a theater production of the Netherbrain and the valiant heroes who sought its demise. I had to jostle you from your insistent snoring. There you gave me your signature glare. I would admit the production does not do it justice. We fought and bickered like time never moved. 

You are quite frail these days. You got winded as we passed by the taverns you used to haunt. I asked you if you would make an addendum to our contract but you politely declined. Time will catch up to you as I eyed them. My, what former shadow you are now mouse?

You have been coughing as of late. You waved it off saying you were fine. The air in Avernus is not suited for those of sensitive lungs. I summoned forth a cleric to see to your care. You argued with me for the first time in a long while. I almost assumed the great savior of Baldur’s Gate was reduced to such a sorry state. I must have been mistaken.

The cleric came to my office to give their report. Our dwellings will need to be mended for you to exist in my home. They suggested a visit to Faerun will improve your recovery. I asked you at lunch, where do you plan to visit this evening? You would come back to the same conclusion… Baldur’s Gate. I don't blame you. The scars of that parasite did ingrain into you where you are supposed to be.. but you are free to go anywhere, now my dear. You still insisted that is where you wish to spend your time. By all means as we reappeared in the city square.

Your mind has been wandering for quite some time. You asked what had happened to your companions. Were they alright? Those would be appropriate questions if not for having conversed with them a moment prior before. If I knew you would start babbling like one of my debtors, I would have put having a sound mind as part of a clause. It was time for dinner but you still refused. You said I poisoned you whenever you ate. I made it clear time and time again it was to keep you in sound mind. You screamed at me. You wouldn’t become a mindflayer! I held you close and stroked your hair as you weathered another one of your fits again. I felt your tears soak through my doublet when I carried you to bed. Is this how you truly wish to spend the rest of our days, mouse?

How could you smile so sweetly on our final day together?

“You know, I have truly come to despise you.” Your hand squeezes my own.

“You do not recall half the words I utter!” I felt the hellfire coating my palm. You didn’t pull your hand away from my own when the flames threatened to engulf you. You wailed in agony but still you did not let go.

“What is the value of a life to an immortal?” Your words that day came back to my mind.

“Where has time gone?” For the first time my voice had wavered, the hellfire dissipated. You pulled my hand over your heart.

“You know my precious cat, devils love a good chase. If I were to give in to you long before, would you have obsessed with me just the same?” There is that giggle that rings like church bells.

“You never gave me much choice in the matter, little mouse.” I growled at them. Something rattled in my chest. What is this foreboding feeling? Tears streamed down your face. I couldn’t help but press my forehead against yours. How can such an insignificant being be so cruel.

“Open your eyes, mouse! Let me see you!” Your eyelids fluttered open. What was this feeling clawing at me?

”I gave you the freedom to choose the only option you had left,” you sniffled. Who were you to decide on when we should part? I couldn't take this anymore.

“Ask for anything, mouse and I will bring you life.” I felt their heartbeat slow beneath my palm.

“You wouldn't want that Raphael. You only desire the truth.” You shook your head.

“What do you know of me! You know nothing.” I should stop this accursed thing’s beating. You winced at my words.

“Raphael? Did you enjoy our time together?” You asked tentatively. You won't slip away, mouse.

“Of course, why wouldn't I have?” No, I had not enjoyed any of this charade but yet I told you otherwise.

“Good, I am glad. I am sorry for the amount of heartache I will leave you with. There is a reason why mortals are an indulgence to your kind.” Your voice cracked. The water works started anew.

Don't you dare, mouse..

“We make seconds seem like lifetimes. We make life meaningful in the mundane. We leave our mark that would be remembered for a millennia if we're lucky,” you smiled.

Don't you dare keep speaking.

“You know mortals can be like devils?” Your breathing slowed to a crawl.

“Demand anything, mouse and you will have it.” You didn't listen to a word I said. 

“Mortals can be obsessive too, you know? I think there is something wrong with me that I spent the last four decades running from them. I think their name is Raphael.” I smothered you in my arms.

“Stop with your babbling!” You still continued on.

“He is there watching me wherever I go. You know I never had anyone that would go to such lengths to get my attention.” That wasn't true mouse, all of your companions fought desperately for your attention. I squeezed you closer to my chest.

“Maybe I am insane for trying to maintain the obsession of a devil but.. I have known humans who are more devilish than the one at my heels.” I couldn't help but chuckle.

“You are not insane but just a foolish mortal. You all are in the end.” I whisper in your ear. Why do you only speak your truths now? You pushed me to loosen our tight embrace. I could feel you slipping away. Your time is near.

“I cannot let you do this mouse. I am in control of your soul.” What a beautiful coin it would make for my collection. You are nothing but my possession! That is what you solely are.

“But you know I wouldn't be me left. Your obsession with me will end on this day.” You held my head in your worn palms.

“I will tell you the truth, you longed to hear.” Blood rushed to my eardrums. Was this truly what I yearned for? Was this the way I wished to earn your coin? Your fingers ran through my hair. You cleared your throat. Your eyes never wavered from mine.

“I like him too. But I'd never say it to his smarmy face,” you choked out. Stop! Just stop, mouse! With ferocity our lips danced for one last time. Why must death's kiss taste so bittersweet? Our tears intertwined. My hand raised to cradle your head.

“I will not let you get the best of me,” as I pecked away your tears. I felt your tiredness in my arms. Your head nestled into the crook of my neck.

“We can make more time,” I pleaded. How far have I fallen? What was this emptiness? Why did it have to take your end for you to confess, Tav? I stroke your hair while you let out the last of your cries till silence fell over you.

“This won't be the end.” Your body settles against my own.

“Say anything! Something you pipsqueak!” My voice no longer sounded like my own. What have you done to me? I placed one long hard kiss at your temple. Something shattered from deep within.

“How could you not desire to live?” I choked on my words. I felt a sheer coldness that ached from within you. Mortals won't survive if they are cool to the touch. You no longer fought when I pressed you to my chest till you could feel the beating of this infernal heart of mine. You needed to feel warm again. The fires have long since extinguished. Loud inhuman wails echo in these empty grand halls.

“You are mine! Now and forever. For all eternity, my precious little mouse.”