#also if you or anyone has any prompts feel free to humor me and let me know heheheh

[cannibal-nightmares]

More Stein please

And you're right to ask (I have a lot more stein pieces planned! i just work 2.5 jobs TwT)

[rootedinrevisions]

Kinktober 2024: Day 9

SUMMARY: Jake Seresin has been trying to take you home from The Hard Deck for a while. However, there's always been something holding you back. A secret that you can't stand the thought of revealing to him. But when he finally gets you to tell him your secret, his reaction is anything but what you expect. And he lets down the "Hangman" persona you've come to know and you see the softer side of Jake.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know why but I just feel like Jake would be super soft and sweet with you if it was your first time. Sure he's experienced, but he's going to make sure that it's all about you and making you feel good.

PROMPT: "Do you want to take it off or should I do it for you?"

KINK: First Time

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT. (Simple P in V.)

WORD COUNT: 6.6k

TAG LIST: TAG LIST: @omgbrianabomgbrianab I @shanimallina87 I @fanficmom94 I @smoothdogsgirl I @djs8891 I @saucy-sassy-sparkly  I  @alipap3  I  @dudinhastuff  I  @lunatygerqueen  I  @hookslove1592  I  @glenpowellluver  I  @missmarveledsblog

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! (I currently have one for Glen Powell & His Characters, One for Bradley/Rooster now, and then a third for WWE/Wrestling. I also can create one for Bucky & other MCU characters if there's interest for more of those characters!)

The Hard Deck was quieter than usual, the lively chatter and music of the jukebox fading as the night went on. Most of the regulars had already left as it was ten minutes to closing time. Penny had just waved her goodbyes, her voice playful as she teased Jake, telling him not to give you any trouble. You smiled at her back as she disappeared out the door, then went back to cleaning up behind the bar.

Jake leaned against it, watching you with that familiar, teasing glint in his green eyes. You were used to the way his gaze followed you, but tonight it felt heavier somehow—more focused. Maybe because there weren’t any distractions or anyone else vying for his attention now that closing time was here.

"You never stop, do you?" His voice was low, amused, cutting through the quiet.

You rolled your eyes, wiping down the bar one last time, trying to ignore the way Jake’s eyes followed you. You looked up from wiping down the counter. 

"Someone's gotta clean up after you guys," you shot back with a smirk.

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, but you know I don’t think that’s the only reason you stay late."

You felt the familiar warmth bloom in your chest, the kind that always came when he said things like that. His charm was effortless, but you’d spent months brushing it off. Well, most of the time. Lately, you weren’t so good at it. Because despite the cocky persona, you were starting to see something more beneath it—something softer, more genuine. And that scared you.

Because even though you liked him—maybe more than you cared to admit—there was one thing you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to tell him.

You shot him a look, half playful, half warning, as you tossed the towel onto the counter. "I mean this is my job and I have to stay until closing no matter what. But…humor moe. What’s that supposed to mean?"

He leaned forward on his elbows, his grin widening. "Just that we both know you don’t mind me hanging around."

Your heart fluttered despite yourself, but you forced a smirk. "You always got a line ready, huh?"

"I don’t need lines with you, sweetheart. I think you know that."

You let out a breath and shook your head, feeling your heart race. "You should get going, Seresin. Penny might’ve been joking, but I’m not in the mood to deal with you tonight."

Jake smirked, but there was a gentleness in his gaze. "Or you could stop pushing me away, darlin'. It's been months, and I think we both know this little game of yours is starting to wear thin." His words were soft, but there was no mistaking the desire behind them.

Before you could respond, Jake walked around the bar. You felt your pulse quicken as he crossed the threshold, coming into your space—so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. He didn’t touch you right away, just stood there, eyes tracing your face as if memorizing every detail.

"Jake," you breathed, trying to keep your voice steady, but it came out softer than you intended.

He was standing so close now that you had to tilt your head back slightly to look up at him. His eyes, those piercing green eyes, locked onto yours, and you felt the tension building, thickening the air between you.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "Tell me to stop, and I will," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with desire.

You swallowed, heart racing, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you let the moment hang there, the pull between you undeniable. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you sucked in a breath, torn between wanting to push him away and pull him closer.

"I should—" you started, but the words faltered as he stepped closer, his body now inches from yours.

"You should what?" Jake whispered, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "Keep pushing me away? Or finally let me in?"

His hand slid down to your waist, his thumb grazing the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. It was such a small touch, but it sent heat flooding through you. You had been playing this game with him for months—keeping him at arm’s length, pretending his advances didn’t affect you. But here, now, in this quiet moment with the bar empty and the lights low, you could feel your resolve slipping.

Jake tilted your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Stop pretending you don’t feel this too."

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could find another excuse to push him away, you surged forward, closing the distance between you. Your lips met his in a heated, desperate kiss, months of tension spilling over all at once.

Jake wasted no time, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you flush against him. His lips were warm, demanding, and you matched his intensity, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed closer, wanting more, needing more. It was as if all the weeks of flirting and teasing had built up to this moment, and now that the dam had broken, neither of you could hold back.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Jake rested his forehead against yours, his voice rough. "Let me take you home tonight."

Your heart was racing as Jake’s words hung between you. Let me take you home tonight. His voice was thick with desire, and his forehead was still resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

But as the reality of what he was asking set in, a rush of nerves flooded through you. You pulled back slightly, creating space between your bodies. Jake immediately noticed the shift, his brows knitting together in confusion as you stepped away.

“Why do you keep pulling away from me?” he asked softly, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. 

His hand remained on your waist, though gentler now, as if he was afraid you’d slip away entirely.

You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing, but the words were stuck in your throat. 

He waited, watching you carefully, his expression softening as he searched your face for an answer.

“I don’t… I don’t do that,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake frowned, clearly misunderstanding. “What, a one-night stand?” His lips quirked into a small, almost disbelieving smile. “Darlin’, I’ve been chasing you for months. This isn’t just some one-time thing.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. He wasn’t playing around, and you knew it. But that wasn’t what this was about. You looked away, biting your lip as you tried to find the courage to say what had been weighing on you all this time.

He tilted your chin up gently, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Talk to me,” he urged, his voice low but patient. “What’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability of the moment making you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t expected. The tension between you had always been playful, teasing, but this… this was different. This was real. And the fear of disappointing him was almost overwhelming.

“Jake…” You hesitated, the words thick on your tongue. “I’ve never been with anyone. In that way.”

The weight of your confession hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of how he might react. But when you finally dared to glance up, you saw something unexpected in his eyes.

There was no judgment. No disappointment. Just understanding.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, grounding you as he took a step closer. “You mean you’re—?”

“A virgin,” you finished for him, your voice barely a whisper.

Jake exhaled softly, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed what you’d said. Then, to your surprise, he let out a small, almost incredulous laugh—though it wasn’t mocking. It was more like he couldn’t believe the situation. “You thought that’d make me walk away?”

“I just thought…” You trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. The truth was, you didn’t know what you had expected. Maybe that he’d see you as some kind of challenge, or that he’d decide it wasn’t worth it. “You’re… you. And I know you’ve been with… other people.”

Jake’s smile softened as he shook his head, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Yeah, I’ve been with other people. But none of them were you.”

His words made your heart skip a beat, and before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender, reassuring kiss. “You think I’ve been showing up at this bar every night just for fun? I’m not here for a fling. I’m here because I want you.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. It was so easy to get caught up in your own insecurities, to assume that someone like Jake wouldn’t want you once he knew the truth. But he was still here, still holding you close, as if none of that mattered.

“I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for,” Jake said softly, his hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours. “But if you’ll let me… I’ll talk you through it. We’ll take it slow.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache, and for the first time that night, the nervousness you’d been feeling started to ease. Jake wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pressuring you. He was offering you a choice.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “You’d do that?”

Jake’s smile widened, his green eyes softening. “Darlin’, I’d do anything for you.”

As you and Jake finished closing up the bar, the familiar clinking of glasses and the faint scent of spilled beer lingered in the air. You wiped down the last countertop while Jake stacked chairs, a comfortable silence enveloping the space. But the excitement and nerves bubbling inside you felt electric.

Once the last light was turned off and the door was locked, you stepped out into the cool night air, glancing over at Jake. He stood beside you, his hands shoved in his pockets, his casual demeanor making him seem effortlessly charming.

You turned to him, your stomach fluttering with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. “So… what happens now?” You felt a bit awkward asking, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

Jake’s smile was warm and genuine, lighting up his green eyes. “Well, we could go to my place or yours. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

His suggestion sent another thrill of excitement through you. “I think I’d feel better at your place,” you admitted, recalling the warmth and safety of the last time you were there. “My roommate is home.”

Jake nodded, a knowing look on his face. “That’s cool. I actually got a ride here, so if you don’t mind driving…?”

“Not at all,” you replied, leading the way to your car, your heart racing with the prospect of what the night might hold.

Once inside, you fished your phone out of your bag and shot a quick text to your roommate, letting her know you wouldn’t be home tonight. Just as you hit send, her response buzzed through, and you groaned at the barrage of messages that followed.

Your car’s Bluetooth connected automatically, and suddenly, your roommate’s messages began to read out loud in the car. 

“‘Where are you? Who are you with? Are you with the sexy blond pilot from Texas you’ve been talking about?’”

“Are you serious?” you muttered under your breath.

You rolled your eyes, your face flushing with embarrassment as Jake chuckled beside you. “So, am I the sexy blond pilot from Texas you’ve been talking about? Or is there someone else I should know about?”

“Yes, you are,” you admitted, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. You couldn’t tell if you were flustered or exhilarated, the thrill of the moment mingling with your nervousness.

Jake grinned, a teasing glint in his eye. “I like that title. It has a nice ring to it.”

As you pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, you couldn’t help but glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He was relaxed, leaning back against the seat, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Don’t worry. I promise not to embarrass you too much in front of your roommate when I meet her.”

You glance over for a second. The “when I meet her” is not being lost on you. He was so confident that this was something more than it seemed like it was. That there would be more times he went home with you. That there would be a point where you introduce him to your friends.

“It’s kind of cute how you get all flustered.”

“Cute?” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, though it was a little breathy. “Is that really the word you want to use right now?”

Jake shrugged, his smirk only growing wider. “What can I say? I’m a fan of cute.”

As you drove through the dimly lit streets, the tension in the car shifted to a more comfortable vibe. You found yourself stealing glances at him, his profile silhouetted against the glow of the dashboard lights, and every now and then, your eyes would meet.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his gaze steady on you, the question sincere.

“Just… this feels surreal,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I didn’t think I’d ever actually go home with someone, especially not someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” he echoed, pretending to be hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, charming, flirtatious, with a history of one-night stands,” you teased, though your heart raced as you said it.

“I’m more than just my reputation, you know.” Jake let out a chuckle, leaning closer as he turned his body toward you. “I promise I won’t be that guy tonight.”

You appreciated his earnestness, and it eased some of your nerves. “What guy are you going to be then?”

“The guy who’s crazy about you,” he said softly, the sincerity of his words hitting you like a warm wave.

You glanced away, your heart pounding, the weight of his confession sinking in. The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence, the city lights flashing by as you felt the promise of something more lingering in the air. The only time either of you spoke was when Jake would give you directions on where to turn to get to his off-base apartment.

As you approached his apartment complex, you parked the car and turned off the engine, the moment hanging between you. You took a deep breath, readying yourself for whatever came next.

Jake reached over and gently squeezed your hand, his touch sending warmth through you. “You okay?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze, the tension palpable. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low and inviting. “Let’s take it slow, alright?”

As you stepped into Jake's apartment, the familiar warmth and coziness wrapped around you like a hug. The low light from a few strategically placed lamps bathed the space in a golden glow, and the faint scent of cologne lingered in the air. It felt inviting, and for a moment, the nervous energy that had been building since you left The Hard Deck began to dissipate.

Jake closed the door behind you and gestured toward the couch. “Make yourself at home. Want something to drink?”

You glanced around, taking in the soft, comfortable furnishings and the scattered remnants of his life—a few books on the coffee table, a framed picture of him and his fellow pilots, and a small plant in the corner that added a splash of green. “Sure, um… what do you have?” you asked, a hint of nervousness creeping back into your voice.

“Beer, water, or I think I might have some whiskey,” he replied, flashing a playful smile. “I could also make us some fancy cocktails if you’re feeling adventurous.”

You chuckled softly. “I’ll stick with beer for now. I think my nerves could use something familiar.”

“Good choice,” he said, moving toward the small kitchen area, and you followed, taking a seat on the couch. The soft cushions cradled you, a welcome comfort. As he grabbed two cold beers from the fridge, you noticed the way his muscles flexed, the effortless grace with which he moved.

He returned, handing you a bottle and plopping down beside you. “So, what do you want to watch?” He reached for the remote, casually leaning back against the couch, his proximity both comforting and electrifying.

You took a sip of your beer, grateful for the momentary distraction. “I’m not picky. What do you usually watch?”

He chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m a sucker for anything with explosions, but I guess I could put on something less intense for you.”

“Maybe something funny?” you suggested, smiling. “I could use a good laugh right now.”

“Alright, let’s see what we can find,” he replied, scrolling through the options before settling on a comedy special. The familiar sound of laughter filled the room, and as you settled back, you felt the tension begin to ease away.

As the comedy special played on, you found yourself laughing at the jokes, the atmosphere gradually shifting from tense to relaxed. You both exchanged playful banter, the conversation flowing easily between you as you started to feel more at ease.

Jake made a few jokes that had you in stitches, and it felt refreshing to be with someone who made you laugh so easily. The sound of his laughter was infectious, and soon you were both caught up in a lighthearted exchange.

At one point, he leaned closer, his body angled toward yours, and you caught the warmth of his gaze. “You know, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past few months,” he said, his voice softening, sincerity spilling over the humor. “You’re not like other girls I’ve met.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “You’re real. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. I like that.”

A small blush crept across your cheeks at his compliment. “Thanks, I guess,” you replied, feeling the warmth of his gaze on you.

The air between you crackled with an undeniable tension, a magnetic pull that drew you closer to Jake. He maintained a patient silence, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for a cue. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

After a moment, you gathered your courage, leaning in just slightly, your breath hitching as you closed the distance. Jake's gaze softened, his lips parting slightly in anticipation.

When your lips finally met, it felt electric. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration, but as you melted against him, the softness deepened into something more passionate. Jake’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as he responded to your kiss with a fervor that sent shivers down your spine.

You lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, the world outside fading into oblivion. The kiss was everything you had imagined—sweet, thrilling, and filled with an unspoken promise.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you found Jake watching you with a mix of admiration and desire in his eyes. 

“Wow,” he murmured, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t think you could get any cuter.”

You couldn’t help but blush at his compliment, but the warmth of his body against yours was urging you to take things further. “Maybe we should… do something else,” you suggested your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s smile widened, and without hesitation, he stood, offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said, leading you toward his bedroom.

The moment you stepped inside, you felt a rush of anticipation. The room was dimly lit, with a warm glow emanating from a bedside lamp. It felt safe and intimate, the perfect setting for what was about to unfold.

Jake turned to you, his expression serious yet inviting. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he were afraid to push you too far too fast.

You nodded, feeling more confident now that you were here with him. “I am,” you replied, your heart racing with excitement. “I want to be with you.”

He closed the space between you, cupping your face in his hands. “Then let’s take it slow, okay?”

You smiled at him, grateful for his understanding. He leaned in, capturing your lips again in a heated kiss. His hands roamed your back, sending sparks of electricity through your skin, as you melted into him. You could feel the intensity of his desire mirrored in your own, and it filled you with a sense of exhilaration.

With a gentle nudge, Jake led you to the bed, sitting you down as he knelt in front of you. He took a moment to look up at you, his green eyes filled with warmth and something deeper—something that made your heart race.

“Are you really okay with this?” he asked again, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves.

You reached for him, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “I am,” you assured him, your heart swelling with affection. “Just… be gentle with me.”

“Always,” he promised, leaning in to kiss you softly, a world of emotion wrapped up in that one gesture.

As the kiss deepened, you felt the heat of his body pressing against yours, and the weight of your nervousness slowly began to lift. Jake’s hands moved to your waist, guiding you as he joined you on the bed, settling beside you with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and inviting.

A wave of heat washed over you at his words. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied shyly, the chemistry between you undeniable.

As the kiss deepened, a surge of confidence coursed through you. With a newfound boldness, your hands slid down Jake's chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and it fueled your desire. As you pushed his shirt up, Jake paused, letting you take the lead for just a moment longer.

With a playful smile, he pulled away just enough to shed the shirt completely, revealing his toned torso. Your breath hitched at the sight, and his green eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and admiration.

His hands moved to your shirt next, fingers gently grazing your skin as he looked into your eyes, searching for your consent. “Do you want to take it off, or should I do it for you?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach, a thrill at being so vulnerable yet completely safe with him. “You can do it,” you replied, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart.

With a smile that sent warmth pooling in your chest, Jake carefully lifted your shirt, baring your skin inch by inch. His touch was gentle, and you reveled in the sensation of being exposed to him. Once your shirt was off, he leaned down, kissing a trail down your neck, shoulders, and collarbones, sending shivers through you.

The warmth of his breath against your skin sent waves of anticipation through you. With a deep breath, you caught him off guard by whispering, “I want more.”

Without missing a beat, Jake’s lips found yours again, igniting a fire that burned brighter than before. His hands moved with purpose, exploring your body as he trailed kisses down your chest, pausing to pay attention to every sensitive spot. The way he worshipped your skin made you feel cherished and desired all at once.

With each kiss, your confidence grew, and the nervousness that once lingered began to fade into exhilaration. You melted into him, losing yourself in the sensation of his warmth against you.

Jake’s kisses ignited every nerve ending in your body, and you responded instinctively, arching into him as he continued his exploration. His hands moved expertly, caressing your skin and pulling you closer, as if trying to fuse your bodies into one.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured against your collarbone, and the way he looked at you, with such intensity and reverence, made you feel like the only person in the world.

Feeling emboldened, you reached out, your fingers grazing his jawline before tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as you captured his lips once more. The kiss was fervent, passionate, and filled with the promise of everything that was yet to come.

With a playful glint in his eye, Jake pulled back just slightly, his breath hot against your lips. “Just so you know,” he said, a teasing smirk on his face, “this is definitely not a one-time thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling lighter, more alive than ever. “I’m glad,” you replied, your heart swelling with anticipation for what the night had in store.

As the kiss deepened, you felt the heat between you both intensifying. Jake's hands moved with a mix of urgency and tenderness as he helped you slide out of the rest of your clothes. Each piece of fabric that fell away felt like a barrier dissolving, but as you lay fully exposed before him, a wave of shyness washed over you. The vulnerability was overwhelming, and your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Jake noticed the change in your demeanor, the way your confidence seemed to flicker just for a moment. With a gentle smile, he leaned over to grab a blanket from the edge of the bed, pulling it up over both of you, as if to cocoon you in warmth and comfort. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes filled with reassurance, “you’re stunning. Just take a deep breath.”

You glanced at him, his presence grounding you even as you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. His gaze was warm, filled with a mix of desire and admiration, and it helped ease some of your nerves. But there was still the matter of the not-so-fun conversation to be had.

“Okay, we should talk about… you know,” Jake said, his voice a little more serious as he leaned back slightly, creating a little space. “Protection.”

You nodded, feeling your heart race in a different way now. “I’m on the pill,” you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady. “But I’d prefer it if you wore a condom too.”

Jake’s expression shifted to one of understanding. “Absolutely,” he said, a hint of relief in his tone. “Better safe than sorry.” He leaned over to his nightstand, opening the drawer and retrieving a condom.

You watched as he slid it on with practiced ease, the action both intimate and reassuring. It reminded you that despite the heat of the moment, he was still focused on your comfort and safety.

Once he was ready, he turned back to you, the blanket still wrapped around your bodies. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and sincere.

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease, the warmth of the blanket and his presence enveloping you. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… a little nervous.”

He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s completely normal. We can take this as slow as you need.”

With that, the nervous tension began to ebb away, replaced by the gentle caress of anticipation. Jake shifted closer, his body warm against yours beneath the blanket. You could feel his heart beating in rhythm with yours, a comforting reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll follow your lead,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any signs of hesitation.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded again, feeling the warmth of his gaze on you. “I want you,” you whispered, your voice steady now.

A grin broke out on Jake’s face, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Then let’s make this a night to remember,” he replied, his tone a mix of excitement and reverence.

With that, he closed the space between you, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one slow and deliberate. The world outside faded away, and in that moment, it was just you and Jake, ready to explore the depth of your connection together.

As Jake positioned himself at your entrance, a rush of anticipation coursed through you. He paused, looking deeply into your eyes, searching for any signs of uncertainty. With a gentle nod from you, he began to slide himself inside you, inch by inch.

The initial sensation was unfamiliar, but it wasn’t painful; instead, it felt like a warm, fulfilling stretch, unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Your breath hitched as he moved slowly, allowing you to adjust to this new intimacy. Jake’s lips found your neck, planting soft kisses along your collarbone, whispering sweet nothings that made your heart race even faster.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ve got you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with awe.

You nodded, feeling his warmth envelop you, both physically and emotionally. With each gentle thrust, he slid deeper, filling you completely. The rhythm he established was deliberate, slow, and tender, letting you savor every sensation.

“Tell me how it feels,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with you, his green gaze intense and sincere.

“It feels… good,” you breathed out, the words escaping before you could second-guess yourself. 

A smile spread across his face, his confidence mingling with genuine affection. “That’s all I want. Just want to make you feel good. You just tell me if you want me to go faster or if you want me to slow down.”

You shook your head, feeling more confident with every soft thrust. “No, just… keep going.”

Encouraged by your words, Jake adjusted his position slightly, finding a deeper angle. The pleasure built steadily, warmth pooling in your core as he moved. Each gentle thrust sent waves of sensation coursing through you, the connection between your bodies deepening with every moment.

He continued to whisper to you, his voice a mix of reassurance and desire. “You’re doing amazing. Just like that. You’re perfect.”

Jake’s kisses traveled back to your lips, capturing your mouth again in a heated kiss that ignited the spark between you even further. He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, as if he wanted to envelop you completely.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer as you felt yourself responding to his rhythm, instinctively moving with him. The sensation of his skin against yours ignited every nerve ending, making you gasp softly between kisses.

“You’re incredible,” Jake murmured, his voice husky and filled with admiration.

His words sent a thrill down your spine. You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the sensations he was creating, the warmth radiating from where you were joined. You focused on your breathing, allowing each inhale and exhale to synchronize with his movements, feeling the heat pooling in your core grow more intense.

“Jake,” you whispered, the name barely escaping your lips. You felt more vulnerable than ever, yet there was a thrill in that vulnerability, a trust in the way he held you, as if he were cherishing you.

With a gentle movement, he shifted his angle, and suddenly a wave of pleasure surged through you, almost overwhelming in its intensity. You gasped, feeling the unfamiliar sensation build higher and higher within you.

“Did you like that?” he teased, his breath warm against your neck. He began to pick up his pace, the urgency in his movements matching the rising tide of pleasure. 

You could only nod, too lost in the moment to find the words.

“Good,” he breathed, his lips trailing down to your collarbone. “I want you to feel everything, to let it all in.”

As he continued to move inside you, you felt a sense of liberation wash over you. Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer, silently urging him to keep going.

“You can let go, baby. Just enjoy it,” he encouraged his voice a steady anchor amidst the rising waves of pleasure.

And let go you did. You surrendered to the sensations, allowing each thrust to send you higher and higher, the world outside becoming a blur as you focused solely on the feeling of him inside you, filling you, moving with you.

Your breaths came in shorter gasps, and you felt an unfamiliar tightening deep within you, the unmistakable sign of your impending climax. 

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pleasure, but Jake seemed to sense your body’s reactions.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispered, his eyes searching yours for permission. “I want to see you let go.”

With a final, desperate thrust, that wave crashed over you, enveloping you in ecstasy. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room as the world exploded in colors behind your closed eyelids.

Jake followed you, his movements becoming more erratic as he found his release, his body tensing above you, his eyes locked onto yours. In that shared moment of bliss, everything fell away—the doubts, the worries, and the fears—all that existed was the two of you, intertwined in a dance of passion and vulnerability.

As you both rode the waves of pleasure down, Jake collapsed beside you, pulling you close, his heart racing in time with yours. You nestled into him, feeling the warmth radiating from his body.

“Wow,” he finally breathed, his voice still thick with disbelief. “That was… incredible.”

You chuckled softly, still catching your breath. “Yeah, it was.”

Jake stroked your hair gently, his fingers weaving through the strands. “You okay?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious.

You nodded, looking up to meet his gaze. “Yeah, I am. More than okay, actually.”

A smile spread across his face, a mixture of relief and delight. “Good. Because that was just the beginning.”

After disposing of the condom, Jake crawled back into bed, the sheets cool against his skin. He noticed you instinctively covering yourself with the blanket, a hint of shyness creeping in after the intense connection you had just shared.

With a soft chuckle, he quickly rummaged through his dresser, retrieving a clean T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. 

“Hey,” he called out gently, “you might want to get comfy.” He tossed the clothes toward you, a playful grin on his face.

You caught the shirt and pants, a smile tugging at your lips as you slipped into the bathroom. After changing, you took a moment to compose yourself. The lingering sensations from earlier sent butterflies swirling in your stomach, and you took a deep breath to steady your nerves. You glanced at your reflection, a mix of exhilaration and disbelief washing over you.

When you finally stepped out, you found Jake lying in bed, now wearing a pair of sweatpants and leaning back against the headboard, his phone in hand. 

His eyes lit up the moment he saw you. “There you are,” he said, grinning. “Looking good.”

You felt the warmth spread across your cheeks at his compliment. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice soft as you moved to the edge of the bed, feeling the softness of the sheets beneath your fingers.

There was a confidence radiating off him like a warm glow. “How are you feeling?” he asked genuine concern in his gaze.

“Still processing, I think,” you admitted, shifting slightly as you sat on the edge of the bed, the blanket pooling around your legs. “But… I’m really happy.”

He smiled at that, his expression softening. “Good. You should be. That was amazing.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to break free. “It was,” you agreed, glancing down at your hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but…”

“But?” he prompted, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity piqued.

“But it was better than I ever imagined,” you finished, feeling a rush of honesty.

Jake’s smile widened, and he scooted closer to you, his knee brushing against yours. “I’m glad to hear that. You deserve to feel that way, you know?” He paused, his voice turning serious. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of warmth spread through you at his words. “I know. I trust you,” you said softly, searching his gaze for any sign of doubt. But all you found was sincerity.

“Good,” he replied, his tone lightening again. “So, what do you want to do now? We could order food, watch something ridiculous on TV, or just talk. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the options. “Food sounds good,” you said, feeling your stomach rumble in agreement.

“Alright,” he said, leaning back against the headboard with a playful smirk. “I’ll let you pick. Just know, if you choose pineapple on pizza, I might have to reevaluate our relationship.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “No pineapple, I promise.”

“Whew,” he said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if he had been spared from a terrible fate. “That’s a relief.”

As you reached for your phone to look up menus, you felt the tension from earlier dissolve into the comfortable atmosphere around you. You couldn’t shake the feeling of warmth and safety that wrapped around you like a cozy blanket.

You exchanged jokes and light-hearted banter, the air filled with laughter. It felt easy, the way it always had, but now there was an added layer of intimacy that made your heart race every time his hand brushed against yours.

“Alright, I think I found a place,” you said, finally breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you. “How about tacos? They have really good ones.”

Jake nodded, looking pleased. “Tacos it is. But you have to promise me we’ll get dessert afterward.”

“Deal,” you agreed, your stomach fluttering again, both from the food and the closeness of him beside you.

After placing the order, you settled back into the bed, leaning against Jake as he grabbed the remote. With a few clicks, the TV flickered to life, a mindless comedy playing in the background as you both relaxed.

Every so often, he would glance at you, a soft smile on his face as he made jokes about the show. You could feel the chemistry between you, the tension of the night slowly morphing into something warm and comforting, as if you were both basking in the aftermath of what had just unfolded.

[solarmorrigan]

💘 for the ask game? Might have a preference for the dare kiss if the inspo strikes you... 👀

Inspo did, in fact, strike me (thank you for the prompt!)

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

Prompt from this post

CW: alcohol use

-

Eddie doesn’t know whose brilliant idea this was, but they owe him for emotional damages.

Like–

Look, Eddie had really only ever attended high school parties as a dealer, had had very little interest in them otherwise, and thus has never played any of those cheap excuses for a chance to swap spit that they called games. Not truth or dare, not seven minutes in heaven, and not—Eddie watches in dizzy fascination as the empty beer bottle twirls and twirls in the center of the circle—spin the bottle.

Except someone had suggested it, and the rest of them had been just drunk enough to decide it was a great idea and join in.

Except Eddie is pretty sure this game is supposed to be played with classmates you don’t really know; people you barely remember in the morning and whose eyes you can avoid in the hallways at school on the following Monday – not two girls Eddie helped save the world with, the boyfriend of one of the aforementioned girls (and possibly the boyfriend of the aforementioned boyfriend? Eddie’s not sure what’s going on there), three guys he’s been friends with since middle school, and–

–the bottle stops, and Robin lets out a whoop. It’s pointing to the spot directly to Eddie’s right, the spot filled with none other than–

Steve Harrington.

The current bane of Eddie’s existence, with his stupid, pretty face and his stupid, soft-looking hair and his stupid, dry sense of humor and the way he’s stupidly sweet to Eddie and the way he’s smiling at stupid, stupid Eddie right now, who has a stupid, embarrassing crush on the guy, and now Eddie has to kiss him because the beer bottle says so. It’s the law, or something.

Eddie swears he hasn’t actually had that much to drink; he’s pretty sure proximity to Steve just does this to his brain.

Steve keeps smiling at him, amused, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Well?” he goads gently, elbowing Eddie in the side. “You gonna back down, or are you gonna kiss me, Munson?”

And– okay, one, Eddie has never backed down from a dare in his life, mostly because he operates on at least seventy-five percent impulsive thought power, and two, there’s no way Eddie isn’t going to take the chance to kiss Steve. It might not be the way he wants, but it also might be the only chance he’s going to get, so he turns and curves a hand at the side of Steve’s jaw—to steady Steve or to steady himself or maybe because he just wants to touch—and leans in and presses his lips to Steve’s.

And he tries to keep it PG, alright? He tries to keep it close-mouthed and soft, as easy and meaningless as the short kiss Robin had laid on him a few moments ago that had made it his turn to spin the bottle in the first place – he tries, but then someone (maybe Gareth? Hard to say, the world outside of Steve and Eddie has gone a little wishy-washy) shouts, “You call that a kiss?” and, well–

Eddie’s never backed down from a dare in his life.

(And if this is the only opportunity he’s going to have to kiss Steve, he figures he might as well milk it for all it’s worth.)

So he tilts his head, and parts his lips, and finds that Steve’s tongue is already there, hot and wet and licking into his mouth like he’s starving for it, teasing Eddie’s tongue back into his own mouth and sucking, and–

Eddie pulls back before the embarrassing noise he can feel building up in his chest can work its way free. He blinks at Steve, who is staring right back, eyes wide and starry, pupils blown, his mouth still hanging open a little as he pants for air, his bottom lip full and shiny in a way that makes Eddie want to dive right back in and bite him a little bit.

In fact, he’s very close to doing just that until someone’s voice breaches their little bubble.

“Well, Steve?” Robin prods, sounding far too amused for anyone’s good. “Are you gonna take your turn?”

“Nah.” Steve shakes his head, eyes still trained on Eddie as he stands up. “I think I’m out. Eddie?”

Eddie’s on his feet before Steve can even finish saying his name. “Right behind you.”

And then Steve is smiling again, eager and maybe—dare Eddie think it—a little smitten, and he grabs Eddie’s hand to drag him somewhere a little more private, somewhere away from the catcalls coming at them from the circle of friends they’re leaving behind, who Eddie pays absolutely no mind to because finding the nearest clear surface he can crowd Steve against feels more important.

Eddie doesn’t know whose brilliant idea spin the bottle was, but he owes them a goddamn fruit basket.

[biff-adventurer]

updated my "rules" page, so i'm putting out the information as a post as well, just for transparency/visibility etc. update begins:

This is an RP/aesthetic/writing blog for my personal Warrior of Light poster boy OC and his merry band of adventuring friends! I share my writing in a tag, both for meme prompts and fics that I write!

If you would like to roleplay, please feel free to throw your character into my inbox. You can also write a sentence or two and tag me in a post; I will always reply via reblog. I prefer spontaneous roleplay, but am welcome to plots as well. If you want to do a plot, though, it’s best if you suggest one first. I am flexible and can probably make it work. All lengths are fine with me. If I reblog a meme from you, I will generally send you a prompt! Ditto anyone that reblogs from me. It helps build friendships!

Biff’s story contains generally absurdist humor, emotional drama, some anime style exaggerations, and romantic history. It is largely faithful to MSQ with exceptions to lore adherence for the sake of creative license. This is mostly in line with how I write for Biff’s closed fic verse and my RP verse with my wife.

This blog supports and plays the multiple Warriors of Light theory. Any adventurer with the Echo can easily fit into RP with my characters. I can also play my characters as recurring veteran adventurer NPCs for anyone who plays a WoL that would prefer their own unique verse.

Mun (30) and adult characters (20-30+) are well over age for all kinds of threads. This isn’t a “politics free” blog. My background means I have informed opinions about gender, race, imperialism, feminism etc in the world. They follow me into XIV as well. I’m not here to pretend this is a perfect game. I don’t think it’s productive to think you can completely escape reality, no matter how terrible it is. I believe that trying is better than doing nothing. As such: 1) you can ask me questions regarding such topics 2) you ought to leave/unfollow/block if you disagree 3) such content will appear on this blog etc

Misc about “Main” Muse:

-La Noscean, from a farm between Red Rooster & Grey Fleet -bisexual & married in roleplay universe -master of bow, axe, lance, katana, fists, greatsword, shield -honest hearted himbo who is dumb as rocks -he will never hear the absurdity of “biff guy” -hooks can include literally anything to drinking buddies, assumed acquaintances, inbox hellos/starts, duels, song battles, that guy who listens to you when you have life problems, we are up for any/everything -more information here

Misc about Mun:

-punjabi/indian american -pan ace & engaged -masters in english lit -writes fics on ao3 -has three cats -if i ain’t around, assume real life stuff -if i got a problem, i’ll just unfollow -personal sideblog is empressgwenny  -live and let live

[iguana-braces]

I Heard From the Heavens (Rooster x Reader)

Based on this request (and also the iconic “Hold My Hand”) – Masterlist

Description: “You can cry every last tear

I won't leave 'til I understand

Promise me, just hold my hand”

Warnings: death, like, lots of talk about death, there’s a funeral, Rooster definitely has some things to work through, it’s 95% sad as shit and 5% not?

Word Count: 2.9k

Note: I’m sure this is way more sad than the original prompt and I am virtually hugging each and every one of you readers in apology. The total number of times I cried writing this: 19. But hey, we finally get a Rooster POV so that's fun 

Also, we’ve got some OC side characters here, so they get randomly generated names because I don’t want to do Y/F/N, Y/F/H/N, Y/M/C/A, etc. Feel free to mentally change the names as you’d like, I’m not a telepath, I cannot stop you.

Spoilers for Top Gun: Maverick (in case you still haven't seen it but are reading fanfic for it for some reason?)

You thought you'd be able to make it through the day, even as you dressed in all black.

Even when you saw Bradley in his dress uniform. Even as the two of you drove in near silence to the church. Right up until you stood at the door and tightly hugged your friend, Iris, who looked like she hadn’t slept in a month. While you knew she was a strong woman, it was like a simple gust of wind would blow her away at any time.

“It’s good to see you,” she said quietly. It didn’t feel like you could find any words that meant the right thing. I’m sorry for your loss didn’t feel like enough. My condolences. Is there anything I can do to help? You’d wanted to ask that on an hourly basis ever since you heard. All you could do was hold her hands and try to smile and hope that she knew what it meant. That was when the cracks in your façade started to show.

Then inside, there was the casket covered with an American flag, next to a picture of Wes in his dress uniform. The same one he was wearing now. Inside the casket. Funerals were always strange. How were you supposed to reconcile the memories of someone, their laugh, their smile, their shitty sense of humor, with the fact that what remained of them was now lying cold and eternally immobile just a few meters away from you? That was the most infuriating part of it all, the permanence. It's death. It's final, forever fixed and there's nothing anyone can do to change it. You don't even get the chance to try.

Throughout the service, you could feel Bradley’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t bear to meet his gaze. You bowed your head when they ordered prayers, you laughed at the anecdotes of Wes’ bumbling proposal to Iris, his love for rescuing animals, and so on. But something else kept your teeth clenched painfully tight through it all.

This was the church where Wes and Iris had been married, just two years earlier. A wedding you’d been a bridesmaid for, wishing them nothing but happiness and joy in their future together. But two years was all they got. And suddenly, the engagement ring around your finger felt ice cold against your skin.

Then there was the internment. They fired rifles and handed Iris that folded up flag and now you were really crying. There was so much ceremony involved in saying goodbye, summing up the entirety of one person’s life in a matter of a few hours. Celebrating them, honoring them, and mourning their absence all at once. Where were you even supposed to start?

You couldn’t help but think just how easily it could be you holding that flag. Even though Rooster was beside you now, he couldn't stay there forever. He’d have to leave again, and maybe one day he’d be coming back in pieces like Wes. But you had known this, you had known this from the start. And you knew it when you accepted his proposal, what was supposed to be the beginning of your future together. Still, the reality of it all had never seemed to hit you until just now.

You finally let yourself glance over at him. His lashes were wet with tears, but he remained strong, stoic, silent, saluting rigidly as Wes’ coffin was lowered into the ground.

Then there was the wake and laughter and more tears and all you wanted to do when you got home was collapse. Instead, you put on a movie in bed and let yourselves fall asleep to it. Anything to take your mind off it all.

But you couldn’t sleep. Lying there, staring at Bradley in the dark, trying to memorize every inch of his face, the curl of his hair, the temperature of the warmth radiating from his living, breathing body. Closing your eyes felt like a betrayal of the highest degree, you didn't dare miss out on a single second of existence with him.

But the longer you were awake, the worse you felt. There had been times, especially during long deployments, where you woke up in a cold sweat, thinking you’d heard a knock at the door or the ringtone for a call from a voice you never wanted to hear. And sometimes there was no way of talking to Bradley, no way of knowing if your fears were valid or not. All you could do is sit and wait and hope with everything you had.

Even now, it felt like that knock might come at any moment, waking you up from the dream that he was there with you. That was just exhaustion and trauma playing with your mind, but you couldn’t lie there any longer. Even sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, you felt yourself itching to walk past the bedroom again, just to make sure he was still there.

Taking only your keys and a jacket, you left. These streets were familiar enough that you didn’t mind being out so late on your own, letting your mind wander as your feet carried you aimlessly forward.

Anybody you married could leave you a widow, Rooster wasn't the exception. Car accidents were common enough, so were undetected diseases and random acts of violence, natural disasters, animal attacks. But Rooster chose to put himself in the line of fire. He was a target in the air, a threat, while piloting a delicate aircraft going hundreds of miles per hour, thousands of feet off the ground. A lot could go wrong up there, as you were both well aware.

For the most part, he never really talked about what happened on missions and of course, it had to have been classified to some degree. But there was something more than just state secrets that he was hiding in his silence. Sometimes you could just tell something had gone wrong, he'd been in some kind of danger but he never wanted you to worry about what could've happened. What was important was that he made it back in one piece and that’s all there was to say about it.

At the same time, you had stopped telling him about your nightmares. They didn’t mean anything. They were just the result of your neurons randomly firing as your unconscious mind processed information, or something like that. Just a passing feeling, nothing to waste your time worrying about and nothing to cause him to worry about. But sometimes it felt like you were too busy keeping things from each other that you ran out of material for a real conversation.

And what kind of life was that? Is this what it was like for everyone else? For Iris and Wes? For Rooster’s parents? God, what you would’ve given to know them. For what felt like the fiftieth time that day, your sore eyes started tearing up again.

Letting your head fall back towards the sky, you stared up at the stars. Beautiful as always, but who knows how many of them were long-dead already, blinked out of existence, and you just couldn’t see it yet. We’re only ever witnessing the pasts of the stars, what they used to be, beams of light traveling through space long after the source has destroyed itself. Memories, that’s all they were. Nothing but blazing, brilliant memories.

~~~~

Rooster had woken up before the sun, as always. Noting your absence next to him, he let himself assume you were in the bathroom and rolled over, closing his eyes again. After the events of yesterday, a little sleeping in could be considered acceptable.

But when he woke an hour later and you were still gone, that was when he knew something was wrong. The house was empty and your phone was still on the nightstand, your wallet still in your purse. Only your keys and sandals were missing.

You weren’t anywhere outside, and none of your friends seemed to have woken up yet, despite his repeated attempts to reach them. None of this would’ve made sense if it weren’t for the context of the situation.

He'd held your shaking hands at the funeral, seen the hollowness of your eyes as they fixed on the casket, probably imagining him lying within it. That’s why he’d always hated funerals. Not only was he starting to feel like he’d been to a few too many of them, but they just felt too much like a mirror, a solemn reminder of his own mortality. Yes, they were a way to help people grieve and to pay your respects and you were supposed to celebrate the deceased’s life, but all he could ever hear was a silent clock ticking down the minutes until it was his turn.

Even though he barely remembered the specifics of what happened, and he was much too young to understand it anyway at the time, he remembered that his dad had been there one minute, and then he was gone forever the next. And then his mom was gone too, and he'd lost friends in the service. He'd even come close to death's door on his own a few times. Loss had been such a huge part of his life, he had forgotten what it was like to fear it.

Until he met you. The thought of losing you was one thing, but the thought of you losing him was worse. That pain had always been a part of him, that gnawing ache of what if. What if they weren't gone, what if I had done more with them while they were here? Losing you was assured to split him in two for the umpteenth time, but he could learn to carry that pain again. The problem was that he refused to be the one who’d inflict that pain upon you. That's why he'd waited so long to let you in. It was a lot to ask of you, expecting you to make peace with the fact that he's willingly putting himself into dangerous situations. And how could he possibly promise to spend his life with you while continually gambling with it on each and every mission?

A familiar voice started to speak in the back of his mind, saying, Just let her go.

No, he couldn’t. If something really was wrong, if you were in danger and he gave up, he’d never be able to live with himself.

Wearing down the tires on his truck, he drove down every city street searching for you, stopping by all of your favorite places even though most weren’t even open yet. But place after place was devoid of all life, and that only made him want to tear the steering wheel in half.

Stopped at a red light near the beach, his foot tapping impatiently on the gas pedal, that was when he heard it.

"Rooster!"

He thought he imagined it, he couldn’t see anyone nearby.

“Rooster!”

Something in the rearview mirror caught his eye, a figure waving their arms some distance behind him. He almost jumped out of the car then and there, leaving it idling at the stoplight, but rationality told him to make a U-turn and park at a lot nearby.

Stumbling over the sand dunes, holding your shoes in your hand, you met him at the top of the beach. He wanted to scream at you because where the fuck had you been and what the fuck were you thinking, but you looked unharmed and really, the most important thing was that he had found you. Besides, what was he supposed to say, Glad you’re okay and by the way, I think we should break up because I’m terrified of what might happen?

Sighing, you spoke first, explaining, “I went for a walk but then I was too tired to walk home so I fell asleep on a bench until a cop woke me up. Sorry.”

All he could do was nod, as if that explanation instantly placated the wasp's nest of anxiety buzzing inside him.

“Can we talk?” he finally asked.

You nodded tiredly. “Can we sit though? I shouldn’t have walked two miles in these shoes.”

Sinking into the sand, he wrapped his arms around his knees, kicking up sand as one of his feet jittered uncontrollably. You sat next to him, picking at the stray grasses that grew in the dune. He’d been the one to initiate this talk, but now his mind was as blank as the cloudless, sunrise-streaked sky.

Don’t think, just do. Just say it.

“On that mission with Mav, he got shot down,” Rooster started, his throat dry from calling out your name for so long. “They told us not to go back for him, but I did. And they shot me down too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you shake your head. I know, he wanted to say, I’m sorry.

“There’s more.”

“Go on,” you nodded.

“We found a plane and got out of there, but on the way back to the ship, they were on us again. We didn’t have any weapons, couldn’t eject, they had missile lock on us and…” He could still feel the shuddering of the ancient F-14 around him, the dull clicks of the ejection handles as he pulled on them futilely. “There was nothing we could do. If it weren’t for Hangman, then–”

“Hangman is the only reason you’re not dead right now?”

“Yeah." Rooster never thought he’d be indebted to that cocky bastard for anything, but without Hangman, he’d never have come home.

"Huh." It seemed you were just as surprised at this turn of events as he was. The events of that day remained an adrenaline-filled blur in his mind, but the aftermath was painfully clear to him.

"You don’t even have time to think about it, really. My life didn’t flash before my eyes. It was just one second that passed right by and that was it, we were back on the carrier. Like nothing happened. But then yesterday and today…” Despite being firmly seated on the ground, it felt like he was pulling seven Gs, his chest crushing under the weight of his own words before he spoke them. “Dying, if it’s quick, it’s easy. You blink and you’re just gone. But for everyone else, everyone you leave behind, it lasts a lifetime. You die over and over for them, every time they think of you. And I don’t want to do that to you.”

~~~~~~~~~

The strand of grass you’d been wrapping around your finger split, pulled too tightly.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Bradshaw,” you whispered. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m sorry–”

“I love you, but you don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle. I decide that.”

You could tell he wanted to argue, to force you out and rebuild his defenses so impossibly high he’d never see the sun again. But you’d made your decision hours ago, before your siesta on that splintery bench.

Staring up at the stars, it was as if something clicked into place inside you. Ancient memories, that was all you had. The present was nothing but a second, over and done with and gone before you knew it. The future was uncontrollable and terrifying. But he was right, memories are with us forever, the good and the bad.

“Your parents. You don’t hate them, do you?”

Rooster almost looked offended at the question. “...No.”

“You don’t curse the fact that you’re their son just because they’re gone, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Do you think your mom ever regretted the day she met your dad?” Rooster went still at this for a few moments, staring into the waves on the shore. As he shook his head, tears welled over his eyes and he dropped his head to his knees.

“No, she didn’t, because they loved each other,” you answered for him, sniffling, your voice wavering more and more. “And you love them and they loved you and that’s the point of this whole thing. We love each other for as long as we can, even though it might hurt in the end because– Because it lasts a lifetime. It gives us something to hold onto. I’d never regret loving you, Rooster. Not a single moment of it.”

There was more you wanted to say, but your tears were too heavy now. You felt Bradley’s arms around you and you clung to him, his body shaking against yours as you both finally let yourselves cry.

“Just promise me the same,” you said softly.

"I do,” Bradley sighed. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[elysianslove]

euphoria ; itadori yuuji

synopsis; a serene beach date, followed by intimacy at home

pairing; itadori yuuji x fem!reader

genre; fluff, smut 

warnings; smut! unprotected sex, which i do not condone this is fanfiction people. curses i guess? yuuji being cute as fuck <3

note; all characters are 18+ . please don’t read the smut if you’re a minor. there’ll be a page break separating the fluff from the smut! this shit is like over 4k words rip im sorry if there are mistakes

━━ it's not the first time he's seen you in a swimsuit. it's not even a bikini this time, and he's seen you in much more revealing clothing. you've laid bare next to him as the sun seeped through the curtains and woke the two of you up, and taken countless showers with him, soaked in the water inside a bathtub, his revealed chest to your naked back. and yet, yuuji gawks at you like it is the first time.

you only huff out a laugh as you slip the cover up off your shoulders, kneeling down to roughly fold it in your bag. his gaze is piercing, but you like the lingering presence of it. he whistles as you stand to your full height again, before eagerly removing shirt with a grin, reaching for the neck hemline and pulling it off. "so hot," he tells you, earning an eye roll from you. you're not given much warning before his strong arms are wrapping around your waist, picking you up off of the sand.

"yuuji, put me down!" you exclaim, but he only lifts you up higher, tossing you up on his shoulder.

he grips your waist with one arm, the other reaching up to grasp at your thighs as soon as you see the waves of the beach dance over to where your boyfriend stands. he continues inward, the water rising up to his waist, before he whispers out a measly apology, something like, "sorry, babe," before he's throwing you off his shoulder into the salty water.

a scream ripples out of your throat as you flail around, but there's no stopping it. you hit the water suddenly, initially freezing cold, before you move your limbs frantically to push your head out of the water. scowling at your boyfriend, who's cackling as if he were a wizard that's defeated his lifelong enemy, you push your hair out of your face. "what was that for!" you ask, swimming over to where he is.

he sinks below the water before you, his chin hovering over the water as he laughs. "it was out of love," he argues. "i wish i'd recorded it; your scream was hilarious."

instead of wallowing, you paint a mischievous grin on your lips as you plant your feet onto the sand beneath you, and leap up, aiming to dunk your boyfriend's head beneath the water. he's trained though, maybe not exactly for situations like this, but his reflexes are as sharp as ever. he catches your wrists easily, shifting his grasp of them in one hand, before using the other to grab your waist and push you beneath the water again. your eyes sting at the intrusion of salt water, throat burning, but the only true, lingering thought on your mind is just how easy it was for him to deflect you like that. you're terribly aware of yuuji's athleticism and strength, and yet it always manages to catch you off guard.

"no fair, yuuji," you say, pouting up at him as you blink away the residue of salt in your eyes. "that's twice in a row!"

yuuji only laughs again, reaching out for you beneath the water. his hands settle on your waist, but it's a soothing touch this time. no mischievousness behind them, only safety and security. he urges you closer to him until you rest your forearms on his shoulders, and then he leans forward to kiss the tip of your nose. "i promise no more slam dunking in the water," he tells you, lowering his lips to finally meet yours. you kiss him gently, enjoying the taste of salt that linger on your tongue when he opens his mouth for you. maybe it's a little lewd of you, openly making out with your boyfriend in a public beach's waters, but who can blame you really? he's breathtaking.

and you don't hesitate to him so. "you're mesmerizing, yuuji," you confess, lifting a hand to brush through his damp hair. some strands are sticking to his forehead, the pink of them more evident underneath the sunlight. you think that maybe he's left you this way, so mindlessly in love with him, because of the kiss. but really, you always feel this way for him. even if subconsciously.

"maybe i should slam dunk you more often," he teases you, but ultimately, he leans in for another kiss. "i think you're pretty neat."

"pretty neat, hm?" you wonder.

he hums. "yeah. the coolest girlfriend i could ask for, maybe," he continues. "prettiest, too." you humor him, and nod diligently. "by a long run, baby."

you press one last kiss on his lips, a quick peck, before pushing yourself out of his arms' hold, laying back atop the water. "help me float," you ask him, and then you feel his hands settle flat on your back, leaving a trail of heat along your spine. he's clueless of his effects as his face hovers over yours, shielding you from the sun, and you're insistent on keeping it that way, offering him a small smile.

he helps you dance above the waves for a few minutes, occasionally asking you random questions that you, honest to god, weren't sure if anyone had the answers to. and then, inevitably, he pouts down at you, complaining in a low voice, "m'hungry, babe."

thankfully, you'd prepared in advance for this date. rushing out of the water, with yuuji's hand in yours, you race across the sand to where your belongings were, an umbrella propped up for shade. you shiver as a breeze travels past you, painting goosebumps along your skin while your boyfriend urges you to move faster. as soon as you're there, he picks up your towel first, quickly wrapping it around your trembling frame and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, attempting to warm you up.

"all good?" he wonders, and you nod, even if you're still freezing, because he's still yet to dry himself off. finally, the two of you settle on the ground, a cloth beneath you acting as barrier to the sand, and you pull out the snacks you'd packed from your bag. all of his favorites. "you really are the best," he tells you, moaning as he takes a bite into his food. you offer him a sincere smile, shuffling nearer to him for both his body heat and to rest your head on his shoulder while you eat.  

there really is no telling how time will pass when you’re with him. sometimes it’s slow, languid, the universe taking its time to stretch out the moments between you two, allowing you to lose yourself within every little thing. every kiss felt like a hundred, every embrace lasted years, every glance left a lingering tingle at the bottom of your spine. other times it’s quick, breathtakingly fast, but you still feel everything as strongly as you would on the opposing days. your heart just beats a little faster, racing to catch up with the way time speeds around you. his touch is fleeting, but the effect he has on you is always eternal. today, the earth seems to slow down with you, to accommodate with your need and desire to feel every moment to the fullest. it sympathizes with you, makes sure you catch even the tiniest of movements from yuuji, like the way his eyes blink rapidly to rid himself of the intruding salt dripping from his hair, or the way he’s moving closer to you to rest his head above yours.

god, you’re such a sap.

there’s another breeze that flies by, and you shiver again, instinctively pushing yourself closer to him. yuuji takes note, lifting his arm to wrap it around you, encasing you in his warmth.

“if you could be any animal, what would you be?” he asks you. it’s not sudden, the type of question, but his voice so near you is.

you only shiver again as you shrug. “i don’t know. never really gave it much thought,” you admit. “maybe a seal or something. they seem to be doing great.”

“a seal?” he wonders, then cranes his neck to look down at you with an approving grin. “nice one, babe.”

you snort, pushing your head into the crook of his neck, sighing against his collarbones. “what about you?”

his grip tightens around you as he rubs his hand up and down your arm soothingly. then, he replies, “maybe an eagle.”

“because it symbolizes freedom?” you ask.

yuuji shrugs softly. “maybe. or just because i’d like to fly. i’d carry you on my back and take you wherever you want,” he fantasizes.

“baby,” you start, sitting up straight to face him. “that’s what planes are for.”

the look on his face emits loud laughter from you, but he pinches the skin of your upper arm with a playful scowl, scoffing, “yeah but planes aren’t free, are they?” you hum, falling back into his embrace. he easily places his arms back around you, fitting you against him perfectly, before he speaks again. “where would you want to go?” he asks.

you sigh, “anywhere with you.”

he freezes for a moment, before he lets out a giggle. “you sap! god, you’re so in love with me.”

you can’t find it within yourself to tease him because, yes, you really are so in love with him. and you had meant it. his laughter fades out into happy sighs, and then he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “i’m so in love with you too.”

maybe you should’ve anticipated that this is where you’d be the moment you arrived back home with yuuji. it’s not that you minded; if anything, this is probably your fault more than his. it was evident in the way even the smallest of his touches, specifically today, lit a familiar fire in the pit of your stomach. inevitably, you figured, you would have found yourself in his lap anyways, knees perched on either side of him, legs spread and a flush traveling from your cheeks down to your chest.

you’d gone home with him with tired eyes and a glow to your skin. showering together hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary, either. it was simple, intimate, also hilarious when a wad of shampoo had fallen into one of yuuji’s eyes, prompting screams from him you never thought you’d hear. it’s after the shower that trouble started.

he had lazily leaned against the bed, only a towel wrapped his waist, his head tossed back against the wall. the tired sigh that left his lips mesmerized you, but you knew your thoughts were to remain as that, simple imaginations, because there’s no way either of you have a speck of energy for anything. you’re proven wrong when your boyfriend beckons you over onto the bed, not giving you much chance to even slip off your robe and into something slightly more comfortable. instead of allowing you to sit next to him, he’d lead you over onto his lap, propping you up, before capturing your lips in a lazy kiss.

you’d returned it, of course, because nothing feels better than kissing yuuji. nothing feels better than kissing yuuji with your hands on his neck, on his sturdy chest, down to strong stomach. the kiss turns feverish quickly, his grip on your covered waist tightening considerably before they travel down to your hips. he lifts himself up to sit more upright, guiding you closer to him, closer to where he wants you to be, before pushing you down harder onto him. against his mouth, you moan instinctively, hands traveling to tug lightly at his hair. a breathless gasp escapes his lips when you finally start grinding your lower body against his, his hands enforcing a bruising grip on your hips. you’re still covered, and so is he, but it isn’t long before the adrenaline truly takes over, and yuuji’s lifting his hips up to rid himself of the towel.

you’re about to follow suit, but even beneath you, he takes charge, untying the robe and slipping it off your shoulders hastily. neither of you dares to break the kiss as you’re finally completely bare before each other, and yuuji reaches forward to wrap his arms around your waist, pushing your chest flush against his. the action elicits a moan from the both of you, and you feel your nipples hardening as they brush against the muscle of yuuji’s chest. tiredness is long forgotten as your hips begin to grind aimlessly along his lap, and, in response, yuuji unfastens his left arm from around you, using the right one to steady you on top of him, as he brings one hand down between your legs.

his fingers brush against your folds, and he groans loudly at the first feel of you. he pulls back, breathlessly, to look into your eyes, noticing how hazy they’ve become, your pupils fully blown. then, he says, “wanna make you cum on my fingers, yeah?” a whine tumbles out from your lips and you nod frantically, giving him your answer to his indirect ask for consent. he collects some of your wetness on his fingers, before slowly slipping in his middle finger. although your mind had expected it, the intrusion is sudden to your body, and you lift yourself up reflexively. yuuji’s stronger than you though, and the grip of his right arm doesn’t falter as he sinks his finger deeper into you. he watches you through half lidded eyes as you throw your head back, welcoming easily the feeling that’s slowly beginning to overtake you.

he pulls out his finger to the first knuckle before pushing it back in, repeatedly, until he hears a breathless, “more,” fall from your lips. your wish is his command, and when he pulls his finger out, a second joins, filling you up even before. it’s incredible how easily you’re falling apart right before him, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, your chest heaving as his fingers speed up their ministrations. he leans forward, clasping his mouth around one of your nipples, earning an even louder moan from you. your chest rises against his mouth, and his teeth clamp down lightly, pulling at your nipple, abusing it, as his fingers continue to drill in and out of you. his thumb reaches up to rub lightly against your clit, strengthening the fire filling your veins.

you’re making a mess of him, you’re sure, and you have half a mind to finally open your eyes and glance down at him. he’s fixated on you and your pleasure, mouth eager on your chest, arm flexing as he pushes two of his fingers in and out relentlessly. “m’gonna cum,” you whine helplessly, trembling in his grasp. he hums against your chest, letting your nipple fall from between his lips as his tongue dances along the perks. “yuuji, i’m gonna cum!”

he laughs, looking back up at you when you throw your head back, uselessly attempting to rock your hips in time to meet the thrust of his fingers. teasingly, he retorts, “nothing’s stopping you, darling.”

you’re already shaking in his grip, gradually losing more control of your body’s reactions. then, his eyes meets yours as he looks up, the same time his fingers are curling inside you and his teeth reach out to tug at your nipple —

you scream when you cum, sobbing helplessly as his fingers work you through your orgasm. your thighs involuntarily flex and you lean forward, unable to hold yourself up. his mouth leaves your nipple to allow him the pleasure of watching you properly. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant in a whisper, head falling onto his shoulder. his fingers don’t stop however, and you have to reach in between you to grip at his wrist in a silent plea.

yuuji laughs again, finally slowing down his hand’s movements until he eventually pulls his fingers out. “feel good baby?” he asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck as he feels your breathing slowly steady itself. you’re still slightly trembling atop him, but you know that you’re not even close to finished for the night.

you hum in response, nodding against him. lifting yourself up, yuuji beams up at your state, skin flushed and hair damp — he’s not sure if it’s the sweat or the shower from earlier, but either way, you look too gorgeous for your own good. unexpectedly, he feels you lift up his hand, gripping at his palm, before your mouth falls open, tongue slipping out, and you place his sticky fingers onto the muscle. his breathing halts when you wrap your lips around the digits, and he silently curses when he feels you suck lightly, tongue dancing over, around and in between his fingers.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he admits to you, and you hum again around his fingers diligently. “come on,” he urges you, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and placing both hands on your waist. “can’t let you have all the fun.”

you giggle, nodding in agreement as you place your hands atop his. “want me to be on top?” you suggest.

“yeah, if you want me dead,” he jokes, before easily flipping the two of you over. you can’t help the squeal that cuts from your lips, but he swallows it easily with his mouth on yours, replacing it with a throaty moan. you can feel his dick hard against your thigh, leaking precum, smudged along your skin. he lifts himself up further along your body, pressing down against you until his heavy cock is trapped between your lower abdomens.

“yuuji, come on,” you whine up at him. your hand slides down to between you two, gripping the head of his cock, thumbing the slit. his figure falters above you, his arms trembling slightly at the feel of your hand around him.

his hand comes down to yours, swatting it off, before shifting down slightly to line himself up at your entrance. with his other hand, he spreads your legs further apart, hooking one onto his arm. once he’s satisfied, he settles the tip of his cock near your dripping sex, reveling in the noises that are spewing out of you — countless moans and breathless chants of please, please, please. he loves you always, but especially like this, all spread out for him, the heat of you nearly sucking him in as he teases your pussy.

“you look so pretty like this, baby,” he voices. you whine again as he rubs the head of his dick against your clit, throwing your head back and reaching out to grip his arm.

“please, yuuji,” you beg, and maybe if he had an ounce of self control within him at this rate he’d drag this out a little more. he’d tease you endlessly, till the sun came up again. but there’s a hunger within him that’s pleading and begging to be sated, so against all odds, with his fist wrapped around the base of his cock, he slowly enters you.

you muffle a cry at the feel of your walls stretching around him to accommodate him, and he can physically feeling you spasming around him already. he groans as he continues to sink in, his hand reaching out to fist the pillow by your head. your breath is heavy, labored, when he finally bottoms out. you feel so warm around him, it’s dizzying. “fucking tight,” he groans, his jaw tight.

he steadies himself, waiting for you to relax slightly. he doubts he’d be able to move even a little with how tight you felt around him, but slowly, surely, he feels you lift your hips slightly. “more, yuuji,” you mumble, eyes cloudy. he lifts his hand from near your head, gripping your hip instead, and with your leg lifted up on his shoulder, he pulls out, before slamming back in. your back arches as a loud moan rips from your throat, mindlessly cursing, “fuck!” he does it again, encouraged by the noises you’re making and the way your body’s reacting to him. you’re so fucking wet, dripping down onto the bed beneath the two of you, but he can’t even begin to think of anything but the fact that he’s reducing you to this state.

he continues to thrust diligently into you, his hips snapping against yours repeatedly. with the angle he’s fucking you, he continuously hits a specific spot within you, leaving your head cloudy and your spine tingling. he’s splitting you open in half at this point, but all you can do is lay there, muscles tight and exhausted, skin slick with sweat and chest flushed, rising and falling rapidly. your breasts bounce with every thrust, and you’re convinced he’s fucking you stupid as your eyes roll back, your back arching off the bed.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he praises you. “so good, pretty.” his voice is breathless, deeper too, and you look up at him for a split second. his eyes are trained down to where your bodies are connected, watching as you take him so well, his gaze never wavering.

when he leans forward, dropping your leg to wrap it around his waist instead, you know he’s getting close. his cock twitches inside of you, his hands coming to rest by your waist on the bed. his fingers, suddenly, come to work at your clit, rubbing at the bundle of nerves harshly. “it’s too much! too good!” you wail, and he drinks it at all, his fingers growing slick again with your wetness.

“i wanna feel you cum all over me,” he tells you, thrusts somehow deeper. you let out a broken sob, your nails digging into his shoulders as he works you over to the edge. he’s given no warning other than the relentless squeezing of your pussy around him and your repeated cries of “cumming, cumming, cumming!” before you’re trembling beneath him, struggling to catch your breath as your hips lift up off the bed. the orgasm continues to rock through as yuuji’s thrusts grow sloppier.

“where do you want me?” he shakily asks. despite the overstimulation and the over sensitivity, you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you. he rests his head in the crook of your neck, his quiet moans music to your ears so close to you. “darling,” he groans, gripping your waist as he uses your body to bring himself closer to his high.

“inside, yuuji,” you mumble, pressing a kiss to his temple. “please, please, plea—“ a gasp tumbles out as he suddenly stills, your words sending him over the edge. his muscles flex, slightly trembling within your arms, his small pants spreading heat along your skin.

slowly, he fucks into you, riding out his high, pressing chaste kisses along your neck and throat. “love you so much,” he mumbles, finally stilling.

you feel sticky, sweaty, and not at all clean in comparison to when you’d just stepped out of the shower. but you also feel blissful, euphoric, hazy and completely satisfied. yuuji lifts his head up finally, lifting himself up slightly to pull out of you. his cum trickles out slowly, but he pays it no mind as he flops half of his body atop yours, and you let out a pained laugh.

“yuuji!” you whine. “you’re heavy.” he only hums tiredly, his arm slung along your middle, his cheek against your shoulder. you bring a hand up, the one he isn’t immobilizing, to brush away his hair. his eyes are barely kept open, but he still manages to smile dreamily at you. your fingers ghost over his features, admiring them, tracing his soft skin, unknowingly lulling him to sleep. “okay, king of aftercare,” you joke, and he huffs out a laugh.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles. “aftercare tomorrow.”

you nod, beaming brightly, and leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. his chest begins rising and falling slowly, telling you he’s already asleep, but when you mumble out, “i love you so much, too,” and press a kiss to his cheek, you swear he smiles.

[drasin]

Welcome to the BlaCage Week July 2022!

I made this to help myself get back to writing in a more enjoyable way. But I also invite anyone interested and willing to participate!

Any form of fanwork will be accepted: fanfiction, fanart, video edits, moodboards, etc.

To make it easier to find all the works, tag each one with #blacageweek2022 Also feel free to tag me (@drasin), if you want me to reblog your post!

I would love to see more works with that ship done by you!

Rules & dictionary are listed under the cut:

Rules:

There are no requirements for length, size, etc. of the work.

Each day there is one main lead trope as well as three prompts to choose from. You can use just one prompt, or all three for any given day!

The work cannot be old, it must be new created for this week.

No need to sign up. Just use the tags and tag me if you want your work to be reblogged!

At the beginning, mark what day it is, what main trope it has and what prompts you have chosen.

You can participate as much or as little as you want/can; you do not have to make a work for every day or prompt.

If necessary, use page breaks to shorten long works/posts

Tag all NSFW works as such, and keep NSFW content below a page break

Any work that is not properly tagged in terms of NSFW or potentially triggering content, will not be reblogged, until the tags and/or warnings are added

If your work is not reblogged within 48 hours, please DM me and let me know (we all know how Tumblr tags can be)

Have fun!

Dictionary:

(If you don't know the meaning of a particular trope/prompt. Of course there are many approaches and solutions, this is just a general explanation to know where to go.)

Trope meaning:

Slice Of Life: A cast of characters go about their daily lives, making observations and being themselves.

First Time: Cause characters to experience something they have never experienced before (ever or with a particular person) such as first: kiss, date, feeling something, doing something ect.

Angst: That is dark and depressing, often in which characters suffer from lost, not being able to be together or unrequited love.

Hurt Comfort: One character being sick/injured/generally worried about something, and someone else taking care of them and helping them; could also be an argument, etc. Generally have a happy ending.

Fluff: A lot of light-hearted, wholesome, or even heartwarming interactions going on.

In Vino Veritas: Confessions under the influence of drink, drugs, truth serum, truth spell or the like. One character confesses to something for another character.

Meet Cute: Two people who will form a future romantic couple meet for the first time, typically under unusual, humorous, or cute circumstances.

Meet Ugly: The logical opposite of meet cute, where they meet for the first time, accompanied by problems, misunderstandings and an initial dislike of each other.

Alternative Universe: is a setting for a work that departs from the canon of the fictional universe that the fan work is based on e.g: (fantsy AU, crime AU, Modern AU, Coffee Shop AU... ect.)

Prompts meaning:

workplace - We focus our attention on what is happening in the place where our characters work. This may simply relate to the setting of our story or it may relate to the relationship the characters have with each other in that particular environment and how that affects them and the reactions of their co-workers.

age gap - Where one character in a ship is much younger than the other. So we pay attention to what comes with it and how big deal it is for them.

holiday - We choose any holiday and put our characters there. Will they spend it together? Will it mean anything to them? Does something important happen then?

angry kiss - That furious kiss that happens when two people who are utterly pissed at each other and arguing grab each other and kiss sloppily, intensely and a little bit aggressively.

benefits - When the two characters make some kind of deal with each other or spend time together for mutual benefits. Also friends/enemies with benefits overly sexual. It can also be just one side taking advantage of the other without the other side knowing, or simply getting benefits involuntarily.

lost bet - One character loses a pre-arranged bet and faces the consequences of his failure.

amnesia - One or more characters lose their memory. Generally, the plot will then be formed around the repercussions - how the character deals with it, how characters around them deal with it, the quest to retrieve the lost memories, or coming to terms with the loss.

holding hands - A simple physical activity at which we focus on how they do it, under what circumstances, whether they do it willingly or perhaps ashamed, and how others react to it.

being carried - Whether on their arms or the piggyback. How did they happen to be doing this and how they feel about it.

bed sharing - Two characters one bed. Is this the bedroom of one of them? Or maybe a hotel? They wanted to be together or it's a mistake, are they forced? That and everything in between.

time loop - One or more characters re-experience a span of time which is repeated, sometimes more than once, with some hope of breaking out of the cycle of repetition.

miscommunication - When a misunderstanding between characters plays a big part in the plot. Creates problems, or even the opposite.

fake dating - When two people act like they're in a relationship for social gain or because of a situation that forced them into it. The main purpose is to throw the characters together in extended proximity and then explore the hidden, or not so hidden, feelings that develop.

jealousy - angry feeling of wanting to have what someone else has ora a sad feeling caused by the belief that someone you love likes or is liked by someone else

trapped together - Two characters are stuck together for an extended period of time, and romance blooms. It could be some place like a room or a tight closet or a situation that forces them to stay together.

injury - Someone is injured, it could be serious or harmless. What is important is how the other person reacts to it, whether they worried, if they helped. Or even whether they're the cause of it, by accident or not.

blind date - A set date between two people who have never met before. Usually, however, it comes out that they know each other, so the focus is on how they will react and whether they are willing to continue it.

undercover - Working in secret, using false identity and disguise to gain access to information.

If you have any other question feel free to DM me!

[ifmywishescametrue]

Choosing which prompt to send you from list was an impossible task!! They’re just all that good🥺 but if u feel inspired, maybe 15 or 76 would be really cute for stevetony?

Also, hope you have the best and loveliest day, friend 💖💝

thank you for sending one!! for #76 - "thank you for making me smile" - here's 1.6k words of getting together and absolutely terrible jokes

also i hope you have the loveliest day too 🥺

"I'm never listening to your advice again," Steve says the second he walks in the door. He lets it slam shut behind him and stomps off to his bedroom with another rough bang.

Tony and Bucky exchange a look on the couch, and Tony pauses their video game.

"Me or you?"

"Probably you," Bucky says. "Your advice is usually shit."

Tony scoffs, "Please, I'm a genius for a reason. All of my advice is amazing. Or are you forgetting that I'm the reason that you have a boyfriend right now?"

"One time in the last three years and you won't let it go."

"It'd be you and your right hand for the rest of your life if it wasn't for me."

Bucky rolls his eyes, "I would have made it work with Sam on my own eventually. But that's besides the point. I haven't given Steve any advice lately, so it has to be you. And in case you forgot, I don't even live here. He didn't know I was here when he said it."

"You don't live here?" Tony says with mock surprise. "Wow, you eat an awful lot of our food then."

Bucky grins, "It's payback for all the times you did the same to me before I moved out. Now go fix Steve. We'll rematch tomorrow."

"I didn't break him," Tony argues, even as he sets his controller down and stands from the couch. "I am a beacon of wisdom."

"You started a fire in the microwave twice last week, beacon."

Tony flips him off on his way to Steve's bedroom. He knocks once and ignores it when Steve tells him to go away.

Steve is sitting at his desk with his back to the door and his sketchbook open in front of him. He has a pencil in his hand, but the page is untouched.

"So, uh, what's up with you?"

"Nothing."

Tony nods slowly, "Right, okay. Care to share what advice of mine went wrong exactly? Cause I gotta say I'm drawing a blank."

"I was talking to Buck."

"Oh," Tony says in relief, then he frowns. "How'd you even know he was here?"

"When isn't he here? Our fridge is always empty because of him."

Tony smiles and flops down on Steve's bed, propping himself up against the pillows with his arms folded behind his head. He pushes the back of Steve's chair with his foot, making it spin his way.

"So what did Bucky do?"

Steve looks like he's about to say, but then he bites his lip and shakes his head instead. "Really doesn't matter."

Tony looks at him for a long moment, taking in all those subtle tells of his. The slight downturn of the corners of his mouth and the crease between his brows, but they don't come with any tension in his jaw or shoulders, which means he's more disappointed than angry. His eyes never hide hurt, but there's none to be found in them. Whatever it was didn't crush him, and Tony knows just how to fix him when he's like this.

He pokes Steve's arm with his socked toes. "Hey, Steve, why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants?"

Steve sighs, but there's already a hint of a smile. Further evidence to support Tony's hypothesis.

"Why, Tony?"

"In case he got a hole in one."

Steve presses his lips together and shakes his head. "That's not very funny."

"Why do bees have sticky hair?"

The look Steve gives him is long-suffering.

"Because they use honeycombs," Tony grins, and Steve relaxes back into his chair a little. "What kind of music do planets like?"

"Neptunes," Steve says, smirking a little, and Tony pouts dramatically.

"Nooo, how did you know that?"

"Used it on me two months ago. Remember when you broke the sink and you didn't want me to be mad at you anymore?"

"I also remember fixing the sink in the same day, but fine dwell on the fact that I broke it in the first place."

Steve laughs, and Tony feels the knot in his own chest loosen. He hates it when Steve's upset. It throws him off his own axis, because his world revolves around Steve's sun.

He gets up from the desk chair, and Tony shifts over to make room for him on the bed. They reach for each other's hands at the same time, interlocking fingers in the small space between them.

It's moments like these when the longing hits him the most. When Steve is this close, but it doesn't mean nearly as much to him as it does to Tony.

Sometimes he pictures what it would be like if he leaned over a little more. If Steve's eyes would flicker down to his lips, then away quickly like he didn't want to be caught. He wonders what Steve's cheek would feel like under his hand as he pulls his attention back, silently telling him it's okay to look.

It always stops there in his mind, right before a first kiss that he just knows would change his life. Guilt creeps in, because he should be happy with what he has. Happy with all of the pieces Steve lets him have now. It's more than most people will ever get.

"Thank you," Steve says. "You're the only one who can ever get me to smile after a day like today."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tony asks, tilting his head to the side to look at him.

Steve bites his lip again, staring up at the ceiling. It takes a long moment for him to talk.

"There's somebody that I like, but they don't like me back. Not like that, anyway."

Tony's heart sinks, but he tries not to let it show. "You told them and they rejected you?"

Steve shakes his head, "No, I don't need to tell them to know how they feel. But Bucky said that I should find someone else to get over them, so I asked out that girl in my art history class."

"The one with the nose ring?"

"That's the one, yeah. We went for coffee this morning."

"How was it?" Tony asks, and more guilt accompanies the fact that he's actively and selfishly hoping Steve is about to say that it was awful.

Steve shrugs, "It was fine, technically. But then she tried to kiss me, and I sort of freaked out and ruined it. She looked at me like I was insane, and, god, it was so embarrassing, but I just couldn't do it when I know that I don't actually want anything like that from her. I didn't want to lead her on. It's not fair to her."

"Not fair to you either," Tony says softly. "You shouldn't force yourself to like someone you don't. And whoever the other person is, the one that doesn't want you back, they're missing out on someone really amazing, and they're stupid to let you go."

Steve smiles, but it's tinged with sadness as he turns his head to look at Tony. "I don't know about that. They can do better than me."

"Hey, no, don't say that. You're incredible. You're funny and smart and gorgeous, and I've never met anyone as kind as you in my entire life. There isn't anyone better than you, okay? And if they don't see that, then fuck them. Clearly, they're dumb as hell anyway," Tony rants, getting progressively louder as he goes and his free hand gesturing wildly.

"They're kind of a genius, actually."

Tony rolls his eyes, "Yeah, sure they are. Way to miss the point."

Steve's smile turns amused. "No, but they really are."

"What is this?" Tony asks with narrow eyes. "Are you trying to make me jealous by saying you know other geniuses? Cause I'm the only know-it-all in your life. I claimed the spot. It's mine."

"Definitely yours," Steve agrees, and he shifts a little to turn on his side. With his left hand, he tentatively reaches up towards Tony's face, and Tony's breath catches at the brush of fingertips against his cheek. "I think I might have been wrong, though, about how they feel about me."

It takes a few seconds for it to click in Tony's, but even when it does he doesn't believe it just yet.

"Why's that?"

"Apparently they think I'm incredible, and they get really angry when anybody else thinks otherwise."

Tony smiles softly, "Yeah, they really don't like that."

Steve's thumb strokes across his cheekbone, then his fingers drift back to run through his hair.

"They think I'm funny, too, but they've also got a terrible sense of humor, so I don't know how accurate that is."

Tony laughs, then says, "You know what I think?"

"What's that?"

"I think you should kiss them. Just go for it and see what happens."

Steve smiles, slowly leaning down, "You really think so? It could make things weird. We might not be able to be friends anymore."

Tony puts his hand on the nape of Steve's neck, drawing him further in until he's a scant inch away. "Trust me, they don't really want to be just a friend, anyway."

He finds out that Steve's skin is smooth and warm beneath his palms, and his lips are unexpectedly soft. His hands are constantly in motion, slowly mapping out Tony's hips and sides and back like he's memorizing the feeling. As if it's his one chance to learn what Tony feels like he won't let it get away from him. But it won't be the only one. There will be second, third, and hundredth kisses, because Tony knows better than to let someone like Steve slip away.

"Hey, Tony?" Steve whispers after.

"Yeah?"

"What's the best thing about Switzerland?"

Tony smiles, "What?"

"I don't know, but the flag is a big plus."

They stare at each other, and Steve is the first to crack, but his laugh makes Tony follow right behind him.

[allthingsarmin]

Hello, can i please request an armin x reader but it’s a modern au where armin is a nerd and the reader is popular, feel free to ignore if you don’t like the idea :)

Thank you for your request, anon! I really hope you like it, and I can always rewrite it if it’s not the way you imagined. Also, sorry it is a little long - I think I got carried away with this prompt haha.

The beginning might be a little angsty, but the ending is cute ^_^

GN!Reader

Warnings: one cuss word, mentions of self-doubt, kissing

Word Count: 2,346

-------------------------

Things change - sometimes for the better - like how Armin finally cut his bob-length hair and now has a handsome undercut that suits his jawline and like how you are finally growing taller since it seemed like forever that Armin was the taller one.

Things change - sometimes for the worse - like how you and Armin used to be so close in grade school, but now in college, your relationship is made up of awkward smiles in the hallways, small waves when passing each other in the library, and unfinished conversations on SnapChat.

Things fade - relationships come to an end, people move on, and that’s just life. Look at you now, from a quiet person to a popular student known for your humorous remarks, angelic facial features, a delightful sense of style, and your beautifully color-coded notes. You capture hearts with your smile, and you never fail to make anyone laugh with your stupidly funny puns and nonsense. To put it simply, Armin is a bit different - well, you could say nerdy. Quiet, polite, and has as much passion for the world as he does intelligence. Always heavily invested in school and studying as you could almost always find his nose in between the pages of a book or study guide. Poor Armin - not known for his sweet personality or his above average intelligence. Definitely not known for his sense of style but always comes to class dressed in a rather dashing blazer and keeps a couple Kleenex tissues in his left pocket. Armin barely has any friends, - if any - but he always makes sure to hold the door open for strangers, smile at teachers when entering the classroom, and send you a “Happy Birthday!” text every year.

Some things don’t fade - like Armin’s feelings for you even after you two grew apart and he was forced to watch you from the sidelines. How could he not be so deeply in love with you? When you two were close, you coddled up with each other and read books about the ocean, learning about sharks and so naively believing in the theory of Atlantis. You stayed over at each other’s houses and studied together as well as comforted each other if one of you didn’t do as well as you expected on a test. You used to braid his long blond locks as he told you stories about his grandfather. During the summers, you would use chalk to draw a picture of you two on the blistering sidewalks outside his house, and he would give you handmade bookmarks as a present. Even though you two have grown apart, he is still in love with you, watching you laugh from far away. The way your eyes squint out of happiness and the sound of your hearty laughter makes his body heat up and his cheeks rosy. The way you sometimes send him “Good luck!” texts for when there’s a big test in a class you both are taking makes him smile with teary eyes since it seems that you have in fact not forgotten about him and his intense anxiety when it comes to test-taking. The way you ran up to Armin and gripped his arm when you unexpectedly saw him in the campus coffee shop that one time sent a euphoric tingle throughout his body that made him forget how to breathe properly. How could he not love you when you were always there for him, when you remembered every personal detail he told you during late-night childhood sleepovers, when you tried your best to make him love himself? Armin wants so badly to tell you how important you are to him, how he wants to protect you from everything bad in the world, how he wants to wrap his arms around you and listen to your heartbeat… you are just so hard to reach. He is a nerd, a loser, and you are so popular, surrounded by endless amounts of friends… he’s sure your contacts are completely full and DMs flooding with people who are interested in you and are a lot better than him. What was the point in even trying?

Luckily for Armin, you feel the same way. To be honest with yourself, your stupid jokes, loud laughter, and wide smiles were really just a cover-up for how deeply sad you are. No matter how many friends you have or instant messages you receive from strangers online, you feel incredibly alone because none of them are him. Popularity doesn't matter to you anymore - you just miss your best friend so terribly. You missed walking on the beach together, splashing each other with the salty waves, making study-flashcards together, and being able to touch his beautiful blond hair whenever you wanted. Armin’s birthday is coming up, and you want to make your move and do something big for him that would let him know how special he is to you. This time, it wouldn’t involve loads of friends or a loud party with that overly social and fake personality of yours.

You text Armin: “Hey Armin! We haven’t talked in awhile, but your birthday is this Saturday, and I would like to meet up with you. Are you free to go to the beach on Saturday? I want to give you a present, and I just want to catch up with you. I miss my friend!”

Armin read the text with relief. Even if he couldn’t have you the way he wanted, he still wanted more than anything to reconnect with his old friend. “It’s good to hear from you, y/n! I have no plans for Saturday, so of course we can meet up… around 7pm if that’s okay. I want to watch the sunset! And I miss you too…”

Saturday:

It is November, which means it’s cold. At the beach in November? Even colder, so you make sure to dress warmly.

It is 6:59pm, and you trudge through the moist sand, the harsh wind bearing itself against your face making the tip of your nose turn a bright pink as you grip your hoodie close to your body. In the distance, you see Armin sitting on the sand, shoes off and wearing a dark green sweatshirt with a black beanie. Sitting next to him was his backpack - of course he was the type to bring his school work with him while you always brought your violently vibrating phone with you everywhere.

You release a tired breath as you sit next to him in the sand, setting the bag of presents down beside you and keeping your cold hands in your hoodie pocket. A big smile is on your face as you ask him: “Aren’t you cold, Armin? Why don’t you have your shoes on?!” Armin laughs as he turns his face toward you. At this point, you can see how red his cheeks really are, and this is really the first time you’ve noticed how handsome he actually is. The softness of his blond eyelashes beautifully contrast with the sharpness of his jawline. His smile is soft, and his deep blue eyes pierce into yours. “Hahaha, I don’t know. I just haven’t been to the beach in a long time…” he trails off. “It’s ‘cuz you’re so popular now that you don’t have time to hang out with me,” he states in a playfully butt-hurt tone though you can sense that he is indeed a little upset about it. The waves hitting the shore fill the awkward silence between you two. “I know,” you softly say, “but I think about you all the time. I miss you, and I hope we can be close friends again,” you confess. Armin feels his heart flutter when you say that you miss him. He wants to tell you he loves you and wants to reassure you that he’d always be there for you, but instead he pats you on the back. “It’s okay! I was just joking,” he awkwardly laughs. “Of course we are friends, and I hope we can be even closer too.”

He glances to your side. “What’s in the bag?” he inquires. “Oh!” you exclaim, seemingly as if you forgot about it. You rush to give him the bag and shove it into his arms. “It’s just some stuff I got you for your birthday.”

He rummages through it, going through the endless amount of tissue paper on the top. He pulls out a light blue sweater first.

“It’s almost winter, so I figured I’d give you something warm. I think this color…” you pause and hesitantly reach up to adjust his beautiful blond bangs, “... would look good on you.”

You both make eye contact for a second and quickly look away from each other. “Haha, it’s beautiful, y/n. Thank you!” You are just about to say ‘no problem’ before he is quickly taking off his green sweatshirt and replacing it with the light blue one, his very toned abs peeking through the plain white t-shirt he had on underneath the sweatshirt. You feel your cheeks grow warm and instantly look away. Armin notices and chuckles to himself. He would honestly never mind if you wanted to look at them or even touch them.

“Now, onto the second one,” you say, trying to change the subject. Armin pulls out two matching, homemade bracelets that feature a seashell on both of them. He looks at them silently and intently.

“I made matching bracelets!” you say proudly. “They’re like friendship bracelets, so we both have to wear them all the time! You aren’t allowed to take it off!” you joke.

“They’re so pretty, y/n,” he whispers as he stares at the shells, a sparkle in his eyes. He immediately puts it on and gently takes your wrist to put yours on.

“There,” he says contently, carefully placing your wrist in your lap.

You two sit silently next to each other, shoulders brushing against one another and watching the waves as the sun casts a dull orange and purple glow across the sky. The sounds of waves crashing against the shore and the squawking birds in the sky cancel out the noises of Armin softly crying.

Once you notice, you quickly snap your head around. “Armin, are you okay?” you ask, extremely worried.

“Thank you for the presents, y/n,” he sniffles. “You have always done stuff like this for me,” Armin continues as he gets flashbacks of you two running across the beach and gawking at beautiful seashells, telling jokes to each other in grade school when it was supposed to be reading time, and making funny drawings of each other. “I’ve never told you thank you - for being there for me and comforting me all those times, and just letting me be myself. It’s been such a long time since we’ve done anything together. I miss making you laugh, and I miss going to the library with you and asking you about your day.”

At this point, you feel like crying too because you feel the exact same. You spent so much of your life wanting to fit in, and you finally became popular but at what cost? You nearly forgot about the most important person to you, the one person that actually cares about you.

“I love you,” Armin suddenly blurts out, a tear running down his face. “I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine,” he says so quietly that it’s borderline pathetic. You swear your heart stopped when he said that. You feel a burning sensation all along your body as you forget about the cold air hitting your face, and you feel your breathing stop. The uncertainty you felt that kept you awake every night about whether Armin thought of you the same, all the self-doubt, all the guilt about leaving your friend behind, had been erased in an instant.

The silence between you two is unbearably awkward, and with confidence you seemingly pull out of nowhere, you throw yourself onto Armin’s lips, your arms enclosing his broad shoulders, and both of you falling sideways into the wet sand. Armin, at first shocked, passionately kisses back and links onto your soft lips. The tips of your noses are cold, but you both eventually succumb to each other's warmth. You both pull away to catch some breath. Armin gently wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him as you bury your head in the crook of his neck. Even after all this time, he still smells the same - vanilla and cedarwood. “I love you too,” you softly say. Noticing that you both are practically wallowing in the sand by now, you apologize. “Also, sorry I ruined your new sweatshirt. There’s sand all over it,” you laugh.

“Oh, it’s okay,” he reassures, shyly placing a kiss on your forehead. “Want to watch the sunset with me?” You nod your head enthusiastically, a smile you couldn’t help leave your lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you quitely exclaim.

“What’s wrong?” Armin asks in a concerned tone.

“I forgot I have an essay due at 11:59 tonight.”

Armin busts out laughing - a sound you wouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of your life even though he’s laughing at your poor planning.

“When the sun finally sets, we can go back to my dorm, and I can help you with it if that’s alright with you,” he politely offers.

“Sure!” you happily reply.

You both sit up and face the horizon. The sun was almost gone, and the sky was a heavenly pink color while the sea began to look indigo. Your hands were linked with Armin’s, and for the first time in a long time, you felt warm despite the air getting cooler.

Getting ready to go to Armin’s dorm, he grabs his backpack and his dark green sweatshirt. You get up and check your phone, not at all caring that you have nearly fifty missed text messages and missed calls asking why you didn’t come to the weekly campus party.

You finally have all that you need.

-----------------------

I really hoped you liked it! Requests are open ~ I have another request that will be posted soon.

[infernalrevenge]

Hey! I just came across your blog and I absolutely love the way you write about a disability, so I figured I’d ask if you could write mine. Could you please do a gender neutral reader with moderate-ish Tourette’s Syndrome and how the lords react with it? Thank you so much for writing these things well :))

Thank you as well! I was just happy to do the prompt, it's cool to see that people liked it and thought I did well :D I hope this one delivers on it too.

Like before, I've had to do research since I don't have experience with Tourette's syndrome. If anyone would like to provide some constructive criticism on how I've done this -- especially you, friendly anon -- or point something out that may be wrong, then feel free to do so.

(CW for misunderstandings and misconceptions about Tourette's syndrome made by the lords, but some of them eventually learn.)

Alcina Dimitrescu

Alcina has met all sorts of people during her lifetime, so she may have known some who have or had these kinds of uncontrollable tics before. When you meet her and she becomes aware of them, you can give her the name for it and she'd say "Oh, so that's what it's called."

Also, if you were ever worried about coming off as weird for it? Don't be. Not only does she not consider things or people to be "weird" anymore (who's normal these days anyway? What is normal?), remember that she's a nine foot tall vampiric woman who has been alive for more than century. Nothing is normal.

Your tics don't really bother her, even in a public setting where you might worry about being embarrassing. If they do, she doesn't make it obvious. You may have to explain to her beforehand what causes them though, so she has a better understanding of why they happen. Nonetheless, she's quite patient.

If your tics cause you to have a hard time sleeping, she'll be right there to soothe you and get you back in bed. She understands that these things just happen but you both need your rest -- mind and body. Hopefully, some cuddling with your big lady love can help you wind down.

It goes without saying that anyone who gives you a hard time about your condition will be on the Lady's bad side from then on. It will start with an icy glare and a few choice words, and could possibly end with a trip to the wine cellar. It all depends on her mood, and your willingness to forgive.

Donna Beneviento

Donna thought she understood what it was like to be around someone who had no filter (*ehem Angie ehem Karl*) but she didn't realize how different it was with someone who genuinely couldn't control those things.

She may have heard of Tourette's before, maybe in a book she read or something mentioned offhandedly. Nonetheless, her curiosity lets her not just try to do her own research, but also ask you more about it. Who better to learn from than someone with experience?

She is very observant, so she'll keep in mind what could trigger your tics. Are you doing it because you're stressed? Are you sad or angry? Perhaps you're excited about something? When she finds out, she'll act accordingly, either to provide comfort, or be happy with you!

She would never stop you from acting on your tics, knowing that it would be hard for you to do so and would bring more relief to just let you do it. She might be too forgiving though, even if the tics can be intrusive or offensive (still beyond your control) so you have to assure her that she can tell you if they end up bothering her.

Anyone who tries to mock you is automatically getting attacked by Angie, no exceptions. Little doll's feral too, so even if the bully apologizes incessantly, she won't stop until she's satisfied. Might as well sit back and enjoy the impromptu show.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore was implied to be a former doctor before his Cadou transformation, so he may be familiar with Tourette's and what that entails. He'll have to do more reading, since he didn't frequently encounter neurological disorders like this.

He's rather slow though, especially in his current condition, so you'll have to be patient with him when he can't understand what or why you're doing something sometimes. It'll take a lot of repetition for him to not just get used to it, but also remember it.

Very understanding and patient, especially when you tell him more about your triggers. He'll try to minimize your exposure to stressors, not only for your tics, but also because he would hate to see you upset or frustrated.

Like with Alcina, he won't see or treat you any differently than before he found out about it -- he'll just have learned more about you, and that's great!

He knows how it feels to be on the receiving end of both scrutiny and pity, and he would hate to see you go through that too. So not only is he going to be protective, but also tell people off if they were treating you too differently from anyone else. You're still a person, so what if you're a little different?

Karl Heisenberg

At first, he may not fully understand why you're doing these things. It's not that your tics were annoying to him specifically, but if they were to you, then can't you just... stop? (He gets told to stop doing things he wants to do all the time.)

But when you explain why you can't stop, and that it's not something that easy to control, he starts to get it a little more. When you give him a name for your condition, he tries to research more about it.

Both of you need to give each other time to get used to the other -- Karl may not be as patient as the other lords, especially in the beginning, but he will get used to it eventually. He has to accept that this is part of you, and if he really cares about you (believe me, he does) then he would have to be more forgiving.

He's the type to laugh along about some of the situations you get yourself into because of your tics. You got a motor tic that got you in trouble, but you've got a humor about it? That's quite endearing to him.

If anyone bullies you for your tics and he finds out, they're getting thrown down with Sturm. Maybe add a couple lycans to the mix for entertainment value. Karl loves a good show, after all.

[leviiattacks]

hi hi hi i really really really loved your jealous headcanon of levi and your teacher levi!!! i was wondering if i could maybe request something where you kinda mix the two(?) so like theres this event going on in school and the reader is very occupied and busy because shes paying attention to her students and then maybe she talks to some teachers about the event and then levi is just there secretly sulking cause he wants her attention too?? or idk you do you because your works are always soooooooo good thank you<3333

author note :: i did not stick to the prompt which was honestly an accident?/£/):7 but there is jealous levi and reader so i hope it workssss, it’s not that great and isn’t edited...but i hope you enjoy it :-( also thank you for the request you were very kind <3

for this to make more sense you’ll probably have to read my first ever teacher levi post which you can find here !!!!!

requests are always open :-)

word count :: 4.3k ???? longer than i expected ???? 

levi groans at the mention of sports day before turning to look at you dead in the eyes

he knows this is your doing, you’ve always been big on getting the children into sport and other extracurriculars

now see, he has no actual issue with sports day?? he’s pretty fit if he says so himself!!!

it’s just that he frankly does not have the effort to participate.

another part of him also feels frustrated seeing mike flock around you like an annoying bee

he’s asking all sorts of questions

“are we doing the three legged race again this year?”

“how about javelin?”

“HAHA...mike...”

levi takes one look at you and knows you’re trying to let him down softly, it is his favourite event after all.

“since last year’s fiasco and the way you nearly hit one of the sixth graders i think not.” you awkwardly chuckle patting his shoulder as if it’s any consolation

mike loves sports day, he’s competitive in all of the teacher only events and last year he even tripped you and levi up ON PURPOSE might you add

either way he still lost the teacher’s three legged race last year and ever since he’s been out to gain his title back.

levi remembers, he’s unsure if you do but he remembers vividly having to carry you on his back because you had sprained your ankle pretty badly after your collision with mike.

back then you and levi were still in the middle of your little math vs english debate meaning the whole walk to the infirmary was filled with bickering.

and when levi had placed you onto one of the beds you insisted you could treat yourself when you really couldn’t

the way that scenario ended had been with levi forcing you to place your foot onto his knee as he iced and tended to it

this year levi is not having any repeats of that. yes, he quite liked having some alone time with you, in fact it was one of the first times he stopped to wonder if he liked you.

BUT!!!! having you limp around the corridors wasn’t the best either and you were highly irritable until you were fully healed

“why don’t you actually try this year?” hange stifles a laugh, they’re stood to levi’s left and upon hearing their voice his shoulders sag. he knows he’s in for one hell of an earful

“i do try–”

“yeah whatever. anyway, you want a cupcake?” hange’s gesturing to the haphazardly iced buns in the four plastic containers in their hands

“these are for the bake sale!!” they add in enthusiastically.

levi’s about to shake his head, he’s already donated to the bake sale’s charity fund without paying for any of the baked goods. yes it is purely because he doesn’t trust hange to feed him anything edible

“they’re y/n’s batch :-)” hange’s wickedly grinning knowing they’ve hit their colleagues weakness

without another thought levi’s right hand dives into one of his pockets, fishing his wallet out. he places a few spare coins into hange’s palm

“wOAH, you’re pretty eager aren’t ya??”

their remark flies over levi’s head as he tries to pick out two of the most presentable cupcakes

“you’re so fond of y/n, why not try a little harder like i said?” hange’s thrown the bait in the river and levi completely falls for it. he turns ninety degrees completely forgetting about the cupcakes.

“i’m talking about sport’s day if it isn’t obvious.”

he faces hange directly. he scowls twisted in fake disgust and confusion all at once

“and why would i care about that?” he shoots back

“after walking in on the both of you touching each other up in the janitor’s closet i’m really surprised you’re — mMMPH—” levi’s shoved one of the cupcakes into hange’s mouth

“you’re gonna have to pay for that–”

levi smacks some more money into their palm to appease the issue

“when did you see that and have you told anyone else?” he’s seething right now, there’s no way he or you were unable to notice someone as loud as hange prance into the storage cupboard accidentally

“i haven’t told anyone but it has only been three days since i saw so who knowsss...”

“i’ll do anything for you to keep your mouth shut.” levi’s practically begging at this point

“i think you should buy a whole box of cupcakes as compensation. my eyes will never be the same again.”

levi hands over more than enough money, he’s probably handed over enough for two boxes just for extra measure

it’s not that he’s embarrassed of you or anything no, no, not at all. he just, this sounds so stupid but he isn’t sure what the two of you are????

you’ve kissed, A LOT but the only problem is that there’s never actually been confirmation of... something more? than that?

he’s simply horrible at asking, and seeing the way you’re talking to mike it’s almost getting to the stage of borderline flirting

he’s currently flexing one of his muscles and levi’s unsure if you’re actually gawking at them or feigning interest so mike can get bored and leave sooner

his bets are on you pretending for the sake of mike leaving until you reach out to squeeze his arm appreciatively

...

what is this feeling??

insecurity?? a low self esteem??? levi isn’t entirely sure what the emotion that surges through him at that moment is

but hange sure does, grinning at the scene playing out they shove moblit with their elbow

well, well, well levi getting jealous is certainly something new.

when levi knocks on the door of your classroom you assume he’s come to bother you and ask for the spreadsheet with grade averages and all that technical stuff

english and math grades need to be compared side by side and even though it’s your job to help with the data analysis you’re pretty bad at it so levi’s the one who USUALLY picks up the pieces and does it for the two of you

occasionally mike steps in and helps when levi’s got other stuff in the way

“oh levi!! mike told me he’d be doing this month’s spreadsheet?” you’ve poked your head out of the door to talk to him

levi’s eyes narrow at that because he hasn’t asked mike for help at all.

“i didn’t come here for the spreadsheet but i haven’t even told mike to assist me this month... i wonder why he’s so passionate.” he mumbles the last part under his breath

opening the door up you wave for him to come inside “what you here for then?” you ask, oOoh maybe he’s finished reading an inspector calls?? finally you can talk to someone about the twist at the end

“i’m taking part in sports day properly.” the statement is unexpected and ?? levi ?? take anything other than math seriously ??

“woah... i’m proud of you?? i’m glad you’re seeing it’s important to show the children physical activity is fun.” your smile brightens up the entire room and he begins to feel a little more confident

peering up at him your curiosity doesn’t go unnoticed and he clears his throat, he knows you’re expecting him to say something else

ok, ok, ok. he thinks he’s built enough courage up to ask you

“i’ve never got the chance to ask but would you like to go on a date?” on reflex levi screws his eyes shut, suddenly he’s convinced you’ll say no and reject him. why would you accept??

“sure!”

his eyes flutter open and he feels you grip at the sleeve of his shirt.

well? that went better than he expected?

“where do you want to go?” you ask

“doesn’t matter, but let’s go somewhere after sports day finishes up.”

“are you barely going to try like last year?” you’re munching away at a granola bar - it’s rather bland and makes your throat feel kinda scratchy

you’re midway through drinking some water to deal with the dryness but you nearly spit it out when levi responds

“no. i plan on winning every single teacher event.”

HE WANTS TO??? beat???? everyone???

“you’re planning on beating mike too?” you tilt your head to the side incredulously

levi purses his lips at the mention of his name

“why does that sound so absurd to you?”

“he’s um, very good at sport that’s all.”

“i am too.” levi’s adamant to prove his point to you

“fine, here’s a deal. win at least one teacher event and i’ll try and solve one of your funny math problems or whatever.”

“what kind of deal is that??”

“you’ll be able to see me struggle with numbers, for free!!”

“no. i have something better in mind.” levi bites his smile back, he can’t let you know the idea makes him feel

“and that would be?”

he takes a step forward decreasing the space between the two of you.

“how about you kiss me in front of everyone?”

your mouth falls open because oh wow....? you have no actual problem with the task you’re simply surprised that levi is willing to put the both of you out there like that. the spectacle is bound to raise some eyebrows

“deal?” he holds his hand out for you to shake

you nod your head. “it’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

and so your deal is sealed with a firm handshake.

the big day has ARRIVED!!!

all of the students are flooding in through the gates. some carry footballs, other basketballs. you’ve been here for less than ten minutes and had to save a ball from crashing right into an expensive window.

everyone’s wearing active gear, udo walks in with a ski mask on?? which is peculiar but it’s humorous so you don’t tell him off for it

you’ve chosen a comfortable olive green tracksuit, you don’t think you’re in the mood for ski masks like udo is

coincidentally levi happens to show up in the EXACT same type of tracksuit?? everything’s the same to the colour. you both stare at each other for a moment trying to figure out how exactly you managed that but give up, you guess you have similar tastes

the accidental coordinated outfits have a few of your students pointing and chuckling together

gabi and falco are laughing heartily and whispering god knows what about the two of you

“three legged race partner?” levi asks as he fills up some water bottles for the water stand

“oh? mike asked me to be his partner.”

levi doesn’t make it obvious that he’s jealous about it because what adult would be jealous over a three legged race??

but even if you can’t tell levi is pissed mike sure can

he’s walking past the two of you, hands shoved into his pockets when he spots you a few meters away. his eyes sparkle when he sees you. it’s at that moment he senses the dark piercing glare coming from your right.

you’ve yet to notice mike but levi’s seen him approaching from a mile away and he isn’t particularly happy about it.

the good thing about mike is that he knows not to mess with levi.

the two have known each other for years and by now mike knows messing with levi is a death wish in itself.

so when the poor physical ed teacher notices the way levi glowers at him he calls out your name to get your attention - he’s much too afraid to get anywhere near you

“Y/N!!”

whipping your head around you wave at your race partner, why does it look like he’s seen a ghost?? you shove that thought to the back of your mind, he’s probably just tired

“petra doesn’t have a partner and uhh... i think levi’s free. could you work with him instead?”

levi turns away to smile to himself. ah how the tables have turned!!!

“but i want to work with you? it’s always y/n and levi do this. y/n and levi do that!! i wanna try with someone else.”

what you’ve said is a lie. honestly you’d just like to see levi get worked up again

but levi doesn’t get the memo at all. it flies over his head and he huffs thinking if that’s what you want he doesn’t mind. he’ll just show you how he feels.

“it’s okay. i’ll go with petra.” levi nonchalantly salutes at both you and mike as he walks backwards before turning around to locate the ginger in question

WHY DID HE GIVE IN SO EASILY???? YOU WERE JOKING?????

with your mouth open wide mike looks at you once and puts the pieces together

“guessing you wanted him to stick around?” you suddenly hear and god, you feel kinda bad

“oh no!!! i would love to be your partner.” looping your arm with his you smile up at him

whether or not mike believes you isn’t clear but he does return your smile.

there’s a few minutes till the three legged race starts, everyone’s running around. erwin’s knelt down to tie yours and mike’s legs together

as he’s doing so you can’t help but hear a high pitched windshieldy giggle leave petra and you visibly seem annoyed. that’s if your arms crossed over your chest and clenched jaw are anything to go by

levi hasn’t even said anything notably funny ???? what is she laughing at ????

he’s quite literally just standing there making awkward small talk with her

it goes something like this

“have you marked your exams yet?”

levi doesn’t realise she’s said anything till she taps his shoulder and he asks for her to repeat her question

“oh.” he thinks for a while. “no not yet. i’ve got better shit to do. i don’t see them till next week either way.”

and then she just starts laughing so hard that she has to hold her knees and when that isn’t enough she holds onto a nearby pole for support

you see where this is going

when her breathing gets even more uneven she reaches out to grab levi’s upper arm

YUP. you knew it. you can’t be mad at her really. no one knows you and levi are sort of a thing.

a thing? is that the term? well, whatever late night calls discussing books and a few heated kisses in private mean that’s what you are

levi stares at the hold she has on his arm and you expect him to shrug her off. instead he sees you look, smirks a little and waves all the while letting her hand stay there

and the icing on the cake is petra waving at you too and her eyes are much more expressive than she thinks they are

she’s internally laughing at you for sure.

ok, not a big deal, NOT a big deal!!!

this is just him getting back at you for before.

flipping your head back your sad expression probably catches mike’s attention because he seems to cave in

“want to make him jealous back?”

his suggestion is interesting but you catch yourself second guessing

“he’s doing that because he’s jealous.” you mumble shaking your leg to test the strength of erwin’s knot

“and? don’t let him win.” he glances at his shoulder gesturing for you to make the next move

nodding your head vigorously you throw your arm over mike’s shoulder but find he’s too tall to make that work so instead you settle on holding him by the side

it takes you a little to adjust to the close proximity but in the time it takes you to do that mike informs you of levi glaring at the two of you

“mind if i hold onto you here? we can coordinate our moves faster!!!” petra doesn’t even wait for levi to agree to what she says. she just flings one of her arms around his torso

again, he lets her just as last time.

this game of cat and mouse is getting tiring, maybe you should have kept your mouth shut when mike approached you.

“ON YOUR MARKS.”

your senses snap back to where you are. your grip on mike’s torso firms and he turns to nod at you.

you nod back.

you’ll win this.

“GET SET.”

“AND GO!”

okay, SO.

something in your game plan must have gone wrong but mike’s strength is something you’ve clearly underestimated. his first step is so powerful you don’t even have the time to start moving

you assume that’s how you collapse to the ground behind him and scrape your hands onto the cement of the track

so much for winning. all you’re doing is bleeding and hissing trying to cope with the stinging sensation

“mike?!?? not again??” hange groans and jogs over to the two of you untying the ropes at your legs.

“do we have to ban you from another event??? you’re too reckless sometimes.” hange smacks his chest and then hurriedly whispers “levi’s coming this way if you value your life you better bolt and use the first aid kit as an excuse.”

mike doesn’t even debate with himself, that’s his best bet at staying alive and so he dashes away as if he’s left the shower on at home for five hours unattended

some students are murmuring under their breaths and luckily for you the forever reliable gabi and falco have come to your rescue with bandages

“show me your hands.” levi’s hard voice interrupts all discussion. petra’s stood peering over his shoulder and you swear you catch her muffling a laugh

levi frowns. “you good?” he asks. you assume this answer will be the deciding factor regarding whether or not he makes this an issue with mike

“i’m great – trust me!! just a few scrapes.”

levi doesn’t look convinced but he let’s it go.

he helps you get up and takes the bandages from gabi thanking her.

“i’ll patch y/n up.” he tells hange pointedly and they agree. moblit at that moment happens to run over with a megaphone in hand.

“SHOWS OVER FOLKS!! WE’LL MOVE ON TO THE JUMP ROPE EVENT FOR NOW!!!”

“i’ll make him lose the one hundred meter sprint so badly he won’t know what hit him.” levi’s been grumbling the entire time he’s sat down to bandage your hands.

now that you’re both sat close to each other again murmurs of “matching tracksuits??” are back

“you don’t have to it was a mistake levi.”

levi shrugs eyes scanning his handiwork. “i want to. i’ve got to earn my kiss in front of a crowd anyway.”

gently letting go of your hand he looks out onto the track waiting to be called.

you’ve never seen levi give his full effort into sports day but even then you’re unsure if he’ll ever be able to beat mike.

honestly mike sure is fast and you recall one of the children referring to him with the nickname lightening bolt

and speak of the devil. a group of children walk past and are talking about the teacher’s race

“mr bolt’s gonna win for sure. you seen him run?? he could be an olympian!!!!” zofia’s gushing about him, she happens to be a big fan

the only nickname you’ve ever heard for levi is ursula – “ursula sure is evil for giving us that much work >:(” you had heard udo say once during class but after the earful he got from gabi he never used the name again, neither did anyone else

a few more minutes pass in a comfortable silence and levi’s called over to his lane. you’ve accepted the fact that there’s no changing his mind and he’s bound to compete now

“wait for me by the finish line.” he instructs and so you do. you go your separate paths. he to his lane (he’s in the lane two) and you to the finish line

petra’s already standing there waiting. her elbows are propped onto the railing peering out towards the contestants.

making your way to stand with her you see her sigh dreamily at levi in the distance

“hey, i know you don’t like levi a whole lot. you know your fued and all but do you think he’d say yes if i asked him out?”

well.

that sure is unexpected.

you fight the urge to scoff because you know you and levi are starting to drop more hints. is this her way of finding out the truth?

“me and levi don’t hate each other actually.”

“oh, well dislike.”

“we don’t dislike each other.”

“tolerate?” she takes her bottom lip in between her teeth trying to control her frustration

“petra. i like levi.” your confession knocks the wind out of her. you both silently exchange looks. she’s very clearly in disbelief.

the next time she speaks the previous playful lilt in her voice is long gone

“as soon as you noticed i liked him you just had to decide you liked him too. people like you make my skin crawl.”

?????????

why is she so bitter?.)/&£:

you can’t help liking levi and he likes you too,, so what now??

“he likes me back petra. can we be civil about this? i don’t like workplace drama. i had no idea you were into him.” you’re hoping that this will happen to shut her up but NO!!! it doesn’t she’s only more mouthy now

“prove it.” she points one of her manicured fingers into your chest and demands evidence she doesn’t even deserve to see

“what???”

“if he likes you back so much he should be able to show it.”

you know, if it were any day, any other time or any other person asking you this you would have out right refused, but given the circumstances and levi already waiting on you to kiss him in front of the entirety of the school you see no issue with having the last laugh in this argument

“fair enough.” you mutter and lean over to see hange announce the countdown

“ON YOUR MARKS.”

“GET SET.”

“AND GO!!!”

you swear you blink because GOD what on EARTH????? you don’t understand why previous to this levi balked at the thought of participating because he’s made it look so easy.

he’s not bolted he may as well have TELEPORTED to the finish line. mike is breaking out in a sweat far behind him and the boyish grin on levi’s face is enough to tell how he feels

gasps and applause can be heard from the children. zofia and udo are passionately arguing about some bet they’ve made - you make a mental note to tell them that making deals is fun as long as they don’t bet large amounts of money

levi’s jogging up to you completely ignoring petra’s presence

“told you i’d do it. i avenged you didn’t i?” you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so confidently in public 

you acknowledge what he’s said with a cartoon like thumbs up and then you’re staring at him unable to locate your courage

oh fuck it

you lean in hurriedly and steal a peck from him. he blinks and then scowls much to petra’s amusement. she has to think he’s about to curse you out but unbeknownst to her she’s read the situation wrong

“is that your idea of a kiss??”

and then he takes matters into his own hands – no literally into his own hands. he cups your face in his palms and captures your lips with his own. as you reciprocate petra can be heard choking on her saliva.

“OH well who would’ve guessed the english and math department had an alliance????? not me???” next is hange, they’re feigning shock even though they’ve known what the two of you have been up to this entire time

the whispers have now become full on shouts

“i KNEW it they were dating?!?!”

“MAN??? I HAD A CRUSH ON MR ACKERMAN WHAT NOW???”

gabi and falco are audibly cheering, you’re quite sure they realised what was up long ago

“DON’T BE UPSET BUT I THINK THIS IS WAYYY BETTER THAN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE!!!!” falco’s comment makes your heart rise in your chest

and you know what? you think so too.

as levi’s hand travels to the back of your neck pressing you further into him you come to the conclusion that maybe just maybe this is far better than pride and prejudice ever will be :-)

[blindbeta]

Why “It Was Just a Question” and “It Was Just a Joke” Are Not Defenses For Ableism And Why Your Reaction Is the Most Important Thing

When someone is disabled, neurodiverse, etc people can sometimes ask really ignorant, invasive, or invalidating questions that take emotional labor to answer. And sometimes there is a lot of pressure to answer. This is even worse if it is a joke instead, and the options are to ignore it or say something and risk being yelled at because “it was just a joke, gosh.” Confronting people and setting boundaries gets you called over-sensitive, over-reacting, childish, etc.

I’ll make this clear: it isn’t about your questions or jokes - it is about the assumptions you made when you opened your mouth and the reaction you had when you were corrected.

Let’s Talk About Questions.

I first want to say, I started this blog because I wanted to. You are more free to ask me questions than random blind people on the street. The questions I receive here are also good, researched questions where I can tell someone has read my blog or some articles. I’m not posting to give my followers or anyone else anxiety. The whole point is that these people don’t have an interest in learning, doing any of their own work, or challenging their false beliefs. They want me to endure them and confirm them. I haven’t had to do that here and if I did, it would be easier than in real life because I can choose not to answer a question by deleting it. My followers are also already respectful of and educated on blind people, and so if I have a response that is less than perfectly polite, readers will know why. That is not true outside of this blog.

Now let’s talk about questions and why they can be used in a bad way. What makes a question bad? What is the difference between a genuine and ignorant question? What if you don’t have time to research?

A Bad question here is one that is based on a usually false assumption that prompts a desired answer. An example would be, “Are you really sad that you can’t read?” or “Why would a blind person need a phone when they can’t use it?”

I see a lot of these on tumblr. For example, one blog I followed received an ask that basically said blind people couldn’t be in the orchestra because such and such limitation. These questions have, at best, an obvious assumption along with, at times, a confrontational tone. This person does not want education. They want to defend their belief. A better way to truly ask such a question would be something such as, “I read that people in orchestras and choir have to sight read music. How do blind people navigate this?” No assumption is made about a blind person’s ability. The question is asked in an open manner. The asker has done some research.

Now, in real life, people don’t always preface it with how much research they have done. And let’s be real, it usually isn’t much. But someone asking, “Do you prefer Braille or do you use a computer to read?” shows at least some knowledge. They aren’t trying to put me into a box or use me for confirmation bias. It isn’t so much about getting the perfect wording. It’s about not expecting the blind person to confirm something for you, argue with you, or educate you without you putting in any effort. Even “I was wondering how you do assignments,” is open and allows for my response. If you aren’t able to research in the moment, make your question open or be transparent. To be honest, I feel better about people not doing research in person than online, because being online usually shows you have some time and tools to research. If resources are not available to you and you don’t have the internet for long periods of time, preface your question with that and acknowledge that the person does not have to respond if your question is offensive. Again,it isn’t about getting it 100% right, but truly trying and prioritizing the comfort of the person you are asking.

When I confront people for asking a question with an assumption, I often receive an angry response. The fault is placed on me for not educating people, for not being cooperative, for being mean. This happens whether I answer or not. If I try to explain to someone assuming I can’t read that I, in fact, can read or use a phone or whatever, this is seen as rude or not cooperative. Even confrontational. This person comes away from the conversation now believing blind people are rude and angry. Usually they assume the blind person is jealous of them for being able to see. Which, in that instance, would not be true.

Making assumptions that a person cannot possibly do something because of their disability, especially when you are ignoring what that person says, is ableist. Pointing this out is not attacking you or even, necessarily, judging you. They are not calling you any other name, no matter what else you claim it means to you. (I once had someone claim that when I said the word ableism or ableist she heard the word bitch.)

Let’s Talk About Jokes.

This one is much harder to navigate, especially because blind people often make jokes themselves. However, I want to continue to consider the underlying assumption and judgement some jokes can contain. The joke is usually bad when it contains an ignorant assumption and falls apart when that assumption is corrected.

One example is that picture that often goes around with a person holding a white cane is using a phone. The joke asks what’s wrong with the picture. The problem is not that it’s a joke, as most people assume. The problem is the assumption underneath this particular example, which, by the way, can result in blind people being harassed and even hurt. Read my post here.

But it isn’t even the joke that is the problem. The reaction is. Instead of being accused to attacking someone for an innocent question, someone who points out the problem with a joke or even that it was hurtful, gets someone accused of not having a sense of humor or being mean. I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that in real life, not outside of this blog. It is, honestly, too difficult and too uncomfortable.

The reaction people sometimes have is one of defense. They aren’t ableist, it was just a joke, can’t you take a joke?, why are you so serious?, you are ruining the joke, etc. People also assume disabled people can’t tell when someone has made a mistake and when they are genuinely asking a question or trying to call attention to something by making a joke. Disabled people are not trying to take all jokes away. They just want to point out when something is harmful. Doubling down about how that person can’t take a joke is a big problem.

Again, it isn’t that someone made a joke about disabled people. It’s the assumptions inside the joke itself that are harmful. For example, jokes about blind people going to cinemas don’t land because blind people do watch movies. The joke falls apart when you remove the assumption - and not knowing that it was an assumption is part of the problem in the first place.

What Now?

Again, this post was never about not asking questions or not making jokes. It is about ways they can go wrong and how people can make it worse by getting defensive instead of being open to learning and moving on. Everyone makes assumptions or repeats jokes sometimes, and whether or not it becomes an argument is about being open to learning.

Disabled people aren’t out there looking for people to confront. Most of the time, they just want to go about their day or have a nice time with friends. If someone corrects you, no matter the setting, treat it as an opportunity for your growth and to make others feel more comfortable. Listen, apologize, acknowledge your mistake, and change your behavior.

My aim here is not to complain or to make people feel bad or even worry excessively. My goal was simply to share my thoughts on why these things can be a problem and offer suggestions on how to avoid them.

I hope this helps.

-BlindBeta

Note: I provide sensitivity reading for blind characters. See my Pinned Post for information.

[dickwheelie]

heyyyy coming in a few days early with the “expression” prompt for @aspecarchivesweek! just a lil something about jon wearing a shirt he doesn’t like. enjoy!

(also on ao3)

_______________

All of Jon’s clothes are in greyscale.

Well, this isn’t entirely true—some are a very light tan, or a dingy brown. One mothbitten vest is a glaring 70’s orange that Jon deeply dislikes, so it stays at the back of his closet. These are the clothes he inherited from his parents and possibly also his grandparents, which he can’t bring himself to throw away. The rest, however, strictly range from white to black, practical to a fault.

Jon has a working theory that he may be the first person in history with an allergy to clothing stores. Entering one instantly stresses him out, and all he wants is to get what he came for and get out as quickly as possible. Figuring out how to match colors, as he eventually learns by the time he’s in uni, is a waste of time and consideration. Much easier and simpler to only buy clothes in shades that match no matter how you swap them out.

Of course, there are exceptions, and as life goes on in its chaotic and unaccountable way, he acquires items of clothing he wouldn’t otherwise have picked for himself. A colorful sweater from Georgie as a birthday gift. A free T-shirt from a uni event. He keeps these things for their sentimental value, but rarely wears them out of the house.

However, sometimes life is not only chaotic but also utterly unmanageable. And sometimes Jon finds himself with a promotion he doesn’t really know what to do with, an entire archive to organize, and less time than he’s ever had to do laundry.

And, well. One has to wear something to work, doesn’t one.

This is what Jon keeps telling himself as he miserably pulls on the last clean shirt left in his flat. He should know; he’s checked four times, and if he checks a fifth he’ll be late for work. He gives himself a glance in the small, dirty mirror stuck to the inside of his closet door, and looks away almost immediately, strangely embarrassed.

It’s just a long-sleeved, striped T-shirt, which is maybe a bit unprofessional for the workplace, but it’s not as though anybody minds how the people who work in the basement dress. The problem comes from its colors. Well, one of its colors. Three of them—black, grey, white—are perfectly suitable for Jon. But following those, at the bottom of the shirt, is a glaring, bright violet.

The shirt is a casualty of the aforementioned chaos of life. A friend of an acquaintance had given it to Jon to wear to a pride parade several years back, which he had ended up skipping out on anyway. Since then the shirt had been kept out of sight and mind, packed into the back of Jon’s closet for a rainy day that he’d never really expected to arrive.

There’s a first time for everything, Jon thinks, almost reflexively. The words don’t mean much to him, philosophically speaking, but they are a steadying mantra nonetheless. He goes to pull on his coat; by some measure of luck, it’s a cold day out. He plans not to take it off again until he’s safely back in his flat that night.

The trouble is, of course, that wearing one’s coat while making tea in the break room in an adequately-heated basement looks rather conspicuous to one’s coworkers, and leads to questions.

“You feeling alright, boss?” Tim asks, as he retrieves his bagged lunch from the fridge.

“Yes,” Jon says, stiffly. “Perfectly fine. I’m just cold.”

Sasha, who has followed Tim in, says, “Not sick, I hope.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jon says again, though he is beginning to feel a bit overheated. “It’s just cold in here. You don’t feel cold?”

Tim and Sasha shake their heads, looking concerned.

“I’m fine,” Jon says for the third time in thirty seconds, and promptly flees the break room.

By late afternoon, Jon is sweltering, and has no choice but to take off the coat. He’s careful to close his office door before he does so, resolving to put it back on if he needs to be seen by anyone for the rest of the day.

Though the garish violet stripe in his periphery is distracting at first, he loses himself in his work soon enough, spending an hour or two tearing through a stack of statements that are, by and large, utter nonsense.

He loses himself in his work so much, in fact, that when there’s a knock at his office door, he says “Come in,” without thinking.

“Hey, Jon,” says Tim as he enters, “d’you have a copy of statement zero-one-three-two . . .”

Tim’s voice drifts off, and Jon looks up, irritated. “Zero-one-three-two-what?”

Tim’s staring at him, an eager expression on his face, and Jon’s stomach goes cold. He looks down at the shirt, remembering, and stops himself from groaning. If he doesn’t react, maybe Tim will leave it alone. “What number were you looking for, Tim?” he says instead, very calmly and professionally.

But of course it doesn’t work. Tim’s face breaks into a smile, and he gives Jon a big, showy once-over. Jon rolls his eyes even before the words are out of Tim’s mouth. “Looking good, boss.”

“Tim, I have even less patience for sarcasm than usual, so if you could please—”

“Who said anything about sarcasm? You look good! Casual, ah, Tuesday suits you, Jon.”

Jon puts his elbows up on his desk and massages his temples. “I ran out of laundry.”

“Ah, been there.” Tim seems to have taken Jon’s resignation as an invitation, because he helps himself to the chair opposite Jon’s desk. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the pride flag type, though. Don’t even think I’ve seen you with laptop stickers.”

“No,” Jon says, “I’m not. Not usually. This is just the only thing I had lying around. It’s from years ago, I never wear it.”

“Aw.” Tim genuinely looks disappointed. Jon wonders if perhaps he’s losing what remains of his tenuous ability to read people. “That’s a shame. You look good in purple.”

Jon has reached a point in his life, he’s fairly certain, where he ought to have heard such a comment before, or at least know the proper response. In actuality, he cannot recall a single instance of someone in his adult life complimenting his choice of fashion. He looks down at the shirt again. It’s the same as it was before: too-bright and obvious. He highly doubts it could look good on him in any shape or form. “Um. Thank you?” he says, sounding more bewildered than grateful.

“Really! It, like, brings out your eyes, or something. I dunno, but I think it’s nice on you. Not sure why you went through all the trouble to hide it all day.”

Jon shifts in his chair. “It’s . . . I mean, it’s very loud, isn’t it. And obvious. It’ll just attract attention.”

Tim looks at him for a moment or two. “Jon,” he says, “is this just about the shirt? Or is it also about the shirt?”

“That makes no sense, Tim.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jon, admittedly, does. One of the things he appreciates most about Tim is that they can be honest with one another, if only after some customary back-and-forth. He sighs deeply. “It’s—it’s just . . . a lot. I know it isn’t, really, in the grand scheme, it’s just you and Sasha, a-and Martin, too, I suppose. And it’s London, no one’s going to—it’s safe. I know that. B-But it’s a lot, being seen with everything—out in the open. By strangers. To know that they know. And even if they don’t know, they’ll . . . they’ll probably be able to guess.” He stares down at the scratched, cheap wood of his desk. Long ago, someone had carved a tiny pentagram on the lip of it. If Jon’s sense of humor weren’t buried under three layers of anxiety at the moment, he’d probably find it funny. “And I know it’s childish, to care what a bunch of strangers would think. But I can’t . . . I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t just let it go.”

There’s a painfully long pause before Tim speaks up again.

“Well, I’ve got good news for you, Jon.”

Jon looks up at him warily, and finds that Tim is smiling at him. “What?”

He points at Jon’s coat where it hangs off the back of his chair. “You can put that back on.”

Jon blinks at him.

“At five,” Tim goes on, “you can put your coat back on, button it up, and walk out of here, and when you get back to your flat, Jon, you can do your bloody laundry. And you never have to wear that shirt ever again. Problem solved.”

“But . . .” Jon’s voice peters out before he can come up with a real protest.

“If wearing pride colors makes you feel like that,” Tim says, his voice gentler, “then don’t wear them. Simple as that. Not everybody’s got to carry a flag twenty-four-seven. Or ever. Doesn’t make you any less queer. Hell, even I take the pins off my bag sometimes.” Tim squints into the middle distance, muttering, “I can never seem to get the laptop stickers off, though.”

“But—what about what you said about me wearing purple?” He’s grasping at straws, he knows, but Tim’s argument is quite good. And the thought of never wearing this particular shirt again does sound rather appealing.

“So wear an aubergine button-down every once in a while!” Tim shrugs. “Or don’t! It’s none of my business.” He tilts his head to the side. “Actually, please do wear an aubergine button-down sometime. You’d turn some heads down here.” He pauses. “Figuratively, I mean. I’m sure everyone would be very respectful.”

Jon lets out a startled laugh. “Alright,” he says, feeling lighter. He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe, sometime, I’ll . . . I’ll try it.”

“I know you like your blacks and whites, Jon,” Tim says, “and I’m not here to tell you how to dress. But if you ever need advice, or want to borrow a colorful, strictly nondenominational shirt . . .” He points both thumbs at himself. “I’m your guy.”

“Okay,” Jon says, and is surprised to find that, in this one, specific case, he is.

“And,” Tim adds, pointing a professorial finger in the air, “it’s not childish to care about what other people think of you. Pretty sure it’s the most universal thing there is. Welcome to the human race, Jon. You’re among us peons, now.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “How unfortunate,” he says, drily, and Tim cackles.

Jon wears his coat home, keeping it carefully buttoned, and when he gets back to his flat he tosses the shirt into the back of his closet from whence it came. He’s not going to throw it away altogether, of course. It has sentimental value. Someday, maybe, he’ll dig it back up, if only just to look at.

For now, Jon does his bloody laundry.

[lynn-writes-things]

Birthday’s

“For a prompt, maybe a Hunter and reader fic where the bad batch help celebrate the reader's birthday? Maybe some fluff or smut?“

Thank you so much for the request, and thank you SO so much for the donation!! I appreciate it more than words can say!

Word count: 2470

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*takes place pre-Echo

Birthday’s weren’t really a big deal in the GAR, seeing as though the Jedi were taught to remove any attachment to the day of their births; the clones didn’t even have birthdays that they knew of; and any civilian officer was likely too busy to remember, let alone to celebrate. It just wasn’t something that you did often. Of course, you knew your birthday – knew the exact date and time, because as a child, you had asked your mother about it every single year until you memorized the time to the last minute.

At one point in your life, your birthday had been your favorite day of the year. More so than Life Day, even. You had always loved the festivities – the focus on you; people showing how much they care about you; not to mention the gifts and the celebrating. You’ll never forget the year you became legal to drink, and your friends had taken you out for fun. It had been a night to forget – though the events leading up to the drinking were fond ones that you will treasure forever.

That time of year was drawing near again, and you couldn’t help but talk about it to the boys – who you’d been on assignment with for the past several months – in fact, it had almost been a year. You figured they wouldn’t like you talking about your birthdays of the past much, considering that they’d never really experienced a birthday, but to your surprise they all encouraged you to keep talking.

“When I was really little, my parents filled my entire bedroom with balloons, so that it would surprise me when I woke up – only I woke up too early, and I sat alone in my bedroom for hours just playing with the balloons. When my parents came to check on me, they couldn’t stop laughing.” You explained with a little laugh. It was early, and you all were drinking cups of caff. You swirled yours around, letting the swirl entrance you deeper into your memories.

“Then, when I was a teenager,” You smile, this memory a particularly pleasant one. “Me and some friends went out to this bakery with her parents – they had money, like they had mad credits. They took me cake-tasting to decide which kind I liked best for my cake, they told me that was my present from them. I wasn’t going to complain- free cake!” You laugh. “Anyways, I tried this one kind, (your favorite cake here), and it literally change my life- I’ve never had any cake that was as good as that. It’s kind of hard to find, but there’s a really nice bakery on Naboo that has it for a lot cheaper than the fancy place did.” You explain, considering making a special trip just for some cake, then immediately telling yourself that it’s a stupid idea.

“What about when you were an adult?” Crosshair asks. “Surely it gets more boring.”

“Oh, it does,” You laugh. “It gets so kriffing boring after a while. But, certain ages grant you certain milestones. Like, when you turn twenty, they let you drink. My twentieth birthday was insane- my friends made me go out to this bar with them – they were all older than me – and they ordered this drink for me, it tasted like starcherries and Mandalorian oranges – it was so good.” You exclaim, missing the taste of your first (legal) drink. “Anyways, they called it a Sailor’s Sunset, I think? But, it was a super fun night, we danced for hours, and I met this really cute guy, and… Well…” You laugh, cheeks heating up at the memory. “Anyways!” You exclaim, clearing your throat. “It was a really fun night. I also learned that I could shoot Corellian whiskey better than any of my friends.”

“Bet you can’t shoot it better than us.” Hunter teased.

“You’re probably right,” You laugh. “But I’d be willing to give it a shot.” You joke, and there’s a chorus of groans at your terrible pun that you couldn’t help but to make.

“So, when is your birthday, anyways?” Tech asks, ready to mark it in his holopad.

“It’s next week, on the second.” You explain. Not that you’d been keeping track of the days when you thought it might be close – not at all. That most definitely was not the case.

-

The night of the first, when you fell asleep, the boys all got up and got down to business.

“Okay boys,” Hunter began. “This has to be special. We want her to feel like she’s one of us, right?” He asks, and they all respond “Right!”.

“Crosshair, you’ve got the whiskey?” He asks.

“And the mixers.” He says. He didn’t know how to make a Sailor’s Sunset, but he was willing to give it a try, for your sake.

“Wrecker, you’ve got the balloons?”

“Yep! I might’ve gotten too many, though.” He says.

“No such thing- this is Y/N we’re talking about.” Hunter replies. “Tech, you’ve got the cake?”

“Took it out of the freezer yesterday, it should be defrosted by morning.” He replies. Getting the cake from Naboo without you figuring out what they were doing had been a challenge, but they had just barely managed to pull it off while you were in the refresher.

“Alright,” Hunter said, satisfied. “Bad Batch, let’s throw Y/N a birthday to remember.” He says with a smile, and they all get down to work. They all start blowing up balloons, with a goal to fill the barracks with the blown up latex. Wrecker had gotten different types- colorful ones; black and white ones; he even had found some that when blown up would read “happy naming day!” which was as close to “happy birthday” as he could find. They meant the same thing, more or less. He just hoped you didn’t get offended by the slight difference.

It took hours to blow all of the balloons up, but once it was done, there was a thick layer covering the floor, as well as a few smuggled into your bunk with you – but just a few, so you likely wouldn’t pop any and scare yourself awake. Though, Crosshair thought that would’ve been kriffing hilarious. Mean, but hilarious. He figured if it happened, you’d end up laughing once the initial fear wore off – he knew your sense of humor pretty well. But, still, Hunter refused to let him risk it.

“Wait,” Tech began. “Does anyone know how to make her caff?”

“I do,” Hunter answered. “She likes it the same way I do. She told me that before.”

“We’ll have to wake up before she does.” Crosshair says.

“That won’t be too hard,” Hunter answers. “Her alarm is always set for 0700, we just have to wake up before then.”

“How do you know that?” Tech asks.

“We usually wake up at the same time. You catch on to things like that after a while.” He replies with a shrug. He was used to waking up with you, the two of you would often talk over your morning cups of caff before the others woke up. It was the one time of day where there was no stress- just peace between the two of you. It was easy to forget about the war in times like those, which meant everything to you both. Neither of you would ever miss a morning, both cherishing your morning caff-sessions more than either of you would admit. During these early-morning moments, the two of you had gotten very close with each other, and shared very intimate conversations. Secrets were shared, as well as light-hearted compliments. You had a feeling the long-haired Sergeant liked you, which was good, because you liked him as well, though neither of you would confess. The early mornings weren’t a time for heavy confessions like that. But your birthday? Oh, your birthday might be, Hunter thought, mentally preparing himself for that night.

The boys had picked out a planet that they knew had a lake that was safe to swim in, with little risks for attack. Just private enough to take the night off and celebrate over drinks, cake, and swimming. Tech had put in the coordinates, and you were currently on your way there.

-

When you woke up, it wasn’t to your alarm blaring- it was to the smell of caff, and the boys saying, “Happy birthday!”. You smiled and groggily rubbed your tired eyes, looking up at them all with looks of adoration.

“You guys didn’t have to— Balloons!!” You cut yourself off, getting excited about seeing all the multicolored latex bulbs all over the ground, and all over your bunk. “Did you guys really-?”

“We did.” Hunter says. You sit up and he hands you the cup of caff. You take a sip and smile; it’s exactly how you’d make it for yourself. You can’t help but sway back and forth in happiness.

“Maker, you guys are my everything.” You say, taking a sip. “Thank you.”

“Oh, we’re not done yet.” Tech says. You get out of your bunk, and follow them out to the main area, where you see balloons strung up on the wall messily that say: “Happy naming day!” and your smile is so wide that it hurts your cheeks. Then you see the cake box, and you gasp.

“You didn’t-!”

“We did.”

“When?!” Your voice had jumped several octaves in your excitement, and you felt bad for Hunter, though he was smiling at your excitement. He didn’t give a damn that you were yelling, or how high your voice had gotten. He was just happy that you were happy.

“When we went to Naboo last,” Tech answers. “It’s been in the freezer.”

“How didn’t I notice anything—”

“That’s sort of what we’re known for, Y/N.” Hunter smiles.

“Yeah, but—” You can’t help the tears of happiness that well in your eyes, your heart swelling in your chest. You can’t believe that they’d go through all of this just for you. Crosshair puts a hand on your shoulder, and you quickly turn to just hug him. It catches him off guard, but he smiles regardless, holding you in return.

“Thank you guys.” You sob. “I love you all so much.”

“We love you too, Y/N.” Hunter says, preparing to say something slightly different later. But that could wait for now.

“Looks like we’re approaching,” Tech says, checking the navigation. You would’ve asked which planet, though you knew he wouldn’t tell you – Tech always made you guess where you were going. Always. You weren’t complaining, though, it was always a fun game, not to mention a good way to boost your memorization of the planets.

-

Once you were landed, you stepped out and realized that you were staring at a lake. Not a grimy pond, but a real, actual lake. The water was so clear that you could see to the bottom – it didn’t look too terribly deep, either. A long time ago you had told the boys that you loved swimming, you were surprised that they even remembered the comment.

You decide to all swim in your blacks to avoid any awkwardness with you being the only naked female around, which you’re thankful for. Though of course, the boys take their shirts off at least. You do your best not to stare at Hunter or his impressively toned muscles—You absolutely do not get caught by Crosshair, who laughs at you, but promises to keep your secret. You swim around for what feels like hours. You’re in and out of the water until the sun starts to go down, and you suggest drinks. You all climb out and start trying to dry off. Tech gets the cake cut, and Crosshair pours a round of shots for everyone. You take yours and grimace at the taste- it had been awhile since you had Corellian whiskey. It had been a long while.

“What’s that face for?” Hunter teases. “Thought you said you could out-drink us.”

“I said I might be able to.” You laugh. “If you’re looking for a challenge, Sarge, you’re on.”

“You don’t want to do that,” He laughs.

“Trust him, you don’t.” Wrecker tacks on, clapping his brother on the back. “He can even drink me under the table.”

“How—”

“Here, try this,” Crosshair says, thrusting a glass filled with a peachy-pink drink in it at you.

“What is it?” You ask.

“It should be a Sailor’s Sunset.” He sighs. You giggle – the color’s all wrong. But you try it regardless, and it’s shockingly just as good as you remember. You hum in appreciation.

“It’s really good,” You smile at him. “But it could use a smidge more cherry.” Crosshair smiles, pleased with himself for guessing the drink correctly.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” Hunter speaks up, nodding away from the others, towards the tree-line. You follow him over, and he down the shot in his hand before continuing.

“I figured now’s a good time to tell you,” He says, and pauses. You know where he’s going with this before he even starts, and you can’t help the smile that takes over your face. “I—”

“I like you too, Hunter.” You say, cutting him off.

“I don’t think you understand how much,” He says. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N.”

“Trust me, I understand.” You gently caress his cheek with your free hand. He leans into your touch, looking at you with a softness in his eyes that was usually reserved for your early morning chats. You don’t need to say more- neither of you do. He leans forward and kisses you, your lips connecting in a slow, passionate dance. You only break apart when you hear cheering from behind you, where the boys are watching with smiles on their faces.

“I love you, Hunter.” You say quietly, your nose brushing against his; his forehead against yours.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He smiles.

After several shorter kisses, you all go back to the ship and enjoy some cake. It’s just as good as you remember it being all those years ago, and you thank them ten-fold for it. For everything. You cry again as you thank them, and Hunter wraps an arm around you. Wrecker is on your other side, and he wraps an arm around both you and Hunter. Hunter gestures for Tech and Crosshair to come over, you all move to the floor. Crosshair leans against Wrecker, and Tech settles between your legs, leaning back against you as your arms wrap around him.

“I love you boys.”

“We love you too.” They all reply, and it doesn’t take long for you all to fall asleep like that. It’s heaven, you think. This was just simply heaven.

[avyssoseleison]

Funnily enough I was going through a lot of your old fics yesterday for nostalgia reasons and now can't stop thinking high school enemies to lovers deancas ideally with some punk!cas nerd!dean maybe? Fully understand if that prompt doesn't tickle your fancy though

Please enjoy these 3.2k of enemies to homework buddies!

“Winchester.”

Dean will ignore him.

“Hey, Winchester!”

Dean will most definitely ignore him. Just keep on walking. If Novak thinks he can’t hear him, surely he’ll leave him alone. He’ll go bother someone else, and Dean will finally be free of him.

“Winchester!”

Dean hears, but doesn’t listen. He starts humming to himself when there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder, ripping him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, you assbutt!”

And there he is, of course: Castiel Novak. With his dumb boots and even dumber leather jacket, and, dumbest of all, that small little frown that slowly morphs into a way too pleased smile the longer Dean glares at him.

Christ.

By the time when Novak’s smile turns into a full-blown grin, Dean finally musters up the strength to look away. The soft rustle of tree crowns in the distance reminds him of what a great morning he has been having, and what a perfect day it could have been, had Novak decided to leave him alone. As it is, his day might turn out a bit marred, after all. A bit more normal, perhaps.

“‘Assbut’?” Dean quips, way too late. “What kinda insult is that?”

“What kind of delayed comeback is this?” Novak counters. 

“It’s not as delayed as your…” Dean doesn’t really know enough about Novak to be able to insult him in any meaningful way, and what he knows of him, he doesn’t want to use. So, instead, he finishes lamely with, “...development.”

Novak could not look any less impressed, especially because the raise of his eyebrow alone continues their little banter in a manner that clearly suggests that if anyone’s development is delayed, it has to be Dean’s. However, that level of insult is apparently not one Novak deigns to lower himself to, as he continues to look smug while busying himself with lighting a cigarette and blowing out a lungful of smoke with obvious relish.

Dean makes a face and pointedly waves his hand in front of his face. “Smoking’s bad for you,” he simply states, making Novak chuckle lightly.

“So’s a lot of things, if society is to be believed. I am not much of a believer, though, and I do enjoy the small pleasures in life.”

The small, self-satisfied smile Novak shoots him sends a strange feeling through Dean’s body, from his lips down to his very toes, and everything in-between.

Dean swallows. “What do you want, Novak?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Novak takes a drag while trotting along Dean who starts moving again, trying to put some distance between himself and the self-proclaimed anarchist. “I just have a small favor to ask you,” he says, sounding as though whatever he is asking for is actually not that small at all.

“Again?” Dean grumbles, thinking of Novak quickly copying his homework last week, secluded in that small parking lot that no one but Novak and some people in the know ever seem to use, and of what Novak did in return. “I’m not doing you any more favors, man,” Dean scoffs, and stomps on.

Nonetheless, Novak stays hot on his heels.

“Why not?” Novak presses, “I’m not asking for much -- I just need today’s Math homework. I didn’t hear Mr. Singer give us any, but Meg just told me he wanted us to solve like 15 fucking problems, and she didn’t do them either.“

“Of course not.“ Anything else would’ve been shocking enough — if Novak has a bad reputation, Meg Masters‘ is even worse. All kinds of rumors are going around about her, ranging from drug use to prostitution to downright witchcraft. Although Dean cannot confirm nor deny any of the rumors, he is inclined to believe most of them. And Meg Masters herself would probably laughingly accept any accusations -- she is that kind of person. And although Dean cannot help but grudgingly respect her for her attitude, he also resents her for it: and how could he not, when he works so hard to do what is asked of him, and stick to the rules? Yeah, the only way someone like Meg could shock Dean would be to actually do her homework for a change.

“Now, now,“ Novak chides playfully, even if it doesn’t seem like he cares all that much about it. “Meg does her best.“

“Just like you do, huh?“

At that, Novak‘s grin turns darker, a bit more dangerous. “So harsh, Winchester. I think you know better than most how sometimes, things are not as easy as they seem. That circumstances are different for everyone.“

“Yeah, yeah,“ Dean dismisses, with a pang in his chest, though he gets it. Unfortunately, he really does. “Anyway, I won’t give you the homework.“

“Why not?“

“Because why would I? I don’t like you and you only hit me up when you need stuff from me. Besides...“ he begins, then swallows back a proper explanation. “You know why.“

“Oh, I do?“

“You damn well know you do.“

“Hmm, alright.“ Novak takes another drag, unbothered. “Listen, if you give me today’s homework, I’ll make it worth your while.“

“Not interested,“ Dean says, already having a hunch of where this is going.

“No? Could be something similar to last time. You liked last time’s payment, didn’t you?” Novak asks, and it’s just like Dean expected.

Dean avidly fixes his gaze on the school building, still hidden behind some trees, but not too far off anymore. He will be safe there -- Novak would never dream of bothering him where anyone else could see. 

“I fucking did not,” he argues, already feeling heat creep into his cheeks.

“Really? I could’ve sworn you did, what with all the blushing and squirming and your pants going--”

“Novak!” Dean barks with a swelling sense of despair. His entire face feels hot by now, and is probably as red as a tomato, “I sure as hell did not enjoy whatever you call ‘payment’ for last week. Besides, I wouldn’t even call it ‘payment’ so much as fucking ‘harassment’.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, “Are you serious?” Novak asks, in an unidentifiable tone of voice.

“‘Harassment’, ‘molestation’, ‘taking advantage’,” Dean recites, enjoying this now that he is gaining momentum. “You call it payment, I call it an affront, and--”

“Is that really what you think, Winchester?” Novak cuts in at the same time he stands still, his eyebrows drawn together in an unfamiliarly serious way. “That I harassed you?”

Dean stops as well. He looks back at Novak, his straight back and straightforward face, the way that he seems not just annoyed by the accusation, as Dean would have expected, but unsettled. As if he were taking Dean’s half-joke seriously, and reconsidering his own course of action.

Guilt wells up in Dean, and he holds his hands up in reassurance. “I didn’t--” he doesn’t know how to actually finish that sentence, so he just leaves it hanging.

There is nothing to say there, not really. What Dean said was half in jest, and half in… half in what he knows anyone else would think of the situation, or should think. It’s what Dean himself should think: that it was unexpected, unwanted, unreciprocated. That his animosity towards Novak just grew over it, that he truly hates him now. That there was no part of Dean that enjoyed any of it, no part of him that longs to do it again.

Novak keeps staring at him, though, reassessing. His stillness is as unnerving as his little smiles and contemplative looks usually are, even if in different ways. Regardless, he seems to come to some sort of conclusion as he takes in Dean’s still figure, the flush in his cheeks and whatever else there is to see, since he suddenly steps forward, closer towards him again.

“Harassment, was it?” Novak says, now with cold fire burning in his eyes that takes away Dean’s breath for just a moment. “Because I do seem to remember that you were the one who not only told me it was okay if I gave you a kiss on the cheek, but turned it into something more. By turning your head, parting your lips, not letting me go. You were the one who slipped me the tongue and kept going and going. You were the one who begged me to do more, kiss you more, touch you more, fu--”

“No!” Dean interrupts him, with burning cheeks and a stomach that has already dropped all the way down. “S-Stop making shit up, Novak. You know I’m not like that -- I’m not like you --, so I’d really appreciate it if you could leave me out of your fantasies. You were the one who harassed me--”

“--I just said--”

“--who pushed me to give him my homework in the first place--”

“--I asked you if it was okay to--”

“--and who made me do something I sure as hell neither enjoyed nor wanna do again.”

“Oh, really?” Novak asked, raising an eyebrow, in what might constitute a challenge or a feeling of false imputation, or both. “So, if I told you I’d love to kiss you again if you let me copy your math homework, you’d tell me no? Would what, cry harassment again if I dared touch so much as your wrist or even came close to you again? Or,” he continues, voice dropping into a darker tone while he does indeed inch closer towards Dean, close enough to touch him, and who remains where he is, rooted to the spot, “would you tell someone about it? Mr. Singer, perhaps? Or the counselor? Hmm, one thing’s for sure, though.” He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. It sounds pained, even to Dean’s ears, knowing. “You wouldn’t tell your dad, would you? That you made out with a guy, and liked it? That you wouldn’t mind doing it again, given the right circumstances, some good excuse? Such as taking the long way to where you’ve parked your car, past the small parking lot you know where mine is and where I usually hang out? So that, I don’t know, perhaps I might come over when I see you, and all you had to do was bat your long lashes at me, bite your pretty lips, and wait for me to make a move again?”

It feels as if all the air is sucked out of Dean’s lungs. Standing there in front of Novak, feeling the heat of both his words and his body, he feels seen-through, known; and as lacerated and repugnant as an open wound.

Dean  wants to draw back into himself, into his safe shell, but he can’t. “You’re ridiculous, man,” is all he can mumble out in return as he twists his gaze away from Novak.

They remain there like this for God knows how long. Dean, looking somewhere between their feet and Novak’s almost heaving chest, and Novak, with his face hidden from Dean’s view, but his hands clenched into fists.

By the time Novak’s hands open again, it feels as though an hour has passed, though it probably were mere minutes.

“Alright,” Novak blows out on a breath, “let me make you a deal. Just so we’re on the same page, and we’re both absolutely clear on what is okay and what might be harassment or anything of the sort.”

Hearing Novak say that word again revives the feelings of guilt in Dean, but he knows he’s made his bed, so now he has to lie in it. So, he swallows and nods, feeling all of his body tense. “What kinda deal?”

“It goes like this: you either refuse to let me copy your homework and I won’t ever touch, much less kiss, you ever again. I’ll leave you alone. Or, you allow me to copy today’s homework at the very least, so Mr. Singer won’t call my foster home again, and you can choose whatever payment you want, as long as it’s somewhat reasonable. Money, cigarettes, beer, anything you want me to do, you name it. As long as you name it. I won’t give you what you’re not explicitly asking for.”

Dean frowns. “What? How is that a deal? It’s either you win or I do, no in-between. I mean, fine by me, but you get nothing out of it, so what gives?”

“It’s not that bad of a deal,“ Novak says, finally flinging his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out. 

He gives no further explanation, though, which gets on Dean’s nerves even more. “You suck at coming up with deals, you know that?“

“Not really,“ Novak says, shrugging a little. “As I see it, it‘s win-win for you and win-lose for me. Which, for me, too: is fine. It all depends on what you want.” There’s something strangely soft in the way he is looking at Dean, something almost wistful. “And on whether you’ll actually express it.”

Put on the spot yet not, there isn’t much for Dean to do but nod in acquiescence. He’d like to pretend he still doesn’t get what Novak is going for, but he does, deep down. It’s both an in and an out -- what he was hoping for, but couldn't have asked for. Now he has to ask for what he wants, and if he doesn’t, he won’t get it. And he’s not sure he can. Not when there’s rules and expectations and the shadow of a man larger than Dean, larger than life itself, endlessly looming over him.

“Okay,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Novak keeps staring at him in that stiffly intense way of his. “Alright. I mean, it probably would be pretty bad if you turned up without homework again, huh? Last I heard, you got into some pretty dire straits when Mr. Singer called your foster home, right?”

Novak huffs out a sound of amusement, his shoulders sinking in what looks like relief. “You’re well-informed.”

A furious blush threatens to stain Dean’s cheeks again. “It’s just what I heard. People talk. About you. And, uh, everyone else, I guess.”

There it is again, that soft expression. And Dean thinks he might recognize it now, impossible enough: Novak looks fond.

“They do,” Novak agrees, showing no offense at any possible implications of him being the talk of the school, which he most definitely is. “And yes, it was ‘pretty bad’, as you’ve said. I’d much rather not have a repeat performance.”

“Easy way to avoid it.”

“Yes, I’m working on it at the very moment.”

In spite of himself, Dean huffs out a laugh. “I meant doing your own damn homework. I know you’re smart enough to do it, even if you barely show up in class. You ace all the tests even when you weren’t there, so I don’t believe you couldn’t just as well hand in your homework if you fucking wanted to.”

Novak hums in open amusement. “Is that your own observation or people talking again?”

Feeling as though caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Dean just lamely stammers out a, “It’s-- it’s common knowledge, okay?” before setting into motion again.

Novak’s laughter follows him the first few steps, then he is beside him again.

“Who knows, maybe you’re right and I could take care of my own homework. But maybe I like not doing so, and asking certain other people for it instead.”

It’s obvious what -- or rather, who -- he means by that, that Dean is pretty sure his skin will never be anything but pink again. “Oh yeah?” he needles, “You got many people doing your homework? Giving them the same payment, too?”

“No,” Novak replies surprisingly quickly, “there’s only one person, and only one time I offered that type of payment.”

For a minute, they walk in silence as they almost reach the stairs of the school house. There’s few other people around, most of them just entering the building or looking at their phones, unheeding of the pair.

“So, we have a deal?” Novak eventually asks into their waiting silence.

“You can have today’s homework,” Dean relents, holding out on what he knows Novak is actually going for.

“Thank you, Dean,” Novak says with a gummy smile.

The sound of his name stirs Dean him up a bit more, reminding him of the only other time when Novak called him by his first name: when he was crowding Dean up against a wall, removing his glasses, and kissing his cheek so softly that Dean needed more, needed to be closer to this other guy, to this enigma of a person.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean mumbles.

“As for your payment…?” Novak probes, though with his voice in a whisper as they are close enough to other people now that they might otherwise be overheard.

“Don’t know yet,” Dean says, his voice clipped.

“I’m sure you already have something in mind.“ It’s completely uncalled for Novak to say this in such a low and heady way.

“Maybe you do, but I don’t.“ He doesn’t know, he thinks. He can’t, is why. He won’t, he tells himself.

“Dean,” Novak says, using his first name again, as if they were friends or something more, sounding intimate in the most casual way, and that does it.

“Damnit, Novak, I want—“ Dean bursts out.

Novak looks at him in expectation, all of him turned towards Dean, listening.

He won’t, he won’t, he can’t.

Can’t he?

“—time,“ Dean finishes lamely.

Novak pulls a face that clearly says, ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed.’

Which is all the worse.

“Listen, Novak, you… you might be right.“ Dean pulls a face. “I can’t believe I just said that. But yeah, I might have an idea of what I want, what I’d like to have,” he pointedly does not look at the other boy or anything else but straight towards the school. “But you’re also right in that my dad wouldn’t— I can’t--” He swallows, tries to shake the thought out of his head, but it unfortunately stays stuck. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll think about it, okay?”

“You will?” Novak asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah, sure. Maybe.“ He blows out his breath, scrubs a hand through his own hair, and continues, “Might take me some time, though. Maybe a long time. Maybe forever.“ He laughs mirthlessly. “So, today’s homework might actually turn out to be a freebie for you.”

The expression on Novak‘s face is hard to read, but undeniably one he usually does not show in public. For a second there, Dean thinks Novak wants to reach for him: his hand lifts and opens just so, swerving in his direction. Before anything comes off it, though, he drops his hand again, burrows it in his pocket and says, “Take all the time you need, Dean.“

He might have to, Dean thinks. Probably nothing will come of this, not right now, maybe not for as long as he is as young as he is, dependent on his father’s will, bound to him for freedom. Perhaps, though, some other time, in some distant future, or hidden behind some bleachers, he might find a taste of liberation, or the touch of Novak’s lips again.

Dean turns away from the other boy as the school bell rings, the call-back to the present not quite as oppressive with blue eyes and a soft smile still impressed on his mind.

[fandom-thingies]

Worth a Try

Eret sits alone on the day L’manburg is reclaimed.

Not that they didn’t help with taking it back- of course they did, right? They have a lot to atone for, and they’d been waiting, waiting, waiting for an opportunity to take back a few of their sins.

So they did help take it back, stood atop a tower firing down at Dream and his allies, watched Schlatt’s infamously poor health come back to bite him in the most final way…

But they don’t stick around long, after that. They don’t stay for the presidential game of hot potato, the founders of the nation passing its ownership back and forth. 

They would have, normally, but.

Eret has worked with Dream, in the past. Everyone loves to remind them of it, and they often do so themselves, but something oft forgotten is that Eret knows Dream, knows the obsession he has with ending L’manburg, knows the methods he’s most fond of, that game of pawns and traitors he excels at so notoriously.

And Eret knows Dream gave Wilbur 11 stacks of TNT.

Now, supposedly it’s all gone. Various people have looked around and none have been able to find a trace of it, but Eret knows Wilbur, knows the message he wants to send, and before the battle, they checked somewhere no one else did.

Not many people know the podium is hollow, so not many people noticed when it stopped echoing if you hit it and started making a dull thud sound instead.

Eret notices a lot of things.

While Wilbur is taking his place on stage, Eret goes around the hill, digging toward the podium they’ve guessed to be filled full with TNT.

It takes them a while, but when they find it…

There’s so much.

The smell of sulfur is overwhelming, and they take a moment to pull their shirt over their nose before they begin to dig it out.

They don’t get it all, they don’t have time, but they find the blackstone room and the redstone that runs from it and they make dead sure all the explosives near it are broken.

Then, they dig into the room, because why not? Sue them, they’re curious.

What they find is… exactly what they expected and nothing they could have imagined, at the same time.

It’s unassuming, at a glance. Dingy, poorly lit, small.

It’s also a terrifying representation of Wilbur’s mental state, with the anthem scribbled on the wall in the messiest handwriting they’ve ever seen from the former president, who’s usually so neat and tidy.

There’s no button, which is odd. Perhaps he means to place it himself?

(Eret has no illusions he’s changed his mind. As they said, they’ve worked with Dream before. If he hasn’t extracted some promise from Wilbur to blow it all sky high no matter what, they’ll steal their crown from George and eat it.)

They stand for a moment, just taking in the place, before they hear blocks breaking from the passageway out and realize just how close they’ve cut it.

Hurriedly, they block up the hole they’d used to enter, hoping Wilbur won’t realize they’ve destroyed the TNT.

(Hoping he’s too distracted by his own thoughts to hear them close it)

Only moments after the hole is shut, he comes into view, breaking the dirt blocks that hide this chamber from sight. 

The day outside is far brighter than the hidden room, and the contrast makes it so all Eret can see of Wilbur is a dark silhouette haloed by the clear blue sky.

He doesn’t seem to see them at first, coming almost halfway down the passage before he stops, noticing their presence.

“Eret.” His voice is as calm as it always is, when he says it, but they can tell he’s surprised.

“Wilbur.” They greet in response.

“I didn’t expect to find you here. Come to blow it up yourself?” Eret sighs. The hostility in his voice is... not undeserved.

“Not quite.”

“Still trying for your redemption arc, then?” There’s venom in his tone.

“...as much as I can, yes.”

Wilbur deflates, and it seems like the anger in him has fled as quickly as it entered.

“Why are you doing this, Eret?”

The answer to that is… complicated. There are a lot of reasons. They don’t want L’manburg blown up, for one. It’s suffered rather enough, especially with some of Schlatt’s alterations. They also don’t see a better way to try and make up for what they’ve done than stopping someone else from doing the same, but neither of those are really why. The real reason, the truth of why they’ve spent days knocking on hollow objects and digging random holes in the ground until they finally found the bombs?

“I know better than anyone how much doing this will destroy you.” They say.

And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? The unvarnished fact of the matter is there’s no moral motivation here, as much as they’d like to pretend. They just don’t want anyone else to feel the guilt they’ve felt, and maybe there’s a selfishness in that, but maybe it’s important, to acknowledge your mistakes and do what you can to stop others from making them.

Wilbur laughs, and there’s no humor in it.

“Of course that would be your reasoning,” and the anger in his voice is back, and Eret is preparing to respond, and Wilbur gives them no chance to before he continues. 

“Maybe I’m already destroyed, huh? Maybe I’ve already seen too much of what the world can offer to recover from it!” He swings a hand out wide, indicating the writing on the wall in an aggressive motion that makes Eret shrink back.

“I wrote a whole fucking song for this place, Eret! You were there, you know I did, you were in both versions of the damn thing, and what the fuck is left?” Wilbur inhales, before continuing in a softer tone, “What the fuck is left of it, Eret? I built L’manburg to be special, to be free from tyranny, and look what’s it’s become.”

“Schlatt’s dead, though. He can’t stop you from building it back up.” They counter, but Wilbur doesn’t falter.

“Yeah, and? We violently deposed him, Eret. He had a heart attack sure, but this was a coup through and through. We killed the rightful president of L’manburg. We’ve made ourselves just as bad as him!” 

...no?

No, they’re pretty sure that’s not how that works.

“Isn’t it the right of the people to rebel against rulers who treat them poorly? Schlatt had terrible policies, exiled his political opponents, taxed his citizens into starvation, and destroyed historic monuments,” they adjust their glasses slightly. “Didn’t he kind of have it coming?”

Wilbur stops. Blinks.

Eret suspects he’s never thought of it that way, before.

“But we still killed him. That’s still wrong.” He says, but he sounds... uncertain, now. Off balance.

“Well, we would have. He died before we could.”

“That doesn’t change the intent.”

“Fair enough.”

Eret pauses to collect their thoughts in an orderly manner.

“I still don’t really think it would have been wrong, though. Not any more than it would have been wrong if you’d killed me.”

Wilbur snorts, and says, “Just because you’re drowning in self loathing doesn’t mean you get to snap me out of my self destructive spiral. I’ve been doing just fine with it on my own, thanks.”

Sure he has.

They know terrible coping mechanisms when they see them, is all Eret is saying here.

He must see something of their thoughts in their face, because he continues almost immediately.

“You haven’t got any right to talk, anyway, mr. ‘it was never meant to be’.”

Ah. Hm. He’s got a point there.

Though, their own experience with this is what prompted them to confront him in the first place, so.

“I was wrong, when I said that. I was wrong, and you proved me wrong.”

They mean it, too. They’d been blind when they’d said those words, trying to justify what they were doing to themself by saying the revolution would never have succeeded anyway, and they’d been so fucking stupid.

Wilbur just laughs, though. He laughs for a while.

“You really don’t get it, do you, Eret? You were right, then! You were fucking right! None of this was ever going to work, not with Dream against us! He was always going to find a way to throw a wrench in the gears, and maybe Schlatt got to it first, but there’s no happy ending for this place!” He steps forward, and they realize how close he is to them. “There’s no way out, here! I’m going to press the button, Technoblade is going to summon withers because he’s the goddamn traitor, and Dream’s just going to sit back and watch and be just as untouchable as he always is.”

Wilbur takes another step closer to them, laying a hand on their shoulder, and though he’s only barely taller than them, those two inches feel like two miles, with the way he looms.

“I’ve been to this room, over and over again! Seven or eight times, I’ve been here, staring at this fucking wall and the fucking button, and I-!” He runs his free hand roughly over his face, and Eret sees something suspiciously like tears in his eyes.

“I can’t do this, Eret. I’ve given so much for this country, everyone has, and there’s just nothing left. I’m so tired, Eret. I’ve lost so much of myself to this.”

Eret raises their hand slowly, telegraphing the motions so Wilbur can pull back if he wants, and puts it over the one he’s placed on their shoulder.

They take a step and they’re basically touching him, and carefully, carefully, they reach their other arm around him until they’re embracing.

It’s not quite a hug, really. The position is a bit too awkward, especially with both of them barely fitting in the tiny room, but it’s close.

Wilbur stays tense, but he doesn’t push them away, doesn’t tell them to let go.

They hope it helps him, hope they’re right and he needs as much as it seems, and the evidence doesn’t seem to contradict that hypothesis.

It’s good, that this has worked. Good that they were able to convince him, to make him realize this isn’t the answer.

Click.

A moment of silence.

Wilbur laughs, a real laugh, not a pale imitation fed by anger and self loathing, and keeps laughing for nearly a full minute before he regains his composure.

“Oh, Eret,  you bastard.” He says, and they can hear the smile in his voice. “You broke the redstone, you glorious motherfucker.”

It’s then that Eret realizes what just happened.

Wilbur had used the hug as a cover to place a button on the wall and press it, not realizing all the TNT near the room was safely in their inventory.

That fucking prick.

Eret laughs then, too, fueled half by the sheer fear of realizing Wilbur actually did it, actually pressed the button, and it was only their having broken it that stopped L’manburg being blown up again, but the laugh is also coming from the desperate, desperate relief they feel because even if they didn’t succeed in convincing him, even if they didn’t change his mind, they still stopped him from making their mistake.

“Why even try to talk me out of it, if you already made it so I couldn’t?” He asks, bemused.

“I can’t exactly stop you from getting more TNT and trying again, can I?”

Wilbur tenses against them, before they continue.

“Please don’t, Wilbur. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with it, but… give yourself a chance to heal, please. Schlatt is dead, and even if you’re right, and Technoblade is the traitor, no one is going to let him destroy this. Even if he breaks every block of this nation, we’ll put it back, because this place has never been the builds, or the podium, or the walls,”

“L’manburg is the people, and we’re not going anywhere,”