#and anything else will be just as hard to explain

[idontactuallyremember]

Thanos x fem!reader PART ONE

- You assume Thanos flirts with you in an attempt to get you to vote O next round. He comes to you late at night and offers you something. At first, you think it's only so he can manipulate you. However, he asks you something that changes your assumption of him and what he wants.

- TW! Y'all both popping pills!!!

- Sad boy/ sorta soft boy Thanos :( Fluff, essentially SFW (Next part might be spicy 🤪)

- He's kinda a jerk at first (it's a defense mechanism, he's hurting)

“Why not? You think you’re better than us?” Thanos says, a sarcastic smile sprouting on his lips, “You think you’re better than Thanos, girl?”

“I don’t need a team. I don’t need friends.” You say, simply, “I don’t need a group.”

This is not your first time explaining to Thanos you didn’t want to join his team. Each time he offered, he had a different, new and improved reason as to why you had to join them.

“Last game… I saw you struggling. The bitches you’re with now won’t help you if the next game is another team game. You’re lucky you survived the Pentathlon.” Thanos replies and Nam-Gyu, his pet, bobbles his head in agreeance.

“Remind me, why do you even care?” You smile.

“We want to protect you, baby. You think such nasty things of us… We also need an extra vote for the O team and if you join us, I know you’ll vote O next round.”

“I don’t need your protection. I think you need my help more than I need yours.” I give an exaggerated, sarcastic, sad glance to the voting results- a tie until we re-vote tomorrow, “Anyhow, even if I joined your team- I’m still voting X.”

“Well, if you joined my team and voted X that’d be like betrayal to me, girl. Why can’t we both benefit from this?”

“Right, how am I benefiting?"

“Well, we’d be protecting you like I said! If you don't join us someone else will and if you’d rather die with those bitches-”

“Stop calling them that!” You interrupt but he ignores you.

“-than go right ahead.”

There’s a moment of disapproving silence- you and Thanos simply stare at each other.

He glances you up and down and stalks closer to you, closing the space to mere inches- “I could protect you and I could also get my dick wet, yeah? Make you feel good?”

“Fuck you.” You say.

“She’s just playing hard to get.” He says to his group as you walk away.

Later that night, you lay in bed, unable to sleep. A bad feeling creeps up your chest- the feeling that you might die here.

You also think about what Thanos said. He's been flirting with every girl here but he won't leave you alone specifically. He’d fuck anything that walks, surely. It sort of made you mad- but deep down- part of you liked that he chased you.

You stare at the ceiling for minutes, maybe half-an-hour. You hear movement coming from below you, only, it’s too dark to see anything. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself so you stay as still as possible.

Someone is climbing up your bed to the top bunk. You already know who it is. The sight of purple hair only solidifies what you already know to be true.

“I will kick you down the fucking bunk and laugh when you break your neck- get the fuck out of my bed.” You say.

“Woah, woah, I just saw how tense you were earlier, I figured: why not offer you something?”

“You’ve offered enough, no?” You ask, cheekily.

He says nothing, only sits himself down (uninvited), removes the necklace from his neck and opens the cross. An array of colorful tablets lay in a hidden compartment.

“You want one?” He says, a smile on his face.

He waited, expectantly. You’d never seen him this happy or this excited. Maybe only when he murdered three people during Red Light, Green Light.

You think about the consequences of taking one. He probably wanted to drug you and get you to vote O, or worse.

He notices your hesitation and states, “Look: I’ll take one, too. We could get high together, okay?”

He picks a green one and places it on his tongue, then, lingering for a moment, “What’s your favorite color, baby?”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the excessive trauma of the last few days but- fuck, he is hot. Sitting here in the dim-lit room, him in your bed, you only notice now. The tattoos; running down his neck, down his arm, to his long, slender fingers. The ear piercings, the purple hair, the colorful nails- he was sexy. Especially the way he looked at you; looked at those pills. Like a kid on Christmas. You can’t help but think about what his tattoos look like in full; what he looks like without his shirt.

“Pink.” You swallow, thickly, clearing your head.

He meticulously shuffles the tablets around, digging for a pink one, his hands hovering over the piece of jewelry.

“Open.” A simple demand- he doesn't even look at you to see if you do. 'Cocky fuck', you think but your legs feel weak from his commanding tone, anyway.

You do as he says and he places the tablet on your tongue.

“Good girl… chew it.” He purrs. Your insides feel like jelly.

“It will hit hard and fast, okay? Should I stay here?” He asks.

You remember that feeling you had, laying awake before Thanos crawled up here. The feeling that death is imminent, that you will die here, maybe in this bed.

You still didn't trust him- not as far as you could throw him- but if you may die anyway…

“Stay here with me.” You decide, quietly.

“Okay.” He lays down next to you instantly, stroking your hair.

It’s silent as he twirls your long hair between his fingers.

“Thanos?”

“Yes, pretty?”

“Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“I want you.”

“Why? Why not someone else?”

He thinks for a long time.

“The other people here... they treat me like an object. I'm some rapper- not even anymore- who they just want to say they met. Say they were friends with... whatever. You saw the way they all wanted a picture with me? Those people admire me but they don't like me. Plus, I always want things I can’t have. You don’t like me, either. It makes me want you more. At least you don't lie to me."

Maybe it was the drugs talking.

Maybe it’s only because he won’t give up. Maybe you liked that he wanted you so bad.

“I do want you.” You say, barely above a whisper.

“Why do you act like you don’t?”

“Because I don't agree with you in this game. I need to leave. Fuck the money, at this point. I’d rather have my life.” you say.

“I wouldn’t.” He says, glumly. You don’t ask why; you don’t say anything.

It's silent for so long, you wonder if Thanos fell asleep. You feel the drugs working through your body, your feet and hands tingling, the room spinning. You wonder if he’s feeling it by now, too. You wonder how many he takes- Do they even do anything for him anymore?

“Life sucks out there…If everyone else around me is pretending... pretending to be my friend... I want to just pretend- even for a minute- that things are okay.” He admits, sleepily, “I can't… do that out there. Here I can pretend.”

For a long time, you don't know what to say.

“I understand.” You say. Because you do.

You feel him push against you closer.

“Pretend with me?” He asks.

More silence. Is this his way of trying to convince you to vote O? He plays the sad-boy card?

“Please?” His voice desperate; he grips your shirt as he cuddles you, pulling you close. He sounds genuine.

“Okay. We can pretend, Thanos.”

“Thank you.” He says, seemingly relieved. You feel the grip on your shirt loosen after a few minutes.

“Thanos?” You whisper.

No reply- he’s asleep. You relax into his arms until you think about what he said, just earlier:

"You don’t like me, either. It makes me want you more. At least you don't lie to me."

When you recall him saying that, all you can think about is how he isn't asking to be wanted or loved- he's not even asking for the truth, whether he appreciates it or not. He's asking, desperately, to pretend.

You realize how much a person needs to have been lied to to beg to be lied to, again, only, under their own terms.

For him to beg for an ounce of kindness, sympathy, connection: even if it's not real... that must hurt.

Your stomach turns; you feel like crying. You stare at the ceiling more.

Thanos snores softly beside you.

[spencerreidsrightsock]

Best Mentor Ever

Summary: Reader is new at the BUA. Spencer is the unit chief and she looks at him as her mentor. Spencer can’t focus around you. 

Pairing: Softdom!Unitchief!Spencer x Innocent!Reader 

TW! MDNI! Smut, inexpierenced reader, dom spencer, praise?, Spencer teasing reader, fingering(f!rec), p in v unprotected sex, creamp!e, anything else I missed. Use of y/n.

WC: 1,350ish

A/N: HIII this was requested from an anon, so anon I loveee you. So creative.

Y/N is new to the BAU, today is her third day on the job. Spencer has taken her under his wing in sorts and has helped guide and mentor her in ways. They’ve just gotten back from a week long case, they all file into work to finish up some paperwork about the case. 

Spencer gently stares at y/n as she takes a seat at her desk, quickly getting comfortable and pulling out the case file. He pulls his eyes away and heads up the stairs and into his office where he takes a seat and lets out a sigh. 

He finds himself unable to focus on the task at hand as y/n keeps popping into his brain. Visions of her flooding and overflowing in his mind. He stares down at the desk trying to ground himself, his mind is failing him. 

Suddenly he is jerked from his thoughts when he hears a knock at his office door and it opens. Y/n walks in and offers Spencer a small smile. “Hey Reid, I have a question about something.” she says with the file in her hand. “Uh, yeah, sure.” he says clearing his throat. 

She walks to the other side of his desk and puts the file down, she slightly bends down a bit to be at level with him. His eyes once again begin to wonder over her legs. “So about this, remind me what I do again.” she asks with a low giggle. “I’m sorry I will get the hang of this eventually.” she finishes. 

Spencer looks up at her, “Don’t apologize I don’t mind helping teach you these types of things.” and he explains to her what she has to do. She looks at Spencer, smiling, “Thank you” she says smiling. He turns his head to look at her, he smiles as he takes in all of her features. “You’re welcome.” he whispers, his eyes going from her lips to her eyes.

He gently leans forward and presses a small kiss on her lips. She pulls back as she smiles, eyes hooked on him. He apologizes, “I’m sorry that was inappropriate.” he brings his head to rest in his hand as he internally kicks himself. 

“It’s okay” y/n says smiling at him. He looks back up and locks eyes with her. He felt like he could explode at that moment. Spencer stands up and walks to his office door, locking it. He walks back over to her, “I’m going to be honest, I was supposed to be finishing paperwork but I was so distracted by you” he admits, swallowing hard. 

“I-I don’t even know what to say to that” she says looking at him, smiling, and her cheeks are red. She leans in and presses a kiss to his lips, her hands wrapping around his neck as she leans into the kiss. He kisses back, his tongue gently exploring her mouth. She pulls back, “Do you want to mentor me in something else?” she asks, smiling down at him. He looks deeply into your eyes, “Is that what you want?” he asks in a whisper as he stares into her eyes.. 

She nods, staring back into his eyes. He stands up and wraps his arms around her waist pulling her closer. “So you want me to mentor you, hmm?” he hums out. “Please” she hums out smiling at him. 

“That can be arranged,” he whispers. She looks into his eyes and leans closer putting her lips on his. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and pulls it down. He brings his hands to the front of her blouse and begins to unbutton it. 

Once he’s done with the last button he pulls her arms out of the blouse. He looks up and down her body, “God look at you” he growls, his hands raking over your body. He brings his hands to hook in the waistband of her panties, he looks up at her for permission, she nods. 

Once her panties are on the floor, he leans back to pat his lap, “Sit down” he says. She climbs on wrapping her legs around his waist. His hands wrap around her waist as he gently grabs her hips. “So good for me,” he says, kissing her neck. “My good little girl.” he growls, sucking a mark on her neck. 

He brings his hand between their bodies and snakes a finger down between her folds, “Mmmm, Spencer.” She moans out, gently rocking her hips. His finger slides past her entrance as she lets out another moan. “My good girl” he whispers. “Spencer, add another finger,” she whimpers. “Ask me nicely” he growls. 

“Please another finger Spence. Please.” she whines out. “Mm, that’s better” he whispers as he adds another finger. He thrusts them in and out of her with a “come here” motion. “Oh god Spencer it’s so good.” she moans out as she feels herself teetering on the edge. “Cum for me baby” he whispers, his fingers still continuing. 

She moans out as her legs begin to shake, “Oh Spencer” she says as she feels her head start to spin, “I’m cumming” she screams as she holds her mouth open, little whimpers spilling out. “That’s my girl” he whispers, helping her ride out her orgasm. 

She lays her head on his shoulder while she catches her breath. “That was amazing,” she whispers. “Oh, I’m just getting started with you.” he says laughing. 

A few minutes later she stands up, he stares into her eyes as he brings his hand to begin unbuckling his belt. He unbuttons his slacks and stands up letting them pool around his ankles. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and slides them down his legs. “Bend over for me” he growls out as he takes his cock in his hand and gently fists himself. 

She bends over his desk with her ass stuck up. He comes behind her and places a hand on her hip, “I’m going to go slow at first” he whispers into your ear as he bends down. She nods her head. He swipes his cock between her folds and gently presses into her entrance. “Oh my god Spencer yes” she moans. He slides in until he’s fully hilted inside of her. “Oh you’re so big. I’m so full” she whimpers out. “Yeah, you like that?” He asks. She nods, “You can move now” she whispers. He starts thrusting inside of her faster, “Spencer yes,” she moans. Her words repeating over and over again “Yes, yes, yes,” with every thrust of his hips. 

“Y/n you’re so tight, I’m not going to last much longer” he grunts out his forehead pressing to the back of your head. “I’m right there” she says. He brings his hand around her body and between her legs as he runs his fingers over her clit, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock” he spits out. 

“Spencer, oh I’m cumming” she whimpers out, her back arching up. She clenches around his cock and he thrusts in a few more times before he stills himself, he too, reaching his release. She feels his warm cum spewing deep inside of her. “Oh so warm” she mumbles out. 

He pulls out and turns her around, kissing her lips. He backs away gently, “Well that was fun” she says giggling. “You’re a really good mentor” she finishes smiling as she picks her clothes off of the floor and starts putting them on. He gets dressed as well. “We’ll have to do that again” he says smiling. “I agree,” she says. Once they’re both dressed Spencer places his hand on the small of her back and pulls her into a kiss. “Let’s go” he says, holding her hand. She holds onto his hand as they walk out of his office together. 

[admirationandromantics]

Best Friend's Brother

This request is literally 10 days old, which, to some, might not seem as a long time. For me however, it is. I'm sorry, but as I've described, I'm just trying to balance writing and school right now, so I'll be writing a little less than before.

Word count: 1,6k (unedited)

could u write a best friend older brother trope josh x reader. luv you works btww xx -anon

I knock on the door, waiting for Beth to open up. We’d planned a movie night while her parents were gone, and Hannah was at Sam’s. Josh was still home, but she told me he wouldn’t be a bother, and would probably stay in his room the whole night. 

I have met him many times before, and would even call us friends. Though at the same time, I often wonder if he looks at me like another baby sister, despite only being one year apart. He often gives me a hard time, teasing me and joking around, but most times, I don’t mind. I usually also hope that he never means anything with his small occasional comments, because nothing will happen either way. My best friend’s brother? That would be a problem just waiting to happen. 

Josh and I have been drunk together, partied together and been on get togethers together, though I’m not familiar with everyone in their group yet. 

I stand outside, my patience running low in the cold weather, wishing I brought a scarf. I hear footsteps coming from inside. Finally. The door unlocks, and a broad, tan Josh in a thin rolled up sweater and some sweatpants stands there, arm against the doorframe. He gives a small smile, looking me over. 

“Well, look who decided to come while the parents are out” he coos, a small whistling sound coming out of his lips. 

“Well, hello Joshua, care to let me in?” 

He smiles, contemplating whether to make this difficult or not. I look around, sighing and waiting for an answer, thinking about shouting Beth’s name and telling her that her brother is being a prick. Luckily, he opens the door further, making space for me to walk inside. “Thank you” I say, trying to hide my smile a bit. I’ve been here many times before, so I immediately know where to hang my coat and leave everything else. Josh keeps standing there, watching me. 

“Beth is out, said something about getting snacks for your movie night” He explains, and I nod. The store is not far from here, so she will probably be back soon. 

“Well then, do you know which movie she’s got planned?”

“Of course I do, I’m the one who helps pick them out”

I give him a curious and sceptical look, not having heard this before. He keeps his gaze locked on my gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. 

“Have you?” 

“Every time” 

My mouth opens a little. Beth is always talking about her great taste in movies, never having mentioned this before. 

“No, are you serious? Beth has never given you any credit”

“Little sisters… what do you expect?” 

I hum, not knowing how to respond to that. I walk inside, him following closely as I sit myself by the kitchen counter. 

“So, what movie have you chosen then?” I ask, looking up at him again. Instead of sitting, he just leans against the counter with one arm, body turned my way. I can’t help my gaze, looking over his revealed forearms. 

“Something a bit different than usual…” he smirks, eyes following my gaze down to his arms. I break free, leaning forward a bit. 

“Okay, what movie?” 

“A scary one” 

“No”

“Oh yes” 

I whine, leaning back again. I hate scary movies, I hate jumpscares and gore. Why can’t people just like normal, funny, cozy stuff? 

“Josh, are you serious?”

“And there we go, you’re starting to use my nickname” 

“Joshua! Are you serious?”

“Well, that lasted for long”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. This is not how I want to spend my night, and considering that the walk home will be dark and scary, this movie will definitely fuel my fears. 

“Hey, calm down, it’s a good movie, maybe you just haven’t seen a good scary movie yet, this one might change your mind about the whole genre” He smiles, a hand going to my arm. I can't help the small blush coming from the touch, his fingers warm and comforting. I don’t want to do this, but I really can’t object when Beth is the one getting everything ready, and I just need to show up and have a good time. Or pretend I’m having a good time. 

The door opens, and his hand is immediately removed as Beth comes in, a big bag in her hands. She doesn’t notice me at first. 

“Beth!” I exclaim, and she lifts her head, nose a little red from the cold outside. 

“Hey, oh sorry, I didn’t have time to go earlier today” 

“That’s completely fine, here, let me take it” I state, walking over and taking the bag from her hands as she starts undressing. 

“My brother didn’t bother you?” 

I look over at him, and he just gives a small laugh, shaking his head and putting his hands up defensively. 

“No, he was fine” 

“Good, now, let's go” She smiles, leading me away from him, into their living room. She finds a couple of bowls, letting me distribute the snack in them as she works on getting the movie going. 

“Okay, so I know you’re not a scary movie-person, but I know this one is really good, so please, keep an open mind” 

I laugh a little, thinking back on the fact that Josh is the one who actually picked this out. 

“I’ll keep an open mind then” 

“Great” 

The movie starts, and we both sit down, a blanket over us as the lights dim. At first, the movie seems fine, the occasional jump scare, which scares me much more than it does Beth. Still, I keep watching, body tense and uncomfortable, but I can’t take my eyes off it. We’re in the middle when someone gets violently cut up, and the camera doesn’t bother to show us anything else than the blood and flesh flying everywhere, the gore not stopping. I take a breath, pulling my eyes from the screen and standing up. 

“I just need to use the bathroom”

“Gonna puke?”

I laugh a little, the tension in my shoulders easing as she talks. 

“No, but if there’s no important information in this sequence, please feel free to skip it, I'll be quick” I say, already making my way to the yellow-lighted hallway. It's light, in contrast to the room I was just in, and that makes me ease up a little more. Gosh, if this was to keep going, I wouldn’t dare walking home tonight. 

Suddenly, I hear a click, and the light goes away, leaving me in the dark hallway. I stop, looking around, unsure about what just happened. Another breath escapes my lips, reminding me that I can’t keep holding my breath everytime something startling happens. The hallway looks empty both ways, so I continue further, crossing my fingers that the light in the bathroom at least works. 

Before I can react, a couple of strong arms grab me from behind, caging me. I’m about to yell out, but as if anticipating it, the hand goes over my mouth, muffling my screams. I’m slammed into the wall, not too hard, luckily, but I close my eyes before the impact arrives. As I open them again, a smiling Josh is standing in front of me, biting his lips to hold in his laugh. My heart is still beating fast, breaths coming in and out in a rapid manner. I grab his hand roughly, dragging it off my mouth. 

“Joshua Washington! Are you fucking insane??” 

He bursts out laughing, arms against the wall beside me, holding himself up as he leans over. I shake my head, mouth still a little open in shock, whilst he can’t stop laughing. 

“Maybe, but you should’ve seen your face!” He chuckles, one of his hands going to his stomach to compose himself. It’s probably hurting right now from all the laughter. 

“Joshua! What the hell is wrong with you!?” 

“Okay, okay, calm down, just a little prank on my part” He smiles, finally calming down. 

“I have been watching a fucking horror movie, and you pull this shit?”

He bites his lip again, tilting his head a bit to examine me. 

“Oh, come on now, you’re totally thinking it’s funny” 

“No, I’m not” 

“Or you’re into it or something…”

“Wait, what, no I’m not, what kind of sick-”

Before I can process what’s happening, his lips are on me. I feel his breath, his body close, soft lips moving ove mine. My heart is still beating rapidly, but oddly enough, it calms with the way he’s touching me. Tender and carefully, not like himself at all. His hand goes to my waist, body pressing mine into the wall, opening his mouth a little. I hear a little groan leaving his throat. He pulls away, faces close as his eyes go over me, looking up and down. I almost think he looks a little vulnerable, but his signature smirk finds its way to his lips again. 

“Well then, calmer now?” 

I look at him, confused, conflicted. I scoff, shaking my head a bit. 

“No, I think I need a little more help” I state, hand going to the back of his neck, pulling him into me again. Capturing his lips on mine, already opening my mouth. He does the same, one hand on my hips, pulling me into him. 

“Hey, finished in the bathroom soon? I’ve paused the movie, the gore is over!” Beth shouts from the living room. We both pull away from each other and look over to the living room, luckily not seeing her there. I look back at him, seeing his chest heaving, hot breaths coming from his mouth. He turns, looking into my eyes. 

“Guess we better finish calming you down later” He smiles, pushing himself off me and the wall, walking back to his room. 

Fuck, what have I gotten myself into?

[bradleysass]

discuss - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 860

Regulus’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the apartment. He glanced over lazily, expecting another mundane notification, but the screen displayed a message from James:

“We need to discuss something when I get home.”

Regulus’s chest tightened instantly. Nine simple words. Innocuous to anyone else, but to him, they were a thunderclap of dread.

What could James possibly want to talk about?

His mind immediately began assembling worst-case scenarios. Had he done something wrong? Was James unhappy? Had he finally grown tired of Regulus’s quirks, his walls, his inability to always put feelings into words?

Am I suddenly too much for him? Maybe… not enough?

The thought sent a fresh pang through his chest, and his breathing hitched. He stood abruptly, pacing the length of the living room. The silence in the apartment now felt oppressive, every second ticking by with the weight of unanswered questions.

Before his thoughts could spiral entirely out of control, Regulus grabbed his phone and tapped Sirius’s number. His brother picked up on the second ring, his familiar drawl echoing through the receiver.

“Hey, Reggie. What’s up?”

“James sent me a text,” Regulus blurted out, barely able to keep the panic from his voice. “He said we need to discuss something when he gets home. That’s it. No context. No explanation.”

Sirius hummed thoughtfully, but there was a lightness in his tone that Regulus was too frantic to notice. “Did he now?”

“Yes,” Regulus snapped. “And now I’m here thinking—what could it be? Is he��” He swallowed hard. “Is he breaking up with me? Did I do something?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Sirius said, but Regulus barely heard him. The floodgates were open.

“What if I’ve been too distant? Or too needy? Maybe I’m boring him. Or maybe he’s just realized that I’m…” His voice cracked. “That I’m not good enough.”

“Reg,” Sirius tried, but Regulus steamrolled on.

“You know him better than anyone. Do you think he’s… unhappy?”

“Regulus,” Sirius said more firmly this time, a faint edge of amusement creeping into his voice. “Calm down. You’re overthinking it.”

“How can I not?” Regulus snapped. “You know how I get with these things, Sirius. Just… do you know something? Has he said anything to you?”

There was a pause, just long enough for Regulus’s anxiety to latch onto it, before Sirius’s voice came through again, maddeningly neutral.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said smoothly.

Regulus groaned, running a hand through his hair. Before he could press further, the sound of keys jingling at the door froze him in place. The lock clicked, and the door swung open to reveal James stepping inside, his face unreadable.

Regulus’s heart plummeted. He muttered a quick, “I’ll call you back,” into the phone and ended the call. Setting it down on the counter, he turned to face James, his arms crossing tightly over his chest.

James’s gaze landed on him immediately, and his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping closer.

Regulus let out a shaky breath. “Your text message. ‘We need to discuss’? What was that supposed to mean, James? Do you have any idea what that—what that kind of phrasing does to someone like me?”

James’s eyes widened in realization, and his expression shifted into one of immediate guilt.

“Oh, no,” he said softly, closing the distance between them. “Reg, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t think—” He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I just didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Regulus blinked. “What surprise?”

James’s lips quirked up into a sheepish smile as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He opened the photos app and turned the screen toward Regulus. A picture of a sleek black cat, bright-eyed and curious, filled the display.

“I saw her at the shelter today,” James explained, his voice soft and a little hopeful. “She needs a home. I thought… well, I thought we could adopt her. Together.”

Regulus stared at the picture, his chest still tight but for entirely different reasons now. He looked up at James, who was watching him carefully, and the knot of anxiety began to unwind.

“You wanted to talk about a cat?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

James nodded. “Yeah. I wanted us to decide together. But if I’d sent you a long, excited message about it, it wouldn’t have been as fun to tell you in person.” He reached out, resting his hands gently on Regulus’s shoulders. “I’m sorry for making you worry. I’ll never send a vague text like that again, I promise.”

Regulus let out a breathless laugh, his shoulders sagging as the tension drained from him. “You’re an idiot, James Potter.”

James grinned. “Your idiot, though.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but leaned into James’s touch, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He glanced at the picture of the cat again and, despite himself, smiled softly.

“She’s… cute,” he admitted.

“So, that’s a yes?” James asked, his grin widening.

Regulus huffed but couldn’t hide the warmth in his voice. “Yeah. That’s a yes.”

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I'm curious how do you think Quinn would handle a breakup? Maybe one where he's being broken up with?

Boy, was this one hard to write... 90% of this is based on my last breakup, so... it's pretty... painful. SO ENJOY my misery! (I gave you a better ending than I had IRL, so you're welcome for that at least.)

"I loved you, I really did."

"It doesn't have to be this way," Quinn begged. "I still love you, Y|N."

"But you don't show it, Quinn. I've been so alone for so long and I just can't put myself through this anymore." Tears had been streaming down your face for several minutes now, since this whole spiraling conversation had started, yet you never broke eye contact with him. You wanted him to know how much this was hurting you to say and just how long you had been carrying the weight of it all.

"I tried to tell myself it would pass. It was this excuse, and that excuse, but nothing ever changed. I just don't think you can handle a relationship and your career right now. I'm tired of lying to myself. I'm tired of acting like tomorrow will magically be better. It's never better."

"Y|N I'm sorry--"

"I'm sure you are, and so am I, but I can't do this anymore. I just can't."

Quinn said nothing, his eyes dropped from your face while he stood there looking completely lost.

"You always say I don't deserve to feel the way I do when I'm down, because you've caused me to feel that way, but that's as far as it goes. Nothing ever changes. It's the same stuff over and over."

"I know, that's on me," he choked out, throat tight with anxiety. "I never intended to hurt you. I didn't think things were as bad as they were. I didn't realize I was hurting you."

You just shook your head in disbelief at hearing him say he hadn't noticed what he was doing to you. "You know, maybe I just asked too much from you. Maybe I demanded too much and you had no choice but to push back. I just don't know."

Quinn's eyes flick back to you immediately, "You were never too much, and I meant that every time I told you -- every time I tried to reassure you. You have always been there for me."

"And what about you? Where were you when I needed you the most? Distant, closed off, out with the guys? Even when you were beside me, you weren't really there. I begged you to do stuff with me and you'd say sure, but something would always come up. It was like you wanted an excuse to be away from me. I understood in the beginning, but fuck! I wouldn't hear from you until the next day. 'Sorry, I fell asleep. I left my phone at the hotel.' How could I not be suspicious?"

"I never cheated on you!" Quinn cried out.

"But, Quinn, the goddamn panic attacks you caused me! That hurt me!" Your voice was so much louder now, straining to remain below a yell. He was a blur in your eyes, with the tears obstructing your vision. "I begged you for the smallest of things! Christ, I'd say, 'good night, I love', and it was like you'd just ignore what I said. You never said anything the next morning! You say you love me, but you're horrible at showing it."

Quinn's voice, on the other hand, was growing smaller each time he had to plead his case. "I never fell out of love with you, Y|N, it's just like we drifted apart. I love how you treat me. I just wasn't used to being treated that way. I'm sorry if it came off like I was pushing you away."

"It was months though, Quinn. Months of feeling like I was the third wheel or just another friend. I don't like feeling so alone in a relationship. It's horrible."

"I don't know what else to say, but I'm sorry. Can I do anything to make this better?"

You were biting your bottom lip so hard when you heard his half-assed apology you tasted blood shortly after. "No, I don't think so. Too much has happened. I never thought we'd come to this. I thought you were going to be the last guy I had to open up to; the last guy I'd have to explain my past to. I wanted you to be my last, Quinn."

"I know, and I'm sorry I hurt you like this. I just got too comfortable and never checked in with how you were feeling. It was selfish of me. I'm not proud of any of this."

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, too. Sorry I had to bring this up out of the blue, but I've just reached my breaking point one too many times."

Even through all of your anger and sadness, you wanted to walk over to him and give him one last hug, but you had to stand your ground or all of these revelations would be for nothing. Too many times before you had talked yourself out of telling him how you had felt, but there would be no going backwards now.

"I've got to put myself first for one," you finally brought yourself to say. "I'll get my stuff out of here while you're on the road."

"Y|N--," he mumbled, his eyes so sorrowful hearing you say your goodbyes, so finite and decided.

"I hope everything works out for you, Quinn. I really do. I hope you find the person that's right for you. Someone who can handle your life and schedule. Again, I'm sorry but that doesn't appear to be me."

That was it. You had said everything you had argued with yourself over for months, in a matter of minutes, and now you were leaving his apartment. You'd linger on your decision for a moment once the door closed behind you, but you had to force yourself to go forward though your heart was begging you to go back.

On the other side of the door, you wouldn't hear him finally break down; his cries unheard and his heart shattered.

You'd reach the parking garage and get in your car but you didn't leave immediately -- almost like you were wanting to see if Quinn was just behind you, but the elevator door never opened. It was for the best. What would you have done if he had? Run back over to him? Say you were sorry? It was best not to think about the what-ifs.

It would hit you, as you rolled onto the street, that the next time you returned it would be to get your things, and likely the last time you'd ever be at his apartment. That apartment held so many memories, both good and bad. It felt more like home than your own did.

You'd find yourself in a silent argument the whole drive home until one song, on your shuffled playlist, catches your ear. It was Venice Bitch, by Lana del Rey, a song you loved until, for the first time, you noticed how much it aligned with your emotions.

"Fresh out of fucks forever, trying to be stronger for you. Ice cream, ice queen... oh god, miss you on my lips. It's me, your little Venice bitch...on the stoop with the neighborhood kids, calling out bang-bang kiss-kiss...and as the summer fades away, nothing cold can stay...you're right, I told you we'd make it work, you're beautiful and I'm insane...we're American made...give me Hallmark: one dream, one life, one lover...paint me happy and blue."

The music swells, as your tears run off your jawline. You loved Quinn so much! He had been the prince you had dreamed of, wished for and what had you done?

"Oh god, love him on my lips...touch me with your fingertips...it's me your little Venice bitch."

You'd pull in your driveway, your forehead resting against the steering wheel while you screamed out in agony at your broken heart. Your body hurt from crying for so long, throat sore from such loud emotions, and chest heavy with anxiety. Eventually, you'd exit your car and drag yourself to your front door. You couldn't just crawl into bed after all of that, you would need help in crying yourself to sleep. So, in the kitchen, you'd go through two glasses of wine while you convinced yourself you were such an idiot. Realizing you had thrown away the best thing to ever happen to you, you would being crying to loudly, it was like you were screaming. It was any wonder you hadn't awoken your sleeping neighbors next door. There was no fixing this now. What was done, was done.

All you wanted was some comfort but there would be no one to give you any. Not now. You felt you didn't deserve it anyway.

Leaving the glass and open bottle on the island, you forced yourself to the bathroom to wash your face. Seeing yourself in the mirror --how broken you looked-- had you been any weaker, you would have thrown something at it to erase the image from your mind. If only it would have been that easy to erase Quinn's sad eyes pleading for you not to leave. You wish you would have just left the light off.

In your bedroom, either out of habit or for comfort you grabbed a shirt to sleep in, which had been one of Quinn's. It hadn't taken long for the slight buzz to affect you but you felt no lighter or less phased by your actions. You wondered if you ever would.

As you figured you would, you'd cry into your pillow until flat exhaustion would pull you into sleep. That was until the buzzing of your phone would wake you from the light slumber. On the screen, "Huggy Bear" illuminated the room in bold, white letters. You ended the call, but no sooner had the phone screen gone black, it was flashing again. Like the first one, you swiped the red button and the ringing finally ceased. The next time the phone would buzz would be from a text notification. The words would send butterflies pulling your heart in one hundred different directions.

"I'm outside. Please, may I talk to you?"

Torn between leaving him out there in the cold, and actually giving him a moment to say what he needed to, you laid there for a few minutes before throwing the blankets aside and stumbling down the hall to the living room. Wiping your cheeks, you unlocked the door to find him standing there, his hoodie pulled up around his messy curls and his eyes bloodshot and wet.

You lean against the doorframe for support; arms crossed in an attempt to hide your deeper emotions.

"Y|N, I don't want things to be this way. I don't want things to end like this."

It was so hard, but you stood your ground, no matter how hard you wanted to fall into his body and tell him you were sorry.

"I'll try harder. I shouldn't have taken you for granted like I did."

Finally, you say something to him with a slight shaking of your head," This wasn't all on you. I asked too much. I'm sorry."

Your stifled cries can't be held back for long, and shortly after apologizing, you cover your face with your hands to hide your crying. Your whimpers stab Quinn in the heart all over again, still feeling he's the sole reason you're feeling this way. He steps forward, and wraps his arms around you. He's so warm against the cold night air, which causes your nails to dig into his back, allowing yourself to return his embrace.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" You cried out, holding on to him like a lifeline.

"So am I," Quinn whispered in to your ear, trying to keep you from a panic attack. "C'mon, let's get you back inside. Is that okay?"

You'd allow him to guide you back into the warmth of the your house. He would be the one to shut and lock the door, and through all of that, he'd still keep you pressed against his chest.

"I never wanted to make you cry," he confessed, never realizing how much he could miss the feeling of you in his arms.

"I can't believe I hurt you like that, Quinn," you replied, hiding your face from his.

"Don't apologize, please." he said, nearly on the brink of tears himself. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much that we even got to this point in the first place."

The fact that he had even wanted to see you, to drive outside of the city to get to you, and above all else, not telling you how much of a horrible person you had been, spoke volumes of Quinn's willingness to be better for you. He wrapped both arms around you tighter than he ever had before. You were shivering, wearing nothing but that oversized t-shirt, but you didn't care; being cold wasn't going to take away whatever this moment was with Quinn.

"Are you okay?" He asked, running a hand up and down your spine. "You're shaking."

"I don't know."

"Come on, pretty girl, let's get you back to bed, hm? If you'll let me."

You nod, but were still reluctant to let go of him. Now you were forced to face him and it felt terrible to still see him looking so heartbroken. His cheeks were still wet with fresh tears, as he had apparently been silently crying while he had been holding you. You touched his face and his eyes closed against your touch.

"I'm sorry."

His eyes would open again, and he would try to smile for you. "I'm sorry, too."

Without another world, Quinn would guide you back down the hall to your bedroom, rather familiar with where everything was in the house. The light was off, your phone lay in the middle of the bed with the screen on. Your wallpaper was a picture of Quinn and yourself at last year's Stanley Cup playoffs, and it was the only light in the room. Quinn would click on one of the bedside lamps before reaching for your phone.

"I always loved that photo," he said, lingering on the photo for a moment before shutting off the screen and laying it next to the lamp.

You'd crawl into the bed and he would move to tuck you in, "I don't want you to hate me, Quinn."

He'd stop moving to return his eyes to your face. "I don't, sweetheart. I don't think I could...ever. It hasn't crossed my mind."

"But--"

"I'm not upset with you, baby. This is on me. What you said was true: I should have paid more attention.

You gasped through the beginnings of another crying fit, "I don't deserve it!"

"Shh, shh," Quinn leaned forward to cradle your face with his hand. "I needed to hear it, baby. The truth hurts sometimes. I'll be okay once you are."

"Will you-- will you stay tonight?" You asked, terrified he could possibly deny your request, trying to stop crying.

"Of course," he managed to actually smile. "I'd love to."

"Quinn, I'm so--"

"It's okay, it's okay. We've both said it enough."

You'd sniffle with an added nod as he pulled back the covers to get in next to you. He'd turn off the lamp before you found your place against his chest.

"I'll be right here when you get up, okay?" He assured.

"Promise?" You mumbled.

"I promise. I also promise not to make you feel like this again."

You didn't know what to say. It was like he had completely forgiven you for everything. "I don't want to lose you."

"You haven't sweetheart. I'm right here," he said, running a hand through your hair. "I love you."

Quinn's admission made you cry again, "I love you, too, baby."

"Shh, shh, you don't need to cry. I'm right here. I'm yours as long as you want me."

[gallifreyriver]

Reblogging again for the above addition (I had forgotten to add it with the first bit it due to still recovering from the realization the bit I did add hadn't been Ai) and also to include the following from the notes:

because both are relevant to what I'm going to say next, which is that we need to have a conversation both about doublespeak and gaslighting.

To just jump right in, Trump did indeed describe Elon Musk's knowledge of voting systems as the reason he won Pennsylvania. (Timestamp) And yes, Elon very much did the hitler salute, not once, but twice, after his speech. (Video) (Also the shooting a person bit- Trump said that too, but I'll bring that back up later.)

I bring those two up first to address how the first set of tags mention that the bit about Trump talking about rigging the election could indeed actually be meant about his delusion that Biden rigged the election in 2020- but it could also be doublespeak.

(Before I start tho, the first set of tags obviously mean well and this is in no way an attack on them. I'm not even saying they're wrong- I'm just saying this opens up a conversation that needs to be had)

To explain what I mean, I need to again mention how that before he says,

"...and we got the World Cup too- and you know it's only because they rigged the election that I'll be your president representing you there. You know I got both of them. I got the Olympics, and I got the World Cup. Then I said, 'You know it's too bad- one was in 2026 and the other was in 2028," and I said, "I won't be there, I won't be your president!" ... but then they rigged the election and now we won so I'm going to be your president for the Olympics, and for the World Cup."

the comment about Musk, the voting computers, and Pennsylvania was already mentioned, where he said:

"...and then he journeyed to Pennsylvania, where he spent like a month and a half campaigning for me in Pennsylvania. He's a popular guy- and he was very effective- and he knows those computers better than anybody- all those computers, those vote counting computers- and we wound up winning Pennsylvania like in a landslide, so it was pretty good. It was pretty good. So thank you to Elon!"

Clearly, due to his massive ego, he wants so badly to brag about what he did, but can't.

His comment about Elon was pretty damning- possibly the closest we'll get to a confession. However, because he never outright says the words, "Elon tampered with the computers," that leaves just enough doubt for it to be said that he's was just complimenting Elon on being "cool" and "smart" and that the "landslide" just so happened because people obviously just loved Elon so much (barf)

And because he's never shut up about claiming the 2020 election was rigged, it's also very easy to come to the conclusion that, "Well, when he says "they" rigged the election, he must really mean Biden in 2020."

And I can agree to a point- he very well might have meant Biden! However, this just as easily could be doublespeak as well- another confession said in just such a way that it's very easy to claim he meant something else.

And it's kind of time, due to everything else he and his supporters have said/done yet gotten away scot free with- like people trying so hard to brand that nazi salute as literally anything else, and how his supporters tried to brand the insurrection as tourists visiting the capitol, and the fact that Trump has shown that he can say and do whatever he pleases with no consequences to the degree that he committed 34 felonies yet still was allowed to not only run but also be elected president- that we kind of need to stop giving him that benefit of the doubt.

Again, I agree that he could have meant Biden- it is possible. But also the exact words he used were "but then they rigged the election and now we won," which is a weird way to say it if he meant Biden in 2020, and combined with the fact that he made no effort to specify 2020, or Biden, anywhere in that whole paragraph it took him to say it- I'm reminded of one reporter, Zachary Wolf, who had been covering Trump back in 2017, who said "What does he mean when he says words?" (You may remember the line from an episode of John Oliver's Last Week Tonight about Trumps copious lies)

I fully understand not wanting to possibly spread misinformation- because that's what "they" do and we don't want to feel like we're as bad as Trump supporters or fall into pulling their tactics-

But I also say it's time we stop giving him the benefit of the doubt- because look where that has gotten us.

Doublespeak and gaslighting are designed to confuse and to make you not want to call out what you hear or see because you're afraid to look stupid or "crazy", and it's also designed so that people who are afraid to make waves will default to either believing the more innocent possible meaning or ignoring the problem altogether, because it's easier than fighting back- especially when you see those around you staying silent, downplaying the harm, or even outright denying that the less-innocent meaning is even a possibility. (eg: "It's just locker-room talk" or "It's not a hitler salute- he's just awkward! He was throwing his heart to the crowd!" or "They were just tourists")

All of which only emboldens those who are engaging in the harm and their supporters because it means there are no consequences for that harm. To the point that even when there are people calling out the behavior, many people, even prominent people, it still doesn't matter- because there's just enough doubt that the supporters will happily give the benefit of said doubt and fight for them, or at very least not oppose them.

And it works so well that there's now a chance we might never have another election again.

Again, maybe he really did mean Biden and 2020. But there's also the chance, given everything we do know and have seen, that he really didn't.

Did Trump just admit to rigging the 2024 U.S. Elections????

LIVE????

ON. NATIONAL. TV??????

@drawing-dinos82

[clarkeyhill]

pls could you do one where r doesn’t drink- maybe because of childhood or something else, and is worried what the boys (like the Arthurs, Chris, batch) will think, but George just supports and loves her? comfort and fluff omg 💔

Ofc!

-

Warnings: mention of drinking/alcoholism/trauma

Y/n had always lived with the weight of her childhood on her shoulders. Her father, once a loving and vibrant man, had been consumed by alcohol when she was too young to understand why. For years, she begged him to stop, cried as she cleaned up after his destructive habits, and promised herself she’d never touch a drop. That promise stuck with her into adulthood, shaping her life in ways she hadn’t always been able to explain.

When she met George, things began to change.

Their relationship grew quickly but deliberately, a steady build of trust and respect. George was kind, empathetic, and always made an effort to listen. When the conversation about boundaries arose, y/n hesitated. How could she share something so personal without sounding dramatic or broken? But George’s gentle reassurance had been her undoing. She told him everything, from the late-night arguments with her father to the times she had hidden bottles just to feel safe in her own home.

George had sat quietly, absorbing every word. And then, to her surprise, he vowed something she hadn’t expected.

“I’ll never make you feel uncomfortable,” he said. “Not about this, or anything else. Ever.”

And he kept his word.

So when George was invited for drinks with his friends—Arthur Hill, ArthurTV, and Chris—he was careful. He wanted to go, but he also knew how much the environment might bother her. Hesitant, he brought it up.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he said. “But if you do, I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

To his surprise, she said yes.

It wasn’t that she wanted to drink. That part of her life was off-limits, a hard line she would never cross. But what George didn’t know was how much she secretly enjoyed taking care of him on the rare occasions he indulged. She couldn’t explain it—it was probably some deep-seated need to provide the comfort and care she wished her father had accepted. But with George, it felt different. Healing, even.

When the night arrived, y/n was nervous. What would George’s friends think of her? Would they judge her for not drinking? Would they even understand?

As it turned out, George had been right—there was no judgment.

From the moment she arrived, Arthur Hill, ArthurTV, and Chris made her feel like she belonged. They were warm and funny, full of easy banter and stories that had her laughing so hard her stomach hurt. Not once did they question her choice not to drink. In fact, Chris, with a grin on his face, had toasted her glass of water like it was champagne, making everyone laugh.

“You fit right in,” George whispered to her at one point, squeezing her hand.

She smiled, feeling a sense of peace she hadn’t known she could find in a setting like this.

As the night wore on and the drinks flowed, George began to get tipsy. It was a side of him she rarely saw—soft and sleepy, his usual sharp wit dulled by a warm haze. She helped him into his coat at the end of the evening, and when he slurred out a thank-you, she couldn’t help but smile.

“Come on, love,” she said, guiding him toward the door.

The ride home was quiet, with George’s head resting against her shoulder, his breathing slow and even. Once they were inside, she helped him to bed, brushing his hair out of his eyes before tucking the blanket around him.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he mumbled, his words thick with sleep.

“So are you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

As she sat beside him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, she realized how far she’d come. The memories of her childhood would always be with her, but they no longer held her captive. With George and his friends, she had found a new kind of family—one that embraced her completely, quirks and all.

And for the first time in years, she felt whole.

-

🫶🏻

I'm loving these requests!🥺

[arixella]

Unspoken Words

╰┈➤ pairing: Shanks x female! reader

a/n: send request if you have any <3

summary: After a long and unexpected reunion with Shanks, the two of you share a quiet, intimate moment on the deck of the Red-Haired Pirates' ship, where Shanks finally confesses that, despite all the years and distance, he’s never stopped loving you.

wc: 900

contains: fluff, tiny angst

The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as the sea lapped gently against the hull of the Red-Haired Pirates' ship. The sounds of the crew bustled in the background, but up on the deck, away from the ruckus, the air felt still, like the world had paused just for you two.

You hadn't expected to be here—on this ship, with him.

It had been years. Years of wondering, waiting, and hoping that one day you’d see him again. Shanks. The man who had left without a word, disappearing into the vast world, only to reappear like a distant memory brought to life. You had kept the promise you'd made to yourself: to move on. Life had taken you down its own winding roads, yet deep down, a part of you had always carried him with you.

Now, you stood beside him once more. Your heart ached with emotions you couldn’t quite sort out. His fiery red hair caught the light of the fading sun, and that trademark grin played across his lips, but there was something in his eyes—something softer—that made you wonder just how much time had really passed.

"You’re quieter than I remember," Shanks chuckled, turning his gaze toward you.

You blinked, breaking from your thoughts. "I guess I’m still processing this whole... reunion."

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mischief, but there was a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath. "I didn't expect you to be speechless. Was I that bad of a captain to make you nervous?"

The teasing tone didn’t reach his eyes, though. His grin faltered for a brief second, and you noticed the subtle way his fingers tightened around the railing. He’d always worn that easygoing facade, but the longer you looked at him, the more it became clear—there was something on his mind. Something he hadn't told you all these years.

You took a small step closer, letting the warm evening breeze sweep through your hair. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Shanks laughed softly, a sound you had missed so much. "I know," he admitted. "But... it’s been so long, I wasn’t sure where to start."

You gave him a small, wry smile, your gaze steady on him. "Start with the most important part," you said quietly. "Why did you leave without a word? We didn’t even get a proper goodbye."

His expression shifted, and for a moment, he was silent. He turned his gaze to the horizon, the fiery orange sun reflecting in his eyes. “I wanted to come back. God, I wanted to. But... I didn’t think it was right. I thought you’d be better off without me, that I’d just get in the way of your future."

You were silent, processing his words. “So you left because you thought it was for the best?” you asked, your voice a mix of frustration and sadness.

Shanks nodded, his shoulders tense. "I’ve always been a man who lives in the moment. But I’ve never been good at thinking ahead. Back then, I couldn’t offer you anything solid. I didn’t want to drag you along with my reckless lifestyle... And I hated the idea of you waiting for me, wasting your life on someone who couldn’t promise you anything."

The weight of his words hung between you, but as you watched him—this man who had always been larger than life, full of energy and joy—you saw something that you hadn’t expected: regret.

"I spent all these years thinking about you," he continued, his voice softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "Wondering if you hated me, or if you had moved on with someone else. I tried to convince myself that it was better this way. But it’s been... hard. Every damn day, harder than the last."

Your heart clenched as you took a step forward, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "Shanks, you don't have to apologize. You did what you thought was best... but I wish you’d known I would've waited for you."

He turned to face you then, his gaze locking onto yours. The playful spark was gone, replaced by an intensity that made your breath hitch. "I didn’t know," he murmured, his voice low. "But I do now."

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the sea and the faint creak of the ship’s wooden planks. Shanks shifted, closing the distance between you, and before you knew it, his hand gently cupped your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a simple touch, but it sent a jolt of warmth through your chest.

“You’ve always been a part of me, Y/N,” Shanks whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Even when I was a thousand miles away, I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you.”

The words hung in the air, as if they were both a confession and a release. A truth he’d kept hidden for far too long. You stared at him, your heart racing, and a bittersweet smile curled on your lips.

"I don’t know what to say," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly.

"You don’t have to say anything," he replied, his grin returning but this time it held a tenderness that hadn’t been there before. "I just wanted you to know... I never stopped loving you."

Your heart swelled, and without another thought, you leaned in, closing the gap between you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours, like a long-awaited reunion, and for a moment, the world melted away. The past, the years of separation, the pain—it all faded into the background as you kissed him, letting the emotions that had been hidden for so long wash over you both.

When you pulled back, breathless and with your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “I missed you, Shanks.”

He grinned, his eyes still soft but filled with that familiar spark. "I’m not going anywhere this time."

And for the first time in years, you believed him.

The sun dipped below the horizon, but the warmth between you both remained—quiet, unspoken, and enough to carry you both through whatever the future held.

♡♡♡

[munv]

𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗡𝗘.

𝗜𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱, 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲. 𝗦𝗲𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗔𝗴𝗲, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀

Discord server for updates

P1

It was mid spring, the breeze softly embraced others, while another looked out the window with a fargone gaze.

you never really liked spring, honestly. It was all some sick excuse for people to say something like “its perfect to go outside!”. Really, you’d rather stay indoors while its winter. It gives you an excuse to stay away when your classmates makes plans to go to karaoke, things along that line.

During winter, the bitter frost would bite those who were vulnerable. But you never took it that way. You took it as something beautiful. People really never understood your affinity for winter when you explained it.

it was more of a personal, deep connection rather than a unornamented preference. At least to you it was.

Beliefs drove to conviction, and conviction led to acceptance. There were a lot of complicated things in this world you didn’t like too.

This was your belief, there was no need for all this extra stuff. Life is as fleeting as the fickle heart, so might as well do what you want, right?

sadly, not many others shared this sentiment. So here you were, in physical science, left alone to wander through your wild mind.

“ms [l/n], would you care to help us with this equation? At least, I hope that’s what you’re thinking about in the back there!” The woman at the front of the class called

Right. School. That thing? You’re in it right now. “It would be ‘c=2 x 3.14 x r’, Mrs Bato” you turned away from the window to face the woman. She was the type of teacher who would pick on whoever she saw fit, almost as if she was threatened by your presence, she often asked questions that disguised the malice behind them. 

Maybe she felt challenged by your aloof demeanor. Not like you planned on sitting around in her class long enough to find out anyways. “ah..yes, that’s right” she said unenthusiastically, you think she was hoping for you to say something else. 

After your answer, she moved onto her next victim for the period until the bell rang. 

RINGGGG

as the bell rang, you quickly gathered up all your materials and placed them under your desk. “Don’t forget to review chapter 25 for next week’s homework!” The teacher called out to the fleeting students.

Making your way out the door amongst the lively crowd, you managed to navigate your way to the art room. It was especially rowdy today, perhaps they were having something good for lunch today. Not like didn’t bring your own. As you reached for the door handle of the club room, it suddenly slid open harshly before you.

There you came face to face with him. “Ah, [l/n]-san” his deep voice rumbled with kindness and a bit if curiosity as he looked down at you. “shishio-san” you bowed. 

You’ve seen the dude around campus, considering the fact he was nick-named “The Strongest Primate High Schooler” it was hard to miss him. Tsukasa was one of the popular, yet humble type of guys.

”how are you today?” He smiled. Every now and then when he encountered you, he would try to make small talk. Obviously noting that you avoided him at any cost necessary.

Last thing you needed was his fangirls jumping you in the nearest alleyway.

“Fine. May I go in? Or do you have business to attend in there?” You pointed to the room. Lunch box in hand. 

Tsukasa picked up you weren’t ready to have small talk by now. Nodding along he sidestepped out of the doorway. “See you later [l/n]”

”hopefully” you remarked before watching him walk down the hallway “not”

Not like he wronged your lineage in a past life of anything, you just had these weird vibes that you got in the gut whenever he pranced around the vicinity. You never bothered to entertain him, trusting the gut above all else.

Making your way inside the clubroom, the door was closed behind you quickly. Placing your lunch down on the nearest counter you searched inside the drawers for equipment.

“Acrylics, oils, sponges…” making sure you listed off everything you needed for todays piece, you put everything in a small bucket and walked towards the canvas. 

The window for the club room was open, providing a refreshing breath of air. The faint smell of dried paint circulated the room. The quiet room lulled you into a sea of thoughts. There were no members today in the room since clubs weren't required on Monday's, for whatever reason that is. The outside world faded away as your brush gently stroke the canvas, each color more vibrant than the other. Today, you painted a forest with a few statues. It gave off the whole history, but poetic vibe. Each color blended perfect with the other, painting was an escape, you never had to explain or talk for yourself, since the art did it for you. 

Maybe it was too nice today though. Normally you wouldn't find yourself in a such a calming situation, and noticing how the world was always dead set on ruining whatever peace coming your way, you became skeptical. 

You hesitated on the next stroke before feeling the hairs on your body stand at full attention. "cmon..I doubt anything bad is gonna happen to me now!..I mean, all along in this club room? slim chance" you muttered to yourself with an exasperated sigh. Maybe you've just been tired recently? Gotta be it. 

Your gaze shifted to the open window with curiosity before something caught your eye. Has..the horizon always been that green?? Maybe it's all that screen time getting to your head and playing tricks. However, the longer you stared, the more apparent it became that this was indeed not a trick on your eyes, but the horizon was indeed turning green. And for the green? it was coming right towards you. "holy shit, is the government fighting with aliens or something?" You began with a light joke, before sweating. "wait. Oh my God its real?" you began to back away from the window, dropping your brush in a panic. The pressure in the air made your breath hitched. Your pulse quickened and without thinking twice. You ducked down into the most protected looking corner of the room with quick prayers and a heavy heart. "please let this be some sick joke..!"

A strange sensation spread throughout your body, it was stiffening yet, a far cry from uncomfortable at the same time.

"did I just get fucking mummified?" 

[luxcuriousao3]

Mutter (Chapter Two)

Summary: He always did this. Got attached to the first person to show him the slightest bit of affection. Even the betas he hooked up with. He had to keep their trysts as impersonal as possible, because otherwise he would fall in love with them. It was why he never took them back to fuck in his quarters, why he never removed his mask. He hadn’t kissed a woman in years, not since the older beta prostitute who had taken his virginity. She’d pitied him when he cried against her breasts as he fucked into her clumsily and called her mummy. He’d fallen for her right then, promised he would take care of her and treat her well and take her away from that life. She’d given him a sad smile and said he was a sweet boy, but had rejected him nonetheless. He’d paid her twice the agreed upon amount and never saw her again, burning with shame as he ran out of the dirty motel room. Word Count: 4471 Warnings: mentioned smut, mentions of past domestic/sexual abuse, mentions of past prostitution, König has mommy issues and also self-esteem issues and also intimacy issues (he can still get it tho), *** means POV switch, and -*- means timeskip but no POV switch. Notes The next chapter of Dove isn't ready to be published yet, so I figured I'd update this fic with the last of the prewritten chapters I have for it while y'all wait. I still have no beta for this fic so all SPAG and consistency errors are my own, feel free to point them out. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! AO3, Masterlist

The following two weeks progressed painfully slowly for König.

The only time he ever got to take his mask off was when he was in the shower, now. He found himself lingering until the water ran cold just so he could enjoy the freedom of it.

That wasn't the only reason his showers had grown longer, though.

He’d tried to have Lelia shop for a few things online, but she’d seemed to think it was some sort of trade—if he bought her proper clothes, she would have to let him fuck her. He’d tried to explain again that that wasn't the case, but she’d only grown confused and agitated. It almost made him think she wanted him to fuck her—if it weren’t for the fear souring her scent when she’d dropped to her knees in front of him after he handed her his phone with an online clothes shop pulled up.

He'd had to retreat to the shower after that to fuck his fist, the other stuffed in his mouth to muffle his cries of pleasure. The sight of her kneeling in front of him, wearing those pretty pink pajamas, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes—it was too much. He’d been so ashamed afterwards, especially when he realized the scent of his arousal had leaked out of the toilet and into his quarters proper. Lelia had been hiding under the blankets in her nest when he’d come out, clearly trying to escape the overpowering pheromones. He’d stuttered an embarrassed apology and fled the room.

He hadn’t tried to get her to pick out new clothes again.

Instead, he’d requested some from the program. They had arrived that same day, three plain, white, long sleeved shirts, and three plain, white pairs of joggers. They were all made of the same rough, itchy cotton. Lelia had been unable to hide her disgust at the sight of them, though she’d quickly tried to wipe the amusing expression away.

She’d worn the clothes for one day. Her miserable scent had made him so sick he’d simply thrown them away that night without saying anything. She hadn’t protested, and the next day she’d been back to wearing her comfortable lingerie-pajamas. And König had gone back to suffering from a permanent hard on.

He’d debated going to see Isa or one of his usual betas again, but remembering Lelia’s small, stuttering voice admitting that it hurt her omega to smell someone else on him was enough to turn him off from the idea.

It was frustrating, how she had been forced into his life and yet was too sweet for him to properly resent her for it. Because as much as her continued fear of him hurt, she also kept making his bed and cleaning his boots every day, no matter how many times he told her she didn't have to. Though he’d never been particularly messy, she kept his room spick and span, all clothes folded or hung up, not a single speck of dust anywhere. She even lined up the few trinkets he had on his desk, and after seeing how he’d fiddled with them once while he did paperwork, she began to leave them in more… creative positions. He would come back to find them all in a circle, as if having an intense meeting, or staggered like they were on a battlefield. A new scene every time, and it never failed to make him smile beneath his hood.

She was adorable. And König was having a harder and harder time telling himself he didn’t want her.

He always did this. Got attached to the first person to show him the slightest bit of affection. Even the betas he hooked up with. He had to keep their trysts as impersonal as possible, because otherwise he would fall in love with them. It was why he never took them back to fuck in his quarters, why he never removed his mask. He hadn’t kissed a woman in years, not since the older beta prostitute who had taken his virginity. She’d pitied him when he cried against her breasts as he fucked into her clumsily and called her mummy. He’d fallen for her right then, promised he would take care of her and treat her well and take her away from that life. She’d given him a sad smile and said he was a sweet boy, but had rejected him nonetheless.

He’d paid her twice the agreed upon amount and never saw her again, burning with shame as he ran out of the dirty motel room.

Even the memory made his face heat up with humiliation and self disgust. König knew he was pathetic. Getting better at sex and having numerous women happily bounce on his cock—without being paid to—didn’t change that. Especially when none of them wanted anything more.

The situation with Lelia was different, though. There was little he could do to distance himself from her, with her living in his quarters. And that the kindness she showed him had nothing to do with sex only made it more difficult to ignore.

He sighed as he stood outside the door of his room, two trays of food in hand. It was lunch time, and König had quickly realized that if he didn’t bring Lelia food, she simply wouldn’t eat, as she seemed to have no desire to leave her nest, let alone his room. That was for the best, he knew, it wouldn't be safe for her to wander around base herself—but he hadn't thought about the fact that he would have to feed her until he heard her pass out in the toilet while brushing her teeth on her third day with him. When he’d rushed her to medical, he was told she was malnourished, and when she’d calmly informed him upon waking up that she hadn’t eaten since being assigned to him, he’d been horrified. The look the nurse gave him—not Isa, thankfully, though he expected she’d hear about his failures as an Alpha soon enough—made him feel far smaller than his 208 centimetres.

He’d plied Lelia with double portions and extra desserts for several days in apology, giving up his own favorite treats for her. She’d been suspicious at first, but after the third meal, she’d given him a tiny, hesitant smile and saved him the last few bites of vanilla pudding.

She was still afraid of him though. Not as much, and not always, but sometimes the sour scent of it would spike, and she'd hide under the blankets in her nest, shaking. He tended to leave her alone during those times, finding that was the most effective way to get her fear to abate. He could smell it now, leaking out from under the crack in his door, but he couldn't leave without dropping off her lunch, at least. So he quietly opened it, setting her tray down on his desk. He was already turning to go back to the mess hall when he heard it.

“Please… Andrew, s-stop… n-no, don’t… please… please… h-hurts!”

König froze, head swiveling to stare hard at the desk, listening to the terrified whimpers and sniffles that came from under it. He only hesitated for a second before his tray was set down next to Lelia’s and he was kneeling on the ground, peering into her nest. She was asleep, eyes squeezed tightly shut as tears streamed down her face, pretty mouth downturned, bottom lip wobbling. She twitched violently, as if she was trying to fight someone off, but was being restrained. Pinned.

Lelia cried out in pain, neck tilting to expose her scent gland. For the first time, it wasn’t covered by her hair, and König’s stomach dropped as he noticed the angry looking red scars across it. Mating bites that had been rejected. Dozens of them layered upon each other without a single ounce of care.

Omegas could reject an Alpha’s claim on them, even if they’d been bitten, but it was extremely painful, and left terrible scars, both physical and mental. It was also seen as quite taboo, with most omegas being deemed undesirable if they did.

That was why it was so rare, and omegas often ended up in abusive relationships. They were too scared of the consequences of rejecting even a forced mating. Of course, while it usually had to be a conscious choice on the omega’s part, sometimes the mating was so traumatizing that their body would automatically reject the bond. If that happened, then the Alpha who’d bitten them would never be able to claim that omega, no matter how many times they tried.

And clearly, someone had tried. Lelia had been violated over and over and over again.

Suddenly, König felt foolish for taking her fear personally. He remembered that distant look in her eyes the first day, the one he’d known spoke of trauma. But he just—he hadn’t thought it was that sort of trauma. Why would she have volunteered for a program like this if she had been abused so terribly? Surely, she knew the risks of it happening again…

Perhaps she didn't have any other options, a voice in his head said, cold and logical. An unmated omega with so many rejected claim scars… no one would want her.

“Oh, Schatz,” he said softly, reaching into her nest to pet her hair soothingly. She turned into his hand, still asleep, and breathed in deeply. He projected his most calming scent, and she began to relax, the little furrow between her brows smoothing out. “I am not like him. I will not hurt you.”

I want you, he thought but didn’t say. There was no use denying it anymore. He was smitten with the sweet little omega that had been forced upon him. He sighed. He would be patient. He would go slow, and keep showing her that he wasn’t a threat. And perhaps, if he proved what a good Alpha he could be, she would want him too, someday.

***

Something was different about the Colonel.

First, that he no longer wanted her to call him that or Sir. He’d tensed when she’d said the latter that night as she thanked him for dropping off lunch while she was asleep, even if the thought that someone had been in the same room as her while she was sleeping made her skin crawl.

“You may call me König,” he told her after a moment. When she'd just blinked at him in surprise, he reached up under his ever present mask to scratch his chin, radiating awkwardness. “Please.”

König was the strangest Alpha she had ever met.

He was also the nicest, which was perhaps part of the oddness. Lelia had learned the hard way that nice Alphas only existed in story books and films, not real life.

But König fed her regularly—at least after the first few days—and brought her books that she stared longingly at but refused to touch. He’d even tried to get her new clothes, and not just the terrible, uncomfortable joggers and t-shirts that the program provided for free. But when Lelia had tried to repay him, as she knew was expected of her, he’d freaked out and gone off to the shower to touch himself instead. Lelia wasn’t sure how she’d messed that up, but she’d received no nice clothes, and so she’d gotten the message loud and clear that she had. She hadn’t been so forward since, just waited for the day to come when he yanked her out of her nest, threw her onto the bed and had his way with her.

Except a whole two weeks had gone by and that day hadn’t come. And now her constant fear was replaced by constant confusion. Even Rodolfo, who had been far nicer than Andrew— despite whoring her out to the club’s customers—hadn’t given her more than a day to adjust before taking her. He hadn't tried to claim her, though, as he already had a wife. She was just his favorite toy on the side.

Lelia hadn’t minded that. She’d played the part of wife once before. She had no interest in doing so again, for anyone.

That was why she had been pleased when König had asserted that he didn't want her—at least once he’d agreed to accept her anyway, that was. She would have been sent back to Andrew if he didn’t. But instincts aside, living with an Alpha that didn't want to try and claim her, even if he still used her, was ideal. Especially if she was good enough that he treated her decently.

But König had thrown a wrench in her plans by categorically refusing to fuck her, because she was afraid of him. That had never stopped an Alpha before, in her experience. In fact, it had only ever made Andrew more aroused.

Hence the constant confusion.

As she and König ate dinner in silence—her sitting at his desk, since she didn't want to risk spilling food in her nest and having to wash out her scent, and him sitting on his bed—she watched him. He still didn’t take his mask off all the way, only lifting it enough to reveal his mouth with each bite. He had a strong jaw dusted in light-colored stubble and several scars. And, to Lelia’s surprise, there were the little metal rings in his bottom lip.

“Did those hurt?” She asked, causing König to freeze, hood dropping back down as he looked up at her with shocked blue eyes. She supposed that was fair. She had initiated conversation with him approximately three times since they'd met. She wasn’t sure why she was doing so now. Perhaps his oddness was rubbing off on her.

“What?” He croaked, and she touched her fingers to her lip, rubbing it. König’s ocean blue eyes followed the movement intently for a moment before he snapped himself out of it. “The piercings? Nein, not really. The tattoos were far worse.”

Lelia tilted her head to the side curiously.

“You have tattoos?”

König chuckled, eyes crinkling, and it was Lelia’s turn to be shocked. She had never heard him laugh before. Not truly. Just the short huffs of amusement he let out whenever he saw the formations she left his figurines in. She always smiled to herself under her blankets when she heard it. She was a good omega, even if she wasn’t his omega.

“Ja, Schatz. I have tattoos. Very many,” he answered, setting his tray on the bed to roll up his sleeves. Lelia's eyes widened a bit. His forearms—which were about as thick as her thighs—were absolutely covered in ink.

“Wow,” Lelia said, leaning in a little bit, entranced by all the different designs. She reached out without thinking, a single finger lightly tracing the outline of a wolf on his right arm. König’s breath hitched, and Lelia quickly withdrew. “Do they go all the way up?”

König didn’t respond for a moment, and Lelia worried she had messed up again, ruining the fragile peace they’d created. But then he nodded.

“Ja,” he repeated, beginning to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, seeming nervous. Lelia thought his occasional bouts of shyness were cute—a word she never thought she’d attribute to an Alpha. She chalked it up to just another welcome symptom of his oddness. “Would you… would you like to see?”

Lelia hesitated, but then nodded. It wasn't like König needed a ruse to take her, if that was what he was going to do. Perhaps this was his way of asking if she wanted it? If so, the answer was… complicated. There had been a budding feeling of emptiness inside her ever since she’d been taken into KORTAC’s custody, and was no longer being fucked every night. She had never wanted what had happened to her, never wanted Andrew or Rodolfo or any of his customers. Had never enjoyed it, either. But her omega didn’t seem to understand that. It just knew it wasn’t being bred anymore, and it ached for a suitable Alpha to fill her cunt with his knot and her belly with his pups.

Perhaps König would even be gentle. He hadn’t forced himself on her, after all.

König seemed caught off guard by her answer, clearly having expected her to say no. But then with one graceful move, he tugged his shirt off, revealing his broad, thick chest. He was so wide, his strong muscles covered in a healthy layer of fat, and he was covered in tattoos all over his torso. He wasn’t particularly hairy, with most of it hidden by the black ink, but Lelia’s eyes caught on a trail of red hair on his belly that disappeared into his sleep pants, and her pupils dilated.

Suitable Alpha! Her omega practically screamed at her as a wave of unexpected, instinctual arousal nearly bowled her over. It almost felt like she was in preheat. Mate! Breed! Submit!

Lelia blushed. But when she saw König react to her scent, his eyes darkening and the already sizable bulge in his trousers—which she carefully avoided looking at at all times, and yet could always see because it was just that large—grew bigger, she whined and bared her throat to him, trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation.

“Schatz,” König said in his rough, accented voice. Not for the first time, she wondered what the German word meant. “You do not want this.”

She was unsure if he was trying to remind her or himself of that fact. Either way, it only made her tilt her head further. König took a massive step towards her, closing the distance between them—and then stopped. His eyes were trained on her neck, and though she couldn't see the expression on his face, it was obvious from his scent when his arousal abruptly faded.

She was confused as to why until he reached a hand out and brushed the calloused pad of his thumb against her scent gland. Lelia whimpered in pain as her numerous failed claiming marks suddenly stung sharply, and her face paled with shame. She couldn't believe she had forgotten, even just for a second.

König immediately pulled his hand back as if burned, and Lelia’s eyes grew hot with incoming tears.

“Go to your nest, omega,” he ordered, voice deeper than normal. Lelia didn’t have to be told twice. She dived under the desk, dragging the chair in front of it to block his view of her, and then pulled her blankets over her head, burying her face in the pillowcase she’d stolen from him to try and hide her tears. Her omega was howling inside her, despondent at being rejected once again. And the emptiness only grew worse.

There was the sound of fabric rustling, and then hurried footsteps. The slam of the door followed, and Lelia was alone. She was always alone.

An hour passed, and Lelia’s omega was inconsolable, only growing more distressed by her Alpha’s König's absence. Lelia tried to ignore it, but her instincts finally drove her out of her nest and into König’s bed. She instantly calmed as she was surrounded by his scent, but quickly grew restless at how exposed she was. She began to drag her pillows and blankets into the bed, remaking her nest inside it. She even retrieved one of König’s shirts from his closet, and one of the less fragile figurines from his desk. She clutched the toy soldier between her breasts, and curled up in her new nest. Only then did she stop crying.

***

When König returned to his quarters in the middle of the night, he was covered in sweat. He’d been punching a sandbag for the last five hours straight, trying to work out all his anger and lingering arousal.

He was only halfway successful.

He found himself imagining that the bag he was breaking the skin of his knuckles on was the Andrew Lelia had mentioned in her dreams earlier. He didn't know what the man looked like, didn’t know who he was or what he did for a living. All he knew was his name and that he had hurt Lelia terribly. As far as König was concerned, that made him the scum of the earth, and he would delight in ending his miserable existence.

Rolling his sore shoulders, König entered his room quietly, not wanting to wake Lelia. But his steps faltered when he noticed the pile of pillows and sheets atop his bed, and the familiar, tiny blanket lump in the middle of them. König breathed in deeply, and he frowned beneath his hood at the lingering scent of an omega in distress, and salty tears. Lots of them.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he approached the bed, carefully peeling back the blanket to reveal Lelia’s tearstained face, slack with sleep. Her lips were parted slightly, soft, breathy snores escaping her. He’d never heard her snore before. Though in all fairness, she never fell asleep before he did at night, and she was always up before him, too. This was the second time in as many weeks had actually caught her sleeping, and both times just today. It made his Alpha want to growl in satisfaction that she was finally beginning to trust him enough not to wake up the second she smelled him. And with the sight of her in his bed, there was no holding the deep, rumbling noise back.

Still asleep, Lelia bared her neck in response, showing off her scarred scent gland again. König strangled the wave of renewed anger that tried to rear up. It would wake her, and she would no doubt be terrified to see his massive form looming over her. He didn't need her screaming and making everyone on base think he was abusing her.

It did make him want to scent her, though. Properly. To brush his nose right against her scarred flesh and inhale deeply. To savor that heady mix of florals and sugar...

He would let her scent him in return, of course. He was desperate to feel her so close to him. To feel her sit in his lap again and press her nose just below his ear, pretty face buried in his tattooed neck. He wanted to ask her what he smelt like, to her. If she liked it.

He shook the thoughts from his head and stepped away, heading towards the toilet to take a shower. The sound would wake her up, and by the time he was done, both she and her nest would be back under his desk, he was sure.

And he was right. When he came back out, he could hear from her heartbeat that Lelia was awake, and the pile of blankets had been moved back to their regular place. She was sitting up in the middle of her nest, big doe eyes peering at him over the edge of her blanket. 

His gaze met hers for a long moment, but no words were exchanged, and he finally looked away, moving back to his bed. He paused when he noticed that his pillow was missing its case, and his most comfortable blanket—oversized, made specifically for a man as tall as him—was gone. He glanced back at Lelia, who was still watching him, and realized that his blanket was wrapped around her.

His Alpha let out a deep, pleased grumble at the sight, knowing she would be covered in his scent now. Lelia twitched, but her scent lightened a little bit, the bitter notes of her sadness fading slightly.

“I am sorry,” he sighed, sitting down on the floor, a metre away from her nest, ducking his head so he could see her. “For earlier. I did not mean to make you upset.”

“It was just instincts,” she answered after a long moment of silence. “That’s why I was sad when you... Not even a tainted omega like me handles rejection by their Al— by an Alpha well.”

“You are not tainted, Schatz,” König responded, swift and firm, heart skipping a beat at her slip up. Lelia looked away from him, and against his better judgment, he reached out, lightly grasping her chin and turning her back to him so she could see how serious he was. Her skin was soft and warm under his fingertips. “And I did not reject you. I stopped myself from taking advantage of you. You owe me nothing. I will not take any woman who does not truly want it.”

“But… you’re my— I mean, not mine, but I’m… your… omega, in a way,” Lelia answered haltingly. “I’ve been assigned to you to meet your needs, to keep you happy and content so you can be a more efficient soldier. That’s what the program director said, anyway…”

“This program is ridiculous,” König stated flatly. “I do not need an omega to be a good soldier.”

Seeing Lelia’s shoulders hunch as she curled in on herself, he rushed to continue.

“But that is not why I dislike it. It preys on vulnerable omegas like you. Omegas who have been hurt,” he said softly, his hand moving to cup her cheek gently. His palm practically covered half her face, but she leaned into his touch nonetheless, and the Alpha in him preened. “Omegas who do not think they can say no.”

“It always hurts more when I say no,” Lelia admitted, whisper-quiet. Her voice was resigned, accepting. This was simply a fact of her reality. It made König’s heart squeeze tightly in his chest, and he fought the urge to pull her into his arms and never let go.

“I will not hurt you for saying no,” he told her, trying to impress the sincerity of his words into her brain. “I will not deprive you of comforts for not giving yourself to me. I will not mistreat you for any reason.”

A complicated look flashed through Lelia’s eyes in less than a second. He couldn’t name every emotion, but he did recognize a hint of skepticism—right alongside hope.

Little steps, he reminded himself.

König let his hand drop from her face, standing up, joints popping. He groaned quietly at the faint ache, a product of his size and his years of military service. He was young for a Colonel, but what he lacked in age he made up for in brutal efficiency in the field—a fact which had left him with plenty of lingering scars and pains.

“Try to sleep, Schatz,” he told her softly as she peered up at him with those big eyes of hers. He felt like she could see right through to someone’s soul with them. Like she could see his. “I am taking you out tomorrow. You have been stuck in this room for far too long.”

[the-meme-monarch]

U got any QP ships for DW that u like?

if i’m understanding qpr’s Correctly: maybe arthur and delilah honestly. i think they’re both aromantic and delilah is loveless and aplatonic. neither of them have ever really connected more with anyone else than with each other. delilah has a hard time connecting with people Period. he trusts her implicitly and she would kinda do anything for him i think

amongst the toons i’m not sure. maybe sprout and cosmo? i think of them as primarily best friends who maybe kiss sometimes so maybe not Wholly platonic. dandy and astro Are completely platonic, they were certainly closer before the shutdown and before the ichor operation started though. they were always a bit less dependent on each other than arthur and delilah were though. astro was able to see and acknowledge his best friend’s decline better than arthur could about his.

but as for other Just Regular Platonic relationships i really like: i love finn and shrimpo, shelly and shrimpo, and also toodles and shrimpo in a more sibling-way ! i certainly think shrimpo Doesn’t Like being friendly/showing any sort of platonic Care for anyone, but a lot of the other toons are used to that from him, and finn shelly and toodles can kinda see through him at this point.

i love that shrimpo remembers finn’s sea creature facts, and that he claims he wishes he didn’t. i think it’s cute that in his interaction with shelly he seems to backtrack a little? he says “I HATE YOU” and then she says “me?” he goes “EVERYONE.” “at least it’s not just me?” in my heart he’d stick up for her. she asked for no pickles. a guest at the museum looking at her standee with their kid like “who’s this one again?” and he butts in like “HER NAME IS SHELLY!!!! DONT YOU WATCH THE SHOW?!!!!!” i kinda dislike every shrimpo ship partially bc Aromantic Headcanon and other partially he just doesn’t really seem to vibe with any of them to me idk how to explain it. he’s got some shit to work out first if he were to date. shelly and shrimpo might be the only shrimpo ship i can jive with. and ofc i love the toodles interaction w the “WERE GONNA CRASH!!!” abt toodles expressing being scared of the elevator. horrible brother to her. he sucks i love him

[gingerteafairy]

𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭 (𝐛𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Nobody makes up like Ben does.

tags n warnings: est. relationship, jealousy, mentions of family issues, arguing, insecurity, self image problems, language, dry humping, kissing, pet names, horny ben. word count: 804

“Why the hell you actin’ like this?” he muttered, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you fucking ask that sweetheart you were chatting with earlier?” you shot back, not even glancing his way.

He sighs, his jaw clenching hard. “I already told you, she’s my sister. Damnit. Why you throwin’ this in my face like it’s my fault?”

You let out a bitter laugh, your chest burning with anger. “Then why didn’t you say that earlier, huh? She walked right up to me, told me I wasn’t all that your family made me out to be, and then hugged you like you were somethin’ special.”

“She’s a fucking idiot. Always has been. Needs validation from everyone ‘cause bitch’s got self-image issues,” he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

“And I’m just the perfect target for that, ain’t I, Ben?” you hissed, running a hand through your hair in exasperation.

“You threw wine in her face!” he barked, his voice rising.

“And you didn’t do a damn thing!” you fired back, your voice shaking.

“You ruined dinner!”

“You didn’t defend me!”

Ben shut the car off with a sharp exhale, watching as you threw the door open and slammed it shut behind you. He followed, his shoulders stiff, every movement rigid. You didn’t fight often, and even when you did, it was never like this. What started as a little disagreement at the restaurant had blown up into a full-on fight.

You unlocked the door to the house, stepping inside without looking back. Ben trailed behind, both of you wrapped in a suffocating silence, like neither of you could find the words to break the tension, yet both too stubborn to apologize.

He went straight to the bedroom, kicking off his boots and flopping down on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he ignored the sound of you coming in and lying down with your back to him. What you didn’t see was the deep sadness in his eyes, the regret tugging at his face. He hated not holding you, hated the anger that had laced his words. He loved you more than anything—no one else even came close.

But you couldn’t help yourself either. You loved him too much to stay mad. You turned over, reaching out to poke his arm with your finger. His body shifted, and he looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I feel like shit,” you admitted, swallowing hard, tears threatening to spill. “I got jealous, and I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

“Hey, hey…” he called softly, his tone shifting as he caught the emotion in your voice. “I should be the one apologizin’ to my pookie.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m just a stupid, jealous mess,” you cried out, shaking your head.

“Hey, don’t talk about my pookie like that,” he said, frowning as he reached out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s just… sometimes I got my own self-image crap going on, and seeing you not do anything… it just made me mad,” you explained, your voice cracking a little. You looked up at him, your eyes glistening. “I don’t know. I just wanted you to treat me like… her.”

“She’s nothin’ to me. Never was,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes in disgust. He looked at you for a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “But my pookie? My pookie gets goodnight kisses n’ smacks in the ass.”

You let out a soft laugh, biting your lip as you wrapped your arms around him. “I’ll take it. Treat me like this when I’m jealous.”

“Deal,” he whispered, leaning to kiss you.

A heated, fervent kiss which you responded to, grinding your hips on his covered cock, feeling your own heat up with the movement and your core getting moist for him when he smacked your ass as he promised.

“Let's just bury the hatchet in a non figure way, darlin’. You know what i mean.”he muttered, biting your bottom lip and back to kiss you slowly, massaging your tongue with his.

“Uhmmm…i think i do…” you mumble aroused, pulling back slightly, cradling his flushed face in your hands. “You know I can’t sleep mad at you, right?”

His lips curved into a small smile as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Even when I’m mad, you’re still mine. You’re all I got, and I just wanna see you happy.”

“Just hearing you say I’m yours makes me feel better, because i imagine your hands on my neck,” you murmured, your voice soft as you batted your eyelashes playfully. “Sorry for being like this.”

“It’s all part of the package,” he replied with a grin, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your waist. “Night, sugarplum.”

“Good night, Ben.”

[galaxymagitech]

like fields of lavender swaying in the breeze

For @casscainweek

Day 1: Scars | Flowers

Summary: Cass does her makeup for her ballet performance. But the perfect girl she sees in the mirror looks more like a doll than anything else.

Characters: Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne

You can read it here or on AO3!

(Title is from The Ballerina by Marisa Webster.)

***

It’s all wrong. It’s all wrong.

The little bottle slips from Cass’s hand and spills all over the wood floor of Bruce’s room. Cass lets out a wail, sinking to the ground. Her shoulders curl in on her body and she clutches the thin fabric of her tank top.

It’s wrong. Why can’t she get it to look right?

This was supposed to be a good day. Cass was supposed to be happy, supposed to be spinning in a tutu, toes pointed, arms-like-wings, pirouette, arabesque, perfect. Cass was supposed to be perfect.

But she’s on her knees, her toes folded underneath like they always are when she’s sad and her eyes closed so that she doesn’t have to see her reflection in the mirror.

Cass has watched Barbara put on her makeup what must have been a hundred times. Moisturize, prime, foundation, conceal, set. Paint the lines onto her face, the shadows around her eyes, the black lashes that accent the green of Barbara’s eyes. So, Cass knows how to do makeup. But on her skin, it looks chalky and pale, the parts with makeup standing out from the parts without no matter how hard she tries.

That’s where Bruce finds her, crying on the floor of his room, hunched over the bottle of foundation. “Cass?” Cass turns to Bruce and reads the bewilderment in his stance, the tilt of his face, the—

She looks away. She doesn’t want to read Bruce right now. This day was supposed to be about her, about the focus of the moment and the curve of her spine and the tips of her toes. Her body, her mind, her spirit. Herself, with the audience shrouded in the background. No weapon. Just Cass.

And here she is, trying to paint over her scars, and it just looks—

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, crouching down next to her. His hand hovers over Cass’s shoulder, right where one of the bullet scars lies, and she shrinks away.

“Wrong,” Cass repeats. She doesn’t know how to explain this, how she’s doing everything right but it’s not working. She’s sure she’s doing everything right. She watched. She learned. Cass doesn’t make mistakes. “I—it’s wrong.”

“Are you trying to do your makeup?” Cass looks away. She’s sure that if she could see him, there would be pity. She doesn’t want pity. She wants to do it right. “Maybe…” Bruce swallows. “Maybe this could wait until after your performance?”

Cass shakes her head. This is for the performance. Ms. Landeau told her to cover up the scars for the stage. It needs—Cass needs to be perfect. She’s not perfect, so she has to make herself perfect. It’s so simple. Why doesn’t Bruce understand? Cass’s body is screaming not enough, fix me, make me perfect, and Bruce doesn’t see it. No one sees it except Cass.

So, she cries out again, hunching even further over and wrapping her arms around her stomach.

“Need to…” Her words are failing her. “Fix it. Fix me.”

“Cass, you aren’t bro—”

“No!” Bruce isn’t understanding. He thinks she means fix mind, fix self, but she means fix vessel. Fix body. She needs to look perfect for the stage, so the scars don’t distract the audience. Because Cass isn’t just dancing for herself—she’s dancing for them, too. She’s performing.

Just another kind of tool.

“I need—for the.” Her lips don’t form performance. Cass knows the word. It’s there in her head. But the coordination isn’t. “For the dance,” she tries, and thankfully, it comes out.

“You need makeup to dance?” Bruce asks. “For the stage?”

Cass nods, staring at the ground. The puddle of foundation is spreading. She should pick it up. She should—

“Okay,” he says. “Let me help you. What’s wrong?”

Cass throws up her hands. If she knew, she could fix it. But she doesn’t know, so it’s hopeless.

“Can you look at me?” Bruce asks.

Reluctantly, Cass turns towards Bruce. The care in his face is too much, so she quickly shuts her eyes against the storm of love. She can’t hold it in her chest. She’ll overflow. She needs a dam, and that dam is her eyes.

“Oh,” Bruce says. “Were you trying to use my makeup?” Hesitantly, Cass nods. “It’s too light for you,” he explains. Cass doesn’t understand. “Do you understand?”

Why does Bruce need to ask? Why can’t he read her confusion?

Cass shakes her head.

“The foundation needs to match your skin tone,” Bruce says. “This one matches mine, not yours. You’ll need a different foundation.” Oh. So Cass wasn’t doing it wrong. The makeup was wrong. Or—Cass was doing it wrong, because she was using the wrong makeup, but her mind hasn’t failed her. She had chosen Bruce’s makeup because he told her she could always go in his room unless it was locked, whereas her brothers might get mad. But she hadn’t realized that she couldn’t just use Bruce’s makeup—how was she supposed to know? “I’ll get Alfred to pick up some new makeup, alright? And then you can get ready for your performance. We’ve got time.”

Slowly, Cass nods. Bruce hands her some wipes to remove the makeup already on her skin, and she does so, rubbing the foundation away and taking that strange, awful texture with it. Bruce sits with her the whole time, telling her about how excited he is to go to her ballet performance and how he’s sure it’ll be amazing.

Eventually, Alfred brings a tray of brushes and makeups into the room. Cass sits cross-legged in front of Bruce, eyes closed. Slowly, he paints her face and neck and arms and shoulders and back, hiding Cass’s imperfections away. As he does her makeup, Bruce talks about getting ready for galas. Spending a summer at theater camp as a teenager, because Alfred wanted him to be more human. Learning to disguise himself as someone else with a few contours on his face.

“Okay, Cassie,” Bruce says. “You’re ready.”

Cass opens her eyes and stares into the mirror.

A girl stares back out at her. Smooth, scarless skin. Bold, red lips. Dark, long eyelashes. She looks beautiful. She looks perfect. She looks wrong.

Cass knows she should be happy to see herself perfect. If she can’t be perfect, she can’t perform. But she doesn’t see herself perfect, because that girl in the mirror is not Cass. That girl in the mirror wasn’t shot until she learned to move out of the way. That girl in the mirror has no weight on her shoulders and no scars on her skin and no bloodstains on her perfectly smooth hands. She looks like a Cass-doll. Smiling. Empty.

“No,” Cass says, tossing her head back and forth. Her arms wrap around her chest as she holds herself close, rocking on the balls of her feet. “No!”

“Cass—”

“No!” She wants to run. She can’t just—she can’t just flee. Now there are people, family. Bruce and Alfred. She has to explain. It’s not enough that she sees the doll. They need to see the doll too. Cass squeezes her eyes shut and focuses on coordinating her lips. The first time, no sound comes out; she’s forgotten how to force the noise. The second time, she chokes on her words. The third time— “It’s not me. I see…a fake. A doll.”

And then Bruce’s hands fall gently on her shoulders. He pulls Cass close, turning her so that she can’t see the mirror and her forehead leans against his chest. “You’ve worn makeup before,” Bruce says quietly. “Is there something different this time?”

Cass has let Dick paint her nails and Tim put blush on her cheeks and Steph do fancy eyeliner. But the scars were always still there. The past was always still there. “No scars,” Cass whispers. “She’s just blank.”

Bruce’s arms are warm around her back. Cass thinks she’s crying. The tears drip down her cheeks. The black eyelash paint is running. The makeup is turning to water. Cass is ruining everything. “We’ll do the makeup again,” Bruce says. “But lighter, and without the concealer. You’ll still see the scars.”

Cass shakes her head into Bruce’s shirt. She needs to look perfect for the stage. So her scars don’t distract the audience. So she becomes the perfect tool. So her body is not her own.

(Cass doesn’t know how to move if her body is not her own.)

“Ballerinas—” Cass practiced that word, over and over, so her lips could form it as easily as ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘love.’ “Ballerinas have to be perfect.”

“Cass…This is a community group. It’s not a professional performance, they’re not paying you. You’re doing this for you and you’ll look how you want to look. And…” Bruce’s hand runs through Cass’s short hair. She can’t help but smile in spite of herself. “Anyone who says any different will have to deal with me, okay?”

“Yes,” Cass says.

So, she wipes the makeup off her face, and this time, she and Bruce do it together. She evens out the colors, hides a little spot of acne, adds in the contours and highlights to her face. But the scars stand out, raised and bright. They will shine in the stage lights. Cass can’t bring herself to hate them.

She goes back to her room and puts on her lavender bodice, and long, fuzzy socks, leaving the rest of the costume for backstage. “Ready, Miss Cassandra?” Alfred asks by the front door. The others will be there at the performance, but Cass has to be there early.

“Yes.” Cass smiles.

***

On stage, Cass dips and twirls and bends. Her body moves with her mind, and her mind moves with her body. The audience is dark. The stage is lit. Cass’s family is there watching her, but she dances for herself. Glissade. Relevé. Pirouette. Then arabesque—

Arms spread gracefully. A bird taking flight.

[iridescentdelicatessen]

Dont get me wrong I love some Kabumisu smut, I love it a lot. And I'm not trying to force writers into anything, I'm just making a statement in a more engaging way. And I know it's hard to sound sincere when debating with someone on the internet but I meant it when I say that I'm sorry if I offended someone I did not mean to. I was just to lazy to write an entire post explaining/exploring the sexual.

There are two reasons why I don't write for them: 1. I don't really have any ideas and I only try and write something when I have a clear idea or else writers block hits me hard and fast. 2. I can't write them well or in a way that I feels encapsulates their characters and when it's with a ship I like so much I want to do them service. To quote what I've told my friend about this, "The fic just won't be perfect AND THAT'S WHAT THEY DESERVE."

I need more Kabumisu fics about Mithrun discovering new emotions that aren't just horniness.

[ohsweetflips]

tbh the thing abt coming into myself vis a vis gender is that there is the realization that, at least for the foreseeable future, there is a very tangible (and already very present) “limit” to how far i can take. any kind of transitioning.

[defiledtomb]

merry xmas! im drinking rum with aleks and listening to some really old techno. i blurted everything about ouro and all the tough things surrounding, and its future, and i got so excited i yelled and yodeled into the dead and dark forest. it's been such. such a good christmas. 2025 got nothing on me. we live we die and we fucking live again. hold my hand. giggle with me. have some zacapa. i love you