#and i wonder if in those moments of confusion

[pagesfromthevoid]

So High School | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reybnolds x Thunderbolts!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Walker being an asshole. Heavy making out and hickeys. General discussion of Bob's mental health

Author's Note: The horny thoughts got turned into feelings because of therapy but alas

Bob Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

It started as a joke.

Sort of.

None of it was technically a lie after the initial lie. 

It was more of a “get off my back” kind of situation but then it became a “let’s fuck with Walker” kind of deal because he wouldn’t drop it. And his reaction was…hilarious, honestly. Especially because Yelena and Ava immediately played along, no questions asked.

“How did you not notice?” Yelena asked, giving Walker a look that suggested he was an idiot. “The moment she saw him in the vault, she had heart eyes for him.”

“It was not the moment I saw him,” she argued back, pointing at the blonde. “It was like…ten minutes later, when he called Walker an asshole and laughed. Then it was definitely a ‘oh, okay. Hear me out,’ kind of moment.”

“Okay, fair,” Ava conceded, nodding. “Though, I think it stopped being a ‘hear me out’ bit pretty soon after.”

“Oh, immediately after,” she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know when it was?”

“I swear to God,” Yelena groaned, knowing absolutely what she was about to say. “It was when he was shot, wasn’t it?”

“Oh my god,” she practically moaned, covering her face with her hands. “Listen. I felt so bad. You don’t get it. This poor boy has been shot and he’s not dying and I’m sure he was scared as hell. But did you see him? Those abs? That look he gave those agents? Fuck me, dude. It’s not a ‘hear me out.’ It’s a ‘hold me back.’”

Walker, at that point, was flabbergasted. Yelena and Ava being privy to the whole thing was enough for him to believe it, but he was so confused. Her? And Bob? Of all people? Of all of them on the team?

Bob??

“Then why aren’t you with him now?” He asked, like he thought he could catch her in a lie.

“He’s asleep?” She pointed out, giving him a ‘duh’ kind of look. “He doesn’t sleep a lot. You think I’m going to go wake him up just because I’m horny?”

She paused. Considered what would happen if John were to go ask Bob himself about their “relationship.” Then she decided that she should probably loop Bob in on it –or at least make sure he was okay with fucking with Walker.

“Actually, you know what. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

And that’s how she ends up in Bob’s room, sitting criss-crossed on the end of his bed, and him sitting mirror opposite of her, confused. 

“So you…told Walker that we’re dating…as a joke?” He asks, and she can’t tell if he’s upset by the whole thing.

“Yes. And I would super appreciate it if you played along because for some reason, he’s really confused by it and I really, truly find it funny. But it’s also totally okay if you don’t want to go along with it, and we can shut it down right now. I really –it’s not something you need to go along with at all.”

“I don’t…I don’t really understand, but I like the idea of messing with Walker so I guess I’m in,” he decides, grinning that boyish grin of his. The room relaxes significantly as she lets out a relieved breath. “So uh, what…what do we need to do to make it believable?”

She did not think this far ahead, honestly. She’s kind of surprised he agreed to play along, honestly. “I mean…I don’t know. He is under the impression I came in here to wake you up for, uh,” she pauses, feeling herself flush as she considers how to phrase it. “I told him I was going to wake you up because I was horny, so there’s that.”

Bob sits there for a second, and she briefly wonders if he’s okay. He kind of looks like he’s short circuiting; eyes blank for a moment as he stares at her. Then he drops one of his legs to the floor, sitting half on the bed. “I could give you a hickey.”

She sputters, completely thrown off by the suggestion. She opens her mouth once, then shuts it. Then opens it again and manages to say, “You –what?”

“I mean, I’ve never given one before. But that would be believable, right?”

She’s sort of stuck on the fact that he’s never given a hickey before and now she really wants to get one and give one. How high school –hickeys. Her mom always said they were gross but the idea of Bob putting his mouth anywhere on her is…enticing as hell. 

So she nods. That’s all she does, because she truly has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.

Bob’s going to give her a hickey, and she’s kind of…very excited about that.

“Okay, yeah. That’s…that’s definitely a good start,” she finally says, confirming the first step in a very stupid plan. 

But he doesn’t move, and she doesn’t either. Because suddenly this is not actually a joke to either of them it feels like. On the contrary, Bob looks like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Actually, I just…Why was I…I just –I’m curious –,” he starts, stuttering his way through what he’s trying to say. He’s leaning forward some, and she can see the workings of his mind in his eyes. The tug of his brows as he’s thinking about something that’s going to cause him heartache of some kind. And she knows what it is. She just…she knows.

“I swear, I did it because he wouldn’t leave me alone about who I would date on the team. He really wanted me to say him, and I really would rather give myself a lobotomy than even consider dating him.”

“But that…I mean, that doesn’t explain…,” he points to himself, sort of tugging at his sweater. “Why was I the first person that came to mind?” He asks, shifting uncomfortably. She worries now that she’s hurt him with this whole thing.

“Well I –,” she pauses, and considers what she’s about to say. 

She could tell him the truth –after all, everything that followed the “Dude, I’m dating Bob. Where have you been?” comment was…well, it was true. She had absolutely thought he was cute in the vault. And she absolutely gawked when he was shot –not only because he was shot and alive and also flying but because of the abs and how he looked in that moment –confused, but confident. Alarmed, but ready to fight. But that is wholly embarrassing for her. The longer she sits there and considers it, however, the more he probably thinks she’s an asshole. 

So she confesses, and her face is burning because she really didn’t think she would be confessing any sort of crush on Bob tonight. “Because…It made sense,” she tries to explain. But that sounds stupid so she backtracks some. “Listen…It makes sense because I would totally date you. In a heartbeat. If you were…in a place to do that. But I don’t expect you to feel the same or even want to do that.”

He looks even more confused now. But his cheeks are blooming with blush, and it’s spreading down his neck and just below his collar. And she’s now distracted, thinking that if she could see his chest, the blush would be spreading there too. And now she’s thinking about him shirtless, which is absolutely not the thing to do.

“Oh,” he says. Though that’s all he says as he shifts in the bed, moving to plant his feet on the floor. His hands are gripping the side of the mattress tight enough that his knuckles are turning white.

“I’m sorry, Bob,” she says, looking down at her hands. Trying to will her own blush away because now she’s humiliated and she’s an asshole. “I really wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable –I’ll go tell Walker I was lying. Seriously, it’s not –,”

“Why don’t we actually date then?” He interrupts, looking up at her.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated just because I told you I would,” she quickly counters, snapping her attention to him. “Just because I like you doesn’t mean I’ll stop being your friend if you don’t want to date me. God forbid, that would be horrible of me.”

“I don’t feel obligated,” he argues, taking a beat to calm himself down. His hands relax and the color returns to his knuckles. “I know I’m not…the best,” he says, and she’s about to argue but he continues before she can. “But I…I do really like you. And I’d…I’d like to try to take you out on a date. Probably have to take things slow or something, but if that’s okay with you…”

“‘Or something’ being giving me a hickey to freak out Walker?” She jokes, trying to ease the tension in the room.

He laughs. Actually laughs; not one of his uncomfortable ones. But a real laugh that’s soft and sweet and she can’t help but laugh as well when he nods. “Yeah, yeah…we can fast forward a little to that part, if you want.”

“Do you want to do that?”

He hesitates, and she’s about to tell him it's totally okay if he doesn’t want to. But he nods finally. “Yeah. Yeah, I do, actually. But uh,” he stops, and there’s this look on his face that suggests that he’s really considering his next question. At this point, he could ask her just about anything and she’d probably say yes, though. “Can we…maybe not fast forward through the making out part before the hickey?”

“Oh my god, you’re going to be the death of me,” she laughs, moving across the bed on her hands and knees towards him.

“I hope not,” he says, and he sounds genuinely concerned as she sits beside him.

She reaches up and brushes a lock of hair out of his face. “Metaphorically speaking,” she reassures. 

She doesn’t know what to do next, honestly. Not because she doesn’t have any experience, but because she feels nervous for the first time in years over a guy. Which is ridiculous, but at the same time…it’s a good feeling to have.

“Can I…can I kiss you, now?” He asks, but his voice is soft. Trembling. Like he’s afraid she’s going to suddenly change her mind and leave him there, embarrassed. 

“I’d really like that, yeah.”

He’s still timid –a little awkward, a little shaky –but he leans in closer, and she meets him in the middle. Their noses brush just slightly before the space between them is closed. It’s slow at first; testing the waters to make sure they both know what they’re doing. Truly, as high school as they could get without actually being in high school. But she presses forward slightly, resting one hand on his knee and the other hand on his chest. He mimics the motion, sort of, and one of his hands cups the back of neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. His other covers the hand resting on his knee, interlocking their fingers.

It’s her who pulls them backwards onto the bed, their legs still dangling off the side. Their entwined hands are up by her head now and the hand on his chest is grasping at the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer as she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip. Bob is half laying on her, the hand in her hair untangling itself to gently run down her ribcage through her shirt. She hums in response, and he tenses some but doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls away from her mouth, and she sighs as his lips press against her jaw. 

The movement is just as awkward at first, but he finds a rhythm as he presses a kiss just below her ear then trails them down her throat. His stubble –barely there, but there enough to tickle –brushes her skin and she sighs in content as she loosens the grip on his shirt and tangles her fingers in his hair. Guiding him, carefully, kindly, to the spot on her throat that she wants to feel him mark. The pulse point that drums her heartbeat for this very moment. 

He hesitates again, and this time she’s pretty sure it’s because he actually doesn’t know how to give a hickey. So she forces herself to let go of his hair and taps just below his jaw to get his attention. When he pulls away, his cheeks are bright red and flushed, but he’s got a soft smile on his face. 

“Let me show you,” she offers, and he nods, letting her take the lead if only for a lesson. 

She pushes him onto his back and takes the same position he had been over her. One hand on his rib cage, deftly moving to run her fingers over his abs as she presses a soft kiss to his lips one more time. He tries to pull her back, but she nudges his cheek with her nose, pressing a light kiss there before trailing down his jaw and below his ear –mimicking the movements he had gotten correct. Then, she grazes just at his pulse –presses her tongue against his heartbeat, which spikes the moment her teeth touch his skin –not a bite. Just a little graze. Then she sucks and the sound that comes from his lips is soft but an obvious moan. 

When she pulls away, she admires the handiwork with a soft grin and a quick kiss to his jaw one more time. Then she’s looking down at him, hovering just high enough to see the glossy eyed smile on his face. She misses it, but his eyes shift some –gold flickering through as he returns to the original position and repeats the motions one more time. His mouth on hers in a soft but firm kiss. Then quick, soft kisses along her jaw and down her throat –on the opposite side now of where she left his. He follows her steps to the tee, like a lesson he wants to have perfected, and grazes his teeth along her pulse. When it quickens under his tongue, he hums in excitement, unable to help himself as he marks her as his.

He gets a little carried away, enjoying how she squirms under him as he presses kisses and soft bites to her neck. One hickey isn’t enough, and he leaves several before she’s littered in little bruises all over her throat. He’s about to push it a bit further, confident in his movements for the first in…ever, really, when the glass on his table suddenly explodes.

They yank apart, and she’s got a hand over her heart like she’s panicked. He’s staring at the puddle of water and glass that’s littering his nightstand, his eyes wide. She sees it before he does it –sees him pull away, shrink back behind the wall he’s put up to protect himself and anyone he thinks is in danger because of him. Behind the wall he thinks protects her from him.

“Bob,” she whispers, reaching up to try to get him to look at her, but he fights her, refusing to take his eyes from the splinters of glass. “Hey, it’s okay –we got a little carried away. It happens.”

He shakes his head though, and reaches up to wipe his eyes. It’s then that she realizes he’s started crying, and her heart breaks. She pulls her hands away and shifts, sitting up on her knees and wraps her arms around him from behind. Holds him close, and presses her cheek into his hair as she does so. His hands clutch at her arms, holding onto her like she’s the only thing tethering him to this world and the shadows. 

“It’s okay,” she promises. And she does mean that. It is okay. It will be, at least. “It’s okay –think of it this way –you broke a glass instead of a person, and that means you know how to direct it towards non-living things.” She’s not sure that’s actually reassuring, but she thinks it is, personally. There are worse things to have broken over a glass of water. 

“It could have been you,” he argues, voice shaking as he tries to calm down the tears. 

“But it wasn’t,” she reminds him, pulling him closer against her. “It wasn’t, and we don’t focus on the ‘what if’s’ because it’ll just make things worse. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt yourself. I would say that that’s a key marker of progress.”

He turns some, finally looking up at her with watery eyes. She pulls the sleeve of her shirt down and wipes the tears from his cheeks, smiling at him softly. Slowly, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, resting his cheek against her chest. She hugs him back just as tight, pressing a kiss into his hair. 

They sit there for a little while like this. Holding onto each other for dear life; grounding each other in the space they were sharing for the moment. Then Bob sniffles and pulls away, running his hands over his face. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, though she’s certain he’s reassuring himself and not her. “I’m sorry I ruined –,”

“You didn’t ruin shit,” she interrupts, pointing at him in a scolding sort of way. But she’s smirking lightly. “You gave me a hickey. Everything else was just…a bonus.”

“I think I gave you more than one,” he points out, then gently pokes each mark on her throat and counts them. “Seven.”

“I suppose I owe you six more, some time then.”

*****

“Wait,” Walker says, slamming his hands on the table. Bob flinches, and she touches his leg gently under the table. “I just…I truly cannot believe this.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, and Bob takes her hand in his. His attention is focused on the paper in front of him and the spirals he’s drawing. “I told you we were dating.”

Ava and Yelena are both still playing along, though they’re equally as confused. Not by the fact that she and Bob are a thing –but by the fact that they hadn’t actually picked up on it themselves. 

“I just –listen. I gotta know,” Walker starts and she’s so certain he’s about to say something stupid. “Isn’t…it’s gotta be weird just saying ‘Bob’ over and over when you’re bed. Like, c’mon. Do you say ‘Robert’? Or ‘Bobby’? Or is it just…literally ‘Bob’? Because honestly, that’s…weird to consider.”

She’s about to argue that it’s weird he’s even thinking about them having sex (which, not that it’s any of his business, but they hadn’t). But Bob speaks up first. 

“Her mouth is a little too preoccupied to say anything,” he says, though he’s definitely saying that more to himself than to anyone else. 

She chokes, covering her mouth. Everyone else is just…staring at him. He realizes a second too late that he said the inside thought outside. Then he flushes and tries to backtrack.

“I’m sorry, that’s not –I mean –,”

“Bob, you dog!” Alexei cackles, putting a hand on Bob’s shoulder and shaking it some. “Good for you!”

---

Bob Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @withahappyrefrain (I'm tagging you specifically because you asked me to share with the class and ily)

[zombii-writess]

𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛

You made it.

All those hardships thrusted upon you ever since you appeared in Twisted Wonderland. All those overblots you fought, all those nights where you sat alone in the dark, wondering to whatever god was willing to listen to you, a magicless human with nothing to her name. Barely above a whisper, you asked the stars above you; Is there even a happily ever after for me?

Oh, what a silly human you are, they laughed, not like you heard them. There’s always a happily ever after. And their words spoke true you realized, staring at the large doors you were supposed to enter from, wedding dress clenched in your shaking hands, you smiled.

You made it.

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts (Here), Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

a/n: went wedding dress shopping with my aunt a few days ago cuz she wanted to renew her vows with my uncle in june and seeing so many wedding dresses made me feel inspired! also apologizies if anyone is ooc, i tried my best !!

Your heart was pounding with excitement and nervousness. You were just a few minutes away from marrying the love of your life. The man who's been stuck to you like glue the moment you saved him from his overblot and helped him change for the better.

Pacing back and forth, you don't notice the familiar cherisher grin appear next to you before the rest of his body appears. "Nya? Is the wife-to-be experiencing cold feet?"

Jumping, you turn to face the voice and find Che'nya, in all his cheeky glory. "Yo!" He struts over to the nearest loveseat and like a cat, sprawls his body across the plush cushions, hands behind his head, and his tail swaying against his thigh. Not a care in the world.

"Che'nya? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be sitting with the rest of the guests?" You stopped your pacing to question your friend. "The weddings about to start and I don't think Riddle would appreciate you missing the ceremony-"

The beastman waves your questions with a few flicks of his hand. "Relax~ I'm just here to check on you by Trey's request and from his judgment, he was right." He sits up and scans your face. "Riddle's wife is experiencing cold feet!" Che'nya laughs, poking at your hot cheeks with his nail.

"It's not funny!" You whine, turning your face away from the prodding and walked over to the vanity. Che'nya follows after you, looking at you examine yourself, playing with your hair to fiddling with the vail you wore. "What if I mess up the vows or I trip walking down the aisle? Oh! I don't want to embarrass myself ESPECIALLY on my wedding day!" You shrieked, covering your face and curling in on yourself.

"What if Riddle regrets asking me to marry him..." You whimpered.

"Do you regret it?" The cat beastman asks, tilting his head.

"No! Never!"

Che'nya lets out a sigh, leaning his shoulder against yours as he once again pokes at your cheek. "Oh, then I doubt Riddle will ever regret asking you to be his wife, in fact you should've seen him planning out your proposol!" You look at the beastman with confusion.

Before you were able to ask more about it, Che'nya beats you to it.

"Man! Riddle was so worried about the smallest details, he would bark orders left and right and if one of the flowers in the bouquet were just off by a centimeter, he would get red in the face and redo the whole thing himself!" Che'nya cackles, clenching his stomach from laugh.

"An-and! When it was finally time for the proposol Riddle had the nerve to get cold feet! He was spouting nonsense like 'What if [Name] regrets saying yes?' PFT-"

Dropping back to sit on the loveseat, Che'nya laughs harder while you stared dumbfounded at the information.

Riddle getting cold feet?? But on the day he proposed he was as cool as a cucumber!

Though, you thought, heart thumping in your chest as heat spread across your cheeks. It does feel nice to know Riddle feels the same... maybe he's experiencing cold feet right now?

Standing up, you smacked your cheeks, pumping yourself up for the walk. "I got this!"

Wiping tears away from his eye, Che'nya giggles. "Got what?"

"The wedding, I'm sure Riddle is just as nervous as I am right now and I wanna show him that we're in this together!" Gathering the front of your dress in your hands so you won't trip, you stomped down out the room, bumping into Cater who had arrived to tell you that it was time.

・❥・

Standing in front of the large pearl white doors, you took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled.

"Nervous?" A voice asked.

You looked to your left and spotted your professor who you had grown to see as a father figure during your time in Night Raven College.

Smothering down your dress, you responded shyly. “A little.”

Then familiar notes of 'Here Comes the Bride' begans playing.

"Are you ready?" Your professor smiles at you and stretches out his elbow.

Linking your elbow with his, you nod straightening your shoulders. "I am."

Soon the doors were pushed wide open by magic and there stood Riddle across the room at the altar, waiting for you. Your heart speeds up once you both make eye contact.

Walking closer and closer, Riddle blinks away his tears rapidly, straightening his back one more once you stood in front of him, hands laced with each other. His breathes through his nose harshly after getting a good look at you closely.

You were just as beautiful as the day he met you.

He zones out whatever the officiant is saying but Riddle immediately locks in once he hears it was his turn to say his vows. With shaking hands, Riddle pulls out a folded paper from his breast pocket and with a loud, shaky voice, he spills the vows he spent countless hours on.

"[Name], you have been my rock since the day we met, you have seen me at my worst and stood by my side whenever I was blinded by rage." He pauses, eyes flickering to yours before swiftly back down at the paper again.

"You soothed me whenever I had doubts, and you stuck with me after my mother cut contact even after all the harsh words she had thrown at you. F-for you, I would break all the rules."

Slapping a hand to your mouth, you choked on the sob that threaten to escape. Tears bubbled at your water line, a few managed to escape and leave a burning trail down your cheek. "R-Riddle..."

The officiant smiles, glancing between the two of you. "Riddle Rosehearts, do you take [Name] as your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and in good health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, til death do you part?"

"I do."

Smiling, the man turns to you and repeats the same phrase.

"And you, [Name] [Last Name], take Riddle Rosehearts as your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness and in good health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, til death do you part?"

Sniffling, you smiled. "I do."

The man smiles and turns to the bundle of fur on the side. "May we have the rings, please?"

Grim perks up and waddles over, presenting the rings. After placing the rings on each other, Riddle and you held your hands together, not once removing your gaze from each other.

The officiant then loudly proclaims. "I now pronounce you, husband and wife, you may now kiss the bride."

Riddle wastes no time and immediately cups your face in his hands and placed his quivering lips upon yours. The hall explodes in applause at the now married couple.

Whistles ring out once you wrap your arms around Riddle's neck to bring him closer to you, salty tears mixing with your kiss.

Pulling back to stare into each other's eyes, you give your now beloved husband a smile.

"I love you Ridde."

Riddle chuckles, tears finally rolling down his as he uses his thumb to wipe at your wet cheek.

"I love you too, Mrs. Rosehearts.

Who Was Invited?

Cater Diamond, Trey Clover, Duece Spade, Ace Trappola, Che'nya, Trey's parents, Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver Vanrouge, Sebek Zigvolt, and a few professors you had grown close to. Riddle's mother never showed up

While Riddle wanted a small wedding, he couldn't say no to you once you gave him those puppy eyes.

My tip jar! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

excuse any mistakes !!

[dixonsdarkelf]

Words of Affirmation: Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader

Summary: After you’re taken in by a group occupying West Georgia Correctional, you’re sent on a run with a particular archer. Much to his dismay, you try to strike up a conversation, and one little interaction leads you to wonder if those feelings you'd been bottling up may be reciprocated.

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Genre: Fluff

Era: Season 3, Prison era

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Swearing, I'm pretty sure that's it!

A/N: Thank you to my angel @dixons-sunshine for beta-reading for me & helping me with the parts where I felt stuck 🖤 This one was giving me a lot of trouble, and I still feel kinda eh about it. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

“What’s your love language, Daryl?”

The fresh-fallen leaves crunched under your boots as you skipped along, doing your best to keep up with your rough-and-tumble companion. Crisp autumn air swirled in your lungs as you inhaled deeply, a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt in ages washing over you. Aside from your voice and pairs of footsteps, the world around you was still. Even the birds were quiet, only an occasional chirp-chirp piercing the silence.

“The hell ya goin’ on ‘bout?” Daryl groaned. He didn’t even so much as turn to look as you strode up next to him. You exhaled softly, trying not to take his stinging tone personally.

You knew he hadn’t wanted you to come along. In the short amount of time you’d known the archer, one thing had become abundantly clear—he preferred solitude, and he didn’t like that solitude being intruded upon. But when someone needed to go on a run with him, Rick chose you, saying that since you were new, Daryl could “show you the ropes”.

“The new girl?” he’d argued. “Ya serious?”

“Show her how we do things,” Rick ordered, hands on his hips. “You’re the best one for that job.”

Rick was right. Daryl was the best one for the job, so despite his protests, he agreed. Though you knew he didn’t want you to join, you weren’t complaining.

Daryl had caught your eye from the moment you’d sprinted through those gates, running from a horde of walkers far bigger than you could’ve anticipated. He was beautiful—unkempt chocolate locks framing his face, toned, sun-tanned arms that made you drool more than any meal ever had, and crystal blue eyes so deep, you thought you’d drown if you looked at them for too long. But that didn’t stop you from sneaking glances.

Daryl only had two rules for you on this run—keep up & don’t talk. And now, you were already deep into breaking one of those rules.

But rules were meant to be broken, right?

“Your love language,” you repeated, more persistent this time. “What is it?”

He shrugged, crossbow held tight against his chest. His gaze remained straight ahead, scanning the area for walkers as you continued down the secluded dirt road. “Dunno what that means.”

You pursed your lips in thought, the furrow in your brow reflecting the confusion in your mind. Surely, someone so beautiful had to be well-versed in the world of romance. The man was sculpted like a God, and anyone with working eyes could tell that he was gorgeous. “Love languages are...” your voice trailed off. “…different ways people like to receive affection. Everyone has their preferences.”

“Ain’t exactly one for affection,” he snapped, intentionally kicking up dirt as he walked, as if that would somehow prove his point.

“Come on, Dar,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest. You skipped a little in front of him and spun around, forcing him to finally make eye contact. “Everyone has at least one.”

At first, you’d started calling him Dar because you assumed it was a nickname of his. But he quickly made it clear he didn’t appreciate it, and that only spurred you on more. But sometimes, there’d be a glint in his eye. A little twinkle of mischief that made you wonder if he actually liked it. Even just a little bit.

As you met his gaze, that same glint was present. However, it was quickly overshadowed by his calloused response.

“And I ain’t everyone.”

Ignoring his clear signs, you pressed on, walking backwards as you continued your spiel. “The five main ones are physical touch, acts of—“

A sound in the trees caught your attention, cutting you off. But before you could react, Daryl spun around, crossbow aimed at what you both had presumed to be a walker.

Instead, it was a squirrel. The sweet creature had gotten a little too confident about jumping from one tree to another and had fallen. They shook it off for a moment before scrambling to their feet and scampering off, leaves crunching below them.

As the adrenaline began to wear off, you’d noticed something. Daryl had stepped in front of you, just a little, as if he was ready to act like a shield between you and whatever was coming your way. His bow remained locked and loaded, held high like he was waiting for another sound or for a walker to stumble out from behind a tree.

Why would he do that? He had no reason to. You were a stranger to him–a nameless face among all the other nameless faces roaming around the prison. So, what reason did he have to protect you?

Once he was sure there was no imminent threat, he lowered his bow and continued down the road, barely waiting two seconds for you to catch up.

“As I was saying,” you continued, skipping back up to his side, “there’s physical touch, acts of service, words of affirmation, receiving gifts, and quality time.”

“There one where ya dun’ talk ‘n stay silent the rest of the run?” Daryl scoffed.

“Ha ha.” You rolled your eyes, your tone bone-dry. “Very funny, Dixon.”

After a few beats of silence, much to your surprise, he spoke up. “What’s yours?”

You were more taken aback by his question than anything. And his inflection—one that sounded like he was genuinely curious—perplexed you even more. Was he really asking a “get-to-know-you” question? Daryl Dixon, the man who self-isolated on a good day & was aggressive with others on a bad one, continuing a conversation? It was unheard of as far as you were concerned.

You took a moment to collect your thoughts. “Honestly, words of affirmation. Being told how much I mean to someone, how much they care for me…even little things, like a ‘you did good’ on the small stuff.”

“How come ‘s’that one?” he asked.

“It feels good to know even the little things I do are appreciated,” you elaborated. Your eyes were fixated on some falling leaves in the distance, watching them twirl around each other, almost touching but keeping their distance—barely out of reach. “It makes me feel special. Seen. Like the things I do actually matter.” You looked up at him, squinting to shield the sun from your eyes. “And in a world like this….well, it feels like it means more. Makes me want to keep going.”

He didn’t reply, but simply nodded, understanding evident in his eyes.

The remainder of your walk was spent primarily in silence, but now, it was far from awkward. Things were comfortable, like it was natural rather than forced. The silence that previously pricked at your skin now felt like a warm hug, the desire to fill it slowly slipping away with each step. And out of the corner of your eye, you thought you spotted a hint of a smile tug at his lips.

The run went as smoothly as ever. You cleared out damn near what was left of the convenience store, just enough room in your respective bags to fit what you could find. At one point, you even cracked a joke, eliciting a scoff, with a soft, underlying laugh from him.

And the walk back was much the same—a comfortable silence with an occasional quip from you, which mostly resulted in an eye roll or huff from Daryl. Aside from a few walkers, nothing gave you too much trouble.

Later that evening, after you’d returned from your scavenge and had begun settling in for the evening, there was a soft knock on your cell, the unexpected clanking of metal causing you to jump. Turning around, you were surprised to see Daryl. The bar creaked under his shoulder as he propped himself against the doorframe.

“Jesus, you scared me!” you exclaimed, placing a hand on your chest. “But hi. What’s up?”

He didn’t speak at first, nor did he make eye contact. The tension in the air was heavy, growing thicker with each passing second. You watched him scratch at the broken skin around his thumbnail, a light cock in your eyebrow forming. You’d never seen Daryl fidgety, so…nervous, it seemed.

“Nice job today, Y/N,” he said with a small nod. “Ya did good.”

Just as your racing heart had started to slow, it ramped up again, faster than before. The rumble in your stomach from hunger warped into butterflies, flapping violently and threatening to crawl up your throat.

“Huh…” you mused, crossing your arms over your chest, using every fiber of your being to keep your demeanor calm, cool, and collected. “Didn’t even realize you knew my name.” Your gaze briefly dropped to the floor before meeting his again. “But thank you.”

He shrugged, mimicking your posture and crossing his arms. “Dun’ mention it.”

“Does this mean I can join you on the next one?” you smirked.

“Dun’ push it,” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

A small smile pulled at the corners of your mouth as his gaze met yours. It was only for a few seconds, but it was long enough for goosebumps to form on your skin and a shiver to travel down your spine. He was the first to break it, diverting his eyes to the floor.

You broke the silence with an awkward clearing of your throat, softly shaking your head like you were trying to direct your mind away from the direction it was headed in. “Goodnight, Daryl.”

With another small nod, he sauntered off, dragging your cell door closed behind him. His heavy boots echoed through the otherwise silent concrete halls, trailing off until it was only you & your very loud thoughts.

And as you crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep, you visualized the grumpy, brooding archer, thought of the way the ice had started breaking between the two of you, and you fell asleep with a contented smile.

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @tinysunshine @stellar-waves @chateaujoon @mediocrxtes @angelsanarchy @8stliv8 @dixonsbridexx @cuntee3

Hit me up to be added to or removed from the taglist 🖤

Collage at the top (though I do not own the photos--those were found on Google) and © below were made by me. Sparkle & ‘continue reading’ dividers are by @/anitalenia

[lushaletta]

miss potions expert / theodore nott

pairing: fem!reader x theodore nott

warnings: criminally mediocre writing, kinda mischievous, silly goofy!reader, theo being posh

summary: you effortlessly fix theo and his friends’ potion, then sabotage it again just for fun. theo’s more rattled by your smirk than the explosion you caused.

a/n: i truly don’t know where i was going with this but it was fun,, i like writing the slytherin boys

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

The dungeon reeks of failure.

Theodore Nott stands over the simmering cauldron, his perfectly pressed robes now dusted in sneezewort.

“Is it meant to do that?” Draco raises a brow, staring into the concoction as it hisses and spits like an angry cat. Mattheo snickers.

“This is supposed to be emerald green. The book was very clear,” Theo mutters, frowning at the muddy blue mess before him.

“Yes, well, perhaps the book didn’t anticipate you foolishly adding scurvy grass before the lovage,” a voice drawls from the swung-open dungeon doorway.

Theo turns, irritation flaring, but his words die on his lips when he sees you.

You lean against the stone wall like you own the place, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. Your robes are a tad frayed at the ends, sleeves rolled and hair messy in a way that says you’ve either come from detention or caused one.

“Oh, good,” he starts, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Miss Potions Expert has arrived.”

You saunter in without waiting for an invitation, peering into the cauldron with mild amusement. “You know this isn’t a Confusing Draught, right? What you’ve got here is dangerously close to… well, something explosive.”

The boys exchange glances you can’t quite understand.

“And I suppose you think you could do better?” Theo says coolly.

You shoot him a lopsided grin. “I know I can. Move.”

Theo doesn’t make any move to slide over. You huff and push him aside, kneeling beside the cauldron, muttering under your breath as you survey the damage of his silly mistakes. Mattheo and Lorenzo murmur to each other, something about how furious Theo looks.

You stir counterclockwise, slowly pouring in more lovage and a dash of lacewing flies. The potion immediately settles, morphing into a green that shimmers just right in the torchlight.

Theo’s eyes widen, his friends swapping looks between you and him, and then at each other.

“You’re welcome,” you say impatiently, waiting for a thank you that you know won’t come.

He scoffs, inspecting the brew from the ladle. “How did you do that?” he says, disregarding the expectant expression on your face.

“I’ve made like a hundred of these before. Good prank stuff.”

His brows furrow, staring at you like you’re an alien. He blinks twice. “You’ve used these on people?”

“Only those deserving,” you say sweetly, lacing your hands together as you sway.

For a moment, Theo’s face changes. His lips twitch, a laugh threatening to slip out and ruin his awfully aristocratic act. He mentally curses himself because he knows you’ve caught it.

“What’s your name?” he says, swallowing, his pride going down with the lump in his throat.

You raise your brow. “Depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re going to thank me or not.” He scoffs and you wonder how many times a day he does that. You take it as a no. You give him another chance, anticipating. He doesn’t crack. “Then it’s Have-Fun-Fixing-This,” you say quickly, tossing a purple liquid into the cauldron, effectively maddening the potion once again.

Theo’s jaw goes slack as you skip out of the room, not bothering to shut the door. The sound of your trainers pattering against the cold floor mixes with the sizzle of the ruined concoction, the faint scent of mischief trailing behind you like smoke.

Enzo’s hysterical laugh breaks the quiet. “She’s awesome.”

Mattheo joins in. “I might be in love with her.”

He shoots his friends a glare, like they’re saying something they shouldn’t be. Enzo takes notice. “Chill, she’s all yours.”

Theo’s harsh stare lingers a beat too long. “She is not—”

“Yours?” Mattheo finishes, grinning.

Theo doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs his wand and begins a cleaning spell over the cauldron, but the potion hisses louder, as if mocking him. The spell fails to do much of anything, other than deepen the green into an aggressive chartreuse.

Enzo whistles. “Yeah, that’s definitely explosive now.”

Theo exhales sharply through his nose, jaw clenched. But even as the cauldron bubbles over again, onto his expensive, perfectly polished shoes, his mind is elsewhere—on the swing of your skip as you left, on the sly grin you gave him before ruining his potion on purpose. On how you didn’t even bother giving your name.

“She’ll be back,” Enzo adds, like it’s comfort, leaning against the table.

Draco nods. “No way someone like that just walks in once and vanishes.”

Theo doesn’t say anything, but he can still smell the ghost of what could be your perfume, could be remnants of chaos. He knows they’re right.

People like you don’t just vanish.

You explode back into their lives exactly when they least expect it.

[cdnonymous]

Hi @muletia again

God I saw your tags on the reblog of my work and honestly I feel you. Get sum rest, hydrate properly, same for eating. YOU’VE GOT THIS!!

And to cheer ya up I’ll give you Silence is Stronger than Words Part 3!!

Part 1 • Part 2

- 💿 ^v^

~1700 words

•—•—•—•—•—•

Silence is Stronger than Words

Dang I couldn’t sleep all night. The thoughts of my previous encounter with Megatron were making me go insane in too many ways. The soreness of the “love bite” he gave me yesterday night, the poorly timed remembrance of this random axolotl fact, his scarlet irises staring into me while mine were closed, thinking I was about to die. In a moment of exhaustion, I almost thought that I liked it, this rush of adrenaline that felt like an hour dose of it felt… nice.

But I quickly brushed this off, what was I thinking?! This is a merman, it’s not a human. It was probably a way to scare me, to make sure I knew what my place was, that if I even had the hint of a thought that I was superior to him my shoulder would get ripped off. But if he wanted to rip it off, wouldn’t he have done so already? I mean this was a golden… no, a platinum opportunity to even bite my head off… but he didn’t do it, and that’s what’s confusing me.

I fell asleep out of utter exhaustion, all those thoughts feeling like bullets in my mind, they ended up slowing down and coming to a stop. And when I woke up the next day, my alarm, it had been ringing for too long;

It was now 12 AM… I was 30 minutes late!!

I gasped out of bed, quickly getting myself in normal clothes, surprisingly didn’t need coffee because I had a way better motivation to keep me on both of my legs. I miraculously did not trip over the creaky stairs as I flew over them to get my notebook and outside shoes on.

— God please don’t be mad- I muttered under my shaky pants as I dropped my pencil and picked it up in half a second.

No breakfast, no coffee, just pure chaos as I ran out of my house by the usual door. The last time I was late, Megatron didn’t even surface out of the water, he seemed mad at me for it, and I was just barely 5 minutes late that time. But today, oh today I might have some surprises that I won’t like, especially if we count on the events of last night. I arrived at the Shy Lake faster than expected, my sprinting abilities did not disappoint me for once.

I stopped, panting like crazy to at least get a normal heartbeat. I wanted to be prepared for whatever shit Megatron was about to throw at me today. I was late, I don’t even know if I upsetted him yesterday anymore. I finally looked up and saw his buckethead… but I didn’t see his usual annoyed glare or worse, instead his eyes were closed. He was sleeping, his bust laid on the lake’s beach, his helm tucked in his scaly and silvery arms. When I stopped the heavy breathing from my sprinting session, I could hear him snore lightly, honestly I expected louder from him.

But no, it was like he, as well, needed some sleep, was it really that late yesterday? I stayed completely still, as quiet as the current breeze which was nonexistent today. I was looking at him with a mixture of emotions; confusion, envy, awe, fear… so many feelings that were completely unnecessary at the moment. I was frozen, not knowing what to do, his low and deep breathing was… peaceful despite everything. It was almost… cute. Yes, I called this behemoth of an axolotl merman cute.

Then I took this opportunity to take some notes on what I could see; the axolotl fins on each sides of his head were slightly twitching, his claws weren’t retracted, they were very visible from my point of view, and still looked as sharp as the sharpest steak knives. He had scars, each of them were telling a story, like any human scar. Some were recent and more prominent, some were older and much less visible. I wondered what could’ve happened, what made him wear these scratches. Were they from fishers, hunters, or other fishes? Definitely not other fishes, he probably eats them before they can even try to nibble on him.

Was this why he seemed so wary of me at first, because other humans saw him as a threat, a beast, or worse? As a pest, a monster, a trophy? This was absurd, but it could also be sadly plausible. While thinking about it, I let myself move from my previously frozen stature and I got slightly closer. Of course I didn’t want to disturb him in his sleep, he probably needs it anyway. I stayed at a reasonable distance, but I always got closer and closer.

And eventually I sat in front of him, my legs criss-crossing in front of his sleeping form. I was barely 30 centimeters away from his helm, which was still unmoving in his crossed arms. My breathing was already way calmer, it was silent as it usually was, I analyzed him, wanting answers but knowing I would never be sure of getting an accurate one. I felt bad for him as the scars that were on him seemed to multiply, poor man, he probably went through so much pain, loneliness, obstacles.

I sat right there, in my thoughts, not knowing what to do, or what to say. Eventually I heard him slightly shift, a groggy but light groan came out of his mouth, and by instinct I backed up a bit, still sitting down. He looked up from his crossed arms, but he was still lazily laying on them as if they were pillows. His eyes stared right at me, but I didn’t see any anger, any annoyance, not even smugness, he was just tired.

— Sorry for… being late. I whispered, not wanting to ruin his mood by being obnoxious in any way.

He seemed to answer with a low sigh mixed with a slight groggy grumble. I could definitely understand body language, and right now there’s no doubt that; A. He doesn’t feel threatened. B. He is tired. And C. He doesn’t mind my presence at the moment despite our proximity. I tried to think about what I could do, and of course, while I had my guard down, he extended one of his arms and grabbed my legs, pulling them closer to him. I was surprised at first, of course I was, who wouldn’t be, but as soon as I felt his familiar purring from yesterday, I knew he didn’t mean any harm.

He simply wanted me to be close to him, again. He nuzzled into me as if I was his personal doll or plushie, I couldn’t help but chuckle as he did so. He purred loudly like a cat, and I decided to slowly start to stroke the back of his helm, which he seemed to crave since his head simply melted into my lap.

— Damn… I let out silently, do you like me that much? I asked softly and jokingly.

I didn’t get a verbal answer, instead I felt his big webbed hands hug my back, which made me feel like a doll now, and he pressed his buckethead against me. I really felt like a cuddle buddy for him, which at the moment, was comfortable. He needed those hugs, and I can’t say I didn’t crave them as well. His purrs were soothing like last night, his eyes now closed from what seemed like satisfaction, I continued to stroke his helm. I smiled as I saw him get comfortable, I didn’t know why all of a sudden seeing this big cold mer happy and clingy felt… right.

I sighed, content, the anxiety, fear, all of those negative feelings, gone in an instant. I again took a glance at his scars, and I thought to myself. He needs love, yes he may look scary, look like a mindless beast that would kill without thinking, but he’s not. He wants to be loved, he craves attention, he wants to be cared for. And right now I feel like I can fulfil at least some of his needs. We’ll go at his rhythm, he probably didn’t meet any compassionate human in years, only trophy fishers and money grabbers ready to kill him for wealth and fame.

I want to be different from those jerks he probably had to deal with, I want to give him the attention he deserves, and it looks like I’m doing my job properly. Maybe he does love me, maybe he does think I’m a good mate for him. But I still need to accept it. And what if I’m wrong? What if it’s all just tricks? What if I’m just a delusional fool who is falling for his lies?

I suddenly felt his claws gently rubbing my back, as if he felt I was getting a bit stressed. My pulse already slowed down, but I was surprised that he was the one to be so… soft? My face slowly heated up as he was stroking my back the same way I was doing with his helm, then I felt his hands get under my shirt, just in my back. I didn’t know what to do, his claws were cold, but not in an uncomfortable way, it contrasted with my body heat still. My breathing got a bit heavier, although it was far from shaky or scared.

His touch was deliberately soft, as if he knew my skin wasn’t as rough as his, he knew I was fragile, he knew that if he pressed too hard he might make me bleed by accident. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t scared… right? His purring was still unwavering, and when I stopped stroking his helm the moment I felt his touch under my shirt, he didn’t glare at me or growl at me to continue.

Now I feel like he wants me… and not just for cuddles��

•—•—•—•—•—•

ANND there we goo *phew* that took 2 hours heh-

Anyway it’s almost midnight for me sooo

I’m going to bed byee

[winteringdream]

I THOUGHT YOU KNEW ──── wang nicholas

✩ ⋅ pairing. wang nicholas x gn!reader ✩ ⋅ genre. angst ✩ ⋅ warnings. slight implications of drinking ✩ ⋅ wc. 834 ✩ ⋅ a/n. ignore the fact that i just removed phones and the internet in this story to make it more dramatic lol, also tsitp fans know the scene (and the title) this is my version of it !

Whatever is going on between you and Nicholas is confusing. He says the right things, shows you that he cares and treats you well. Ever since the two of you met the spark between you was undeniable.

He drove 7 hours to your house just to see your face and spent his whole summer with you. Kissed you like there was no one else he could love more than you. And then it all stopped. 

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, or maybe he had a change of heart. If only you knew the truth about what happened between the two of you, between last summer and now.

Nicholas has been standing there, ignoring you the whole evening. Summer hurts more than you would’ve thought, the memories of him replaying constantly in your mind. He’s smiling like he isn’t affected, drinking from that same red plastic cup everyone else is holding. 

Then, suddenly, he waves the group goodbye, and leaves through the back door. Your heart is beating in your throat. Should you go after him? Ask him what had happened between the two of you? 

The loud music and chatter around you seems to worsen that weird feeling that you’ve been trying to shake off the whole night. So, without thinking, you charge right ahead. Pushing through the crowd of people, your focus only on the back door. 

The garden leads to the beach, just like most of the gardens that are located just next to the beach. The moon is big and bright, its reflection in the water like a trail of glitter. Nicholas’ back is turned to you. His hands in his pockets as he stares out into the sea. 

“I knew you’d follow me.” He says without turning around. You freeze mid-step, something tightening in your chest. 

“How did you know?” You call out, afraid he won’t hear you. You continue to make your way towards him, every step making your heart beat just a little faster. 

“I know you.” He replies, this time turning around to watch you approach. “I know you wouldn’t let this go.”

“Let what go?” You scoff, stopping just a few feet in front of him. The way he looks at you, his eyes soft but with a certain determination, makes your heart sway just like it did last summer.

“I’m not leaving you. I never left.” His voice is drowned out by the waves hitting the shore. His words leave you angry and confused. You take a step forward, looking him straight in the eyes. 

“But you already did?” You laugh bitterly. “You left me the minute summer vacation came to an end. Don’t try to tell me that you ‘didn’t leave’ when that’s exactly what you’ve done.” 

“I sent you letters. Every week.” 

“What letters?” 

“Come on, y/n. You know what I’m talking about.” He pleads, the desperation in his voice evident. He steps toward you, his hands reaching out like he wants to close the distance. 

“I don’t.” You shake your head, your voice trembling. “Because if I did, I wouldn’t be standing here, wondering why you left.” 

“You’re telling me those 52 letters I sent you never reached you?” 

“Nicholas, if I had known I would’ve fought for us. I would’ve at least written back. I would’ve never let anything like this happen.” You cry out, your voice breaking more with every word you say. You stumble to him, your arms trembling as they convey something words can’t describe for you. 

“I thought you knew!” He shouts at you, “I thought you knew I sent you letters. I thought you were mad at me because I couldn’t be there for you.” 

“Nicho,” The nickname makes him flinch. “You really think I’d ignore your letters because we couldn’t be physically together?” 

Tears glisten in your eyes and you let go of your grip on the hem of your shirt. It’s too much, your feelings, the heat of the moment, seeing Nicholas again after he’s been gone for a year. It makes your head spin and hurt, your throat burn and the palms of your hands hurt and itch. 

“I could never leave you, y/n.” He begins, but the words that he wants to say after that get caught in his throat as he watches tears stream down your face. He had been trying so hard to refrain from crying, but as he sees you here he can’t help it. 

“Then why did it feel like you did? At the party just now.” You whisper and without thinking, you step forward.

He lets out a shaky breath, blinking rapidly to stop the tears welling in his eyes from falling.

“Because I was scared,” he admits softly. “I was scared you’d stop waiting. Scared you’d forget.”

“I never forgot.” You whisper, looking up at him beneath the moonlight. He looks like the Nicolas you once knew, the one you fell in love with.

“I’m here now,” he murmurs. “I swear, I’m here.”

&team: @ihruaz @tmrwsuns @lakoya @bechaerriezlvr @canheavenwait

[rotting-victorian-child]

Drug of Choice

spencer reid x reader

(this is the first thing i have fully written in a few years tbh. not my full potential just trying to get back in the swing of things. thank uu)

tw: mentions of drug abuse

summary:spencer and reader were kidnapped and drugged together, both developing addictions after. they enter a drug fueled relationship, and wonder now when they’re sober if the connection was real.

You stood, arms crossed, at the window of your apartment. Raindrops were slowly forming against the glass, and for a moment you were so focused on them you almost forgot about the man sitting on the bed behind you. Maybe you thought if you stared long and hard enough you really could forget him. The silence was heavy, nearly suffocating. If you spoke, then he’d answer. If you turned around, then he’d be there. Why couldn’t he just be far away? Or anywhere but awkwardly posed on the edge of your bed? You didn’t want to have the conversation that was coming. You didn’t want to confront your feelings, much less confront them when they may not be real. For someone so smart, he was stupid enough to stay. And even more stupid to speak.

“Do you remember what it was like before?” Spencer broke the silence, voice low, like breaking the silence was breaking something fragile.

“Before what? Us?” You asked, still staring at the raindrops. Still too coward to turn around and face him.

“Yeah. Before us. Before we started to confuse whatever this is for some type of connection? Or some type of…I don’t know.” For once, Spencer didn’t know. Or maybe he did and he just couldn’t find the right word. Even more likely, maybe he knew what word he wanted to say all along, but couldn’t bring himself to actually speak it into existence. It didn’t matter though, because you said it for him.

“For love, you mean? Before we started to confuse what we were doing for love? Yeah I remember a time before that, Spencer. And I would kill to go back to it.” You finally turned around to face him, with coldness in your tone and arms still crossed. He sort of flinched at your words, was it really all that bad, being connected to him? Even if the connection was built on addiction? Now that the Dilaudid was out of the equation, was there anything left between you two?

“Maybe you just liked the company. Or the enabling. Maybe it was never about me, or us. Maybe it was always about what we were doing.” Spencer looked down at his hands, not sure if he could look at the girl standing across from him.

“We were high the first time we kissed.” You blinked, as if to try to stop tears that didn’t even exist. God, you wanted to cry. You wanted to actually feel something. You knew this feeling, this connection, went so far beyond some stupid narcotic and so did he. Why did you both have to question that? Why did you both have to struggle so hard with the idea that you both deserve love, both deserve to be loved. You knew each other before you got kidnapped and drugged, you knew the versions of each other that existed before and those versions were equally as avoidant of the obvious feelings they had for one another.

“I wanted to kiss you long before I ever touched a drug in my life.” Spencer replied, looking up at you. He meant that, and it hurt that it took getting high for the first time to act upon it. He felt like a coward, maybe if he had just kissed you one of the thousands of other times he had thought about it this conversation wouldn’t be happening.

“I wish you would have. I would have kissed you back. I wouldn’t of needed a fucking drug to do it, either.” You winced at the hostility in your voice. This wasn’t all on him, and you knew that. But newly sober you wasn’t the most logical.

“That’s not fair. You were high, too. Do not try and act like I’m the only one responsible for the way this…relationship started. If my memory serves me correctly, and it always does, you were the one telling me you loved me while high out of your mind. Needed a drug to do that, didn’t you?” Spencer asked matter of factly. You uncrossed your arms at his response. He was right. Your attitude softened a bit, and this argument was silly. You were both high, end of story.

“I’m not high right now and I still love you.” It came out of your mouth before you even realized what you had said. You took a moment to think about it, and it was true. You did still love him. Drugs or not. No one else had ever made you feel the way Spencer Reid did, not even the Dilaudid made you feel half as euphoric as him.

Spencer stood up and took the few steps necessary to reach you, he placed his hand on your cheek. Your face felt warm and your vision blurry, how could one person make you feel so good? And how could you ever convince yourself you didn’t really love him?

“I love you too. Stone cold sober and I love you.” He pulled your lips onto his. He could feel you in his veins, feel your entire being entering his blood stream. No high could ever compare to the way you both felt in that moment. You both went to pull away, and it almost felt impossible.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do that before all of this. You didn’t deserve that.” His hand remained on your cheek.

“Then I wouldn’t have known you were my favorite drug.” You whispered to him, knowing he felt the same. Maybe the whole time it was each other that you were addicted to.

[multiheadcanons]

SILLY LITTLE TEAM WIDE THOUGHTS I HAVE

1. both teams have been essentially pavloved to hate the color of the other team. they don’t even notice it, half the time. they won’t buy certain things if it’s the enemy’s color. it could be something they’ve always wanted, they finally saved up some money for it, and if it only comes in the enemy team’s color they just won’t buy it. and vice versa, they’re more likely to buy something that is in their team’s color, even if it’s not exactly what they wanted but close enough to it, then they’ll get it in their team’s color. this urge varies throughout each teammate, but is prevalent throughout both teams.

2. both teams love interacting with the scouts, but they mainly love fucking with them, despite their team orientation, because the scouts are the best humored people on the team. both scouts have a penchant for a good old roast, and can take it just as much as they can dish it out. and both scouts are quite friendly! scout is one of the few teammates who both teams feel comfortable interacting with, regardless of the team. both scouts have done a wonderful job at blending the lines between the mercenaries being a team, and the mercenaries being friends, and the mercenaries being a family, and if scout wasn’t there, neither team would function nearly as efficiently or closely as they do now, because they just wouldn’t have the level of trust they do.

3. the soldiers love playing chess. neither one of them are very good at it, and they talk about their moves as they plan them, but they are confident that they will slowly get better. depending on who they’re playing with, their opponent will either take advantage of the outward pondering or decide to indulge them. and watching them play chess together is a hoot. it becomes an entire cooperative experience as the teams gather to listen to the men debate and argue about the game of war. sometimes they’ll even chime in, and give them various strategies to use against each other! but the outward telling of movements is going to be a hell of a habit to break when they get better.

4. the pyros often switch out their positions on the team and they’re pretty sure nobody notices. sometimes the blu pyro wants to feel… warm. when they converse with the red pyro in off times, they always seem so warm. and the blu pyro doesn’t really get that with their team. not that they don’t love their team, by any means, but they’re just… cold. reserved. and the red pyro sometimes needs a break from the bustle of the red team! sometimes the idea of teammates that actually… respect them enough to give them their space sounds very appealing. so they switch! the red engineer is the only man who notices the switch. he elects to play along. obviously the blu pyro needs something if they are desperate enough to board with the enemy for it. and the red pyro always comes back refreshed and ready to socialize. so he supposes they’re getting something out of it, too.

5. the demomen run a side hustle of a dueling piano bar. it actually gets quite a bit of business! the men get rowdy, so the bar gets loud. you can hear them banging on the piano down the block, and the drunken cheers that come from the bar. they try to keep this away from the team. this is one of the few things that they both feel like tavish, and not like demo. the blu demo will go by finnegan so there’s no confusion. they tell people they’re twins. travelers and locals of town of teufort love tavish finnegan degroot. though, both men do play alone at their bases occasionally, of which everyone appreciates! they just both wish they could be tavish in those moments. not demoman.

6. both heavies have a penchant for good natured pranks. from scaring the team around corners to elaborate goose chases that span all day, if not multiple days, it is the number one way to not only get both heavies involved further into the team, but really bring them both out of their shell! it is arguably one of their most normal hobbies. both of them also understand when to knock it off, but will go to the ends of the earth for a prank war. usually, this is all in good fun on both teams, and brings them together. as long as nobody takes it too far. the doctors are their favorite targets because they hate it. it freaks them out.

7. the same way the engineers will work together to make creations for the betterment of mann co as a company, is the same way they steal the others’ original blueprints. this has become a dangerous side game the teams play with each other, that nobody but the engineers get paid for. but the team does love the thrill of a good covert operation. and nobody realizes because nobody cares— neither do the texans— but they are a de facto informant for the higher ups. neither one of them fulfill this duty in any way that matters to administration. if anything, both men insist that this team is full of morons. and that’s genuinely for the best of everyone. the less higher ups know, the more freedom everyone has to do what they really want.

8. both doctors scoot around their respective infirmaries, and occasionally the base, on wheeled stools. they have become quite skilled on them! the red doctor is a little more reckless, and has a tendency to run over feet. but when you can’t see him coming, it’s a little harder to get out of the way. and the blu doctor is refined, able to get exactly where he needs to be in as little as a push. both doctors are also avid cyclists. they don’t wear the garb because they think it’s stupid, but they both have bikes. and if they need to get somewhere, they’ll bike there. the medics also have the most odd effect of their distaste for the enemy colors. the only reason the blu doctor isn’t as messy as his counterpart is because he likes the way deoxygenated blood looks in the veins. it’s clean, it’s neat, and he knows exactly where it’s going. the red doctor doesn’t care. he just wants to see red.

9. both snipers are quite physically fit people, they just Look Like That. the australians get thorough enjoyment from full physical exertion, they just are not prime physical combatants. they prefer solo adventuring and survival, and they’ll stick together if they want to be gone for extended periods of time. they also share parental custody. they think the mundys haven’t noticed. they absolutely notice that they’ve got one kid who’s their shy goofy little boy and another who is their explosion of a goofy little boy. they don’t have favorites and they love them both dearly i refuse to feed into the blu sniper parent angst the mundys know and they love their boys. they don’t know how it keeps happening but every time another falls into their lap they just say “oh boy, another one!” they’re thinking about renaming one of them. give him his own identity. and off the field, the snipers see each other as brothers.

10. everyone knows the spies swap information. what they don’t know is how the spies keep their information so up to date, and how it seems to be untouchable in the sense of sullying via inaccurate information. between the both of them, there is not a single piece of false information that is spread between them. they vehemently fact check each other, keep tabs on the enemy team to ensure the intel they’re getting is correct, and frankly, they don’t lie to each other in the first place! the spies database of information on their teammates is a sacred text between the two of them. they feel no need to conceal information from the other, and the information is never used outside of their interactions. anything that the spies pick up past their meetings to keep their information clean is free game, though. they call it “brunch with friends” to their teammates. and in their defense, they do go eat!

11. both teams are incredibly vicious, and effective, and tight knit. just not in the same ways as each other. while the red team has care and respect built on their trust for each other, the blu team has an innate trust and care with each other built on respect. the red team knows they can rely on their teammates for anything, on and off the field, but they’re messy, and get overly involved with each others personal lives, and it muddies their waters. the blu team, however, gives each other the respect of privacy and space. there isn’t any waxing poetic unless both teammates are open and willing. it is a near insurmountable task to break the unit. and if someone is in a real issue, they will come to each others aid. they don’t have to enforce that by talking to each other. it’s just part of the job. and they do care, but they care about the effectiveness of the team. the battling of different facets of their personalities has forced them to assess not only their own strengths, but their weaknesses. because, aside from a few key similarities, both teams know that wherever they lack is where their counterpart is strong, and they’ve had to use that while strategizing to ensure that everyone’s bases are covered all the time. this leads to many stalemates, and it only takes one teammate being off their game to derail an entire battle. there is not enough people for anyone to slack off because nobody can take their place to supplement without leaving their own position uncovered.

[diariesofthelost]

Late Night Shower

{First person POV, Sexual content, Alcohol TW: talks of violence and blood.}

As I laid there on the couch slumped over a book and a glass of wine I couldn't help but wonder when Sylus would come home. It's 1am and still no sign of him. He hasn't even read my earlier message. I look down at my phone checking the time and to see if there has been any change in activity from Sylus. None. Just when I was about to give up and go to bed, I hear the familiar sound of keys outside the front door. I stand up and wait for the door to open. Finally, he's home. I think to myself as I see him walk through the door.

"Kitten?" he asks softly, clearly confused as to why I am still awake.

I give him a smile and nod making my way over to him slowly.

"Are you ok?" I ask him as I reach up cupping his face in my hand. His lip is busted, and he has a few gashes on his knuckles. He got into a fight.

"Yes, Kitten I'm alright. Just took care of some business as usual. What are you doing up?" he asks me as he starts to remove his bloodied clothes.

I reach up to help him, being gentle as I have yet to see if there are any other injuries on his body.

"You act like I can't wait up for my husband." I say in a matter-of-fact tone.

He nods and smirks. Clearly this man doesn't understand how much I've been missing him. I think to myself. The truth his Sylus had been working late for a while now. Something about a deal gone bad and now there is clean up.

I gaze up into his eyes meeting his concerned and weary gaze with my own.

"Let's get you a bath, shall we?" I say grabbing his hand to lead him to the shower.

He walks with me, his hand in mine as I drag him off to the bathroom.

"Sit" I tell him softly but stern enough he knows not to argue.

"Yes, Kitten. You're the boss." he say chuckling.

I look back at him smiling. That damn smile. It always makes me melt, even when I am trying to be stern.

I smile back at him and start to help him unbutton his shirt. There they are. More bruises.

"Sylus...." I whisper his name concerned by the sheer number of injuries he has. I would think by now I would be used to seeing him like this, but it never gets easier.

He groans in response. He knows what I'm thinking.

"I'm alright kitten. You don't need to worry about me, but if you are going too then you can be the one to help me clean up." he says smiling as his hand start to work the tie on my robe.

This man is actually smiling at being hurt. I shake my head and smile right back.

"You should be taking it easy Sylus." I say trying to act stern. This man has a power over me, and he knows it.

"Is that a, no?" he asks pausing his hands.

I cover his hands with mine and look into those beautiful crimson eyes of his.

"It's not a no. I will always help you clean up and heal. You know this." I cup his face in my hand running my thumb over his bottom lip. God, I want to kiss him. But his busted lip makes me pause.

"Kitten...." he says smiling again.

I look at him swallowing hard. Without a word he brings his hand up to my face, tracing my jaw with his thumb.

"You can kiss me. It's alright. It doesn't hurt." he says giving me the permission I needed. I slowly lean in and kiss him softly careful as to not hurt him. He wraps one hand around the back of my head the other making it way to my lower back. He pulls me closer and deepens the kiss.

"I missed you...." he groans against my lips.

I smile and nod. He leans back in and kisses me again, deeper, hungrier. His tongue darts out brushing against my lips, silently asking for permission to enter. I give it.

He stands up and pushes my robe off my shoulders letting it hit the floor. He breaks the kiss for a moment.

"I feel like I've been neglecting you." he whispers as he steps back looking at me with a desire filled gaze.

He starts to work at the clasp on his belt, then his pants. My breath catches in my chest.

"Say it, Kitten. I need to hear you tell me you want it." he says pausing his movements. Yes. I know him well. After 4 years of marriage and all the years before, this man, my husband always asks for consent, and I love him all the more for it.

"Yes. I've missed you so much. Yes, I want it. I want you." I say without hesitation.

He smiles at me and resumes the removal of his clothes. He's perfect. I watch as he strips down to nothing. My eyes wondering over the body I've come to know almost as well as my own. He steps closer to me, pulling me against him, Crashing his lips against mine yet again. I want to devour this man. He always tastes so good.

He walks us backward into the shower his lips never leaving mine, pushing me up against the cold tile. He breaks the kiss momentarily to turn on the water. Adjusting it to the perfect temperature. He turns back to me his eye grazing down my body. He groans in appreciation. Then he grabs the showerhead and runs the water over his body, then mine.

"If I do something you don't want, stop me" he says firmly but soft.

As if I'd ever stop this man. He knows me better than I know myself sometimes.

I nod to give him the reassurance he needs to continue. He smiles and moves the water down my body slowly, pausing at my breasts. His thumb circles one of my nipples, bringing it to a hardened peak under the water. The rest of my body can't help but respond.

He smiles in satisfaction then continues his way down with the water. He adjusts the showerhead setting and moves it between my legs.

"Sylus...." I gasp

"Yes Kitten, do you want me to stop?" he asks softly against the skin of my neck.

I groan in frustration.

"No. Please don't stop." I say breathing harder now as the steady stream of water hits my inner thigh.

"That's all I needed to hear." he says as he moves the stream upward to the apex of my legs.

Yes. Thats what I wanted. Needed.

He bites down on my shoulder, hard enough to mark me but never to hurt me. I moan, the sound echoing off the shower walls.

"Yes, Kitten. Let me hear those pretty sounds you make for me" he growls against my skin.

I moan again. He knows me too well. Every single turn on, or spot that drives me up the wall.

He continues to use the water on my sensitive bud. My brain grows foggy and my body limp. I can't focus on anything but him right now. My body starts to tremble and all I can hear is the sound of his voice.

"Stay with me Kitten. Ahhh there it is, that's the expression I was aiming for." he says coaxing me down from my high.

I refocus my eyes on his gaze. Beautiful. He's so beautiful.

He pulls me close to him and rubs my back soothingly.

"Shhh, I've got you. Do you want to continue? We can stop here if you'd like." he says as he kisses the top of my head.

We're not stopping till we've both had our fill. I think to myself as I look up to meet his gaze.

"I want to continue...." I say confidently

With a smile and a grateful moan, he kisses me again and lifts me up by my thighs, wrapping my legs around his waist. His pulsing member pressing against my entrance.

He looks me in my eyes, leaning his forehead against mine.

"Tell me if you want me to stop Kitten." he says. I give him an understanding nod, and he slowly pushes inside me.

My husband, Sylus.

This is going to be a long night for the both of us. One filled with nothing but the sounds of longing and pleasure in the air. Just me and him.

{I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.}

[writingpandagoth]

Hiiii I just want to say I LOVE your writing about Severus, and I wondered if you could write a Young!Severus Snape with a Ravenclaw!Reader, about them doing it for the first time in seventh year, with both of them in the edge of a mental breakdown because both of them are terrible with those type of intimate situations

Hellou!

Im sorry! It took me a while to write this because I was focused on writing my other story but here it finally is.

I do hope it makes somehow sense because honestly I confused myself and had a mental breakdown myself while writing.

Anyways...Enjoy!

Only Us

It hadn’t been some sudden, romantic explosion. It was slower than that. Stranger.

It started with questions.

You were always asking them, not just for grades, but because you had to know. Why certain potions turned bitter when stirred clockwise. Why spells flickered in cold rooms. Why someone like Severus Snape never spoke to anyone unless he had to—and always looked like he wanted to disappear.

You hadn’t meant to be drawn to him. He was sharp-edged and private. He didn’t look up when you passed him. He never said your name unless called on. But you noticed him. The way he took notes like they were lifelines. The way he looked at the ground like it had betrayed him. The way he always sat with his back to the wall.

So one afternoon—against your better judgment—you sat beside him in the library.

And asked him something dumb. Probably about ingredients reacting to heat in a cauldron.

He didn’t answer at first.

Then: “Didn’t realize you were struggling in Potions.”

You had shrugged. “I’m not. Just curious.”

That got a blink. Then, finally, a soft: “Huh.”

You had expected him to walk away. But he didn’t. He looked at your notes. Then corrected one, gently but with clear precision. And somehow… you started meeting there more often. Studying near each other. Then with each other.

You started trading books. Then words. Then secrets.

You’d ask about potions; he’d ask about Arithmancy.

You’d tease him; he’d pretend not to care—then smirk when you weren’t looking.

And somewhere between the fifth shared ink bottle and the night you caught him alone on the Astronomy Tower during a storm, something shifted.

It wasn’t love right away.

It was understanding.

And that was rarer. And far more dangerous.

It was never simple with him.

Even when things started to shift—when you started lingering a little longer in the library, when your knees started brushing under the table and neither of you pulled away—it was never a sudden leap. It was a series of tiny, charged moments.

You’d finish his sentences sometimes. He hated that. But he never told you to stop.

He’d pass you notes during lectures—not cute ones. Theories. Counter-arguments. Questions.

You’d reply in the margins.

You argued, sometimes. Quietly. Brilliantly. Like debate was a language only the two of you spoke.

And then one day, it happened.

A pause in the middle of reading. A silence so full it hurt.

You looked up at the same time.

And you kissed him.

It was awkward. Dry. Hesitant. Your nose bumped his. He flinched like he wasn’t sure you meant it. You pulled back too fast. He didn’t say anything for a full ten seconds. You wanted to die a little.

“I’m sorry,” you’d muttered. “That was probably a mistake.”

He just stared at you. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “You didn’t kiss back.”

His voice was quiet. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

The second kiss was better.

Softer. Slower. But still cautious. Still unsure.

You didn’t kiss again for three days.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. You kept them busy—holding yours, brushing your hair back, pressing lightly against your waist like he was afraid he’d break something.

You had to teach him—gently, slowly—that it was okay to want. Okay to touch. Okay to stay.

The first time he held you for longer than a few seconds, he whispered, “This feels like a trick.”

“It’s not,” you whispered back. “It’s me.”

You didn’t start “making out,” not really, until a month later.

It was after curfew. You’d met in the quiet corner of an unused corridor, half-hidden behind a statue. You were meant to trade notes. But he looked at you like he hadn’t breathed in days. And you kissed him.

And kept kissing him.

And when he backed into the wall and you followed, his hands shook as they found your hips.

Your body was pressed to his. His mouth moved against yours like he was still learning how. You could feel how badly he wanted more—but he didn’t ask. He wouldn’t.

You didn’t either.

You let it get heated—just enough. Just to the point where your hands were under his shirt, but still motionless. Where his breath was fast and uneven. Where your legs slotted between his and his forehead dropped against yours, whispering, “We should stop.”

And you always did.

You always both stopped.

Not because you didn’t want it.

But because it felt too much. Too intimate. Too fragile to rush.

That happened more than once.

Pressed against the back of the Potions classroom. In a quiet alcove behind a tapestry. In your shared hidden room, the one no one else knew about.

Kisses that lasted too long. Hands that wandered, then froze. Heat that built and built until one of you pulled back—panting, dizzy, overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” he’d always say.

“Don’t be,” you’d always reply.

But the truth was—you were both scared. Not of each other. Of what it meant to want that much. Of being seen. Of being touched in ways that made you forget to think.

You were Ravenclaw. You were built on logic and words and control.

He was Severus. He was built on silence. On defense. On wounds that never fully healed.

But together… you learned.

How to be close.

How to breathe through it.

How to want, and not run from it.

You never made it farther than touching. Than kissing with a little too much desperation. Than lying beside each other in half-buttoned clothes, holding hands, staring at the ceiling, not daring to say out loud what you were thinking.

Until the night you did.

It had started like all the other times—slow kisses, gentle touches, the comfort of being close in your little hidden room. The space had always felt like a sanctuary. Safe. Small enough to forget the world, big enough to fit two people trying to figure out how to love each other.

But tonight, something had shifted.

It wasn’t just the way Severus kissed you, or how long it lingered when his hand brushed up your side. It was the want in the air—louder than breath, louder than your heartbeat, pressing in around you both.

You shifted, moving to straddle him awkwardly on the couch. His breath hitched—part surprise, part panic.

“I can move—”

“No. Stay.” His hands landed on your thighs, uncertain.

The silence that followed wasn’t comforting. It was loud with nerves.

Your lips met again, deeper now, as if speaking through touch what neither of you could quite say out loud. His hands slid up your sides, a little too tense, like he was afraid of hurting you. You felt his fingers twitch, hesitate, then retreat slightly.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s okay.” You caught his hand and brought it back, resting it on your waist.

You kissed him again, slower this time, less rushed. As your hands moved to unbutton his shirt, your fingers fumbled on the third one. You cursed quietly under your breath.

Reaching for the hem of his shirt instead, your fingers got stuck halfway. He helped, awkwardly, pulling it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind the couch. You stared at his chest, pale and sharp-edged and scarred in places you hadn’t seen before.

You reached out to touch him, and he flinched.

“Sorry—was it to much?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No. Just…unexpected.”

His hands went to your shirt next, and he paused. “Can I?”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yes.”

You got it over your head—but then your bra caught. And suddenly, for no logical reason, you panicked.

“Wait—shit—hang on,” you gasped out getting off his lap.

Severus blinked, frozen in place. 

You laughed once, too high-pitched. “God, this is stupid. I suddenly feel like I’m going to throw up or start crying, and I don’t even know why—”

“I messed up,” he said immediately. “I‘m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“No! You didn’t!” you said. “I pushed it— I started it. I just—my brain’s freaking out and I don’t know how to turn it off.”

You laughed nervously, then immediately wanted to crawl out of your skin.

He stood up abruptly, running both hands through his hair.

“I can’t— I don’t know how to do this,” he said, pacing the room like it was too small to contain how overwhelmed he was. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know where to look right now without second-guessing everything.”

You stay on the couch, still half-dressed, heart thudding in your throat. “You think I do? I’m panicking over my face, Severus. My face. Like what if I look weird or sound weird or breathe too loud and you change your mind halfway through?”

He stared at you like he was seeing something he didn’t expect. “You think I’d change my mind about you?”

“I think you could realize I’m not what you imagined, and I could ruin it, and then I’d lose this—us.”

“I’m the one who ruins things,” he said hoarsely. “It’s what I do.”

Your chest ached as you stood slowly. Crossed to him. Took his hand—cold, trembling.

His eyes searched yours—afraid, exposed, but soft.

“Is this going to be okay?” he asked, voice low and raw.

You nodded. Then hesitated. “Yes. I mean—I think so? Are you okay?”

He looked like he was about to say yes. Then shook his head slightly. “Not really. Are you?”

You swallowed. “Not even close.”

“I'm internally combusting. I nearly bit my tongue three times trying to kiss you properly.”

That got a surprised laugh out of you, shaky but real.

“I can’t breathe properly,” you said.

“Me either,” he muttered, collapsing back onto the couch. “This is supposed to be romantic. Sensual. But it’s weird and uncomfortable—”

He cut himself off, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean that like—it’s not your fault—I just—”

“Maybe we just… maybe we just…are thinking to hard?”

You moved again, settling in his lap, trying to push through the fear. You were very aware of your body, and how close he was, and how nothing about this felt simple anymore.

“Of course we don’t have to keep going,” you continue softly. “If you don't want—”

“I want to,” he cut in. “I want…us.”

"I want that too."

You kissed him again, your noses nearly bumped and your hands got tangled in his belt, trying to open it, making you cursed under your breath. He tried to help and ended up knocking your elbow awkwardly.

“Merlin’s balls,” he muttered.

You snorted. “This is going great.”

He laughed—a real, rough, exhausted sound.

“This isn’t working,” he said.

Your stomach dropped.

He saw your expression and rushed to explain. “No—I don’t mean you. I mean me. This.”

You stared at each other, half-dressed, flushed, and clearly overwhelmed.

The both of you took some calming breaths before trying again.

Not quite elegantly as hoped.

One sock was still on. His trousers halfway pulled off before getting stuck. You ended up tangled on the couch, flushed and breathless, limbs in the wrong places, skin too sensitive, everything too much.

His fingers shook as he unclasped your bra, muttering a curse when the hook caught. You giggled. He looked horrified.

And then, somehow, through the chaos, your clothes were gone.

There was a moment where you both sat there, fully bare, too aware of your bodies, not making eye contact.

Your heart thundered.

“Still okay?” you asked.

He nodded, barely. “I am nervous.”

“Me too.”

Then he looked at you—not at your body, but at you. Eyes soft. Vulnerable. Still afraid.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t smooth. He bumped your knee. You rolled onto his arm.

Your legs wrapped around his waist too fast—like your body had made the decision before your brain caught up. It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t graceful.

Your knees knocked awkwardly against his hips, and then—suddenly—your skin was pressed flush to his, and everything stilled.

Heat. Everywhere. Hips aligned, bare. The kind of closeness that made it hard to breathe.

You both froze.

Your breath stuttered in your chest. His hand grabbed your thigh—tight, unsure if he was trying to steady you or himself. Probably both.

“Fuck,” he said, voice breaking. “Shit—”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Your heart was hammering, everything in your body tense and buzzing like an exposed wire.

You shifted your hips—just barely. Testing. The movement pressed your core flush against him, and the contact was immediate, electric.

Both of you gasped.

“Wait,” he rasped, almost choking on the word. “Don’t—just—wait.”

You froze again. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he pulled in a shaky breath. Then another. His chest rose and fell against yours, ragged.

“I need a second,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “Just—fuck, I don't want to mess this up,” he whispered

Your laugh was shaky. “Me neither. Maybe we just do it.”

He adjusted himself, shifting back a little but his knee slipped, knocking into yours, and the sudden jolt brought your bodies tight together again, making him rub against you.

You both cursed under your breath.

“I think I forgot how to breathe,” he muttered.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Same.”

You kissed him before either of you could start to overthink again. And this time, it wasn’t about getting it right—it was about getting through it. Together. Messy, nervous, real.

You guided him, hand between your bodies, fumbling more than once. The first time he pressed against you, it was off. Too high. Then too low.

“Sorry—sorry,” he muttered, brushing hair out of your face like that would somehow fix the situation. His hand was shaking.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Just…Let's try again.”

You bit your lip and reached again, helped him find the right spot, heart in your throat the whole time.

His mouth found your neck—gentle, a little desperate. Your fingers curled against his back. Not pulling him closer, not yet—just holding. Asking.

And when he finally started to push in, it was slow. Hesitant. Like he was scared he’d do it wrong.

You winced. The stretch hit too sharp, too fast.

He stopped immediately, eyes wide with panic. “Should I stop?”

You shook your head too fast. “I’m okay. Just… slow. Slower.”

He nodded, but you felt the panic in his body—the tension tightening every muscle like he was bracing for something to go wrong.

“Sev, breathe” you whispered, cupping his jaw gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His breath shuddered out of him. And then, slowly, he moved again—carefully, like he was learning how to touch someone from the inside out. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in, holding on like it might keep you from unraveling. It was too much—too big, too real, too full of feeling. You blinked hard against the pressure behind your eyes.

Your bodies moved in fits and starts—stumbling toward a rhythm that didn’t quite exist yet. He slipped more than once. You readjusted. You whispered guidance you weren’t even sure was right, words made up on instinct.

But then—something shifted. Not in motion. In feeling.

You caught his eyes mid-movement, and suddenly the awkwardness didn’t matter. He looked at you like everything else had fallen away. Like you were the only thing in the world that made any sense.

He leaned in and kissed you—open-mouthed, desperate, reverent. You made a soft sound into him, a sound that slipped out before you could think. His breath caught against your cheek like that sound had undone him.

“Again,” he whispered, voice raw. “Please.”

You kissed him harder this time, your nails dragging lightly down his back. He gasped like the touch reached something buried deep. Something fragile and aching.

The pace picked up—not perfect, still unsure, still messy. But there was more heat now. More urgency. He moved with a little more confidence, your name spilling from his lips like it was the only word he trusted. You arched into him, breath catching, pleasure threading its way through the nerves.

It wasn’t flawless. Too fast in some moments. Too slow in others. But none of that mattered.

It was real. Intimate. Raw. Not about performance, but presence.

Every second felt like telling the truth.

When it finally became too much—when you broke apart and clung to each other through it, his face buried in your neck, your fingers tangled in his hair—you didn’t say anything at first.

You didn’t need to.

You just breathed. Together. Hearts pounding in sync, sweat cooling on skin, the fire crackling quietly beside you.

His voice broke the silence.

“I’ve never… felt like that before.”

You turned your face to his. “Me either.”

He looked at you, then down, a flush creeping across his cheeks. “Was it alright? I mean—did I—”

You cut him off with a kiss. “It was us and that was good.”

His arms curled tighter around you, like he was still afraid you might disappear.

And for the first time since it started, there was no panic left between you.

You lay tangled together in silence.

His breathing hadn't quite evened out yet, and neither had yours. The room felt hot, then cold, then too quiet. The fire crackled like it was trying to fill the space between your bodies.

You were quiet for another long stretch. His hand started to move—just a slow back-and-forth across your shoulder, more like he needed to ground himself than comfort you.

You turned your face into his chest and said, muffled: “I probably should’ve studied for this.”

His hand paused. “Studied?”

“I mean, I study for everything. It feels illegal to go into anything without doing extensive research first like losing my virginity.”

He blinked. Then: “You think there’s a textbook?”

“There’s a textbook for everything,” you said, more animated now, voice still breathless. “Magical Reproductive Health and Intimacy Practices of the 20th Century, probably buried in the restricted section behind a copy of Magical Me.”

He made a sound—a startled, surprised real laugh. Just for a second. Then it faded, and his expression softened again.

“I think I wouldn’t have been ready,” he said, voice low. “Even if I’d studied every page.”

You looked up at him, and for the first time since it happened, you both truly saw each other again—flushed, nervous, scared out of your minds… but still here.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” you admitted. “Not the physical part. Just… being this close. It’s more than I expected.”

“It’s more than I thought I was allowed to have,” he said quietly. “And it’s terrifying.”

You nodded.

“Next time we plan it,” you added, after a beat.

He looked at you. “Is that a Ravenclaw thing again?”

“Maybe. Probably one of our house mottos.”

He smiled. Not a smirk. Not a shield. A real, quiet smile.

His hand slipped back around your waist, this time less tight. Less afraid. Just… there.

And you let yourself sink into it.

[jazminethecreator]

piwon attending your family reunion (black reader)

keeho

from the moment keeho stepped out the car, he’s already grinning like he’s been coming to the family reunions for years. “it smells good out here.. who’s on the grill?” he calls out, not even waiting for you to introduce him. your uncles, impressed by his boldness, pulls him over for a plate of food.

before you know it, he’s made himself at home. putting a bunch of mac and cheese on his plate and teaching your aunties how to say Korean phrases. your nana’s laughing so hard she wiping her eyes.

you catch him later, mouth full of ribs, debating with your cousins wether beyoncè or janet jackson had the best super bowl performance. keeho motions you across the yard, pulling you to sit on his lap. he presses a kiss to the side of your head before whispering, “thanks for bringing me here.”

you’re glad because he fits in like a puzzle piece. somehow, he’s already invited to thanksgiving.

theo

theo walks up beside you quiet, hands in his pocket. he then pulls out a bouquet of flowers. for your mom. “thank you for having me,” he says gently. your mom is immediately impressed.

he doesn’t say much at first, answering honestly, smiling. your nosy aunts pull you aside whispering, “that boy got that pretty face. real respectful too. don’t mess that up y/n.”

later, as everyone eats and the playlist starts to shift from usher to cameo, someone calls out, “hey, we’re doing the electric slide! don’t act new!” you immediately get up, grabbing theo to dance where everyone else is. you carefully teach him the moves and he catches on quickly, soon becoming a natural. it’s like he’s been doing line dances at family functions all his life.

when you asked how he did that so well later that night, he wraps his arms around you and shrugs, “i watch you do it all the time.”

jiung

ever since you’ve arrived, jiung has been standing next to you quietly. he’s observing, soaking it all in. his eyes land on the love and laughter flowing around your family. “this reminds me of home,” he says quietly. “different culture. same warmth.”

when your uncle hears he’s into music and part of a k-pop band, he drags him into the family open mic session. jiung reluctantly agrees and blows everyone away with a cover of daniel caesar. it leaves everyone quiet for a while, wondering where this boy came from

later, he finds you again and tells you, “babe, i don’t want to leave.” you laugh and reach your hand to caress his face, letting him know he’s stuck with you and your family for the rest of his life.

as the party is slowly dying down, you and jiung stay a bit longer to look at family photos throughout the house.

intak

you told intak to dress chill. he showed up in his best outfit. you can’t lie, he did look fine as hell but that’s not what you told him. “i have to rep you well!” he says, already posing for selfies with your younger cousins.

music bumps from the speakers and someone yells, “yall already know what time it is, dance battles!” intak immediately lifts his head up from the plate of greens he was eating. he removes his flannel, handing it to you before making his way over. what starts as playful turns into a whole performance. he does what he does best and practically wins your family over.

later, he’s at the spades table talking with your great-uncle like he’s being there for years. when you ask how he can navigate everything so easily, he leans in close and says, “because i’m yours. i had to impress my future family.”

soul

you had no idea what to expect from soul. he walked in quietly behind everyone, no expression until someone offered him a plate. “what’s this?” he asks you, putting some food on his fork. “they’re chitlins baby, don’t eat that…” you reply. he stares at them with confusion before turning to the sweet potatoes. then he eats five servings of those.

soon, your little cousins are following him like ducklings. he’s showing them some choreography, using only facial expressions and hand motions. he has the kids running back to the parents, showing them the cool dance they just learned so they can get a sleepover.

midway through the cookout, your aunt catches a video of him dancing to swag surfin’. you watch in shock since you weren’t there to watch it, you were having to change a diaper.

“where’d you find this boy?” your cousin laughs. you don’t even know how to explain but youre glad he’s with you.

jongseob

you warn him that your family is crazy. still, jongseob comes in wearing a nice outfit and shy smile, offering to help set up chairs and pass out waters to the older ladies. “he’s adorable,” your grandma whispers. “he’s nineteen,” you say for the fifth time.

still, your family babies him, pinching his cheeks and calling him “young man” likes he’s twelve. you’re confused because when have they ever treated you like this? you knew you messed up when you told your uncles he could rap. one quick freestyle later, half the family is cheering for him

later, your baby cousins spills soda on herself, you help her clean it up while he distracts her from crying with beatboxing. your dad watches, nods, and gives you the “he’s alright” nod.

and even though everyone keeps teasing him, jongseob just smiles, finding your hand under the table to squeeze it. “thank you for bringing me here y/n, it’s nice.”

a/n: heyy so uhm it’s crazy how i had time to post this and not the smau 😭 this is my first time doing this so pls give feedback & fic ideas in my inbox 😛

@jazminethecreator

[stolitzsings]

I hear you're bored so here's a question— what musical instrument do you think your favourite helluva blorbos would play? We've seen a couple of them actually playing instruments in the show, but not all of them (Stolas and Loona, for example). So... Any thoughts? 👀 - @blitzwhore ✨

Thanks for the ask! It provided some unexpected inspiration, so here have this mini fic I wrote at like 3 am 😅

~~~

Stolas ran his fingers over the silky, dark wood of the piano, the twinge of an old ache stirring in his chest.

"Can you play that thing?" Blitz asked, eyeing him curiously.

He blushed and stammered, halfway to denying it before Blitz rolled his eyes.

"Fuck, of course you can."

"I was never very good," Stolas offered. Certainly, Stella had hated his playing, and he hadn't touched the one at the palace in over a decade.

Blitz crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the piano. "Well, show me what you've got."

Stolas glanced around the music store nervously. It seemed empty except for the bored imp flicking through a magazine at the counter. They had only stopped in because Moxxie finally snapped and binned the stash of kazoos that Blitz kept at the office specifically to torment him.

"Really, I haven't played in years," Stolas protested, but he still found himself sitting down at the piano bench. What was it about having Blitz's eyes on him that made it so hard to disobey?

Although he was out of practice, he assumed the proper posture automatically. He rolled his shoulders down, took a deep breath, and began to play.

The song had always been a favorite of his, and clung to his memory even now. It was a lovely piece, slow and soothing, but with a touch of melancholy underneath, like a sad sort of lullaby.

His fingers fumbled with the keys and he winced at every misplaced note. His face heated up in embarrassment. Blitz would certainly see why he didn't play anymore now.

After a few halting bars he risked a glance up at Blitz's face, bracing himself to see disappointment or annoyance there. To his shock, he found that Blitz was staring at him wide-eyed, his lips slightly parted and his tail swaying gently behind him.

The sight startled him out of his playing and stilled his hands on the keys. He met Blitz's gaze for a moment, flustered and wondering, and then Blitz stepped closer, rounding the bench to stand behind his shoulder.

One gentle claw came up and traced the length of Stolas's spine.

"Keep going," Blitz said softly.

His embarrassed flush was replaced by a much more pleasant sort of blush at the feeling of Blitz's hands on him. He took another deep breath and resumed as Blitz continued to make long strokes down his back.

When he finally finished the piece, he let the last note fade from the air before seeking Blitz's gaze again. He had barely turned his head when Blitz caught him up in a kiss, deep and passionate and delightfully unexpected.

He sighed into Blitz's mouth, all the lingering tension of his mediocre performance melting from his shoulders. He lifted a hand to cup Blitz's cheek, but Blitz caught it and entwined their fingers, stepping away from the kiss and gently pulling Stolas up.

Confusion gripped him as Blitz led him from the shop without buying anything.

"Where are we going?"

Blitz turned back to him, his grin bright and just a little dangerous.

"I wanna see what else those pretty hands can do."

[bellstrom]

He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk spreading across his lips at the mention of the word "domestic." His gaze briefly narrowed with curiosity, but then softened at the thought of his mother. Benny's laughter rang out, transforming into a warm chuckle. Chicago felt like a distant memory, yet being surrounded by familiar faces from that time transported him back to moments long passed. Although revisiting those old memories often made his stomach churn with a mix of nostalgia and anxiety, this encounter felt surprisingly pleasant. The joy of reconnecting with old friends always had a way of brightening his spirits.

“Do I?” he asked, a teasing grin stretching across his face. “Yeah, she is. I mean, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows when I moved here, but things are good now.” His words carried the weight of experience, a testament to the healing nature of time. Things weren't perfect, but they were infinitely better than before. “Wait, you said I give off 'domestic' vibes? Is that a good thing?” he continued, his curiosity piqued. The notion of being seen as domestic should typically be a positive trait, considering... things. Still, uncertainty crept in, making him wonder if it could somehow hold a different connotation than he hoped.

If there was anything Benny was moderately good at, it was minding his own business. Conversations with Sonny typically followed a familiar pattern, often skimming the surface. Occasionally, they would manage to break through some barriers and delve a little deeper. Benny liked to think he knew Sonny better than just a passing acquaintance, but her answer suddenly made him feel challenged. Work? That didn’t seem right. He furrowed his brows in confusion. Unsure of how to respond, he opened his mouth but paused when she spoke again.

Hearing that Sonny was a mother was the last thing Benny expected her to say. His eyes widened in surprise, and a wide grin spread across his face. "Wait, you're a whole ass mom?!" he exclaimed, his tone filled with excitement. He was in utter shock, but he had been keen on the idea of being a parent for a while; he couldn't help but immediately take the news as something good. However, he quickly grasped the seriousness of her story.

Tilting his head, Benny felt a rush of adrenaline at the unexpected revelation. "Is that who you're here with? Where are they?" he asked eagerly. He skimmed over her head and even turned his body to look around. Benny's curiosity was piqued; so much had happened since the last time they had seen each other. He playfully teased her, trying to lighten the mood, especially when he noticed the burden on her shoulders seemed a bit heavier than usual.

After settling down and stifling his laughter, Benny tilts his head with curiosity when she remarks how good it is to see him. He nods in her direction, a warm smile spreading across his face, conveying that he feels the same. But when she teasingly reminds him about the lunch he owes her, a twinkle of recognition flickers in his eyes. His brows knit together as the memory of their playful bet from years ago rushes to the forefront of his mind.

"Oh shit," he chuckles, amusement dancing in his voice. "You've got an insane memory." How could he forget? "I would have taken you to lunch anyway, but it's nice to know you have something to hold over my head to keep me accountable." With a casual wave of his hand, he leans back against the sturdy pillar, a relaxed posture belying the excitement he feels. "I do have time, actually. I moved here seven years ago, so we’ve had years to make up for all that lost time. I figured you might be the one with a harder schedule to fit into. Given the whole... mom thing," he grins, nudging her playfully.

Sonny laughs — a warm, almost subdued sound that curls around them, like smoke. Sunny D. She shakes her head at the former nickname, a flicker of something soft crossing her features before she masks it with a smirk. “God, I forgot you used to call me that. Still terrible,” she teases, though she can admit she doesn't exactly hate it either. Just then, she returns the hug, brief but genuine, before stepping back and scanning him again like she's still trying to convince herself this isn’t some strange nostalgia-fueled dream, seeing him again.

“Family, huh?” she echoes, glancing past him toward the crowd. They never really talked much about their families. Sonny preferred to keep the conversation and mood light. But, if they had, then the knowledge would cave in on her just like everything else has. “That explains the domestic vibes.” Her tone is still teasing, but something tightens behind her eyes. Then, passes after a second. “Bet your mom’s thrilled to have you home then? You always struck me as the type to disappear and leave the fridge half empty behind you.”

At his question, her smile twitches — not quite vanishing, but bending into something a little less clear-cut. “Work,” she says finally, easily, like it should be enough to propel away any other questions. But if she knows Benny half as well as she thinks she does, she suspects he’ll be able to see right through her bullshit. So after a long pause, she adds, “Or well, actually... I never told you this. Because we haven't seen each other in so long and it happened after I left Chicago but—I have a son here. He's seven. I came to see him, be with him, and hopefully make amends with his dad. It's a long story.” She offers a shrug. “It hasn't really gone all that well though if I'm being honest." Which, when it came to Benny, she usually was. Weird, huh. "But, I suppose that's to be expected."

After glancing back at the wish wall and, then down at her boots, Sonny goes on to add. “Maybe it’s the quiet I'm not used to. Or all the family bonding. Or hell, maybe it’s just the ghosts walking around looking like people I used to know that's been a bit unsettling for be here but.... I feel out of place.” Her eyes flick back up to his. “Anyway. It's good to see you. You got time? Or am I interrupting some big cousin reunion thing? I'd love to catch up. Maybe cash in on that lunch you owe me from years ago. Don't think for a second I've forgotten.”

[zukosdualdao]

i lost a friend, i lost a friend, i lost my mind

[so-called-quail]

'Trapped in the end!' said Sam bitterly, his anger rising again above weariness and despair. 'Gnats in a net. May the curse of Faramir bite that Gollum and bite him quick!' 'That would not help us now,' said Frodo.

Sword in hand Sam went after him. For the moment he had forgotten everything else but the red fury in his brain and the desire to kill Gollum. But before he could overtake him, Gollum was gone. Then as the dark hole stood before him and the stench came out to meet him, like a clap of thunder the thought of Frodo and the monster smote upon Sam's mind.

Now he tried to find strength to tear himself away and go on a lonely journey – for vengeance. If once he could go, his anger would bear him down all the roads of the world, pursuing, until he had him at last: Gollum. Then Gollum would die in a corner. But that was not what he had set out to do. It would not be worth while to leave his master for that. It would not bring him back. Nothing would.

Sam and vengeance in today's entry

[looselipssinkships-x]

prehiatus pete looks a lot like my cousin did when we were like 18-20

my cousin has since come out as nonbinary and started hrt