#and like im sore but not overly so

[spitefulfitness]

It's like the hottest part of summer, but I am grateful for my hard work! I did more running than walking yesterday!

I ran at least a mile, and then walk two others while listening to a podcast. Felt good to accomplish some running, even though it's been about a month since my last run. I still ran further and more successfully than my last run!

I have been going out to either speed walk or swim in the evenings, and then doing some stretching afterwards. I started adding some strength training, too. I am very excited to have access to a gym. I might even try some rockwall climbing!

SW: 188.8

CW: 178.8

GW1: 175 (so close!)

GW4: 145

[abluehappyface]

Maybe it's the fact that I'm sick, extra punchy, and sound like a combination of a microphone with bad feedback and a bug, but I feel like this ad from the DMV OF ALL PLACES just fucking sucks. Like is it supposed to be a positive that people are more likely to stop for ducks than other human beings??? Is it a positive that people are more likely to stop for an animal that can fly away from an approaching car than YOU??? I understand that it's like a "don't text/drink and drive" ad that's more "do as I say" instead of "buy what I tell you," but honestly I feel like this is failing! The picture of ducks on a road doesn't tell me the problem visually, the bolded words are Bad™ as I've already explained, and the actual message of the ad blends in with the road to the point I had SCROLL UP AGAIN to actually see it! "People are more likely to stop for ducks than people on roads." HEY WHY IS THAT EXACTLY!?

[drivemysoul]

cancelling my plans today because i think i have covid ✌🏻

[libingan]

—how the tf141 are like when they’re sick.

im sick. that’s literally my only motivation to write this.

i feel like absolute shit but holy fuck i wanted to write this so pls enjoy

no horny juice rn, so its all fluff

JOHN PRICE

when price gets sick, it’s almost like he’s in denial about it. he’s the type to downplay everything—says it’s just a little cough, just a bit of a sore throat. but then, as the fever starts creeping up, you see the cracks in his usual solid demeanor. he’s flushed, his breathing a bit labored, and when you gently place the back of your hand on his forehead, he swats you away at first, grumbling that he’s fine.

“you don’t have to worry about me,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice steady. but the cough that rattles through his chest betrays him, and eventually, even he can’t deny it anymore.

you coax him into bed, tucking the blankets around his broad frame, and he grumbles under his breath about how ridiculous this all is. he’s not used to being taken care of—he’s the captain, the one in charge, and letting someone fuss over him isn’t in his nature. but there’s a moment when you bring him some tea, and he accepts it quietly, his eyes softening just a little as he watches you.

“i’ve had worse,” he rasps, his voice thick with congestion, but when you sit beside him, he leans into the warmth of your presence, even if he won’t admit it. he tries to stay in control, tries to ask about your day or if there’s any work that needs to be done, but you can see how tired he is. when he finally gives in to sleep, his hand rests loosely on yours, a silent acknowledgment that he’s glad you’re there, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

gaz is the worst when he’s sick, and he knows it. he tries to be strong about it, but the minute the fever sets in, he’s a mess of sniffles, groans, and dramatic sighs. you find him sprawled out on the couch, a blanket barely covering him as he flips through channels, looking utterly miserable.

“i feel like death,” he complains when you sit next to him, and despite the obvious exaggeration, he looks pitiful enough that you can’t help but smile. he’s not usually one to be overly needy, but when he’s sick? he’s all about the attention.

you bring him some soup, and he gives you a weak smile, propping himself up just enough to take a sip. “you’re an angel,” he mumbles, but even that little bit of gratitude is followed by a dramatic cough that makes you roll your eyes.

he’s restless, constantly shifting under the blankets and complaining about how bored he is, how much he hates feeling like this. you offer to stay with him, and his eyes light up, a mischievous glint behind the obvious exhaustion. “you gonna keep me company?” he teases, voice thick with congestion. “or are you just here to make sure i don’t die on the couch?

you settle in beside him, and even though he’s feeling awful, he still cracks jokes, trying to keep things light. but there’s a quiet moment where he leans into you, his head resting on your shoulder as he drifts off to sleep, his breathing finally evening out. you stay there, feeling the weight of him against you, knowing that as much as he’s complaining, he appreciates you being there.

JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

soap is absolutely insufferable when he’s sick, and he knows it. at first, he tries to play it off—still bouncing around, still grinning, still acting like everything’s fine. but then the fever hits, and it’s like watching a hurricane get knocked flat. he’s sprawled out on the bed, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable no matter what he does.

you bring him a glass of water, and he gives you that familiar, cocky grin, even though he’s clearly not feeling well. “you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he rasps, taking the water and downing it in one go. his voice is rough, but there’s still that glint of mischief in his eyes. “ye know, if i weren’t sick, we could be havin’ a lot more fun right now.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the way his teasing makes your heart flutter. he’s always been like this—flirty, cheeky, always pushing your buttons. even now, as he’s lying there, feverish and miserable, he can’t resist making a comment.

“don’t suppose you’ll give me a wee cuddle, eh?” he grins, shifting on the bed and patting the spot beside him. “might help me feel better.”

you know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, but when you settle next to him, he actually quiets down for a moment, resting his head on your shoulder. his skin is warm, almost too warm, and you can feel the tension in his muscles as he tries to get comfortable

“don’t worry,” he mumbles, his voice soft now. “i’ll be back to my usual self soon enough. ye won’t be able to keep yer hands off me.” despite his words, he’s clearly exhausted, and when he finally drifts off, he’s peaceful for once, his usual energy gone, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

when ghost gets sick, it’s like he’s trying to hide it from the world. he’s not the type to show weakness, not even to you, and it takes a lot for him to admit that he’s not feeling well. but eventually, even he can’t fight it off anymore, and you find him in bed, eyes closed, the tension in his body betraying how much he’s struggling.

he doesn’t say much when you sit beside him, offering him some medicine and a glass of water. he just nods, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes the glass, the touch brief but enough to let you know he’s thankful for your presence.

he’s quiet—always quiet—but even more so when he’s sick. there’s no grumbling, no complaining, just the occasional shift of his body as he tries to get comfortable. you adjust the blankets around him, and his eyes flicker open for a moment, dark and heavy with exhaustion.

“you don’t have to stay,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. but there’s no force behind his words, no real intent for you to leave. in fact, the way his eyes follow you as you move around the room tells you that he doesn’t want to be alone, even if he won’t admit it.

you sit beside him, and for a while, there’s just the sound of his breathing, slow and labored. he doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t demand your attention, but the way his hand occasionally brushes against yours is enough. he’s not used to being taken care of, but he lets you stay, lets you be the quiet comfort he needs.

eventually, his breathing evens out, and he falls into a restless sleep. you watch over him, knowing that even though he doesn’t say much, your presence is enough to ease some of the weight he’s carrying, even if only for a little while.

[4pfsukuna]

California king bed

Debrief: its 1:12am and neither you or satoru can sleep, Suguru has a solution.

Warning: satoru is a sore looser who sucks at rock, paper, scissors. Satosugu x Black coded reader.

Suguru stirs slightly in his sleep when he hears your soft giggles. He was never a rough sleeper but  he loved laying in the California king sized bed lovers not far, to him this was peace. A lazy Wednesday afternoon when it's raining the soft pitter patter of rain hitting the window Gojos long ass leg thrown over you and him—

—your r&b playing as he alternates between running a thumb over his calf and leaving soft little kisses on your temple curls that slipped out from under your purple satin scarf tickling his chin. He knows your scarf is going to slide off soon and you’d complain all morning so he adjust it eyes half lidded.

But it wasn’t Wednesday afternoon, it was Sunday morning approximately 1:12 am, the pitch black being illuminated by the glow of Satorus  bright blue eyes and the slight bickering of you two.

It's when he hears Gojo suck his teeth and “no, best 2 out of 3” the soft clicks of your acrylic nails and then “wait princess 3 out of 5” that he hears your giggle again.

“You're hogging him and I want my time” he hears Satoru whine before he feels your body press further into him. There's the strong scent of your vanilla lotion and caramel scented leave in conditioner followed by a cool breeze in the room but he knows thats absolutely not the reason you moved closer.

“So what! you lost at rock paper scissors 7 times im not sharing so you can cuddle him, fuck you” he hears you whisper yell to the snow haired man and his eyes snap open. You two were up disrupting his sleep with a fucking rock paper scissors game to see who got to cuddle him?! 

He felt his eye twitch…twice before a smile falls on his face and before he knows it he’s laughing ending the bickering between you two. You two were the biggest idiots and had a strange way of making him feel so loved. You both wanted him? 

You both wanted him.

Oftentimes in your relationship he felt he was fighting Satoru for your attention and oh did that man have a slick way of getting exactly what he wanted. He’d pout and huff and puff and he was equally in love with satoru so he knew once the man got pouty it was hard to not give him his way, hard not to bend to his wants.

But hearing you fight Satoru to be close to Suguru? He only wishes he let it go on a bit longer. He craved your affection.

Rolling on his back he looks over at the two of you seeing the pure love and adoration in both your eyes he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat. 

“If i sleep in the middle will you two shut up?” He asks teasingly, pulling you from the middle to his left side letting you curl up and throw your leg over his thick thighs. He pays you no mind as you stick your tongue out at Satoru before yanking him closer, his head immediately resting on Sugurus' chest directly across from yours, flicking your tongue.

“I could hollow purple your tongue right now and—“ he begins his empty threat until you roll your eyes and cut him off making sure your leg brushes his.

“You wouldn’t! You like the thing i do with my tongue” you smirk closing your eyes feeling  Suguru plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.  

“What?! She threatened me and mmpph—“ you peek an eye open to see Suguru pressing his lips against Satoru watching how he melts into it all fight dying on his tongue any leftover battle being licked out by Sugurus tongue. 

The dark haired man pulls him down to his chest and you watch as Satoru complys looks overly contempt with himself closing his eyes. He hums when your hand finds a way to his hair nails on his scalp, his fluffy white hair covering your hand.

Suguru watches the whole interaction fighting to keep his eyes open and admires the both of you falling asleep in a pile of tangled limbs and love for another, there's no place he'd rather be. 

So yes he might like wednesday but he also loves Sundays at 1am during the spring  when both of his lovers are curled into his sides blocking him from leaving the California king sized bed.

 He loves Sundays at 1am during the spring when you’re dressed in nothing but his oversized tshirt and Satoru is in a deep sleep occasionally squeezing him or curling more into his side.

He loves Sunday at 1am during the spring when it’s still dark outside, still quiet… still. Because he has several more hours in bed with both of you, more time to get rest, more time to admire you both, more time to love and feel loved as he pulls the both of you closer. 

Sinking further into the pillows he lets sleep takeover the glow of the city 20 floors down from the penthouse lost behind the black out curtains, the city sounds of cars and horns lost from so high up the only sound is breathing and the steady thumping you hear of Sugurus heartbeat.

[venusbby]

post it, or don't ♡

characters/pairings: itoshi rin x reader

warnings: one cuss word lol, not proofread sorry if there's any typos!!! have a good day people.

✿ summary: your tired boyfriend is not a big fan of your spam account being filled with his overly cute photos.

"stop that—"

"stop what?"

"you're taking pictures of me."

"im not, rinnie."

you definitely were.

how could you not take pictures of him when he's sprawled out on top of you like a house cat?

although he was trying his best not to put all of his weight on you, it was impossible to control himself. especially when his body was quite sore from his new workout routine.

rin was unusually clingy today, his exhaustion was responsible for that. initially, all he needed was to lie down on the bed and let his muscles rest against the mattress— but then he realised you were already there, scrolling through your social media.

he just couldn't say no when you opened your arms and called out to him with that soft voice of yours, and he had already started to dream of the satisfying feeling of your hands running through his hair by that time.

and that's how he ended up with his face nestled in your neck and his legs tangled with yours, much to your enjoyment and his instant regret when you clicked on the camera icon and watched the mess of the dark green hair that tickled your cheek.

he didn't realise anything at first because his eyes were closed and he was actually considering falling asleep right then and there. however, the clicking sound of your phone was enough to make him groan and hide his face further.

but your laugh was so soft yet contagious, right next to his ear, and he was holding onto that one string of hope that you wouldn't record a video of his immediate complaints.

"babyyy, say hi!" you said while doing the exact thing he didn't want you to do— recording a video. it was so fun to get on his nerves sometimes.

all he could do was give the side of your bare hips a light squeeze as he tried his best to speak quietly so the video wouldn't pick up what he was saying. "you make me fucking miserable."

your cheeks hurt from how hard you smiled. "alright, okay. i've got my pictures, im satisfied. i'll leave you alone now."

rin slowly peeked up when you placed your phone on the bedside table and shot a glare as you looked down at him. "you're not posting that. i'm tired of seeing my face on my own feed."

"yeah! totally not posting that."

"y/n." it's become a daily thing for him to use your name in that warning tone. "not even the paparazzi post as many pictures of me as you do."

you rolled your eyes. "it's because i'm your biggest fan. just one?"

"no."

"rinnie, pretty please. you just look so cute. gosh, you look even cuter right now." you tried to soften his edges a bit, feeling your chest implode with love because God, your boyfriend was so effortlessly cute. especially when his tired eyes were covered with his dark strands.

all you got in return was a grunt and rin was back to burying his face in the crook of your neck. he really didn't have the energy to deal with your weird ways of convincing. he just needed sleep, and you— he had both of his favourite things now.

you knew he granted you permission once he stopped, or more like gave up, and thanked him softly.

rin hummed as your hands ran over his neck and shoulders and lightly pressed his stiff muscles. a massage to top it all off, your boyfriend was quite literally seeing stars.

"squeeze harder," he mumbled, exhaling slowly when you did as he told you to.

"so, you've been working out."

he didn't respond, waiting for you to say something more related to that as you pondered while pressing your thumb into his skin to ease out the tension.

"don't i deserve a photo or two?" you proposed, a shameless grin on your face when you heard your lover make another noise in annoyance.

"maybe if you don't post that video," rin said, planting a quick kiss against your warm neck as he continued, knowing he had found a good solution. "i'll send you some."

and a few days later, you realised that it was a pretty good deal.

fjskfjskfndmcndkv. this is all i have to show. bye fellow rin enjoyers.

[apute11as]

Everything happens for a reason part 5 - Alexia Putellas x pregnant!reader

Summary: the world cup final holds some bumps and bruises.

Warnings: angst, blood, injury (all resolved don’t worry!!)

Notes: We pretend alexia played the full 90 of the final… and assisted the winner🤫and no R*biales situation. ALSO deepest apologies for how inactive i’ve been, i have been busy but… i’ve also been lazy i’ll try and be better from now on im sorry!! ❤️

⭐️My requests are open!

Other parts here!!

~~~~

Things had been a lot calmer since yours and Alexia’s phone call. The morning sickness and overall fatigue was ever present but the mind numbing arguing had subsided. Alexia still wasn’t overly impressed that you were still playing, as you were nearing the end of your first trimester. The management staff now knew about your pregnancy but after a medical checkup and lots of reassuring, they cleared you to complete the tournament.

The World Cup final was soon and you’d just finished the match that saw you get through. As the final whistle blew, relief flooded your system at the win.

“YES WE’RE THROUGH Y/N!” Screamed Mary, picking you up and hoisting you onto her back.

“I know I can’t believe it!!” You shouted back

The rest of the girls were celebrating as you remained on the goalkeeper’s back, her carrying you around like a carriage.

“Oi careful Mearps don’t want to damage the little princesa!” Bellowed Lucy, upon seeing you on her back.

You were pretty sure Alexia had threatened Lucy in some way in order for her to look out for you whilst Alexia couldn’t. You couldn’t go a day without the older brunette either piling extra food onto your plate, shouting at someone for touching you lightly or simply calling the baby “La princesa”.

——

Later that evening, you were splayed across Lucy’s bed, Alessia beside you as the two of you had decided to bombard the older girl until she agreed to let you come in. A Disney movie was playing in the background as you rested your head in Alessia’s lap, your hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on your small bump.

“Ughh why are my tits so sore!” You groaned

“I don’t think your wife would be too happy about me partaking in a conversation about your tits” joked Lucy sarcastically.

“oh shut up! Everything just hurts all the time now, my whole body just kills, especially after the matches” you whined.

“Old age feels the same” laughed Lucy.

“Well both of you are complaining an awful lot considering we only have the final to go, surely that’s exciting no?” added Alessia

“I mean sure it’s exciting but i’m not really looking forward to playing against my wife and half of our team”

“Yeah me neither honestly” agreed Lucy

“Ugh you’re both so miserable, we’ve made it to our first world cup final!” Alessia insisted

“I can’t wait to go home honestly” you began. “I mean obviously I’d love for us to win and this tournament has been incredible, but I just miss my wife and my dog” you explained, eyes filling with tears.

“Oh honey are you crying?” Alessia asked, pulling you into her embrace

“shut up i’m not crying” you huffed in disgust, causing alessia to squeeze you harder. “it’s the baby it’s not me” you sobbed

“look at that la reina is controlling you through her spawn even when she’s not here” bellowed lucy

“Piss off bronze” you sulked

———

Training leading up to the final was exhausting to say the least, and it really wasn’t helped by the helicopter parenting you got from half of the team, regarding the baby. The running joke of you “carrying the heir to the throne” caught on quick, even Sarina had played into it, which really didn’t help the teasing you were already receiving from the girls.

Alexia had managed to call you every day recently, inquiring after the health of her “princesas” and somehow managing to hover more than anyone, despite not even being there in person. That is how you found yourself, the day before the final on the phone to your wife, despite you both swearing not to speak to each other before the match.

“Yes Alexia i have been eating well” you huffed

“Are you sure mi amor? How is the sickness?” she replied

“Still exists but it’s definitely better now, it’s only in the morning so it’s not draining me quite as much.”

“That’s good bebita, how are you feeling about tomorrow?” Your wife questioned with a frown.

“Hey i thought we agreed, no football talk” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

“sí but i couldn’t resist mi amor, it won’t leave my mind”

“i know Ale but just think, after tomorrow we’ll be together again, regardless of the result” you smiled

“i miss you so much” she sighed

“i miss you too baby” you agreed

———

Dinner that evening was tense, it was evident that despite the excitement in the air at the prospect of a world cup final, the anxiety levels were also high. Even Georgia who was infamous for her inability to keep quiet, was relatively subdued. A strange sense of dread overcame your body as you realised your little bubble would burst as soon as the World Cup was over. Which was not to say that that you didn’t miss your wife because you most definitely did but you knew that this would almost certainly be your last game of competitive football before the baby arrived which was bittersweet when you really thought about it.

“How you feeling darling?” Questions Mary, lightly bumping your hip as she passed her plate onto the chef to be loaded.

“Nervous but excited i think” you half laughed.

“You’ll be amazing, you’ve saved us multiple times in this tournament. I know how hard it’ll be to be up against her but you deserve it y/n! Celebrate that regardless of the result tomorrow”

“You always know what to say Mary” you smiled, bringing the older woman into a hug.

You hadn’t slept so well since the tournament has started, sometimes all that was needed was a friend.

The journey to the match saw you receiving a good luck text from many people, one of which being your mother in law. Although you knew she’d be supporting Spain, as would Alba, you knew that the pair would be proud of both you and Alexia regardless of the result.

——

The bus arrived at the ground after a short 30 minute drive, something you were thankful for as that pregnancy travel sickness was no joke. You were seated next to Alessia much to your delight, the younger girl had been nothing but supportive of you the entire tournament. Ella and Mary were sat opposite you two on the table, playing a rather competitive game of uno.

“You ready?” Alessia sighed as she stood up.

“As ready as i’ll ever be” you said, mirroring her sigh.

“LETS GO GIRLS!” Bellowed Ella, the brunette forever having no filter.

You stepped off the bus, only to be greeted by masses of fans behind the gates, waiting to cheer you in. Many of those fans were adorned in Spanish shirts, likely hoping to get a video of you, Lucy and Keira as you noticed a couple of them with Barça scarves around their necks.

You smiled as you high-fived the row of mascot children to your right, carrying a bottle of water in your other hand.

As you found your way to the changing room, the atmosphere started to sink in as you realised you were actually at a world cup final, something that 5 year-old you had dreamed of since the day your idols Ronaldinho and Rivaldo had stepped onto that same stage 21 years ago.

Pitch inspection was up next as you wandered beside your captain with her reminding you of formation and reassuring you of your importance to the team throughout the tournament. You looked across the pitch and saw the Spanish team doing the same thing, wondering whether or not it would be appropriate to go and greet them.

Lucy being Lucy, beat you to that thought as she bounded over in the direction of Ona and your recognisably pink-haired girlfriend. Alexia was adorned in a navy blue tracksuit that proudly (or rather not so) displayed the RFEF emblem on her heart.

You wandered over, slightly more carefully than your counterpart, locking eyes with your wife as she looked up from her phone. Her gaze softened as it met yours, the both of you knowing that a conversation would result in tears, no matter the nature of it. Instead, you chose a simple hug, a hug that said more than words ever could. One of her arms was settled on your back, the other reached gently over your hoodie to caress the small bump that formed there.

“I love you” she whispered softly in your ear.

“Te amo” you responded, before breaking the hug and wandering back over to join the rest of your teammates, knowing you both needed the focus before the match and any further interaction would have to wait for the sake of concentration.

Upon reaching the dressing room, you began to change into your warmup kit, placing your hands where your wife’s have been just moments ago and smiling.

“Starting to show are we?” Questioned Leah with a smirk

“Hmm yes a little” you smiled

“How do you feel seeing her?” She inquired after Alexia

“Honestly relieved to be with her again” you sighed

“Well that’s good darling, we’ve got a game to win now come on!” She cheered as she dragged you by the arm, onto the pitch.

——

You readied yourself into position, you spared a simple glance at your wife, knowing that regardless of the result today you would end up in her arms and that thought alone was enough to calm some of the nerves currently enveloping your body. You glanced into the stadium briefly, scanning the crowd where your gaze met your mother and sister in law, cheering frantically. You noticed that Alba was in fact wearing an England scarf on top of her Spain jersey, a detail that made you grin slightly at her love.

The game kicked off relatively fast paced with Spain holding much of possession but luckily the majority of that possession was through their defence and midfield and far from your backline. The actual tempo of the game was relatively calm with the majority of Spain’s attacking opportunities being closed down through the talented midfield and sharp defence that England possessed.

However this all but changed in the 29th minute as Lucy made a risky run out into the middle and you were torn between covering her and staying on Jenni as she’d positioned herself perfectly onside, ready to receive any loose ball that came her way and likely put it in the net, knowing the talented feet of the 33 year old. Ultimately you stood your ground with Jenni, calling on Georgia to come back and cover. Before Georgia could grasp what you were saying over the volume of the crowd, Spain had regained possession via Alexia as she slotted a pass of pin point accuracy across to Olga Carmona who running at full speed down the wing, the wing in which Lucy should reside. Damn Lucy Bronze and her spontaneous spurts of energy. Your legs moved faster than your mind as you raced across the pitch, attempting to thwart Spain’s promising attack but before you could get there, Carmona struck the ball with a perfection that many could only dream of. You watched as the ball soared across the goal, straight at the right post and hit the back of the net as Mary stretched out fully.

The save never came.

Everything went silent.

Spain had scored and there was nothing you could do about it.

Your ears tuned back into reality as you watched Olga lift her shirt to reveal a message in celebration, you watched as her teammates, including your wife, rushed to pile her into a group hug. You watched as your own teammates sauntered back to the half way line in despair, knowing that your decision to stick back could’ve been the decider that cost a goal in potentially the most important game of your career.

Despite all this, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth inside you as you saw Alexia, the look of pure passion and happiness on her face, a look you missed seeing when she played. Your wife had assisted the goal to put her team ahead in a World Cup final and despite it being against your beloved England, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of joy for the woman you loved.

——

Half time couldn’t have come any sooner as you wiped your brow and plodded off the field, exhausted from both the physical and emotional battles that the first half had brought.

The dressing room was tense, Sarina was in the centre of it offering a motivating team talk, a team talk you payed little attention to as all you could think about was how you selfishly hoped she’d pull you off at half time. You’d never ask to come off but if she did decide to take you off in that moment, you couldn’t help but feel you’d be happy for the rest as the pregnancy was seriously impacting your energy levels.

To your disappointment, your prayers were not answered and you were forced to likely endure another 45 minutes of football, despite the ache that persisted throughout your body. You gathered into the huddle of your teammates, just as the second half was about to commence.

“You alright y/n?” Asked Lucy, concern etched in her face

“Mhm just a little exhausted” you assured the older woman

“Well vamos chica let’s kick some Spanish ass!” Cheered Lucy, as the huddle broke up and everyone returned to their positions.

——

The second half started slowly with near enough no excitement, England has their chances throughout but none of them connected, hitting the crossbar or going just wide every time.

That didn’t stop Spain from fighting for a second all throughout, a second they might be coming close to.

Aitana dribbled through the English midfield as if they were cones in her training drill, leaving each one for dead and proceeding to boot in your direction. You met her run, using your body to shield your goal as she curved to the left, in an attempt to foil you but you stood your ground. Hands behind your back, body perfectly positioned as you blocked her powerful cross that would’ve found Jenni, unmarked in the box had it not been for your body. The ball went out for a corner as you let out a small sigh of relief which didn’t last long as you moved to mark none other than your wife on the edge of the box.

“Hola bebita” alexia grinned, in an attempt to distract you

“Shut up Putellas” you countered, causing her to roll her eyes and laugh from behind you, where her body was flush against your back, albeit a little softer than usual. Likely due to the precious cargo you carried.

Mariona aligned herself at an angle with the corner flag, holding one arm in the air to signal the corner routine.

A split second later she struck her foot to release the ball, a ball heading in your direction. You jumped and full power, in an attempt to beat a most definitely taller Alexia to the ball. Alexia jumper almost in sync, mind set on nothing but ensuring the ball reached the back of the net. However, neither of you made it to the ball and Alexia’s head collided sharply with the back of your head, causing a wave of pain to wash over you and your whole body to crumple forwards due to the shock, Alexia landing half on top of you.

You screamed out in pain as everything went black.

“Y/N!” Screamed Mary as she watched blood drip from your head.

“MEDIC NOW!” Yelled Lucy as the medical staff came rushing over to your unconscious form.

Alexia rubbed her head in pain as she sprung up at the commotion, met with the sight of her wife bleeding on the floor. Her pregnant wife, hurt, because if her. Reality kicked in at that moment.

“No no no no mi amor.” She pleaded “Lo siento, lo siento” she beckoned as she crouched down, eyes wide in horror at the sight in front of her.

She felt an arm grip her shoulder and pull her back and was met with the faces of Chloe Kelly and Lauren James as they shoved her away, screaming abuse in her face.

You’d regained consciousness as this point as the medics shone a light in your face and began assessing the wound.

“She’s pregnant” Mary announced to the medics, as they nodded with a look of pure worry that elicited a sinking feeling in the stomachs of those present.

Your teammates huddled close by, with concern present on all of their faces. Alexia fought her way back through pleading to you.

“Go away Alexia” was all you could manage before you slipped back out of consciousness.

Alexia’s heart broke at the sight, you blamed her, you thought she’d done it on purpose, shock set into her body as she watched in horror as the medical team loaded you onto a stretcher and stretched you off to medical.

“¡Quiero ir con ella!” Alexia demanded towards Vilda who shook his head and began lecturing her in Spanish. She protested consistently but eventually agreed to play the final 10 minutes, out of fear of punishment, not to herself by the younger players, should she argue any further.

The final whistle felt like an eternity later. Alexia having done nothing but fight the urge to run off the pitch in the final 10 minutes. Spain had won the World Cup but Alexia had no desire to celebrate with her team, all she wanted was to run to her wife and ensure you and the baby were okay. She was stopped by a firm grip on her hands as Vilda shoved her in the direction of the team. She shoved him right back, a moment she knew would be plastered all over social media later. A problem that could wait for the future.

As she was stopped again, Alexia spotted her mother in the crowd and signalled for her to find you and her mother did so, barging past security and into the tunnel.

Alexia slipped past everyone, ignoring the beckoning of the Spanish staff and bolted into the tunnel, knowing that the media would tear her apart later, calling her “cocky” “overrated” and “ungrateful” for her obvious disinterest in the trophy and general celebration but she did not care. The only thing on her mind in that moment was her family. No medal, trophy or football game was more important that you or her child.

After a frantic search she located you, accompanied by your medical staff and her mother and sister.

“Mi Estella, lo siento mucho” she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes

“I know Ale you didn’t mean it” you mumbled weakly

“No of course not amor! Are you okay? El bebé? Is the baby okay?” She rambled, ignoring the look of pure shock on her mother and sister’s face.

“We’re running tests now, just prepping an ultra sound machine” informed one of the doctors, as he squirted a blue gel across the gentle curve of your stomach.

“I’m so sorry querida” tears were streaming now “I hurt you! I hurt our bebita” she spluttered cupping your face as you felt the doctor begin to move the probe over your stomach.

“Ale no it’s okay, i’m okay look” you gestured towards the ultrasound machine

A steady heart beat filled the room.

A grainy image of your baby filled the screen.

The baby was okay.

“Oh, gracias a Dios” her mother exclaimed, relieved at the health of her grandchild that she’d only learnt existed moments ago.

“YOU’RE PREGNANT?!” Yelled Alba

“Sí lo siento for not telling you both, I found out during the tournament, we’ve been trying for months” you smiled, tears in your eyes.

The ultrasound technician wiped the gel with a tissue before printing out several copies of the image.

Your wife was unbelievably silent, staring, mouth wide at the ultrasound.

“Alexia” you called

“Te quiero más que a nada” she breathed. “I’m so sorry mi amor, I’ve missed you so much” she placed a gentle kiss to your lips, squeezing your hands firmly with her sweaty ones, before she placed a second kiss to your bump.

“I’m so glad we’re together again mi vida” you replied with a smile, touching your foreheads together.

“I so hope it’s a girl so she can be alba junior!” Raved the younger Putellas sister

“ALBA!” Alexia and Eli retorted simultaneously.

~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading this series, please send any requests in my inbox and any feedback too i love you all <3

[seelestars]

Slow dance with Aventurine plz 👀🙏🏻

SLOW DANCE W/ AVEN… except the two of you are on an undercover spy mission ♡

a/n : ik this wasn’t related to the og req, but his bp icon got me thinking… and then out came this spy mission idea _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): hope u still enjoy tho ! had to google vids of slow dancing for this only to end up not being so descriptive abt it

you and aventurine were tasked with the objective of gathering intel on some people that ran the current planet the ipc wanted to conquer. except—it was specifically requested that you two harvest the information in a way that didn’t involve violence.

which is why the two of you were attending a banquet hosted by your targets as spies, wearing clothes that were equally as fancy as the attire of everyone else attending.

the place reeked of expensive champagne and luxury, couples inviting each other for romantic dances. it made you feel out of place, since you had nobody to dance with. you supposed it could make you and aventurine stick out like a sore thumb among everyone else—being some of the only people that were currently not dancing.

somehow, aventurine must have read your mind, because what he asked of you next was exactly what you were just pondering about.

“my lovely partner, why don’t we share a dance together? your envy is too obvious whenever you look at the couples here.” aventurine snickers, a fox-like grin on his lips as he extends his hand towards you. he had even decided to use a more affectionate term to refer to you, causing you to immediately perk up. it was quite amusing to him to watch you avert your gaze shyly whenever he acted more affectionate towards you.

“…no need. we’re not here to dance, aventurine. we’re here to do our job.” you decline, shaking your head. you couldn’t just let him distract you two from your main objective here… even though you would really like for him to distract you if it meant he would dance with you.

“oh? are you sureeee?~ after all, it’s a one in a lifetime opportunity to dance with *the* aventurine.” aventurine clicks his tongue playfully, teasing you. “besides, it’s only for a bit anyway. im sure it’s no harm if we get a bit sidetracked, no?” he doesn’t try overly hard to convince you anyway—he was sure you’ll give in without much persuasion. that’s how you always were when it came to him, unable to resist his charm.

“…fine. I suppose we can afford to get a bit sidetracked, just this once.” you sigh softly, a small smile on your lips as you inevitably give in to his desires. with slight reluctance, you take his gloved hand in yours as he begins to guide the two of you into a slow, romantic dance.

before you knew it, you were caught amidst an intense dance with aventurine. your gazes locked with each other as you carefully make sure not to step on his feet, as does he. you were sure your cheeks were very flushed currently—but he was right. it wasn’t everyday someone got to dance with someone like aventurine, who was the type of person both the ladies and gentlemen yearned for. so, you made sure to savor this precious moment.

aventurine then delicately guides you to do a twirl, letting out a soft chuckle once you do. “hehe, we should definitely dance like this more often, my lovely partner. we make for a good pair, don’t we?” he grins, smug that he managed to secure a dance with you. to him, you were so gorgeous that if there weren’t so many couples in this banquet already, everyone would be asking for a dance with you.

“…mm. we’ll see about that.” the way you smiled and looked at him made it quite obvious you would allow him more opportunities like this in the future. sure, this may have been a completely unnecessary distraction—but it was a pleasant one. a pleasant distraction that you wouldn’t mind happening more often if he was the cause.

[joannasteez]

strong!

pairing: roman reigns x black reader warning: explicit sexual content after the "read more". degradation and pain kinks! talks of roman losing the undisputed title (a sore spot for some of you lol) authors: fic based on this post. nothing else really. give it a like, a reblog and a comment. let me know what you think! word count: 1300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @spritelucozade (others who have been asked to be tagged, your tag wasn’t popping up. not sure why)

the shameless scent of iron bothers him. blood about his nose. smearing through the delicate trim of his mustache. the cultivation of such a great mountain of hubris, shattered. undone and red, dripping easy to taint his tongue. 

the roar of the crowd deafens his ears. his skin slippery from sweat and his muscles tight with pain from the labor of a great defending and the cold. he lays there, pinned and defeated. a rapturous celebration about him, bright and lively but not for him. his stomach twisting sickly. 

the walk is long and silent. his ears ringing and split with an inward disdain. you sit comfortably in his dressing room. a disinterest in your eyes that sinks his heart. and all the words that refuse to pass through such pretty lips speak sharply to him still, through distinctive cuts about his face and taut reddened skin. an examination of him filled with pity. roman's stomach flips again, disturbed. he shuffles to a chair. breathy and his body loosely plopping against the seat. wallowing. you won't speak and he's wallowing. he feels bile in his throat. his eyes squeezing. an unceremonious rise before it falls back to the pit of his stomach. 

a tissue paper tears. wet and dabbing at where he bleeds. your eyes falling over him as you stand between the wide stretch of his legs. 

"you're bleeding...", you state. fingers curling in viciously to hold his jaw still, a harsh maneuvering that forces his eyes to meet you. softly dabbing stains of blood caked in his mustache still. the contrast making him weary. lightheaded. "...and without a title. what do you have to say for yourself?"

a ball forms in his throat. feverish heat over his skin. a stabbing pain behind the eyes that makes him bristle silently. of all the times to be so recklessly emotional. why now? why here? under such a thick blanket of silence and the scrutiny of your gaze. he was strong. he's still strong! so why does this feel like a great diminishing. a breaking from which he can not return whole again. your grip growing tighter. nails warring against the tenderness of overly worked skin. a stinging behind the thickness of his beard. water pooling steadily in his eyes. 

small and defeated. barely registrable. "i'm sorry". 

you near. perfume sweetening the iron scent in his nose. your breath warm over him. "speak. clearly". 

"im sorry", roman chokes. the syllables awkward and new off his tongue. 

a mirthless smile takes your lips. forming more and more disgusted by the second. "are you crying?", words like nails screwing into him. feeling worser than simple little drips of blood. "if you're gonna lose, at least do it well". 

you discard the tissue. stalk back to him with less venom in your eyes. taking his face to hold in your hands. the warmth in your palms uncomfortable. a cross examination done by the slipping over of your stare. an appraisal. your thumbs running over the freckled apple of his cheeks to assess. not to dote. like the inspection of a beaten trophy, to gauge how much he'd fallen into lack luster. your knee slips in to rest between the thick stretch of his thighs, pressing firm into the unsoftened way of his crotch. a slim sort of panic undulating over his skin. remembering the pierce in of your nails. the stinging it brought his skin. he much prefer that than you holding him with such fragility.

he was strong. he is strong! he can bare the pain. he was made to last. 

"my pitiful little loser", you tease. kissing along his face. a trail from his forehead down till you rest soft lips at the corner of his mouth. never giving him the satisfaction. giggling in his ear. 

the tips of his ears grow warm. probably red. "don't say that", he breaks. voice horse and tired. groaning as you take his face to grip again. the feed in of it into his skin tightening the space in his tactical cargo pants. 

"why?", fingers combing through wild hair to rough backwards. leaning over him. knee roughed into the ache of his dick. the spinning chair singing with a short creak as the back of it bends to take the weight of both your bodies. "that's what you are no? or are my eyes and ears mistaken? is your name cody rhodes?" 

soft pretty lips around another mans name. his chest tight. his breath heavy. panicked and vexed and excited. "don't say his-"

your knee presses in. forcing a grunt from his chest. your eyelashes fanning beautiful as your lips twist scornfully. "you don't have ground to stand on..", the seam of your lips faint over his. "...to tell me who i can and can't evoke. four years of good work", the displeasure rife on your tongue. "great work, gone because of some petulant playground bullshit revenge. are you happy with yourself at least?" 

roman feels high. like he can barely breathe. stomach coiling steady with a burning sort of ache. hands tingling with need. resigned to touching the handles of the chair instead. 

"no", he gives. a whisper. 

your brows pull. disbelief. your body standing straighter, your knee still pressed into him. his hips canting with ill-control. desperate for friction. "no?", your hand mushing his head. "no?!", sharper. angrier. "you did all that shit with a steal chair and you're not even happy? real shameful shit". 

roman's naked chest rises and falls. heavy breaths and pleading eyes. his pants too tight now for comfort. stomach twisting about horribly. his cock throbbing in his pants. 

your fingers slip delicate over his zipper. a slow release of it along with the buttons. the warmth in your hand gracious as you reach and fondle your way in his underwear. seeking the hard heat of him with your knee still pressed into his balls. his eyes dim and weary. "maybe the top of the mountain was too high for you", you give. an easy go of words at the corner of his mouth. a slight tremble in him as he spits over your hand, feeling you work him thoroughly with a sweet twisting in your wrist. "maybe winning for so long was too much", voice pitying. babied and teasing. like he was small and unfit. "you rather suffer without a crown, than bare the weight". 

a string of spit from your lips to the reddened tip of his cock makes a greater mess of him. the grip in your palm tighter by the second. warm and unrelenting. the base of his core nearly undone. 

"its easier being a coward than enduring".

his head shakes. he was strong. he is strong! perfectly made to endure. "i held it for four years". 

you laugh. he moans. his jaw lax and his muscles burning. "and now you're a loser", your thumb circling sweetly at his tip. his hips awkwardly rocking into the press of your knee. "the people saw you bleed. they saw you fail. main event status revoked". 

his fingers grow more weary. for the title. for a microphone to plead his case. for the supple touch of your skin. anything but the cold metal of this chair. 

"need to touch you". he pleads. desperate. nearly undone. 

"you don't deserve it", you clip. nearly kissing him. he can feel it. the hesitation of your lips. full and soft. hovering over dangerously. "be happy i'm giving you this". 

"please".

his spine throbs hard. a harsh rut in his hips as you stroke him tight. 

"you gonna finish? or is that gonna be a dud too".

and the relief is sweet. an unloading of his shoulders. bursting and full of heat as he comes against your hand. "go ahead", you relent. and his arms work swiftly. embracing your body as his damp face falls into your belly. lightly trembling. groans tumbling off his lips. 

he was strong. 1300 plus days. he is strong! made to last. 

[moronkombat]

Im in love with your writing for MK ❤️ and I’m in love with Syzoth 💚 . So may I request Syzoth having a heavy breeding kink and desperate filling his human s/o to the brim with his seed also having a size kink .

tw: afab pronouns and anatomy used

Syzoth could truly not himself. He a sick man, one so depraved and foul. There no stopping it, however, he a slave to these compulsions that strangle him savagely. Guided by that which is written in his nature, the primal need he simply cannot deny, Syzoth is exceptionally wicked.

Blurred eyes of emerald stare at the figure so pinned beneath him. Her legs so far pushed and moved into the air as he has made her bend and stretch so that he may drive himself so deeply into her. He knows she is moaning yet the world so corroded with the sensation of her tight and sticky walls suctioning onto his long and thick length.

Never has sex felt so good since he discovered human intercourse. Such a warm place to sheath himself into. Oh so wet and sloppy it feels coiled around him. So warm...so warm...Syzoth loves her pussy wrapped around his cock. He could live within it forever and ever. What a heaven that would be to be blessed with breeding her pussy endlessly.

There's a deep growl bellowing around his throat as his cock continues its attack on her wet and sticky core. Syzoth is panting, trying to push more and more of himself into her but his length struggles. It thick and wide, how could she hope to fit it all?

"C-Come on..." Syzoth whispers into the air, hips burning and burning. "Take more...come on...!"

Moans burst to life from the depths of her lungs and he presses forward in his siege. Her defenses simply cannot manage, beginning to crumble apart into agonizing rapture. More and more she spreads for him, the seas of her parting for its master.

Such pathetic pants come from him, like an eager and overly excited puppy. Moans find themselves dancing together, tangled and unclear of which belongs to who. The sea is open to him, exposed completely and finally all of his length is surrounded in embers.

Green eyes cannot help but look at that outline etched into her pretty little stomach. Soon it will full of much more, so much more. He's leans over her, so close, so desperate. He wants to finish, he wants to finish inside her. Inside his seed will gather and mingle with her precious nurturing home. Through this wonderful gestation will be his brood, his kin.

His spine his curling and shaking with just the thought of filling her up with his offspring. How beautiful she will look so rounded with his child. Her breasts already so plush will swell and swell to provide for his child and for him. Syzoth must get her pregnant. He must...he must!

The grip on her morphs into power, fingers leaving bruises in her skin. Yes, that's it...she throbs around him so wildly, already trying to milk him dry. He'll provide, he'll give it all to her. Syzoth cannot stop himself, thrusts so brutally feverish; guided by that primal need to breed.

"Get pregnant..." he growls so close to her neck. "Get pregnant, get pregnant, get pregnant, getpregnantgetpregnant-"

Words bends and slur together until they become lost in the fog of groans and moans. From that fog a birth a pleasure is sprung upon them. So much...so warm and gushing as he delivers himself into her.

"Have my babies..." words are whispers on a voice most sore. "you'll look so pretty..."

Syzoth cannot be sure if he even speaking aloud or if these mere thoughts but it didn't matter. He stays so nestled within her burning nether. Such pretty pearls are poured into a womb most inviting and Syzoth's long and forked tongue curls around her neck so sweetly.

Both of them are panting now. So tired, so worn and yet Syzoth begins to move his hips again. Her moans are a wanton cry, still so sensitive but he cannot stop yet. Not until each precious drop of his seed finds a home inside her womb.

im such a nasty fucker for lewding syzoth like this omfg

[satoruhour]

🪻ugh your drabble about sore reader reminded of this one hc I think of so much that it’s embarrassing. Imagine gojo getting on sorcerer!reader’s nerves to the point that she and utahime almost have an anti-gojo hate club, and one time while bantering with him she jokes about his size or how he’s so self centred he probably can’t even make a woman cum.

Satoru only says “wanna see what I’m all about?” and safe to say she gets dicked down like there’s no tomorrow. Throughout the night he also makes fun of her for being all talk in the beginning but cumming so easily, makes her beg for it, will never let her live it down. Next day Utahime’s real pissed she lost her club’s vice chairperson.

My kitty isn’t even purring atp she’s meowing loud and crystal clear. Satoru who’s smug and a big tease in bed is so unbelievably sexy to me

a/n: discussions of incompetent dick game LMAO, oral f! receiving, fingering, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, multiple rounds

OHHHH MY GOD YOURE SO RIGHT ACTUALLY HYACINTH ANON sorry i took so long to get to this sobs. yes yesyes id like to think sorcerer was with them before but left the scene like nanami and never truly kept in touch with the students at tokyo high. id also like to think this happens before the actual series starts (ages 24 - 25) bc gojo might still be honing his technique and theres still that playful banter at that age. god and they have a school reunion and he does some annoying crap dude.... utahime is DEFINITELY debriefing with you after that whole thing. shes by your side the whole night recalling on the stupid shit gojo did as a hs kid, when he collapsed that mansion without putting up the veil. you had to calm her down LMFAO

but at the reunion there was alcohol and you both get hiiiiigh and all things get 18+ almost immediately, talking about how gojo def cant find the clit and he fingers women wrongly and cant make any use of his dick thats probs small 😭😭😭 which is like ... you also have an inkling that he might not be that small because he is .... 2 metres tall but ya never know with how cocky gojo is. and that inkling is gone instantly when u hear him talk cause his voice is so ANNOYING and dripping with cockiness. he also has that certain lilt in his voice that you realise he uses only with you, overly teasing and silky smooth and u hate how you notice that

gojo is fucked up as well, u know he doesnt hold his liqour well but hes sober enough to ask “wanna see what im all about?” and you especially hate how you look around to see where hime is at and when u just catch a glimpse of her heading into the bathroom, youre nodding slowly and you do nooooot know what youre getting urself into !

needless to say, gojo is already getting u so hot and bothered just from a simple kiss. he warped you two back to your apartment (bc he rather die than get found out by megs and tsumiki), which he has been to before !!!!! gods even the tension back then was so palpable but gojo was in a vulnerable place with geto and everything and didnt want to do anything that would hurt his heart more. you two make out for A WHILLLEEEE and if ure wondering if hes alr so good at kissing, what else is he good at ....?

youre proven wrong time and time again when gojo goes striaght for your clit, rubbing slow circles and he has u begging for more, more something just mere rubs. gojo has the gall to lick a stripe up your soaked panties and sucks a little at your clit and god he is LOVING the way all your previous insults about him fall short of your lips and doesnt have the same punch: “still doesnt prove your dick’s b-big—” gojo lips your panties to the side and eats you out. he eats. you. out. to prove a point but also he falls in love with your pussy, slobbering all over it and shit. “didnt tell my your pussy was so good, baby.” “cat got your tongue? do i live up to your standards?”

you realise hes cocky for a reason and that his tongue game is fucking insane. the same goes for his fingers, locking eyes when he first inserts his digits in and your moan is like heaven to gojo bc he likes nothing more than to prove people wrong. and this is the best way to do it !!!! “cum on my tongue, sweetness.” oh YOU DO !!! YOU DOOOOOO

and then you think gojos done with making his statement. nah. youre so fucked out just from oral and hes smirking down at you, bringing your hands to his crotch.

“what?”

“wan’ you to open my pants yourself.”

“so it’s small?”

gojo scoffs with a smile, he already finds himself addicted to you and your taste. “no. just curious to see your surprised face.”

it gets him off every time (even after dating. and cmon dont tell me you WONT be his gf or at least his fwb after this?) you react like that, mouth open and eyes never leaving his exposed cock that he could probably slam it inside.

wee woo and once he starts to fuck you ooohhhhhhggggghhh eveyrthing you say is INCOHERENT. you try to string words together, insults and name calling here and there but it’s always interrupted by moans and whines. “you’re so— mmhfuck— insanely anno— satoru!” its words and words but none of them make sense. youre drunk on his cock. he fucks you in every position imaginable and the first time he wants to pull out bc he isnt an asshole, you're trapping him between your legs and begging him to cum inside, inside, inside WOOOOWWW HE GOES INSANE.

“i’m on the pill, s-satoru! wan’ your cum inside, please, please—”

“you’re driving me fucking c—crazy. i will, i will.”

anyway yeah you guys go multiple rounds and youre rendered speechless at every turn, surprised at yourself that even when youre spent youre sinking down on his cock and riding him yourself right after you both came. everythings sticky and gross and gojos still sensitive but hes hooked on your pussy and lets you do whatever <33

the next morning u wake up caged in his arms and hes saying something annoying again. “wanna make this a regular thing?” and you attempt to reject him, pushing him away and getting up from your bed but youre sore everrywherreeee and he swoops in just as youre about to fall. “dick too good, huh?” you roll your eyes and just let yourself be pampered by him. you spend that next day just making out and being close to each other and u wonder what to tell utahime LMFOAAOAOA

you end up getting a few missed calls after gojo had sent a selfie of you both, blanket covering your naked bodies after doing the obvious and he just chucks ur phone to the side and continues to kiss you LMAOAOAOAO. oh sigh thats such a nice scenario maybe ill write it properly one day

hello hello!

[man3at3r-mp4]

𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖇 𝖍𝖍 𝖝 𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 Ⅱ - 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆

Prologue Chapter 3.5

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Charlie = underlined

Y/n = normal

Both = italics

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞

𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

It's been 3 hours and you're already exhausted...okay well maybe not exhausted, but you were definitely bored.

You sighed, leaning your chin on your palm, as you listened to Liam go on about something, probably about how late you both were? You don't know, you stopped listening.

You glanced out the window, to see the 'busy' streets of Heaven. You were able to see what seemed to be a group of friends, laughing and talking with one another. You frowned, you wish you could be enjoying smoothies with Miko, Elijah, and Molly. They were really your only friends.

Yeah, despite being the prince of Heaven, you didn't have many friends. Part of that due, to Sera's insistence of not letting your travel far without super vision. But I suppose, trying to sneak out of heaven every chance you get to go outside is worthy of such a consequence. Well, maybe when you were younger it was an okay punishment, but you're an adult now. You don't need to be supervised like a child.

But like I said, that's only part of the reason. The second being, the friends you tried, or rather Sera forced you to try and make...felt fake. Not to say, they were twisted or two faced. They probably weren't, most likely just some overly excited heavenly resistance being able to meet the famous prince of heaven. However, that didn't mean it didn't get annoying. Whether they had good intentions or not, they made you feel an object..something pretty to ogle and admire. Like an expensive piece of art, a middle class soccer mom would buy, and hang up in the parlor to "impress" her friends, when it really it was to make them envious she was able to afford something so priceless.

It all felt fake, artificial whatever. You've  grown accustomed to it, people want to be your friend but they don't want to be your friend. You've come to realize that soon enough, so your feelings wouldn't be so hurt and eventually they didn't and you've came to terms with that.

Everybody loves you, but nobody likes you.

As you were wallowing in your own self pity, you failed to notice Liam, who was desperately trying to get your attention.

"y/n.....y/n!....Y/N!!!!"  You finally snapped out of it, the loud volume of Liam's voice effectively spooking you as your entire body went rigid, before you flopped to the floor like a fish.

"Oh dear! Your highness, are you alright?" The Angel cried, as he rushed to your side. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you!" He says, clealry panicking as he helped you stand up.

You rubbed the sore spot on your forehead as you mustered a pained smile, "I'm fine Liam, no need to worry about me" you patted him lightly on the shoulder to reassure him before taking a seat back on the chair.

"But I caused you harm!"

"It was an accident, Liam you're fine! I'm not about to damn your soul to hell" you say sarcastically. You were clealry joking, but apparently Liam didn't think it was very funny, as he looked genuinely distressed.

You frowned, deadpanning,"im joking"

"Oh...well it's not very funny, your highness we don't joke about those sorts of things"

"Me, Miko and Elijah do.." you huffed under your breath, unfortunately it seemed like the other angel heard you.

"Oh do they now?" He asks, if he had eyebrows he would raising them. "They're the hairdresser and the seamstress correct?". You perked up, a bit confused.

"Yeah why?"

"Well it makes sense why you're so snappy lately, I knew thsoe two were a bad influence" he says, arrogantly. Oh, yeah that pissed you off. You weren't one to get frustrated, at least publicly but this was ridiculous. He's blaming your only friends for the reason why  you having a sense of humor? You frowned, crossing your arms. You knew if you snapped at him, you would have just confirmed his suspicions and you're sure he would tell Sera, then you'd probably never see Elijah or Miko again.

"Let's just move on, Liam. We still have a shi-" a sharp look from Liam caused you to reword your sentence. "Stupendous amount of work to do" you corrected yourself, causing the other male to relax as he nodded.

"Very well, next we have your astronomy lessons"  he says, as he leads you down one of  the many halls of the palace.

The grimy streets of hell, the bright, obnoxious neon signs advertising drugs or porn studios, and the stink of death. All things Charlie has grown accustomed to as the princess of hell. One would think, with such an intimidating title as Princess of hell. You'd expect her to be terrifying, cold, and power hungry creature, when in reality Charlie is more comparable to a puppy...or rather a kid.

Charlie was someone you'd least expect to be the princess of Hell. She's sweet, kind, got a big heart, and she's got a passion for singing. She's literally a wannabe Disney princess, just lacking the animal side kick...well unless you count Razzle and Dazzle. But on a serious note, it's unexpected to have someone so happy go lucky as literal he'll born royalty. But what's even more shocking is the fact she started up a hotel to rehabilitate sinners. The reaction to the hotel...was less than positive. But she simply doesn't know when to quit despite being publicly humiliated on tv that her only tenant was involved with a turf war.

But like I said, Charlie has never given up. She simply doesn't know when to quit. Which leads us to now.

The princess of Hell, sitting in the lobby of the hotel, planning out another presentation about her hotel, to potential customers....the presentation really consisted of colorful messy  drawings Charlie enthusiastically put together.

the room was quiet , but Charlie could swear she'd be able to hear some radio static every now and then. Which she supposed made sense? Alastor was weird, she wasn't even sure if he slept. Like at all. She shrugged going back to finishing her drawings. "Oo! Oo! Almost finished! I just need pink! Ooo where's the pink!" She said, cheerfully as she scavenged around for her pink marker. Once she found the plastic tube. She quickly uncapped it and scribbled in some doodles and a stripe of pink on her rainbow, and she was finished.

The blonde stepped back, as she held up her masterpiece in the air. "This looks great! I cant wait to show Vaggie!" She grinned, though something caught her attention in the corner of her eye; her phone was on and the Lock Screen showed a picture of her, her father, and her mother. A small frown made its way onto her face, as she glanced back at the messy child like drawings she made. She sighed, placing the papers down on the table as she picked up her phone. She sunk down into the cushions of the couch as she stared at the screen, they were so happy back then....what happened?

"Cmon Charlie, happy thoughts happy thoughts!" She tried to encourage herself. "You've got a hotel to run and sinners to redeem!"

'That is if you get any actual clients'  a small voice in the back of her head, spoke but she tried to shake it away. Sure, advertising the hotel on the news wasn't the best choice. Charlie could remember getting into a fight with Katie, and the absolute humiliation of having Angel dust being shown in participating in a turf war. And sure, they haven't had much success, no other demons have joined besides Husk, Niffty and Alastor but they were all employees that were literally forced to be here.

No, she couldn't give up now. Despite the crippling self doubt. She wouldn't give up. "There's got to be someone out there who believes in this hotel as much as I do, there's just gotta be.." she whispered, as she turned to look out the window.

"There's gotta be."

Back in heaven, you were being poked with pins and needles, biting your lip as you desperately tried not to flinch away from the pointed ends. 

"Ow!" You finally yelped, as the needle pricked your skin. A small droplet of golden blood dripped from your forearm, staining the white gown you wore being fitted into.

"That wouldn't have happened if you would have stayed still, your highness" the Angel fitting you said, her voice in deep concentration as she clenched another pair of pins in between her teeth.

"I'm trying to!" You pouted, trying your best to stay still. "Why am I even being fitted? Elijah is the one who picks all my clothes! Also this looks like extremely formal attire!"

"Happy you finally noticed, your highness" Liam spoke up, "you're being fitted for wedding" he stated, casually.

"WHAT?!??" You screeched, your eyes as wide as saucers. "Wedding? Wh-what?! When? How- WHy?!?" You stammered over your words.

"Your highness, please stay still.." the female Angel said once more, as she placed another pin into your outfit. You whimpered a soft 'Ow' as you felt it nick you again.

Liam smiled, "ah yes, I forgot, Sera did not tell you." He says nervously. "You're being wed! Congratulations your highness!" He summoned a scroll, this one with a picture of who you assumed would be your future spouse. Before you, you saw a beautiful woman, she had dark skin, and light  purple tinted hair, styled in braids, her hair was long, length wise it could rival Rapunzels! Her eyes were gorgeous, siren shaped and a rich color of brown, or well one of them was, the other was a shade of green. You could also notice her dimples. She was beautiful, ethereal even. But you didn't know her! You didn't want to get married to a stranger.

"No!" You screamed, causing everyone to fall silent and look at you in surprise from your outburst. "I-I mean! Yes!" You stuttered over your words to try and save yourself. "She is, sh-she's beautiful but I don't know her!"  

Liam looked confused, "she?" He then noticed his mistake. "Oh silly me, this is the wrong picture, you're not getting married to her, Aurora is your wedding planner.."

You jaw would have been on the floor, if it weren't literally attached to your skull.

" Why am I even getting married?! Sera told me none of us could since our life had to be devoted into making heaven and earth  a better place! And romance would get on the way?"

"Well, she's changed her mind. Or rather the humans on earth did, you are the Angel to represent us down in the mortal realm y'know? And you know humans and their romances! They think it's be a good idea!" Liam explained. So what? This was just a big PR stunt? For the fucking humans?!?

"But- don't-"

"Do not being up  Adam and Eve, y'know he and Eve were far from the perfect couple no matter how hard the mortals try to make it seem they were"

You sighed, "yeah..." you couldn't fight that, the fact Adam doesn't even fucking speak abt Eve, is already enough to know that even the humans on earth could see they weren't a great couple. Though,  they blamed most of it on Eve.

Misogynistic pigs.

"Don't worry, Prince Y/n. Everything  has already accepted  and he's more than happy to be married to you! He even sent engagement gifts!" Liam snapped his fingers, and a hoard of angels came in carrying gifts. Placing them neatly in the corner before exiting the room.

You were too stunned to say anything, Gifts?!? Really?!? They sent you gifts?!? luckily your fitting was over. The Angel fitting you pulled out all the pins, making you sigh in relief, as she went to speak to Liam.

"We'll have to shrink it down to a medium, and we need to adjust the waistline, the Prince has surprisingly wide hips for a man." They both glanced at you, as you blushed in embarrassment, shrinking back as you placed your hands in your hips, and felt around.

'Damn I guess I do have those Kim kardashian hips...' you thought. Though you couldn't really tell if that's a good or a bad thing. While you were in your thoughts, you failed to notice that Liam pulled out your to do list for today. "Oh, we're late, late, late. We have twenty, maximum twenty-two minutes for your royal fitting. And then it's move, move, move to your speech at the Angelic Society. After that, we have to rush, and I mean rush, to the Heavenly  Society Tea. And then there's your math lessons, your geography lessons, your science lessons..."

You sighed, as Liam began to go on and on, tuning him out as you focused your attention to look out the window. You noticed a butterfly, you're not sure how it got here, but you wished you could fly away like they could, "All my life, I've always wanted to have one day just for me. Nothing to do, and for once, nowhere I need to be" you placed your face in your palm.

"With no lessons, lords or lunches Or to-do list in the way" as you went on, your voice grew a bit louder to drown out Liam's rambling as you snuck away, desperately trying to loosen the tightness of the outfit you wore.

"No one to say when to eat or read or leave or stay" you made your way to the balcony as you continued on, you held out your pointer finger, as the (f/c) colored, butterfly landed on your finger.

"That would be the day"

"All my life, I've always wanted to have one day for myself. Not waking up with a pile of work on every shelf"  Charlie sang, as she brushed her suit jacket off, as she stood up from her spot on the couch.

"With no father in need of impressing. And no hotel in disarray" she stepped over the scattered markers on the floor as she saw something catch her attention out of the corner of her eyes. It was a butterfly, that intrigued her. You didn't see butterflies in hell. But it was a beautiful shade of cherry red, it matched her eyes.

"No hell with thousands of  sinners to save" she opened the window, gently to not spook the winged creature. It eagerly flew inside, spooking KeeKee a bit. Charlie chuckled, as she held out her finger as she watched it gently land on it. "And no extermination in the way".

Her smile fell a bit as she watched the butterfly fly off her finger, as all the weight and self doubt creeped in again. "What would it be like to be..."

You watched as the butterfly flew off your finger, "What would it be like to be free?"

"Free?"

"Free to try crazy things" you looked up at the sky, dreamily with a cheeky smile on your face.

"Free from endless IOUs" the red eyed demon, cooed, as she leaned against the wall of the hotel.

"Free to fly" your ears flicked, as you watched the butterfly flutter past you and out towards the balcony.

"Free to sing"

"And marry whom I choose" you sang bitterly, as you remembered your arranged engagement you own fucking sister didn't tell you about.

"Cmon your highness, don't be so upset. This is for the greater good, you both will be an adorable couple! Helping bring  hope to humans for centuries to come!" Liam said enthusiastically.

"I guess ..." you grumbled bitterly, "it's my duty..."

"Oh look! Another engagement gift!" He cooed, as another Angel sent down a gift on the growing pile. You rose a brow, a bit skeptical.  "You would think that I'm so lucky that I have so many things" you crouched down to grab one of the presents, it was wrapped in your favorite color with a golden ribbon on the top. "I'm realizing that every present comes with strings" you looked at the gift solemnly, as you fiddled with the string.

"Though I know I have so little, my determination's strong" Charlie, glanced around the slightly ramshackled walls of the hotel, nervously. Before putting on a determined grin, "People will gather around the 7 rings to hear my song!" The blonde twirled, as she thrusted her arms up enthusiastically into the air.

"Now I fear I'll never be..." 

"Soon, I will forever be..."

"Free"

You and Charlie both made your way back to your balconies, as you both sang in harmony. " I close my eyes and feel myself fly a thousand miles away". You both gripped the railing as you both overlooked your kingdoms; Your sunny blue clear skies and Charlie's dark and dingy horizon. "I could take flight, but would it be right?" You both glanced up at the colored butterflies fluttering around you. "My conscience tells me, "Stay"

"I'll remain forever royal" you sighed, as you closed your eyes.

"I won't give up on these sinners yet!" Charlie declared determinedly.

"Duty means doing the things your heart may well regret"

"But I'll never stop believing" Charlie cooed softly, as she looked up in the sky dreamily. She was sure there was someone up there in heaven who'd take her seriously

"She can never stop my schemes" you rolled your eyes playfully, as you leaned against the railing. Sure, Sera could try and  tie you down with marriage but you weren't about to roll over and take it.

"There's more to living than gloves and gowns and threads and seams"  You both sang into the empty sky, as y'all watched the butterflies finally soar away from the balcony

"In my dreams, I'll be free"

"Nice singing twink" a familiar voice snapped you out of your perfect harmony, causing you to freeze. You turned around bashfully, as heat began to rush to your face. You were NOT expecting to be caught. You were met with the familiar sight of Adam's exterminator mask, you sighed. "Good afternoon Adam..." you noticed Lute standing not far from him. "Good afternoon Lute"

"Afternoon, your highness" she replied, professionally, nodding her head in a slight bowed.

"Uh? You don't sound pleased to see me? Which is fucking crazy, since I'm ADAM y'know the-" you cut him off swiftly.

"The original dick? Yeah, I know Adam..." you huffed, crossing your arms. "What do you want anyways?" You asked, as you fiddled with the collar  of your shirt.

"What a guy can't see the cute little twink he's about to put a ring on?" He asked smugly.

Your eyes widened, at those words, your form stiffening, as you processed what he had just said. Adam...is the Angel you're marrying.

Adam.....marriage you.

Adam is marrying you.

You couldn't help but let out the screech you've been holding in. Fuck that entire Disney princess ass song you sang about follwing your duty for the greater good that was when you thoughts you were marrying literally anybody else except literally FUCKING ADAM.

"OH YOU MOTHERFU-"

-... ..- - / .-- .. - .... / - .... . / .--. .-. . -.-. .. --- ..- ... / -... .-.. --- --- -.. / --- ..-. / -.-. .... .-. .. ... - --..-- / .- / .-.. .- -- -... / .-- .. - .... --- ..- - / -... .-.. . -- .. ... .... / --- .-. / -.. . ..-. . -.-. - .-.-.- .---- / .--. . - . .-. / .---- ---... .---- ----.

@mixplara @lukerycyja-reblogs

Hey y'all, how y'all doin *nervous smile*. I'm sorry this took so fucking long, the or I am dox got deleted and then I keep rewriting the chapter cause I didn't like it and honestly I'm not not even sure if I like this version of it. Let me know if you thought the addition of the song was corny, I had very mixed feelings towards it. Cause I thought it would

Also from now updates will be every Friday, any other updates in between the week will me deciding to be a motivated bitch out of literally nowhere. <333 anyways bye pookies

[cat3ch1sm]

Heyyy🙏🏼 I’ve been checking out your account lately and I’m OBSESSED 🙏🏼🙏🏼 Please do some more nsfw Light hcs, thanks boo✊

📜~ im glad you requested this because i have NOT been writing nearly enough for death note lately 😔😔 here’s your request, anon! ily<33

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ nsfw ahead, fem!reader

𝐚-𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭- 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐢

a/n: i might do the other letters of the nsfw alphabet with the other death note characters i write for just to have some more death note content up!

A- aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

i can’t see light being overly tender and sensitive after sex, but he does think it’s common courtesy to just make sure you’re feeling alright and that you’re not sore or anything. he’ll offer you water or something small to eat if he notices that you’re exhausted or anything. he might let you fall asleep beside him if he’s really worn you out, but light will probably get up and leave while you’re asleep. he just isn’t the super affectionate type.

B- body part (what their favorite body part of their partner is)

light’s favorite body part of yours is the neck. he notices that whenever he kisses it or wraps his hand around it that it’s effective in turning you on. the tiny gasps and whimpers you make when he sucks on it and leaves love bites are some of his favorite things about you during sex. he’s also big on domination, so he chokes you a lot so he can do what he pleases with you.

c- cum (anything to do with c*m lol)

when light comes, it’s not usually very messy, but his face does get a little flushed and he does tremble a little. light also enjoys licking your hole clean after you come and kissing you afterwards to let you taste yourself on his lips. it does something for him when he sees how flustered you get.

D- dirty secret

light loves to overstimulate you. he’ll also go as far to tie you up or something like that so you can’t squirm as much when he does. his favorite thing to do with you is tie you to the bed and then relentlessly eat you out until you’re in tears, legs shaking and hole leaking and begging him to stop because you can’t come anymore. he does comfort you afterward though(adding on to the aftercare section, light will be a little more affectionate with you if he’s overstimulated you a lot).

E- experience (how experienced are they, how much do they know)

as confirmed by ryuk, light’s good with his fingers, so that department is pretty self-explanatory. as for sex, i think it’s just something he’s naturally good at. however, i do think he’s fairly experienced, but usually just for his own personal gain. light typically doesn’t sleep with people unless he has something to gain.

F- favorite position

light’s go-to position is CAT (modified coital alignment technique. look it up idk). wont catch this man dead doing shit like doggy style or whatever because he thinks it’s too animalistic. this position is simple and gets the job done for the most part.

[ppushable]

moodboard creds to @firefly--bright tytyty

low tide

jean kirschtein x fem!reader / multichapter / wc: 10.8k

part 2 of rose tinted hours

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Monday morning and here I am, missing out on my classes, struck with a sore throat and an invisible ax sticking out of my head.

Maybe the only nice thing about today is the man craning over me in the dark, feeding me porridge.

That, and the overly-sweet tea.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

cw: kissing.

there's a soundtrack for this one! completely optional, of course.

queue: ==> new home (slowed), austin farwell ==> dreamcore, daniel.mp3 ==> farewell, erikson jayanto ==> october, adrián berenguer ==> parfum d’etoiles, ichiko aoba ==> i was only temporary 2 u, my head is empty ==> might start singing - sped up, sheldon charlot

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

The figures in front of the dorm converge in front of Jean’s car as they engage in some sort of conversation. Sasha (I think that’s Sasha) slinks around Jean’s taller form and attaches herself to the side of his car, being scraped off a moment later.

Unsticking myself from the window, I carefully reposition the dark blue curtains so that no light filters through, the simple action causing my head to swim as if filled with honey.

I got Jean’s flu. Which, obviously, is to be expected, considering what happened yesterday. Paired with the fact that we slept together last night.

As in, laid down and fell asleep in the same bed with nothing strange happening in between. Whoever came up with that wording needs to be shot.

Contrarily, Jean is perfectly fine. And despite all the urging that I’ll be fine too and that he shouldn’t skip out on classes, he’d insisted on staying right here.

Not that I’m complaining.

I glance at the red numbers projected onto the corner of the ceiling indicating the time as I sit back so I’m leaning against the wall. 8:28. Almost time for my first class, which I won’t be going to, as so firmly put by Jean before I shooed him away.

“If I come back here and the room’s empty, I’ll make Connie march into Hospitality with a condom pulled over his head with your name written on it.”

He’d do that, too.

Running my hands over Jean’s fleecy Cars blanket, I find and unlock my phone to type a quick message to Sasha.

me: sorry sash,, not coming to hospitality. i got sick :(

me: jeans staying home for me tho. dont wait up <3

Pray she doesn’t get the wrong idea.

sashacado: dw about it!!!

sashacado: 😏

I shut my eyes as the screen induces a sudden wave of dizziness. Alright then. Knowing her, everyone and their mom will know about this before the day ends. I toss the phone somewhere on my bed and it falls to the ground.

Jean, where are you?

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

He nearly barrels into an old lady in the soup aisle. With a profuse apology, he continues half-jogging to the fridges, glancing at the list on his phone.

🖤: onions, rotisserie chicken (should be on sale), chicken broth

🖤: oh also rice. and carrots and mushrooms if u can. plus milk. thats a must

🖤: im trusting u wkth this. if u spend over budget im scalping u personally

🖤: <3

He can’t help the little smile that twinges his mouth with the last text. There it is. The end product of many sleepless nights, wondering if his feelings were, in fact, reciprocated. All in a little text. Less than three. Two dumb symbols he’s dreamed of receiving. It makes his heart feel a little warmer in his chest, a little heavier, like a reverse-Grinchification. The good ending, he can hear Connie saying.

That, or he’s misconstruing the whole thing. That’s definitely possible too! She sends that little symbol to everyone. For all he knows, he probably moved up the friend ranking a little. It probably means nothing at all.

Watching the pill be so carelessly popped into her mouth, that small smile, the look in those eyes. Hands on the headboard. Hand on his body. Hand in his hair—

“Woah! Excuse me, sir—”

And then reality comes shooting back to him like an oncoming bullet train, because nothing snaps Jean out of his happy place like that voice.

“Kirschtein?”

Jean stops in his tracks and slowly turns, somewhat hoping it’s not who he thinks it is yet knowing at the same time. “Jaeger.“

“What the hell are you doing? You can’t run in a grocery store.”

And there he is in the flesh; Eren Jaeger, the hobo-looking microbiology major that for some reasons girls (even stone-cold Mikasa) love to swoon over. Not that he cares, really. What’s more important is the fact that he’s in full customer service garb: plain jeans with lanyard string sticking out of the front pocket, blue vest, retractable name tag.

And Jean can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his chest.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Eren mutters, damn well knowing why.

“What, no ‘hello, sir?’ Aren’t— aren’t you supposed to be asking if I need help finding anything? Sir?” The old lady in the soup aisle is staring at him as he devolves into a full cackle.

Eren’s scowl deepens. “That’s low, Kirschtein, even for you.”

“Stop being such a pissbaby. I’m only laughing because it’s you.”

“Romantic.” Rolling his eyes, Eren shoves his hands into his pockets. “Speaking of which, don’t you have someone waiting for you at your dorm?”

Jean shuts up immediately and blinks. “What?”

“You know, your lover.” He smirks. “Sasha told us all about you two.” He ducks his head to do something on his phone and a second later Jean’s own pings.

aaron yogurt: One image attachment

Raising an eyebrow, Jean moves back against the aisle (away from soup lady’s scrutinizing gaze) before opening it. It’s a screenshot of a groupchat, with the first text being a screenshot from Sasha of what appears to be some texts.

sash: we did it boys

bald idiot: 🔥🔥💯💯‼️🤯🤯🥶🥶🥶🥶

bald idiot: everyone stand up and clap for sasha

sash: ill fucking kill you springer

miks: so are they together now?

sash: UH YEAH DIDNT U READ THE TEXT? JEAN TRANSFERRED HIS SICKNESS. HOW? THEY SLEPT OVERNIGHT IN JEANS DORM. TOGETHR. WITH NOBODY AROUND. ALL MY DOING TYVM. AND NOW THEIR STILL TOGETHEE.

min: That’s inconclusive, Sasha. You can get sick just being near a person.

marc (replying to @/sash): they’re*

marc: besides who would leave Jean there all alone overnight?

me: me

And then the screenshot cuts off.

“Romantic,” Eren drawls.

“Shut up.” Jean makes a mental note to find and perhaps tie Sasha to a rocket.

“Oh, come on. Everyone knows you’re whipped. You’re like a little schoolgirl when it comes to this kind of stuff.” Bringing his fists up to his face, he puts on the stupidest face ever and giggles.

“Fuck off.” Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Jean tries to cover the heat on his face. “Just tell me where the hell you guys put the chicken.”

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

The sound of the front door unlocking heaves me out of the half-drowsy phase I’ve been simmering in for the last, what… I glance at the ceiling clock again. Half hour?

“Hey! I’m back!” Every word becomes a little louder as Jean barges down the hall, tosses something into Connie’s room, and appears in the doorway.

“What was that?”

“Huh?”

“The thing you put in Connie’s room.”

His shadow pauses. “Just… something for Connie. Is everything okay?”

I smile. “How the hell did you go to the gym like this?”

Plastic crinkles as he sets the bag down on the ground. “Well,” he says, walking closer, “I was thinking of you. And how much you love my really big muscles.”

My smile cracks wider. “Is that so.”

“Mhm.”

“Were you also—”

“Mmm?”

“—thinking about how pissed I would be—”

He inhales.

“—when I found you?”

His lips curve upward, maybe a little to close to mine. “Maybe a little.”

I tap his thick sleeve. “Go take this big thing off.”

He recoils immediately. “As you wish.” And sheds the coat, dumping it against his chair.

“Are you hungry?”

Fixing his sleeve, he shrugs.

“What do—” my voice cracks as it runs dry— “what do you eat when it’s just you and Connie?”

“Cereal. Bread sometimes.”

“I really expected better from you.”

“I’m healthy.”

I let my eyes drag shut. “Your idea of fighting off a cold is… going to the gym.”

“Healthy.”

“You’re a piece of work.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do the— does the window open?”

Clothes rustle. “Yeah. But I’m not opening it.”

“It’s hot.”

And he looks back. “You’re sick.”

“Well, I don’t plan to strip in front of you.”

Jean sighs but it only takes a moment for it to turn into a laugh. “Alright.”

I try to swallow but my throat’s dried up between the time I woke up and now. “I’m getting up.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Aren’t you needy?” he teases. “What do you want? I can get it for you.”

“You’ll burn the dorms down trying to make tea.”

“Since when did you have such little faith in me?”

I crack my eyes open. “Connie told me you tried to stop a grease fire by splashing water on it.”

He’s rolling his eyes. “Your first mistake was believing Connie. He loves to spread misinformation. Especially about me.”

“Okay, Jean.” I shake my hand in his general direction and he takes it, large, warm hand clasping mine. “Pull me up.”

He smiles and leans in to wrap his other arm under my knees, his neck pressing into my face. Muffled, cheap cologne. “What are you doing?”

In one smooth movement, he releases my hand to slide his other arm across my back. Holding me at the anchor points.

“Wait.” Already a sinking feeling drains through my organs. “Jean, wait—”

With a small heave he lugs me off the bed and my arms immediately sling around his neck. “Jean!”

“Hmm?”

“Put me down!” And I would be laughing if not for my throat and the fact that I’m clinging on for dear life.

He looks down at me, still with that smile. “Hmm. No.”

And the way his voice rumbles through his chest into mine as he hums deeply makes me want to explode. I dive my face into the cloth of his sweatshirt, ignoring the strange way my weight is distributed, the chance that something might slip and I’ll fall to my untimely demise.

“You can let go of me.” He starts walking. “I won’t drop you.”

Pushing harder into his chest, I say, “I’m heavy.”

“No, you’re not.” As if to prove himself, he lifts me a few inches higher as he shimmies through what I think is the door. My grip tightens as the pressure on my back and thighs increases. “Okay, you’re choking me.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Relax, okay? I’m strong.“

“Jean.”

“Come on, look at me.”

I have to force myself to meet his eyes.

It’s not just about how high up I am, or how heavy I might be, or how intimidatingly good-looking he is (I definitely look like shit). It’s about the power.

Things have changed since yesterday. Now it’s Jean’s turn to take charge. And just like he did, I’ll have to allow that.

==> new home (slowed), austin farwell

“Do you trust me?“

His words hit like boulders against my stomach and his eyes are so wide as they dig into mine, so willing to accept the outcome yet so full of this new, gentle compassion that I’ve never seen before. A willingness. An invitation. An assurance. A desire.

So many sides of Jean I’ve never seen before have been presented to me in the past day and it makes my head so heavy it might snap clean off my neck and roll across the floor with the other boulders like a macabre marble match.

Do I trust him?

With a final squeeze, I let my hands fall to rest on either side of his chest. He smiles, showing a sliver of teeth.

Of course I do.

I watch his face as we go to the makeshift kitchen. “So you want tea?”

Though he can’t see me nod, he should be able to feel it.

“It’s easy, right? I just boil some water, and then. I.” Seemingly unconscious to the action, he worries his upper lip as he thinks. “We’ll get there when we get there.” He looks back down. “Where’s the tea?”

With a stupid grin I point to the cabinet where I found the tea and Jean lifts me to height — fucking lifts me a good five feet into the air — so I can snatch the tea packets. “Put me down! I’ll kill your arms.”

He lowers me back to waist-chest height. “So that’s the tea.”

I set the box on my stomach. “You— you’ve never used it before?”

“Forget I said anything. Now what?”

“Now, we… are you sure you don’t want to put me down?”

He rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t separate like a chameleon’s. “I’m strong. Let me carry you.”

God I want to shut his smirk up so bad but if I’m in no position to reach up and… I don’t know. I’d do something. Arrogant little prick. “Counter.”

Jean obliges and I take the kettle one-handedly, emptying the old water and adding more, enough for two cups again. “You want some?”

“Is there enough for both of us?”

“Yeah.”

“Hit me.”

I hit the plunger on the kettle. “Mugs.”

So we move like this, a strange, inefficient, two-person machine. I nearly drop one of the cups, all the cabinet doors are left open, and nearly a quarter of the milk got spilled because I cut the hole in the milk bag too big.

But we got it done. Like yesterday, I find myself drawing little circles into his back, and again, I have to stop myself. “Are you sure you don’t want to—”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish my sentence.”

“I know what you’re thinking anyway.”

What an asshole. “There’s milk all over the ground.”

“I’ll clean it.”

“I can’t drink my tea if you’re carrying me.”

“I think we have a straw somewhere.”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes and I smack his back. “At least let me sit. My legs are going numb.”

“That I can do,” he purrs, every word dripping with smug that lands on my face like hot wax. I want to curl into myself as he swings me like a mannequin, placing me on the couch as if I’m made of cobwebs. “Don’t move.”

I’m going to kill him. Cold air presses in on me and I push myself into the rough fabric in a vain attempt to escape it.

Jean returns with both mugs and offers one to me before sitting down on the other side of the couch and taking a sip, recoiling immediately as if slapped. “Hot!” He puts the mug down and hones in on me. “Don’t drink it yet.”

Rubbing the sides of the cup, I soak in the fleeting warmth it offers me. “I’m thirsty, Jean.”

He blinks, putting his hands up as if suddenly unsure of what to do with them. “Uh.” Then he holds them out. “Here.”

Our hands brush as I hand over my beverage. Once, twice, he dips his head forward as if to drink it, purses his lips, and asks, “is it okay if I blow on it?”

I get a little warm inside. “You… don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to. I mean,” he adds quickly, “if you’re comfortable with that.” Two of his fingers tap the glass in a rhythm known only to himself. I smile a little. Didn’t we literally kiss?

“Okay.”

He flashes me a quick smile in return before puckering and puffing gently, cautiously into the tea, blowing small ripples that lap at the opposite side of the mug but never spill over. I trace a green line on the couch until it disappears over the curve of the back cushion and a shiver abruptly passes through me.

“Jean.”

“Mmm?”

With effort, I wrench myself into a sitting position, spurring him to look over from his delicate task.

“Hey—”

“Sorry. Can I… can I hold you?”

He stops. I stop. “Oh, I— uh.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Of course.”

Hesitantly, my arms snake around his closest to me and I lean my head against his shoulder. Feeling the expansion and contraction of his chest with every forced exhalation.

This feels different from last night. That was a necessity. I mean, I couldn’t leave him all alone; he was in rough shape. Not to mention he didn’t want to be alone. Not that he… terribly influenced my decision. No. I did it because I’m taking care of him and nothing more. Like… inserting a catheter. Strictly a necessity.

As for the pill, well. That’s… well, I’m just kidding myself at this point.

Maybe I am a bit in love with him. Maybe I don’t know what to do with myself around him anymore. Should I lean in for a quick peck? Give him a fist bump? Stroke or tousle his hair?

He likes me back, right? He does, right? I mean, the way he looks at me is… different.

Right?

I close my eyes. “Tell me a story.”

“Mmm.” His little baritone hum, deep in his chest; does he know what it does to me? “Tea first.”

Groggily, I open my eyes as the warm brim of the mug presses against my bottom lip and tilts; I open to let the warm fluid run into my mouth. “Mmmh,” I grunt, and he puts the mug away.

“You were saying?” Jean says softly, landing his closest hand over my shoulder, rubbing in circles with his thumb. I look into his eyes and the acidic words forming on my tongue neutralize right there.

“Tell me a story.”

“Let’s get comfy first.”

I let my head fall onto his arm again but he takes my shoulder and gently pushes me onto my back, hovering over me, silhouetted by the light. “Is your neck okay like this?”

My words are but a whisper. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs as he lies down himself, trapping me between his warm body and the back of the couch. It’s small piece of furniture; Jean’s visible leg hangs over the other armrest and he probably has the other on the ground.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

His breath hits my face as he speaks. “It’s okay.”

My eyes trace up the curve of his body, up to his face which is so close to mine we might as well be touching, and he smiles again, and this time I can see how it lights up his entire face; the way his skin stretches, the way his eyes get a little smaller. If I really focus, I can see my own reflection.

“What kind of story do you want?”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

Our gazes don’t break as he pauses, and when he speaks, his voice fills the air between us, vibrating every molecule. “When I was a kid, my mom would tell me stories.”

“Mmm-hm.”

“They were always about my dad. And I never really understood why she told me these stories.” He breathes out in amusement. “I’d get so… irritated. Asked her why she always told me stories about the guy that didn’t — doesn’t — even care about us.”

As he speaks, his focus wanders, but always lands back on me. I reach for the arm that rests at his side and pull it in between us. He watches the whole time but doesn’t shrink away.

“And she would always say that the memories they had together were real, even if it didn’t turn out in the end. And I’d tell her he’s just a deadbeat and that she shouldn’t care about him.”

“Mmm.”

“And then I met you.”

I can’t help it. I smile again.

“And then I just… understood. How it’s the little moments you hold on to the most.” And he grins.

“Maybe,” I murmur, swiping my thumbs over his warm, fleshy palms, “it’s the other way around.”

He blinks. “Maybe.”

==> dreamcore, daniel.mp3

I bring his hand up to face level, examine the veins that splay out beautifully under his skin, weaving between tendons, plunging deep into the muscle and bone and fat. “Tell me one of your mom’s stories.”

It takes a moment for him to think. “It was after high school. Their last summer together. He was going into fine arts and she was going to study medicine.”

“Mmm.”

“But that night, long after the sun went down and the birds stopped singing, they were just walking around aimlessly. Nothing to do except enjoy each other’s company, I guess.”

Something shifts in his tone as he lapses into the narrator’s perspective.

“But even though they were spending time together as usual, both were thinking about how one day, very soon, they were going to move to opposite sides of the country and maybe never see each other again.”

“But they did see each other again, right?” His skin burns against mine. “They had you.”

“Well, not exactly.” His hand suddenly gains life, flexing lightly. “That’s the summer I was… conceived.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Needless to say, I’m not super close with my grandparents.” He purses his lips and now he’s looking at his fingers. “That’s an entire story on its own. Anyway. They were walking together at night, fearless to whatever was in the dark. Only their own futures.

“And while they were walking it suddenly started to rain. My mom said it came out of nowhere, like a bucket of water was poured on their heads. So they did what any other person would do.”

“Go home?”

“Run to the park.”

“Sounds like something you’d do.”

“Shush, you… They ran for the park like their lives depended on it, but they were soaked by the time they got there. So they decided to have a picnic in the pouring rain. And they stayed there until the rain stopped and the birds started singing again.”

“What happened after?”

“Well, by the time she got to that part in the story, I fell asleep.”

I huff lightly. “Finish it for me.”

After some hesitation, he speaks again. “When the birds started singing, they noticed a strange person in the trees. It appeared to be a man in a fedora.”

I crack my eyes open, not realizing they shut in the first place. “A fedora?”

“Fedoras are cool!”

The worst part is, I can imagine him wearing one.

“Stop laughing.”

“Sorry.” Without thinking, I use his hand to cover my mouth. “Continue.”

“The— the man in the — hat — approached the two. And he asked them if they’d seen his notebook anywhere. It was a sketchbook, he said, and he liked to draw birds. They said no, so he kept moving on.

“Truth is, he didn’t use it to draw birds. He liked drawing people.”

I hum.

“People were everywhere, and every one looked so different. Every mark and wrinkle was a testament to their way of life. He’d examine people’s faces for so long, he could see things that others couldn’t. He noticed things that the faces’ owners didn’t.

“He’d bring that little sketchbook everywhere, drawing every face that he saw, beautiful, ugly, short, long. And after a while of doing this, he realized that, despite all faces being slightly different, they were all the same, too. They were all strangers in his life, predictable. Every face followed a… a pattern. He couldn’t quite put it into words.”

I give his hand a small squeeze.

“One day, he went to the cafe. And of course, he brought his sketchbook with him. He sat on a barstool near the corner of the restaurant, right in front of the big window, and started sketching the people walking outside. When the waiter came up and asked what he wanted, he asked for a coffee.

“He didn’t look back up until the waiter returned, and when he looked into her face to say thank you, he noticed something strange.

“It was pretty, the most beautiful face he’d seen in his life, and he’s seen a lot of faces. It wasn’t just her face, though. It was her mannerism, her tone of voice, the way she stirred his drink a little so the grounds and sugar wouldn’t sink all the way to the bottom and the way she asked if there was anything else that she could do for him, as if the question was truly asked out of her heart and not just because she’s getting paid to… this person, at that moment, broke the pattern.”

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

When I wake up, the Cars blanket is draped over me. Music plays over the sound of the sink running, and if I listen close enough, I can hear Jean humming along. Dishes clash.

“Shit!”

I must have fallen asleep with my mouth open, because now my throat is so dry it takes an effort to swallow. Slowly, I sit up and lean forward to take a sip of (cold) tea, but it doesn’t do much for the wheeze in my lungs. Jean starts singing softly with the chorus.

“And don’t go there ‘cuz you’ll never return…”

Standing there, washing dishes like a maniac and singing. The strands of his voice, like a bobbing needle, weave between the guitar and bass, and at times it’s hard to differentiate them at all, the tangle of melody and tempo. I melt into the sound, dissipating into thin air. Almost forgetting how much harder it became to breathe.

“Then you did something wrong and you said it was great…”

I stand at a snail’s pace — not avoiding the sudden pressure in my head as I do so — and drag myself into the kitchen.

There’s a dishcloth slung over his left shoulder and his hair’s tied up with — I check my wrist — my hairtie. Seemingly careless of his crime, he nods his head slightly with the music, biting his upper lip in concentration. I wouldn’t forgive him if he didn‘t look so…

at ease. Loose?

Happy.

The sink suddenly spits water at him, drenching his already-wet sweatshirt.

“Ugh.” And now he looks up. “Oh.”

I smile as the singer reaches a high note and Jean hurriedly shuts off the tap.

“Alexa, stop. What’re you doing up?” The music cuts and he rushes to my side in an instant, cupping my shoulders as if expecting I’ll collapse. There’s a spoon in his hand and it drips on the ground. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I was sleeping.” His top-knot sticks out and it’s just begging for me to touch it. “You have a… beautiful voice. By the way.”

He eyes the ground, reddening. “Yeah, yeah.”

Without thinking I tap his cheek. “Let’s cook,” I say. “I’m hungry.”

Jean blinks, touching the area of impact. “Cook?” He stirs again when I snatch the dishcloth from his shoulder. “Wait! No, you’re sick!” But I’m already in the kitchen.

“Oh, you… put the groceries away?”

“I’m not a barbarian. Sit down.” He tosses the spoon in the dish strainer. “Let me cook.”

“No, Mr. White.” I clear my painful throat.

“Ha, ha. Sit down, okay? Do you want me to bring a chair over?”

When he touches my shoulder I turn. “Jean, really.” But my voice is small, and it betrays me, the familiar weakness sapping at my muscles and limbs. “If I have to eat another… butt-end almond butter and cheese sandwich I’m really gonna lose it.”

==> farewell, erikson jayanto

His jaw clenches and unclenches. “Okay. Fine. But I’m helping you.”

“In that case.” I use the cloth to wipe up the water around the sink. “Chopping board. Please.”

“On it.”

“Knife?” Cloth hangs over the tap.

“Yep.”

Taking an extra deep breath in an attempt to sever the strings binding down my lungs, I joke, “don’t kill me.”

He takes the utensil in a stabbing pose. “No promises.”

I bat his arm aside, to the counter. “You know how to cut vegetables, right?”

“Yeah, I know how.”

As he rummages in the fridge to make himself useful, I rinse the rice in a definitely overqualified patterned bowl, nearly falling asleep as my hand draws lazy circles in the warm grains. I’m done in time to see him cut up a carrot — attempt to, at least. He sticks the knife in at bizarre angles and intervals, creating weird orange blocks that skid away from the board after every uneven chop.

“Jean.”

“Eh?” His voice is muffled because he’s biting his lip again. It’s painfully obvious that he’s never done this before.

“Did you peel it?”

“I told you, I’m not barbaric.”

I wrap a hand around his left hand — his chopping hand — and lift it above my head. Jean is silent as I push into the space between his body and the counter and put his arm back to lock myself in. He doesn’t budge as I lean heavily back against him. “Like this.” And I grab the backs of his warm hands like computer mice and awkwardly move them into a good position.

His every breath presses against me, chin resting on top of my head, and if I lean just right I can feel his heart race against my back.

And the heat. Maybe it’s just the sickness raising my body temperature, but it burns where we touch.

“Cut.”

He does, muscles and tendons going rigid under my grip as he puts his weight on the blade. The carrot slice rolls away and falls off the counter, but Jean catches it. “Aha.” His voice a vibration in his throat. “See that?” He brandishes it in front of me like a trophy.

“Yes, Jean, very impressive.”

We position ourselves again. Jean lets me set his hand at an angle so the tip of the knife leans down. “Try cutting. At an angle.”

He does, requiring little help from my guiding hand. The carrot slice stays on the cutting board. Amused, I twist to look up at his face.

Jean looks shocked as if I caught him doing something heinous and his skin reddens like he’s just been blasted with four hours of unadultered sunlight. His mouth becomes a smile despite it all. “Ma— uh, magical.”

It’s like this for a few seconds before I turn back to our work. “Let’s finish.”

What are you doing to me?

It turns out Jean is quite the natural; after just a few more tries he can use the knife on his own, and I’m just decoration. If you think about it, cooking is a kind of art. And Jean is good with his hands.

I stick with him, though.

“Any pots?”

“Mmm. We have one under the stove.”

“Another gift from Reiner?”

He scoffs lightly. “That was a one-time thing.”

I reach backwards for his arm and end up tapping his bicep. “Pot.”

He detaches from my back and I suddenly realize how cold the air is — it’s like a warm blanket was thrown off me. I lean against the counter. The pot of choice, a great red thing that looks like it’s never been used before, is plopped on to one of the burners and Jean immediately wraps around me again. Delirious heat.

“Thanks.”

“Now what?”

“This way.” I shuffle us over to the stove, stepping on his feet a few times, and turn the element on. “We put the rice in.”

Jean’s on it, taking the bowl and unceremoniously dumping in the rice.

“Not yet!”

He recoils. “Oh, oops.”

Shit. Knowing it’s going to hurt, I swallow anyway. “It’s okay.” I grin reassuringly, though he can’t see it. “Just need to stir.” Grateful for his presence, I search the drawers for a spatula — a nice wooden one — and hand it to Jean.

“Me?”

“Think you can do it?”

He takes it, grasping the pot handle, and pushes the rice around the pot. “Like this?” he asks, not noticing the jab. Just dripping with innocence. I feel bad.

“Perfect.”

“How long?”

“Until you feel like it’s done.”

His chest undergoes a sudden compression as he huffs and I realize just how much I’m leaning on him. “And how do I know that?”

I shrug.

So Jean stirs.

“Hm?” he says when I nudge him after a while.

“Add the broth now. And carrots.”

He hums. We turn in tandem so he can fetch the former from the fridge and I watch as he pours it slowly.

“That’s enough.”

As Jean inhales deeply his beard scratches my cheek; he’s bringing his head down to my level. I turn to meet his gaze and smile. “What?”

His eyes flutter to my chin and back.

“You want something?”

He doesn’t stop boring into me, swirling something deep in my gut like a witch’s brew. “I dunno.”

“I do.” I tilt my head up at the slightest angle to afford him a better view and his eyes widen. “You want the carrots. In the pot.”

There’s a little tic in his expression. Like he wants to engulf me, pull me deep into himself. But he just breathes, “right.” And dumps the carrots.

Stirring…

“Are you tired?”

“No.” I clear my throat again and it takes a while for the phlegm to go away fully. My feet shuffle back in an attempt to support myself, to no avail. “Bought chicken?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s tear some of it.”

==> october, adrián berenguer

The spatula clicks against the stovetop as Jean puts it down. “Wait.” I turn to meet him, backing against the hard edge of the counter, and the world turns to mush before I gather my bearings. “Wait,” he repeats, softer, putting his hands down on either side of me, locking me in place. “I need to say something.”

“Jean?” Skin turning cold where we once touched. Knees loose. Breath heavy and laboured. I latch onto his gaze and stay there. He is quicksand, sucking me in deeper with no bottom in sight, and I’m powerless to it, to the shifting grains and the lashing wind, the indefinite maelstrom of everything built up and unsaid. Until he says it, and the storm stills.

“What… are we?”

My breath is loud; every one another closer to the answer. The witch’s brew is long since tipped over, seeping its uneasy juices into my bones and muscles and tendons, rendering me feeble and invertebrate.

What are we?

“What do you want… us to be?”

A heartbeat of pause. His voice is soft but confident and takes over my every sense, light filtering into dark, soup into ice, pain into numbness. “More than this. More than what we had before.”

My hands gravitate to cover Jean’s and brush up to rub his forearms, right before the wrists, and I can see the terror that he holds, the possibility of abandonment that he keeps framed up and hung away in a little corner of his mind.

“Like now?”

His eyelids shut, separating us for a few seconds before he opens them again. “No.” And he lowers to my height. “Not like this. I dont— I don’t want any more second-guessing. No more in-betweens. I just— I need to know if we’re together or if we’re just…” He does that thing with his lip again. “I can’t do it anymore. Wondering how close I should be walking beside you, if I should offer you my chair or share it, if— if you’ll ever think of me the same way I think of you.” Despite swallowing, his voice wavers still. “I really think highly of you. I mean, I just— I— sometimes.” The last word is uttered with a small sigh as if he’s accepting defeat.

“Sometimes I feel like you’ve taken me over completely. It sounds stupid, I know, I… When we’re all together, I’m always… thinking about you. If you’ll like this thing. What I should say to make you laugh. God, I love your laugh. There’s just something… about… you… that makes me want to be by your side, and when I’m not, it doesn’t feel right, I didn’t know what right felt like until I met you. When I— I… looking at you just makes me really, really happy, and I’ve never really felt like this before. Never felt so ready to do anything, absolutely anything for a person.” He inhales deeply. “I’m— it’s hard for me to describe how I feel, but in the end I just know.

“I’m in love— I’m in love with you, the way you walk, your voice, the way you’re always looking around, everything that you think is a flaw and… I don’t want to play this game of in-between anymore because this, not knowing how you feel, is killing me. If you— you don’t have to say yes. I just need to know. What are we?”

What are we?

The frame is broken, fallen off its hook, glass shattering on impact as the wooden body collapses and snaps in on itself. Cutting countless tiny holes torn into the fabric guise of courage. Hands trembling against my sides.

The answer I want to give him is there, a vibrating and incomprehensible bundle of warmth and devotion and tenderness that is utterly unattainable behind the metal barrier of the spoken word, as much as it beats and bores into the confines of its enclosure. How much longer?

They say that eyes are the windows to the soul. It’s more like a well. Dark, deep, secretive of what lies inside behind its deceptive beautiful adornments.

But if I let myself go, if I allow myself to hang over the stone ledge and slip in to see for myself, despite the fear of hitting the cold, lonely bottom…

My hand cups his cheek and he tilts his head, leaning into it.

“Jean.”

He says my name back, just as tender, twice as fearful, and the unfamiliar frequency twinges a string in my consciousness. I open my mouth.

“How you managed to fall for me is… it’s beyond me. You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re talented… To me, you’re about as attainable as a star.”

He shakes his head tightly but I continue as he inhales to speak, hints of his voice catching the air through his throat.

“You might not think so but you’re… whenever I’m with you I just feel like everything is going to be okay in the end.” My chest burns and my voice falters. “You make me feel safe. When I imagine our future together, I’m— we’re always happy.”

If I wasn’t touching him I would never notice the small nod of gentle encouragement he gives, so much hope piled onto such a tiny movement.

“And it’s been eating away at me, because every time we look at each other I have to wonder— I have to stop and ask myself if you really like me back too.”

His eyes widen. My pulse races through my body; he can probably feel it through my hand. The truth, that’s all it is, comes pouring out unrestricted, a torrent of words tearing through my soul.

“What are we? That’s a silly question. We spend time with each other and care for each other. We share our food and our beds. You passed an important test last month and I brought everyone over with cake to celebrate, and you know my schedule so you always come to the cafe when I’m working.” I puff in amusement. “And it’s when I least expect it, too. We share so many playlists it isn’t even funny anymore, because you influenced my taste in music so much.”

“You’re the one who influenced me,” he says with a small smile.

“Frankly, I’m in love with you, and— and you’re in love with me.” I sway on my feet and put my other hand to his face to steady myself. “We know that now. We know that, so isn’t that enough? We’re two people in love, who act like they’re in love, who know they’re in love… Has anything really changed?” My peripheries go blurry. “Can’t we figure it out from here? No labels?”

“No labels.” A smile is cracking his face, skin pulling beneath my palms as his eyes crinkle, shattering the restrictive veil he wears and painstakingly paints on every morning. “We’re us. You’re right. Nothing’s changed at all. Just two people in love.” His grin widens. “Just… us.”

I smile too, I smile until my face hurts and I start giggling, but Jean is right there with me, unable to help the laughter that rings around his ribcage with a melody that is uniquely his. I let my head drop and he closes the distance between us, pulling me deep into himself, and it’s like an invisible film wrapped around me has been popped for the first time. We’re hugging for the first time. We’re touching for the first time. Unrestricted. Without fear.

Two people in love.

My laughs soon turn into coughs and the illusion is broken. Jean steps back, still pinning me against the counter.

“You want more tea?”

I scan the kitchen. “I don’t suppose Reiner got you guys a microwave?”

“I’ll make more.”

“But—”

“No buts. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say before the clamouring in my mind.

“Go lie down. I’ll finish up here.”

I turn my head up and a string in my neck suddenly starts to burn, halting the action. Stiff neck. I look down at his socks.

“You sure?”

His hands enter the picture and take mine. “Let’s get you to bed, okay? Granny?”

“You know what? Just take me to the gym.”

He hisses through his teeth. “Okay, I get your point. I’m sorry.”

Pot bubbling away in the background, we make it to the bedroom. I roll onto Jean’s criminally soft covers and he drapes the quilt over me, trapping me in my own heat.

“Go to sleep, okay?” His voice is a soft rumble, sandpaper fleece.

“Okay, father.”

“I don’t want to see the lights on when I walk by,” he adds, sternly.

“Or what?”

His dark form pauses, then leans down against my ear. “Sleep.” And he plants his lips against my hot cheek before withdrawing.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

me: @/chismosa

me: sash

me: wya

chismosa: im at the store

me: ??? i thought we were meeting at urs?

chismosa: change of plans! eren said jean came in whilw he was working soo

chismosa: just wait there. shave ur head or sth

chismosa: dont use my razor tho

me: .

me: ur lucky my phones abt to die or i woukd call nd cuss u out

me: im just gonna go back to mine

chismosa: wait

chismosa: cons

me: phobe dying

chismosa: CONNIE NO

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

When the spoon clinks against the bowl my head nearly splits open. My mouth is dry because my nostrils are plugged and everything inside me feels warm and centrifuged. I try to breathe in through my nose, fail, and end up coughing instead.

“Oh—” Jean drops his book— “are you awake?”

“It got worse,” I croak.

He smiles wryly. “Yeah. It’s pretty bad.” The sketchbook on the ground skids under the bed when he kicks it as he stands. “You hungry? Thirsty? Hot?”

I shut my eyes, not daring to move. “Just want to sleep.”

“You should eat something.”

“I don’t wanna puke.”

“You won’t puke.”

“You did.”

“That’s my own fault and you know it.” He reaches for something on the nightstand and produces a bowl. “You should at least try it. Please?” With the disposition of a kid trying to show off a cool drawing that he made.

“You finished making it?” I start to lift my head but Jean lunges forward.

“Wait! Let me.” He reaches over my lap for the pillows on the other side and works on propping them up against my back, chest against my face. Maybe I’ll pass out again.

“Jean?”

“Hm?” He returns to his original position, cradling my back. “Lean back now.”

I do and it’s just like yesterday, except our positions are switched. “Your hair is so pretty.”

“Oh.” A wavering smile takes over him. “Really?”

==> parfum d’etoiles, ichiko aoba

He leans in when I beckon and lets me brush away the silky-soft strands that fall onto his face, gently pressing them back into the main mass of his hair with the backs of my fingernails. His hair. How long have I dreamed of doing this? Seeing the way it catches the sunlight to flare a molten gold during sluggish fall afternoons at my dorm, how the wind picks up strand after delicate strand as we walk through campus on the way back from the cafe, the way it always sticks to the back of his shirt when he turns his head. Something as unreachable as the reciprocation of my love. And yet… “So beautiful.”

He dips his head a little so I focus on his mini-ponytail—

“Ponytail,” I muse out loud, grinning. “Horseface and ponytail.”

At this he looks up indignantly, undoing all my work. Betrayal weighing on his brow. “You did not.”

“Oh—” my finger, entranced and with a mind of its own, traces his hairline, “—but I did.”

He scoffs as if it’s the only thing he can do and turns his head to the side, not hiding the heat that shows and radiates from his face as I stroke the strands over his ear. He eases down onto his elbows on either side of my body and he plays with his hands on my stomach. My thumb never leaves his skin, tracing his delicately shaved beard from the curve of his jaw down to his chin, and I use this position to pull his face toward me. Feeling his pulse, feeling the way the soft skin under his jaw moves as he swallows, inhales, opens his mouth with a small wet sound and speaks right into me.

“You’re beautiful.”

I want to cry.

Despite feeling like death, despite the mouthbreathing, despite the greasiness of my hair…

Jean’s gaze is unveiled, blazing with all the fondness and revere previously hidden and locked away, an unsurmountable number of words press-printed and bleeding onto millions upon millions of honeyed pages but never bound, never shut away from the sunlight and the sky and the polished wood shelves, blowing, scattering in the wind. I just might wither away under it all if I wasn’t looking back at him with just the same intensity. Locked in a silent competition neither of us will ever win.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Jean,” I say ever so lightly, only forming the shape of his name of his tongue as I exhale.

He blinks a few times and the mattress tilts as he reaches under the frame and pulls up his sketchbook, settling on the edge of the bed. It’s about the size and shape of a placemat, bound in black leather with a stiff metal coil binding it together. He flips through the heavy cream pages with experienced ease, squishing the flesh of the hand that holds it open. I can stare at his hands all day. The hairs that sprout near the wrists, the thick, sturdy fingers, the laced veins that bulge when he brings them down to his side but are always, always visible, the way the skin folds and creases at the joints, the white-hot tendons that decorate his knuckles and poke up when he flexes, the soft and jagged way he cuts the white of his fingernails, the warmth, the padding of his palms. The power that lies dormant in his muscles under every gentle movement. I want them forever to hold and cherish and cuddle. Among other things.

He finally finds the page he’s looking for and he folds the sketchbook in on itself on its metal hinge to flatten it. He taps his fingers against the back, a soft pitter-patter like rain.

“Are you going to show me?”

Face contorting slightly, he says, “it’s not finished.”

“So?”

“It doesn’t… exude you.”

I smile. “Exude?” But he’s lost in his mind, lost in the lines interwoven in shapes and shadow on the page that are supposed to constitute a greater picture.

“Qu’est-ce que…” he mutters, not to me, not to anyone. Without looking he picks up a pencil from the nightstand and lays a few more strokes onto the paper. The graphite scratches the bumpy composite, seemingly at random at first, but Jean’s movements soon fall into a rhythm. Every once in a while his eyes flicker from the page to me and I meet him every time.

I don’t know how long we sit here, soaking in the comfortable silence, but he eventually breaks the illusion by leaning back and swiping the eraser crumbs off. “I don’t like it,” he says with a note of finality.

I’m almost asleep. “Mm— show me.”

“No…”

His face disappears behind my hand, which makes a pinching motion. “Jeaaan.”

He sighs; reluctantly, he offers the whole book to me and stares through the window (curtains still drawn). I flip it over to see and—

I blink away the gunk that doesn’t exist and hold the page back so it catches the dim light from the hallway better. “Did you just do this?”

It’s… me. It’s me in his bed, hair splayed, eyes half-lidded yet still staring through the page, features lit from on one side and bleeding into the shadowy graphite at the other. Pinned up and immortalized in this very moment by his own hands, every stroke with a purpose.

“I know, the composition is off and the lines aren’t harmonizing.”

“Harmonizing? Jean, this is beautiful.”

“Hah?” He clambers to the empty spot beside me so we can both look. “No, look, I messed up right…” he points with the worn-down eraser end of his pencil. “There. And there, and—”

I swat it away. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Don’t you realize how good this looks? I mean—” holding the portrait up next to my own face, I smile. “See?”

“Not the same,” he groans. “Everything’s—”

I stick the side of my finger against his teeth and he recoils into the pillow. “What!” He pries me off, gripping my forearm with virtually no pressure. “What was that for?”

“Whatever you think, I love it.” I clear my throat. “Thank you so much, Jean. I mean it.”

He pauses. “Well, I’m— I’m glad you like it. Expect more.”

“More?”

His eyelids flutter; hesitantly, he takes some of my hair and twirls it in his finger. “I can’t help myself.”

Some of the heat in my core rises to my face, but it’s okay, so I don’t bother turning away.

“One day I’ll get good enough to draw you for real.”

Draw me for real? As far as I’m concerned, he’s always drawing me, conjuring up a little image of me in his mind every time my name is brought up. That’s enough. That’s more than enough.

“Are you ready for soup now?”

“I’m tired. I don’t wanna move.”

“When did I say you have to move?”

It’s easy for him with his stupidly long limbs to climb over me and stand again. He takes the bowl on the nightstand and hooks his chair with his foot, dragging it forward before sitting. “It’s still a bit warm, okay?” he says, stirring the mixture.

“That looks good.”

He looks up briefly to smile. “Thanks. I found a recipe online.”

“You should get into cooking.”

He shrugs and holds up the spoon, bowl close underneath to prevent spillage. “Aah.”

I take it. The metal clicks uncomfortably against my teeth but the food is warm and good. “This is good,” I declare when my mouth is empty. “Do you really not cook that often?”

“Nope. Aah.”

I chew and swallow. “When do I get my pill?”

Jean looks like he’s choking for a second. “Uh— what, do you want it right now?”

“Sooner the better, I guess.”

He blinks, then takes the package of ibuprofen from the nightstand and unwraps a pill, puts the box away, and pinches it in his hand like it’s a precious stone. “Are you sure?”

I raise an eyebrow and hold my hand out. He stares at it, dumbfounded.

“What’s that for?”

“The pill?”

His mouth opens and closes. “Oh.” He gently places the pill onto my waiting palm. “Right.”

“What were you thinking?”

He licks his lips. “Nothing.”

I pop it dry and it hits the back of my throat before disappearing forever. Jean cringes. He’s staring at the ground, knees pushed together to hold the bowl, slightly too big for the chair he’s sitting on.

“Jean.”

“Yeah?” He perks up.

“If you want to kiss me, you can.”

He tenses around the bowl. “No! That’s…” A weak chuckle rolls in his torso. “Uh. Good to— good to know.”

I smile as silence falls between us again and the room teems with potential. He feeds me in silence, gentler with the spoon this time, pushing it against my soft bottom lip and inserting just the right amount not to hit my throat, tilting it up during the exit so my upper lip rides the gentle curve of the metal and scrapes out the meal. Everything with a calculated and smooth movement, as if feeding me is an art.

He really is good with his hands.

Now he has a tissue and holds it up as if asking for permission. I nod; he leans in to wipe some off my face, a soft furrow in his brow, biting his lip. Starting at the corner, pressing into the supple skin and making his way inward, he easily catches the mess, folds the tissue, and does the other side. He finishes off with a small dab and crumples the it, obscuring it completely in his fist. Not moving back.

“Can I have some tea?”

==> i was only temporary 2 u, my head is empty

Silently, he stretches to take a mug off the nightstand, and just like before, pushes the rim against my lip. I tilt back and drink; it’s sweet, almost head-swimmingly so, and liquid smooth.

“Mmh.”

He puts the mug down and one-handedly stashes it back to its spot. Some of the drink had dribbled from the corner of my mouth to my chin and drips onto the sheet, forming a small, dark blotch on the white. When I glance back up, so does Jean, and we lock eyes.

Unreadable.

I don’t notice him get closer until he’s on me, trapping me against the headboard, tracing the path of the tea to the corner of my lips with his own. Not satisfied, he brushes against the other side of my lip and the tip of my nose before stopping at eye level. Taking in a breath before ever so slowly inching forward, sealing off my air. My eyes slip closed.

It’s different this time. He’s hesitant, waiting for me to make the move, so I do, tracing the crescent of his warm, plump lip with my tongue — god, how long have I wanted this? How long have his lips stared back at me? — in an attempt to crack him open, without pattern but with hidden rhythm, just like his pencil. He tastes like overly sweet tea.

His fingers caress my jaw and tangle into my hair as mine do the same, tracing the scrub of his beard, pulling out the hairtie and tossing it before taking the impossibly silken strands in greedy fistfuls, making my blood go loose and coat my guts in something inexplicable that almost makes me lose my focus. The air from his nose tickles my skin and finally he gives, breaking the dam, exploring the surfaces I have to offer as if mapping it out for later with a painful, cautious leisure. Never stopping, always movement: the bristles of his chin occasionally scraping against mine; his hands languidly falling down my neck, pushing me back against the pillows; mine, seizing his collar, pulling as a desperate indication to remove it and to come closer; the dip of the bed as he obliges to the latter, knees locking me in place. As if I would move, despite my racing pulse, despite my heart threatening to slip out of its bony confines and tear my burning lungs—

==> might start singing - sped up, sheldon charlot

The metallic sound of a key grating into the keyhole. Like deer in the headlights we freeze as the key turns, the lock disengages, and the front door swings open.

Jean looks like someone just shot at him; blindly, I swat at the thick muscle between his neck and shoulder until he awkwardly rolls off, ramming into the nightstand with his head in the process. The bowl and mug and clock rattle, nearly drowning out his pained grunt. He lands sitting on the ground and I sit up ramrod straight.

“Jean? That you?”

We peer at each other through the dark, thoughts unspoken, yet still understood. My pulse is on overdrive, for a different reason now.

Connie!

His footsteps get louder as he stomps down the hall; I pull the blanket up (to cover what, exactly?) as Jean shoots onto his feet — slamming his shoulder against the nightstand again — just as his roommate’s shadow fills the doorway to Jean’s room.

“Ugh, you’re gonna kill your eyes, man.” A blinding light pierces as Connie flips a switch. “Can I borrow your charger? I left mine— I left…”

When my eyes adjust, Connie’s staring into me under Jean’s arm. He looks between the two of us as the pieces fall together in his head like a game of jelly Tetris and it’s evident when he figures it out, when all the rows are cleared and the trumpets blare and the screen flashes with confetti, when a grin that’s all too Connie takes over his face. “Oh. You guys have been real naughty while I was gone, huh?”

I start to speak but Jean’s faster. “What are you on about? I was just giving her food.”

Connie raises an eyebrow, skeptical. At the obviously empty bowl, the ruffled covers, our heaving chests and wrinkled clothes, Jean’s hair which is uncharacteristically roughed up and messy and falling all over his eyes. “Yeah.” He smirks at me. “Food.”

Jean swallows.

“Connie,” I say slowly as the last taste of Jean slips away, “you won’t tell Sasha, right?”

“I dunno.” All too gleeful, he leans against the wall, tapping it as if waiting for something. “Will I?”

“You can use Jean’s car for a week if you don’t.”

Said person twitches. “Huh!?”

No stranger to the bargain, Connie narrows his eyes. “A month.”

“Two weeks or no deal.”

“Fine, but I get to decide which days.”

“Wait, when did I—”

“Deal,” I say, cutting Jean off. I shoot him an apologetic look as Connie caws in victory.

“Hell yeah! Suck it!” He points at the owner of said car. “She’s all mine now, Jeanboy!” Then he points at me. “I love you and my lips are sealed forever, okay? This is our little secret. Woo!” He skips down the hallway and picks something up with a jingle before the door opens and shuts and all is quiet.

At a sloth’s pace, Jean reaches for his pants pocket. “My keys aren’t here.”

“I’m sorry, Jean.”

He slumps, leans his butt against the bed, and turns to me like a war widow, voice barely a whisper. “It had to be done.”

“Your car will be fine.” I try to undo some of the damage thoughtlessly wrought upon his hair, smoothing it out. “It’s only two weeks.”

“Knowing Connie, he’s going to spread it out over two years,” he sighs, staring at the wall. “You know he likes to eat in it, right?”

Saying nothing, I keep stroking his hair, tracing my his scalp with my fingertips, and he leans in to my shoulder.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

“Connie?” Sasha says when he pulls up outside the store, hiding her fingers from the bitingly cold air by shoving them in her coat pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“More importantly, what’s he doing in Jean’s car?” Eren adds, in the process of pulling up his hair into a bun. “Did you kill him, Connie?”

“I struck a bargain,” Connie says smugly. “You guys want a ride, or what?”

Sasha blinks. “You saw them together and they agreed to let you use Jean’s car as long as you kept quiet about it.”

“Nuh-uh!” the driver bursts as Eren nods.

“Adds up.”

Connie’s grip around the wheel tightens. He won’t— he can’t let his dream ride slip from his hands so quickly. “Sasha, no! I just let him use— I mean, he let me use his car if I did all his laundry for a month.”

“Really?” his best friend muses.

Frantic, he nods.

She scowls. “Don’t give me that crap, Constance Springer.” Trace puffs of steam appear at her rapid spew of words. “You don’t even know how to do laundry.”

“I do so! I Youtubed it!”

“Bullshit.”

“Woman, nuh uh!”

“Can I go now?” Eren drawls, almost immediately drowned out by their combined bickering. He sighs, putting the finishing touches on his bun, and traces the leafy skyline.

So they really did get together. He didn’t think Jean had it in him. Casually, he taps his pocket, the bunched-up lanyard underneath.

Sasha had grilled him constantly though the store as he did his rounds, even following him to the employee-only area. Hell, she stood outside the bathroom waiting for him when he tried to hide for his break. There was just no escaping her.

“What did he buy?”

“Like, soup stuff.”

“What’s the first thing he said?”

“My name?”

“Did he mention her?”

“No.”

“Do you have a receipt?”

“No.”

And so on and so forth. She asked for Jean’s grocery haul maybe a hundred times, and he answered every time with the same mind-numbing ingredient list. Every. Single. Time.

A small smile lights his face. He didn’t tell her everything, though.

As much as he wanted to mention Jean’s embarrassingly poor attempt to hide the box with his body from Eren’s prying eyes at the checkout, he thought better of it, because then she’d really go off the hook. That, and he wants Jean to owe him. He covers his mouth before the others notice his growing smile at the memory replaying in his mind. Condoms? Really? Does Jean not trust Connie enough to use some of his? More importantly, does he really think he’ll be using them? Truly?

Eager beaver.

“Don’t tell them, okay?” Connie says, already defeated. “Or else they’ll take this car away…”

“Don’t you realize, Connie? It doesn’t matter who I tell because soon enough they’ll be walking around in public holding hands and all that. So your leverage is basically null.”

He stares forlornly at the little Sanrio charm hanging from the rearview mirror. “When did you get so good at this?”

“That’s just common sense.”

Sighing, he rests his forehead on the steering wheel. “Well,” he says without looking up, “you guys wanna go for a long drive?”

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

writing confession scenes kill me in every physical metaphorical and metaphysical way you can imagine. thats some psychic damage right there. despite that, i love writing

seems we cant escape the inevitable kiss scene! i tried to switch it up this time. not a huge fan of recurring plot and all but i think in circles sometimes. like a dying fruit fly

about that epilogue -- i dont think i'll be employing those for a while. or maybe i will. who knows?

masterlist part 1 - two ibuprofen

[generalpalacefishgoop]

You know the posts recently about bbh neg on twter, the timing of it with that going on, makes me want to hurl, they don't give a shit about "victims" or the real issues. They just want to dunk on the next cc they hate using the current "momentum".

You know what, I say let them go ahead and try to "cancel" Bad, really, go ahead. They're just regurgitating shit DSMP fans has said over the years again and again about Bad. Its fcking funny actually. Oh not forgetting they had to invent new ones or ones THAT THEIR FAVES HAVE DONE TOO BTW, to "cancel" Bad. To think I was looking forward to QSMP fans being "healthier" or "better" than DSMP ones, oh boy am I sorely disappointed.

Let them run their mouths about Bad. Cuz I'm 100% sure the CCs , QSMP admins, and Quackity give 0 shit about them. Etoiles knows and has already expressed how he knows that Bad is overly hated by the fandom and how he receives neg on the daily. Despite knowing that, he's still cordial with Bad. And he even expressed how he tries to not be "angry" or "frustrated" at Bad or else the parasocial fucks will come running to "defend" him from "evil" BBH when he has said a million times over that its not a fcking big deal, and hes just expressing himself NOT IN A NEG WAY. but noooo parasocial fucks be like "oh no my skunkrly wrunkly his feelings got hurt oh no" same shit with foolish fans. Fcking blind af. Esp the new ones who hasnt experienced the prank wars in dsmp. Fcking joyless fucks who cant handle a fcking block game that theyre not even playing. But thankfully, Etoiles stopped being so concerned, and well, yk with Foolish lmao same old same old.

(Disclaimer: SOME FANS NOT ALL, IM TALKING ABOUT THE TOXIC PARASOCIAL FUCKS, YES EVEN THE BIG ACCOUNTS ON TWITTER WITH THOUSANDS OF FOLLOWERS. You know who. Big numbers doesn't mean they're more RIGHT. A parasocial fuck is a parasocial fuck. Also, when I say parasocial, I mean the ones who are toxic and project themselves onto the CC. Being parasocial is fine, if it's the healthy kind, if you know what I mean)

I digress, there's no fcking unfollows or subtweets from CCs to Bad, unlike with D or F. In fact, some CCs and CLOSE FRIENDS of Bad's have always praised Bad and defended him TO THIS DAY. If that is not enough of an indication of how unproblematic he is, Idk what else to say. Just fuck off and live a life in constant misery and hatred ig. That's why don't respond to fucks like that. Just mute em. They can yap all they want but it means SHIT ALL if you don't see it. BBH's community is WAY WAY smaller than the whole fandom (and theres wayyy more toxic fucks) so bbhs community saying shit back to the toxic shits will also mean SHIT ALL. They CLEARLY don't watch Bad anyways so what's the point. Better way to deal with this shit is fight the misinformation, that's all. Spread more positivity and give ppl FULL context and CORRECT information. If you see some shit against Bad, report it and send it to whatever ban list qsmp uses. Send it to mods or something. Ik that Bagi's discord has something like that.

Oh but ppl be like /rp or /lh or "it's just my opinion", who gives a shit. Still report them. We're not dumb. The mods or whoever admins are not dumb. That negative toxic fuck smell on it, is fcking obvious enough.

STOP GIVING THEM ENGAGEMENTS. We can happily stay in each others bubbles without ever talking to each other, AND THAT IS FINE. Don't let the negative fucks in. Mute and report them, and I guarantee you, that fcking stranger on the Internet, you'll forget within DAYS. those fuckers won't even exist to you, vice versa.

THEIR WORDS HOLD NO POWER OVER YOU OR THE QSMP COMMUNITY. KEEP THE QSMP COMMUNITY HEALTY AND SAFE. Fuck them toxic shits.

[bigfemboyenergy]

woah!!!! again?!?

remember that one post i made with a gf/dp crossover in which the ghost zone actually CONTAINS the mindscape? dont lie, i know you dont

i just remembered how cool that felt to me so !! im thinkin i might write a bit (just., gotta find it)

original prompt post: https://www.tumblr.com/bigfemboyenergy/749856656479879168/ok-ok-this-will-be-the-last-time-i-promise?source=share

Bill laughs as the kid stares straight through the hole he just shot through Bill’s bowtie. “I’m immortal here, kid! It’ll take more than that to kill me!” Immediately, the human changes his stance, as if preparing for some sort of violent response. Bill doesn’t even bother to so much as flick him as he says, “Whoa, whoa kid! How much trauma have you dealt with?” He openly laughs, his strange voice filling the odd, infinite space.

The boy adjusts his posture, tensing up a bit, as he seems to prepare a blast from his hand. To this, Bill stops laughing and continues to act fairly casual. “You know, you’re quite the sight for sore eye! I haven’t seen anyone in this realm outside of myself before!” He watches the human get a little less tense, before tensing up again, as if waiting for some surprise attack. “Look here, kid. I’m not in a fighting mood,” Bill starts, with a laugh. It’s obvious he’s being a little more serious, before he quickly returns to his overly odd cackle, “No matter how much you seem to be!”

Danny can’t help but suspect the thing. He can’t tell what it is, especially since it has no ghost-like aspects outside of its regeneration. After all, a yellow equilateral triangle with one giant eye, a bowtie, a cane, and a fashionable hat doesn’t seem..quite normal to become, for those who’ve passed. It irks him to see something so strange and oddly, uncomfortably threatening, within his domain. Danny can’t help but feel protective over his realm, as the Ruler of the Infinite Realms, a title he gained since his defeat of Pariah Dark. His obsession with protecting others also doesn’t help.

But Danny really knows something’s up. He’s never even heard of such an odd being in the Realms before, something he doesn’t expect despite its vastness. With a deep breath that he doesn’t quite need to take, he finally speaks to the creature: “What even are you?” Danny doesn’t even care to sugarcoat his words. This being surely hasn’t done so with its own, so why not be so straightforward?

The beast’s singular eye almost illustrates the emotion of grinning. Danny only notices now, but the creature almost pulses as it seems to speak, with no mouth in sight. “I’m a dream demon, isn’t it obvious? The name’s Bill Cipher, make sure you don’t forget it!” It asks, a clearly rhetorical, purely joking, question, before continuing. “From a world in which direction, dimension, and disaster have no meaning! Where 2D is the new 3D, and life is near worthless!” Danny watches as the thing calling itself a ‘dream demon’ bursts into a fit of laughter, it seeming to find everything very entertaining. He must say, he isn’t satisfied with the being’s answer. It just seems to leave even more questions.

Danny lets himself relax as the demon questions him right back; “Who, rather than what, are you, kid?”

Bill watches the human closely with his eye, waiting for an inevitable response, whether with words or actions. It’s rather exciting to practically hear the gears in the boy’s brain turning as he thinks deeply. Within a minute or so, the kid responds, “Phantom. People call me Phantom.” Bill nods, in a way that his unusual body will let him. Everything about the boy only seems to get more interesting. “Say, what business do you have here, Phantom?” Bill questions, with a smirk-like look in his eye.

Phantom gives Bill a calculating look. “I am the ruler of these realms, actually.” This greatly surprises Bill, who rotates his cane in his hand thoughtfully. “Well, who’d have thunk it! Why, kid, you’re quite the little mystery!” He laughs, his voice once again resonating through the infinite space.

It seems like the two are in for a ride- one of the “emotional rollercoaster” type.