#any conversations about what it means to pass or whether it’s good or bad or neutral to pass is not my wheelhouse. not rly a conversation

[mailperson]

On some level I guess I can understand that any conversation at all on sex/gender, gender roles, and modern forms of expression can sometimes be very complicated or confusing. Gender or sex depending on your term of preference is a loaded term for most folks and carries a lot of meaning no matter who you are.

In general I do think it’s good to foster a culture where it’s okay to question noticed patterns or trends and what meaning we can derive from them and what is or isn’t worth embracing in that regard, provided that it’s specifically and clearly done in good faith and done genuinely with respect to others,

but I feel like a very odd and common talking point in conversations clearly being had in bad faith is positing that a binary trans person, irregardless of any behavior or presentation, is somehow brutally enforcing harmful ideas about sex or gender just by existing under the label of trans person which is sort of a bizarre conclusion to reach

[catboyieejeno]

mark lee + domestic

♫ play love it by dean...

waking up on a late morning besides mark who, in his sleep, is subconsciously pressing his soft, pouted lips against your neck or shoulder, nose nuzzling into your warmed skin. he still hasn't woken up, which you realize when those same pouty lips part to let out a series of long and calm exhales. he rolls a little closer to you until minutes later, he eventually blinks his puffy eyelids open, smacking his mouth a few times like a baby does when first stirring awake.

it's too soon to wish you a good morning—he doesn't truly trust his voice to not betray him yet; instead, when your eyes meet for the first time today, the corner of his lips instinctively curve up into a dazed smile, and the hand that rests on your hip gives your flesh a little squeeze in a silent but sweet greeting.

cooking any meal consists of you moving around the kitchen as you gather and assemble your ingredients. meanwhile, mark follows you around, curiously and eagerly. he resembles a puppy trailing behind you. also has a habit of resting his chin on your head or shoulder to watch what you're doing; that, or he's leaning against the nearest structure whenever you linger for too long in a specific area. you're by the sink? he's bent over, resting his weight on his elbows to talk to you. you're at the stove? his hip is pressed into the counter and his arms are crossed, watching intently how you prepare the food.

after, he'll gladly do the dishes (since he isn't much help with the cooking part). the sole condition he insists on is that you have to sit on the countertop beside him and keep him company 'til he's done. he also gets to steal a kiss whenever he pleases, molding his lips over yours for a few seconds too long. he laughs when you scold him for getting distracted or wasting water, then mumbles his apology into your mouth, "m'sorry, baby! s'just hard to focus when you're here, sitting pretty for me,"

chores are usually left for the weekend, where the two of you take turns picking songs and adding them to a never-ending queue to get through the tasks at hand. the two of you are rather good at getting things done quickly, but the moment you plant a kiss on mark's cheek as you pass by, consider your work done for the day, regardless of whether you've finished or not.

you don't make it farther than a foot away before mark has dropped the rag he's holding in order to grab ahold of your waist. he dips his head down and kisses your lips so messily, longingly even, since the last kiss you gave him was not sufficient by any means. then again, he can never really get enough of you. mere moments later, you're pressed up against the wall with each of his hands at your hip bones, the tasks at hand long forgotten as his tongue eagerly explores your mouth.

its easy to get distracted with him, by him. grocery runs tend to be at least an hour longer than they really need to, because despite the fact that you've made a list of 5 simple items, the two of you navigate every aisle anyway and leave with a dozen other things. browsing for shows or movies turns into a conversation about actors and directors and soundtracks, and you never actually get around to picking something. if you do, the content is left unattended by you and mark, who giggle and mutter out jokes between the dialogue to get a smile out of the other, blazing touches left behind on warm skin.

you're undoubtedly his favorite person in the entire world—the one he looks forward to seeing at the start and end of each day, and the one he always tells good news to first. bad news, too. crashes through the front door and drops everything to bid you a warm hello as he rambles on about his day, or comes in and curls up next to you on the couch and expresses his recent frustrations. regardless of whether you give advice or just listen, your presence is soothing enough.

[karlachismylife]

Yeah, but what if you're a character in a game they like to play? A pre-existing townie in a life simulator that helps them reconnect with normal life outside deployment? The one they somehow always tend to romance in every savefile, courting you through the clumsy mechanics?

Soap would absolutely spam interactions, interrupting any of the tasks you are trying to do. What do you mean your relatonship progress starts going down after he chose "tell a flirty joke" twenty times in a row? Why are you falling out of the conversation and going to water your plants or play on the computer? Does he have to delete it out of the game for you to stop getting distracted? Hmph. If you were a real person, you would be already swooning at his jokes, that he knows for sure. C'mon, bonnie, don't leave the lot for work! If you accept his proposition to move in, you'll never need to work a day in your pixel life! He also has a fuckton of savefiles, because he wants to try every single thing the game has to offer, but turns out mastering all 158 skills and 73 careers isn't that easy in one go. He still goes after you in each and every savefile. What can he say? You're just the prettiest of them all.

Gaz has the strategy nailed down. He knows your pre-set preferences and makes sure his character caters to them (good thing you seem to be generally into him, all he needs to do is add your favourite colour to his outfit, and it suits hm too!), he can calculate the shortest route to have a romantic meter above your head in one conversation. Juggling the interactions with ease, never making the mistake to bore or upset you. He knows you'll have the best family tree in that game, and he'll make it happen. Also has quite a few savefiles, but only because he enjoys the storytelling aspect and always prepares some elaborate plot, filled with drama. Takes inspiration from the hundreds of episodes of different TV shows he manages to watch, also plays with mods to add as much flavour to the game as possible.

Price tries to court you like he would a real person. Inviting your character out, putting a lot of thought into which conversation theme choose out of what game offers, bringing you gifts. Unfortunately for him, the game isn't registering his actions as actually trying to woo you... so he just takes the gloves off and fucking cheats your relationship status. His in-game self needs a pretty partner to look after the pack of three dogs, named Ghost, Gaz and Soap respectively. He's not above cheating your babies (whether your character carries them or it's the science baby option) to be triplets. Only starts new savefiles when you both grow old and pass away in the previous one, maybe because he can't bring himself to live out your kids' lives (they should be their own little virtual people and decide for themselves), or maybe because he doesn't understand that he actually can keep playing even if his character's dead.

Ghost starts with adding himself to your family and setting your relationship status as spouses. Oh, you have some in-game pathetic weird looking prick as your pre-set partner/husband? Too bad, evicted, deleted from the game, forgotten. If he is in the mood, he won't straight up delete that poor bloke, but will set up a pool with no ladder and drown him in it or lock him in a separate room to starve. Nothing you should see, though, you'll be plenty busy drowning yourself, not in a pool, but in his affection. Doesn't spam interactions, but really enjoys just watching you go about your day and making it so that his character takes care of your needs - if you start to get hungry, he's already slamming the "call to meal" button on the giant ribs plate his in-game self just roasted. Probably has one savefile where he keeps cheating any death back.

Or are you a cute tamagochi pocket friend/pet they enjoy taking care of, because having a real pet is impossible with their lifestyle? An NPC with an everyday quest of collecting produce in a chill farm simulator? A weekly boss they lose fight to as much times as they can afford to, just to see your opening cutscene replay over and over? A companion whose personal quest they have memorized line by line, but never skip dialogue to hear your voice and look at every expression you make?

Whoever you are, what if one day something in your code changes and you suddenly start recognizing them?

[kybercrystals94]

Deepest, Wholehearted Regards

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 7 - Prompt: Only for Emergencies / "It's us or them."

@prompts-of-bad-batch Week 3 Prompt: "Sometimes I think he's still here..."

Rated: G | Words: 914

21 BBY

Wrecker is in the gunner’s mount. He doesn’t want to listen to the argument at his back, doesn’t want to think about how it started or why. He doesn’t want to hear about Tech being too analytical, or Crosshair being too emotional. He doesn’t want to hear Hunter try to mediate. 

But the ship is too small for that. 

And so he hears everything, whether he wants to or not. 

Plan 99. 

He hates it.

Crosshair hates it too. Hunter won’t say either way, but Wrecker knows Hunter can’t possibly be okay with it. But Tech thinks they should have a plan for everything. Every possible scenario. It is only logical, he says. 

“If one of us were to become unrecoverably compromised,” Tech is arguing, “it would be advantageous to have the ability to communicate such an event discreetly.” 

“Having a plan to sacrifice ourselves should not be an option.” Crosshair is seething, voice dangerously low. 

“It is a very feasible last resort,” Tech counters. 

“Be human for one second and think about how that sounds!” 

“That’s enough!” Hunter’s sergeant voice is distinct, leaving no room for argument. “Crosshair, go cool off.” 

Something slams down hard, the sound of heavy boots retreating to the cockpit, and the hiss of the door closing. Then heavy, thick silence. Wrecker twists his hands together. He wishes he had Lula. 

“I did not mean…” Tech says quietly, but he stops short.

Wrecker thinks Hunter must’ve signaled him to be quiet, to let the conversation drop. Please. 

There is a sharp intake of breath. “That is to say,” Tech continues, but his voice sounds strange now, “I did not mean for such a plan to be offensive or macabre. Rather, I believed it would provide a chance to relay information we might not otherwise have an opportunity to express in an event where our demise is imminent.” 

Hunter sighs. He sounds tired. “What kind of information?” 

“Our deepest, wholehearted regards and our innate desire to put the lives of our brothers above our own,” Tech says. “Plan 99 would embody such sentiments without losing time to do so.” 

“That’s a good plan, Tech,” Hunter says after a long stretch of silence. “One I don’t intend for any of us to use.” 

“That would be preferable,” Tech agrees. “And I thought it would also serve as a remembrance, for Ninety-Nine. I know he would have conveyed the same information, had he had the chance.” 

“Yeah,” Hunter says softly, “He would’ve.”

19 BBY

“Wrecker, I need your help,” Omega says, climbing up into the crash seat next to him. 

Wrecker laughs. “Sure, kid! What do ya need?” 

Omega gives him her data pad. “Tech is having me memorize all of Clone Force 99’s plans. Can you quiz me?” 

Wrecker holds the data pad up where Omega cannot see the screen. “Okay…Plan 7…” 

Omega carefully relates each plan in detail, even when Wrecker tries to trick her by repeating a plan a time or two. The girl only laughs and recites the plan again without a hitch. 

“Your brain must be almost as big as Tech’s, kid, memorizing all those plans like that,” Wrecker tells her, passing over the data pad and ruffling her feathery blond hair. 

Omega giggles and ducks away. “Wait, you forgot one,” she protests, pushing the data pad back at him. 

“I did?” Wrecker asks, frowning. 

“Yeah! Plan 99.” 

Wrecker’s heart drops. “Oh, well, yeah. That’s not really a plan. Not like the other plans, ya know?” 

“It only says the sacrifice,” Omega says. “What does that mean?” 

“Oh, um,” Wrecker stammers, “maybe you should ask Hunter or Tech. Or Echo.” 

“Why?” Omega asks. 

“They can explain it a whole lot better than me,” Wrecker says. 

Omega frowns. “It makes you sad, doesn’t it. Plan 99? It’s for when something bad happens.” 

“Sort of,” Wrecker agrees. “It’s for if one of us has to do something we can’t come back from.” 

“I don’t like that,” Omega whispers, and she presses in close, curling up under his arm. “I hope we never use Plan 99…ever.” 

“Me too, kid,” Wrecker mutters, hugging her close. “We never want to use it…but if we ever did use it, did you know it’s a secret message? Only for us?” 

Omega hums a wordless question. 

Wrecker continues, keeping his voice as low as he can. “If someone ever says Plan 99 because they know they ain’t coming back, it means they care about you so much, in more words than they have time to say ‘em. It means they are putting your life first, that they want you to keep living, to keep fighting.” 

“It means ‘I love you,’” Omega says, voice muffled against him. 

Wrecker swallows. “Yeah, kid. It means ‘I love you.’”

**

Wrecker is in the gunner’s mount room. He doesn’t want to listen to the silence at his back, doesn’t want to think about how it started or why. He wants to hear Tech being analytical, explaining the galaxy away as though it were simple. He wants to hear Crosshair cleaning his rifle, Hunter discussing strategy with Echo. He wants to hear Omega laughing. He wants to pretend that he might be too far away to hear any of it. Sometimes he thinks they’re still there…if he pretends long enough. 

But the ship is too small for that. 

And so he hears nothing, whether he wants to or not. 

Plan 99. 

I love you too. 

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @fionas-frenzy @dreamsight73 @royallykt

[bloomeng]

I feel like something a lot of people miss when discussing DC canon is context.

(Warning: Mentions of canon sexual assault scenes)

So today I saw a discussion about Alfred's fanon perception versus canon reality. I wouldn't say op was criticizing people for thinking of him as a sweet old man, merely just pointing out that he's canonly not so innocent and it goes unaddressed. He was the one who nudged Tim into the Robin mantle and he was the one who stripped it from him and gave it to Damian without asking. There's a whole plotline about how he had a daughter that he abandoned. He was the one who put up the "soldier" plaque memorial. All of these things are true, however, I don't think it was the writers' intentions to paint a lot (not all) of his actions as negative. In fact, the writing often goes out of its way to paint Alfred as a martyr. That doesn't make his actions right, nor does it mean that someone is wrong for being upset with him, but it also means that people aren't stupid or wrong for interpreting his character as this beacon of virtue. It's also notable that most people are probably more acquainted with his animated and film adaptations where he hasn't done any of the things I've listed.

Context is always important when analyzing media, but it is ESPECIALLY important when discussing DC because of the sheer volume of authors writing for a single character.

This is why there are so many arguements about whether or not Bruce is a bad father. When you have so many authors writing a character for close to a century, you're going to have inconsistencies and their takes on the character will contradict. We can go in circles bringing up issues that prove either side, but it's futile. Everyone is entitled to their feelings towards things that happen in canon, but I don't think it's fair to pass ultimate judgement based on something that was often written by one shitty writer.

Now disregarding DC canon is something the fandom is selectively good at, but the curtesy is not extended evenly. Going back to Alfred for a moment. A legit criticism of the writing is that he abandoned his daughter and that isn't really addressed outside of the issue that introduced it. And I think the reality is that DC often recognizes their mistakes after the fact and isn't equipped to handle the conversations they start so they quietly retcon. Which isn't great, but I also think it's a silent mercy. See not addressing something is bad, but putting out offensive media is more detrimental IN MY OPINION.

This is even more evident when it comes to DC's history with depicting sexual assault. They constantly back themselves into corners. I really appreciated that Gail Simone's Batgirl run retconned the Joker's sexual assault against Barbara. SA is something that is important to talk about but it's also something that needs to be treated with care. What happened to Barbara was not a productive conversation. There were so many gross undertones of the Joker specifically sexually assaulting her. Same with Talia sexually assaulting Bruce. There are very real racist undertones. There is a time and place to discuss male victims and the way male rape victims are written off, but the story is not concerned with having that conversation. So now we’re not only not having that conversation but we’re also stereotyping and villainizing POC women which also has real world consequences.

Now this next part might get me boos from the audience but to me this also extends to Dick and Tarantula. I know a lot of people want DC to acknowledge what happened, but to that I'm like why? Devin Grayson is a notably bad writer when it comes to Dick. There are racist undertones to having Tarantula sexually assault Dick. Devin is literally known for making Dick Roma for fetish reasons. Before this Dick Grayson was a white character, who was already written to be flirty and sexual. These are all important things to consider about the context of the writing. I think it would actually be best if DC did what Gail Simone did with Batgirl. I think it’s unfair to not give these WOC characters the same treatment of understanding when their actions are shitty because of shit authors.

Real world context is vital for understanding these fictional stories. Batman can't kill because that would mean they would have had to be constantly introducing new villains and it would be less child friendly. Robin was introduced to the story because they were trying to market to children. Batman continuing to recruit children is about marketing to kids. The hyper-focus on Dick's romantic life was in part an effort to fight gay allegations. These are all important factors to consider if you're discussing DC critically.

Like realistically yeah it sucks so bad that Alfred and Bruce allowed children to fight crime. But it's also notable to mention that Dick forced Bruce's hand, Bruce was really trying to stop this kid from murdering a man. It was a compromise. Alfred and Dick may have pushed Tim to become Robin but he was already one foot out the door. Damian and Cass were trained by assassins. None of these kids are realistic depictions of children, even if they are relatable. When you read a superhero comic you are suspending a certain level of disbelief and I don't think it's the hot take people think it is to criticize Batman for allowing kids to fight.

Like cool, then we don't have a story. Nothing about superheroes are realistic. Why is this the line we draw in the sand?

I didn't know when to bring this up, so I'm going to awkwardly tack it on at the end. So the "Nothing Butt Nightwing" webcomic... Yeah it looks not good, but a lot of people are calling it out for sexualizing Dick, which once again to me fails to understand the outside context. There is a difference between sexualizing and sexualization of an ethnicity. As I mentioned, for most of Dick's run he was a white character who was written to be flirty. Devin was fetishizing him, but allowing Dick to remain a flirty character is not an act of fetish based sexualization. Personally I think it’s more harmful to get rid of core aspects of his character now that he is canonly Romani. Not to mention that if we address the SA with his character we are now back in this place of stereotyping and bad undertones. So until DC is ready to tell a legitimate story about male SA victims I'd rather the Dick Grayson thing be left silently in the past. I'm so hyper aware that I'm in the minority though. I agree it could be really powerful to have one of those stories be told but consider how harmful it would be to continue to imply these things about WOC.

[yandere-toons]

Yandere Klaus Hargreeves (Platonic & Romantic Headcanons)

Warnings: substance abuse, bloody violence, references to child abuse and neglect, self-harm and suicidal ideation, sexual references, mentions of religious concepts.

Platonic:

Hugs, where he snuggles up with his whole body, are his favourite way to greet the one he has so fondly dubbed his truest friend. Klaus shuts out all other communication and responsibility, preferring to laugh with them and grasp for any reason to keep the conversation going. He makes no apologies for his enthusiasm and, if only privately, ridicules those who frown on his behaviour.

A snack or nightcap that happened to be on hand serves as his excuse, but in reality, Klaus is looking for any opportunity to lean in and show how attentive he can be. Klaus will endure an inordinate amount of hostility before he recognises that it's more than a lapse of affection. Even so, he assumes the fault rests squarely on his shoulders and scrambles to be more forthright in his attempts to praise and help.

Sleep exhausts him more than life unless Klaus downs a shot of liquid courage and passes out on his friend, calling their heartbeat the best sedative. He finds comfort in entangling himself with them: then the slightest movement will alert him to a disturbance or an attempt to leave, and he won't have to wake up alone, wondering if he's hallucinated it all.

When his friend exits the room, Klaus jumps up from whatever compact position he's been sitting in and hurries after them. Even if his question about going out together fetches an unequivocal "no," Klaus reacts with joy, as if he's snagged a resounding "yes," and continues to follow at their heels until they reach their destination.

Whether it's throwing himself into the back seat of their car just before they drive off or physically clinging to them, Klaus insists on not being separated for even a minute. Anything longer than a few seconds of uninterrupted silence discomforts him, so he is eager to fill that time with stories of his bizarre visions.

If Klaus's friend lands in a scuffle, he enables them by shouting words of encouragement for them to hit the other. For Klaus to strike, the friend must either ask him to do so or catch him in a moment of extreme distress. Once the altercation is over and Klaus's friend emerges victorious, he approaches the opponent and taunts them quietly, if possible extinguishing his cigarette on their skin.

Suppose his friend loses or appears to be struggling. In that case, Klaus will call upon his brother Diego to intervene with deadly force. Klaus frames this as a personal favour between brothers, but Klaus has, at best, a tenuous intention of repaying Diego, unless what Diego asks for comes in the form of pills or powder. This becomes clear when Klaus decides not to stay for the end of the fight and leaves with his friend to pour a celebratory drink.

Being a bystander in the fight means staying behind Klaus while he holds out his arm like a seatbelt. Klaus believes he has failed to fulfil his sole purpose in life and is therefore unworthy to live, so at the first sign of danger, he will sacrifice himself for one of the few people who have not yet written him off.

Klaus enjoys swapping gossip and bad memories of questionable validity about how awful the person was. He even steals valuables from the person's house, small enough to fit in his coat pocket, and then splits the reward with his friend, distracting them with compliments and jokes in hopes that they won't confront him about the crime.

If the friend presses him hard, Klaus will hand over the stolen goods but will argue that he is thieving solely in their best interest. If you wait a day or more to ask him about it, Klaus will have the time he needs to pawn off all the stolen goods and double down on the lie that someone else is to blame.

Hearing a good song, Klaus will try to dance with his friend. Humour him or not, Klaus improvises a whole routine and "accidentally" plants his elbow in the ribs of everyone he suspects has the same dance partner in mind. He makes a point of swaying in his friend's line of sight and slides into the way each time they venture out.

Despite this, Klaus is the first to flee and invent insults against the others for smothering him. Should the people claim that Klaus is the real hanger-on, that his friend stays with him out of pity rather than necessity, he lashes out in a burst of verbal and physical rage at whoever said it last.

Acts of impulse serve as a cornerstone of his fragile attachment. In a more domestic setting, Klaus falls into their lap on the pretext that his family is hogging all the chairs. Kisses blown across the room, closer if his friend asks for such things, earn him much derision from his siblings.

No matter how much Ben gags in his ear, Klaus pays no mind to his antics and gradually isolates himself from those who challenge his view of the relationship. He has had enough of being expected to validate his every choice in his family's eyes and declares that he will never again bring his friend round the mansion. When questioned as to his motives, Klaus is unusually honest about his preference for them over his family.

Klaus jokes that, even in death, he will hold them to all the promises they made in life. He warns them not to bunk with other spirits, as he has dedicated a La-Z-Boy and a bottomless supply of pizza to them in his afterlife. One-on-one existence, where his dream could never again be taken from him, is his paradise, and the resurrection, the gasp of loneliness that comes with leaving such a world, takes more from his heart than any bullet.

As someone whom the dead haunt like a shadow, Klaus will continue to talk to his friend long after their death. Everyone else can only watch and guess at his condition as he chats with empty air about what to eat that day. Klaus is well aware that his friend is dead and that no one else can see them now, but it gives him more reason to include them in conversations with others.

This is how he soothes his grief and tells himself that despite the new barrier, he can still socialise with them and, at least for a few blissful minutes, pretend that everything is as it should be. If anyone is angry with him for this, Klaus teases them: in his eyes, they are shamelessly envious that he has such a loyal friend.

Romantic:

Playdates with his abrasive family are a necessary evil, but as soon as his partner leaves, Klaus waves goodbye to his siblings and follows. He packs his nonexistent bags and sets off, unable to trust that his partner won't realise he does more harm than good and abandon him while they're apart.

Klaus fears his attachment—he worries that by revealing its burning intensity and seeking appreciation, he is inviting future rejection. Every time Klaus takes such a risk, he anticipates problems in the relationship that will exceed his abilities and expose his incompetence. Consequently, he may attempt to sever the connection before it has the chance to evolve.

Throughout Klaus's existence, fortune has conspired against him, divine intervention has been a lie, and karma has overdosed him twentyfold before granting him another fleeting sense of hope. Any individual who treats Klaus as anything more than his father's failed experiment and values him for reasons beyond his powers which he so loathes must be clueless.

However, Klaus notes, they must also be a finer person than himself, one to whom he could never measure up, and for whose sake he would mutilate himself at a moment's notice. Anyone who hurts them is beneath contempt, a bastard whom he would gladly let burn in a fire of their own making.

Klaus dreams up an intricate history of conflict and pleasure in case he has to step into the role of a jilted ex and deliver a heart-wrenching story to win that coveted second chance. He dallies in places frequented by his partner to catch them alone, spilling his deepest affections, hoping that one day, even if a thousand lifetimes from this one, they will embrace him once more.

For Klaus, eye contact with his partner means that they find him the opposite of repulsive and are open to seeing more of him, a feat he cannot even allow himself. At the slightest hint of their presence, he casts a wistful stare that, when interrupted, turns listless and dejected. It is this ingrained hesitancy to trust his own judgement that causes him to doubt his right to exist until another sees him and proves that he deserves life.

Klaus chases this meaning as he often has the bottom of a bottle, languishing in every sense of the word until he may experience it again. Perhaps a glaring difference in interests leaves him at a loss as to how to bond, such as if his partner turns out to be a grease monkey. In this scenario, Klaus resorts to conning a mechanic's shop into giving them lessons.

He deliberately injures himself, making sure that some part of his body is streaming blood, and then claims that an employee assaulted him. The act is contrived to arouse sympathy for him and punishment for another, replete with tears, dramatised accounts of every blow dealt, and threats when no one else is listening.

Klaus pretends he is too disoriented from blood loss to walk on his own and insists he must hold on to his partner when he stands. He grossly exaggerates the time and energy needed to recover, suggesting they carry him in their arms and focus all their attention on him until he "feels better."

Claiming that insensitive siblings will only aggravate his fragile state, Klaus plays up the injury and groans his way into his partner's abode. There, in the bedroom or on the couch, he finds his strength, undresses with a quickness he previously thought lost, and makes every effort to seduce.

Each day reminds Klaus how readily most people dismiss him as a useless junkie, so much so that he struggles to see the point of recovery. He considers his perceived attractiveness to be his one redeeming quality or, at the very least, the only quality that elicits positive reinforcement from others. Thus, he often sees his body as all he can offer in terms of incentive to stay with him.

When an attempt fails or, worse, is so unsuccessful that the relationship is jeopardized, Klaus rushes to propose alternative forms of intimacy: sleeping in the same bed from now on or spooning for a couple of days. In the meantime, Klaus worries inwardly that he is no longer desirable and fears for his ability to maintain his partner's interest.

That afternoon, Klaus presents them with a cocktail he swiped from Reginald's stash or a local bar, dressed in clothes he snatched from their bedroom without asking. Klaus is down to share a bottle of hard liquor, but addiction is the price he alone must pay for all his mistakes.

When his partner has similar issues, he takes the bottle and pitches all the street drugs, forcing the substance into his own veins when he needs to remove it completely from their reach. Klaus would rather bear the pain of another overdose than risk that for his partner.

Suppose the two have five dollars between them; the partner wishes to use it for a packet of cigarettes, while Klaus wants to put it towards a rice cake to split. Given the risk of disappointing them or starving, Klaus will suffer an empty stomach until he keels over. Once they look pleased, he can always shoplift the odd armful of crisps from a convenience store.

As the days turn to weeks, Klaus finds that less and less of life brings him the high he feels when he is near his partner. Nothing inspires the same happiness, and everything that used to thrill him has dulled. For Klaus, the whole of his life's worth depends on whether his ardour is reciprocated. If not, if he has devoted so much only to humiliate himself again, then the world of the living is no place for him.

Seeing how his family treats him like a ghost, Klaus trusts no one would mourn him if he vanished and never found his way back. At least, in death, he could enjoy a moment's peace and await the day when the one in whose steady hand he put forth his heart, freshly torn from his chest, would visit him.

Gone is the will to eat save for a cold waffle here and there, drinking himself into a nonstop bender that aims to drive out his heartache but instead only deadens it. Wrapped in a memento he never takes off to keep up the semblance of closeness, Klaus lingers at their final resting place so as not to miss any effort at contact.

It is not at all uncommon to find Klaus hungover, musing that perhaps if he dies in the same place, he can follow them to the other side. The more breath leaves his body, the closer their touch, telling him if he falls a little deeper, he can be with them. Whether it's a pipe dream or a drug-induced flashback, which Klaus is no longer able to tell apart, he resists coming out of it until a defibrillator or stomach pump forces him back to reality.

Each time the Maker rides to him on Her dirt road, there comes the possibility of a reunion. At his lowest, Klaus stops his heart for this exact purpose, or rather, he welcomes a moment in the hereafter with one who eases his burden of life.

[rileyslibrary]

Your opinion isn’t part of the recipe, Sergeant.

Synopsis: After a successful mission, you and the boys decide to spend a day at the park, celebrating with a picnic. Ghost is barbecuing with Price while Soap and Gaz are annoying the living hell out of them. You? You’re looking at the havoc taking place in front of you.

Relationships: 141 x GN!Reader / Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader (brief and near the end)

Word count: 1,176

Notes:

I’ve had this image in my head for quite a while, and I wanted to put it in writing.

There’s a scene involving a sausage. If any of you filthy minds associate it with anything other than what it really is, I swear to Freud, I’ll grab you by the ear and drag you to the naughty corner. 

Platonic and fluffy

Want more?

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It’s amazing how they haven’t ripped each other’s heads off yet. 

You all get along so well on missions, that you wonder if it’s the military institution that makes you so well-behaved and orderly. Because what you’re witnessing right now is nothing more than a circus.

You’re sitting on the picnic bench, sipping an ice-cold beer and munching on some thinly sliced carrots you prepared at home. You sprained your ankle on the last mission, and it’s making it difficult for you to participate in anything happening around you. Thank God, you think to yourself.

Soap and Gaz are playing football about twenty metres away from you, which is dangerously close, given the velocity with which they kick the ball to each other. They’ve already hit the table once, launching empty beer cans into the air and shouting “STRIKE!” as if they invented foot bowling. Ghost gave them the death stare and Price politely asked them to keep “the fuck away from anything alive, especially when it’s already injured.”

Ghost is barbecuing. He’s wearing that stupid birthday present you all got him—a tactical vest shaped like an apron with the word “chef” written at the top. It had the same loops a conventional military vest had for attaching pouches for bullets, knives, and walkie-talkies. The loops on that apron, however, were used for organising one’s tools, sauces, and spices while barbecuing. It was a funny gift, and he smiled when he opened it, but you never expected him to wear it. Look at him now, rocking that bad boy as if he was the one who chose it.

Price is standing next to him with a beer and a cigar in his hands. He’s looking at the grill but not touching anything. Ghost clarified that if anyone else touches it, we will eat their fingers along with the sausages. And, even if he didn’t mean the threat, you wouldn’t dare to put his abilities to the test. Especially after seeing what he’s capable of doing at work.

You try to eavesdrop on their conversation, but Soap and Gaz’s shouts drown it out. An F-16 would pass over your head right now, and you’d still hear Soap screaming, “That didn’t count; it was out!”. But, despite the chaos, you can make out some words. They’re reminiscing about the good old days, talking about their first deployment together, their comrades, and only using salt and pepper on steaks.

Price is Ghost’s companion throughout... everything. Whether that’s on a mission or a day out. He can’t seem to bear the entropy that the other two are causing, and he’s not comfortable talking to you yet. Price is as calm and talkative as Ghost desires. Or, perhaps, Price knows what Ghost wants.

Soap and Gaz appear exhausted from football and return to the picnic area. Gaz sits across from you, apologising for being “too sweaty,” and you start laughing. You’ve wiped the blood off of that guy during an enemy attack, and yet, he worries about sweat. 

Soap, on the other hand, isn’t much of an etiquette expert. He’s creeping up on the grill, and Ghost threatens to mark him with the spatula if he gets closer. “I’ve already salted the steaks; I don’t need your sweat,” he says.

Soap ignores his warnings and stands there, hands on the sides of his hips, looking at the grill. He gives unsolicited advice about the cooking time and when to flip the pork chops. Ghost tells him his opinion isn’t part of the recipe but turns the pork chops anyway.

Gaz murmurs that he’s hungry, and you offer him a carrot. He makes a disgusted face and asks Ghost—who is taking his sweet time with cooking—when the food will be ready. Ghost then turns to Price, warning him to get a grip of him before he does, and dares Gaz to come close to see for himself. You smirk and nudge him to go, but he shakes his head, telling you he hasn’t gone crazy just yet.

At some point, Ghost becomes distracted by something Price says and leaves the spatula next to the grill. Soap seizes the opportunity and uses the spatula to poke at the meat. Ghost notices him, but as Soap attempts to run away, he catches him by his maw-hawk and draws him closer. Instead of hazing him, he gently touches his shoulder. He explains why pressing on meat while cooking drains it of its juices. Soap crosses his arms in front of his chest and nods like a student.

Price takes up the football and challenges the two sergeants to a game so they’d leave Ghost alone. He says two against himself, and they make a snide remark about his age, saying he smoked an entire cigar and drank five cans of beer. In response, he throws the ball up and shoots it midair with his foot, demonstrating his abilities. Soap and Gaz run after it like dogs playing fetch, and Price joins them.

Ghost turns to face you. He asks if you’re okay, how’s your ankle, and if you’re enjoying the “rabbit food.” You tell him that everything is fine and smile at him. He drapes a towel over his shoulder and gets a fork and knife. He cuts a piece of sausage and hands it to you, whispering not to tell the others. You take the sausage off the fork, thank him, and pop it into your mouth. He looks at you with curiosity and concern as if trying to judge his creation based on your facial expressions.

“It’s delicious, Ghost.” You compliment him, and he puts his hand in his apron pocket, standing taller than before. When you ask him how he made it, he begins reciting every detail of the recipe as if it were a poem he wrote by heart.

He wipes his brow with a towel and whistles with his fingers for the three self-proclaimed MVPs to end their match because the food is ready. The sergeants bolt, and the captain pants in exhaustion. “It’s that fucking cigar,” Gaz says, and Price reminds him that he beat “the living shite” out of both of them in that match.

The four of you sit down and invite Ghost to join. But he refuses, claiming that the grime from the meat is still fresh and now’s the perfect time to clean it off the grill. He encourages you to begin without him.

You start eating, complimenting Ghost’s cooking as you go. He tries to be humble, but he looks so proud of himself. Proud of being able to provide in ways other than giving orders, shouting, pulling triggers, and hurling knives. He enjoys feeding others, even if it means cleaning up afterwards. He might not be full of food, but he’s full of joy, and that faint smile on his face is a dead giveaway, as he cleans the barbecue grill.

———————————————————————

[hees-mine]

𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 - 𝐋. 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟑

Pairing: heeseung ⚥ reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, sorry for the errors.

Genre: 18+, best friends dad, smut, single dad, minors do not interact!

WC: 1,695k

⟱⟱⟱

Days seemed to pass by slower and slower without you around. It was awful. Everything felt empty, not to mention how quiet it always was without you there.

He missed how you’d come to the kitchen like it was your own and help yourself to any food he had, whether that be a snack or his leftovers.

He missed the little sneaky kisses you’d give him on his cheek while he was cooking and his daughter was in her room and the occasional quickies in the kitchen or in his office.

He missed you just being around sure he had his daughter but that didn’t mean he never got lonely.

Especially at night when it was just him lying in a cold bed that begged to be warmed by the presence of someone who loved him.

What made it worse was the fact he actually had that, but he had to give it all away for the sake of his daughter’s happiness.

In turn, putting himself on the back end and masking his pain or what he thought was masking it.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job at pretending he was okay but little did he know he wasn’t and that’s what ultimately led to him being caught.

He was currently in the shower when his daughter snuck into his room, snooping for his phone. She made sure the shower was still running while swiping up on his phone and opening it. Luckily, he didn’t have a passcode, so leafing through his messages was easy.

She scrolled, and there were no new messages. “Odd,” she mumbles to herself and scrolls to the older messages, where your name can clearly be seen with a heart emoji next to it.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes tapping on the conversation between you two it was mostly good morning and goodnight but some were more flirty and others were just casual conversations.

Now it dawned on her no wonder he’s been on his phone so much, which in turn meant he wasn’t over you, and he was still reminiscing about the two of you together.

She heard the water cut off and she quickly shut his phone off and jogged downstairs waiting for him to finish getting ready for work.

About fifteen minutes later, he came downstairs to greet her. “Hey, you’re up early,” he laughs while going into the kitchen to make himself a coffee.

“Yeah,” she shifts nervously, watching her dad from the living room.

While getting a mug for his coffee, he unintentionally grabs the cup you used to use for water in the early mornings.

He remembers those mornings like yesterday, the ones where he just couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He was so smitten with you back then, and absolutely nothing has changed now. He just wished he had a bit of willpower at that time cause if he did, he wouldn’t have even made a move on you, to begin with, and the way he’s feeling right now could have easily been avoided.

He holds the cup in his hands for a few seconds and sighs loudly before putting it back in the cupboard and grabbing a new one.

He sat at the kitchen table, waiting for his coffee to brew while looking at the texts. He promised himself he’d stop, but he couldn’t. It was the only thing he had left of you, and besides, it was no one else’s business that he kept a secret on his phone.

He couldn’t help but smile remembering all the times he texted you on lunch break, and you’d sneakily answer him even if you were in class. He’d scold you so many times, but your little hard-headed self never quite listened. He wasn’t complaining either cause he loved texting you even if the timing was inopportune.

His daughter kept sneaking glances at him from the living room, and it was clear as day that the smile on his face was now far brighter than the many he had forced over the last few weeks.

And now it was obvious that he hadn’t been the same since the whole ordeal between the two of you.

She did feel kinda bad about it all, but how could not only her best friend but her dad betray her as well? How else was she supposed to feel? Was everything supposed to be sunshine and rainbows after she found out her dad and her best friend had been fucking each other and having a whole romantic relationship behind her back?

She sighed loudly and folded her arms across her chest, thinking in a whirlwind of never-ending possibilities of who was in the wrong here.

No wonder her dad seemed so much happier months back; no wonder you were acting so jumpy and suspicious around her. No wonder heeseung was smiling more.

Ugh.

It was happening all right In front of her face, and she missed every single last sign.

“Anyways,” he says, shutting off his phone and finishing his coffee. “That’s good 'cause I have to get some gas on the way.” She nodded, her head still lost in thought. “Everything good?” He asked. When he saw the indifferent expression on her face, he felt his heart drop for a moment, wondering if somehow he had been caught, but he breathed a sigh of relief when she replied that she was just tired. “Aww, don’t work too hard, okay? Maybe after school, you can invite your friends over, and we can have dinner like before.” he easily shakes the negative thoughts away, realizing he was just being paranoid. There’s no way she knew he was still caught up on you.

“Sure, I’d like that.” She forced a smile of her own this time.

“How are things with Jay still good?” He transferred his coffee to a travel cup and put on his suit jacket.

“Yes.” heeseung started to sense something odd again. Before, she’d been so enthusiastic about sharing stories about Jay with him, but now she was completely silent.

“Good, I like him for you.” She merely smiles and sits up from the couch, ready to go to school.

Heeseung monitored her strange behavior, and he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he had ruined his relationship with his daughter because he was with you. Maybe he fucked up every relationship he had because he was selfish and only acted on what he wanted without thinking of the consequences, and worse, maybe his daughter didn’t actually forgive him for what he did with her best friend.

He took a deep breath to calm his overworked heart, telling himself that he’d just have to talk things out with her and everything would be okay.

He had to convince himself of that because if he didn’t, he was not sure if he could even go to work with his mind being overloaded with nothing but worry and stress.

-

Later that night, when his daughter got home from school, she invited Jake and Jay over for dinner like normal, and everything went well. Heeseung still trusted Jay's intentions with his daughter, and Jake was still that overwhelmingly nice guy.

Once dinner was finished, heeseung cleaned up, with Jake insisting that he help out as well, which heeseung didn’t refuse cause he could use the extra help. After everything was cleaned, Jake joined the other two upstairs in his daughter's room while he went to his office to get some leftover work done.

Time flies by while he was working and the only thing that made him realize just how late it was was Jake knocking on his office door letting him know they were heading home for the night. “Oh really?” He chuckles and checks the time it was already ten at night. “Well, you boys have a good night.”

“You too, sir, thanks for dinner.” heeseung nodded his head softly, but something had been itching in his mind all night, and now that Jake and him were alone, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Say, how’s y/n been? She hasn’t been over in a while,” he casually asked while closing his computer so he could give his undivided attention.

“Oh, you don’t know?” Jake starts, and heeseung feels his heart drop.

“Know what?” His brows creased together in confusion, his heart rate picking up by the second with nothing but worry, but he tried to hide how concerned he was.

“Well, we kinda had a falling out, not me and Jay but your daughter and y/n. They don’t hang out anymore, so we kinda went our separate ways as well. None of them will tell me why, either. I tried hanging out with y/n, but she always tells me she’s busy, but I know she isn’t. She looks really sad and down all the time, and I feel bad for her cause I know she’s going through something. I just wish I could be there for her like before, you know?” Jake bounces on the balls of his feet and bites his lip softly.

“Oh wow, I’m sorry to hear that.” Heeseung pretends he doesn’t know that you and his daughter haven’t been hanging out anymore. “Well, hopefully, things get better. I’m sure it’s just a rough patch, and they’ll figure it out” he gives Jake false hope knowing full well that wouldn’t happen, and he feels even more like shit because not only was what he did affecting him, it was also affecting everyone around him.

He’s never felt so disappointed in himself.

“Yeah, me too,” Jake says with a soft smile. “We’ll see you around. Have a good night, sir.” Jake bids his goodbyes, leaving heeseung with nothing but his negative thoughts.

“Fuck” he buried his face in his hands, holding back tears, cause by now, he was sick of crying over this stupid fucking situation.

But you know what? Since everything else was fucked, why not fuck it up even more? In his reckless state, he stepped out of his office with only one thing on his mind, and that was going to see you.

Why not fuck up one last time?

⟱⟱⟱

Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback.

[vigilskeep]

do you have any opinions/speculations about the potential for a succession crisis in ferelden? ik depending on worldstate there may have already been a mac tir and/or cousland holding the throne without incident for the past 10+ years w the last living theirin dead/frolicking through a field of flowers, but breaking hundreds of years of precedent like that does seem like it could kick up some instability, even if it was offscreen? and obviously even if alistair is king his womb is barren, so like, what gives.

oh i mean we’re definitely extremely fucked and there are no good options!

the theirin line is done for, for a start. even if the sole remaining one does become king, he’s a bastard with bad chances of having a child at all. his two known possible queens are a fellow warden—making the chances of conceiving even worse! near impossible, in his own words—and anora mac tir, who never managed it with her non-warden husband, and regardless of whether or not she is actually infertile as is rumoured, seems to be actively avoiding even trying, based on loghain dialogue if she marries cousland and her unwillingness to marry at all if she becomes sole queen

since anora and alistair are both unlikely to have children either alone or together, and a cousland spouse only lessens the chances for both of them, and those are... all our options... yes we will see a succession crisis in ferelden. it’s not a maybe. if anora and/or alistair clearly declare a chosen heir before their deaths we might be able to avoid it being an open conflict but whoever they choose will definitely suffer for lack of legitimacy

assuming no royal children, the only obvious contenders for the throne are teagan guerrin and fergus cousland, and any heirs thereof. both are alive in any worldstate

the guerrins are closely related to the royal family—cailan’s mother was the elder sister of eamon and teagan—and widely respected. alistair actually suggests passing the throne to eamon in dao, and he usually has a pretty good read for what’s reasonable. i don’t think this is a bad idea. on the other hand, teagan spent his youth in the free marches, and is headstrong and not particularly politically gifted. there’s also the question of his own marriage and heirs; since the epilogue slides aren’t canon, there’s no need to accept the one where he inexplicably marries what very much seemed in game to be an underage girl, but he definitely can lose his heart to a warden of any origin in like two conversations, and all in all you’d want him settled with an acceptable queen before we could take this seriously. otherwise we’ll just have another crisis about that. i mean, one hopes he’s married and a father already by dai for this to be anything. his free marcher connections might be a boon here bc i’d like ferelden to marry into them more

the couslands are second only to the royal family, and it was suggested by some even back during ferelden’s rebellion against orlais that bryce cousland should take the throne instead of the theirins. his son would certainly be an acceptable contender. fergus may not have any living children, but he has at least proved he’s capable of having children, which is somehow as good as it gets around here. he is trained as a capable leader and ruler, is very fereldan, and maintains good diplomatic relations with factions like the inquisition. the downside to this is that it alters the political makeup of ferelden quite a bit, in that the couslands have kind of survived as the only remaining family of such power by not trying for the throne. their rule would be even more absolute than the theirins because there would be no teyrns left at all to contend with it. someone like anora in particular would be very aware of this and also simply of how dangerous it is to promise ferelden’s future to him before her death. suddenly everyone would look to the couslands as the future and not to her

there aren’t many other options that we know of at this time. there’s alistair’s kieran, but i don’t take that seriously, morrigan would never allow it and a bastard’s apostate bastard raised half in the orlesian royal court is several steps too far. if connor guerrin lives and leliana is divine, assuming the ending of the circle of magi means that mages can hold titles now, he could be a possibility

it isn’t completely impossible for anora or alistair to have children, of course. if sole king alistair actually got around to marrying at some point, that’s probably the best chance for it out of the landsmeet options?

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Bullies - Peter Parker x fem!reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None! Super fluffy <3

Word Count:

Description: Peter comforts reader after a hard day at school. It can be any Peter btw but I imagined it as Tom :)

Peter knew things at school weren’t good. They never had been. I had six weeks left before I graduated and we’d been counting down the days together, despite being at different schools. Peter was the smart scientific boy who I’d met at the library and I was the music obsessed girl who was brutally bullied for who I was. I’d been shoved up against a locker before my English class by Carson, the boy who was committed to ruining my life. I had banged my head badly and was sent to the nurse’s office after passing out in the lesson. My mom had been called and I was sent home. After watching a couple episodes of (your favorite tv show), there was a sharp knock at my window. Spider Boy. Peter. I stumbled out of bed to unlock and open the window so he could come inside. 

“What are you doing in bed?” he asked, crawling in next to me. I rubbed my eyes, hoping the throbbing sensation would stop. 

“I came home from school early. Had a headache,” I muttered. He knew full well I never got headaches, which was reflected by the conflicted look on his face. 

“Tell me the truth y/n, why are you in bed at 3:00?” I tried to figure out a decent lie but had absolutely nothing. Maybe I’d fallen down some stairs, maybe I’d accidentally broken my nose in dodgeball. He wouldn’t believe that, he knew I never showed up to phys ed. 

“Remember how I told you about Carson?”

“Oh so that’s why you currently have a black eye and a half,” he seethed. Well guess that answered the question of whether I looked as bad as I felt. “Are we going to talk about it?”

“I’d rather not,” I responded, cuddling closer to him. His arm was around my shoulders, body turned into mine.

“Did he hurt you?” Of course he hurt me. No one else would’ve done this to me. 

“I just said I don’t want to talk about it,” I looked up into his glowing brown eyes, not able to tell if he was worried or raging. 

“Fine, we don’t have to talk about it. But just know Spiderman is going to have a very stern conversation with Mr Carson,” Peter spoke with severe clarity, “he’s not going to hurt you again y/n.” I knew he meant what he had said. We sat there in silence while my computer continued to play (your favorite tv show). He watched the episode with me, occasionally asking questions so he could catch up. Once the episode ended I turned off my computer and put some music on. 

“How was school today Pete?” I asked. School was much easier for him, his teachers actually cared, he had his friends MJ and Ned, and he didn’t need to study to get an A. 

“Not too bad, we’re just getting ready for finals and prepping grad stuff, y’know,” he explained. I nodded, excited for the short period of time we had left before college. 

“What time do you have to get home?” Aunt May always knew Peter was at my house, but she had standards, especially knowing Peter was Spiderman, and a high schooler. 

“Like 10:30, we’ve got time,” he pressed a kiss to my temples and ran his fingers through my hair. I could feel the tension in the air, I wanted so desperately to cry over the day, over how much pain I was in. 

“I’m going to hurt you y/n. I’m going to hurt you as much as I can. And once school is out I’m going to fucking kill you,” Carson had whispered into my ear as he pressed me into the lockers. I could still feel the padlock being pressed into my back. My eyes started to water and a few tears slipped onto Peter’s shirt. 

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” He sat up and held me back so he could get a proper look at my face. I shook my head, letting the floodgates slip.

“H-he told me he was going to kill me Peter. I can’t go back there,” I sobbed. He pulled me in close, his forehead resting against mine. 

“He won’t lay another hand on you ever again. I mean it y/n.” I could feel the tension in his body. 

“You promise?” I cupped his jaw, my fingers resting behind his ear. 

“I promise. I’ve got you.”

//

Please submit any requests y'all have! I love to write so let me know if you've got any!

@urmykindofwoman let me know if you like this! I haven't written to Peter in a wee bit

[mangoshorthand]

heyy could i maybe request a oneshot where sub five gets marked up by the reader like hickeys and bite marks all over his throught and collarbone as well as his lower torso😻 and as the reader progresses he whimpers and is whiny the whole time and at the end he looks himself in the mirror and hes just so inlove with it? 😩

sorry if its a bit messy😭 have a great night/day :))

Great prompt. Hope you enjoy :). I promise the next ask prompt I answer will be non smut.

Your Desperate Man | Five Hargreeves/ GN Reader 2.8k words, Rated E

There were no two ways about it: Five was hot. 

If you were to set him beside Diego, you definitely wouldn’t notice Five first, but he would be the one you'd leave the conversation thinking about. All Diego’s leather-bound muscles may as well not exist beside Five’s acerbic tongue, quiet good looks and the firm self-assurance in his intelligent green eyes. 

So you could hardly resent it when others noticed. Why would you hate someone for sharing your good taste? Whenever you noticed him turning heads, your first instinct was one of fellow-feeling. You almost wanted to say, ‘I know, right?!’ and share a high-five. 

So, no, you didn’t get jealous easily.

…But that bitch was getting on your last nerve.

It started a few months ago. She was a friend of Sloane’s who hung around the Academy like a bad smell. Ever since she met him, she latched onto him like a tick and, as soon as she could feasibly describe him as her friend, she came to spend time with him as much as possible, looking for his insight on some problem or another. 

She was a mathematician, meaning that she could follow most of his logic when he talked about his latest projects. She could flatter him by learning from him and coming back a few days later with an improvement to her own work. 

If you were jealous of anything, you were jealous of that. 

Despite how he might look, Five was not perfect: he had an ego, and Alex knew exactly how to stroke it. And that was fine, in your opinion- so long as his ego was the only thing he let her stroke. 

She nodded along and acted impressed and asked all the right questions and subtly flattered him and laughed at his jokes and made absolutely any excuse she could to touch his arm or his knee; to hug him hello and goodbye and she did it ALL while you were right there.

Fuck her!

But you trusted Five. He could see right through her, of course, but that didn’t stop him enjoying the attention. He rebuffed her with a perfect mix of politeness and friendliness, but he’d still leave most of his conversations with her with a swagger in his walk and an ironic smile directed at you. 

‘Old dog’s still got it,’ that smile said.

You trusted that he had it under control, and he did actually like her as a person for some unknown reason, so you contented yourself with telling him your concerns. He agreed that they weren’t unfounded and reassured you that her feelings were definitely not reciprocated. 

So, when you walked past the door of his father’s study one afternoon when she was over, you weren’t intending to listen outside the door, but the snatch of conversation you heard as you passed made you stop dead.

“I had a dream about you last night.”

“Something about invariant theory, I bet.”

“No,” she said, coyly.

There was a moment of silence in which she was clearly trying to get him to enquire what it was about, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Right. So this stuff is child’s play,” he said, returning to the math as if she hadn’t spoken, “it’s pretty much Hilbert’s thirteenth, which I’m sure you’re familiar with. We’ve got to think about whether these functions can be written as a composite-”

“Don’t you want to know what happened in my dream?” she interrupted him. 

There was a moment or two of silence before he replied.

“Not particularly. Now, would you like me to go on with the math or do you have somewhere to be?”

Satisfied, you continued on your path elsewhere. 

Apparently, she did have somewhere to be, because she passed you on her way to the front door only a few minutes later. Five did not follow her to say goodbye.

Smut below cut

***

That evening, you entered the bedroom to find him preparing for sleep. Unusually for Five, he was clad in a t-shirt and sweats rather than pajamas. His towel-dried hair hung messily in his eyes. He smiled when he saw you, wrinkling his face momentarily into the lines he should by all rights have except for a certain time-travel accident. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you said.

You closed the door and crossed to the comfortable reading chair, raising your legs onto the arm. Five, trying to neaten his hair in the mirror, spoke casually.

“I don’t think Alex will be coming over again.”

“How come?” you asked, wanting to hear the rest of what happened.

“Hmph,” he said, disinterestedly, “she came onto me and I told her to fuck off.”

“What happened,” you said, interested.

“She came on flirty, like she does, but this time she tried to kiss me.”

He inspected a patch of dry skin on his neck.

“What?” you ask, enraged.

“Don’t worry,” he said, placatingly, “she was told precisely where to go. It was pretty pathetic, actually,” he remarked.

“I think I heard some of it,” you admit, “she was talking about having a dream about you and you made it clear you weren’t interested.”

“Yup, that was right before,” he said, darkly. 

“Bitch.” you grumbled, “I knew she’d try something.”

“Well, you were right,” Five continued, applying a layer of moisturizer to his face, “but she won’t be trying anything again.”

You watched his face in the mirror, absorbed in his pre-bedtime routine. He was a creature of habit, you discovered: a man of little quirks and rituals, particularly when it came to personal grooming. As it had been so long denied him, he reveled in the luxury of even the tiniest routines: trimming his nails weekly, shaving his face daily and looking after his hair and skin.

The more intimately you got to know him, the less cool and caustic he seemed. Underneath it all, there was just a sweet old-young man crying out to be loved and needed.

…And occasionally fucked. 

“Don’t tell me you weren’t just a little bit tempted,” you smiled, standing up and approaching him from behind.

“Of course I wasn’t,” he said, mildly offended, “I’m yours.”

He said it casually, as if he hadn’t quite thought through what he was saying. He caught your eye in the mirror as you appeared over his shoulder. He smiled slightly sheepishly at the familiar gleam in your eye.

Your arms slithered around his waist. Beneath his shirt your hands traveled over the warm muscle and flat stomach. His skin felt like silk. As the very tips of your fingers breached the elastic of his waistband, your chin came to rest on his shoulder, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered.

“What was that?”

A fine blush appeared in his cheek, like a delicate drop of watercolor. 

“I said, I’m yours.” 

Your lips played about his neck, your eyes holding his captive through the medium of the mirror. 

He looked at you, expression open and anticipatory. He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing attractively. You ghosted your lips further down, towards the hollow between his neck and his shoulder. Mouth poised there, you spoke again, voice husky.

“Say it again.”

He shuddered with the knowledge of what was coming, and breathed:

“I’m yours.”

And you sucked a bruise onto his skin. Long, lingering and sudden. He let out a shaky breath as you did so, eyes drifting into a haze of pleasure. You pulled away and admired the mark, a port-wine stain spread on that delicate silk. His eyes were similarly engaged, looking at the new hickey in the mirror as if he’d never seen one before.

Taking the opportunity of his preoccupation, you looked at his face: the sweet, parted lips, the heavy brow and the jaw that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo. By the time his eyes returned to yours, the look within them made the slow, crawling sensation below his waistband redouble. 

“Do you want more?”

He nodded slowly, but as you moved to mark him again, he abruptly turned his head towards you so that your lips met his instead. It was as if he couldn’t resist anymore, like a man dying of thirst finding a clear mountain stream. Leaning backwards into you, he sighed into your mouth and let your tongue roam. 

He was so sweet in this mood; uncharacteristically compliant. Every time it came upon him, you never failed to be enchanted by him. Everyone always looked to him for direction and authority and this was one way he could take a break from all the responsibility. You were more than happy to give him that, especially when it left him looking all undone and pretty like this.

When you broke away from him, your hands were playing beneath his shirt, fingers stroking up and down the soft line of hair disappearing into his sweats. He closed his eyes as you again pinged the elastic on his pants, but they shot open again as your teeth nipped at the flesh of his neck.

He whined as you bit and sucked, the mild pain only adding spice to the pleasure: the prickle of fired up nerve-endings and needful ache in the lowest part of his stomach. As you dug your teeth in fraction more, you compensated by cupping his crotch through his sweatpants and holding him where he was hard.

When you let the skin go and turned back to the mirror, his eyes didn’t even meet yours: he only had eyes for the deep red mark you’d made and the white, crescent-shaped teeth marks disappearing before his eyes. 

“You like that, baby,” you murmured, comforting his aching package with firm, circular rubbing motions. 

“Yes,” he said, voice slightly higher than usual.

“Do you want more? Wanna be covered in them?”

He nodded enthusiastically, like a shy child offered his favorite candy.

“Arms over your head then.”

He complied, letting you peel off his t-shirt and discard it over your shoulder. You hummed appreciatively at the range of flesh now on display: at the pale, unspoiled skin you were about to pepper with burst capillaries. You weren’t a violent person, but you couldn’t deny the little squirm of sadistic glee at the idea of him covered with your marks.

The hand not engaged with his groin flitted up his stomach to stimulate the close bud of one nipple, making him buck automatically into your hand. The small noise he made went straight to the center of your own arousal; he was just so fucking aborable like this, all needy and pathetic. 

So you sucked at him again, hungrily, leaning over to mark his collarbone. This time, you couldn’t resist giving him more than a nip with your teeth, biting him enough to abruptly stop his little whimpers and cause him to suck in air over his teeth. Despite this, he still watched, transfixed, as you worked at him with his arousal aching in your hand.

You eased up, letting his skin go and kissing the deeper teeth marks, as if you might undo the pain with each kiss.

“Too much?” you asked.

“A little,” he whispered, eyes nevertheless devouring the sight of his third mark. 

You gave a little pout in sympathy with his plight and kissed his cheek.

“Shall I go easy on you?”

“For a little while.” he replied, that sheepish, coy smile on his lips. You knew what it meant: wind me up tighter first.

You were more than happy to oblige. 

He moved as if towards the bed as you stepped back from him, but your hands on his shoulders kept him in place.

“You stay there.” you said, “I want you to be able to see yourself.”

“Okay,” he whispered, facing the mirror again as you came to stand in front of him. 

His whines were music to your ears as you attacked your next target, sucking complementary bruises onto each pectoral. Then, bending to allow him to admire the new hickies, you moved further south. You grazed and suckled again and again at his subtly toned abdominals, his flank, and at the softer flesh of his stomach. As you did so, your hands explored the body they had explored so well, yet could never tire of exploring. You rubbed at his chest, hips, ass and thighs.

Each time you withdrew, he surveyed himself hazily, reveling with slavish pleasure in the cumulative effect of your claim on him: your flags planted on his body. The thought ratcheted his arousal to a higher pitch, and he felt his knees tremble as his heartbeat became evident in his groin. 

When you sucked at the v-shaped furrow running invitingly towards his pubis, his whimpers redoubled. One of his hands came to your hair, fingers massaging your scalp. His hips pulled forward, as if your face attracted them like a magnet. Wordlessly, he begged with more pathetic little sounds.

You ignored his little ‘suggestion’ and rose to your feet from the spot you’d been kneeling. 

Thwarted, Five let out a frustrated, high moan. His left hand immediately disappeared beneath his waistband, attending to his own need in a move of desperation. It made you smirk to see it, so you allowed him a few moments to pleasure himself while you admired his face:

His hair, starting to dry, was beginning to stick up at odd angles while the rest clung to his brow. His forehead was held a tight pinch with the intensity of his arousal and his lips were curled around gritted teeth, bringing the slight hook in his nose into greater prominence. Still in front of the mirror, his eyes were closed, his head tilted back. Muscles jumped in the neck beneath his thrust-forward chin.

As gladly as you could have watched him beating himself off beneath those sweatpants, it would have to be something to file away for another day. Today was about reminding him (as if he needed reminding), who he belonged to.

So, with this in mind, you licked one of his nipples with a deliberate, preparatory tongue.

“Oh,” he said, speaking half in exhale, “f-feels good.”

You sucked the nipple hard into your mouth, continuing to swipe your tongue over the hard bead between your lips. He panted, and then jerked as you closed your teeth around him.

“Oh shit!”

Experimentally, you tightened your bite around him and the speed of his strokes increased. Clearly, this was doing something quite profound to him. He let out a squeak that made your own nipples harden.

All of time could be at the mercy of Five Hargreeves, if he so chose, yet you could make him mewl like a newborn kitten.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “bite me. Fucking bite me.”

He whined again as your tongue continued to stimulate him, as you sucked his areola into your mouth and clamped your teeth down, marking him again. 

“Ah shit! Harder!”

But you didn’t want to hurt him, so you released his swollen nipple and took his wrist, stopping him touching himself. He huffed needily, but didn’t resist.

You came to stand behind him again, pulling his wrists gently behind his back and tugging on them so that his body was completely on display in the mirror. You kissed from his shoulder to his cheek, trying not to smile at his obvious discomfort; at the stretched fabric of the sweatpants around his perfectly-imprinted cock, sticking firmly out from his body.

“What do you see, Five?” you whispered, once more into his ear.

“Please,” he whimpered, shifting slightly. 

“What do you see in the mirror?” you repeated, more firmly.

He considered in a feverish sort of way.

“A desperate man,” he said, trying to nuzzle beseechingly into you, but unable to turn his head with his arms held that way.

“Whose desperate man?”

“Yours,” he said tripping over himself to satisfy you, “I’m yours, okay?”

“Look at yourself,” you pushed.

He did, lust-clouded eyes eating up the sight.

Marks. All over him. Fuck. 

Seeing himself this way made him shiver. He reveled in the feeling of safe powerlessness, here at your mercy. He was definitely yours. Yours to do with as you pleased: your bruises and bite marks all over him were proof. He knew at least one that would be visible above his shirt collar tomorrow, and the idea filled him with a whorish sense of satisfaction. His cock ached harder at the idea that everyone would know he was yours. Your man.

Your devotee.

Your toy. 

And he would submit willingly to whatever you chose to do next.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed): @thebearmage

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[charlottecutepie]

☥ Bunny meat (William Afton x fem!reader x Michael Afton)

Summary: He was a likeable middle-aged man who had wonderful children, his dream job and a beautiful wife. He never blamed himself for his own actions, or to be more exact, he never thought about their consequences.

author note: Ive been thinking for a very long time whether I should publish this fic here. this is my fav fic I wrote for fnaf, I especially like the way I portrayed William here. so please, if any of you would like to see this story here, can you leave a comment? It’ll help me to understand. I’m just unsure if I should post this fic here :’’)

tags: darkfic, unhealthy relationship, angst, smut with plot, p in v, dubcon, oral sex, rough and gentle sex, daddy kink, blood play, knife play, fear play, hurt/comfort, violence, gore/murders, child abuse, follows fnaf lore, moral and physical abuse, virginity kink, anxiety disorder, age gap, daddy issues, unreliable narrator, hallucinations, hidden pairing, William is sick, psychopathy, unhealthy narcissism

Chapter 2.

Chapter 1. Thoughts

Chilly spring night. Light wind and rain. It's so fresh outside that the opposite effect appears: you feel as if you are suffocating from excess air. Outside is your favourite smell of wet grass after the rain. Light smile appears on your lips, and you carelessly go out on the porch of your house, looking at the beautiful view in front of you.

At such moments, everything around seems to be a part of you, you feel some kind of connection with nature and this world. Peace, tranquility, two things what you lack in life.

Today was a bad day. Maybe tomorrow will be better? Tomorrow will be the same. And when will it be better? Does this hell have an end?

Your head is filled with bad thoughts. It feels like every day is getting a little worse than the previous one. You never understood why you deserved such treatment from your father. It was as if he was doing everything so that you wouldn't feel like his daughter. He never even called you that. Something bad happened in your family every day, mom and dad always argued, and you always ran into your room in a state of panic, anxiety. What if father does something to her? That's what happened a few years ago. When you called your aunt in tears, begging her to come, because your father broke your mom's leg and beat her to a concussion. You could have been next if your aunt hadn't arrived on time. That evening, the picture of father changed dramatically in your little child's head.

“Father” means something cold, something cruel. The one who can punch, beat, shout, scream. Abuse.

You live with this thought to this day, but the only thing that has changed is that now there is no father anymore. He died a month ago, which was a shock to your whole little family. You hardly remember what happened exactly on the day of his death, but you clearly memorised your mother who cried all night because she knew well that the only one who could work to feed the family was her husband.

And now, because of this husband she cannot find a well-paid job, because he took care to provide her with a serious disability. And you're too young to work, first you must finish school and university.

Your skin was covered with goosebumps, you went back into the house. Passing by mom's room, you made sure that she was asleep and went to your own one.

Tomorrow is another day.

…

June 22.

“Y/n, breakfast is ready.” you heard mom's voice from the kitchen. Telling her you'd be coming soon, you headed to the bathroom to comb your hair and wash your face.

On the dining table you saw a plate with your favorite breakfast. Pancakes with honey, it couldn't not make you happy. You smiled and sat down opposite your mom. Woman was in a joyful mood.

“Good morning, dear, how did you sleep?” she asked gently, examining your face expression. That's how your conversation started, about everything and nothing at once. She told something about her plans for today, for a week, about her friends, about how one of them gave birth again. You just enjoyed her monologue, sometimes nodding and shaking your head. It was nice for you to see a sparkle in mom's eyes, it was something strange and unique for you, but warming soul. “I absolutely forgot that soon is your birthday!”

“Oh, really? If you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have remembered…” you answered in confusion, fidgeting in your chair and twitching your leg. For some reason, the mention of your birthday made you uncomfortable. Probably because it will be your first birthday without your father. After all, when he was alive, you never really celebrated it. The maximum that was — sweets that your mother gave you in secret from him. You wonder what will happen this time?

“How are we going to celebrate?” Mom asked, smile on her face.

You looked at the floor, nervously fiddling with your shorts. You scratched your head, trying to think of something, but no idea came to mind. Your thoughts are empty again.

“It's your 18th birthday… We need to celebrate it well somehow.” for a second she paused, before looking at you with cheerful face. “Oh… Mr. Afton!”

Your eyes widened in surprise, because after the funeral, your family stopped communicating with Afton family.

“Mom, what are you up to?” you frowned. To be honest, you always got shivers running down your spine from his name, because your last meeting was at that cemetery, on the day of your father's funeral. Memories have entered your mind, forcing you to remember your last dialogue with Mr. Afton.

After the burial itself happened, you ran away from the crowd away. Your heart was racing like crazy, trying to jump out of your chest. You sat down on a wet bench, covering your face in hysterics. Tears streamed down your cheeks, dripping onto a puddle under the bench.

“Young lady,” a low-pitched male voice called you out of hysteria. “Everything is okay? You've been sitting here for hour.”

You opened your eyes and raised your head. Next to you was standing was a tall, middle-aged man with dark brown hair, dressed in black trousers and a jacket. He leaned towards you, holding an umbrella over your head. His face seemed painfully familiar, but because of the hysteria, you couldn't remember who it was.

“Oh god, Y/n? I didn't recognize you, little one. Why are you sitting here all alone?” he smiled broadly as he sat down next to you on the bench, still holding the umbrella for you. “Your mom is looking for you, she's so worried. Her beloved girl is lost.”

You recognised this man. It was none other than William Afton. One of your father's friends, he often came to visit you, and your family also visited him. You were embarrassed by ignoring his questions because you didn't know what to respond. He's been staring at your face the whole time.

“Come on, princess, I see how cold you are.” with these words, he took off his jacket, putting it on your shoulders. “I understand how hard it is for you, honey.”

You haven't received so many nicknames from any men for all your 17 years of life. Never, not once. His voice at some point began to seem more comfortable and soothing. Because of all the surging emotions, you burst into tears again in front of him, no longer hiding your face. William, not wasting a minute, threw umbrella and took you in his arms, so that your face was hidden in his chest. His cold hands stroked your hair, soothing you, calming you. It may have looked strange from out of context, but you really needed support in such hard moment.

“Don't cry, Y/n. You'll be fine, little one.” he talked and talked endlessly, but because of your own tears and sobs, you ignored everything, only burying your nose in his chest more.

“He's the owner of a pizzeria! Do you want to celebrate there? I'm sure he'll give us a discount in honor of such an event.” her smile never disappeared for a second. You were already beginning to doubt at how real her emotions were.

“Are you sure? We don't have much money anyway…”

“Never mind, I want you to finally have the best birthday, dear.” she winked and got up from the table, putting the plates and mugs in the sink.

Your lips curled at the thought of having to see William again.

[worstghost]

König headcanons part 2 (it turned into sub!könig stuff at the bottom whoops)

♡Along with ADHD, he has severe anxiety, he struggles with connecting to other people. No matter how we'll liked he is, or how good he is at his job, there will always be fear that they're all faking it. That it's some inside joke everyone is in on except for him.

♡He especially feels that way with you at first, and though he doesn't mean to come off as aggressive, he really can't trust that you have good intentions. It takes a long long time for him to believe that you could be friends, let alone lovers.

♡He talks too fast, too loud, when he does. He can't regulate the volume of his voice and though everyone bears with him kindly, he's always embarrassed about it. He has trouble debating whether or not to chime into a conversation and will dwell on it so long that his chance to speak has already passed.

♡In his room alone, he can work himself up so bad that he chews his lips and the inside of his cheeks until they bleed. Or he'll pull his gloves off and bite his nails. If you catch him stressed enough you can see the scratch marks across his forearms from compulsive clawing. He doesn't realize it burns until its too late.

♡König loves being in the field because he knows he's good at what he does, and it helps him feel confident in himself. It's a good release of energy, he gets so excited that for a moment when he sees you he's nearly speaking gibberish his words are so jumbled. You let him speak, you don't dare interrupt when he's so happy.

♡NSFW♡

♡He does have an incredibly high sex drive and he's always a giver, very rarely will he let you return the favor. Being touched for too long will overwhelm him.

♡Some nights though, your favorite nights, he craves nothing but your touch. He'll beg you to kiss him, hold him, wrap your small hand around his throat and ride him. He loves when you're in control (even though you both know you are very much not).

♡Embarrassed of his size, until he catches you ogling him as he strips off his gear. That confidence boost lasts him weeks, and he definitely uses it to his advantage, knowing that you love when he manhandles you.

♡Loves having you on top, whether you're on his thigh, his cock, or his mouth.

♡One time you snapped at him, you had an awful day, you were overwhelmed and just wanted to shower and sleep, he was so clingy.

"König, sit the hell down and give me a second. Please." Your eyes were blazing, and you knew you'd feel guilty later, but you were so frustrated in the moment.

His eyes dropped, he was lightheaded. All of the blood rushed to his cock, you had never snapped at him before. Any other person, any other time, he would be so hurt, so embarrassed. But you, now, hair a mess, sweaty, eyes wide and teeth gritted.

He flopped back onto the bed, swallowing a whimper.

He was so hard it was painful.

You noticed.

"Oh, baby." You sighed and moved toward him, placing your hands on each of his massive thighs.

He fucking whined.

Fuck.

♡You invited him to join you in the shower, letting him wash your hair, he was so gentle, you told him what a good boy he was being for you, and apologized for snapping. He was hard the entire time, flushed red.

♡When you got out he begged you to suck his cock. He only lasted a few minutes, thanking you, the slight trail of tears running down his cheeks.

♡After though, he loves being the big spoon. He wants to feel how small you are next to him, on top of him. He'll run his fingers through your hair and praise you.

[clu-ven]

Heyaa , I hope you're taking good care of yourself before answering any of the asks! Make sure to stay hydrated always 😄

I have a small request for the bad batch (mainly Hunter). How would they react to a reader that is the mom friend ? Bonus points if she has a REALLY short pixie cut (hair almost buzzed).

I'm usually the mom friend and I'm really curious regarding this , if you feel comfy enough writing about it , headcanons , maybe even small fics of it? 💛

THE BATCH BAD WITH A READER WHO'S THE 'MOM FRIEND'

quick note: eeeek thank you for the request anon! But I'll be honest, I had no idea what a 'mom friend' was before this so I hope I did it justice! Also, because I spent so much time trying to figure out the characteristics of a mom friend (Have I overthought this? why yes, yes I have), I didn't touch on the short hair aspect but I can always do headcanons specifically for that if you'd like!

word count: 3.1k

HUNTER

Hunter isn’t sure what to make of you at first. Before you came along, he assumed if someone was nice to the Batch, it was because they wanted something from them.

But not you. 

You genuinely care about them and their safety. It’s unlike anything Hunter has ever experienced and honestly, it’s a little unsettling at the beginning. He doesn’t understand why you put so much effort into befriending a bunch of defective clones.

He’s cagey but once some time passes and he realises you genuinely care and this isn’t some façade, Hunter relaxes and embraces your role as the mom friend.

Hunter’s actually kinda relieved to have you around now. He’s still unsure if he can look after Omega properly but having you there to confide in is a big help. 

And although Hunter will always try his best to act tough and unfazed by things, he appreciates your keen eye and how you can always spot whenever he’s feeling overwhelmed.

...and now, a quick drabble...

Hunter’s been staring at the datapad for twenty minutes, hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighs to himself. In the two seats in front of him, Tech and Echo loudly bicker about whether the last mission was a trap or simply bad timing, and in the seat adjacent to Hunter, Wrecker flings Omega up into the air before catching her again… a routine they’ve been doing ever since the Marauder went into hyperspace. 

The mixture of Tech and Echo’s squabbling, Wrecker’s booming laugh and Omega’s squeal everytime she’s hoisted into the air is a recipe for disaster for the Sergeant. 

Picking up some spare blankets you spontaneously bought on the last planet you visited, you call out to Hunter. His head snaps up, though the second he sees you, his expression softens. “Can you bring these to the bunks for me? You can just leave them at the end of each one” you ask sheepishly.

With a sharp nod, he stands and with a few strides, Hunter is in front of you and taking the blankets. Lowering your voice so just he can hear, you say “Take all the time you need, I’ll get them to calm down… eventually”. A flicker of shock spreads across his face, surprised that not only did you notice his agitated demeanour but that you knew exactly what was causing it. 

Opening his mouth, Hunter wants to thank you, to put his hand on your shoulder and tell you how much this means to him but Omega lets out another shriek and he tenses.

Giving him a reassuring smile, you walk past Hunter and to the others. As Hunter makes his way to a quieter part of the ship, he can hear you trying to change the topic of conversation with Echo and Tech, hoping that’ll put an end to their bickering before offering Wrecker and Omega some spare Mantell Mix you had in an attempt to distract them from their noisy game. 

With a smile on his face, Hunter crashes on to his bunk, blankets covering his head as he wonders how he got so lucky to meet you.

TECH

Much like Hunter, Tech is dubious of you at first. You’re so quick to help them, to listen to their problems and care for them. Before this, the only other entity that’s ever aided the Batch is the Republic and well, we all know how that turned out.

Don’t be surprised if he ends up interrogating you, asking you a barrage of questions regarding what you hope to get out of this.

Kindness isn’t something they’ve come across recently so Tech’s sceptical of you.

But once Tech sees how you act around not only them but everyone else, he starts to understand that you’re simply caring by nature and not trying to scam them.

Before you came along, Tech would usually stay up working until he fell asleep hunched over a table or else he would opt to not sleep at all.

But now with you here, he knows it’s only a matter of time before you come along and usher him off to bed. At first, Tech thought this was annoying and a hindrance to his work but he gets used to it pretty quickly, finding it comforting that you always make sure he gets some rest.

...and now, another quick drabble...

It’s another late night for Tech. He doesn’t mind it, preferring to work in near silence (besides some snoring coming from the other room).  Working on a few adjustments to his helmet, Tech’s eyes flick between his armour and datapad, taking the time to simultaneously catch up on what the Empire has been up to recently. He’s not sure what time it is but judging by the deep sleep everyone seems to be in, he’s presuming he has another few hours until anyone wakes up.

When he hears some movement from the other room, Tech freezes for a second before relaxing once you come into view, a steaming cup in your hands. “You should be asleep” you whisper, tiptoeing closer to him. 

“So should you” he replies without missing a beat, resuming his work on his helmet. You sigh, setting the cup down on the desk. Peering over at the warm liquid, Tech questions “Caf?”.

“Tea,” you correct him “you can take it to bed with you, it should help you sleep”.

Tech doesn’t move, giving you a look that reads ‘seriously?’. Putting your hands on your hips, you bluntly state “You need to rest”.

“So do you” he quickly replies. You sigh. Sometimes you forget how stubborn he can be. 

“Well, I’ve actually gotten some sleep,” you shrug “and Echo’s supposed to be watching the ship while we’re in hyperspeed but he’s fast asleep so I’ll take watch instead”.

“That’s unnecessary, I’ll watch the ship and you can go back to bed“ Tech proposes but you fold your arms, shaking your head.

“No, you need sleep” you try your best to sound stern but it’s hard to act mad at Tech, especially when he’s trying to help.

He goes to speak again but you sigh, giving him a pleading look as you say “Tech, please… if you don’t sleep now then you’ll be overtired tomorrow and you won’t be able to think straight on our next mission and kriff, if you can’t think straight on a mission then we’re all screwed”. 

Slowly, Tech rises from his seat “You have a point”.

Picking up the tea, he gives you a wearily smile, suddenly feeling self-conscious over his stubbornness. “Thank you… for looking out for us, you’re caring nature isn’t something we’re used to” Tech tries to make eye contact with you as he speaks but he finds it hard, his face becoming flustered with his small confession. 

Returning the smile, you reassure him “Don’t worry about it, now go get some rest, you deserve it”.

WRECKER

Even in a galaxy full of backstabbers and criminals, Wrecker likes to see the good in people so he trusts you and takes your kindness at face value.

He quickly becomes attached to you, relishing in your caring nature and becoming very protective of you. You’re a breath of fresh air to Wrecker so Maker help anyone who tries to mess you with.

Wrecker knows how rare it is to find someone so gentle and caring and now that you’re here, he doesn’t want to let you go. 

Despite Wrecker being much larger and stronger than you, you make him feel safe and protected.

Although, Wrecker can be mischievous sometimes. He has no problem dragging you into an argument if he knows he’s losing, knowing you’ll put a stop to the bickering completely and he won’t ‘officially’ lose the argument.

He may have threatened his brothers a few times with the dreaded “I’m telling”. You’re respected by all of the Batch so the thought of getting into your bad books is enough to make them shut up and leave Wrecker be for a while.

...yet another quick drabble...

Boarding the ship, Wrecker calls out your name, hand on his head as he enters. You immediately look in his direction, getting up from your seat and making your way over to him with a concerned look on your face.

Before you can even ask what’s wrong, Wrecker groans “I hit my head… again”. Reaching up to get a better look at his injury, you gently touch his jawline as you examine the side of his head. Thankfully there’s no open wound and hopefully the pain won’t last long. 

“Do you need some food?” you ask, making Wrecker’s demeanour perk up ”You go rest, I’ll get you some blankets and a cup of water and-“.

Hunter cuts you off, boarding the Marauder next “He’s fine, he can do that himself”. Although you know Hunter is only saying this to make sure you’re good hearted nature isn’t being taken advantage of, you roll your eyes. 

“No he can’t, he’s injured!” you declare, removing your hand from Wrecker’s jawline and instead opting to rub his back. “Yeah, Hunter, I’m injured!” Wrecker repeats, his tone mimicking yours.

Not wanting a fight to break out, you glance over to Wrecker, giving him an unimpressed look. After seeing your expression, he goes back to groaning and holding his head. It’s pretty obvious Wrecker’s exaggerating this injury but you decide to play along, knowing he just needs some attention.

“Oh c’mon, he didn’t even complain about his head until he saw the Marau-“ Hunter scoffs but Wrecker interjects with another low whine, turning his attention to you as he speaks over the Sergeant “I think it’s getting worse, all this talking is many my head throb”. 

With a soft smile, you reply “Why don’t you go lay down, hm? I’ll follow you in a second, just let me go get some snacks for you first”.

Although Wrecker tries to keep up his exaggeration, he can’t hide his smile. Giving you a nod, he turns to head towards the bunks, making sure to give Hunter a smug look as he passes. “Wha- please tell me you saw that” Hunter runs his hand down his face.

You let out a small laugh, making sure you speak loud enough for Wrecker to hear as you give Hunter a wink  “Hey be nice to your brother, he’s hurt enough as it is and he doesn’t need you making his headache worse”. Hunter rolls his eyes but doesn’t intervene anymore. 

Once you’ve collected all of your snacks, as well as getting some drinks ready and picking up a holomovie, you follow Wrecker into the bunks, excited for the relaxing night ahead.

ECHO

Echo can be kind of distant with you sometimes. It’s not that he doesn’t like your caring tendencies but he doesn’t want to depend on you, scared it might seem like he isn’t able to do things himself.

He wants to help the Batch too and before you came along, he was seen as the responsible and very tired parental figure of the group.

So while he’s hesitant to let you mother him, he’s always there to take care of the others with you. You two are the parents of the group and honestly, you’re the best duo for it.

Echo has some walls up, hesitant of the roles being swapped and him becoming the one being cared for… but with some time, those walls will start to drop.

But until then, he’ll be your teammate. The both of you working together to take care of and worry about the others. 

Seriously, it’s scary how similar you and Echo think sometimes. Whether that be packing extra supplies or remembering how each member likes to have their caf.

...you guessed it, it's quick drabble time...

It’s always hard when the batch gets split up, one half staying while the others go on a mission. What makes it harder is that you’re on the side that has been told to stay put. 

According to Cid, it’s an easy job that doesn’t require that many people and that you should be happy you get some time to relax while Hunter and Echo go on the mission. But your mind doesn’t see it like that.

While the other’s hang back at Cid’s parlour, you walk with the other two back to the ship so you can properly see them off. “Have you got extra bacta patches on board?” you quiz Echo while Hunter picks up his pace, deciding it’s best to leave the parents of the group discuss supplies.

“Yes, we do” Echo nods.

“And bandages?” you question, nervously nibbling at your bottom lip “Cid didn’t really give us a lot of information on this job so it’s best to be prepared for anything”.

With the Marauder close by, Echo stops and places his hand on your shoulder, making you stop too. “It’s going to be fine,”  he says, his voice calm and comforting “we’re transporting nerf nuggets, even I don’t think much can go wrong with that”.

You sigh, knowing Echo’s right but still feeling anxious “Ok but be-“.

“Careful?” He raises an eyebrow at you, a cheeky glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes, already well aware of how predictable you can be. “Yes but seriously, keep an-“

“Eye out for troopers” he finishes your sentence again, letting his hand drop from your shoulder as he begins to climb the steps up to the Marauder.

“Ugh, fine, point proven,” you shake your head before remembering “oh and keep your-“

“Comm on in case of emergencies” this time Echo doesn’t even glance back at you when he says it, only stopping to look at you once he’s safely inside the door to the ship, revealing his mischievous grin.

Before closing the doors, Echo bids you a proper goodbye “I’ll see-“

“You soon?” You quickly interject, making Echo’s grin grow wider. As the steps to the Marauder begin to disappear into the ship’s mechanics and the door loudly starts to close, Echo calls out over the noise “You took the words out of my mouth!”.

CROSSHAIR

Crosshair has convinced himself he doesn’t need your help, your compassion or your company. Yet no matter how many times he tries to push you away or rebuff your kindness, you continue to be there for him.

Basically, you’re a complete enigma to him.

Crosshair’s kinda like a stray cat, subtly curious of you but too wary to accept your affections. Instead, he likes to simply watch your interactions with the others, slowly warming up to the idea of you also caring for him in the same way.

The one thing you do that is guaranteed to always make him smile is scold the others. You don’t do it too often but sometimes it’s necessary, especially when they fight over petty things. 

Crosshair is always by your side then, arms folded as he enjoys the entertainment of it all. And if things start to calm down, he makes sure to say a comment or two just to rile the others back up again.

But if he’s in an argument and you walk in? He knows better than to continue, usually rolling his eyes before stalking off to spend some time alone.

...quick drabble time: Crosshair edition...

Despite the mission being a success, it ended in another argument. You luckily missed the start of this argument, so you aren’t sure who’s done what or who’s angry at who but from the glares Crosshair and Hunter keep giving each other, you can make a few assumptions. 

You just arrive to the argument when it ends, catching the tail end of it as Crosshair storms past you, muttering something about loyalty.

Once Crosshair is out of earshot, the rest of the batch let out a collective sigh, equally annoyed and disheartened by the argument. “Do I even want to know what this is about?” you ask and judging by the look on Echo’s face, no, you don’t. Taking a deep breath, you turn on your feet, now facing the direction Crosshair stormed off in “I’ll go speak to him”.

It doesn’t take you long to find him, sitting on top of one of the large crates the Batch has been tasked with collecting and transporting back to base. He doesn’t look up when you approach, keeping his attention on the dirt staining his gloves. Hopping up beside Crosshair, you wait for him to speak.

“If you’re here to make me apologise, you’re wasting your time” he hisses.

You shake your head “I’m not here to do that, I just thought I’d keep you company”.

“I don’t need your company,” he snaps back.

You don’t reply. Whenever Crosshair gets into one of his moods, you understand he pushes people away and so you don’t take what he says to heart.  

Trying to shift the topic of conversation, you put your hand into your pocket. “Y’know the last time we were in Coruscant, I went to this place called Dex’s Diner. I heard some Regs talking about it so I thought I’d check it out,” you start, causing Crosshair to roll his eyes “the food was fine, nothing too fancy”.

“And why should I care about this?” he asks, raising his head so you can see his bored expression. While he’s still in one of his moods, you notice his tone isn’t as harsh, your sudden story somewhat disarming him.

“Well, on the tables they had a bunch of napkins and those little holders for straws, oh and they had these brightly coloured sauces ,” you ramble on “but they also had this bowl on each table and you’ll never guess what they were full of…”. 

Pulling your hand out of your pocket, you open your palm to reveal a bunch of toothpicks. Crosshair gazes down at your hand, his expression remaining neutral.

“I know they’re just toothpicks,” you shrug, unsure whether you should feel embarrassed or relieved by his lack of reaction “but when I saw them, I got excited because they made me think of you. And then I started wondering if you had enough toothpicks so I figured I should take some just in case you don’t”.

With your other hand, you pick out a toothpick and delicately place it on his leg, a satisfied smile on your face. You drop the other toothpicks into your pocket, jumping down from the crate “Anyways, I’ll leave you be now, just thought you might appreciate a toothpick”.

Crosshair stays silent as he watches you leave, waiting a few seconds to make sure you really are gone before taking the toothpick and putting it between his lips. With your words ringing in his head, a small smile begins to tug at his lips. 

He rolls the toothpick along his mouth, hoping that’ll hide his expression.  Sitting back on the crate, he closes his eyes, focusing all of his attention at what you said...

“they made me think of you”

[good-griief]

'school girl' crush

so… i've been seeing so many milf!reader x ellie stories so i had to write this write a little one shot (i may have to make a part 2)

During summer, as a college student in need of extra money, Ellie ran a daycare with her friend Dina, who was only doing it so her son had friends to play with. Now, though, Dina had met a woman named Mel, who also needed friends for her new kid, and Ellie was ready to send in her informal resignation. 

“You’re leaving?” There was one reason she wanted to stay. This adorable little toddler, Celeste. She had the biggest eyes, and the cutest hair always in little braids. She was always chatting away and stuffing her face.

But why she wanted to stay had to do with Celeste’s mother. Ellie had practically fallen in love with her. She must’ve been five or so years out of college, younger to be a mother, but definitely older than Ellie and her friends. Ellie assumed she was single, the kid’s other parent never picking her up. In fact, with that body, Ellie hoped she was single. 

Sure, she was being a bit of a perv, imagining what this woman’s body would look like outside of yoga pants and a tank top, but she couldn’t help herself when the summer heat was messing with her head like this— at least that was what she told herself. 

You, on the other hand, knew she was far too young for you. She was a college kid with a crush, but that didn't mean you didn't find her cute; always taking her shirt off around the time your SUV pulled up and swimming with the kids so she could show off her tanned, toned body. 

She’d walk your girl to your car, talking with her the whole way and smiling at you when she greeted you. 

“Mama!” Celeste would cheer, running with a waddle over to you as Ellie watched with a smile. 

You would crouch to hug her, laughing as she clung to you, but you were far too tired from work most days to lift her up and convince her to sit in a carseat. She always wanted to sit in front with you, and you always refused, but it was even worse when she hadn’t seen you all day. 

Ellie would get Celeste into her carseat for you, buckling her in and giving her an extra snack to convince her before she spoke to you until Dina called her back in. 

This time, you’d started the conversation, asking whether or not it was true what you heard your daughter tell you the day before. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Dina found another mom, so…” She shrugged. 

“Well, that’s too bad…” You sighed, leaning against your car as you pushed your sunglasses up. You pointed your thumb to the backseat, where your toddler had already passed out. “She’s really attached to you. I don’t think I can send her back if you’re not there.”

“Aw, man… Really?” You hummed, brows raising. “Well, I guess I could—“

“Do you think you would wanna babysit for me?” You asked. Ellie paused, swallowing. Something about your attitude today was different, like you were finally acknowledging her advances. “You could come over in the mornings, same time as daycare. I’ll give you, like, two-hundred— no, three-hundred bucks? That sound good?”

“Three…” She blinked, dumbfounded. “I can’t. Not that much.”

“It’s the least I can do. We live on the complete other side of Jackson.” She nodded slowly. “Really? If that’s a yes, then… I’ll be home most of the time, working, but you can knock if you need me.” She nodded again, mind drifting to being in your home, being able to knock on your bedroom door at any time… Show you how good she was with your daughter. Maybe, she thought, you’d finally realize you were interested in her, too. “Think you can start Monday—?“

“Yes!” She quickly cleared her throat, lowering her enthusiastic voice. “Yeah. I can start whenever.”

“Are you off yet?” You then asked, earning an eager nod. “Don’t get too excited. I was just going to ask if I could get you froyo, or something.”

Ellie laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“No sweat. You’ve been working in the sun all day. Hop in.” You walked around to your driver's side as Ellie got in the passengers, completely forgetting about her shirt still sitting in Dina’s living room as you began driving. 

She looked over at you, noticing you were sitting with one leg comfortably bent up on the door and your elbow leaning on it as you held your head up. She, on the other hand, sat cross legged with her arm resting on the window. 

“I promise I’m driving safely,” you reassured her with a laugh. “This is just more comfortable.”

“Oh…” She waved you off. “That’s how I drive, too.” You chuckled at that as she looked at the hand you didn’t have on the wheel, checking for a ring. “Hey, can I ask you something?” She spoke after a moment, gaining a hum of a response from you. “Are you married?”

You laughed. “Ellie, we’ve talked about your little crush on me before.” She groaned, face heating in embarrassment. It was true, you’d told her not to be so obvious about it, but she didn’t take that as an outright rejection. “I’m way too old for you.”

“How old are you?” She asked, earning a brow raise. “Just makin’ conversation…”

“Nearing 30.”

“Well, I’m nearing 25.”

“You just turned 20.”

“21 in October. Come on!” She quickly defended herself. “You’re, what? 26? 28?”

“Oh, Ellie,” you laughed, shaking your head at her. “When this little crush you have goes away, you’ll be happy I didn’t indulge you.” You then switched the conversation. “Aren’t you excited to get back to school? What do you study again?”

You talked the rest of the way to the frozen yogurt shop, eventually getting there and parking. It was right along the beach, and you told Ellie this was usually what you did with your little girl every Friday when she got out of daycare, so she was welcome to join you. 

You were giving her mixed signals, at least in her mind, but you told her the truth as you got Celeste into her stroller. 

“You know, I really should tell you, Cella asked if you could come with us today,” you said as you nodded to the girl, who woke up with a giant grin on her face after seeing Ellie. Ellie was only paying attention to the nickname you had for your daughter, finding it adorable and fawning over it in her head. “I know what you’re thinking, so if you want me to drive you home after—“

“No!” Your toddler immediately protested. “Ellie, come home with us. Show you my new house. It’s pink!”

“Oh,” you laughed. “You’re awake enough to argue, huh?” You crouched down to look at her, pinching her little cheek. “Does that mean you’re awake enough to walk by yourself?” She immediately shook her head, grabbing her small sippy cup attached to the side of the stroller and making sure she had no way to answer your questions by sucking on the little straw. You shook your head, standing as you laughed at her. 

For being three, and halfway to four as she always reminded you, she was pretty advanced for her age. Ellie simply saw that as you being a great mother, which only encouraged her crushing on you. 

“Kiddo, I don’t think your mommy will even invite me over if you argue with her,” Ellie told the girl, who reached her little hand up for Ellie to hold as you pushed the stroller, taking note of her habitual use of mommy, and chuckling to yourself. 

“Sorry, mama,” Celeste said around the straw of her cup. 

“It’s alright, babygirl—“

“So, Ellie can come over?” Ellie laughed, covering it with a cough when you raised a brow at her encouraging your toddler to try and manipulate you. 

“Ellie?” You looked at her. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Stay forever!” Your girl cheered. 

“How about dinner first?” She said, looking down at Celeste. “I’d love to,” she then said to you. 

You couldn’t deny how good she was with your girl, watching as she convinced her to walk on her own. She’d told her: “mommy’s been working all day, and she loves pushing you, but she’s probably tired, don’t you think?” And despite you saying nearly the same thing earlier, she agreed with Ellie. That gave you the opportunity to take the stroller back to the car, so she didn’t decide to sit again, and grab a shirt for Ellie— who you still hadn’t corrected about calling you mommy when your toddler said mama. 

When you came back, Ellie was talking away with her, laughing at whatever nonsense joke she would tell and making you smile. 

“Here,” you handed her the shirt and she immediately went red, saying she forgot she’d even left hers at Dina’s. 

By the time you got home, it was later than anticipated, but your girl still insisted that Ellie stay and have dinner with you. 

“Maybe another night?” You suggested as you picked her up. “Mommy’s a little tired, bubba. I think bubba’s a lil’ tired too, no?”

“Nope. Wide awake!” 

“Alright,” you laughed as you brought her in, setting her in her gated play area. “Show Ellie your new house while mommy makes dinner, ‘kay?”

The amount of times Ellie had heard you call yourself mommy that day were making her head explode. Celeste didn’t even call you that, she’d realized. She called you Mama, so she was headed down a path of thinking you were doing it just to tease her. She knew she shouldn’t be thinking this way, but it was hard when all she could think about was— “Ellie! Look!” She was brought out of her thoughts when Celeste pointed to the new dollhouse she got. It was taller than she was, and lit up like a real house. 

Ellie scoffed in surprise. “Holy shit,” she muttered. 

“Shit!” The toddler repeated before cackling to herself as Ellie freaked out and told her not to say that. “Shit, shit, shit!” She laughed.

“Stop that!” Ellie was afraid you’d hear her. “Fuck,” she cursed under her breath, “stop it. Now.” She then went on to yell ‘fuck’ as many times as she wanted. 

“What on Earth is going on in here?” You asked as you stepped out of the kitchen. “Ellie?”

“I didn’t—“

“Ellie saying no no words!” 

“No!?”

You laughed. “Ellie, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen?” You looked to your girl. “And you.” You narrowed your eyes at her, making her giggle as you smiled. “Get dinner ready for your dolls. Show Ellie how you set it all up when she gets back.”

Ellie followed you into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“You know, teaching my daughter how to swear definitely won’t get you anywhere with me.” Ellie cursed to herself internally, sulking. “But, I guess it’s a good thing she already knows those words, huh?”

“What?” 

“Her dad loves action movies. She comes home quoting them.” You shrugged. “He just lets her say whatever. I’ve resorted to having her not say it outside of the house or in front of guests.”

“Great dad,” Ellie muttered, making you chuckle as you knew she was only taking the side she assumed you were on because of her crush. 

“He actually is.” She immediately grew embarrassed, making you chuckle. You couldn’t deny how much fun you were having embarrassing her this way. She was awfully cute. Especially with the way she blushed so easily. “He’s the one that got her that dollhouse. A little present for making in through daycare since he knows how tired I’ve been. She used to hate daycare before you.” That brought a smile to Ellie’s face. “Thank you, for agreeing to babysit, by the way. I don’t know what I’d do if you didn't.”

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, gaining a smile from you. “So… I take it that means you’re not married?” She asked after a moment as she washed her hands, ready to help with whatever you were making. 

“Mm, no. He’s my best friend. We had drunk sex at a stupid party and I got pregnant,” you laughed.

“Were you dating before, or…?”

“God no,” you laughed again. “I’d just broken up with the girlfriend I had since, like, freshman year of college, so he was trying to help me get drunk and find someone else… one idiotic thing led to another, and suddenly I’m six months pregnant, and I didn’t even know until I went to the doctor for a strep test.” Ellie snorted, the whole thing sounding like something out of a television show. “I know, I know. He’s gay too. That makes it even better.” Ellie laughed loudly at that, making a smile come to your face. 

The rest of the night was spent making dinner, and putting your little girl to bed as she’d fallen asleep before dinner just as you expected. You offered for Ellie to stay anyway, and she gladly did. 

“Okay,” she finally spoke, interrupting your conversation that’d gone through dinner and dessert; it being surprisingly easy to talk to her. “I have to ask— I know I’m probably being ridiculous, but, uh, I may just need you to shut me down.” You raised your brows, humming. She realized that may be a habit for you, but it was an excruciatingly attractive habit to have. “She, uh, she calls you ‘mama’—“

Almost immediately, you lowered your head, laughing. “I don’t have an answer for that, Ellie.” Her face reddened. “All honesty, I just found it a little funny.”

“You were teasing me!” She accused with a red face. You shrugged, looking up at her with a smile and flushed cheeks. She thought back on the day, all the times she’d called you ‘mommy’, all the times she’d done so while wearing your shirt, and felt a flutter in her stomach that made her cross her legs. “You’re awful.”

“You started it—! And besides, I thought I’d have a little fun… I mean, since my little girl wanted you to spend the day with us, I needed a way to enjoy myself too, no?” Your tone was mocking, making her adjust her seating at your near insulting words. “The bathroom’s just down there.” You pointed down the hall, past the stairs. 

“Stop it,” she said pointedly, making you chuckle as you stood and grabbed both your plates. 

“I’ll give you a ride home, alright? Or, is your car at Dina’s?” You asked as you came back to the dining room. 

“What about—?”

“Her dad’s a few blocks down. I’ll tell him.” You quickly texted him, getting a message back almost immediately. 

When he got there, you went to your car with Ellie, driving with the windows down and old rock music blasting through the car at her request. You both sang along, laughing the whole way there. 

You paused the music when you got there, stopping in front of the driveway and looking at Ellie. “I’ll see you Monday?”

She nodded. “I’ll, uh…” She played with the hem of your shirt on her. “I’ll give this back to you then.”

“No need.” You gave her a smile that made her cheeks heat as you leaned your arm on the console to look at her. “Night, Ellie.”

“Night…” She muttered in a daze, quickly snapping out of it and getting out of your car to go to hers. 

As she drove home, all she could think about was your teasing, all she could smell was your perfume on the shirt, and all she could feel was her stomach fluttering. 

When she got home, she went straight to her room. She left your shirt on, slipping her bra off from underneath and taking off her pants. She got into bed, holding your shirt up to her face and inhaling deeply. She quickly stopped herself. “Oh my fucking God, Ellie.” She dropped the shirt and brought her hands to her face in embarrassment, but now all she could feel was the fabric brushing against her nipples as her mind clouded with your voice; calling yourself mommy as you looked her in the eyes. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she shook her head at herself, attempting to shake away her thoughts of you and your awfully mean teasing. She grabbed her pillow, shoving her face into it as she went red. “Get a hold of yourself.”

[yulin-pop]

⤷ ✧ Wake up

Gender neutral

- order 76 | headcanons | Housewardens

Note: Sleepy, airheaded silly goose — refers to main story in most of the segments not proof read.

Riddle Rosehearts

Before he even knew your name or spoke to you, you were about to fall asleep. The way your eyes kept fluttering shut and opening wide again.

You had very little energy to say the least. Sometimes he would be having a friend conversation with you and you just fall asleep standing up?? He is actually very concerned.

You would fall asleep a lot and even if you weren’t in the same class, he found out. You were in for a long scolding everytime that happened (it happens a lot). It was hard to fall asleep because he was quite loud but somehow you still closed your eyes and snored right in his face.

He wasn’t sure if you were getting enough sleep at night for whatever reason he decided to invite you over after school to see what tires you out so much. Immediately after school you knocked on (on his bed) and he checked up on you every hour or so. He hoped you’d get some good sleep and be more energized in the morning.

He learned two things, you’re a cuddler and you’re going to be tired no matter what because he woke up to you clinging onto him like a panda.

When he did wake you up, you asked for a few more minutes.

“You had 17 hours of sleep! How could you possibly need more?!”

Leona Kingscholar

He’s impressed. Even when you stepped on his tail you were clearly about to fall over and join him in his nap.

Not much to say besides he thinks it’s funny. But he doesn’t get why you’re so tired. He sees you take very long naps and half of the school day you decide to just sleep. Then your friends have to wake you up.

He’s caught you napping under a tree many times. He notices how objectively beautiful you are. He’s never gonna admit that though. You could be drooling with the eye crusts but you would still be really, really cute.

He doesn’t wake you up on purpose. He lets out a small laugh when he sees you and your eyes shoot open. Gave him a jump scare.

“Are you watching me sleep?”

“Why are sleeping in the courtyard anyway? Get up and sleep in a bed or something.”

Sometimes he would pick you up and carry you somewhere less crowded or more comfortable. When you wake up in a different location than what you remember, you don’t question it. You’re too tired to.

Azul Ashengrotto

You are not a sufficient employee. You’re generally always slow and a little bit forgetful because of your sleep deprivation.

He thought you would come running to him for a detailed study guide because instead of studying you slept your days away. But you never came. I mean you were gonna but you lost track of time and never ended up making a deal.

Whether you bombed the exam or passed with flying colors, you dodged a major bullet.

He observed you were bad at serving customers and yawned every 3 seconds, which made him glad you didn’t make a contract because you’d be dead weight.

However in PE, he noticed you were physically more capable than him. You beat him a race while you were half asleep. That’s just impressive. But it shows you only put in effort to be better than people.

You fell asleep in Mostro Lounge numerous times. He has to kick you out because you’re not ordering anything. But you always whine about how comfy the booth seats are.

“Azul… Give me a break please.”

“Don’t give me that look…”

He’s really curious why you’re always so sleeping. He sees you nap all day in school and somehow you still have eyebags.

Is it magic that makes you so tired? He just doesn’t understand.

Kalim Al Asim

During your stay at Scarabia, it was when he really started to notice how sleepy you always looked. He actually took pity on you and apologized, asking if the bed was uncomfortable or you don’t have any food to energize you.

He says that you could sit out in the morning march because you were just so tired. You looked like you were about to collapse. He feeds you a lot because he assumes you’re low kn energy because lack of carbs.

He is way too nice to you. He’s a very comfortable pillow and so everytime you see him, you sit down next to him and doze off on his shoulder.

He doesn’t usually say anything out loud as to not wake you up but inside his head he’s cooing and resisting the urge to cuddle you.

“Ah, you’re awake. Did you sleep well?”

“No, can I sleep some more?” You didn’t even wait for a response before you closed your eyes again.

Vil Schoenheit

One glance and he’s appalled. Your eye bags— what happened to you?! Maybe you’re like Ignihyde’s housewarden and stays up late.

He takes it upon himself to fix yourself up a little bit. He asked you why you wear such baggy clothes and you respond with “because I can fall asleep faster with comfy clothes.” Don’t you worry about self image?

You’re a bit of an airhead, only thinking about the next time you can nap. Your uniform is always messy because you decide to lay down and rest where ever you please.

It’s a shame because you are pretty inside and out. Your sleeping face is just naturally cute and you help people however you can, even if it’s low effort.

He gives you healthy energy drinks to keep you awake and it hardly has an effect. He gives you skin care and you fall asleep before doing it each night. Hell, he even had to tell you to take a shower. If he hears a thud he knows you drifted off the dreamland in there and fell down.

He’s basically the one making you keep up with your hygiene. He never lets you off the hook, he’s not the type to let you sleep in him either.

What sucks is that he never allows you to fall asleep when you’re in his presence unless he’s feeling gracious that day.

“Vil, please just 5 minutes. I think I’ll collapse if I don’t nap right this second…” You stumble forward and he catches you by the arm.

“Seriously, you must’ve been born with a curse.” He gently picks you up and sets you down on the couch. “30 minutes and we’re back to it.”

Idia Shroud

Sheesh, you’ve got worse eyebags than him. He first saw you when you were awake being pulled around by your friends.

When he encountered you asleep in the courtyard, he was surprised. You look much cuter when you’re asleep. But why were you sleeping behind the statue of Hades?

His muttering accidentally woke you up and you stared back at him like he’s crazy. You rubbed your eyes and blinked. It was a short stare down until you just flipped on your side and went back to sleep.

He sees you around a lot. It’s like you’re doing it on purpose. He thinks of you more than he should, you probably forgot he existed.

What’s strange is that you have strange dreams of him. Like he appears in your dreams either as a background character or is talking to you.

You try not to think about him but it always happens.

Malleus Draconia

You only met him because you fell asleep outside one time. It happens way too often unfortunately. No one was there to drag you into your bed that time and so you were there until late at night.

Your eyes shot wide open when you felt s strange presence and the ground shake a little. There were fireflies out of no where.

Then you met Malleus. You didn’t feel that tired around him for some reason. You didn’t get close though. You just talked to him about himself. You avoided any questions about yourself. A majority of the time you thought it was a reoccurring dream. You eventually started sleeping outside on purpose to see him.

Sometimes you look for him at school. You end up wearing yourself out after 10 minutes and fall asleep, hoping to see him again.

Malleus definitely tried to intimidate you for a while, he felt bitter because of how nonchalant you were. Turns out you were just an airhead and so he took it less personal.

It’s often that you fall asleep mid conversation with him. He’s not mad really, he just sets you in your bed and gets one last look before going back to his dorms.