#bed rotting? never this is bed rest✨

[olivvesribbons]

Tomorrow’s Friday meaning we’re getting litttt (staying up all night on tumblr)

[olivvesribbons]

Luv

(Mine. Plz credit)

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 4: You Say I've Done A Lot Of Things I Can't Undo

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Reader POV

Summary: With a birthday printed on your wrist that happened over a hundred years ago, you always thought that you were cursed to never meet your soulmate. But when you finally meet the man that's supposed to be the other half of your soul, you wonder if the stars were wrong, and wonder how this man was meant for you. Reader is Hughie's sister, is not a supe, and is a Literature Professor that gets dragged into the middle of things. This fic takes place in an AU set loosely after Season 3 and does deviate from the plot of The Boys

Tropes: Soulmate AU, Little bit of Grumpy and Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Jealous Ben/Soldier Boy

Warnings: I'm gonna label this one 18+ because it's Soldier Boy and we all know he's a warning. Self deprecating thoughts, ANGST, SADNESS, Public Fight, Going Viral For The Wrong Reasons, Mentions of past graphic death, Mentions of past sex, Mentions of Torture, Cursing, Mentions of Death, Loneliness, Longing,  Appearance of a World Class Bitch, Reader wears glasses?, Soldier Boy might be a little OOC.

Word Count: 6.8K

Song Inspiration For Chapter: Wait By Maroon 5 - Chapter title taken from this song

Playlist For Series!✨

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue Is in First Person And Is In Italics

A/N: I'm BACK BABY (a few days early)! I thought I'd start my return with a bang.  This chapter is crazy and angsty, but I’m addicted to the angst and we all know you love it 😉

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Guide:

Reader's thoughts are in italics and in first person.

Ben's thoughts in italics, bold, and blue!

Sunlight sifted through the canopy of trees overhead shifting the shadowy imprint of the leaves over the cracked sidewalk that wove through campus in a lazy wave. The smell of coffee came from the coffee cart perched nearby where students stood in an un-orderly line, impatiently waiting their turn to buy the one thing that would get them through the dreaded Monday slough.

The crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, and the jingle of backpacks rose on the wind from the people who walked by while others sat in groups on warm grass laughing and chattering with friends. Water rippled in a fountain nearby, and the soothing sound of drops smoothing marble brought a wave of relaxation over you.

You sat alone on your favorite bench with a book resting on your lap. The sun kissed the worn, familiar pages that you had read time and time again, illuminating the notes you'd written in the edges in an untidy scrawl.

It was the best form of distraction for what was becoming one of the longest Mondays of your life.

The weekend had passed in a graying blur that you spent in bed curled up beneath your comforter reading book after book, content to rot, because there was little else you could think to do.

Annie had shown up a few hours after Hughie had, but by then you'd been so tired of talking to other people that all you wanted to do was sleep, despite their encouragement to watch a movie with them.

You didn't want to.

The longer you sat with them together the more the dagger in your heart sharpened. All it did was solidify the fact that you'd never have what they did, because how could you?

Your soulmate did not have one soft or gentle bone in his body, he didn't care about anyone but himself. There was no future with someone like him, not with someone who felt no remorse for taking a life.

So you were back to square one, or, square negative one. At square one there had been the possibility of meeting your soulmate again and now that you'd met him you wished you could take it all back.

Take back all the years you spent wishing to meet the other half of your soul, take back every moment you spent with the night sky shining in your eyes while you prayed to the heavens that one day you'd meet him. You felt stupid for crying as much as you had over the past year when you thought that your soulmate didn't want you. And now a part of you thought it was comical how much time you'd spent thinking of him only to wish you could forget.

In every lull over the weekend there was only one place your mind went, exactly where you didn't want it to go, right to your soulmate.  Each time the thought of him flashed through your head all it did was send a shiver of fear down your spine. You were afraid that he would find you somehow, worried he had a supernatural GPS in his head when it came to you and that he'd be able to find you anywhere.

For all you knew he could. The revelation of your shared ability to feel each others emotions and hear each others thoughts was astonishing. You'd scoured the internet to try and find the reason why it was that you could do that, but you'd come up empty. So not only was your soulmate a murderer, you were the only person who could know exactly what he was thinking and feeling.

Rotting in bed was the only thing that appealed to you, but even there you weren't safe. The dreams that came were worse than the ones you'd had over the past year. Each memory more violent than the last and each one made you wake up screaming bloody murder into the quiet of your bedroom. But they weren't the memories of him hurting people, they were memories of the time he spent in the lab. You'd seen snippets of it before, but you'd never felt it.

These memories you lived with him, felt his pain, his rage, and something else, something that pricked at your heart because it reminded you how you felt all those years you were alone.

The dreams made you want to find him again, to comfort him, because that's the kind of person you were. But you couldn't, not when the thought of being in the same room as him made you sick to your stomach.

You take in a calming breath and turn the page. You'd ended your afternoon class a few minutes early, hoping that a few moments soaking up the afternoon sun with a cup of coffee and a good book would get you back in the swing of things.

It was working, now that you'd turned your phone off. Hughie and Annie kept texting to check in, but you couldn't think of a reply that sounded genuine.

Every response you typed was riddled with forced smiles, and you were sick of acting like nothing was wrong.

Mrs. Charleson had invited you over for tea last night and rubbed your back while you cried. Like hell you were going to call your parents and tell them you finally found your soulmate, but he was a murderer. You had stopped trying to seek their approval years ago.

But there was something nagging at the back of your mind today. Your entire lecture you had the oddest feeling that there was someone watching you and every once in a while you thought you could feel something and hear something that you weren't thinking or feeling, but you attributed that to the PTSD.

"That's a big book." A familiar voice says with the hint of a smile. Warm tingles trace your spine with the low rumble of the words, your body reacting before your mind catches up.

It can't be-

You look up.

Your soulmate looks better than you remember. He's wearing a dark green shirt that makes his eyes seem brighter and has a black leather jacket that you wonder how he can fit over his broad shoulders. His hips are squeezed into a pair of blue jeans that are just a little worn in at the knees, but somehow it makes him seem real, authentic.

Lord Hades sprung from the soil to bring his wife to the underworld.

Something weaves through the air between the two of you once more, the pull that pops and crackles through your veins telling you that you want to be closer to him, that your soul wants to entwine with his, that the man standing there in front of you is made for you and nothing else in the world is right when the two of you are apart.

How can he be? He's everything I'm not.

The part of you that lives in him sings to you, beckons you with open arms to Ben, the hole inside of you that sat empty for years screaming to be filled.

However, the most jarring thing about seeing him again, is that he's holding one of the largest bouquets of sunflowers you'd ever seen in your entire life, which happened to be your favorite flower and the exact thing you'd imagined your soulmate doing in the past. But instead of a happy feeling at the gift, dread threads through you.

How did he find me?

Ben’s smile slips a little bit at your reaction, hearing your thoughts echo through his mind, and the wave of your fear flood over him.

What the fuck is her problem? I brought her flowers!

His words in your head make you wince slightly, eyes shifting to the people around you worried for their safety because you've seen exactly what happened when your soulmate lost his temper.

Ben tries again.

"I got these for you. Thought that maybe would could get some dinner tonight. Get to know each other a little better.” He holds out the bouquet as if it wasn’t obvious. “And I caught the end of your lecture. If any of my teachers looked anything like you doll I would have been at every class no question.” Ben gives you a wolfish grin that makes a shudder work its way down your spine.

It suddenly made sense why you'd spent your lecture hearing just the buzz of thoughts that weren't your own on the edge of your mind and why you could feel emotions that you didn't recognize flood through you while you spoke.

I should have known.

Maybe you were still hoping that the ability to hear Ben's thoughts and feel his emotions was something that you'd imagined. Apparently not.

Your hands tighten around the spine of the forgotten book in your lap, fear tracing through your limbs. There was no escape from him. He was simply everywhere. You'd thought that he'd been able to get hint of exactly what you thought of him at the apartment, that he'd know better than to track you down.

Ben senses your fear and the grin slips into a frown, eyebrows pulling down, and he blinks his green eyes in confusion.

All I did was bring her some flowers. It's not like I pulled a fucking knife! Or stuck a damn gun in her face! Why the fuck is she acting like this? Women are supposed to like this shit!

You shake your head to clear it from the angry monologue inside your soulmate's mind, the heat of his anger licking away at the chill of fear you had at his appearance.

"How did you find me?" You ask.

Ben's frown deepens and he lowers the flowers to his side realizing that you weren't going to take them. “Had someone track you down at work. No thanks to that little bitch and his fucking beard-“

“Hughie is my brother.” You interrupt Ben, temper flaring at his harsh words about Hughie. Soulmate and murder or no, you weren't going to let a bully make fun of the only person in your family that made you feel like you belonged there.

"He's your brother?" Ben sputters.

Who knew that someone like him could have a sister that looks like her?

Ben's eyes drop to trace along your figure with the thought. When you'd gotten dressed the long skirt, floral blouse, and suit jacket seemed like a good idea, but under his gaze you felt naked. But there was a minuscule part of you in the back of your mind that rejoiced, some small part of your soul that was reveling in the fact that your soulmate found you just as attractive to him as he was to you.

You weren't denying that. You were attracted to your soulmate. He looked like every leading man you'd ever imagined when you read a book. The kind of beauty carved from stone and tempered fire.

"Yes! And I told him that I didn't want him to tell you where I was." Somehow the words strengthen you and you reach for the leather messenger bag at your side, trying to shove the book inside, but afraid to look away from Ben in case if he tries to grab you again.

The bruise on your wrist had turned an ugly yellowish green by now not to mention it still hurt a little bit to bend it. And you were scared at what Ben would do to you if he didn't get his way. You'd seen enough of his memories to know exactly how he acted when he didn't.

A wave of anger and shock comes rippling through you that you know isn't your own.

“Why would you do that? You’re my soulmate.” You see something flicker in his green eyes, some wisp of unfamiliar emotion dragging behind it through your body that you can't place.

You find your feet, shouldering the leather bag. “I don’t care that I’m your soulmate. I don’t want anything to do with you. Now please leave I have a class-“

“What the fuck are you talking about? I got you flowers-“

“I don’t want those!” You try to step away from him, preparing to run, but Ben mirrors your movement to block you.

 “They’re your favorites and I got them for you!” His voice raises enough that the people sitting across from you on the opposite bench turn to gaze at Ben.

It’s like she wants to piss me off.

“Please leave me alone-“

"You don't even know me!" Ben takes in a breath through gritted teeth, closing his eyes for a moment before finishing his sentence. "Come with me to dinner tonight. We can talk-"

"I don't want to talk to you. I know enough about you to know that I want you to leave me alone!" You look around for some way of pushing him back from you, of escaping from this hell.

It was becoming a soap opera. You'd spent your entire life feeling like a freak for the date printed on your wrist, spent every waking moment praying that you would meet your soulmate, not to mention you'd spent the past year thinking that he didn't want you, and now here he was asking you to do the one thing you wanted and yet all you can feel is how afraid you are and worry that he's going to hurt you or someone else.

“It’s not supposed to be like this damn it!” Ben snaps, nostrils flaring as whatever composure he just summoned falls away to reveal who he really is.

“What are you talking about?!”

“I’m your soulmate! You’re supposed to love me!”

“I’m not supposed to do anything!”

“Yes you are!” He roars, green eyes flashing in the sunlight.

A heat rises in between the two of you emanating from his body as the smell of the coffee stand ebbs away and is replaced by an unnatural smell of ozone. The skin underneath Ben's t-shirt begins to glow  with his rage, the skin revealed at the bottom of his neck shifting to a brilliant gold.

You shrink back from him, your hand tightening on the strap of your leather bag, the memories of what happened whenever he lost control fills you with dread. Visions of bodies blackened beyond recognition flash through your mind. Your eyes shift to the people around you worried for their safety. You didn't know what would happen if Ben exploded here. You’d seen the footage on TV of the building that was destroyed after he'd come back and you didn't want that to happen to the students around you.

Ben's gaze doesn't leave yours, and you can see your face reflected in his eyes. You look small and afraid, and you wonder if Ben even cares.

He grits his teeth again, body tensed so tight you think he might snap, and he squeezes his eyes shut, and the longer he does it the more the glow fades.

Not here, not fucking now.

Ben's voice floats into your head, a memory of the lab surfacing on the edge of his mind you see for a moment flicker across your own as if you were living it with him.

It touches something in your heart, and for just a moment you feel the need to touch him, to tell him that it's okay, that he's not there, but you shove it down, gripping the strap of the bag like a life-line. 

Why does she think I'd ever hurt her?

Anger pulses through your body, but there's something hidden beneath it, something almost… soft. It makes your heart thud an extra beat, the fear you had melting away for a few precious seconds as you hear the question he asked ring through your ears.

“Is everything okay?” The sound of your TA’s voice, Tate, shatters through whatever emotion it is and brings you back to reality.

You glance around Ben’s broad form to see him standing there. He’s still wearing the same checkered sweater vest over a light blue shirt he was wearing in morning lecture. The sun turns his skin into a burnished mahogany, while winking on the wire framed glasses around his eyes. He looks concerned.

You open your mouth to answer, but Ben does first. "Mind your own fucking business."

Tate frowns, but his gaze drifts to you. He says your name. "Are you okay?"

Back the fuck off. She's mine!

Ben's body turns towards your TA, the soft feeling you felt completely lost in the rush of anger emanating from your soulmate.

"Why don't you just fuck off you four-eyed fuck?" Ben snarls.

"Hey buddy. You need to take a chill pill." Tate rolls his eyes. "And a step back. Because I don't like the way you're talking to her."

"Tate-" You begin. You were going to warn him, tell him to walk away, that the man standing there was more dangerous that Tate could ever imagine.

You'd had a front row seat to each time your soulmate didn't get his way. Had seen exactly what he did to people who dared to say not to him and the people who stood in the way of what he really wanted. 

"I can talk to her however I damn well please she’s fucking mine!" Ben takes a step forward flashing the golden date on his wrist like it proves his claim to you. "And I don't need some little pussy like you telling me what to do."

The words do something to you.

Growing up you'd always believed that having a soulmate wasn't just about having someone who was "yours," it was more than that. It was that together you were one, two pieces of one soul finally coming together, surviving years of being apart only to be bound together once more.

But hearing Ben say that to Tate, proves what you already know about your soulmate. That he wasn't soft or gentle and that you were nothing more than another plaything to him, something that he thought he owned. It proved that your soulmate didn't think that having a soul-bond was special, that all it was to him was another way of asserting his dominance over someone he thought he owned.

Just because he's my soulmate does not make me his property.

"I don’t know who you think you are. But this little pussy," Tate gestures to himself, "Is going to bitch slap you if you talk like that to me or her again." Tate's backpack drops off his shoulder and lands on the ground with an audible thud as he takes another step towards Ben.

It was the first time that you'd ever seen someone openly challenge him. At the party all Butcher had done was casually put his hands on your shoulders and told him to stand down, but this was different. This was someone asking Ben for a fight.

"Tate please just go. It's okay." You say.

Tate's glasses glint in the light of the sun as he turns his head towards you. "No, it's not. This asshole shouldn't get to-“

Ben's hand goes around Tate's throat hauling him high into the air. “You’re gonna wish you kept walking.” Ben growls.

“Ben please!” It was the first time that you’d ever said your soulmate's name aloud. “Please put him down.”

How fitting seeing as it’s also the first time I’ve ever had to beg for someone else’s life.

Ben does put him down, but not in the way you wished him to. He throws Tate away with a brutal flick of his wrist.

Tate’s body goes soaring backwards before landing in the coffee cart and crumpling to the ground, the sharp snap of bone and the heavy thud of his head hitting the pavement echoing through air. He clutches at his arm that’s bent at an awkward angle with a loud groan.

“Holy shit!” You shove past Ben, rushing to where Tate lays. His head leans back against the side of the cart, coffee soaking through the pavement around him while others gape at Ben in horror.

Tate groans out something. Pain flashes in his cinnamon colored eyes, his glasses thrown from his face in the scuffle, while his gaze begins to glaze over.

"Tate hey stay with me-" You say gently touching his chin.

Tate had been your TA for a year and you'd come to think of him as your friend. He was funny, sweet, caring, and his soulmate Marta was one of the nicest people you'd ever met in your entire life. She was always bringing you cake and cookies, always came to pick up Tate after work in a beat up Volvo with a rusted bumper they never had enough money to fix, and always gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose whenever he left his lunch at home and she came to bring it for him.

His arm was definitely broken, and the thought that you'd have to tell Marta that Tate was hurt and it was your fault made your heart catch in the back of your throat in a hardened lump.

"What a pussy." Ben says behind you, rolling his eyes. "Just rub some fucking dirt in it. Act like a man for fucks sake-"

Any fear you have for your soulmate melts away with the roar of your anger at Ben callousness. Your head snaps in his direction.

Why does she care so much about him? I'm her soulmate! She should be fawning over me!

Ben is still holding on to the Sunflower bouquet in his hand, but some of his dark hair has slipped forward into his face with the effort of throwing Tate away, his expression somewhere between annoyed and bored. The dark stubble that frames his strong jaw makes your soulmate look rough and a little rugged- again you're struck by how attractive he is, but you force the thought from your mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You shout.

Several onlookers have pulled out their cellphones, caught between the idea of calling the police and filming this for social media.

Because that's exactly what this needs, for Ben and me to be Tiktok famous.

"What's wrong with me?" Ben yells back in surprise. "What the fuck wrong with you? I brought flowers I'm trying to-"

"Fuck the flowers Ben! You could have killed him!"

"He's fine-" Ben rolls his eyes.

"No, he's not! You know that he's not a supe! That he can't do the things you can! That he's more fragile and-"

"What the fuck does that matter?!" Ben roars, eyes flashing a dangerous green, and the sound of the sunflower stems snapping in his hand as they fall brokenly to the ground in a flash of yellow and brown fills the air.

The world is no longer bathed in a soft golden glow from the sunlight above, now it seems to almost blaze around the two of you, burning so bright that it hurts to keep your eyes open. The sounds of the people chattering around you have gone silent and the gentle trickle of water in the fountain becomes a roar.

You wished that you'd stayed hidden away in your office, wished that you hadn't come to work today. Hiding in your apartment as you did all weekend rather than be ambushed by your soulmate was preferable to whatever was happening now.

Your world was colliding with his into a supernova and all you wanted was to go back to when you didn't know who he was, to when you believed that your soulmate didn't exist.

"You could have killed him!" You repeat before you hesitate, feeling a rush of emotions from Ben, but none of them are regret or remorse. Tate whimpers in pain below you. "And you don’t even care." The words come out in a surprised whisper.

"Why should I?" Ben spits, still not comprehending why you were making a big deal about this, why you were still pushing him away despite bringing you flowers. "He was in my way!"

"Why should you?" Your voice comes out broken and shocked. "Because he's a human being, Ben. Because killing people and hurting people is wrong-"

Ben only rolls his eyes. "Oh please. I gave him a warning-"

"No, you didn't. All you did was yell at him and me."

What the fuck is going on? Why is she acting like this? He was in my way. When someone gets in your way you put them in their place!

"No, you don't!" You shout over the loud whispers of the people around you watching the drama unfold, answering the deranged monologue in your soulmate's head before he can say anything else. "When someone gets in your way, especially someone who you know you could hurt you back off! You don't throw them around like a rag doll. You have the human decency to back down and be the bigger person." You turn away from Ben's gaze to look at Tate who groans again in pain, holding his broken arm to his chest. "Can you get up?"

"I think so." He lets out in a shaky breath as you take his good arm and help him to his feet.

"Here lean on me."

Tate was considerably larger than you, at least six feet, not to mention he was built like a body builder and looked nothing like the literary geek he was. But you don't let that stop you.

"What are you doing?" Ben says taking a step towards you.

You flinch back from him.

"What does it look like? We're going to the hospital. His arm is broken and who knows what happened to his head after hitting the concrete that hard-"

Ben huffs out a breath and a wave of annoyance crashes over you that isn't your own. "I'll drive you."

"No, you've done enough!" You shout helping Tate take a shaky step down the sidewalk in the direction of your car where it's parked in the faculty parking lot.

"You're making a big deal out of nothing!" Ben snaps taking another step in your direction. "He's fine."

"He's not fine!"

"Let his soulmate take him to the hospital. I want to take you to dinner-"

Is he serious right now? Why would I go to dinner with him? He just brained Tate on the coffee cart and broke his arm.

"Stay the fuck away from me." You snarl at Ben. The fear you had for Ben was still there, but now all you could feel was anger and horror. You couldn’t understand how someone could do that, feel no remorse for hurting someone else.

But it again proved the fact that your soulmate was nothing like you and nothing like the man you wanted him to be.

"Why would you want that I'm your soulmate. You're supposed to want me!"

"I don’t give a fuck that you’re my soulmate Ben! Because you're a fucking monster and I don't want any part of you in my life. Not when all you do is hurt the people around you with no regard for your actions!"

It wasn't the first time that you'd thought Ben a monster, not after living through all his memories. There had been a small part of you that hoped you were wrong, that the memories you’d had of him had happened so long ago and Ben had changed. But he hadn't.

He was the same selfish man who you'd seen in your head take and take, but give nothing in return. He didn’t care about anyone, but himself.

So how can I expect him to care about me?

Something flickers in Ben's expression, flashing through the anger in his gaze, something that you can't place. There's a feeling that rises in your chest that's not your own, but tugs at the piece of your soul that belongs to him.

But you turn your back on Ben, dragging Tate with you towards the parking lot.

The loneliness that lived in your head and your heart for so long begins to seep through the cracks once more with each step you take away from Ben.

You wait for the voice of your soulmate in your head to come, to hear the tickle of his words against your ear, but there's nothing. Just the sound of the water smoothing rough stones, the sound of Tate's gasps of pain, the harsh whispers of the people who stood by watching your life fall apart and the last hope you have of love, real love, shrivel up and waste away, while the loneliness welcomed you with open arms. 

Two Days Later

You bury your face in your hands and sink deeper into your desk chair, elbows braced against the strong wood on top of the ancient desk in your office. It had belonged to the teacher before you, and the one before that, and the one before that- an antique of a time that you once wished to live in the arms of your soulmate, a time that you fantasized of belonging to whenever you opened a book from that era.

Now it seemed like a waste.

The past two days you'd spent in a daze, walking from class to class, talking without really knowing what it was you were teaching, disconnecting from it all.

When you'd brought Tate to the hospital he'd needed emergency surgery on his arm that was broken in three different places, and you'd spent the next few hours that he'd been in surgery with Marta, holding her hand and reassuring her that Tate would be alright while she cried into your shoulder.

You hated that this had happened, that the insanity that was unraveling your life had bled into Tate and Marta's, and that Tate had gotten hurt because of you.

He hadn't had to step in, hadn't needed to defend you, but he did. It was the kind of person he was and you didn't fault him for it.

And your soulmate hadn't even had a shred of remorse when he saw how hurt Tate was or when he saw how upset you were about it.

It made a chill travel down your spine to think that. To think that someone like your soulmate existed, someone who took no care in what he did to others as long as he got his way and had the abilities that meant no one could stand in his way.

You remembered what your brother and Butcher said about Homelander, but you never imagined that your soulmate would be anything like him.

The doctor told Tate that his head was okay, just a mild concussion, but the doctor had said it could have been worse, much worse. The doctor had also warned that it would be a long recovery for Tate and that his arm would always have a metal rod inside to keep the bones stable, which only made Marta cry harder.

Tate was in better spirits than she was. He said that it made him feel like Wolverine, having all that metal in his body, and then said he couldn't wait to stump the TSA at the airport whenever he flew back to his hometown.

Marta hadn't thought it was funny, but she was happy to see that the accident hadn't made him bitter. Tate had always been a half-glass full kinda guy and spent most of his time in the hospital holding Marta close to him in his bed while she cried. He wasn't half as upset about the situation as she was.

And when you'd tried to tell him how sorry you were, Tate had waved you off with his good arm and said that he would have felt worse if he hadn't said anything and that he didn't blame you for this.

It didn't make any of this better.

Ben hadn't reappeared or shown up to any of your other classes. You hadn't heard his voice in your head or any emotions that didn't belong to you, and you hadn't seen him on campus at all.

And although it was what you wanted, there was a small part of you, one that you pushed down below the surface that wanted him to come back. You'd lived so long without your soulmate that now you knew he existed it was difficult for your mind to go elsewhere.

It felt like you were being ripped in two. You knew that he was a monster and you wanted him to stay away, but the other part of you wanted to find him, to hear what he had to say, to curl up against him and never let him go.

He's the other half of my soul I should-

The thought tappers off and your tighten your hands where they rest over your face.

No he's dangerous. I want him to stay away I-

You grit your teeth trying not to listen to the little voice inside that begged you to give him a chance.

Damn it.

It was frustrating to say the least and starting to rival a one woman show in your head:

"He brought flowers-"

"He also broke Tate's arm."

"He wanted to have dinner-"

"He told you that Tate was fine and that you were overreacting!"

Basically your mind was going in circles with no signs of stopping. Even cracking open your favorite book did nothing to help.

And you couldn't forget it, because Ben's little stunt was all over the internet and campus. You could hear the whispers of your students during your lecture, when you got coffee, and when you walked to your classes. There was no escape.

So you were hiding, shamelessly in your office for the time being.

Dale, the head of the English Department and the bane of your existence, had scheduled a meeting later to "deal with the situation" as he put it. You were dreading it.

It was already hard enough to control your temper when he mansplained about the different literary periods and authors that you were an expert on, and now he was going to get involved in your personal life.

You groan under your breath.

The door of your office opens, the metallic click of the knob turning against the aged wood releasing from the wall echoing through the quiet room.

There's a small part of you that braces for the telltale feeling that your soulmate is nearby.

The warmth that bubbles up from within followed by a wave of thoughts that aren't your own flowing through the bond the two of you share, but it doesn't come.

The person who entered your office hadn't bothered to knock, usually that meant it was Dale and you hope that you didn't lose track of time and he's here for your meeting.

But instead of his nasally drawl, a woman's voice greets your ears. "Are you professor-" Her voice smoothes over your last name, her tone quirking up at the end of her question.

There was something familiar about it, almost as if you'd heard it before, but you don't look up from your hands.

"Yes. But my office hours are over."

"This'll only take a moment." The voice continues, followed by the distinct click of your door locking.

You glance up, taking your glasses from where they lay on your desk to put them back on your face, and the woman slowly comes into focus.

Stormfront looks different in person than she did on TV. She still has the rounded face, dark hair, and simple makeup, but there's something off about her smile. It pulls on the end of her lips curling up as if she has a secret while her dark eyes study you like a bird of prey.

She's wearing a black baseball cap that shields her face and a black hoodie, but you know it's her. You'd seen enough promos for her new movies on TV and products that she endorsed on billboards planted around where you lived.

The new leader of the Seven had been celebrated more than Homelander ever was over the past year following his disappearance. Annie had told you how hard Ashley was pushing for Stormfront to be the symbol of female power everywhere. That Stormfront would be the first hero ever to be involved in military operations overseas with more to follow behind her.

Vought was calling it the year of the woman, while Stormfront's followers called it "The Coming Storm."

And it was.

Stormfront was vocal about her beliefs, held nothing back in interviews while she criticized America and the world around her.

But here, in your office, there was no forced smile, no shimmer to her perfectly curled black hair… instead something glimmered in her dark eyes as they traced over your body with careful precision.

An ungodly feeling bubbled beneath your skin, like curdled milk, something close to disgust and revulsion, but not quite so sour.

There was an unnatural energy in the room, the lights on the walls flicker once, something pulsing in the air from the woman in front of you that sends a chill down your spine.

"So you're her." Her eyes trace you again, lips quirking on one side in a smile. There's something predatory hidden behind her dark eyes, some flicker of emotion you can't place, but makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

"Excuse me?" Your voice trembles slightly.

You didn’t understand what this was, why Stormfront decided to pay you a visit out of the blue when the two of you had never met before.

Her smile widens. "You’re Soldier Boy's soulmate."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The response is immediate, slipping through your mouth before you decide to lie.

The truth was you knew about Stormfront and Ben's "relationship," if you could call it that. As terrible as watching your soulmate kill people was, sometimes watching him with other women was worse.

Especially seeing those memories in the year after you'd met him and he left you while you yelled at him to wait on the sidewalk and you thought he didn't want you. Watching him with women that looked nothing like you, watching him kiss them, whisper sweet nothings in their ear, tell them how beautiful they were, fuck them… The whole time watching the man who was made for you with someone else… it hurt.

You wondered if Ben liked Stormfront because she was a supe and she could take more than someone who was normal could. That he didn't need to hold back.

He probably doesn't care about that anyway.

Stormfront laughs at you. "Don’t bother lying. You're not good at it and I saw the little lovers spat the two of you had the other day."

"What?"

"It's all over the internet," She smirks. "I miss the day when you could do whatever the fuck you wanted without fear that you would go viral… But I think that Soldier Boy is used to bad press-" She shrugs her shoulders and looks around the room. "You're not what I expected. Ben barely spent any time in school it's almost comical that his soulmate is a teacher, let alone a literature professor. I don't think he's read a book all the way through ever."

You didn't like that she was speaking about your soulmate like she owned a piece of him, as if he was as much hers as you were.

The memory of Ben's thought when Butcher put his hands on your shoulders to steady you burns through your head, when you heard Ben growl "She's mine" and it didn't make you shudder because you were afraid, it made you shudder for for a different reason. Because now there was something in your own head snarling "He's mine" while you clench your fingers into fists where they lay in your lap.

"But you're kinda cute…" Her gaze drags lazily back to you from the bookshelves that line the walls of your office. "In a bookworm sort of way. I mean.. I've never seen Ben look twice at someone who looks like you but-"

"Did you need something?" The question comes out harsher than you meant it to, but by now you were more annoyed than afraid of her. You didn't like the way she was talking to you, like you were a stupid little girl and she was the real woman you’d never be. Like a mother scolding her daughter who'd stayed out past curfew.

I don't care how old she is, she doesn't get to speak to me that way.

She sits down across from you in one of the two plush leather armchairs, leaning back. "Well, well, well it does seem as if you do have a little bit more bite. Good." Her head cocks to the side. "Makes this more fun."

"This?"

"Do you have any idea how long I've been following Ben? A year. Mind you, I've waited much longer for other things not nearly this fucking important, but-"

"Why?" You interrupt, not ready to sit through another meeting. Frankly the woman in front of you was reminding you of your mouth breathing head of the English Department, Dale, who spent more time trying to look up your skirt than give a shit about what you had to say.

"Because I wanted to find you, of course."

Your body goes cold.

"You see, I've seen the date on Ben's wrist, I knew that he'd run into you eventually when he got back from his little sabbatical overseas. And I thought a reunion would be fun." She flicks a hand absentmindedly like Ben had gone on vacation in Russia and hadn't been tortured and imprisoned. "We used to spend a lot of time together. And I was so happy that he finally found you, because now I can repay him."

What is she talking about?

"For what?" You question.

Stormfront's lip curls up, her eyes glowing a dangerous purple, as the lights in your office flicker. "He killed my soulmate, it seems only fitting that I return the favor."

A/N: I know I know another cliffhanger... but I am actually really excited to write a little bit for Stormfront. Yeah she's cray-cray, but to me she has the biggest connection to Ben so I felt like it made the most sense for her to be included 🥰

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always welcome and appreciated! I really love hearing what y'all think. ❤️ If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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[dinogoofymutated]

Hi! so far I've loved everything you've written about Kurt, Logan and Remy. 🧎🏻‍♀️

Could you write something about Kurt? where together with reader they are in the kitchen of the mansion because they can't sleep, and she finally tells him her concerns about the magnitude of her powers and Kurt with his heart of gold tells her beautiful things to calm her down and make her laugh, the rest to your imagination, I would appreciate it, you write great! Thanks 💙✨

SFW! Nightcrawler/Fem!Reader

Ok so I will admit that I made this a leeetle self indulgent. I was trying to think of a power someone could really struggle with and a fun one that I thought of was having necromancy, but having such respect for life and death that it feels wrong. I thought it would fit well with a Kurt fic because it's something that almost feels sacrilegious, and it's good to have a fuzzy blue elf assure you that you aren't a monster :) I know its def not power ambiguous, but I hope this is okay :)

Also, I know my writing style is a little different in this one, And thats because the first few paragraphs set the tone for my writing when I start and tbh I think this one just flowed from my soul to they keyboard.

TWs: nightmares, necromancy, gross descriptions of rotting flesh. Extreme self-doubt and self-consciousness. Basically angst with a happy ending.

You’ve been having nightmares again. They hardly seem to stop, but after a break in between the terror, you'd become too relaxed. Too comfortable. You felt defenseless when they started to begin again.

It’s always the same dream, different font. Bones cracking, flesh ripping as it’s forced into place, natural or not. Skin rotting off of once human bodies, sockets where eyes used to be. It was horrifying. You’d see your family, friends, acquaintances, everyone. Dead. Brought back to life by your power, the power you were still so afraid of. You were always afraid of zombie movies as a kid. Anything rising from the dead, anything breathed back to life in some sick and twisted fantasy. It was ironic that your very own strength was the thing you had always been the most afraid of.

Of course, as you aged and the professor took you in, the fear began to wear off. Mostly, it did. The professor not only taught you how to control your powers but also how to work around your fear. You can remember the confusion you felt when he had set a box of ancient bones in front of you. Fragments of titans, dinosaurs who had long since passed. Bones that would never be matched to an accurate set, parts of them being crushed to dust by the cruelty of time. Bones that only you could breathe to life, to bring them together as a whole again. It was convenient, the professor had told you, that you only needed a fragment to do so. He spoke as if it were a service to them. Most importantly, he brought you a box of bones that weren’t, and never had been, human.

He had taken the fear out of your power. Given you an option you had never considered before. Bones without flesh, without living family. Fossils that would serve you as you were serving them. You were… happy, with that. You were content. You could handle bones. You could revive these ancient skeletons without fear, and fight with them without worry. That didn’t change the horror of knowing the capacity your powers had.

    So the nightmares remained, and your sleep had become sparse.

    This particular night you were restless. Unable to sleep despite how tired you have been, but it’s hard to rest when there is only terror waiting behind your eyelids. After a while, you decide to give up trying.

The path to the kitchen is one you have memorized, even in the dark. You’ve always been told never to eat sugar before bed, but the only thing you want to comfort you at this moment is hot chocolate- so screw it.

    You try your best to be quiet while fishing out a pot out of the cabinets. The stove makes a click as you flick it on, filling the pot with milk before stirring it as it warms. The automatic task is comforting, falling into a routine you enjoy. You’ve just added the coco mix when the sound of a *Bamph* greets you.

    “Guten abend.” Kurt whispers, walking over to stand beside you. You give him a tired smile that he returns with a yawn.

    “I’m sorry if I woke you.” You say, face returning to a frown Kurt thinks you wear far too often. Maybe it’s good that he’s here because you realize you made far too much of the sweet drink than you had meant to. You get a mug for him, heart fluttering as his hand brushes your own when he takes it from you, thanking you quietly.

    “You did not wake me, Schatz. I promise.” Kurt says, pulling out a chair for you with his tail as he sits at the table. You nod silently, placing the pot in the sink and filling it with water before you join him, leaning against his shoulder.

    “Did you have another nightmare?” Kurt asks after a moment. His brows are furrowed in concern, and you fail to stop him before he takes a sip from the scalding coco, burning his tongue. He scrunches his nose as he sticks out his tongue, making you giggle for a moment. He thinks your laugh suits you much more than your frown, even if it happens to be at his expense. Your face falls slightly anyway, and he wonders if he could get you to laugh if he did it all over again.

    “...No. Not tonight.” The words come out as less than a whisper, and you doubt he might hear it if it weren’t the middle of the night. Little did you know he’d block the world out if he had to, just to hear you speak a little clearer. He hums in response, and you feel his tail slowly wrap snugly around your waist, the very tip idly stroking you in a comforting manner.

    “...Do you wish to speak about them?” Kurt asks after a moment. You huff slightly, feeling the hot steam from your mug warm your face as you do so. Still too hot, you think to yourself. Flashes of those horrid nightmares come to mind, and no matter how quickly you try to shake them off, they remain. You choose to think of Kurt instead. Sweet, kind, comforting Kurt. You want to bury yourself in his arms, sink into the feeling of his skin, and never let go, if only he would let you. He would without a second thought, if only you had known. You think carefully about your next words, and the visions of flesh and corpses hardly leave you.

    “Am I a monster, Kurt?” You hear a quiet, cut-off gasp from Kurt, and he turns to you. His face is pained, and he sets his mug down to place his hand around your own, still clasped around the hot cocoa. 

    “Of course not. Only a fool would think so.” His words, although comforting, only leave you with a worse sting in your heart. You can’t hold eye contact with him, staring at the reflection in your mug instead. Only a fool would think so. You halfway wonder if you count as a fool, then.

    “I, just… My powers, what I do. What I am capable of doing. It’s not right.” You take a shaky breath in, desperately trying not to break down here and now. “It’s disgusting. It’s horrible. Every time I find myself comfortable with myself I am reminded of what is possible and I spiral. I don’t want it. I don’t-”  

  “Liebling.” You let out a sob at the sound of his voice. Kurt is hunched over, pressing his forehead against your own as he desperately tries to catch your gaze- but you can’t. You can't bear it, and you close your eyes tightly. Kurt takes the mug from your hands. He cups your face as he wipes your tears, and you feel like even more of a monster as he does so. Sobbing as a man with a heart of gold wipes your tears away with love and care.

    “Please, look at me,” Kurt whispers. You try to stop the tears, embarrassed as you fall apart in front of the man you hold so dearly, but it’s hard. It’s so hard. Your chest stings, your throat is sore, you’re sure your nose is running, and yet he still holds you so gently. When your breathing evens out just a bit, you convince yourself to open your eyes again.

    Kurt’s gaze is simply concerned. There is no horror, no disgust, nothing but worry for you. Nothing but kindness. You wonder if you could be even half as good as he is. 

    “You are good. You are kind. You are strong enough to stand by your morals despite the nature of your powers telling you otherwise- and you have the strength to continue to use them and fight your fears anyway. You are one of the most incredible people I have ever met. Do not let your nightmares tell you otherwise.” Kurt’s hold is steady against your cheeks, and your own shaky hands reach up to hold onto his wrists. You sob again as he speaks. You know. You know this. Others have told you, but these words all felt like lies. All but the ones you’re hearing from his mouth. Your tears are slowing, and Kurt leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, leaving the skin tingling. You whisper quiet apologies for crying, and he shushes each one, gently wiping your face with the soft sleeve of his pajama shirt.

  “I would not be here if I didn’t want to care for you, my love,” Kurt says softly. Your eyes widen, taken aback by his words. He called you many things. Liebling. Schatz. Love. But never my love. The words waken butterflies in your belly, and Kurt takes a moment to realize what he’s said. He swallows nervously, but he doesn’t pull away. You don’t either. The two of you are treading a line that you both desperately want to cross. 

    Kurt is the first to lean in. He does so slowly, toeing the line between you. His gaze remains on your own as he closes the space, nose nuzzling against your own as he gives you the time to back out if you wish. But you don’t. You want nothing more than to have what he is so freely giving. 

    Kurt kisses you softly, lovingly, and for once the horrors have quieted and are cleared from your mind. All there is now is Kurt, and his soft love. He kisses you a second time before he pulls away, still as close to you as he can be without falling out of his chair. You wonder how he can see beauty where all you see is terror. He wonders if you have any clue just how much of a good person you continue to be.

    He knows he would gladly spend the rest of his life showing you.

[wolfmoonwildflowers]

Bigger Dreams (Davrin x Rook fluff)

Read it on ao3 or keep reading below ✨

Word Count: 940

Rating: T

Rook uses she/her pronouns but is otherwise undescribed.

No CWs, just a couple of smooches and more warm/fuzzy feelings than should be legal.

Summary: Davrin and Rook share a cozy evening by the fire. Absolutely tooth-rotting levels of fluff packed into under 1k words. Not enough fanfic exists of this lovely, precious man (elf) so this is my contribution.

“I could get used to this,” Davrin drawls, dropping his pack to the ground near the entrance to his quarters. 

Rook peers around at him from the nest she’s made in his chair, grinning. “Get used to what? And how did you know I was here?” She resists the urge to reach out and make grabby-hands at him even as her imagination conjures scenes of them curled up here together, in front of the fire.

“Coming home to you sitting in my chair, safe, and warm, and waiting for me.” He leans over the back of said chair and kisses the top of her hair. 

Home. Home. Anywhere with him could be home.

She tips her head back so that she’s looking up at him upside down. Davrin huffs a laugh before dropping delicate kisses onto the tip of her nose and the corners of her mouth. “Let me go wash up. I’ll be back, aewnya.”

Hopefully he would be gone long enough for her to finish the chapter she was reading. Once he returned she knew it would be impossible to focus. These are the problems you want to have, she thinks, watching him pull the door shut on his way out.

—

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, dodging her lips. “None of that until you’ve eaten.” He settles in the chair, pulling Rook comfortably into his lap and handing her a small plate full of fresh fruit and cheese with bread. 

She scowls but there is no weight behind it; Davrin had a sixth sense for knowing when she’s forgotten to eat. Rarely did his senses lead him astray. While she works her way through the meal, he busies himself. There is something so precious about watching him fuss with the thick woven blanket, making sure it covers her feet where they rest on the arm of the chair. This cozy comfort of domestic bliss, no matter how fleeting, is all-consuming. She could happily stay like this, with him, forever. She would never grow tired of it.

“Thank you for bringing me dinner,” she hums, leaning to sit the plate gently on the floor.

Davrin pulls her against his chest, one arm around her slightly-bent knees, the other around her shoulders. She presses her face to his neck and lets out a contented sigh. 

“Anything for you,” he promises.

And she knows he means it. Not in the grand-romantic-gesture way — although he would mean that, too, she knows — but rather in the quiet, mundane way. The way he brings her food when she’s forgotten to eat. The way he makes sure her feet are never cold. The way he wraps his arms around her and keeps her from falling apart. They had found a surprising reverence in caring for one another like this. It was more than she could have ever hoped for. He was more than she could have ever hoped for.

Rook finds exhaustion catching up with her, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Her eyelids are suddenly so very heavy. She almost misses the soft murmur of his voice, stirring when his fingers brush the hair from her face. 

“Hm?”

“Stay here tonight,” he repeats, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She smiles, teasing. “Trying to lure me into your bed, are you? Scandalous.” Her eyes are still closed but she can feel his smile in return, the corners of his mouth pulling up against hers before he kisses her. The press of his lips is so gentle that it makes her chest ache.

“You have no idea just how many scandalous things I plan on doing to you,” he whispers. Rook’s eyes flutter open at that, but Davrin just smirks. “But not tonight. Tonight, I only want one thing — one thing more than anything else in the world — and that is to fall asleep with you in my arms.”

“Has anyone ever told you to try dreaming bigger?” Rook jokes, raising her hand to trace the line of his lips with her fingertip.

“You’re right, as always.” He kisses the pad of her finger, then pretends to consider. “Let me see… a bigger dream, hm… Okay, I’ve got it. The thing I want more than anything else in the world is to kiss you right before you fall asleep so that you will dream of me.”

“Bigger,” she prompts.

Davrin plays along, happy to indulge her. “I want your face to be the first thing I see when I wake up.”

“Bigger.”

“I want those things for more than just one day. I want them every day.”

“Bigger,” she insists, gasping and giggling sleepily when he rises from the chair and makes to carry her to the bed. 

Getting under the covers like this is no easy feat. Neither of them want to let go of the other. Eventually, Davrin shifts, guiding Rook’s legs around his waist. He cradles her close to him, pulling back the blankets and hefting both of them onto the mattress.

“I want you to imagine a future with me,” he whispers, making sure she’s comfortable before reclaiming his place on top of her and leaving featherlight kisses along her jaw. 

The heavy weight of his body is so comforting, so real. Rook scratches gently along his scalp, humming at the way she can feel the tension in him melt. 

“It’s going to go to my head, you know,” she says, finally.

“What is, aewnya?”

With one hand still stroking his hair, she lets the other hand search for his. Their fingers intertwine. “Being able to make all your dreams come true.”

—

Footnotes:

aewnya - my little bird

I haven’t finished the game myself but from what I can find on the internet it doesn’t seem like Davrin has any pet names for Rook SO I bastardized Tolkien’s elven language and made my own. Linguists, avert your eyes; I am so sorry for this sin.

aew Sindarin, noun, meaning (small) bird

-nya Quenya, pronominal suffix, 1st person sg. posessive, “my”

[bunnydexterloveselvis]

Hiiii and welcome ✨🔆 If you are accepting prompts can i request one please, would you write cuddly fluff and / or agere with a baby BDE? especially a sick fic with a cg reader! Thank you ✨✨✨

Oh my god!!!!!!!!!!!! You're the first one to request a prompt!!! Thank you sooo much!!! Of course I'll write it!! How could I pass up such an amazing request? So cute!!! I've never wrote sick fics before so I'll try my best!!

Sick little baby.. (Agere!Big Daddy Elvis x reader)

summary: //elvis wakes up with a cold, is age regressed, and has you as his caregiver

type of fic: //age regression, tooth-rotting fluff, sickfic

warnings: //being sick?? the symptoms mentioned are sneezing, coughing, headache, mild fever, etc. no vomiting or anything like that. also it's pretty mild. he just sleeps it off, cuddling????? idk some people don't like being cuddled i guess, baby talk?? i don't think there's any serious warnings here besides being sick and age regression

word count: //675 (six-hundred and seventy-five) words

It was a fresh day, and you wake up in the morning, it’s around 8am. You look over at your sweet boy who is still sleeping. “What a cutie,” you thought to yourself. You chuckled and got out of bed to make breakfast. About 15 minutes later you come back, with Elvis still asleep in the bed. You smile warmly.

“Wake up, baby,” you whisper in his ear. He shuffles around a bit and lets out a whine. His eyes flutter open and he pouts. “Mamaaa- ’m sweepy!!!” He rolls onto his back. Oh. He woke up little! You almost giggle from how cute he is. He then sneezes three times and sniffles. “got da sneezies,” He mutters, with a short, reassuring giggle. Then he coughs a bunch. “Um, little one, are you okay??” You ask, caressing his shoulder. He looks up at you with sparkling eyes but very wet eyes. “M-mama I don’ feew so.. Good..” He wipes his forehead trickling with sweat, along with that, his soft chubby cheeks are red and his eyes are half-lidded.

He’s sick. But he has a concert today! “Awww.. What are we going to do?,” you thought. You’ll have to cancel it today. Can’t do a concert if you’re sick! So you make a call to explain that E is sick, and has to cancel the concert today. After that trouble, you run back to him. “Mamaaa…” he cries and makes grabby hands at you, implying he wants something. “What is it, E, baby??” you chuckle a bit from his overexpressed tone of voice. “Mmm.. t-tummy hurts..” he forces out while clenching his hands on his soft belly. “Awwww.. It’ll be okay. Mommy’s gonna help make your tummy feel better in no time!,” you tell him, sitting down next to him, massaging circles on his sore stomach. He looks up at you with the prettiest, sparkliest eyes ever. “Weawwy?” he asks softly. A small smile appears on his face. “Wiww mama make tummy free bettew?” “Of course honey, but you need to rest, I’ll be back with some stuff to keep you busy while I make you stuff to help you feel better! Sounds okay?” You murmur, making sure you don’t scare him. He gets scared when he hears loud noises, and you took note of that as soon as you found out. “Mhm!” he nods. You find his toybox and his paci and take it to him, pop the paci in his mouth while ruffling his hair very gently, remember he has a headache too.

So you give him all his gear, and as you walk away to go make him soup for his tummy, he cries out, “Mamaaa!! Don’ leave!!” You sigh. “E, baby, I have to make you soup so you’ll feel better. Do you wanna take the yucky red-coloured spoon medicine?” you threaten “No!! No yucky stuff!! Just wan’ mama..” he frowns and looks down. You slowly approach him and run your fingers through his hair, which usually calms him down. It did. He buries his face in your chest while hugging you tight. “I-I wuv you mama” he says into you. Making you smile sympathetically, you say, “Okay.. I’ll lie down and nap with you, but the first hurt noise I hear from you, I am getting the medicine,” half jokingly. He pouts as a joke, making you giggle. 

You pet his hair while trying not to get sick yourself. His eyes get half-lidded and sleepy. You pet his forehead in an attempt to calm his headache. It worked, weirdly, more like distracted him from his headache to your soothing touch. Elvis practically did something similar, he held you, his mama, close. Never letting go. Planting a kiss on his cheek, you whisper sweet nothings into his ear to lull him into a nap. Afterwards you make him some chicken noodle soup for when he wakes up in case he gets hungry.

You really hope he naps for a while, because you can’t seem to get this can of chicken soup open.

(i don't feel like this is good enough, i feel like it's too vague. let me know if you like it!! It was a teensy bit rushed and i wrote half of it when sleepy)

[canaidliafail]

scumbag!abby has been rotting my brain so bad😵‍💫😵‍💫

Not to stray too far off your suggestion but what if scumbag abby fell for maneater reader ? sorry I just had to write smt about it and hopefully it reads well enough 🫡✨

MDI

_____________

Abby is known for a few things. Her wit and the heat she packs in bed. She grew infamous around campus when they saw the third girl that month that had to be consoled after being ghosted on by “abby in chem”

That’s one girl too many and the worst part of it all was Abby was so damn good at her game that at any given moment she could respond to one of those girls and they’d leap back into her arms. She never fought and she made sure to make them believe through innuendos that it was their fault she left them.

She was often caught two timing, or going back to her ex for a one night stand which well, was very much in a pretend-serious relationship or she would go from one girl to her best friend next causing unceremonious platonic breakups and as if all of that wasn’t enough if Abby didn’t like someone she was rich enough to get them kicked out. Her dad was known to own many prestigious hospitals which meant that Abby was loaded and that ,only added to her attractiveness and power she held over others.

In her head she did nothing wrong. Hurt people, hurt people she would repeat like a mantra until someone called her out for it.

“That's comfort to no one but you Anderson” She could barely see who spoke in the group circle at one of the college parties she frequently attended. Her sights finally landed on you. You weren’t someone she recognised and if she knew any better back then she wished she had never found you in that circle at all

“Do I know you?”

You were sitting across from her, legs crossed,eyes on the phone with one hand resting on your thigh that was covered in transparent black Gucci tights, your fingers tracing the interlocking Gs. You looked up at her barely raising your brows but did not entertain her with an answer. She decided that you would be her new entertainment for the month

And she really did believe it would be easy until one day she was driving you back home and the other she would see you riding back on Ellies black motorcycle with your arms around her waist. Abby would let you borrow her notes only for them to be returned by Nora because you ran into her,which would be fine if it wasn’t for the fact that Nora seemed awfully flustered that day and would ask her about your name the next. She once caught you talking to a friend of yours, who would sneak glances at you and it seemed like you two were talking about her.

She didn’t mind. She was used to girlish councils taking place when someone new was about to make a move for her. She never knew what was said but she could guess

“I'll break her kneecaps if she breaks your heart” and “No I think she is different with me” were included. It was a little more difficult to understand how it could go with you but when you followed her on her socials she assumed it went well enough.

You texted her first ,which was unexpected and when you went out she took notice of your outfit which happened to be a plain satin short black dress that could have been tailored specifically down to your measurements. You complimented her that day,saying that with her hair down her face was framed nicely and her features stood out even more

On the drive back to your dorm from the club you two made out inside her parked car, with her eager to guide you to sit on her lap. She pressed one hand on your thigh circling it around it. You didn’t give her time to take it further when you broke the kiss to answer your phone

“Fuck I forgot my roommate needed me for an assignment today. Sorry I was gonna invite you in but that will have to wait” You said pleading and eagerness seeping in your voice, your eyes glossy. She had you where she wanted you. Abby smirked and pulled you in for another kiss that elicited the most whorish moans out of you and held you there from the back of your neck for a while

“Goodnight” she whispered and you separated ways.

Abby being utter scum days did not end there though. She still believed she only cared about the satisfaction of getting you to bed and bending the one playing hard to get, molding you to fit her grasp. But you didn’t text or show up to class for a week straight. That week she also realized in shame that she had let her hair down after your compliment and she’d catch herself looking at the entrance door every time someone walked in class only for it to not be you. She was reluctant to move on,for reasons unknown but decided to force herself to go through with it,scared of what you did to her. She invited a girl to her condo and went by Ellie’s dorm room to get her monthly weed supply.

Out of all the places she could have ran into you, she did not think she would find you there. With your hair in a messy bun, a baggy gray T-shirt and boxer briefs.

You had stayed the night at Ellie's place

You turned around and smiled at her innocently “Oh hey abs!” you greeted and she seethed with anger at your unbothered attitude. She ignored you and proceeded to have an eternal battle for the rest of the day, drowning out her emotions in the warmth of another girl's arms. She was a mess and she could rip your throat out if she had the chance to do so. That was a new Low. Everyone knew Ellie was her enemy in every way and form and to sleep with her was even below Abby as a move.

She was even more mad when she saw your messages the next day asking her out for coffee which,she did not respond to and when she saw you in class she packed her things and left pretending to be on call.She couldn’t avoid you at Mannys birthday party though where your spirits seemed high and nothing could spoil your mood. She did her best to be on opposite sides of the room until you went to poor drinks at the same time and you offered to fix hers

“You doing good Abs? You seem tired these days. Things alright with exams?” You asked and her eyes widened in shock at your obliviousness to her situation. You had no idea that everything she did was because of you. Not only did you not take offense to it,you even seemed concerned about her physical state and she could differentiate when that happened due to her corrupting and melting someone's brain and when it was because…because you just didn’t care enough to be bothered.

“Are you fucking with me?” she questioned sick of this chase and you looked at her with the same smile that you did a month ago

“No, I'm serious. If you need help, we can study together. Ellie will be visiting her dad next week so I have the room to myself” Abby was ready to slap you until she was starting to decode that sentence

“Who?”

“My roommate. Ellie. Come on,don’t act like you don’t know her”

Abby took a few minutes to snap out of the shock of this awful misunderstanding and then she chuckled. You passed her,her drink and now she was laughing

“Roomamates,fuck..Of course” she whispered and you approached her leaning against the kitchen bar table,letting you be sandwiched by her and the furniture behind you.

“What's so funny? Wanna share with the rest of us?”

“Why didn’t you tell me Ellie was your roommate ? Do you have any idea-”

“Oh I know” you said with a smirk and she held your gaze

“I knew it would bother you. That’s why I didn’t tell you”

Abby, had finally met her equal

___

Idk I have to go to uni now so it may be a lil rushed but Im tempted to elaborate on this concept

[friskynotebook]

Tears You Up But Sets You Free

CW: grief, death of a loved one

Summary: Padme believes she's in unrequited love with Obi-Wan—until one morning when she finds him sleeping in a closet

did I really spend all day writing almost 3,000 words of a Padme lives post ROTS Obidala angsty love confession and posted it unbeta'd? yes

The title is from the song Memphis Lives in Me from the musical Memphis ✨ You can listen to it here

Also on AO3!

Padme rolled over, blinking the sleep from her eyes as the Dantooine morning sun filtered through her bedroom window. She reached over to the other side of the bed and patted the cool sheets, hoping that this morning would be different than the others.

It never was.

She sighed. Ever since she and Obi-Wan had escaped to a tiny village on Dantooine with the twins nearly three years ago, they had grown closer. Living on a remote planet required them to rely on each other, both physically and emotionally. The friendship long-ago established on Naboo deepend further in the past three years than it had in the previous thirteen. They may have been legally married on Dantooine to maintain their cover, but for Padme, Obi-Wan Kenobi had become something deeper—her very best friend.

And perhaps something more . . .

On her end, there had always been something simmering beneath the surface when it came to her relationship with Obi-Wan, but he was so dedicated to the Order and so much of a Jedi, it never seemed like a real possibility. So he remained a dear friend and ally, nothing more. And when things presented themselves with Anakin . . .

But that was then. Now, however, as the years had passed, she found herself growing more and more fond of Obi-Wan every day. Of course she knew he was a handsome man—Padme had fully functioning eyes, after all. But she never really saw how gorgeous he was until she had to spend endless amounts of time with just him and her children. 

The children. Watching him interact with Luke and Leia—that was probably when she started to fall in love. Even when her heart was shattered in a million pieces mere weeks after their arrival, the pain lessened just a little when she saw Obi-Wan gently soothing little Leia’s cries so Padme could get a little more rest.

As the twins got older, Obi-Wan threw himself into fatherhood the same way Padme had thrown herself into motherhood. It surprised her—not his capability to love her children, because she’d seen first hand how much he’d loved Anakin and the rest of the Order, for that matter. But for someone who’d never had a traditional family structure of his own, he’d been committed to caring for the children and her as if it had ben ingrained in his very soul. Even though they had meager credits to their name, she and Obi-Wan were committed to giving Luke and Leia as normal a life as possible—from birthday parties to day trips to the mountains to sleepovers with friends, where the twins were right now.

Padme sighed. They didn’t often get long stretches of time alone together, and she wanted nothing more than to simply be with him and show him just how much he meant to her. But instead, he continued being his annoyingly perfect self and made her dinner, sat with her in the living room as he read a new arrival from the town library, and settled into the bed they shared with barely a kiss on the cheek.

And now she was waking up alone. Again

Padme shook her head. She wasn’t going down this path again. Obi-Wan had so many of his own burdens to deal with and the last thing he needed was to deal with her . . . feelings. They were best friends, nothing more.

Best friends who shared a bed. 

Purely for our cover, Obi-Wan had reassured her. We can’t have the children telling their friends their married parents sleep in separate bedrooms. It would draw too much attention.

Selfishly, she had agreed. If only for a little more time spent in Obi-Wan’s warmth.

She rolled out of bed and slipped into a robe. She wasn’t used to early morning quiet with two five year olds running around—she was nearly startled by the sounds of her own footsteps as she padded to the kitchen to brew some caf.

As she went through the motions of preparing the hot drink—two creams, two sugars for her, one sugar for Obi-Wan—Padme glanced at the door to a small storage room beside the twins’ bedroom. Obi-Wan converted it from a closet when they had first arrived, needing a hidden space to store the few remaining relics of his Jedi life as well as a quiet place to meditate away from the others. Every morning, he’d rise before the sun and meditate for an hour or two before the rest of the family got up. This morning didn’t seem any different, even without the children, so she settled at their small kitchen table and sipped at her caf, waiting for Obi-Wan to finish.

But as the minutes ticked by, he didn’t emerge.

After half a standard hour, Padme grabbed Obi-Wan’s rapidly cooling mug and approached the closed door. She knocked softly.

“Obi-Wan? Is everything alright?”

Silence.

Padme tried to quell her rising nerves and knocked again.

“Obi-Wan?”

Silence.

Padme swallowed. “I’m coming in.”

She opened the door—only for it to stop halfway through. “What—?”

The door was caught on what appeared to be a bundle of robes and—was that Obi-Wan’s foot?

Padme frowned and pushed the door all the way open as gently as she could, kneeling down beside the long lump of robes and brushing a lock of hair back from her husband’s forehead.

Obi-Wan was snoring softly under the robe-blanket he had carefully tucked around him, his head resting on a robe-pillow. Padme’s lips quirked. He must have fallen asleep while meditating this morning.

But . . . That didn’t explain the state of the storage room. His makeshift bed looked lived-in, more so than his actual bed. A small chest beside his robe-pillow acted as a nightstand, with his latest holo book and the glasses he swore he didn’t need resting on top. 

Why is he sleeping here?

It couldn’t have been comfortable. Obi-Wan wasn’t a particularly large man, but this storage room was tiny. Padme was sitting half outside the room as it was. It can’t be good for him being cramped in this space all night long—how many nights does he do this?

Padme thought back to their past three years in Dantooine—she couldn’t remember a single morning when her husband woke up beside her. Surely he must have in all their years but her mind kept coming up short. She brushed her fingers delicately along his bearded jaw, then gasped as she saw, seemingly for the first time, how dark the circles under his eyes were, and how deep his crows feet went. How had she never noticed this?

Before her thoughts could derail any further, Padme heard Obi-Wan whimper, his brow furrowed even in sleep. “No . . . no, please . . .”

Padme set the caf down on the chest and leaned forward, gently shaking her husband’s shoulder. “Obi-Wan, wake up.”

His breathing became more erratic and he started whimpering. The fear Padme had been pushing down started creeping up her throat.

She brushed her hand through his hair. “Obi-Wan, please. You’re safe, you need to wake up.”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s eyes shot open and he sat up, panting heavily. 

“Shhh,” Padme soothed, stroking his hair. “It was just a dream, Obi-Wan. You’re safe.”

He blinked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “P-Padme? What are you doing here?”

She swallowed. “You didn’t come out for your caf. I got worried.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan ran a hand through his damp hair. “I”m sorry for worrying you, dear one.”

Padme pushed down the flutter in her chest at the pet name. “What’s going on?”

“Hmm?” He looked up, his blue eyes looking more dull than she’d ever seen them. 

“Why are you sleeping in here?”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Oh, I must have fallen asleep while meditating again—”

Padme raised a brow. “So you made yourself a bedroom?”

He blushed. “Padme, it’s not—”

“Don’t tell me what it’s not, Obi-Wan. Tell me what it is.” Padme kept her voice soft but left no room for arguments.

“This is wrong.”

Padme furrowed her brow. “What’s wrong?”

“What I’m doing—my life—what I’ve done—it’s wrong.” His breath hitched in his throat.

Suddenly realizing this issue was far deeper than he had let on, Padme settled on his robe-bed, nestling closer to him. “What’s so wrong about our life?” she asked gently.

“I shouldn’t be living it!” he blurted out. “I k-killed him—”

“Obi-Wan no—”

He was getting lost in his thoughts. “I failed him and then I killed him. He was my brother, my apprentice, I should have helped him—”

“He was beyond help.” Padme soothed, repeating all the things he told her over the years. “There’s nothing wrong—”

He buried his face in his hands and Padme’s heart shattered even more. “Everything is wrong! I’m living his life—the life I stole. Don’t you see, Padme? This is all wrong! It should be Anakin here—”

“No it shouldn’t.”

That got Obi-Wan to stop right in his tracks. “What?”

Padme took her best friend’s face into her hands, stroking his beard with her thumbs. “No. It. Shouldn’t.”

“Padme, h-how can you say that? How can you want this life with me—”

“How about you let me decide what I want and what’s good for me?” She softened the blow of her words with a raised brow. 

Obi-Wan took a breath, not meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She forced his eyes upwards. “Don’t be,” she insisted, closing her eyes. Now or never, Padme. “I—Obi-Wan—”

“I’m not the family you need.” His voice was deadly quiet.

Her eyes snapped open. “What?”

He tried pulling away, but she wouldn’t let him go. “I’m not—” He swallowed. “I can’t be what you need.”

“And what exactly do I need?” Padme wasn’t going to lose her husband to his own mind, not if she had anything to say about it.

“Someone who can handle sharing a bed with you, being your husband, your children’s father, sharing your life, being in love with you—”

Padme’s eyes widened. “You’re in love with me?” she whispered.

Obi-Wan’s expression mirrored hers as he tried to back away, reminding Padme of a skittish animal. She pulled him closer. 

“Padme,” he rasped. “I’m so—”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she murmured, running one of her hands along his shoulder. “Is this why you’ve been sleeping here?”

He nodded. “It was too much,” he whispered. “Feeling the way I did and being in your bed. But I couldn’t bear to leave you either. I figured this was the best solution.”

The hand on his shoulder drifted down to his chest. “All this time? You were sleeping here all this time?”

“Mostly,” he nodded. “I’d wait until you were asleep and then come here. It was better this way,” he added, seeing Padme’s crestfallen expression. “You needed your rest and my nightmares would wake you—”

“I don’t give a bantha’s ass about your nightmares waking me,” she insisted. “And what about your rest? Obi-Wan you don’t even fit in here! You must be so sore—you’ve been doing this for years?”

Her fretting brought a tiny smile to his face. “I’ve survived worse.”

“I don’t care—no more of this,” Padme declared. “You’re sleeping back in our bed, where you belong.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes grew distant again. “I can’t, Padme. You don’t need an old Jedi complicating—”

“What did I say about letting me decide what I need?” Padme smiled. “And . . . what if I wanted you in my bed?”

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow and Padme wanted desperately to smooth it out with her thumb. “What?”

She took a deep breath. “What if . . . I loved you too?”

His face went ashen. “Padme, no . . . How . . .?”

“How can I love? Or how can I love you?”

Obi-Wan opened and closed his mouth a few times before answering. “Both,” he choked out. “With everything that’s happened.”

“Just because I’ve loved and been hurt in my past doesn’t mean I can’t love again, Obi-Wan. I’m still human,” she murmured, stroking his cheek.

“But with Anakin—”

“Not him.”

“What?”

She sighed. “I wasn’t talking about him.”

Obi-Wan leaned into her touch, waiting for her to continue.

“I cared for Ani, truly, and I did love him—just not the way a wife should love a husband,” she said, finally confiding in him the realization she had come to long ago. “The Anakin I loved—the Anakin I thought I loved—never existed. At most, we had infatuation. We never had time to explore anything else. And . . . if we had . . . I don’t think our marriage would have worked. Even if everything hadn’t happened.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “But—you were both happy—”

“Obi-Wan,” she murmured, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “I’ve been happier with you on our worst day than with Anakin on our best.”

His eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Padme.”

“Out here, I’ve had nothing but time to think about our lives before, all the mistakes I made, everything we’ve been through . . . Luke and Leia are my world, but marrying Ani was a mistake. Rushing things was a mistake. I wanted us to be happy so badly I convinced myself we were.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Perhaps we were both blinded by love.”

“Both?”

“I’m not a fool, Padme. I’d known about you and Anakin long before you realized I knew.” He sighed. “You both had been through so much . . . I wanted you both to be happy.”

“We weren’t.” She squeezed his hand. “Not truly.”

“I think we both saw what we wanted to see.”

Padme wrapped her arms around his neck, letting out a sigh of relief when her husband wrapped his own arms around her. She kissed his neck, settling into his embrace.

“Did you ever think about this? Before?” Padme asked.

“I was so committed to the Order I never truly considered the possibility,” he answered honestly. “I couldn’t allow myself to think about . . . anything I could feel for you. I didn’t think any relationship was an option until you and Anakin were married.”

“And then it was too late,” she finished his thought, her breath tickling his skin.

“This wasn’t the way I’d have ever wanted us to become a couple,” he murmured.

“I know,” she reassured him. “But—if it was an option. If we could have explored our feelings. If everything hadn’t happened. What would you have done?”

“I’d have left the Order,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice so soft Padme barely heard the words.

She lifted her head. “Obi-Wan!”

“I couldn’t fulfill a commitment to you and to the Order,” Obi-Wan replied, the torment in his voice replaced by an eerie calm.

“But your duty—”

“—was to the Republic. I didn’t need to be part of the Order to serve the Republic.”

After a moment, Padme responded. “And if I hadn’t returned your feelings?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he whispered. “As you can see, I’m not very good at effectively repressing romantic feelings,” he smirked.

Padme beamed. “And now you don’t have to.”

She leaned in ready to finally kiss her best friend, her husband, for the first time—only for Obi-Wan to turn away.

“What is it?” she asked, lifting his chin to meet her eyes. “Please, tell me. Let me care for you the way you’ve always cared for me.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, his tormented blue eyes filling once more with tears. “Have you ever . . . have you ever wished it were Anakin here instead of me?”

Padme closed her eyes and cupped his face in her hands, pressing her forehead against his. “Once, a long time ago. When the babies were six months old.”

He started to nod his head, accepting this, but Padme refused to let him leave her embrace. She opened her eyes. “I was in so much pain I couldn’t think straight. Trying to deal with the pain of losing Anakin while raising twins . . . it was too much most days. And one day, you were bathing Luke and I remember thinking, you’re the wrong Jedi. It should be Anakin here bathing my babies.”

“But you know what?” Padme continued, wanting to chase the pain out of his eyes. “The very next morning, I heard one of the twins cry and I started to roll out of bed. But then I heard you talking to them and you sang a lullaby with your beautiful voice and you know what I said?”

“What?” Obi-Wan whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks.

She tightened her grip on his jaw, kissing his tears. “I said, oh good. Their father’s taking care of them.” She swallowed. “Luke and Leia may have Anakin’s DNA, but you are their father, through and through. One intrusive thought I had when I was deep in the throes of grief does not take that away and it never will. I love you, Obi-Wan. Our children love you. And even though the circumstances are never what I would have wanted, nothing has made me happier than being here with you and our children. Nothing.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. “Padme,” he moaned, his nose brushing against hers.

“I love you, Obi-Wan,” she murmured against his mouth. “You’re my home.”

“I love you,” he repeated, pulling her closer. “I’ll never grow tired of saying that.”

“I’ll never grow tired of hearing it,” she beamed.

“Padme, I—ow!” Obi-Wan broke the kiss, rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you alright?” she asked, reaching over to inspect his head herself.

“I think I hit my head on this shelf,” he frowned.

Padme snorted. “I can’t believe you’ve been sleeping in this closet for years.”

“In hindsight, it does seem rather foolish, doesn’t it?” Obi-Wan grinned.

Padme’s heart fluttered when she finally saw Obi-Wan’s beautiful smile. “Come on. Let’s head somewhere a little more comfortable . . .”

No-pressure tags: @saradika @obiknights @alabama-metal-man @cypanache @your-dose-of-obidala @justsaysomethingjayj @written-musings @celestial-alignment @darlingamidala

[deady-nightshade]

Cuddling the Slashers HCs 🔪

✨Let’s Snuggle!✨

Slashers Included: Asa Emory (The Collector), Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull), Brahms Heelshire, Thomas Hewitt, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Pinhead, and Billy Lenz 

Warning/Disclaimer: Mentions of sex (nothing graphic), mentions of abuse (physical, emotional, verbal, and sexual), mentions of mental illnesses/disorders, swearing, blood, stitches, biting, slasher stuff, aftercare, stitches, bandages, and tooth-rotting fluff. 

**First time writing for Billy Lenz! Let me know what you think**

**Not Proofread: We will go down with this ship like the adults we are**

Asa Emory (The Collector): 

The only time this man will permit cuddles is when the two of you are in bed going to sleep, or have just had sex. Cuddles, especially after having sex, are usually gentle. He will take that time to inspect any marks that he had made (and after patching/stitching them up), he will hold you close and wait for you to fall asleep. And once you are asleep, he will kiss your face and brush the hair from your face. 

The cuddles are for you, not him. As I’ve started many times, Asa isn’t the biggest fan of touching, so he has tons of limits (when he can/wants to be touched, how he wants to touched, spots that you cannot touch him, and so on), and he will enforce those limits if need be. 

Even though he’s particular with touch, and might straight up deny you at times, there’s a part of him, deep down, that craves touch and affection (but he will never admit this). The only time he actually craves contact and affection is after having a rough day (whether at work or with his collection *cough* Arkin  *cough*. 

Big Spoon vs Little Spoon: Big spoon all the way! It’s a control and dominance thing for him. Don’t even try to pull a fast one on him...he will not hesitate to punish you. But if you’re into that then you go right for it (I won't judge). 

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull):

He loves having you laying on top of him (it doesn’t matter your size!). You are his personal weighted blanket! I picture him laying with his legs slightly parted and you occupying the space that he had made

Loves it when you gently run your fingers up and down his scarred face, especially if you place feather-light kisses on them and whisper sweet words of adoration and love. Now, if you were with him before the accident, it will take time (a lot of time), before he is willing to let you touch his face and see him up close and personal like this. But with patience, understanding, and love, he will slowly open back up. And even though his brain can’t interpret pain signals, the rest of his body can. So if you were to touch his face during healing and shortly after, his blood pressure will go up (and not in a good way), and so on. 

The two of you initiate and receive cuddles equally. And this man will put down whatever he is working on to hold you, and if he can’t for whatever reason, he will pull you onto his lap and continue working. 

Big Spoon vs Little Spoon: Either or. If you are shorter than him (and I mean significantly shorter, like under a foot) he will find your attempts at spooning him adorable. And if you are on the taller side, he will enjoy the feeling of your face buried in his upper back, especially If you press kisses the exposed skin. 

Brahms Heelshire:

Needy boy: He wants and needs to be taken care 24/7! He will demand cuddles at anytime, regardless of what you are in the middle of doing, and if you can't accommodate him right away, he will throw a fit. Just kiss his forehead and whisper in his ear, ‘Later, Brahms. I promise’. Brahms will momentarily freeze, and then be pliant for the rest of the day, allowing you to continue do your chores and whatnot. 

Brahms will cuddle you anywhere: couch, chair, bench, bathtub, bed... wherever, whenever. When the two of you finally do cuddle, this man will situate himself between your legs, rest his head on your chest, wrap his arms around your waist, and proceed to turn into a puddle of goo. 

Good luck getting up. Once you are down, you’re down for the count. The only time you are getting up is when Brahms gets up, and this man will not move. 

Big Spoon vs Little Spoon: Both! Loves any and all cuddles. Position does not matter! Just as long as the two of you are touching and holding one another, he’s on cloud 9. 

Thomas Hewitt: 

What I would give to be hugged by Thomas-fucking-Hewitt! His arms are strong, thick, and so warm! You cannot tell me that he would give some of the most loving and intimate hugs/cuddles. 

Loves holding you whenever and wherever he can. He will hold and cuddle you in front of Luda Mae and on occasion, Monty, but he will not do it in front of Hoyt for obvious reasons, 

When he holds you in his arms, that’s when Thomas truly feels like he is home. Yes, he is always with his family, but with Hoyt’s cruelty and Monty's indifference, sometimes that feeling of home goes away. But with you, he knows he’s loved and treasured. You are his home. 

Big Spoon vs Little Spoon: Thomas is primarily the Big Spoon for two major reasons; one, he loves having you pressed against his chest with his arms holding you tight, and two, he loves being the position of protecting and serving you. If he's had a rough day (due to Hoyt, chasing victims, etc...), Thomas loves being cared and tended by you. When you hold him and take that role of protector, Thomas could cry tears of happiness. You make him feel so safe. 

Bo Sinclair:

This man is a fucking gremlin — he likes to tease and play with you, and he likes making you work for things. Oh, you want to cuddle, best believe that this man is going to unleash hell on you: tickling, biting, spanking, hair pulling, the works! He will only give in if you won against him, so prepared to play dirty and do subliminal flirting. 

The only time he will actually cuddle you (without rough housing), is after you two have had sex. That’s the only time he lets down his tough-guy’s persona. 

And because of his tough-guy persona, he does not like cuddling in high-traffic areas, ie, living room, porch, mechanic shop, etc... He will only cuddle you in the privacy of your shared bedroom and the shower. The only time he will cuddle you in front of someone is when he's jealous or annoyed with his brothers (he likes rubbing their faces in with your guys’ relationship). 

Big Spoon vs Little Spoon: Big Spoon! He is the ‘dominant’ one in the relationship and has very old-fashioned beliefs engrained in his head. On the rare occasion, you can spoon him, but that only happens when he is exhausted or already passed out in bed. 

Vincent Sinclair: 

I want to play with his hair so badly Imagine cuddling him and running your fingers through his long, silky hair! 

Most of your cuddle sessions will occur in the basement, and your shared bedroom. He has no qualms with Lester seeing the two of you being intimate, but it’s a whole other story if Bo were to see. Better safe than sorry.

Loves kissing your face, especially your nose, cheeks and lips. You are his muse and loves seeing your face, even if you have a serious case of bedhead, smeared makeup, and whatnot. You are beauty personified to this man, and he wants to show you how much he loves you by placing tender kisses and caresses to your face.

Big Spoon vs Little Spoon: He has no preference. He loves holding you and being with you in any and every way. If he's had a hard day, he wants nothing more than to lay in your arms and be loved. And Vincent loves serving and protecting you, and that translates to him wrapping his body and arms around you. 

Pinhead (Hell Priest):

The first time you try to cuddle them, you will approach them from behind, causing Pinhead to jump and look down at you in confusion. 

“What are you doing, little human?” 

“I’m cuddling you!” 

Cue a very confused yet intrigued Cenobite. Once he is properly cuddled, this Cenobite will yearn for cuddles. Cenobites do not cuddle — they fuck and maim, so having your arms wrapped around them is a wonderful and welcomed sensation, albeit, a tad bit odd. 

After cuddles have been established in your relationship, they will surprise you by approaching you from behind and wrapping their arms around you. The same way that you cuddled them for the first time. There’s something intimate about holding someone from behind.

Big Spoon vs Little Spoon: Either! It really depends on whether or not their pins have been removed and what position the two of you end up in. I HC them liking it when you lay on their chest, but again, this Cenobite loves to cuddle! 

Billy Lenz:

Oh, boy, this where things get a little complicated....unlike the other slashers on this list, not much is known about Billy, except for the pieces we get here and there when he's talking to the girls on the phone. He was abused, that much is clear, and I believe it was physical, verbal, emotional, and possibly sexually, along with having a mental disorder/illness. And as we know, Billy fell into the cycle of abuse: He was abused and became an abuser to his sister, Agnes. We also know that he did not receive the proper care he needed in order to undo all those years of trauma. 

Dating Billy has its many challenges, but the biggest one is how he sees woman...he hates woman but he lusts them at the same time. Your relationship is going to move at snail’s pace, it needs to, especially when it comes to physical contact. And even when Billy is used to it, there are going to be periods of time where he does not want to be touched, and he might snap at you if you try touching him. He needs your patience and love if he is going to get better (along with intensive therapy and treating his mental illnesses/disorders). 

Now, when it comes to cuddles and cuddling Billy, it’s going to be entirely dependent on his mental state at the moment. Sometimes he will tackle you and demand attention, other times he will hesitantly hold you and physically be there, but he won’t be there mentally. When that happens, just hold him and reassure him, especially if he begins muttering to himself and verbally repeating the words of abuse that he suffered as a child and early teen. 

Big Spoon vs Little Spoon: Both! If he is having a hard time staying present and controlling his emotions and thoughts, please get behind him and hold him, or better yet, pull him onto you so he’s basically laying on you, and ran your hands up and down his back. If he's having a good day, then he might be big spoon. But again, I see the two of you cuddling more face-to-face, with your legs intertwined. 

[olivvesribbons]

Think my bed flirted with me or sum it won’t let me go and holds me in its warm grasp

[crimsonheart01]

End of June (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader)

Author’s Note: It’s my birthday and this is a pure feel good fic. I hope you all love it as much as I loved writing it! I love a sad, broken, boy. Here’s my take on this sad boy having a little slice of happiness.  Word Count: 1.8k Playlist: Watermelon Sugar - Harry Styles Warnings: Slight spice but mostly tooth-rotting fluff.  Disclaimer:  ✨ If you are under 21, please do not interact.✨

“Breathe me in, breathe me out I don't know if I could ever go without I'm just thinking out loud I don't know if I could ever go without” Watermelon Sugar – Harry Styles

The window of her bedroom was propped open, allowing the light summer breeze to waft through. The sheer curtains billowing with the gentle wind. The sweet fragrances of open fields and flowers swirling into the room. They were both laid out in the bed together. Her hands smoothed over his shoulder blades while his traced the planes of her stomach. Their soft murmurs swallowed up in the rustling fabrics. He ducked down, pressing soft kisses to her skin. She sighed at his affections, stretching her whole body out and lifting her hands away from him. She arched her back, pushing her body closer to his mouth while she bent her arms over her head, resting them in the comfort of the pillows.

Her breathing hitched with each caress of his lips. The tip of his tongue running along her side, the contact tickling her in a barely there graze. His name fell from her lips in whispered reverence. He grinned, blowing down the line he licked. Goosebumps raised in its wake, and she let out a breathy laugh. His warm hands wandered the surface of her body, stopping to trace each curve, each scar and each mark. Each location memorized; the unique makeup of her burned into his memory. His mouth ran a course of murmured prayers along her skin. She shivered in anticipation, her legs flexing around him. She pulled one knee up in an effort to cause friction.

She was conflicted. On one hand she wanted to grab him and pull him in closer, but on the other, she was enjoying the slow worship he was enacting. Choosing for a compromise between the two options, she turned into his touch, leaning down and curving into him. He angled his face up to her in response, his eyes hooded and a dreamy smile on his mouth. She grinned at his expression and pressed her lips to the edge of his mouth. When she pulled back, she replaced her lips with her hand, smoothing her thumb along his lower lip. Her eyes tracked the movement, reminding herself how soft his lips were. He caught her thumb with a light nip of his teeth, and she laughed. He winked up at her, then pressed a kiss to the pad of her thumb.

Lifting one of his arms lazily, he laid it across her abdomen before propping himself up on his elbow. She tilted her head down, meeting his gaze. With a flawlessly timed gust of wind, the curtains let the late afternoon sun glisten into the room. The light hit Frankie’s eyes at the perfect angle, causing them to brighten. The ethereal glow of deep brown baring his entire soul to her. Her breath caught in the back of her throat and without taking his eyes of her, he bent down and pressed a lingering kiss to the bottom of her sternum. His nose nudged into her shirt bunched around her breasts.

With strong arms, he lifted himself over her, leaning in to use his nose to draw an outline along her jaw. She gasped with the course of his affections and turned to meet him. She delved her fingers into his hair and surged forward, lining her lips against his. She was drowning in him and didn’t care. If she had it her way, they’d never leave this bed. Not for anything or anyone. He hovered above her, letting his entire body run the length of hers before he dropped down. She moaned lightly into his mouth when his weight pressed her down into the mattress. A welcome heaviness engulfing her. Her safe place.

A bubbling in her stomach broke their haze, snapping them back to reality with equally frustrated and amused chuckles. She laid her hands on his shoulders and with a strong push, she knocked him back and then over into the mess of covers and pillows. He fell into the heap of fabric gracefully, his arms coming around her waist to bring her with him. She let out a squeal at the sensation of free falling until she was nestled comfortably against his chest. They laid there together, breathing each other in, until his stomach made the same protest as hers. With a groan, she planted a kiss to his cheek before untangling herself from him and crawling out of the bed.

He flipped onto his side, letting one arm linger over her until she was out of the bed and his arm was left to fall into the sheets by itself. He propped himself up with an elbow and held his head in his hand as he watched her sway out of the room. She paused at the doorway to send a cheeky wink over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner. A smile grew on his lips, and he lowered himself back down into the down of the blankets. He didn’t think he’d ever find someone like her, but he thanked every god out there that she crossed his path and chose to stay.

                                                       ~(TRF)~

She rummaged through the fridge to grab as many fresh ingredients as she could find. It was too hot for anything heavy, so she opted to chop up all the fruits and veggies instead. She breezed around the kitchen, collecting all required effects, and switched on the radio as she went. She turned the volume dial up higher, letting the music ring out and echo off the acoustics of the high ceilings.

It didn’t take long for him to follow her out into the other room. The sound of his approach dulled by the music filtering down the hall. He leaned against the archway; arms crossed along his bare chest. He grinned as he watched her back while she sliced through the available produce. He couldn’t help as his eyes lingered on her backside, nor the way she had tucked his shirt into her underwear. It draped along the swell of her bottom, giving him a peek of its shape where the fabric bunched up. His gaze tracked each movement she made, enjoying the way her hips swung with the beat of the generic pop song playing.

He was content to standby, not interfering, and watch her. Her entire being lifted him. He was lighter when she was around. She offered him more than he could ever outwardly express. Her spirits tugged at his, bringing him up higher with her. The way she walked cast a renewed spell over him. The way she held herself reminding him of a confidence he’d lost along the way. She was his goddess, breathing life back into him and he was utterly devoted to her.

He watched her fingers pluck a strawberry from the bunch and dip it into the bowl of freshly made whipped cream. She angled herself to the side, having figured out he was loitering and put on a bit of show for him. Her eyes cast to him for a split second before she bit the berry in half and savoured the flavour in her mouth. She swivelled around fully, facing him and grinning. She lifted the leftover half of the berry, offering it to him and he couldn’t help the smile that grew.

He pushed off the frame with fervour and came to meet her in the middle of the kitchen. Instead of taking the fruit from her, he grabbed her hips and spun her around, tucking her against him. Her back lining his chest as he ducked down to nuzzle into the crook of her shoulder. She circled her empty hand around to clutch at the nape of his neck, picking up into a two-step. He moved in time with her, his arms hugging around her middle as they danced. He lifted his head to line it against hers, turning his lips to ghost over her temple. She lightly scratched at the skin of his neck and he growled playfully into her hair.

Wiggling her hips with more purpose, she loosened his grip on her and flipped back around, facing him. His hands fell to her lower back, toying with dropping even lower. He pressed his palms flat against the base of her spine, pulling their lower halves closer together. She leaned back, using her hand cupped around the back of neck as leverage then brought the unfinished strawberry back into view. He smirked down at her as she pressed the sweet fruit against his lips. He opened his mouth, accepting the snack while licking the tips of her fingers before closing his mouth to chew. Her breath came out in staccato at his attentions.

She spotted the tiny drip of juice seeping out of the corner of his mouth. Mesmerized with the motion of his jaw while it worked, she lifted her thumb to his lips and swiped at the corner to gather up the pink liquid there. Without pause, she drew her thumb into her mouth, sucking the sweetness off. His eyes followed her every move, his pupils blowing black as she popped her finger out with an audible pop.  He inhaled deeply before diving forward and capturing her in a searing kiss. Her laugh at his reaction smothered completely.

His hands smoothed down her sides and over her bare thighs before he crouched down an inch and hauled her up into his arms, wrapping both her legs around his middle. She squealed in delight at the lift and tightened her arms around his shoulders. He pulled back, covering her cheeks and neck in heated kisses as he walked her back to the counter. He settled her down comfortably, nipping at her collarbone and situating himself easily between her legs. She released her arms, letting them hang loosely around him but lined her legs against the outside of his. The sensation of his jeans rubbing against her bare skin overwhelming her senses.

He pulled back to look down at her and she let her hands run down his forearms, watching the way his muscles flexed and corded under her touch. She clutched at his arms, the force behind the contact signaling how affected she was by him. He watched as she bit down on her lower lip and peeked up at him through her eyelashes. He smirked, loving the coy expression hiding in plain sight. He winked down at her and reached to his left, dipping his finger into the whipped treat. Her eyes widened as he brought the covered finger up, hovering for her to taste. With a bright smile she grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand to her mouth.

He stared down at her smile, revelling in the emotion exuding out of her. Something about her shifted his focus, his thoughts starting to realign. She wasn’t his cure, but she was helping him to redefine who he was. He wasn’t ready to make any grand statements, but he could channel his feelings into his actions, letting her know how far he’d really fallen. There would come a day when he would be willing to give her the world, but for now in his healing, he was content to give her everything his body could manage.  

[luvwithkawa]

mornings (based on the picture above)

tw: thoughts of walking in the ocean, sad feels, switches from first to third person and past tense to present tense?

here:

I've always been a solitary person. At least that’s what I tell myself; it helps sooth the loneliness. I scroll on social media, shifting through the pictures people post about the fun they have as I lay in bed, tears running down my cheeks, dreading life.  

We used to be so close, my friend and I. but eventually they all leave right? I can only keep up this façade for so long. It's not me that’s changed right? I still remained there, stuck in time as they all moved on.  

The salty wind combed through her hair as she breathed in the ocean's life. It was a chilly morning for the middle of May. She just finished her morning run in the rising sun even though she preferred gazing at the moon. Resting on a rotting bench, she imagined becoming one with ocean. Would it finally soothe her never ending suffering? Would it wash away her worries like bleach washes away blood? She imagined the cool water hitting her skin, the crystal water slowly soaking through her coat.  

Her thoughts were interrupted by a raven-haired boy  

He is wearing a mix of navy and light blue.  

Like the ocean

The boy had his hand on his knees, deep exhales releasing themselves in the form of vapor. He glances towards her and flashes her a glowing smile that left her dumbstruck.  

He pushes himself off his knees and continues running.  

She inhaled again. The wind left a faint smell on him. He smells like summer. He must always smell like summer. The faint particles of sunlight greeting you on a bright Sunday morning, the leaves brushing against each other, the fresh fruits you enjoy on a particularly hot day. That is what he smells like.

a/n: only y/n would find his smile “glowing” 💀 I may or may not edit this post in the future ✨

[the-void-writes]

Hi, excuse me, I would also like to request some good angsty Dante food:3

A tiny scene Sunday snippet for Dante and Vani? Of Dante getting sick? Vani sacrificing himself? 😭🥺

(in the scene, can you give a lil more info about Vani and who he is? A vigilante? :3)

I feel like that's a lot to ask already and I'd feel bad sending words with this 🤣❤️

@bloodlessheirbyjacques ❤️✨🔥

@bloodlessheirbyjacques Dude, I almost cried doing this one. Thank you for all the good prompts 💕💕💕

TW for blood, guns, sickness, and death

Of course, it wouldn’t be the fighting that killed Dante. Outrunning the police, providing for the downtrodden people across the country, doing more good than his stepfather ever could in his life, none of that would be the death of him. His headstone, though likely unmarked, would read “Dante Briggs: Picked up pneumonia from the world’s grossest old man.” All he wanted to do was help the poor fellow across the street, the textbook example of good deeds. Perhaps it was his own fault for ignoring how sickly the man appeared, but if this was what he felt like, he shouldn’t have been out in the first place.

It felt like liquid fire, traveling through every vein and organ. Each shift in the bed set his nerves aflame. Even the light of the moon made his sight grow fuzzy. Long ago, his mother would have fussed over him, making soup out of whatever was left in their rotting fridge and begging around town for medicine. But his mother was far behind him now, along with that wretched stepfather. She was content with supporting the fool’s vile plans for their neighborhood, letting adults and kids alike die in the streets for a billionaire’s comfort. Dante could never have lived with that. He knew things could change, if he just had the right tools. Life had been kind enough to give him Vani, the only man stirring up real change in the world. However, it was starting to seem like Vani’s interests were less about change and more about chaos for the hell of it, as was demonstrated when Vani skipped into the hotel room with a bag of stolen goods.

“We hit the jackpot, doll!”

He kicked the door shut, unaware of how Dante flinched at the sound. Vani was gorgeous, sure, but he was not bright. That was Dante’s job, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it up.

“Vani,” Dante groaned, “those cashiers need money.”

“That kid practically handed everything to me on the way out the door. I think he was a fan, or something. Not to make you jealous, or anything—”

“Vani.”

He tried to blink the tears out of his soft blue eyes. “Goddammit, Danny, what do you want me to do? I can’t take you to a hospital, and I can’t do anything while you’re in this condition.”

“We can do things besides blowing up pools.”

“What, like robbing a bank? Is that what you want now?”

Dante tried to retort, but his words turned to coughs. Vani helped him sit up and gave him the medicine he had taken from the shop. Little specks of blood rested on the sheets, shimmering in the moonlight. Dante’s congested breaths were torturous for Vani to listen to. The one thing he couldn’t get rid of with bombs or guns; the one thing he couldn’t change.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Vani whispered. “I can’t live without you.”

Dante rested his head on his shoulder. “I know… but if I don’t make it—”

“No.” Vani’s voice cracked. “You can’t talk like that.”

“We can’t pretend, Vani.”

“I’ll get you help. Forget the bank, we can get more money from that insurance office downtown. They’re stealing all sorts of crap from their people.”

“Vani—”

“It’ll get us enough money. We’ll pay the doctors to keep quiet and get you better, and then we’ll hit the road again. We’ll find a nice church like you always wanted, and live comfortably for the rest of our lives— for eternity, just like you said.”

“Vani, if we’re taking that much money, it needs to go to the youth center back home. Waller’s gonna tear it down.”

Vani shook his head with a smile. “You and that youth center.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them. They helped me and my mom when no one else would, and most of the kids there now don’t even have moms. Someone needs to be there for them.”

Tears fell down Vani’s face. “If that’s what you want, then we’ll do it. I’ll help you change something for real before you go.”

Dante kissed his cheek. “Thank you, baby.”

“But if you get any worse, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Deal, but I’ll try to fight this off.”

Vani chuckled. “That’s my guy.”

They spent the rest of the night huddled close together, dreading the morning in fear that Dante might not wake up. Each morning that week was spent planning the heist; securing their escape route, maneuvering around the cameras, and making sure to avoid security. The big night finally came, and Dante was already losing his energy as they stood outside of the building. His sense felt heightened, making every touch unbearable. Vani’s dog tags felt ice cold against his chest, and the hand on his shoulder felt like an anvil.

“You sure you can do this, Danny?”

Dante nodded. “Let’s put Waller’s name in the dirt.”

He followed Vani to the back entrance. Even in his delirious state, he had to admire Vani’s skill as he cracked the locks and got them inside. They rushed past security and into the treasury. Money passed from Dante’s hands into a bag, though he barely registered it. Part of him hated taking future paychecks from innocent workers, but the kids in his old neighborhood would die without the youth center, if not from being left on the streets, then from whatever other insane laws Waller would pass. It was for the greater good.

The streetlights outside made the world spin around Dante. He choked back several coughs, the blood and flem only aggravating his throat more. Vani held him steady.

“Do you need to leave?”

“I can do this, I can—”

He stumbled and fell to the floor with a loud THUD. His body felt like it was on fire inside and out. Lights shone from a distant corridor, and Dante felt Vani pull him off the ground. They ran down a staircase and back into the alley. It was pouring down rain, a heavy sensation that made Dante want to puke. Vani let go of him, and when Dante could finally focus, he saw Vani with his gun drawn towards a young security guard, who’s gun shook in his hands. A rookie, some poor kid who definitely lost a bet.

“Stay where you are!” he yelled.

Vani shook his head. “Drop the gun, kid.”

“You’re in no position to make demands.”

“My fiancé is sick, buddy. Do you really want to let him die here?”

Dante wheezed as he spoke. “Vani… I can’t…”

He coughed violently, and the officer whipped his gun over to Dante. His fingers twitched, and the gun went off. Dante braced for the shot, but nothing came to him. Vani stood in front of him, clutching his chest. A dark, wet flower of red spread across his shirt. The officer trembled and cursed to himself as Vani fell to the ground. Dante knelt down and caught him, regardless of how the weight hurt his arms.

“Vani?!”

The bullet had gone deep, and blood mixed with rain water underneath Vani. And yet, he smiled at Dante like nothing was wrong. He fought with the rest of his life to keep speaking.

“It’s okay, Danny. At least, we’ll be together…”

His smile faded, and his hands fell to the wet stone below. He was gone, the only person willing to fight by Dante’s side, the first to love him for all that he was. Dante felt even heavier, the combination of sickness and grief piercing him like a blade. His hand rested on Vani’s gun as the officer continued to freak out.

“I didn’t mean to kill him, sir. I’m sorry—”

Dante used the last of his strength to hold up the gun, firing it until the clip was empty. The officer fell backwards, choking on his own blood, just like Dante was. Sirens rang out in the distance, growing closer and closer. With his energy gone, Dante let himself fall to the pavement beside Vani… and he kept falling for a while. The world was still twisting around him, turning buildings into jagged trees. Finally, Dante’s head hit a bed of grass, knocking him out cold.

Instead of the relief of the darkness, Dante woke up in a hospital. Many doctors surrounded him with bizarre-looking machines. He started to panic, but a hand gently held his shoulder. The sensation wasn’t as painful anymore. Dante looked up at a tall man with long dreads and lots of ornate jewelry. He looked like some kind of jungle warrior, but his smile was serene.

“You are safe now.” His accent was thick. “The Celestials have relieved your physical pain.”

Dante could only squint. “What the fuck are you talking about…”

“You’ve been taken to Paradise. My name is Gazali, and this is my kingdom.”

“You… kidnapped me.”

Gazali shook his head. “Not at all! You were dying, and the Celestials chose to save you.”

Dante clenched his fists. “Did they, now? Where the hell were they when that punk shot my fiancé?”

To his surprise, Gazali started to cry. “I truly am sorry. I know how you feel, losing someone so dear.”

He jumped as Dante lunged towards him and grabbed his throat.

“Bull-fucking-shit! You’re talking about kingdoms and gods! You’re not dying in a bed surrounded by strangers while your boyfriend rots in an alley somewhere!”

The doctors pushed him back down and started sedating him. Gazali massaged his neck and sighed.

“Forgive me, my friend. I wish I had known.”

Dante laid weakly in bed as Gazali and the doctors left one by one to let him rest. Stuck in a hospital, in a place he had never heard of, knowing that the one good thing in his life was gone. His hands closed around Vani’s dog tags, running his finger over the embossed letters like it would somehow accomplish something. Eventually, Dante cried himself to sleep, wishing that he had just died beside his fiancé, together in darkness for all eternity.

[starsandstarving]

✨🌙 I start every morning the same. My alarm clock goes off early telling me to exercise, I ignore it. I curl up and five more minutes becomes too close to when I need to be ready for work and then it's too late to play so I rush and rush around and I'm out the door and it's a mind numbingly boring day of being overwhelmed and overworked and being a fucking doormat so I can keep a job I hate and get stupid paper and stress eating and coming home and bingeing and needing to wind down and not having time to do anything before it's bedtime again. Go to bed. Too wired to sleep too dead to be tired and so I lay there for hours scrolling triggering content and being violently cruel to myself and obsessing over everything I did throughout the day and every miniscule calorie is another failure and I only see laziness and failure. trying to shut everything off but nothing shuts the thoughts out, violent to myself and others in equal measure. My blood sings a song of violence, wicked little thoughts creep in like venom, obsessive in the desire for a violent bloody rebirth. I need to scream but I stay silent and I just wish for death, my own, a strangers. I need to see some blood I want to dig my eyes out and sharpen my teeth to fangs and starve myself to the bone and sharpen my nails to claws and become a beast and disappear deep into the woods where no one can ever find me again . I wanna do hard drugs and go on a spree and if I'm not dreaming of killing myself or murdering others I am creating diets and impossible rules to follow and giving myself no escape from the brutal criticism of my own judgement. And finally I sleep, too late to wake rested unless I skip my exercise and I dream of eating or working and I wake up and ignore my alarm and make excuses and eat breakfast and rush and never stop. And it's endless. What's the fucking point! If I keep up on this track I'll end the year as fat as I started and dead in the bathtub or rotting in a mental hospital because I survived and spilled all my well kept thoughts to a nurse or something. I keep self sabotaging myself over and over and trying to survive my own cruelty on top of other people..... and I have no respite. No end in sight. Just wishing for better later. Tomorrow I will do better I say everyday, but never do, lying to myself forever and until the end. I can't keep doing this. I am so fucking tired.✨🌙