#both of them are NOT night people and are suffering

[jinxsequin]

hiii!!! was wondering if you could write like a modern!au w powder/jinx, maybe them in uni?

ALIGHT ✧.*ೃ

| modern au!powder x fem!reader

| wc: 6.5k

| content/warnings: uni/college au, men dni, brief mention of violence (?) unintentional, fluff, kissing, mentions of anxiety & alcohol, maybe ooc powder, slightly weirdly paced writing, caitvi mentioned (couldn't help myself sorry), reader referred to as a girl, no mention of y/n, r & powder are both losers <3

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

Begrudgingly trekking down to the floors of the flat to escape the deafening sounds of the fire alarm, you joined the others on the field who had actually bothered getting out in the dead of the night for what was definitely the 5th practice alarm of the month. You’d almost not given in, the warmth your blankets had provided you too precious to lose. But the blaring of the alarm was unforgiving, and despite your efforts to block it out, the damage had been done - you were awake. 

You stumbled clumsily onto the field, slippers being your swift choice of footwear was beginning to prove ineffective. The mix of people murmuring in the dark,  complaining, some yawning hit your ears as you struggled to navigate the crowd of bodies. The field being pitch black wasn’t helping, but right as that thought had passed through your head, the blazing rays of a torchlight rendered you blind, the sight actually leaving your eyes for a solid minute. “Hey!,” you croaked out, squinting through the pain to see where it had come from. The culprit jumped in surprise, torch flying out of their hands and hitting the same affected eye with a whack. “OUCH,” was all you were able to yell, a hand instinctively clutched over the affected eye. As if the aching from the first incident hadn’t been enough, the throbbing pain pulsating in your eye now made you sure you were going to wake up with a nasty bruise.

“Oh fuck, I’m SO sorry, oh my god,” the voice of the offender rambled out, hands coming up to your shoulders in panic. Though the pain hadn’t subsided yet, you moved your hands from your eyes, opening them curiously to catch a glimpse of the owner of the voice. Your breath caught in your throat. Bright blue eyes flicked over your face, rosy lips turned down into a concerned frown. Choppy tresses the same colour as her alluring eyes, save for a singular pink streak, framed her freckled face. She was so breathtaking, the predicament you had found yourself in was slowly being forgotten.

“Hello, are you good? Do you need medical help?? Oh god, what have I done?” the panicked rambling forced you back to reality. 

“I’m-It’s fine. It was an accident,” you managed to huff out, her hands sliding away from your shoulder as she stepped back. Her gaze still ran over your face, thoroughly examining you with a guilt-ridden expression. Your right eye was still burning with pain, but you couldn’t even really be that mad at a face like that. Though, you did make a mental note not to ever bother acting accordingly with the fire drill again - leaving your bed had only caused an embarrassing interaction with a very attractive woman. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The girl wasn’t letting go easily, eyebrows drawn in concern as she observed you trying to play it off, admittedly failing. You wished the ground would just open up and swallow you, this whole spectacle reducing you to a mumbling mess.  

“I’m fine,” you forced yourself to speak with a cheer to your voice, facing the girl with a smile you prayed to whatever powers were listening was normal. “Look, doesn’t even hurt anymore,” you pulled your hand away from your face, instantly mentally facepalming for your choice of unconvincing words. The girl raised an eyebrow in incredulity, but nodded reluctantly. “I’m so, so sorry, again.” 

You chose not to speak, opting for a shake of your head and a tiny smile. As if the gods above had decided your suffering was finally enough, the guards of the building had given the green light, announcing it was safe for everyone to finally go back in. You sighed in relief, shuffling as quickly as you could to get back into your bed and pretend this was just a dream. 

Alas, your wish wasn’t granted - when you got in the elevator packed with several other people, who should at the last second sliver through the metal doors but the same blue-haired charmer from before. Her eyes briefly flashed in recognition as she took her spot besides you. Not daring to look, you watched out of the corner of your eye as she looked you up and down, a small smirk on her lips at your bear-covered pyjamas. You closed your eyes abruptly, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Your cheeks burned, and you swore you heard a faint giggle from her as she caught sight of it. Motherfucker. 

As soon as the elevator dinged, you hurried out, your room suddenly not being close enough. You finally reached it, hastily pulling your keys out to unlock the door. 

“Oh hey, would you look at that,” the voice spoke cheerfully. You whipped around to meet the mischievous eyes of the girl standing in front of the room right across from you. “Looks like we’re neighbours, pretty girl!”

Your eyes widened at the boldness of the nickname. “Goodnight,” you uttered simply, pretending to ignore her taunting chuckle in response as you turned around and slammed the door behind you. You crashed onto the bed, throwing off your slippers and burrowing your head in the pillow. That was definitely a dream. 

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

It was most definitely not a dream. The morning after, the remnants of the impact ached, but for the most part you were unscathed. You shook off any distracting thoughts of the girl from last night, setting about having a productive day catching up with university work you’d been procrastinating. It was nearing the end of the afternoon when the knock came on your door. You looked up from your laptop screen, scanning your phone for any texts. None, and when any of your friends came over they always dropped a text beforehand to let you know. Your hands found your temples, massaging to alleviate the aching. Maybe attempting to study with the pain wasn’t the best idea, you thought as you stared hard at the door, as if willing hard enough would make the person behind it go away. It wouldn't - they knocked twice again, slightly louder this time. You sighed in relent and crossed the room, opening the door to whoever was behind. 

And who else was it but the girl who’d plagued your thoughts all night. “You,” you breathed out, staring in surprise. You hadn’t meant to sound so contemptuous, regretting it when the girl’s confident gaze faltered for a second. She quickly recovered, holding up a plate. “Hi. I made cupcakes,” she grinned, gaze steadily scanning your face. 

You stood back, wordlessly inviting her in, not knowing what else to do. She looked around for a place to put them, deciding your desk would do. She turned back to you watching her actions curiously, then moved towards you quickly. You barely held in your yelp of surprise as her cool hands came up to your face, fingers running under the skin underneath your eye. Your eyes fixed on her concentrated gaze, struggling to get any protest out, the proximity striking you dumb. “What are you doing…” you finally stumbled out, voice just a tone above a light whisper. She stepped back abruptly, hands dropping to her sides as she smiled nervously. “Thank god, toots, no damage done. How are you feeling?” 

Your hand briefly ghosted over where her hands had just been. You’d already thoroughly examined the injured area in the mirror the moment you’d woken up, thankfully no mark had been left somehow. You shot her a look as she flopped down onto your bed, looking up at you expectedly. Resigning, you joined her on your bed, facing her. 

“I’m completely fine,” your gaze flicked over to the sweet treat she’d set down on your desk, “thanks for the cupcakes though, you didn’t have to do all that,” replying genuinely. She smiled amusedly, waving a hand as if it was nothing. “Consider it an apology.” You returned her smile, the thoughtful gesture was a complete contradiction of her feigned nonchalance. 

“So what’s all this,” she was holding a page of your dog-eared meticulously taken notes, trying to make out the words scribbled across it. 

You rolled your eyes at her antics, “well I was studying.”

“Oh! What do you study?”

“Psychology,” you answered, shuffling the notes out of her reach, all plans of studying disturbed. “You?”

“Mechanical engineering. Different worlds then, huh?” she mused amusedly, shifting her position so she sat with her shoulder to yours. 

“You could say that,” you replied, still not adjusted to how comfortable she had made herself next to you. The wildly different degrees and schedules answered your question of how you’d never seen her around despite how close she lived. But here she was, dropping into your room like you were best friends, and with cupcakes - not that you were ungrateful, just completely stumped.

She watched you closely, puffing her cheeks and blowing the air out as she figured out her next proposal. “So….what are we doing this evening?”

“We???” you shot back, though your lips curled up despite yourself. 

“Yes, we,” she rolled her eyes lightheartedly, getting off your bed and walking backwards towards the door, “be ready in 15 minutes. Gonna show you the best sight you’ve ever laid your pretty eyes on,” she sang out. 

“I don’t even know your name!” you called out. 

“It’s Powder!” her voice laughed back, voice fading as the door swung shut. You barely had time to process what had just occurred before you remembered the time limit she’d given you, pulling yourself to hurriedly get ready.

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

Ever since the day Powder had, by definition, dropped into your life, you’d become immeasurably close. Despite your slightly rocky start, from the night she’d shown you the hidden rooftop where you could observe the city’s twinkling lights for miles, you’d grown a bond that was undoubtedly unbreakable. 

Of course, it wasn’t immediate. Though you’d absolutely taken a liking to Powder, perhaps even from the moment she’d hit that torch over your eye - putting yourself out there wasn’t really a thing for you. You much preferred to stick to your own small circle of friends, the familiarity calming your nerves. But then Powder had come along, the very picture of candidness, spontaneity and openness - everything so unfamiliar it surprised you how much you craved more when you were apart. Though Powder was never away for too long. 

Thinking back to the first evening you’d hung out, how she had her head thrown back, laughing at something insignificant you’d said. Calming down and nudging your shoulder with hers, so casually throwing out “I think we’re going to be good friends, you know,” watching you as you stared back at her, smiling softly. She’d been so playful the entire evening, wary of your resistance, but you truly felt the genuinity her words conveyed for the first time that night and it set your body alight, enveloping your body in that warm fuzzy feeling you constantly seeked in her absence. If only she knew how open your heart had been towards her from the beginning, regardless of your anxious demeanour. 

You could barely remember a memory from the past six months that didn’t include her somehow, it was as if she’d become entwined with your very being. Library visits, movie nights, exploring a new place in town, concerts, occasional parties, everything was done with you by her side. Contrary to before, you found yourself saying yes to things that you’re sure would have astonished past you. Of course, she never pushed you to do things entirely out of your comfort zone, much preferring cuddling at your side staying in if the two of you weren’t up to something particularly adventurous. Powder was your greatest weakness, it was increasingly hard to do anything but agree with her. And your massive crush on her certainly didn’t ease that impulse. You’d, of course, been aware of that from the moment you laid eyes on her. Many times, you’d fallen victim to the false belief that it didn’t exist anymore, then she simply lean into your personal space with her charming grin and the truth would come crashing down on you once again. You’d reached a point of acceptance now, convincing yourself you were content with how things were. Admittedly, though you’d definitely consider each other your best friends respectively, somewhere the line between friendship and the unknown had become fuddled, and you were currently residing in the limbo that was characterised by fleeting, uncertain tension.

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

Powder lay sprawled out across your head, tossing something - likely one of your poor calico critters - in her hands, throwing it into the air and catching it repeatedly as you worked away at your desk. Summer break closely approaching unfortunately meant an influx of exams, and though Powder had already finished all of hers, you still had one left, the timing particularly cruel as the start of the holidays were only 2 days away, simmering on the horizon.

“When will you be done? I’m getting boooored over here with no attention,” she drawed the words out, haphazardly opening your bedside drawers. 

“The same answer you got when you asked last, you big baby,” you replied, flipping through your textbook. 

“Wrong answer!” Mimicking an incorrect buzzer sound. “C’mon, trinket, you’ve been studying for this one for weeks now. How about you give that brain of yours the rest it deserves?” She remarked, glancing at the back of your head as you exhaled softly. “And I mean that shit, you’ve been muttering study notes in your sleep.”

“I have absolutely not,” you turned around in your chair abruptly, wide-eyed. Powder simply raised an eyebrow in response, teasing grin on her face, and you turned back round, resting your forehead on your hands.

“Okay, you’re right,” you spoke, your voice muffled. “One more page.” Powder huffed at that, but counted it as a win ultimately. 

“Also, I’ve witnessed you, with my own two eyes, do chemistry problems for fun, I don’t wanna hear it,” you teased back, straightening up in your seat. 

“Touché, toots.” She closed the drawer, glancing around the bedroom she’d grown accustomed to curiously, before sitting up and staring at the back of your head again.

“Why haven’t you packed up? Leaving it to the last minute doesn’t sound very much like you,” she asked, face scrunched up in confusion. 

You paused in your seat at that, pen frozen in its place. You didn’t dare turn around for fear of being read instantly, a power Powder had annoyingly acquired very early on into your friendship.

“I’m not going home,” you simply replied, picking up your pen again and hovering it over the page, though your train of thoughts had long dissipated. 

Powder’s question as to why stopped in her throat, the memory of you mentioning your complicated family situation flashing quickly through her head. She simply nodded though your back was still turned, tinged with guilt at bringing up bad memories for you unintentionally. 

“Well, there’s one big final party tomorrow, the night after your exam,” she spoke up again after a few beats of silence, the question hanging in the air.

You turned around to face her, your turn to raise an eyebrow at her lightheartedly.

“Way to end this year with a bang?” she practically pleaded, “I live all the way across the country, this’ll probably be the last thing we do before we come back for next year.”

The thought hadn’t even had the chance to cross your head before this, and hearing it now from her made something in your chest twist a little. The next few months without being attached to Powder at the hip were going to be surreal to say the least, a wave of the imminent loneliness crashing over you as you sat before her now. You managed a small smile, meeting her anticipating gaze. “Sure, Pow.” 

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

To say parties were not your forte was an understatement, but the buzz of the shot you’d taken 10 minutes ago was starting to hit you now as you downed another. Powder had been swept into conversation with a few friends that greeted you cheerfully and roped you into their chat, very familiar with you at this point, but the lack of alcohol in your system was beginning to make you doubtful about being here in the first place. So you’d slithered away, making your way into the kitchen, taking in the surroundings, people packed into every corner, the bass of the music matching the beat of your heart, the bloodstream running through your veins. 

“Sulking in a corner so early in? Can’t have that, toots, can we?” came Powder’s voice, a lilt in her tone as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bringing her face close to yours so you’d hear her over all the noise.

“Are you forgetting I sat an exam this very morning, and still made it here?” you remarked playfully. 

“Oh shit, yeah,” Powder’s expression quickly turned serious, concern flickering over her face though your words had been lighthearted. She hadn’t had a chance to ask about it, getting ready before arriving had only consisted of excited chatter. “How did that go?” 

You shook your head in response, “let’s not,” you whined lightly.

“My brave soldier. I’m proud of you,” Powder’s grin reached her eyes. You made a face at her words though the giggle escaping your throat betrayed you as you picked up a third shot. Powder’s eyes widened slightly. 

“And tipsy already, without me???” she said mock-exasperatedly.

You shrugged slightly. She was exaggerating, she’d taken a couple when you’d first arrived, but the effect hit you a lot sooner than it did her. 

“You were pretty busy over there,” you opted for, and raised the glass to your lips. Powder’s eyes dropped to your mouth for a second before swiftly taking the glass out of your grip, holding it to her own lips and tipping her head back slightly as she drained the glass. That fuzzy feeling intensified as you watched in awe, eyes unblinking as the heat of her shoulder wrapped around you suddenly became too much to bear. 

“Dance?” She abruptly asked, a hint of a light smirk on her lips.

“Dance?” you quizzed back, incredulously, though that glint in her blue eyes told you she was serious, determined to get her way. 

“Oh come on, you won’t refuse me a dance will you, when we’ll be apart for so long,” she replied, a hand draped against her forehead dramatically.

“It’s not like we’re going off to war, Powder,” you shook her head at her antics, smiling widely. 

Powder snorted at your response, before wrapping her hand around yours, squeezing tightly as she led you through the packed crowds of people dancing wildly. 

Settling in your own space, she danced freely, the movements coming to her naturally as just about everything else did, in your eyes at least. You followed her movements, though the combination of alcohol and the heat from the close bodies was slowing you down significantly. The bleary feeling increased as the two of you continued, your head fuzzy from the shots and the loud bass music blaring through the speakers, Powder moving dangerously nearer. Somewhere in the haze, some emotional switch was turned on in your body, your heart twisting and writhing in your chest at the mere thought of being apart from her for just a second. How on earth would you survive months without her? Your movements slowed down to almost a halt as you were caught in a trance, watching as her blue tresses slipped free from her half pinned hairstyle, cheeks flushed, the signature charming grin spreading across her face as she wrapped her arms across your shoulders, pulling you into her. 

The sudden contact broke you out of your haze, nervously chewing at your lower lip as your gaze ran over Powder’s suddenly very fixated stare. Her eyes dropped down to your lips at your involuntary action, staying there for a beat before they looked up to meet yours, though you were mirroring her action, glancing at her rosy lips before darting up to meet her questioning eyes. She held your gaze for what seemed like a painstakingly long amount of time, wordlessly searching for an answer before you nodded desperately. You met her halfway as she closed the distance, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that seemed to speak a thousand unsaid words. You reciprocated immediately, any previous expectation of this moment crumbling away beyond comparison as she tightened her grip on the back of your head, pushing you even deeper into her embrace. When you eventually parted, her eyes immediately met yours, attempting to read you but you wrapped your arms around her hastily, deciding the vulnerability was too much, hiding your face in her shoulder. She held you tighter, the touch a middle ground between intense and tender, all thoughts of the implications and consequences melting away. The way she was holding you made such things feel so insignificant, as if nothing mattered outside of where you were right now.

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

The coloured scenes of Fantastic Mr. Fox reflected off the white walls of Powder’s bedroom as you fixed your gaze on the screen of the TV, currently pressed into her side as her arm lay casually across your shoulders, fingers occasionally lightly tapping your arm, betraying her current nerves. It was the day after the party, and though what had occurred hadn’t been brought up by either of you, the weight of it lingered like a brewing thunderstorm after a heatwave. When you'd got the text from Powder asking you to swing by, you'd paced your bedroom several times, worried that the topic would be what had transpired the nigh before. It wasn't, she had just asked because it was the last night she'd be here, set to leave early the next morning. The air was still charged, you’d both somehow silently agreed to not acknowledge it, you personally attributing a lot of it to the fact that today was the last day before summer break. The bags and half packed suitcase strewn across the floor of the room was a constant reminder of what was looming on the horizon, but you tried your best to ignore the surge of emotion and focus on right now, the feeling of Powder’s arm around you. You felt sick at the thought that no matter how much you both pretended nothing happened, or that it was a drunken, spontaneous action not holding any meaning, that blurry line of your connection had spiralled out of control, and that nothing would ever be quite the same.

The sound of Powder calling your name broke you out of your brain spiral, focusing your attention back on to the movie playing. You hummed in response, assuming it was another observational comment on the movie. 

“Come with me.” You whipped your head away from the screen and turned to Powder, finding her already staring at you, eyes wide with her objective. “Come home with me,” she repeated when you stared in silence.

“Pow, what do you mean? I can’t do-”

“I’ve already talked about it to my family. I don't want you to be here alone for the rest of the holidays,” she quickly cut you off, rambling. 

“You don’t need to pity me, and I don’t want to be a burden,” you replied, heart in your throat. 

Powder shook her head, eyebrows furrowed together. “You’re not a burden,” she replied firmly, “and it’s not pitying. I want you to come home with me.”

The words caught in your throat at her response, the surge of sentiment washing over you at her sheer generosity. “Thank you, Powder. I appreciate this, so much,” you settled, smiling softly though anxiously hoping at the same time she understood how genuine your thankfulness to her was.

Powder breathed out as if in relief, before shooting you a small smile. “I’m so glad.” She paused, laughing at something in her head. “I am gonna have to warn you about my sister though…”

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

The drive back to Powder’s hometown had been pleasant, though long. The music from the stereo played quietly throughout, sometimes you’d pass conversation back and forth but for the most part you watched your surroundings or slept, absolutely exhausted from having stayed up the entire night before, hurriedly packing your things and making rearrangements.

“It’s like you’re moving in,” Powder had remarked teasingly when she saw the amount of stuff you’d packed. 

“It’s called being prepared, we don’t all live as spontaneously as you,” you’d retorted back lightheartedly, while she began loading the bags into the car, insisting she could do it all by herself.

The nerves that had been building along the journey melted away the moment you’d stepped into the home. Vander, Powder’s adoptive dad, had hugged her immediately upon sight as she yelped playfully, her coat not even fully removed. “You’ve gotten taller since I’ve seen you kid,” he jested when he stepped back.

“It’s always the same joke with you every time, old man,” she’d quipped back, biting back the laugh as her gaze shifted to you at the side watching the interaction fondly.  A nervous expression flashed across her face briefly before she took the chance to introduce you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” you finally spoke up, smiling. Vander paused for a second before copying the same action from before, hugging you too. 

“Nice to meet you too, kid.” He tapped your shoulder, smiling. “Heard a lot about ya.”

You finally felt at peace, all worrying thoughts of somehow making a bad impression vanishing the longer you conversed with Vander and Silco, who had joined the three of you for dinner in honour of Powder’s return for the summer break. The best part was being able to watch Powder so at home with them, alternating between serious conversation and jesting. She was so loved and content, the warmth spreading and seeping into your bones, that fuzzy feeling making you feel fulfilled again. 

Once the post-dinner spectacles were over and the exhaustion began to take over, Powder had showed you up to the bedroom you would become familiar with over the break. You were currently going over the funniest moments of the evening, stifling your giggles in fear of waking anyone up as you entered the room. 

“Well, it is a pretty ridiculous story after all,” you laughed as Powder flopped onto the bed, tossing a monkey plushie off the side as she patted the space beside her, beckoning you. You were referring to Silco’s reaction when you were recalling the story of how you’d met and befriended each other, Vander shaking with laughter despite seemingly having heard the story already.

“I think it’s actually more ridiculous how quickly you let it go, actually,” she retaliated. 

“I wasn’t going to,” you replied, playfully punching her shoulder, “I just got…distracted.”

“Distracted, huh?” she hummed as she leaned in closer to you, smirking, “so you’ll just let anyone hit you over the head with a torch as long as they have a pretty face?” 

“Only one,” you shot back, hoping she couldn’t hear how wildly your heart was beating underneath your confidence. 

Powder smiled at your unexpected response, watching as you broke the eye contact, choosing to sweep your eyes across the decorations lining her room. “I thought I’d screwed it up, you know, I’d seen you around a few times before that.” You looked back at her, eyebrows furrowed together as you were about to question what she’d meant, but she shifted on the bed, moving to lay under the duvet cover.

“I’m sorry about this room,” she spoke up, suddenly feeling insecure about her younger self’s taste. 

“Don’t, I love it,” you breathed out, smiling fondly as you gazed at all the sheer amount of decorations and trinkets that lined almost every surface of her room, paper stars dangling from the ceiling, imagining teen Powder adorning the room with them.

She smiled tiredly, lifting the duvet cover so you could join her. “Thank you so much for this again, Powder, you didn’t have to do this,” you said, eyes slowly losing the fight to stay open as you settled under the covers next to her, meeting her gaze. 

“How many times, toots, I wanted to. Besides, I don’t think I would have survived break without you anyway,” she joked, though her grin was genuine. “I thought today might be a lot for you, so I tried to break it up a little,” she huffed out a laugh, though you picked up on her nerves as you listened attentively. “Vi and her girlfriend Cait invited us out tomorrow, though only if you’re okay with that,” she looked to you, gaze shifting from where she’d been fidgeting with her fingers. 

“Powder,” you lay your hand lightly above her fingers, stilling the movement, “I love your family. Of course I’m okay with that.” 

She moved her hand so her fingers were interlaced with yours, squeezing them together. “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

Your pulse was still racing when you laid down later to finally sleep, back faced to Powder’s back in your usual sleeping position. You squeezed your eyes shut as if to will yourself to calm down and actually sleep ahead of tomorrow, Powder on the other side of the bed blissfully unaware of the effect she had on you. 

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

“And I think you’re going to really get along with Cait,” Powder was filling you in on details as you walked into the restaurant. You’d of course heard plenty of stories from Powder before, so none of this was new, but it was endearing how she rambled on in attempts to alleviate any anxious feelings. You simply nodded with a smile in response, watching as her eyes darted around the room, finally landing on the table where they had already taken a seat, waving briefly before turning to you. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you affirmed, welcoming the feeling of her hand wrapping around yours as you strolled towards the table. You watched as Powder greeted the two and vice versa, before their gazes shifted to you inquisitively. You introduced yourself, shaking your hand over the table as you and Powder took your seats across them. You passed conversation as you waited, already deciding you really liked them as the waiter made their way to the table.

“Well, it is certainly nice finally meeting the girlfriend, we’ve been convinced Powder was like, gatekeeping you from everybody or something,” Vi snorted as she raised her glass slightly. 

Cait’s head whipped to the side to shoot Vi a sharp look as Powder melted into a mess beside you, though you hadn't noticed a single thing, your hearing having left you after the word ‘girlfriend’. You tried your best to compose yourself, you’d been midway through a sip of your drink when Vi had unexpectedly piped up, the choking sound that had left your mouth particularly undignified - and you were now miserably aware of the waiter to the side cluelessly asking you if you were ready to order. Powder glanced at you, then pointed at two random things on the menu in despair, words similarly failing her.

Vi watched the scene in confusion, eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment as Cait took over the ordering before turning back to you with an entertained grin. The look on Vi's face was so similar to Powder’s, it took everything in you to hold back from bursting into laughter at the comparison.

“In other words, we’re both very glad to meet you. Any friend of Powder’s is a friend of yours,” she spoke genuinely. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, I’ve heard so much about you both,” you smiled back. 

“All good things, I hope!” Vi finally chimed in. You simply shrugged playfully in response, though you swore you heard Powder mutter something about ‘not after this’ under her breath. 

You waited for a pause in the conversation before leaning closer to Powder, letting her know you were just going to the bathroom quickly. She nodded, getting up so you could make your way out. She gripped your wrist just as you were about to leave, making you turn back to look at her questioningly. 

“Please, don’t leave me with them for too long,” she whispered desperately. You snickered lightly in response, promising you wouldn’t before leaving. 

“For their sake,” she added under her breath as she sat back in her seat, shooting a scowl at Vi across the table.

“What the fuck was that about before??” Vi blurted out, gaze alternating between Cait and Powder confusedly.

“She hasn’t asked that question yet,” Caitlyn responded, amused as she watched Powder groan frustratedly into her hands. 

“WHAT? Are you kidding? How??” Vi shot out exasperatedly. 

“They haven’t talked about it yet,” Caitlyn replied, a giggle escaping her lips as the sheer ridiculousness of the conversation. 

“Yes, we don’t all move as fast as you guys,” Powder snarked, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Okay, that’s nonsense - you said you were going to ask for her number before you ended up hitting her eye,” Caitlyn teased in retaliation. 

“I told you that in confidence!”

“You told us you both already kissed too!” 

“Hold on, hold on, there’s way too much too much to unpack here,” Vi clutched at her head, “and why do you know way more than me about this?” She turned to Caitlyn quizzically. 

“Right, stalker,” Powder narrowed her eyes playfully. 

“I prefer observant,” she shrugged, before pointing a finger at Powder, “besides, you told me all this over call plenty of times.”

“You just had to open your mouth, sis,” Powder huffed out, though there was no bite in her voice as she shot Vi her 100th glare.

“Put it this way, Pow, I just made things a whole lot easier for you,” Vi smirked as Powder looked around the restaurant, eyes landing on you as you emerged and began to walk back to the table. 

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

“Are you kidding?? That’s so many plans, I’m barely going to have you to myself at this point,” Powder grumbled playfully, laying her head on your shoulder as you both sat propped up against her pillows. Caitlyn and Vi had made an array of plans to hang out over the summer, you’d hit it off very successfully with them and the thought of winning the approval of Powder’s loved ones warmed your chest as you chuckled at her protest.

“You’re going to be there for all of them, Pow,” you rolled your eyes as you shook your head. 

“This was their plan all along, trust me,” Powder sighed though she was smiling too as her gaze fixated on your face. She was similarly delighted at how well you’d all got along, her heart warming at the thought. You continued your idle chatter, both waiting for the sleepiness to wash over you. 

“And Vi totally cheated in that last round - there’s no way she got a strike all of a sudden,” Powder snickered, still salty over the two of you losing to Cait and Vi in your impromptu bowling game. 

“Sure, Pow,” you giggled, “we’ll get ‘em next time,” you said, stifling a small yawn. Powder’s eyes flickered at the action, pulling your arm to lay down properly. 

“That’s enough, toots, time to sleep!”

“I’m not tired, I wanted to talk more,” you whined sleepily, though you let her tug you down next to her. 

“As much as I want to, we have all the time to do that. You need to sleep right now, I have more stuff planned for us tomorrow and I don’t want you to be grumpy for it,” she smiled amusedly as she faced you, lying down. You pouted mockingly in response, her simply tapping your cheek lightly before turning around. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, giving in as you turned around too. The events of the evening ran back through your head as you closed your eyes. Your mind drifted off to the fiasco before you left the table, her memory lighting up the bulb in your head as you’d almost completely forgotten it. You stifled a giggle, reminiscing as you heard Powder’s soft breathing from behind you. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” you spoke quietly into the silence, unable to hold yourself back. You’d said it teasingly, not expecting a response - and it didn’t look like you were going to get one, taking the silence as an indication that the girl beside you had already fallen asleep. You froze as the sheets ruffled as Powder sat up in the bed, looking down at you wordlessly. You mimicked her movement, sitting up next to her as you turned to face her. You were expecting a smirk, her usual confident steady gaze, anything but the vulnerable, anxious look painting her face as she fought herself to keep eye contact with you. 

“I was going to ask you soon, I swear, I just didn’t know if you felt the same, but then we kissed but we didn’t talk about it and-” she rambled breathlessly, words spewing out uncontrollably. Your hand placed on her cheek stopped her train of thoughts briefly, gaze dropping from your hand back to your eyes. Your face flushed furiously, the beat of your heart threatening to spin out of your chest altogether as you nodded slightly. 

“I wanted to kiss you long before that, I just wasn’t sure…” she carried on, words stumbling out now. 

“Powder,” you stopped her going on another anxious rant, her eyes fixated on you as you spoke, “I’ve felt the same since the first time we met,” you confessed softly. 

“I’ve been plotting on you since I first laid eyes on you,” Powder managed out, grinning back at you. Her gaze flitted between your lips and your eyes as you leaned in closer to her apprehensively. 

“Are you going to stop talking and kiss me already?” you laughed, teasing. 

Powder didn’t waste a second before closing the remaining distance between you, her soft lips working against yours as if they’d been made for this very purpose, smiling into the kiss as you tugged her closer by the hand still cupping her face. She snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against her as she deepened the kiss. The first time had been great, but God if this didn’t feel a thousand times better, unrestricted, the uncertainty and intolerable tension vanquished - and both of your feelings reciprocated. It set your very insides alight as you pulled back for air, briefly, before you were pulled back in, Powder pressing kiss after kiss to your lips as if to make up for lost time. It was much later in the night when you lay down to finally sleep, Powder’s heart steadily beating pressed to your back as her arms held you tight, close to her. She pressed a sleepy final kiss to the crown of her head before finally closing her eyes, content enough to stay like this forever with you in her hold. As you were both finally drifting off, she suddenly opened her eyes, as if remembering something urgent. 

“I didn’t even ask the question!”

You snorted, turning around in her arms to press a kiss to her cheek. “Yes, I will be your girlfriend, you absolute dork.”

✧.*ೃ⁀➷

a/n: first req done !! hopefully met your expectations though this was definitely supposed to be a drabble i just got entirely carried away <3 also wrote this when i have two exams to be studying for (guess my degree!) calico critters are actually called sylvanian families in europe, but i figured barely anyone would know what i was talking abt 😭 anyways enjoy, pls let me know ur thoughts and feel free to send more requests ♡

(gifs by cafekitsune)

[carlsangel]

CARL GRIMES HEADCANONS (pt. 4)

( MODERN AU! for any general reader, takes place in the 2010s if he was in highschool…guys idk save me.)

tags: nsfw mention (no details), fluff?

masterlist here!

read ghost in the woods here!

✦first of all, you’d meet later in highschool , probably senior year, so initially you two had some shared class together, you’d definitely both be really good at it as well, probably an english or math class. he’s quite smart because he was always sort of raised to prioritize things well, mostly because he knew he’d have time for his interests once he was done.

✦that being said, he’d definitely finish his work early and pull out a gameboy and just play on it till the class was over but you definitely took notice and sort of bonded with him over it. formed some inside jokes etc. you’d see notice him around school a lot more often after that and made a point to start to hang around him and he definitely did the same because he does that with people he has a liking to.

✦hed start inviting you over after school to hang out and each time he did this it started with playing on some console he had so he could show you how to play his favorite games so you could play with him. as time goes on and the two of you got closer, you’d end up starting to develop feelings and you’d have your first kiss on one of these occasions.

✦you’d start dating and you became a regular at the Grimes residence, his mom obviously would adore you and his father wouldn’t see you till dinner but you still bonded with him over simple things.

✦ highschool for carl became to be more about you and less about the academics. he still was really good at school but you were pretty much the only reason he went. he went to school events only if you went and if you didn’t he didn’t see the point in going. that basically means if the event isn’t more fun than making out with you on his bed (which it never is), he wasn’t going.

✦ anywayyyy a lot of the time your days looked like this: you’d meet carl at his house in the morning and you’d go to school together after having a breakfast Lori prepared for you. after that you’d just go to school and suffer through your classes until you got to meet carl and eat with him in the library for lunch. then you’d go through a couple more classes, some you’d share with him which made it go by quicker. finally after school you’d walk to the store nearby the school.

✦at the store you’d get some snacks like chips and chocolate bars, occasionally a comic if you could find them, it honestly depends on the day. you’d walk home eating your candy which you’d regret when you got home since you felt you should’ve saved it. you then get home and sit in carls room on the floor and watch whatever game he plays, rotating the controller back and forth.

✦once you had enough of that and felt it was time to relieve some tension, you’d probably fool around. Whether you made out or possibly had sex depending on the day, you’d do it rather quickly because you knew what time Lori would be home and you wanted to fit something in before she’d gotten there. you’d cuddle for a bit and let me tell you that guy is obsessed with breaking bad. so you’d watch that for a bit before Lori got home and began making dinner.

✦at that point you’d just sit at the counter with him while his mom cooked, just to chat about your guys’ days and do homework simultaneously. after dinner you’d return home. some days you’ll go to your house though which tended to be a bit different.

✦at your house, after coming home from school you’d nap immediately but that’s because carl is obsessed with your bed. it’s extremely comfortable to him and he can’t resist falling asleep in it. you never got the hype since you sleep in it every night so you’d sit there and comb your fingers through his long hair till you fell asleep as well. at some point at your house he’d mess around with your animals.

✦he’d also mess with your trinkets, he loves your trinkets which he also loves to give you. a lot of your trinkets on your shelves are from him since he gets you them for fun or for special occasions.

✦also i forgot to mention you’re like one of his only close friends, he definitely has like one or two super close friends but you’re like a bestfriend and a partner at the same time so you’re like who he spends time with most. that being said he doesn’t really interact with people much at school or outside of it if he’s with you. he’s very nice and sorta known since his dads the sheriff but still he’s sort of reserved sometimes but also not?

a/n: so so sorry for my absence, i thought id write some hcs and throw them at you because why not!!!! okay i love you guys so much and i hope to write some more soon. BYEEE I LOVE YOU!!!

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow

[loving-family-poll]

Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 3

Propaganda under the cut

Anna/Elsa:

THE juggernaut Frozen ship, and I will never forget our glory days!! Anna's act of true love canonically saving Elsa, and then them having a bunch of children from Elsa's sneezes in the Frozen short… Iconic. They will ALWAYS be the most important thing in each other's lives (remember the time Kristoff was trying to propose to Anna, and she was like "Hmm did you see how Elsa was acting weird? I need to go investigate")

Staple for the incest and yuri fandom of the 2010s. Ridiculously romantic storyline of having the kind of true love that's stuff of legends, capable of trumping fear and breaking curses. They are willing to sacrifice anything for each other and we even have a dumbfounded person looking at how beautiful the other is atop of the stairs. Olaf is their baby I guess.

In their attempt to pander to homophobic fans and make a movie about sisterly love instead of lesbians, Disney accidentally made the most beautiful incestuous love story of all time. I just KNOW they were fantasizing about each other while Elsa was locked in her room for all those years. Yes, it's supposed to be a family-friendly princess movie. True sickos know that that's the point.

Elsa and Anna. Two sisters who are separated for thirteen years and yet those thirteen years only entangle them deeper – Anna haunting Elsa because Elsa will not let herself forget the night of the accident, holding Anna close as a child and sobbing… Elsa’s whole life after that moment defined by that moment, defined by protecting Anna and keeping her distance from Anna while yearning to be near to her as the years go by… Elsa sacrificing her everything in the desperate hope that Anna will be safe… If “love is putting someone else’s needs before yours,” then Elsa does that over and over for thirteen years even as she suffers from wanting all the time to be with her sister… – Elsa haunting Anna because Anna is separated from her sister but does not know why, separated from her sister but longing for her sister – and to both of them, the thought of the other becomes something to worship – until Anna gives her life to throw herself before Elsa and stop the falling sword – until Elsa can finally, finally touch Anna again but now Anna is frozen to solid ice, so the only thing Elsa can touch is the reminder that she killed the person she loves most in this world. And then Anna thaws and they cling to each other, united by love – by a desperate, all-consuming, true love that thaws Arendelle around them – and they still carry the thousand wounds from their childhood but they have each other, they love each other, they are in each other’s arms.

I cannot stress enough how intense the film’s focus on touch makes things for incest shippers. Not only are the sister’s separated, but Elsa cannot touch Anna skin to skin, must always wear the gloves, must always keep a barrier between herself and the one she most longs to hold, to touch. Imagine the exhilaration of that first embrace on the fjord. Being able to touch without fear for the first time in years. Imagine the relief.

I also want to cite this, from an anonymous submission to a headcanon blog:

"However, since protecting Anna also required her to stay away from Anna at all times, Anna became sacred, in a sense: something fragile and special to be watched over but never touched or spoken to. She would come to love Anna in much the same way people come to love religious icons: Anna had always been there and had never been there. She loved Elsa and did not know Elsa. She was warm and kind and dedicated and was under no circumstances to be tainted with Elsa’s presence unless she kept the tightest possible control over herself."

That fear of destroying Anna, of corrupting Anna by touching her, of letting loose the repressed part of herself - all of it comes together so exquisitely for an incest ship.

And after they rediscover each other, in Frozen 2? Their bond remains just as intense. The last word on Elsa’s lips before freezing is Anna’s name. Anna, when she realizes Elsa’s “death,” sings a heartbreaking song that includes the lyrics:

“I can't find my direction, I'm all alone The only star that guided me was you How to rise from the floor When it's not you I'm rising for?”

Their pain is born of their love, and their love for each other drives them both forward."

Gerard/Mikey:

brothers from new jersey. grew up spending a lot of their time together in the basement. we've all heard of flowers in the attic time for flowers in the basement. disgustingly in each other's space constantly. weird offputting freaks you met at a house party or basement show once. they share dawn of the dead in their list of favorite movies which i think is just kind of cute.

went to a smashing pumpkins concert together and decided being in a band is what they wanted out of life.

became the vocalist and the bassist for one of the most influential emo bands of the 2000s. as with any band that tours, especially in early days when you're not that popular, just a lot of room sharing and being noticeably in each other's space. people also consistently joking that they can read each other's minds.

gerard wrote "brother" about mikey and it's suspiciously close to another song he wrote ("summertime") which is straight up one of the most heartwrenching love songs mcr has ever come up with which is really really saying something. not to downplay brother either, because its pretty crazy. actually im just submitting summertime and brother as propaganda.

gerard has, on stage: licked mikey's nipple, pantomimed giving him a handjob, and generally groped him.

my personal favorite is the time gerard had to physically pick up and move mikey to keep him from getting set on fire from stage pyrotechnics.

they also look nothing like each other until they really really do which isn't exactly propaganda so much as porn material. you put glasses on gerard or take glasses off mikey and get them looking the same way and they look literally like the same person

in an interview gerard described teenage mikey as ‘wearing tight, black clothes’, ‘looking like a hooker’, and ‘looking like a piece of chicken’

gerard has gotten up close and personal with mikey during performances of destroya (a song in which 90% of the lyrical content is him moaning) to the point where during a performance one of their bandmates yelled ‘get away from your brother’ at him

gerard also ran a hand through mikey’s sweaty, sweaty hair and along his jaw, then licked it

gerard has written frequently about incest, and when asked which of his characters he related to the most said one who was in love with her brother

gerard is into lots of strange stuff (vomit, piss, inflation, potentially guro) it really would not be a stretch for him to be into incest

This Gif (https://www.tumblr.com/gerardcest/764335264300744704/why-does-he-touch-his-brother-like-that?source=share)

[tactical-jellyfish]

Watcher 1-1

Part Nine

Warnings!: The 141 will be criminally stupid, fumblers, all of them. Death (canon-typical), Violence (canon-typical), loss of limb (I will cover the symptoms as well as possible, but any and all corrections are welcome) They do get kissy, but no smut (that I'm writing, but it's very much implied).

There is something special about the barracks room you share with a man named Keegan Russ.

It doesn't lie in the construction, nor in the beds or how they're both unfortunately twin-size with terrible mattresses. It is so special to you because it is the very first space you've peacefully shared with someone you can comfortably admit to trusting.

Sure, temporarily, you're shared a room with Soap. Shortly before the... incident, you'd spent a good chunk of your time with Gaz. Still, you never quite felt like it was yours as much as it was his.

Back then, it had been something purely sensical. Of course the room didn't feel like it was yours, you've been here less than six months. Looking back, that feeling stung a good dose more.

It was a lucky night, in that neither you nor Keegan had suffered a nightmare. That just meant the thing to wake you was his alarm, blaring directly in your ear because Keegan always stole the part of the bed closest to the wall. You always let him have it.

The first thing you do is tiredly grab the bottle of lotion from the small nightstand, and sit yourself on the bed's edge, dispensing just enough into the warped, burned flesh of your palm.

If someone told you four years ago that you'd have to moisturize your stump first thing in the morning because it got dry overnight, you would have given them a really weird look.

Still, it's that motion that draws your favorite American to wakefulness. Every last time.

"Mhhngh, wh- oh."

Most of the time, Keegan just watches you get yourself ready. He'll pass you the compression "sock" that covers the stump that used to be your leg, gently kiss at your neck as you slip on your leg.

He used to talk more, but the quiet is good, too. It's simpler, and you struggle to speak in the mornings. Some complication or other, you're not sure. Smoke inhalation, you remember someone bringing up, in the early days.

Still, you can feel him shift behind you as you grab your prosthetic, and you feel two thick arms wrapping around your waist as he gently pecks your cheek, feels up on one of the few non-marred parts of your body.

"Hello to you too, Keegan."

The chuckle he gives you is worth the strain to your throat, and you can feel his cheeks rounding with a smile against the column of your throat.

There's a grateful hum that quickly turns into a soft grumble of annoyance as you rise on foot and fake limb, the younger still shrouded with blankets and drowsy. You've become accustomed to this.

"Already?"

"Yup."

Keegan groans again, but catches your hand in his own when you offer it, and hauls himself out of bed, rubbing the sleepy crust from the corners of his eyes and reaching to his clothes for the day.

"Thanks, Newton."

Your call sign drives a snort from you, and Keegan smiles when he hears it, though he doesn't react further, and a comfortable silence–broken on occasion by the soft rustling of clothes–settles between these sacred walls.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of course, there are many parts to a morning, Keegan is not the only person you see anymore.

No, you do have people you... tolerate, now.

Maybe tolerate sounds rude. You do like Hesh and Logan, but in the mornings the younger really does test you.

At the very least, Keegan is the one who receives the brunt of that energy, as Hesh passes you the coffee.

"Real sweet, David, thank you."

The way the corners of his lips twitch up is enough to make you smile, too, and lean forward enough to press a little peck to his cheek.

It's always good to make sure everyone's in order before travel. You learned that from Sarah, and she'd hate to see you not living up to that.

Granted, she'll only be on the other side of the pond for another few hours, at the very most.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe the only person you can admit to missing from your old task force is Nikolai.

The big Russian is someone you were only granted the honor of meeting once or twice, but he'd also never been a person that's entirely defied everything you were supposed to know about them.

Your last text from Nikolai isn't a scalding "fuck you". No, that's Soap. Bitch.

The slightly angered reverie is broken by Logan, with a strong, slightly knobby hand on your shoulder. Just a short tap, to bring you back into it.

You'll give him the credit, he knows how to handle people. Sometimes even Keegan misses a slip that's quiet like that.

"I'm here, kid."

He offers a lopsided smile at the curt response, goading you into giving him just a little more, Newton, c'mon. You humor him, this time.

"Thank you, Sergeant Walker, I commend your work for this team's morale."

You can't believe you ever used to confuse the brothers, when you watch Logan beam and puff his chest up a little at the lightest praise. Youngest child, to the very end of the line.

His mother must have been a hell of a woman, if Hesh was right about Logan being just like she used to be.

That tender thought must make you smile just a bit too wide, because he leans forward, and taps you on your nose.

"Told you I would get you to smile by the end of my first year."

"That-" He's pulling you into his traps, you almost said it didn't count. Why in god's name does Logan do to make everyone horse around like school-kids? No rational team would take this seriously "Fine, you win, Walker. Enjoy it."

He does, right up until the copper starts to land. This time, on British soil.

Your thanks are met with a phrase you can't quite parse, but you give the pilot a firm nod anyway.

Today's been good to you, even if the change in pressure has caused the phantom pain to spike. You take a moment longer to savor it before the second shoe drops.

Keegan's right there behind you, one more time, pressing his masked face into your neck so you know precisely who it is.

"You know we'll all have you, right?"

You take a second to take a breath, hand settled on the door of the helicopter, still hesitating just a little.

"Affirmative."

The second thing he says comes in a whisper, intended for only your ears, from your very favorite nurse. Your person.

"They like you just like I do. Everyone's got you, and I love you."

Those words used to make you cry. This time, they make you nod, and push the door open.

"Good choice of words, Russ. We can discuss that later."

There will be no discussion that happens later. It will be much closer to an act of fraternization, and you both know this. You know he knows this because Keegan's bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

Still, your foot hits the floor, narrowly followed the running blade, and you give the men before you a deeply unimpressed look.

"Hello, Task Force 141."

Is it a purposeful disrespect to not greet your former captain by his name? They can't prove that.

Still, unless you've forgotten to count, there's one more soldier than there used to be.

"...And company. I didn't think you'd find new... backup so soon."

You hide nothing. Not as you look at who must undoubtedly be your replacement. Masculine-presenting, masked and he's... glued two little wires to his helmet.

What a fucking joke. They almost did you a favor by transferring you out, really.

"Firecracker?-"

Johnny is cut off firmly by you before he can finish, a tone that almost borders on reprimand.

"My callsign is Newton, MacTavish. I don't use anything unapproved."

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

[fablesuntold]

@musingmemories

How long were they going to go around in circles and wager the same war with this tiresome blame game? It was becoming tedious to play the part of a scapegoat for everyone else’s misguided actions. Just like he wasn’t to blame for people greedily lapping up the first sniff of something good when investing in Coin they barely knew anything about, he wasn’t to blame that their recent vote to stay or leave had swayed in the O’s favour to stay. And to hear her hint otherwise was a low blow even for her. How much blame could a man be expected to shoulder in this cesspool world full of imbeciles? They were all here to play the games. All here to win money and clear whatever debt loomed over their heads like a guillotine ready to drop. So why stop playing now when they were already in the midst of things? That was his thought process, as selfish as it may have seemed to some. It made perfect sense in his head.

“You can’t keep blaming me for everything wrong in your life. It’s not fair. I wasn’t the only one who pressed O and you know it. You’re just..” Angry. Hurt. And she had every right to be. They could both argue until they were blue in the face just like they had in the past, but now wasn’t the time for it. Not while in such close quarters to other players who could easily use their jaded relationship to their advantage if the opportunity presented itself.

Instead of finishing his sentence, and choosing to ignore her goading question of why he suddenly cared now when in the past he’d acted like the baby didn’t exist, Myung-gi gently shushed her while hesitantly perching himself on the edge of her bed despite the air of animosity still hanging thickly between them. “Regardless of what you might think of me now, I still do care about you. I don’t like watching you suffer, Jun-hee. So can we please be civil for one night?” Whispered once his hand settled against the round of her stomach, he practically felt his breath catch in the back of his throat. Maybe if their circumstances had turned out differently and he they hadn’t lost all of their money, they’d be one big happy family. But then again, maybe not. Myung-gi would never be able to change his ways even if he tried; money and popularity were the only things that mattered to him. Being a parent? It changed a person’s identity completely, didn’t it?

Still.. the what if of it all played in his mind.

Without realising, his gaze had dropped to where his palm had absentmindedly began to rub slow circles on the petite bump in hopes to soothe away her pain. Was he actually helping in any way? It was hard to tell, and he highly doubted Jun-hee would indicate that he was, or thank him for his efforts at least— not that he expected her to. He didn’t deserve anything from her, especially not her gratitude.

Swallowing thickly, the next words that escaped his lips surprised even himself. “Is it a boy or a girl? Or.. do you not know the gender yet?” A thought meant to remain unspoken, blurted out in the spur of the moment. “I know sometimes people have a feeling of what it could be.” While he knew he had no right to ask, it was more curiousity to than anything.. or at least that’s what he had to keep telling himself as his mind began to wonder. What would their baby look like? Would it have Jun-hee’s innocent doe-eyes and naturally pouty lips, or would it have his cute button nose and dimples? Whatever their appearance.. he hoped they turned out to be kind and caring like their mother.

Not too self-absorbed to the point of showing nonchalance to the people around him like he was so often described.

It wasn’t like he was going to be there to watch them grow up anyhow, by choice or not if the games spared him. Him and Jun-hee? There was simply no way back for them. Scorned lovers who would never find any real common ground again with everything that happened between them. And maybe that was for the best. They were toxic together. A recipe for disaster. No baby deserved to grow up in a household like that.

@musingmemories

‘I wouldn’t have this condition if it weren’t for you.’ Wasn’t that the cold hard truth? But just like the swift decline of his subscriber’s cash, this too, he refused to take full accountability for despite her best efforts trying to get him to own up. After all, it took two to tango.

“In case you’ve forgotten, we agreed to get rid of it, and you didn’t do that. You made that choice on your own. It’s your own fault that you’re still pregnant and—“ Biting his tongue in order to cut himself off before a full on row broke out between them, Myung-gi allowed himself a moment to take a breather. Was keeping the baby her way of spiting him..? Of taking back power? It was easy to get overwhelmed in a situation like this, it wasn’t exactly ideal for either of them, and far from the reunion he pictured they’d have if they ever crossed paths again. But they were here now, weren’t they? Stuck in this nightmare together. Baby or no baby, arguing about who was to blame for the past wasn’t going to help anything. If they wanted to get through these games and bag themselves enough money to finally bring some stability back into their shitty lives, this wasn’t the right path to take.

They were a team once.. why couldn’t they set aside their differences and be that again? But quite naturally.. Jun-hee wasn’t finished saying her piece just yet— apparently triggered by his poor choice of wording.. a common theme for him, accidentally provoking with his no brain to mouth filter.

“Jun-hee.” Her name a whispered warning to lower her voice, paired with a quick glance around at the bunks either side of theirs to check for nosy eavesdroppers, widened eyes shifted back to hers to find that the usual Bambi-like stare had changed into a frosty glower as he spoke again. “I don’t know!? Surely there’s.. help out there for people like you. Maybe there’s shelters that can help? You could’ve— could’ve..” Could’ve what? She was right. How on Earth was she supposed to find the money elsewhere? Shelters weren’t a long-term solution and once she’d overstayed her temporary welcome there, what then? While they weren’t on the best of terms with each other, Myung-gi didn’t want to see her end up on the streets. Not because of him.

‘Give me my answer now so I don’t have to wait around for you when I can go home.’ Never before had a single sentence made his heart plummet as much as that one had, evident in how quickly his head turned to avert his gaze to look at anything but her— a metaphorical slap to the face, or so it felt like. Did that mean.. she didn’t want to know him once they got out of here? It sure sounded that way. But he supposed that was fair and all, and he owed her an answer regardless. Closure was the least he could give her after everything. He needed to face the music for once.

However just as he’d been about to give her the straight answer she desired, one glance back at her had Myung-gi stammering to a halt before the words could even fight their way out from where they’d been lodged in the back of his throat.

Noticing the way her expression had shifted from that of disappointment to.. discomfort? He instinctively leaned up on his elbows to get a better look at her. Surely it wasn’t time already, was it? No.. no, it couldn’t be. Or was she really that far along..? “H-Hey, all this stress isn’t good for you or the.. baby. I told you, we really shouldn’t be talking about this here.” Excuse after excuse, maybe.. but honestly, Myung-gi really was concerned for her health despite the aloofness he’d shown her in the past. “Does your stomach hurt? Is there anything I can do?” Without realising it, he’d already scooted his way over to the edge of his bed, bare feet padding against the cold flooring to work his way over to hers.

While he wasn’t going to win ‘best boyfriend of the year’ or ‘best dad’ for that matter, that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be here for her now when she needed someone. Lingering somewhat awkwardly at the side of her bed, eyes trained down on the thin cotton sheet barely concealing her abdomen, it was difficult for him not to feel somewhat anxious. “Can I..?” Reaching out until his hand was hovering just above her stomach but not quite touching, Myung-gi waited with bated breath for permission.. a first step, one might say, to meeting his child for the first time.

[treef-greef]

[oddogoblino]

I don't think I've said it before but despite my absolute adoration for s*n*d*w, I genuinely enjoy just any depictions of Sonic and Shadow that's not just "grrr I hate you an unreasonably high amount". I love when people depict them just getting along in general.

Them having cool down moments where they maybe make fun of each other and quietly bicker about who won their last battle, them just enjoying a carnival or festival and deciding to compete on who can win the most games there, or just smth simple as them just enjoying the same sky together.

And it can be platonic or romantic idrc. Ofc I love the romantic interpretation more noticeably but I just love their more friendly-ish dynamic in general. I'm losing words to describe what I mean but I hope I got my point across.

[vaguely-concerned]

god but gideon really is just malcolm graves if graves met tf for the first time after he came out of prison so there wasn't the whole feeling of intense betrayal and psychosexually charged rage along with the homoerotic under/overtones huh

[maramcna]

I've been very jack & hsr rotating around in my head but I suddenly remembered riliane & allen and I got sad over tragic twins

[hollow-vok]

Ohh im obssesed

[moth-mart]

"I need them to die in eachothers arms and for it to mean something" then proceeded to make a terrible. horrible punch to the gut

[brittlebutch]

have been thinking about Until Dawn again -- do we ever like, fully understand what Josh had planned for Matt and Emily? Like, did he steal/hide her bag or something to get them out into the woods? Or was that just some kind of coincidence that played out like he hoped it would?

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[celibibratty]

bullying is such a fuck up type of phsychological abuse(i hate that people don't take it seriously to call it an abuse but it is a type of abuse), you don't know what to do, is helpless, when we were kids, everybody used to say(mostly our mother) "just ignore them, they will eventually stop, they will lose interest if you show no reaction", but don't do anything/show no reaction also makes things worse(i hated it, it never helped), it only proves how much of a victim you are, it shows that it won't have any consequences, they can do anything with you whenever they want CUZ YOU ALWAYS WILL DO NOTHING, but if you do react things can go two ways round (or you intimidate them in a way that they will stop trying messing with you(very difficult) or will make worse cuz they will find entertaining), is a no escape situation, you feel stuck, theres nothing to do, every little move or word makes things worse(the advice that i hated the most and mom always used to suggest was "just play along with it, smile, find it funny too", i never bought it that bullshit, they werent my fucking Friends, i not gonna let myself/ourselves being a joke,what they do it/say it hurted me, i can't just pretend it doesnt upsets me)

[reignpage]

The Other Man

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

Your worst nightmare is avoiding your eyes. 

Still sweating and slightly out of breath from the sprint you made from your home to the hospital, you try to wipe your hands down the material of your jeans, and you’re mortified to find them shaking. 

Is it from adrenaline or from fear? 

When they said they found your husband, alive, and he’s been fixed up all brand new, you thought everything would be fine, that things would go back to normal. Your home will finally stop being so stifling, you won’t burn a hole through your carpet from all the pacing like your friend tried to joke, and you no longer have to hold yourself at night just to stop from hyperventilating.

But when you look at his eyes and see only confusion and a drop of anxiety, you know something’s gone terribly wrong. 

“He suffered trauma to the head and we noticed no signs of it during surgery, so the symptoms only showed up now. We’re sorry we hadn’t been able to warn you ahead of time,” the doctor says. 

Maybe now your hands are shaking from anger. 

You step towards the doctor, the sterile smell of latex gloves and death stinging your nose, and you splutter out, “What are you talking about? What’s wrong with my husband? Why is no one just telling me straight up?”

He flinches. 

They both do. 

You don’t feel bad, can’t feel bad. 

The doctor opens his mouth and he’s explaining, rambling about all sorts of medical terms you don’t know and it’s likely he’s doing it to distract you, or punish you, but you do hear one word. It registers and sends a static ringing through your ears. 

“It would seem your husband has developed retrograde amnesia.”

Amnesia. 

When he finishes, a silence takes over, filling up the room and pressing you to the walls, daring you to suck in a breath. A beat or two passes whilst he wait for either one of you to say something, ask something, anything. But no one does, so he leaves and immediately you wish he stayed. 

“Hi.”

His voice breaks you out of your internal panicking. It has a slight quiver, perhaps from the deep sleep he had been under, or the exhaustion that had built up, the price to pay for saving so many people in one night. The reports said, on the night he disappeared, that there had been many curses, strong ones, gathered in an organised attack, an ambush. They had backed your husband in a corner and pushed him to his limits. 

They did this. 

You try to smile. 

“Hi, baby, how you doing?”

There’s a blush forming across his cheeks and you smile for real, finding his embarrassment adorable, but then it drops just as quick when he clears his throat, as if setting a boundary. 

“So,” he drags out, “you’re my wife, huh?”

What’s the procedure for losing your loved one to an internal injury so bad you feel it cut deep? What’s the etiquette? Because you’re so sure screaming at him to stop playing this cruel joke is probably not a good idea; you already know what the doctors would say.

It would be unwise to push him.

Your steps are hesitant but you push through that invisible force keeping you back. You need to touch him, need to feel that, despite it all, he’s warm and real and breathing — at least one of you has to be. 

He looks up at you from your position beside his bed and watched your hand lift towards his face. He doesn’t move, he steels himself for your sake, you know it, because your husband has always been the kindest, most empathetic man you’ve ever met. 

Then you cradle his slightly cut up cheek and tears stream down before you even know it, a laugh bubbles out and you sob it out. He’s really alive. 

“I’m so happy you came back.”

He smiles, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s still a genuine smile and your heart leaps. If he can smile at you like that even without the pull of the shared memories of his time with you, then surely there’s hope. Because through his dazzling eyes, always dazzling, you believe there’s a huge box of everything he had filed on you, on his love for you, his wishes and desires for for you both. It’s just locked away at the moment, but you’ll find a key. 

You have to. 

“I must have been pretty great to bag a gorgeous woman like you.” 

“The greatest.”

He laughs in surprise. He did that every time you played along, because no one else ever had, not his own family or his friends, and not even himself. 

And the hours pass by with him asking questions and you answering patiently, despite the stab at your chest from every moment he forgot, every special occasion he doesn’t remember, and you both relive the bad times, the terrible times. 

Except he’s going it through for the first time. 

All the nurses and doctors filter in and out, changing this, emptying that, wiping here, walking there, and throwing all sorts of information at you. Eventually, they give you a care pack full of pamphlets filled with numbers and websites for support, letting you know he’s free to leave, but that check-ups will have to be frequent to monitor his progress. 

You can tell he’s getting tired; you don’t blame him, it’s been too much too fast. So you tell him, “Alright, handsome, it’s time to go home.”

He cheers up at that, eagerly packing and hobbling out of the hospital and into your car. The car ride home isn’t quiet like you had dreaded, it’s loud, bustling with more questions and excited remarks. 

“No way. He ate that finger? That’s so funny.”

“Oh, his hair is really that spiky? And she puts up with both of them? Wow.”

“He’s still teaching? That’s great.”

When you pull up to the house at the end of the street, all the lights are off and you feel a little embarrassed that it doesn’t look inviting, and  of course you forgot to clean up the dishes and vacuum the carpet. Maybe you should have gotten balloons and streamers, maybe invited his friends. You know the doctor said don’t overwhelm him, but they’ll definitely come knocking sooner than later. 

That’s how loved your husband is. 

You have a bashful smile when you finally glance up at him, both walking up to the door, and it plummets at the disappointed look on his face. He doesn’t care about the lights, only that the home he had been expecting is the one across the city, the one you had made him move out of years ago so you could live together as a soon to be wedded pair. 

Now, he’ll have to live in your home as a guest, borrowing your cups and plates, and wearing clothes he didn’t buy but the other man did, and then he’ll be sleeping next to you. 

A stranger. 

You gulp the horrified scream down and, with shaky hands, you unlock the door, ignoring the overwhelming feeling that you’re losing an uphill battle, that things will never be the same, and he’ll never love you, not like he did. 

Your husband is loyal to a fault; he won’t leave you, not because he loves you, not because he can’t imagine being anywhere else but here, with you, but because there’s a ring on his left finger that he keeps playing around with like it feels wrong to have it on. 

And the realisation that you don’t care, that you have enough love for the both of you, that you want, need, to have him in any way he’ll let you, creates a dull ache in your stomach.

You don’t try to smile when you turn to him, even when he does. 

All you say is,

“Welcome home, Satoru.”

[il-miele-che-scrive]

you know what people are saying when a girl gets cheated on? go for his brother.

a/n not tryna offend anyone, I just love a lil drama

Part 2 here

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username1 Miss Y/n Y/l/n getting cheated on? No one is safe fr

↳username2 Yeah cuz how's he casually cheating on a literal goddess??

username3 they were together for almost 2 years😭

username4 My therapist will hear about this

↳username1 And Arthur is paying the bill

username5 that's it I'm NEVER trusting a man

username6 Isn't that girl Y/n's friend too? Poor girl getting cheated on twice

↳username3 yes it is 😭 guess Arthur got it from his brother

username7 Except Charles didn't cheat 😭 he's a homie hopper but he got morals

username8 I don't worry about Y/n, she's gonna find a new bf, but she wasted almost 2 years on him

yourusername excuse my state i'm as high as your hopes

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username2 Miss girl about to enter her hoe phase

↳username3 As she should tbh

charlottesiine Lots of fun last night🤍

↳yourusername nothing will beat an ex wags night out

↳username2 best ex wags fr 😭

yoursister Next time I'm going too to keep an eye on you wtf

username4 Wait so Y/n and Charlotte are friends? When did this happen?

↳username5 Yeah cuz we've never seen them hang out back when ChaCha was a thing and suddenly the girls are partying together?

↳username6 I mean it could be just a "we both suffered a Leclerc so let's hang out" kinda thing

username5 WE BOTH SUFFERED A LECLERC 💀 no okay but that's valid

username7 Am I the only one noticing this post was liked by Charles?

↳username2 He knows his lil bro messed up lmao

username8 Okay guys so what are we betting on - did Charles like this post because of Y/n or because of Charlotte? Also, isn't he in a relationship?

↳username3 Charles has been single for a few months now, he's free to like whoever he wants lmao

↳username9 It's just a like it's not that deep

arthur_leclerc You were my cup of tea but I drink vanilla latte now

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username1 The AUDACITY some men have

username2 and she was her best friend 😭

username3 I really want to believe they broke up before he got with the best friend but I don't think it's true

↳username4 Y/n and Arthur literally attended Charles' race a few days before we got the pics of Arthur with the other girl

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yourusername you don't mean nothing at all to me

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yoursister And I didn't even have to stop you from calling your ex

↳yourusername why would I even wanna call him anyways

yoursister Riiight, you were too busy getting to know some other interesting people:)

username1 What is Y/s/n talking about?

↳username2 Or rather WHO is she talking about?

username3 No Charlotte in the post but Charles is in the likes again 😶

↳username4 Have you seen what this one gossip page posted? Charles being in the likes isn't the thing I'd worry about here

username5 WHAT.

username3 Care to elaborate?

username4 Charles was also at the club with Y/n. It honestly looks like it was organized by a friend of his and he took Y/n there

username2 OH

username2 That's what Y/s/n is talking about

username5 Our girl Y/n is getting promoted from F2 to F1 and I love to see that

↳username6 LMAO it's so funny because it's true 😭

↳username2 Do we know who else was at this party?

username4 Allegedly the party was organized by Gasly, so obviously there was his gf Kika, but also some fellow drivers like Albon, Russell, Sainz, Ocon, Ricciardo and their gfs

username5 I was joking but now it looks like Y/n is actually becoming an F1 wag now lol

username7 Gossip girl on wheels I've been saying it for months

username8 But the caption SLAPS

↳username9 no because it looks like Y/n and Arthur are having a caption war lol it's funny

username8 It's childish but let a girl heal from a heartbreak in peace

yourusername karma will take it from here

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username1 MISS GIRL?? WHO IS THE MAN??

↳username2 We all know it's Charles (allegedly)

username8 Nah cuz I told yall she's gonna find another boyfriend soon

yoursister Loving to see you happy again ❤️

↳yourusername just needed a little upgrade

username3 I have no proof but I just know it's Charles

username4 Do we think she went for Charles because she genuinely likes him or just to get back at Arthur?

↳username5 Wait until someone starts a "she cheated on Arthur with Charles" gossips

username6 My two favorite red flags

↳username7 The homie hopper and the brother hopper, a match made in heaven

username6 The homie hopper is so real, Y/n recently hung out with his ex Charlotte 💀

username8 What kinda brother gets with his brother's ex?

↳username9 Imagine the next family dinner lmao

username10 Y'all it's not even confirmed that the man is Charles, y'all are crazy

↳username6 The post was liked by all the F1 drivers and their partners that were on the party from Y/n's previous post, it says a lot

↳username2 What @/username6 said and also Y/n is now followed by half of the F1 grid AND the wags

charles_leclerc Not your cup of tea, but my glass of wine

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yourusername KARMA IS MY BOYFRIEND❤️

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