#but these songs i still stand by to this day

[gardenofhearts]

LADS headcanon- comforting you through ovulation cramps

This is very self-indulgent. I'm one of those unlucky few that gets monthly ovulation cramps and they can get so bad😭 so I wrote this little headcanon as a way to deal with them. I hope someone else can also get some comfort out of this💕

This is my first entry in the Love and Deepspace fandom so sorry if any of the boys feel ooc.

Characters in order: Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne, Sylus, Caleb Warnings: Sylus' bad singing, a bad pun Likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated🩷

Rafayel

He's most definitely the man who would try to distract you with humour, he is the meme king after all. Expect stuff like egg puns because he finds them eggceptional. Or he will send you the werewolf ripping their shirt off meme with some ridiculous text about ovulation (Like this). Anything to pull a laugh out of you.

Rafayel might also known of some old Lemurian remedy to help ease the pain which he would no doubt give you, and he would offer to run you a lovely bath.

If you were comfortable enough, he would stay with you in the bathroom, or even in the bath. He would help you forget the pain by helping you wash your hair, and body, making sure to give you a lovely massage.

He’s an artist, he uses his hands a lot and I believe he would be so good at giving massages. Massaging is all in the fingers, and he knows exactly the right pressure to apply to help loosen some knots.

I also believe that he would soothe you by singing Lemurian songs. He sings really well and the foreign words would put you at ease very quickly, and after a relaxing bath you would both relax in bed.

Although he did those things willingly and would do them again and again, he would complain and act a little bratty.

He would pout and say that there’s no use singing songs you wouldn’t understand, but he didn’t mean it, he just wanted you to assure him that you like those songs.

Xavier

The first time you experienced your ovulation pains around him, he was convinced you had gotten hurt, maybe from your recent mission. Once you explained the phenomenon and how this happens almost every month, he would let out a hum before walking away. Almost seeming a bit apathatic.

However he would quickly return with heavy painkillers that he may or may not have stolen from the med bay.

If possible he would get you home as soon as possible and get you into bed to nap the pain, and day, away.

The moment you express the slightest bit pain Xavier whisks you away in the blink of an eye. Even if you were already at home, one moment you would be standing in the kitchen and an ovulation cramp would hit causing you to let out the softest pained gasp, and the next you were laid on your bed with a mob a light blond hair lying down next to you.

If you were ever struggling to fall asleep because of the pain Xavier would tell you astrology and astronomy things: myths about the zodiacs, tell you about constellations, etc.

Using his evol he would transform the ceiling into your very own little night sky. Although he would say that it doesn’t compare to the actual stars that decorated the sky, it would still be a beautiful sight.

His soft voice and stories make a great recipe for a good night’s sleep, not even the best asmrartist could top it.

Zayne

He’s a very observant man, he would notice even the slightest bit of discomfort plus he’s a doctor so he would know quite a few ways to alleviate the pain.

You also didn’t have to feel embarrassed when it happens for the first time around him. Even if you were hesitant to say it plainly, trust that he would be able to figure out.

If you were unsure about the pain: why it happened for example this man would either dig through his memory and tell you, or do some medical research first and then tell you.

Either way, he would be so patient. If you were angry at the world because of the pain, he wouldn’t mind. he would let you rant and complain as much as you wanted.

He also makes sure that there are painkillers in the house, and on him at all times. So that whenever these ovulation cramps happen, he would be prepared.

He would also soothe you with words and his soft voice, much like his evol he would keep his cool through it which in turns has a calming effect on you.

He would also make sure to crank up his dry humour, because every minute you’re laughing is a minute where hopefully some of the pain is forgotten. I think he would also use his evol to help, maybe put on a little ice magic show to help distract you.

Sylus

The moment he found out the pain that you went through each month, he would subconsciously start to track your cycle and also have Mephisto follow you around so he could observe any changes.

Days before your would experience your ovulation cramps he stocked up his house with whatever you needed. His private chef would have been instructed to cook your favourite dishes: breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert.

Your favourite self care products would be in his bathroom, waiting to be used, he also made sure that your bathrobe was made of the fluffiest, softest fabric so that it would drown you in comfort

Even if these cramps were just a one day thing, it didn’t matter. Sylus would treat them as important as any other thing causing you pain.

He would also offer to be you personal punching bag, he’s a boxer after all, his abs are probably made of steel. If he letting off some steam using his body was the way to help you through the pain, he would happily do so.

Additionally, even though he knows he’s tone deaf, he would still sing for you if only to make you laugh at how bad it was. He hoped that by doing so, he could help but a smile on your face instead of a pained frown.

Caleb

Caleb knew you, almost as well as you knew yourself. He knew you experienced these ovulation cramps so he was prepared. he had been there the very first time and comforted you through it. Caleb didn’t necessarily track your cycle or anything, but he was attuned to you.

He was very good at reading you and he always had a inkling as to when these cramps would happen.

If he’s there to see the way your eyes would widen, the pained gasp you let out, be assured he would scoop you up and get you some painkillers.

He also understands that sometimes you just need to stand there and breathe through the pain. Caleb is also the guy, that in my opinion, would allow you to bite him or something similar in order to forget the pain.

He's also sure to make you your favourite food, or snacks, he would drive across Linkon to get you what you craved. Your comfort is his priority.

I also believe he's good at massages, he's massaging your shoulders, back, glutes, calves, every inch of your body to help you and also as an excuse to touch you. That's why he learned how to massage after all, so he could use it as an excuse to be up close and personal.

If scientists ever develop a machine that could transfer your pain to him, even for a small time, Caleb would empty his live savings to get it. If it was in his power, you would never be in pain ever again.

Thank you for reading!

Also what do you think of the gradient used on their names, can you tell where I got the inspiration from?🤭

Disclaimer: gradient divider made by me. English is not my first language, apologies for any mistakes.

[animamii]

Junior year rolls around and ohh has highschoolsweetheart!Eren changed.

You hear him before you see him—his voice cutting through the morning hum of students catching up after the summer break. It’s familiar, unmistakable, and yet, when you turn around, your breath catches in your throat.

Oh.

This was not the Eren Yeager you left behind in sophomore year.

Gone was the lanky boy who used to trip over his own feet during gym class, the one who wore those wrinkled short-sleeved button-downs with the same rotation of black skinny jeans and scuffed Converse. The Eren standing before you now was… different.

Taller. Broader. The summer had done something to him—his arms, his shoulders, his entire build had filled out in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a moment. His hair, once perpetually messy but in a boyish kind of way, had grown out just enough to curl at the ends. He still had that same wild energy, the same excitement in his eyes as he grinned at you, but there was something undeniably new about him. And he was pretty. Not that he wasn’t always attractive—he was, and you’d never denied it to yourself. But this? This was unfair.

“y/n!!” He reaches you in a few easy strides, completely oblivious to the way your brain is currently buffering. Before you can even react, he’s throwing an arm around your shoulders like it’s nothing, pulling you in for one of those classic Yeager side hugs, all warm and familiar and way too casual for the internal meltdown you’re having.

“Dude, I haven’t seen you all summer!” he exclaims, ruffling your hair in that annoying way he always does, like you’re still kids and he doesn’t look like he walked straight out of a teenage coming-of-age movie. “Why’d you ignore my texts? I was about to file a missing person report.”

You blink. He’s looking at you like he hasn’t changed at all, like he isn’t standing there all tall and golden, like he isn’t suddenly one of the hottest guys in school. And you? You’re still standing there like an idiot, trying to piece together a response.

“I— I was busy,” you manage to say, and it’s only half a lie. You had been busy, but you’d also needed space. Space to sort out the mess of feelings that being best friends with Eren Yeager had turned into over the years.

Eren, being Eren, doesn’t notice your internal crisis. “Pfft, busy. You mean ghosting me?” he teases, nudging your side. “I should’ve just shown up at your house.”

You scoff, regaining some of your composure as you roll your eyes. “Like my mom wouldn’t have loved that. She’s still convinced we’re secretly dating.”

Eren barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he tosses it back. “She’s been saying that since middle school. At this point, I think she’s just manifesting.”

Your heart lurches at his words, but you shove the feeling down. This is Eren. Your best friend. The same guy who used to perform Justin Bieber songs in the middle of the quad for you. He might look different now, but he’s still him. Even if the way people are starting to stare at him—at you two together—is making your stomach twist in a way you’re not quite ready to admit.

The first day of junior year had barely started, and yet, you already felt like you were walking through some alternate reality. Eren was still draped over you, arm slung around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world, completely oblivious to the way people were looking. Correction: the way people were looking at him. It was impossible to ignore. You could hear the whispers as you walked down the hallway together, the way heads turned when he passed.

You roll your eyes, scoffing as you nudge him off you, but the warmth of his arm lingers on your shoulder. “Yeah, well, she’s gonna have to give it up eventually. We’re not dating.” You don't know if you say it to convince yourself that there is no possibility it would become reality.

Eren grins like a bad little kid, his eyes glinting in that Eren Yeager way that usually spells trouble. “Not yet.”

Your heart does this annoying little skip in your chest, but you quickly shove him with more force this time, scowling to hide the smile that forms against your own will. “Shut up.”

He just laughs, dodging your next attack like the menace he is. “Damn, I missed you,” he grins, and there’s something about the way he says it—casual, easy, genuine—that makes your stomach flip. You hate how easily he gets under your skin. How he annoyingly burrowed his way into your heart.

Before you can retaliate, a group of girls passes by, whispering not-so-subtly behind their hands. You recognize some of them—volleyball girls, cheerleaders, a couple of girls from your English class—but they barely spare you a glance. Their eyes are all locked on Eren. And he knows it. The worst part? You know he knows it, too.

One of them, a tall blonde with perfectly curled hair, flashes him a bright smile. “Hey, Eren,” she says, twirling a strand around her finger like it's a damn high school movie. You're usually a girl's girl, but right now you were shooting daggers at her.

Eren, to his credit, doesn’t look phased. He just tilts his head, grinning in that annoying way that makes your blood boil. “Hey.”

That’s it. Hey. And yet, the girl giggles, and you want to die. It’s like some cruel joke. Last year, nobody would have given him a second glance. He was your Eren—goofy, loud, a little dorky, always getting himself into trouble. Now? Now he’s on the varsity football team, his arms are looking a little too good in that fitted black tee, and suddenly he’s the guy every girl is looking at.

You hate it. You don’t even know why you hate it, but you do.

Eren barely acknowledges them, turning back to you like nothing happened. “Anyway,” he says, slinging an arm over your shoulder again like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. “What class you got first?”

You shake yourself out of whatever weird haze you’re in, clearing your throat. “Uh—math. Mr. Moblit.” Your eyes scan over the salmon pink piece of paper that held your class schedule, and Eren leans in just a little too close to read it.

He groans, dramatically throwing his head back. “Ugh, lucky. I got stuck with Mr. Shadis.”

You snicker. “That sucks.” You can't help but smile when you see the same characteristics from Eren. Even if he did look fine ass hell, oh so different from last year, he still acted the same.

“I know, right?” He sighs, dropping his head onto your shoulder in fake despair. “If I fail, just know it’s because Shadis has it out for me.”

“You fail because you never pay attention,” you remind him. You've had plenty of classes with Eren, with him always sitting next to you. He would be doing anything but pay attention.

“Okay, but, like, who even uses calculus in real life?” Eren squints his eyes, and you can feel every little movement he does as his head rests on your shoulder.

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you for the second time, ignoring the way your skin tingles where his head was resting. “Come on, dummy. We’re gonna be late.”

He groans again but follows after you anyway, falling into step beside you like always. Like nothing’s changed. Except everything has changed. And you’re starting to realize you have no idea what to do about it.

Lunch rolls around, and you find yourself dragging your feet through the cafeteria, still processing the weirdness of the morning. You’re not sure what to make of Eren’s sudden glow-up—or the way your chest does this annoying little flutter every time he looks at you like nothing’s changed. All the effort of trying to get over your little crush on Eren was wiped clean, the boy really had a grip on your heart now.

You end up at your usual lunch table, the one you share with Ymir and Historia, Sasha too but she was going to the culinary club's welcome party because duh, Sasha isn't going to miss out on extra free food. The two of them are already sitting, bickering about something stupid, but the moment you drop into the seat next to them, it’s like they both sense something’s off. They can feel the energy radiating off of you, the look on your face when something is bothering you. Ymir eyes you with a raised brow, and Historia’s gaze flickers to the door, where Eren is walking in, looking effortlessly cool, chatting with Armin as they make their way toward your table.

“Oh, boy,” Ymir mutters under her breath. “You’ve got that look on your face. What’s going on with you and Yeager?”

"How do you know it's something between me and Eren?" You raise an eyebrow, a little frustrated that she knows you so well.

"It's always about Yeager," Ymir and Historia say in unison, giving you that look of obviousness.

You roll your eyes. “It’s nothing. We’re fine.” A deep sigh still escapes your lips as you open the bottle of apple juice your lunch came with.

“Mmmhmm,” Ymir hums skeptically, but she doesn’t push it. Historia, on the other hand, flashes you a concerned smile. Her brows perch up with sympathy.

“You sure? You’ve been acting… different.” Her voice is soft, almost too knowing, but it’s enough to make you squirm.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” you say, the words coming out a little sharper than you intended. But it’s not like they’re wrong. You have been acting weird. And it’s all because of Eren, damn that boy.

Your thoughts are cut short as Eren plops down next to you, his familiar arm slinging around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yo! What’s up, guys?” His voice is as loud and cheerful as always, but there’s something in the way his eyes linger on you that makes your stomach twist. Ymir raises an eyebrow, but Eren doesn’t seem to notice. Historia’s gaze flits between you two, but she stays quiet, focusing on her lunch.

“Hey, y/n,” Eren says, his voice a little softer now, and you feel your heart race. “You doing okay?” Your eyes flicker to him, seeing his pretty face in a concerned look as he stares at the side of your internally panicked face. It's enough to make your insides ache, enough to make your heart beat a thousand times faster.

“Yeah, just… tired,” you reply, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal, even though your mind is anything but calm.

“You sure?” His expression softens, and for a second, it’s like the world fades out, leaving just the two of you. His hand, warm against your back, feels like it’s burning right through your shirt. “You don’t look fine.”

You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks. “I’m fine, really.”

Eren nods but doesn’t look convinced. He leans in a little, lowering his voice so only you can hear, “If you say so. Just know, if you need anything, I’ve got your back, yeah?”

Your heart stutters at his words, the genuine concern in his voice tugging at something deep inside you. But the moment is interrupted by the loud cackle of a voice from across the table.

“You hear that, Historia?” Ymir teases, her grin far too knowing. “Eren’s looking out for y/n. Makes me wonder if you’ve got competition, huh?”

Eren laughs, unbothered, and flicks Ymir’s ear. “Shut up, Ymir. You know it’s just—” He looks at you for a moment, his grin faltering, then shrugs it off. “Just what we do. We're best friends. Nothing weird.”

You feel your heart drop a little, but you brush it off. “Right. Nothing weird.” It's almost as if you're trying to reassure yourself, which, let's be honest, you really were trying to. Trying to convince yourself that it's all in your head.

But the way Eren’s smiling at you, like he knows more than he’s letting on, makes your pulse race. His eyes linger a little too long, and you wonder if he’s trying to figure something out, too. The tension is palpable, thick enough that even Ymir and Historia seem to sense it. They share a glance, but neither of them says anything. Instead, Ymir kicks you under the table—hard enough to make you wince.

“Aye, stop thinking too much,” Ymir's expression says, clearly reading you like an open book. She doesn't even have to say anything for you to understand what she's trying to say “Just enjoy the moment. Eren’s not going anywhere.” And for the first time today, you almost believe her.

The conversation drifts as you try to settle back into the easy rhythm of lunch. But the moment is short lived. The clatter of trays and the loud chatter of students fills the air, and before you can catch your breath, a new wave of noise arrives.

Reiner, with his usual cocky grin, leads the pack of jocks toward your table. His broad frame and confident swagger draw attention the way Eren’s used to, but this time, you can’t help but notice the way the girls at nearby tables watch Reiner too. He’s got that easy, good-looking charm, but there's something about Eren that just hits different, even now, when the jocks are slowly taking over the cafeteria’s social pecking order.

“Yo, Yeager!” Reiner calls, leaning over the back of your seat, making you jump in surprise. “You ditching us for the weirdos?”

Eren’s arm drops from your shoulders as he shifts his attention to Reiner, but not without a small, teasing grin. “If you’re calling them weirdos, I think you’ve got the wrong table, man.”

A few of the other guys laugh, though it’s more because it’s Eren, and he’s got that goofy, unpredictable humor. The girls now huddled around your table all stand up a little straighter, their eyes darting toward Eren, and you feel a sudden, sharp pang of frustration deep in your chest. You try to ignore it, to keep the casual mask in place, but something’s different now. The subtle tension between Eren and you—it’s like it’s palpable to everyone but the two of you.

Reiner, not one to let Eren off easy, takes a seat beside him, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Come on, man, we’ve got practice in an hour. I’m dragging you back, and we’re gonna talk strategy, not... whatever this is.” His eyes flick over to you, and you swear you catch a hint of amusement in them. It’s like he knows something you don’t.

Eren glances back at you, his expression a little unsure, like he’s debating whether to stay or go. For a brief moment, his eyes soften, but then, in typical Eren fashion, he shrugs and grins, looking more at ease than you feel. A part of you hopes he'll choose to stay, just to reassure you that things really didn't change.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go. But only because you’re begging.” He stands up, brushing his hands off as if he’s wiping away the conversation, like he doesn’t even see the way your heart drops when he stands a little too far away from you now.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words get stuck. All that leaves your mouth is a disappointed huff of a breath. Eren turns back toward you, like he’s about to say something, but then his attention shifts to the group of jocks calling him over.

“Later, y/n!” he calls, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

You’re left frozen, your hand still halfway raised as you force a smile, though it feels more like a grimace. Reiner slaps Eren’s back in that overly friendly way he always does, and Eren just laughs, falling into step with him as they make their way to the other side of the cafeteria. You hate the way your stomach twists watching them go. It’s like they’re speaking an entirely different language—one you’re not part of. The table around you is quieter now. Historia looks at you, her expression sympathetic, but Ymir—well, she looks way too smug for your liking.

“Wanna talk about it?” Ymir teases, but it’s not unkind.

You sigh, dropping your gaze to your lunch. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Uh huh,” Ymir replies, that knowing smirk still lingering on her lips. “I’m pretty sure Eren’s just trying to keep his cool in front of the jocks. You’ve seen the way he’s been around you lately. He likes you, trust me.”

You frown, not sure how to respond. Eren might be acting like nothing’s changed, but everything has changed. And the worst part? You’re not sure if he even knows it yet.

“Don’t worry,” Historia sympathetically adds, her tone reassuring. “He’ll figure it out eventually. You’ll figure it out.”

You give a noncommittal hum, not sure if you're ready to figure anything out just yet. But as you glance across the room, watching Eren laugh with Reiner and the others, you can't shake the feeling that something’s coming. Something big. Some type of shift. You spend the rest of lunch pushing food around your tray, pretending not to notice the way your eyes keep flickering toward the jock table.

Eren looks good—annoyingly, frustratingly good. He’s leaned back in his chair, laughing at something Jean said, that lazy grin plastered across his face like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. His long fingers drum absentmindedly against the table, and when one of the cheerleaders—Annie’s friend Hitch, you think—leans in to whisper something to him, your stomach twists.

You snap your gaze away, cursing yourself. Why are you even watching? You’re not his girlfriend. You’re his best friend. And best friends do not sit there like jealous exes just because other girls are realizing what you’ve known for years—Eren Yeager is stupidly, effortlessly attractive.

“You’re making it too obvious.” Ymir’s voice is flat and teasing. You don’t even have to look at her to know she’s smirking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, shoving a bite of food into your mouth just to have something to do.

“Mm. Right. And I’m straight.” Ymir leans on her fist, watching you with open amusement. Historia sighs, nudging her in the ribs before giving you a softer look.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Historia offers, “he hasn’t actually looked at her once.”

Your eyes dart up before you can stop yourself, and— Historia’s right. Eren’s nodding along to something Reiner’s saying, but his gaze keeps drifting. He’s scanning the cafeteria, like he’s looking for something. Or someone. And then, just like that, his eyes find yours. For a second, time stutters.

Eren’s lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting to catch you staring, and for a fleeting moment, something flickers across his face. Something unsure. Something vulnerable. But then Reiner nudges him—too hard, probably on purpose—and Eren snaps out of it, laughing as he shoves him back. And just like that, the moment is gone. You exhale sharply, turning away. You hate this. The push and pull, the way he makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—there’s something more, only to act like nothing’s changed the next second. Maybe nothing has changed. Maybe the only thing different is you.

“You should talk to him,” Historia says gently.

You scoff, picking at your food. “And say what? ‘Hey, Eren, just wondering if you’ve realized you’re hot yet and if that means you’re too good for me now?’”

Ymir cackles, hands drumming on the lunch table as she childishly kicks her feet. “I mean, I would pay to see you say that to his face.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “This is a nightmare. It's never been this complicated with Eren before.” It had always been complicated, but not this complicated.

Historia opens her mouth to say something else, but before she can, the cafeteria doors swing open, and the familiar screech of a whistle pierces the air.

“Football team! Practice starts now!” Coach Smith stands at the entrance, arms crossed, his stoic expression already promising death if they don’t get to moving. The jock table groans, but they all start standing, grabbing their trays. Eren stretches as he gets up, his shirt riding up just enough to show a hint of skin, and you swear you hear one of the volleyball girls sigh dreamily. You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.

Eren turns, catching your expression, and grins. “What’s that look for?”

You school your face into something neutral, a deadpan almost. “Nothing. Just wondering if you’ll survive an entire practice without getting distracted by your fan club.”

He blinks, then laughs—like really laughs, loud and unfiltered. “Pfft, fan club? Yeah, right.”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, but then you stop. Because—he’s serious. He really doesn’t see it. All the stares, the whispers, the way girls—entire groups of them—are looking at him like he hung the damn moon. He doesn’t even notice. Eren’s still just Eren, in his own head. You should be relieved. Maybe you are. But mostly, you just feel confused and overwhelmed.

“Well, try not to get tackled into the ground,” you say instead, grabbing your drink to take a sip.

Eren grins, nudging you lightly as he starts to walk away. “Aw, you worried about me, y/n?”

The drink nearly chokes you, the cooing tone of his voice making you feel uneasy and bashful. “Not even a little.”

He just laughs, throwing one last lazy wave over his shoulder before jogging after Reiner and the rest of the team. And you? You watch him go, stomach twisting, hating the way his absence already feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows over the football field. The team is mid-drill, running play after play under the sharp bark of Coach Smith. Eren is breathless, sweat slicking his skin, but his mind isn’t really in it. Not fully, anyway.

Because you’re sitting on the bleachers, and you’re laughing at something Historia just said, and it’s distracting as hell. His gaze keeps flickering toward the bleachers, toward where you’re sitting with your friends. You look relaxed, leaning back with one knee pulled up. He can’t hear a word from this far, but that doesn’t matter. He knows your expressions by heart—every little eye roll, every laugh, the way your lips purse when you’re pretending to be annoyed but aren’t really.

He’s staring again.

“Yeager! Focus!” The loud shout of Coach Smith jolts him out of his trance, but it’s too late. Whooosh.

Eren barely ducks in time to avoid a pass he wasn’t paying attention to. Jean groans in exasperation, throwing his head back and smacking his hands on his pads. “Dude, wake up! What the hell are you even looking at?”

Eren shakes his head quickly, clearing his throat. “Nothing,” he lies, trying to mask the way his heartbeat kicks up. Grabbing the football that he failed to catch, slackly tossing it back to Jean.

Jean, of course, is already following his gaze, his eyes landing exactly where Eren doesn’t want them to. The smirk that stretches across Jean’s face is almost unbearable. “Right. Nothing.”

Eren scowls, shoving Jean as he jogs past. But before he can settle back into formation, something shifts near the bleachers—movement that immediately snags his attention. Someone’s walking up to you. Eren’s brows furrow as he squints. The guy is tall, lanky, his bright red hair messy in a way that seems purposefully unkempt. He’s wearing a ripped band tee, chains dangling from his jeans, and—oh, great. Floch Forster.

The guy moves with a swagger that makes Eren’s teeth grind. Ripped jeans, faded punk band tee, chains dangling from his belt loops—he looks like he just crawled out of a basement concert. Floch has always been a talker, a surprisingly smooth one at that, and judging by the way he leans in, he’s in full flirt mode. Eren watches, growing tenser by the second. He expects you to roll your eyes, wave him off, something. But you don’t. You tilt your head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips. Why aren’t you moving away? Eren’s jaw tightens. Then Floch takes another step closer. That’s it.

Eren doesn’t even realize his feet are moving until Jean grabs his jersey. “Dude, where are you—?”

“I’ll be back,” Eren mutters, ripping himself free and jogging toward the bleachers before anyone can stop him.

You hadn’t expected company, least of all from Floch Forster. Historia had just nudged you, muttering something about incoming trouble, and before you could even react, there he was—Florian “Floch” Forster, king of misplaced confidence, leaning against the railing like he had all the time in the world. You don’t hate Floch. You don’t like him, either, but he’s harmless enough. He’s always been a little too flirty, but in a way that’s more for show than anything else.

“Well, well,” he drawls, his signature gaudy smirk already in place. “If it isn’t the prettiest girl in the bleachers.”

You exhale through your nose. “Oh, god.”

Floch grins, clearly unfazed. “What? That’s a genuine compliment. You’re breaking my heart here, y/n.” His tone is cocky, almost annoying.

You tilt your head, unimpressed. “Do you even have one?” A grin forms on your face, it felt kind of good to banter and maybe knock him down a peg.

“Oof.” He presses a dramatic hand to his chest, cheesing way too hard. “Harsh. But hey, I like a challenge. Y’know, if you ever wanna find out, I could show you—”

“You couldn’t,” you cut in. It's a little abrupt, shocks Historia a bit at the snappiness, but it just comes out.

Floch laughs, plopping down beside you with zero hesitation. “Alright, alright, I’ll cut to the chase.” He leans back on his palms, eyes flicking toward the football field before settling back on you. “How long are you gonna keep pretending your best friend isn’t in love with you?”

You choke on your drink, sitting up straighter now as you sputter a cough. “Excuse me?”

Floch just raises a brow, looking entirely too smug for your liking. “Come on, y/n. The guy stares at you like you hung the goddamn stars. It’s actually painful to watch.”

Your face burns, but you force a scoff. “You’re delusional.”

Floch shakes his head, watching your reaction closely. “Am I? He’s been in love with you since, what, forever? But the dude’s an idiot, so I get why you’re waiting. He’s probably still convinced you’re out of his league.” Out of his league?

Something about that statement makes your stomach clench. That’s not true. Right? Floch doesn’t miss the flicker of doubt in your eyes. His smirk stretches a little wider, sensing an opening.

“But y’know,” he continues, shifting closer, voice dropping just slightly, “if he’s not gonna make a move, maybe you should let someone else have a shot.”

Your lips part, caught off guard. “What?”

Floch leans in just enough for the air between you to thin, to start smelling like his axe cologne. “I’m just saying,” he murmurs. “Maybe you should let someone who actually sees you take you out sometime.”

Oh, you think, heartbeat stuttering slightly. Although your mind was still half focused on what he said about Eren. Before you can formulate a response, something shifts in the air—sharp and tense.

“Oh, hell no.”

The voice is unmistakable. Your head snaps up just in time to see Eren—sweaty, breathless, and looking pissed—hopping the railing in one effortless motion.

Floch doesn’t move. He just smirks. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Eren doesn’t respond, his fists clenching at his sides. His green eyes—usually filled with something bright, warm—are now dark with irritation.

“What the hell are you doing here, Forster?”

Floch tilts his head, all mock innocence. “Relax, man. Just having a friendly conversation.”

Eren’s jaw ticks. “Yeah? Well, have it somewhere else.”

The tension is thick, electric with an almost uncomfortable tension. You glance between them, unsure if you should intervene. Maybe you should, but all you can do is look up at Eren. The way some strands of hair stick to his forehead, the way his thick brows are furrowed. The way he almost seems territorial over you.

Floch exhales, shaking his head like this is all some kind of joke. He shifts his gaze back to you. “Really? You’re just gonna let him chase me off like that?”

You hesitate. And that hesitation is all Floch needs.

He incredulously chuckles under his breath, standing up and dusting himself off. “Man,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Eren’s jaw tightens. “See what?”

Floch flashes one last cynical smirk before turning to leave. “Nothing, man. Nothing at all.”

And just like that, he’s gone, his chains jingling as he strolls down the metal steps like he hadn’t just stirred up a storm. The silence he leaves behind is suffocating.

You exhale, crossing your arms as you finally shake out of your daze. “That was so unnecessary.”

Eren scoffs, finally looking at you. “He’s a dick.”

You narrow your eyes. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Eren looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a split second, something unreadable flickers behind his eyes. His lips part like he wants to say something—something important—but instead, he just shakes his head.

“Forget it.”

And with that, he turns, hopping back over the railing and jogging toward the field without a second glance. But you know better. It wasn’t nothing. And now, you don’t know what to do about it.

Eren doesn’t look at you for the rest of practice. Not once. It’s infuriating. From your spot on the bleachers, you watch as he throws himself back into drills like he’s got something to prove, pushing harder than necessary, muscles taut with tension. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed in concentration—but you know him. You know when he’s actually focused and when he’s just using the game as an excuse to run from something. You also know what—or who—he’s running from.

You exhale, frustrated. It’s not like you wanted Floch’s attention. Hell, you would’ve been fine never speaking to him again. But Eren had stormed over like he owned you, like it was his problem to handle, and now he won’t even look at you? It was all too confusing.

Eren misses a catch from Bertholdt, taking off his helmet and throwing it to the ground with an audible 'fuck!' that echoed around the football field. Running a hand through his sweat drenched hair, the frustration in his face is super evident.

Historia, sitting beside you, hums in amusement. “That was deliciously messy,” she murmurs, sipping from her water bottle. "The whole situation. Possessive Eren, the little bicker, everything."

“It’s annoying.” A scoff leaves your lips and you can't help but stare at Eren with a confused and irritated expression.

“Oh, it’s both.”

Ymir snickers, her sunglass covered eyes looking at the way Eren is still pouting. “Dumbass is jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “He is not jealous.”

Ymir glances at you with an expression so patronizing you want to shove her off the bleachers. “Right. He just lost his entire mind over Floch flirting with you for no reason at all.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because—yeah. The thing is, Eren isn’t the jealous type. He’s never been possessive over you before, never given you any reason to think he cared about who talked to you. He’s always been the annoying one—flirting playfully, ruffling your hair, teasing you about your nonexistent love life like it was all some big joke. And maybe it was. Maybe he was just messing around, just playing into the dynamic you’d always had. But today felt different. And that scared you more than anything.

You wait for him by the locker room. It’s a stupid idea. You know it’s a stupid idea. You could’ve gone home, could’ve ignored the way your pulse has been pounding ever since practice ended, ever since he stormed off like you did something wrong. You could’ve pretended it didn’t bother you—the way he looked right through you for the rest of practice, the way his body went stiff when you so much as moved in his direction, the way he threw himself into drills like he was trying to hit something that wasn’t there.

But you’re still here. Waiting.

The late afternoon sun is sinking lower in the sky, drenching everything in a honey-gold glow. It should be pretty, peaceful even, but the knot in your stomach makes it hard to appreciate. The air is thick, humid from the lingering heat of the day, and your skin feels sticky, uncomfortable. The locker room door swings open in intervals, groups of players filtering out, laughing, talking about parties, weekend plans, things you can’t bring yourself to care about.

Then—finally—he steps out. Eren.

You feel his presence before you even see him, your body going still, your heart stuttering in your chest. He looks good. Unfairly so. His hoodie is loose over his shoulders, damp hair falling into his face, a few strands curling at the ends. His skin is still flushed from exertion, the glow of the sunset catching on the sharp lines of his jaw, the hollow of his throat where the collar of his hoodie has slipped down just enough. He’s effortlessly attractive, in a way that makes your stomach twist with something you don’t want to name.

He notices you immediately. Stops in his tracks. Something flickers across his face—something unreadable—but then it’s gone, replaced by a carefully neutral expression, like he wasn’t just throwing a damn fit over you and Floch thirty minutes ago.

Your arms cross tightly over your chest. “You ran off.”

Eren exhales, looking past you, jaw tight and thick brows furrowed. “Didn’t run.” His voice is flat, clipped. You know him too well to miss the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his shoulders are tense even though he’s trying to look casual.

You take a step closer. “Eren.”

His jaw ticks. “What?”

That’s all he says—short, sharp, like a blade cutting through the space between you. It makes irritation flare in your chest, a spark igniting beneath your ribs. He’s the one who lost his mind over nothing. He’s the one who got weird. And now he’s acting like you’re the problem?

You grit your teeth. “Are you seriously mad at me?”

His head snaps toward you so fast it nearly startles you. “Mad at you?” He lets out a dry, humorless scoff, running a hand through his hair, making the damp strands even messier. “I’m not—Jesus, y/n. I just don’t get why you were even entertaining that guy.”

Your stomach drops. The word entertaining rubs you the wrong way, makes your irritation flare into something hotter. “I wasn’t entertaining anyone,” you snap, voice tight.

Eren exhales sharply, shifting his weight like he’s trying to hold something back. “He was all over you.” yeah, he was dragging it.

Your lips press together. “And?”

His eyes darken, flickering with something upsetting, something raw. “And I didn’t like it.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but it slams into you like a physical force. Your breath catches. The words linger between you, heavy, charged with something neither of you can name but both of you can feel. Your heartbeat is erratic, hammering against your ribs. You’re staring at him, searching his face for answers, for clarity, for anything—but he’s already looking away, already forcing his expression into something unreadable, like he didn’t just say something that made your entire world shift on its axis.

He knows. You know he knows. And that terrifies both of you.

He inhales sharply, like he’s about to say something else—but then he stops himself. A muscle in his jaw twitches before he shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No,” you say quickly, stepping forward, voice urgent, desperate. “Eren—”

But he’s already turning away. Already walking. And this time, you don’t try to stop him. Because the truth is—You’re just as scared as he is.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at the space he left behind. Minutes? Seconds? It feels longer than it probably is, but the weight in your chest doesn’t go away. You don’t get it. You’ve had arguments with Eren before. Dumb ones. Stupid ones. He’s annoyed you a million times, and you’ve annoyed him right back. But this? This hurts in a way you don’t know how to process.

Because it felt real. Because it felt like something cracked open between you—something undeniable. And because deep down, in the part of you that you’ve tried to shove away for years, you know the truth: You don’t want him to be okay with other guys flirting with you. You don’t want him to treat you the same way he treats every other girl. And if today proved anything—if the way he reacted, the way he looked at you was any sign—maybe he doesn’t want that either. Maybe he never did.

Eren’s hands are clenched into fists as he walks, barely registering the conversations around him. His heart is still pounding. His body is itching with leftover adrenaline, but it has nothing to do with practice. What the hell was that? His own words play back in his mind, over and over. "I didn’t like it." What the fuck was he thinking, saying that out loud?

He’s been reckless before. He’s flirted with you for years—always playfully, always in a way that he could pass off as a joke. But that? That wasn’t a joke. That was raw, unfiltered, stupid.

Because he can’t have you. Because you don’t see him that way. Because even if you did, he’s not good enough for you. You’re y/n. You’re his best friend. The girl who somehow makes everything in his life feel a little easier, a little lighter, just by being around. The girl he’s been in love with since he was old enough to understand what love is.

And you deserve someone better. Someone who isn’t just figuring out his place in the world. Someone who isn’t Eren Yeager—impulsive, reckless, always getting himself into trouble.

But even knowing that—Even knowing he should stop—He still turns around, just for a second, just to look back. Just to see if you’re still standing there. And when he sees you—arms crossed, head slightly bowed, looking like you’re caught up in your own spiral—It fucking kills him. Because if he wasn’t such a coward, he’d tell you the truth. That he doesn’t just like you. He’s yours. He’s always been yours. But it’s too late now. And it’s all his fault.

[issues4him]

Hi hi hiiiii! You should do something where blue collar Rafe comes home from work and is kinda in a crabby mood because of something that happened that day, but then he walks in the front door of his house and can smell a really good dinner cooking and he can hear her emmet talking. He eases up after dinner but is still tired and kinda just softens up and melts right into readers arms while she scratches his head or back or something? Idk lol but please and thank you! I love your stuff!!!

blue collar and burnt out but softened right up by the warmth of his home and the woman he loves

the screen door creaked, hinges groaning under the weight of rafe’s heavy hand as he pushed it open. his boots hit the porch with two dull thuds, slow and dragging. he looked like he’d walked straight out of a dust storm—shirt clinging to his back with sweat, dirt and oil smeared across his forearm, baseball cap pulled low over tired eyes. he was pissed. not at you. not at the kids. just the kind of day that left his jaw tight and his shoulders locked from the second the sun came up. broken machinery. lazy crew. his foreman bitching about timelines like rafe could wring miracles from dirt. so yeah, he was in a mood.

he stepped inside, and the first thing he noticed, wasn’t the toy dump truck in the hallway or the trail of wren’s dress-up beads scattered across the hardwood. it was the smell. garlic, butter, and something rich and slow-cooked. something warm. something homemade. his stomach growled loudly, aching for food. then a sweet little voice broke through his ears.

“mama, can i stir it now?” emmett called from the kitchen.

wren babbled something in return, a sing-song sound that bounced off the walls as she clumsily knocked something over. and then, your voice. sweet. soft. steady. “not yet, baby. let it bubble just a little more.”

rafe stood there for a moment, boots still planted by the door, fists still clenched. he could feel it—all the tension in his back, the tightness in his temples, the way the whole damn day had wrapped around him like a vice. then he exhaled. the air in the house smelled like comfort. sounded like peace. felt like home. he walked through the hallway slowly, one hand reaching up to adjust his cap. his boots left faint prints on the floor, and he didn’t care. he’d clean it tomorrow.

as he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes landed on the scene: you were at the stove, stirring something thick and creamy in a pot, hair up in a loose bun, that soft worn t-shirt of his hanging off your shoulder. emmett was standing on a step stool beside you, clutching a wooden spoon like it was a sword. wren sat in her high chair, legs kicking as she played with a half-eaten roll. rafe didn’t say anything. just leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched. you glanced up and smiled. “oh—hi, baby.”

he tried to answer, but his voice cracked a little, so he just nodded and stepped further in. the food was plated ten minutes later. the four of you sat around the little table in the corner of the kitchen, the one with the chipped paint on the legs and crayon marks etched into the wood. emmett talked nonstop, proudly telling rafe how he helped “stir the whole thing without spilling once,” and wren kept giggling between bites, her fingers sticky and her face smeared with something orange. rafe listened, nodded, even chuckled once or twice, but he was still quiet. still a little stiff. still carrying the weight of the day in his shoulders, in the lines around his eyes.

after dinner, you bathed the kids while rafe rinsed the dishes, hands working on autopilot. you carried wren off to bed, her body warm and heavy against your chest, and emmett soon followed with his usual protests that faded the second his head hit the pillow.

when you came back down, the house was quiet. the dishes were done. the stove wiped clean. the lights turned low. rafe was sitting on the couch in the living room, elbows on his knees, hat tossed onto the cushion beside him, one hand scrubbing over his face. you walked over slowly, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, between his knees. your hand reached up, fingers combing gently through his messy hair, your other hand resting on his thigh. he melted. just like that. his body slumped forward, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face in your neck, pulling you close, like he needed to breathe you in to stay grounded.

you scratched lightly at the back of his head, your nails trailing through his hair, and his grip tightened around you, like he couldn’t get close enough.

“i had a real shit day,” he mumbled against your skin, voice low and hoarse.

“i know,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “i could tell the second you walked in.”

he huffed out a breath that was half sigh, half laugh. but then he went quiet again. his face stayed pressed against your collarbone, his breathing even but heavy. you scratched down his back this time, slow, rhythmic.

“but you’re home now,” you murmured. “you can let it go.”

he didn’t say anything. just held on a little tighter. and that was enough.

[jjeongkii]

Spring love — Jungkook one shot

finally posted something we cheered 🙏🏻

bf!jk × reader

summary — You surprised Jungkook with a spring picnic, where you both shared laughs, kisses, and paint, creating a sweet memory together.

warning — none! just jungkook being that sweet but annoying boyfriend who loves you so much 💕💝💘💓

word count — 1,157

song recommendation — Still With You - Jungkook | Lover - Taylor Swift

It was a perfect early spring day, the weather finally warming up, leaving behind the ugly chill of winter. Sunshine filled the sky, and happiness seemed to radiate from every corner. Honestly, who even likes winter?

It was March—spring's start—and you had decided to surprise Jungkook with a surprise picnic. Both of you loved the outdoors, walking around, and discussing absolutely everything. you worked so hard to prepare your picnic spot, laying out the soft blanket on the grass.

You'd brought a little raspberry chocolate cake, snacks, fresh fruits, and juice. You even brought a little canvas and paint so that you could paint after lunch. When all was ready, she got out your phone and sent him a text.

"Hey Kookie, can you come to the park? I want to show you something."

Your phone vibrated almost instantly.

"Coming right now."

Damn, that was fast. Guess he was eager to see you. You played with your dress as you waited. It was a nice blue one, perfect for the springtime.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was getting ready too, fixing his hair. He wore a simple white shirt and some ripped blue jeans—a common combo, but somehow he made it look effortlessly hot.

As you waited, a wave of nervousness built up inside you. But you knew Jungkook loved moments like this. He always loved it when you went out of your way to do something special for him. It made his heart flip every time.

Jungkook headed towards the park, his eyes scanning for you. And when he finally spotted you, standing there with the sun softly caressing your skin, he was rendered speechless. The blue dress, your hair gently swaying with the wind—it was something he could never get used to.

He approached from the back and kneeled, a teasing smile spreading across his face. "So, all dressed up for me, huh?" he joked, nudging your shoulder gently.

You hit his arm lightly, a blush working its way up your neck. "Shut up," you muttered, trying to hide your embarrassed face.

"Aww, my baby's already blushing? Adorable," he chuckled, sitting down next to you.

Jungkook's grin swept over the picnic setting, his eyes landing on the canvas and paints. "You're going to let our inner Picassos out?" he inquired, an eyebrow arching upwards. "Since, you know, I'm terrible at painting."

You dismissively waved your hand. "Jungkook, you don't have to be Picasso. I just figured it'd be something fun to do after we ate.

You spent the next bit of time enjoying yourselves together—eating, chatting, stealing little kisses between bites of food. Everything seemed like it should be. The sun was out, the air was fresh, and everything just felt right. You even fed each other, laughing at the mess you made.

Jungkook had given you a chocolate-covered strawberry, but the melted chocolate had dropped onto your lips. He gently laughed, leaning in closer to wipe it away. "You're always such a mess, aren't you?"

"Hey, not my fault you feed me like I'm some cow," you joked, making him laugh even harder.

After your little food fight, you grabbed the canvas and the paintbrush, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "Well, ready to bring out the Picasso within you?"

Jungkook laughed, grabbing his own canvas. "Oh, I'm ready. Let's make the art world proud," he replied, squeezing paint onto the palette.

You had always been very skilled with a paintbrush. You'd gone to art school when you we're younger, so it came second nature to you. But even though Jungkook had seen your talent before, he couldn't help but be amazed by your work every time.

As time passed, you both were deeply focused on your paintings. Jungkook was doing his best, and you couldn't resist trying to sneak a peek at his canvas. "Whatcha got there?" you joked, trying to get a peek.

"Nope, no looking," Jungkook said, covering his work. "Patience, baby."

You crossed your arms and looked at your own painting. You added a few more details, your brush strokes becoming more confident.

Finally, after what had seemed like forever, you both finished your paintings. You counted to three, eager to reveal your works.

"On three. One… two… three!"

You flipped your canvases around. Your painting was a beautiful, detailed depiction of a flower field, every petal and leaf showing your attention to detail. You’d clearly put a lot of effort into it.

Jungkook's artwork, however, was of you—sitting as you were now, painting concentratedly. It was pretty good for someone who claimed to be awful at art. It wasn't flawless, but it was created with so much love, you could tell he'd put his heart into it.

"Oh my god, baby… this is so beautiful." You looked at the painting, holding it up, noticing the little hearts surrounding your figure. Your heart skipped a beat. He really loved you, and this painting was proof of that.

"Thank you, my love," Jungkook smiled, leaning in and kissing you on the cheek. "I'm glad you like it."

You felt a wave of warmth run through you as you looked at him. His eyes sparkled with genuine affection, and you could tell that everything he did—every little thing—was filled with love. You leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips, lingering for a moment as if time itself had paused. The still, quiet moment between the two of you was ideal.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you whispered onto his lips, your heart overflowing with emotion.

Jungkook grinned and enveloped you in his arms, pulling you near. "Nah, I'm the lucky one," he replied, his voice gentle. He rested his chin on the top of your head as you burrowed into his chest, the two of you warm in the peaceful moment.

The sun still shone overhead, and the gentle breeze played with your hair, but nothing could be more ideal than this. Just the two of you, surrounded by love, laughter, and art. The picnic could have been simple, but the memories you were making were priceless.

You both just sat there for a while, talking, laughing, and just basking in the simplicity of each other's company. The world around you just melted away, and it was like nothing else mattered. You didn't need fancy plans or material things to be happy—just each other, and these moments that felt like they could last a lifetime.

And when the day began winding down, Jungkook stood up, pulling you along with him. "Come on, let's take this masterpiece home," he said with a playful wink, jerking his head in the direction of your paintings.

You laughed and took his hand, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. "Yeah, let's go. But you're gonna carry your 'Picasso,' not me.".

"Deal," he chuckled, pulling you into his side as you walked hand-in-hand back to the car, your hearts full of joy, and your smiles never fading.

[one-sunny]

Sitting in Silence.

Sanji x reader, short drabble

Summary: Sometimes the days being within a notorious pirate crew can be a bit much. And sometimes this fact doesn’t hit you until there is nothing for you to do. Desc. of anxiety and reader having a bad day. No hurt just comfort.

note: i’m having a bad day and that song from despicable me keeps playing in my head. also that is not relevant to the drabble at all but i feel like it sets the mood LOL

The Sunny was calm for what felt like the first time ever.

The day didn’t result in fighting off rival crews or marines. You were given the chance to relax. To do what ever trivial thing that came to mind.

Nami and Robin have taken to tanning on the deck. Luffy, Ussop, and Chopper fishing while Ussop tells his own exaggerated story. Franky is off in his workshop in his free time and Brook takes to caring for his instruments. Jinbe relaxes under the tangerine trees. Zoro takes a break from training to nap in the sun. Sanji even takes a moment to sit down and relax, a cook book in his lap as he enjoys the sun beaming down.

Yet the frustration was bubbling inside of you. You should be relaxing. Instead your fight or flight was activated for absolutely no reason. Anxiety welling up inside of you and squeezing at your throat.

You sit on the deck among the crew, but with the way your breath kept hitching, you knew that you had to get out. Standing abruptly, you head below deck to the aquarium bar in hopes that watching the various fish swim around would provide some form of solace.

However, staring into the glass only fills you with a sense of longing that you can’t even place. With an exaggerated groan, you throw your hands up, and the fish swimming before you scatter.

Huffing in exasperation, you decide to head to the kitchen. Maybe some tea will help. Or a snack. Or something to take your mind off of your mind.

You find the kitchen to be empty, much to your delight. As much as you enjoyed Sanji’s company at times, you didn’t need him doting on you right now. You just needed silence. Or something. You’re not even sure anymore.

But for now, tea.

You gather the kettle and fill it with water, spilling some onto the floor in the process. Your nerves begin to rise at this. Placing the kettle on the stove top, you click the flames to life, before settling the kitchen counter.

Eyes shut, you try to focus on the sound of the flames and the heating water. It’s not long before the stuttering hiss fills the air. You hop down from the counter to move the kettle from the flames and move to the cabinets to collect a cup.

As you grab a tea cup, your favorite one that Sanji always ensured fell in your hands, you feel it slipping from your grip. You gasp, attempting to save it, but it ultimately crashes to the ground into five separate pieces.

You freeze in place. You don’t cry. You don’t scream. You don’t even move to clean it up. You just stare.

“Darling, is everything okay-“ Sanji quickly cuts himself off as he takes in the scene before him. Your frozen state. The cup- your cup- shattered on the floor. “Okay.” He sighs decisively.

You don’t acknowledge his presence, but you feel yourself being swept away and gently placed on the counter. The frustration boils and you open your mouth to protest, but Sanji holds up a hand and gives you a stern look. He doesn’t speak and neither do you.

Instead, he silently sweeps up the shattered remains on the floor.

You stare ahead at the overhead cabinets. Your eyes follow the wood grain and fingers tap against your thigh. You don’t want to talk, but at the same time you want to scream.

Sanji moves in a familiar flow, before he steps into your line of sight, silent still. You glance down to see his offer of perfectly prepared tea in a new cup. A spark of frustration fires in you but the big blue eyes blinking at you expectantly snuffs it out. A simple nod his way, a thanks, you take the cup from him. Remaining silent, he leans back against the counter beside of you and sips his own cup of tea.

With his presence at your side, you feel as if a weight was lifted from your shoulders in a way you couldn’t explain. He wasn’t doting on you and flooding the room with compliments for once. Instead he offered precisely what you need before you even realize you need it. The tea, lavender with just a hint of honey, helps in calming your nerves but you know the brunt of it falls on the man silently sipping his drink at your side.

“Thank you.” Your voice is shaky.

“You don’t have to thank me.” His voice is calm. No pet names offered and no expectations. “You don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to. I don’t mind sitting in silence with you.”

Your breath hitches at the sincerity in his voice. “Sanji.” You reach out to him, fingers catching the sleeve of his suit jacket. As you peer up at him with watery eyes, Sanji nearly breaks, slowly shuffling closer to you. “I need, uh, can-“ You’re a stuttering mess as you gently tug on his sleeve. He places his cup down, moving yours out of the way, before stepping between your legs to pull you into a tight embrace. You instantly melt into him and bury your face into the collar of his shirt.

Sanji doesn’t speak, squeezing you a little bit tighter when he mistakes the heat rising to your cheeks as something entirely caused by your current frustrations. One of his hands rubs your back while the other remains wrapped around you. It was strangely intimate as you cuddle closer in to him. His hands, something he protects and uses for only the most important things, hold you so close. A deep breath fans across his skin and makes him shiver. A lovesick smile is on his lips despite the situation at hand.

Yet, he can’t see your own smile hidden in his shirt.

Sanji holds you for as long as you need, squeezing you close to him, and you realize that this. This was your something that you needed.

[torus-wife]

TAMING OF THE OBSTINATE MAIDEN OF LAW!

The second part is kinda late because I was busy with school, but here it is! SFW! My reader started crying because of minor familial issues, so I guess she had a teeny bit of angst. Mydei cheered her up, though, but he still received a rejection from her, hehe. Credits to @toastray for the banner below!

You knew you were very stubborn and rude while rejecting your countless suitors, but the audacity of one of your suitors to go and tell your father of your rudeness? You felt belligerent. If it were not for Aglaea, holding you back by thousands of her divine threads, you would have strangled that man with a fragile masculinity on the spot the second time you saw that man.

You received a lecture from your father for that! How could you get a scolding from your father just for that? You loved your father, but you hated being scolded by him, it made you feel guilty for no reason.

The second your father stopped scolding you, you thought you could be fine the rest of the day, but no, your mother just had to slide in a snide comment about your stubborn behavior and how you wouldn't get married because of this behavior.

You knew you wouldn't get married to anyone if you acted rudely with them, you had no interest in staying in a close bind of vows just because the man wanted you as his wife. That's the only reason you were rude to your suitors. No one would want you as their wife this way, you thought. Unlike a certain someone.

Feeling your eyes well up with furious tears, you fled from the presence of your parents, going away to hide in the Grove of Epiphany out of pettiness and pride.

Listen, you had pride, strong self-respect, and high standards because you were brought up in a wealthy household. All your family members loved you, except the snakes in the family, so much so that you had worn gold bangles of the size of your wrists, custom-made, and pure gold anklets since you were born. Do you really think a woman of that household would ever settle for less than you want and deserve?

She sat at the heart of the Grove, feeling her furious tears run down her cheeks pettily. Seriously, she loved her family, but did her mother have to always bring up the topic of marriage when she met her?

Under all that stubbornness and pettiness, there was a sensitive heart and strong emotions you couldn't control no matter how hard you tried to keep them in.

No one saw that sensitivity, they only saw the 'stubborn and annoying Maiden of Law'.

No one but him.

The 'him' was now walking towards her, with his pieces of jewelry now taken off so that she wouldn't know he was approaching.

Mydei was smug when he saw you from the distance, but as he inched closer with bare feet so that you wouldn't know he was approaching, he felt his smugness soften into concern and worry for you when he heard loud sniffles from your standing frame.

He swiftly approached and hugged you standing form from behind, his nose buried into the crook of your neck in a silent offer of comfort, prodding at your gently, "What happened? Why are you crying?"

You huffed loudly, angry that Mydei found you in a bad state of crying, "Why do you care? I'm very clingy, too emotional, and sensitive-hearted, and yet, people only judge me for how I interact with my suitors."

He gently turned your chin to the side, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You cry easily. You can cry over the smallest of things and I would never find it annoying or think any less of you for it. I cherish you every bit, even - or maybe especially - when you're teary-eyed."

His gaze softened as he continued, thumbs still gently caressing your cheeks, "It's just another part of you that I adore. The way you wear your heart on your sleeve - it's beautiful. I find it endearing that something as simple as a sad song or a touching moment in a book can make you tear up. It's a reminder that you feel so deeply, that you have so much love and empathy in your heart. It's one of the things that drew me to you in the first place."

He pulled you closer, the press of your bodies becoming more intimate, his arms still wrapped around you tightly. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and comforting as he spoke.

"You're perfect to me," he murmured, his voice low and rich, "The way you are - it makes you even more remarkable, even more captivating. You're my wife, my partner, my love. And I'm blessed to have you by my side, even if you're crying half the time."

"I don't cry half the time I'm around anyone Mydei, you're exaggerating things-"

He chuckled, a soft rumble in his chest, clearly amused by your denial. "I beg to differ," he teased, pulling back slightly to look at you, his expression affectionate.

"You might not cry in front of everyone, but I know you, love. I know how emotional you can get over the smallest things. It's endearing, really."

"Hmph," You say pettily.

Mydei's lips curled into a knowing, affectionate smirk. He chuckled again, obviously not phased by your stubborn denial.

"That 'hmph' of yours doesn't convince me," he mused, the smirk still present in his expression. "But I don't mind, love. Your stubbornness just adds to your charm."

Guys I finished the second part, I'm too addicted to this duo so I guess it'll go on for more parts, so who wants to be tagged for this mini series

[with-my-calamitous-love]

for all of my pretty / and all of my ugly too 𖤓

s. todoroki x reader

・❥・you pick him up after therapy. y/a! shouto, angst/comfort, mentions of (his) trauma, depression, medication, etc.

for everyone who has sat in the waiting room for someone else. we love you 🤍

✎ i don’t claim to be an expert on therapy sessions or anything of the sort- just someone who has been to a lot of therapy and intensive care and who wanted to write about it <3

song: pov

normally, he’s used to waiting.

he’s waiting to catch a glimpse of his siblings outside, watching from a window two floors above, knowing that watching is the best he’ll get. or waiting behind white sterile walls before entering his mothers hospital room, awaiting that flicker of hurt in her grey eyes when he steps in. he’s spent years of his life waiting for heroes that never come, because heroes start to take too long when your father was supposed to be one of them.

he’s never usually the one being waited on. always waiting for good news with a burning feeling in his gut, wondering if he is waiting on something that may never cone true. he’s never the one in the clinic, always in the waiting room, until now, that is.

he takes a deep breath as soon as the door shuts behind him. he makes a mental checklist in his head: refill his prescription. call his mother, and fuyumi and natsuo if he has the time. maybe call in sick the next day, if that pit in his chest still aches.

his entire appointment, he had been silently waiting for that crushing feeling of stepping out of the doctors office, feeling a strange yet potent mixture of relief and emptiness. this was good, it was improvement. but shouto was beginning to learn that healing emotionally doesn’t always feel good. a lot of things in his life seemed the same way.

the dull ache in his heart dissipates when he sees you stand up upon seeing him.

his face lights up like a kid, walking over to you and hugging you. he’s never been one for overly-affectionate greetings, but it seems he’s needed this more than you.

“hi.” you laugh, hugging him back. “nice to see you too.”

“really nice.” he affirms, placing a kiss on your head.

there was something so magical about shouto now, in his 20s. you had fallen in love with him in your teenage years, when he was still learning and still growing. now, he was stronger, more refined, calmer. the wisdom he carried was something bittersweet. it was something that made you fall in love with him, and something he had as a result of growing up faster than he should have.

still, age loved him enough to not change but simply refine his already handsome looks, like varnish to a painting.

“how was your appointment?”

theres a little pinch in his stomach when you ask that.

good, he wants to say. i’m doing so much better like i should be doing. i’m definitely not still struggling.

instead, he simply takes your car keys from you.

“aren’t i the one picking you up?” you ask, hand intertwining with his as you walk him out of the building.

“yes, but i’m here now.” he smiles. what a gentleman.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

shouto also drives like a gentleman, and it makes your heart throb.

he has one firm hand on the steering wheel, blue and grey eyes focused on the road. every now and then, he’ll look to you, humming along happily to the music. his other hand is placed over your thigh while you absentmindedly play with his slim fingers.

“you sure you can drive with one hand?” you smile, knowing its a rhetorical question, knowing that shouto would drive through snow storms with one eye covered to keep you safe and sound in the passenger seat.

“please.” he smiles, a hint of cockiness in his lips. “i got my license as soon as i turned 16.”

“shouto, most people get their license at 16.” you laugh a little at his obliviousness. though, it does occur to you that he might not have the greatest recollection of what a normal boy does and doesn’t at 16 years old.

he seems to realize that, too. so you shift the conversation away subtly: “wheres the first place you drove to on your own?”

its just mundane small talk, filling the silence of the car. but shouto does think, taking everything you say to heart. he knows the answer, he just hesitates before verbalizing it.

“my mom. she was still in the hospital at the time.” he says after a beat. “…she was really proud of me.” he adds, because he knows it’ll make you smile.

“you deserve that, you know.” you squeeze his hand. “to feel like people are proud of you. you’ve been through so much shit and its made you stronger. but that doesn’t mean you deserved what happened to you. you deserved to just… be a kid.”

because its true. because yes, it was the hell he endured that made him resilient and kind. its the lack of love he felt that made him love you tenfold. but that doesn’t mean he didn’t deserve better.

and shouto knows that, too. wondering if there was another world out there where he was simply the youngest todoroki, coming home after a long day of school. he’d get math help from fuyumi after dinner and play soccer with natsuo out in the yard. and when the nightmares would creep into his head, he’d crawl into bed with his oldest brother, who would pretend to act annoyed but then pull the blanket over the both of them.

he could dream about it.

“thank you.” shouto squeezes your hand back. he’s at that familiar loss for words you know in him all too well.

he feels guilty about the awkwardness of the moment. he’s still getting used to receiving, and to people in his life sticking around even through the hardest moments of his life. what he does know is that he loves you, even though he’s scared. and that slowly, you make him want to be grateful for himself.

“you see yourself and you see someone who you haven’t always liked, or haven’t always been proud of.” you start, catching a glimpse of the mist forming in his eyes at your words.

“but when i see you… i just see someone who deserves all these good things. someone i love. i just wish you could love yourself how i love you.”

he chokes up at that.

“me too, [y/n].” his voice is a shaky whisper.

somehow, you seem to know him better than he knows himself. its only you who can touch his soul from the outside, see him for all his pride and ego, for all his flaws and pains and aches and love him fiercely anyway. he isn’t sure how and he’s terrified of losing it.

“are you crying?”

“no, no, i’m not-“

“shouto-“

“okay yes, i’m sorry. i teared up.”

he’s laser focused on the road now, knowing he can’t look away, but knowing your eyes are on him.

“no, uhm. you almost ran a red light.” you clarify.

he blinks, looking up and realizing that he had almost broken a traffic law. so much for good driving.

“guess i did.” he speaks to break the silence, but doesn’t actually know what to add. the tears on his face seem more like an afterthought now.

a few more beats of quiet pass, before its interrupted by a slip of laughter from you.

he sighs in relief, hearing it.

“sorry, love.” he smiles sheepishly. “i got distracted.”

you tell him it’s okay, because you know that if anything were to happen to you, he’d never forgive himself.

he’s slowly thawing. parts of him still frozen but slowly falling for you more and more each day. he doesn’t want to keep you waiting, holding onto all his baggage and all his doubts. for all his life, he’s been hurt by those who were meant to nurture him. but now, he knows his eyes won’t deceive him.

[zae-heeyyy]

Peregrine

Summary: Arthur misses your birthday. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,124 Tags: angst, smut, high honor Arthur, oral, pnv, fingering Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: A request fulfilment for my dear Kenny @emerald-ranch. I kinda added in the birthday thing, I hope that was alright! It became clear to me as I was writing this that I 1000% have a thing for Arthur on his knees...XD anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Peregrine: having a tendency to wander

The length of Arthur’s absences varied like the frequency of rumbles during a storm. Dark clouds hung heavy over every departure, and your tears threatened to drop like rain down a window.

“I’ll be back soon,” he always promised while kissing the top of your head and squeezing you tight. Some trips were short cracks of thunder, ending just as fast as they began; others would roll on for days, the heavy rain flooding the rushing river that was your anxiety. 

But in time, he’d arrive with blood, dirt, and sweat staining his shirt and the scar on his chin covered by his overgrown beard. Outstretched arms would warm you like the afternoon sun. You’d breathe him in, sighing contentedly despite scents of gunpowder and musk clinging to him.

This time was different.

The sun fell below the horizon for the fourth time since he’d departed. Glass bottles clinked as camp buzzed with the lively energy of celebration—a celebration for your birthday. You tried everything to enjoy yourself, forcing air through your vocal cords to mimic a laugh, stretching your lips and showing your teeth to fake a smile, all while trying not to panic.

All the possibilities of his absence spun in your brain in a demonic sacrificial waltz. Was he still alive? Did he get arrested? Was he captured by Pinkertons and tortured while the rest of you partied the night away? Or worse, was he out there, perfectly content with being away knowing you were desperately waiting? To keep yourself sane, you rationalized. He was out finding food and making money. He had mouths to feed and people to take care of. Survival was more important than a birthday.

Whether they were too drunk to notice or respectfully giving you space, nobody protested when you slipped away to Arthur’s tent for the night. Tears spilled down your face and onto his pillow as the last hours of your birthday ticked by.

The stench of dread infiltrated your dreams and ruminated even in your waking hours. Nothing you did could free you from the pain of missing him. At high noon, heavy footsteps prompted you to look up from the growing line of yarn in your lap. You’d memorized the sound of Arthur’s walk like your favorite song, yet the man standing before you felt like an imposter. He wore a familiar cattleman revolver on his hip and long silky locs of hair rested over broad shoulders like always–though more tame this time. And despite their vibrant colors, the wildflowers in his hands dulled in comparison to the bright white, freshly pressed shirt he wore.

And your heart plummeted like a stone in a lake; while you were crying yourself to sleep on your birthday, he saw to himself instead of you. Privy to your dismay, the cowboy’s features lowered into a frown. 

“Darlin,” he started, quiet and hesitant. “I–I ain’t got an excuse.”

You huffed, losing your stitch count and refusing to meet his eyes. “The king has returned.”

Leaves and twigs cracked under his uncomfortable shuffle as he faltered, “thought we could go for a ride, to–”

And you didn’t let him finish. “M’busy, Arthur.” 

Silence hung in the air while he thought of a response. “M’sorry.” He said, then continued when you didn’t acknowledge him. “I’m sorry, and that should’ve been the first thing outta my mouth.”

“Yeah, it should’ve,” you agreed grudgingly. The threads of intertwined yarn were jumbled and lopsided now, a tangled reflection of this whole week. You threw the needles and yarn down into the grass beside you and finally brought yourself to face him. He wanted to smile finally seeing you, but instead, something like a sigh of relief rolled out with his words.

“Time just…got away from me,” he admitted. “I’m a self-serving idiot bastard, and I’m just…sorry. Just lemme make it up to ya’.” 

You thought for a moment, then glanced over your shoulder at Grimshaw, trying to find an out.

” But I got chores,” you told him.   

“Don’tchu’ worry ’bout that.” He extended his free hand out to you, and dammit, yours was in it faster than you could deny yourself.  The outlaw lifted you up from your seat with one arm and locked yours and his together as he drew you away from camp. And you had to give credit where credit was due because he pulled out all the stops: a ride in a stolen stagecoach, wine, dinner, and a room. He spoiled you in the only ways he knew how, but still, you couldn’t rid yourself of the uninvited guest, unadulterated hurt, that squatted in your bones.

“How was the party?” He’d asked.

“Fine.” You replied, pushing food around on your plate.

“Charles told me the girls managed to get you a cake.”

“They did.”

And the conversation trailed off like it had so often tonight. Every time you glanced at him, the hair, and especially the shirt, hate-filled magma churned within, and you couldn’t hold it any longer, your words spewing out like lava. 

“S’a fancy shirt.” 

His chin touched his chest as he fiddled with the top button. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off for the second time tonight.

“Glad you had time to stop and pamper yourself. Nice shave, fancy hair, new shirt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was your birthday.”

You didn’t mean to sound so crass, but now that the pot had boiled over, stopping the overflow felt damn near impossible. 

“I thought–”

“Thought?” A curt laugh halted his attempt to explain himself. “It’s hard to imagine you doing any of that.”

And he hung his head, an old dog with his tail between his legs–shameful that he’d disappointed the one he loved the most.

“And you paid for a bath too. Tell me, was it twenty-five cents or fifty?”

Your chair screeched against the floor, and you jerked back before he could answer, fleeing to anywhere but that table with him. The room key Arthur gave you in the stagecoach burned a hole in your pocket. You trotted up the stairs, searching for 2C and ignoring his calls from behind you. The least you deserved was a night behind closed doors, locked away from everything, even if it meant locking him out in the process.

Warm light burst out as you crossed into the room. Lit candles lined the fireplace mantle, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A brand new day dress draped across the chair, a decorative hair comb resting atop it.

“Saw it in a window.” His words poured out smoothly like aged whisky, the sudden sound causing you to jump but prompting the skin on your arms to prick up all the same. And you were embracing each other without another thought—your fingers intertwining behind his neck, his hands settling on your hips.

“M’sorry, sweetheart. Ain’t ever gonna forgive m’self for lettin’ you down.” 

And you listened patiently while he devolved into his long-winded explanation.

“Was hoping to make a quick house call. Get in n’ out in one night, quick and easy. And I did, but some goddamn bounty hunters found my trail on the way back. Spent a day hiding out, and knew I wouldn’t make it back in time. Figured I oughta bring something nice back with me, you deserved that much.”

Your eyes drifted to the buttons of the shirt again, and he tilted your chin to look back up at him. 

“I saw the dress in a window, and let the man sell me the shirt too. Wanted to be at least a little presentable–somebody you’d wanna look at. Ain’t much I can do about my face, but...” 

Chuckling under his breath, he snaked a hand into yours and flicked your stuck-out lip. “Then I saw a sign outside the barber. Buy some pomade and get a free comb for your lady,” he touched his hair and rubbed the grease between his fingers.

“Then I got the key, laid everything out nice, stopped for some flowers, and thought I was prince charmin’ off to sweep you away to the ball–well, the room, more like.” He scratched his neck nervously and shook his head. “I thought you’d think a stagecoach fancy enough to make you forget how much I screwed up. No magic pumpkins ’round here though,” he shrugged. “Just an idiot, head-over-heels, hoping you can find it in you to forgive him.”

And frankly, you’d forgiven him the second you stepped foot into the room. Trying to fight your smile was a losing battle.

“You’re right about the idiot part.”

The gunslinger let out a breathy, almost laugh, before taking your hands in his and ushering you to the bed. Relief ran through you. After four long nights, you could finally submerge yourself in those eyes, blue and gold-like specks of sunlight reflecting on the sea.

“Please, forgive me, darlin’, I’m beggin’.”

Rough pads of his fingers traced over your knuckles as he waited patiently for your response. You crossed your legs and bounced your foot playfully. 

“I don’t know, I seen dogs beg for scraps better than that, Arthur Morgan.” 

And while your words were harsh, both of you were smiling now. He grunted, a sure sound of him swallowing his pride, then sunk to one knee, then another.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name came out thick and rich like honey, “M’sorry. Lemme fix it.”

His hands gripped both your knees, squeezing them lovingly, his touch so reassuringly familiar. He scooted in closer, guiding your legs apart and settling them on either side of his shoulders.

“I can do that thing ya’ like.” he offered, his chipped tooth smile brightening his face.

You ran one hand through his hair and brought him in by the collar with the other, pecking his lips once, then twice. On the third, you slowed down, lingering with your mouth against his, savoring the all too fleeting feeling of home. Soft giggles slipping between your lips interrupted the moment. Arthur stared up at you with nothing but devotion in his eyes, that laugh like the sweetest medicine, healing his diseased heart long riddled by self-loathing and loss. His right hand had started slow circles on your thigh, reminding you of his proposition.

“Thing I like? Don’t know what you mean, Mr. Morgan.” 

But you were shimmying yourself back onto the bed, and he was grabbing at your bloomers at the same time. He lifted his brow knowingly, and hummed a “mhm,” while you lifted your hips, helping him take the garment off and toss it to the floor.

You bunched up your skirts around your waist and looked down at your lover as he lay on his stomach between your legs. His beard grazed your inner thigh, sending thousands of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sighed in relief, releasing four nights of pent-up anxiety as his lips found your center.

And minutes later, just after letting you come down from the first one, he got to work on another climax, fingers pistoning steadily while he whispered all the things he loved about you in your ear. He was on his side next to you now, his own arousal nudging your thigh. The gruffness in his voice sent another surge of pleasure through you.

“You know, I never stop thinking ’bout you when I’m away.” You fluttered around his fingers, and your hips arched a little higher off the bed, “always thinkin’ ’bout you like this, all pretty and spread open for me.”

His thumb started fast circles on your clit, and you braced yourself for another tidal wave as his passionate speech continued.

“Next time y’miss me, get on that cot, spread these pretty thighs, think about what I’m doing t’ya, and use those fingers to getcherself off, can you do that for me?”

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open, but only sounds of absolute ecstasy came out of you.

“Whatd’ya say, darlin’?”

And with that last question, the dam broke, your orgasm busting out around his fingers. Your sounds were the most divine opera, rising in pitch with every “Yes, Arthur,” as you melted. 

And he wasn’t done with you yet. Despite being miles away from camp, both of you made a home with each other. Home was the trail of raised skin that followed his touch and pairs of eyes meeting in love-filled exchanges. Home was the first few flutters of your pussy as he sheathed himself deep inside you. One night or even a week’s journey wouldn’t deter him, for he’d claw his way through the fiery depths of perdition to get back home to you.

[biggietofu]

Thank you for tagging me boo !! @french-baguette-126 ❤️❤️❤️

Last song: LOVER TOFU FRUIT by Tiffany Day

Favorite color: maybe like a dusty baby blue???

Last book: The Phone Booth at the Edge of the World by Laura Imai Messina

Last TV show: Rewatched Brooklyn 99 (the obsession still stands strong 😔

Sweet/savory/spicy: Sweet!!!

Last thing I googled: cherry almond perfume

Looking forward to: watching six next week/outsiders to go on tour in my city ✊️✊️

Current obsession: Outsiders the Musical (it's really really bad guys, I didn't have my phone w me so I replayed JFT in my head for 20 minutes straight today)

(guys I'm scared pls don't beat me up 😟) @curtis-brothers-hug @sondheim-girly @lucyandlucy @greaserdreams

people i'd like to know better <3

tagged by @assignmentimprobable - thank you friend!

edit: also tagged by @redbelles thank you meg!!!

Last Song: marigolds by gwen stefani

Favorite Color: blue!

Last Book: the grandest stage by tyler kepner

Last TV Show: JAG (judge advocate general)

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: sweet

Last thing I googled: "NMOC aerosol"

Looking Forward To: may 1, when i will have some fucking clarity on [redacted].

Current Obsessions: jag all day all the time. i'm sure you all have seen the semi-regular tumblr breakdowns

Tagging: Going to tag the last few mutuals in my notifs! @ruztyryan @weisse-rose @sluttyhenley @captastra @pixlerelish @waxworkdaughter @vcollies @captainstressed and anyone else, just say I tagged you!

[almostfoxglove]

oh wow, i am such a fan of these speculative fic ask games! for the made up fic titles... how about:

Helplessly Hoping (after That Song, sobs)

and/or

Break me, Golden Girl

hope you're having a great week ❤️

- that one long and rambling anon

HONEY HIII <3 I love these, omg. come on, helplessly hoping? YOU KNOW ME TOO WELL, I FEAR.

send me a made-up fic title game

I'm picturing... it's the summer of 2003 and joel miller is in love with you.

years ago, when sarah was just a little squirm, tommy dragged his sleep-deprived ass to a bar to get him laid and he met you. beautiful, whip-smart, and not scared off by his clumsy attempt to strike up conversation while you waited for the bartender to come around. by midnight, at a corner high-top table, you'd slid off your stool to stand between his knees and told him without an ounce of hesitation to kiss you.

so he did. when you told him to call a cab and come home with you he did that, too. babysitter was good till morning. tommy was occupied with some girl on the dance floor. and you felt so good under his hands, were softer than he knew how to handle, and seemed so sure about him. he'd never felt so wanted before.

but when the two of you stumbled into your apartment, already kissing, laughing into each other's mouths as you tripped over the hallway carpet, it was clear you'd both gotten way too drunk. you took him to bed, tugging the shirt off his back before peeling away your own, but he couldn't get it up. you couldn't stop giggling. and he would've been embarrassed when you pulled away if not for your humor. the smug little shrug you gave when he'd mumbled some pink-cheeked apology, kissing him long and slow a final time before dragging the duvet up until it covered everything but your heads. "s'fine with me," you'd grinned, lashes fluttering as your eyes dragged closed, already half-asleep. "still got the prettiest man at the bar into bed with me."

the morning was not nearly as rosy. the second his eyes cracked, a hangover smacked into him like a punch to the throat. when he tried to sit up, a wave of vertigo crushed him back into your mattress.

beside him, you grumbled at his jostling, hair a mess and mascara flaked under your eyes. feeling his bewildered stare, you cracked one eye at him and smiled.

"I've decided we're going to be very good friends," you said.

and that was that.

now, years later, you're a pillar in his life. sarah loves you. tommy loves you. and joel - like a heartsick, pitiful dope - loves you in a very different way.

not that he can tell you now, but he thinks he might have to soon. it's too big for his body - the feeling he gets whenever you're around - and he's starting to worry what might happen if he doesn't let it out. so when september comes he decides he'll tell you on his birthday, when you come over for cake, after sarah passes out on the couch like she always does on movie night.

then four days before his birthday, you come down with the flu. on the 26th you're still too sick to get out of bed, or so you claim when joel insists you come over anyway, that they'll look after you and he ain't scared of a stomach bug, but you won't listen. it's you who calls the shots about everything, so you stay home. he doesn't get to see you, doesn't get to confess that you're all he wants. that he's wanted you this whole time.

then outbreak hits. the whole world ends. and sarah, gasping in his arms, dies.

the only thing that keeps him moving, agonizing step by agonizing step, is the hope that you're out there somewhere in the violent wreck. that if he just keeps looking, just keeps pushing, he'll find you again.

[not-the-axolotl]

Can we talk about how Billie and Fantoccio are insanely sibling-coded? Like look at this.

Also Fantoccio's song (i've had enough of you) is all stuff someone would tell their younger sibling, especialy if there's a significant age gap.

I think this ties in with the theory that Fantoccio was created by Arthur.

One part right at the start of the song stands out to me though.

"You! You've been nothing but a thorn in my side. From day one."

"From day one."

Isn't this the first time they meet? Perhaps not. We know that Fantoccio has been abandoned for 15 years, and that Billie is 15 years old. If Arthur did create Fantoccio, and then disapeared around Billie's birth, there's a small chance that he, perhaps subconsiously, blames Billie for what happened. He might believe that if Billie didn't exist, Arthur would still be there.

[deadhands69]

Karaoke: Heroes

what happens when you go out to a karaoke bar with your favorite heros? hero characters edition ▷ villain version Featuring: Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Kyoka Jiro, Mina Ashido, Shoto Todoroki, Katsuki Bakugo, Mirio Togata, Tamaki Amajiki, Minoru Minetta, Shouta Aizawa, & Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic)

With a group of former UA students all off on the same night, everyone decides to go out. Conveniently, after an incident a few days ago, the karaoke bar is back up and running tonight!

Denki Kaminari ♫ it was like lightning, everybody was frightening, and the music was soothing, and they all started grooving ♫

Denki fucking goes for it. He would be the most fun to do karaoke with. He's running all over the place, jumping on tables, and climbing on top of the bar. During the guitar solo, he just slid on his knees across the stage. When you're up to sing, he's just as excited. Denki would also be great to do duets with.

If he has a crush on you, he dedicates a song to you and makes up the words to make it fit. 

Songs: Ballroom Blitz by The Sweet and Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've) by Buzzcocks

Eijiro Kirishima ♫ it's more than a feeling (more than a feeeeeling) ♫

Kiri is a little shy at first but he gets used to it quickly. Especially once he sees you and the rest of his friends cheering him on, he opens up and has a lot of fun with it! He only picks the manliest of manly songs.

Songs: Don't Stop Believing by Journey and More Than a Feeling by Boston

Kyoka Jiro ♫ maaahhaaaaahhhaaaahhhaaaaps wait, they don't love you like I love you ♫

Jiro doesn't want to sing at first but eventually gives in to peer pressure. She has an amazing voice and you all ask her to sing more. 

Songs: Fade into You by Mazzy Star, Maps by Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and Jolene by Dolly Parton

Mina Ashido ♫ oh mother dear we're not the fortunate ones and girls they wanna have fu-hun ♫

After a few too many electric blue colored drinks, Mina is wasted. But she's sooo into it! Even if she doesn't know all the lyrics. She's so excited that you can't help but cheer her on though. As soon as she sees you rooting for her, she gets excited and spills her unsettlingly colorful drink again.

Later, she pulls you onstage with her to sing Wanna Be by Spice Girls. Hope you know that one! 

Songs: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper and Dancing Queen by Abba. 

Shoto Todoroki ♫ Dandadan, dandadan, dandadan, dandadan, dandadan ♫

Shoto has never been to karaoke before.

He walks onto the stage calmly, checking the microphone with a confused look on his face. An anime opening song comes on the speakers. Shoto stands perfectly still but surprises everyone by having a decent voice. After that, he realizes he enjoys it so he sings a few more.

Songs: nothing but Creepy Nuts

Katsuki Bakugo ♫ do you want to eat? do you want to sleep? do you want to drown? just settle down, settle down, settle down ♫

Says he doesn't want to be there but still stops by briefly, sings one song (this took a lot of convincing,) then leaves saying he has to wake up early. He picks his own song, reluctantly, after his friends keep putting in TNT by AC/DC.

He's a little awkward about getting into it, but after he realizes its mostly his friends in the bar anyways he lets loose a little (well, as much as pro hero Dynamite would ever let loose in a public space.) Obligatory box checked so now his friends can't complain that he didn't participate this time. Maybe next time you can get him to stick around for longer.

Song: Anything Anything by Dramarama

Mirio Togata ♫ What would you think if I sang out of tune, would you stand up and walk out on me? ♫

Goes onstage during any slow moments to rev everyone up. He's been more than happy to sing with people who are nervous and is having fun if you're having fun.

Songs: Happy Together by The Turtles and With A Little Help From My Friends by The Beetles

Tamaki Amajiki ♫ .........

Amajiki just left. He went home without telling anyone. 

His song gets called: Uncomfortable by Wallows. You didn't even know they had that song.

Minoru Mineta ♫ I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now ♫

Serenades every girl in the room. When one isn't into it, he jumps to the next mid-verse. Eventually someone slips the song Creep by Radiohead in under his name and he takes the hint.

Songs: Wonderwall by Oasis and Your Body is a Wonderland by John Mayer

Just as the new pro-heroes are thinking about calling it a night, two of their old teachers walk in.

Shouta Aizawa

Aizawa looks over it the moment he walks in the room. Finding a cozy booth in the corner, he promptly falls asleep. It doesn't last long.

Present Mic ♫ daaaaayyyyyyyyyyy-o !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ♫

Present Mic takes the stage, and clears his voice. The song begins and he blows out the speaker system within the first line.

Karaoke night is officially over.

Song: Day-O (The Banana Boat Song) by Harry Belafonte

bnha masterlist

taglist:  @kitkat13001 @kennys-partner @amira-44820 @its-evee16 @thesecond2demonking

@cccandynecklaces @harryzcherry @mynicknameisgasoline @darhinadadragon @ch3rryjampi3 

@moonstonejpg @kalulakunundrum @katthekat1234 @touyaeater @kennedyonce 

@softknj @minksworldy @gold24fish @nickibunny23 @nyceroni 

 @chaOskinq @vikizzy @miyah-444

[misshoneyimhome]

Oh! A thousand times happy birthday to the wonderful @laurenairay! 🥳

So, this is my little one-shot for your Birthday Bingo, and, unsurprisingly, I had to go with our favourite fridge for this—Freddie Big Red Andersen 🤭❤️‍🔥

I went with the exes-to-lovers, surprise, dancing, and birthday celebration tropes—because what’s a story without a little soft!Freddie, longing for the one who got away? (Cliché? Oh, absolutely 🙈💕)

I hope you enjoy the story! Wishing you the happiest of birthdays, my dear 🥰

Tropes & warnings: No warnings, exes-to-lovers, surprise, dancing, and birthday celebration, bestfriend!Auston

Word count: 2.4K

➼｡ﾟ

Summary: You and Frederik Andersen were once inseparable—until he got signed by the Carolina Hurricanes and left Toronto. The breakup was painful but necessary, or so you told yourself. You both stayed friendly from afar, never crossing paths too much.

Now, on your 30th birthday, Auston Matthews has thrown you a party, inviting all your closest friends. You don’t expect anything unusual—until you spot Frederik Andersen standing in the crowd, watching you with the same warm gaze you’ve spent years trying to forget.

_

Is It Over Now? I Frederik Andersen №

Toronto hummed with the easy warmth of summer; the city streets still familiar beneath your feet as you stepped out of the car. The evening sky stretched overhead, streaked with hues of orange and lavender, the last traces of daylight fading into the kind of night that promised memories waiting to be made.

Auston Matthews had planned the night down to the last detail. Of course, he had. He never did anything halfway, and your 30th birthday was no exception. You expected something lowkey—a simple dinner, a handful of close friends, maybe a toast or two. Instead, the moment you stepped inside the upscale private lounge Auston had rented for the occasion, you realised just how much you had underestimated him.

The place buzzed with energy, a perfect mix of NHL players, childhood friends, and familiar faces from your past. The sleek bar at the back gleamed under the warm lighting, bottles glinting like liquid gold. A DJ spun a carefully curated playlist, your favourite songs filtering through the space, setting the perfect atmosphere. Laughter and conversation swirled in the air, champagne glasses clinking in celebratory toasts.

You smiled, a little overwhelmed but mostly touched by the effort Auston had put into all of this. He knew you better than most, and he knew exactly how to make you feel special.

Then, your gaze drifted across the room.

And your breath caught.

You froze mid-step, the noise of the party dulling to a hum in the background.

Because standing near the bar, looking just as effortlessly composed as ever, was Frederik Andersen.

The air in the room shifted, though you doubted anyone else noticed.

-

It had been years since you last saw him in person. Since the day he had packed his bags for Carolina, leaving behind not just Toronto, but you.

The breakup had been mutual—or, at least, that’s what you told yourself on the nights when the bed felt too big and the absence of his warmth too cold. You had both avoided the screaming, the bitterness, the messy fights. There had been no slammed doors, no ultimatums, just a painful, whispered understanding: his career was taking him somewhere else, and you weren’t part of the transfer.

You had stood in the doorway of your shared condo, watching as he zipped up his last duffel bag, his shoulders tense.

“You could come with me,” he had said, hesitant, like he already knew the answer.

You had smiled, even though it hurt. “And leave everything I’ve built here?”

Neither of you had said it, but you both knew the truth: you had never wanted to be the person who followed him from city to city, uprooting your life for his. You had been proud of him—proud of how hard he worked, how much he deserved this new chapter—but you had dreams too. Dreams that didn’t include packing up and starting over in a new city every few years.

So, you had let him go.

-

And now, he was here.

Time hadn’t changed him much—if anything, it had only made him more devastatingly familiar. Broad shoulders, tall frame, that quiet confidence that had always made him stand out without trying. His red hair was slightly longer than you remembered, curling at the ends, and he wore a navy suit, perfectly tailored, his presence commanding without a word.

He looked good. Too good.

And worse? He looked happy to see you.

His eyes—those same brown eyes that had once felt like home—found yours instantly. His pink lips curled into a small, unreadable smile, something caught between recognition and nostalgia. Maybe something deeper.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Auston appeared beside you just then, blissfully unaware of the way your world had just tilted on its axis. Or maybe he was entirely aware and was enjoying it a little too much.

“Surprise!” Auston grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Thought you’d want your favourite Dane here.”

Your stomach plummeted.

You barely processed the words. Frederik was here.

And you? You had no idea how to react.

Do you say hello? Play it cool, act as if seeing him again didn’t unravel something deep inside you? Do you turn away, avoid the conversation altogether, pretend this wasn’t affecting you the way it so clearly was?

Before you could decide, Frederik stepped closer.

His voice, smooth and familiar, edged with that faint Danish lilt you hadn’t realised you missed, reached you before you were ready for it.

“Hey.”

One word. That was all it took.

Your mouth went dry.

"Hey, yourself."

Freddie was here. He was standing in front of you, looking at you like the past hadn’t just been collecting dust between you for years.

Like maybe—just maybe—it had never really been over.

And suddenly, your carefully constructed world felt a little less steady.

The night moved around you, filled with the warmth of celebration, but no matter how much you tried to lose yourself in conversations, in laughter, in the rhythmic pulse of the music, you could feel him.

Frederik never lingered too far.

You told yourself you were imagining it at first—that it was just coincidence that every time you turned your head, he was in your periphery. That whenever you moved across the room, he was already there, just close enough to be felt but never too close to be confronted.

But it wasn’t coincidence.

It was intentional.

You’d feel his presence before you saw him—the subtle pull of gravity that still existed between you, even after all these years.

And the worst part? You played right into it.

At first, it was polite. The careful, safe small talk.

“How have you been?”

“Good. You?”

“Same. Busy.”

Then, the teasing comments, the ones that threatened to slip into something more familiar.

“Didn’t expect to see you drinking wine instead of beer.”

“Didn’t expect you to still be wearing the same cologne.”

And each time, a look that lingered too long.

A brush of fingers as he passed you a drink.

A low laugh from him when someone made a joke, his gaze flickering to yours, as if it was meant just for you.

You tried to act unaffected, to pretend this didn’t feel like stepping into a dangerous kind of nostalgia. But it was impossible when his presence settled into your bones like muscle memory. And then, at some point, the party blurred into background noise, and suddenly it was just you and him.

The night air was crisp when you stepped onto the balcony, the city stretching wide below you, the lights glittering like scattered stars. You took a breath, trying to clear your head, willing yourself to shake off whatever this was—the ghost of something unfinished pressing against your ribs.

But then, the door behind you clicked shut. You knew it was him before you even turned around.

Frederik leaned against the railing, his navy suit jacket slightly undone now, his tie loosened just enough to make your throat go dry.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The music from inside was muffled, the sounds of the city filling the quiet between you. Then, finally, he broke it.

“Did you really think I’d miss this?”

Your heart stuttered. It was such a simple question, and yet, it knocked the air right out of you. You turned to face him, swallowing hard.

“I didn’t think it mattered.” The words were meant to be indifferent, casual. They weren’t.

Something flickered across his face, but he recovered quickly, tilting his head slightly. “It mattered.”

The way he said it—soft, certain, like there had never been a doubt in his mind—made your stomach twist.

Because if it mattered, if he had still cared, then what did that mean for everything that had been left unsaid between you?

You bit your lip, looking away. “It’s been years, Freddie.”

“And?” His voice was steady, but there was something underneath it—a quiet urgency, a hesitation, like he wasn’t sure how much he was allowed to say.

You exhaled, crossing your arms, feeling too raw, too exposed. “And you’re in Carolina.”

“So?”

You blinked. “So?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, his fingers tapping idly against the railing. “You always did make things more complicated than they had to be.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “You think this is simple?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a step closer. And just like that, the space between you felt impossibly small.

The scent of his cologne, that same familiar blend of cedar and something uniquely him, curled around you, dragging you straight back to a thousand moments you had tried to forget.

“No,” he admitted finally, his voice softer now. “It’s never been simple with us.” The words settled between you, heavy and unspoken. Because maybe that was the truth.

Maybe it had never been simple. Maybe it had never really been over. And for the first time tonight, you wondered if you were ready to stop pretending otherwise.

The night had taken on a different rhythm, one that pulsed beneath your skin as you tried to navigate the celebration without acknowledging the man who had, once upon a time, unravelled you with nothing but a look. But avoidance was proving impossible when every step, every glance, pulled you back toward him like a gravitational force too strong to ignore.

Then came the inevitable.

Someone—Auston, Mitch, or another well-meaning instigator—decided the night wouldn’t be complete without a dance floor moment.

A slow song hummed through the speakers, the lights dimming just enough to create the illusion of intimacy amidst the crowd.

You took a half-step back, scanning for an escape, but before you could move, he was there. Frederik’s hand extended toward you, palm open, fingers steady.

“It’s just one dance,” he murmured, voice low, just for you.

You knew better. It was never just one dance with him.

Still, your fingers hovered over his for a beat too long. You could have walked away. Could have turned him down with some breezy excuse, let the moment pass.

But you didn’t.

The second your palm met his, the warmth of his skin against yours sent a shiver through you—something familiar, something dangerously close to home. He guided you to the centre of the floor, his other hand settling at your waist, and the rest of the party faded into the background.

Your movements fell into sync, muscle memory filling the spaces where words had failed you. His touch was gentle, but firm—like he was giving you an out but hoping you wouldn’t take it.

“I didn’t peg you for a dancer,” you said, the attempt at lightness feeling thin between you.

His lips quirked into something resembling a smile, though his eyes stayed serious. “You know I only dance for you.”

Your chest clenched. Because you did know.

Frederik had never been the type to make sweeping romantic gestures, but you remembered the nights he’d pulled you into slow dances in your kitchen, arms wrapped around you as he hummed some off-key melody against your hair. You remembered the way he had held you after long road trips, swaying with you in the dark, letting the quiet fill the spaces where exhaustion sat heavy between you.

Those moments had been yours.

And now, you were here, in the middle of a crowded room, moving to the same unspoken rhythm that had once bound you together.

And just then... came the confession.

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

Your breath caught. You stiffened slightly in his hold, but he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened—his fingers pressing just a little firmer into your waist, like he was grounding himself.

“I asked you to come with me,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “And you said no. But I never knew how to fight for you.”

Your stomach twisted. You remembered that night—how he had asked, once, how you had hesitated just a moment too long before saying you couldn’t. And then, instead of fighting for it, he had nodded. Accepted it. Let you go.

The words struck like a direct hit, stealing the air from your lungs. Because that had been it, hadn’t it? The thing that had broken you apart. You had been waiting for him to ask again. And he hadn’t known how.

So, instead, you had both let the silence make the choice for you.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You never asked again.”

His eyes darkened, a flicker of regret shifting in the brown depths. “I know.”

The song swelled around you, but you barely heard it, the world narrowing to the space between you and him.

He exhaled, his forehead almost brushing against yours, the feeling of him—curling around you, pulling you back into a past you weren’t sure you had ever left.

“I should have,” he admitted softly.

Your heart twisted painfully. Because if he had? If he had asked again? Maybe everything would have been different. Maybe you wouldn’t be here now, teetering on the edge of something that felt too much like déjà vu.

The song slowed. And instead of letting go, he held on. His fingers curled against your waist. His breath was warm against your temple. And suddenly, you weren’t sure how to breathe.

Because this wasn’t just a dance. It never had been. And you had no idea how to pretend otherwise anymore.

Later that night, when most of the guests were gone, he found you again.

You had slipped outside again for air, the remnants of the party still alive in the background, but quieter now. The city stretched before you, glittering with possibility, but your thoughts were tangled with the past.

Then, his voice cut through the silence.

“I don’t want to be just your past,” Frederik said, stepping closer, his hands in his pockets, tension written in the set of his shoulders. “Not when I still want a future.”

You turned slowly, your heart beating a little too fast, a little too hard.

You hesitated. What if history repeated itself? What if you opened the door, only to watch him walk away again?

But then, he stepped forward, closing the space between you, his expression raw, open in a way you had rarely seen before. “No more what-ifs,” he promised. “I’ll fight for this if you will.”

And just like that, the choice wasn’t shrouded in silence anymore.

"I want to fight too."

For the first time in years, there was hope.

[4listr]

DREAM 2: STAGE

cw : death

I once had a dream, where I was in a stage.

You were there, at the center, muttering something under your breath.

I moved closer to the middle—closer to the area of light for I was in the darkness—to hear what you were saying, or in this case, singing.

You were humming a lullaby, but your humming was unstable like a dotted line. It felt like your voice was quivering, not seeming to follow a certain pace. Eventually, that instability cleared as you start to form a melody.

Your mouth went from humming to singing, hesitation still evident in your voice but is slowly disappearing. After a few notes, coherent lyrics start to form and your symphony started.

It was obvious that you found comfort in singing as your voice became steady. Singing was your passion, music was your identity, and yet your voice spills of mourning.

I don't know why, but I feel myself drawn to your song as if I knew it all along.

I moved closer to your side as you reached the song's climax, opening my mouth to start singing. The lyrics came out so smootly like velvet. It was remarkable.

I closed my eyes as I get lost in the song, swimming in a body of crystal clear melodies. I almost didn't want to stop, but every song has to finish, every story has to end.

I slowly opened my eyes as the song concluded to look to my side where you stand. But as I turn to look, you were on the floor with red crimsom spilling out your body.

You were dead.

I woke up, not remembering my dream. All I know that day was that I was humming a lullaby I never composed before.

[dontcallpanic]

How nice is this that there are SO MANY more people to thank for changing my life than just 3. I've never been great at following rules so have like 10 or 11 people I'd like to thank from the bottom of my heart.

@gege-wondering-around - you were The very first person to be nice to me here and right at the beginning you sent me in the direction of some really incredible people. You are a ray of sunshine and I love your creative mind. You are absolutely the little sister I never had!

@oldefashioned - you are the kindest person in the world. Literally. I love how inclusive you are and early on you just sort of swept me along. I think you were the first person to include me in a tag games and got the interaction ball rolling. Anyway I owe you a huge amount. Thank you!

@greyhavenisback - I mean... Where do I start! From ghosts to cheerleading ily! You make my days infinitely brighter and I've had SO much fun avoiding smalltalk. Also you are THE MOST incredible writer and your mind is absolutely amazing. You are a total inspiration. Thank you for asking me to tell you a ghost story. Lineman wouldn't even be a thing without you and my cat is definitely a lot happier too!

@fuji09 - you were one of the very first people to be nice to me and interact with me! It was the first time I thought oh maybe I can stick around here! I love your teen wolf analysis, it's always so thoughtful and thought provoking. And the way you debate is so respectful and considered - and the way you stand up for yourself is absolute perfection. The world would be a better place if more people were like you.

@patolemus - I love your brain. So MUCH. Thanks for replying to my comments on your fic and setting off a year long sterek Meta/psychoanalysis (I think I still owe you a Derek and anger as an anchor reply now o think about it!) but also thanks for always being an absolute gem and always making me laugh! Your stories are some of my all time favorites and I will cheerlead you forever!

@cantchangemypast - you are a truly beautiful soul! You are so kind and sweet and you deserve the absolute world. Your resilience is completely inspiring and thanks for talking baking, bread and Wales and cultural traditions and sharing recipes. It always brightens my day to hear from you!

@hellameyers - oh my god you are the coolest, most badass person! I love your analysis, your taste in music and your stories! You are so fierce and so unbelievably kind and yeah just deeply, deeply cool!

@lil0ak - From ice sport to folklore and monster fuckery, I really really enjoy our chats and the Dorset Ooser will forever be on my mind now! Plus you are the most fantastic writer and tell it to my heart is just everything I get excited about rolled into one brilliant story!

@novemberhush - music moot!! You have the coolest taste in music AND I now go around singing country songs because of you! Thanks for including me in the fun stuff, I really appreciate it.

@all-or-nothing-baby - the nicest person with the absolute coolest artwork AND stories. Multi-talented and your monologues are phenomenal. Yours was one of the first fanfics I read - I think it was love yew! And it just set off a chain reaction. Thanks SO much!

@dear-massacre - Smart as a fucking whip, I'm totally in awe of you. Bruised like violets permanently changed my brain and somehow gave me everything I needed. It inspired me to start writing again after 8 years. I LOVE the way you write and the stories you tell. You take no bullshit and can still be valnerable. Your analysis is phenomenal and I love reading your takes. Just... Yup... Awe!

I mean there are so many more, I could literally go on and on and on and how Nice is that? This is such a super cool fandom and if you know me then know I'm totally greatful for you all on a daily basis - doesn't matter if we interact or not. Thanks for being awesome.

someone suggested that i ask people for three people in the fandom that changed their lives and changed their experience in the fandom (good experiences). people that helped you in this fandom and gave you a reason to stick around.

💜

[to-thelakes]

IT JUST OCCURED TO ME SPOTIFY WRAPPED SEASON IS NEARLY UPON US