#but i was very responsible about it and all clean

[ellecdc]

always there

prompt from @unstablereader: What about alpha!Barty and omega!Treasure where he's been helping her with heats as friends do, but then another alpha actually takes interest in her and they both kind of flip out. Reader has a bit of a meltdown because "that's not HER alpha" and Barty gets pissed because "that's MY omega"

alpha!Barty Crouch Jr x omega!reader who already has an alpha [1.9k words]

CW: fem!reader, omegaverse, marking/claiming, speaking of heat cycles, scenting, brief angst, all fluff

Anyone from the outside looking in probably would have thought Barty was looking at you rather predatorily. And to some extent he might have been, but it was only because he was worried about you. 

Dorcas’ birthday had fallen on a Friday and she was very much looking forward to throwing a party the day-of instead of “the day after when the novelty of growing older and wiser has worn off.” 

The beginning of your heat cycle started on Saturday.

Barty had been keeping religious track of your cycle for years; he had been ever since you first presented back at school. Too young to be marked or claimed by an alpha of your own, Barty has been able to help you through your heats; whatever you needed. Whether it was scenting, feeling secure in the presence of an alpha who promised to shield you from any unwanted attention, or a knot, Barty was there.

He’d always be there.

Which is why he had shown up to your flat the morning of the party and asked if you didn’t think you ought to stay home tonight. 

“She’s really looking forward to it, though.” You’d said of Dorcas who, was indeed looking forward to celebrating her birthday day-of with all of her friends, and would have been more than understanding of your absence. 

The day before your heat wasn't always too bad. Sometimes you experienced a fever, but not always. Sometimes you were anxious or fidgety, but not always. But your scent was certainly stronger (especially to alphas with a certain proclivity to it), and Barty worried about you.

Generally, you could manage to keep your normal routine the day before your heat.

Normal routine being school, work, and the ability to bathe, feed and clean up after yourself. 

Barty did not think that extended to entertaining a large group of people - many of which would likely be Gryffindors seeing as Dorcas had gone and shacked up with one - for an entire evening.

He told you as much.

You pulled your lips between your teeth as you considered Barty’s words, fiddling with the hem of the jumper of his you were currently wearing; yet another sign of your incoming heat. 

Suddenly, you looked up at him. “You’ll be there, though. Right?” 

Barty smiled immediately. “I’ll be there, treasure. By your side, of course.”

Something about the way he spoke to you had you folding yourself into his chest, a very welcome change indeed, and inhaling deeply. He held you tighter in response.

”And can I borrow your Guns ‘n Rose’s t-shirt?” 

You barely had the question out before Barty was agreeing. “Yes, you can borrow my Guns ‘n Rose’s t-shirt. That’s what this was really about, hm? I’m just an extra closet for you.” He teased.

You giggled into his chest before pulling back to look up at him. You weren’t flushed yet, your eyes were bright and alert, and he would be there.

He would always be there.

”Okay fine you can go to the party.” He ‘relented’ theatrically, earning him a cackling laugh in response.

”How very magnanimous of you.” 

He flashed you a boastful smirk. “That’s me; Barty the Great.” 

“Wear the shirt today please?” You called after him as he turned to leave instead of gracing him with a response. That was fine, he already knew you thought he was great. 

So, yeah. He wore his beloved Guns ‘n Roses t-shirt all day, making sure to even work up a light sweat so that his scent blanketed you tighter, and he met you before the party so that the two of you could go together.

“So, you’re telling me there’s nothing I can do to convince you to stay in tonight?” He asked as he lounged lazily on your bed whilst you got ready for the party. 

“Why do you keep trying to squirrel me away?” You laughed as you hiked up a pair of trousers over your hips. 

Barty scoffed and held out a Rubik’s cube that he’d solved, scrambled, solved, and scrambled again whilst you changed as if you’d said something barmy. “‘Cause I want you all to myself, obviously?”

”Obviously.” You drawled back at him, pulling his your shirt over your head. 

“You know, Tres, I think the question should be less why I keep trying to squirrel you away and why you’re so hellbent on going.” He retorted, moving to sit up properly and toss the Rubik’s cube over his shoulder unceremoniously. 

“Because if I stay home, you’ll stay with me. Yeah?” You asked plainly, moving to stand in front of Barty with your hands on your hips and a displeased pout on your lips that Barty itched to boop with his finger but refrained. 

“‘Course.”

Your lips pursed. “‘Course. And then two of us will be missing from Dorcas’ party.” 

“Oh my gods this keeps coming back to Dorcas’ party.” He let out with a groan before falling back spread eagle on your bed. 

“Get up. We’re leaving.” You called over your shoulder as you strutted out of your room.

So you left.

And you went to Dorcas’ party.

So, yeah. Barty was leaning against the wall of (Marlene &) Dorcas’ flat pretending to listen to whatever Regulus’ dumb boyfriend was so excited about as he watched you rather predatorily. 

“Barty, you’re being terribly rude.” Regulus hissed, finally managing to encourage Barty’s eyes from you.

”Yeah? You’ll have to bring it up with management.” He drawled in a bored manner, smirking at the flash of indignance in Regulus’ eyes. 

And then he heard the pitch of your voice raise higher and his sights were back on you.

Back on you, and Caradoc Dearborn (if Barty wasn’t mistaken - he never did bother learning all of the Gryffindor’s names) as you shifted your weight between your feet. 

“You must be close though, yeah? You smell amazing.” He could hear the bloke say as he flashed you a charming smile.

Barty wanted to punch the teeth right out of his mouth. 

“Oh, look at that.” James commented casually. “Think this might be the year Y/N finds an alpha of her own?”

She has an alpha of her own, Barty nearly growled before the blood drained from his face. 

Except you didn’t have an alpha of your own - not in any way that would matter to Caradoc or any other alpha who might recognise the slightly sweeter smell coming from you tonight. 

Maybe not even in any way that would matter to you. 

But shit, Barty was yours.

He was your friend, your Barty, your alpha; whatever you needed him to be he’d be it. 

And then your eyes met his.

And your lips parted. 

And Barty would always be there.

So he quirked his eyebrow at you - do you need me?

Your lips closed and pressed into a straight line - help. 

He’s pretty sure he stepped on James’ shoe and spilled some of Regulus’ drink on him as he brushed past the pair, but Barty’s mind was singular and zeroed in. 

“Need a refill, Tres?” He asked lowly, keeping his gaze on Caradoc as he sidled up behind you. 

��I was just about to offer her one myself.” Caradoc offered with another toothy grin, though the smile didn’t seem to meet his eyes as he met Barty’s gaze. 

“She’s fine.”

“Do you speak for her, mate?” Caradoc asked as he leaned against the door frame with an ease he clearly didn’t feel if the tendons in his arms told Barty anything. 

“What exactly is it you came to ask her, mate?” Barty asked then, watching Caradoc’s eyes shift between his and yours before he straightened. 

“I figured a pretty little omega like herself might need an alpha.” He responded simply. 

“I already have one…” You mumbled, and whilst Caradoc spoke over you, causing him to miss this key detail, Barty sure didn’t. 

“I was simply here to offer my services.” He carried on chippily. 

“She isn’t a commodity.” Barty spat before looking down as you instinctively leaned into him. “Do you want his help, treasure?” 

You quickly shook your head and one of your hands wound itself into the fabric of his shirt. He covered your hand with his. 

“No.” You managed to squeak. 

Caradoc tilted his head curiously at you. “No? Not even this close to a heat?” 

“I’m surprised you even managed to pick that up with how much she smells like me, Dearborn.” Barty spat then. 

“I don’t see a mark on her, Junior, so I sort of figured it was fair play.”

“I have an Alpha…” You tried again, squaring your shoulders. “I’ve always had an alpha.” 

Caradoc all but sneered at you. “No mark means no bond.”

A sardonic smile took over Barty’s face as he pushed the hair away from your shoulder, slowly bending at the waist to bring his mouth to your neck all whilst maintaining eye contact with Caradoc. 

His lips ghosted the expanse of skin where your scent was the strongest, and Barty found himself nearly drunk off it. Heart a riot within his chest; Barty wondered if the fluttering of your pulse beneath his lips would match the cadence of his own. 

“What do you say, Tres?” He murmured, breath fanning across your skin as he watched Caradoc’s eyes narrow and jaw twitch. He could believe he was really doing this. 

“Please.” Was your immediate response. 

His serious facade almost fell completely when you surprised a breathy chuckle out of him. 

“A simple yes or no would have sufficed, sweetheart.” He said before he pressed a delicate kiss to the space, causing you to nod your head in an undeniable yes. “But… since you asked so nicely.” 

And he latched onto your scent point and bit down; hard. 

Caradoc - apparently no longer interested in getting you that drink - was long gone by the time Barty opened his eyes again and pulled off of you, licking the wound once before leaning back to admire his work; memorialized in your skin, two crescent moons. Him.

You turned to look at him with tears in your eyes.

His stomach fell out of his arse.

“Treasure? Hey, Y/N. What- are you okay?” He rapid fired, and then you were in his arms, kissing him everywhere you could reach. 

“Thank you. Oh my god. Thank you.” You cried, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling him in for a deep, lingering kiss. 

Barty mumbled a question into your mouth until you finally relented your (much appreciated) assault on his lips. “What are you thanking me for?” 

You turned bashful. Barty loved it. 

Barty loved you.

“Claiming me.” You admitted shyly. “I-... I realised I…I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want any alpha.”

You looked at him as though you’d just been given the gift of sight; finally seeing him clearly for the very first time. 

“I just want you.” 

“I’m yours, treasure.” Barty vowed, lowering his forehead to yours. “I’m all yours.”

[morgannalefey]

I'm going to try one more time because I'm I dunno a glutton for punishment or something. I don't have a lot of hope, though. My impression is that most folks aren't actually reading everything I have to say and are, at best, skimming. Which, to be fair, is par for the course on this site. For this reason there's a tl;dr at the end you can jump to if you're so inclined. The rest of this post is pretty long in order to explain, but if you don't really care about the explanation and just want to be horrified, go for it.

I'm fifty nine years old. I have been married for thirty six years. Prior to that marriage, I had been with a lot of different people in the 8 years between when I became sexually active and I got my spouse. So I am not inexperienced in either sexual encounters, problems relating to sexual relations, relationships (both long and short term), nor differences in hygiene habits.

In response to your incredulity over people's learned behaviors fading over time:

Habits of childhood can be difficult to unlearn. It's possible to make an effort to change a habit, but then for other things to come up that distract and the change gets forgotten in favor of the muscle memory from childhood. There are many things that I've learned over time that are better ways to do a thing, but sometimes still forget that I've learned a better way and resort to how I originally did the thing. There are many reasons why this might happen such as distractions or having too many things to think about so my body operates on autopilot for some things. If this continues for a while, one typically loses the new habit and has to relearn the new way of doing things. Though it does tend to come back faster than the initial attempt did, it's still a conscious effort that has to be made.

Back to the main point. The assumption I'm attempting to address here is the one where everyone learns all the same basic hygiene lessons and that no one could ever have any reason for not having learned to make sure to wash their privates all the way down to and including the perineum and anal area. This assumption carries a whole lot weight. Here's a partial list of things being assumed:

That they have a parent or family member who has taught them how to clean themselves well.

That the family had water that was safe to wash thoroughly in most of the time.

That the family had the money to pay for the water bills and didn't deliberately avoid certain washing rituals because of the cost of water.

That they had present family members at all.

That they weren't living unhoused for part or most of their childhood, making washing (and especially washing the private parts) less common or safe to do because showers and such weren't always available and washing on the street could get one arrested.

This is a list of situations I can think of off the top of my head that might mean a person wasn't really taught how to clean themselves properly or that might have prevented them developing the habit. It is hardly exhaustive.

Because I recognize that people have very different lived experiences than I have had, when I'm faced with a situation like has been mentioned in this thread, I'd be more likely to just ask some questions or try to have a conversation about it. As I said before, assuming that the relationship was otherwise a good one. No one is perfect and if I threw out an entire, very good, loving, and supportive relationship because of discovering a situation in my spouse's upbringing that was weird and a little gross to me, I wouldn't still be with my spouse. If, after talking with them, it turns out that they're just a lazy, dirty person who won't even try learning a new way to exist in order to not make their partner sick, that's a completely different situation.

Now that being said, I've broken up with a guy because of how he chewed (I could not stand it, his whole family chewed like that. Even the slightest possibility of having to spend my life around those people gave me the screaming willies. Still, I did mention it to him and he was unwilling to adjust how he chewed for me. So that was it). I've broken up with guys because I couldn't stand how they smelled even after showering.

I'm not saying it's not a break up worthy offense to not keep one's privates clean for one's partner. I'd probably be far less inclined to talk to him if he were an occasional partner, not a "boyfriend" but "boyfriend" suggests a certain degree of emotional entanglement that usually means one has put some effort into the relationship. It just seems extreme to not even talk to the boyfriend about the issue to see how they respond and instead to just dump them, but maybe that can be chalked it up to my extreme old age.

tl;dr Not everyone learns exactly the same lessons about washing their privates. Basic hygiene is a skill that has to be taught, it is not instinctive. Not everyone grew up with the same resources, family, water, time, as everyone else. The term "boyfriend" seems more involved than "fuck buddy" and so taking the time to talk to the boyfriend about something that's bothersome doesn't seem like an unreasonable course of action.

[jungwnies]

sfw alphabet | carlos sainz

୨ৎ : synopsis : sfw a-z alphabet for carlos sainz ୨ৎ : word count : 1311

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

(a/n) : don't forget to like & reblog !! my requests are open!

a ⤖ affection (how affectionate is he? how often does he show affection?)

very affectionate in his own way—he shows love through actions more than words.

small, consistent gestures like holding your hand, forehead kisses, or brushing your hair out of your face.

he’s affectionate daily, but it feels natural rather than overbearing.

b ⤖ beginning (what would he be like as a bsf; how would the friendship start?)

as a best friend, he’d be the funny, charming guy who always makes you laugh.

your friendship would start with banter—he’d tease you a lot but in a way that makes you feel special.

he’d invite you to casual outings, and over time, you’d become one of his closest confidants.

c ⤖ cuddles (does he like to cuddle; how would he cuddle?)

loves to cuddle, especially after a long day or when he’s relaxed.

he’d be the type to wrap you up tightly, either spooning or with your head on his chest.

he’d stroke your back or play with your hair absentmindedly while you’re cuddling.

d ⤖ domestic (does he want to settle down; how good is he at cooking and cleaning?)

he definitely wants to settle down eventually, but he’s not in a rush—he prefers to focus on the present.

he’s decent at cooking, with a few spanish dishes he’s mastered, but cleaning isn’t his favorite thing.

he keeps his space tidy enough but would happily let you take the lead on organizing.

e ⤖ ending (if he had to break up with you; how would he do it?)

he’d be honest and straightforward, sitting you down for a heartfelt conversation.

carlos would ensure you understand his reasons and would never leave you with unresolved feelings.

he’d take the blame if necessary and try to leave things on as good terms as possible.

f ⤖ fiancé (how does he feel about commitment; would he want to get married quick?)

he’s serious about commitment and wouldn’t propose unless he was 100% sure.

carlos likes to take his time with big steps, so he wouldn’t rush into marriage, but once he’s ready, he’d be all in.

g ⤖ gentle (how gentle is he; emotionally + physically?)

very gentle both emotionally and physically.

emotionally, he listens and respects your feelings without judgment.

physically, his touches are soft and caring, always ensuring you’re comfortable.

h ⤖ hugs (does he like hugs; how often does he hug you; what are his hugs like?)

he loves hugs, especially spontaneous ones.

he’d hug you often—quick hugs throughout the day and longer ones when he misses you or needs comfort.

his hugs are warm, firm, and reassuring, like he’s anchoring you to him.

i ⤖ i love you (how fast does he say he loves you?)

he takes his time to say it, wanting it to feel meaningful and special.

once he’s sure of his feelings, he’d say it in a quiet, heartfelt moment—he’s not one to rush something so important.

j ⤖ jealousy (how jealous does he get; what does he do when he is jealous?)

he doesn’t get jealous easily, but when he does, it’s subtle—he might get a bit quieter or extra protective.

he’d never start an argument about it but might pull you closer or ask for reassurance indirectly.

k ⤖ kisses (what are his kisses like; where does he like to kiss you; where does he like to be kissed?)

his kisses are slow, intentional, and full of emotion—he doesn’t rush them.

loves kissing your forehead, cheeks, and neck, but his favorite is your lips.

he likes being kissed on his jawline or the corner of his mouth—it makes him smile every time.

l ⤖ little ones (how is he around children?)

he’s amazing with kids—playful and patient.

he’d joke around and play games but also knows how to be responsible when needed.

he’d love the idea of being a dad someday, but only when he feels ready.

m ⤖ morning (how are mornings spent with him?)

mornings with him are relaxed—he’s not in a rush to get out of bed.

he’d pull you closer for a cuddle before finally getting up, often sneaking in a quick kiss or two.

breakfast would either be something simple he made or an outing to his favorite café.

n ⤖ night (how are nights spent with him?)

nights with him are cozy and quiet, often spent watching a movie, sharing a glass of wine, or talking about your day.

he’d be attentive, making sure you feel loved and appreciated before bed.

o ⤖ open (when would he open up; does he say everything at once or does he wait to reveal himself?)

he takes time to open up, sharing pieces of himself little by little as trust builds.

he’d start with lighthearted stories but eventually share his deeper thoughts when he feels safe.

p ⤖ patience (how easily angered is he?)

he’s incredibly patient and not easily angered.

even when frustrated, he prefers to talk things out calmly rather than letting emotions take over.

q ⤖ quizzes (how much would he remember about you; does he remember every little detail; or is he forgetful?)

he remembers most things, especially the little quirks that make you happy or things you’ve mentioned in passing.

he’d surprise you by bringing up something you thought he’d forgotten.

r ⤖ remember (what is his favorite moment in the relationship?)

his favorite moment is probably something simple yet meaningful,

like the first time you laughed at one of his silly jokes or a quiet sunset shared together.

s ⤖ security (how protective is he; how does he protect you; how would he like to be protected?)

he’s naturally protective, but it’s not overbearing—it’s in the way he holds your hand in a crowd or checks in on you during tough times.

he likes knowing you feel safe with him and would appreciate emotional support when he needs it, too.

t ⤖ try (how much effort does he put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he puts a lot of effort into things that matter to you—he’s thoughtful and loves planning surprises.

dates are always creative, and he remembers important anniversaries without fail.

y ⤖ ugly (what are some of his bad habits?)

he can be stubborn, especially when he thinks he’s right.

sometimes, he’s so focused on his career or hobbies that he might forget to check in as often as you’d like.

v ⤖ vanity (how concerned is he with his looks?)

he’s definitely mindful of his appearance—he likes looking polished and put-together.

he spends time on his hair and style but isn’t overly vain about it.

w ⤖ whole (would he feel incomplete without you?)

he’d feel the absence deeply if you weren’t around—he values emotional connections and wouldn’t take your bond lightly.

x ⤖ xtra (random headcanon for him)

he loves sharing his culture with you—whether it’s introducing you to spanish music, cooking his favorite childhood dishes, or teaching you spanish phrases.

y ⤖ yuck (what are some things he wouldn't like; in general or in a partner?)

he dislikes dishonesty or a lack of trust in a relationship.

he’s also not a fan of overly negative attitudes or people who don’t respect his love for family.

z ⤖ zzz (what are his sleeping habits?)

he sleeps deeply and usually sprawls out, taking up more space than he realizes.

he loves falling asleep while holding you or at least having some part of him touching you, like your hand or leg.

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[bunnyinvanilla]

when sugar daddy!john price finds out about the stray dog you’ve taken in while he’s been on deployment… pt. 2

you cradle the dog against your chest as you look up at john, who now has two, not one, pair of puppy eyes to melt at.

but he’s fuming, bulk arms crossed together and bearded jaw clenched, a crinkle appearing between his eyes, an evident expression of anger that you’re not used to.

“what is that?” his voice is a low, deep rumble that sends chills down your spine, and you find yourself only staring at him, lips glued together — he’s never gotten mad at you before, or angry, you always followed all the rules, slipping out a soft ‘yes sir’ or ‘yes daddy’ and doing as you were told, as if you had been handcrafted by cherubs and sent to earth to be his personal good girl.

he’s warned you about not taking a stray dog many times, and Oreo himself can feel the heavy emotion lingering in the air, how that big, tall man doesn’t seem pleased with his presence.

“Oreo..” you mumble quietly, looking up at him from where you’re kneeling on the floor, hand gently caressing the pup’s soft head. “he’s a border collie and he’s..he’s five months”

could you believe that.

“who’s gonna take care of him?” his gives you single worded questions, his grumpy, strict captain personality draped over him like a cape.

“I am, sir” you try to make him more reasonable, giving him your own puppy dog eyes, your knees scraping against the carpet underneath them as you hug the tiny, black and white creature.

“doll, you need me to take care of yourself, how are you going to take care of a dog?”

“but he’s good, daddy, I promise, he doesn’t make any mess, he just needs love and affection, that’s all” you look at the dog, who’s studying john with a curious gaze, tail moving slowly and attentively.

“he was all alone on the street, with no collar, whining, I couldn’t leave him there hungry and sad :( and I was also alone, we kept each other company while you were away,”

you speak with such a tenderness it is very hard for john to remain serious and mad at you, so he just closes his eyes, pinching his nose.

“come on daddy, you said you also have a dog at the base, why can’t we have one?”

“Riley doesn’t sleep on my bed, angel, he has other people to take care of him, do you even understand how hard it is to raise a damn dog?” his voice grows deeper, rougher, darting his hardened eyes between you, kneeling so cutely in front of him and that damn dog, whom you’ve named after a cookie.

but of course you couldn’t just let him come back to his house with hundreds of more books, you also had to welcome him with a dirty whelp

Oreo whines towards John, his tail wagging shakily, wondering why that new hooman hasn’t petted him yet.

“you said you wanted us to have a son, we have one now :(“

“fuckin’ earth sweetheart that’s not what I meant,” he sighs, bending over and picking the dog up with only one arm — you watch as he lifts him up on the air, scrutinizing him with a doubtful look, his paws are clean, he doesn’t stink.

“you’re just fuckin’ lucky i love her,” he mutters to Oreo, who only gives him a high pitched bark in response. “he’s not sleeping on the bed, he’s not allowed near my boots, and if he drools all over my paperwork, im sending him right on the field”

guess you are both parents, now :)

[chibinasuu]

Kid x Reader ― surprise; present

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― anonymous tags: sfw (just a tiiinyy bit suggestive at the end), fluff, GN!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, cw language (it's the kid pirates)

“Oi, Kid!” You shook the sleeping form of your Captain, “Wake the fuck up!”

He groaned in protest, refusing to open his eyes.

“Oh, come on!” You whined, shaking him more violently, “You promised you’d teach me how to ice skate today!”

“Alright, alright!” He finally conceded, throwing aside his blanket and reluctantly getting up, “Just shut up and let me get ready in peace.”

You grinned, reminding him to meet you on the deck in ten minutes, before rushing to the kitchen.

It was good that your Captain always skipped breakfast, because the kitchen and dining room of the Victoria Punk was currently in a state of chaos. 

Emma was mixing a huge bowl of red cake batter under Killer’s supervision, whilst the Commander himself was seasoning some ground meat for the filling of Kid’s favorite cabbage rolls. 

Dive was perched on Wire’s shoulders, hanging streamers from the ceiling all around the room. Quincy’s tongue stuck out as she concentrated on carefully painting elaborate letterings on a large white banner – it only said “HA” for now, but she had plenty of time to finish the rest of that sentence. 

The other members of the Kid Pirates were also busy with various tasks – wrapping presents, blowing up balloons, polishing the fancy silverware they got from their last loot, taking out the clean, non-blood-stained tablecloth. 

You nodded in satisfaction at the progress of the party preparation.

“You still here?” Heat scoffed, “Aren’t you supposed to keep Kid away from the ship?”

“Running a bit late – he literally wouldn’t budge when I woke him up.” You sighed, “But he’s up now. We’ll head off in a few minutes.”

“Don’t let him in here!” Papas yelled. 

“Well, duh!” You rolled your eyes, hand on the door handle, “I’m not stupid!”

You yanked the door open only to come face-to-face with the redhead himself.

“Kid!” You exclaimed, immediately shutting the door behind you before he could see anything. 

He stared at you with one eyebrow raised, “What’s with the commotion?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrugged, “The usual breakfast quarrel. Heat preferred hard-boiled eggs, Wire liked them soft-boiled, and now the rest of the crew are taking sides –yelling and throwing stuff at each other.” 

Kid only hummed in response, not at all suspicious of your lie since it was a likely occurrence on this ship. 

“Come on,” He offered his non-mechanical arm to you, “Let’s go then.”

You happily linked your arm with his, and off you both went ashore. Your heartbeat picked up in anticipation – it had been a while since you went on a date with Kid.

The Victoria Punk had been docked for a couple of days on this little winter island when Kid came upon the frozen lake in the middle of its woods. You had been on watch when he returned to the ship, immediately telling you all about his discovery. You had found it very endearing how he looked like a little child with that huge, excited grin as he rushed off to find his skates. 

It was never even cold enough for snow on his home island back in the South Blue, so it went without saying that Kid had never ice-skated until he entered the Grand Line and set foot on his first winter island. It wasn’t long until he found out that he had a natural aptitude for it, a fact he loved bragging about to the rest of the crew.

Yesterday, you watched with envy from the sidelines as Kid, Bubblegum, and UK raced a few laps around the lake. On the way back to the ship, you had begged Kid to teach you how to skate until he finally relented and said yes, which brought you to your date today. It also happened to be the perfect opportunity to get Kid off the ship for a few hours while the crew set up the surprise.

It was a short trek to the lake, and you shook in excitement when you caught sight of the smooth, glassy surface of the ice, shimmering with the blinding reflection of the morning sun. 

Kid dropped his bag on the snow-covered ground, crouching to rummage through it. He took out his own skates, a pair he made for you, and…

“I’m not wearing that fucking bowl on my head.” You looked disgustedly at the ugly metal thing that Kid was holding out to you.

“Yeah well, too bad, sweetheart.” He plopped the helmet on your head and tied the strap under your chin, “You’re wearing it, or I’m not teaching you how to skate.”

Kid then proceeded to help you put on your skates, making sure to double-knot the laces, before putting on his own. He then stood up easily, while your effort to get to your feet resulted in what probably would be a bruised bum.

The bastard had the audacity to laugh before pulling you up, guiding you to carefully step onto the icy lake. You wobbled at the slippery surface, knuckles turning white at how hard you were grasping Kid’s arms. 

“Relax, doll, I got you.” Kid’s unusually soft voice calmed your nerves, and you started to slowly loosen your iron grip. 

“There we go,” he grinned as he started skating backward, propelling you to go forward along with him. 

“Shit, Kid.” You panicked again, staring at the speed of which your blades were carving the ice, “Slow down!” 

“Hey, look at me!” He searched your eyes, “Keep your gaze straight.”

You met his amber eyes, and Kid smiled, “Good. Now, bend your knees a little for me.”

You did as he said, and when he started gliding again, you found it much easier to follow his movements.

The two of you skated across the lake – hands joined, eyes locked – until you finally felt like you got the hang of it. Kid seemed to sense your increased confidence too, because he smirked and asked, “Think you’re ready to try on your own? Or are you too much of a coward?” 

The thought of losing the tether of Kid’s hands daunted you, but like hell were you going to back down from his challenge.

You reluctantly let go of his hand, and Kid skated away from you – just a short distance away, but the gap between the two of you looked massive from where you stood, frozen to your spot. 

You hesitantly pushed the edge of your skate against the ice, just like Kid showed you, taking one tentative stroke, then another, and another.

He stealthily skated backward bit by bit, increasing the distance which you had to skate to reach him. 

“Kid, I’m doing it!” Your smile was so bright, Kid was afraid it would melt the ice and plunge you both into the freezing waters.

With one last broad stroke, you gained speed and flung yourself straight into Kid’s waiting arms. He caught you and lifted you a few inches from the ground, spinning you around in a dizzying twirl. You laughed in glee, holding on tight to him until the spin lost its momentum and he set you down onto the ice again. 

Kid rested his forehead against yours, “Not bad for a beginner.”

You both stood there in silence for a few moments, enjoying the warm rays streaming through the canopy of trees, and the birds singing softly overhead. 

You cleared your throat and called out his name, heat rising to your cheeks, “I, uh, got you something. For your birthday.”

You reached into the front pocket of your jeans and took out a simple metal bracelet with a single ruby embedded in the center. 

The craftsmanship was extremely shoddy – the edges uneven, the stone crooked. Kid immediately knew that you made the accessory with your own hands. 

You slightly pushed up the sleeve of your sweater to show the perfect bracelet Kid made you for your last birthday, crafted from the same material and inlaid all over with the blood-red gems. You rarely ever took it off, not even during showers.

You licked your lips nervously, the heat from your cheeks spreading to your entire face, “I wanted us to match.”

Kid took the bracelet from you and wordlessly slipped it onto his wrist. You waited with bated breath as he admired it glint under the sunlight. 

"I know it looks awful, you don't have to wear–"

“Thanks, love.” He interrupted you. He’d never admit it, and you pretended not to notice, but his voice sounded a bit choked up when he continued, “Best damn present I’ve ever got my whole life.”

His metal hand came to rest on your hip, while his other cupped your cheek. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a rare, tender kiss. 

You circled your arms around his neck, pulling him flush with you. The familiar press of your body made him groan, and his lips melded with yours more insistently, gaining a hunger that you were more used to feeling in Kid’s kisses.

You reached up to bury your hand in his crimson hair and pulled at the threads, tugging him closer. 

That was the moment your feet, still fairly unused to the skates, slipped under you. Your heart dropped and Kid’s eyes widened as you toppled backward, bringing him along with you. 

Your hand instinctively reached out in a desperate attempt to stop the fall and you felt something crack when it slammed onto the hard ice. Kid, thankfully, succeeded in planting both of his palms down, narrowly missing crushing you flat to the ground.

“Fuck, are you alright?!” Kid yelled as he helped you sit upright.

You winced at the sharp sting on your wrist, but nodded at him anyway, “I’m okay.”

You knocked on your helmet with your uninjured hand, laughing as the metallic bonk echoed throughout the area, “Good thing you had me put on this hideous thing, huh?”

Kid didn’t respond as he inspected your wrist with furrowed brows, “I think it’s sprained? Or broken? We need to get you back to the ship.”

The ship. Where the preparation for Kid’s surprise party was still in full swing. 

“Uh, you know what? I’m good. Can we just stay here for a little longer? I haven’t even finished a full lap around the lake yet–“

“Just let me take care of you for once, won’t you?”

You melted, unable to resist that look in his eyes, so earnest and caring despite his raised voice.

“Fine.” You finally answered with a sigh. 

It was fine. You just had to keep him out of the kitchen. Easy!

Not. 

The kitchen was exactly the very first place Kid marched to when you two arrived back at the ship.

“Whoa, why are we heading to the kitchen? The medical supplies are in the sick bay.”

“Killer keeps a first-aid kit in the kitchen, you know that.” He squinted his eyes, starting to get suspicious, “And it’s closer. The sick bay’s all the way across and down the deck.”

You stood in front of the door, blocking it. Your ears slightly picked up the rowdy voices inside that were definitely not expecting you and the Captain to return this early.

In a last-ditch attempt, you tried to put on a seductive look, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Wait, Kid.” You trailed your hand up his chest suggestively, “Why don’t we go back to your room and I’ll give you a proper birthday present, hmm?” 

“You’re being weird.” He scowled, “Step aside.”

When you didn’t make a move, Kid effortlessly picked you up by the waist and set you to the side, his hand reaching for the door handle.

“No!” You yelped as he slammed the door to the kitchen open.

Silence greeted you as the whole crew froze, pausing whatever they were doing and staring in shock at their Captain.

The cake was only half-decorated, with most of the frosting seemingly ending up on Emma’s face instead. The banner, still spread on the floor, now read “HAPPY BIRTHDAY K”, with a smudge on the “K” where Quincy’s brush slipped at Kid’s loud entrance. 

You cringed and glanced at Kid, whose eyes were wide as saucers, “Uh… Happy birthday, I guess?”

A cacophony of yelled-out happy birthdays started all at once, thirty voices chaotically overlapping with each other.

“Wow, you guys suck at surprises.”

A moment later, Kid doubled over in laughter and the crew let out the breaths they didn't know they'd been holding.

Kid ended up lending an extra hand to finish the rest of the preparations for his own party while Heat treated your sprained wrist.

Despite the rocky start, the festivities turned out to be a success, with everyone enjoying themselves immensely, especially the birthday boy himself. 

Kid absolutely refused a birthday song, though, so Hip and Reck busted out their electric guitars and played some of his favorite tunes instead.

The singing, dancing, and drinking went on all day and well into the night. And when some of the crew had started passing out drunk on the floor, Kid came over and whispered in your ear, “Now, about that proper birthday present…”

You dragged him out of there and into the Captain’s quarters without another word.

a/n: aksjldkj i didn't finish this in time to publish at the normal time i usually post, but it's still 10th Jan so happy birthday Kid!!!

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ main event page || event masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

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[sturniololuv08]

TreeHouse Chapter 5

"We are not family."

Summary: Chris' first day in public school.

"First-day jitters are real, and they're not exactly butterflies, more like a swarm of angry bees."

���️This Fic Series will NOT be for people with triggers. This Fic Series will have very descriptive moments of abuse.⚠️

Please Read At Your Own Risk.

Chris' POV:

It was my first day of school. I had a fresh cut on my arm because Matthew came home upset after the game. Nick held me down, and Matt relieved his anger issues. It wasn't as bad as other times, only because our mom came in and reminded him I was going to be around other people today. She didn't care about me. I was wearing my long-sleeved shirt to cover the fresh wounds and jeans to hide the old burn marks. I had my book bag, and I felt more nervous than anything. Matt and Nick have already left. I had to take the bus, which wasn't bad. The bus was going to be time away from all of them. I was slowly walking to the bus stop with my hoodie over my face. Nick hit me in the mouth and split my lip last night when I squirmed from the pain. I tried my best to clean it up and make it not noticeable, but some things just were no matter what I did. I saw a group of kids ahead of me at the bus stop, so I waited, unsure of how to join the group without questions. None of them have ever seen me before. I spent years in my room chained to the wall with nothing but a shred of hope.

"Why won't you tell me what happened?" A guy asked his girl friend.

"Because I don't want to talk about it without Julia." The bus pulled up, saving her from the conversation for just a moment. I started walking to file in at the back of the line of students.

"Never seen you before." The driver said as I stepped up the stairs. I slowly lifted my head to look at him, not sure what kind of response he was looking for.

"I'm new." I whispered. I didn't want to say the wrong thing. I shuffled my feet down the skinny aisle slowly.

"Take a seat." The attention directed at me started pounding my heart. I looked up to see what seats were open. I locked eyes with a girl with brown doe eyes in the back of the bus. She was the girl who didn't want to talk to her friend at the stop. She stood up fast upon seeing me. I looked back into her eyes, trying to understand why she was standing. She was beautiful. "Please take a seat!" The driver yelled a little harsher. She sat down with her mouth slightly agape. I sat randomly beside some strange kid and kept my head down. As the bus pulled into the parking lot drop-off, I started to regret being excited about school. I flowed off with the kids and went to hide in a corner away from everyone until the first bell rang. I wasn't sure how anything truly worked for public schools. I was bound to mess up, and one mess-up was all it took.

I looked around and saw Matt and Nick talking and laughing. I felt a tingly sensation in my gut. Matt caught me looking his way and glared at me. I quickly looked in the opposite direction and saw the girl from the bus with her friend and another girl. The two were laughing, but she wasn't. She was staring off into space. She snapped out of it because the bell rang in everyone's ears. I had to stop off at the office to get my schedule. Luckily, no one in the office questioned why I didn't start school with Nick and Matt. They just handed me a few used books and a schedule. I stared at it, trying to figure out how to read it. I desperately wanted to ask them for help or directions, but the lump in my throat burned my words before they could surface. I started walking down the halls aimlessly.

"Need help?" I turned around to see the girl's friend. He was tall and sporty.

"Yeah." I hesitantly handed him my schedule, and he peered over it.

"Ah." He boomed. I jumped and gripped my books tighter. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. You have the first period here. And then after you'll go back this way and head to the first door on the left. There." He pointed around the hallway we were standing in.

"Thanks." I snatched my papers back and started in the direction of my first class. I slid in just in time for the bell to go off.

"Late. No hoods in class. Sit." I avoided eye contact with the teacher as I followed every direction. I could feel them looking at me harder. "Christopher, right?" They moved to be standing in front of my chosen desk. I slowly lifted my head. "Nice to have you in class." They said softer than their initial tone. I jumped back into my seat when she moved her hand in front of me. She eyed me. "What can anyone tell me about The French Revolution." She continued waltzing around students. I was just pleased I didn't have this class with Nick or Matt. I listened and tried to understand every date, name, and piece of information being said, but the truth was that none of this made sense.

I didn't learn much growing up. In the basement, I was allowed to watch a few movies and read books, even though I wasn't sure how to read some of them. I tried my best to learn what I could from Matt and Nick whenever they were around me. It was always hard because they were never hanging out with me or being nice to me. They played with me, but never in a childish manner. The bell rang, and I dropped my book. "Try to relax." The teacher picked up the book for me. "I know it's your first day, but it'll get better." She handed me the book with a smile. I examined her face for a moment, trying to see her intentions before accepting the book back in my hand. I started walking down the crowded hallway to my next class. It was gym, so I was hoping I'd be able to get away with not wearing a school uniform, at least for today.

"You can watch today if you'd like. The school is aware of your condition."

"My condition?" I started panicking. If they knew and called my parents, it wouldn't end well. My parents would think I told someone something and blame me.

"The germ thing. It said it sometimes makes you a little weaker, so I thought today you could just watch. Get to know the class a little." They were super accommodating. "You can put your bookbag in the locker room." They nodded me in the right direction. I followed their instructions and walked into the doorless room and saw everyone laughing, changing, and putting their things away. I walked around looking for a locker to claim. It wasn't until I saw him that I froze.

"Woah, you guys look like -"

"Brothers." Nick finished.

"No way, there are three of you?" Someone else said. I felt my body heating up.

"Yeah, but he is younger." Nick looked angry all the attention was on us. I was frozen. My eyes looked around the room for an escape, but all I kept finding was a new pair of eyes watching us.

"Sup, Little Nicky." Someone tossed something at me. I dropped down to my knees and started sniffling.

"What -"

"Everyone out!" Nick yelled. People started scattering. I stayed on my knees with my head out of sight. I knew this wasn't going to end well. The chattering noise stopped. "Stand the fuck up!" He yelled. I slowly rose, my knees shaking violently once I was all the way up.

"I'm... I... I'm sor-" I stuttered, my tears at the corner of my mouth.

"Shut up." He demanded, and I jumped. He grabbed my arms before I had a chance to come back down from my jump and slammed me into the lockers with a loud bang. I whimpered, scared of the beating that was coming. "You will not fuck anything up for me. Do you understand?" His question was rhetorical. "Now everyone knows we are brothers because you are in school, but we are not family. You don't talk to me. Got it?" He screamed so close to my face I could feel his lips brushing my nose. "I asked if you got it?" He smacked the side of my face with his palm. I could feel the sting lingering. My ear was ringing.

"Yes, Nick." I whimpered.

"Don't fucking talk about me to anyone either." He said, walking out of the locker room. I knew then no matter what I did, my second-period class was always going to be the worst.

A/N Soooo? What's the vibe?

TreeHouse Taglist:

@trevorsgodmother @mintsturniolo @wysmols @chriss-slutt @middlepartmatt @blushsturns @shadowtheism @fratbrochrisgf @forgottxen @loveparqdise @courta13

This fic is TAGLIST SPECIFIC, meaning in order to be tagged in this, you HAVE to be on the list. I'm doing this because of TRIGGERS.

REBLOG INSTRUCTIONS: I don't mind just please stress the trigger warnings so no backlash comes back to me!

No one likes gym class but Chris definitely HATES it now... 😰

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Love's Cleaning Time - Part 4

Part 3

Gilbert: What's wrong, little rabbit?

I take Gilbert's hand, which was resting on my cheek, and held it in mine.

Emma: Even so, thank you very much.

Gilbert: ......

Gilbert: You're not listening to me at all, are you?

Emma: This is my thanks after having listened to you.

Gilbert: You're forgiving my evil deeds.

Emma: …… It may be an outrageous thing to say, but……

Emma: The important thing is, "how do I perceive it now", isn't it?

I let go of his cold hand and pick up the report that Gilbert was holding. The detailed contents might be frightening to some people.

(Even I wouldn't have been able to accept this so readily in the past.)

Emma: If Michael hadn't been there at that time, I would have been attacked by bandits.

Emma: At best, I would have only had my books stolen, but at worst, I could have died.

Emma: Whatever the circumstances, Gil saved me.

Emma: Whether that was out of malice or good will …… it's up to me to decide.

Gilbert: .....

Emma: More than anything, I've come to like Gil now.

Emma: It might be difficult for me to see it as malice like I used to.

(Gilbert occasionally warns me like this so that I can keep a normal perspective.)

(…… I think he's a fair person.)

Gilbert: Haha, you poor thing.

Gilbert: But…… I'm glad you don't hate me.

(……!)

Gilbert gently brushed my hand away and stood up.

Gilbert: Let's stop chatting for now.

Gilbert: Emma, you can throw that away.

Emma: Even though it was kept so carefully?

Gilbert: Yeah, I don't need it anymore.

Gilbert: The poor little rabbit is now being directly monitored by the villain.

(That's true, too.)

(...)

(Even if I become his fiancée, I won't be able to understand everything about Gilbert's heart.)

(But…… I feel like I understand what he's thinking at this moment.)

Emma: Gil.

I put the report on the shelf and hug Gilbert with enough force to bump into him.

Gilbert: What is it?

Emma: Just to be clear, I'm not forgiving you for everything.

Emma: I sometimes can't understand Gil's evil deeds…… At those times, I'll properly object to them.

Gilbert: Oh, really?

Emma: Have you forgotten? I'm watching you so that you don't do anything bad to Rhodolite.

Emma: I'm not the only one being watched by Gil.

(I will discern my own good and evil without being swayed by Gilbert.)

(That's…… because I think that's what Gilbert expects of me the most.)

Emma: So, don't worry.

Emma: Even if I love you, I'm not that blind.

His blood-colored eyes wavered slightly––and then gently softened.

Gilbert: …… You're too much.

Gilbert: You see right through everything.

His cold hand caressed my cheek again, and his lips were sealed by the shadow that fell.

Gilbert: I was finally getting in the mood to restart cleaning.

Emma: ……Nn……Gil?

The villain didn't stop pecking at my lips, and he sensually stroked my back from my waist.

Gilbert: I don't care anymore.

Emma: ……!……The cleaning……

Gilbert: You want me to do it properly?

Emma: No……

(If he touches me like this……I don't care anymore either.)

Emma: Can we do it……tomorrow……?

The breath that escaped my lips was hot, and my body was already pleading for the cleaning to end.

Gilbert: Hahaha, you're a bad girl too, aren't you?

Emma: ……But Gil, you were the one who asked for it first.

Gilbert: Yeah, but……

Gilbert: It's your responsibility for responding to it.

-

I catch my breath as it bounces on the jet-black sheets.

Gilbert, who has me pinned down, continues to caress my skin with tantalizingly gentle touches, having taken all my clothes off.

His fingertips, which avoided touching the places I wanted to be touched and only moved around the surrounding areas, had a clear malice to them.

(...It's embarrassing to say it directly...)

Emma: Come to think of it……

Emma: Is Michael still in Rhodolite?

Gilbert: Yeah, he is.

Emma: Why…… Ah

His fingers graze the peaks of my chest, and the ache deep in my stomach intensifies.

Gilbert: Oh no, who said you were the only one I had Michael keep an eye on?

Gilbert: Actually, I asked him to watch someone else too.

(Someone else……)

(……Could it be––)

Gilbert: Haha, little rabbit. You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

Emma: Eh……?

Gilbert: Thinking about another man while I'm right here in front of you.

Emma: ……The only thing I did on purpose was bring up Michael.

(I thought if I made him jealous, he might touch me more properly.)

Gilbert: Is that so? But it doesn't matter.

Gilbert: Why can you smile so gently while thinking about another man?

(I……was smiling.)

(But that's because––……)

Emma: ...Ah! Ah, nn—

Suddenly, the fingers that had been so gentle strongly stimulated a sensitive spot.

Emma: Haa... Wait... Aaa...Nn...

My body seemed to be more sensitive than usual, and honey immediately flowed between my legs.

Gilbert: That's terrible. I'm hurt.

Overwhelmed by a pleasure beyond imagination––

Just before I lost consciousness, the hand full of malice finally let go.

Gilbert: So, what exactly was that smile of yours about?

Gilbert: Depending on your answer……you understand, right?

He flicked my nipple with his finger, and a gasp escaped my lips.

Emma: Tha—Nn...That's not...true...

I force my ragged breathing to calm down and capture Gilbert's face in my blurred vision.

Emma: ...Gil is...

Emma: I just...thought you were a worrywart...

(He's extremely soft on people he's let his guard down around once.)

(...Though that sweetness can sometimes turn into malice––)

Gilbert: It can't be helped. Because in this world...

Gilbert: There are so many things that need to be cleaned up.

.

.

.

FIN

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[broidobe]

𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔰

requested!

☾a steamy confession leads to an intimate shower encounter with izzy, transforming a long-time friendship into undeniable passion.☽

☾warnings: smut, hygiene habits, confined spaces☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

you’ve been friends with izzy for what feels like an eternity, and over the years, you’ve developed a deep affection for him. it’s not just a friendly feeling, though—there’s an undeniable spark between you two that neither of you has ever acknowledged. you’ve caught him looking at you with a gaze that lingers a little too long, and you’re pretty sure he’s felt the same flutter in his chest when your hands touch.

one thing that’s always been a source of amusement among your friend group is izzy’s notorious aversion to showering. he’ll often go days without washing up, much to everyone’s dismay. but you’ve noticed it more than anyone else, and it’s not just because of the smell. you’ve seen the way his hair gets all greasy and matted, the way his skin takes on a warm, golden glow when he’s dirty. it’s... distracting.

as you’re hanging out at his place one day, lounging on the couch, you bring it up. “izzy, dude, when was the last time you showered?” you try to sound casual, but your voice comes out a little husky.

he looks at you with a lazy grin and shrugs. “i don’t know... a few days ago?”

you raise an eyebrow. “a few days ago? izzy, that’s gross.” but as you say it, your mind starts wandering to all the dirty things you could do with him in the shower.

that’s when it hits you—why not propose exactly that? you know there’s something between you two, something unspoken but undeniable. and what better way to explore it than in a hot, steamy shower?

“izzy,” you say slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. “can i ask you something?”

“shoot,” he replies absently.

you take a deep breath before speaking your mind. “since we both know there’s... something between us... and since i know how much i love getting clean...” you pause for dramatic effect before finishing, “...want to fool around in the shower with me?”

at first, izzy looks taken aback—like he wasn’t expecting that kind of suggestion from anyone, let alone someone who knows about his smelly habits. then, a slow smile spreads across his face as understanding dawns, followed quickly by desire, which becomes increasingly hard to ignore.

the tension between you is now palpable as both of you silently contemplate whether you should go through with this or not. suddenly, without another word, he gets off the couch and walks toward the bathroom, motioning for you to follow.

your heart begins racing excitedly because now you realize things are about to get very interesting.

once the bathroom door closes behind you, both of you stand facing the sink, the mirror reflecting your shared anticipation. you turn the faucet handle, and water gushes loudly onto the tiles below.

stepping under the running stream feels incredibly refreshing, washing away the dirt and grime accumulated over the past few days. the next thing you feel is his strong arms wrapping tightly around your midsection, his warm breath dancing against your ear, sending delicious shivers coursing through your frame.

as the warm water cascades down your bodies, izzy’s hands begin to roam, exploring every curve and contour of your skin. his fingers dance across your shoulders, down your arms, and over your hips, sending sparks flying through you.

his lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear, and he nibbles gently, making you moan with pleasure. the sound is lost in the roar of the water, but izzy’s response is immediate—he spins you around to face him, his eyes burning with desire.

the shower spray creates a misty veil around you, making everything feel intimate and private. izzy’s hands cup your face, tilting it up to meet his lips. the kiss is fierce and possessive, his tongue claiming yours as his own.

you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours, the way his hands hold you in place. the water pounds against your skin, heightening every sensation. you’re not sure where one body ends and the other begins—all you know is that you’re consumed by this passion.

izzy’s hands slide down to cup your breasts, squeezing gently before moving on to explore other areas of your body. his fingers brush against your nipples, sending jolts of electricity through you. you arch into his touch, silently begging for more.

the shower wall provides a solid surface for support as izzy lifts one of your legs around his hip. he positions himself at your entrance, pausing for a moment as if seeking permission.

“please,” you whisper urgently against his ear.

with a groan of satisfaction, he pushes inside you. the initial thrust sends shockwaves through both of you—it’s been so long coming that this moment feels almost too much to bear.

as he begins moving within you—slow strokes building into faster ones—each movement causes waves of pleasure to crash over you. your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving marks you know will linger.

the sensation of izzy’s body moving inside yours is almost too much to handle. your legs tremble, your body screaming for release. izzy seems to sense it, wrapping one arm around your waist to hold you steady as he thrusts harder, faster.

just when you think it’s all too much, izzy’s hand slips between your bodies and finds your clit. he rubs it gently at first, then with increasing pressure as your body responds. the tension builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps, releasing in a burst of pleasure that leaves you gasping.

your body convulses around izzy as he cums inside you, the two of you locked together in a shared moment of ecstasy.

as the water begins to cool, signaling it’s time to get out, you look up at izzy with hazy, post-climax eyes. you see pure adoration reflecting back at you. despite the shower having washed away every speck of dirt, a new layer of intimacy seems to have formed between you—a connection far deeper than simple friendship ever could.

[crackedpumpkin]

All Too Human (02)

| 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁

The advantage of being confined in the dungeons in an elven kingdom of another world you'd only read about in books, is that you didn't have a choice but to touch grass .

Figuratively, of course. The only form of grass you actually could find in your cell is damp moss. You'd recoiled from the grimy walls in the beginning, fingers itching for your phone, and your heart aching for your home.

Is this what it's like to go cold turkey without technology? you wonder, as futile as it seems when your hand meets the emptiness of your pockets each time. This sucks.

It’s probably around midnight, you guesstimate, as the dwarves are being shoved into individual cells. Your head tilts slightly when you hear a calm, boyishly charming voice speak up.

“Aren’t you going to search me? I could have anything down my trousers.” 

You suppress a cringe. Curiosity wins out over caution, and you step closer, eyeing the scene as the supposed heroes of the book voice their protests. A female elf stands in front of the cell to your left, staring down at one of the dwarves.

“Or nothing.” She smiles coldly, though a flicker of amusement passes through her gaze before she masks it in an instant. She turns, ready to leave. Your eyes meet hers, and a chill settles between you.

You’ve seen her before. Realisation dawns on you, and you snap your fingers. She’s the elf from the room you woke up in. The one Legolas likes. Well, Legolas and one of these dwarves. Fili, was it?

Either way, you feel nothing but pity for their little love triangle.

“You.” Her voice is devoid of warmth, eyes narrowing as she takes in your unusually clean appearance. You wave halfheartedly in response. She rolls her eyes and moves past your cell, paying you no mind.

Gripping the bars of the cell door, you watch her leave with Legolas. The elven prince glances back at you, brief concern flitting across his expression, before turning to follow her.

Even though you’ve tried to accept that one of your ( formerly ) favourite characters barely acknowledges you now, you can’t help but feel disappointed by his lack of empathy. He showed you concern at first, but over time it became clear that you were never of much importance to him anyway.

“Is there someone next to me?” The same charming voice calls out, his curiosity evident. Fili. You’re pretty sure it’s Fili that the elf has a situationship with. Ignoring his repeated question, you step toward the back of your cell, laying back down in the darkness with a sigh.

Minutes, maybe hours have passed since the dwarves were imprisoned, and the noise doesn’t cease. More cries of protest, vulgar swears (vulgar to them, but to you it’s like listening to a D&D party) , and lots of banging against their cell doors.

The one next to your cell seems to forget you’re even there, preoccupied by his daydreaming of the female elf, you suspect. What was her name again? You try to recall, feeling bad that her name hadn’t remained in your memory whilst the other two did. 

Tawny.

Her name is Tawny , you decide with a vague sense of uncertainty. 

Sleep feels as distant as the hot showers you’ve taken for granted in the past, but exhaustion pulls at you, demanding some rest despite the racket. You shift against the cold, hard floor, eyes drooping as you finally start to drift off.

But just as you’re about to fully pass out, a fresh wave of shouting erupts, this time more intense. Heavy footsteps approach, and a low, gravelly voice grumbles — almost growling — in defiance. 

You sit up, grogginess partially clouding your mind. Blinking to rid the sleep from your eyes, you watch another dwarf being shoved into the cell opposite yours. His gaze is dark, and his gritted teeth tell you that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

He had that main character energy about him. If you aren’t wrong, he might be the very dwarf in charge of the whole group. God, you really hope you aren’t wrong.

Metal clangs as he’s forced inside, and he slams against the cell bars with a ferocity that startles you fully awake. His deep, frustrated voice fills the air, hurling harsh dwarvish insults that echo down the corridor, stirring a chorus of support from the others. It’s as if his very presence reignites their determination.

You let out a long, tired sigh. 

Looks like you won’t be sleeping tonight.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you lean back, hoping the noise will eventually quiet down. But with their leader riled up, the others become even more animated, pounding against their bars and shouting until their voices become hoarse.

Your patience is stretched thin, and with each clang of metal or shouted curse, it frays a little more. You start pressing your hands over your ears, even resorting to tugging up half the tunic to cover them, but nothing dulls the sound. 

Someone curses loudly enough that you jerk in your cell, biting back a groan. Eyes shut, you count to ten, then twenty, then thirty, promising yourself calm. But the noise only builds, louder and more grating by the second.

Something in you finally snaps. You raise your arm and slam it against your cell door, the metal clanging loud enough to cut through the noise. “I swear to God , if you guys don’t shut up for like, five minutes, I’m going to murder you myself.” The words hiss out louder than you intended, echoing through the dungeon like an accusation.

The dwarves fall silent, their protests cut off mid-sentence. You feel a dozen pairs of eyes shifting toward your cell, surprised, hopefully a little impressed even, by the venom in your tone.

Thorin, in the cell directly across from you, lets out a low, humourless chuckle. “Bold words for someone trapped in a cage of her own,” he says, his voice edged with frustration. He crosses his arms, leaning against the walls of his cell. His eyes are narrowed, studying your being as if assessing how much of a threat you are

“Oh, quiet as mice for hours, and she suddenly snaps,” another dwarf with a long white beard chimes in, his tone amused. “Can’t say I blame her, mind. Some of us have been… shall we say, louder than others.” He gives a pointed glance toward the dwarf in the cell beside yours (the one you’ve assumed to be Fili).

“Who’s loud?” The voice comes from the left, a thick layer of teasing in his tone. “I think she’s just upset because we’ve been better company than her.”

You blink, absolutely floored by the audacity. “Are you shitting me?” you fire back, incredulous. “Better company? I don’t even fucking know who you are.”

“Oh, but you do know us now, don’t you?” he quips back, undeterred. “And I’d wager I’m the most charming cellmate you’ve ever had.”

You scoff. “Perish in a ditch, I beg of you.”

His chuckle is warm and unapologetic, and you can hear the grin in his voice even if you can’t see it. “Maybe it’s for the best that we aren’t proper cellmates. I’d probably steal all your attention.”

If he kept talking you’re pretty sure you would’ve burst a blood vessel or something from frustration. Instead, you hang your head and mumble out another plea like for the love of God please shut up so I can get some sleep.

“Oh, aye, that’s one way to call it,” the kind dwarf from earlier mutters, laughing softly. “Maybe we’ve all worn on her nerves, eh? A bit of quiet might do us all good.”

With an exhausted huff, you mutter, “Honestly, you guys are like a D&D party with no volume control.” A beat passes before the cellmate on your right breaks the silence.

“What’s a D&D party?”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Exhaling slowly, exhaustion tinges each word that falls from your lips. “It’s…It’s nothing. Just, please let me sleep? It’s probably already three in the morning.” 

Your request doesn’t go unheard, and the dwarves begin to quiet down.

Laying back down on the cold floor, your eyes finally shut.

 — — — — — —

After your outburst from last night, you found yourself falling silent for the entire day. The cell door creaks open, the guard placing the usual tray of food down with a warning glare. You watch him leave with a scoff.

As if you had any energy to fight. They’d probably kick your ass in five seconds flat. Maybe ten, if you’re lucky.

“Where’s our food?” 

You glance over at the cell beside Thorin’s, the dwarf inside whose question draws your attention, and catch sight of a dwarf with a tousled hat perched messily atop his head. He has a friendly face, framed by a bushy beard that seems to bounce with every word that leaves him.

Now that you think about it, all three dwarves opposite you have long beards, obscuring the lower half of their face. Damn. They’d do great as before and after models for a razor commercial, maybe break a Guinness World Record while at it too.

You can’t help but notice how he leans against the bars, a grin spreading across his face. He falters when the guards walk past him without another word, leaving you to your meal. You choose to sit in the dimly illuminated area of your cell near the door, slowly chewing the coarse bread. 

Sensing someone’s gaze, you look up to see the dwarves across (excluding Thorin), their gazes fixed on the tray with a hint of hunger. You glance from the tray to them, uncertainty gnawing at your gut.

Should you?

On one hand, you knew perfectly well that they're the good guys. Technically the elves are too , you think, struggling to recall the twisted morals that Tolkien, that bitch, wrote about.

It's no wonder you couldn’t remember much. With the complexity of the world he built and the fact that you'd only been sixteen or so when you last read about Bilbo and his adventures, you probably would've died had you not recalled Sauron's name.

With a sigh, the decision is made. “Stick your hand out,” you say gruffly. Their eyes widen, but they follow your instructions, a mix of reluctance and hope in their expressions. You tear the loaf into three, keeping one for yourself.

Hollowing out the bread with your fingers, you fill it with roasted vegetables from a wooden bowl. The dwarves watch, curious about your next move.

Standing up, you pray your trusty aim hasn't grown rusty. Extending your arm through the bars of your cell, you inhale slowly before flicking your wrist. The first makeshift bun leaves your hand, plopping neatly into the palm of the white-bearded dwarf.

He beams, withdrawing his hand back into his cell. “Thank you, lass!” he calls out gratefully, munching down. The second dwarf is more eager now, catching the second bun you throw. His expression morphs into one of disgust when he sees the vegetables inside, only to hurriedly take big bites when he sees your glare.

You’d be damned if he tried to throw away the precious food you’d so kindly given them. With a satisfied smile, you flex your fingers, recalling the countless hours spent at the batting cages back home. Dartboards, too. Not exactly a common hobby you shared with your friends, but it gave you an aim you could trust, and a reminder of who you truly are.

“So lass, what brings you here to the dungeons of the woodland realm?” The kindness in the first dwarf’s voice prompts you to part your lips, only to pause when you see Thorin’s eyes set on you, waiting for your response.

You swallow. 

“Why should I spill my secrets to a bunch of strangers?” You reply dryly, drawing a chuckle from him. The memory of how you’d been treated when you’d started saying stuff about how you’re from another world makes you press your lips together in a thin line. Who’s to say they wouldn’t see you the same way they did?

“Aye, ye've got it right. I’m Balin, and this here is Thorin. The oaf who almost got all of us in trouble is Bofur.”

“I’m Kili,” the cellmate on your right chimes in. “And I’m Fili,” the other on your left adds. 

“Oh.” You blink. “Oh shit, I got you mixed up, huh. You’re the one who’s gonna have that whole thing with Tawny the elf.” You gesture aimlessly with the remains of your third of the loaf in your hands, shaking your head in sympathy.

“Are you talking about Tauriel?” Confusion laces his words. You mentally berate yourself for mixing up yet another character’s name, clearing your throat.

“Right. Tauriel. That’s what I said. It’s just my nickname for her. Like how Legolas is…Lego, and Thranduil is…” Your voice trails off, racking your brains to come up with a suitable nickname. 

“Is?” Fili prompts. 

“A bitch.” You refuse to elaborate, disdain flitting across your face. Bofur seems to catch it, raising his brows in intrigue. 

“Now that we’re acquainted, how is it that a fair maiden like you ended up in this dungeon all alone?” Kili asks. 

The more you got to hear him speak, the more you have an inkling as to how Tauriel had fallen for him in the first place. If he were back home, he’d definitely be a girl magnet, that’s for sure.

You let out a breathy chuckle, shifting to sit against the wall, knees slightly bent. “I didn’t exactly make a good impression on the king. Said a few things he didn’t like and mentioned a few things he wanted to keep private, and well,” you gesture sarcastically to the dungeon, “here I am.”

You glance at Thorin’s cell, half expecting him to have his back turned, lost in his brooding thoughts. Instead, piercing eyes meet yours, and it takes a moment to process that he seems genuinely curious about your story.

Now that you’ve got his attention, you’re unsure of what to say. Swallowing thickly, you weigh your options. You could reveal that you know their future now, but it wouldn’t be the best move. 

Most of them are still wary of you, and suddenly saying stuff like hey, I know all about your super secret quest that you wanna keep under wraps and I know the dragon’s going to wake up is sure to earn you a one way ticket to Hell, or whatever the equivalent is here.

Before you can say anything however, the atmosphere shifts, a sudden tension in the air. Thorin’s expression which was once indifferent is now wary, eyeing you with newfound suspicion. “It still doesn’t explain what you’re doing all the way out here. You’d have had to pass through Mirkwood and survive.”

Your throat suddenly becomes dry. Flexing your clammy hands, you stare down at your lap. “I don’t know either,” your voice comes out soft, unintentionally revealing the vulnerability beneath the bravado you’d exhibited the night before. “I just woke up in there one day, and one of the elves saved my life. Since then, I’ve been imprisoned here after the audience with the king.”

Thorin's eyes narrow as if he’s searching for something in your expression. “And what is your name, then? Where do you hail from?”

Before you can answer, Balin interjects, his tone light but firm. “Now, now, Thorin, let’s not frighten the lass. She’s been through enough, hasn’t she?” His voice is soothing, like a balm over the tense air that hangs between you and the king.

Thorin's gaze softens slightly. Balin continues, “She’s a visitor in a strange land, after all. No need for an interrogation when we could simply have a conversation instead.”

You take a moment to collect yourself, grateful for Balin’s attempt to ease the tension. Maybe a part of you has been desperate all this time for someone to talk to, otherwise you wouldn’t have given away your name this easily when he asks again. 

“I live in… well, a place far south of here. San Francisco, if you’ve ever heard of it.”

Thorin’s brow furrows in confusion. “San Francisco? Is that a town of men?”

“And women,” you correct. 

“Of course, women.” Every word that comes out of Kili’s mouth is sarcastic, eliciting an amused laugh from his brother. 

“Very funny,” you sigh, tilting your head back and staring at the ceiling. “Tell that to Tauriel tonight.” The only reason you’d remembered that they’d have a whole conversation was because you recall practically swooning at his romance. 

Looking back, however, you can’t help but recall how cringey their conversation would be about. Something about his mother’s treasure and the flirting…It makes you cringe. 

A moment passes before he speaks again, clearly flustered by the sudden callout. “What do you mean? How do you know if she’s coming or not?”

Before you can answer, footsteps that wander down the corridor halt right outside your door. Watching the guard you'd grown to recognise over the weeks, you wait with bated breath when he brings forth a singular key, unlocking your cell.

“You are to be transferred.” He speaks emotionlessly, eyes flitting over the dirt that stains your cheeks and hands filled with scratches from clumsy attempts at standing. “By his Majesty's orders.” 

“Where?” Caution is the only word that encompasses how you feel in the moment, filling every word. Your heart begins to race in your chest, much like the moment before you passed out after Legolas had rescued you from the spider. Why, out of all times would Thranduil give such an order? 

As your gaze meets Thorin's, it hits you like a sack of bricks being thrown at your stomach. He didn't want them knowing about the stuff you'd said. Even if his scepticism kept him from believing you, there must've been some part of him that doesn’t want his prisoner overhearing it. 

You look up at the guard, an odd sense of calm filling your chest. “Tell Thranduil that if he transfers me, I might just somehow let slip to the dwarves about the things I know.” 

It's a pathetic threat, really, but enough to make the guard hesitate. Uncertainty taints his gaze, though his firm hands grab you by the shoulders, throwing you near the exit of your cell.

“Didn't your boss tell you not to harm me?” You spit through gritted teeth. Now that you have confirmation about his intentions, courage bursts forth from an unknown place within you.

You're tired of being thrown about, tired of catering to his whim and reciting events you  barely remember like you’re back in school once again, forced to read a passage aloud in class when the teacher caught you sleeping.

Wiping your cheek with a bitter smile, you stumble to your feet. “Just let me take a bath while you relay this to him: I may not remember much, but what I do know will benefit those dwarves and allow doom to befall your people.” 

Since when did you start speaking so dramatically?

Maybe it's due to the time (unwillingly) spent with Thranduil that’s changed your vocabulary. The idea makes you grimace, hiding your disdain with a cough.

The guard's eyes narrow slightly as he processes your words. “You think I’m afraid of your threats?” he scoffs, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays his uncertainty. “You’re just a human girl trapped in a dungeon. What could you possibly know that would matter to the likes of us?”

He glances back at Thorin and Balin, who watch him intently. The tension in the air thickens, and for a fleeting moment, the guard seems torn between his duty to Thranduil and the possibility that you might hold some valuable knowledge.

“Fine,” he says finally, his tone grudgingly respectful. “I’ll pass on your message. But don’t think for a second that this will change anything for you. You’re still at his mercy.”

He steps back, still eyeing you warily. A sense of victory fills your grin, but it's quickly dimmed by the appearance of another guard. 

The new arrival, tall and broad-shouldered, takes a position directly in front of you, effectively blocking you from view of the dwarves in the cells around you.

“Keep her out of sight,” the first guard mutters under his breath, as if he’s already second-guessing your little threat. The second guard nods and shifts to your left, standing close enough that his form casts a shadow across your face.

Without sparing another glance at the dwarves, the guards flank you, one on either side. You can feel the weight of Thorin’s gaze, curious and intense, following you as you’re led away.

As you’re escorted down the winding corridors once again, reality starts to sink in. You just basically threatened a king, with nothing more than the vague knowledge that remains in your mind.

I’m so fucked, aren’t I?

— — — — — — 

The icy water that hits the bare skin of your shoulders makes you shiver involuntarily. Drawing your knees to your chest in the ornate bathtub, you stare at the soapy water that muddles your reflection.

You feel lost.

Days that had turned into weeks feels like an eternity. Has anyone back home even noticed you’ve gone missing? Numb to the freezing cold water being poured over your head once more, you state aimlessly at your hands. 

Once as smooth as a baby's arms, the skin of your fingertips are wrinkled and pruny, various tiny scratches on your palm from the tiny rocks that jut out from the floor of your cell. You’d grown used to them being there after the number of times you’ve collapsed from pure exhaustion after your workouts.

Your fingers trace one of the scars absently, following the jagged line like it’s a map that could somehow lead you home. The water laps against your skin, but the chill barely registers anymore. It’s as if you’re only half here, trapped in some distant limbo between two worlds. 

The first week, you’d clung to memories of the life you left behind. Your family, your friends, the hum of city life. Now, the details blur. You can hardly remember what your bedroom looked like, or the last meal you shared with someone. Every second in this place feels like another part of you drifting away, sinking into the fog that’s settled over your mind.

With a sigh, you let the water wash over you, hoping it will take with it some of the weariness weighing down your bones. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as cold rivulets stream down your cheeks, mingling with the tears you hadn’t realised were there.

Salt hits your tongue upon licking your lips, carelessly swiping the back of your hand across your closed eyes. “Time’s up.” A female elf notifies coldly, handing you a towel before stepping aside. Even though Thranduil had granted you opportunities to freshen up properly, he still placed someone on guard to ensure you wouldn’t run away.

Squeezing out the excess water from your hair, you press the towel to your body. Once dry, you take the fresh set of clothes from the chair next to you, putting them on. The tunic and pants aren’t as nice or extravagant as the quality the other elves wore, but it’s more than enough to keep you comfortable. 

The walk back to your cell is silent, the same guards flanking you until the cell door opens and slams shut behind you once more. You sit back down onto the hard floor with a weary sigh, staring at your empty palm. 

Warm clothes, familiar streets, your own bed, your phone… God, what you’d give for even five minutes with that little touchscreen, just to feel something connected to home. Feeling a heavy gaze set in your direction makes you glance up.

Thorin’s hands are clenched around the bars of his cell. Weariness, suspicion, distrust…all of the above taint the air in an almost suffocating manner. “Tell me. What knowledge makes you so certain of your guaranteed safety?” 

Standing up with an air of defiance, your composed state quickly crumbles when he tightens his grip. “Not some I’d be willing to spill so easily with a simple question.” Right now, everything that you know is a card in your favour, something that you can leverage.

Whether or not he’d take the bait would be an entirely different thing.

Sure enough, he bites. 

“And it is beneficial to us, you mentioned? Yet, Thranduil does not seem to care for your value.”

You cross your arms, trying to match his intensity despite the tight knot forming in your chest. “Maybe because he doesn’t know the half of it. Not everything I’ve got is common knowledge, Thorin Oakenshield .” The name comes out almost mockingly, the false bravado backfiring when you spot the tensing of his jaw.

“Then enlighten me,” he snaps. His voice is low but charged with frustration, eyes narrowing as if trying to strip away every layer of your defiance.

Your lips twist into a humorless smile. “Funny. That would kind of defeat the whole ‘leverage’ thing, wouldn’t it?”

Thorin’s knuckles whiten as his grip tightens. “Leverage? So that’s what this is to you — a game of manipulation? I’ve seen the likes of you before, always spinning words, always hiding behind secrets. What do you gain from this?”

“Because sitting around and doing nothing isn’t an option!” you snap back, pushing yourself up from where you’ve been sitting and stepping closer to the bars of your own cell. “Do you think I asked for any of this? I didn’t. I didn’t choose to be dragged here, or into your mess. But here I am, and like it or not, I’m trying to survive.”

His eyes narrow, suspicion clouding his expression. “And yet, here you stand,” he says coldly. “Unharmed, unbound. Thranduil doesn’t waste cells on anyone he deems unimportant, and you seem perfectly content to keep whatever use you have to him a secret.”

Your fists clench tightly, the sharp edges of your unkempt nails pushing past skin and drawing blood. “Do you think I’m ‘safe’ in here, Thorin?” you retort, your voice rising. “That bastard of an elf king is only tolerating me because he doesn’t know what to do with me. I’m as much a pawn to him as you are.”

“A pawn?” he repeats, his voice low but cutting. “No. Pawns are expendable. Whatever you are, he sees value in you — and until I know what that value is, I have no reason to trust you.”

“And you think I trust you ?” you shoot back, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. “You’ve done nothing but glare and be mean to me since the moment we met. You demand answers, but what guarantee do I have that you’ll listen?”

His jaw tightens, his glare hardening. “You want guarantees? There are none. Not in this world, and certainly not in these halls. If you think you can bargain with secrets and survive unscathed, you are either very brave or very foolish.”

“Maybe both,” you snap, your composure unraveling. “But what choice do I have? You think I’m holding back just to irritate you? Everything I know, everything I can’t tell you yet, is the only thing keeping me from being completely useless here. I have to play my cards carefully, bitch, or I lose everything.”

His hands tighten on the bars, his knuckles pale against the cold iron. “Then perhaps you’ve already lost. Trust isn’t earned with half-truths and riddles. If you cannot prove your worth, then why should I risk the safety of my company for you?”

“Because whether you like it or not, you’ll need me!” you fire back, the words tumbling out before you can temper them. “I know things you don’t. Things that could help you. But if you keep treating me like a threat instead of an ally, then maybe I’m wasting my time even trying.”

For a moment, the silence between you is deafening. Thorin’s glare remains fixed on you, unyielding, but there’s a flicker of something (doubt, perhaps?) that crosses his face before his expression hardens once more. The anger fades from your system as fast as it comes, leaving you emotionless and with a sickening lurch in your gut.

“You speak boldly,” he says at last, his tone like ice. “But words alone will not earn my trust. Actions will.”

You exhale sharply, leaning back against the cold stone wall of your cell. “Fine,” you mutter, though the bitterness in your tone is impossible to mask. “Then watch closely, Oakenshield . I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to judge my actions soon enough.”

He falls silent after that, perhaps having exhausted himself with a fight as petty as this. You can’t tell whether to take this as a win or loss on your end, fighting back yet another round of tears that threaten to spill. 

Exhaustion eats away at you. You’re tired of trying to tiptoe the line of survival, barely avoiding death. Yet, even though you weren’t exactly the most welcoming of people to him, you still need their help to escape in the end.

With that thought, you fall back into silence, staring at the wall aimlessly while the murmurs of the rest around you resume. 

— — — — — — 

It’s around a few hours later when everyone else is asleep, a shadow outside your door drawing your attention. Shifting your position, you tilt your head to see Tauriel in front of Kili’s cell.

“The stone in your hand, what is it?” Her voice is gentle, tinged with curiosity.

Oh no , you suppress another annoyed groan, it’s time. Kill me now . Why couldn’t they just let you be depressed in peace?

Kili speaks, his voice low. “It is a talisman; a powerful spell lies upon it. If any but a dwarf reads the runes on this stone, they will be forever cursed…”

You stifle a laugh behind your hands, the absurdity bubbling up. Sure, bro. Who wouldn’t want that as an opening line to flirt? You can’t help but smirk at the irritated frown Tauriel sends your way, almost making your laughter spill over.

Tauriel’s sharp gaze locks onto Kili, and you can’t help but press your lips together in an attempt to hide the ball of cringe in your chest at what you can sense coming next. “Or not... depending on whether you believe in that kind of thing. It’s just a token — a rune stone. My mother gave it to me so I would remember my promise.”

“What promise?” Tauriel asks, her interest piqued.

You can practically hear Kili’s casual shrug. “That I would come back to her. She worries; she thinks I’m reckless.”

“Are you?” Tauriel presses, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Nah—” His voice carries a playful lilt as he flips the rune stone lightly in the air, but you hear the slight thud as it skids across the floor, almost tumbling into a dark chasm. You suck in a sharp breath, half-expecting it to disappear forever. But Tauriel, quick as lightning, stops it, glancing at it briefly before handing it back to him.

“Sounds like quite a party you’re having up there.”

“It is Mereth e-nGilith — the Feast of Starlight,” Tauriel replies, her voice softening.

She hesitates, her gaze lingering on Kili. “All light is sacred to the Eldar, but Wood Elves love best the light of the stars.”

Killmenowkillmenowkillmenow-

You can hear Kili’s dismissive tone. “I’ve always thought it’s a cold light, remote and far away.”

Please. PLEASE. End me now.

It takes every ounce of strength not to gag. The cringeworthy flirtation unfolding just inches away makes you want to groan, but you know better than to draw attention. So, instead, you sit there, jaw clenched, enduring secondhand embarrassment that feels like it could kill you.

You try to tune them out, focusing on the tray of food that must’ve been placed by the corner of your door by the guard while you were dozing off. Their idea of “dinner” is bleak as ever: coarse bread, a few sad bits of carrot and something that might be green. You break the bread into pieces, hoping that taking it slow will make it somehow taste better.

A bite, a chew, a sip of water. This routine feels like a punishment, but it’s better than starving. You tear off another bit of bread, staring down at it with a sigh. What I wouldn’t give for grilled meat right now. Thanks to the elves and their “nature-loving, we-love-veggies” diet, you'd lost weight, replaced by some muscle from the exercising you'd done.

But then, in a hushed, dreamy voice, Kili says, “I saw a fire-moon once.”

And just like that, the crumb of bread lodges in your throat. Your hand flies to your mouth as you cough — loudly. So much for staying quiet. You thump yourself on the chest, trying to calm the wheezing fit, which only draws an annoyed look in your direction.

Desperation fills you the more you cough, spluttering through watery eyes as you try to dislodge the bread. “Are you alright?” You can barely process Kili’s concerned words, tinged with mild embarrassment when he realises that you’ve probably been listening in on their conversation while everyone else is asleep.

Screw his embarrassment, you’ve probably just ruined the whole romantic bit they had going on.

As your wheezing gets louder, you remember a trick you'd seen once from the instructor of your first-aid course. It’d been a mandatory class when you worked as a lifeguard at the public swimming pool, and the instructor was pretty chill.

Now that you think about it, you clearly recall choking on something as well before he helped, and taught you the self-Heimlich. You ball one hand into a fist like he’d shown you, place it just above your navel, and thrust it sharply upward, hoping that it works as well as they say.

Nothing. Your eyes are watering, your chest feels like it's on fire, and that stupid crumb is still lodged in your throat. Great. Truly amazing. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Tauriel watching, arms folded, face as blank as ever. She looks like she’s observing a particularly unremarkable bug flailing on its back.

“Oh, you — absolute menace ,” you choke out in a strangled gasp, more annoyed than desperate now. You always knew she wasn’t your biggest fan, but really? Letting you choke to death over here? You brace yourself, trying again; one last, undignified shove to your diaphragm.

With a spectacular sputter, the offending crumb finally flies out. You slump back down, chest heaving as you pant from the near-death experience you’ve just had. Surprisingly enough, you never thought you’d almost perish this way.

Beheaded? Yes. Speared? Possibly. Choke to death on stale bread? Never crossed your mind.

Kili’s voice drifts from his cell, tinged with genuine concern, "Are you alright?" You manage a weak grunt, swallowing what’s left of your dignity along with the reminder that your interference might come with unexpected consequences.

Tauriel turns and leaves without another word. Glaring at her retreating back, you point your middle finger at her, jabbing it at the air like a madman. A broken laugh falls from your lips when you realise what you’re doing, blinking away the tears that involuntarily form. 

Kili’s voice drifts out again, and there’s a nervous, almost embarrassed edge to it now. “I’m glad you’re alright.” He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh but is also genuinely worried, caught somewhere between sympathy and the awkwardness of knowing you were listening in on his whole starlit, heartwarming moment.

You throw him a thumbs-up you know full well he can’t see, still catching your breath. “Nothing a little willpower couldn’t fix,” you mutter, though you can practically feel his grin through the walls.

“Glad to hear,” he says, then, in a lower, almost conspiratorial tone, “Not the most graceful moment, but I won’t tell.”

You manage a half-smile he can’t see, and he chuckles softly, his laughter almost warm enough to take the edge off Tauriel’s cold indifference. 

 — — — — — —

It’s been close to a week since the dwarves were imprisoned, and you’d taken to playing a little game with Bofur dubbed as Pass thy Rock. Pure boredom had gotten the better of you, having carelessly fiddled with a stray pebble in your cell.

Bofur had gestured to you to throw it to him, and thus began a rallying of rock tossing you play with Balin, Bofur, and even the brothers that neighbour you. Balin had tried to get Thorin to join, but he simply ignored him.

He’s always either pacing the floor or brooding quietly, with the occasional slamming of his cell door as he demands for an audience with Thranduil. The elf king never granted his request, and ever since that day when you told the guard to pass on the message, he didn’t call on you either. 

You’re not sure whether to feel relieved or fearful of that.

“Don’t drop it too soon,” Fili chuckles, catching the pebble Balin tossed his way. He hands it to you with a grin, the smooth stone cool in your palm as you give it a thoughtful turn. It’s strange to think you’re really here, part of a story you once read about.

“It’s weird,” you find yourself saying, words slipping out before you can stop them, “I never really understood why people liked you all so much...until now.”

Balin hums, amused. “People, you say?”

“I didn’t realise we were that well known across Middle-earth,” Bofur adds with a chuckle.

You force a small smile, masking a pang of uncertainty. If only you could ask Gandalf for advice. Maybe he’d know of a way to get you home. But for now, it’s a waiting game, and with these dwarves for company, a part of you feels...oddly content.

“Guess you’re more famous than you thought,” you say, flicking the stone back to Balin with a smirk. So far, the only ones who know what you look like are the three opposite you, and truthfully? They’re much taller than you expected. Or maybe you’re just short. 

Balin catches it with a shake of his head, tossing it to Kili’s cell. You’re waiting for the pebble to be tossed once more, only to hear it clatter to the floor, the sound echoing in the quiet cell. A sharp hiss of pain echoes, and judging by the look on Balin’s face, it’s not hard to piece together what’s happened. 

“ Shit , are you okay?” You curse, fingers gripping the cell door tightly. Worry fills you, an unexpected consequence of the silly game you’d come up with. With the additional fact that you’ve no idea when they actually make their escape, panic flits through your body at the possibility it could be at any minute, even now.

“I’m fine.” His breathy chuckle does nothing to shake off the unease that gnaws at your gut. Relief is fleeting, and it dawns on you that this isn’t a world where doctors are aplenty, nor medicine or basic hygiene. 

“Give me your hand.” 

You can sense his amusement even through the bars. “How, exactly? We aren’t really in a position where I can do so.”

“Just — stick it out or something,” you say, exasperated. He must realise you’re not joking, because he dutifully follows your instructions. His arm stretches out past the gap in the cell door bars, the closest one to you.

You observe the grime beneath his nails and the faint tremor in his fingers, along with the multiple scars on his arm. “You really need to clean up,” you mutter, sarcasm still pulling through even in this situation.

“I could with your help.” His teasing draws out a sarcastic laugh from you. “But it’s really nothing. I’ve gone through worse.”

“He’s right, we’ve all got the scars to show for it,” Fili calls out. Thorin eyes Kili with concern, though he chooses to simply observe.

You reach out cautiously, your fingers brushing against his as you inspect the makeshift bandage he’s tied in a loose knot. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care of yourself properly,” you scoff with a roll of your eyes. 

He flinches at your touch, only to allow you to continue. “Your first aid is horrible,” you remark, sitting down and pulling away from him. His arm remains there for a moment, before withdrawing back into his cell. 

“Here, since we can’t see each other, follow what Balin does.” The dwarf mentioned tilts his head in intrigue, inching closer to the cell door. “Grab a piece of cloth, or find one that’s relatively clean. It can be from your shirt or something.”

A loud rip echoes through the dungeon, and you guess he’s already found one. “Alright, focus,” you say, starting to slowly show Balin your movements so he can mirror it back to Kili. “Once you’ve got your cloth, wrap it around the wound. Make sure it’s snug, but not too tight— you want to stop the bleeding without cutting off circulation.”

“Got it,” Kili replies, his tone serious now as he carefully follows your instructions. “What’s next?”

“Now, start by layering the cloth over the wound, but don’t just go in circles. You want to cover it from the centre outwards. Think of it like a spiral, but keep it neat,” you instruct, trying to visualise the process in your mind as you speak. “If you have any leftover fabric, you can use it to tie off the bandage.”

“Leftover fabric? You mean, like the remnants of my shirt?” Kili quips, though you can hear the focus in his voice.

“Whatever works for you bro,” you shrug. “I'm not gonna be the one with the potential infection.”

“After you’ve wrapped it, make a knot to secure it, but not so tight that it restricts your movement. You don’t want to lose feeling in your hand,” you add. “And if you can, check to see if it’s bleeding through. If it is, you’ll need to add another layer on top, but don’t remove the first one.”

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye on it,” Kili assures you, his voice steady despite the pain he’s likely enduring. “I’m tying it off now… it’s a bit tricky.”

“Being injured tends to do that to you.” That draws chuckles from the dwarves around. “Show me what it looks like now so I can check.”

He sticks his hand out once more, the makeshift bandage tied almost perfectly according to your instructions. “That’s…not bad.” You raise your brows, genuinely impressed. 

He wiggles his fingers as if to show off. “Comes with the territory. Handling weapons all my life, after all. Bandaging? Piece of cake.”

Fili pipes up from the other side, snickering, “He’s more used to wrapping himself around trouble, to be fair.”

The cell falls silent again as your thoughts spiral inward, a wave of fear creeping in. The earlier laughs fade, leaving only the loud reminder of your isolation here. The foreignness, the absence of anyone from your world, from home. Your fingers start picking at the skin around your nails, words slipping out before you even realise. 

“What if they don’t remember me?”

It’s muttered more to yourself than to anyone else. The vulnerability in your voice draws the attention of the dwarves, especially Thorin, whose eyes narrow slightly.

Fili speaks first. “Who? Your people?” Raising your gaze, you stare at the wall bordering his. 

Great. Talking to dwarves as makeshift therapists now? Rock bottom, here I come.

“I don’t even know if I have anyone looking for me. I just... I don’t belong here.” The weight of your words hangs in the air, and you can feel the dwarves' gazes on you. It feels understanding, but a certain wariness remains.

Balin’s voice breaks the tension, kind and encouraging. “If the opportunity comes, lass, we’ll help you escape alongside us. No need to fret on that.”

You try to give him a smile in return, but Thorin’s scoff from his cell wipes it right off your face. He shifts, arms crossing over his chest as he sizes you up with a disdainful look. “She’ll only slow us down. A human female, no less. She wouldn’t last a day on our journey, with no weapon, no training, and no resilience to speak of. We’ve got more than enough to deal with without—”

That bastard.

A hot rush of anger flares up, the thinned frays of patience for all the treatment you've endured here finally snapping. “Oh, don’t worry,” you snap, tone dripping with sarcasm. “I wouldn’t want to drag you all down.” 

His condescension feels like a weight, pressing against you until the words spill out before you can stop them. “Besides, if I wanted to survive, I’d have just stuck with Bilbo. He practically saved your asses from being roasted on a spit by those trolls. You’d have been—”

A cold, shocked silence follows. Your mind stalls as you realise you’ve said it — let out a detail so specific that the absurdity of it sinks in, even for you.

Thorin’s eyes narrow, his piercing gaze fixed on you with a new sharpness that unsettles you to your bones. “And how, exactly,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, “would you know of that?”

There’s an intensity in his stare now that makes your pulse skip. Every dwarf in the dungeon has gone quiet, their eyes turning between you and Thorin. Balin’s thoughtful gaze seems to scrutinise you even deeper than his.

Cheeks burning, you swallow hard, the weight of what you’ve said bearing down. Excuses pile up in your throat but stick there, choking you. You could say it was a guess, a wild shot in the dark, but something about Thorin’s intense stare tells you he won’t be easily convinced. 

Balin clears his throat, an attempt to ease the tension. “Perhaps it’s mere coincidence, Thorin. Maybe she simply overheard tales from…from somewhere. These stories travel quickly among folk these days, I’d wager.”

But Thorin’s focus is relentless, his gaze never shifting from you. “Not tales this specific,” he says slowly, his voice growing colder with each word. “You know more than you’re letting on.”

The irritation from earlier has drained, leaving only a quiet dread. You drop your gaze, picking at the edge of the cell bars as though they hold answers. “Maybe I do,” you mutter, your voice softer but just as defiant. “Maybe I know plenty about what you’re up against. Maybe I know things that would make your head spin.”

The challenge in your tone has clearly gotten under his skin. He takes a step closer to his own cell bars, fingers curling around the metal as he watches you with a dark, unreadable expression. “Then speak plainly. What are you hiding? And why?”

Your hand grips the bar tighter, as if that might ground you. “Why should I?” you say, your tone icy. “The last thing I need is to be explaining myself to someone who’d sooner leave me behind than listen.”

A flicker of something unreadable crosses Thorin’s face. Maybe surprise, maybe irritation. But before he can respond, Balin interrupts, a careful look in his eye. “Lass,” he begins gently, his voice coaxing, “if there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ us, know that we mean you no harm. But it’s only fair we know what we’re dealing with, for all our sakes.”

You breathe out slowly, watching their faces — some concerned, some suspicious. Thorin, though, is guarded, like he’s ready to block out whatever you might say next, no matter what it is.

So you smile. A faint, tired one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m not your enemy, Balin. If that’s what you’re wondering. I…don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

Kili speaks up, the curiosity in his voice soft but evident. “So… you’re on our side?”

You pause, your eyes flicking to the floor outside his cell. “I never said that either.”

 — — — — — —

Taglist: @chennqingg <3

[obitez]

Bean's Birthday! 🐶🎂

Due to today being my wiener dog's birthday, here's another Bean fic!

Full fic on AO3

Tommy didn’t know when exactly Bean’s birthday was. He had taken the dog in when Bean was two years old, and was just told ‘oh, his birthday is in January.’ And since Tommy picked the little wiener dog up on January 9th well… 

It was pretty self-explanatory. 

Tommy celebrated Bean's birthday on January 9th. 

Bean was going to be turning five this year. 

🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂

It was no surprise to anyone that Tommy liked to spoil Bean. And really, it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. 

Other than his boyfriend, who Tommy also spoiled, he was a man in his forties with a very well paying job and no children. Despite California’s very high cost of living, sometimes he had more money than he knew what to responsibly do with. 

So he spoiled his dog. 

The only problem with spoiling Bean, was that Bean was very picky… and very hard to spoil. 

Most dog toys were too big for him to pick up in his mouth, and the ones that were small enough for him to pick up, half the time Bean paid no attention to them. Tommy didn’t want to know how much money he had spent on toys that Bean ignored because they were small but had no squeaker. He hoped the other dogs at the animal shelter liked them. 

Then there were the dog treats. If they weren’t either meat flavored, Bean would also ignore them. Even when Tommy tried stuffing the mini Kong full of peanut butter, Bean sniffed it only to walk across the room. Last year Tommy had bought those little specialty doggy cupcakes for Bean’s birthday, only for Bean to ignore those as well. 

Tommy supposed if he lived in a cold climate, especially with this time of the year, he could buy a new sweater or jacket for Bean, but with the lows being in the upper forties still, Tommy didn’t think they would be very useful. 

Truthfully though, the only person Tommy knew who could pick out good presents for the dog was Tommy’s mom. Bean loved  all of the presents Tommy’s mom sent him. Maybe it was his mom’s scent on them or something, he didn’t know, because when Tommy bought nearly identical toys at Target for Bean, Bean didn’t want anything to do with them. 

But the presents she had mailed over for Christmas Tommy had already given to Bean, and Tommy didn’t want to make it a big thing. Because the worst part about Bean's birthday was that it was right after Christmas. So after trying to think of Christmas gifts for his dog for months, he needed to turn right back around and come up with a birthday gift. 

Which again left Tommy in a conundrum. What should he do for Bean’s birthday this year? 

🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂

Buck hummed as he walked up behind Tommy as he stood at his kitchen counter. “What’s that look on your face for?” he asked. 

Tommy turned his head to look at Buck. “What look?” he asked. 

“You look conflicted about something,” Buck said. “Like you need to make a decision and don’t know what to do.” 

Tommy chewed his lip as he thought of a way to word what he was going to say. “Bean’s birthday is next week,” Tommy said. “I haven’t figured out what to get him.” 

Buck’s eyes widened as he took in what Tommy had just said. “His birthday is next week?” Buck asked. He walked around Tommy’s kitchen to look over at the dog sleeping on his dog bed in the living room. “Your birthday is next week?” Buck asked. 

Buck merely let out another snore as he kept his donut position sleeping in the dog bed, only reacting to people who were in the same room as him. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said, setting a dirty glass into the kitchen sink, telling himself he would clean it later. “His birthday is next week, and I don’t know what to get for him.” 

Buck hummed as he thought. “Did he like those treats I made him last month?” Buck asked as he referred to the candy cane shaped dog biscuits he made on Christmas Eve. Tommy was silent long enough for Buck to turn back to look at him. “Did he?” 

“N- Not really,” Tommy said. 

Buck’s mouth hung open. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked. 

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Tommy said. “You worked so hard at making them.”

Buck looked back at Bean and hummed. “What kind of treats does Bean like again?” he asked. 

“Anything with meat,” Tommy said. “Actually meat though, not meat flavored stuff.”

A couple days later, Tommy ended up stopping by a butcher shop to buy a large beef bone, one that he knew would take hours for Bean to finish. He had them cut it up though, he didn’t want raw meat sitting around his house for hours and for Bean to hide to bone in his bed. Hell, that was probably why he didn’t do this all too often for Bean. It made… kind of a big mess. 

Tommy also went by the pet store, again, because even though Bean didn’t like the toys Tommy got for him, that didn’t mean Tommy wasn’t going to get the dog a toy. Because what messed up dog owners didn’t get their dogs a toy for their birthday? Not the good ones. 

Tommy looked over the racks of dog toys of various sizes, bypassing the ones that would obviously be too large for the dog’s little mouth and paws, and focusing in on the ones that had little squeakers. He found a three pack of little plush ducks. They looked cute, and they were certainly better than the assortment of leftover Christmas dog toys. 

🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂 🎂

Tommy and Buck ended up meeting again the day before Bean’s birthday. Buck had set a small box on the counter in front of Tommy when he walked into his house. 

“What’s that?” Tommy asked. 

“For Bean, his birthday,” Buck said. Tommy lifted an eyebrow as he took the box and opened it up. Inside looked to hold some sort of dog friendly cake, with pieces of dried bacon on top. “It has real meat,” Buck said. “So he should like it, right?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy said. Then he passed it back into Buck’s hands. “You should give it to him.”

“What? But his birthday isn’t until tomorrow though,” Buck protested. 

“And you’ll be working tomorrow,” Tommy said as he turned Buck’s shoulder to the direction where Bean was sleeping in the living room. The dog slept a lot. 

“And don’t worry,” Tommy said. “I have other gifts to give him tomorrow, he can have this one early.” 

“Okay,” Buck said as he walked over to the dog and squatted down next to him. Bean lifted his head up to look at him and Tommy could see the dog began to wag his tail. 

Buck set the box with the cake on the floor in front of the dog. “Okay, Bean. Here we got an early birthday cake for you…”

As Buck spoke to the dog, Bean stood up and walked a couple steps closer to give the cake a sniff. When Buck sat back Bean very carefully picked the pieces of dried bacon off.

“You know… I’ve never seen a dog be so picky,” Buck said around a laugh. 

“Me either,” Tommy said from where he watched the two.

[uhhhj13iguess]

the kind of love you deserve

wc: ~2k

summary: you go on a date with theo, and it's all stiles can think about

this is very loosely edited, be warned

hey, do you mind if i come over?

stiles stared listlessly at your text, legs shaking against his will.

this evening you'd been on a date with theo, and stiles made his stance on the situation clear from the moment you told him about it. he didn't have an ounce of trust in him or his intentions in general. but when it came to you? he was more wary of theo than he'd ever been.

he didn't know what to say. he didn't own you. but he'd seen the way he had stared you down, the way he flirted with you when he needed an in with scott. he didn't trust him, and he couldn't not say something.

"i don't think you should go, (y/n)." he said firmly, arms crossing over his chest.

you stood shocked. "excuse me?"

"you know i don't trust him. i haven't found anything yet but he's slimy and there's something off about him. i don't think you should go out with him, he has to be doing it for a reason."

you let out a scoff at his comment. you expected some pushback: in all honesty, you hoped it would make him a little jealous. but this was just hurtful.

"what, so the reason can't just be because he likes me? that someone might want to take me out? jesus stiles, that's low."

he felt his whole body shake in retaliation. "no no, no, no that's not what I meant, come on, you know that,"

he stepped towards you as you shut your locker door, his hand reaching out for your own. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

you shook your head and pulled back from him. "whatever stiles, i'll let you know how it goes."

those were the last words stiles was left with, and he had no idea what was going on or how you were. he skipped practice and spent the entire evening pacing his room, wondering how your date was going.

he felt sick at the idea of you having a good time. not only did he feel stupid that he lost his chance to ask you out, but to lose it to theo? he couldn't bear the thought of him making you laugh, or worse, having his hands on you. the thought nauseated him.

but he didn't wish for you to have a bad time either. thinking of you being uncomfortable or in any kind of situation you didn't want to be in made him dizzy with fear. he couldn't handle the idea of you being hurt, in any way.

so as he saw your text come up a few hours after school ended, he didn't know what to think.

obviously he instantly invited you over. I mean, what was he going to say, no? of course not. regardless of the outcome, he needed to see you. he needed to hear from you.

he followed his response with another, letting you know the door was unlocked and he was upstairs. he began to tidy what he could of his bedroom, tossing clothes both clean and dirty aimlessly into his closet, trying to make things somewhat presentable.

after about 15 minutes, stiles jumped at the sound of a soft knock on his bedroom door. he turned to see your meek figure hiding away in one of his sweatshirts as you practically cowered in the doorway. you had the hood pulled up so he couldn't see much of your face, but he could hear your soft cries.

stiles's chest felt as though it'd been replaced with a 50-pound weight looking at you.

he set down the hamper he was holding and walked over slowly. "hey..."

you refused to meet his eyes. "hi,"

he reached out for your hand and you took it silently, walking the two of you to his disheveled bed. you sat down on the edge together, stiles running his fingers over the back of your shaking hand.

"you were right."

he looked at you puzzled. "what?"

"you were right, about theo. i should've listened to you. i don't know what I was thinking -- going, I mean. as if anyone would care to take me on a date for real."

you looked down at the two of your hands in your lap. you hadn't yet looked at him. you didn't know how to.

"(y'n), what happened?"

you still didn't know how to, so you didn't meet his eyes as you slowly slipped off your hood. you sat in insecurity, feeling ashamed in your own skin as you sat there.

stiles' skin, on the other hand, was boiling.

his eyes grazed your face, his stomach twisting at the sight of a large gash across your cheek, bruises painted all around. you finally made eye contact with him, tears threatening to spill from your soft eyes as you looked at him for the first time. in turning your head towards him, he got a clear sight of the handprint-shaped bruise revealing itself across your neck and he felt as though his bones were vibrating with anger.

but that wasn't the emotion you needed in this moment, so he held himself back. you needed him to be strong, to care for you. but as soon as you were gone, he was going to have blood on his hands.

he reached up to your cheek slowly, caressing the tinted skin gently under his fingertips. he nearly threw up when he watched you wince in pain, immediately retracting his hand and grabbing yours once again.

"oh my god, (y/n). i, i don't even, are you okay? what happened?"

you grew guilty at the question, breaking eye contact. "I was stupid to even go. i don't know why I assumed he'd want me over to do anything other than fuck me,"

stiles was going to have more than just bloody knuckles.

"i went over, and he just got touchy really fast, and the second I made it clear that wasn't on the agenda, he just... he got, physical with it." you continued.

stiles listened as you spoke, still crandling your hands in his. he let out a shaky breath, trying to get out a question he didn't think he could ask without getting ill.

"did he, i mean, he didn't... did he?" he glanced down at your body.

"no, no nothing like that. i didn't let it get that far. but he just, he just got so angry. instantly. and he grabbed me and threw me, and he held me up by my throat and I,"

"i couldn't breathe stiles. i didn't know what to do."

stiles was going to kill him. he was going to tear every limb off his body one by one as he died a slow and agonizing death, and then he was going to resurrect him on the nemeton just so he could kill him again.

"i just feel so stupid. i should've listened to you, you were right. i don't even know why I'm here, maybe I feel like you deserve the satisfaction of getting to say I told you so." you let out a pained chuckle.

his whole body shook in protest as you spoke. he jumped up in front of you, hands grabbing either side of your shoulders. "no, please don't say that, oh my god (y/n). none of this is your fault, I need you to understand that. i was wrong for intervening to begin with. please, do not put this on yourself."

you shook your head softly against his hands, attempting but failing to avert his gaze.

"(y/n), I'm serious. please, just listen to me."

you let out a sigh, moving to free your body from his grip and leaning your head on his stomach. it was an awkward position for a hug as you sat and he stood, but he enevoped you immediately, wrapping his arms around your upper body and pulling you close.

"i'm so sorry, (y/n). come on, let me clean you up."

you nodded against his torso, letting him grab your hands and lead you toward his bathroom. he helped you slip the sweatshirt off your fragile frame, not having time to acknowledge that you were wearing his sweatshirt. he mentally made a note to review the thought of you wearing his clothes another time. he guided you onto the counter, and you let out a raspy laugh as you watched him frantically dig through the cupboards for a first aid kit.

your face fell quickly though, feeling embarrassed to have bothered stiles to begin with. you wouldn't have even gone on this date if you knew how to control your soul-crushing infatuation with your best friend. you thought theo would be a nice distraction, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't been flattered at the attention. yeah, that sure went over well.

stiles met you face to face with his supplies, sick to his stomach as he brought a damp cloth to your cut. he matched the tears flooding your eyes as he cleaned it as gently as he could, seeing you in pain filling his stomach with rocks. he whispered soft apologies to you as he continued, making sure to care for you the best he knew how to.

once he was done, he grabbed your hands again, helping you off the counter and guiding you back into his bedroom. he walked you towards his bed, not letting go of you until you slid under his covers. he practically tucked you in, shrouding you in as many of his pillows as he could find. you snuggled in, feeling your body beginning to relax for the first time that evening.

stiles brushed the hair out of your face with a sweet smile, causing you to blush as you met his eyes. he turned and walked towards the door.

"wait, where --"

he turned to you with a soft smirk on his face. "relax, honey. I'm just going to grab you some ice."

the term of endearment lit your face up like a red light and you silently thanked the universe that he had slipped out prior to seeing your reaction to his comment.

you nearly dozed off in the few minutes he was gone, stirring at the rush of piercing cold against your cheekbone. stiles mumbled a few apologies yet again, raising your hand to meet his and hold the ice pack in contact with your bruised skin. he fumbled his way over you on the bed, crawling across your legs to make his way up to your side. you both blushed as your thighs pressed together as you sat, the close proximity bringing waves of limerence over you two.

you shuffled even closer, if that was possible, resting your head against his chest. he reacting instantly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in. he ran his fingers through your hair, letting his eyes close in the comfort of having you so close.

you let out a sigh. "i'm just sorry again. it was stupid of me to think someone would want to actually take me on a date."

stiles felt his body stiffen, angry at the situation all over again. he tried to weigh his words carefully, but the distaste in his mouth got the best of him.

"i think you just need the right person to show you the kind of love you deserve, if that's even possible. you deserve the world." he added the last part with a whisper.

you scoffed at him, letting out a laugh. "yeah, right stiles. this was my first date in like, forever, and look how it went. I'm starting to think this is what I deserve."

"please don't say that."

"no i mean really, maybe i'm meant to be alone forever. this seems like a pretty clear sign."

"let me try,"

your eyes contorted into a puzzled look. "what?"'

you felt stiles shift under you nervously, fingers trembling in your hair. "i stand by the fact that it isn't humanly possible to give you all that you deserve, but if you let me, I'd really love to try."

you lifted your head slowly to meet his gaze, your head spinning not only at his words but at the feeling of your noses brushing against each other as you looked in his big brown puppy eyes. you smiled as you watched his gaze flickered down to your lips every so often.

"i think that sounds like a date."

[halfelven]

i like waking up in the middle of the night and doing things and then going back to sleep to wake up again to a fresh batch of rolls

i also think i get more things done at night because there are fewer options of things to do so choosing one thing is from a narrower list of things to be done.

i wonder if i could use this in my daytime life by breaking my to-do lists into smaller sections of related activities and then picking out one from a list of, say, three things, rather than a list of fifteen or more

[caterjunes]

we're gonna put our rats up for adoption at the animal rescue. things are. bad. we can't keep their cage clean. grayson gets exhausted taking them out to play and i rarely join bc i just feel empty or disgusted or i start sobbing or wind up in pain or exhausted myself. so they don't get the amount of human interaction they deserve/need.

i feel awful about it. i feel sick. i don't know the last time i've felt like such an abject failure. not just as a person responsible for small lives but as a partner. grayson gets such joy from these boys, and they are so sweet to us too. i just. i can't even take care of myself. it isn't fair. it's not fair.

[sodacowboy]

oh man today has not been a good day lmao

[haarute]

had a bad bout with mother ✌️

[nostalgia-tblr]

thanks to TV Tropes for reminding me how damn often RTD!Who does that thing of condeming the mass-killing of (usually) Daleks and getting (usually) the Doctor to decide not to do it and then getting someone else to kill them all anyway because we don't want the hero to make a horrible choice but we also don't want him and the rest of the universe to have to live with the consequences of his decision to nope out of it on moral grounds. so the story does in fact think that the Daleks need to be killed en masse but only if it can be done by a scapegoat or someone who is unaware of what they're doing and who thus cannot be blamed for their actions.