#but if you have an earnest suggestion I’m all ears for that too

[missroserose]

Okay, dream interpretation tumblr, I’ve got one for you.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this weird recurring…not even “dream”, but theme within various otherwise-unrelated dreams, of encountering Weird Toilet Setups. Like, I’ll go to the bathroom, and there will be multiple toilets right next to each other, often at different heights or shoved in next to a wall or something else that makes them awkward to use. Sometimes there’ll be maintenance or hygiene issues—pieces falling off, bowls that haven’t been cleaned—but usually it’s just a bunch of mismatched toilets, often with Gigerian conglomerations of pipes attached.

It’s not associated with any particular emotion—the strongest feeling is usually just puzzlement, or maybe annoyance if I’m trying to use the bathroom.

Historically, I’ve never had any particular health issues or hang ups that affected bathroom use, and to the best of my knowledge my toilet training as a kid was uneventful.

So what gives?

[sky-is-the-limit]

P: Firefighter!Gaz x F!Civilian Reader

CW: SFW/NSFW, Cunnilingus, Fingering

Captain Price's version

Firefighter!Gaz who would first appear like a savior from a dream, broad-shouldered and calm under pressure, breaking into the stuck lift with the rest of his squad.

The doors would groan open and you'd find yourself staring up at a pair of big, brown eyes and a reassuring smile that makes you forget the claustrophobic panic.

''You alright in there? I’ve got you.'' You would’ve never thought your first day at your new job would lead to this.. being pulled out by the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

Firefighter!Gaz who would run back to the firetruck just moments after ensuring you're safe, nearly knocking over his crewmates on his way just to rummage through a compartment to pull out a leaflet for a “fire safety course” hosted at their firehouse and then jog back to you, a little breathless but still flashing that gorgeous smile, saying,

"You know, it’s always good to know what to do in an emergency… I’m teaching it next week if you’re interested." The hint of nerves under his confident charm evident, realizing he’s probably more interested in seeing you again than fire safety.

Firefighter!Gaz who would watch you walk away from the scene but couldn’t stop himself from calling out, ''Don’t forget about the course!'' and when you turn back with a teasing smile, he'd feel a flutter in his chest he hasn't felt in a while. His crewmates would tease him mercilessly, Soap mostly, the entire ride back but he wouldn’t care. He’d already be planning how to make sure you’d show up.

Firefighter!Gaz who would be all cool and collected when you walk into the firehouse a week later for the course. He’d spot you immediately among the few others and make a beeline to your side, leaning down slightly, ''Glad you made it. Thought you might stand me up.'' He'd hover just close enough for you to catch a whiff of that clean, intoxicating scent he seems to carry.

Firefighter!Gaz who would make sure to focus his attention on you throughout the course, earning a few warning glances from his Captain, using every excuse to come over and “help” you like adjusting your posture when you’re learning how to hold a fire extinguisher, his hands warm and firm against your arms, his breath tickling your ear. ''Like this… see? Much better.'' He'd say, his voice lowering slightly, sending fireworks down your spine.

Firefighter!Gaz who would hand you a piece of paper at the end of the course, scribbled with his number and a cheeky note: ''In case of emergencies… or, you know, if you’re bored.''

When you look up, he'd wink but there’s something earnest in his gaze that makes you think he’s serious about you calling. You'd tease back, "Only if you come in uniform!" and for the first time, you’d see his confident exterior crack. He’d chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky smirk turning into the sweetest side smile.

Firefighter!Gaz who would text you later that night, unable to help himself by finding your number in the contact information you had to give for the course. ''So, about that uniform request..'' He’d type, heart pounding like he’s back on a 'building on fire' mission, wondering if he’s coming on too strong or not strong enough. The thought of seeing you again would make him grin like a schoolboy with a crush.

Firefighter!Gaz who would invite you for a private “tour” of the firehouse, making it sound official but his tone giving away his real intentions. He’d lead you around, all professional until he catches you looking at him like that again, hungry, intrigued. He’d clear his throat, trying to hide the effect you’re having on him and suggest maybe you check out the back room where they keep the gear, his mind racing with all the possibilities.

Firefighter!Gaz who would find himself leaning against a wall, you pressed close in a tight corner of the equipment room. He’d be all smooth words at first, but the moment you close the distance and place your hand on his chest, he’d lose track of his train of thought. His hands would move to your waist, gripping tighter than he intended, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

Firefighter!Gaz who would pull you flush against him and murmur, ''You know, I don’t usually do this… but there’s something about you.'' He’d trail off, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks, half-dazed with wanting, half-reeling from how much he’s already wrapped around your finger.

Firefighter!Gaz who would be breathing heavier as you drag him in by his uniform collar, your lips crashing together in a messy, heated kiss. He'd think he’s never been in a more dangerous situation in his life, the kind he never wants to escape from..

He’d press you back against the wall, hips pinning yours as his hands roam your body with one sliding down to cup your ass, giving it a rough squeeze that makes you gasp into his mouth and swallow that sound, his tongue already plunging deeper, desperate to taste more of you and breaths turn ragged, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s trying to ground himself but the way you grind against him makes it clear that he's already losing control.

Firefighter!Gaz who would groan low in his throat when your hands slip under his uniform shirt, feeling the defined muscles of his chest and stomach. His skin would be hot, his body shuddering under your touch as he bites down on your lower lip, tugging it back before whispering, ''I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you in that lift.''

Lips trail down your jaw to your neck, nipping and sucking hard enough to leave marks. His hips start to rock into yours with a slow, rhythmic grind and he’d chuckle against your skin when he feels the damp heat between your legs through your clothes.

Firefighter!Gaz who would quickly get impatient, tugging your pants down just enough to get his fingers where he needs them. He’d groan when he feels how wet you are, his fingers sliding over your slick folds before teasing your clit with slow circles.

''Fuck, you’re soaked… all for me?'' He’d murmur, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and when your hips buck against his hand, he’d press harder, rubbing faster, feeling your body respond to every flick and swirl.

Firefighter!Gaz who would sink to his knees in front of you, tugging your jeans and underwear down in one swift motion, his breath hot against your inner thighs. He’d look up at you with those big brown eyes, licking his lips like he’s about to devour his favorite meal. His mouth would be on you in seconds, his tongue flicking over your clit before plunging deep into your folds.

The sounds he’d make.. Low, needy groans vibrating against your pussy, just to drive you wild, especially as he works his tongue in and out of you, his nose brushing your swollen bud with every move.

Firefighter!Gaz who would hold your thighs open with a bruising grip, his mouth latching onto your clit, sucking and licking with a ferocity that sends waves of pleasure shooting through your body and he’d keep at it, his tongue working faster, messier, saliva mixing with your wetness as you grind against his face, riding his mouth like it’s the only thing keeping you alive with filthy, hungry slurps filling the room, mingling with your breathless moans and gasps.

Firefighter!Gaz who would grow more desperate the more you tug at his hair, his fingers digging into your thighs as he fucks you with his tongue, his mouth covered in your slick. He’d be almost feral with it, moaning against your clit as if he’s getting off on your taste alone, ''Fuck, you taste so good-'' he’d mumble between breaths, diving back in like he’s starved, tongue flicking relentlessly until you’re a trembling mess.

Firefighter!Gaz who would slide his long fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot while his lips stay latched on your clit and watch you lose yourself, your moans getting louder, your body arching off the wall as he pumps his fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue.

And he’d love every second of it, love the way you’re falling apart, completely at his mercy, your juices coating his fingers and chin as he brings you closer to the edge.

Firefighter!Gaz who would pull back just enough to whisper, ''Wanna make you cum so hard you forget whoever tried before me.'' Tone all rough and needy as he’d dive back in with even more intensity, fingers thrusting faster, deeper, while his tongue flicks your clit with rapid, precise strokes that would have you on the verge, teetering right there and he’d feel it, doubling down with everything he’s got.

Firefighter!Gaz who would almost growl when you finally come undone, your thighs squeezing around his head, your pussy clenching around his fingers. He’d keep working you through it, his tongue never slowing, fingers still fucking you deep as he savors every drop of your release. His name would spill from your lips like a prayer, and he’d drink it in like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

Firefighter!Gaz who would proudly drape his fire coat over your shoulders, the name “Garrick” emblazoned across the back and slip his hand around your waist, pulling you close as he leads you out into the hallway where the rest of the squad is gathered just to make sure that the message is clear. You were his and he wasn’t shy about showing it.

[zorosdimples]

꒰ FUSHIGURO TOJI X READER ꒱

cw: cheesy! age gap. slightly suggestive. brief sex toy mention. nicknames “kid” and “kiddo” used. reader and toji are neighbors and reader is shorter than toji. based on my earlier admission. wc: 782. notes: this was written so quickly and is cringe—please forgive me!

“Got another package of yours, kiddo.”

Toji stands outside of your apartment, a brown shipping box perched in his palms. You scowl, holding the door open with your hip before wordlessly turning around and leaving. He catches the door before it slams in his face, and—taking your silent cue—steps inside and kicks off his slides. 

He follows you to your cramped kitchen, chuckling when you yank the box from his grasp and scurry off to put it in your bedroom. When you return, he has already made himself comfortable on your couch; spitefully, you don’t offer him a beverage (not that he minds). You stiffly settle on the armchair beside him. 

“So,” Toji breaks the silence, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rises with the movement, a sliver of his waist on display, a thicket of jet hair barely visible. For a moment, your mind wanders—creeping along his happy trail, envisioning where it leads…

His gravelly, lazy voice interrupts your thoughts, and your focus snaps back to his face. “What’d you buy?”

“None of your business.” You pretend to pick at a cuticle. While you’re still upset with him, you aren’t playing coy; he doesn’t need to know what you ordered. It isn’t his business.  

Toji rests one of his hands against his head, looking at you curiously. “What’s with the attitude?” 

For the first time since he walked in, you look him in the eyes. His irises are lush and verdant—easy to get lost in. And they sparkle with mirth. Your frustration with him reaches a boiling point, but you do your best to bring it down to a simmer. “Why can’t you treat me like an adult? For fuck’s sake, I’m almost thirty.”

A smirk tucks itself in the corner of his lips like a secret. “I’ve got two decades on you, kid.”

“Okay. So by your logic, I should start calling you ‘old man’—is that right?”

He shrugs before spreading his legs wider and crossing his arms. “If you want to.”

“God you’re so…” you rub your temples and try to calm yourself with a deep breath. “You’re so indifferent.”

He scoffs. “Is that right?”

You nod. “Either that or you’re fucking clueless.”

“Clueless,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word on his tongue. It irks you that your words don’t stoke the embers of his anger. 

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself. You brace your hands on your knees. “Still wanna know what I ordered, Toji?”

“I’m all ears, kiddo.”

“A vibrator.”

For a split second, you think he’s going to crack. But your confession simply wipes any and all playfulness from Toji’s expression. He stands up from the couch abruptly, brows knit, jade eyes sharp with an emotion you’re afraid to place. 

“You really shouldn’t—” he swallows dryly when you approach him, blocking his exit. 

“I shouldn’t what? Be an adult and buy what I want?”

He shakes his head, murmuring, “Shouldn’t tell me something like that.”

“Why?” 

He's pinned beneath your earnest stare, a needle piercing each of his wings, holding him in place. Does he continue to struggle, to risk upsetting you, to risk harming himself? Or does he give in despite his reservations? A flash of pink darts between his lips as he wets them. “Because…”

“Because what?”

Too close, he thinks to himself, your body inches from his own. The way your chest heaves and your fingers fidget nervously at your sides—it’s too much, too close.

“Because I can’t keep acting like I’m not fucking attracted to you!” he snarls, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you have any idea how hard this has been on me? Pretending like I don’t live next door to the most beautiful person I’ve ever met and—”

A laugh bubbles in your throat. Once it floats past your lips, it pops—you can’t contain it. Your laughter rings through the dull walls of your apartment, and while Toji wants to be irritated, the sound is infectious; it makes his heart flutter like a damn schoolboy’s. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks. 

You smile up at him as your hands (small, cold, and soft) find his (large, warm, and scarred). “Give in, Toji. It’s okay. You know I want you—I don’t think I can make my intentions any more obvious.”

He sighs deeply, but pulls you closer. “I’m old and I—”

Interrupting him, you tease, “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”

He stares at you hard for what feels like an eternity before leaning in, forehead brushing against yours. “Well,” he clears his throat, “this old man wants to kiss you. Can he?”

Despite yourself, your heart soars. “I thought he’d never ask.”

[emilvr]

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° boyfriend spencer !

oh lord have mercy this man is sooooo ( ∩ˇωˇ∩)♡all my boyfie spencer thoughts in one place.. <3 this man deserves a happy ending and if cm won’t give it to him i certainly will!! click the link 4 a surprise … & also send me ur spencer reid thoughts before i collapse!!

warnings: just swearing/slight suggestive tones (like smooches..) and gender neutral reader i think !!

spencer, at least— according to derek, is a tough nut to crack. he doesn’t trust easily at all, and the fruits of your labour may not actually show until years down the line. but if there’s one thing about him you could never doubt, is his loyalty to not just you, but his entire team. especially when he tells you, “i’ll do anything you need me to. always.” and the earnest tone he whispers it in, his brown eyes flickering up to meet your [e/c] ones. the soft, glowing warmth of the love of a thousand lifetimes burns bright in his irises and you will find that you simply don’t care how long you have to wait for him to allow you to hold his heart in your hands.

he may not say i love you in the traditional sense; but it is as clear as the turning shades of the leaves in autumn. it’s clear in how he wants to know everything about you: the things you deem mundane and unimportant, the things that make you embarrassed and the things that make you avoid his eyes as you grin childishly. it’s clear in the way he remembers everything, which isn’t all that surprising given:

“did you know i actually have an eidetic memory and an iq of—“

“187. yes i know, spence. what a smart cookie!”

(in response, he flushes always when you coo the words ‘smart cookie’, although in the same breath he will stare at your face and whisper ‘angel’ in your ear like you’ve been sent down from the heavens just for him.)

he treats you like you’re made of delicate rose petals, and a touch that is too forceful will cause you to wither away. his lips graze your cheek gently in a kiss, his fingertips softly pet the top of your head and slowly follow the curve of your cheeks to the slope of your nose. and when you giggle and go “that tickles,” he’ll only grin in response and nestle his nose into the crown of your head and hum knowingly.

although, most infuriatingly, he will not make the first move. now, doesn’t mean he won’t drive you absolutely insane with soft smiles and eyes full of love and want. he puts all of shakespeare’s sonnets to shame, truly. he keeps it up until you break and march over to his apartment with wobbling lips and twinkling irises (and emily’s encouraging “go get ur mans!!!! GET HIM!!!!” text on your phone. her, jj and penelope are the worst enablers ever.) and even then, he stands still (like the whole world has come to a standstill, really) and waits for you to utter the words. he waits, quietly and patiently. his attention is on you.

“it’s okay. you can say it.”

“you’re torturing me here.”

“am i?”

“‘am i?’ i will pretend you never said that, smarty pants. you infuriate me.”

“ooh, big words.”

“hey! i can talk fancy too!”

“mhm, i’m sure you can angel.”

“not fair. i love you, by the way. more like adore you. or any other word you can think of.”

“i can think of a few.”

in the before, he may tease you when you put a hand on his shoulder or trace the outline of his knuckles; but don’t let the teasing trick you. spencer is atrocious. a mess, even— without you. when you get pulled into a case three days before him, he spends the three days with absolutely zero sleep. and when jj and emily (knowingly, grand masterminds!) ask him if he’s doing okay, he just barely grumbles out a: “i can’t sleep without them anymore. feels cold. not right.” jj awe’s at him and clutches her hands close to her chest, whilst emily barks out a laugh and goes “oooh he wants them baaaaad!”

the grumpiest thirty-something year old man you know, by the way. smug as shit, too. lays with you in bed, head on your stomach as you call him pretty.

“but am i the prettiest?”

“oh, absolutely, my love. there is not a man in the land prettier than thou!”

“ … -__- can you ever give me a normal reply.”

“hehe.. absolutely not.”

henry knows all about you. against his will. someone save this boy he knows your birth date and time of birth down to the hour. knows your big three against his will. (despite the fact that spencer says astrology “isn’t scientifically accurate” … my when i’m in a big ass loser contest and my opponent is in-love spencer walter reid….) spencer puts henry to bed and starts rambling:

“the other day, [y/n] and i were in the kitchen and it suddenly hits me how effortlessly beautiful they are, i mean seriously, i feel sick th—“

“uncle spence. please. i want to go to sleep. i’m gonna call mama.”

“not your mom. please.”

(he tells jj and will when they get back from their date. you wake up to 23 text messages from jj saying “marry this nerd please henry can’t do this anymore!!!”)

also may i propose: classical music lover spencer, rock music lover emily, pop music lover jj and [y/n]. spencer absolutely gives you shit for your music taste and jj threatens him by saying she’ll marry you before he does. he goes pale at the thought. goes even paler when jj starts calling you “her darling baby” … your whole relationship is tug of war between jj, emily and spencer. spencer won’t try tug of war with derek like ok whatever you say handsome!!!

also, there have been many times spencer has woken up in the morning and reached his hand out to stroke your cheek and give you a kiss, when halfway he opens one eye and sees either jj or emily sleeping behind you. he’s the third wheel. in his own relationship.

and it’s all great until you give emily or jj too much attention and he starts sulking at home like… bitch you are in your thirties. and then you have to kiss all over his face and jokingly (or not???) call him your ‘pookie’… he sticks his tongue out and goes ‘bleurgh!!!!!” but we all know he loves it. silly scorpio man is fooling no one.

also read: candid photos of him where he always looks good ??? and when you mutter “you make me sick.” he takes it seriously and you spend the next week buying him his favourite donuts and kissing him until his cheeks go pink. most dramatic man ever!!! now does he pretend to be upset so you kiss him all the time… who knows.

he also places his forehead on yours when he gets overwhelmed and can’t calm down. and starts giggling when you go “helllooooooo!!” but in like, the way where your voice hits several octaves. a very, very giggly boy around you. and he also always has cold hands, and goes “oh no sweetie looks like i have to hold your hands!” (emily makes a gagging sound)

but truly, he is the softest man /ever/. when you two lay in bed at night and he leans down to kiss you, he goes so slowly that his eyelashes brush against yours and your chest starts to throb with how fast your heart is beating. he leans forward slowly and the kiss he presses to your lips is so soft that you squeeze your eyes closed because looking at him sends you into cardiac arrest. doesn’t kiss you much in public, but the way he looks at you makes up for it. eyes crinkled in the corner, brown irises reflecting your beauty as if you’ve been blessed by aphrodite herself. his chest lifts and trembles slightly, index finger twitching with the need to hold yours <3 (emily catches him in the act and she grins, then goes ‘booooo’ and cackles how he’s ‘whipped’ — which makes derek’s head snap up.)

also he absolutely calls you bunny and pretty like no one say a word to me… bunny is the cutest term of endearment ever im gonna throw up and throw myself down the damn stairs!!!

&&— marriage is absolutely in the cards for you two. he looks down at you, chin tilted, and he can’t imagine a future where he doesn’t watch you style your hair every morning or watch you grumble over a stain that won’t come out of one of his cardigans. (“spence, baby, you got anymore sweaters that need washed? i’m putting a woollens wash on!” and he blushed a soft fuchsia and has to resist the urge to cradle your face in his palms.)

although he has faced many tragedies and painful memories in his life, you’re his solace. the pain of his father leaving, his mother’s illness, prison, his drug addiction— you provide him with the normalcy and soft, angelic happiness that makes him smile until his cheeks hurt.

spencer (look at the absolute beauty i pulled by being an autistic nerd) walter reid <3

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 4 Premium Story

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

For as long as they live, humans will carry many sorrows and regrets in their hearts.

But many can go about their lives as if there’s nothing to worry about because they try to forget the pain in their hearts.

Because they face it and instead, try to think only happy thoughts— 

Kate: I’m…frustrated…by how weak I am.

Roger: Last question. Kate, what do you want to be?

Kate: I…

Roger digs out the sediment that’s piled up in my heart.

Emotions that I’ve held back this whole time gushed out like water overflowing from a broken faucet…my ears burned and tears began spilling down my face.

Kate: Strong…I want to be strong. Because I…don’t want to hate myself. Besides…life’s too long to live in despair.

Roger: …O_O Pfft, hahahahaha!

Kate: Eh?

He suddenly burst into laughter and I just stared with tears.

Roger: It’s nothing. You just look so cute talking while crying so hard. C’mon, show me more of that.

(Just a second ago you were listening to me in earnest…!)

Kate: Laughing at someone while they’re crying is so inconsiderate!

Roger: Sorry, sorry, don’t get mad. You’re cute.

Kate: Cute?

(Geez, what was that just now!)

(Persuasion? Brainwashing? Roger got me to speak my thoughts, but…)

Even I wasn’t naive enough to be manipulated by superficial words like “cute”.

Kate: That doesn’t make up for the fact that you were laughing at me!

Roger: Haha…You’re not convincing anyone with your barking when your face’s all wet from crying like a baby.

Kate: I wasn’t crying like a baby. I was weeping.

He laughed again at my response.

Roger: Alright, I get it. As a reward for your honesty, I’ll help you fulfill your desire to be stronger. Kate, do you know what’s the most important part of fulfilling your desires?

(It’s unfair that he’s looking at me with serious eyes again…)

Kate: What?

Roger: Forward planning and setting goals, or making a roadmap. By the way, a roadmap represents progress.

(...Somehow we’ve become business-minded)

Roger: So I thought up the “robin growth map”.

Kate: …Growth map.

(I don’t trust it)

Roger: What’s with that unamused look? I took a page out of Victor’s book because I thought you’d cry with joy.

Kate: It felt out of place coming from you. But thank you for trying to be considerate. So, what is this “robin growth map”?

Roger: You’re my dogsbody* now

Kate: Even though it’s true…I hate hearing you say it.

Roger: When I think you’re growing into a stronger, better woman, the map will gradually advance. In other words, you’ll rise to another level.

Kate: What do you mean…level?

Roger: Simply put, the 5 levels are dogsbody* -> pet dog -> assistant -> partner -> lover.

Roger drew a stair-like diagram in the air with a hand.

Roger: Of course, this will include generous step-by-step guidance from yours truly.

(In other words, Roger’s going to make me a stronger, better woman?)

Kate: I think the growth map will definitely be effective because having goals is good. But I don’t get how the last level of lover is related to getting stronger…

Roger: The answer’s simple. It’s because I like strong, good women who can think for themselves.

(So it’s just his preference?!)

Kate: That’s one-sided! Why should I grow into your type of women? Besides, if I do grow into that kind of woman…you falling for me would be a problem!

His eyes narrowed suggestively at my assertion.

Roger: Oh? Why would me falling for you be a problem?

Kate: My goal is to safely complete my job as Fairytale Keeper and return to my old life. I have no plans on falling in love until then.

Roger: You’re so serious. It’s simple. If you did grow into a strong and good woman by following the robin growth map, I’d be so in love that I’d want to call you my lover. But if that time comes and you have no feelings for me, then dump me.

Kate: Huh?

Roger: Wouldn’t it feel better after I’ve pushed you around for so long?

(W-well…)

To be honest, it’d be refreshing.

Kate: I…think so.

Roger: You can brag to Crown that you’re a strong woman who dumped me.

(brag…)

~~

Victor: To make Roger beg on his knees, what a magnificent Fairytale Keeper you are!

Elbert: …Cool.

Ellis: Are you happy now that you’re a stronger, better woman?

~~

(What do I do. That actually feels kind of…I mean really good…)

Kate: That sounds really…great.

Roger: Kate, are you gonna do it or not?

Kate: I’m gonna do it! I’ll follow the robin growth map to get stronger.

Roger: Mm, nice answer. Then it’s settled.

(If I work hard hard until Roger recognizes me as his lover, then I’ll have become stronger than I am now)

(Hm? Wait…)

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: However, I believe that romantic love doesn’t exist in this world. What you call romantic love’s just a dysfunction of the brain or a misunderstanding caused by sexual desire.

~~ Flashback end ~~

If what Roger said was true, then Roger would never have romantic feelings for me.

(How can I get recognized by someone like that?!)

Kate: Hold on! I can’t agree to being recognized by you.

I grabbed Roger’s arm as he was about to walk away.

Roger: What’s up? You agreed just then, but now you’re going through a rebellious phase?

Kate: Roger, didn’t you say the other day that romantic feelings don’t exist? How can I get recognized by someone like that?

Roger stroked his chin as if realizing the contradiction.

Roger: You do have a point.

Kate: And I finally got motivated. So I can’t accept unattainable goals!

Roger: Oh, are you gonna teach me about romantic feelings then?

That smile was really provocative—

(Huh? Damn it…)

I realized I fell into his trap.

But— 

Kate: Okay. I’ll teach you what romantic love is!

My competitive nature overrode the intimidation from Roger’s provocation.

Roger: Hmm, you’re confident that you’ll make me fall for you.

I was regretting my words when Roger’s grin deepened.

(This man’s really…)

The image I had of Roger being a sensible, mature older brother completely crumbled into dust.

Kate: N-not like that. Just how love feels…

Roger: Same thing.

The grin on those wicked lips deepens more.

Roger: You’re gonna prove to me that romantic love exists? Sounds fun, I’m in. Since you brought it up, you can’t take it back.

Kate: Of course I won’t. A woman doesn’t go back on her word.

Roger: Hmm, good. I like confident women. Oh, right. I’m known for being a gentleman and kind. I’m gonna give you a useful tip since you’re gonna teach me about romantic love. Lend me your ear.

I hesitantly moved closer and he placed his lips by my ear.

Roger: I love crying faces. Yours is no exception.

Kate: W-what are you talking about?

When I thought he was getting closer, a rugged hand grabbed my chin.

Kate: Roger, please let go of me…!

Roger: Not gonna.

I couldn’t even close my eyes with how close his face was.

Even with his lips coming closer, I kept my eyes open.

Kate: Ah…

I couldn’t help but let out a small cry and tense my shoulders.

Because I felt a soft touch near my eyes.

His hot lips made the corner of my teary eyes feel cooler.

Roger: …

When I looked up and saw Roger staring right at me, I hurriedly looked away and felt his lips again.

Kate: …

His lips touched my wet lashes and then his tongue lapped up a tear before he pressed his lips against my eye again.

(If he like crying faces…then does he like to taste tears too?)

I had no clue what was going on in Roger’s head.

But what I understood less was what was going on with the throbbing in my chest.

Roger: Bon appétit.

(...Bon appétit?)

At that moment, I came back to my senses.

Kate: D-don’t just go taking things without asking! I didn’t mean to let you do that.

I pushed him back as hard as I could and Roger’s shoulders shook with laughter.

Roger: Aw, too bad. I was so close.

Kate: You weren’t close in the slightest!

Roger: Really? You looked like you were enjoying yourself that I thought you’d cum**.

Kate: Wha?!

When Roger looked at my silent face…a gurgle came from my stomach.

Roger: Haha, looks like your stomach’s feeling better. Let’s go eat.

(Waa, it was embarrassing, but my stomach might have saved me…)

If I didn’t say anything, he would’ve noticed how flustered I was.

Kate: Um…let’s go. I’m hungry!

Roger: Oh yeah, there’s this delicious ice cream shop around the corner that Ellis told me about.

Kate: Oh, if it’s from Ellis then it must be right since he always knows the best restaurants. I want ice cream! Let’s go, Roger.

When my eyes lit up, Roger’s shoulders shook with laughter.

Roger: Pfft…Alright, we’ll get ice cream after we eat. Loser of rock-paper-scissor’s treat.

With that said, Roger started walking away with his long strides.

Kate: Ah, wait for me!

As I followed after him, I thought back to the robin growth map’s conditions.

(What would happen…if I did fall for Roger?)

No one can predict how people fall in love with each other.

Meaning it’s not impossible, but.

Roger: Come on, keep up. How about I hold your hand so you don’t get lost.

Kate: I-I’ll pass!

Roger: You sure? You’re so cold. Aren’t you supposed to teach me about romantic love?

Kate: I said I’d teach you the general idea of it, not have you fall in love with me.

Roger: Yeah, sure. Yapping after crying, you’re so restless.

Roger and I falling in love— 

(Nope, not possible at all!)

Next

-

*Am I keeping dogsbody? We’ll see. We got options: errand girl, chore girl, runner, gofer

**If you’re going to write iku or ike in katakana, I’m gonna assume

[needle-thread-thimble-spear]

Revolutionary Girl Utena and Epistemic Violence

or

Why Anthy is not a trans girl (but she is to me)

~~

Ohtori, as any good setting tends to, carries a lot of thematic weight. It’s a fairy world, where metaphorical illusion blurs personal hopes over a poisoned interior structure, to the point where an outside perspective may struggle to distinguish between what a character is thinking and what is actually happening. Time and memory are suggestions whispered in the ear of its students, a cyclic hell where the same puppets are played in position, memories broken but dreams intact, to test new victims and forge new swords. A kingdom of nowhen, ruled from above by a king that refuses to see that the prison he built cannot ever free him. A hierarchy where the misogyny taught to children to prepare them for the grown up version is baked into the very structure of the world, belying a culture of horrible sexual violence. And at the very bottom of that hierarchy, the victim-witch, is the kings own sister. A sort of broken Omelas, where one girl must suffer forever and ever, not to end the suffering of others, but to keep them in the dark. Especially her brother. What Ohtori is, and the hierarchies that it represents both within the work and outside of it, hinges on the suffering of that girl. And, maybe more importantly, her silence.

~~

Revolutionary Girl Utena changed my life. I’ve been saying this nearly two years now, mostly as a joke, but with distance I can see it really isn’t. When you are in the depths of an abusive relationship, it is extremely difficult to see what’s happening to you. I don’t wish to dwell on my own story here too much, but how can I ignore it? RGU was the language I used to understand what had happened to me. Images from the show flit through my mind as though I were a Tamarian. Utena, in the window. Anthy, with the candelabra. Utena, her hands cut with thorns. Anthy with the white beret. After finishing the show for the first time I felt sickened. Not merely because of the subject matter depicted, raw and horrible as it is, but because I saw myself in it. Why do I feel such a kinship with Anthy?

I think, dear reader, you may be able to imagine the horror inherent to that realization. You might have felt it, you may be feeling it now.

It seemed obvious to me then, for reasons I could not begin to fathom, that Anthy was a trans girl. Reeling from my first watch, this felt like the only conclusion I could draw though I couldn’t tell you why. For years, I have drafted and redrafted essays attempting to justify this feeling. Recently, I posted an reading of Miki as a transfem character, and I don’t feel particularly strongly about that reading! Sure, aspects of his character were relatable to me, I could draw analogies well enough, but that was completely secondary to my actual goal. Practice for the transfem Anthy essay. Looking back on what I’d written now, I don’t. Hate? What I wrote. There’s definitely some aspects I’d repudiate now. If you enjoyed reading it, if it meant something to you, I’m glad. But even as I was writing it it felt incomplete and limited. And I believe I understand why.

What did I get wrong about Miki and Kozue? What lies in Ohtori’s heart? What lies in that bed of rotten rose petals?

We all know what does, but we do not want to see it and certainly don’t want to talk about it.

It’s Nanami’s disgust with Anthy, with herself. It’s Miki and Kozue’s confused but earnest posturing. It’s Utena looking up at Akio, it’s Anthy’s vacant stare.

Even here, I’m speaking in abbreviated reference. But it’s abuse, sexual, at times incestuous abuse, that touches every character in RGU.

I’d recently seen a few posts which I think hit on a really common phenomena among fans of the show. Our own stories, our own disgust, our own fears and our own traumas, sort of get in the way when we talk about RGU. I think it’s a natural consequence. RGU deals with heavy subject matter that is very difficult to sit with. I don’t think it’d be incorrect to say most western fans of RGU are queer in some way. We’re much more likely, as consequence, to suffer from interpersonal abuse. And naturally, we are drawn to these characters since they represent, with so few holds barred, some of our worst experiences. But does that make them like us?

For the record, I think it would be ridiculous to suggest that RGU isn't a queer show and that it isn't filled with queer characters. But, for as obvious a conclusion as this is, a surprising depth of that queerness is veiled in subtext. It’s worth considering, the endless arguments over whether Anthy and Utena are lesbians or bisexual, is sort of inconsequential. The important thing is that they have escaped, together! We could suppose that, were Ohtori a real place, we could go track down the two of them and demand from them an answer. How do you feel, Anthy, about your attraction to Akio? What does that mean to you? Would you please quell that horrible disgust we feel thinking about it? Inquiring readers would like to feel better know!

When one leaves Ohtori, one leaves the view of the audience. Utena and Anthy are in love with one another, but what that means to them (and themselves) is out of our reach.

And yet, I can’t seem to shake my original conclusion, from my first watch. Surely it cannot be intended! Hell, even the fact that Anthy is desi is sort of incidental to any commentary on social injustice, the motivation for depicting her (and Akio) this way was to exoticize them relative to the rest of the school. So is this image of Anthy as a brown trans girl, her position in Ohtori being a result of transmisogyny, some western myopia? Mere projection of the aggrieved self on a character who, by her nature, absorbs the feelings and impressions of those around her?

Sort of?

Revolutionary Girl Utena was created in a Japanese cultural context, to be sure, but it’s worth noting that while the precise execution of (trans)misogyny and other gender injustices may vary from culture to culture, patriarchy isn’t exactly exclusive to the west. There is a lot of different directions we could run in here, but the one I want to focus on is epistemic violence (a good primer linked here if the term is unfamiliar). *

In Ohtori, all girls are like princesses, unless they are like witches. And, sooner or later, all girls are like the rose bride, the doll-witch, the synthesis. This is how patriarchy works. There is a concept of “permissible” femininity, and an “impermissible” feminity. There is the wife, the mother, the domestic servant, who is permitted some limited social power by her utility to a patriarch (primarily as a mother to trueborn children). Then there is, well, everyone else. “Loose” women, sure, but also those who have been damaged by sexual violence. Those who cannot bear children, because of some accident of their physiology. These women are used, for feminized labor, for sex, but because of the stigma associated with them and the issues they present toward patrilineal succession, they are subject to various censure. One does not talk about survivors of sexual violence or sex workers in polite society. It is possible for some to travel between these two categories, although it is far, far easier to go from “type 1” to “type 2” than the other direction. Indeed, for some it is not possible to have ones “virtue” restored. If we aren’t being reduced to predatory inhuman monsters, trans women, both a hypersexualized object of intense fetishization and incapable of bearing children, are placed into the second category automatically. Lots of would be abusers are happy to whisper in our ears, that they will treat us like we are “type 1”, but invariably they do not.**

The most maddening thing to me about being a trans woman is this, inability for anyone to see the violence that happens to you. People don’t believe you can be the subject of (sexual) violence, even though the fact it occurs to you, regularly, should be obvious to anyone who thinks about how we are perceived for just a moment! You cannot speak up without sounding delusional, it can happen right in front of a stranger, your best friend, and they wont bat an eye. That you are so incredibly disgusting, no one would want to hurt you that way.

Anthy isn’t a trans girl. But the system that silences her, treats her like she deserves her victimization, that she is irrevocably tainted by her relationship with Akio, the system that keeps us, the audience, from internalizing the dreadful truth of her character, this veil of silence, of covered ears and closed eyes, is extant in the lives of all misbegotten gender-oppressed rejects. If we are going to draw analogies between ourselves and Anthy, or Utena, or Nanami, or any the rest of them, we need to pull back that veil. Indeed, it's confronting (and then escaping from) that choking, word-stopping bile that sits at the core of RGU's thesis. I don’t think it’s wrong for us to relate to the characters in RGU, and write about that. But we might stop to consider why before we do!

*If you’re curious to read more about patriarchy across cultures, here is a really incisive article on the phenomena of third sexing, the operation of (trans)misogyny and gendered violence in parallel across cultural contexts, and how that relates to the western and desi sphere (but also more broadly).

**It should also be noted that there can be no comparison of suffering of anyone under patriarchy. Even the most vaunted cis man, I suppose. But there can be a comparison of power, and this is why we discuss it rather than throw up our hands.

Thank you for reading, I think this is the last I'm going to write about RGU for a while, though there's quite a bit I want to say about Utena and Anthy's relationship. So someday, I'll get around to more! And a perennial thank you to @empty-movement for the high quality archival images.

[devildom-moss]

I recently finished reading the third season of OG!OM and I had a miniature idea... How would Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos react if amab!MC told them that when the problems with the three worlds were resolved, he would like to marry them? (I may write with mistakes because I am using a translator, I apologize in advance ☆ｏ(＞＜；))

Thanks for the ask. I wrote based on the assumption that Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos are already in an established relationship with MC where marriage is a possibility, (but honestly, it'd probably be fun to write a less serious version, too). I don't know if these are headcanons or just poorly constructed shorts in headcanon format (oops), but I hope you like it.

M!MC tells them he wants to marry them when the three realms are at peace (Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos)

(MC/reader referred to as "man" "husband/future husband" "boyfriend" "fiance") (Diavolo will only be in red for ease of reading in this post primary colors woo)

(Lucifer x m!MC) (Diavolo x m!MC) (Barbatos x m!MC)

(Suggestive in for some parts)

Word Count: +1,900

Lucifer

You told Lucifer you wanted to marry him during one of his softer, more vulnerable moments: when you woke him up after he fell asleep during a long night of paperwork, exhaustion widening his smile upon seeing your face; on one of those rare mornings when he allowed himself to laze around in bed, pulling you in close and savoring the feel and scent of your body; or one of those other long nights when Lucifer’s breath hitched and the sweetest noises left him – it was all for you.

“When things are peaceful –” “Things are never peaceful with my brothers around.” “– when the three realms are stable and at peace, then, we should get married.”

“Oh?” he asked you with a gentle chuckle.

He didn’t believe you at first – not because he had never thought about marriage before. Lucifer assumed it was more likely that you wanted to tease him than that you would beat him to a marriage proposal. His adorable, handsome, wonderful boyfriend would never surprise him by doing something so endearing and unexpected. It just wasn’t – shit! Is he really proposing to me?

Lucifer waited for a teasing “just kidding” or some kind of retreat on your part. When it doesn’t come, his eyes widen, and the heat rises visibly on his cheeks. You really want to be his husband? He already suspected as much, but to have you take the initiative and ask him to marry you was more than he expected.

When Lucifer falls, it’s hard and deep. He knows you so well. He’s so certain of his love that it doesn’t even cross his mind that it could be too early in the relationship to get married.

He glosses over the entire “when the three realms are at peace” thing, because he’s too pleased. Lucifer buries himself in the nearest part of your body he can get to – likely your chest or neck. In part, he’s trying to hide the grin on his face and the blush on his cheeks, but even with his face hidden, you can see the pink tint painting the tips of his ears.

“We already have a pact, and now you want my hand?” he murmured against your skin, sounding almost shy. “Yes. When things are –” “Why w–” “Would you stop fucking interrupting me when I’m in the middle of proposing?!” “Sorry. Do it again. I’ll behave.” His eyes softened seductively. “Asshole.” “Only when you top – and only if you’re being degrading. Usually, I’m your adoring partner.” “Do you want me to propose again or not?” “I do. Try again.”

“Lucifer, when the three realms are united, will you marry me?” Lucifer stared at you, patiently. “Well?” “Why wait?” “What do you mean?” “Why wait for peace and unity? It doesn’t matter what state the realms are in. I want to be with you. I want to be your husband, and I want you to be mine. Marry me now.”

Lucifer would be so earnest and make his argument sound so logical – but maybe it’s easier to justify something you want, too. “I’m serious. I have faith in us – in Diavolo’s plan – but if anything happens, if it takes a long time, I don’t want to wait. I want you to be my husband.”

He would kiss you tenderly and hold you close until you agree not to put off your wedding for some indefinite amount of time. He’ll be ready to go tomorrow morning if that means he can start calling you his husband sooner. How did your proposal to Lucifer turn into a proposal from him?

He’s so possessive and pompous, of course he would be excited to make you his in a more official setting.

Diavolo

You would tell him when he was already on cloud nine: after another successful event that had incorporated elements from all three worlds or after a business deal that would further entrench the Devildom in human-world culture. He had just furthered his goals. You were proud of him. You loved him, and you knew you were going to stand by his side as he achieved his dream for peace and unity, so you told him, “When you succeed – when the realms are united in peace, I want to marry you.”

“Hahaha. You’re full of surprises.”

Diavolo laughs, but it isn’t to mock you. He’s delighted by the proposal – well, admission. He’s gotten requests for marriage before, but he’s never been so happy to hear that someone wanted to marry him. It was unexpected, but he adores that you can surprise him.

It isn’t lost on him that you didn’t actually ask him to marry you or that you were willing to wait an indefinite amount of time. Who knew how long it would take him to realize his dream, but you believed in him enough to wait. The fact that you just told him what you wanted without asking him felt like you were giving him the space and time to think about it, come back, and meet you with his own feelings about marriage. Maybe he was reading into it too much, but he didn’t feel pressured, and that was a comfort. You made him feel so free, supported, and loved.

Of course, he would love to make you his – give you the whole grand royal ceremony, mark you as his partner for the whole world to see, and give you the title of “king” to match his own (because in this speculative future, the throne is his by then; he’ll have earned it.).

You both understand why it would be best to wait for his success. It can be difficult enough to get approval and ensure your safety when everyone just thinks the Demon Prince has taken a human man as his lover. Marriage might cause more instability.

Furthermore, although he doesn’t expect his workload to disappear once peace is achieved, Diavolo hopes that ensuring peace takes more effort than maintaining it. If he’s going to marry you, he wants plenty of down time to travel with his new husband after the wedding. He wants enough free time in his day to cherish you and remind you of the love he holds for you. He wants to make sure he can kiss you, and hold you, and make love to you to both of your hearts’ content. (In other words, if Diavolo commits to being your husband, he needs to meet his daily physical affection quota or he will pout for a week.)

After taking a minute to process your words, Diavolo would pull you against him and press his forehead to yours. It wouldn’t matter if you were in public, either (not to Diavolo, at least. Barbatos would scold him about it being “inappropriate” later.). With a soft, sweet smile, he would tell you, “I better work harder then. I don’t want to keep you waiting too long.” Even if everyone was staring in your direction, he would take that moment to lean in and kiss you tenderly.

Suddenly, Diavolo would feel his ambition renewed. He’d even feel motivated to get home and start on some important plans and initiatives – unless you wanted to go home with him; in which case, he would take you to bed and resume his work in the morning. Nothing could light a fire under him like his beloved partner.

After your proposal, he may occasionally flirt with you by calling you “my fiancé” or “my future husband,” but he’ll only do that in private.

Barbatos

There is no ideal time to drop the news on Barbatos that you want to marry him, which probably plays to your benefit when you tell him while he’s working. You were shadowing him – probably assisting in the kitchen or giving him a hand with some light chores (dusting, organizing, laundry, etc.). “When Lord Diavolo succeeds in uniting the three realms, do you think we could get married?”

Barbatos’s eyes would widen, and he would stop his work for a second. Even if he had used his powers, he never would have believed that this would be the path you would follow. Barbatos took in a deep breath and released it along with the tension in his body before he resumed his work. “No.”

It was your turn to pause. You hadn’t expected such a flat-out rejection, and it hurt. “Oh.” “I’m sorry, MC.” “No, it’s fine. . . but, do you mind if I ask you why not? Are we – do you not love me enough for marriage?”

Now, Barbatos felt hurt. It’s not that he didn’t love you deeply; in fact, Barbatos imagined his love for you was more eternal than most marriages claim to represent. He would vow his love to you under the moon and swear to that celestial body that his love would outlast it. The truth was much sadder.

Barbatos has a duty to serve Diavolo. It seems like the logical conclusion that he would never commit to marriage before Diavolo’s goals were achieved. You were willing to wait, but Barbatos knew that, and he was reluctant to let you.

Without using his powers, Barbatos has no idea how long it would take for that to happen. In the meantime, he wants you to enjoy life. He doesn’t want you waiting around for him for decades or centuries (because he has no intention of allowing you to limit your life to normal human lifespans). If you want to get married, and he doesn’t feel able to do that for you, Barbatos would rather see you marry someone else – certainly, you have no shortage of suitors. (We can all ignore that this is an idiotic reason, right?)

However, the main reason he turned you down is because he believes you deserve the world. Even after the realms are stable, Barbatos will still be bound to Diavolo. Maintaining that peace takes effort as well. Furthermore, Barbatos enjoys his work, and he would never give it up. His time for you would always be lacking. Surely, you would expect more from him after marriage. That wasn’t something Barbatos could give you.

He would tell you as much. “. . . That is why I must decline your proposal.” “Why? Because I’d have to wait, and you would still work for Diavolo?” “Those are not ideal conditions for a husband. You deserve more.” “First of all, we fuck under your boss’s roof. Second, we are different species from different realms. Nothing about our circumstance is ‘ideal.’ Third, I love you, and I love how our relationship works. I would never take you away from Lord Diavolo’s side. I just wanted to cement my love for you with a silly little ceremony – it’s not that important. I will stand by you, and I’ll love you then as I do now – regardless of marriage.”

Barbatos could feel his face flush with heat. He was overjoyed and overwhelmed. “We have yet to even form a pact.” “Yet? And we don’t have to have a pact if you don’t want one.” “Goodness, you are far too accommodating. May I make a proposal of my own?”

Barbatos would pull you into his arms (he had ceased working altogether after “your boss’s roof.”) and whisper into your ear. “I was wrong. I want all of you for myself. Wait for me. When success is in our grasp, I will mark you, and seal our pact. After that, I’ll make you my husband.”

He’ll sound so tender and seductive. So of course, it’s the perfect time to tease him by saying, “Then I can fuck my husband under his boss’s roof.” “Not if I take you out in the garden. After all, you look stunning in the moonlight.”

[starlingflight]

Ginniversary Drabble 3

Prompt - O72 - sorry, its just that i get nervous when someone else is driving.

AO3 or read below:

“So,” Ginny drew the word out until it was almost a breathy sigh that she knew would carry to Harry's ears on the faint spring breeze. Sunlight glinted brightly off the sleek chrome surface as she stroked her finger languidly down it. She looked at him over her shoulder, letting her hair fall back and pushing her lips out into the smallest of pouts. “Were you ever planning on taking me for a ride?” 

She leaned back against Sirius’ old motorbike, half-perched on the leather seat, as Harry laughed. “Your mum will kill me.” 

“I’m of age,” she reminded him, quite unnecessarily; he was definitely aware. “I don’t need my mother’s permission.” 

“No, but I do!” Harry protested, leaning against the wall of her father’s shed; showing no intention of moving, despite Ginny’s best efforts. “She has to love you unconditionally, I’m already on thin ice.” 

“Oh please, she’ll disown me before she disowns you!” 

“She already gave me a lecture about how you’re her responsibility until you finish Hogwarts,” Harry continued, a slight tremor in his voice she knew he was trying to battle into submission. “It took a lot of the enjoyment out of my treacle tart.” 

“That is not true!”

They shared a look and Ginny thought the same image that was filling her mind might be in his too; a taunting smile, a jet of light from her mother’s wand, the corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange dropping sickeningly to the ground. Suddenly, the balmy spring day felt unseasonably chilly. 

Ginny’s laughter was weak, but she forced it out anyway. Ghosts could only haunt you if you dwelled long enough to let them; she had become experienced in outrunning them. 

“I’m practically done, only one term left to go.” 

“Ninety-six days.” Harry agreed. His eyes went wide. She suspected the words wouldn’t have slipped from his lips at all if not for the unsteadiness of the moment. 

Ginny quirked an eyebrow; the smile spreading across her face was genuine. “Keeping count, are you?” 

“No,” Harry’s grin made it clear that this was a lie. “I know for reasons totally unrelated to you.” 

“Oh? What reasons might those be?” Ginny settled herself more firmly onto the motorbike’s seat, legs dangling over the side, looking at him expectantly. 

His smile remained in place, but something in his eyes turned earnest. “I’m keeping count.” 

Her head fell back in laughter. The motorbike remained stationary on the ground but Ginny felt the familiar soaring in her stomach that she’d grown accustomed to accompanying a moment of complete happiness in the face of the demons that were always lurking beneath the surface. 

“So, in ninety-six days I can take this thing for a spin?” 

“I can take you for a spin on it,” Harry corrected. 

“And what if I want to go solo?” 

She didn’t. She had a very specific vision of how this was going to play out, one that involved her arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, and her face tucked against his back while the wind blew through her hair. 

“No.” 

Still, the speed with which he shot down the suggestion had her eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, eyes shining with a vulnerability Ginny was beginning to understand was for her eyes only. “It’s just that I get nervous when someone else is driving it… it was…” 

“Sirius,’” She finished for him. 

This time, it was Harry who didn’t allow them to linger in the shadow of a grief too big to face on a peaceful Spring afternoon. “Anyway, is that really what you want to do the minute you finish Hogwarts?” 

“Maybe,” Ginny shrugged, allowing the change of topic. “It feels fitting, doesn’t it? To finish school and do something a bit reckless and dangerous?” 

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that dangerous – your dad put loads of safety charms on it when he was rebuilding it.”

Ginny refrained from pointing out that if that was the case, there was no reason for her mother to protest her going out on it now. 

Instead, she slid from the seat and swiftly crossed the untidy patch of grass that separated them. “You’re playing this all wrong…” Her hand found his; Harry immediately used the contact to pull her closer. “you’re supposed to tell me how risky it is…” She rose onto her toes, letting her lips brush against the shell of his ear. “Entice me with tales of your thrilling adventures...” 

When she pulled back, Harry was smirking at her, and his eyes were focused intently on her lips. “I did get this when I went round a corner too fast the other day, if that’s dangerous enough for you?” 

He held up his free arm, the one not currently wrapped around her waist, revealing what she’d thought was a long, red burn across his forearm.

She’d seen it already, her eyes had been drawn to it the minute she’d got off the train, but she’d assumed it was from work, and hadn’t asked for any further explanation. The scenarios she dreamed up in her head while she was at school, and he was maddeningly out of sight, of things that could happen to him were hard enough to deal with, without adding more details to flesh them out further. 

Ninety-six days. Ginny had a feeling the number was about to become something of a mantra. Ninety-six days and she’d be able to see for herself that he was alright at the end of each day. 

“That looks terrible,” she said, pretending to look more closely at the minor abrasion. “I think you might be in need of a mediwitch.” 

Harry’s voice lowered in response to her tone. “If you think that’s necessary…” 

Ginny was already reaching behind her, nodding, as she unlatched the door to the shed. “I’ve really expanded my healing capabilities this term… if you’ll just step into my office, I think I should probably examine you, just to be on the safe side.” 

[bambimeadows]

MW men leaving you to go away on a mission

A/n: my first time writing for modern warfare in general, I hope you like it 😔 Nervous

Consists of Gaz, Graves, Price, soap, ghost, alejandro and Rudy

Mostly pure fluff, but angst for Ghost and Graves, because in my mind they’d be problematic boyfriends/husbands

Warning: swearing, suggestive themes but no explicit smut, gender neutral reader (if there are errors that indicate other wise I apologise but I tried my best to make reader as ambiguous as possible) I haven’t proof read as best I could, if I fixate on making it perfect I will never post the silly little thing.

Requests are welcome 🍷 I’m open to writing pretty much anything (within reason👻)

🇬🇧 Kyle “Gaz” Garrick 🇬🇧 (my favourite)

It’s 4am, but Kyle is already freshly showered and suited up to go on his next mission.

This is an all too familiar Deja vu moment for you, the sliver of light coming from the bathroom into your bedroom, the pungent citrusy aroma of his shower gel and aftershave. You pretend to be asleep, all the while your heart sinks further and further down your chest until it’s feels like it lies in the pit of your stomach.

You like to watch him discretely, peeking out from behind the duvet to observe him as he bustles around quickly, he’s expertly quiet, almost elegant in his movements, tucking things into his bag while he sips his coffee. You adored the way he looked when he thought no one was watching, when he was safe, a peaceful, docile look on his beautiful face, the expressions he pulled as he processed his thoughts with himself.

He hums a tune very quietly, something vapid and silly from the radio. He bends down to scratch behind the ears of your cat who had come to brush round his legs. “Look after them for me, mate.”

How you love the bones of him

You’ve always ask him to wake you up so you can see him off before he leaves, he never does. Somehow he can be up at a specific time without an alarm, you’re not quite sure how he does, and the success rate is too high for it to be a fluke. His logic for not waking you up is that it doesn’t matter either way, you’re better off with your rest and he’ll be back in no time, no tearful goodbyes we’re needed. Of course, the night before he leaves, the feeling in your gut and the rampant racing of your thoughts wouldn’t allow you the privilege of sleeping in anyway.

You keep your eyes shut lightly, steady and slow your breathing to mimic sleep.

As you keep your eyes closed you feel his presence near you, hear the rustle of his clothes and gear as he bends down and rubs his thumb across your cheek in impossibly feathery motions. You can picture his expression like it always is in these moments, his chocolatey eyes turning soft and hazy, his mouth resting in a tiny little pout of endearment, like his heart had just melted to goo his chest.

“You still asleep babe?” He mutters.

He waits for a few counts, and then once satisfied you’re still allegedly in your slumber he places a kiss to your forehead. “Back soon, promise. I love you,” comes the impossibly gentle whisper. He strokes your face a few more times, both hands brushing over your cheeks and forehead. It becomes hard to keep up the facade but you hold steady until he walks away.

It makes you crumble, the notion that he thought you were asleep yet still performed such a gesture, he wasn’t trying to comfort you, he was just trying to enjoy you for himself before he left.

It’s as your hear him open the front door that you call to him, as best you can, that you love him too.

He appears back in the doorway of your bedroom in an instant, with a ghost of an earnest grin gracing his face. You hold each others gaze for a moment before he’s making his way back over to you, grabbing your face and kissing you on the lips, he envelopes you in his arms in a firm, lingering embrace.

“Do you really have to go?” You mumble sleepily into his shoulder.

He hummed something incoherent, rubbing his hands up your sleeping shirt, to feel the skin of your back.

“Can’t you call in sick?”

He chuckles, its always such a sweet, rich sound, it’s the vocal equivalent to honey and cinnamon, it makes you hold him tighter. “I don’t think it works like that, babe.”

“What if you had like… a broken leg?”

“That’s a good point actually,” he says, releasing you and standing up again, feigning sincerity in pondering the idea. “Okay. Come on, come push me down the stairs.”

You giggle at him, spurned on by his playful grin. “Then you’d just be laid in hospital for weeks.”

“Yeah,” he leaned down to kiss you again briefly. “But we’d be together wouldn’t we?”

You nod, and before you know it, you feel a tear start to trickle down your face. Before you can wipe it away his hand is on your face, and he’s still smiling, just more fervently, he pours all his heart into his special, profound and reassuring little smiles, just for you.

“It’s okay, I promise it is. It will fly by. I won’t be gone too long this time. And it’s not too dangerous either.”

You nod, you share another kiss with him and he presses his forehead to yours for a moment, shutting his eyes before sighing and leaving you with a few /I love you/s

Just as you prepare to be alone, he appears again, the bright grin back on his face, pointing a finger at you. “And don’t watch the new season of Bridgeton while I’m gone, okay? Strictly off limits. I mean it. If I have to wait, so do you. We’re gonna watch it together.”

You throw your head back and laugh at him, pure joy from your stomach, and you shake your head quickly.

“I’m gonna watch it right now.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, you wouldn’t do that to me. I’ll just delete the account, no problem.”

He makes his way back down the hall.

“Show a bit of solidarity, yeah?” He calls as he’s making his way down the stairs. “Love you babe!”

And then he’s gone, and although you do shed a few tears, you can’t help but smile as you do.

🇺🇸 Phillip Graves 🇺🇸

You find that on the mornings Graves is due away on a mission, he can be almost cold - and he is not a cold partner or even person in general most of the time. You personally couldn’t discern why he became brusque and distant, keeping you at arms length, but you knew he was a busy man, too much on his mind perhaps.

You tried your best to be accommodating to him, staying out of his way, putting on a brave face, acting as if he was just popping to the office for a few hours, even making him a plate of his standard bacon and eggs, with his creamy sugary coffee.

“‘Preciate it,” he sighed, he placed a piece of bacon in his mouth as he flipped through some paperwork. “Shouldn’t be gone too long this time, alright?”

You didn’t answer, just continue scrubbing the pan of it’s grease.

“You hear me, darlin’?”

“I hear you,” you respond, turning around and you can feel your face is like stone, you’re still scrubbing. “Happy to hear it.”

He picks up his coffee mug and takes a sip, his eyes landing on you as you’re drying off a spatula. “Don’t look like that. Wipe that pout off your face.”

You clang the cooking utensil back where it belongs. “…Whatever Phill, I’m going back to bed.”

He gave you his signature /look/, it was something only akin to how a father gave a warning signal to his child, pointed, widened eyes, a terse little mouth. “That’s how you’re gonna see me off? What if I don’t come back?”

You feel your face crumple and swallow the harsh, stinging lump in your throat. “You always come back. You tell me you’re not in any real danger.”

“Right,” he retorts and clanks his mug down firmly. “I’ll hurry up and go then. Seems as if you’re looking forward to it.”

You watch him, cross-armed, as he begins to pick up his bags, “See you soon,” he calls over his shoulder and then the door slams shut.

You curse under your breath as you cross the living room to open the front door and walk out onto your driveway, arms still crossed to keep your robe wrapped around your body, the morning chill rippling the fabric against your skin.

He sees you and squints his eyes in puzzlement, but you merely open the passenger door and slip in the car next to him.

“Y/n,” he starts, raising an eyebrow, but you’re already lurched over with your arms draped around his neck, your face finding the toasty, musk scented crook of his neck. It only takes him a few moments to return the gesture and then some, scooping you across into his lap.

“Aw, come on baby, please don’t get like this on me,” he mumbles, a tinge of anguish to his tone as he rubs your back. “It’s like you said, I always come back.”

You pull away, climbing back in the passenger seat. “Everytime you have to leave, you act like you don’t even like me.”

He scoffed and shook his head quickly, turning away from you. “Come on, y/n, what are we? Teenagers? I’m just busy getting ready.”

You continue to glare holes into the side of his skull before he sighs, visibly deflating, his shoulder sinking down further, his back finally coming loose. “Alright, alright. Truth is…”

You wait patiently for him to wrap his tongue around whatever it is he needs to say, eventually he turns to you, placing a hand on your thigh. “… I just feel guilty leaving you. And getting all sentimental with ya in these times, well it just makes me feel worse. So I try my best not to. Selfish I know.”

He levels you with a pained look, eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry darlin.”

“Why do you feel guilty?”

“You being alone so much, having to wait around for me. Maybe if you had a man with a normal job-“

“I don’t want to hear any of that,” you cut in. “I choose you. And I know being with you comes with sacrifice, but I accept it all. You’re worth it.”

He lets out a joyless breathy chuckle, turning his gaze to his lap. “Am I though? Are you sure?”

You nod enthusiastically. “You’re the most amazing and beautiful man I’ve ever met, and will ever meet.”

“And I feel the same about you, but you give me the world,” he tells you. “And I… don’t do the same for you.”

“You do everything for me. Literally everything. Give me so much.”

He places his hands on the steering, as if he’s bracing himself.

“But I have to leave you all the time. And I don’t know, to me that makes everything I do for you seem like… nothing. I know you get lonely. Sometimes I worry that you’ll…”

He swallows and shakes his head to himself, “…never mind.”

You take a moment to process the revelation, your cheeks burn at the notion he could suspect you of cheating, but what was more striking was that everything you hadn’t been previously sure of made sense right then and there, like puzzle piece clicking into place to complete the whole grand picture. “You’re talking bullshit. But I wish you had told me how you felt sooner. And I would never, for the record, and never have.“

He took your hand in his, staring into your eyes with almost a desperation, it was spell-bounding to see him fold for you, to see his sapphire blue puppy eyes grow round, sad, misty, longing. “I’m a good boyfriend to you the rest of the time though, right?”

He’s genuinely asking, his breath is almost hitched in his throat. In this moment you see it, and you can’t see how you didn’t see it before, the apprehension, the nerves, the uncertainty. It made you want to take him by the hand, lead him back inside and get him back into bed where you could hold each other and you could whisper praise and words of adoration into his ear. You had a suspicion he was still only being partially transparent.

You didn’t want to believe he was scared, if he was scared, it made way for so much indecision and suspense.

You knew you’d have to start thinking of him as a mere mortal, and not the pristine, perfect machine he tried to portray himself as, it had been very indulgent and almost lazy, complacent even, to adopt that view of him, even if he had pushed it onto you. “You’re good to me all of the time,” you conclude.

You give him a final kiss, lay a hand on his arm before you leave the car.

“I’ll see you soon baby,” he murmurs.

You nod quickly, but as you turn your back you’re choking back your tears.

💀Simon “Ghost” Riley 💀 (oh my god his is so long)

“You awake love?” A huge hand shakes your shoulder firmly.

You mumble something incoherent and emit a small groan, rolling over to your side to see your boyfriend sat on the edge of the bed, his vast figure illuminated by the amber hue of the lamplight.

With that damned mask on no less. With the damned mask on…

“I am now, what’s up?”

He’s bent down to lace up his boots. “Gotta go. Gonna be away for a while.”

“Go where?”

“You know I can’t say.”

You sat up now, too quickly and it made your head swim. You feel the tinge of outrage on your skin, you tried to swallow the gravel in your throat, willing your face to stop heating up by the second. “Ooo,” you bite sarcastically, and sizzling acidic venom is dripping from your tongue, because he’s done it again. “You definitely told me you were going away, didn’t you? Thanks for letting me know in advance.”

“Sorry, it’s a last minute thing.”

“Bollocks is it,” you grumble.

He rises back up and twists his torso to look at you, raising a hand to place on your arm but you shrug it off aggressively.

The skull gazes at you for a moment, his hand recoiling back to his side. “Knew I should have left you asleep,” he concluded. “Knew you were gonna be a dickhead about it. This is why I don’t tell you fuck all.”

You struggle not to see red, you feel the special sort of anger only he can inspire start to creep and curl up your veins, as if you were frosting over. The fury for him was like a chained up beast, becoming more difficult to keep subdued the more he pushed, the more he tested you to see how much you’d let him get away with.

“That’s what you did last time,” you say, levelling him with a hard glare of ice and stone. “And it messed me up.”

You see his shoulders move up and down in what you assume was a tiny scoff. “Don’t say that. You’re exaggerating.”

“Don’t tell me how I felt, or how I feel,” you voice is sharp with defiance, but it seems to bounce off of him, it goes right over his head.

His phone, the burner phone, buzzed. He glanced at it and it was some sort indication to move. He stood up, his gigantic form looming over the bed, over you.

It would be a terrifying sight if you didn’t know what existed beneath that gear, behind that haunting mask.

Just yesterday the two of you had had the best day in a long time. You walked your dog through the woodlands for hours, you watched movies all afternoon and then in the evening he took you to your favourite restaurant, something you knew he despised. He hated public settings, it was as if they made him itch. Walking through the local shopping centre was difficult enough with him, his bad moods never failed to rub off on you and you would both come home mentally and emotionally depleted.

He much preferred dinner at home, he liked to cook, he liked to cook with you, shoulder to shoulder, the radio on or the tv humming away in the background, or he liked to order a Chinese and have you in his lap afterwards as you zoned out in front of the tv or watched him play a video game. It didn’t matter really, he always preferred the two of you alone, but he had pushed the boat out for you yesterday. He had been so unbelievably sweet.In fact he had been profoundly sweet all week…

You feel your emotional chest wound deepen gradually at the realisation. No, he had known, for weeks at best, a couple months at worst. You weren’t stupid. Perhaps he’d be better off with someone stupid, with zero perception, metaphorically blind. You could have been, and you were at first with him. The beautiful warmth that shone through the cracks of the glacial man, just for you, almost euphoric, almost drug like, stifling your senses, your common sense.

To have him soften for you, the way he took care of you, subtly adored you, guided you, soothed you, protected you, saved you from even the most minor discomfort.

You always said you wanted the sweetest man, but self indulgently it was the man who had no patience or time for anyone else in the world except for you that made you feel so… special, you dare say substantial. He had something angelic that was reserved only for you. He despised everyone, had distain for everything, but you… he just revelled in you. It blew your mind to this day.

That flame is always snuffed out by instances like this.

“Why can’t you just tell me when you have to go somewhere, Simon?” You try weakly.

He sighs loudly this time, his sighs and expression of agitation were usually used to silence you, to dismiss you, but this time it seemed genuine, like he’s run out of ideas for you. “Um,” he announces, raising a hand to scratch at the back of his head. “I don’t know, to be honest. Sorry.”

You feel your stomach turn in revolt, it was the worst possible answer. “You’re actually a joke, I hope you know that.”

“Maybe I am,” his voice is still so husky but loud, crystalline, inappropriately so in the silence of the early hours, it plays at your ears, makes them tingle. “Maybe this time apart will do us good.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you can think about whether this is really the life you want.”

You furrow your brow, shaking your head in despair, you dig your finger nails into the bed, still warmed by his body, the great heat he emitted.

“What?” You lean forward, glaring accusingly, you feel your heart start to race, your lips tremor, your face burn. “You don’t care either way?”

His phone, the one you recognise to be his burner phone, buzzes, he looks at it and you can tell it’s a signal he needs to start moving.

“All I do is hurt you,” he murmurs, bending down to zip up his bag, he swings it over his shoulder.

“So don’t,” you throw your hands up in the air. “All you had to do was mention it. If you didn’t want me to make a big deal out of it I wouldn’t. If you needed space to prepare I would have given it to you.”

The phone buzzes again. “I have to go.”

But you’re climbing off the bed, racing to stand in his way. A bad decision, and you feel a twinge of guilt as soon as you do it.

“Y/n, please.”

“Do you want to be with me?”

“…I do.”

“So why do you do these things?” You can feel the tears dribble down your face now, you hand dashes up to wipe them away.

He’s silent for a moment, the skull stares down at you, contemplating, blinking slowly.

“Do you like seeing me hurt?”

“No.”

“Is this all some big game to you, do you get off on this?”

“No.”

“Are you trying to push me away?”

“I- No. I don’t really want you to go anywhere. I think you’re kind of stupid for staying with me sometimes, but I am grateful.”

You ignore the sting of the latter sentence, opting to focus on his initial statement.

“So why can’t you be honest with me?” You question, crossing your arms over yourself, trying to sooth the anxiety and distress that was settling into your bones. “If you want me to stay?”

He heaves another sigh and mutters a /fucking ‘ell/ under his breath. You don’t let his frustration deter you, or the fact he needs to be out the door. He perches on the arm of the sofa and pulls his mask off, gripping it in his hands, he stares down at it.

You watch his Adonis-esque face, his eyes have dimmed like he’s died inside. A small snag of guilt sets in, you’re aggravating him before a mission, it’s the opposite of what he needs, maybe this is why he doesn’t tell you.

“Do you know what, just go, Simon-“

“I didn’t,” he begins, he hesitates and then sighs, he shakes his head to himself before continuing. “I don’t want you to spend months counting down the days until I leave. I don’t want you to feel…/sad/.”

You pause, taking in the statement, and then place a hand on his arm, the barrier of his gear and heavy clothes making it seem like you were hardly even touching him.

“It’s okay to be a little bit sad sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “But I just want you to be your normal self.”

“Why?” You retort, automatically, eager to understand, the rare moment of openness driving you feral at the notion to syphon more information.

He places the mask back on and stands up again. “I really have to leave.”

You follow him to the front door, he pretends that you’re not. As he opens it you place a hand around his bicep and he stops, not bothering to turn around. He stands under the roof of the porch, the rain pummels down on to your driveway, you feel the spray and bitter breeze as it splashes down.

“Is it because… you think they might be our last days together?

“Yes,” he snipes back quickly, his irritation running deep through his voice.

You pull him back and he lets you, he even turns around and places his hands on your shoulder, establishing a firm grip, he stares down at you, slipping his eyes onto your as best as he could with the mask on. “Look, I don’t think you could ever really understand what it’s like, what I go out there to do.”

“So just tell me,” you sigh exasperated, “I’m ready to know the truth.”

“I can’t,” he hisses almost desperately, because he’s told you this many times. “I’m not allowed. And I don’t think I’d want to anyway.”

You press your lips together, swallowing hard. “Is it really that dangerous?”

“It is,” he punctuates the confirmation with a slight shake of your shoulders. “It really is. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be worried. But I can’t stand here and tell you I know for sure that I’ll be back. I wish I could do that for you.”

“You don’t have to apologise for that, Simon.”

The phone buzzes again, it makes you stomach knot into a tight ball. “We can talk about it more, I promise.”

“And if you don’t come back?”

He pauses, he gazes down at you for a few beats before he lifts a hands to his face and peels up his mask, he leans down to press a hard, fire filled, kiss to your mouth. “Just remember that I love you. And only you. You’re all I have. But you…you have so much without me.”

“Not true,” you whisper to him helplessly, the tears can’t be contained any longer, you actually hear one drip to the floor.

He tuts and mumbles again. He steps forward and wraps his arms around you, your head hits his chest. “I know I’m not suppose to go about things this way, I’m so shit at this, y/n. Im still figuring it out, I was never suppose to have you.”

You hum a noise of question into his mountain of a body, asking him to elaborate. “I mean… I was never suppose to get into a relationship. But you just… I grew complacent by letting you into my life.”

He pulled away from you, holding you at arms length. You stay silent, willing him to continue, your eyes almost silently pleading. “But I got so tired of being alone all the time. And then you… I knew I was fucked the day I met you.”

You shut your eyes, your mind briefly fleeting to how you had asked him out, twice, and how hesitant he had been, how cautious he was, before falling into you and attaching himself to you, entwining himself and everything he consisted of with you.

“Now that’s the most you’re getting out of me,” he spoke, pointing his finger at you, his voice back to cold terseness. “I’m making myself cringe ‘ere.”

Despite yourself you manage a tiny smile at him, wiping away another stray tear. “Please come back.”

“I’ll try my best, love,” he speaks, turning around to leave once again. “Just keep yourself busy.”

And then he’s gone, you’re still in shock.

🦌Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra🦌

“Todays the day,” you say, as you sip your coffee. “Came around so quick.”

Rodolfo runs a tender, lingering hand over your shoulder as he takes a seat next to you.

Like many other mornings, the two of you had come out into the small cliff side garden behind your home, to watch the sunrise. You had a vast view of the whole town from up here. Life didn’t seem mundane or real in transient moments like this.

“Yet all the time you’re gone, it always goes by so slow.”

“Enjoy it,” he quips, reclining back in his seat. “When I retire, I’m gonna be under your feet, clinging to you twenty four seven. You’ll be grateful for this time.”

You chuckle with him but shake your head sincerely regardless. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You glance over at him, the gentle morning breeze ruffles his hair. He’s already dressed, ready to go in his jeans and t shirt, not strapped up with his gear yet, while you sit in your robe, the one that he claimed made his head swim.

You smile when he gazes back at you, and you can’t help the butterflies that flap their wings against your ribcage. He was just so beautiful, and more importantly he was well and truly yours. In every sense and aspect. His loyalty and dedication was profound and special, like the rarest gemstone.

“I can’t wait for you to retire actually,” you tell him as he takes your hand in his. “I can’t wait for you to be out of danger. It’s what I look forward to the most.”

His eyes soften for you, softer than they already are at his default. He has gentlest eyes you’ve ever seen, doe like, they’re the clearest indicator of what a humble, empathetic man he is. “I know, my love. I have no intention of doing this for longer than I have to.”

“Promise?”

“Of course,” he confirms nonchalantly, looking back out to the sunrise, the golden light reflecting off his face. “I know you can only truly be at peace once I leave it all behind. That’s what’s important to me.”

You turn to the look at the sunrise also with a small joyous laugh. “You’re the soppiest man I’ve ever met.”

He shrugged, rubbing circles into the back of your hand. “It’s like I’ve told you, deep down, I’m a lover, not a fighter. What can I say?”

“But are you a better lover, or are you a better fighter?” you turn to him, a teasing grin on your face.

“Oh,” He scoffed and a small smirk lit up his face, the boyishness he had left in him rising to the surface. “Don’t act like you don’t already know the answer to that. I’m happy to remind you before I leave, so it stays fresh in your memory, I still have a few hours.”

You laugh at him, but when you turn to him again he’s giving you a pointed look, something fiery glints in his eyes, his lips are pressed together earnestly. So you get up without a word, suppressing the haughty smile as you hear him follow you towards your bedroom.

He leaves with a kiss, a flurry of sweet nothings in your ear, and instead of feeling dismayed you feel hopeful. Optimistic. Less goodbyes were on the horizon from the sweetest man you had ever known.

🦚Alejandro Vargas🦚

On the mornings of he’s due out on long mission, Alejandro wakes you up with kisses, littering them on your face, your neck, for extra motivation he’ll plant some on your thighs and special one on your hip bone. He’d huskily murmur and ramble about how much he loves you and how he can’t wait for this bullshit to be over with so he can get back to you.

“Just want to lay in bed with you all day,” he’d groan into your neck. “Why do you have to be so warm and soft and delicious all the time?”

You laugh at him, cherishing the way his arms wrapped that extra bit tighter around you. “This is the life you picked,” you teased. “My hero, always making huge sacrifices.”

“Being away from you is the biggest sacrifice mankind has ever seen,” he propped himself up on his elbow, and bless his heart he did have a genuine, endearing pout on his face, like a child who didn’t want to get up for school. “You gonna be good for me while I’m gone? Best behaviour?”

You make a fake gaging sound, rolling your eyes heavily at him. “Hurry up and leave, my god.”

His response his to envelope you in a bear hug again, nipping at your ears and neck, squeezing your sides while you whine in protest.

It’s when he levels you with a heart felt sincere look you grow serious too, gazing back into his eyes wordlessly. He plants a kiss to your lips and you snuggle back into him.

“I love you so much,” he yawns. “So so much.”

“Love you more.”

“Impossible.”

You lay in silence for a while, his hold on you growing tighter, you fight the urge to drift back to sleep. “You know,” he sighs, kissing your temple. “Maybe they don’t need me for this one.”

“Really?” You ask, almost hopefully.

“No…” he groans dramatically into your hair, clamping a hand down onto the back of your head. “I /have/ to go. God damn it. Who would be me… Jesus Christ.”

Your suppress your grin and he curses to himself, forcing himself up. You almost cry at the sudden loss of contact. An impish smile comes to his face as he rips the sheets back, throwing them off the bed.

You recoil into yourself, your body clad in just your underwear meaning it’s instantly exposed to the fresh air. “You’re such an asshole.”

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “When I come home,” he gestures towards your body, raising his eyebrows in approval. “You better be waiting for me just like that, I’ll accept nothing less.”

“You’ll come home to an empty house if you carry on,” you grumble as you cross the bed to grab the sheets, but you smile at him, rolling your eyes. “Go on, go shower, get ready, you’ll be late.”

He holds out his hand to you. “So what are you waiting for? Come on, you’re holding me up.”

You tut but can’t stop yourself from taking his hand. He leads you into the bathroom, and like always, you give him the send off that’s made him come to enjoy getting up to go on missions.

🥃Captain John Price 🥃

Expert preparation and years of experience meant the captain was calm on the mornings he was due on missions. You both got up very early, you cooked eggs while he flicked through a newspaper.

“This one’s gonna be a walk in the park, love,” he spoke to your turned back, voice more rich and decadent due to few hours he had been awake. “I’ll be back by Friday afternoon, easy.”

“If you say so,” you mused, a small smile coming to your face, yet your mind lingered on last time, he had come back with a vicious knife wound to the shoulder, a ghastly long laceration that you had to change the dressing for. You can remember the way the colour was stolen from his cheeks, how glassy his eyes had become and it was like a glimpse of something unspeakable… You swallowed the thoughts down, shooed the memories away like they were mischievous ghosts in the rooms of your mind. Your man had been doing this for years and years, he was the best in the game, you had nothing to worry about.

You soon placed the plate down in front of him, his scrambled eggs and toast, always his favourite. You watch him eat as you enjoyed your cup of coffee, he points his fork at the eggs and nods with satisfaction as he chews. “To this day, the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever tasted.”

You laugh silently, a small breath coming through your nose, but your know it doesn’t meet your eyes. You catch his gaze and he mirrors your emotion even as he chews. He’s caught you starting to slip into the sadness. “You’ll always be careful won’t you? Think of me before you jump in front of a bullet or something?”

He tosses the last piece of toast into his mouth and pauses before answering, wiping the crumbs from his hearty moustache. He then leans forward, reaching across the kitchen table to grab your hand, rubbing his calloused thumb over your knuckle and you look up at him.

“When shit hits the fan and I have to fight my way back home, tooth and nail, your gorgeous little face pops into my head, and that’s what drives me forward.”

You drop your gaze to your lap as you feel your heart ripple and flutter accordingly, a tender lump begin to swell in your throat. “Fight for yourself too. Don’t just do it for me.”

“No chance,” he dismissed. “It’s all for you, love. I’d be much more reckless if I didn’t have you here waiting for me.”

You breathe a smile and squeeze his hands, he raises your own hand to his lips, smiling into the skin gingerly as he kisses it.

As always, you stand at the front door as he gathers his bags and gear. He lays several languid kisses to your lips, relatively chaste but still passionate and lingering enough to make you wish you were both still entwined together in your beautifully warm bed. You ache when you remember how he had made love to you last night, like you were the most precious treasure to grace the earth, like he was scared to break you yet couldn’t get enough of you, like he couldn’t ever drink you in quite as much as he needed to.

He holds your face and stares for a moment, and you know he is drinking you in, surveying every feature. You can fully comprehend why that is.

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you too,” you respond softly, wrapping your hands around his wrists and turning your head to kiss his palm that’s right next to your mouth. “Please be careful.”

“Always.”

You watch him walk down the drive and get into the transport. You sigh, holding your chest, praying to whoever to bring him home once again.

🧼 Johnny “Soap” Mactavish 🧼

Your man, he was back from his run, hopping in the shower, all by 5am

You knew he was due away in a couple hours, so you thought you might as well get up with him. After all, if he could do all this before 5, the least you could do was get up and make him some breakfast.

You made him a full English, his favourite. The running and predictable joke between you two being of course, he was Scottish.

He was sat on the bed in his boxers when you brought it in on a tray.

“You shouldn’t have babe,” he grinned, all white teeth and sparkling blue eyes. Sometimes it was hard to believe he was a military man and not some swanky real estate agent or something.

You still flush and burn at him in this state, half naked, laying back propped against the pillow, staring up at you like you held the key to everything beautiful in the world.

“You’ve got a busy few weeks ahead of you,” you respond, setting the tray down. “Best you get off to a good start.”

He looked down at the food and then back up at you, a frown marring his features.

“Where’s yours though, hen?”

“I’ll make something later,” you wink. “Too focused on taking care of you right now.”

You sit down at the end of the bed as he tucks in. “I’ll have to put a ring on your finger if you carry on like this.”

You scoff, leaning back against the bed frame at the foot of the bed. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,”he chirps back enthusiastically. “Married person behaviour this is. Going above and beyond the line of duty.”

He sucks some stray tomato ketchup off his thumb, watching you with mirth as you watch him back, mildly unamused. You found it quite cheeky for him to tease you with the idea of a proposal.

Still, you couldn’t take him seriously, it was extremely difficult to.

“Well,” you begin, nabbing a hash brown from the plate, he tries to swat your hand away but you’re too nimble. “You’re my big strong hard working man. And you deserve it all.”

“You’re damn right there,” he nods. “Wouldn’t argue with that at all.”

You sit in silence for a while, companionable and comfortable, the birds begin to chirp prettily as dawn breaks and soon Johnny turns off the small lamp on your bedside as daylight floods the room. He places the tray to the side, making a point of rubbing his stomach, much to your endearment, he has bloated a little, sporting a small pot belly now. “Amazing as always.”

You smile, shrugging at him. The melancholy begins to set in just as the alarm clocks red sabres set to 6am. He sensed it, a misty glaze coming over his face to mirror yours. “Gonna miss me huh?”

You nod quickly, ducking your head down.

He coos at you and then opens his arm, smiling consolingly. “C’mere gorgeous.”

You crawl to him, tucking yourself into his arm, laying your head on his chest and he begins to stroke your hair tenderly, his touch rendered unbelievably soft, lingering, it’s blissful. “Same as always. Gone for a little while, and then back again. Before you even miss me too much. What you gonna do while I’m gone?”

“Just working,” you murmur, you’ve shut your eyes now.

“And what else? Something fun?”

“Mm.”

“I know,” he taps your shoulder. “You keep telling me how you want to learn how to paint. You could go to art classes.”

You raise your head to look at him, to see if he was serious, you plant your hands in his chest. “Maybe…”

“Yeah you should,” he shakes your shoulder, as if he’s trying to get you excited. “I’ll pay, use my card. But you have to paint me something amazing. That’s my only condition.”

“Amazing? I’d be a beginner.”

“No excuses,” he smirked, tapping you on the nose. “I expect a Picasso… or a… um…”

You let out a laugh as his faces twists in confusion, something akin to a perplexed puppy. “Christ, you know that’s the only one I know. That’s bad, that is. Really should have stayed in school longer.”

You hum, resting your head back on his chest, feeling his flesh beneath your hands. “Love you.”

“Love you too sweetheart,” and he held you against him for as long as he could, before he had to set off on his travels.

You told him before he left; “I’ll paint you the best picture the worlds ever seen, as long as you come back.”

“Deal.”

[poursomesunaonme]

it’s me again and I’m gonna be here until you’re fucking SICK OF ME uh anyways gojo, itch, uuuuuuuhhhh and honestly I don’t mind whatever you wanna do with it but istg I can’t handle angst right now so please don’t do that to me

THIS SONG IS SO SATORU CODED IT MAKES ME SICKKKKK PLEASE

cw: smoochin, satoru is insufferable (as usual)

"although i'm oversaturated / know i'm earnest too / and i know i'm eager / but i can't fucking wait for the day that i finally get to kiss you"

you stare at the blue eyed freak, your mouth hanging open.  just a few seconds before, he quite literally materialized behind you, sang your name with a grin on his face, then pressed his lips to your ear, nearly purring, “wanna make out now?” to which you whirl around and push him away.

every day.  every day this has been your life (minus the him badgering you and making you nearly shit your pants by surprising you with his freaky technique popping into your space unannounced).  every day he asks to kiss you with a cheeky smirk and glossy lips.  and every day, you say no.

this time, however, is different.  this time, you’re too caught off guard to put it back up, to rebuild your walls around yourself at the man giving you cyan blue puppy eyes.  this time, you take too long to formulate a response, and he knows he has you in his clutches.  

“i’m not hearing a no,” he chuckles, leaning down to where his nose is nearly brushing against yours.  suddenly, you can’t breathe properly and your heart is pounding against your ribs.  suddenly the room feels too small and he feels too big and it feels like you’re moving in jello.  your teeth sandwich your lower lip and you fight back a smile at how silly it all is, about how belligerent he is, but… you don’t say no.

instead you close the distance between your faces and he instantly reaches to cup your face.  one of his hands remains and the other moves to circle your waist and pull you flush to him while he skims his tongue along your lower lip, asking for permission to deepen what he’s been waiting to do for months.

it’s ridiculous, actually, you speculate when his tongue starts to roam the inside of your mouth, just how long he’s wanted to kiss you.  you wish you could say that he had the decency to keep it to himself until you got closer, but it was literally the first meeting when you were bidding the friend group goodbye when he suggested “we should make out later.”  you would’ve found it flattering if you didn’t think he was absolutely insufferable.  if he hadn’t gotten your number from nanami’s phone and sent the first message “so… about that kiss?” then consequently named you “kissing buddy” in his contacts.

it was, and still is, insufferable, you think as that sweet, sweet clicking sound emanates from where your lips push and pull with each other, your heads tilting lazily as you take your time reveling in what he’s wanted for so long.  something crosses your mind and you pull back, laughing.

“what is it?”  he almost looks hurt when you pull away, his lips shiny and darkened.

“just… that stupid powerpoint you made for powerpoint night about all the reasons why we should make out.”  

he grins when he remembers the shitty presentation he put together as the “can we kiss” question of the day.  “so… did it have any truth to it?” you think that to the gojo satoru is the best kisser of the friend group slide, and you nod, reaching around to pull him down by the back of the neck into your lips once again.

submissions for the promised event are now closed but you can still click here to go to the nav page

© all work belongs to poursomesunaonme. do not copy and repost.

[kookieswan]

Handlebars - Stirred Passion

Biker!Jungkook x Receptionist!Reader

Word Count: 600+

Genre: Biker AU, Gang AU, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Smut/18+ (mostly just suggestive but there is some spice lmao)

Warnings: Smut/18+ content - Vaginal sex, unprotected sex, Jungkook has a giant schlong. Yay for aftercare ♥️

Notes: Wow this is the first thing smut related I’ve written in a LONG time. If it’s bad I’m sorry LMAOOOO. Hope you enjoy lovelies, this takes place the night they get together ♥️🌸

Find the Handlebars Masterlist here! ⛓️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moaning loudly, you revel in the feeling of Jungkook draping himself over your back as his thrusts slow. Your boyfriend groans lightly in your ear, the feeling of him pulsing inside you incredibly sweet. He settles against your body, panting in your ear, a smile definitely on his face as he chuckles breathily into your ear.

“You okay _____? Doing good baby?” You can’t do much more than nod and groan, the groan quickly turning to a whine as he pulls out of you slowly. His cock drags deliciously against your sensitive walls, his size still somehow surprising you when things are done and over with. His warmth disappears as he prompts you to roll over, and with a sigh, you do. Jungkook teeters out of bed and stands above you in all his glory, lazy smile on his face as he brings a finger down to poke your nose. You attempt to bite his finger, and he lets you, smiling as you nibble on it.

“Need anything? I’m gonna go grab us some water and a washcloth before we cuddle. Gotcha a little messy.” His eyes flicker toward your pussy with a smirk and you roll your eyes as you shake your head and let his finger go. You’ll never admit that the feeling of him cumming inside of you drives you insane, not to his face anyway. He’s smug enough, you don’t need to see anymore of that pretty smile. (You’re lying to yourself.)

He goes to step away, and even though you know it’s for a good reason, it doesn’t stop you from reaching out. He sighs affectionately as he cocks his head to the side, long unruly hair falling into his face, this time reaching out to caress your cheek. It’s an intimate gesture, one you instantly lean into because real intimacy with him is all you’ve really wanted.

“I know, I know. I’ll be right back babydoll. Promise, cross my heart.” He leans down to kiss your forehead and then he’s gone in a flash, practically sprinting out of the room. You blink up at the ceiling, dreamy smile crossing your face as you listen to him bang around in your kitchen. There’s a domesticity here that you didn’t know you craved, and you love it. Splaying out, you giggle to yourself and watch as the lights flicker behind the dark curtains of your window.

“Well ain’t this a pretty picture, hm? I’m sad it’ll have to go.” JK saunters in and plops down between your legs a few minutes later, diligently cleaning the cum off of you without question. He makes quick work of it, finishing up with a few kisses to your bruised thighs as you try not to nod off. Before long, he’s crawling back into bed with you, dragging you to lay against his warm body. It’s quiet for a while, and then-

“How’d I end up with such an amazin girl, huh? Why’re you with me, pretty thing?” It snaps you out of your sleepy haze, eyes wandering up to find his. He stares back at you, tongue pushing against his lip ring nervously. Trying to keep your voice steady, you respond in earnest.

“I l-… I care about you. A lot.” It’s true, you do. And you’re glad you do, because the biggest most beautiful smile you apparently didn’t need to see washes over his worried face, the creases between his brows disappearing. He’s a hardass most of the time, but when he’s like this… You couldn’t ask for more.

“… I care about you a lot too baby. Get some sleep now, yeah?”

[taeu7]

"In Tune with Love: You, the Melody of My Heart"

PART 7

Wonwoo was momentarily stunned into silence, the weight of his members' knowing gazes heavy upon him. Clearing his throat, he found his voice, albeit softer than usual. "Look, guys," he began, his plea earnest, "let's keep this a secret for a while. I promised Y/n to respect her decision. Please, help me out this time."

The members exchanged glances, an unspoken agreement passing between them. One by one, they nodded, their loyalty unwavering. "We've got your back," DK affirmed, "We'll keep it under wraps until the right time. No need to rush things and cause a mess."

Seeking to lighten the mood, Mingyu leaned back in his seat, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Y/n's a cute girl, but tell us, Wonwoo, who made the first move when you guys started dating?"

Wonwoo's cheeks flushed a shade pinker, but he met Mingyu's gaze with a smile. "I guess I'm the one who fell much harder. It's like I've always liked her, but I was blind to my own heart. I'm the lucky one, to have found someone who makes every moment feel like a favorite song on repeat," he confessed, his words a tender melody to the ears of his friends.

DK let out a low whistle, his eyes wide with surprise. "I never knew Wonwoo hyung could be this romantic," he said, a note of admiration in his voice.

Hoshi clapped Wonwoo on the back, his grin infectious. "Our Wonwoo is the best, isn't he? A true poet at heart," he declared, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

Laughter and light-hearted teasing filled the car, a chorus of brotherhood that echoed long into the night.

Wonwoo returned to his apartment, a rare day off on the horizon. He reached for his phone, his fingers tapping out a message to Y/n.

Wonwoo: Hey, how was your day? Are you free tomorrow? Let’s go on a date.

Y/n: Cool! Finally, we’ll have our time.

Wonwoo: Yes! I’ll pick you up at 9 am.

Y/n: Okay! But where are we going?

Wonwoo: It’s a surprise!

Y/n: Now I’m even more excited. The excitement was a tangible thing, a flutter in her chest that kept sleep at bay. She rose from her bed, pacing the room as she contemplated the perfect outfit for the occasion. Her wardrobe doors swung open, revealing rows of clothes, each piece holding memories and possibilities.

In a burst of inspiration, she reached for her phone again, this time to call her best friend Aera. The face that greeted her on the screen was sleepy but soon brightened with excitement.

Y/n: Babes, help me with the dress. What should I wear for our first date?

Aera: Wow, so you finally made it! When did it happen?

Y/n: I’ll tell you the whole story when we meet. Now, help me with this.

One by one, Y/n held up dresses to the camera, each one a contender for the day that would soon dawn. Aera’s discerning eye was invaluable, her suggestions punctuated with laughter and encouragement.

Finally, they settled on the perfect dress, one that struck the delicate balance between comfort and style, a piece that made Y/n’s heart sing.

Y/n: That’s perfect, I love it too. Thank you! What would I do without you?

Aera: Okay, okay, enough buttering! All the best for your date.

Y/n: Yes!

The call ended, and Y/n laid out the chosen dress, her heart still racing with anticipation. She tried to imagine the day ahead, the places Wonwoo might take her, the conversations they would share. It was all too much, too wonderful, and with a smile lingering on her lips, she finally surrendered to sleep, her dreams a canvas for tomorrow’s promises.

Next morning Wonwoo was already outside, his eyes scanning for Y/n. As she stepped out, the morning light caught in her hair, turning it into a halo around her face. She was a vision of loveliness, her outfit chosen with care—a soft pastel dress that swayed with each step, complemented by a pair of comfortable yet stylish shoes, perfect for a day of adventure.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” Y/n apologized, her cheeks tinged with pink.

“It’s okay! But you look so pretty,” Wonwoo said, his eyes crinkling with a smile that reached his soul. He reached into the back seat and brought out a neatly packed breakfast. “This is for you, have it,” he said, patting her head with the gentlest of smiles.

“Thank you! You’re the sweetest… Now tell me, where are we going?” Y/n asked, her curiosity piqued as she accepted the breakfast.

“Wait until we arrive…” Wonwoo teased, a playful note in his voice.

As they drove, Wonwoo shared that Mingyu, Hoshi, and DK had discovered their secret, but he assured her that he had handled the situation. Y/n felt a wave of relief wash over her.

“Sorry, Wonwoo, but I promise I’ll look for the right time and tell them about us. I just don’t want to make things awkward between us,” Y/n said, her voice earnest.

“I understand,” Wonwoo replied, squeezing her hand reassuringly while expertly steering the car with the other.

“We’re about to reach,” he announced after a while.

“I guess I know where we are going,” Y/n said, a knowing smile on her lips.

They arrived at their destination—an amusement park! Y/n’s eyes lit up with delight.

“How did you know I always wanted to come here with my boyfriend?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

“I think watching too much drama helped,” Wonwoo admitted, touching his hair shyly.

“Awww! Let’s go inside,” Y/n beamed, her excitement palpable.

As they entered the gates, Y/n’s eyes darted around the crowd. “What if people recognize you? This can’t be good,” she fretted.

“No one will, chill! Wearing a mask will help,” Wonwoo reassured her, his confidence soothing her nerves.

“But it would be even better if you disguised as a girl, don’t you think? Like in those dramas,” Y/n teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah, sure, maybe next time,” Wonwoo laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

They found themselves in a hairband store, surrounded by an array of charming accessories. “Let’s take this couple’s hairband with the cute teddy on it,” Y/n suggested, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Anything you say,” Wonwoo agreed, his heart full.

Y/n instructed him to lean down, and she placed the hairband on him with the utmost care. “See, you look so cute,” she cooed.

Wonwoo, in turn, helped her wear one. “Uhmmmm, you look even cuter,” he said, his voice soft with affection. The amusement park was alive with the sounds of laughter and the sweet scent of cotton candy in the air. Wonwoo and Y/n found themselves amidst the magic, their hands intertwined as they navigated through the vibrant throngs of people.

They approached the merry-go-round, its lights twinkling like stars in the daylight. Wonwoo helped Y/n onto a painted steed, a gallant knight to her graceful queen. As the music began, a lilting melody, they rode in circles, but to them, it felt like a dance just for two.

Wonwoo: “This feels like a scene from a movie, doesn’t it?”

Y/n: “Yes, a perfect moment frozen in time.”

Their laughter mingled with the carousel’s tune, a perfect harmony to the rhythm of their joy.

After the ride, they wandered, hand in hand, to the ice cream stand. Wonwoo chose chocolate, Y/n butterscotch, and they sat on a nearby bench, sharing bites and stories. The ice cream was sweet, but the looks they shared were sweeter.

Y/n: “I think your chocolate ice cream looks better than mine.”

Wonwoo: “Here, try it,” he said, offering her a spoonful. “Everything tastes better when I’m with you.”

As the day progressed, they captured memories with selfies, their faces close, smiles wide. Each click of the camera was a snapshot of happiness, a keepsake for days to come.

Wonwoo: “We’ll look back at these pictures years from now and remember how perfect today was.”

Y/n: “Let’s make every picture count then,” she said, pulling him close for another photo.

The sun began to dip, casting a golden glow over the park. They found themselves at the top of the Ferris wheel, the world below them a miniature wonderland. The moment was ripe with romance, the kind that fills the pages of novels and the scenes of films.

As the Ferris wheel reached its zenith, Y/n turned to Wonwoo, her eyes reflecting the twinkling lights below. “You know,” she began, a playful seriousness in her tone, “there’s a myth that if you kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel, your love grows stronger and lasts forever.”

Wonwoo looked into her eyes, the soft glow of the sunset bathing them in a gentle light. “Is that so?” he replied, his voice a whisper that only she could hear. “Then I suppose we have to test that myth, don’t we?”

Y/n nodded, her heart beating so fast. As their lips met, the world seemed to stand still, the noise of the amusement park fading into a hushed silence. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and whispered dreams, a seal over their feelings, binding them in the sweetest of spells.

Wonwoo: “If that myth is true, then our love is now unbreakable.”

Y/n: “I think it was already strong, but now… it’s invincible.”

They shared a smile, their connection deepening with the shared secret of the kiss.

The evening had crept upon them, painting the sky in shades of twilight as Wonwoo and Y/n reluctantly decided it was time to leave. The drive home was quiet, a comfortable silence filled with the unspoken wish that the day could stretch on indefinitely.

They reached Y/n’s home, the car’s engine coming to a gentle halt. Outside, under the soft glow of the streetlights, they stood close, the air around them charged with the day’s shared joy. Y/n: “I wish this day would never end,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his chest.

Wonwoo: “I wish that too,” he replied, his arms tightening around her.

In the comfort of their hug, the world around them seemed to stand still—until a familiar voice cut through the moment like a knife.

Jeonghan: “What’s going on here?” he asked, his tone serious, giving them the deadliest of scares. Y/n and Wonwoo sprang apart, their hearts racing from the surprise. Jeonghan stood there, an eyebrow raised in question, the seriousness of his tone belied by the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

To be continued.......... !

A/n : i hope you guys will like it ! Do drop your feedback ☺️ It inspires me to write better! Thank you ❤️

Next part update

[bilightningwhumper]

@ailesswhumptober 2024- Day 14

Medical Monday: Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

<<Previous . My AI-less Whumptober 2024 Masterlist . Next>>

"Just Right" Masterlist --- TNEI Tumblr Masterlist

Summary:

Excerpt for "Just Right" (Goldilocks retelling) Tressa has a trip to the doctor

Notes:

Characters: Tressa- Goldilocks Talia- no fairytale counterpart (as of now) Oscar (mentioned)- Talia's husband Dr Fletcher Warnings: medical setting, past bad medical experiences mentioned briefly, self deprication

Ao3 link

Word count:

Tressa PoV

“See if you can follow my finger with your eyes. Try to ignore the light as best you can.”

Tressa did as she was told, though she still held onto Talia’s hand probably a little too hard.

“Very good.” The doctor smiled at her before going to type on her computer.

It was very hard to relax, even if this doctor was someone who specialized in helping people like her. Not like the ones her Collectors had brought her to. Those cold sterile offices where she wasn’t even allowed to cover up with a medical gown that they’d given her here. The room was cheery, full of color and life, rather than the unfeeling environment she’d come to expect when hearing “doctor’s office.”

And Talia was allowed to be here with her, holding her hand the whole time. Oscar was waiting in the lobby for them, though Tressa still really wasn’t sure why. He said it was because she deserved privacy, but wasn’t that supposed to be something to be earned? A luxury she’d never been allowed, but both Talia and Oscar seemed to be insistent she have it.

She wasn’t sure what she’d done to earn it, though. After all, they’d found her hiding in their closet after breaking into their home, so it couldn’t have been that. But everything they’d done with her was strange and new, nothing she was used to at all.

But… it was nice. To have comfort, to have someone here with her when she was shaking at the idea of seeing a new doctor. To be treated with soft hands and kind apologies instead of grips that bruised and scolding so loud it hurt her ears.

“Alright, so I’m going to order some x-rays to figure out what internal damages may have been caused by those corsets you told me about. We should also find out if there are any other past injuries haven’t healed right.” the doctor said, interrupting her thoughts. “Don’t worry about scheduling yourselves, we’ll help you arrange everything so it’s less overwhelming. I’ll also give you a list of instructions for medicines I’ll be prescribing, as well as some other over-the-counter supplies I recommend you buy. In the meantime, I also suggest you go see an eye doctor. There are a few nearby I can give you the names of that are in our network.”

“Eye doctor?” Tressa blurted before she could stop herself, clutching Talia’s hand a little tighter.

But there was no scolding, no incoming backhand to shut her up. Instead, she got another gentle smile from the doctor and Talia rubbing the back of her hand comfortingly.

“Yes, my dear. It appears there may be something effecting your vision. I’m not a specialist, but I do believe you may be in need of glasses. An eye doctor can tell you for sure what the best course of action would be. And it is my observation that if you don’t go, your eyesight will steadily grow worse as time goes on.”

Oh. She’d seen people with glasses before. A few of her Collectors had them, and some of the Merchants, too. Now that she thought about it, Talia wore some for reading. But surely that was another luxury wasted on a fallen bird like her?

Talia squeezed her hand softly before turning to the doctor. “Thank you, Doctor Fletcher. We really appreciate all this.”

“No problem at all, Ms Page. I’m just happy to help.” Then she turned to Tressa again, still with that same kind smile. As if Tressa was worth all this positive attention. “I hope to see you again soon.” Her voice was earnest, too.

All the way back to the car and to the house, Tressa was in a daze. When was she going to mess all this up? When were they going to stop giving her things she hadn’t earned yet?

Because there was no way this could last forever.

Right?

TNEI Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba

[wanderingblindly]

completely predictable and unashamed ⭐️ You Bring Me Closer to God from me

Helllooooooooooo darling!!!!!!!!

I've picked apart this fic from a lot of angles, so I think I'll take this chance to talk about some of my favorite lines :) thank you so much for the platform to ramble on and on lmaooooo

Lines Showing Background Characters

In my mind, this is the first fic where I actually created an entire universe with a variety of dynamics -- not just the main characters interacting in a bit of a bubble. These are some of my favorite moments pertaining to that!

“Yes! Because it’s awful, your beer!” He yells again, loudly enough that Sebastian hears it. Oscar can almost sense it, the way Sebastian’s ears perk up at the complaint.  He’s over beside them in an instant, grabbing Charles’s jaw in a way that would be deeply off-putting if you didn’t know that Sebastian is just… like that. “Tell Jenson,” He says fervently, as if he’s holding the secret to the universe in his hands. “Tell him we need better beer! German beer!” Oscar opens his mouth to banish Sebastian – who’s clearly more intoxicated than he realized – back to his seat, but Jenson beats him to it. He yells down the bar, not even startling Nico and Lewis, “It’s a British bar, sweetheart! Have some pride!” “I am not British! And your beer is the worst!” Sebastian calls back, earning an attempted nod of agreement from Charles – head still restrained by Sebastian’s deceptively strong grasp

Writing Charles and Seb's dynamic was WONDERFUL, and is something I'm ((slowly but surely)) exploring in the sequel. It's clear that Seb is exceedingly fond of him, but shows it in a way that only a menace could. In that way, I picture them having a bit of a brotherly dynamic rather than something paternal -- which would probably be more natural given their age gap and difference in life stage (Charles being in uni, Sebastian being married with a small business).

“So I’m thinking,” Sebastian starts, leaning across Jenson to yell to Lando, Alex, and George. “If you just change the… you know, the pre-chorus, it’ll sound just like –” “Camila Cabello?” Charles cuts in, popping up from god knows where and sitting down next to Sebastian. He waves to Oscar, who’s already grabbing his gin and tonic.  Sebastian groans, looking over at Charles with a face of hardly contained disdain. “Always the Señorita stuff with you, isn’t it?” “Darude, Sandstorm?” Alex offers with a shit-eating grin, earning him a solid smack on the shoulder from George. Clearly he reignited something they’d been bickering over earlier, as George goes into a heated yet measured telling off about ‘I told you the rhythm was wrong, obviously it sounds like Sandstorm–’ .  

I didn't write as much of George and Alex as I originally wanted; there wasn't a way to organically fit them in. That said, I think this small exchange shows everyone's relationship so clearly while only being a small part of the greater narrative:

Sebastian, the older brother that genuinely wants to talk about their work

Charles, the annoying side character that just wants to needle at Sebastian

George, the earnest band member that takes their work (too) seriously

Alex, the band member that wants to get under George's skin just because he can

All of the above is highlighted using a few different techniques that I was pretty proud of myself for combining. First, we see that Charles doesn't have a genuine interest in earnestly participating judging by the fact that he didn't even hear the beginning of the conversation; he shows up in the middle of Sebastian's sentence, and tosses out an answer with no relevance to the band, the bar, or the overall vibe.

We get to see that Charles and Alex have similar goal here based on Alex's suggestion: yet another song that makes no sense considering what he know of the band. Finally, we understand that Alex prodding at George must be a regular occurrence due to his tone.

Idk that was all probably so obvious but it's something I remember being mighty pleased at tying up so neatly.

General Favorite Lines

He’s wondered what Lando’s face looks like when he’s down on the ground, though he’s seen it once or twice. Enough to know. Enough to fill in the gaps with ideas and fantasies. But now he can see it fully, can see the hazy-eyed stare as he fights to keep his head upright.  Eventually he gives up, allowing it to loll back in ecstasy, holding up the microphone to his parted lips — wet from a flick of the tongue. 

Obviously I loved this because I loved writing Lando being slutty, but I also loved it because it kind of highlights that Oscar maaaaaay be a bit of an unreliable narrator.

In the opening scenes, Oscar tells the reader in great detail -- and with a sense of absolute certainty -- how Lando performs. But here, we learn that Oscar actually can't always see him super clearly from behind the bar. So it makes us wonder, how much of what Oscar said (Lando luring in the audience with the promise of lewd fantasies) was real, and how much of it was what he read between the lines?

It doesn't really affect the plot much, but it does show much more creative leeway Oscar may have compared to what the read originally assumed.

“Can I ask you now?” There’s hints of change along the skyline, layers of midnight velvet slowly giving way to thin winter blue. They’re almost closer than last night – or was it two nights ago now? – pulled together by threads of conversation spread over the hours.  Lando, still mirthful from his story about accidentally crashing his friend’s DJ set, softens an ounce. He’s almost painfully expressive, each thought flashing across his face before building on his tongue. “If you wanna.”  Oscar asks with a silently raised brow, vision flicking to Lando’s lips before finding himself lost in his eyes.  “I’ve been trying to ask you out, like. Forever.” Lando finally confesses, the breath carrying the words sweeter than anything Oscar’s ever felt. “I kept coming to try, but it’s just – you’re hard to read, man.”

Confessions!!! Confessions are so hard!!!! But I liked where this ended up going, and I really liked the ambiance that I managed to set up quickly. It's difficult to describe the passage of time, I find, but I ended up quite endeared by that specific verbiage for the colors of the sky shifting.

[brwnskin-bunnyteeth]

[takes place during the Brazil arc, this is part of a larger wip i’ve been sitting on for literally 3ish years, reader went to Karasuno and was Ennoshita’s friend/second year. i think that’s all the context you really need??]

Hinata x fat black afab reader (gender or genitalia isn’t mentioned but they compare themselves to Karasuno’s managers)

MDNI. SUGGESTIVE CONTENT

“We all had crushes on you, you know.”

Hinata leans back, elbows sinking into the sand,

“All of the first years.”

The cheap wine warming your belly melts your bones and heats your face as you too sink into the sand, heart racing a little bit. Hinata sips his beer, eyes trained on your face. He smirks at you, chuckling at your confused expression.

“Don’t look so confused! You’re cute, always have been! And a nice body!”

His tan skin reddens, blush creeping up his neck as his eyes shamelessly run up and down your body. It’s been a hot day, and you’re only wearing a see-through linen button up, sports bra visible, and shorts. You’re not hiding your body by any means, but you’re also not as fit as Hinata—you’ve never been. Nevertheless, he still drinks you in. you feel exposed, and you fight the urge to shy away.

“Hmm, yeah, but compared to Kiyoko or Yachi or even miss Saeko… I’m nowhere near them. They’re all such total babes…”

“And so are you!” Hinata leans closer, face scrunched up in thought, “Like, yes. Kiyoko and Saeko-nee are total babes. And Yachi is gorgeous… But honestly, you’re more my type.”

He was closer now, leaning on his belly, head on his hands. The beer was discarded, forgotten as he inched near you.

“Think you were about the only other thing besides volleyball Kageyama, and I could agree on. Would hope you’d stop by practice, just to see you, even if you were only there for Ennoshita.”

He’s still got that boyish charm of his, although sharper, and he’s blushing red from the tips of his ears down his neck. Still smiling as brightly as ever, eyes shining.

His attention swirls deliciously in the pit of your stomach, embarrassed as you are. You have to down another gulp of your wine, eyes stinging as his compliment settles In.

<3

Hinata kisses you and your mind turns to mush. Never mind the fact that you’re still out in public, laying on the sand on a busy beach. He doesn’t kiss you like you expect, although you’re not sure what you expected. He’s all encompassing, large and calloused hands pulling you closer by the scalp. It’s almost forceful, the way he pushes himself onto you. he leans over you, moving to kneel over your laid figure.

It’s obvious that he’s been thinking about this for years, by the way he licks up at you, hungry. His arms are warm, toned and firm. They pull you in closer, needy to stay connected, fitting himself between your legs and under your nape. Lean muscle on soft plush, pressing onto you and feeling up your love handles and fat. His hands exploring the silk of your stomach, on the exposed skin, squeezing at what he can grab.

Shōyō leads with his tongue, playful as he always is, earnest and energetic. It’s hard to keep up as he chases after you, stealing your breath like the ocean waves beside you.

Kissing Shōyō is akin to drowning—albeit more comforting and intentional. Your chest hurts, heart beating fast as you let yourself be consumed by nature. Your lungs scream and you resign yourself to pushing at his chest, pulling him off you. His lips leave yours with a wet smack, a string of spit separating your embrace, and his eyes are blown and focused. You know that look, you’ve born witness to it before, only ever to volleyball. It’s an utter adoration of his favorite activity in the world, a voracity to put his all into what he does.

And he looks at you with adoration, a wistful look in his eyes as he smiles brightly down at you. Like you’re a star athlete or an elder in his field, he looks at you with a hunger to consume you whole and absorb your very being. No one’s ever looked at you like that, at least you don’t think so. You don’t feel like you deserve it, as imperfect and lame as you feel.

“You alright?” He asks, with a soft laugh, “I just felt like I had to, you know?”

And you just nod up at him, breath catching in the interim. You don’t know what to say, all you can do is stare, dizzy and entranced. He’s looking down at you with a wide smile, blinding as the sun, fully wrapping you in his sculpted arms and lithe legs. Your mouth flaps like a guppy, almost as if you were fished up from the current, warm fuzziness erupting at your cheeks.

Hinata Shōyō is a good kisser, and while you’re not sure what to do with this information, so much of you wants to learn as much as possible. He must be skilled in other ways, surely? And maybe it’s in bad taste, but you lean to capture his lips once more in hopes that you’re right.

[talesfromopenpages]

She takes his arm gingerly, as if uncertain or uncomfortable - or maybe unpracticed - with the position. But they have been bade to chaperone the other couple, and chaperone she will. He might not have known her long, but he sees the affection she holds for her cousin, and she would not allow a hint of scandal near her.

To his surprise, she slows down a little as they walk, allowing the other couple to move ahead more than he expects. Peter casts an inquisitive glance her way, but her gaze is fixed on the path they are taking. “Should we not speed up?”

The look she gives him is wide-eyed and startled, and for a second he is arrested by the way her mouth opens in her surprise, the dewy red of her lips and brightness of her eyes. And then she blinks, and all that emotion is locked away from him again. “I don’t think there has ever been a true conversation when so closely watched by others.” Those eyes are back to watching the path ahead of them. Peter desperately wants them back on him.

“Oh? And have you watched many courtships unfold, Miss David?” His amusement is clear, but even as he attempts to needle her, she does not look at him again.

“I have not had the opportunity, as I’m sure you know, my Lord.” Her lips are pressed together, and that will not do. He reaches up his free hand to cover hers where it lays on his arm. He can feel her hand flex under it, the touch unexpected, but still she does not look at him.

Peter pats her hand gently. Too far, too much, he tells himself. “I apologise, Miss David, I did not mean anything by it.” He cannot keep the way his eyes take her in, trying to see a hint of anything other than this iron control on her features. “You are a good cousin to her.”

A hint of a smile crosses her lips, a wistfulness so swift that he thinks he imagines it. Softly, she whispers, as if to herself, “One of us should have the chance…” She trails off, and again, her lips are pressed tightly together.

He does not press on it, though he feels distinctly uncomfortable at what feels like her resignation to - what? Spinsterhood? She is young yet, and pretty besides. And what little he has seen of her suggests an intelligence most young ladies do not show or have. For a while, they walk in silence.

Finally, unable to take it, Peter breaks the quiet. “Do you not think you will get a chance at a courtship?” Again, he looks at her, hoping for a hint of how she feels on her face.

There, her eyebrows seem to furrow, a frown playing on her lips. “I know what the Ton thinks of me, my Lord.” He frowns in turn, a question on his lips that she does not wait for. “Invalid.” She hisses the word as though it is a curse. And then she sighs, and the emotion leaks out of her, and she looks as she sounded earlier - resigned.

“The Ton are made of idiots,” he retorts almost immediately. Now, she turns to him, eyes flashing. He continues unbidden, “You are far from an invalid. Stubborn, for sure,” and he lets a smirk cross his face, one that she blinks at, her anger forgotten. Smirk slips into a soft earnestness he does not show many. “But you, Miss David, have needed to be, haven’t you? You’re a survivor.”

Again, he has surprised her. He is awarded with bright eyes turned at him, red lips parted as a breath is knocked out of her throat. “I have never -” She shakes her head, and Peter is overcome with the absurd desire to tuck a flyaway curl behind her ear. “That is certainly a new way to look at it.” He is gifted with a small smile. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“You are most welcome, Miss David.” You are most welcome.

an excerpt from a story I'm not writing