#but the more I recreate it in my head the less real it feels bc it feels like I’m just daydreaming it you know???

[nostalgiabones]

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[rosiethedragongeek]

Soooo, long time no see. Anyway I'm going to Disney and was wondering if you have any head cannons of the gang there. Like what their favorite rides would be.

I'll go first. My favorite ride is the haunted mansion.

First things first, Snotlout would probably be terrified, and hide it incredibly badly. Clinging into Astrid or Fishlegs.

Hiccup is probably interested in how the ride itself works, "there's a lot of cool stuff, how does it work"

Fishlegs isn't as scared as Snotlout, but there's definitely fear there, just barely kept at bay by his curiosity much like hiccup.

Astrid couldn't care less, but enjoys the ride. She likes the killer bride part.

The twins enjoy the ride too, but much more, and much more chaotically of course. Probably relate a lot to the guy sitting on TNT in the stretching painting room, and look to Snotlout to recreate it with them. (He just flips them off)

This is the picture I mean btw.

I'm literally so sorry that I'm getting to this so long after you actually went and it's like not crazy relevant anymore omg I got real busy for a bit there but I am here now lol

Okay, so I've been to Disney maybe twice forEVER ago, and I don't really know the rides all that well so this is gonna be more of a list of vague theme park/disney headcanons than exactly what rides they would like

Snotlout and the twins are SO excited to go like they are dragging Hiccup, Astrid and Fishlegs behind them

Hiccup and Astrid get Mickey and Minnie ears and it's very cute

The twins obviously love the roller coasters and stuff the faster the better

They go on the teacups and the twins are in one w Snotlout and they spin it around so fast that he throws up

While the rest of the gang goes on rollercoasters, Fishlegs is the one who waits for them and holds their bags

Fishlegs also constantly remind people to drink water and reapply sunblock and stuff

Snotlout complains about the slow rides and stuff but he's also terrified on the roller coasters (he screams the whole time) there's just really no pleasing him

They cannot for the LIFE of them pick a ride, the twins want to ride EVERYTHING, whatever's closest or fastest, Fishlegs planned the whole day in advance and his plans went out the window immediately, Snotlout and Astrid never want the same thing and bicker about everything and Hiccup is just trying to survive the day lol

Fishlegs is so excitable the whole time bc he loves Disney movies

He wants to get as many character signatures as possible

The twins keep trying to bribe people for their positions in line lol

Astrid also really likes the roller coasters

All of the pictures that they get from being on the roller coasters she looks totally cool like she's just sitting there or wtv

The twins are always making dumb faces or doing something stupid in the pictures (but they don't know when to expect them so they just do stupid stuff the entire time)

Snotlout and Fishlegs look like they're about to cry

Hiccup is having just so much fun he likes that it feels like he's flying

They all wanna try everything but obviously, that's a lot of food so they get one of everything and share it between all 6 of them and it leads to a lot of bickering

Fishlegs insist they take pictures in front of the castles and stuff

Fishlegs actually takes a lot of pictures throughout the day

Astrid hates waiting in line hates it so most of the rides she suggests are just whatever has the shortest wait time

Any of the rides like the like competitive shooting things ones?? idk what they're called, or if there are more than the toy story one which is the only one I remember or if that one is still there or wtv but any of those Astrid KILLS it there's just no competition

The twins are very good at those too

That’s what I’ve got for now I’m so sorry this is so late lol

ily bestie<3

[alitgblog]

s9 vol 6: oh fuck I was joking last time but am i.. is this gonna be a Hamish route for me??? 😳

i guess first of all, the kelly/kat drama. I know it's yet again Finn and Kat but I'm happy they're dealing with it in a different way (although if S5 is Suresh's island, I can't help but think S9 is Kat's island 🙄). The thing that annoyed me the most is MC not being able to say anything? Like Kelly brought up the note, I feel like MC and Finn should've said something.

however we do get this, which, as someone with a friend whose name starts with K going through relationship troubles with a Korean man, actually I'm offended they took my joke and made it less funny,

but snog marry pie! Most of the girls (my MC included) choosing to kiss Hamish? It's like we all forget how bad a kisser he was in S6 like what happened. however, uhhh kinda worth it like I was initially intrigued about a Finn or Stefan route but Hamish is really coming in as a dark horse with chat like this (especially considering how sassy MC can be this season)

and the thing too is even though hes clearly changed bc they're making him a serious LI this season, there are several moments where I'm like yeah that's the same guy that had the audacity to ask S6 MC to run away with him at the end of S6

Then I played by rules like Chen, and chose a different person to snog, a different person to marry, a different person to pie. And then Hamish gets his little moment kissing and marrying MC, which kind of undermines the big moment which is his speech where he pies himself? like the talk on the terrace later this volume is great and I love the flirty banter between him and MC but he's so wishy washy about Natasha and it just doesn't really get addressed?

Kat's partner (in my game, Jude) is a whole mess. Like it'd be one thing if he's gonna be like "hey I'm sorry I was just defending Chen because I misinterpreted some stuff I thought you did" but it's another to do all that meanwhile he was also being shady about flirting with Melissa???

Then they call the incident Melgate bc... fusebox struck gold with Cherrygate and has been trying to recreate it ever since and has always failed. I never clicked the gem scene that would prompt Kat to tell you this story, and so I was so confused until they explained it in the next episode and that was so annoying. Then they do the thing (again!) where they like shame you for not being a friend (Kat's like "I tried to tell you"). this is worse than when you had an ugly dress and the girls were like God you look awful.

Jude being vague during the game was annoying bc i know theyre just stretching it out but also absolutely I could see that happening on the show where he's like "you know what you did. we'lltalk about it later" and it cuts to MC in the beach hut being like "judes being a real bitch. of course I know what I did but which time are you referring to"

Chen being constantly voted the sweetest during the challenge and then awards night is great but also just reminds me that his character is gonna be so vague from now on bc he's sharing a personality with three other guys. like its gonna hurt to break him but also he's not getting the care from the writing team that they've been giving the other routes so unfortunately he's boring rn 😬. doesn't even have the audacity to be mad just has to go away and think. And Chen just keeps taking L's too with MC (at least in my game) flirting with everyone and Jude in his ear saying MC can't be trusted. like if he twists in casa I'm not even sure if the audience would blame him (they would bc they love MC but ya knowww)

God don't remind me I'm missing not only missing actual litg season 2 but also what I have instead is Kat and Finn season 2

anyway MC being able to say never have I ever had a steamy shower with someone? she's so messy

also with Natasha explaining more of what she did in casa on her original season has me making things up in my head bc you gotta be a pretty memorable casa girl for the game to pretend you're an all star but she didn't even make it to the actual villa so that's even harder to imagine, but I'm going to pretend she flirted with one of the guys while also sneaking behind his back with Roxy and people ate that up. then he tells her he wants to bring her to the villa and she rides off into the sunset with Roxy instead (or Roxy breaks her heart goes in the villa with a guy idk)

I'm starting to think Kat's gonna end up either with Finn or if MC is with Finn, then single but then we get a reunion episode and she reveals she's dating Finn's brother bc she has a TYPE (also wouldn't be out of the ordinary for fusebox bc of the grace/ozzy/marshall thing but it's still icky to me lol)

then lastly for brunch we got the first of TWO prompts this volume to lay to learn about your own backstory?? I mean no question I'm upset about paying for information but your OWN character??

I had no problem saying no though like I feel like there's enough context about Sarah Ann for me to guess (side note, if anyone from Casa comes back with Sarah Ann I'm throwing hands)

OK but awards now. I feel like awards night is usually an end of season thing when the producers of the show have not much drama left bc the couples are solid and they want to throw in drama for the last week, but seeing as this is a game and they can just write in the finale whenever, I guess here is alright. (I wonder if that means no movie night then though?)

the clip they showed of Natasha? honestly, I respect her more for it. like idk she just seems more real than this perfect character flirting with MC all the time if she's venting to Hamish about also being sick of Kat and Finn or small things like Kelly taking long to get ready.

Here's where I did wish there was more branching like I think if you didn't do anything with Finn you should get a nice award, like about being loyal, while the clip still showed Finn being sneaky. like I don't doubt that if this were real, the producers of the show WOULD show the note and then getting cut off before MC realizing it's Finn and not her partner, but it's irritating to get blamed for that and even worse, MC does not get a real chance to defend herself, we just listen to everyone else's reactions.

anyway in my game MC should've been shown pieing off Finn at the pool and then Jude apologizing realizing he didn't understand what he saw. and then subsequently after show the clip of MC trying to kiss Finn at the shower and him rejecting her bc I personally loved that moment and I actually gasped when I thought they were gonna show it instead of cutting it off (bc again, not enough branching)

I did spend the gems on the second MC lore thing bc I was like ehh why not it's the end of the volume and like wow I get why I like s9 mc now, she's so Bobby coded 🤣

once again, I do appreciate the effort going into Hamish's route rn bc he has actual consequences and regrets for hooking up with Melissa and it getting exposed. OK maybe not actual consequences bc I think the game will just continue to pair up him and Natasha but the fact that there are some repercussions at all AND he gets to talk out his feelings and regrets about it with MC on the terrace after? And then he continues to show interest in MC and explain his reasons for not being with her and also the whole hi trying to look for validation from his dad? sorry Finn and Chen, the writers are playing favorites

I did not think we were getting casa lmao. there's no casa in the actual love island all stars and love island games so I was surprised but I'm curious about who the other boys are, if they're all gonna be international or are we gonna see at least one more UK islander? if Cassius is coming in during casa it feels like he's gonna be overshadowed and his route is probably merged with some international guys, which I guess makes enough sense like we didn't know him during season 7 anyway but I'm just curious.

oh yeah and this guy

late to the party like I know the game keeps reminding me of him, but the more they did the interested I was, but I could be brought back

OK fingers crossed they don't dump single islanders post casa

[maristellarium]

(thinking about ishmael becoming playable in whats looking to be the next patch (or Some soon upcoming patch lmao) is making me thonk on yully again, mainly the premise for her actually being in the p.gr universe

because yully isn't strictly a p.gr oc - she's my oc from one of my personal original projects lol.)

(in her original setting, set somewhere in the near-distant future - earth's surface was ravaged by a biochemical weapon of war, resulting in everyone fleeing to floating cities or mountaintops. several thousand years have passed since that event, leading to a futuristic society that has been trying to remain connected and flourish among what remains of humanity.

which isn't really super duper important to the setting besides just indicating its in the distant future and shit is super futuristic by our standards lmao

the Real deal abt the setting is that cosmic, angel-coded higher beings (and those in-between) exist - and a couple of them have banded together to create a little pocket dimension, where a select few from earth are invited to access and are given the freedom and space to explore their life choices, ambitions and capabilities. this is done with the hopes that whatever people do and learn within this pocket dimension will be a positive development on their actual lives outside of this dimension.

this pocket dimension looks and feels a lot like a VR MMO honestly, as per the setting's standards of those things - aka very realistic immersions of a recreated fantasy environment, where you can choose how you look and even use magical powers and stuff + fancy-cringe gamer ui interfaces LMAO

.

so like, ive purposefully kept all That really vague and even mixing in p.gr lore like some sort of grafting patch when writing up yully's backstory profile, because 1) her original setting is all completely fandomless baseless bs in a way lol 2) THIS PROJECT DOESNT HAVE ANY OFFICIAL MEDIA, IT'S HALF IN MY HEAD HALF CONCEPT WORK ELSEWHERE SCYGCSYUGCYUCS it's less real than real lmaoooooo

yet here i am dragging my sweet oc from a media project that only exists in my head into a whole other media story. lmao

anyway with all that context rambling done, the Real-Real deal with my current yully thonks is that........................ since she technically comes from a universe/timeline/parallel dimension/etc that also has cosmic higher beings along the lines of ishmael............

and considering the state of the story in CN, and what ishmael's presence there even means........

like, lmao. actually i have more than one type of thonk about all this and it's kinda gettimg jumbled in my own head now lol

but i guess, to put it in an unsorted list:

as per my own notes, yully's original world gets terminated bc it doesn't meet higher cosmic standards - and in consideration of what her original setting has, this termination would occur contrary to what a selection of some other higher beings want (who support and are supporting the few human lives they're watching over)

ive had a sticky note somewhere that maybe yully getting transferred to the p.gr setting wasn't luck or coincidence or me handwaving it to just be so, that someone or something may have had a hand in it - it's a sticky note because i haven't committed to that idea, but i still am thinking on it................................

another sticky note that i have - and have been waiting to do more story first for ishamel crumbs tbh - is that ishmael might actually know yully isn't really "native" to this world, and may even know the original circumstances that brought her here. it intrigues me to consider this lmao

a newer thonk ive had now - though might be debunked based on what ishmael decides to do in the upcoming story - is that ishmael sorta has similar sentiments to the cosmic beings from yully's original setting i.e. a higher being who sincerely wants to see human potential and growth, and rather than sitting back and watching humanity like they're in a petri dish, she's personally engaging and directly interfering in matters, regardless of if that's per the rules or not.

also more fun thonkies ive had is that yully's supposed capability to withstand the punishing virus better than most (as per how the story itself writes it anyway) is bc she doesn't "naturally belong" - like how the virus would be considered an alien concept as per regular laws of science, yully might be mundanely human but she's a human alien to this universe/timeline/dimension/whatever; an outsider. but this particular thonk is like a "man idk Shrugs" thonk so it's also A Sticky Note for now

that's all the ishmael-relevant-adjacent thonks!!!!

basically tl;dr yully being v much an AU version here means at some point ishmael might want to sit down for a cup of tea with her. maybe. possibly. very concerningly.

.

i also have some unrelated side notes that i want to just drop here now bc im in a rambling mood, please feel free to ignore lmao

yully likes paper parasols bc that was literally her weapon of choice whenever was in the pocket dimension in her original setting lol. she had a modified one that was like a magic staff + bazooka combo lol

while the pocket dimension looked and acted a lot like some funny virtual reality multiplayer game - and honestly, a lot of people tended to treat it in that vein - the fact that it's literally a pocket dimension, which is itself being managed by higher powers that can manipulate the laws of physics and such, meant it was all still very real; the fact that "angels" with halos and wings and all exist, the fact that the residents can all use "magic" - magic which is really just the manipulation of physics as aided by the cosmic beings' automated systems

(and yes, yully very much used said "magic" and was very good at it too; her magic was light-based aka photon and energy manipulation lmao. and bc yully was yully, she got too fucking technical with it and basically invented a fusion reactor in her inventory. but thats a story for another day and another media project altogether lol)

[Celebration] is the name of her gamer raid group aka Her Bestest Fwiends <3 that she might literally kill for at this point

she's such a good strategist now bc she was literally her gamer group's raid coordinator and strategist lmao

[blookmallow]

ok here is the Post Of Morbid Questions im trying to find answers for due to fallout ocs.... if anyone has any ideas or knows how to find answers on these let me know bc i have Not been successful

what might the Courier's bullet scar look like, and what longterm side effects might they be coping with after taking a bullet to the head

the game's answer to this seems to just be handwavy "stimpacks fixed it" since you don't visibly have a scar when the player character's face is visible, but i want my own designs to reflect that injury and i cannot find a clear answer on what it might look like. mostly it seems like they should've been missing a lot more skull than they were. best answer i could come up with for the side effects is that brain trauma can lead to memory loss, seizures, problems with impulse control/emotional regulation, vision problems, and a whole lot of other things. so ive tried to consider that for my new vegas characters. i havent really done much with anyone other than bonnie though. anyway my attempts at researching this mostly have come up with "you'd just be dead" but what if you DIDN'T dead, though. what happens then

also, as a sidenote question, would it be possible that doc mitchell (i keep calling him doc marten. why am i doing this. stop it) could have extracted the bullet intact enough for the courier to keep it. i want bonnie to have it on a necklace but i cant get a clear answer on that either

2. how exactly would chems work / how would it affect them

i dont really know anything about real world drugs so im not really sure how to approach this subject. i know a little about how addiction and withdrawal works, but not much other than vague awareness of how people act when high on weed, and lsd makes you hallucinate. i dont really know what it feels like, why someone might use them, what longterm effects it might have

i learned med-x is pretty much just morphine, which is intended as a pain killer, also apparently can cause "feelings of euphoria," so that sounds like it would be a very likely addiction in the wasteland. makes it all hurt less. makes you feel good. i think initially taking it for pain (justifiable, it is medicine, after all) and then developing an addiction would be an easy trap for wastelanders to fall into. i think both my fallout 4 protags would be susceptible to this especially if they hang around hancock and get talked into it

psycho seems to cause some kind of... berserker mode mind break, so it makes sense that would be popular with raiders, but im not sure why you'd want to use it otherwise. just sounds like a great way to get yourself killed to me. i never use it in-game so im not really sure what its for

as far as i can tell buffout is just steroids, so. desire to be strong/push yourself to the limit/unbeatable is obvious living in wasteland conditions

mentats seem to be like. adderoll, or something? increased focus and cognition. im not sure why hancock uses them, though. he's told me it's his favorite ("makes me feel intellectual") but im not really sure what recreational purpose that serves if he's not using them to focus on tasks or something. i think im not fully understanding what these do. i think it makes sense for my courier, struggling with cognitive damage after the head injury, to use them pretty regularly though (and new vegas gives you a lot of situations where you can use them to help pass intelligence/perception checks so i Do use them)

jet is the one i really dont understand. i see this one a Lot with in-game chem addicts/find them all over the place in raider drug dens so it's clearly popular but i do not understand what it does. game mechanics-wise it functions to make time appear to slow down, but i don't know why you would want that outside of a combat situation where you need to be able to react fast. the wiki says it also provides a rush/high, i suppose. could just be that it's the easiest to get your hands on

it's also made from fertilizer. so there's that. no one talks about that and i dont know why

3. what changes or long-term effects would the vault 111 survivor have after being frozen for so long

i cant find anything on this and i guess it's probably due to "we don't know" since that kind of cryogenic technology doesn't really exist in the real world. we've never frozen someone for 200 years and then let them out again. the game doesn't acknowledge this having any effect on them at all, and i just can't believe there wouldn't be something. what's preventing them from going into shock and just dying of hypothermia / extreme frostbite. i dont really understand the science of how cryostasis would work. even if we just accept "it just works" i still feel like there should be some kind of longterm side effects. nerve damage, maybe? i think ruby (my first fallout 4 protag) at least has some trauma around feeling too cold or feeling like she can't move. cryo mines/grenades probably fuck her up.

4. follow up question, the absolute most SPECIFIC one i cannot figure out to save my life: if someone were to have an open wound, and then suddenly enter cryostasis for, say, several hundred years, what would happen

i ask this because i think lucas (my second fallout 4 oc) would have reacted violently to his wife's murder. he would have been fighting to get out of that pod until he was bleeding and it wouldn't even have slowed him down. i think he severely fucked up his hands, and then immediately got frozen again. so my question is, what would that do

if we can assume cryostasis does not cause frostbite damage to normal tissue, would it also not damage open/exposed tissue? or would the ice soak in and destroy the cells in that part of your skin. would you just unfreeze and it would resume bleeding again like it just happened seconds ago? would it heal while it was frozen?

my best guess is that it would sort of... heal wrong, like a poorly set broken bone (and if he broke his fingers, it certainly would have) or get infected, at least. i want to say whatever happened caused him to lose a few fingers but i cannot figure out if that's viable or not. i like the image of him stumbling out of the vault confused and angry and broken with several dead fingers he now has to find a way to cut off. i want lucas doing horrendously ill-advised surgery on himself to be a recurring theme

[mental-illness-bingo]

All of this; just absolutely all of it. Some more addons from another system with a bit of a different perspective on some of it!

As a system who *does* have the dynamic of two alters who have been here from early childhood, and the rest help, what honestly happens in that dynamic is that over time, something bad inevitably happens to an alter outside of those two and it *seriously shakes* those two's perception of their alters as some "superhuman force without the ability to feel pain". It humanized them to us AND created a really unsteady feeling for a while! It's sort of similar (to help non-system writers relate to the feeling more) to seeing something bad happen to a parent when you're young - that belief that they were ineffable being destroyed matches up very well and is a great way to write it imo. It also gives that drama many fic writers are looking for when focusing on the trauma without being cliche and stereotyping.

Pets outside of the headspace ("irl" I guess would be another way to phrase it but I hate that phrase bc my alters are real) can react *very* differently to different alters. When I switch, my cat sniffs me incessantly and her behavior changes based on who's out, even if she's never met them before. Just doesn't vibe with them I guess? And she hates new alters because she's a sassy lady-cat.

There are systems where the others don't front, but instead help from inside the head by talking to the host (these are called internal protectors, internal gatekeepers, internal persectors, internal caregivers, etc with any system role other than host afaik), and most systems I know have a mix of regular protectors and internal ones, and I personally have not met a single system without at least one internal caregiver especially if that system has littles.

If you read nothing else from my reblog, read this one in full please. Littles. Cannot. Consent. Please do not have them consent in your fics. Preferably don't have them get r***d in your fic either as this is *extremely* triggering to many systems and the feeling of that type of thing happening is pretty much impossible to recreate and write in an accurate and respectful way even if you are a system if you've never gone through it.

Most items in many systems' possession are free range to everyone, and then there are special items for some or all of the alters. This can be wardrobe, stuffed animals, makeup, jewelery, fandom stuff, books, fidgets, anything really. They often get pretty possessive if you touch it.

Some systems have some type of a bracelet system to wear to let people who they are out to know who's fronting or if they don't know/are blended! These will almost never have alters' names on them for the sake of being discrete, which is why most systems have different colors attributed to different system members.

If alters are in a relationship, especially if one of them is the host, they may have pair necklaces/bracelets/rings and even wedding rings just like couples that are in separate bodies. This is a super cute thing I wish more media involving DID talked about, as in-system romantic relationships are some of the deepest connections a person can have! For us personally, there was a long while where I only wanted to be with other system members as the host, because I felt I couldn't give and get the same thing out of relationships with people in another body as I could a headmate.

Alters can have a sort of pseudopregnancy in the head, where a little comes because of a cough cough activity between two alters, and sees those alters as their parents (also, one or more alters may adopt that parent/child relationship with a little/middle). The biological rules do not always apply. When this happened to me, the pregnancy was a few hours long, and she was "born" and was a toddler by the next morning.

Sometimes headspaces have kitchens and bathrooms and such, and sometimes they don't. If a system has issues with food, they may be less likely to have a need to eat in the headspace. If a system finds security with hiding in a bathroom irl, they may have one even if they don't need to use the restroom in the headspace, or they may specifically *not* have one since they don't need to hide in there. Feel free to explore the *reasons* behind the rooms that exist, as for the most part there is one!

Some systems, mostly with OSDD-1b in my experience, have almost a "speaker system" in the head where one or more alters have access to the thoughts/feelings/etc of every alter in the headspace. In systems like this, it can get *very* overwhelming if many alters are in a common room together, especially if they are all talking. This can result in a pretty stressful involuntary restructuring of the headspace (multiple in my case) involving a way to comparmentalize everyone's thoughts and/or make them quieter via some physical blocker like separate rooms with doors that can be closed to decrease the volume - which eventually helps make things less stressful, but can make a host used to everyone being very close by feel disconnected from their support system. Other systems I've known with this problem added a rule to how many alters could be in one space at one time. All of this is another way to explore drama for a fic without making it flashback-focused.

Interests! Especially if a system also has ADHD, some of those things you'd assume were from the doom hobby pile actually are the hobbies of alters who front infrequently! Alters can be better/worse at different things and use different activities to destress. Some alters may entirely not know how to do something a different alter can do without going co-con to learn how!

NGL, it annoys me sometimes how much fics about DID will focus so much on the trauma part of it. Like I get it, trauma is often a very big part of living with DID, but it's kind of a weird thing to see when compared to other fics about disorders?? Like, you don't often see people talk about the causes of disorders like depression or anxiety in fanfics, even though trauma can very often be a cause/part of these disorders, too (as an example). It's just a small thing that breaks the mood for me, and I don't think it's much to want more fics that focus a little less on the "you probably have extreme trauma you can't remember" part of DID, and more on what day-to-day life and struggles are like for these characters, like they do with [a lot of] other mental disorders.

(This post expresses a personal opinion about a pet peeve and is not meant to be a serious critique or discourse post. You may add on as long as you remain respectful.)

[karikarasuno]

Pairing: Renji Abarai x Fem!Reader x Ichigo Kurosaki

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings/Tags: Implied Poly Relationship, Suggestive Content, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Domestic Fluff, Kissing

a/n: my bleach brainrot is never evening at this point. and I’m partially blaming @thegetoufather for fueling all my thoughts but also thank you for indulging me and reading this over. this was written very much on a whim and also somehow turned into the domestic fluffy poly relationship. don’t even ask me how it happened bc it just did lmao. anyway pls enjoy<3

“So what are the odds that we actually live in a simulation?”

He’s passing you the blunt, smoke blowing from his nose and through the open window his upper body is partially hanging out of.

“The odds are low, Ren,” you say before inhaling. The smoke scratches at your throat, filling your lungs and releasing with a less than graceful cough. But you catch it before it gets worse, swallowing around the discomfort and feeling your head swim soon after.

“No, no, let’s talk about this,” he starts, taking the blunt back and ashing it on the ceramic tray you made for him a few months ago. “Because I saw this tiktok, right-”

“So we’re trusting tiktok now?”

“Listen,” he whines, bringing the tip to his lips and sucking in another deep hit. “How do you explain all the glitches,” he breathed the smoke out and across your face. You coughed in exaggeration, waving your hand in front of you until a crooked smile tugged at his features.

“What glitches?” You crossed your legs from your place on his bed, hugging his hoodie tighter around your body when a cool breeze trickled in from the open window.

“Like-” he coughs, an inhale too deep, forcing him to expel most of the hit in one sputtering exhale. “The birds,” he croaks out, voice scratchy from the sudden release. You laugh, reaching a hand out to grab the blunt from his extended arm. He’s sitting perpendicular to you, long legs stretched out on the bed in front of him as he leans his head back and out the window to look up at the night sky. Your eyes linger. First on his neck, then down to his broad shoulders, drifting down his chest before you shake your head.

“The birds?” Your brows furrow, pausing before you bring it to your lips as you scrunch up your face in confusion. “The fuck are you on about?”

He whips his head to look at you, closing his eyes and gasping when he realizes too late that he moved too quickly. He steadies himself by placing his hand on your knee, palm large enough to cover the whole thing. And it’s warm on your bare skin. Your thigh erupting in goosebumps despite the heat pulsing off him. “You’re telling me you haven't seen the video of the birds falling straight out of the sky. All dead?”

“That can’t be real,” you argue, flicking his pinky when he squeezes at your thigh. You finally inhale again, smaller this time to avoid a coughing fit and turning your face to blow it outside. You should probably stop there, your limbs already feeling like you’re dragging them through syrup and your cheeks hurting from where you can’t stop smiling at Renji’s stupidity.

“I swear it is, babe,” he says, holding up a pinky expectantly. “Pinky promise, I saw the video and they all were just falling to the ground in like, masses.”

“I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation for that,” you wrap your pinky around his, taking one more hit against your better judgment before giving it back. It was starting to taste like ash anyway, and you reached for the water bottle propped on the window sill to get the bitter flavor from your mouth.

“No, it has to be a glitch,” he says back, shaking his head as he rolls the blunt between two fingers. Before you can respond, though, the door is kicked open. An irritated Ichigo stands in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and his duffle bag still slung over his shoulder.

“How was your shift?” You ask, smiling lazily up at him. He’s still wearing his gym clothes, the logo faded on the right hand corner of his shirt and wrinkled from the way his bicep pressed up against it.

“Why do that inside when we have a balcony?” He asks, always hating when the apartment smelled like weed even hours after you were done. That earns him a shrug though, your smile growing when he drops his bag onto Renji’s bedroom floor and flops on the mattress in the space between the two of you.

“The bed is comfier,” Renji says at the same time as your “It’s too chilly to be outside.”

He just scoffs in response, his head moving to rest on your lap as you start to play with some of the hair sticking to his forehead. “Shift went fine. I worked with Chad tonight so it wasn’t unbearable, at least.”

“Want some?” Renji offers, tilting the nearly done blunt in Ichigo’s direction. He thinks it over for a moment, eyes flicking between Renji and his hand before he decides to take it from him. His inhale is long, his chest rising where it’s laid out in front of you and his eyes close. He holds the smoke in his lungs for a beat longer than usual, opening his eyes to peek up at you through his lashes before he’s curling one of the strings on your hoodie around his finger. He tugs you down towards him, your back having to bend far enough to feel the stretch down your spine.

You know his intention, so you smile before hovering your parted lips over his. Your eyes flutter closed, the grip he has on the string tightening as his lips brush yours and he blows the smoke into your mouth. You breathe in on instinct, sighing at the feeling of the almost kiss. Your axis is tilted in the wrong direction, your center far from its normal upright state. And so naturally you lean forward even more, pressing a kiss against his open lips and relishing in the tender feeling.

His hand finds the back of your head to deepen it, tongue peeking out and licking across your bottom lip until you pull away with a sigh and a giggle. You feel floaty and far off. Your peripheral vision blurry at the edges as the full force of the high hits you. Ichigo smirks up at you, grasping your chin between his index finger and thumb to tilt your face back down to him.

“You good?” He asks, teasing yet firm, the question floating up to you and you nod. He releases his grip on your chin, head falling heavy against your thigh before he’s bringing whatever’s left of the blunt to his lips again. You stare as he inhales, his lungs filling so deeply and you feel a twinge of jealousy knowing that every time you attempt that it always ends in your lungs trying to escape through your throat.

He holds it again, this time angling his head towards Renji, eyes giving away more than enough of his request. And Renji’s lips shift into a lopsided grin, one of his hands reaching out to rest around Ichigo’s neck before mimicking your earlier motions. You swear you feel your pupils dilate as you watch them. A very vivid exchange of breath through softly parted lips. And when their eyelids flutter, Ichigo’s sloppy exhale finishes past Renji’s lips. But as Renji moves back, Ichigo tangles his free hand in his hair, curling thick red strands around his fingers to kiss him just as needily as he kissed you.

A groan rumbles through Renji’s chest. Dark and throaty, deep enough to feel the vibrations instead of hearing them. There’s reluctance when the kiss splinters off, both of them breathing against each other. Easy and light and normal.

“You’re clingy tonight,” Renji whispers just an inch away from him. His lips glistening with spit as they stretch into a smile.

“Long night,” Ichigo responds, hand falling from Renji’s hair to intertwine your fingers with his. “Kinda jealous you spent all evening together while I was stuck watching stupid kids fuck with the machines.”

Renji chuckles and sits up straight again, leaning on his hand and placing the other flat against Ichigo’s stomach.

“Sounds like someone needs to relax,” he offers. And your hand comes up to stroke through Ichigo’s hair again, your nails raking across his scalp until he shivers in your lap. He almost forgot about the blunt he was holding, taking one last hit before handing it off to Renji to smother the barely burning end out.

“We can help with that,” you say, voice dreamy and a touch tired. Ichigo hums in response, eyes closed and head tilting into your touch. He’s melting into your touch, body dead weight on the bed and your leg starts to fall asleep. But you don’t dare ask him to move. Not when he looks so relaxed with your fingers in his hair and Renji’s slipping under the hem of his dry fit.

“S’nice,” he slurs out, limp in your embrace but muscles tensing whenever Renji’s touch wanders lower than he expects. You’ve always loved pampering Ichigo. Mainly because you liked watching the scowl slip from his face, the wrinkles always set between his brows softening. Always somehow looking even more stunning than he already is.

“Yeah?” You hum, leaning down to press a kiss to the apple of his cheek before resting your forehead against his.

“Yeah,” he sighs, breath hitching suddenly and when you glance down Renji’s hand is stroking his inner thigh.

“Don’t be such a tease, Ren,” you playfully scold him which earns you an expression feigning shock.

“I’d never do something like that.” He winks at you, a giggle rising in your throat and tumbling from your lips.

“Liar,” Ichigo gasps, lips parting around it as it teeters off into a light groan when Renji places a heavy hand over his cock, which is now straining against his shorts. “You live for this shit, fucking bastard.”

Renji squeezes him at the insult, Ichigo’s head pressing further into your thigh at the action. An astonished chuckle wheezes from him when Renji does it again. “You’re just impatient, Ichi.”

[mishkakagehishka]

NO YOURE SO RIGHT okay exposing myself here but i love yanmika so much i think about him daily . imagine him drawing the most grotesque eroguro costume concept art of his darling and showing it to them as he describes in . TERRIFYING detail how he plans to recreate his drawing in real life ............

Head in hands i think about yanmika almost daily, too... it's such a guilty pleasure, bc he's one of those characters that don't seem, on the surface, as a yandere, but when you dig deeper... he is Unstable♡ And it's just so interesting! Under the cut for length.

I don't see yandere as a romantic trope, I write this as horror!! I don't try to romanticise this, I try to scare and shock the reader using this!

And this time, specific warnings: exploring Mika's sadistic side and descriptions of gore (though I kept it light since this is more of a stream-of-consciousness rant and not my usual writing), violence and blood! I couldn't bring myself to write the ero part of eroguro, but he's still a bit insane ab blood and gore, especially in the last few lines, so keep that in mind. This one got a bit heavier than usual, so let me know if there's anything that needs a specific tag/warning that I've missed

So, first things first, Mika, as a character, is so full of contrast and paradoxes. It's no wonder he's associated with creepy/cute and gurokawa imo because. On the surface, you would only see the cute/kawa aspect... but the more you read of his stories, and his lines, and he reveals bits and pieces of himself, from the fascination with the mysterious, to his love for creepy things, to. To the collection of "scary images" he keeps to. "Sleep better". And the lines where he gets all violently jealous or even where he takes human life a little too lightly (like the time he thought he'd killed Ritsu - one of his best friends - and his only concern was that Shu would be angry at him) and it's like. He's a little fucked up♡

And this is why I also think Mika could have a masochistic as well as sadistic side. As a yandere, he strikes me as the obsessive worshippy type - and that plays into his masochistic side. He wants his darling, who's like a deity to him, to give him attention and affection even though he believes he doesn't really deserve it. He'd even be fine with his darling yelling at or hitting him, he just wants to interact with them.

But, on the other hand... there's his jealous and violent side that would play into his sadistic side. It's not that Mika wants to kill or hurt his darling, they're still like a deity to him, but~~ He'd fantasise about knifing them sometimes. Not in a way that would kill them, his imagination is very unrealistic, he'd sigh while thinking about digging through their guts while they hug him and thank him and admit Mika is their favourite-! And then he'd probably feel guilty because it's his darling and there's still a large part of him that doesn't want them hurt. But maybe it'd be nice to help them with a papercut or nosebleed once, just so he can at least see what their blood looks like. He might even be lucky enough to walk away with the tissue used to stop the bleeding♡ but he'd feel less guilty of the violent fantasies if he feels Extremely Jealous. He thinks of covering himself in his darling's blood - and them in his own - as a way to cope with the jealousy. For some reason, he thinks it's intimate. So when his darling sees him storm off somewhere if he catches them praising another idol, it's because he's off steaming and probably even drawing out all his fantasies of chopping their tongue and hands off so they can never speak to anyone again.

And speaking of his art! He starts testing the boundaries after some time, showing his darling progressively worse and worse things. It starts off with someone having a nosebleed or an outfit with a golden ribcage - his Dark Romance outfit (a digression but omg... the fact that it's called Dark Romance. Mika, do you have something you want to share with the class) - and a few months later, his smile is so bright and innocent for someone showing off art of someone's intestines spilling out (doesn't he resemble that idol they said they liked the other day?) or a design for quite the provocative outfit featuring motifs of dried blood and organs. And then he starts telling his darling how much he wants to design an outfit for them! Aw, won't'cha let yer Mika make you yer very own fit?

But he doesn't give them much say, he assures them he knows - he's a full-fledged designer himself by now! - what would look good on them and what would fit them. But from the start, his intentions seem wrong. Firstly, the bottoms are entirely too short. As a compromise, he lengthens them to drop until their knees, and then comments that it's "cuter that way, anyway" so they can't even be sure he was actually compromising. Then the top is tight and low-cut - and he compromises by making the collar a turtleneck, but who even knows if that's any better. And the design is very... grim. The top has a rather realistic design of a chest opened - blood-dripping ribs behind which a heart is situated. You'd expect Mika to design them cartoonishly, but he's rather practised at it, so, thanks to the tightness of the top, it ends up looking rather 3D. The intestines are well-presented, too, and... everything seems to be dripping in blood. The bottoms, thankfully, are only in a matching black colour to the base of the top, and their normalcy kind of eases the darling into accepting it, even though the chains still give it a very edgy look.

He's nibbling on his thumb as he watches his darling try it on so he can make final adjustments. He gets fidgety. When the fitting is over, he asks them if they like it. It's probably grown on them by then, or they just feel bad because of how much time and effort he spent on it, but they say they do. And then he gets soooo happy, so overjoyed! He's so glad, he wasn't sure if they would like it, but he's so glad they did. He even asks for permission to hug them before leaning in, embracing them, and... starting his little ramble. About how he wishes he could actually open them up instead of just imagining what their guts look like. About how he wishes he didn't have to settle for keeping the tissues they used to stop nosebleeds and instead they could exchange blood yknow like a normal couple. About how he wishes he could one day be worthy of all his darling's expressions to be shown to him. Love, joy, pain, he just wants to see it all! And he wants to be the only one to see it, and he wants to show his own to his darling. Don't think him selfish or mean! He won't leave his darling wanting, he wants to bleed and be opened up as much as he wants them to bleed and for him to open them up. He just thinks it's so romantic, doesn't his darling agree? Don't they want to give it a try? He has the sewing scissors on hand already. Just a little cut, he'll let them make a matching one on his skin, wherever his darling chooses! Don't mind how deeply he's breathing and how much he's blushing the more he tries to convince them.

[writingonsaturn]

Better Unsaid

a/n okay this has been all over the place!! it was originally going to be a blurb and darker and closer to smutty (so keep your eyes out for that??? lol), but then I made it softer and the concept got away from me and it got soooo much longer than expected lmao and i still dont love where it ended so maybe part 2?? i have the idea i just dont know lol 

summary: Reader is a princess and Anakin has been her guard during the most public season for the past two years (not the most logical thing but just go with it lol, it gets explained better in the fic) and after a near death experience the two are conveniently forced into a....

ONE BED TROPE ONE BED TROPE *cough cough* ONE BED TROPE WITH ONE PERSON HAVING TO WAKE UP THE OTHER BC THEYRE HAVING A NIGHTMARE,, :)))))))

  --

His smugness is the only thing about him I can consider ‘ugly’. And because I am so desperate to not have feeling for Anakin, the Jedi who has been assigned to protect me through coronation season (which lasts for most of winter), for the last two coronation seasons, I hold onto my distaste for that side of him. Which is why I suppress my laugh as he waits for my reaction with that confident smile. 

“Come on, that was funny.” 

Rolling my eyes, I let myself sit on my bed. I can’t tell if he’s actually funny or if my evening has been so boring that his sense of humor has started to become appealing to me due to comparison. In short, the suitor I was forced to spend an entire evening with lacked personality so much I’m starting to find Anakin funny.

“You’re much more entertaining than this evening’s suitor.” 

Anakin’s expression shifts slightly, his assured grin dropping slightly. “Another miss?” 

“You have no idea.” I relax slightly, taking a moment to be glad that I completed my father’s request and now I can just enjoy the time I have with Anakin. “I know my father’s desperate to make sure my marriage is useful for our people and that he worries about this selection process because he always thought my mother would be here to help, but sometimes I wish he wouldn’t rush it so much. It feels like all he wants me for is to marry me off in exchange of finance or weaponry or something diplomatic.” 

“You’re more than that.” His response is so soft I think I might have missed it if I needed it less. I curse myself for feeling so validated by him. His words shouldn’t mean anything to me. After all, he could easily just be saying that because agreeing with my father will just make me more unpleasant to be around. 

I smile politely while avoiding his eyes. I keep my hands on either side of me, fighting the urge to fidget. “Thank you, Anakin.” My words sound weak in my own ears, so I’m sure he notices my shift in mood. “I’m tired today, I think I’m going to go to bed early.” Normally, I’d be able to shrug off these kinds of things, but the beginning of Coronation Season makes me irritable. The anniversary of my mother’s death hits me harder each year. 

“Y/n.” My name comes out so velvety I can’t find it in myself to interrupt him. “You are more than someone meant to be used as some kind of royal currency, and I mean that as more than just a...friend.” 

I let his last word linger. We’ve tried so many titles that never seem to fit right. He’s the chosen one, one of the most powerful Jedi to exist, and the Jedi assigned to protect me each Coronation Season because that’s when my mother was assassinated. He’s my guard, but we’ve spent too many nights laughing together and talking about everything and anything. And I guess now he’s my friend, even though sometimes when he looks at me in a certain way or sits too close to me or reaches for my hand to guide me somewhere I can’t breathe right. 

“Anakin, you know I love when you’re here, even though sometimes you drive me insane. And I appreciate your kindness, but your words can’t change the truth. That’s how my father sees me and he’s not exactly wrong. I’m not a son, I haven’t been raised to lead an army or lead much, and--” 

“I’ve seen you in meeting after meeting, convention after convention. I’ve witnessed the way you handle real problems and I know how you care about your people. You’d make a great leader, you don’t need a husband to be valuable.” 

My chest swells, feelings I never let myself think about mixing with thoughts of Anakin that I’ve spent so long trying to avoid. “That settles it, you’re my favorite person.” 

He grins, the look warm enough to melt the odd lump in my throat. I fight down a smile as he steps forward. “And I wasn’t before?” 

“I take it back--your head’s big enough without the additional praise.” 

Rolling my eyes, I lean back slightly in order to recreate the distance he so easily destroyed. “And I thought you had finally warmed up to me, princess.” 

The use of my title makes me skeptical. The last time Anakin used it was when he was trying to ease me so that I’d walk around the palace garden so he had an excuse to do the same. It was beyond late and I was half asleep, but he had os much energy he was desperate and just needed to do one more thing. I felt bad that his schedule revolved so heavily around mine (and when he softens his eyes and says please, I’m left incapable of saying the word ‘no’) so I agreed. 

“What do you want?” 

Anakin dramatically clutches a hand over his heart. He throws his head back slightly as if he’s just taken a fatal blow. “When did you turn so cynical? I’ve been back for three days and I’m starting to believe you’re a different person now.” 

Yeah...he’s definitely getting ready to ask for something that’s more trouble than it’s worth. Then again, everything with him seems to be worth it in some capacity. Even if it’s just that one smile he gets when he’s truly content and doesn’t think anyone’s looking. 

“Mhm,” I mumble, still fighting a grin, “so you’re not going to ask me anything?” 

His lips part slightly as he exhales. I watch the way his eyes narrow at my victorious expression. “I don’t have anything to ask of you, but I do have a small request. A request so small you won’t have to do anything but say yes.”

Suspicious. Too easy. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“You just said I was your favorite person. Remember that.” 

I’m too tired for his coyness. I’d rather him make his ridiculous request now so that I can be in bed within the hour. Though I can’t pretend I don’t normally feel better after letting him drag me along on whatever ‘adventure’ he just needed to complete while also not letting me out of his sight. I used to tell him that I wouldn’t tell anyone if I wasn’t under supervision for an hour or two a day, but he dismissed the idea immediately. That’s been the cornerstone of everything. 

“What is it?” 

He sighs once, tilting his head slightly. The way his eyes soften tells me he’s already won at least half the battle. “They still haven’t caught the attempted--” Anakin pauses, something behind his eyes darkening. I know what he’s remembering. Last night, an assassin had gotten closer than they ever had. I had almost been shot in the garden, Anakin had barely pushed me to the ground in time. A fact he’s been beating himself up for since, especially considering that no one has been able to find my attempted killer yet. “They were so close to you. They were within palace limits and they disappeared like they never existed. Who’s to say they don’t work here and are waiting for the next moment you’re exposed? Who’s to say they aren’t here tonight, waiting for me to retire for the night?” 

I didn’t realize how my near death experience had been so personal to him. He, like everyone else, was beyond frantic after it happened. But my father put an end to verbal worry before it could truly begin. He said the best thing we could do was act like everything was fine as the assailant was searched for. Anakin hadn’t been particularly cheery after my father instructed the guards to focus their search on known enemies instead of prioritizing venting the staff closest to me. I comforted him as best as I could, but he didn’t feel like speaking about it and I had to worry about the suitor meeting my father wouldn’t let me cancel. 

“Anakin, you’re right next door to me.” I have to fight the urge to reach for him. “I was fine because of you, and I will be fine because of you.” 

He sighs once, his expression not easing. “And if the person is silent? The attacker could easily work in the palace, but no one wanted to direct the search inwards.” His words are more strained than I’ve ever heard them be. “I think it’d be smart for me to stay in here. I know you’ve refused having a guard stay in your room or outside your door, but...” Anakin sighs. “Your safety would be more assured.” 

Him staying in my room? The only line I’ve ever been allowed to draw, and I’m actually considering letting that go. If he seemed even slightly less sad, I wouldn’t even consider it. It’s not a good idea. I’m already too attached to him. “Anakin--” 

“I’d feel more assured.” 

Damn him. Stupid, extremely sweet Anakin who makes saying no to him impossible. I stretch my arm forward, letting my hand squeezes his forearm gently. “There’s no reason to not feel assured.” He doesn’t ease, the cloudiness behind his eyes remains stubborn. “You’re still worried.” No reaction, the haze that’s taken him isn’t letting go. “Fine--but tell no one or my father is going to take to posting guards at my door every night.” 

...I guess there are worse ways to spend a night. Which is kind of a problem since I’m trying to...enjoy Anakin less. Ugh, I even sound dumb in my head. “I promise, princess.” 

Ugh, he’s adorable. “You’re intolerable.” I stand from he foot of my bed and pull back the covers on my bed. He doesn’t reply, something dark still playing for him. I watch him move to face the door. Wait--is he doing what I think he’s doing? “No, you’re not going to stand there all night. You need sleep.” He has the audacity to give me an annoyed look. “I already didn’t want to do this so now you have to listen to my conditions.” 

He raises an eyebrow, his lips pressing together oddly. He’s trying to gauge something from my expression, perhaps he’s looking for buttons to press to get his way. I guess I look as stubborn as I feel because instead of arguing he just sits on the floor. What? I watch him cautiously, trying to figure out if this is some weird argument trick. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What you asked.”

And just like that I’ve put myself in a position that I will no doubt regret terribly the second common sense returns to me. There’s no way to deny that Anakin and I are closer than we probably should be. We’ve felt like friends first since the day we first met. I can’t think of any reason to not offer to let him sleep in my bed except those stupid budding feelings I refuse to label. 

It’s not like I actually like him. I can’t--I’m going to be married to some nobleman and he’s prohibited from ever forming attachments. I’m not even sure if we’re allowed to be friends. Having actual feelings for him would be so, so pointless. It would just lead to heartache and the ruining of the one genuine relationship I have. I’m just a tiny bit confused right now because he’s objectively really attractive and he’s always there for me. Always there to make a joke after a particularly rough meeting. Always there to offer me a supportive smile. Always there to humble me when I teeter on acting like my father. 

Anyone’s heart would flutter at that, so it doesn’t mean anything. And if it does, I need to squash any budding feelings now before I mess things up. Which is why I should keep him at arm’s length until I get it together. But is that fair to him? And what if doing that is making things worse? What if it’s just reinforcing the idea of having feelings? 

This is ridiculous. I’m going to get over this if it kills me. It’s just a bed and it’s only sleeping. I’m meant to be able to lead an entire union and I can’t sleep next to someone and act normal?” “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.” 

The second the words leave my mouth I regret it all. What’s wrong with me? Did I seriously think I’d be okay?

I hear his soft exhale, “I’ll be fine. I’ve slept in worse places than on your marble floor.” 

His voice sounds so weighted I can’t help but feel bad for not noticing that he’s still bothered. Whether he’s upset about his near miss or the fact that my father didn’t take his advice, I don’t know. But something’s wrong. The easy thing to do would be to just let him sleep it off. The smart thing to do would be to leave him alone until tomorrow. 

I think of all the times that I’ve been upset and Anakin had refused to let me go to sleep angry or sad or overwhelmed. “I know, but it’s really not a big deal. It’s not like we don’t know each other. I mean, last Coronation Season you buttoned me into more gowns than my handmaid. And I owe you for saving me from one of the worst suitors I’ve ever had.” 

“I’m starting to think we need to develop some kind of signal.” 

The tiny bit of lightness that’s returned to his voice makes all of my internal struggle feel worth it. “You always seem to know.” 

“That’s because when you’re reaching your limit, that one line appears between your eyebrows.”

I didn’t realize I had such a tell. I try to remember the way that the suitor drawled on and on about how amazing he was and how he couldn’t wait for the day he had a bride to bear his children and plan (tedious) social events. My hand moves to my forehead, trying to feel the crease Anakin mentioned. Can everyone tell when I’m growing tired? Am I that transparent? 

Anakin’s slight laugh steals my attention. He’s facing me again, his elbow holding his head up on the foot of my bed. “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t--I don’t think i get a crease between my eyebrows when I’m irritated.” 

I hear him stand. I don’t realize he’s approaching me until he’s so close I could touch him without even needing. to stretch. “No, when you’re irritated you raise your eyebrows slightly, because that’s when you’re at your most sarcastic.” 

“Really?” 

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “Just like that.” I force myself to keep my expression blank. “When you’re reaching your limit, your eyebrows crease here.” His finger taps the space between my brows so gently I almost don’t realize what he’s doing. “And when you’re trying not to laugh--which is often, because you refuse to admit that I’m funny--you press your lips together in a way that forms a dimple here.” The knuckle of his pointer finger brushes against the bottom of my cheek. 

I bite my tongue to fight the warmth spreading across my face. “I didn’t realize i was so transparent.”

“I can’t always tell what you’re thinking.” 

“I’ll take it.” Maybe if I was less tired, I’d argue a little more. “You know you’re not that difficult to read either.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, I can tell when you’re just being stubborn for the sake of it. I can see it in your eyes and you’re doing it right now.” 

His expression harshens slightly before softening. “Y/n--” 

“I’m not wrong.” 

He sighs once, stepping back. I watch him pace around my bed before taking a seat on the edge of my other side of the bed. “Are you happy now?” 

“Happy that I won? Absolutely.” 

Anakin halfheartedly glares at me. “Careful, add a crown and a robe that trails down a throne and I’d feel like I was speaking to your father.” 

“Careful, another side comment like that and I’ll ‘accidentally’ kick you off the bed in the middle of the night.” 

“Not if I kick you off the bed first.” 

I trace a thoughtless pattern on the fabric of my bedsheets. “What are you? Twelve?” 

“I’m older than you.” 

“Barely.” I continue the thoughtless pattern tracing as I fight the sleep from my eyes. “Your comebacks are usually more creative than that.” 

He exhales, relaxing slightly as he rests his back against a pillow. “I’m tired, like you claimed to be.” His eyes flutter slightly, a bit of his exhaustion showing. “Go to sleep.” 

I should. I’m too old to think I can put off a tomorrow I don’t want by just staying up. This is stupid. I’m too old to think I can put off the anniversary of my mother’s death by going to bed. She had been taken from us on castle grounds, killed by a revolutionist who viewed my mother as a class traitor. I still remember the way she slumped to the ground, her blood staining the snow beneath her. I remember the way the guards were so busy chasing her killer no one thought to keep me away from the body. 

“Y/n?” 

I scratch the back of my arm in hopes of banishing my thoughts. “Yes?” 

“You’re being quiet.” 

“You said to go to sleep, that tends to be a quiet thing.” 

I can feel his eyes on me. “Since when do you listen to me?” Not trusting myself to actually reply, I only offer him a hum of acknowledgement. “I know you’re not half asleep.” 

Folding my hands on my lap, I avoid his gaze. “It’s tomorrow.” 

I don’t know why I trust him to understand my vague response, but I do. His silence stretches over us like a thin blanket on a cold night. Maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m implying. I can always correct him tomorrow, when my eyelids are no longer as heavy as my heart. The more seconds that pass in total silence, the more I think that maybe he’s fallen asleep. 

I wouldn’t be surprised, Anakin has seemed tired recently, like some additional weight he won’t share with anyone has been thrust onto his shoulders. A small part of me rolls in guilt. I need to be a better friend, just because I’m suddenly a little too aware of him doesn’t mean I can shrug him off and ignore him. 

My hand almost flinches away from the feeling of something surprisingly warm touching my pinky. When I realize that it’s just Anakin and that the contact was probably accidental, I force myself to ease. It’s not like we’ve never touched before, I don’t understand why I’m making it weird. Sitting in my bed in the dark doesn’t change anything. His hand turns slightly, pressing into mine a little more assuredly. Biting my tongue, I turn my hand slightly, exposing my palm. And just like that, our fingers intertwine. 

“She would have been proud of you.” His voice comes out so low I barely register the words. 

The words shouldn’t mean much to me--he never knew my mother and has no way to know what she wanted me to be.--and yet I find comfort in them. I smile, turning my head towards him. “You didn’t even know her.” 

He rolls his eyes slightly, relaxing further before squeezing my hand once. “Who wouldn’t be proud of you? You’re kind and smart and decent to be around when you’re not telling me what to do.” 

My heart swells in my chest so much I’m surprised it doesn’t burst. Could he be cuter? “Yeah...now I’m sure you’re my favorite person.” 

“Now you’re sure?” 

The smugness in his voice has me rolling my eyes. “Don’t make me regret saying that.” 

“Maybe in the morning,” he says easily, “now go to sleep. There’s nothing worse than escorting you from meeting to meeting while you’re tired.” 

“I’m not that bad.” Even in this darkness, I can make out the way he raises an eyebrow. “Shut up--I’m going to sleep, but not because of you.” 

He lets out a slight huff. “You’re impossible.” 

The desire to respond to his comment is not enough for me to win the fight against the weight of my eyelids. The moment my eyes shut, I feel powerless to anything that isn’t sleep. I let myself fall into a weightless sleep, my only tether being the Anakin’s fingers around mine. 

--

A distant noise yanks me from my sleep. I’m too drowsy to do anything but register the sound. I hear another similar...whine? cry? I can’t tell and I’m too asleep to figure it out. I almost fall asleep again, but a third distressed sound keeps me from it. I wipe my eyes lazily with the back of my hand as I try to sit up. 

Squinting, I make out a figure on my bed. It takes me a moment to remember Anakin and how I fell asleep. Our hands are still together and no light is peering through my window so it can’t be that long since I fell asleep. Another disgruntled sound carries itself throughout the room. I shift slightly, leaning over Anakin cautiously. 

Golden brown curls are beginning to stick to his forehead and his eyebrows are drawn together sharply. He’s having a nightmare.  I shift even further forward before cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder before squeezing him gently. 

“Anakin,” I whisper, “it’s not--it’s not real.” His eyebrows draw together even more harshly. I shake him a little more stubbornly. “Anakin, wake up--you’re having a ni--”

 My forearm is grabbed so suddenly I barely register it before I feel my back shoved into my mattress. I blink twice. His dark eyes are frantic and the look on his face is far from the gentle, easygoing expression I’m used to. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling from above me. I swallow a slight panic and something I don’t understand as I try to keep my eyes on his face and my thoughts away from how close he is. Anakin pries his fingers from my forearm one by one until only his palm is touching me. 

“Y/n, I--” 

“It’s okay.” Honestly, I’m more worried about his uneven breathing than the way he grabbed me. I can’t imagine everything he’s been through or how justified his nightmares are. Anakin moves his hand away from me. I don’t sit up until he’s off of me and sitting with his back against my headboard. “It’s okay--I just--you were having a nightmare and I thought I should wake you.” He doesn’t react. I turn my body further, keeping my back straight. Anakin doesn’t move, and the longer he stays still, the more I feel like I should say something else. “Do you want talk about it? Or do--do you want to talk about something else? Or go to sleep? Or get some water? Or--” The far off look behind his eyes silences me. I scoot forward slightly. “You’re okay, Anakin, I promise.” 

His head turns at that, his eyes searching mine for something I don’t understand. “I thought...” He cuts himself off by swallowing once. 

I shift a little more, trying to find anything normal in his expression. “Thought what?” 

Anakin’s hand is on my arm so quickly I don’t even register his movement. I let his fingers press into my skin. He’s holding onto me like I’m a figment of a dream and he’s beginning to wake up. “I thought I’d failed.” He exhales, the sound heavy. “Failed you and that you’d--I  thought I had lost you.” 

A lump rises in my throat, thick and unmoving. Cautiously, I place my hand over the one still gripping my shoulder like a lifeline. “You didn’t. Nothing happened, it was just a dream.” 

His gaze falls to the ground before he repeats the last of my words. “Just a dream.” There’s a hollowness to his voice I don’t understand. 

I exhale, carefully running my thumb over his knuckles. “Yes.” He doesn’t say anything but his expression hardens again. I let us sit there like that for a long minute. “I promise.” 

“You can’t promise things like that.”

I sigh, unsure of where to go from here. “Bad dreams are only bad dreams.” He doesn’t reply. “I think you should try to get some more sleep.” 

Anakin is unresponsive. I shift back, but before I can transition from almost being on top of him to just sitting next to him, he pulls on my arm to keep in place. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” 

“You almost died today, y/n. I was right there and if I had been a second later--” 

“But you weren’t.” He doesn’t ease. “You were there and I was fine. Don’t torment yourself over what could have been. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” 

“If anything ever happened to y--” 

“It’s not going to,” I whisper, ignoring the way his hold on my arm tightens even further, “Especially this time a year when I have a pretty good gau--” 

He tilts his head slightly, eyebrows drawing together and a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Pretty good? Really?” 

“Someone needs to watch your ego, chosen one.” This time when he tries for a smile, the look has some strength behind it. Relief pools in my stomach. “Now get some sleep, tomorrow’s a busy day and when you’re sleepy you’re beyond irritable.”  

Anakin lets me pull away enough to lay down, but he doesn’t follow. Not for a long second. When he does, his movements are impossibly rigid. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as carefully as I can manage. 

“Y/n?” 

I regret turning my head immediately. I didn’t realize how close he was. It would take no effort from me to make our lips meet. Wait--why am I thinking of that? I’m not allowed to think of stuff like that...especially not about him. 

“Yes?”

He lets out a breath before moving his hand. I don’t understand his hesitation until I feel his hand cupping my cheek gently. “What if next time I’m not enough? What if next time I lose you because I’m not strong enough?” 

I never thought my death would be such a personal thing to him. Sure, I knew that we had some kind of bond, some kind of friendship, and that my death would bring sadness. But I never imagined I’d matter enough to him that thoughts of my death would be frightening enough to slip into his subconscious and become a thing of nightmares. 

“You are enough. Nothing is going to happen to me and if it does it’s not going to be because of you.” Anakin’s lips press together in a way that implies serious uncertainty. His thumb brushes across my cheek so unexpectedly I almost ask him what he’s doing. The intensity behind his eyes is enough to burn me. “Was your dream really that bad?” 

He lets out an uncertain breath as his eyebrows draw together. I don’t miss the way his jaw clenches. “It’s more than the dream. I...y/n, princess,” he tacts on, a hint of humor returning to him, “you’re more than a mission to me.” 

The admission is so soft I can’t help but smile. “I know, Anakin, we’re--” 

“You’re more than a friend to me.” I don’t know if my blood freezes in my veins or if my lungs don’t contract when they should or if my heart literally skips a beat, but I know something in me completely stops at his words. “I--” 

“Don’t say it.” I don’t know how I managed to cut him off so sharply and I’m a little disappointed when I do, but it’s the right thing to do. Thought of the code that’s so important to him have clouded half the immense shock and joy swelling in my chest. “What you’re trying to say...I um, I want to say the same.” I try to drop my gaze but he tilts my head up slightly with his hand. “But we shouldn’t, you know that.” 

"You want to us to pretend that nothing’s different? You want me to escort you from meetings with one suitor to the next every Coronation Season until you’re married off?” 

“No, I’m not saying that. The point is that I’m not saying anything.” His eyebrows draw together in uncertainty. “Isn’t it enough for now, for both of us to just know? If we say it...that could mean bad things for you. And I don’t want to be a bad thing for you.” 

“You could never be.”

It’d be so easy to believe him. To believe him and to let him say what I never imagined I’d be able to hear and damn the consequences of tomorrow. “Can we just refrain from verbally saying anything until you’re sure?” 

“I’m sure right now. I’ve been sure since the first time we ever walked in the garden together. The night after the first Coronation Ball I escorted you to.” 

I remember that night well. The way he hadn’t scolded me for needing air or taking off my uncomfortably high heels to walk in the grass. “If you mean it, you won’t say it yet. I refuse to get in the way of what you’re meant for.”

His thumb runs my cheek entirely, stopping at the corner of my mouth. “Are you capable of not disagreeing with me?” 

Rolling my eyes slightly, I place my hand over his. “Probably not.” 

Anakin exhales, his playful irritation clear in the sound. “You’re impossible when you’re tired.” 

“I am not tired.” 

“I can see the sleep in your eyes.” 

“I can see it in yours too.” 

He pauses, eyebrows drawn together cautiously. “I’ll go to sleep if you do.”

He must be more tired than I thought if he’s compromising with me so quickly. “Deal.” 

Neither of us close our eyes for a long second, we just watch each other with wide eyes. It still doesn’t feel like he’s eased, but he’s come back to me so much more than he was earlier. I’ll make sure to check how he’s feeling in the morning. The first morning after we’ve...I don’t know. 

I’m trying really hard not to get excited because anything that’s been not said could be taken back so easily. That’s the point--but it’s hard not to let my heart get ahead of my rationality. I’ll just take the good for what it is for now and tomorrow we can figure out the rest. Even though he’s not allowed to form attachments and my father really wants to marry me off to foreign royalty.

Tomorrow. This can begin to be solved tomorrow. My eyes shut and I let myself roll fully onto my back. The second I’m comfortably settled, I feel Anakin shift against the bed. I’m too tired to open my eyes until I feel a weight placed against my chest. 

I open my eyes on instinct, less surprised than I should be when I see Anakin’s head resting against my chest. Before I can speak, I feel his arm rest against my side. “Anakin,” I breathe, my hand moving to smooth his hair out of his face the way I’ve wanted to for so long. “What did we just talk about?” 

“You said not to say anything,” he mumbles comfortably, “I’m not saying anything.” ...It is kind of the ideal compromise. Especially since I’m too tired to find reason and he feels so warm. “I can feel you overthinking. Go back to smoothing my hair before I have to rise and stand at your door so that your handmaid comes to wake you. Something tells me she’d be glad for the excuse to get rid of me.” 

That might be the most dramatic thing I’ve ever heard him say. Selma is the most patient woman in the palace. “Selma would never report anything involving me, I can’t believe you don’t like her. She’s the sweetest woman I’ve ever met.”  

“She’s the one that doesn’t like me,” he says, “she always watches me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m planning on stealing you away.” 

Too tired to fight my smile, I go back to smoothing his hair out with my fingers. After a moment, he lets out an exhale that relaxes his entire body. “Goodnight, princess.” 

“Goodnight.” The word is barely a mumble as I feel sleep tug against me for the second time tonight. 

It’s strange, but my excitement doesn’t diminish my tiredness, it just makes the prospect of rest feel so much fuller. Safer. Because there’s so much to sort out and grieve but it’s okay, because we have the time and everything feels okay because Anakin is here, right beneath my fingertips. 

[reveniemus]

8 or 21 or 31 for the hug prompts. love your new look 😉💖

thank you!! i am obsessed with this photoshoot 😭😭 also i hope you enjoy some angst i guess?? bc i write that now???

geraskier in angst major, no. 1

pairing: gen with lite!geraskier rating: teen warnings: implied torture, mild descriptions of injuries jaskier is not having a good time

on ao3

Never say never, his mother had always said, and yet, Jaskier had foolishly done just that. He thought he was never going to feel anything worse than the heartache of what happened on the mountain, and yet, this moment was a very strong contender. It was such an obvious thing too, and Jaskier knew if Geralt had been there, he would’ve tutted at him for being so oblivious to the fact that the men giving him the eye were not, in fact, looking for a one night tumble.

Then again, if Geralt had been there, Jaskier wouldn’t have been flouncing about in a crowded tavern in plain view of some Nilfgaardian soldiers out of uniform. He would’ve been curled up in a bedroll on the forest floor, eating rabbit or deer and scribbling in his notebook while Geralt sharpened his swords.

“Bard’s tougher than he looks, huh?” he hears one of the guards say after he’s taken yet another beating. “That’s the third one today and he’s still conscious, somehow.”

“Barely. I bet if he got another one today, he’d tell us everything,” his companion says, and Jaskier’s body involuntarily winces at the thought of another beating so soon to his last one.

“Think the captain will let us? It’s not like we’re getting anywhere with the other prisoners,” the first one says, and he must lean against the bars because the scraping sound of metal against metal rings in Jaskier’s ears.

“Most likely. We haven’t tried branding yet,” the second voice answers, the gleeful tone to his voice making Jaskier’s stomach curl. Thankfully, it sounds like they’re finally, finally walking away and Jaskier lets himself relax when the sounds of their conversation dissipate.

He takes a deep breath and even that small, miniscule amount of movement makes his body ache. Jaskier tries to remember the things Geralt used to say about managing pain. The first step was to take inventory of his body to figure out what was wrong. It’s hard to do on his side, so Jaskier shifts, his face scrunching up as he lays on his back. It isn’t comfortable and the movement makes his bones feel like they’re on fire. How is it possible to feel this much pain and survive?

Okay, he can do this. He can take inventory of his body, just like Geralt used to.

Deep breath.

Something aches on his calf, near his ankle. Twisting it shoots pain up his leg, and Jasker bites down on his bottom lip to stop from making a noise. He can’t let the soldiers know he’s conscious enough to make noise.

Deep breath.

There’s a cut on his right upper thigh. He doesn’t know when he acquired it. This last beating? The one before? It’s not actively bleeding anymore, which is good. He thinks it means they didn’t hit anything major.

Deep breath.

A stabbing pain shoots up his left arm. Fuck. He hopes it’s not a break, because the implications of it makes his heart ache. Then again, he doesn’t know when he’ll see his lute again, so maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Deep breath.

His abdomen feels heavy. Is this what internal bleeding feels like? He should’ve asked Geralt how to know if you’re bleeding internally. Jaskier thinks he’d be colder if he were bleeding internally, or number.

Deep breath.

Jaskier’s head is pounding — not enough to distract from the rest of his pain, but just enough that his thoughts are verging on disjointed. Geralt would yell at him for not being able to focus.

Deep breath.

That definitely means there’s a head injury though. Jaskier remembers when Geralt had fought two fiends and they’d knocked him around. He had insisted that Jaskier not let him sleep, that it would make a head injury worse. Jaskier isn’t sure what worse means when the main part of your body that keeps things running is already hurt, but he thinks it means he shouldn’t sleep.

Deep breath.

If he’s asleep, though, he won’t feel the pain of his injuries. Jaskier closes his eyes, knowing Geralt would hit him for genuinely contemplating falling asleep while he’s got a definitive head injury.

Deep — Jaskier is jolted out of his breathing routine by a loud clanging noise, followed by thumps and screams and the sound of running. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, grimacing with the motion, to peer past the bars of his cell.

He should move back, maybe hide in the shadows and hope that whoever is attacking the prison will leave him alone. If he can have time to heal, he can get out of here and find … who? Geralt made it very clear he didn’t want Jaskier around, and it wasn’t like Jaskier could go around and find his old acquaintances. Anyone who was associated with him could be in danger because of his association with the White Wolf.

Maybe he could turn this prison into his home after whoever is out there finishes off the Nilfgaardians. Jaskier lays back down, closing his eyes and taking deep, slow breaths as the noises of fighting seem to get closer. If he lies here, maybe they’ll think this cell is empty of viable prisoners and they’ll keep going.

“Fuck,” he hears a voice grunt before the door to his cell opens. The voice seems familiar, but Jaskier can feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness and his already-vaguely-disjointed thoughts connect even less and less. “Please don’t be dead,” the voice says, and Jaskier vaguely feels a warm body next to him. The immediacy of the movement makes him flinch, and he hears another curse from the voice.

Familiarity blooms inside him, and he winces. His mind is playing tricks on him, it seems, maybe the Nilfgaardians decided an illusion would be more useful than a branding. Jaskier tries to curl into himself, but the pain that courses through him makes him scream.

“Jaskier, please, don’t move,” the voice whispers, gruff and gentle, and Jaskier whimpers as a hand brushes back his hair.

“Please, I don’t know anything, I swear,” he pleads, fighting back tears.

“It’s okay, Jask, you’re safe,” the voice murmurs, and Jaskier whines. The illusion feels so real it makes his heart ache, reminds him of the moments he clung to when Geralt’s fingers would barely brush over his skin when they were making camp, or when Jaskier made a stupid decision that got him hurt.

Suddenly, Jaskier is being tugged up, and he’s shocked into looking up. His eyes widen when he sees a shock of long white hair and amber eyes, a soft whisper escaping his lips.

“Yes, it’s me. We have to keep moving,” Geralt says, and Jaskier feels arms on his waist as he somehow gets on his feet. “Can you stand?” he asks, his eyes glittering with concern in a way that makes Jaskier’s head spin.

“You’re here,” he whispers, leaning back a little as Geralt’s hand moves from his waist. It’s not far, he can feel the heat of it against the ragged remains of his chemise, and Jaskier feels more light headed than he has in weeks.

“Careful,” the witcher murmurs, catching Jaskier’s arm as he sways on the spot. “I’ve got you, Julek.” His arm wraps around Jaskier’s waist and he brings him closer.

Jaskier inhales Geralt’s scent, a mix of leather and horse that’s difficult to duplicate, much less recreate in an illusion, and ignoring the sharp ache in his lungs at the movement. He’s probably got a broken rib, he realizes, as he involuntarily leans into Geralt more. “You’re here,” he repeats, his eyes fluttering.

“I am, but don’t fall asleep on me yet. You’ve got a nasty head wound,” Geralt says, his voice gruff and stern and the familiar tendrils of it makes Jaskier’s heart warm.

“Y’know, even if this was a dream, it’s a nice dream. I hoped this would be my last,” Jaskier whispers, like it’s a secret, as he leans into Geralt, wrapping an arm around the witcher’s waist. He has no balance, so he feels the sway of his body as he tries to recalibrate his center of gravity.

“It’s not a dream, and it sure as hell won’t be your last one.” Geralt’s response is angry, almost aggressive, and Jaskier thinks maybe he’s far too out of it to be affected by that. “Yen’s outside with a portal waiting for me to get you out of here,” he continues, tightening his grip around Jaskier’s waist and moving out of the cell.

Jaskier makes a soft noise, burying his face in Geralt’s neck as the witcher half-carries him out of the keep. “You came for me,” he mumbles, voice slurring as darkness starts to take a hold of his consciousness.

“I always will,” Geralt whispers. Or maybe it’s just a part of Jaskier’s dream. “You’re not dreaming, Jaskier, and I need you to stay awake.”

Did he say that aloud? Oh. Did that mean he was definitely dreaming or definitely not? Jaskier is about to say something else, he thinks, but putting words together has become very difficult. What a useless wordsmith he is, isn’t he? Not able to put words together! What a sorry excuse of a bard.

“What’s he babbling about?” a sultry feminine voice asks, and Jaskier’s body jerks, the pain shooting from his possibly-twisted ankle as he tries to run off. “Bard, what are you doing? Has he been doing this the whole time?”

“Hm,” Geralt grunts, shifting to hoist Jaskier towards the shimmering portal that’s just outside of his fuzzy eyeline.

“Why didn’t you Axii him like one of your horses?” Yennefer asks, her voice coming closer as Jaskier’s arm lifts and loops over someone’s neck. A lilac and gooseberries someone.

Geralt lets out a grunt that, if he were in the right state of mind, Jaskier would be able to translate, but for now, he knows there’s an underlying layer of softness to it that he wants to hold close to his heart.

“Oh, you stupid witcher,” Yennefer mumbles before Jaskier feels chaos surrounding him. It’s the last thing he consciously notes for himself before his vision goes black and his mind goes empty.

[fbfh]

dave strider relationship and intimacy hcs

Usual disclaimer that I’m still in act 4 so no spoilers n take this all with a grain of salt

Warnings: mentions of various relatively tame sex stuff, eating ass/pussy, boys wearing maid dresses, dave calls his partner mommy as a joke and then it becomes less of a joke, netflix and chill but the shows are really terrible bc 90% of the shit you watch is hatewatched/watched as a joke, grinding, cat ears, I think that’s it???

As with all smexy steamy nsfw stuff all characters are aged to 18+ 

So uh

Yeah ‘,;)

=>

A little later on in your relationship he loves laying on your lap

Loves laying in between your legs holding yr thigh even more

Will actually fall asleep like that 

Not always though

Sometimes he just leaves a couple hickeys on your hips and thighs while a terrible show plays in the background

My teenage wedding and any sketchy dating show pre 2012 are gonna go over well

It’s kind of a weird dichotomy with him

Half the time when you’re making out it started as netflix n chill with literally the worst most hate-watchable shows 

Half the time it started as him showing you the mixtape he made for you or some other music he made

Both are equally on brand and equally nice

If you’re listening to music at all 

There is a 99% chance he will grind against you to whatever beat he mixed

Truly a euphoric experience

Big fan of giving and receiving hickies

It’s weird though bc he barely realizes he’s marking you up 

He only really notices his neck and chest are covered in love bites when someone -john points it out

“Huh. Yeah, I guess…” 

He makes a lot of jokes about eating ass/pussy

I’m just saying

He can….. Follow up on that

Scratch his back up a little

Like 

Just enough yk

He will wear a maid dress and cat ears with zero hesitation

You barely even have to ask

Okay I’m not gonna lie this is kind of cursed

But what did you expect

It’s Dave

He starts calling you mommy ironically

And then it gets less ironic

I’m just going to leave that there

He absolutely freestyles about how sexy you are on a regular basis

He has like 

At least four or five mixtapes of significantly less sfw raps and shit

Asked to sample you moaning for a song as a joke 

“Yeah sure, but you’re gonna need to make it sound real ;)”

Was so surprised when you actually agreed

Sex with Dave 

Is very giggly

It’s so warm and happy

You just feel so close to each other

You really vibe so well

The only nudes he’s ever sent you have been literally as a joke

He sent you a recreation of the “hi welcome to chilli’s” vine fully nude

It still works though

Sometimes you don’t know why you’re even attracted to him

Then he sends you something that has you almost pissing yourself from laughing right as you get one of the songs he wrote for you stuck in your head again

Oh yeah

That’s why

Sit ✍️ on ✍️ his ✍️ lap ✍️ and ✍️ do ✍️ his ✍️ eyeliner ✍️

11/10 on the hot scale 

The sexual tension that builds is 

Chef’s kiss

Def leads to making out if you wanna 

Look me in the eyes and tell me he would not grab your ass hips and thighs while you make out on his lap

You can't 

His dirty talk will have you half laughing half red as his shirt

I'm fucking telling you 

This boy is the ceo of mood lighting 

After you make out 

He bites/licks his lips and it tastes like your lip balm

Starts to get him horny all over again

Heat and warm weather will never deter him from any touchy business

I mean he’s from texas for christ’s sake

Being hot will never deter him

And when the weather gets colder

He will absolutely use it as an excuse for even more kisses and cuddles

Def the type to just subconsciously trace his hands over your back and sides

And pretty much wherever he can touch

It’s innocent enough

And a lot of the time it makes you smile 

You like that he likes to be so close to you

A lot of the time there’s a certain subtext to his touch

And that kind

That makes you bite your lip 

Your face heats up and your pupils dilate

The rest is history

And the rest after that 

And that

And that

[writefightandflightclub]

Tiptoe around this (Poe Dameron x reader)

Summary: Poe x short!reader. He CANNOT deal with your smolness.

Rating: TEEN

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs this week bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (I’m doing these quickly so I can complete as many as I can for you, so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) This one deleted itself and then I ahd to recreate it from nothing. The first version was better and probably had fewer typos but here we are. Ran out of time to check before dinner!

Warnings: short!reader; kissing (mildly steamy, no smut or implied smut).

GIF: @thestarwarsdaily​ LOOK HOW PRETTY

Poe’s dying. He swears he’s dying.

He’s doing his best to obscure this fact from Rey and Finn, however, so continues engaging in casual chat all the while as he hurtles towards his demise.

Poe’s dying, and, cause of death? Your cuteness.

Poe watches you surreptitiously from across the hangar. Watches as you realise someone has stolen your step ladders again, despite the fact you etched your kriffing name onto them in Aurebesh last time this happened. And so, to reach the tools you need -valiantly struggling on with your tasks anyway- you clamber up the face of the shelves and stretch to your full length as you attempt to grab down the box.

It appears you can’t quite reach them, even having climbed into a pretty precarious position.

The trouble is, you’re just too kriffing smol.

And it kills Poe. Every single time.

Of course, your height is only one of the reasons he likes you. He’s never even had a preference for his partner’s height before, to be honest. There’s just something about you. Something about how short you are which brings out his protective instincts. Makes him want to hold you and take care of you and spoil you. And Poe is already the type of guy to spoil his partner, so you can imagine how he feels about you.

Oh, and it certainly helps that you’re so kriffing gorgeous too. And funny. And nice. And did he mention SMOL?

Poe would never be patronising towards you because of your size, of course. He knows you’ve been underestimated plenty of times because of it - by both the enemy and allies- and without good reason! You might be cute to a lethal degree, but Poe is also well aware that you’re badass, capable, intelligent, and fierce. Small but mighty, you could say.

Still, when he sees you on your tippy toes trying to reach the box of parts, his heart melts and dribbles out of his feet. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like.

Death, by cuteness.

As you continue to persevere, Poe stops pretending to listen to Finn and Rey’s chatter altogether, a dopey smile settling on his face. He stands from the chair he’s straddling to zoom over to you, before some other handsome, height-endowed recruit can come to your assistance. He couldn’t have that, now, could he?

“Hey,” he says from behind you, a warm and gentle hand settling on your shoulder in greeting. “Can I help you?”

Poe hopes he can reach the damn shelf, because whilst he’s certainly taller than you are, he’s not exactly Chewy. Now, that would be embarrassing.

“Sure,” you say, even as you huff and puff, successfully grappling the box down to the floor without any further intervention. You recognise the Commander’s familiar, sandy voice before you even turn around, but when you do, you flash him a warm smile, and he could swear -if you killed him a moment ago- that smile has revived him back to life. “You can tell your damn recruits to stop stealing my ladders, Commander. I wouldn’t tolerate this behaviour from my squadron.”

You’re adorable, for sure, but there’s a fire in your eyes telling Poe you are not to be messed with. In fact, he’s sure that given half a chance you could raze the whole First Order to the ground, even if you did the whole thing on your tip toes.

Poe simply looks at you goofily, trying to remember how to speak, your eyes big as you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes. You’re basically a whole head shorter than him, if not more, and he can’t help but want to pull you into a hug, imagining how it would feel to enfold you against his chest and rest his chin on top of your head as his arms wound around you.

“Commander?” you ask again, clicking your fingers in front of his face. “I’m sick of doing everything on my tiptoes - I’m not a ballerina.”

Your gesture brings him back to the real world, and he notices the rolled-up sleeves of your flight suit as they hover in front of his face, his eyes dropping to the rolled-up cuffs of the legs resting on top of your boots. Standard-issue is too long for you and… yes, you’ve guessed it…

Kriffing adorable.

“Sure thing, Commander,” he finally says, still retaining that dopey, lovestruck expression on his face.

You nod to thank him, getting lost in his umber eyes somewhere along the way. He’s always entirely flustered when he speaks to you, and quite frankly, it’s so adorable that it makes your heart melt out of your feet. At least, that’s what it feels like.

You like Poe, and you think he likes you, but... both of you have been tiptoeing around this for far too long now.

“You know, there’s maybe one thing I like to do on my tiptoes,” you say with a knowing smirk as Poe looks helplessly between your eyes and lips, helplessly lost in yearning.

“What’s that?” he asks, and he can swear he intended the words to come out at a normal volume, despite the fact a mere whisper is all that emerges. Still, he’s happy as it causes you to lean in closer.

“Kissing,” you say with a gentle suggestion in your eyes, voice breathy and matching his hushed tones. You think it’s about time one of you makes a move, and it may as well be you.

Poe visibly gulps, and shuffles his feet a little closer to you.

Is this really happening?

He’s not sure how many times he can die and be reborn in one day, if he’s honest. The implication of your words and in your eyes encourages him though. Besides, he’s waited long enough for this moment, and now is as good a time as any, right?

“Kissing, huh? Well, honey, do you think you’d need to be on your tiptoes to kiss me?”

Your tongue darts out over your bottom lip, and an eagerness swells in your whole being, your body tingling with nerves and heat. Your mouths inch towards one another as if magnetised, your chin tipping up and his head stooping lower to greet you, as months of tension is compressed into the diminutive space between you.

“Guess we should find out,” you suggest with a sultry smirk, pausing a small distance from his lips, sharing the same air in the tight space between you.

Poe wraps his arms around your back, his hands feeling large and broad against you. You feel delicate encased in his strong arms, and you grab firmly at the holsters around his wide hips, tugging him close and bringing his body flush to yours. Poe feels warm and big and sturdy pressed against you. You’ve always been independent and capable, and yet there is something about Poe Dameron which makes you want to swoon for him, if only he would pledge to protect and care for you in all the ways your diminutive form might suggest you need him to.

Poe’s face inches closer and closer to yours, his lips pausing a hair’s breadth away from yours as your eyes fan shut, leaving you wanting. You swear your lips are tingling from the near-contact alone, crying out to brush with his.

“Oh oh,” he teases. “Can’t reach.”

You smile as you stand up on your tiptoes, closing the distance in an instant and crushing your lips to his, finding them soft, a hint of stubble grazing your cheek and he tips his head to the side. Upon contact, his tongue melds immediately with yours, deftly probing the cave of your mouth and melting you from within. Your hands slide up and up, coming to rest with your fingers laced around his neck, slipping into his hair.

As the kiss sparks and grows, Poe’s arms wrap firmly around your waist, and he bundles you up towards him, easily taking most of the weight of you, until your toes are entirely lifted off the floor as the kiss reaches its peak. You feel like you’re floating, in every sense.

Breathless and floored by that kiss, Poe sets you gently down, idiotic grins spreading across both of your faces as you stand there for a moment, still holding each other close. Poe looks down at you with adoration shining in his eyes, backlit with a gentle heat.

Feet back on the ground, more or less, you look self-consciously around as you both become suddenly aware of the hubbub created by the fact you both did that in the middle of the hangar.

Oops.

When your eyes look up at Poe again, he still has the softest, lovestruck smile on his pretty face.

“See you later?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah. I hope so,” you respond, returning his smile, and you stand on your toes to plant a quick chaste kiss to his cheek, cupping his face in your hand. You could swear his skin darkens in embarrassment, and he turns from you with the most bashful and adorable expression you’ve seen on his face yet.

You’re dying, you think. You must be dying. Death by cuteness.

You ignore the commotion you’ve caused, for the most part, and you watch Finn accost Poe for gossip as he tracks across the hangar. You see Rey beelining for you too, the dumbest grin on her face, and you turn back to your work as you notice her approach, taking a much-needed moment to catch your breath.

You kissed him. Poe Dameron. Your long-time crush.

It was true, that the two of you have both spent far too long tiptoeing around this, but it seems that Poe has finally swept you off your feet. It’s safe to say that you’ve never been so glad in your life to be too short to reach a shelf. Funny then, that his kiss has you feeling ten feet tall.

What’s more, this the last day that anyone steals your stepladders. Poe sees to that. Ain’t no-one gonna mess with his precious, smol bean. At least, not if he has anything to do with it.

[dodo-begone]

ALRIGHTY! LOYAL HERE COMING IN WITH THE CIRCUS HAHAHA

Btw, I’m like 90% sure that I fell asleep while writing so it just stops. Like, there’s no ending/summary/whatever word I’m looking for but can’t think of at the moment and my bird is currently chewing on my phone case oh my god can she please stop—

__________________

I believe the concept of yanderes ft. a isekai-d reader has been mentioned by Shepard and her anons, tho it’s been mainly for Origins SMP. So, I come to you with ideas for the Dream SMP because that’s all I’m familiar with HAHAH—

Also, I apologize in advance because this thing is borderline an essay with how long it is. I’m so sorry—

For example *cue dramatic lighting and a cheesy flashback monologue thingie* oh my god I think I’m losing it, I’m so tired

Y/n and their younger sibling, Frisk, had just finished up another press conference regarding Monsters being back on the surface. All seems to be going well until the ground beneath their feet vanishes and they fall unconscious a few moments later. When they awaken, they notice they’re surrounded by humans—wait they aren’t all humans, what the fuck, since when are there hybrids? They knew everyone from the underground—by name, no less—and had never heard of any currently living hybrids. Only of ones from before the war. Besides, Monsters have been on the surface for a month at most, so there is no way for... oh boy, their head is spinning.

After some very...tense...introductions (“Hi, I never saw you guys Underground, nor have I heard of you, no offense. So, uh, which monsters are you guys related to?” “OI, I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT TUBBO IS NOT A MONSTER!”) they come to the realization that y/n is most definitely not from this world, or even this universe. Y/n’s adamant refusal to fight the “real monsters” that roam this land (“I did not spend countless timelines weeks putting my life on the line to befriend every monster, break the barrier that trapped them Underground, and defend them against my own god forsaken race just to turn my back on them.”) was a pretty big sign, after all. That, along with species of monsters that the SMP members have never heard of and how y/n talked about Souls as if they were a tangible thing.

It’s a rocky start before any sort of friendship is formed: y/n, wanting to be cautious, (and also not having Sans there to CHECK for them) decides to ask everyone what their LV is. It’s risky, and they had no way to prove if anyone is (or isn’t) telling the truth, but it was worth a shot. “Our levels?” A small goat hybrid asked, his head slightly tilting to the side. Everyone assumes that y/n is talking about enchantment levels. “I’m at 26! Ranboo, you’re at 30, right?” “I’m at 37 now, actually.” “Well, I’M at 58. Clearly I’m the superior one here. A real big man, a very manly man, aren’t I?” And a few others pipe in. Color drains from y/n’s face and they take a few steps back, hands shaking as their eyes dart between each person in the room and the exit. ‘How many lives have they each taken to make their LOVE so high? Why do they seem so proud of it?’ Yeah... that was an interesting experience.

- even though they have been reassured multiple times that the monsters of this world are nothing like the ones from their home, y/n still refuses to kill a single one, as I had mentioned earlier. They also refuse to kill animals. It takes a couple tries at explaining LV or LOVE—Level Of ViolencE—along with EXP—EXecution Points—but eventually everyone is on the same page

- Y/n is hesitant to bring out their SOUL when asked. First off, though they’re now friends with those from the Underground, they can’t help but be reminded of every spear, knife, bone, petal, gaster blaster, and fireball that has been aimed at them with the intent to kill whenever their SOUL was drawn into an encounter back then. Second of all, showing your SOUL is something you do with those you trust with your life—after all, you’re literally putting your lifeline out on display when you do so. There are so many different ways that the SMP members can see it

- Perhaps a monster appears

- Eggpire or Dream attack

- Someone forces y/n into an encounter because everyone is too curious to just let this opportunity slip by

- When y/n discovers that the people of this land have more than one life, they’re confused. There is no way that all of these people have SOULS of Determination, and there’d definitely be some issues if people kept rewinding time to their last save point. Besides, only one Determination SOUL—the strongest one—should be able to respawn. Then again, they only know what Frisk had explained to them. They were never able to see the save stars that Frisk would interact with in the different sections of the Underground. So they only have so much to go off of.

- Battle for them is completely different. Despite being in a different world, the mechanics from their world still apply. They can FIGHT, ACT, use an ITEM or show MERCY.

- They use Frisk’s tactic and flirt their way out of a fight or two. They never understood why Frisk did it until now... ‘I mean, I...wow. That was actually effective.’ They’re impressed.

- Oh no, maybe that wasn’t the best idea...they might have some yanderes after them bc of it...

- They probably have accidentally called Philza ‘Asgore’ and Tubbo ‘Asriel’ because both hybrids remind her of the two males from her world. Similar personalities AND Tubbo is a goat hybrid. The poor child is going to be so confused

- If Tubbo’s a yandere oh boy it’s going to be so easy for him. Y/n will probably be constantly at his side and telling him stories about the first fallen child and how they were adopted by the royal family, who are goat monsters! And just explaining the history of the underground and how important the goat family is. Talks about Asriel a lot as well. Probably makes him butterscotch cinnamon pie and tries to recreate golden flower tea to share with him as well. Or, they do that and he’s not yandere and it’s just wholesome.

- If we follow the headcanons that some fans have made, perhaps Frisk (and/or y/n) gave up half of their SOUL to give to either (or both) Chara or Asriel so they’d have another chance at life

- Not only does y/n refuse to kill, which leaves them vulnerable, they also only have half a SOUL, which means they’re incredibly weak. Someone needs to protect them, someone needs to keep them safe, someone needs to—

- Y/n is incredibly agile thanks to all the battles they’ve faced Underground. With their SOUL always out in the open during an encounter and the fact that they refuse to harm anyone, it’s required. I’m imagining them moving like a dancer, using jumps and spins to help them avoid any weapons swung at them.

- This is gonna be annoying for any yandere that wishes to lock y/n up. Even if they won’t physically hurt someone, they WILL put up a fight and make it as hard as they possibly can to be dragged into isolation or imprisonment

- When it comes to who goes yandere, I believe what color of SOUL y/n has (their personality, in summary) would play a big role. Here’s a few of my ideas, feel free to move people around or add to it, I’m really tired and can’t think of many characters LOL

- Red (determination): Wilbur, Technoblade

- Orange (bravery): Technoblade, Dream, Tommy

- Yellow (justice): Sam, Technoblade

- Green (kindness): the kids of the server, Fundy, and Ghostbur

- Cyan (patience): Ranboo, Ghostbur, Karl

- Dark blue (integrity): Tubbo, Philza, Sam

- Purple (perseverance): Dream—this man would love to see how long it would take for your perseverance to run out. I wouldn’t be surprised if your perseverance is the only reason he’s interested.

__________________

From what I saw of the end of what I wrote, it is DEFINITELY cut short. At least I mentioned every SOUL type lolol.

Also, I found a whole other note that’s a continuation of this concept but for y/n being from another game what the hell was I doing—

Expect that to come in another ask once I eat dinner

Sorry i took so long to answer!! I kept getting distracted!

That stuff is so pog man!!!! Puffy might be called “Toriel” once in a while because mom energy and she sheep,,, close to goat!

Gosh all the flirting will bring in so many yanderes or make ppl like “yo wtf??” And there’s a very small amount that are inbetween.

OKAY BUT WITH THE MONSTER STUFF ON THE DSMP- they’d keep the monsters in their house. They’d give them food and everything. Some def become very friendly and will defend. Haha giant spider go prrrrrr

I’d write more but there is so much amazing stuff I don’t think I could add to some of them anyways!!! Plus my mind is just racing other places rn haha

[phykios]

i meant to have this up on friday but i didn’t bc i’m lame anyway, this is dedicated to my dearest dearest peyton 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙 one year ago last friday i had the distinct pleasure of sliding into her dms on discord, several fics and 72 separate aus later, here we are. so, for our friendiversary, have a sexy origin story for percabeth 😁

Say So, for @darkmagyk​ [read on ao3] rated E for sexual content (spicy!!! pls be advised!!!) cw: recreational drug use, experimental bondage, and an accidental hit during intercourse

“I don’t think it’s working,” Annabeth says.

“Just give it a minute.” Sofia sounds gone already, hazy and dreamy.

She gives it a minute.

“Am I supposed to feel something?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I’m not.”

“You gotta be patient,” says Jordan. Throaty and full, her already deep voice is even deeper, almost vibrating in the air.

Annabeth blinks. “Maybe they gave you actual grass. Or maybe I’m too much of a square for it to affect me.” Sofia snorts. “I’m serious. You know at my summer camp they started giving me counselor responsibilities when I was twelve? Percy always said I wouldn’t know what fun was if it hit me in the face. And it’s not like he was wrong, like I spent most of my childhood reading ancient Greek or learning how to use a knife but there were some pretty ridiculous extenuating circumstances and I really wanted this older boy at camp to like me, and why am I talking so fast?”

Masako giggles. “You’re stoned.”

“I am?”

“Stoned,” she confirms.

“High,” says Sofia.

“Intoxicated!” sings Jordan.

“Oh, wow.” She can feel every blade of grass beneath her, tickling along her bare legs, the wind caressing her face, the sounds of Berkeley--frat boys playing Ultimate, rush-hour traffic, a thousand different conversations about nothing and everything--muffled behind a glass wall. “I’m high.”

Sofia laughs. “How does it feel?”

“It feels…” She licks her lips. They taste like avocado fries and sunshine. “It feels like…” Slow. The turn of the earth so soft and gentle, like the tides in the lake when Percy is in a good mood. Like the liminal space between sleepfulness and wakefulness, when you’ve taken a nap and can’t remember what year it is. Like wading through a magical time spell, but warm. “You know what I mean?”

“Annabeth,” says Masako. “You didn’t say anything.”

“What?” She raises her head, looking over at her friend. Her eyes are closed, her hands running along the grass of the quad. “I didn’t?”

“Nothing.”

Annabeth lets her head fall back, thumping the earth. “Oh, theoi, I’m high.”

Overcome, Jordan starts laughing, curling onto her side. The rest aren’t far behind. 

Soon they’re not laughing at her anymore, they’re just laughing to laugh. Laughter is fun, she realizes, her breath and blood whooshing through her body, every muscle and bone in her body united in one single pursuit of joy. Her eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks aching from the force of her smile, her body curled in on itself, wracked with euphoria.

Sofia giggles so hard she snorts, setting them all off again.

Wading through an onslaught of laughter, high and squeaky, Annabeth gasps out, “Why am I laughing so much?”

“Because you’re high, girl!” Jordan crows. She has turned herself over on her front, her face pressed against the grass. “Have you really never gotten high before?”

“Don’t tease her,” says Sofia, awkwardly patting Annabeth’s knee. “You know she hasn’t done anything.”

She has done stuff, she almost says--before she shuts her mouth with an audible clack.

“Not even at your camp?” Jordan asks, befuddled. Befuddled is a funny word. “No one ever snuck in some alcohol or whatever?”

Thoughts running at a snail’s pace, she has to seriously rack her brain to think if one of the Hermes’ kids ever brought in any illicit substances. Soda, minor monsters, the most powerful weapon ever created--but not any alcohol or marijuana. She thinks. “Our camp director was really strict about alcohol.”

“Lame,” says Masako.

“I mean, he was in recovery,” says Annabeth, her go-to story about Mr. D, just in case anyone ever asks. “It was a whole thing. He couldn’t have it, so we couldn’t have it.” 

“Not lame,” she amends.

“Okay, I think,” she says, a memory appearing out of the fog, after Gaea, after all that nonsense, “I think my co-counselor Katie made some joints out of bay leaves once.” 

The younger kids had gone to bed, sent off with a healthy dose of Clovis’ dream magic to ward away any nightmares, but the older campers had stayed up, huddled around the central brazier into the wee hours of the morning. Still so exhausted she could barely see straight, falling asleep on top of Percy, he had hauled her away to bed, but not before he had declined something for the both of them, something small and white and made to be smoked.

“You can get high off of bay leaves?” Sofia asks. 

Annabeth nods. “That’s how the… the fucking…” the word was on the tip of her tongue. The thing that Rachel did. But long ago. Oracle! “The Oracle, she got high, in ancient Greece. With bay leaves. She’d smoke them and receive prophecy.”

Jordan lifts her head. “Cool. You got ancient Greek high.”

Annabeth nearly says something about Olympus, or maybe Blackjack, an amazing joke about being high and Greek just on the tip of her tongue, but she has just enough self control not to. “No, I was tired. Percy and I went to bed.” 

“Laaaaaaaaame,” says Masako.

It’s just good-natured ribbing. And they’re all high as kites. But Annabeth still frowns. “I’m not lame.”

“You’re amazing, don’t get me wrong,” Masako says, “but you are so lame. You’ve never gotten high before, you’re probably going to marry your first boyfriend… you are so vanilla.”

“And we love that about you!” Sofia jumps in.

Annabeth can’t feel bad right now, but she can feel a little lost. “But I love Percy,” she says. “Why wouldn’t I marry him?”

Percy is perfect. He’s handsome and kind and powerful and funny and brave and handsome. He’s more than anyone could hope for. And he loves her. 

“You’re really going to marry him?” Jordan asks. “Like, for real?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, but he says he can’t propose before he finds the perfect ring. He promised he wouldn’t make me wait too long. I don’t want to have Chase on my diploma.” 

“Oh my god,” Masako giggles, “you’re even more vanilla than I thought.” 

“The dick can’t be that good,” Jordan muses, examining a particularly long blade of grass. 

It is, but they don’t need to know that. 

Sofia snorts. “It is?”

Oh, fuck. Annabeth giggles. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Tell us!” Masako sits bolt upright, eyes wide. “Tell us everything!”

She slams her hands over her face. “Noooo,” she laughs, curling in on herself further. “I can’t.”

All at once, they scream, like the three Erinyes swooping down onto an unsuspecting prey. Or the Cabin Ten campers when someone gets too close with any stray ketchup.

“Spill!” they shriek. “Spill!”

No one has ever demanded to know the details of her sex life before. Even at camp, she and Percy are given a wide berth. Something about walking through Tartartus with your partner apparently takes your sex life from giggle-worthy to kind of intimidating. That’s the biggest difference between her demigod friends and her mortal friends, Annabeth is finding. Other than that, they’re pretty much exactly the same. “What do you want to know?” she asks, naively.

The floodgates open.

“When did you guys first do it?”

“Where?”

“How was it?”

“What does he like?”

“His abs though--”

“Is he good at head?”

“Favorite position!”

“His dick is big, I just know it--”

Over and over, overlapping, a whirlwind of questions, she can’t process them nearly as fast as they are coming--all she can do is laugh, breathless and airy, until they all dissolve into giggles once again.

She’s getting a little tired of this constant laughing.

Even that thought makes her start all over again.

“Okay,” she gasps, “okay, I can’t--I can’t answer all of those.”

Jordan waves her arms. “Me first! First time!”

Annabeth shrugs. “Um, it was… the weekend of Thanksgiving, a few months after we started dating. His parents were at a mixer for their writing group, and I was staying with them during my school break.” What else is she supposed to say? That they’d been talking about it for weeks? That Annabeth had been so excited she’d forgotten to even ask him about condoms? That Percy had been so concerned with making sure he got her off and didn’t hurt her that he’d spent almost an hour fingering her? 

They squeal in unison. “His parents’ house!” Sofia gasps, hands on her face. “So scandalous! How was it?”

Annabeth blushes. “Amazing.” 

And it had been, as amazing as a first time can be. Any person could only ever dream of having a partner as attentive and respectful as Percy for their first time.

“If he’s the only one you’ve ever had, how do you know it was that good?” Jordan asks. “I thought my first boyfriend was good, too, right up until I started dating Julie.” 

“I think three consecutive orgasms counts as being good,” Annabeth drawls.

Once again, the screaming.

“Three?” shrieks Masako.

“Three.”

“Your first time?!”

“He was really really really concerned I wouldn’t get off!” 

Sofia collapses on top of her, hands scrabbling for her shoulders, and always, always giggling. “You marry that boy--you marry him right now!”

“I’m trying!”

“And it’s still good?” Masako’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

Normally, she might be a little reluctant to share--even with Piper. The eighth of this edible, though, is certainly helping grease the wheels of conversation. “It’s always good.”

Jordan groans, throwing a handful of grass in her face. “Bullshit.”

“Always?”

She frowns, really thinking about it, trying to remember a time it was bad. It’s surprisingly really hard. “Sometimes we don’t have time for three orgasms.” 

“How often do you fake it?”

“What do you mean?” Annabeth asks Masako.

“You know… fake it.”

“Why would I fake it? If I fake it, he won’t know I haven’t come yet.” She laughs, more than a giggle but less than a guffaw. It’s so silly. Whoever thought of faking an orgasm?  “How would I even do that?” 

“You’ve never faked it?” Sofia is incredulous, her jaw hanging open. 

Annabeth sits up, flailing a little, reaching forward to touch her toes. Just because. “Of course not. Do people actually do that?”

“Sure,” says Masako. “Sometimes.”

“Why?” 

“I hate you,” Jordan moans, “I hate you so much, you and your stupid sex god boyfriend who makes love to you every night like you’re in some trashy period drama with the…” Her hands come up, weakly making a wavy shape in the air. “The things. You know.”

Masako tilts her head. “Hoop skirts?”

Sofia pitches forward, hands coming flat on the grass. “Okay, Annabeth. Prove to us you’re not vanilla. Craziest place you’ve ever done it.”

All three girls lean in, now, expectant, hungry.

Annabeth frowns.

Where was the craziest place they had done it?

They’d done it a lot in the last few years. His apartment in the city, Cabin Three, her boarding school room… 

Oh. Right.

She flushes.

They lean in even closer.

Well, she can’t tell them about the time they had sex in the temple of Neptune in New Rome, but she can tell them about--“One time, at camp,” she mumbles, playing with a shoelace, “we… Percy is in charge of the boathouse, because--because he’s so good at sailing, you know? So, one day, we both passed our chores off to a couple other counselors, then he took out one of the canoes, rowed us out into the middle of the lake, and…” She glances up, bashful.

Cue the screaming. 

Annabeth covers her face with her arms, falling back down onto the quad.

“At your summer camp!” Masako cries, gleeful. 

“My word!” Playfully kicking her ankle, Jordan pretends to fan herself, like Hazel still does sometimes when she’s startled by something really risque. “Imagine if the children had seen you!”

The children hadn’t seen them, but the naiads definitely had--and had tried to capsize them for their trouble. She hadn’t been able to do any lake-related activities for a week without getting soaked by a stray wave which, coincidentally, managed to avoid hitting everyone else.

“What else?” Sofia asks, practically vibrating. “Craziest kink!”

“Um…” She frowns, screwing up her face so she thinks extra hard. Have they… done anything kinky? They have sex a lot, yeah, and not always in their bedrooms, but other than that… “I… don’t… know…”

Sex with Percy is always amazing--that’s not a lie. But, maybe it’s gotten a little… same-y.

“Well, well, well.” Sofia slow-claps it out, her rings clinking together. “I think she’s ready for the big leagues, don’t you, girls?” 

Through her fingers, Annabeth glances at her. “What do you mean?”

“Bondage.”

“Bondage?” She blinks. “Like, tying each other up?”

Annabeth doesn’t think she’s ever been tied up before. Well, except for the time she wanted to hear the Sirens, but Percy had left her with her knife, so that didn’t really count. 

“Last time I met up with Skylar, we went back to his, and he has this old-timey bed frame, with the slats, right? So I took the belt from my dress, and--”

“Okay, okay,” Annabeth cuts in, covering her face again. “I get the point.”

Maybe her friends have a point. Maybe she is a little vanilla.

Sofia pats her knee. “Next time you guys have sex--”

“So, in like, three hours,” Jordan snorts.

“--take a scarf or a tie or whatever and tie his hands to the headboard. Trust me, he will flip. Out.”

Annabeth nods, taking mental notes. “Hands to the headboard. Got it.” She’s not sure if he even has any ties, but she’s resourceful. She can cobble something together. “And… then what?”

Sofia shrugs. “Kiss him. Do a striptease. Leave him there. I dunno. Whatever you want.”

Masako scrambles to her feet, windmilling to keep her balance. “The Bon Me truck just pulled up,” she gasps, “and I am starving.”

And thus, that particular conversation is over, thanks to the munchies.

***

Truth be told, she kind of forgets it pretty much entirely. Most of that day is gone, the finer details swallowed up in a haze of heat waves and peanut sauce.

That is, until New Rome’s annual pre-Saturnalia mixer: dress code, lighter side of formal. Whatever that means. 

“Hey, babe?” Percy pokes his head in the bathroom, button-down half undone. “I need your eye for a second.”

She grunts around the bobby pin held between her teeth, sliding another one through some hitherto-unknown dimension to hold a curl in place. 

“What do you think, this tie with this jacket?” He holds the two of them together, the black and white Greek key pattern contrasting nicely against the navy blue fabric. “Or will that cause an incident?”

“Probably an incident,” she says, slowly, slipping the bobby pin from her mouth. Then, a thought poking at the back of her skull. “How long have you had that?”

He glances at it. “The tie? Paul gave it to me for graduation.”

“That was nice of him.”

“I’m pretty sure he got it from the Met gift shop, but yeah.” All smiles, he slides the jacket on, tie crumpled in his balled fist. “You’re right, no tie.”

She grunts, noncommittal, gaze sliding away as she tries to remember… something.

“You good?”

“...Yeah,” she says, eventually. “Just spaced out for a second.”

“Alright. You about ready to go?”

She glances at her hair in the mirror, the makeup on the counter. “Give me twenty.”

“Sure thing.” Then he goes out, a few moments of silence passing before she hears the sink turn on as he takes care of the dishes. 

How in Hades did she end up with the perfect man? Truly.

Percy continues to exude perfection at the party, despite the fact that he is clearly less than comfortable, not that she can blame him. Some of the older citizens of New Rome are a little less reserved with their opinions of the Greeks, Percy’s hand clenching around his glass of sparkling grape juice every time someone badmouths camp, their home, but they both relax as soon as they finish making the rounds of NRU’s board of trustees and other college officials, peeling away to find Frank and Reyna and the rest of their friends. 

Still, Annabeth can’t quite focus. 

“Hey.” Percy leans in, his hand against the small of her back, murmuring into her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” Gods, his hand is so big and warm. All that time in the gym is paying off, too, the weedy, skinny teenager she fell in love with blossoming into a young man, broad shoulders and firm chest like a Phidian sculpture.

“You’re just kind of quiet tonight. Did you sleep okay?”

She blinks at him, thoughts coming back into focus. “Uh--yeah, I’m good. Just--”

“Spaced out for a second?” Making a face, he grins back at her, unrepentant. “You wanna ditch the party?”

“Do you?”

He looks around, eyeing Hylla Ramirez-Arellano as she loudly boasts about being Jeff Bezos’ findom. “A little.”

Well, Annabeth is happy to be his excuse. 

Citing a (completely fake) headache, they make their graceful exit, walking back to their apartment in the cool California night, hand in hand, Percy carrying her heels as she walks barefoot down the sidewalks. 

It’s a quiet night. Percy squeezes her hand every few steps, and she squeezes back, lifting her face to the clear night sky, thoughts she can’t catch slipping through the cracks like wisps of clouds across the moon. But that’s okay. She’s pretty sure they’re good thoughts.

“You sure you’re alright?” Percy asks as they get home, closing the door behind them. “You've been kind of out of it all night.”

Kissing him on the cheek, she shrugs out of her nice coat, slipping it up on their makeshift coat rack, fashioned from a piece of driftwood that had nearly conked Percy on the head the first time they ever went down to the beach. “I’m fine, Percy, promise. Just kind of a bleh day, you know? Nothing a few cuddles and a movie won’t fix.”

At that, he beams, dropping Annabeth’s shoes on the floor. “I’ll get the popcorn!”

"Let me shower first," Annabeth says. Hopefully a shower will clear her head a little.

It doesn't.

Changing into her pajamas, she ruffles her curls with her microfiber towel, frowning as she comes out of the bathroom. Percy's good habits are rubbing off on her; she's left a lot of crap lying around that needs picking up. Collecting stray bobby pins from the vanity, a curling iron from the top of the dresser, and an alternate dress option from where she had left it on the bed, she putters about the room, tidying as she goes, when she stops. Percy's tie lays crumbled at the head of the bed where he had tossed it earlier.

She picks it up, running it between her fingers. It's not exactly silk, but it's still a decently strong weave, machine-made for mass production, inoffensively soft. Annabeth wraps it around her finger, pulling tight, and a flash of heat rushes through her, like a wave off the lava climbing wall. 

“So there’s this guy on Youtube who makes popcorn with Lao Gan Ma spicy chili crisp, and it sounded absolutely amazing,” says Percy, walking into their room, popcorn bowl in hand. Annabeth whips around, the tie crumpled in her fist. “I tried to keep the spice level down, but let me know if it’s too much and I can make another one.”

Annabeth blinks, momentarily uncomprehending. “Uh--sure! Sounds good.”

“Did you pick a movie while you were in the shower?”

“Um…” Was she supposed to? “Your choice.”

“The Sopranos okay?” he asks, climbing onto their bed, twisting around to grab his laptop from the side table. His shirt rides up a little, a sliver of waist and hip peeking out at her.

“Sure.” She likes The Sopranos. It’s a little soapy, but usually she has no problem following along. 

Keyword being usually.

She’s tucked herself into Percy’s side the way she usually does, her head against his, his arm around her shoulders, his thumb ghost along the bare skin of her bicep. He smells really good today, sea salt and cinnamon and chili oil, a testament to his busy day in the kitchen. He’s so warm, always, six feet of dense, packed muscle practically radiating heat. Annabeth could fall asleep right there. She often does. 

Shifting for the sixth time in what must be five minutes, she snuggles into his chest, curling and uncurling her toes. There’s no denying it--she can feel herself getting hotter, a flame in her center, soft and pulsing, reaching every part of her.

How she wishes she could blame it on The Sopranos.

Annabeth presses her nose into his neck, breathing him in, laying a kiss under his ear. Then another on his jaw. And another at the corner of his lips. And one on his mouth, tilting him towards her for better access. He goes, easily, without resistance. 

At some point, the popcorn bowl is moved. 

Then, Percy shuts his laptop closed during Livia’s wake. 

“Hey,” Annabeth murmurs into his mouth, draped over him like some kind of blanket. “I wanna try something.”

He hums, kissing her again. “Okay?”

She reaches behind him, beneath the pillow. She’s not sure why she had stashed it there, rather than hanging it back up in the closet, but she pulls out the tie, holding Percy’s gaze without breaking. “I thought,” she breathes, pressing her chest against him, incentivizing, “you know... if you want to."

His eyes darken, even as his face tries to give nothing away. "You wanna tie me up?"

Lip between her teeth, she nods.

Slowly, controlled, he blows his breath out, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. "You sure?" he asks, desire rumbling in his chest.

She frowns. "Yeah." Does he not want to?

"Okay," he says, twisting a curl around his finger. "Just want to make sure we’re on the same page here.”

Or maybe worse, does he think she can’t? “Okay.”

Straightening up, she straddles him. He lifts his arms obediently, never breaking eye contact, bracing them against their headboard. It’s not really conducive for this sort of thing, but she threads the tie through the wooden slats easily enough, tying his wrists together, leaning in closer than she needs to so that her chest pushes up against his face.

There. All tied up and ready to go.

She leans back on her knees, taking in the whole pretty picture.

Rhythmically, subconsciously, Percy tests the strength of the bonds, flexing the muscles in his arms. His mouth hangs open, his hips shifting beneath her as he tries to get comfortable, cock hard through his sweatpants.

Annabeth scrambles off him, and he tries to follow, chest jerking as the tie holds him back. He grunts, surprised, shoulders straining, before he falls back, defeated, huffing angrily, a low growl which connects to the pit of her stomach. “Nice try, Percy,” she smirks, sauntering around to the foot of the bed, keenly aware of his gaze as it tracks her, hands on her hips. “It’s my show tonight.”

“Your show, huh?” He settles back against the headboard, wine-dark gaze boring into her. “By all means, then. Give me a show.”

She glares, grinding her teeth. Doesn’t he know she’s calling the shots right now? 

Well, fine. If he wants a show, he’ll get a show. 

Annabeth is… not a particularly graceful person normally, but on the battlefield, she knows she shines. Give her a knife and an enemy, and she can put the greatest dancers to shame. Well, in this case, Percy is the enemy, and… her clothes… are the knife. Or something like that. It makes more sense in her head.

Slowly, she grasps the hem of her sleep shirt, peeling it up over her chest, the fabric blocking her vision for a brief moment as she slips it over her head. When Percy comes back into view, his eyes have darkened just that much more, almost straining with the effort not to stare at her chest, even as it’s presented for his explicit viewing pleasure.

Annabeth does not have much in the way of breasts--never has. It doesn’t seem to bother him, which is nice. Besides, Percy is more of a leg man, as he has expressed several times. So, legs next. 

Her sleep shorts aren’t very sexy, old, threadbare things which had once been yoga pants. When she started gaining a little more weight, and the pants could no longer reach her ankles, she had cut them in a fit of impulsivity, stretching the fabric and sewing herself a new hem, giving her skin more room to breathe. And giving Percy more space to slip his fingers up, the horny bastard. 

She turns around, lamenting the loss, as she so wanted to see his face as she bends over, sticking out her ass, slowly slipping the waistband down. From behind, she hears a faint pickup in breathing. 

Over her ass, down her thighs and her knees. She thinks she hears a groan, muffled behind a bitten lip. She lifts up one foot, then the other, leaving the shorts in a puddle by her feet. Clad only in her panties now--black, lacy, but not due to any pre-planning on her part, unless you count the laundry just about overflowing in the closet hamper--she straightens back up, her hands going to her hair, running her fingers through it in some kind of approximation of sexy.

She turns around, and is greeted with his look of naked longing, his throat working as he swallows, full lower lip firmly in his teeth. His fists are clenched, the muscles of his forearms big and bulging, his heels pushing into the mattress.

She takes a step forward, her fingers teasing the edge of her panties. She won’t take them off, not yet, just torment him a little, lifting the fabric and letting it slap back down to her skin, then she’ll climb back on top of him, hump him through his sweatpants until he’s begging--

Annabeth catches her foot on the fabric puddle. Tripping, she throws out her hands, aiming to catch herself on the decorative chest they keep at the foot of their bed, her weak ankle buckling as it tries to keep her steady--then she jams her toe into the metal strut. Hard.

“Mother fucker!”

She goes down.

“Annabeth!”

Through the white hot haze of pain, she can barely see, but she can certainly feel it as a pair of strong arms picks her up from the floor, laying her on the bed, a big hand taking her weaker foot, fingers delicately prodding the offending toe, skimming over the sensitive skin. “Percy?” she moans, seeing stars. “What--”

“Nothing feels sprained,” he murmurs, kissing her ankle. “Looks like you just slammed it. Let me get some ice.” And he leaves her for a moment.

Wasn’t he tied up a minute ago?

The bed dips beside her as Percy takes her foot again, carefully laying one of their smaller ice packs across the throbbing flesh. Her vision clears, blink by blink, and as his concerned but fond face slowly comes into focus, she also spies something trailing from his wrist--a strip of black and white fabric. 

His tie. Snapped in half. Still attached to him. “Did you…?” she trails off.

He flicks his eyes down to his wrist, and flushes, lightly. “Oh. I, uh, guess I did. I didn’t even notice.”

Annabeth’s body grows hot in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with shame. 

“Anyway,” he coughs, dry and useless. “Um, maybe we should call it a night?”

Hiding her face in her arms, she nods. 

***

They try again the next week.

While dictating her notes via speech-to-text, Annabeth had spent the last couple of days occupied with making her own rope, stronger and softer than the ones she had seen in her Incognito Mode searches while doing her business in the bathroom. BDSM rope is surprisingly really expensive, especially the less abrasive stuff, but more than that, she feels kind of… well, it’s weird, the idea of spending money on bondage shit when they’d only tried it once, and not very successfully at that. Like, how about they make sure they actually like it first, says the little Percy in her head who occasionally keeps her from making too many impulse purchases, and then they can upgrade their gear? 

Also, she’s confident her stuff is on par with the really expensive gear anyway. Plus, it’s blue!

And when she dangles it in front of his face, straddling him once again as she slides her wet pussy over his briefs, practically soaking them, he lifts his arms again, a quiet acquiescence, even as his jaw clenches in the barest hint of displeasure. 

Every day Percy does something new to make her fall in love with him. That he trusts her so much to let her tie him up, immobilize him, take away his control like this, even though he’s so clearly hesitant about the whole thing, that’s just today’s thing. She kisses him, soft and sweet, over and over, and he responds in kind, straining his neck to meet her. “You good?” she asks, a whisper into the space between them, and he nods. “It’s not too tight?”

“It’s fine.” She feels more than sees as he flexes his arms again, testing the strength of her rope. 

“Good.” She kisses his nose. No way he’ll be able to break these. 

The second time is already going better than the first. Having divested herself of her clothes beforehand, there’s no danger of her tripping and injuring herself as she lines herself up and sinks down on him, shuddering at the angle as she slides him inside of her. She just sits there for a moment, rocking back and forth on his lap, enjoying the way he fills her nooks and crannies, brushing up against the sensitive skin, closing her eyes against the sensation as she lifts herself up, sliding back down, up and down and up and down and up and down. 

“Fuck, Annabeth,” he moans. “Oh, fuck.”

It’s good. As always. It’s so good. 

But… something is missing.

She squeezes around him, and he hisses, bucking beneath her.

Why isn’t he touching her?

He groans, frustrated, his head making a muffled thump as it drops on the pillow.

Oh. Right.

Usually right about now he’ll go for her tits, his big hands covering them completely, deft fingers pinching and twisting her nipples in the most perfect way, so she decides to show him what he’s missing, bringing her own hands up to her chest, rolling her thumbs over her nipples, smiling as he practically growls. Unfortunately for her, for whatever sick reason, she’s not nearly as good at this as he is, her touches not really doing enough for her. And after a few minutes or so, Percy takes notice.

“Oh gods, Annabeth,” he pants, pulling his legs up behind her, the force almost tilting her forward, and she throws out her hands to catch herself, his abs tensing beneath her as she lands on them, her chest right up against his face. Quick as anything, he lifts his head up, mouth headed for her left nipple before she manages to pull herself back.

She narrows her eyes, falling back on his lap even more heavily, pushing a grunt out of him. “Nice try.”

He only grins back, shark-like, eyes dancing. “Had to give it a shot.”

Of course he did. Percy treats rules like [clever metaphor], easily broken and discarded. And now Annabeth has to punish him. 

Shit.

What are you supposed to do for punishment again? 

Her mind draws a blank.

Percy stares up at her, waiting, brow raised in challenge.

To stall for time, she squeezes around him.

She’d watched a handful of pornos for research, and in a lot of them, the dominant would strike their partner. Percy’s tough, a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and he likes his rough-housing with Clarisse and Frank and the war kids, so he’d probably like that, too, right? If someone did that to her, Annabeth would probably like it.

So she raises her hand, and she brings it down on his soft, untensed, unprepared tummy. Hard.

He jumps so high that he actually manages to buck her off. “OW!”

“Percy!” she cries, scrambling back over to him. “Oh my gods, I’m so sorry!”

“The hell was that for!” he gasps, curling in on himself as best he can with his arms still tied above his head.

“Sorry, sorry,” she gentles, almost frantic, hands hovering over his body. His belly is rapidly turning pink, the outline of her hand stark on his skin, practically radiating heat. “I just--I mean I thought--fuck, I am so sorry!”

He groans in response, eyes squeezed shut. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck--”Let--let me get you some ice, or--” she stammers, sliding off the bed.

“Can you at least untie me first?” Percy wheezes. 

“Oh my gods, yeah, hold on.” Despite her shaking fingers, the knot comes undone easily, practically falling apart, and Percy curls himself into a ball, forehead touching his knees.

Returning with an ice pack wrapped in a dish towel, she kisses his shoulder in apology, slipping it between the taut, tight bends of his body. 

He is in real, actual pain. Fuck. “I am so, so sorry,” she says again, her voice wobbling.

Squinting up at her, he tries for a reassuring smile, but falls far, far short, a pained grimace painted across his face. “It’s okay,” he rasps. 

It’s really not, but saying that isn’t going to be so helpful right now. 

Instead, she lies down next to him, resting her hand on his arm, gently stroking back and forth in hopes that it might distract him a little. She knows that whenever her ankle or her shoulder act up, all she wants is Percy’s hands on her, repetitive and soothing. Hopefully she can give back a little of the comfort that he gives her.

After a while, he starts to uncurl. “Goddamn,” he moans, still clutching the ice pack to his stomach. “Remind me never to badmouth the Yankees again.”

She forces out a chuckle for his sake, ducking her head against his. “How is it? One to ten.”

Hissing, he straightens out a little more. “Probably a four,” he says, “but a really spicy four.”

“Percy, I am so--”

“It’s okay.” He knocks his head against her chin. “Maybe just warn me next time?”

“Yeah,” she says, uneasy. Next time is not looking so likely. “Here.” 

Slowly, she helps him into a sitting position, applying extra pressure on his stomach, her hand on top of his. They breathe together, letting the sting fade away until Percy drops his head on hers. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“How--” she snorts, a little wet. “I’m fine, Percy.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry about hitting you,” she says. She can’t help but look down at his stomach, pinkness peeking above the ice pack, at his dick, well and truly flaccid. “That was… not my best idea.”

“Can I ask you something?” Tearing her gaze away, she turns back to Percy. “Why are you pushing for this so hard?”

She blinks, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Just, you’ve never really expressed an interest in kinky stuff before.” He takes her hand, cold from the ice pack, rubbing his thumb against hers, sweet and intimate. 

“Yeah, well,” she cuddles into Percy a little harder, curving her body around his shoulder. “Some of the girls at Berklee were teasing me about being a little vanilla.” None of it was mean-spirited or anything, but it had stayed with her for a while after it had resurfaced that night. Annabeth Chase, despite having run away from home at the age of seven, was a square, a teetotaler, unadventurous, the kind of woman who spent her Friday nights playing board games with a woman who typified 1930s values. Annabeth Chase, after her short, entirely too eventful life, was going to settle down, and marry the first boy she ever kissed.

It had struck a nerve.

“Being vanilla isn’t a bad thing,” he says, something like concern lacing his voice. “But, are you… not satisfied? With the physical stuff?” The unspoken ‘with me’ hangs between them, and Annabeth pulls back, looking him in the eye.

“Percy.” 

“Mm?”

Reaching up, she kisses him. “Of course not. I could never not be satisfied.”

Something in him eases, almost imperceptible if she didn’t know him as well as she does. “So…”

Shrugging, she lays her head back down on his shoulder. “I dunno. It’s just--like, I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the only person I ever sleep with--”

“Pretty sure?”

She nudges him with her foot, and he laughs, hissing a little as it jostles his stomach. “You know what I mean. I just don’t want to miss out on anything, is all.”

“Like what?”

“Like--” she gestures to the rope, lying forgotten, tangled up in the sheets. “Stuff like that. Kinky stuff.”

“Okay,” he says, slowly. At least he doesn’t think she’s crazy. That’s always nice. “I guess I’m just wondering if you’re actually into bondage and stuff or if we’re just… you know, trying it out.”

Draping a leg over him, knees pressed together, she shrugs. “It sounded pretty fun,” she mumbles into his arm. “You know. Tying you up.”

She feels him swallow, jaw working as he chooses his next words carefully. “Tying me up,” he asks, “or tying you up?”

That… gives her pause. 

“Maybe…” He turns his face towards her, nose in her hair. “We could swap?”

She frowns. “Swap?”

“If you want, I mean,” he says, quickly. “If you’re not--I would never make you do something you didn’t want to, obviously, but, I mean… if you wanted to try?”

Annabeth, for lack of anything to say, rubs her toes against his calf, comforting and grounding.

Does she want to be tied up?

Her first instinct is to refuse, obviously. She’s a warrior. Immobilization is death. And what if a monster attacks? She has to be ready for anything. That was the promise of Athena’s progeny, that they were eternally poised and ready to respond to any problem or threat.

And yet… 

The summer she turned thirteen, she had decided that she was strong enough to hear the siren’s song in the sea of monsters. At her request, Percy had tied her to the mast so she wouldn’t be able to jump in and swim to her death. He had forgotten to take her knife, and when she had, inevitably, fallen prey to their song and cannonballed right into danger, he had jumped in after her, holding her back until she had been able to pull herself out of the magic spell. 

It had been humiliating, and humbling. She hadn’t even begun to realize that she liked Percy as more than a friend at that point. But, years later, the clearest memory she has of that day is not how her pride had reared its ugly head, but instead just how safe she had felt in Percy’s arms, at the bottom of the ocean.

Here, in New Rome, in their apartment, with Percy… Well, what’s the worst that could happen? “Sure,” she says, perhaps a little more confident than she actually feels. 

“Sure?”

“Sure. Why not?” Looking up at him, she searches his gaze for any hesitation or fear, and finds none, and that, more than anything else, settles her. “I’m game.”

He looks for the same in her, and he seems to like what he finds, because he cracks a grin, laying a soft kiss on her lips.

Gingerly, still mindful of his stomach, he reaches over to grab the discarded rope. Taking her hands in his free one, he loops it around her wrists, tucking the ends into itself, tight but not constricting. Comfortable. 

Her breath catches in her throat. 

“You good?”

Nodding, she flexes her wrists outward, just to feel the tension--and she sighs, a breathy moan slipping out of her without her permission.

They freeze.

Annabeth slams her eyes shut, praying he didn’t hear her.

“...Okay then,” says Percy. 

Gods, his shit-eating grin is practically audible. “Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He leans in, kissing her ear. “Did you just try to tell me what to do?”

She shivers beneath his warm breath. “I…” She is suddenly full of apologies and excuses bubbling up out of nowhere.

Percy hums. “You what?” Slowly, agonizingly, he slides his hand down the length of her body, ending on her tight, just above her knee. He squeezes, featherlight, and she shivers.

“Um,” she says, watching his hand creep higher, his fingers dipping between her legs. “I…”

Then he stops. He stops, that big hand still wedged halfway to her vagina.

“Are--” she stutters, almost yelping as he kisses the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, teeth scraping over the skin. “Are you going to finish?”

“Dunno. Was thinking about it. But maybe I won’t. Maybe,” he chuckles, directly into her ear, his nose pressing against her cheek. His other arm comes around, slipping beneath her bicep, fingers finding her nipple like it’s a damn beacon, and he pinches it, smiling into her skin as she jumps, grunts, and flushes. She wants to touch him so badly, but the angle of her arms is so weird and she’s kind of on top of him, and she can’t reach his cock or his hair or--“Maybe I’ll just get you worked up, and then I’ll go to sleep.”

What--but--he can’t--“I--you--”

“Say you’re sorry,” he teases, pressing his cheek to her head, “and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Sorry for what?! She almost snaps. Percy’s hand between her legs plays just at the edge of her sensitive spots, teasing with soft touches, driving her crazy. “I’m--I’m sorry, Percy,” she pants, squirming. Maybe if she shimmies down, his hand will move up--

But he won’t be moved. “Sorry for what?”

“For--” he digs a nail into her thigh, a sharp, sweet bite of sensation, like a campfire ember accidentally landing on your skin, bright and pulsing. Fuck, what is she apologizing for? “For hurting you earlier.”

Shaking his head, he chuckles again, moving his hand further away. No! “Close,” he mumbles, “but no cigar--”

Oh! “For telling you what to do!” she blurts. “I’m sorry for telling you what to do!”

He bites her earlobe. His fingers slide up to her pussy, stroking her labia as they open up to him. “There we go.”

And as he jerks her off, bringing her to the finish with the kind of efficiency and skill that only comes after ten thousand hours, he kisses her, wet and hot, mouth insistent, taking her lip between his teeth, and he mumbles: “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

She breaks, crying into his mouth. 

After a while, he slides his fingers out, giving her one final pass on her clit, and she shudders, whining. “Sorry,” he mumbles, warm. “You good?”

Her tongue heavy in her mouth, all she can do is nod, panting. 

But when he slides his other arm out, making to untie her--”Don’t,” she mumbles, pulling back. 

He starts. “Don’t?”

“Don’t.” Turning into him, she snuggles against him as deeply as she could, her bound hands only making it a little bit awkward, though they do come to rest on his stomach, about the perfect distance for her to reach down and take care of him. “Your turn?”

But he just shakes his head, slinging a leg over hers. “Still a little sore,” he admits, not quite meeting her gaze.

She drops her head onto his chest, relishing in the warm, steady heartbeat beneath her ear. “Sorry.”

“You can make it up to me later,” he says, taking her hands in his, thumb tracing along the edge of the rope. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

[hoardofhyperfixations]

Robotnik picks Sonic up from school (the 1st time)

So i mentioned this before in one of my other posts but here

Tom and Maddie didn't realize they'd both be busy when Sonic got out of school

Now, logically, they know he could just run home

But they don't want him thinking he's not worth being picked up or something because they know he has issues like that. Loneliness, low self esteem

Since Robotnik came back, Tom has actually had things to do as Sheriff because Robotnik likes to fuck with him and the townsfolk

And Maddie is busy with some animals

So they call each other

And come to a conclusion

Maddie calls Stone (she has his number bc they meet up for coffee)

She lets him know the situation and asks if he could pick Sonic up

He says he can't because he's gonna be busy doing his "job" as Robotnik's assistant but he could ask Robotnik to

Maddie hesitates but she doesn't really have a choice

Stone tells Robotnik

"Could we pick him up, sir?" "Of course we can, Stone, don't be stupid. It doesn't mean we will." They will, don't let him fool you

Robotnik makes a big show of complaining but fires up this new mech he's been building and gets inside it

So imagine you're a kid at school and this fucking robot shows up, bends down and holds out its hand in front of this alien hedgehog thing

Anyway, Sonic recognizes that its one of Eggman's and gets ready to fight but it puts its hand down in front of him

He kinda stares at it

Robotnik gets all annoyed and speaks through the speaker built into it

"Are you going to get on or just stare? I have better things to be doing than taking a rodent back to it's habitat."

"Ohhhhhhh" Sonic snorts, runs up the arm and sits on the shoulder of the thing

Sonic is really annoying the whole time but Robotnik isn't even really that pissy, he's more like some weird grumpy grandpa.

"So when are you and Stone gonna kis-" "I will throw you off this thing if you don't end that sentence right now"

Sonic does get thrown a couple times but its okay guys I swear, he just comes running back

They finally get to Maddie and Tom's house and thankfully, Tom got home

Sonic hugs Robotnik real quick, then runs into the house before he could even react

Robotnik decidedly pretends not to notice

Robotnik will deny it ever happening if asked

This happens on certain occasions, less awkward now.

Robotnik prepares for the hug every time now and kinda just. Lets it happen. He patted Sonic's head ONE TIME and Sonic will never let him live it down

Sometimes it will be a while before Tom or Maddie gets home so Robotnik takes Sonic somewhere else to just. Hang out i guess. He took him to the baseball field once to try and recreate events for SCIENCE

No, Sonic will not leave the topic of Robotnik's feelings towards Stone alone

Speaking of, sometimes Stone tags along. Sonic is real quiet then, mostly just trying to set them up

It usually just gets him thrown from the robot

[howggswouldreact]

🌙 In the moonlight | Chungha

Request: Hey!! I really liked that chungha scenario btw~~ can i request a chungha scenario where idol!reader is stressed bc of a new comeback (pretend this whole virus stuff is gone) and its chungha to the rescue...? kinda angsty but lots of fluff!! ❤❤

Plot: Reader is preparing for a big comeback, has been going through a completely stressful month and decides to disappear to try to calm down. A worried Chungha goes after Reader.

Words: 1,761

Genre: a bit angst, a bit fluff

Notes: i hope i managed to make you feel the emotions that I tried to transfer. hope you enjoy it!

"And 5, 6, 7 and 8 ..."

And one more time, you repeated the movements. It was getting harder and harder to catch the steps of that dance, your dance, and the first day of comeback was getting closer and closer. So close that it scared you.

Am I going to make it?, you asked yourself, immersed in your own thoughts and ended up losing steps.

You tried to recover by taking the next movements and people could tell by the expression on your face that you were unhappy with your own results. You were tired. In reality, you were exhausted. But you couldn't stop. At least not now when your career was going in a great path. And if the sales for this comeback were as good or better than the previous one, you were sure to go on a South Korea, Japan and China tour. That's what your manager said, all happy that your career was doing great. This most likely meant re-recording the songs in japanese and mandarin. You didn't know if you had enough energy for that. You were truly exhausted.

You missed another step and ended up falling to your knees. All the dancers behind you stopped, the choreographer ordered the music to stop and announced a ten minutes break for everyone. There were certainly a lot of worried looks on you, but she threw them out without you noticing it.

“Hey, what's going on with you? You are not usually that distracted.”, the choreographer asked.

“Stressful week. But it doesn’t matter. I have to be professional. I'll take a breath and I'll be right back.”, you didn't wait for her answer, took your cell phone on the floor in front of the mirror and left the room.

You were feeling a slight pain in your knees, but the flow of your thoughts was so fast that you didn't even care about this. You took the path to the emergency stairs so you wouldn’t meet anyone and sat down on one of the steps. You let out a long breath and let your shoulders drop, showing an exhaustion that only you knew existed. You started crying.

You unlocked your cell phone and realized that, by the time, she was recording her episode on a KBS show, you thought it was best to not disturb her. But there was a message from her to you. Even after two years together, your heart was still racing with these little things.

“I hope everything is fine out there. Manager said KBS is the last appointment of the day so I can get home early. I'll wait for you there, babe.”

Attached to the message, she sent you a selfie. That was enough to recharge your energy a little more, make you wipe your tears and get you back to the dance room with more gas and thinking that it would be over soon so you could rest in Chungha's arms.

A week passed and it seemed that every single day had come together in one. Every time you lay in bed it was like when you closed your eyes your alarm went off and you should get up again. You were doing everything as if you were on autopilot.

Every time you went out to practice, it was too early and Chungha was asleep. And when you arrived free from all the schedule planned that day by your manager, it was already very late and she was, again, asleep.

The only thing that gave you strength was always sleeping right by your side and you would not get her out of her sacred sleep. But you were missing her, there was an urge to talk to her about how you felt that maybe soon, like an elastic that pulls too hard, you could disrupt. And only with her you felt comfortable enough to be honest in her arms, to tell her your fears, your insecurities, all the bad feelings that plagued your heart and body at that moment. But you couldn't.

Of course you spoke by message, sometimes you even had time for a call of 10 minutes or less, but nothing was the same as before. This comeback came with so much weight and you didn't feel like you could have enough strength to hold it. But you should. For your fans. For being professional. For her.

Another week has passed and you could finally put into practice everything you were preparing. However, you did not feel ready. It didn't matter how long you spent dancing, how long you studied singing, nothing seemed good enough for you.

And then, with only four days left for your comeback, your manager said that it would be necessary to re-record a scene in your music video on your free day. The only free day you had until the real promotions had started.

"I literally just woke up.", you said, quietly sitting on the bed and trying not to wake Chungha.

"I can't do anything, Y/N. The director found an error in two scenes. One that you recorded in the morning and the other, during the night. I need you to be free at least during this period to give this as closed and go back to your normal activities."

Taking a deep breath, you just agreed that you would be in the studio in less than two hours and ended the call. When you thought you were going to cry, you felt two arms wrap around you from behind. You felt her head resting on the back of your neck and light breathing hitting your skin.

"I miss you," she said, pressing her lips to your skin.

"I miss you too," you replied, sliding your fingers down her arms.

"How are you feeling?", she tried to make you turn to her but you got up and started walking towards the bathroom.

"I will be fine."

On your way to the studio, you received several messages from Chungha, and they were all about how worried she was about you. You replied all of them, trying to reassure her, saying that as soon as you finished recording, you would come home, come back to her.

The day went by your fingers and when the last shot was taken as perfect by the director, you finally felt like you could breathe again.

"Y/N, I was able to schedule an appointment for tomorrow morning on Weekly Idol to show the new performance.", he started throwing the information at you all at once. "Of course, the show will only be aired during the week of the comeback but-"

"For God's sake, do you think I'm a robot?", you asked, letting all the exhaustion out of you. "I put up with this whole week and still came in this ridiculous studio to have no problem at all with you, and I’m here on my day off! I can't breathe, I don't have time for breath! I barely talk to my girlfriend personally and we are living in the same apartment! I agreed to be an idol but I'm still a human being!"

"Y/N..."

"Ah, you know what? I need to breathe. For the first time during this month, let me breathe."

And then, without leaving any space for him to speak again, you turned your back and started walking in a direction that at first did not exist, but it soon took shape.

When Chungha got the call from your manager, she soon took a taxi to the company's studio. When she got there, she made sure to say what was needed. She protected you with her sharp words and all your manager was able to do was nod, with his head down. Chungha could be an angel most of the time, but if anyone tries to do anything to the ones she loves, she will become the devil on Earth.

She tried to call you several times, but the call was not answered. Nobody saw where you went and Chungha knew it was a matter of finding you as she could. Then, her mind clicked and soon she recreated your steps as well as only she could do it.

As she went up the stairs and pushed the terrace’s door slowly, Chungha remembered the first meeting you both had right there. And so many others who came next, in the same place. The air was cleaner and the wind was strong. And the sky... breathtaking, just like you.

She found you, head up but shoulders down, you looked hopeless, without any motivation and that left Chungha with a tight heart. How could you be feeling this way? You were her foundation.

She approached you and realized that you were facing the moon.

"The next time you decide to disappear, you better answer the phone when I call."

You weren't scared. On the contrary, you smiled relieved at her presence. And even with the scolding. She was so beautiful in the moonlight. Before you could even answer, she pressed your lips together in a kiss that hadn't been given for a long time, a kiss that tasted like “missing you”.

"Those days were terrible and I didn't want to bother you.", you confessed breaking up the kiss, putting a few strands of her hair behind her ear.

"You are what matters to me. I need to know how you are, just so I can sleep well enough. If you are not okay, you can be sure that I will feel it and I will not be okay either. Do you understand?", she asked, stroking your cheek.

"Yes. I think I must go back..."

"You don't have to, everything is settled. Your comeback has been postponed for two weeks and you will have that time to relax. With me. Then, vacation. With me, again."

"What-"

"I can be quite convincing.", she smiled at you, arranging the collar of your coat so you wouldn't feel so cold.

You were relieved. You felt your body relax from thinking about the next few weeks and the next vacation. You pulled her body closer to yours and held her waist, joined your foreheads and finally felt at home.

"How did you find me?"

"This is a secret that I will never tell.", she gave you a peck. "But coming to the place where we kissed for the first time and asked me to be your girlfriend? I think it’s a little too obvious."

You laughed and, watched by the moon, your lips came together again. A kiss with the taste of love.