#can’t think of anything else but it’ll come to me eventually

[try-set-me-on-fire]

requesting hand kisses for all my life there you go if ur still taking :) that's one of my favourite ongoing fics in the whole fandom! every time u update I smile so big. - @team-118

@chaosandwolves also requested this one! Thank you so much omg 😳😳😳 Uhhhh sorry this is kind of stream of consciousness half tragic 8x08 reaction…. They’ll kiss for real eventually Eddie’s just going through it. On ao3!

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, backlit by the sun coming in through the window over the sink. Wrong sink, wrong window, so many many miles away from anything Buck knows as home, but also- maybe they’d fit into any kitchen like this. Eddie at the sink by the window, Buck at the table. So we just never leave the kitchen, Buck thinks. They never go back into the wrong living room of this tiny apartment 15 minutes from Christopher and 12 hours from Los Angeles. They never leave because Buck doesn’t know how to exist outside of this context, Eddie at the sink and Buck at the table. They just stay right here. They move kitchen to kitchen, it’ll all be okay.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says again. He looks tired. It’s January. He left before Thanksgiving and Buck couldn’t eat anything the whole day, pushed around turkey and mashed potatoes he helped Bobby make on the nice dishes Maddie got down from storage. It’s January but it's Texas, and it can get cold sometimes but it isn’t right now, so he’s in shorts and a worn out t-shirt, holes in the collar. His arms are crossed. Holding himself together. Buck knows the feeling.

“Buck,” Eddie says, stunned, broken open, dripping with guilt. “I didn’t know it would feel like this.” One hand wanders out from the knot he’s tied himself in and then quickly tangles itself back up again. “I don’t… know-” he laughs, this is stunned too. “You were there- you were always just there. I didn’t need to ask- there was nothing to ask. It’s just the way it was.” He looks up, guilty guilty. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. Leaving you.” All the air sighs out of Buck’s lungs, and he doesn’t know what to say. It’s never been hard to talk to Eddie, who’s always waited out his stumbled words and winding sentences easily and without judgment, but the only thing he has to say now is: I did. You were looking at homes and you said they’re in El Paso and I knew exactly what it would feel like for you to rip yourself out of me. I forgive you for not knowing — I didn’t understand either, until that moment — but I did know.

“And now I- Buck, I don’t want to live like that- like this- I don’t want a life without you in it. A-and I don’t know what that looks like.” Eddie’s face is helpless, begging. “I know you- I don’t know that I-” one hand reaches again, pulls back again. “You like men and I- I don’t know that I-” a furrow between his brows and he looks as scared as he only ever was telling Buck about people who died in a helicopter crash years after it went down. “I’d try. To be that for you. To- to do that with you. I’ll- we can-”

“Eddie,” Buck says.

“Can’t I just want to hold you?” Eddie demands it. “Can’t I- can’t you sleep next to me? Can’t I take care of you?” He looks near angry. “What do you- I don’t need anything else. I don’t need anything else. Just- can’t I have you?” Buck thinks it’s probably unnecessary to say you already do. In any way. Held and slept beside and cared for. What else is there? He’d live off far less.

“I’d marry you,” Eddie says. “I’ll marry you. You can- if you need- there can be other people but you can come home to me. I’ll- Chris- it’s getting better. We’ll come home soon, we’ll move home soon, and- and we’ll work together again and you come home to me-” hands uncrossed, hovering, shaking. “You can do anything, you can see other people, just- come home to me.”

“There’s only you,” Buck whispers.

“Buck,” Eddie says, a cry. He comes closer. “Please.” When his hands touch Buck’s face, warm, he almost flinches. It’s just that they’re so real, solid, impossible to dismiss as imagination or hallucination or dream or wishful thinking. Eddie’s hands, on his face, scratching into his hair, scrabbling over his back as the man collapses onto him smelling like deodorant and coffee and sweat, t-shirt cotton soft over the fat and muscle that presses into Buck’s face. Buck’s arms drift up to hold him back. This is a new place Buck could learn the context for. Kitchen sink and table, held in Eddie’s arms. The only two places in the world that make any goddamn sense. Eddie’s curled over him, a shelter, his body a home. But Buck already knew that, too.

“Sorry,” Eddie croaks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I’m like this.” Buck holds tighter so Eddie doesn't shake so much. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you- I’m sorry I hurt you. God- Buck, it hurts, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-” Buck shakes his head, face dragging across Eddie’s chest. He could fall asleep here. Rest until they go meet Christopher this afternoon. Rest until he has to get up at 4 to get to the airport and catch the red-eye and tear himself in two again. Visiting was a bad idea, maybe. He’s not sure he can survive that a second time. But Eddie said soon, he said he’ll come home soon, he and Chris. Buck and Eddie and Chris, who all come home at the end of the day, kitchen table kitchen sink Eddie’s arms sleeping and cared for.

“I love you,” Buck says. Why not. Why not.

“Buck,” a gasp, though surely Eddie can’t be surprised. He pulls back, face red and wet. His hands slide across Buck’s shoulders, down his arms, pull Buck’s hands up and press his knuckles to his mouth. Closes his eyes. Buck feels warm puffs of air against his fingers. Two lungs messy breathing loud in the small room. “Buck,” he says, and Buck knows what he means, knows the reply for what it is. He was wrong, the flight will be easy. The wait will be easy.

Eddie opens his eyes.

[ky-pup]

Introduction!

Hi! My name is Kai. I’m 23 and use he/it pronouns. I am bi, trans, and poly. Pre op but on and off T for over 2 years now. Almost always smokin 🍃

OF is up! I try to do small photoshoots and videos about once a week. Teasers will be posted on here as well! Teasers will be from photo sets that gets posted on OF. Any photosets can also be purchased through DMs and Cashapp. I also do custom content too! Message me for info about that

I looove being a cute little puppyboy and that’s what most of this tumblr is about but it’s basically anything I am into.

Yes - breeding, cnc, petplay, size difference, intox

Hard No’s - scat, vom1t, detrans/misgender, p1ss in mouth, age/play

If it isn’t a hard no, I’m at least willing to try.

DNI - homophobic, transphobic, racist, ableist. MIK/MAP. Under 18

Names you can call me -baby boy, prince, pup, puppy, kitten, slvt, etc. as long as it’s not super feminine

Also feel free to ask any questions or message if you wanna be friends! Would love more subby puppies to be friends with and be horny with

$kyluc8

Non horny about me under the cut!

I have two partners, one who I live with and the other (I know you’re reading this XD so stop lurking and message me on here ;) ) is long distance for now. I also have a cat named Louie who I love with all my heart XD

I am autistic. This makes me very awkward and hard to keep conversation with. Don’t let this stop you from talking to me. I’m just weird XD

My current hyperfixations are trolls, fnaf, tadc, and greys anatomy. I also like stuff like Minecraft, the owl house, hazbin, pokemon, miraculous and a lot of other shit. Music, I mainly listen to stuff like pierce the veil and motionless in white but honestly, my main playlist is all over the place

Thank you for taking the time to actually get to know me cx I am high as shit writing this so props to you for getting through it

[0310s]

perv!leehan who can’t stop staring at his gf’s boobs 😵‍💫 i feel like he would start bouncing his leg just to try and focus and avoid getting a hard on

members: leehan x gender neutral reader

genre: smut, but intimacy also i promise!!!!

tags: dry humping, breast/nipple play

wc: 2.0k

a/n: anon just know i decided to pull an all-nighter to write this because i couldn't get it out of my head... thank you for this amazing idea.

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

During the start of your relationship when you’re still not intimate, Leehan decides to go at your pace; whatever you’re comfortable with dictates how everything else will go. Still, perv!Leehan is easily turned on by you—specifically, your boobs.

Leehan legitimately can’t stop staring at them and it’s becoming a problem, because you never wear a bra around him when he visits you in your apartment! The first time he comes over, he notices something is different about you—then he notices the natural curves of your breasts and wonders about how it would feel like to cup them in his palms. When it’s cold and your nipples poke out from your shirt, Leehan’s mind goes haywire and he can’t stop thinking about taking them into his lips. When you’re cuddled up with Leehan innocently on your bed, Leehan can feel how soft your chest is pressed up against his and has to awkwardly turn his body to the side so you don’t feel his growing hard-on. 

One time, when you’re wearing a loose, oversized shirt and lean over him to get something across him, he accidentally gets a peek of your bare chest. It’s only a second, but the flash of round flesh and nipple he sees is imprinted into his mind. He’s incredibly turned on yet immensely guilty. He has nothing to cover his crotch, so he ends up bouncing his leg so hard to will his hard-on away that you have to ask him if he’s alright. He says he is. You won’t know he’ll end up jerking off every night to thoughts of that memory, whether that be by furiously fucking his fist or humping his pillow. 

Another time you accidentally brush up against his arm and you squeak, and Leehan is immediately concerned, asking you what’s wrong. Upon more prodding on his end you shyly confess your nipples are sensitive, which sends Leehan down a deeper rabbithole of fantasies about teasing and pinching and and sucking and pulling at your nipples until you’re crying. But the last thing Leehan wants is for you to not feel comfortable and safe in your own body around him, so he gently says it’s alright and that he’ll be more careful next time, not dwelling too much on the topic so you aren’t put on the spot.

Still, you eventually notice Leehan’s staring as it grows more and more frequent and blatant (even if he thinks he’s being subtle about it). So one day in your apartment, when you spot him gazing at your clothed chest with an unreadable expression, you cover your chest with your hands in self-consciousness. Leehan shamefully realizes he’s been caught, so he rushes to beg for your forgiveness with red cheeks—but his heart breaks when you apologize first. “Is there something wrong with my … chest?” you ask, turning away to hide your chest. “You keep staring at them that I’m worried you think they look… weird. I know they’re not perfect or anything… I’m sorry.” And when he hears a sniffle come from you, he feels like the worst boyfriend to exist. 

“No, no, love, I’m sorry, I promise it’s not that,” Leehan pleads. Still, you don’t look back. You’re hunched over, rubbing at your eyes while the sniffles continue.  “Please… Can you look at me?” You slowly shake your head. Leehan, not wanting the misunderstanding to hurt you even more, takes ahold of your shoulders and gently turns you to face him. “I’m sorry my staring made you uncomfortable, but what you said is so far from the truth. To be honest…” When you look up at him with teary eyes, Leehan knows he has to tell you the truth, even if it’ll mortify him, so he tells you how much your boobs turn him on that he can’t stop looking. His face grows even redder in the wake of his confession and your silence. He’s ready to apologize again and give you space when you let out an “Oh! Oh. Ohhh….” And you end up being extremely shy around each other for the rest of the day. 

The first time you let Leehan touch your chest is in the heat of you making out. You’re in Leehan’s lap on your couch and he’s kissing you so sensually you’re becoming lightheaded with pleasure. He’s got one strong arm around your waist, and the other cups your cheek. When he lets go of your face, his hand accidentally brushes against your chest. Leehan’s quick to say sorry and is about to move his hand away, but you clutch his hand in time. You shyly ask him if he wants to touch—while Leehan is so turned on by the thought, he asks you multiple times if it’s something you want and if you’re sure about taking this next step. You admit that ever since the day Leehan told you the truth, you’ve been thinking about it. Extensively. 

You lead his hand to touch you; he cups at one clothed breast experimentally, feeling the weight and shape in his hand. You sigh and lean into his touch, and it gives him more courage to explore. He squeezes your chest and you moan, he slowly circles a nipple with a fingernail and you whimper, involuntarily pressing your pussy down on his dick. Leehan can’t believe he’s really touching your boobs, something he’s fantasized about for months on end. As he fondles you, you both desperately grind against each other, and when Leehan firmly sucks at your nipple through your shirt, you gasp in pleasure at how warm his tongue feels against you, even with a layer of cloth obstructing him from your bare skin. The contact is intense and overwhelming to you and you orgasm, Leehan following not long after.

After several repeats of clothed stimulation across weeks, you grow to become more comfortable in your own body. Soon enough, you find the courage to take your top off in the middle of a makeout session with your boyfriend. When you’re free of your shirt, your first instinct is to cover yourself, but you’re unable to when you catch Leehan’s honest reaction. Your tits are face-to-face with Leehan as you kneel on the couch, your thighs on the sides of his own. Your boyfriend’s staring at you with his mouth agape. Your eyes follow his pretty throat bobbing up and down as his stare trails down to your bare chest. Leehan’s silent for a moment as he takes in your soft flesh, memorizing your lovely curves, but eventually breaks the silence by letting out a deep exhale. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, “so pretty for me.” 

Your cheeks heat up at his sweet but erotic words, then embarrassment hits you as you register the implications of taking off your shirt so abruptly. You’re about to retreat into your shell of shyness and insecurity, but Leehan holds your wrists firmly, still loose enough so you can break out of his grip if you wished to. “Let me look at you properly, okay?” Leehan glances up at you, waiting for your answer.

You nod once. At your signal, Leehan trails a finger down the side of one breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Gorgeous,” he sighs dreamily, “How could you think I wouldn’t find you perfect as you are?” Your boyfriend’s words serve to bolster your confidence as you lean into his touch. Leehan smiles at this, cupping both breasts with his palms, giving you a light squeeze and eyeing your reaction. You melt into his hold. 

“More?” You nod again, and he acquiesces. Leehan lightly brushes his pointer finger over a nipple and you gasp at the direct contact. He traces a circle around your slowly stiffening peak, doing the same to its pair and humming in satisfaction when they’re both hard. “Tell me if this is too much, okay?” Monitoring your reaction, he takes one pebbled nipple between his fingers, rolling it gently, then administering the same treatment to the other. They’re indeed sensitive. You let out a high-pitched moan and clap a hand over your mouth in mortification, but Leehan pushes your hand back down. “Don’t hold back… I want to hear your moans when I take care of you like this. Don’t be ashamed—you sound pretty.” 

Leehan then uses both hands to tug at your nipples, and you unabashedly whine at the pressure, clutching at his shoulders for support. You squeeze your thighs together for some sort of friction—you can feel how wet you already are, your underwear uncomfortably clinging to your folds. At this, Leehan grinds his crotch up into you to remind you he’s perfectly available for your pleasure. You stop kneeling up and drop your hips to grind into Leehan’s cock, and you both moan at the contact. To your surprise, he’s rock-hard… all he’s been doing is touching your chest and he’s already this…?

You must have said that out loud, because Leehan lets out a tiny huff of disbelief. “What do you mean? This is everything I’ve been dreaming about for months, of course I’m turned on.” (The thought that you occupy your boyfriend’s fantasies makes you feel faint.) He gives your nipples another firm twist, and a helpless keen comes out of your mouth. Leehan lets go and observes his work proudly—your nipples are hard and reddened. Still, it’s not enough for you, and you grind your pussy down harder so your boyfriend gets the message. “Can I…?” You thrust your chest into Leehan’s face. “Okay, okay, I get it.” 

Almost instantly, Leehan takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking slowly. When you tangle a hand in his hair and angle his head closer, he increases the pressure ever so slightly. The firm suction on your nipple feels heavenly, paired with how he lightly teases at your other one with a thumb, while the rest of his hand cradles your ribs. Leehan draws a sob from you as he tongues at your peak, circling it lazily. Looking straight into your eyes, he presses open-mouthed kisses to your puffy nipple, blowing air on it, and you squeal at the sensation. To relieve some of the frustration, you roll your hips insistently against Leehan’s, earning a muffled groan from him and sending a vibration of pleasure through you. He must feel your wetness through your shorts, because the hand on your side tightens minutely and presses you down onto his lap. 

When your grip on his hair increases, Leehan turns to your unattended nipple, giving it the same attention as he laves over it sensually. At this point, both of you are rocking frantically against each other, searching for release. The friction is driving you crazy. You greedily wish you had Leehan’s cock deep inside you—you can already imagine the stretch with how long and thick it is from your ceaseless grinding. And when Leehan’s teeth slightly graze your nipple, you let out a loud cry, your orgasm taking you by surprise, washing over you as you grind down once more. Then Leehan freezes, letting out a ragged moan as his hips jerk up harshly once, twice, until he relaxes.

It takes you a minute or two to recover your breath when you realize Leehan probably hasn’t come yet. “Do you need help with—?” When Leehan shakes his head no, you look at him questioningly. Weren’t you on the same page with all this? 

Still, Leehan’s response is one you didn’t expect. “Um, I already came,” he says sheepishly. When you tilt your head down, you’re greeted with a sizeable mess at the front of his pants. “Didn’t take much for it to happen… this was too hot.”

“Well. It was. Is. Hot,” you admit, your chest heaving from exertion. “Um. You’re hot.” Could you be any less awkward?

“Oh! You too,” Leehan giggles, sending you one of his signature crescent-eye smiles. Your eyes follow his as they trail down from your face to your chest, which makes you realize you’re still—ashamedly—topless. 

“Oh my god!” You rush to shield your chest from view, but Leehan beats you to it, nuzzling his face into the valley of your breasts and inhaling deeply. “Don’t do that, I’m all sweaty…”

“Smells good. Smells like you,” Leehan’s reply is muffled by your chest. He leaves a soft kiss on your sternum and your heart flutters at this display of affection. “You have nothing to be worried about.” You know he means more than just the sex, and for this, you’re infinitely grateful. 

[chrisevansonly]

Playing With Fire

Max Verstappen x Female Reader

summary: you and stella are max’s world, and he’d be damned if he let his father speak ill of either of you.

warnings: angst, jos (ew), angry max, slight mentions of crying, fluff at end

a/n: this is a re-upload to see if it shows up in the tags 🥲

When Stella was born, it was one of the best days ever for Max, seeing his baby girl come into the world, and the way she practically latched onto him from the minute she was welcomed into the family. He knew right then and there he would be the absolute best father to his daughter, just as he was the best husband to you, and always had been.

If there was one thing Max nor you completely enjoyed it was family events when everyone got together, including Jos. Max’s father.Max and his father have a complicated relationship, in a way they seem close but there’s always that edge to his dad that keeps all of you on the edge of your seat. You in particular seemed to still be an issue to him, and every once in a while, you’d become the punching bag at the dinner table.

Stella was sleeping in your arms as you sat next to Max at the dinner table, Jos across from you both and his mother on the other end with the rest of his family and some friends that had joined for the monthly get together.

“So when is the next Verstappen coming?” His father asked looking at you. Stella was only 6 months old so you and Max were happy to just enjoy the time you have with her now, not even thinking about another baby.

“Oh, well i’m sure someday we’ll have another…”

“We’re in no rush” Max butted in, assuming it would stop his father’s line of questioning.

“Yes well, it’s just you had a baby girl…there has to be a boy in the equation…”

You furrowed your brows, fixing Stella’s blanket as she continued to sleep, oblivious to the rising tensions in the room.

“I don’t think so? There’s nothing wrong with having girls..”

“Who’s supposed to carry on the name?”

Max sat up straighter, his hand squeezing your knee gently

“Stella will just as our next baby will eventually, regardless of their gender.”

Jos shook his head taking a sip of his water as he sighed, before looking back at you.

“All i’m saying is you should be trying for a boy.”

“Well it doesn’t work that way.”

The table was getting quieter as the father and son squared off, Jos not backing down and Max not about to let his father attack you in anyway. Not on his watch.

“I knew the second you had a daughter it would make you weak, let alone marrying her and having that baby! She’s useless if she can’t have a boy! You’re wasting your time Max, I knew from the second I met her it would ruin our family.”

Used to his harassment you didn’t cry, but it didn’t stop tears from welling up in your eyes as you almost deflated in a way, hugging Stella closer to your chest. The minute your eyes looked to Max, long gone was his soft stare and gentle smile, replaced was a look almost predatory as he looked to his father.

“Watch your fucking mouth when you’re talking about the mother of my child.”

“Max-”

“No, get out.”

“Excuse me?” Jos’s eyes widened and he shook his head

“GET THE HELL OUT!”

Max yelled, slamming his hands down on the table, seconds later Stella stirring before whimpering in your arms. The dutchman froze and looked apologetically at you as you excused yourself to go up to the nursery, only then turning back to look at his father.

“If you ever so much as think about speaking about my wife and daughter again, it’ll be me coming after you. Now get the fuck out.”

Jos didn’t even offer to say anything else, pushing back his chair and storming out, effectively cutting the dinner to an end as everyone left, Max’s mother sticking around to help clean up and of course comfort you afterwards. She had always been close to you and Max and in a way she was like a mother to you too.

“Baby?”

Turning at the sound of your husbands voice you smiled, still holding Stella in your arms, only this time she was much calmer, her eyes lighting up as she spots her dad.

“Hi, everything okay?”

“I should be asking you that…”

Shrugging you let him take Stella from you, his demeanour much more relaxed with his baby girl in his arms as he placed a few kisses to her cheeks.

“I know what your father is like, yes it hurts but I love you and you love me and that’s all that matters…we have a beautiful baby girl, and that man will never be able to change what we have.”

Max nods, bringing you into his side and leaning down to kiss you softly

“You’re right, he can’t. I’ll never let him ever disrespect you like that ever again. No matter what I have to do.”

“I know you won’t Maxie…and I love you very much for it, Stella too, huh baby?”

Stroking her cheek gently she babbled happily, leaning on Max’s shoulder, her hand patting his chest gently

“My girls…I love you both so much, i’ll always protect you both, with my everything.”

Nothing else needed to be said in the moment, all Max needed was his girls and he felt whole. Nothing else mattered because to him he had everything he’d ever wanted in his life. Despite what he went through growing up, Jos had never made his heart turn cold, he made it big enough to hold the love he had for you two, and would always hold, no matter what happened.

Besides, everyone knew messing with the Verstappen girls, was playing with fire.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Secret relationship and they find out you're being transferred to a different team.

Anon...how DARE you. But really, the angst that this prompt is giving is everything. I want to warn readers now that I was not nice with this one. There is a lot of angst happening here. There is nothing spicy about it. It's all pain with a little comfort sprinkled in for a few of our boys.

(Sorry not sorry)

These are presented in four individual double drabbles.

Content & Warnings: angst, mild emotional hurt/comfort, secret relationships, yearning, heartbreak, 141!reader

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish

“We’ve got two weeks!”

“Soap.”

“Can you believe that?”

“Johnny.”

Soap’s smile remains but melts slightly. “What?”

“I’m leaving.”

He chuckles. “We both are.”

You shake your head. “No. I’m leaving the team.”

Soap frowns slightly. “Retirement?” He shrugs. “Seem a bit young.” That smile returns and he saunters forward, his large hands grasping your hips. “Means we can go public.”

He leans in for a kiss, but your heart isn’t in it. Soap realizes the reluctance the moment your lips meet. “It’s something else,” he says.

You nod because that is all you can manage. Originally, Captain Price said he wanted to tell the team together, but he doesn’t know about you and Johnny. Soap needs to know first before the rest. If not, it’ll come as a blow and a betrayal. You can’t do that to him no matter what Captain Price says.

“I’m being transferred,” you murmur, voice breaking slightly.

Soap does not retreat. He rests his forehead against your own, eyes closing as he inhales. His arms slide from your hips to your back, drawing you against him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says rubbing your back. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle enters the meeting room. It’s the last one before everyone breaks for a month.

But there is someone missing.

Laswell and Captain Price talk quietly, their heads bent in conversation. Soap is showing something to Ghost on his phone.

You are not among them. You are not in your usual spot.

Laswell glances up and Price clears his throat. “We can start.”

“Hold up, Captain. We’re missing one.”

Kyle gestures toward the chair you usually sit in and Price frowns.

“Transferred on another mission,” interrupts Laswell.

Kyle says nothing, sinking into his chair. He listens but most of it slips right out of his head. The only thing he can think about is that you’re not here and you didn’t say anything.

When Laswell and Price are finished, and everyone begins to exit, Kyle lingers, intent on talking to Price.

“Not gonna talk about our missing team member?”

“Nothing to say,” shrugs Price. “Transferred this morning.”

Kyle swallows down the emotion rising in his throat. No one knows about the two of you, and if he pushes too much, he might reveal something he shouldn’t.

“Coming back?” asks Kyle.

“Eventually,” answers Price. “Not sure when.”

Eventually. There’s hope then.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You’re leaving.”

“Simon.”

“Did you plan on telling me?” You remain silent and Simon shakes his head. “Waiting for Price to do it?”

“That’s not true.”

Simon takes a step forward, entering your space. “I saw the transfer on his desk. I saw the date. How long have you known?”

“Does that matter?” you ask.

“Of course it does,” he snaps.

Simon is never angry, not with you. His anger is subtle which makes it more terrifying. This is something else. Simon is hurt, and you’re the cause of it.

“I’m sorry you found out like this. I planned on telling you.”

“When?” He’s closer now, towering over you.

“When I had more information.”

“More information?”

“I don’t know where I’m going or with who,” you add.

“Might not tell you until you get there. Happens all the time.”

You understand his meaning and know that Simon is right. Would you have left without telling him anything, only saying something once you’d left?

No. This thing between you might be tangled but he is the only one you want.

“Are you upset?” you ask.

Simon deflates. “Not with you.” He tugs you against him, creating a cocoon of warmth. “Never.”

John Price

The transfer papers mockingly stare at Price.

All this time, he believed he could have you without repercussion. Didn’t matter that you were another member of the team and his subordinate. You were his, and Price could protect you.

But these papers came from someone above him, and he cannot refuse them. No matter how much he wants to.

And no one knows what the two of you do when there isn’t anyone looking. But now, that’s shattered. Broken. And Price must grieve for your departure in silence. Price has already raged. He punched the wall until his knuckles bled.

After that, he walked until he came to terms with it.

You don’t know yet. You have no idea. Telling you will be the hardest part. What will happen? How will the two of you move forward? Can the secrets remain, or will it all need to be out in the open?

Price sighs and runs his hands over his face.

This is a punishment. Must be. Why else is it happening?

There is a loud knock at the door. Again, Price sighs, knowing that he has to face the reality of the situation.

You are on the other side.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving

@childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666

@unhinged-reader-36 @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath

@enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu

@thewulf @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos

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[earlysunshines]

clay hearts

danielle marsh x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: you've been working on a bunch of pottery for two hours, danielle thinks you need a break.

warnings: none just lots of kissing maybe ;ceramicist!reader ; they're disgustingly in love ; soooo in love ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: guys i am so delusional and in love with danielle marsh that whole pottery ep actually killed me she's so cute i need to be restrained.

in the little corner of your apartment, right next to the window that lets the sun shine on your features, you’re throwing another glob of clay only your wheel. it’s been fifteen minutes since you started, and you’ve successfully made one cup. one. 

you huff, ready to work on at least two more cups before you move onto some bigger pieces. 

before you can start on the next, you hear the door creaking open. you turn your head and see your girlfriend closing the door behind her. you smile immediately. 

“danielle,” you greet softly, fondly. “i missed you.”

her eyes light up when she sees you sitting by the pottery wheel. her footsteps are soft as she walks towards you, smiling and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“hey, you,” she murmurs, brushing a bit of clay from oyur eyebrow. “missed you more.”

“no way.”

“yes way.” she giggles. “i’ll let you get back to work, i have some of my own to tackle.”

you hum in response, leaving her to whatever is on her to-do list. 

—

hours slip by in quiet focus. you lose yourself in shaping the clay, unaware of just how much time has passed by as you made three cups, a plate, and a small vase. there’s the occasional groan or curse that slips from your lips as you tackle the stubborn pieces that refuse to cooperate. 

about an hour in, danielle had settled herself at the small beanbag near the coffee table, quietly working on her assignments with her laptop perched on her lap. she’s close enough to be company but far enough to let you work. 

you glimpse at danielle here and there in between each piece, happy to have her close to you. and she’s doing the same, stealing glances at you every few minutes, watching the way your brows furrow as you concentrate, the way your fingers shift to smooth and shape the clay. you’re lost in your own world. 

you look completely at ease, even in frustration, and something about it all — about you, your apron, and skin covered in flecks of clay — makes her heart skip. danielle can’t help but sneak a picture, you’re just so adorable in her eyes.

eventually, danielle can’t hold back. thirty-minutes later she closes her laptop softly and shifts in her seat, watching you for a few moments longer, letting the sound of your jazz playlist fill the silence. her chin is on her palm and she grins, calling out, “how about a break?”

“not yet,” you mumble, “almost done.” your eyes don’t leave the wheel, you’re not finished throwing the piece at hand — a strawberry vase that someone paid extra for; extra as in enough to take you and your girlfriend out for dinner at the end of the week — though your lips quirk into a small, appreciative smile.

she laughs softly, folding her arms as she sits back in the beanbag chair. “you’ve been making those weird noises you make when you’re frustrated for the past two hours, you know. i think you deserve one.”

finally breaking your focus, you glance over at her. her eyes are warm and soft and she’s smiling at you like she’s been waiting just to catch your attention. she looks especially alluring in your t-shirt, which fits loosely over her, and with her hair down messily. 

the vase isn’t quite finished, this is your second attempt at shaping it after all. you still have a few days before you can get it done, but you’d rather finish a complex piece like this now than later. spending a few minutes with your beloved girlfriend sounds lovely, but finishing a stubborn, pricey piece like this might have to come first. it’s for both of your sakes anyway, and it’ll only take maybe fifteen more minutes or so.

“dani,” you sigh, looking up at her with a pout, “can i finish this one first?”

she frowns at you, sighing before leaning against the cushion and admiring you again. “fine, fine.”

you give her an apologetic smile before returning to the piece. 

on your third attempt at constructing the strawberry vase, you accidentally make a dent. it had been going so well too, the sides all even and the structure perfect, but you just had to apply too much pressure as you slid your fingers up. you stare down at the clay spinning around, the dent making it look unappealing as it does so.

frustrated and out of sheer annoyance, you smack your hand down on it, flattening the shape completely. danielle watches you groan, leaning back and closing your eyes as you try to shake off the irritation.

as you redirect your attention again, starting to shape the mess of clay on the wheel, a small shuffle catches your attention. you turn to see danielle pulling up a chair right behind you. you raise a brow at the way she leans in close, wrapping her arms around you from behind, her small hands gently covering yours on the wheel.

you’re taken aback, glancing over your shoulder. “what are you doing?”

she tilts her head, grinning cheekily. “helping you out, of course.” she says in a light tone, sending a shiver down your spine.

her fingers curl around yours, guiding your hands back to the clay as you start to reshape it together. her fingers get covered in clay, but she doesn’t seem to care—she’s focused on you, her face close, eyes warm, breath hot as it hits your skin.

“the last time you tried to throw a cup you made quite the mess,” you chuckle, feeling her press closer with her chin resting on your shoulder. “you know this is just gonna make a mess, right?”

“maybe,” she whispers, a playful hint in her tone. and then, out of nowhere, she takes the opportunity of your head being angled towards her to press a quick, soft kiss to your lips.

your heart races, and you turn to her fully, a surprised smile spreading across your face. “is this your way of helping?”

“mhm,” she teases, giving your hands a final nudge before wiping her own on your apron. then, before you can react, her hands slip beneath the apron, resting gently on your ribs over the thin fabric of your tank top. her thumbs trace small circles there, rendering you a flustered mess as every thought of clay dissipates in your mind.

you feel her lips press a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another one to your neck, lingering just enough to send yet another shiver through you; your breath hitches.

turning to face her, your noses almost brush, and she’s giving you that look. the look that she always gives you when she’s amount to leave you breathless and flushed. she leans in again, catching your lips in another kiss, this one softer, warmer. 

your hands, still covered in clay, reach up to rest on her arms, pulling her just a bit closer as her fingers trace lazy patterns over your ribs. it’s a scene straight from a movie: the two of you sharing teasing, lingering kisses, playful and unhurried, each one leaving you feeling lighter than the last.

finally, she pulls back, to which you respond by chasing after, lips brushing against another. she’s smirking at you, her hand moving up to cup your face and brush some clay off.

��feeling better?” she asks as her thumb moves over to rest on the corner of your lip.

“much,” 

“right,” she starts, sliding her hand down to the base of your neck. “i think you should wrap up for the day and pay attention to your lovely girlfriend. how does that sound?”

with the time you spent with your eyes glued to the clay, you never realized the sun setting beside you. the dimmed rays shine on her face perfectly, accentuating each curve of every feature. danielle’s gaze is soft, her touch even softer as she slides her hands over your skin. you swallow shallowly, losing yourself at the sight of her—how could you say no when she looks at you like that?

“i think that sounds lovely.” you mutter, grinning as you lean in for one last kiss.

[defectiveporcelaindoll]

Chapter 1: The Manuscript

“He thought about how they said-

Since she was wise beyond her years everything had been above board. Now he wasn’t sure…”

series masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU AFAB!Reader

summary: an unsub with a taste for couples and power imbalances leads Doctor Spencer Reid not only back into the classroom but down the hypothetical aisle with the BAU's newest Probie for an undercover assignment that may change his life.

genre: slow-burn romance?

cw: age gap (Spencer is in his 40s, reader is 24), a couple y/n’s (I’m sorry, I know I’m sick of it too.), fake marriage, possibly eventual smut in later parts we’ll see, female reader she/her pronouns, bad writing! lemme know if I missed anything! And as always, lemme know what you think!

wordcount: 1.3k

“The professor said the write what you know”

Spencer sat at his desk, anxiously scribbling away at a case file that he knew he simply wasn’t ready to hand over just yet. Not ready to let go or say goodbye. The office was deserted with the exception of Emily still fussing around in her office like she always was these days, just like Hotch before her, and Gideon before him. Back in the days when he was the youngest member of the team— god how things had changed.

“Looking backward might be the only way to move forward-”

six months prior:

"Come on, Em. She’s too young. I’d hardly say she has any real-life experience, and as helpful as she’s been, she certainly doesn’t have the field experience. And you want to drop her into an undercover operation at a university thousands of miles away? I just can’t logically wrap my mind around how you think this is our best option,” Spencer sighed, anxiously pacing the length of Emily’s office. Maybe it was the lights, but more likely it was the outlandish plans being laid before him that were bringing on the all-too-familiar throb of a migraine.

Emily cleared her throat, glancing up at Spencer with a tight-lipped, not-quite smile. “If you would let me finish, I wouldn’t be sending her alone. I’d be sending her with you. The unsub—or rather, unsubs—are targeting couples where the man,” she pointed to him, eyes widening as if to say keep up, “in the relationship comes from a position of power above the woman.” She wildly waved her hand toward the door, motioning to the woman sitting just outside the office.

“You’d be posing as a professor, which technically isn’t anything new for you. Though we might have to rub a little dirt on your good name.” She shrugged, glancing back down to shuffle through the pile of files on her desk until she found the one she was looking for, holding it out for Spencer. “A handsome professor and his new, albeit young, ex-TA of a wife... forced to move after your relationship went public. Tragic.” She quirked a brow, offering Spencer a playful smirk. He did not return it, instead rolling his eyes as he thumbed through the file containing what could be his life for the next couple of months.

“Look, if we place you both at the university, she’ll fit in with the students, you’ll fit in with the professors, and now we have eyes and ears everywhere we need them. It’s logical enough, Spencer, and she’s already agreed as long as you’re up for it.”

There was a long pause as Spencer’s mind ran wild, figuring the probability of everything that could and likely would go wrong if he agreed to this plan.

“Look, we’ll even count this towards thirty days of teaching if that sweetens the deal at all?” Prentiss let out an exhausted sigh. Clearly, this was her only option, and everyone else, even the higher-ups, had approved this plan. It all now sat on Spencer’s shoulders. All he needed to do was agree.

“Fine…” he mumbled, his palm digging into his eye socket briefly trying to dull the growing pain behind his eyes. If Prentiss noticed, she chose not to address it. “Great! See, maybe it’ll be good for you? The faculty housing looks nice-ish..? And you’ve gotta admit, Y/N is sweet. I think she’ll learn a lot from you.”

Before Emily could finish her statement, Spencer turned on his heels, stalking out of the Unit Chief's office past the probie, her doe eyes fixed on him like he was a predator. Her gaze startled him in a way that sent him tripping over his own feet. He quickly righted himself, not daring to glance back at the younger agent on his way to the kitchenette.

An hour and several cups of coffee later, Spencer Reid found himself at the round table, sitting perfectly still as his breath caught in his lungs, watching the young woman in front of him sign her name on the dotted line. It’s official; Doctor Spencer Reid is officially a married man—sort of.

It felt so absurd, having to sign a marriage license. Though, logically, he understood. If they were using Spencer’s name and reputation as a backbone for this assignment, there should be a paper trail. At least when it came to this, he knew Penelope could fabricate anything and everything else they might need, but this silly piece of paper, declaring them man and wife—that was free and public information that needed to be real.

“So…” Y/N's voice was soft as it attempted to cut through the heavy weight of the awkward atmosphere. She fidgeted, tapping the pen against the table.

Spencer cleared his throat, eyes raking over her as the voice in his head told him once again that this was an awful idea, that she was too young, that she had no field experience, and there were far too many ways this could all go south. He tried his best to shake them off. “If you don’t mind me asking, I don’t mean this to be rude. I was a young agent—actually one of the youngest agents the BAU has ever had—” he caught himself in his ramble, his eyes searching her face for any kind of discomfort before blinking harder than necessary in an attempt to focus. “Sorry—uh, how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ll be twenty-five in October… so twenty-four.”

"Right..." he chuckled, shaking his head, "that means...w-when you were born I already had two PhDs and was nearly finished with my third."

She groaned, a slight blush covering her cheeks as she fought the embarrassed grin threatening to take over her lips. “Doctor Reid—”

“Spencer.” He cut her off, offering a tight-lipped smile. “I—Uh… you can just call me Spencer. I don’t think couples typically use such formality when they’re addressing each other…”

“I guess you’re right,” she said, offering a little nod. “Spencer,” his name felt too personal on her lips, “I—” a rosy blush creeping up her neck as her mind went completely blank, every thought she’d ever had lost in the warm glow of his golden eyes.

As if on cue, Emily entered the room, a smirk on her lips as she observed the younger, seemingly awestruck agent gawking at her favorite genius. “Hope I’m not interrupting, but I thought these might be useful?” She shrugged, placing a velvet box down beside Spencer before sliding the other across the table to fall into the younger woman’s lap. “Congratulations. I now pronounce you man and wife or whatever they say—beware, Penelope is likely going to throw rice or glitter or whatever she found in her desk at you as you walk out of this room. You’ve been warned. And I’d say kiss the bride, but frankly, I don’t want to see that. Wheels up in thirty.”

With that, she offered the new couple a nod before retreating back out of the conference room, back to her office, leaving them to open the velvet boxes. The rings were simple, nothing too flashy, like something you’d expect a professor to be able to afford without breaking the bank.

“Right…” Spencer said, sliding his own ring onto his finger before rising to his feet, his fingers awkwardly clenching and flexing at the unfamiliar weight. “Maybe if we don’t leave together, Garcia won’t ambush us.” He turned towards the door, hesitating a moment to glance back at the woman he could now call his wife. “Unless—unless you’re ready to go… we could, uh, head out together?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Y/N nodded quickly, jumping to her feet as she organized the pile of papers back into their folders and into her bag. She crossed the room, stopping beside Spencer. She glanced up at him, her own ring feeling heavy on her finger as she hesitantly reached out, offering him her hand. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes going back and forth between her waiting palm and her eyes before reluctantly accepting the offer.

“Shall we, Mrs. Reid?”

“Now and then he re-reads the manuscript. Of the entire torrid affair~”

Chapter II: Guilty as Sin

Thanks for being interested in my silly little concept 🩵

@flowerpott1978 @olives-and-sunshine

[freelancearsonist]

so scarlet, it was...

➔ post-outbreak Joel Miller x afab!Reader - series masterlist

➔ 1.3k words

➔ “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

➔ Rated MA for dark fic kinda, a/b/o themes (alpha joel, omega reader), established... situationship? i guess, pregnancy/contemplation of termination, contemplation of self harm, reader is not in a good headspace. one instance of vomiting, joel is not very nice, this fic in general is not very nice. takes place three years post outbreak. [please let me know if i missed any warnings so i can add them in :)]

➔ thank you so much to my darling @bitchwitch1981 for the prompt, i'm so sorry this is probably very much not what you wanted 🤣 extra special thank you to @perotovar for making this wonderful joel gif for me, if ur reading this ily <3

You’ve never actually used one of these things before. You’ve only read about them in books or seen them in movies from years ago, and they’ve only ever been an object of abject horror.

You understand why now, looking down at those two little lines on the stick cradled in your hand. You’ve never been quite so terrified in your life.

You never should’ve pocketed this test when you found it in that miraculously untouched drug store. You could’ve stayed blissfully unaware. Better yet, you should’ve been more careful. Three years of living like this has been more than enough to make you firm in your decision to never bring life into this broken world. This isn’t a place for a child, this is barely even a place for you. Every day is a fight, every waking moment is a nightmare. But you’ve been so careless with him and now it’s all crashing down, this blissful bubble where you can pretend that everything might be okay because you have the pack and, more importantly, him. 

You won’t have him for much longer when he finds out about this.

You wonder what it’ll take to right this wrong before he finds out about it. It must be pretty early, so maybe it won’t take much to reverse it. Maybe all you’ll have to do is bump into something just right, or trip over the right log.

The thought makes you sick–more stomach bile than anything else coming up because you’ve hardly had more to eat than stale beef jerky and some precarious berries in the past few days. Resources have been so slim; another reason this can’t be happening. You hardly have enough to tide you over, much less a child. And it’ll be even worse once the pack abandons you.

You bury yourself into the haphazard nest of blankets and his worn clothes, letting the heavy, musky scent of him soothe your wracking sobs. 

Maybe you should just accept your fate now, sacrifice yourself for the good of the pack. Everyone is going to die eventually, after all–sooner rather than later in this world. You’ve only been postponing the inevitable. They never have to know why you do it, and it’ll be one less mouth to feed. Two, technically, but they’ll never have to know that. He won’t even really miss you, it’ll be one less burden on his hands. On all of their hands.

You don’t hear them return early from scavenging–maybe because the volume of your own sobs drowns out any other noise. Or maybe because he can sense something is wrong as he enters the run-down little shack you’ve been holed up in for the past few weeks, and he softens his approach because of it.

Joel has never been quite as tender as he is when he takes you into his arms, pulling your face out of the pile of fabric to wipe at your tear-streaked cheeks.

“My omega, shhhh, I’m here. It’s okay,” he murmurs, wrapping you into his big, strong, safe arms. He doesn’t know. Maybe he thinks you had a nightmare, or you just missed him, or a million other things except the truth. But he doesn’t know, and you know he doesn’t know because you feel the moment he connects the dots. His eyes drop to the little white stick clutched tightly in your fist and his entire body stiffens like a board. Suddenly there’s no more warmth or comfort to his touch, nothing soothing about the pheromones drifting from him. He pulls away like you’re infected, and maybe you are. Maybe the thing that’s taken root in you is worse than cordyceps could ever hope to be.

You’ve never been terrified of him before. Joel is dark and brooding and imposing, but he’s only ever fought to protect you. His omega, who wormed their way under his skin despite him fighting it every step of the way. His omega, who’s been the only source of anything remotely close to comfort he’s had since outbreak day. His omega, who’s given him purpose in this dark world.

His omega, who’s betrayed him in such an unforgivable way.

“What the fuck.” There’s nothing but venom in his tone–he looks at you with pure disgust and your resolve crumbles.

Maybe there was a little, tiny, miniscule part of you that hoped it would be different. That he would be excited to be a father, or at least be understanding. But that hope dies so suddenly when you look up into his scowling face. He towers over you, dark eyes flashing with anger, and for the first time since you met him two long years ago you’re scared.

“You were supposed to be careful.” His voice rises further and further with each syllable, as if this isn’t partially his fault too. As if he wasn’t the one in such an uncontrollable rut last month that he kept you in bed all week, losing the willpower required to pull out with each powerful thrust of his hips. As if it isn’t his seed blooming in your womb as you speak.

“What do we do now, huh?” He growls, eyes darkening, fists clenching at his sides. “I’ve fucking marked you, I can’t turn you loose! And we barely make it by as we are! How the fuck are we supposed to handle this?”

He rants for what seems like hours and you flinch with every booming word, curling tighter around yourself in a desperate attempt to simply disappear; to not have to deal with this any more because your heart shatters with each irreversible word he throws at you. You shrink and shrink and shrink in hopes of vanishing because this is undoable. No matter what happens, nothing will ever go back to the way it was and that’s the knowledge that crushes you completely.

Your voice is so small when he finally quiets enough for you to speak. “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

Joel stops in his tracks, white knuckles unclenching for the first time in minutes. He sees the fear and regret in your eyes, and he almost lets it soften him. He loathes himself for this look on your face–for making you scared of him.

His omega. So small and fragile, curled in a pile of his clothes because his scent brings you comfort. He’s dedicated two years of his time and effort to keeping you safe and comfortable, if not happy. He’s supposed to protect you, not hurt you. He’s supposed to give you children and raise them with you, be a family with you. That’s what being your alpha means, and he has so sorely failed you. 

But he knows he can never do that again. That’s never what this was supposed to be. He didn’t mark you out of anything but necessity–if he had let your uncontrolled scent waft every time you went into heat, every alpha in the country would be targeting your little pack of four. You’re his omega out of biological necessity–a warm hole to fill when his rut threatens to tear already strenuous ties with his brother and Tess. That’s what he tells himself because the alternative is so startlingly incomprehensible that he won’t allow himself to even consider the fact that he might care about you; that the urge to care for you and protect you is more than primal, biological instinct; that you mean more to him than anyone ever has.

Not just his omega now, but his mate. His unborn child is growing and growing and growing with each passing second inside your womb and he’s powerless to stop it.

“We’re thirty-seven miles from the Boston QZ,” he growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “We leave at first light.”

You don’t get a chance to argue or plead your case before the door slams shut behind him. 

➔ beta: @beskarandblasters and @fhatbhabie

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[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

Remember that one scene where Arthur is training with Merlin and Merlin is fighting for his life while Arthur repeatedly knocks him on his arse? I can’t remember what episode but it was early in season 1.

I like to imagine Merlin starts being sarcastic with every hit in hopes it’ll piss Arthur off enough to storm off and leave him alone. It backfires when Arthur starts replying and it turns into a venting session.

Like, Uther said some dumb shit about Arthur? Merlin starts a fight about it.

The knights can’t follow orders? Merlin is disobedient enough that Arthur starts yelling about how dangerous it is when his men don’t follow orders.

Arthur’s feeling bad about someone he couldn’t save? Merlin makes him see why he’s doing enough by arguing with him about it and reminding him that he’s only human.

And Arthur knows what he’s doing, he catches on eventually and will occasionally walk up to Merlin, push his shoulder only enough to be annoying until Merlin stops whatever he’s doing, then Arthur will just say “Fight me.” and Merlin will either say something he knows will get Arthur angry or he’ll throw a punch he knows Arthur will block and they’ll start sparring. (Merlin learns to fight eventually, neither of them realise it’s happening until he sucker punches a bandit and he’s out cold)

Anyway, it becomes something they do to help Arthur vent his frustrations.

The best part? It works.

So Arthur sees Merlin upset. It goes on for about a week when Arthur realises what’s going on. He sits down next to Merlin on the floor one night, nudges his shoulder like he would if he wanted to fight, and says, “why are you upset? It’s not like you’ve got anything to worry about.” In a purposefully taunting way.

Merlin scowls and keeps working, and Arthur tries again, “Really. All you do is follow orders. It’s not hard.”

And so Merlin looks up, clearly angry until he sees what Arthur is trying to do, so he puts down what he’s doing and starts fighting back, “no, just exhausting when those orders are given by a prat.” Or “Maybe if I had a day off once in a while.” I don’t know, I suck at dialogue.

It goes on for a while, until they get too close to the issue, Merlin snaps, tells Arthur he’s a dick and sobs, yelling about magic, and the great dragon being manipulative, loosing his father, loosing Freya, Gaius lying to him about his father and thinking Uther is a good king and a good man, and literally everything else that’s gone wrong.

Arthur pulls him in and hugs him, then tells Merlin they’re fighting together from here on out. It takes a while, but they work it out.

There’s plenty of “fights” about Arthur feeling betrayed by Merlin keeping secrets and Merlin being mad at his situation in Camelot and then being frustrated that he can’t get himself to feel angry at Arthur (I’ve got a half baked character analysis for Merlin and Arthur’s codependency somewhere in my drafts. I’ll come back to it eventually.) but they’re okay and they figure it out and end up stronger for it.

I’m holding back on sharing the major character death/dark!Arthur angsty alternate ending for this, but let me know if you want to see it :)

Edit: Part 2 - (the angsty alternate ending)

[xoxoladyaz]

locked in lowercase (inside a vault)

For @steddie-week Day 3: Longing (1,032 words)

Tags: Mutual Pining, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Hopeful Ending

“Eddie, man. I think you should talk to him.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh, really? What’s with the sudden change of heart, Emerson? That desperate to knock me down a peg?”

“Dude,” Gareth sighs, and the defenses he’d so easily garnered up fall just a little. “Look, I know I wasn’t all that thrilled about Harrington in the first place – ”

“Oh, that’s the understatement of the fucking century, Gare-bear - ”

“ – but,” Gareth ignores Eddie’s attempts at cutting him off, “that was before I saw how miserable you are without him. Like, dude. We made it. We’re on tour right now, and all you wanna do when we’re not on stage is sit on the bus and play Patsy Cline. You,” Gareth taps Eddie on the chest, “you should be having the time of your fucking life right now, but it’s like you’re not really here with us, man.”

Eddie lets Gareth’s words sink in for a moment. The kid’s not wrong, of course, but he doesn’t get it. He can’t. Eddie barely has the words to describe how the feelings started or what his feelings even are, but any time he bumps into anyone that has that look in their eye, that whole I wanna take an up-and-coming rock star for a ride shine, Eddie turns tail and practically runs the other way. It’s not to say that he hasn’t tried – oh, he tried, especially in those first few cities after first leaving Indiana – but it either didn’t happen or it didn’t end well for either party and eventually he just stopped trying. 

Because none of them were Steve. 

And the worst part is, it’s fucking hopeless. The King never, ever gave Eddie even the slightest inclination that it wasn’t just “babes” for him. (Although, to be fair to Steve, Eddie himself didn’t really know until he was too far away to do anything about it, and that’s assuming Eddie’s balls got big enough to even fucking try something.) Steve was kind to Eddie, sure; hell, he was even calling Harrington his best friend at the end, before they left for tour. But then Eddie started wanting and, even worse, started knowing that he wanted any eyes that looked at him in pleasure to be big and brown and belong to Steve and – well, he hasn’t been playing on this side of the field for long, but even a newbie like him knows just how this is going to play out. 

(Which translates to: he slowly stops calling Steve until he isn’t calling him at all. He takes “Head Over Heels” off the set list. He puts the swim team sweater he stole from Steve’s closet at the bottom of the “extra clothes” pile in the back of the bus. And instead of going out after every show, instead of trying and failing to find some peace in the bottom of a bottle like his dad, he sits in the tour bus and plays Patsy Cline on his acoustic under his fingers bleed.)

“It’ll only make things worse, Gare,” Eddie replies, fishing aimlessly in his pockets for the last of his Camels. “I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you will, but he won’t.”

Eddie’s fingers still in his pocket. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. You don’t think Robin chews my head off every time I call to check in?”

(It’s just Eddie’s luck, of course, that Gareth’s first-cousin-and-childhood-best-friend happens to be Steve’s other half.)

“Then why don’t you stop calling?” Eddie finally finds a cig and pulls it out of his pocket, only for it to get snatched out of his fingers.

“Because I’m not an asshole, asshole,” Gareth snaps. “And I’m getting really sick and tired of getting yelled at every time I call home because somebody refuses to man up and deal with his feelings.”

Eddie turns in place, glaring at Gareth. “I am dealing with my feelings!”

“By not dealing with them, dumbass! And for the record, you’re making it even more noticeable by notdealing with them! Hell, even Byers asked me about it the last time he called, because why else would you just drop Harrington all together? It’s been like a year, man, you have to deal with this at some point.”

“I – I didn’t know until a month and a half ago, Gareth, what the hell do you mean by the last year?”

Gareth snorts. “Seriously? Seriously. Holy shit, you’re serious. Fucking – really, man? Now I owe Jeff money.”

“GARETH!” Eddie snaps. “What do you mean, the last year?”

Something is on Eddie’s face, some expression that he can’t control, because Gareth’s eyes soften and grow sad. “Eds, man, you wear your heart on your fuckin’ sleeve and your feelings all over your face. All anyone gotta do is see you look at Steve and know.”

“Know? Know what?”

Gareth’s voice is almost a whisper now. “Do I really need to say it?”

The wounded beast in Eddie’s chest shudders. “No.” He pulls his eyes away from Gareth, refocuses on the rings on his hands – and more specifically, the ring made from an antique spoon that Steve had made him when they were going through his parents’ shit.

(It was the only piece of Steve he couldn’t bear to hide away these last six weeks.)

“Does – does he?”

(Eddie can’t finish the question; hell, Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s asking.

Thankfully, somehow Gareth does.)

“Go call him, Eds,” Gareth says. He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, a benediction for courage, and then leaves the tour bus, leaving Eddie alone and staring at the phone at the end of the bus.

(Maybe there’s a world where Steve feels, can feel, has felt the same. Maybe there’s a world where, when he told Eddie that he’s taking a break from dating that it meant taking a break from dating someone who wasn’t Eddie. Maybe Steve’s been trying and failing to get past this too, and is spending his nights by the phone like Eddie, waiting for someone to call.)

The phone only rings twice.

“This is Steve.”

(And maybe that world is this one.

But he won’t know until he tries.)

“Hey, Stevie. Got a minute?”

[dmwrites]

Gem died annoyed. She died to a sharp sting, a triumphant laugh, and a voice off in the distance saying “Get her, Scar!”

Gem opened her eyes to find the ghosts of her friends around her, arms reaching to help her up, eyes locked over her shoulder. She looked too, saw a purple cloaked being and a red cloaked being locked in battle.

“You get it now, don’t you.”

Everyone else went on to watch Pearl and Scar’s fight, but Gem and Cleo held back, watching from a distance.

“She was my friend! We promised…”

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Gem watched Pearl cut through the grass, arrows and red marks littering her body. She stalked and fought Scar with the same wild grin Gem had been so excited by in life.

“It does hurt.”

“That’s Pearl for you. She gave you more grace then she ever gave me, to be fair. But god is she brutal,” Cleo said. Gem glanced at Cleo. She was watching the fight, eyes narrowed at the figures on the ground. “Terrifying.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Gem complained. “Me and Pearl were friends- why did she do that?”

“We’re all a little impartial to our true alliances, at the end of the day. You stood with yours, she with hers, even if it was hastily formed. I think, if things were slightly different, it would be you and her down there right now. It just happened that way,” Cleo sighed. “You have to admire her loyalty. Even if it’s at our own detriment.”

Gem thought back to her final moments alive, turning and realizing that it wasn’t just one, but two people stalking towards her. Scar had leapt at once, a hungry beast to fresh meat, calling Pearl on.

“Let me think!”

Pearl had held back, sword in her hand but uncertanty in her eyes. At least, Gem had hoped it had been uncertanty. Hard to tell when Scar was hitting her again and again. But she had come eventually, swinging and hit Gem with the deadly accuracy that made her so scary to others. But never to Gem, not until now.

“She encouraged him to kill me,” Gem said. “She hurt me.”

“Of course she did. She’s Pearl,” Cleo spoke with such certainty, like Pearl’s name explained everything. “You can’t have thought she would spare you, Gem. You adored her, and it doomed you. Don’t let adoration get in the way, it’ll only break your heart.”

<Pearlescentmoon fell from a high place>

There was cheering, off in the distance. Scar had won the game, Pearl was dead. The others reached for Pearl as her soul climbed out of her body, patting her on the back and clamoring about her skills. Pearl didn’t look happy. She hugged Mumbo tight, punched Joel on the shoulder playfully, and put a hand to Bdubs’ face, telling him something Gem was too far away to hear.

And then she turned, and she was looking right at Gem. All the fight seemed to drain out of her, the tired smile fading. She walked over to Cleo and Gem, while everyone else went over to watch Scar.

“Congrats, Pearl. Almost a two-time winner.” Cleo said as she came near. She had a hand on Gem’s shoulder.

Pearl just looked at Gem. Here, in the place after death, Pearl looked so innocent. No bow or sword in her hand, no red clothes and sharp cut down her face. She was Pearl, her friend Pearl. Pearl who had turned on her. Pearl who had had a hand in watching her die. Gem turned away, a bitter taste on her tongue, but Cleo dug her nails into her shoulder to stop her.

“Don’t take it personally, Gem. Take it from me. You would have done the same thing if you were in Pearl’s place and you know it.”

Gem turned to argue, but Cleo walked away, towards the group gathering to watch Scar, still on the ground, alone and still alive. Pearl met her eye, and Gem knew Cleo was right. Without saying a word, they both turned and walked further away from the group. Pearl reached out a hand, and Gem took it. Their footsteps were heavy, and Gem was so tired. One day, they would talk about what had happened, but for now, they walked, hand in hand, feeling relief that their suffering had ended for now.

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke selection- Creep - Radiohead

AN: A little more insight on Nancy and her major: Nancy is majoring in architecture. The Landgraabs are famously known for owning land and property- both residential and commercial- and Nancy will eventually operate the part of family business that will allow her to design houses, buildings and other structures in addition to leasing. (Geoffrey comes from a family of doctors but he decided to get a business degree- as he knows this would likely please Nancy's parents)

Transcript under the cut

Siobhan: Think about it, Nancy! Making your mark on this university—on the world—begins with Theta!

Becca: Nice one, you two.

Nancy: They only want me to join their organization because it’ll benefit them. All they care about is money -Ouch!

Geoffrey: [winces] Sorry. Your knees are completely raw.

Geoffrey: They’ve only got as far as knowing your name. If you give them a chance to get to know the real you-

Nancy: There’s nothing to know! Why do you think I had my parents make arrangements so I’d have my own room? I don’t want roommates. I don’t want friends! I just want to do my time so I can-

Geoffrey: Get away, I know...but what if you just take the next four years to have fun? It’s ok to just enjoy it for what it is. Isn’t that what college is all about?

Nancy: [scoffs] Sure, for you. You don’t have the same expectations as me.

Nancy: You can be anything you want. You can join any sports team; you can switch your major a million times if you want to. I have to excel at everything I do, whether I want to or not, and I cannot come out of this a failure. I have to be ready to start working along with my parents the moment I graduate.

Geoffrey: I just want you to be happy. I want you to take care of yourself. Be kinder to yourself. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. You’re a good person. You’re an amazing person, Nancy. Anyone would be lucky to be apart of your life.

Geoffrey: Does this hurt?

Nancy: Yes. It hurts.

Nancy: You’re too good for me.

Geoffrey: Don’t say that.

Geoffrey: It’s Karaoke night at Tab’s. Bobby and I wanted to check it out. Did you want to go?

Nancy: I think I’ll pass. I should get started on this project for Munch. I want to get ahead.

Geoffrey: If you change your mind, come down and unwind a bit. Have fun. Eat. Ok?

Nancy: Ok.

Geoffrey: I love you, Nance.

[door shuts]

Nancy Narrates: [I’m holding him back. A selfish part of me knows it, but I can’t fathom the thought of losing someone else]

[distant laughter]

Nancy: Heavenly Father, help me to find peace in Your love and wisdom-

Geoffrey and Bob Karaoke Pick: Creep by Radiohead I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[crowd whistles and cheers]

I don't care if it hurts I wanna have control

I want a perfect body I want a perfect soul

Morgan: [hums] Upright High Priestess. That’s twice now. Once again, my intuition is being called forth.

I want you to notice When I'm not around

Morgan: My appetite is off. I can’t focus. If I weren’t on the pill, I’d think I was knocked up. So. What does that leave me with? I can almost bet this is all connected to-

Morgan: You! You have something to do with this.

Nancy: [frowns] Do with...what, exactly?

You're so fuckin' special I wish I was special

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo

Morgan: Rich Christian girl with walls as high as Berlin stumbles on campus and taps my shoulder. I had a dream the night before that I placed an injured dove back into its nest. I think this is fate. Sit. I’ll do your reading. Free of charge, of course.

Nancy Narrates: [I didn’t know it then, how right she was. About fate. About everything]

What the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny Phantom Writing Prompt:

When she comes to, a silver haired man with a matching goatee greets her. Kind of. He’s disappointed.

She’s surrounded in neon green and she is so, so, so confused.

——

Her name is-

Well. It was something else.

What matters is that Vlad doesn’t call her by anything other than “Danielle” and “you.”

She thinks if she wasn’t who she is- if Vlad hadn’t ripped her out of her own life, poured her tattered soul into this imperfect body- she’d believe the father like figure he’s poorly pretending to be. But she knows. This is a show she’s watched many times. Vlad, even if she hadn’t had years of actual life and the foreknowledge of Danny Phantom, she’d eventually clock him as a villain.

“You can do it, Danielle.” He says.

“Obey, or suffer the consequences,” she hears. She knows manipulation when she hears it. Vlad thinks it’ll work. After all, little pod baby Danielle would know no different than the confining walls of her room. But she does know, and the voices of her loved ones bolster her in this delicate balancing act.

So, she pretends to let him mold her. Let him shape little Danielle into a puppet he could pilot as he wishes.

To act like her body’s template, but to be obedient in ways Danny would never allow himself to be. To turn trusting blue eyes up towards the drawling billionaire and pretend to take his word as gospel.

In return, he gives her more freedom. He thinks it’s control, that she returns even when he gives her ample chances to leave. She knows it’s a test, and she’s always been good at those.

She collects evidence, slowly. Because Vlad might have overshadowed people and signed their companies over to him, but he was sloppy. He was sloppy and she was a paralegal.

——

Vlad gives her the mission she’s been waiting for. She goes to Danny with a neutral mask and acts like a person who knows nothing of normal social cues.

It’s what Vlad expects of her.

The time is not yet right.

——

So when the time comes, Danielle makes a decision. She was never the baby Dani. She will never be. When she punches Vlad, she tears into him with everything she has. She makes him bleed and she breaks him and she slaps the anti-ghost belt on him to lock his ability. And she breaks more, just to make sure he might not heal all the way, all the while Danny watches in horror.

And then she starts the process of legally beating him up. Danielle bankrupts Vlad in two months with legal fees, and she takes vicious pleasure in rendering him destitute.

Hah. Try creating clones of your one sided love now, you creepy motherfucker.

——

She’s melting. She makes a joke, because Danny looked terrified and she got attached. Well, it’s hard not to get attached, considering he risked his neck for her even after learning she was there to…

Well.

He saves her. She knew he would.

She’s whole again. Stable. But something in her breaks, because she knows, with a sense of unfathomable knowledge, that she will never rid herself of the name Danielle again. She’s bound to this world. The price for her life was an eternity of imprisonment in a realm where she will never see the people she loves again.

——

“I’m not… I wasn’t always Danielle.” She admits to Danny, Tucker, and Sam.

“What does that even mean?”

She sighed, leaning against the window sill.

“The reason I was stable and my… siblings weren’t was because Vlad ripped my soul out from my body and shoved it into the body of a clone. He killed me.”

Danny stuttered to a close. Grief. She smiles at him.

“Technically, I’m older than you and Jazz.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, head buried in her hands. Tucker just stares at her.

“Yeah. Me too. But you shouldn’t blame yourself, Danny.” Danielle knows that look on his face. “I hate him, yeah. But… I can’t change it now. So, I’ll see what this world has to offer.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny says to her.

“I get it.”

And she does. Because Danielle knows what it is to die, now. So does he.

So she flips off the window sill, enjoying her always novel powers of flight, and laughs.

“I’ll be Nellie. You can call me Nellie.”

[d3sserts0ul]

I would like to order a fresh, DOA members, Poe, dazai, chuuya, tecchou and mori reacting to Reader wearing pheromone perfume? Well done with extra sugar please, we are very hungry. ❤️

𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜... Fresh cookies with extra sugar coming right up!

mori will not be there though due some reasons and the DOA will be done in a separate post!

“ 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚, 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚. ”

𝘉𝘚𝘋 𝘔𝘌𝘕 ( 𝘋𝘢𝘻𝘢𝘪 - 𝘊𝘩𝘶𝘶𝘺𝘢 ☆ 𝘗𝘰𝘦 ☆ 𝘛𝘦𝘤𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘶 ☆ [DoA will be in Part 2] ) 𝘟 𝘎𝘕！𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙.

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙭𝙩; 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧 ‘𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜’ 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙢𝙚/𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ; 𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚, swearing

－ 𝘋𝘈𝘡𝘈𝘐

• Immediately notices a pleasant smell when you walk in the room, and towards him. It’s different from the usual scent you put on, and he knows that.

• You’ll notice dazai being extra flirtatious and talkative, he’d also want to be around you often that day. Will definitely mention you smelling so nice, even getting handsy with you.

• He loves the smell of you, and you’d act clueless on the way he’s acting, but unbeknownst to you, he knows the perfume/cologne you chose today. He can’t wait to see the look on your face when he says he knows you wore such a scent.

• His behavior was genuine, you smelled way too good and it was hard for him to keep his hands to himself and not doing anything else, let alone not whisper dirty nothings in your ear. He thinks you’re adorable for trying to seduce him in such a way, a creative one at that. (It’ll be to the point where it’ll make you irritated.)

• If Dazai still could scent your fragrance once you two get home, it’ll be quite a pleasant night for you both. He’ll finally be able to release the tightness in his pants, the tightness you caused.

Dazai’s arms were wrapped around you, cradling your body. It didn’t matter if anyone walked into the office, right now all he could think of was how you smelled at this moment. It was an addicting and he wanted more of it. “ You think I wouldn’t notice? ” He mumbled to you with a smirk growing on his lips. “ Notice what? ” You responded back, knowing damn well what he was talking about.

Acting clueless is part of the plan, and you hoped at that moment that he wouldn’t see through such a facade. “ You know what I’m talking about. You smell nice right now, too nice for your own sake. ” He said, his hands going down to your hips, then thighs and then back up again. That compliment sounded backhanded and although it wasn’t, you didn’t bother to respond back to him.

“ Don’t ignore me now, I’m so very tempted already and not saying anything will make me even more. ”

~ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

－ 𝘊𝘏𝘜𝘜𝘠𝘈

• Like his love for dogs, and considering dogs have good noses, he does too. He’ll notice you suddenly smelling extra nice that day, but just can’t pinpoint what perfume/cologne you’re wearing. He buys you stuff oftentimes, with it being jewelry, outfits, and in this case, fragrances. You always use them whenever he gets you any and those are the only ones you use whenever you go to see him. This isn’t a scent Chuuya bought you, and he knows it.

• Though the suspicious smell he can’t figure out isn’t the main thing he’s focused on, it’s actually how damn good you smell right now. You’ll notice the perfume is working by how clingy he is, and just like Dazai, he’d want to stay around you whenever you have it on.

• Way more talkative, and glances down at specific areas of your body while he’s with you. Eventually it’ll get to a point where Chuuya just wants, no, needs to make out with you. You’re driving him mad and he’s starting to get frustrated with how you make him feel right now.

• Once you tell Chuuya that you were wearing pheromonal perfume, it all started to click to him. It explained why he felt so needy to have his tongue intertwined with yours, why his pants felt so tight all a sudden.

• Now although Chuuya isn’t mad, he is confused on why you didn’t just ask to get intimate with him. Afterall, he wouldn’t deny you anything, not even sex.

Chuuya grunted quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “ Ugh, fuck... ” He mumbled to himself out of frustration. “ Are you okay? ” You ask him, despite knowing what the reason is anyways. He looks up at you, blushing and trying to regain his composure. “ Yes, I’m just getting a little tipsy from the alcohol. ” Chuuya sighs. That was an obvious lie, his glass still filled with the beverage he poured for you two. “ Two sips make you tipsy? ” you chuckle, his face scrunches out of anger in response. “ It isn’t because of me? The perfume? ” Chuuya’s eyes widen a little, you knew about this and refused to give him an explanation.

“ You fucking—, shit… Can you at least help me, this is your fault you know. ”

~ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

－ 𝘗𝘖𝘌

• Poe, like the rest, will smell the perfume and will become addicted to it. This isn’t something he feels everyday, let alone sense from you everyday so he’s going to be curious on what is causing this sudden arousment.

• Poe knows he’s in love with you, he’s knew that from the moment he started to develop feelings and see you differently from others, is this another effect of experiencing love? Suddenly feeling aroused from just the faint scent of you?

• He will compliment your look, telling failed pickup lines to you, and just unconsciously getting a bit handsy (in a way that’s normal, such as hands on your hands) . If you don’t like it then Poe will stop, but he needs to know, why does he feel this sudden urge to push your knees over your head.

• If you happen to be in the same room as him while he’s writing, oh the things that will be written in that story. It’s honestly surprising, coming from him even because you’d never expect him to write like that. Poe will soon come back down to earth and realize what he’s writing with that pen in his hand.

• After a pause of realization, his cheeks start to heat up and he quickly hides the work in his lap. When you ask him what’s wrong, he’ll yell nothing before leaving the room with Karl to go talk about his current odd feelings to him.

• Poe will ask you what trick are you pulling to make him feel like this, what sorcery or ability do you have to cause this?

• Once you explain that it’s pheromonal perfume, and that you put it on for him, it’ll all make sense. Now don’t get him wrong, he’s flattered but at least tell him or something from the start. ( he‘lol tell you to wear it on occasions, just for him at least. )

The pen moves elegantly, Poe’s hand guiding it where it needs to go. You sat in a seat in front of the desk, reading one of his mystery novels in your lap while Karl sat in Poe’s lap. He looked fine while he was writing, calm and focused even but in reality, his laps shake from the arousal that’s been hitting him all day, it’s getting unbearable by the minute. Of course, he wants to initiate some sort of relief, like a few kisses, but the thought stopping him is that it would be awkward, especially during this peaceful quiet time. Who is he to disturb this perfect moment of you two bonding, he can’t messed this up, he just can’t. Poe needed to know though… and getting up, he exclaimed.

“ What sorcery is this?! Why are you making me feel this way?! ”

~ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

－ 𝘛𝘌𝘛𝘊𝘏𝘖̄

• Tetcho is unbothered by the sudden pleasure in his stomach when you walk by him with a nice smelling ‘fragrance’. He feels that feeling anytime he sees you, so why should he worry about it?

• Though this feelings seems more intense than usual, but once again he isn’t fazed by it. Maybe when you two get home he can bend you over a bed or something, this arousal shouldn’t get in the way of his duties of a hunting dog. It’s weak of him to do anyways.

• The irritation will start to get to you, seeing that he doesn’t care at all, it makes you want to punch him so bad. Jonō’s motto started to make sense to you at this moment.

• If you didn’t lose hope by now, that’s a good thing. The more he breathes in the pretty fumes, the more he notices how pretty you really are, how nice you smell, and how sensitive his body is starting to get.

• Tetcho will start being a little bit more bold and flirtatious. It’s finally working on this man and he’s giving in to the desire, and he’s also given the ‘this makes me look weak’ motive a break.

• It’s advised that you let Tetcho know that you put pheromonal perfume before you even plan this out, he wouldn’t care but it would be preferred by request from him.

Tetcho’s fingers tap away at his phone, doing god knows that on there. You sat besides him, your fingers quivering out of irritation due to how unfazed he is, how he doesn’t seem to move an inch, despite the arousing perfume you wore today filling the current vicinity. You lay your head on him, hoping that will spark some sort of reaction but no, he answers with a little hand rub on the thigh. This was getting pointless, and even if he did know you had this perfume on, it was ineffective on him, bummer. “ Do you want anything to eat? ” You say ready to get up to go get some food for you two. Tetcho glances up then back at his phone. “ You. ” He responds with a smug look on his face. You felt heat rise up in your cheeks from such a comment.

“ What? You wanted a reaction from your little trick, so I’ll give it to you. ”

~ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

[kynizen]

♡ obey me hcs ~ fading

prompt. as your absence from the present day persists, the demons find themselves struggling. though your room remains in pristine condition, other indicators of your presence are slowly fading. gn reader.

ft. asmodeus, beelzebub, belphegor

warnings. angst, hurt no comfort, mentions of depression & associated behaviors, slight suggestive mentions in asmo’s section

a/n — gods, obey me is a series with so much angst potential. as much as I adore fluff, angst is definitely something. I hope you enjoy this little set! the other four brothers will also have a set coming soon! <3

🌧️ asmodeus ;;

~ Asmo is one of the most affected by your disappearance. He tries his best to play it off casually— tries to act like he usually does. Because you never stay gone for long, right? You always find a solution and come back home to him, so surely, this time would be no different.

~ However, as the days pass, you don’t return. Solomon’s assessment and assistance doesn’t seem to be helping, either. While the sorcerer is certain that you will return… it’s anyone’s guess as to when it’ll happen.

~ When that realization sets in, Asmodeus becomes far more gloomy and upset. He sees you in everything he does— he can hardly enjoy himself when the person he loves just as much as himself isn’t there. Each time he tries to have a spa night, go shopping, or take cute photos, he’s reminded of you.

~ It always ends with him scrolling through countless photos with you— wondering how long it’d be until he saw your smile again— until he saw your presence once more.

~ Asmo is desperate to feel close to you again. He’s afraid of touching anything in your room for fear of losing the last proof that your existence has a mark in this timeline, but he can’t help himself.

~ He ends up stealing your clothing from your closet. If you had a perfume or cologne you liked wearing, he’d take that too. He reasons that he’ll just replace it when you return… if you ever come home.

~ For the most part, he holes up in his room, taking less and less care of himself as the days pass. He’ll spray your perfume/cologne on his things just to be reminded of you— just to feel like you hadn’t disappeared. He’ll wear your clothing to feel close to you— to get the ghost of a comforting presence he can’t help but miss.

~ As time continues to pass, Asmo becomes unable to look in the mirror. He knows he hasn’t been taking care of his appearance. On top of that, he doesn’t want to see his unblemished skin— not when his last memory was of you biting bruises into his skin and leaving marks on his hips.

~ That physical reminder that you loved him— up until you disappeared— he’d be unable to keep himself together if he had to see it fade. Because that’d solidify that this wasn’t just some nightmare. You were really somewhere else— and this time, there was no way to reach you.

~ At this point, insecurity starts to rear its ugly head. If you’re to return, will you even love him anymore? If he’s been too sad to take care of himself— hardly able to find happiness in anything without you— would you still love him?

~ Would you abandon him again the moment you realize that he’d desperately need to cling to you— that he had to cling to remnants of your presence just to stay sane?

~ He hates himself for thinking that. He knows you didn’t abandon him— that you wouldn’t have left if it had been your choice. But he can’t help the way his emotions muddy his mind. You were always there to help him when things got this complicated.

~ Asmo spends many nights crying— listening to your voicemails and drowning himself in your memory.

~ Eventually, he does get to a point where his brothers intervene to try their best to help him. They try to keep him distracted, help him take care of himself, and keep him company so he doesn’t feel the pain of your absence.

~ But… they know just as well as Asmodeus does that it’ll never be the same. Asmodeus loves himself, yes, but…

~ He specifically loves who he is with you. Now that you’re gone… he doesn’t feel nearly as cute, pretty, handsome— nearly as himself as he does when you’re around.

🌧️ beelzebub ;;

~ Despite how pained Beel is at your disappearance, he’d worry himself over the way it’d affect Belphie as opposed to himself. He’d spend a lot of time worrying about everyone else aside from himself— wanting to ensure that his brothers eat, sleep, and take care of themselves.

~ However, when he has a moment alone— a moment that isn’t made busy by caring for others— the crushing weight of your absence weighs heavily on him.

~ In moments of doubt, he could always go to you. You were always there to reassure and comfort him— to take care of him and his needs when he was so focused on everyone else. You always made sure that he wasn’t kind to the point of self-sabotage.

~ Without you around, he notices himself smiling less and less— finding it hard to be optimistic without your light shining on him. He wouldn’t lash out, instead internalizing everything he feels.

~ Is he allowed to be upset with you when it was out of your control? Is he allowed to be angry? He isn’t sure. Who would he even direct anger at? He wasn’t mad at you, just at the situation you happened to end up in for whatever reason— whoever was behind your disappearance is to blame, not you. He knows that.

~ Beelzebub struggles greatly with your fading presence. Leftovers you cooked slowly dwindled, and the snack stock you shared with him grew more and more scarce as the days passed. It becomes more and more apparent to him that you are gone.

~ You never left the fridge empty for long. The snack pile always seemed to replenish the moment it started growing the slightest bit smaller. On top of that, Beel felt like he never went hungry with you around. You always carried something for him, whether you were out and about or at RAD.

~ Now… he isn’t even sure if anyone in the House or Lamentation has even cooked, let alone went shopping for groceries in the wake of your disappearance. Hell, Beel wasn’t even sure the last time he had the strong appetite he associated with his sin.

~ Nowadays, he was eating what’d be considered a “normal” volume for other demons, but was starkly out of character for Beelzebub. No matter what his brothers brought him— what people tried to offer him in an attempt to get him to eat more— to smile again— it never worked.

~ He’d eat a little, enjoy a fleeting moment of happiness before remembering that you were no longer there to enjoy food with him, and he’d quickly excuse himself. Food tasted bland without you— like it was all the same taste and texture.

~ He used to enjoy mealtime because it meant lighthearted conversation and warm company during each and every meal. Now, each meal he shared with brothers was framed by the lack of your presence. And meals alone did nothing to satiate what hunger he did feel.

~ It became nothing more than a function to him. He’d try recreating your recipes just to become frustrated or disappointed when it didn’t taste the same. It didn’t have your touch— your added flair. Everything he made had that same bland, tasteless flavor to it.

~ He tries his best to continue his day to day while coping with your absence. He knows he has to still go out and do things— that’s how people feel better, right?

~ But his daily routine simply reminds you that it isn’t the same routine if you aren’t there. Waking up early to share a meal, walking to RAD together, dragging Belphie out of bed together— none of it felt the same when you weren’t there.

~ Beel’s daily life starts to lose color. And though he feels he shouldn’t burden his brothers with his struggles, it’s hard for them not to notice. When he forces a smile or forces himself to eat so they don’t worry, it only increases their ever-growing concern.

~ They try their best to keep him company and urge him to open up more to them, but they know they can’t force him.

~ Beel has a preconceived notion, likely from their past as a family, that makes him believe he has to be a mediator— he has to keep the peace between everyone with no regard to himself.

~ And you… were the only one who managed to break those walls down and cared deeply for him. Now, they hope you’ll return before Beel becomes entirely unreachable.

🌧️ belphegor ;;

~ Belphegor tries his best to act apathetic toward your disappearance. It isn’t a big deal— he can wait for you to return. Though, he isn’t exactly fooling anyone at all.

~ How could he fool anyone when he slept in your room almost every night? How could he fool anyone when he was adamant on not waking up and attending class if it wasn’t you rousing him from slumber?

~ At the end of the day, Belphie doesn’t want to admit how much of a wreck he is without you. He already views himself in a less than favorable light. He’s a burden upon his siblings— hardly able to last an entire day without sleeping, practically collapsing, the moment his body demanded rest.

~ However, you never made him feel that way. Never once did you make him believe that the condition that came with his sin made him a burden. You were happy to take care of him. You carried him when he fell asleep— let him rest on your shoulder between classes and woke him up when it was time to go.

~ How could he manage even a day’s worth of tiring work if you weren’t there to support him? He’d be reminded all over again that he’s weighed down by his sin. He’d be reminded that it’s hard to manage without you.

~ Sure, he could likely manage it without you, but he doesn’t want to. Wouldn’t that just erase your presence from his life? Getting his act together means accepting that maybe he didn’t need you as much as he thought— and that’s something he refuses to accept. In his eyes, that’s essentially accepting that you wouldn’t return.

~ Then again, the dreamscape wasn’t much better than reality. Sure, he could meet you in his dreams, but he was always aware that that’s all it was— a fantasy. It wasn’t actually you. It never would be.

~ So Belphie starts suffering from periods of insomnia followed by long periods of slumber exacerbated by the exhaustion of his insomnia. He’ll spend hours upon hours awake at the dead of night, waiting for you to walk back through those doors.

~ Then, he spends nearly days asleep in your bed, unable to be roused from his deep sleep— clinging on to the remnants of you left in your room. Nowadays, he can hardly sleep unless he’s surrounded by your scent— and even that’s slowly disappearing from your blankets and bedsheets. He’s afraid to think about what’ll happen when it does entirely disappear.

~ Some days, he holes away in his old room— a quiet sanctuary where you’d spend a night in with him. He never touched anything you left there. Your clothing and accessories that you left still remained in the same place— your blankets still a mess on your side of the pile of pillows you’d sleep in with him.

~ Every time he looks at the things you left— every time he thinks of you— he feels regret. He knows that it wasn’t your choice to leave, but did you stay away because of him? Did you truly never forgive him after all? Was experiencing a new timeline amplifying preexisting resentment you held toward him?

~ Was it his fault that you hadn’t come home?

~ The mere thought is enough for him to send him down an ugly spiral. Just like with Lilith— this is her situation all over again. Disappearing, not dead, but always somewhere out of reach. Somewhere away from him.

~ At a certain point, he’d close himself off from his brothers entirely. Beelzebub would be able to get through to him since they’re twins, but the rest of them would be effectively shut out. Nothing they did would soothe the pain caused by your absence.

~ It gets to the point where Belphie sheds tears in his sleep— haunted by nightmares of his past mixed with your present. He’s more lethargic than ever— his sleep constantly interrupted by visions of your death, rejection, and hatred— all of that mixed with reemerging visions of the things that happened to Lilith. Every time he startles awake, tears silently stream down his face.

~ His brothers can only watch, unable to do much more than offer support that Belphegor doesn’t even want.

~ They wonder how much longer Belphie will last. When you return… they hope it’ll be to a Belphegor that isn’t just a shell of his former self. They hope you’ll come home on time.

tags.

[azzibuckets]

the not so pleasant part of falling in love [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: it’s late at night and paige starts to spiral

a/n: ignore the fact that i haven’t finished part 2 of anything yet 😩

word count: 840

masterlist

Everyone talks about the pleasant parts of falling in love. The butterflies, the intimacy, the attachment. But no one ever bothered to tell Paige about the grappling fear that comes with it, the loss of power felt when someone has taken utter control over your heart. Paige thinks it’s beautiful in a way - loving someone so much that you trust them with the ability to ruin your life. But then her mind starts to wander, and her chest feels heavy with what-ifs. What if Azzi stops loving her back? What if Azzi eventually leaves her to find someone better? Because Azzi deserves everything in the whole fucking world, Paige thinks, and sometimes I feel like I’m nothing.

So Paige hates herself. She hates herself for being in love with Azzi’s innocent doe eyes and how expressive they are, always betraying her emotions.

Paige hates herself for loving Azzi’s smile. Because if Paige will do one thing, it’ll be make a fool out of herself just for a chance to see Azzi’s dimples. When they’re alone, she’ll make the stupidest jokes to keep Azzi laughing, so that she can reach out and cup her face and run her thumb over those damn dimples and kiss them over and over again. But most of all, Paige loves the way that Azzi has a soft smile reserved solely for her, where her eyes and nose will scrunch up and Paige’s heart will start careening out of control.

Paige hates herself for being utterly obsessed with touching Azzi. Their teammates roll their eyes whenever they show PDA, but it’s not Paige’s fault that she can’t help but slip her hands around Azzi’s waist whenever she’s behind her, burying her nose into Azzi’s neck in order to inhale her scent. She can’t help that she finds the baby hairs at the nape of Azzi’s neck so fucking adorable, running her fingers through it whenever they kiss. She can’t help the fact that in order to fall asleep in the car, some part of her has to be touching Azzi, whether it’s holding Azzi’s hand as she drives, or laying her head in her lap when they’re in the back seat. But wait, you can’t mention sleep, because Paige could start a whole tangent about how she loves napping with Azzi because then she gets to wake up to Azzi’s face, which is a glorious thing that no one else is able to experience. Paige feels bad for the rest of the world sometimes, that no one has their own Azzi, but then she feels pride, because of all the girls Azzi chose to be her person, it was Paige.

Paige hates herself for how she loves every little bit of Azzi Fudd. She could talk about her girlfriend for hours, about how hard she works and how she hasn’t let her injuries stop her. Or how kind and selfless Azzi is, always a shoulder for the entire team to cry on. Or how Azzi is the best basketball player in the nation world, and she hates that people don’t recognize Azzi for the pure talent and skill she has, but it makes Paige all the more excited for the next season, so that they can dominate the court together and finally prove it to everyone.

Paige hates the way she loves to bicker with Azzi. They could go back and forth, stuck for hours in the most useless and trivial argument, but because both of them are stubborn hard asses, neither of them will give up until Azzi inevitably threatens to make Paige sleep in her own bed that night, and Paige immediately crumbles because she can’t bear the thought of not cuddling Azzi to sleep. “You’re right about everything,” she’ll admit with a pout, letting herself fall into Azzi’s arms and showering kisses all over her face. “I love you. Don’t make me go to sleep in my bed, all cold and alone.” And Azzi will roll her eyes, but affectionately, and then smirk to herself because she knows that she’ll never actually do that to Paige, not for something as simple as a dumb argument. But it’s funny how much Paige believes it, and she also loves seeing Paige be a total simp.

Paige hates all of these things, she concludes as she stares up at the ceiling. But then she looks to the side, and Azzi glances up from her computer, meeting her eyes and giving a little grin before going back to her homework. And in that moment, as Paige studies Azzi’s goddamn gorgeous face lit up by the weak light of her laptop, she realizes that she doesn’t give a flying fuck about how she hates these things. Because Azzi Fudd is completely hers, and Azzi Fudd will never leave.

Paige rolls over and buries her face in Azzi’s shirt. The younger girl is surprised at first, but she laughs and starts stroking Paige’s cheek with the pad of her thumb. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” Paige buries her head further. “Just thinkin about how much I love you.”