#did i wrote this after my own anxiety attack yes

[stevesbipanic]

Steve can usually feel the beginning of an anxiety attack before it happens.

For him it's the slight uptick in his heart rate, it reminds him of that night in the junkyard, adrenaline starting to pump through his veins, survive just survive. For him it's the slight tingle in his fingers, instinctively flexing them as if that will dispel the energy from them. For him it's the fight or flight part of his brain turning back and forth, the part that reminds him to breathe just keep breathing, in out in out.

Ever the man of action, Steve always has a plan, even for this. Breathe, keep breathing, the air will keep your head on straight a little longer. It's better when he's at home, at home he can go get his big sweater, the one that wraps him in warmth and safety and headphones to play his mixtapes that remind him of his family. At work he has the backroom, a heavy blanket on the shelf always waiting for him.

Robin is part of his plan some days. She can't wrap herself around him like the sweater or the blanket, the touch would stress her out and a stressed out Robin is no help to Steve. Robin can talk though, a steady stream of words, a point of focus, a reminder of where he is, who he's with.

His favourite way of chasing away the thrum of run run run fight fight fight breathe breathe breathe, is Eddie. Eddie who he doesn't have to tell anything for him to notice. Eddie who when he's cuddled with Steve on the couch can hear his heartrate lift, can feel his fingers flex between his own. There is no need for a heavy blanket or a sweater when Eddie simply guides him down to laying on the couch, draping himself over Steve and providing the comforting weight across his whole body. There is no need for headphones or rambling when Eddie is stroking his hair and softly singing their song.

Steve can't stop the anxious feelings he gets sometimes, but he can breathe and maybe Eddie will be there beside him breathing too.

[fridgrave2-0]

I'm tired of pretending that I'm okay with ford being an absolute asshole towards fiddleford and basically abusing him.

first of all, yes, it's not ford's fault that he was manipulated (doubtful tbh) and abused by bill, but that doesn't give him the right to be a jerk who closes his eyes on his friend's deepest traumas. the traumas fiddleford got only because stanford completely ignored his warning and got fidds involved into bunch of shit. like his monster hunting which wasn't even the reason fiddleford went to gravity falls in the first place. he was there to help ford build the portal, not to be a part of ford's anomaly quest. and when fiddleford spoke out against it he was ignored because ford doesn't give a shit about anyone else but himself or his muse. fiddleford got traumatized physically and mentally so deeply that in the need to be able to sleep at night peacefully he completely destroyed his mind to the state that even bill was scared to be in there. and what stanford did? he (the one who couldn't care less about fidds warning him about gremoblin) critiqued fiddleford for using the memory gun and didn't even bother to apologize or say that he's sorry in the journal. god, what am I saying, he didn't even took fiddleford to the hospital after fiddleford feel from the sky through the roof of a fucking barn with a dozen of poisonous quills in his body AND A BROKEN ARM. ford described what happened to fidds in the journal, said he "took him home for a treatment" and the next two paragraphs on the other page is "good news the hyperdrive works" LIKE IS THAT THE ONLY THING YOU CARE ABOUT WHAT THE HELL??? "despite our fortune, I have become worried about my assistant... I myself have survived many monster attacks without trauma, but perhaps F is more sensitive that I realized". no shit sherlock, who would've imagine that seeing your worst nightmares and being poisoned can leave a mark on your mental state. sure it's just fiddleford, he's just overreacting because he's "sensitive"))) /src

ford was ignoring fiddleford's concerns all the fucking time that mcgucket was there with him, he took a superstitious and religious guy with anxiety into the forest with real ass monsters who's no one but ford is used to see. fiddleford was warning stanford about shifty and got kidnapped with his identity stolen by the shapeshifter because ford didn't listen. well, at least this time stanford had bothered to apologize for another traumatic event- ah no, next thing ford said is that when the portal is finished all the traumas fiddleford had been through were "worth it". ford just finds ways to make everything worse

we all know that fiddleford has an addictive personality and that the memory gun is the biggest example of that. what we don't talk enough about is that ford at some point decided that sleeping is for losers, but didn't stop at himself and made fiddleford drink 13 fucking cups of coffee, not allowing him to sleep, what in the future made fiddleford a caffeine addict. ford is not only an overworking idiot who gladly damages his own health, no! he wants fiddleford to be the same and quote "gets frustrated" when fiddleford cares not only about his own, but their both basic needs. fiddleford had to work on the portal, get in the trouble with monsters because of ford, but also babysit this manchild to prevent him collapsing from exhaustion (which is more impossible than building a giant portal into the multiverse)

and here we are, the portal testing. once again (and as always) fiddleford did warned ford about everything. fiddleford was working without breaks for days to make sure if the portal will work, and when he found the flaws, he wrote a whole fucking thesis paper, putting all ford's research into a solid work (not taking even smallest credit even tho he was the one to build the portal. when fiddleford had his own theory in the university, ford helped him to only proof that fidds wasn't going crazy by checking the calculations and ford bothered to take the credit for the whole theory, but fiddleford who was a part and a victim of this monumental theory of weirdness didn't took it because he unlike ford doesn't care only about fame). but what did stanford do? he assumed that fiddleford wanted to steal his fucking fame and backstab him. ford didn't even bother to look at something fiddleford was making for three days without resting to make sure that portal won't hurt anyone in the town and that ford won't end up with empty hand if the portal was indeed a lost cause. stanford coldly dismissed fiddleford like they weren't friends, said that he doesn't really waiting fiddleford for the test of the device that fiddleford did built, and even knowing that the portal was dangerous fiddleford chose to come for the test

and then fiddleford got in the portal and it was the biggest traumatic event for him. it was the breaking point for him from which he couldn't stop using the memory gun. it damaged him so much, that he turned from that bright 30-y.o. man into the familiar to us old man mcgucket in the span of two years. his life was ruined for another 30 years, a half of his life he was a mad lonely guy who lived in the junkyard. the man who could've become someone like steve jobs but much better if only he didn't go to help stanford. his family could've been full, tate could have his father. the incident with the portal was the moment of no return for fiddleford, and what did stanford do?

when fiddleford got sucked in the portal, he thought only about the success of his work, that for fidds it was "a remarkable opportunity to confirm or deny the theory" (which he already did with his pre-test research). he didn't think that it was dangerous on the other side, that the portal wouldn't just disintegrate fidds on atoms. and when stanford saw him speaking in a non-human way, shaking and twitching in shock like fiddleford did after the gremoblin incident, ford decided it was nothing. when fiddleford warned him about the apocalypse because he was in the portal and saw it with his own eyes, ford, as always, didn't listen. he didn't just not care about fidds' condition — he diminished everything fiddleford was feeling and everything he witnessed only because it didn't fit in ford's believes which were based just on bill's words (and for stanford it's not something new to belittle things related to fiddleford. he wasn't taking fidds' dream of creating a portable computer seriously, believing that his weirdness theory was much more important)

and after this, stanford insults fiddleford and his family in the journal. he says that he doesn't regret their partnership (it's not really a partnership if stanford didn't count fiddleford as an equal) and friendship breaking up. "to think I considered him a friend!" I doubt he ever did. stanford doesn't know shit about being a good friend (or even a decent person) to someone who sacrificed everything for him. who did put his life aside to be with ford, who cared enough to stay despite stanford again and again putting him in danger, constantly waving him away and feeling no remorse for that. fiddleford was breaking himself for this guy, he canonically was going through "I am nobody to ford if I don't build stuff for him" (and in the end this is exactly what happened). fiddleford didn't tell ford most of his fears and concerns because he didn't want to bother him. fidds was constantly scared and kept in inside because he wanted to be a "better partner". "if I have an anxiety, I will pop anxiety pills", "I'm gonna get through this". and then he didn't

fiddleford was abused by stanford. he was to stanford that ford was to bill, in some ways even worse. it's fucking wild that fiddleford did forgive ford after 30 years of a neverending madness nightmare with his mind being destroyed so much as like it was the earth in the times of the dinosaurs after being hit by the meteorite. fiddleford had lost literally everything, he wasn't even himself for a half of his life and still fidds found the strength to forgive someone who is responsible for it and who used him with regular emotional neglect. and you know what? fuck this. ford would never forgive bill and fiddleford had every right to stay mad at stanford. ford needed to be stuck in the portal to get his head out of the ass and by that time there were only crumbs of someone who fiddleford once was

fiddauthor and billford both are about abuse and toxic relationships. it's up to you what you like to ship, but we need to acknowledge the fact that fiddauthor isn't some fluffy healthy thing where both are happy. fiddleford was never happy and stanford didn't care about fiddleford and his feelings. they made each other worse and ford ruined fidds' life. THIS is the real fiddauthor

[rainytrashh]

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Stop worrying so fucking much

Fic type-> Hurt/ comfort + angst

Warnings*-> Anxiety/ panic attack, PTSD

Word Count-> 1931, a short story

Please check out my other drabbles either on here or on my AO3, the link is at the end <3

~Masterlist~ | Most popular post

*I’ve written Marc’s anxiety/panic attack off of mine that I’ve had in the past but I don’t have PTSD so if there’s anything I wrote wrong please tell me so I can fix it and improve my own understanding of it, thx and enjoy!

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You and Marc were working in the museum together, just chatting, not doing much of anything really. Well except when Donna was watching, which was more or less every five minutes or so because no matter how much you two tried to convince her that you were, in fact, cleaning the floors she just wouldn’t fuck off.

“Steven!”

They haven’t told her about their DID, they don’t think she’d react too well. They’re also glad she hasn’t been bothered to ask about the occasional shift in accents; she hasn’t cared enough to ask anyways.

“Donna-“

“Steven…”

“Donna, I’m cleaning you’re watching me do it.”

Daggers, right into his eyes. You can practically see them.

“Ma- Steven has the mop in his hand?”

-Is your attempt at defending him.

“Really?”

-Is her sarcastic reply.

You turn to Marc and give him a downwards smile, he side-eyes you pretending not to see but he can’t manage to suppress a grin of his own.

“And- I don’t see any mop in yours!”

She snaps, putting her hands on her hips.

“Don’t forget to do the bathroom, y’know the one someone managed to fuckin’ implode-“

“Yes, ok Donna.”

“Water literally everywhere! How does someone even-“

“We’ll. Be. Right. On it. Donna.”

You say stiffly cutting her off once more knowing their sensitivity around the subject, around what happened that day. Wouldn’t you still be a little freaked out if a massive demon dog chased after your alter and left you both just a little shook afterwards; finally making that alter finally aware of you? You know, big plot point in someone’s life to be honest.

Of course him and Steven are cool now, the whole ‘protecting the travellers of the night’ thing being over helps too. What doesn’t help is being able to remember all the bloody, action-packed, I’m-gonna-die moments that came along with it.

You give her the best ‘I’m being as polite as I can to you right now given that you’re my boss and I need this job, desperately’ smile that you have before she slowly turns and walks off.

“Could she’ve gone any earlier?”

“Yes, definitely.”

You catch his gaze after he glanced behind him in the direction of the bathroom.

“You… want me to do the bathroom?”

“No, no you don’t have to. I’ll help just like I’m helping now.”

You smile softly at him.

“Ok, I’ll take the mop. Do you wanna get the rag and spray bottle?”

He hands you the mop, swiping it from him letting the wheelie bucket it’s in trail behind.

“I’ll be back.”

He walks off to the cleaner’s closet.

You make your idle way over to the bathroom, fumbling a bit with your wired earbuds and phone to blast some music while you clean.

—

You see Marc in the corner of your eye, not being able to hear what he’s saying while waving frantically to get your attention. Taking one earbud out, you put the mop in the bucket and turn to face him.

“Sorry what?”

“I’ve got the rag and shit.”

He holds them up so you can see, he’s also oddly far away.

“Oh, ok yea. Just be careful the floor’s wet still. You… good?”

You glance down noticing he hasn’t stepped fully into the bathroom yet.

“Yea, of course.”

Your gaze clings to him worriedly before putting your earbud back in continuing to clean. You know better than to not trust his own judgement, who are you to tell him he’s not ok when he says he is…?

—

Alright Marc, time to do Steven’s job some more.

“You insisted on fronting today!”

As if on cue, an annoyed Steven from the back of his mind.

“I just wanted to talk to Y/n, I didn’t want to do your damn job.”

Marc snaps back almost instantly.

He looks up from the counter he’s wiping down and sees Steven looking back at him, he seems uneasy. A glance is shot in your direction to check you didn’t hear his sudden outburst.

“Marc…”

“What, Steven?”

“Your hands are… all trembly, maybe you should… take a step back from the situation mate.”

He sighs shakily, gripping the rag tighter in hopes to stop the shaking.

“I’m fine, stop worrying so fucking much.”

Steven scoffs. He throws his arms out and furrows his eyebrows obviously confused at how stubborn Marc’s being.

“I can quite literally read your bloody mind, you’re not fine!”

In turn Marc just hangs his head, closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths blatantly ignoring Steven. Eventually, he pries his eyes open and turns his head to face you, happily bobbing your head to your music trying to get a particularly stubborn mark out the floor- completely oblivious, as you should be.

He tries to focus on you, on grounding himself, as memories of that night weave their way into his head.

“It wasn’t nice for me either, please at least just tell them?”

There’s a sense of urgency to Steven’s voice now.

“Shut- shut the… shut up Steven.”

They both notice his voice beginning to falter despite Marc’s efforts to hide it. Him in particular notices it’s getting harder to speak because of his throat starting to close up, stupid adrenaline.

“Marc, you can’t be in here any longer…”

A plea from Steven- ever so soft, ever so tender, ever so endearing.

He tries to reply but nothing comes out, he ends up just pitifully mouthing Steven’s name. Everything is going so fast somehow, his breathing is getting heavier, sounds seem oddly muffled, and his body feels like it could topple over any second.

“Tell them.”

Marc tries to swallow but can’t get it down, he leans over the sink resting his forearms on the counter. He simply shakes his head and rests it in his hands.

As if Steven had managed to tell you from the mirror something was wrong, you turn around to see how Marc’s doing. Not so well obviously.

“Shit Marc, you ok?”

No reply although you see his shoulders tense up.

You yank your earbuds out and let them hang down from your pocket, the loud music swiftly reduced to a faint hum in the background. Jogging over to him you lean down a bit to try and see his face. He looks so… vulnerable like this. Your nerves begin to build up rapidly as you hear his raspy breathing.

“Marc? Please talk to me are you alright?”

He reluctantly turns his head just so he can see you out the corner of his eye, he’s crying now as you see tears drip down into the sink from his nose. He opens his mouth trying to speak again.

“Ok… come on, let’s get outside, give you some fresh air.”

He takes short gasps of air trying to catch his breath, and half the stuff you’re saying is getting drowned out by his heartbeat rapidly drumming in his ears.

You put a hand on his back as you pry him away from the sinks and lead him out the bathroom and through a backdoor, you have to hold onto him to keep his knees from giving out.

He immediately sits himself down against the wall with your help, you can feel his hands shaking against you.

“It’s gonna be over soon, just hang in there and… do what you need to do.”

You sit down next to him, God you really hope he’s gonna work himself through this. You know he will. You just care about him, a whole lot, and can’t help when you get scared for him whether he likes it or not. Seeing him like this is just so out of character, he’s always so confident and… shielded.

You start to pick your nails anxiously, glancing over at him regularly hoping for any kind of signal that he wants you to help more, that he’ll let you help more. In these situations you know he wants to be left alone, so even though you don’t feel like it you’re doing everything you possibly can.

He brings his knees up and rests his forehead on them, he digs his nails into the back of his head as he tries to calm his breathing down like Steven’s telling him.

“Focus on my voice Marc, don’t think just focus on my voice I’m here ok?”

“Breathe in, breathe out…”

“Don’t think about it think about what’s around you. What can you see, what can you hear, what can you smell…“

He’s trying, he’s really trying and so is Marc but he doesn’t seem to be calming down any time soon. His heart’s getting louder, his breathing’s getting choppier and everything is way more blurry than it was a few minutes ago. He doesn’t know what to do, and everything’s getting worse.

After what feels like forever you check your phone and see it’s barely been two minutes, while doing this you pause your music having forgotten completely about it letting it turn to white noise.

You let your head fall back onto the brick wall behind you. You sigh trying to calm yourself down now, you let the crisp wind hit your features and fill your lungs.

Unexpectedly you hear Marc’s breathing slow down, you whip your head around to face him and watch the grip on his hair let up.

“Marc?”

After a few tense moments you watch as he raises his head and faces you, tear stained face and red puffy eyes meet yours.

“Marc…?”

You furrow your eyebrows confused at his sudden shift in demeanour.

He shakes his head and gives weary smile, he taps his name badge- Steven.

“Oh…”

You nod your head, giving him a weak smile of your own.

“Well, you two good?”

He signals to his throat and nods instead.

Ah, it’s clicked in your head, they may have switched but all the physical things going on with the body would stay the same.

“Good…”

You both sit in a comfortable silence for a while, just letting the tension settle down. Ultimately one of you speaks up.

“Sorry-“

He clears his throat and stretches his legs out on the concrete staring down at his feet.

“Sorry you had to be around for that…”

“No don’t say you’re sorry, it’s not your fault.”

“But, we could’ve prevented it, easily!”

“It’s not Marc’s fault either Steven-“

“No no that’s not what I meant- I just… I could’ve done something. Take control of the legs or something and walked us right out of there, I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t, was I scared? Why was I scared to if I was scared? I just don’t bloody understand-“

“Steven.”

Your eyes meet, the calm in yours seeps into his before you look away. You reach to his hand and caress his knuckles comfortingly, oddly rough for someone who should be working in a museum.

“It’s ok now, what’s happened has happened, so try not to think about all these would’ves, could’ves, and should’ves. Just, think about what you’re gonna do about it in the future. Even better, focus on the now.”

Steven exhales weightily and lets his lead fall limp on your shoulder.

“You should tell Marc that.”

—

“Steven! Y/n! Where were you? No, I don’t want to hear it. You’re both getting inventory duty for a week. Yes a week, starting fucking today. Now finish cleaning that sodding bathroom, how long does that take you anyways I’d have it done in half this time already. No, I told you, I don’t want to hear it I’ve got more important things to do—“

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My AO3

[haggishlyhagging]

Were anti-porn feminists being hysterical? Censorious prudes? In the age of internet porn, DVDs and video cassettes, let alone centerfolds and seedy theaters, can be joked about as nostalgic throwbacks. It may seem to some, looking back, that feminist anti-porn campaigners must have been overtaken by anxiety about a mass culture that was becoming more open about sex, and that was quite capable of separating fantasy from fact. Feminists, anxious about sex under patriarchy found it easier, a group of pro-porn feminists wrote in 1983, “to attack the picture of what oppresses us than the mysterious, elusive . . . thing itself.” The implication is that anti-porn feminists were overestimating the power of porn: they had lost perspective. But what if the true significance of the perspective of anti-porn feminists lay not in what they were paying attention to, but when? What if they weren’t hysterical, but prescient?

It was my students who first led me to think about this question. Discussing the "porn question" is more or less mandatory in an introductory class on feminist theory. But my heart wasn't really in it. I imagined that the students would find the anti-porn position prudish and passé, just as I was trying hard to make them see the relevance of the history of feminism to the contemporary moment. I needn't have worried. They were riveted. Could it be that pornography doesn't merely depict the subordination of women, but actually makes it real, I asked? Yes, they said. Does porn silence women, making it harder for them to protest against unwanted sex, and harder for men to hear those protests? Yes, they said. Does porn bear responsibility for the objectification of women, for the marginalization of women, for sexual violence against women? Yes, they said, yes to all of it.

It wasn't just the women students talking; the men were saying yes as well, in some cases even more emphatically. One young woman pushed back, citing the example of feminist porn. "But we don't watch that," the men said. What they watched was the hardcore stuff, the aggressive stuff—what is now, on the internet, the free stuff. My male students complained about the routines they were expected to perform in sex; one of them asked whether it was too utopian to imagine sex that was loving and mutual and not about domination and submission. My women students talked about the neglect of women's pleasure in the pornographic script, and wondered whether it had something to do with the absence of pleasure in their own lives. "But if it weren't for pornography," one woman said, "how would we ever learn to have sex?"

Porn meant so much to my students; they cared so much about it. Like the anti-porn feminists of forty years ago, they had a heightened sense of porn's power, a strong conviction that porn did things in the world. Talking with my graduate teaching assistant after that seminar (she was a handful of years younger than me), I realized what should have been obvious from the start. My students belonged to the first generation truly to be raised on internet pornography. Almost every man in that class would have had his first sexual experience the moment he first wanted it, or didn't want it, in front of a screen. And almost every woman in the class would have had her first sexual experience, if not in front of a screen, then with a boy whose first sexual experience had been. In that sense, her experience too would have been mediated by a screen: by what the screen instructed him to do. While almost all of us today live in a world where porn is ubiquitous, my students, born in the final years of the last century, were the first to have come of age sexually in that world.

My students would not have stolen or passed around magazines or videos, or gathered glimpses here and there. For them sex was there, fully formed, fully interpreted, fully categorized—teen, gangbang, MILF, stepdaughter—waiting on the screen. By the time my students got around to sex IRL—later, it should be noted, than teenagers of previous generations—there was, at least for the straight boys and girls, a script in place that dictated not only the physical moves and gestures and sounds to make and demand, but also the appropriate affect, the appropriate desires, the appropriate distribution of power. The psyches of my students are products of pornography. In them, the warnings of the anti-porn feminists seem to have been belatedly realized: sex for my students is what porn says it is.

-Amia Srinivasan, The Right to Sex: Feminism in the Twenty-First Century

[poptart-productions]

the moment

[a complete list of the moments eren fell deeper]

↳ ❝ [pairing] ¡! ❞

canon! eren x modern black fem! reader

series masterlist | next

——————————✩———————————

SEASON ONE

the battle at trost, most definitely. like you’re being super jittery , and then you and eren have a cute moment where he’s teaching you how to use your gear—bc nobody’s died yet and he’s in high-ish spirits—and like you’re competent ; you wouldn’t have passed the training if you weren’t , you were just nervous so he’s being “supportive”

like this dude would probably push you off the building so you would be forced into fighting—and then you discover that you’re actually pretty good at it

“eren!” he’s the first one you call to as you stand, still zipping above you, “my first kill!” you nod in the direction of the subjugated titan on the ground below.

“you’re doing it!” he lands beside you, “but stay frosty,” his smile fades, “we’re not done yet!”

“never will be!” you quip, your expression matching his, ( his heart squeezed when you looked at him like that ; dumbass probably wrote it off as ‘nerves’ ) and you ditch your dulled blades.

you turn to him, “let’s go!”

so yes , you guys were fighting titans together , looking like a real power couple

you try your best to keep everyone alive, but once things become unpredictable, you start to lose it and you can’t get it together

eventually—and honestly, at no complete fault of your own, the “randoms” ( i am so not sorry ) eventually end up dying, as they did in the episode

“we’re gonna fall back.” you sigh

“what?”

armin blinked, “but the higher ups said—“

“—what would they say if they knew there were three of us left?”

“there’s an outpost toward the. . .” you picture a compass in your mind, “. . .west.”

“there, we can refill our tanks” you turn your back to the two

“if we meet up with another group. . .maybe we can tag-along with whoever is there but if it were up to me, we’d be retreating” you don’t wait for a response before heading off in that direction, knew they would be following

( eren hates when people on his level boss him around, but as someone who writes my readers to be anxiety prone , he’d probably see you as passive—so seeing you like this was kind of. . .attractive? )

you hear armin and eren behind you, and you turn to ensure that it was in fact them.

by the time you turned back, an abnormal had come out of absolutely nowhere.

you shoot your anchors down, and slam into the roof, narrowly avoiding getting swallowed whole.

unfortunately, you end up tumbling down the side and into an alleyway.

“[y/n]!” armin called after you, giving chase and leaving eren behind.

he grit his teeth, “dammit!”

eren. . .well he goes berserk. and that’s when he gets his dumbass eaten

when he comes back as the attack titan—like you know it’s him , but his eyes were a dead giveaway. he was driven by instinct and you can see that.

then when you’re talking on the roof after pyxis bails you guys out , and eren isn’t the most verbal person , so he’ll probably just pat your head or something when he notices that you’re anxious

it worked , by the way.

SEASON TWO

there’s so many here oml ; okay so when he took back the wall and you were the first face he saw when he tore himself from the nape

“you did it, eren!” you look down at him with warm eyes, the dying light illuminating your skin.

on the brink of unconsciousness, he looked up at you, blinking slowly; his lips parted as he tried to say something.

his eyes trailed down to your lips, “you must be tired right?”

“rest. . .i’ll be here when you wake up”

ngl he was probably whipped atp, because how can he not be—when you looked like a literally goddess in that moment—like you know you were glowing because that golden hour lighting is ✨divine ✨on brown skin

and then when eren gets “arrested” and put on trial , he did actually shut up when he saw your face in the jury/audience

then the female titan appears; you probably weren’t with him , but did most likely follow mikasa to retrieve him with her and levi.

at which point , eren wakes up to find you and mikasa , but what made him smile was seeing that you had taking off your cloak for mikasa to use as blanket , and let her lay down on your lap while you took the uncomfortable seated position

“[y/n]?” he called to you; he almost thought you were awake from your seated position

when you didn’t respond, he noticed your closed eyes and the gentle rise and fall of your body.

jade eyes scanned your form, gentle fingers resting in the sea of ink that is mikasa’s hair

lips slightly parted, your hair was freshly washed and braided; evidence of your boredom while waiting for him to wake up—your face stained with tears from the devastating loss you suffered and yet,

you were so beautiful.

dumbass is still like “yeah she’s just one of the people i grew up with , that’s it—yep, stops there”

this happened earlier in the season/the end of season 1 but i forgot to put it until now , so the graduation ceremony and the “initiation” into the scouts

it’s a triumphant moment , but most of 104th regiment are terrified out of their mind

and so are you. . .

“you should’ve went to the garrison regiment if you were going to cry” he raised a brow at you

knowing that pretty much everyone in the show shits on the garrison, you took personal offense to that.

you snapped your head in his direction, body still stuck in the ‘salute’ position, “i’m not crying”

“i’m staying because want to be with you guys”

he blamed the humid night and hot uniform for the red in his face.

so when y’all went up into the mountains , and while you’re trying to enjoy everything , but you know reiner , bertholdt , and ymir’s betrayal is imminent.

unfortunately , you’d actually grown to care about those three—and you see them in a sympathetic light after knowing all of what they’ve been through—but you felt like shit.

you knew there was nothing you could do—not even mikasa could stop the two from kidnapping eren.

you snuck away to be alone with your thoughts, sitting down on an old dead tree. you sighed; you looked tired, resting your face in your hands

“[y/n].” he called to you, and you didn’t turn back—you knew it was him. he sat down next to you, and you guys were silent for like ten minutes

again , eren isn’t the most verbally affectionate person , so he’ll just kinda coax you into laying against his shoulder until he finally works up the nerve to ask you what was wrong

“[y/n], what—“

but he got interrupted when mikasa and armin finally found the two of you

inevitably , eren got kidnapped , but you and mikasa were on timing—and thanks to your knowledge of the episode , you lead the brigade to their exact location.

you also kept mikasa from getting her ribs crushed , which set off a chain reaction of things that didn’t happen

eren still discovered that he held the coordinate , though ; also thanks to you

“wait!” you stop mikasa from going for the kill, “eren has to be the one do it!” you gestured toward him

the way you looked at him , like you understood just how much it was true : it did have to be him

he was alone—rendered useless—feeling useless , and then you were there , looking at him with pure trust as you untied him from his bonds

“you can do it, eren” your eyes told him,

you single-handedly gave him the will to live in that moment and finally he started to realize how he felt.

now this is where reader and eren switch places in terms of being oblivious ; like you see how he acts around you but are in denial because you’re like “he likes mikasa—sure the confession scene didn’t happen , but that’s because mikasa wasn’t about to die—their feelings for each are the same as they were in the show”

sigh

SEASON THREE

there’s not really too much here , considering not a lot of the season until the end focuses on eren.

you two return from eren’s basement, an uncomfortable and painful distance wedged between you by the weight of eren’s presence—the youthful and determined glow to his eyes had faded due to the revelations he faced.

but while he was brewing on everything during the beach trip, his feelings for you became crystal clear , shining brightly in front of all his other thoughts.

SEASON FOUR

season four eren is not here to bullshit , so he’d have realized that he is in love with you by the time the scouts make it across the sea

he’s in the middle of pretending to listen to the others complain about sea sickness when he sees you, leaning against the railing silently watching the sea

you’d been through hell and back and had the weight of the world on your shoulders at this point so you were brewing on things just as much as eren was.

“hey.” he greeted dryly as he joined you, “hey.” you said, just as dry.

“what are you doing alone?”

“just reminiscing—“ your expression was blank but your mind was racing

back when you were a kid—when attack on titan was just a show, getting here seemed so simple—but now you’ve seen the toll war takes on someone.

you were just sixteen—you all were, it wasn’t fair—you’ve sacrificed so many of your friends—so many relationships for this.

if anyone deserved to be here, it’s not you.

“it’s not your fault.”

you blinked, turning to look at him—for a moment he looked like his old self as he stared at the horizon

“all the ones we’ve lost. . .those that have betrayed us. . .”

“. . .that’s not your burden to bear.”

you leaned against eren’s shoulder, crying quietly beside him

yes that moment right there is what gave him hope—well that and his knowledge of this timeline , along with others.

he’ll get you alone and give you the opportunity to confess.

if you fuck it up like mikasa did , well. . .

let’s get ready to rumble

[exeliy]

First try to write something down

TW: ANXIETY AND PANIC DISORDER TALK

Well, they said it would help to write things down, and my therapists said that too. I should do it. And what happened?

It's really easy to explain. 8 years ago… I think it was 8 years ago, I got an anxiety disorder. I went to therapy and it got better. For 5 years I was healthy, no problems, I could do what I wanted and go where I wanted. Then January 2024 happened… I had a relapse… but not a mild one. No, I got punched in the face with the anxiety disorder. And damn, that was hard. I'm very lucky that I have friends and family who helped me so much. Because that was the next level. I didn't just get scared of the train and new things I didn't know (that was 8 years ago when I had panic attacks). No, I had panic attacks about everything. Car journey, train, plane, to be home alone, outside, supermarket. EVERYTHING. I thought I was going crazy. So what did I do? I went back to therapy. Because I'm in the last semester of my bachelor's degree…yap…. best timing ever. But I've fighted. And what can I do after 4.5 months. I can drive a long distance with someone in the car, a short distance on my own. Before, I drove a route alone that was 8 hours long…. but I will come back 100%. I can go to the supermarket on my own, I can go outside on my own. Ehm…I can drive the bus on my own again. I can stay home alone, even stay home alone for a few days. But the train…hm…that thing is still damn scary for me. And well, I can't train on a plane because there's no money…

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

To explain what my panic and anxiety attacks are like, because I've heard that everyone feels about that differently. For me, it's not that I feel like I'm going to die. No, during a panic attack I feel like I'm going crazy and can't breathe. Then my flight instinct becomes very strong and I have to get out immediately. I feel like I'm locked up somewhere and can't just go out as I please. So yes, the problem with the train and the plane… when you have the feeling that you're locked in there…. I also know that nothing will happen to me. But the feeling I get is so awful. My body burns and aches so much that I think I'm going crazy. And to be honest, I'm also embarrassed that I'm going to start crying in front of people.

My anxiety attacks are a little different. I get pain in the centre of my chest. It starts to burn as if I have a bad sunburn there. And my brain just switches off and concentrates only on the fear. My fear is then being alone. That I'll do something stupid if no one is with me. And then my fear of loss kicks in. My fear of loss relates to my mum. She loves travelling and will be going away again soon. I don't want her to worry and I want her to enjoy her holiday. My fear of loss is getting stronger again at the moment. I hope that I can find a good solution in the next therapy session.

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

Of course I know a lot of things that help against anxiety and panic, but unfortunately I don't always remember them. But I think I'll make a list of what helps me next time. I hope that I will then forget less of what helps me. And maybe it will help someone else too.

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

So I guess I wrote enough...see ya bye bye

[ifyouseethisnoyoudonot]

Welp, first real post, here we go. Woke up before work with a helluva anxiety attack, wrote a sappy comfort fic to calm myself down a bit, finished it over a boring night shift. Fevers, crying, unnecessarily mushy dialogue, basically whatever I reblog already. Technically a dnd fic I guess, i left the characters unnamed but honestly you can probably guess my current obsession anyways (unsure if I'd be embarrassed if you could or proud that the character isn't that ooc.)

Anyways enjoy

"Shhh, shhhh... it's alright, my sweet..." he cradled her closer to his chest, hand stroking over her hair as he murmured soft reassurances. "My darling... nothing is wrong, nothing is frightening here... it must have been a nightmare..."

She gave a quiet whine, pressing as close as possible, one arm clinging onto him while her other hand curled into the fabric of his collar. "...Don' feel good..." Her lip wobbled as she admitted it, and she adjusted her face where it was tucked against his neck, trying to maximize the comforting skin contact.

"I know..." His brow pinched with worry, with the soft pain born from sympathy as he traced his hand up and down her back in a slow, soothing rhythm. "I know you don't... that would be the fever... which likely also caused the dreams..."

"Don' remember a dream... jus' scared..." she mumbled, lips slightly tickling his neck when she spoke, too-warm breath ghosting across his skin. He could feel her nose wrinkle as she added, "stomach feels gross too..."

"Those are still fever symptoms, my love..." he tried not to smile at her response, not when she was clearly not thinking from being so miserable, but he couldn't help it... truth is, he never could help smiling when she was there. He threaded careful fingers through her hair, brushing it back and off of her temple. "Do you suppose you might be able to manage some water? It may help you..." His fingers moved almost with a mind of their own, tracing their way down her neck, her shoulders, feeling the heat through the thin fabric of her nightgown and making his heart ache with concern. "My poor love... sweet darling..." He returned to whispering endearments, the soft words feeling like all he could offer just then. Useless as they felt to say, he knew she liked them, knew they brought comfort... and that was worth something, wasn't it?

It was, a small smile flickering to life, brushing against his collarbone. "Mm'yeah... water can... I'll... water. ...Later." Then a frown as she realized what she'd said. "...Words are hard..."

"Ohh--" he let out a soft laugh "--poor thing... your mind is baking like the rest of you is..." He began to feather light kisses anywhere he could reach, which was mostly her shoulder and jawline. "I'll have to put you in a cupboard like a cake when you're done--" his tone got deep and warm like it always did when he got playfully flirtatious "--after all, one look at you, sweet thing, and everyone would just eat you up!" He grinned, nuzzling her neck, prompting her to shift and let out a weak laugh.

"Tha' ticklessss!" She finally brought her face out of hiding, looking up at him with a glassy-eyed but real smile.

He melted instantly, cupping her cheek and tracing a thumb over the flush there, gaze so soft and loving as he whispered almost reverently, "Can I kiss you?"

She melted too, leaning into his hand and whispering back "F'course..."

And so he did, impossibly gentle, lips barely brushing over hers. When he pulled back, he just looked at her, taking her in with such adoration that she had to laugh.

"Nooooo, don' look at me like that, I'm all gross an' sweaty..." She couldn't help but smile, though... he tended to have that effect on her too.

"Hmm, now if only I could remember what a certain someone once told me..." he pretended to think hard, tapping his chin "--Ah, yes. 'I couldn't care less about what you look like or what you are, I'd love you if you were a chicken with premature balding.' That was how it went, yes?" He raised his brows high as they would go, widening his eyes and pressing his lips together to pull a silly face.

His efforts were rewarded with the loudest laugh yet-- "I didn't say that!"

"Hmm... something close to it, then." He began to stand, picking her up and carrying her to the bed, pausing and slowing when she made an utterly miserable noise at being moved. "Oh, darling... is it that bad?" He knew it must be-- which is why he huffed and rolled his eyes when she shook her head. "--Oh now really, are we doing this again?"

"Nnh... jus' bein' dramatic..."

"Hush. You know that's not true." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, tasting the slight coating of salt now on his lips as he settled her back into her place in bed, drawing the covers over her as she curled up on her side.

"M'fine..." The tiny protest was all but a whimper as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Oh really? Interesting, I didn't know that frightening your lover awake in the middle of the night by sleepwalking a mere six feet until your body decides to fall over was fine." He set a hand on his hip, giving her a Look.

She didn't answer, just laid there with a pained expression, nausea and fever making her breath come in shallow huffs.

He bit his lip anxiously, moving to tuck her in a little more, brush her hair back, do something. "...Now hold on, I didn't-- I don't--" he sat down beside her, stroking her hair "...I don't mean it harshly, I'm just... worried..."

She mumbled something, and he bent over to hear it. "What did you say?"

"...W're not jus' lovers... y' married me, r'member?" A half-smile snuck onto her face despite her misery, hoping to fluster him.

He spluttered "I-- that was-- now listen here, what happens in Waterdeep stays in Waterdeep--"

The half-smile bloomed into a full one, her eyes still closed. "Mmm... nahh."

"Oh, you-- just-- shush and drink your water." He picked up the glass from the nightstand, suppressing a grin, surprised at himself to find that he had to blink quickly for a moment... was the idea really affecting him that much? Welp, time to stuff that thought into a box in the corner of his mind for a while.

"Ugh. Do I have to...?" She frowned now, peeking one eye open and hiding further under the covers.

"It would help you... don't you want to feel better?" He leaned over again, body pressing over hers in something like a hug as he kissed her forehead again. "Do you think you could sit up?"

"Mnnnh... don't wanna..." She pouted up at him, truly looking miserable. "Please?"

His heart squeezed in his chest, and he made a soft noise, fussing over her and tracing a fingertip over the lines of her face, her brow, the edge of her ear-- anywhere not covered by blanket, really. "Oh, love... you need this... don't ask me not to help you, I can't bring myself to say no..."

She just groaned quietly, taking his hand as it traced down the bridge of her nose and tucking her whole face into it, making him chuckle.

"How are you breathing like that?"

"M'not."

"Wha-- breathe, you menace! Don't hasten your untimely demise!" He moved his hand with a theatrical flourish, resulting in a whine.

"Nnnooooo... come back..."

"I'll come back when you drink some water-- I'll lie down, I'll hold you, but please... please drink..." He was practically giving her puppy eyes now, anxiously watching for an answer.

"...Just a little?"

"Yes, alright, just a little-- will you? Really?"

"...Maybe... an' you gotta hold me first..."

That got a laugh. "Why you shrewd negotiator-- but I can't do that, if we're lying down how will you drink?"

"Hold me up, silly..."

"Ahhh, I see... a negotiator and a master planner..." He wrapped his arms around her, slowly and gently lifting, keeping the blanket around her as much as he could. "What a catch I've made," he murmured into her hair, then pressing a kiss there.

"Unngh... m'regretting moving..." She pressed her face against him, whining as her stomach turned. "Y'sure this is worth it...?"

"Absolutely certain... here, let me--" he reached for the water and tipped a few drops into his hand, then stroking her forehead and cheeks, murmuring something indistinct about getting a cloth and more water.

She sighed in pure relief at the cool sensation, contact with water in some way making her realize... "Oh. I'm... actually really thirsty..."

He snorted with amusement, handing over the glass, though he kept his hand under it when he saw how much her hands were shaking. "Easy now... slow... slowly, darling." He rubbed her back through the blanket, humming a reassuring noise. "There now... good... that's good..."

She choked on it a bit, letting him catch the glass as she coughed, whimpering and trying to stop as the sudden movements made her feel worse.

He set the glass aside, immediately concerned, shifting to hold her more securely. "Oh, darling... hold on now, it will pass... it will pass, like all pain does... you're doing wonderfully..." He pressed a kiss to her temple, frowning at the heat still there. "Still so warm--" and then he gasped softly as he felt her start crying, her hands weakly clinging to his shirt just as she had before. "Oh, love... oh, my darling..." All he could do was try to soothe her, keep rubbing her back, coo over her like he knew she loved. "Poor dear..." he tucked her hair behind her ear, whispering soft things "I don't even know how you managed to get this ill... you're always so careful..."

She snuffled and bit back a small cry, wiping at her face "Sor--sorry--"

"Hush, no, you have nothing to apologize for... nothing at all." He kissed her head, fingers starting to card through her hair now. "Just... cry... let yourself feel..." He echoed her own words back to her, pulling from all the times she'd comforted him, made him feel as though her arms were their own world where nothing could hurt them again.

"I do-don' wa-anna feel-- ev--*hic*--everythi-ing feels awful--" She sobbed into his shoulder, her whole body shaking.

He could hardly stop his own lip from trembling, heart aching for her. "I know... sweet love, I know... I'm sorry..." He held her closer, tighter, hoping that the more secure his embrace was, the more secure she'd feel.

"It hurts..." It was a pathetic little whimper, practically begging for help in some way. "Real-really hu-urts--"

"I know... oh, darling, I know... If I could take it from you, I would in an instant..." He brushed through her hair, a few of his own tears silently slipping out... no one had warned him love could feel so helpless... "I know..."

And so she cried, because there was nothing else to do. All through it, she could feel his touches, hear his soft words, the love in them wrapping around her heart and holding it steady, just as his arms held her shaking body.

"Shhh, shhh... there now... there... you're alright..." Slowly he felt her cries start to lessen, the shaking more from chills now than sobs, and he tucked the blankets closer around her. "Are you cold now?"

She nodded, hiccuping and sniffling thickly, the crying not having done any favors for her nose. "Ye-ah.. I'b freezig..."

He couldn't help a sympathetic chuckle at the sound. "Ohh, my sweet... you sound dreadful..."

"I sou'd stupid." She pouted dramatically at that and smushed her cheek ahainst his shoulder, though she aaaaalmost smiled.

"No you don't," he all but purred, voice deep and warm "you sound like my darling had a terrible night... that's all..." He brushed the tears off her cheek, leaving a kiss there instead. "Oh, love, you're burning..." He reached for the water again, using the corner of his sleeve as a cloth for lack of a better option.

"N'do, I'b cold..." She shivered as the water touched her skin, all but burrowing against him, blankets clutched tight.

"That's just the fever, love, it's tricking your mind... let me cool you down, you'll feel better..." He wiped the cloth over her forehead, her cheeks that were now deeply flushed-- ever so carefully, he wiped her reddened eyes, hoping the cool water would ease the discomfort there too.

It did, and she made a soft noise, leaning into the touch and sniffling again. "Th' feels good..."

"Good... that's good..." he murmured, continuing the motions. "We'll get your fever down, then you should feel well enough to get some rest... how does that sound, mm?"

She nodded, shuddering when the cool touch went down her neck "Yeah... sou'ds good..." She snuffled again, swiping her wrist under her nose.

He huffed fondly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Gods above, I need to get you a handkerchief... I doubt you'll let me get up, though, will you?"

She shook her head. "D'uh-uh. Y're war'bm..." She nestled even closer, tucking her head against his neck like she loved to do. "Y'stay... 'kay?"

He laughed softly "Okay-- alright, alright. Do you want to lie down, dearest?" He brushed the cloth over her cheek, partly to cool her and partly a caress.

She shook her head "N'do... lose all th' heat if we m'bove..."

He hummed in understanding, nodding. "Alright, love... but tell me if you want to move, yes?"

She nodded tiredly, whispering "...'kay." She was drained, the fever and the crying having wrung her out like an old dishcloth. But there was a kind of peace now, something left behind after the storm of emotion. "...Hey..."

"Yes, darling?" He paused, full attention on her.

"...I love you. You kn'dow that, right?" Her hand snuck up to cradle his face, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone as she watched him melt.

"Oh, my sweet... how in the world could I not know...?" He took her hand, kissing her palm. "You make it obvious every day..."

She nodded again, eyes drooping as she settled. "...'kay... s'good. N'deed you to kn'dow that..." She gave a marshy sniffle, triggering a few weak coughs. "Uugh..."

He made a fussing noise, stroking her cheek. "Poor dear... I think you'll be staying in bed tomorrow, won't you."

She nodded, sniffling again and properly closing her eyes. "Yeah... prolab-- pro-- probably..." She frowned, struggling with words again.

He kissed her forehead, shifting to lie down a little more where he was propped against the headboard, wrapping both arms around her now. "Go to sleep, my love... I'll be here in the morning..."

"Bu' wha' if I wake up sleepwalki'g agaid...?" It was nothing but a drowsy mumble.

"I'll be there then, too... I'll always be here for you..." He whispered the words like a reassurance, but his heart meant them like a prayer. Please don't let me fuck this up... not this. Not her. It means too much...

"...'kay... I thi'dk... I b'ight sleep d'ow..." Her body was starting to relax without even meaning to, sleep dragging her down all too quickly.

"Good..." He feathered one last kiss to her temple, relief filling his heart now. She would rest, he would rest, all would be right with the world... "Goodnight, my love..."

"Goo'dight..."

"...And... I love you too..."

♡

[shxxtingstarss]

therapy no. 49

I really liked today's therapy session, but now, a few hours later, I am really tired and exhausted. Ok, I also had an appointment with my new (psychiatric) nurses that come to my home, which was 1.5 hours as well, so of course I am exhausted and tired af.

But therapy was really good, it was the third session after me being back from the hospital stay and I am so glad to have my therapist here. I am so lucky to have found this therapist almost two years ago, I don't know where I would be without him now. I mean I probably would've found some other therapist and maybe they would've been good or at least ok too, but not as good as this one.

We talked about a lot of stuff today, first we started with talking about my panic attack that I had when arriving at his office (but already had it on my way there) and about my high anxiety today and why it was this bad (had a rough night and woke up about ten times, was really scared of the appointment with the psychiatric nurses because I didn't know either of those two and they were coming to my home which isn't easy for me either (having to talk to complete strangers about my problems in day-to-day-life with ptsd, bpd etc in my own kitchen is kind of hard for me, letting them in is scary enough, I kind of have a hard time trusting people and it's extra difficult in vulnerable places like my own home)). After talking for a while he asked me how my tension was now (because when I sat down in my chair I took a hot chili candy to reduce my tension/stress) and it was a lot better already.

We then proceeded to talk about how I misinterpreted something he said in our session last week and used it to humiliate myself and to question my perception of my traumatic past (in a bad way). I told him what it was he said and what I interpreted into it. He then rephrased or rather specified what he said so it would be clearer how he meant it - and what did my stupid brain do? Instantly used it to humiliate myself again because "stupid me was fishing for validation and manipulated my therapist into telling me how bad my traumatic past was". At least it only took me a few seconds to understand what my brain was doing there, but it was still kinda overwhelming and I told my therapist what was going on. We both instantly started laughing and he said "so it really doesn't matter what I am saying, it will happen again and again" and I had to agree, even though I was kinda sad about it because I really appreciated that he carefully rephrased what he said.

To fill in the wording I was talking about with my therapist: last time when we talked about the stage of processing trauma he said something like "well yes, in other words we will look very closely at your (past) relationships again" - my brain took that as a "your trauma is just minor imbalances in your past relationships with your family etc and it's not as big as you make it" but what my therapist meant to do by using the term 'relationship' was finding a headline for everything that went on in my past without having to go into detail because we were at the end of a session - especially the relationship to my mother and my father that was characterized by a lot of extreme violence and abuse. So today my therapist emphasised that he thinks quite the opposite from what my brain wants me to believe: that from what he's heard so far, he is pretty sure that it was pretty extreme and really destructive violence, especially with my mother, but from what he can tell "my father wasn't very helpful either". I think he said a bit more than that, but I didn't listen for very long because in that moment my brain was pretty much screaming at me. As I wrote a few lines before, I told my therapist about what was going on inside of my head when he rephrased it and validated my past experiences, so we then talked about why my brain did that to me. Of course that led to talking about my mother a bit, but we already dove deep into detail on that topic multiple times before, so we kept it rather short and it was more of a summary that we did together of how and why I am reacting and thinking that way - because my mother made me think that way and also because my young brain as a kid did that in order to keep the relationship to my mother alive - that is quite typical for victims of parental abuse, because you as a child are in need of the parental "care" you and your brain try everything to keep up that relationship, so you rather think everything is your fault and you are wrong and you just have to "try a bit harder" and your mother/father are always right, they "must be right" because they are your mother/father. Your brain isn't capable of thinking any other way, it does so you can somehow survive. So all of this in my head is what is left of that mechanisms that kept me alive in the past - but nowadays they just make my life a lot harder, so that is why I am working on getting more distance to these inner beliefs and on getting them a bit more quiet.

Somehow we managed to also talk about me feeling like I can't be 100% vulnerable in therapy at the moment (for multiple reasons, one being afraid of my therapist feeling overwhelmed by me/my emotions, afraid of being "too much" but also afraid of making myself this vulnerable sometimes), and also my interest in clinical psychology and psychotherapy but simultaneously me being scared of not being able to separate my own problems etc from the problems of my maybe-future-patients, fear of getting too close to their problems etc. But as I already talked about it with my therapist in the clinic, my therapist also said that it can be a great resource if you have looked closely at your own topics and worked with them a lot already, so you have your experience with these kind of problems and can maybe use it to help others. And because it's not really important where I want to work in the future, I have to resolve my problems either way, I prefer to look at it in that positive way now. I am really looking forward to studying psychology!!! I really hope it will work to get a place at a university close by by passing the test in may.

[rumblebumble22]

How to calm down when you are on the edge 

There are a lot of different techniques which are supposed to help people calm down. I don’t know who wrote this weird advices but it seems that I’m actually do something wrong, because most part of them don’t work for me. I mean, what the fuck? In a terrible rush I google something online and realised that every source try to offer me some bloody thing. Do you want an example? Okay, how about ‘’breathe deep’’? I honestly tried it, but it only caused hyperventilation and shaking state of mind. This reaction of my body led just to panic attacks in me, not less anxiety. I mean, what I did wrong? And what about this life hack: ‘’Squeeze some balls in your arms many times, it will help you to calm down’’. I did it, but my anxiety only became more intense. Did I choose wrong ball or what? Frantically squeezing something just let me in some wrong mood, like I’m trying to get the milk from the cow, you know. It’s totally not relaxing. This piece of advice sounded quite simple: 'Meditate'. I cannot meditate when I have terrible thoughts; instead, I focus even more on them. When I am messed up, the last thing I want to do is sit and try to meditate. Instead of calm and peaceful mood I just got in a total chaos. My thoughts become bump into each other, I feel weird and alienate, and how the fuck I should handle this? If I would be a monk maybe it will work; monks, at least, have in this some more practise. Okay, another recommendation is quite ridiculous: ‘’Eat well-balanced meals’’. I’m sorry, but when I feel stress I can’t even eat a stupid banana, not to mention a full meal. All what I can do is actually randomly put out of fridge the first sneak which I see or fiercely eat chips (it’s pop out only on a very high level of stress, though). Usually I just lose my appetite, simply drink litres of coffee and then run around as a hurt bear. After breakdowns like that I’m quite often hear compliments like ‘’Aw, you lose weight, you look good!’’. Yes, thank you, except the blues under my eyes and nervous attitudes, I look good, indeed.

I have my own recipes for relaxation and I can surely say that they work for me. Firstly, I totally recommend a cup of hot milk with cookies, a warm hoodie and wool socks. Get all this stuff together and put yourself in a warm blanket at the end. I promise, you’ll immediately feel more comfortable, though I don’t know how it’s work. Another thing which helps a lot is fresh air. If I don't want to walk, I just sit on the balcony and watch the sky and the mountains. Also, I notice people in other houses, their TVs, and shadows. It helps me to calm down and understand that I’m not alone in the world. But it is essential you don't use a phone or laptop; otherwise, the technique will lose its meaning. Just sit there, breathe, and look around. Sometimes I use an extreme technique: go to the hot bathroom and sit there for 1 minute (I can’t bear it anymore). If I stay longer, my blood pressure becomes too high and I feel really dizzy. However, one minute in the bathroom can make you feel alive and cheered up, at least for a short while. 

Reading books helps a lot too, as far as writing. When I immersed myself into some story or non fiction text, I just far away from my personal feelings; it distract me well. Writing helps also, but the one problem there is to start. I hesitate to write when I’m anxious, though, but if I finally start, hesitation fades with every minute. So if you inclined to books or writing, I totally recommend it to calm your mind.

Chatting with friends is also the thing which helps me to relax, but I found out that it works only if the connection is personal. Online chatting or calls don’t work like that, unfortunately. I thought about why it’s like that and came to the conclusion that human creatures still need others to feel better. Get a bottle of wine, some snacks and just be together and chat about random stuff. It’s working better than any advice before, though.

[vanillachaiii]

replaced mc!au drabble

based on the fic @azlrse wrote cause ive been having it burn slowly in my brain

pronouns used: they/them - mc is gender neutral (this is my first time ever writing for gn!mc sorry if it’s not too good!)

tw: reader has an anxiety attack, crying, mentions of physical pain

theres also a part where one of the brothers talks; you can imagine the one you were involved with as as the one that is speaking during that scene

“We’re looking to have another exchange program.” Lucifer said. “We’re conjoining all three realms once more to have another successful year."

Successful, huh? Tell that to President of the Student Council who now stands as the gateway for human exchange students. The wound was still healing from the hurt the brothers induced on them.

"Have you asked Solomon for another human sorcerer?" MC had asked calmly, keeping their composure for when they had asked the question to Lucifer, and to the rest of the brothers.

The eldest brother nodded. "We've already found one human student, all we require is a second one."

The human president had closed their eyes and thought slowly. Placing their hand under their chin, they pondered long and hard about the decisions and outcomes.

Should they say no, and not only risk an imbalance of the realms, but also limit the possibilities of a student having an once-in-a-lifetime experience to stay in a different realm?

Or...

Should they say yes, and risk one of their own students going through the exact same thing they went through all those years ago?

The seven brothers practically bore holes into MC's figure that was situated behind the large mahogany desk.

The guilt had never left them ever since the day that they left the House of Lamentation. Each and every single one of them knew, that deep down, they were guilty for all that happened. Pushing them away, neglecting them, not allowing them to be with any of the brothers, and worse of all; abandoning the one person that dared to pick up the broken pieces of their family and put it back together with bleeding hands.

They had done so much for them; and yet they still put them through something far more worse and painful than hell itself.

"I will need time to think this decision through. Both with my student council, and myself." MC's voice broke through the uncomfortable silence.

The brothers had exchanged looks and nodded. The room turned cold and quiet once more, nobody daring to say a single thing as MC started to write down the details they had just heard from Lucifer about the program.

"We're so sorry, MC."

Their eyebrow twitched in annoyance and anger.

"There is nothing to be sorry about-"

"But we-"

They looked up at the brother who was speaking, glaring them dead in their eyes as they slowed their speech.

"This was simply a proposal, was it not? I ask that you keep it that way." MC demanded in a low tone.

The brother that had spoken closed their mouth, and shied away from the crowd. Of course they would still be upset. Asking for a demand this huge from the one they'd hurt was practically like asking for death on a silver platter.

“Are you planning to have three human students again? Or are you going to do the two students like you should’ve done before?”

They all deserved that jab.

“The King and I have stated only two exchange students will stay for one year.” Lucifer said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The exchange program only hosts two students from each realm for the entire year.”

The President started unimpressed. “I do hope so.”

More silence filled the room as MC started to write more words in their agenda.

After a while, they finally finalized their request and placed it in their folder.

“I will get back to you as soon as I can once the council, the Dean, and I have all come to a conclusion.” MC spoke, the stern and cold look still etched into their facial features.

Lucifer stood up after they did, the rest of the brothers standing as well to say their farewells to MC for the first time in so long.

“You can take your leave.” MC said, opening the drawers of their desk and finding a place in the drawer for the papers that were exchanged.

As the brothers said their ‘thank you’s in silence, the door finally closed with a click, and they finally let their tears fall from their eyes.

After all those years, the President thought they could be strong.

But their pact marks still burned into their skin.

The memories that were carved into their brain never left.

The nightmares from that night, the evenings before, never left.

The days spent crying, they never stopped.

The days spent in spite of hating the person they were in the past, it never faltered.

They had become the epitome of what their past self failed to be, and yet, they merely crumbled at seeing the brothers once more.

They were hopeful, for a sliver. But they had built their defenses for years.

Sorting through the folders, MC's fingers brushed upon an old framed photograph that was shoved to the back of the space. It was of all the brothers, the king and his butler, the angels, Solomon, and themself in the middle. Smiling. Grinning. It was their birthday in the Devildom.

That was when everything was still perfect. When everything was still fine.

Gripping the frame in their hands, they let out a choked cry and hurled it across their office; the glass shattering on impact when it had collided with the bookshelf.

They fell to the ground, holding their head in their hands and curling into a ball as hiccups and fat tears escaped their burning eyes.

“I was a fool to expect anything from them anymore.”

And yet, while they were all alone in their office, the seven brothers stood outside.

Guilty and ashamed.

What had they done?

[sugarylawliet]

no good for me (light yagami x reader)

i’m back lol

> warnings: smut, degradation, spit kink, inappropriate use of the death note, VERY toxic relationship, song fic kinda, lyrics are in bold and italics, based off of diet mountain dew by lana del ray

> tag list: @ygm1slt @cradiot28

❛ you’re no good for me, baby you’re no good for me ❜

Nothing on this earth scared you more than the man you were about to see; the pretty boy brunette flaunting good grades and a picturesque family life whose facade of ambitious, respectful young man was a mask almost no one could see through. Some people felt dread at the thought of spiders or snakes, felt fear in their stomach imagining the paranormal, shadow ghosts or criminal stalkers invading their comfort zones. None of these perfectly rational fears scared you the way Light Yagami scared you. There was no fear to be had at the thought of something undesirable creeping its way into your privacy or comfort zone, because Light had manipulated his way into your comfort and trust long ago. He was scarier than a murderer ready to kill at an urge’s call, his blood lust hid in shadows behind his golden boy facade, his words were tools and his touches were negotiations. You couldn’t trust a single thing that came from his mouth, you often questioned your own sanity. Light Yagami had a terrifying grip on you, and it was exactly what he wanted.

Your eyes scan over the text Light had sent you for the millionth time, the words almost ingrained in your head at this point.

Come to my house. We need to talk. 

You were sure he kept his words vague on purpose, yet another tactic to keep you at his disposal out of pure fear. You weren’t exactly sure if you loved Light anymore; what was your definition of love at this point? You loved him, yes, but was it out of obligation? Was it survival instinct?

It was true, in the beginning you had loved Light purely and truly. You believed his ambition was justice, to make the world a better and safer place for you. But as time went on, “Kira doesn’t kill innocents” began racking up more and more exceptions, and as the twisted justifications spilled from his mouth, so did the gaslighting. Over and over, his sweet words convinced you to keep coming back. His empty promises were a drug and you were addicted. 

His text, you were sure, was a reference to this fizzling out of your love for him. He could sense it, and surely he must have found out you were planning on leaving. You weren’t planning on revealing that he’s Kira- that would cause more commotion you were not interested in being a part of- no, you simply wanted to move states, get away and forget about Light Yagami, forget about Kira and Ryuzaki and Ryuk and everything that has overtaken your life. However, if he did find out your plans to skip town, you may just have to reveal that he’s Kira for safety measures.

❛ you’re no good for me, but baby i want you ❜

Hestiently, you opened the door you had been staring at blankly for what felt like hours. Light had been staying in an upscale hotel during the investigation, so maybe the other tenants could hear you if you screamed for help; the overdramatic thought brought you comfort. 

You walk in the room, closing the door behind you. You’re met with the sight of Light’s back as he sits in the rolling chair across the room. In the absence of any words, without even seeing his face, you know he’s mad. Every slight change of Light’s emotions could strangle a whole room by tension alone; his aura manipulated the feeling in the air, which served as a helpful alarm to know when he is upset. And man, is he upset.

You open your mouth to greet him, but he cuts you off, spinning around in his chair to face you, “Don’t talk.” You nod and close your mouth. Why do you even listen to what he says?

“I knew I couldn’t trust you. From the very beginning I knew you would run that pretty little mouth of yours. I know you’re planning on leaving. And then what? Telling the first news outlet you see that I’m Kira?”

“No Light,”

“I said don’t talk.” He stands up from his chair, “If you tell everyone, you’ll also have to tell on yourself. Imagine what everyone would think of you if they knew...You knew I was Kira and you still dated me, you defended me, you kept my secret, you even got on your knees for me. Are you gonna tell that to the media? That you let Kira fuck you?”

You purse your lips, restraining yourself from talking back. You knew it would only make things worse, but you couldn’t stand the way he talked down on you and expected you to take it. 

“Come here.” He motioned to his desk and you followed, sitting on his lap per his instruction. He placed the death note open on the desk, handing you the pen. With one hand gripping yours and the other on your hip, he began to guide your hand, the pen spilling out the first letter of your name on the pages.

❛ do you think we’ll be in love forever? ❜

“N-No, Light, you can’t do this, please.” You begged, your heart rate quickening as you realize what he was doing. It can’t end like this, it just can’t.

“Shhh, just write. That’s it, baby. This is what bad girls get, you see?” His death grip tightened on your hand as he spelled out your name, the last letters leering closer and closer before you could register the implications of what he was doing. This was it, this was really it.

Light lets his free hand wander up to your jawline, pulling your face closer to yours and enveloping you in a kiss as he wrote the last letter of your name. You shake your head with a whine, however he disregards your concerns and runs his hand on your upper thigh. 

“What’s the matter, Y/n? Don’t wanna spend your last moments with me?~” His nose kisses your neck, and the soft, sensual gestures almost make you forget your life was quite literally slipping away at every second that ticked by. 40 seconds. You had 40 seconds to do something.

You jump off of Light’s lap, reality rushing to your lungs as you felt your world closing in. Your pants become heavier, harsh air ripping through your throat as if they were the last breaths you would ever take because, well- they were.

Your head felt buzzing and dizzy as you fell to your knees, crawling towards Light who had spun around in his chair so his back was facing you; completely apathetic. After all you’ve been through together, after all you’ve done for him, nothing. Nothing at all. 

You crawl closer, grasping towards the notebook Light held in his hands, your weakness limiting your reach as anxiety stole your clearness of mind. He only  chuckles at your meek attempts to save your own life. Your head was racing as your nervousness blacked out everything in the room except for the little black notebook your boyfriend had a death grip on; ‘I’m running out of time, I’m going to die, I need the death note, I need to cross my name out, I need it I need it I need it I-’

“Goodbye, Y/N. You were fun to play with for a while.” Light kisses your nose with an arrogant smirk, peeling your hands off from his lap and wrists before checking his watch, signaling your last few seconds. 

You quit your pitiful attempts to grab the notebook and instead push yourself further and further away from Light until your back hit the wall, lacing your fingers tightly in your hair as you cried your last moments away. 

“5, 4, 3 2...” Light spoke.

“No no no no no, please god,” You cried out, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation for the pangs you would soon feel in your chest.

“1...”

And

Nothing.

You breathe. You let the air flood your lungs; it shouldn’t be possible. You dare to open your eyes, revealing the same scene. You, pathetically on the floor with tears down your face, Light before you in his chair with his head thrown back in a maniacal laugh. 

He tossed the death note down to you, like a dog being thrown a bone. You frantically grab it and flip to the newest page, your name scratched out with two thick lines. 

You were alive- no, he let you live.

❛ hit me my darling tonight, i don’t know why but i like it

“Well?” Light asks expectingly, standing up from his chair and kicking it to the side of the room. You look up at him questioningly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as tears still brimmed your eyes from the just-curved anxiety attack.

“No ‘thank you’? I spared your life even after you betrayed me- lied to me. You’re so ungrateful.”

“I, I-” You found it difficult to shape your words with your hitching breath. You inhale deeply, eyes closed, calming down, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Light.”

Why were you even apologizing?

“I’m so sorry, please, just take me back. I’m sorry.” The words spilled from your mouth so quickly simply because they felt right. You needed to apologize, you did wrong, you need to be good. You wanted him back more than anything so you can be good.

❛ scary, my god, you’re divine ❜

“That’s right,” Light smiled, his voice softening unnaturally, “Now, how about you come over here and show me just how sorry you are.”

You hesitate for a second before crawling over to him. You sit obediently with your legs beneath your thighs on the floor in front of him.

“Mm, that’s my babygirl.” He pets your head affectionately, coherencing a smile from you. Despite everything he’s done, he always knew how to reel you back in. You needed the approval. You needed his approval.

You look up at him with puppydog eyes, to which he cocks his head to the side. “You know what I want.”

Nodding, you slowly unzipper his khaki pants and pull out his cock. You run your hand up and down, pumping it slowly. 

“Don’t be a fucking tease” Light scoffs, raking his fingers through your hair and forcing your mouth down onto him. That sweet, caring demeanor was gone in barley a second- of course it was. What were you expecting? It was a thinly veiled facade and you fell for it everytime without exception. 

Light groans, pushing your head further onto him as you try not to gag. You feel the tip of him hit the back of your throat as he thrusts into your mouth faster. “God, Y/N, you take my cock so well. Hah, if only the media could see you now. Poor little Y/N wants to run away from big bad Kira, meanwhile here she is on her knees for him, sucking him off like the dirty slut she is.”

He lets out a deep sigh before pulling out of your mouth. “Be useful for once and get on the bed.” He commands, bringing you to your feet with his strong grip on your hair and pushing you in the direction of the bed. You obey, sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for his next instruction.

Light slinks over to you, standing over your figure as his delicate fingers dance up your inner thigh. He takes off your skirt and slowly rubs your clit through the fabric of your panties.

“Mmm, Light, more...” You buck your hips up to meet his touch, his movements were agonizingly slow and you needed more friction.

“More?” At once he removes his hand from between your legs and grabs your face, your jaw in between the tight hold of his thumb and forefingers. “You want more, huh? You don’t get to make demands of me. You really think i’m gonna give you what you want after that stunt you pulled? Hah, I’m not letting you off that easy.”

You let out a whine, bucking your hips again asking to be touched.

“Aww, poor baby...” Light cooed, “Open up.” You obeyed, opening your mouth before Light brought your face closer to his, spitting in your mouth. “Now swallow.”

You do, earning a smirk from Light. “Mm, good girl. Good girls get rewarded.”

He pulls your panties aside before dipping two slender fingers inside you; wasting no time, he pumps them in and out frantically.

“Oh god Light, fuck,”

“You’re so wet for me Y/N, you like this, don’t you? I knew you would, such a dirty whore. You like when I treat you like this? You like being treated for the slut you are? God, you probably got wet when I almost killed you. It makes me hard, having you under my thumb like this, under my control...”

“Fuck Light, it feels so good, I’m close...”

Quickly, he removes his fingers from you once again, earning a cry from you at the loss of heat. “Please Light, I need you so bad,” You beg.

“What did I say? You’re still not forgiven for that stunt you pulled. Don’t whine.” He wraps his hand around your throat, pushing you down onto your back.

He fully pulls his boxers down, aligning himself with your entrance.

“Beg for it.”

“Please, please light, god, I need it so badly. I want you.”

“Hmm, yeah? You’re so desperate for my cock? I’m not convinced.”

“Please, Light, I’ll never be bad again, I’ll never mess up again. I need your cock so badly, I need you to use me. Do anything you want.”

“Mm, that’s more like it,” Light remarks before pushing into you, earning a loud moan. HIs thrusts were slow, no doubt teasing you.

“Oh, Light, please, faster...”

“More demands? God, you’re such a needy slut. Fine.” His grip on your throat tightens, pushing you further into the bed as he snaps his hips into you without mercy. His pace is relentless, quickly finding your g-spot.

“Fuck, Light. It... it feels- fuck,”

“Hah, stupid slut, what’s wrong? Cat’s got your tongue? Or is it me fucking you so hard you can’t even think straight, can’t form sentences?”

His words only egg on your approaching orgasam, “Hmmph, it- it feels so good. I’m gonna...”

With that, Light pulls you up slightly by your neck before slamming you roughly back into the bed, thrusting into you with speed. “Cum, show me how sorry you are.”

You obey, releasing with a loud moan of his name. He finishes soon after, roughly letting go of your throat. “Clean yourself up. You look like a fucking mess.”

You slip your panties and skirt back on as Light sits apathetically at his desk, his focus buried in paperwork. You heart skinks to your stomach. 

Once you finish dressing, Light allows you to leave, informing you of the Kira case work he had to finish and opening the door for you. 

“And Y/N,” He catches your attention before you step into the hallway of the hotel, “Let this be a lesson. Don’t ever try to leave me again. You’re mine.” He grabs your jaw and kisses you tenderly- but you weren’t stupid. You knew the motivation behind it, and let you still kissed his soft lips back and let yourself melt into him. 

“Goodbye,” He remarks after pulling away, “Behave yourself.”. The door slams in your face. 

You can still feel his cum dripping from your heat daring to spill out of your panties. The hallway was empty, allowing reality to rush to you at once. Your senses only seem clear when you were alone- with Light, you didn’t see with your own eyes or hear with your own ears.

You let your back touch the door of Light’s hotel room, slowly sliding down until you were sitting on the carpeted floor. Your life was broken pieces and you cut yourself picking up the glass shards, relishing in the fact that your boyfriend liked the way the blood looked on your pricked fingers.

❛  hurt me and tell me you’re mine, i don’t know why but i like it. ❜

[waitimcomingtoo]

OOOOOO, I really like your writing and u asked for prompts. So, maybe u could do a really shy!reader or mute!reader with peter? I think that be cute! Or you can do it with tom since u said once that you like writing for tom more :)

secret language

Pairing: Peter Parker x Mute!Reader

Synopsis: a study in the silence that comes when two people understand each other

Masterlist

You sat alone at on a bench on your first day of kindergarten, feeling intimidated by the noise and spectacle of it all. You hugged your backpack to your chest, wishing the day could go faster so you could fo home.

Then he came up to you.

“Hi. I’m Peter.” A curly haired boy pulled the seat out next to you and sat down. You waved at Peter and put your backpack on the table, deciding to give him a chance.

“Do you have a name?” Peter asked, and you nodded your head. You took his hand and laid his palm flat, carefully writing your name with your finger.

“Wait, do it again.” Peter requested, watching your every move intently. You wrote your name again on his palm and he titled his head, staring at his hand like the word would be written there.

“Y/n?” He looked up at you once he figured it out. “Am I saying it right?”

You nodded happily and pointed to yourself before giving him a thumbs up. Peter smiled proudly and looked at his hand again.

“Do you not talk?” He wondered, making you shake your head no.

“That’s okay.” Peter shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t like to talk either.”

Peter began to swing his legs, looking around the classroom in awe before his eyes fell on Aunt May, who was talking to the teacher.

“Is your mommy still here?” He turned to you to ask. You nodded and pointed to your mom, who was laughing with one of the single dads.

“She’s pretty. Her shoes are so tall!” Peter exclaimed as he pointed at her high heels. You laughed silently, smiling to show that you agreed. Peter smiled back at you, several teeth in the front row missing. His smile faded suddenly as he looked down at his lap.

“My parents just died.” He confessed to you. “Uncle Ben said they’re in heaven. I tried to look for Heaven on the map on the subway, but I couldn’t find it. Do you know where it is?”

You shook your head and Peter sighed.

“Me either.” He said, pouring a little as he slumped in his seat. You sat in silence for a moment until you heard a little noise from Peter.

“I miss my mommy.” He said quietly, his voice sounding weak.

Your eyes filled with sympathy for Peter as you stuck your bottom lip out. Peter watched you curiously as you reached out your hand, taking his little one in your own and squeezing it three times. Peter gasped a little, looking up at you with wide eyes as you gave him a gentle smile. It reminded him of what his mother used to do when he was scared, three squeezes to say three words.

I. Love. You.

Aunt May didn’t know about their little ritual, so when Peter squeezed her hand three times as they lowered his mom into the ground, she didn’t squeeze back. It made Peter wonder if anyone would tell him they loved him in the secret language ever again. But here you were, squeezing his hand to let him know it was okay.

“Thank you.” He smiled, his eyes no longer glassy. “I love you too.”

You smiled at him and he noticed that were missing teeth too. Peter pointed to your mouth and laughed before pointing to his own. You both doubled over on the bench (I was over on the bench) in a fit of laughter, as if you had reached the very apex of comedy with missing teeth and gaps in your smiles.

You and Peter spent the day together, communicating though words written on his palm or on a piece of paper. He found it very easy to understand you, even when you didn’t speak. He liked your quiet company far better than the loud children in the class, knocking over blocks and crying over toys. You were different, and Peter liked different.

At the end of the day, Peter saw his family and grabbed your hand, running towards them with you in tow.

“Aunt May! Uncle Ben! I made a friend. She’s a mule.” Peter proudly presented you to his aunt and uncle. You smiled politely at them as they shared a confused look.

“What sweetie?” Aunt May asked as she crouched down a little. In the mean time, your mother had spotted you holding hands with Peter and made her way over.

“Mute. Y/n is a selective mute.” Your mother explained as she came up behind you. “Hi, I’m her mother.”

“Like on a remote!” Peter cheered as the adults shook hands. “Can she come over?”

“Is that alright with her mommy?” Uncle Ben looked at your mother for permission.

“Sure.” Your mother complied. “If you give her a piece of paper, she can write some words down. I’ll give you my number just in case.”

“She doesn’t need paper.” Peter shook his head. “We can already talk, look.”

Peter held you your enjoined hands and squeezed yours three times. You squeezed back, making him grin.

“See? She said she loves me.” He exclaimed, letting your hands drop back to your sides.

“That’s so cute. I was so worried about her making friends. She stopped speaking after her father passed.” Your mother quietly explained to May and Ben.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Peters parents just passed as well.” May said sympathetically while Ben watched the two of you. A complicit smile sat on his lips as he saw his nephew genuinely smile for the first time since his parents died.

“My condolences.” Your mother touched May’s arm kindly.

“Thank you.” May put her hand over your mother’s. “It’s been really difficult for him. It’s been so long since he-“

She was cut off by Peter laughing loudly at something you didn’t say, but conveyed. Tears brimmed in her eyes as you wrote something on Peter’s palm, something that made him light up like the forth of July.

“Since he’s been happy.” She finished.

“Lucky they found each other, huh?” Your mother smiled fondly as she watched you and Peter play, earning a nod from May.

And lucky you were.

Over the next few years, you and Peter developed a secret language entirely comprised of soft touches, expressive looks and squeezes. It was a dialect that only existed between the two of you, and that was how you liked it.

“Welcome, students, to your first day of high school. My name is Mrs. Ingrid, I’ll be your english teacher this year. I’d like us to go around the room and say your name and what you did this summer.”

You looked at Peter with panicked eyes as tired groans echoed around the classroom. It was your very first period of your very first day and you were already freaking out. Peter gave you a gentle smile as he reached across his desk and took your hand, giving it three solid squeezes.

“It’s okay.” He assured you. “I got you.”

“Mr. Parker.” Mrs. Ingrid said suddenly. “Since you’re talking, would you like to go first?”

“O-Okay.” Peter stuttered as he stood up from his desk. “My name is Peter Parker. This summer I watched all the Star Wars movies in a row without breaking to sleep.”

“Thank you for sharing.” She nodded curtly and turned to you, as you were seated next to Peter. “Ms. L/n, you can go next.”

“This is-“ Peter began.

“I believe she can speak for herself.” Mrs. Ingrid snapped, narrowing her eyes at Peter. You looked at Peter with eyes full of guilt as you unintentionally made him get off on the wrong foot with the teacher. You expected Peter to be scared, but his face showed that he was perfectly calm.

“Actually she can’t, ma’am.” Peter said politely. “This is Y/n L/n and she’s mute. She also spent her summer watching the Star Wars movies but she fell asleep sometime between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith.”

Surprised murmurs swept though the crowd at the mention of the word “mute”. It was something the students hadn’t been exposed to yet and you felt the individual pricks as they sunk their teeth into it. Knowing the pantomime spotlight was being shone on you, you turned to the class and gave a weak smile.

“My apologies.” Mrs. Ingrid said shortly. “I forgot we had a disabled student this year. Thank you, Peter. And welcome Y/n.”

She turned her back to the class to hide the flush of embarrassment as a student called her out, but Peter had more to say.

“It’s not a disability.” He spoke up, shrinking in his seat when everyone’s eyes went to him.

“I’m sorry?” Mrs. Ingrid turned around with an unamused grin.

“Well, Y/n is mute because of an anxiety disorder.” Peter explained. “She physically has the ability to speak, but she mentally feels like she can’t. She doesn’t see it as a disability.”

“Did she tell you that?” Flash, a boy with his name stitched onto the pocket of his shirt, asked from somewhere behind the room, making the whole room laugh at you.

The whole room except Peter

Peter turned around in his seat and glared at Flash, armed and ready to defend you if needed.

“Yes, she did.” Peter stated. “She tells me everything.”

Flash snickered and rolled his eyes as Peter turned around in his seat. Other students continues to gawk at you, as if your mutism could be seen on the outside. Your face flamed red until you felt Peters hand on your shoulder, squeezing it three times to calm you down.

“I apologize, Y/n.” Mrs. Ingrid smiled at you. “Would the next student like to go?”

You walked home once the day had ended with Peter by your side, quietly thinking to yourself as he talked about his science class.

“Anyways.” He paused time catch his breath as he finished his story. “How was your day?”

You looked at him sideways before grabbing his hand and writing an “E” on his palm.

“Come on. English wasn’t that bad.” He insisted, grimacing a little when you glared at him. You made a gesture of a circle before sharply pointing at yourself.

“I know. But I bet everyone had a moment today where they felt like everyone was staring at them.” Peter tried to assure you but you rolled your eyes.

“Tomorrow will be better.” Peter said decidedly. “That Flash kid is so annoying though. How many classes do you have with him?”

You held up three fingers and Peters eyes widened in sympathy.

“Three?” He gasped. I’m so sorry. Hopefully he was just trying to show off for the first day.”

You shrugged a little and pantomimed popping your collar, to which Peter laughed.

“Right?” Peter exclaimed. “Why does he dress like a mobsters son?”

Your shoulders moved up and down as you silently laughed with him, nearing your apartment building now.

“We should do something to celebrate our first day.” Peter decided. “What do you want?”

You looked at him and raised your eyebrows, a smile appearing on his face as he caught your drift.

“You read my mind.” He sighed happily and he shifted the weight of his backpack to his other shoulder. “Coffee ice cream and Impractical Jokers it is.”

You put your hands over your heart and made a dreamy expression, to which Peter let out a groan.

“Stop it.” He laughed though a whine. “You’re the only one who thinks Sal is hot.”

You shoved him playfully as you entered the lobby of your building, making a face he knew all too well.

“I’m not having this argument with you again.” He wagged his finger in your face as he pushed the elevator button. You pouted and took his hand, writing out an expletive on his palm.

“Don’t use that tone with me young lady.” Peter feigned a gasp as he held his hand to his chest. You gave him an unamused look as he laughed at his own joke.

“Hey. “ He said suddenly as he took your hand. “Happy first day.”

You reluctantly smiled at his newfound sentimentality and squeezed his hand three times, for for each word.

~

“Mrs. Ingrid.” Flash’s hand shot up one November morning. “When we present the projects tomorrow, can Brian present mine?”

“No, Eugene.” She sighed, a snicker coming from the class as he used his first name. “Every student must do their own presentation.”

“Then how come Y/n doesn’t have to do one?” He asked spitefully, making everyone look at you. You looked to Peter for help, who was already turned in his seat to face Flash.

“You know why she doesn’t.” He said dully, tired of Flash’s unjustified vendetta against you.

“Well I don’t think it’s fair that she gets special treatment.” Flash short back, making some students “ooo” and agree.

“It’s not special treatment. Y/n is mute, Flash. You, on the other hand, have made it very clear that you are not.” Peter sassed, making the class laugh. Flash’s face turned red in embarrassment as he looked around the room for help.

“Selective mute.” He emphasized. “That means she can talk if she wanted to. You said so on the first day, Penis Parker.”

“It’s not like a light switch she can turn on and off, Flash. She doesn’t feel like she has a choice. Leave her alone.” Peter barked, getting up out of his seat now.

“If she wants me to leave her alone, she should tell me herself.” Flash snapped, getting up as well. You looked between the two boys with fearful eyes, tugging on Peters sleeve to get him to back down.

“What’s your problem?” Peter asked angrily. “What are you, jealous because she’s never spoken in this class yet still outperforms you?”

The class laughed at Peters insult, only making Flash angrier.

“I’d like to see how well she’d do without you as her interpreter.” He yelled as he pointed a finger at Peter.

“That’s enough.” Mrs. Ingrid slammed her hands on her desk. “Both of you, sit down. Y/n will be doing a power point presentation. End of discussion.”

“Yeah, that’s enough Eugene.” Peter hissed as he took his seat.

“That’ll be all, Peter.” Mrs. Ingrid narrowed her eyes at your best friend. “If this continues, I’ll have to request that the three of you be separated and put into different classes.”

“Why should Y/n and I be separated just because Flash is a dick?” Peter asked, eyes widened when he realized what he said. The students laughed at the sound of a curse word, even if it was one the uses on a daily. You looked at Peter scornfully and tapped his desk twice, communicating with him to calm down.

“Mr. Parker. I’ll be seeing you in detention.” Mrs. Ingrid stated. “Everyone, take out your textbooks and turn to page 117.”

You put your textbook on your desk and looked at Peter, giving him a sympathetic pout for getting him in trouble. You reached over and took his hand, squeezing it twice to apologize.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered to you. “Detention is a small price to pay for getting to call Flash a dick to his face.”

You squeezed his hand again and tilted your head to the side, making him shake his head at you.

“No, it’s not your fault.” Peter insisted.” It was mine. I interrupted the class, not you. Don’t worry about me.”

You sighed and brushed the side of your nose with your thumb, causing Peter to smile.

“I know.” He said softly. “I always worry about you too.”

~

You found Peter waiting for you at your locker at the end of the school day, bouncing with excitement to tell you a story from his algebra class. You listened intently as you collected your books, linking your arm through his once you were done. You walked past Mrs. Ingrids classroom and heard someone clear their throat, making you both stop in your tracks.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Parker?” She asked as she appeared in the doorway, arms folded and glasses perched on the lower part of her nose bridge.

“Shoot. I forgot I have detention.” Peter groaned before turning to you. “Do you mind waiting?”

You pointed behind you with your thumb and shrugged as Peter chewed his lip nervously.

“Are you sure? What if somebody asks you for directions?” He worried, not liking the idea of you walking home by yourself. You looked at him like he was silly and pointed your finger in both directions, signally that you could just point someone in the right direction of the asked.

“Well what if the directions are really complex?” Peter added, coming up with any excuse he could think of. You made a gesture that Mrs. Ingrid didn’t understand, but seemed to make all the sense in the world to Peter.

“You’re right. You don’t need a babysitter.” He agreed. “Do you want to meet back in my room at 4?”

You nodded and took his books from him so you could drop them off in his room.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He promised as you took his hand and squeezed it three times.

“I love you too.” He smiled, giving you three squeezes before walking in the direction of the detention room. Mrs. Ingrid watched him until he disappeared around a corner, turning to you once he was gone.

“You and Peter, are you two together?” She questioned, making you shake your head. She smiled a little, looking amused as she took off her glasses and rubbed them on her shirt.

“Someone should tell him that.” She chuckled, sliding her glasses back on her face. You put your hand over your heart and rubbed it in a circle, the first gesture Mrs. Ingrid understood.

“I see.” She nodded. “You have a nice day now, Y/n. Get home safe.”

You smiled in appreciation at her before waving goodbye, walking out the doors of the school and towards your building.

You tucked your thumbs under the straps of your backpack as you walked, taking every precaution to step over the cracks in the sidewalk as you approached them.

“Hey, Hellen Keller, wait up.”

You froze for a moment when you heard Flash’s voice behind you before quickly picking up your pace. Unfortunately, he had the same idea and ran to catch up with you, grabbing your arm and forcing you to turn around when he got there.

“I was talking to you. Are you deaf too now?” He snickered devilishly as you pulled your arm out of his grasp. You kept walking, but he fell into a stride right beside you.

“So how does it work? Can you and Peter read each other’s thoughts? Does he ever think about me?” Flash batted his eyelashes but you ignored him. You swallowed nervously as you began to wish you had just waited for Peter.

“Come on, Y/n. You should take my interest in you as a compliment.” Flash smirked, making you roll your eyes. “I wanna hear you speak.”

Your unbreaking silence woke up something animalistic in Flash, making him grab both your arms and pushing you into a vacant alley. He pressed you against a wall, gripping both your arms so tight, you were sure they’d bruise.

“Didn’t you hear me? Say something.” He bellowed, getting right in your face as he screamed. You turned your face away and grimaced, fidgeting to get out of his grasp.

“Fine.” He laughed in a way that made your blood turn cold. “You don’t want to talk? Then I wanna hear you scream.”

Your eyes widened as he threw you to the ground, your body skidding on the pavement as you moved. He stalked up to you like a Brute, towering over you as you held up a hand.

“Where’s your little boyfriend now?” He asked, raising his fist above your head. A scream ripped through your throat as his fist came down, never making contact with your face. You opened your eyes slowly and saw him wiping his hands, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“That’s what I thought. See you tomorrow. Can’t wait to see your PowerPoint.” He quipped, spitting on the ground next to you before leaving. Once you were sure he was gone, you sat up. Your hands went to your elbow first, as you felt blood tricking from an open wound. It wasn’t anything serious, just a scrape and a friction burn. Your hands then traveled to your neck, fingers resting over your vocal chords. You hadn’t heard a sound come from your mouth in 10 years, not even a laugh. The scream that came from your mouth was different from screams you’d heard in movies. It was deeper and hollow, as if it came from an animal. Tears stung your eyes as you got up, body aching from hitting the ground. You looked around the corner before continuing your way home, looking over your shoulder every so often out of fear.

You cleaned your elbow up in Peters bathroom, sticking a few Paw Patrol bandaids to the cut as you waiting for him to come home. You ended up falling asleep on his bed, only waking up when he came in a quarter last five.

“Hey sleepy head. I’m sorry I’m late.” He spoke in a hushed tone as he knelt beside his bed. “Mrs. Ingrid made me write on the board 100 times like Bart Simpson. Did you get back okay?”

You nodded as you sat up, slowly opening your sleep heavy eyes. Peter smiled as he smoothed the hair that was sticking up on either side of your part, smile fading when he took a closer look at your face.

“What happened? Have you been crying?” He worried as he cupped your face, turning it slightly to get a better look. Taking a deep breath to brace for Peters reaction, you held out your arm. He caught sight of the bandaids almost instantly, looking at you in disbelief before gently examining your arm.

“Who did this to you?” He demanded as he carefully twisted your arm to see the full extent of the wound. You weakly pantomimed a popped collar, seeing the anger in Peters eyes grow as he understood.

“Fucking Flash.” He stood up abruptly and slammed his hand on his wall. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone.”

You got up and went over to him, shaking your head sympathetically.

“I did too have a choice.” He disagreed. “People skip detention all the time. How could I let this happen?” He asked, more so to himself as he sat on the bed. He put his head in his hands, hiding out of the shame he felt. You took a seat beside him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders while resting your head on his body. You tapped his leg four times, making him bring his head out of his heads to shake it.

“It is my fault.” He told you. “I provoked him in English and that’s why he went after you. I should’ve been there. I’m so sorry.”

You pouted and took his chin between your fingers, squeezing his arm twice with your free hand.

“It’s not okay!” He yelled. “He’s been targeting you since day one. I bet he planned this. He’s probably been waiting to get you along. Did he hurt you anywhere else? Oh god, did he touch you?” Peter could barely see past his disgust long enough to get the words, turning a little green as the worst case scenario played in his mind. You frantically shook your head and Peter calmed down just a little.

“He’s lucky. He’d be a dead man if he did.” Peter stated assertively. You tilted your head and gave him a disapproving look that he read in seconds.

“How am I overreacting?” He asked. “You’re hurt! He hurt you! Screw this - I’m gonna kill him.” He got up again and heading towards the door. You sprung up from the bed and threw your arms around him from behind, stopping him in his tracks. You squeezed his tightly, resting your chin on his shoulder as you held him back. He struggled to break out of your grasp until he heard a strangled sound emit from your throat. As distorted and muffled as it was, Peter knew was you were trying to say.

“Stay.”

He hung his head in shame, knowing it scared you when he raised his voice. He put his hands over yours, which had been resting on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, keeping his eyes down. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. You know I worry about you.”

You slowly withdrew your hands and turned him around, taking his face in your hands and making him look at you.

“I know you don’t need me to protect you. Is it wrong that I still want too?” He smiled weakly as he leaned into your palms. You shook your head and moved your hands down to his shoulders, shrugging a little to tell him you didn’t mind.

“I’m walking you home tomorrow.” He promised as he pulled you into a hug. “And everyday for the rest of my life.”

You patted his back four times, making his body shake with laughter.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Sounds good to me too.”

~

You entered Peters room a little over a year later after receiving a frantic text. The text contained exactly one word, “ouchie”, and the rest was gibberish. Peters wise eyes met yours and you smiled at him, smile fading as your eyes trailed down his body. He was clad in nothing but his boxers and one single sock, glistening with sweat from head to toe. Your best friends lean and scrawny body that you has seen hundreds of times since your childhood was replaced with broad shoulders and solid muscle, features that made your face burn all the way to your ears. That wasn’t what shocked you, though. What shocked you was the series of papers, pens, shirts, and granola bars that were sticking to his body as if adhered with glue.

“Whats happening to me?” He screamed, tugging at a Nature Valley bar sticking to his nipple. You held back a laugh when you saw how scared he looked and approached him slowly like a deer in the woods. You reached out a hand but he backed away as if you might burn him.

“Don’t.” He croaked. “You’ll stick too and I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

You waved your hand in dismissal and reached out again, placing a cool hand on Peters burning cheek. His eyes shut in tranquillity as he leaned into your hand, letting your touch calm him as it had done so many times in the past.

You peeled a shirt off his shoulder and plucked a pencil off his thigh as his breathing slowed down. You cupped his face in your hands and looked at him, wordlessly asking him to tell you what happened.

“I went to Oscorp yesterday and this spider bit me and I woke up really sweaty - and I mean really sweaty - and then I got super hungry so I went ham on granola bars - and I’m talking ape shit Y/n I didn’t even chew I just went feral on those crumbly bitches - and then things kept sticking to me and I don’t know what to do and-“

You acted on a whim and pulled Peters face towards yours, kissing him firmly on the lips. The only noise in the room was the sound of pens and granola bars hitting the ground as they slowly unstuck from his body. Peter places a gentle hand on your face as he kissed you back. You pulled away, feeling his eyelashes tickle your face as his eyes fluttered open.

“And you just kissed me.” He laughed slightly, pace significantly slower now. You gave him a knowing look and shrugged a little, making him laugh.

“You’re right.” He realized. “You didn’t stick.”

You wrapped your arms around Peters neck and pressed your forehead against his, letting silence fill the room as he held you.

“I don’t know what this means. I’m…I’m scared.” He whispered as he nuzzled against you. You shook your head a little, telling him he didn’t have to be scared. Moving your head up to look at you, you took his face between your hands and kissed his lips three times in a row. After the third kiss, a cheeky smile lingered on Peters lips.

“I love you too.” He told you, grinning widely before kissing you again.

~

You laid on Peters chest, a few years out of college now. His shirt was riding up a little, exposing bare skin that served as your canvas. A shy smile made on a home on your face as you traced letters on his skin.

“What was that?” He asked when he felt your touch but couldn’t make out your words. “Say it again.”

You chuckled a little at his phrasing, and he did too. In accordance to his request, you wrote your sentence again, taking your time with the curve of each letter. Peter furrowed his eyebrows a little as he propped himself up on his elbows, a little annoyed with himself for not being able to decipher what you were saying. He prided himself on being fluent in your secret language, so the only possible answer was that whatever you were writing now was something you had never written before.

“Wait, do it again.” He asked, determined to crack the code. You sat up on your elbow as well, looking at him through your lashes as you traced the words again.

“I’m convinced this is gibberish.” Peter shook his head through a chuckle, looking at curiously to see if you were messing with him. You let out a tiny whine as you stuck your bottom lip out, patting his chest twice to tell him to try harder.

“Fine, fine. Try again. But go slowly.”

You sucked in a breath and held your fingernail to his skin, slowly tracing the first word.

“Will?” He asked, grinning when you nodded and continued to write.

“You?” He looked to you for confirmation. “Will you?”

You nodded again, feeling butterflies now and you moved to the next word.

“Many?” He questioned. You shook your head repeatedly, anxious for him to figure it out. You wrote it again and saw it click for him.

“Ohh. Marry.” He smiled, proud of himself for getting it. His eyes met yours and all at once, he understood why he couldn’t figure it out before.

No one fault really, you just never proposed to him before.

“Wait.” His lips curved into a smile as he cupped your chin with his hand.

“Do it again.” He asked, unable to contain his excitement as you repeated your actions.

“One more time.” He pleaded, eyes filling with tears now. “I know what it is, I just want to feel it again.”

You wrote it again, writing it on every exposed part of his body now. You proposed on his arm, his chest, his leg and his bicep, a man excited squeal leaving his throat each time you did it.

“Give me your hand.” He fully sat up now, wrapping his arms around you and taking your hand in his. He opened your hand and flattened your palm, bringing his finger to your skin.

“Y-E-S.” He spelled out loud as he wrote on your palm. “Yes. I will marry you.”

~

Smoothing your dress with a shaking hand, you turned to your mom for last minute adjustments before you walked down the isle. She smiled widely as she touched up your hair, handing you your bouquet once she was satisfied.

“Are you ready?” She asked. “That’s a dumb question. You’ve been ready for this since kindergarten.”

Nodding at your mothers words of encouragements, you nervously clutched your bouquet of sunflowers and roses, yours and Peters favorite flowers.

“You’re so lucky to have found each other.” Your mother smiled fondly as she dusted off your shoulders. “To understand someone the way you do, it’s rare. Your father would be proud.”

Emotion overcame you as you pulled your mother into a hug, thanking her the only way you could for getting you that far. The vamping of the organ signaled to you that it was time to go, all your nervously butterflies turning into petals of excitement. Your mother gave you an assuring smile as she slipped her hand into yours, both of you facing forward now as the doors opened.

Everyone turned to look at you, a welcome gesture this time around, as you made your way down the isle. You made eye contact with Peter, who had a hand clamped over his mouth to hide his emotions. He wiped tears from his eyes as Ned patted his back, silently willing you to come faster down the isle. In his mind, you couldn’t walk fast enough. He was not interested in spending one more minute as just your boyfriend. As you got closer to the alter, you waved at the Avengers who had put on their best suits to attend your big day.

And finally, you made your way to Peter.

You whole life had been about making your way to Peter, and now, dressed in white, you had arrived. You handed your bouquet to your mother and accepted Peters hand to help you step onto the alter. Peter sniffled a little as he took your hands in his, overwhelmed in the moment by your beauty.

The priest began to speak, but you didn’t hear much. All you could focus on was your childhood best friend, soon to be husband. Your palms sweat as the vows approached, an unfamiliar tickle resting in your throat.

“And now, the vows.” The priest handed the baton to you and Peter.

“Sunsets, flowers, and you. Three beautiful things that don’t make any noise. I believe some of the most wonderful things a human being can experience happen in silence. I believe that because of you.” Peters voice cracked momentarily. “I stand before you today as someone who is permanently subscribed to your silence. I look forward to a lifetime of knowing looks and written messages on the palm of my hand. I never knew how much could be said through three simple squeezes of my hand, but it feels like my entire life has happened since the first time you touched me and the last. Though your voice has never fallen on my ears, I’m confident I could identify it anywhere. You and I have created something incredible rare, a silence that only comes when two people truly know each other. And I know you. I am blessed to say I know you. I have never heard you speak, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hear you. I hear you in the early hours of the morning when the birds begin to chirp. I hear you when the blood rushes to my face because you looked at me in a certain way. I hear you when the music swells in my favorite song, and I hear you in every beat of my heart. I won’t tell you I’ll love you until death do us part, because even the jaws of death couldn’t end my love for you. I will just find you in the next life, and the one after that. Nothing could keep me away.”

You touched delicate fingers to your under eyes as you dabbed away tears, squeezing Peters hands three times to thank him for his beautiful words. Now the spotlight had once again returned to you and this time, you were ready.

“Peter.”

Peters eyes widened in astonishment before brimming with tears as your voice fell on his ears for the very first time. It wasn’t perfect after so many years of being unused, but it was yours. That’s what made it Peter’s favorite thing in the world. He bent over and rested his forehead on your enjoyed hands, almost like he was bowing to you. He stayed there for a moment before standing up again, his face full of emotion. You knew he was composed enough for you to continue, so you did.

“I shut my mouth when I was 5 and I didn’t think I was going to open it ever again. But then I met you.” You broke into a smile. You spoke slowly, taking deep breaths every few words. “There is no other way I would want to use my voice than to tell you that I love you. I have always loved you.” You sucked in a deep breath as you got emotional. “My mom worried that I wouldn’t make any friends my first day of school, and I didn’t. I made a partner for life. It is one thing to be loved and another thing to be understood. You give me me both in three small squeezes. I love you, Peter.” You finished, punctuating your vows with three squeezes of his hands.

“I love you too.” He whispered, a steady flow of tears streaming down his face now.

“I love you more.” You said, verbally for the first time.

“Peter Parker, do you take Y/n L/n to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold in sickness and in health, till death do you part?” The priest asked.

“I do.”

“Y/n L/n, do you take Peter Parker to be your lawfully wedded husband? To cherish and honor, for better or for worse?”

“I do.”

“Oh my God.” Peter gushed, making the crowd laugh. Peter was still recovering from the fact that your first word was his name, and now you had said the two sacred words he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.

“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” The priest smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”

Peter wasted no time in taking your face between his hands and kissing you, smiling with joy into the kiss as you officiated your marriage.

“You did so good baby.” He whispered against your lips as the crowd clapped for you.

“Thank you.” You giggled, proud of yourself for what you did. “I’ve been practicing with my therapist since the proposal.”

“It was amazing. That’s was the greatest surprise anyone’s ever given me. Even if it was just for today, I’m so happy I could hear your voice. I love you so much.” He told you before pulling you into a hug. You rested your head on his shoulder and held him tightly, thanking God that he came up to you that first day of kindergarten.

“I love you too.”

Tag List 🏷

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[reverie-starlight]

{comfort - K.T.}

Character: Kuroo Tetsurou

Fandom: Haikyuu

Reader: Gender Neutral

Warnings: descriptions of anxiety/an oncoming panic attack, trace amounts of angst (but mostly comfort), coming out to someone, fluff at the end <3

Summary: on the way home from a date, you come out as bisexual to your boyfriend and he is nothing but supportive.

Note: Hi! This is my first post on tumblr, so I’m still trying to get used to formatting things properly, please be patient with me lol. Anyway, I wrote this because there definitely needs to be more comfort surrounding this topic- I’ve read a handful of one-shots like this, but I wanted to add my own contribution. (This was originally posted on my wattpad, so rest assured if you come across it there, it wasn’t reposted w/o permission)

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Breathe. You'll be fine, (Y/n).

The drive back to your place was silent, which normally would have been calming for you, but tonight it only pushed you further into your own head. If Kuroo picked up on your discomfort from the driver's seat, he didn't mention it.

You were grateful for that since it gave you more time to think over how you were going to go about your current situation.

Or maybe it was a bad thing. Maybe he knew something was up.

So far the night had been perfect- he had taken you out for dinner at your favourite fast food place and then to a nearby bookstore. You had stopped in front of a really pretty wall to take some cute pictures and they had turned out perfect.

He told you he loved you for the first time. And you said it back.

Now you were worried that your silence was off-putting to him.

You had said your first I love you's and the car ride home was silent? Did that tell him that you were having doubts? You didn't want him to have doubts. Would he doubt you really meant it if you didn't speak up? If the ride remained silent for the next ten minutes, would he think you only said it so things wouldn't be awkward?

Anxiety bubbled up inside you as you continued to think. You didn't notice that Kuroo was giving you little side glances until he gently nudged you out of your thoughts.

"Hey, you okay? You're being quiet." His voice was calm and steady, which was a stark contrast to your erratic heartbeat.

You managed a single nod in his direction and a small smile.  It'd be fine to hold in a bit longer, wouldn't it? Oh god, why did you want to do this again?

He took a hand off the wheel and placed it over yours. You felt him give you a reassuring squeeze. "You sure? Cause you know you can tell me if anything's bothering you. I love you, I want to be here for you however I can."

Ah, yes. That's why. That's why you wanted to be honest with him and trust him with something you had been keeping close to your heart for a while now. You knew tonight was the right time.

"I love you too." You continued to stare at him for a while as another wave of silence washed over the two of you. This one wasn't as anxiety inducing, even though you hadn't really answered his question.

He continued to drive with your hand in his. It was dark out but you could still see him for the most part in the headlights of the other cars and the street lamps you passed. He looked so content after you said that. So happy to just have that with someone. You hoped he always looked like that with you. You hoped noting changed after tonight.

You don't know when you started crying, but when he looked away from the road for a second to check on you again, you saw his eyes widen. "Oh god, (Y/n/n), what's wrong?"

He looked into the rearview mirror for a second before pulling over on the side of the road. He turned to you fully and pulled you into a hug (which was awkward because of the arm rest between you guys). He ran a hand over your hair in an attempt to quiet your sobbing.

He didn't push you to answer his question, instead opting to wait until you were calm enough to talk again. Only when you finally moved away from him, collected yourself a bit and nodded at him to show you were okay, did he ask you again.

"What's wrong?" His voice was soft and full of concern and his hand never left yours.

You sniffed. "I'm sorry for scaring you, this is all out of nowhere."

He shook his head. "No, it's okay, take your time. Was it something I did tonight? Were you not ready to take that step? I know we can't take it back, but if you're not ready to use it yet, I don't mind waiting until-"

He was cut off by your hand moving up to his arm. "You did everything right. I love you, Tetsurou, I'm glad we took this step, but..." you bit your lip and dropped your gaze.

Were you really about to do this? You thought you were nervous before, but now that you were moments away from sharing your best kept secret with him, those nerves seemed to multiply by a million.

You felt his thumb come up between your eyebrows and smooth the space that was now wrinkled. "I'm listening."

You knew you didn't owe it to him- that you could wait until there were no nerves left whatsoever.

You knew that. And yet...

You wanted to tell him. Part of you wanted to finally get it out. To stop hiding it and share this part of yourself with someone you loved and who loved you back. You knew he wouldn't be disgusted or suddenly hate you- he wasn't that kind of person.

You were just so scared of even the slightest change. You liked how things were now, you didn't want a dynamic change with him, you didn't want a shift, you just wanted it to stay as blissful as it currently was.

You also knew that the nerves might not go away until after you told him. They'd definitely come back the next time you had to do this. To be fair, Kuroo would be the first and only person besides yourself and one other friend of yours to know, so of course there would be nerves. This was a new thing for you.

You took a deep breath. You could do this. It would be fine.

"I love you," your voice came out thick from holding back more tears. "And I want to tell you this because I've never liked hiding things from people I love unless it's absolutely necessary."

He nodded and wiped away a fallen tear.

"This is something that isn't necessary for me to hide from you, but I'm still scared. I'm scared of change and I'm scared of getting hurt. You say that you would never hurt me, Tetsurou, so I'm really trusting you with my heart here."

He grabbed your hand for support and you gulped, nerves once again growing by the second.

"I'm bisexual," the truth jumped out of your mouth before you think things over again.

You clamped your eyes shut. You were relieved you told him, it was a true weight off your shoulders, but now you were worried (though significantly less) about his reaction.

If you had kept your eyes open after blurting it out, you would have seen his eyes widen a bit and then return to normal. As if this news didn't phase him one bit.

The car was silent for a minute before you felt him squeeze your hand. "(Y/n), you know this doesn't change anything between us, right?"

You opened your eyes and the first thing you saw was a reassuring smile on his face. When you didn't say anything, he continued to speak.

"I love you, and what that means, my dear, is that I love and appreciate every part of you. This included, okay? Thank you for trusting me enough with it, I can't imagine how difficult it was for you to tell me."

He put his forehead against yours. "This doesn't change the way I think of you, feel about you or see you. You're still (Y/n). I still love you. "

Your heart was so full in that moment.

Everything was the same. He said nothing would change and you truly believed him. He made you feel safe and loved, and that was all you could ask for in this situation. You squeezed his hand back twice, a silent thank you.

He seemed to understand, thankfully, and leaned back into his seat after kissing you on the cheek. "Right, so I think we should head back to your place now. I was promised movie picking rights tonight."

You smiled at him as he winked at you then started driving.

And suddenly everything was as it was before. The content look on his face from earlier didn't waver once, and his hand didn't leave yours. Just two lovers enjoying each other's company, no worries on their minds.

Almost as if nothing had changed, you thought. This was the only response you needed from him. Calming. Reassuring. Safe. It was Kuroo, at the end of the day.

Later, your apartment would be filled with loud laughs and sarcastic remarks. A movie would be playing in the background that neither of you really payed attention to because your conversation was too exciting. Music would be played at 2 am as you slow danced and held each other close.

Just two lovers enjoying each other's company, no worries on their minds any longer.

Yeah, you took in one last deep breath. You'll be fine, (Y/n).

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. I’m curious. What did you mean by “women who read fiction might get Bad Ideas!!!” has just reached its latest and stupidest form via tumblr purity culture.? I haven’t seen any of this but I’m new to tumblr.

Oh man. You really want to get me into trouble on, like, my first day back, don’t you?

Pretty much all of this has been explained elsewhere by people much smarter than me, so this isn’t necessarily going to say anything new, but I’ll do my best to synthesize and summarize it. As ever, it comes with the caveat that it is my personal interpretation, and is not intended as the be-all, end-all. You’ll definitely run across it if you spend any time on Tumblr (or social media in general, including Twitter, and any other fandom-related spaces). This will get long.

In short: in the nineteenth century, when Gothic/romantic literature became popular and women were increasingly able to read these kinds of novels for fun, there was an attendant moral panic over whether they, with their weak female brains, would be able to distinguish fiction from reality, and that they might start making immoral or inappropriate choices in their real life as a result. Obviously, there was a huge sexist and misogynistic component to this, and it would be nice to write it off entirely as just hysterical Victorian pearl-clutching, but that feeds into the “lol people in the past were all much stupider than we are today” kind of historical fallacy that I often and vigorously shut down. (Honestly, I’m not sure how anyone can ever write the “omg medieval people believed such weird things about medicine!” nonsense again after what we’ve gone through with COVID, but that is a whole other rant.) The thinking ran that women shouldn’t read novels for fear of corrupting their impressionable brains, or if they had to read novels at all, they should only be the Right Ones: i.e., those that came with a side of heavy-handed and explicit moralizing so that they wouldn’t be tempted to transgress. Of course, books trying to hammer their readers over the head with their Moral Point aren’t often much fun to read, and that’s not the point of fiction anyway. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

Fast-forward to today, and the entire generation of young, otherwise well-meaning people who have come to believe that being a moral person involves only consuming the “right” kind of fictional content, and being outrageously mean to strangers on the internet who do not agree with that choice. There are a lot of factors contributing to this. First, the advent of social media and being subject to the judgment of people across the world at all times has made it imperative that you demonstrate the “right” opinions to fit in with your peer-group, and on fandom websites, that often falls into a twisted, hyper-critical, so-called “progressivism” that diligently knows all the social justice buzzwords, but has trouble applying them in nuance, context, and complicated real life. To some extent, this obviously is not a bad thing. People need to be critical of the media they engage with, to know what narratives the creator(s) are promoting, the tropes they are using, the conclusions that they are supporting, and to be able to recognize and push back against genuinely harmful content when it is produced – and this distinction is critical – by professional mainstream creators. Amateur, individual fan content is another kettle of fish. There is a difference between critiquing a professional creator (though social media has also made it incredibly easy to atrociously abuse them) and attacking your fellow fan and peer, who is on the exact same footing as you as a consumer of that content.

Obviously, again, this doesn’t mean that you can’t call out people who are engaging in actually toxic or abusive behavior, fans or otherwise. But certain segments of Tumblr culture have drained both those words (along with “gaslighting”) of almost all critical meaning, until they’re applied indiscriminately to “any fictional content that I don’t like, don’t agree with, or which doesn’t seem to model healthy behavior in real life” and “anyone who likes or engages with this content.” Somewhere along the line, a reactionary mindset has been formed in which the only fictional narratives or relationships are those which would be “acceptable” in real life, to which I say…. what? If I only wanted real life, I would watch the news and only read non-fiction. Once again, the underlying fear, even if it’s framed in different terms, is that the people (often women) enjoying this content can’t be trusted to tell the difference between fiction and reality, and if they like “problematic” fictional content, they will proceed to seek it out in their real life and personal relationships. And this is just… not true.

As I said above, critical media studies and thoughtful consumption of entertainment are both great things! There have been some great metas written on, say, the Marvel Cinematic Universe and how it is increasingly relying on villains who have outwardly admirable motives (see: the Flag Smashers in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier) who are then stigmatized by their anti-social, violent behavior and attacks on innocent people, which is bad even as the heroes also rely on violence to achieve their ends. This is a clever way to acknowledge social anxieties – to say that people who identify with the Flag Smashers are right, to an extent, but then the instant they cross the line into violence, they’re upsetting the status quo and need to be put down by the heroes. I watched TFATWS and obviously enjoyed it. I have gone on a Marvel re-watching binge recently as well. I like the MCU! I like the characters and the madcap sci-fi adventures! But I can also recognize it as a flawed piece of media that I don’t have to accept whole-cloth, and to be able to criticize some of the ancillary messages that come with it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.

When it comes to shipping, moreover, the toxic culture of “my ship is better than your ship because it’s Better in Real Life” ™ is both well-known and in my opinion, exhausting and pointless. As also noted, the whole point of fiction is that it allows us to create and experience realities that we don’t always want in real life. I certainly enjoy plenty of things in fiction that I would definitely not want in reality: apocalyptic space operas, violent adventures, and yes, garbage men. A large number of my ships over the years have been labeled “unhealthy” for one reason or another, presumably because they don’t adhere to the stereotype of the coffee-shop AU where there’s no tension and nobody ever makes mistakes or is allowed to have serious flaws. And I’m not even bagging on coffee-shop AUs! Some people want to remove characters from a violent situation and give them that fluff and release from the nonstop trauma that TV writers merrily inflict on them without ever thinking about the consequences. Fanfiction often focuses on the psychology and healing of characters who have been through too much, and since that’s something we can all relate to right now, it’s a very powerful exercise. As a transformative and interpretive tool, fanfic is pretty awesome.

The problem, again, comes when people think that fic/fandom can only be used in this way, and that going the other direction, and exploring darker or complicated or messy dynamics and relationships, is morally bad. As has been said before: shipping is not activism. You don’t get brownie points for only having “healthy” ships (and just my personal opinion as a queer person, these often tend to be heterosexual white ships engaging in notably heteronormative behavior) and only supporting behavior in fiction that you think is acceptable in real life. As we’ve said, there is a systematic problem in identifying what that is. Ironically, for people worried about Women Getting Ideas by confusing fiction and reality, they’re doing the same thing, and treating fiction like reality. Fiction is fiction. Nobody actually dies. Nobody actually gets hurt. These people are not real. We need to normalize the idea of characters as figments of a creator’s imagination, not actual people with their own agency. They exist as they are written, and by the choice of people whose motives can be scrutinized and questioned, but they themselves are not real. Nor do characters reflect the author’s personal views. Period.

This feeds into the fact that the internet, and fandom culture, is not intended as a “safe space” in the sense that no questionable or triggering content can ever be posted. Archive of Our Own, with its reams of scrupulous tagging and requests for you to explicitly click and confirm that you are of age to see M or E-rated content, is a constant target of the purity cultists for hosting fictional material that they see as “immoral.” But it repeatedly, unmistakably, directly asks you for your consent to see this material, and if you then act unfairly victimized, well… that’s on you. You agreed to look at this, and there are very few cases where you didn’t know what it entailed. Fandom involves adults creating contents for adults, and while teenagers and younger people can and do participate, they need to understand this fact, rather than expecting everything to be a PG Disney movie.

When I do write my “dark” ships with garbage men, moreover, they always involve a lot of the man being an idiot, being bluntly called out for an idiot, and learning healthier patterns of behavior, which is one of the fundamental patterns of romance novels. But they also involve an element of the woman realizing that societal standards are, in fact, bullshit, and she can go feral every so often, as a treat. But even if I wrote them another way, that would still be okay! There are plenty of ships and dynamics that I don’t care for and don’t express in my fic and fandom writing, but that doesn’t mean I seek out the people who do like them and reprimand them for it. I know plenty of people who use fiction, including dark fiction, in a cathartic way to process real-life trauma, and that’s exactly the role – one of them, at least – that fiction needs to be able to fulfill. It would be terribly boring and limited if we were only ever allowed to write about Real Life and nothing else. It needs to be complicated, dark, escapist, unreal, twisted, and whatever else. This means absolutely zilch about what the consumers of this fiction believe, act, or do in their real lives.

Once more, I do note the misogyny underlying this. Nobody, after all, seems to care what kind of books or fictional narratives men read, and there’s no reflection on whether this is teaching them unhealthy patterns of behavior, or whether it predicts how they’ll act in real life. (There was some of that with the “do video games cause mass shootings?”, but it was a straw man to distract from the actual issues of toxic masculinity and gun culture.) Certain kinds of fiction, especially historical fiction, romance novels, and fanfic, are intensely gendered and viewed as being “women’s fiction” and therefore hyper-criticized, while nobody’s asking if all the macho-man potboiler military-intrigue tough-guy stereotypical “men’s fiction” is teaching them bad things. So the panic about whether your average woman on the internet is reading dark fanfic with an Unhealthy Ship (zomgz) is, in my opinion, misguided at best, and actively destructive at worst.

[viking-raider]

Southern Generation - Part I

Summary: After more than a decade of service, Captain Syverson as retired from the military, but now that he is retired, he still needs to find a job.

Pairing: Syverson/OFC

Word Count: 6,214

Rating: PG - Quasi-Slow Burn, Language, PTSD, Fluff, Angst, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Reclusive Behavior

Inspiration: I wrote a similar story for another fandom and I’ve wanted to finally write a Sy story, since I don’t have one.

Author’s Note: I wasn’t going to post this til I was done, but thought what the hell. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ of for her help with it.

He was home, finally and for good.

After more than ten years of service in the U.S Army and retiring as a Captain, Austin Wyatt Syverson was no longer a soldier. It felt amazing to be back on southern soil again, home sweet home; back in the city he was named after.

Austin, Texas.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Syverson found his way back home, to his flat in central Austin. He didn't expect a huge welcome back, unlike the first time he came back home from overseas, years before. His parents had decorated his apartment with streamers, a 'welcome back' sign and balloons. They had cake and noise makers as he entered, surprising him. But, this time, there was none of that, just bare gray walls, covered in band posters and other things Syverson liked.

His father had died of a heart attack two years into his second deployment and his mother had passed from breast cancer a year before. He was an only child and he wasn't close to his other relatives, so he would have hit the floor if any of them had even sent him a 'welcome back' text.

No, Austin Syverson was on his own, and he was more than all right with that. One thing he wasn't all right with was not having a job. So, after settling in, getting into his civilian clothing and cooking a good home cooked lunch, he picked up a newspaper and perused the job section. He preferred a job that he could do with his hands, he had always liked working with his hands, even as a kid, tinkering in the garage with his dad. Several advertisements caught his attention and he saved the numbers in his phone, planning on calling them to inquire about the job, but for now, Syverson just wanted to relax and settle in as a newly-minted civilian.

The one thing he did miss was Aika, the German Shepherd he befriended back in Baghdad. He had started the process of having Aika sent over from Iraq, but she was stuck in a month-long quarantine, before she would be cleared to be with him again, in Austin.

“She's all the family I need.” Sy said, popping the cap off a cold one.

Bright and early the next morning, Sy started calling the numbers in the advertisements and discovered to his disgruntled annoyance, that the paper he picked up was nearly a week old. He made a mental note to give the clerk at the corner store a piece of his mind, the next time he saw him.

“I'm really sorry, Mr. Syverson.” the owner of a construction company sighed, feeling bad that he didn't have room on his current job for him.

“It's fine, I'll find something.” Sy frowned, rubbing the side of his face. “Thanks though.” He sighed, and started to hang up.

“Wait!”

Sy paused, his finger almost pressed to his screen to hang up the call, and put it back to his ear. “Yeah?” He replied, biting his lip.

“I just remembered, it's a private contract, I got it a couple days ago.” He explained, fumbling through several stacks of papers and files he had strewn across his desk. “It's out in Celina, I know that's a bit of a drive from where you are in Austin.”

“That's fine.” Sy answered, relieved. “A job is a job.”

He figured if he could do a job overseas, he could do a job three hours outside of Austin.

“Well, if you want it, it's yours.” He told Sy, finally finding the paper he was looking for.

“Of course!”

He gave Sy the details of the contract, it was a private contract, sent into his company by a young lady, who lived just outside of Celina, Texas, on a small farm. Apparently the house and the barn on the property were in disrepair and she wanted them repaired. So, Sy took the contract and the information, then hung up with him, immediately calling the number he had given him for the young lady.

“Hello?” A soft, almost meek, voice answered.

“Hi, I'm Cap-” Sy cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, it was going to be a while, before he broke himself out of the habit of introducing himself as Captain Syverson. “I'm Austin Syverson. I know you don't know me, but I got your contract from Mr. McJames, the owner of Diamond Ridge Constructions, in Austin.” He explained to her, sure it sounded a bit crazy.

“Oh.” She replied, unconsciously brushing her hair out of her face. “Right. The contract.”

“Is it still available?” He asked, feeling a small tingle of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes!” She answered, hastily, worried she had given him the wrong impression. “Yes, the contract is still available. You're actually my only inquirer for it.” She told him, honestly.

“I would love to meet up with you and talk about it.” Sy said, letting out a relieved sigh and felt his massive shoulders relax.

“Um,” She gulped, licking her lips and felt her hands shake.

“I could meet you in Celina, take you for coffee?” He suggested, hoping to make her more comfortable with meeting him in a public place. “My treat.” He added, with a sweet tone.

“No, no.” She squeaked, fidgeting in her chair. “That's all right, if you want to take the contract it's yours, Mr. Syverson. It's seventeen an hour, with everything provided.” She explained to him, taking deep breaths, to calm down her nerves.

Sy was a little surprised by how easy it was, but he was willing to do the job, either way. “Of course, I would gladly take the job for you.” He agreed.

“Excellent.” She smiled, bouncing on her toes. “You can start at your earliest convenience.” She told him.

“I can come by tomorrow morning, if that's all right with you.” He replied, looking around his kitchen for something to write with and on, so he could take down her address.

“That's splendid.” She assured him, then rattled off her address for him. “If you have any issues finding the place, just call.” She told him, before they hung up.

Sy woke up early, for the three hour drive from Austin to Celina.

It was a nice drive, watching the bustling city of Austin slowly melt away to the rural landscape of the countryside, endless farmlands of varying crops. Sy found it rather soothing, after seeing nothing but sand, rubble and burned out buildings for so long. He felt like he was getting back to his roots again, his southern heritage. His GPS chimed into his thoughts, announcing he was within a mile of her home. So, he turned off the music he was playing and rolled down the window of his truck, squinting at the mailboxes that dotted the few dirt driveways along the long country road.

“You've passed your destination.”

“Fuck.” Sy grunted, tires screeching as he turned around.

He stopped his truck by the side of the road and got out, looking up and down the empty road, frowning. He pulled his GPS device off its holder and started walking in the direction it indicated her house was in, pausing, as it told him he was standing exactly where he needed to be. Turning in a circle, he noticed the sun baked, wooden gate, that was slightly hidden by weeds and had no mailbox. Frowning, Sy locked up his truck, pushed open the gate that almost fell over in the process, before walking up the driveway.

The simple, two story farmhouse slowly came into view. The roof of the farm porch was dilapidated and sagging, there were shingles missing on both roofs, the paint of the house was faded and peeling, chipping away from the warped and cracked boards, a couple of them were missing.

“It definitely needs work.” Sy said, stopping to look the house over, then noticed the barn a couple of yards away, in even worse condition. “Looks like I got my work cut out for me.” He sighed, but wasn't daunted by any of it.

His eyes moved away from the barn and back to the house as the screen door opened and a woman stepped out onto the porch; Sy could practically hear the high-pitch creak of the screen door from where he stood. She was a teeny little thing, maybe five foot, and looked timid, by the way she hugged the screen door, using it to hide behind as she watched him finish approaching the house.

“Mr. Syverson?” She called out to him, biting her bottom lip.

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy answered, stopping at the bottom of the warped steps leading up to her on the porch.

“I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place?”

“Not at all.” He smiled at her, shaking his head. “I don't lose my way often.” He assured him, teasingly.

“Good.” She chuckled, nervousness. “I suppose you'd like a closer look at the place?” She asked, glancing around the porch.

“If you don't mind.” Sy nodded, glancing around as well.

Biting her lip, she stepped out onto the porch, the screen door closing with a soft bang. “I'm sure you saw a lot of the issues on your way up.” She explained, slowly stepping off the porch.

“I have.” Sy nodded, looking down and smirking at her bare feet. “Seems a lot of the boards are rotted and the house, and barn, could use a good fresh coat of paint.”

“That's the least of the problems.” She replied, looking at the side of the house as they rounded its corner, heading towards the barn. “There's several weak points in the roof, on both the barn and the house.”

“When was the place built?” He asked, touching the side of the house, flecks of paint brushing off under his fingertips.

“1921.” She answered, looking up to the top of the house, squinting in the bright sunlight. “I bought the place four years ago.” She explained, turning towards the barn.

“I can understand you wanting to fix up the house, being you live in it.” Sy commented, checking out the barn. “But, what do you want the barn with? If you don't mind me asking.”

“I'm considering turning it into my studio.” She answered, trying to push open the barn door.

“What do you do?” Sy asked, helping her push open the door; one handed, while she leaned her body into it.

“I'm a graphic designer and a photographer.” She explained to him, stepping inside the barn with him.

“That's cool.” He smiled at the back of her head.

“Thanks.” She replied, smiling at him over her shoulder. “So,” She gulped and glanced around the barn. “Do you think you can do the job?” She asked, regarding him.

Sy heaved a sigh and roamed around the barn for a moment, checking things out. “I'm more than sure I could.” He finally said, stopping in front of her and crossed his arms. “It might take a couple of weeks to finish. But, I can do it.”

“Great.” She smiled, relieved and excited to hear that he could.

“I can start right away, if you want.” He added, resolute.

“Sounds excellent.” She nodded, fidgeting and nervously twisting the hem of her tank top with her fingers. “I can get the tools for you.” She turned and left the barn, heading back towards her house.

Sy followed after her, staying on the top step of the porch, while she disappeared inside. “Here.” He smiled as she came back, carrying a heavy red and rushed toolbox; stepping forward to take it from her.

“If you need anything else, more tools or supplies, like, I don't know, lumber or whatever.” She mumbled, staring down at her bare feet, shyly. “Just ask.”

“I will.” Sy grinned down at her, hefting the toolbox and making the tools inside of it rattle.

With that, Sy gave her a gentlemanly nod of his head and stepped off the porch. He carried the heavy box of tools down the long driveway, back to his truck, still parked on the side of the road, where he left it. Opening the back hatch, he set the tool box down in the truck bed and opened it, checking out all the tools that were stored inside it.

“Not too bad.” He nodded, approving of the selection that was inside, then turned towards his first project for the place, the pathetic excuse and falling over the gate.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, Sy googled the closet hardware store, secured the toolbox in the back of his truck and hopped in behind the wheel and followed the directions into the town of Celina. He knew she told him to tell her if he needed anything while working on her property, but Sy had a sound enough savings, that he didn't mind spending his own money on bits and bobs. He browsed the aisles of the hardware store, picking up a couple of tools he would need and weren't in the box, then several boards of wood, to build a new gate.

“Thanks.” Sy muttered, nodding his head at the hardware store owner, collecting his things and packing them back into his truck.

Getting back to the farm, Sy parked close to the head of the driveway and got to work, tearing down the old gate and piled up the lumber to the side, out of the way. Without a power source, this far out, Sy relied on a trusty hand saw and the thick muscle of his arms to cut the fresh boards, still strongly smelling of the pine tree they were hewn from. He measured everything out, tucking the pencil behind his ear, as he leaned into the saw as he cut them to length and nailed them together, forming the new gate.

She watched him the whole time, from the upstairs window of her office. He was a hard and diligent worker. Taking painstaking time to double, or even triple, his measuring of the boards, before finally cutting them with a manual saw. In a matter of hours, he had the new gate made and started putting it up. Biting her lip and saving her work on her laptop, she went downstairs into her humble little kitchen, whipped up a couple of things, making some food and drinks, before texting him.

» If you're hungry, I made lunch.

Sy smiled at her text, putting the last screw into the gate and pushed it open with two fingers. Grinning and proud of his work, then turning back to his truck, he put all the tools away and cleaned up the rest of the mess he made, then drove through the gate, stopping long enough to get out and close the gate behind him, then went up and parked beside her own little car. She came out onto the porch, holding a plate of food and a tall glass of cold lemonade.

“Thank you.” He grinned at her, taking the plate and glass, and sitting down on the rickety porch swing, balancing the plate in his lap.

“You're welcome.” She mumbled back, so shy that she didn't meet his blue eyes.

Chuckling, Sy took a deep gulp of the lemonade, parched beyond belief after all the work he had done. He moaned as the cold tang washed over his tongue, refreshing him tremendously. “That is delicious, thank you.” He complimented her.

“Thank you.” She smiled, still fidgeting beside the swing. “I'll be inside, if you need me.” She said in a rush, and scuttled inside.

Sy tilted his head as the screen door slammed shut behind her. She was a curious person, always so nervous and shy, fidgeting and never meeting his eye. He wondered if his presence made her feel uncomfortable, he was wearing a red, DILLIGAF t-shirt, a tight pair of black jeans and boots. He was an imposing guy, with stacked muscle, which made his job in the Special Forces easier, and his head was shaved, while sporting a beard. Sy's whole presence came off as authoritative and commanding, it was a natural effect he had, it was one of the reasons he had advanced in the military and succeeded as a leader so well.

Sighing, he finished off his food and gulped down the rest of his lemonade, before getting up and carefully knocking on the wood of the door frame, peeking inside. The main door was half open and he could see into the foyer and the living room beyond that, the large rug on the hardwood floors and the mismatched couch and furniture of the living room, a flat screen tv mounted above the fireplace. He could just see around the corner into what looked like a dining room, seeing the edge of a table and a couple of chairs. She appeared from the other side of the door, looking up into his eyes for a moment, before dropping them down again.

“All finished?” She asked, quietly.

“I am, thank you.” Sy smiled at her, pressing his lips together. “It was really good, the best I've had so far, since coming home.” He told her, taking a step back as she opened the screen door, taking the dishes from him, their fingers brushing.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” He asked, gulping at the soft touch of her fingers.

“No, thank you.” She squeaked, drawing away from him. “I appreciate you fixing the gate.” She added, breathlessly.

“Of course, ma'am.” Sy smiled, chuckling softly. “I'll be back tomorrow and I'll have a look around the house and see what projects need more direct attention.” He explained to her, glancing around the porch.

“That sounds great.” She mumbled back, clearing her throat.

“I'll take my leave then.” Sy said, bowing his head to her, and heading back to his truck.

There was an infernal banging coming from outside, with a loud clattering that followed, all of it in a steady rhythm that was driving her crazy.

She was nuzzled into the warmth of her thick down blankets, in that heavenly position, where you found the perfect spot on the mattress to lay, and even the slightest movement will ruin it, in a millisecond. She growled into her pillow, still reluctant to move even the tiniest bit, but she couldn't take it anymore, and thrashed out of bed, in a fling of arms, legs, pillows and blankets.

“What in the world?” She huffed, pulling on an oversized hoodie and scrambled downstairs.

She froze, catching a glimpse out of the large bay window in her den, a huge male with a shaved head, and realized it was Sy. Gulping, she moved closer and watched him through the window. He wasn't in his red shirt and jeans this morning, but wore a blue tank top and a pair of basketball shorts, but still sporting his combat boots. He also had wireless earbuds in, head bumping to whatever he was listening to. Mustering some early morning courage and stepped over to the front door, pulling it open.

“Careful!” Sy called out, appearing from the other side of the house.

She looked down and saw a good amount of the boards of the porch were gone, and looked back up at him.

“Morning.” He smiled, one corner a bit higher in an amused way.

“Morning.” She squeaked back, burrowing into her hoodie a little bit.

“I thought I would start on the porch.” Sy said, looking over what he had already torn up.

“I-I can see..that.” She stammered, biting the inside corner of her lip, then looked behind her, to the coo-coo clock on the foyer wall.

It was seven in the morning, and Sy had already been on the farm for an hour and pulled up just about half of the wrap around porch. She looked back at him and was rather impressed by it, with a shy nod of her head, she went back inside and into the kitchen, setting up the coffee maker and got breakfast going. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, she glanced in the direction of the noise and followed it again.

“Would you like some breakfast or coffee?” She asked as Sy yanked up another warmed porch board, with his gloved hands, biceps bulging as he got it loose with a grunt.

Tossing the board into the growing pile, Sy wiped his sweaty face on his arms and turned to look up at her. “I would love some, if that's all right with you.” He answered, he only had a liquid breakfast of a tall black coffee from Starbucks as he left Austin for Celina.

“Pancakes, eggs and bacon, okay with you?” She asked, fidgeting.

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy nodded, smiling sweetly at her.

A smile twitched on her lips, before she turned on her bare feet and went back into the kitchen. She pulled open the refrigerator, pulling out the milk, eggs and bacon, before going into the pantry to grab the dry pancake ingredients. The coffee maker beeps as she whipped up the pancake batter and turned, pulling out two cups from the cabinet and setting up her own cup, before going back to the front porch.

“Coffee is ready, if you want to—come in—and get your cup ready.” She told him, shyly.

“Thank you.” Sy smiled at her, wiping his face again.

Pulling off his gloves, stuffing them into his back pocket, Sy entered the house, glancing around as he followed her into the kitchen. He found his cup by the coffee maker and smirked at it, it was a Texas Rodeo cup, a picture of a bucking horse on the background of the shape of Texas.

“I wasn't sure what you took in your coffee.” She commented as he stirred a single sugar into the cup and took a seat at the breakfast nook table.

“Either straight black, or with one sugar.” He replied, taking a sip of the steaming brown liquid, while he watched her finish mixing the pancake batter. “Depends on my mood.” He added, as she poured a bit of the thick batter into the sizzling hot skillet on the very old, blue and gas stove, that had to be made in the 1940's.

Easily. Sy thought, taking a deep gulp of his coffee.

“So, you live here alone?” He asked, lifting a brow at her and set it cup down on the table in front of him.

“I do.” She nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear, and flipped a couple of the pancakes.

“Does your family live nearby?”

She paused for a moment, her back stiffening at the mention of her family. “My mother passed away, when I was born.” She said, her voice strained. “I don't have any siblings and I don't know where my father is.” She explained, flipping the finished pancakes onto a plate by the stove and turned to the cardboard carton of eggs.

“How many would you like?” She asked, holding up a sooth, brown shelled egg.

“Three, please.” Sy replied, nodding his head to her. “Sunny side up.”

“What about your family?” She asked, cracking his eggs into the pan.

“No siblings and both of my parents are dead.” He answered her, leaning back in his chair. “My dad died of a heart attack, during my second deployment and my mom died of cancer, little over a year ago.” He explained, watching her baby his eggs.

“I'm so sorry.” She frowned, looking over her shoulder at him, with a look of pure sympathy, but no pity.

“It's all right.” Sy told her, his voice soft.

She fried the bacon with the eggs, then set the hot stack of pancakes and bacon on the table, setting Sy's plate of sunny side up eggs in front of him, with a container of syrup and a dish of butter, before handing him his fork. She sat down at the table, across from him, with her plate of two scrambled eggs, then took two pancakes and three pieces of bacon for herself, drizzling her pancakes with the maple syrup.

“Thank you, ma'am.” Sy smiled, before digging into his food.

“Lily.” She mumbled, staring at her untouched plate.

“Excuse me?” Sy frowned, looking up at her, fork posed at his mouth.

“Lily.” She replied, a little bit louder. “My name is Lily. You can call me, Lily.” She told him, meeting his eyes.

Sy grinned at her, lowering his fork and sitting up straighter. “All right then, Lily.” He nodded, loving the roll of her name off his tongue. “I'm Austin. But, everyone just calls me, Sy.”

Lily held her free hand out over their plates. “It's a pleasure.” She smiled at him, sweetly.

“Same.” Sy replied, gently taking her smooth and dainty hand in his big and calloused one.

Both of their faces warmed, before their hands pulled apart and they went back to finishing up their breakfast, having a polite and casual conversation as they did. With breakfast finished, Lily cleared away the plates and silverware, setting them in the sink to be washed later on, while Sy pulled his gloves back on and headed back out to finish pulling up the rest of the porch boards.

“Now that all the boards are pried up,” Sy explained as they ate lunch together in the kitchen. “I'll be able to start nailing down the new ones.” He told her, gulping down his glass of iced tea. “I'll put down the boards in front of the main door, so you can actually get out of the house, without having to be a hurdle jumper.” He laughed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Sy was true to his word, as he always was, he had all of the boards of the porch along the front of the house down, even though it took him until after sundown to pull it off. He sighed, as he drove the last nail in flush to the board. He stood with a groan, his knees and shoulders stiff and screaming from the hard work of the day. Gathering the strewn about tools, Sy put them back into the tool box and lugged that into the back of his truck.

“Lily.” He called out through the open screen door of the house, knocking gently on the door frame.

“Yes?” She called back, then appeared a moment later.

“I'm done for the day.” He told her, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “I'll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Bright and early, I'm sure, Captain.” She smiled at him.

Sy chuckled, he had told her a teeny bit about his career in the military, how he was a Captain and had spent more than ten years in the service, right out of high school, much to his parents' disappointment, since they wanted him to go to college. But, Sy wanted to serve his country, especially after the attacks in New York, causing him to enlist in early 2002.

“As always.” He grinned back, rubbing his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Good night, Ms. Lily.” He bowed his head to her and stepped back.

“Good night, Sy.” She nodded back to him.

Sy got into his truck and sighed heavily, as he started the engine. He was exhausted beyond belief, he scrubbed at his face as he drove down the long driveway, stopping to open and close the gate as he left the property. He only got a couple miles from Lily's, when he decided he was just too exhausted to drive the three hours to Austin. So, he turned around and headed for Celina, knowing there was a small motel there that he could rent a room from for the night. There was also the upside of staying in the motel, it was only thirty minutes away from Lily's place, which meant he could get there earlier and could work for a few more hours.

Lily came out onto the porch, when she heard the hammering on the east side of the house stop. Her bare feet gliding over the smooth new boards on the porch. Rounding the corner, she found Sy with his back against the side of the house, where he was currently prying the warped siding off of. She chuckled, realizing he had apparently stopped for a short break and fallen asleep. She moved closer to him, watching his face pinch and his head shake, like he was trying to wake himself up, but couldn't.

“Sy?” She called to him, softly, kneeling down beside him. “Hey, Sy.” She reached out to touch his shoulder. “Austin.” She said his name, gently.

She had no sooner touched his shoulder, than he jerked violently and lunged towards her. Lily yelped and scrambled backwards, away from him. Sy shook his head several times and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard, his entire body rigged.

“I'm sorry.” Sy pushed the words out of his throat. “I am so sorry, I didn't realize I fell asleep.” He said, sitting back where he had been. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” He looked over at her, his intense blue eyes scanning her for anything out of place, but only found her frightened and shaking.

“Lily.” He choked.

He had episodes like this, on and off over the last thirteen years, he had decked more than one of his men, who tried shaking him awake. He had even ended up choking one of his commanding officers, and needed his squad to pull him off and slap him back into consciousness. Sy had lost more than one friend and girlfriend over his episodes, nightmares and PTSD, he really didn't want to lose Lily over them.

“I'm-I'm f-fine.” She gulped, biting her lip and tried to calm herself down. “Are you?” She asked, pressing her back to the post that supported the porch roof.

Sy let out a hard breath, pressing a hand to his face and took a moment to settle his nerves, relieved that he hadn't hurt her. “I'm fine. I just didn't realize I fell asleep. I've been really tired lately.” He paused and dropped his hand.

“I've been tired for years.” He admitted out loud.

“You've been working from sun up to sun down, here for a month. That's without a day off, Sy.” She said, drawing her knees up to her chest. “You really should take a day off. When was the last time you had an actual day off?” She asked, studying him.

“What year is it?” He asked, chuckling at her.

“That's not good.” Lily said, shaking her head at him, then stood up. “All right, Syverson. You're officially off duty, effective now.”

“But, the siding?” He said, waving his hand over the unfinished siding on that side of the house.

“It can wait.” She told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” He asked, heaving a sigh and standing up.

“Whatever you like, Sy.” She said, turning back towards the house.

“What if I'd like to finish the siding?” He asked, smirking at her, impishly.

Lily turned, lifting a brow at him and narrowing her eyes, making him chuckle at her, throwing his hands up in defeat. He followed her into the house and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. In the month since Sy had taken the job on Lily's property, they had gotten close and she had made him feel more at home than he had ever felt, anywhere in the world. Now, that she had made him take the day off, Sy had no idea what to do with it. Since he was a little boy, he was working hard, either on his parents' small farm or dealing with his deployment in the middle east.

He stepped back out on the porch, smirking to himself as he stood on solid porch boards that didn't squeak and creak under his weight. He still needed to stain the boards, but he planned on doing that after he removed all the siding from the house and put up fresh ones. His only missing plan with the siding was finding out if Lily wanted him to stain those too or if she wanted the house painted a particular color. But, he'd figure that out tomorrow, for now, he started out over the slice of land out front of the house. The grass was almost as tall as he was and he knew she didn't have a mower, not even an ancient push mower, so it would be something else he'd need to get his hands on to tame the wild jungle of sun bleached grass and weeds.

Humming to himself and taking a sip of his coffee, Sy walked around the porch, surveying the work he had done on that side, with two thirds of the siding pulled off, then continued to the back of the porch. The backyard was just as vast and wild as the front and sides of the house. Her land butted up against another farm that looked like they grew wheat. He noticed a slight movement on the thin trail that cut through the overgrowth and stepped off the porch to follow it, stopping several yards away from the boundary line that divided the two properties, finding Lily leaning on the rusted metal gate, her arm held out above it as a dapple-gray horse came trotting up to her, taking the apple out of her outstretched hand. She rubbed the mare's nose, smiling softly at it, and pulled out another apple out of the pouch of her hoodie.

Sy smiled as he watched her feed and pet that magnificent creature. “A friend of yours?” He asked, alerting her to his presence.

Lily blushed at him, trying to bite back her smile. “You can say that.” She replied, feeling the horse nudge her gently, and produced another apple. “Her name is Juniper.” She explained, patting the side of the horse's neck.

“She's beautiful.” Sy replied, but his eyes were on her.

“Isn't she.” Lily agreed, grinning at the horse, oblivious.

Sy moved closer to them, his shoulder brushing Lily's as he reached out to pet the mare, chuckling at Juniper's snort and head shake. “She hasn't been a mare for very long.” He pointed out.

“Nope.” Lily shook her head. “She was born a little more than three years ago. My neighbor, her owner, mostly deals in wheat and corn, but his daughter is working on becoming a champion barrel racer. So, he bought Juniper, when she was about a year old.”

“She looks in good shape for it.” He commented, checking out the rest of the horse. “Have you seen any of her shows?” He asked, looking back at Lily.

“Sadly, no.” She shook her head, shyly. “I do know she won her last one.” She added, smiling up at him. “It was her first win, in the ten or so shows she's competed in.”

Sy smiled at her, she seemed and sounded so proud of the horse's owner winning the competition. “We should go to her next one.” He suggested, lifting his brows at her.

“What?” Lily squeaked, looking at Sy like a frightened doe.

“Yeah, it will be a great day off for me.” He grinned at her, liking the idea. “I've never seen you leave the property, either.” He added, his brow creasing as he thought about it. “I've only seen you go far enough to get the mail, come to think of it.”

“I don't know.” She gulped, licking her lips nervously. “I've had a lot of work lately.” She stammered, fidgeting and rubbing her hands on her thighs.

“You give me guff for not taken a day off, and won't take one yourself.” He teased her, lightheartedly. “What's the worst that can happen?” He asked, leaning against the gate. “It's not like the world will blow up.”

“It might.” She mumbled, toeing at the sparse gravel under her feet.

Sy could tell she was anxious about leaving the house, he could understand that, the world was a shitty place, and he had seen a lot of that first hand. But, he blew it off, figuring it was just the stress of getting all her work done on time.

“I'll think about it.” Lily said, biting her lip and shyly scrunching up her body.

“Good.” He smiled, hopeful.

PART II

[kung-laos-hat]

Kiss Me

Kung Lao x Fem!Reader

AN: Kung Lao, my beloved. Wrote this while listening to Kiss Me More by Doja Cat ft. SZA, banger song. Not proof read yet‼️

Summary: Who doesn’t like when a little friendly rivalry turns into something more?

“You ready to meet your match this time?” Kung Lao chuckled, adjusting his footing and placing a hand on the tip of his hat.

“Course’ I am Lao,” (Y/n) huffed, getting into position, “When they get here make sure to let me know, yeah?”

This had become a daily occurrence. After dinner time, when lessons and training were done for the evening, the three of them would return to the court and cash in on a little sparring. It was their odd way of spending time together outside of missions, plus with the grand tournament coming up, they could use the extra practice.

Usually they had a rotation system that went Liu versus (Y/n), then (Y/n) versus Lao, then Liu versus Lao. They would rest a little after each match, then continue on per usual. However today’s session was going a little different.

Yesterday, (Y/n) had won against Lao and was so proud of her achievement she couldn’t help but rub it in, and Lao, being the prideful young man he was, demanded a rematch. He claimed the mission he’d gone on earlier that day had screwed him over physically. (Y/n) agreed to it, and now here they were.

“3...2...1... fight!” Liu Kang called out from the top on the stairs leading into the main hallway. As the pair lunged at each other, causing reddish brown puffs of dirt to fly off of the ground, he calmly sat and observed.

Minutes passed, and neither party seemed to have even made a scratch on the other. However, an impressive amount of blocking was being done by Kung Lao currently, so Liu assumed the victory would go to (Y/n). The girl had a giddy smile plastered across her face, and it seemed like she, too, expected the victory to be hers.

Liu turned to the side and reached for his water, but noticed he hadn’t brought any with him. He sighed and stood up.

“I’m going to fetch some water from the kitchen. Continue on, but please don’t wreck anything or kill each other. Master will have a fit and then I’ll receive part of the blame for not monitoring you two properly.” Liu said.

“Expect to come back to my—,” (Y/n) began before dodging a kick, “Another one of my victories!”

“Fat chance!”

Previous to all of this, the two friends already had some sort of tension between them. It started off as a friendly rivalry, competing for trifling things such as the last egg roll or using the bathroom first in the morning. But as the years passed, the competitons began to become more... personal. And so did the bickering. Somehow (Y/n) and Lao shifted from “if you don’t shut up I’m gonna kick your ass” to “if you don’t shut up, I’m gonna make you.”

Nevertheless, the three of them quite enjoyed their dynamic (despite Liu Kang shooting knowing looks at the two individually).

Now (Y/n) had Kung Lao backed into a corner with her (weapon/power) held against his neck. Lao strained his neck upwards, his left arm holding his hat behind his back.

“That was the saddest block I’ve seen all day, Lao. Do you yield yet?” (Y/n) smirked triumphantly.

He glanced down at her and huffed. “Watch your tongue, (Y/n).”

He swiftly slid his foot under her, knocking her off her feet, and brought his hat back up to his head before disappearing into the ground. He reappeared behind her and attempted to pin her to the ground, but she jumped up and tackled the boy, landing with her legs straddling Lao’s right one and her hand on his chest.

“You’re so predictable these days,” (Y/n) laughed.

Lao propped himself up on his elbows, “You’re only saying that because you’ve gotten used to my moves.”

“Maybe you should take some time away from me,” (Y/n) jeered, “Y’know, and learn some better ones.”

Lao furrowed his eyebrows, “God, if you don’t stop flapping your mouth—,”

“You’re trapped under me, what are you gonna do? Kiss me?” She laughed.

Lao brought his leg up and forcefully kicked her off, sending her tumbling across the court. (Y/n) jumped onto her feet, narrowly avoiding hitting the wall.

“If you keep that up I just might.” Lao teased.

“You wouldn’t have the nerve,” (Y/n) lunged at him again.

Lao used his hat to block her attack and landed a solid kick to her side. “Is that a challenge?”

God, every word that came out of the girl’s mouth was beginning to get him fired up. He could feel his chest begin to tingle with a mix of excitement and anxiety. What if (Y/n) genuinely wanted to kiss him? If he tried, would she pull away? Kung Lao had always been the bolder of the two, but still.

Kung Lao charged at her and grabbing her hands, holding them behind her back with one hand before she could fully regain her footing. With his other hand he grasped the collar of her top and pulling her closer to his body. (Y/n) was paralyzed by this sudden action and her breath hitched. She looked up at Lao with uncertainty, the color of her cheeks turning redder than the fabric Liu Kang tied around his head.

Lao’s hand trailed up to her face, holding the side of her jaw with his pointer and middle finger while his thumb traced circles over her lower lip. Lao was looking directly into her eyes now.

“Just say the word and I will, (Y/n).” His tone was quieter and more serious than ever before.

(Y/n)’s mouth quivered. It felt like her brain had entirely blanked and she couldn’t find anything clever to respond with.

“I— I... I yield!” She cried, quickly pulling away in embarrassment.

(Y/n) ran up the stairs just as Liu Kang returned. She nodded to him in acknowledgment, but continued to rush off to her room.

Liu stopped and glanced from her retreating figure to his cousin who stood along in the court.

“So... who won?” He cocked an eyebrow in confusion. Kung Lao buried his face in his hands.

———

The next couple of days seemed incredibly off to everyone. (Y/n) went out of her way to avoid interacting with Kung Lao, and vice versa. Lao’s thoughts were just too jumbled for him to approach her, no matter how much he wanted a confirmation on whether she felt the same or not, and (Y/n) was having a difficult time making sense of Lao’s actions.

What would happen if they did like each other? Although at this point, neither of them were sure if “like” was the correct term to use. (Y/n) was certain up until then that Kung Lao had meant everything was a joke and simply took this one a little too far. The insults, the flirting, all of it had been a joke, right? That was their silent agreement. Lao would never do anything with the intention of... well... getting to (Y/n), per say. Their intentions with eachother had always been purely platonic.

But was that really the truth in (Y/n)’s case? Or had she been ignorant to her own feelings towards the boy all along? Is that why she couldn’t stand to look him in the eye now? What if she really was in—

“(Y/n)! Master wants me to accompany him somewhere, so I can’t make it tonight.” Liu called out as he jogged to catch up with the girl.

She blinked, “Oh, it’s alright Liu, we can reschedule for another night then.”

He stretched his arms over his head. “Why don’t you use the time to catch up with Kung Lao? It seems like you two hardly got to spend time together this week.”

(Y/n) blushed and began to shift her feet uncomformably, “Lao and I— we’re- I haven’t...” She sighed, “I’m not exactly in the mood to talk to him any time soon.”

Liu frowned, “It isn’t my place to speak in the matter, and I’m not sure what went down between you two, but If Lao said something I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

The girl groaned and leaned her head back. “That’s what I’m afraid of...” She mumbled.

Liu placed a hand on her head and ruffled her hair, then placed both of his hands on her shoulders.

“You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you two will be back on track eventually. Remember: a little communication goes a long way.”

She nodded, “You’re right, I know. I’ll try to sort it out.”

___

Now, Kung Lao was completely crumbling over why (Y/n) had pushed him away. He believed that (Y/n) felt something for him, he was sure of it, and he’d been searching for an opportunity to pursue her for months. So when she jokingly asked if he would kiss her, how could he have resisted?

It was an impulsive decision, he admitted, but he was so sure she felt the same that he thought it didn’t matter. Maybe he should have been more forward and confessed his feelings for her in a different setting.

Buuuuut it was too late now. He blew it. And now she was avoiding him. He was a fool to assume such things about her.

Lao signed and threw himself done on his bed, sprawling his arms and legs out dramatically.

“Cousin? I’m heading out soon, I came to say goodbye—,” Liu’s voice faltered when he saw the state of his friend. He stifled a laugh. “Y’know, if you if this is effecting you so badly, why not just apologize and talk to her?”

Lao’s head shot up in alarm. “Oh no, how much did she tell you!?”

Liu laughed, “Little to nothing, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed the strange energy between you two lately.”

Lao groaned and sat up.

“Heed my advice, and stop moping around, Lao.” Liu patted the other young man’s shoulder before setting off to find their master.

___

A few hours passed and Kung Lao finally felt like he had the right words to explain how he felt to (Y/n). Yes, he’d spent hours cooped up in his room, scribbling his thoughts down on paper until he ultimately decided it was best to be direct. The poor girl was probably confused enough as it was.

It was settled then. He’d talk to her tomorrow after training and lessons, but right now it was probably best to focus on dinner.

He silently walked down the main hall and towards the kitchen. He was sheet he staff had already cleaned up dinner, and seeing as he wasn’t present to eat with the others, it was likely they didn’t bother to prepare him a plate.

Lao opened the door but froze in his tracks at the sight of (Y/n) standing in front of the counter, her shirt stained with the remnants of assorted ingredients. She staggered back at the sight of him in the door way. Lao’s eyes strayed to a small tray of egg rolls and a few other dishes.

“Kung Lao,” She breathed out.

He cleared his throat. “That seems a little excessive for a late night snack.”

“Oh this—,” (Y/n) glanced to the tray and back at him, “You weren’t at dinner, and I didn’t expect you to come to the kitchen... it was supposed to be a secret.”

“I see.” Kung Lao was silent for a moment. “Oh. OH— this is,” He gestured to the tray awkwardly, “for me...”

(Y/n) pursed her lips and nodded, glancing down at the floor. The two of them stood without a word for a moment, anxiety building up in their stomachs. Neither of them wanted to be the first to break the silence, and yet both of them had so much to say.

“I’m sorry.” (Y/n) mumbled at last. “I took our usual teasing too far last time, and I shouldn’t have avoided you—,”

“I wanted to kiss you.” Kung Lao blurted out. “I still do. And wanted you to want me to kiss you.”

“Kung Lao, the jokes we made were fun and all—,”

“Well, I’m not playing around anymore, (Y/n). This time it isn’t a joke.” The serious look he had on the other day had returned.

“So...,” (Y/n) began, barely a whisper, “what are you saying?”

Kung Lao exhaled heavily and furrowed his brows. “How can I be any more transparent right now!?” He growled, “I’m in love with you, (Y/n).”

It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of both of their chests in that moment.

(Y/n) smiled and wasted no time to wrap her arms around Kung Lao’s neck and press her lips against his. He kissed back without hesitation and wrapped his arms around her body shamelessly. Kung Lao deepened the kiss, and their lips moved together feverently, as if this was something they’d both been yearing for for a while.

When they finally separated, (Y/n) rested her head in the crook of Lao’s neck, sighing happily.

“You know what? I think I just might be in love with you too, Lao.”