#every time i draw him he gains like 5 pounds

[feligayzed]

Gave him a hair tie since he seems to struggle taming those luscious locks

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I am so in to König and the confident solder lady (btw we need a tag name or a callsign for her, maybe a poll?) but anyway I go insane for that dynamic!❤️‍🔥 I am on FIRE after I read your stories and it's NEVER enough 😭🤣

so I imagined this scenario about them

They are out on a mission to capture someone. When König finds the target the lady solder, still under the effect of how brutal and efficient König is with his hands disposing of the enemies, says to him:

L - Bag n tag me...I mean HIM

K - *looks at lady solder while filthy thoughts run through his mind*

now both of their minds are in the gutter...as well as mine, but mine never left😈

Confident soldier lady is so unhinged even König is at a loss sometimes 🤨 And our soldier babe? She gets off on those baffled, bewildered looks a little too much (shame on her).

One day when they're cuddling, sweaty and spent after another heated session that was supposed to put her in her place – how curious that it does actually work, even if only for like 5 minutes – she crosses another line.

"König… Could you kidnap me sometime? You know, in a roleplay fashion," she asks while drawing circles on that godly, muscled, sweaty chest.

The said godly muscled sweaty chest almost stops breathing.

"Kidnap you?" König repeats, appalled and with pure loathing in his voice. "I hate kidnappers... And I hate slavery."

She nearly rises to give him a pointed remark about how funny it is that he hates that shit when at the same time, doesn't have a problem with treating her like a possession. But calling a man like König out on his double standards would be futile, so she settles for seething with quiet resentment while curled up there in his arms.

Right.

Yeah… Of course this guy wouldn't know what roleplay even means.

..........

Next week she's walking back to the bus after visiting a sibling, a bit anxious about getting back to base and seeing König again. She still has over a week's worth of leave left, but she wants to go back to spend it with him.

It's sick... Everything about this relationship is sick, twisted, and crazy. She’s always running back to him like a cat who hears her owner has opened another canned tuna in oil. She's so in her thoughts about how to torture that jerk in return that she doesn't quite notice a white van pulling over right next to her.

He barely fits inside the cargo space with her, almost folds her in half while ducking and stepping inside. The car groans under the weight, slants slightly to the side, and she starts to panic and squirm from realizing this is actually happening.

Next thing she knows, she's being picked up from behind like she weighs nothing. A large palm lands over her mouth the minute she’s about to scream – she makes a tiny little noise through her nose but the palm moves to cover that as well.

The street is silent, it's a lazy afternoon in the suburbs, everyone is at work and children are at school, and no one can hear or see how some psycho hauls her inside that van.

"Shh. Stop fighting," a familiar voice bleeds into her ears, muffled and warm.

It can't be…

But then again, didn't she just make a wish upon a psycho star?

He notices she has stopped fighting, just like he ordered her to. He feels how she surrenders to a far stronger beast – just like she's supposed to. And then he purrs.

"Das ist eher so… Be good now. Be a good girl."

Yep...

No one speaks German like that. No one calls her a gut girl like that.

The palm leaves her mouth, and she's being lowered gently on the floor of the van. She turns to look at her captor with both hope and dread pounding inside her chest.

"König…?"

It's pointless to utter that name when the man before her is exactly his size and build, moves like him, has those same cold, blue eyes that gain a warmer tone every time they land on her. The only thing that makes her take a double check is that he's not wearing a hood this time but a black balaclava. Oddly enough, it makes him look a bit more human. She can see the shape of his jaw, the perch of his nose, usually disguised by the baggy sniper hood he's so fond of...

But what the new mask also does is that it makes him look even more menacing: he looks like some of those terrorists they've always fought against. He looks like the biggest bank robber ever put to this earth, he looks like he's about to shoot dozens of innocent citizens and then kidnap someone to take as his prize and drag them into his rape lair.

The notion should not make her squeal like she's looking forward to being that person…

"You're mine now," he looks down at her, lying at his feet like a stray cat about to be taken back home, then turns to walk out of the van. By the time he slams the doors shut, she's smiling – she might be in need of some serious help, but she can't deny König is at his best when he comes out to play.

….....

His house is surprisingly neat, albeit it is no doubt also a man cave for a soldier who rarely spends time at home.

She’s not carried into a cold lair or a secret dungeon underneath the house. No, she gets to stay in his bedroom, on a soft, king-sized bed. He "forces" her cook for him, and praises her meals like they’re some sort of gourmet dishes. It lights a little flame inside her chest, a fire that doesn’t burn but only feels warm. She starts to tidy his place on her own accord.

It's cute, and it's fun, their little kidnap game.

It’s also kind of entertaining to play house with König like this, especially when her "kidnapper" comes to her every night and takes her gently but intensely, with a passion that renders her silent.

It starts to resemble the most domestic little scene until after one week, she snaps out of it.

She doesn't fight back at all.

He calls her his, asks if she has everything she needs as they lay together on his ridiculously large and nice bed. She doesn’t miss her hard army bunk one bit.

She snaps out of it because he brings her a dress.

She fucking hates dresses.

Well, perhaps she doesn’t hate them... but she hates the particular dress he bought her. It's white and has flowers on it – yuck – is she supposed to cook him a nice, healthy meal while wearing that? Let him lift the hem and take her against a counter whenever he wants? Does he think she’s just going to open her legs for him every night after serving him like a docile, doting little wife?

That night, she fights like a wildcat when he comes to her. She enjoys the way he's panting by the time she finally surrenders to him. He sounds like a dog in heat, he's grunting like a man who has one job too many, trying to restrain his little alley cat so that he can push that heavenly cock inside her. She's dripping wet by the time he gets there, looking up at her captor with lightning and thunder in her eyes.

"What's gone into you now, meine Wildkatze?"

"That stupid dress, that's what's gone into me," she hisses as he tries to be gentle again – she suddenly hates it that he's gentle.

"You'd look good in it," he tries, and she almost spits on his face. Her heart hurts for some unfathomable reason, her lower lip juts out with a furious pout.

"Well you'd look good in rags…!"

And just when she thinks he couldn't make it worse… he makes it worse.

He just laughs. Gently, and heartily.

"Is that the best you can do, little one?"

"You'd make such a good wife..."

The only thing she can do is gasp for air as he makes love to her, as those eyes hold her captive gently, so gently – has he become so gentle just because she cooked him for a week and cleaned up his stupid man cave?

Did he kidnap her just because he realized that would be the perfect way to trick her and transform her into a good little housewife?

Good god...

"If you don't set me free tomorrow, I swear I'll… I'll run away!"

She’s the one panting now, and her threat has little effect save for the hauntingly familiar flash of dare that makes those blue eyes look brighter for a second.

"That's what cats do sooner or later," her King tilts his head – the cock inside her gives a demanding pulse, and she has to fight the urge to moan.

"…but they always return home."

[templetogavage]

Weekly Weighing (12/04 to 12/10)

As usual, here are seven gaining and encouraging things I enjoyed from my dash this week (plus one instance of self-promotion).

1. https://oac47.tumblr.com/post/702641168680435712/2022-dec-post-1-iii-sdonnell42-growing-guy

There's more pictures in the post itself, but here's a brief selection of a cute chub/bear who loves showing off on Instagram. I love when fat guys (even civilians) are this confident in how they look, and I appreciate @oac47 for sharing.

2. https://www.tumblr.com/fatmen-xxl/702606124678004736

@d0ughb0i is doing a good job of filling out these clothes. These shots are a perfect depiction of the fat man at rest. The lighting, too, adds to the effect.

3. https://www.tumblr.com/reluctantloser/702587125395259392

Midjourney's art is getting very good. Many thanks to @hugeredbear for submitting prompts that result in stuff like this. I'll probably continue to include these as Christmas approaches, just because I want to feature more santa posts. There are two more in the post linked above, but this was my favorite of the three.

4. https://www.tumblr.com/creator/templetogavage/703195291530280960

Shameless self-promotion! This is a recent audio I posted. Quite short, as these things go, but I like the combination of humiliation and admiration I struck here. It's about the idea of being big meaning that you take up a lot more space, dominating it at the expense of the people around you.

5. https://nycfann.tumblr.com/post/701925281312686080/fatboys-thanksgiving

Post-Thanksgiving belly play? Don't mind if I do. This video by @nycfann really hearkens back to the best of belly play videos of old- it keeps it short and sweet, showing off a couple angles and giving us just enough time to enjoy it. A good choice for a preview video- if you're interested in checking out his Patreon, let me know how it goes. I was a patron for a time in the past, when I had more disposable income, and I recall enjoying some of the roleplay videos there.

6. https://www.tumblr.com/blobinprogress/703108199482556416/ate-him-and-left-no-crumbs?source=share

The gainer world needs more comparison pics the like of which @blobinprogress posts. This is incredible- between the contrast in expression, the huge contrast in the body, and the way the streamer lighting highlights every inch of his belly, I can't imagine a better way to draw the eye. Excellent eye for what encouragers want to see (or at least what this one wants to see).

7. https://www.tumblr.com/ilikeithairy/702720570172817408

A picture of a bear. While this isn't perhaps what I'm most known for, I do admire a solid bear, even if he's a bit lacking in the body fat department. Gotta take some eye protein bars with your eye candy, you know?

8. https://www.tumblr.com/bigboycenter/702871680455950336

There was a time when I didn't quite appreciate the @thic-as-thieves boys. I tend not to like the first-thirty-pounds/bloated look too much. But lately they've really been chubbing up. This costume does wonders for his figure. He's definitely looking like my friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

And that's this week's Weekly Weighing! Thanks to @oac47, @fatmen-xxl, @reluctantloser, @nycfann, @blobinprogress, @ilikeithairy, and @bigboycenter for gracing my dash with these posts.

[cerulean-dreams-18]

Siggy design for my au! She's about 14 here. Not really a fan of how either of these drawings turned out but oh well.

Head cannons/backstory for au sigurrós:

She's very tiny at the moment. Like 5 feet tall and 110 pounds soaking wet. Not sure yet if I want her to grow up and end up being like 6 foot tall and buff, or just stay the size she is now her whole life.

She's half Icelandic, half Korean.

She's a lesbian.

She usually goes by Sigs or Siggy.

She has a weird psychic connection with SCP-953. 953 is almost constantly talking to her telepathically. For some reason she just latched onto her when Sigs was a baby and ever since she's basically been living rent free in her head.

953 constantly degraded her and tried to influence her to do things she didn't want to do, like hurt or kill people. When she resisted, 953 was furious and would berate her and often encouraged her to hurt herself.

The staff assigned to be her primary caretakers for her for the first 8 years of her life were extremely neglectful. Since she was a newborn, they did the bare minimum to keep her alive. They had no emotional connection to her whatsoever, and would just ignore her every time she tried to connect with them.

Siggy is incredibly lactose intolerant. Her primary caretakers were told this by her doctors, but didn't really care. They still gave her milk and dairy products every day and as a result she often felt sick and in pain as a young child.

Higher ranking staff of the foundation like Gears, Kondraki, and Rights were the only people who actually showed care for her and gave her the validation and love her primary caretakers never provided. As a result, she always strived to impress the doctors and do everything they asked, to receive their approval. She was intrigued by Clef for as long as she could remember, and for some reason just kind of looked up to him even though she didn't see him very often. She'd often try to interact with him and even draw pictures or make gifts for him, but he had a similar apathetic reaction to her that her caretakers held, eventually growing to outright fear and dislike her. It hurt her immensely to know one of the people she likes most wanted her dead.

In this au, she was woken up from her coma a few months after the whole 239-b incident, right after her eighth birthday. Staff had an idea of how to better control her powers, but before they could act on their plan, she solved her own problem. Since she could have anything she wanted in the world, she decided she didn't want powers anymore after all the trouble they'd caused her, and wished to be normal forever. It worked, now she can't bend reality even if she wanted to.

The very same day she woke up, 953 accidentally lets slip to sigurrós her plan to breach containment and kill a bunch of staff. Siggy sees Clef is the first person she wants to kill, and immediately runs to find him and tell him, as she still doesn't want him to get hurt, even after he tried to kill her. She explains the whole situation to Clef, including how she and 953 are telepathically connected. Clef is horrified to learn what this kid has gone through for the past 8 years, and has a change of heart about her. She doesn't even have powers anymore. She's just a normal little girl.

953 did end up breaching containment, and still hasn't been found to this day, but she didn't manage to kill anyone thanks to precautions taken thanks to siggy's heads up. 935 let the 939s out of containment to distract staff while she escaped. One of the 939s very briefly got a hold of Siggy, and gave her the scars on her face and notch in her ear.

Clef kinda felt bad about Siggy's whole situation and ended up adopting her. Meri became her big sister. Later on Clef and Kondraki got together, so she gained an additional dad and Draven as a brother.

Her teeth are sharper than a normal human's should be, and her nails are as well. She has little fangs that just barely stick out of her mouth. Her ears are abnormally pointy.

Her irises are gray, and her pupils are slitted like a cat or a fox and change color depending on her mood. Her eyes are highly reflective and appear to "glow" at night.

953 is still in her head and trying to influence her to do things, even though she told everyone their connection severed after 953 breached containment.

She has adhd.

She has an insecure attachment style due to the way she was raised. She also suffers from depression and PTSD. She goes to therapy for it.

She constantly needs to be assured that she's loved.

She's a huge cuddle bug and will take any opportunity she can to snuggle with one of her dads or siblings. Clef is often her go-to because he's the biggest and comfiest, and she feels safe around him.

She'll just say and do completely out of the blue things. She's very chaotic, and her friends and family love that about her. She's very entertaining.

She, Draven, and Meri love to banter back and forth at each other. Sigs is the baby so she gets teased the most.

Her two best friends are Emma (040) and Cameron (2241). She and Emma have always kinda had a mutual unspoken crush on each other, while Sigs and Cameron are more like siblings.

She uses humor to cope with her trauma.

Clef and Kondraki both love grunge and rock music, and passed that love down to all their kids. Hence the Radiohead t shirt.

[m1111kaylaspoetry]

Dear Me A Year Ago,

(7 march 2024)

well, it’s been a year and some change.

what i mean by that is that it’s been a bit more than a year, and that you’d be pleased to hear

things are different.

you got that job you so badly wanted.

you’re good at it.

at first, it was information overload, you were a little daunted

(which you love)

but now the steps for every process are pure habit.

a few of your coworkers are now close friends,

and not just we-work-together-so-lets-agree-to-pretend

we actually really like each other.

you gained back the 35 pounds

(give or take a pound of flesh)

people still poke and prod at your ribs,

but they’re just being glib.

i hope Me In A Year looks and feels her best yet

i got you a new bedset, and moved your bedframe back to the corner.

where you feel safer

with gray blankets that are softer

and a big thick heavy black one that’s warmer

and a bunch more pillows for you to rest your weary head

some things haven’t changed,

it’s 5 a.m. as i write this, lying in our bed.

and we still haven’t fallen asleep.

i think it’s just a night owl thing.

it’s always been this way, and who am i to break the chain?

sometimes, I get sick of trying to tuck you in and i just feed you powders and potions that put you to sleep.

it’s either that, or the sun comes up and we’re still up and then the birds are up and they start to sing and it makes our eyes and ears bleed.

oh! nosebleeds. haven’t had one of those in a long time. those were super weird, right?

remember when you used to get random crimson waterfalls, breaking the flood wall and spraying all over the place?

can’t remember the last one.

the boy you’ve loved since middle school red-string-roped you back into his life and…

well, i think you’ll find this to your delight, he’s mine!

you guys always pick back up right where you leave off.

he’s in a different state

it’ll be a few more weeks til he comes back

and then we’ll know what the hell WAS THAT???? HE ASKED YOU TO MARRY HIM IN THE WINTER!!! i wish i could astral project out of my body just so i could join hands with you and jump up and down in excitement like those scenes in the movies.

i hope he does.

i hope he does marry you.

i hope he does marry us.

I hope he does marry me.

i hope we get married.

i cannot WAIT to hear from Me In A Year and your update because??? wtf!

anyways

you’re gonna sign up for classes and start pursuing your bachelors in psychology. seriously.

you go to raves and concerts like the world’s ending. you dance like it already did.

you got more metal put in your body. i think you had … 4 piercings last time we wrote? ears, septum, smiley?

you have … 10 now.

you’ve got 2 more tattoos and more to come.

this summers going to be fun.

you’re doing good. and i’m proud of you. i wasn’t sure you were going to make it (that’s not true at all; it was just dog days. hell and back, baby!)

i reread something you wrote back then and it was pretty…sad.

good news is, your brain works again.

you feel like you again.

you read, you write, you draw, you take pictures, you laugh, you dance, you sing.

you eat, and clean, and shower.

you smoke cigarettes on rare occasion now instead of the electric digital modernized version. not great, but…better?? i dunno.

might actually be worse.

not sure.

guess we’ll find out from Me In 40 Years if we have lung cancer.

i really REALLy hope not but;

if we do, it’s because of the matcha powder at work you inhale every time you make an iced matcha, and it definitely has nothing to do with the tar i’m currently putting in our lungs.

Me A Year Ago, i am so glad you’re alive.

to Me 6 Years Ago, thank you for waiting for your golden goodie. it was worth it.

to Me, in one year, i hope things are well. i think you deserve it, and i’m trying my best to earn it.

[asweetprologue]

tension in a touch

Octoberfest 5: Hover

People were afraid of Geralt.

As Geralt’s half-official barker, Jaskier was deeply aware of this. His main obstacle in improving Geralt’s reputation was not hate, despite what Geralt thought. The witcher didn’t discuss it much, but when people shied away from him, when their heart rates skyrocketed, when they cast him sideways glances, Geralt assumed it was because they despised what he was. A mutant, a freak of nature, a monster. And he was right, in many ways, but Jaskier thought Geralt sometimes didn’t quite understand why human beings hated things. Almost always it was because of fear, and Geralt made people nervous. Jaskier was there to comfort them, and then to rally them. It was a process. 

Unfortunately, as they began traveling together Jaskier realized that he was afraid of the witcher too. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he hoped Geralt never picked up on it. Jaskier was drawn to the man anyways, of course. He’d been able to smell the adventure on him from across the tavern in Posada, literally. Dirt from the road, old blood rust and an air of tragedy clung to the man like a thick cloak. It had been a moment of clear and crystalized genius, when his eyes settled on Geralt. Jaskier had known that he would follow the witcher across the Continent even before he’d heard the man speak. 

But all his enthusiasm didn’t mean that Geralt stopped being intimidating as shit. Jaskier, fresh faced and still not used to the rough and tumble way of the world, was a little scared of him. Geralt was careful, always projecting his movements and making himself obvious, but something in Jaskier’s hindbrain still raised its hackles and screamed at him to run anytime Geralt was near. It was pure instinct, an animal recognition of a predator nearby. 

But it just wouldn’t do. If he was going to convince the world that Geralt deserved to be praised for his deeds, great as they were, he couldn’t be afraid of his own muse. So Jaskier decided that he would just do the exact opposite of whatever his instincts told him to do, until they learned to behave. 

He forced himself to be close to the witcher, all the time. At night when they settled down to sleep, Jaskier desperately wanted to put his bedroll on the other side of the fire. Instead, he plopped right down next to Geralt, receiving a brief glare that made him sweat. When they ate at taverns, Jaskier sat in Geralt’s space, instead of allowing the table to act as a barrier between them. After hunts, he made himself help wash off the worst of the muck and blood and ichor, at least so that people wouldn’t truly bolt at the first sight of Geralt down the street. 

Over time, he found that his palms sweat less, his fingers were steadier, and his heart stayed calm in his chest even when he was pressed shoulder to shoulder with the witcher. Geralt was often snappy, peevish and foul tempered, but he never hurt Jaskier after the first punch to the gut. And that was really on Jaskier for bringing up Blaviken. Generally speaking, Geralt was perhaps even overly cautious. He never returned Jaskier’s friendly gestures, carefully keeping distance between them as if he expected Jaskier to startle at every brush of their fingers. And he had, in the beginning. But slowly he felt himself grow less jumpy, a part of him learning to recognize that Geralt wasn’t going to harm him. 

It was fine, the neutral ground Jaskier had been searching for. Things might have stayed that way, if not for the cockatrice hunt. 

Jaskier had insisted on going along, as they were exceptionally rare creatures. He might never get the chance to watch Geralt fight another, he reasoned, and had worn Geralt down though a slow process of argumentation supplemented by a few strategically placed ales. Geralt had reluctantly agreed, warning Jaskier that he had to stay well away from the fight. 

They had both underestimated the beast. Jaskier got too close, he could admit; Geralt wasn’t paying him any mind, focused on dodging the creature’s massive tail and razor honed beak. It was a fascinating fight. The cockatrice was like a strange mix between a rooster and a lizard, its beady eyes watching Geralt intently as it used the ends of its hooked wings to claw into the ground. The fight was fast, almost too fast for Jaskier to follow. Geralt was like water, here one moment and gone the next, baiting the creature into reckless attacks and popping up somewhere else to hack at its flank. Occasionally the cockatrice would attempt to take off, and a concussive burst of aard would echo across the small field that they fought in, knocking it back towards the ground. 

Everything would have been fine, truly, if Jaskier hadn’t seen Geralt get knocked over by the cocktrice’s tail. He shouted in alarm from his place on the hill, far enough away not to draw attention to himself, if he’d kept his silence. The cockatrice, circling Geralt, looked up sharply at the sound, interested in a potentially less threatening meal. Milky eyes focused on him, and Jaskier felt panic pulse through his chest, so strong he wondered how he ever could have called his nervousness around Geralt fear at all. As the cockatrice turned to advance on him, he knew this was what real fear was. 

In that moment, Jaskier didn’t think. He didn’t do the smart thing, which would probably have been to run back towards the village and try to take shelter amongst the smattering of houses there. He didn’t do the cowardly thing, ducking down to try and hide where he was. Instead, he did the incredibly stupid thing, and ran towards Geralt. The cockatrice, being directly in his path, was probably thrilled. 

Jaskier ran faster than he ever had in his life. The cockatrice was barrelling towards him, and Jaskier took off at an angle, rushing down the small incline towards Geralt, who was already up from where he’d been knocked prone. Jaskier could see the moment that the situation caught up with him, Geralt’s eyes going wide and panicked as he realized the danger. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen Geralt move above a light jog before. The man usually let monsters come to him, rather than the other way around, but he was running now. He was amazingly fast, and Jaskier wondered who was faster. Geralt, or the monster. 

The cockatrice had flown up, gaining some distance. Probably to dive down and catch him with some momentum. It gave Jaskier a precious extra moment, but he could sense the bird-like creature getting ready to move. Geralt was only feet away now, sword held in reverse as he sprinted towards him, and Jaskier’s lungs were burning with exertion and fear. The cockatrice let out a shriek above them, and Jaskier heard a rush of air past its wings as it dove towards them. 

Jaskier ducked. 

Geralt slammed into him almost at the same instant that the cockatrice did, throwing Jaskier bodily to the ground as a shimmering golden field sprung up around them both. The cockatrice slammed into it full force, its huge body impacting with a horrible cracking sound and spinning off to the side. Geralt winced at the force of it, the quen shield shattering apart harmlessly. He was curled protectively around Jaskier’s fallen form, one hand - the one that had been holding his sword, now abandoned - clutching the back of Jaskier’s head. Protecting him from hitting the ground when he fell. 

For one brief moment the two of them were still, Jaskier fighting to get his bearings as Geralt hovered above him. Their faces were inches apart, Geralt’s panting breath ghosting over Jaskier’s cheek. His palm was warm against the back of his neck, and his strong thighs bracketed Jaskier’s hips in a grounding press of limbs. Though the danger had not yet passed, Jaskier felt a sense of pure, undiluted relief wash over him. Geralt was here, and nothing could hurt him. 

It lasted only a second before Geralt was back on his feet, stalking over to the fallen cockatrice. The creature’s wing had been greviously injured in the fall, and it was no hardship for Geralt to dispatch it once he retrieved his sword. Jaskier sat up slowly, wincing at his newfound bruises. Better than a cockatrice talon in the back of his skull, he thought, but he’d still be sore in the morning. 

Geralt stomped back over to him as soon as he’d finished the job. “I told you to stay back,” he growled. His face was stormy, but Jaskier had seen his expression just before the cocktrice dove. It had been just as panicked as Jaskier had felt, a naked fear and determination that Jaskier had never seen on Geralt’s face in battle before. He’d been worried. He was worried still. “I never should have let you come,” he grumbled, kneeling. Warm hands pressed over Jaskier’s shoulders, his chest, working their way through his hair to check for injuries. Where once it might have made Jaskier nervous, now he only felt warmth blossom under his breastbone. 

Placing a hand over Geralt’s where it rest just under his collarbone, he said, “I’m alright, Geralt. I’m not hurt.”

Geralt glared at him. “Not for lack of trying, bard. What possessed you to shout at it like that?”

Jaskier blushed. He was winded from the sprint, heart still pounding away in his chest at how close he’d come to serious harm, so hopefully Geralt would attribute the flush to exertion. “I, ah. Saw you fall. I was afraid you’d been hurt.”

A strong eye roll was directed his way. Whoever said witchers couldn’t feel apparently didn’t recognize annoyance as an emotion, because Geralt was clearly experiencing it. “I would have been fine, Jaskier. You could have died.” His hand was still on Jaskier’s chest, over his slowing heart. Jaskier was supremely comforted by the touch, in a way that perhaps should have been concerning. 

He gave Geralt a look he hoped was sufficiently chagrined. “It does seem I owe you my life, witcher. I hope to be able to repay you.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Just don’t go shouting at any more cockatrices in the near future.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaskier said, and then added, “but I know you’d be there to rescue me if I did.” He gave Geralt a grin, to take a bit of the edge off of the statement. It was too much, he knew, too much trust to put in the witcher’s hands. 

He was rewarded with an embarrassed huff of breath, and was allowed to watch as Geralt’s ears turned just faintly red. It was amusing, but Jaskier knew deep down that it wasn’t a joke. From then on, Geralt would always mean safety to him.

[bietrofastimoff23]

Prongsfoot week #5

DAY 5 - Favorite Tropes for this Ship?

friends to lover + slow burn: I don't think any explanation is needed here xD

they live together after Hogwarts: as I have already said, for me this is the ideal period for them to admit their feelings for each other and start their relationship.   

soulmate au: they are definitely soulmates regardless of whether the universe confirms this with a some kind of sign or not. in the first case, it's charming, and in the second case, you can especially feel the indestructible love of Sirius and James for each other, who are ready to go against all the foundations of the world to be together.

dark au: how many times have I already said this this week, lmao-

mutual pining + oblivious james & flirting sirius: There's something exciting about how confident James blushes and stumbles when he's with Sirius, because that's the only person who can turn him on, as well as how Sirius gains more self-confidence in James' company and becomes an easy flirt because he likes to embarrass James and this is a safe way to confess your feelings to a friend every day.

hanahaki au: I'm a slut for this trope. I think you can imagine my joy when @ /camichats wrote a fic with this au (+ pining james!!).

rivals to friends to lovers: reading about Sirius!Slytherin and James!Gryffindor is really exciting. moreover, I do not see them initially as enemies. yes, they have prejudices about each other, but there is no mutual hatred. and it's a pleasure to read how their relationship develops from alertness to each other to complete trust (thanks @ /gracelesslady23 and fictionalcandie!)

the third variable: it can hardly be called a trope, but I had an idea for a fik when we are watching the relationship between Sirius and James from the perspective of a third person, who is in love with one of them.

it would be wonderful if someone liked my ideas with this “trope”, but I can continue to think about them alone, its okay

(in my case, it happens during the first war, when James, Sirius and Regulus lived in the same house. Regulus couldn't help but fall in love with the freedom - loving and the ardent James, in whose chest the heart of a real Gryffindor was pounding. James treated Regulus warmly and, perhaps, a couple of times they even had their moments when it seemed that the feelings of the younger Black were mutual, but when Sirius appeared on the horizon, James' entire attention switched to him. Regulus had to come to terms with the fact that he could never mean as much to James as Sirius. but James wasn't consciously playing with Regulus' feelings, it's just that he wasn't used to thinking much about anyone else besides Sirius. an egocentric slut for attention? maybe.

I also have a little dark plot from Lily's perspective, who is either dating James or close to it, but she can't help but be stressed by how close James and Sirius are. and she realizes that although James always comes back to her, one day it won't happen, and Sirius' predatory grins tell her that she's not the only one who knows about it (but in any case there is no actual treason. also, there is more emphasis not on pain/angst, but on the continuity of the connection of these two, who will not be able to build a relationship with anyone else, because for Sirius or James they will always be in second place after the best friend.).

in my ideas, everyone falls in love with James. probably because in the case of Sirius, no one would initially have a chance to even just draw his attention to themself, lmao (op28).  

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

The Darkest Timeline, Part 5

"What if you took her home?" Alex asks Kara.

Kara's eyes widen sharply. "Lena's apartment is the first place Lex will look for her!"

Rolling her eyes, Alex huffs. "I meant your home, Kara."

"Oh."

"Think about it," her sister continues. "Lena might be safe here, but she has no connection to this place. If she's going to have any chance of regaining her memories, she needs to be somewhere familiar. Or at the very least, she needs to start making new memories, and she can't do that cooped up on the ship."

Kara's heart starts to pound, and not just at the prospect of spending time with Lena in the comfort of her own home. If Lena does regain her memories... would she still hate Kara?

But in the end, she can only nod.

"Okay."

---

"Here we are," Kara announces, carefully leading Lena into her apartment. Lena's eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, her arm linked through Kara's from the slow walk up the stairs. Though her vision slowly improves, navigating the dark stairwell up to Kara's apartment had proven too much for her, so Kara had quietly informed her of each and every step, steadying her as she climbed on hesitant feet.

By now it's late afternoon, and the sunlight spilling in through Kara's windows makes Lena squint, lifting one hand to shade her eyes. "Could you...?"

"Oh, yeah. Yes. Just, stay right here."

Kara carefully withdraws her arm from Lena's before zipping around the room, drawing the curtains closed until the room falls into more comfortable shadows. In a moment, she's back in front of Lena.

"Any better?"

Lena's hand lowers, and she blinks with a relieved nod. "Yes, thank you." She sighs. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," Kara assures her. "I'm glad you're here, and I want you to be comfortable."

Lena hesitantly removes her sunglasses, squinting even in the gloom. Still, she scans the room, taking in the sights around her. Kara isn't sure how much of it Lena can actually see, but that doesn't stop Lena from offering a small smile.

"It's nice," she says.

"Thanks," Kara returns. "Believe it or not, you used to spend almost every Friday night here."

"That seems... hard to believe," Lena says softly. "Last I remember, I didn't have many friends."

An idea sparks in Kara's brain. She smiles broadly, taking Lena's hand and crossing towards the refrigerator. "You don't have to just take my word for it. Here-- careful of the island-- look." She points to the game night scorecard on the door of the fridge. "This is from our last game night. You and Brainy absolutely crushed us at trivial pursuit."

Kara reached up and took down one of the pictures from beneath its magnet, gazing at it for a moment before handing it to Lena.

"Here's a photo of us."

The picture's at least a year old by now, but Kara still remembers the way her and Lena's cheeks had touched as they'd all crowded in for a selfie. It was before James had left for Calvintown-- it was his long arm that had snapped the picture, capturing every single beaming face.

Kara watches as Lena squints, moving the photo closer in an attempt to bring the image into focus. After a moment, Kara takes her by the hand again.

"I have an idea."

An hour later finds them crosslegged on the floor in front of the television, scrolling through Kara's photo reel while her phone projects the images on the widescreen tv, large enough even for Lena to see.

Kara tells the story behind each photo, narrating the circumstances like a tour guide of Lena's missing years. The further they go, the more Lena relaxes, her shoulders losing the tension that's been ever present since she woke up.

When Kara notices tears gathering in Lena's eyes, she stops, setting her phone aside.

"Hey. What's wrong?"

Lena sniffles quietly, wiping at her eyes. "I guess part of me never really believed you," she confesses. "You've been nothing but kind to me, but deep down I wondered if you were trying to manipulate me, telling me we were friends to gain my trust. But seeing all this... it just hit me that there really are years of my life that I can't remember."

Kara reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Lena's knee. "I would have had doubts too. I'm sorry I didn't think of this sooner. I shouldn't have just expected you to believe us."

"Will you--" Lena's voice cracks, and she huffs, rubbing at her cheeks in frustration. "Will you tell me?"

"Lena..."

"I want to know what I lost," Lena insists, her tone edging on bitter. Her jaw tightens, her features hardening even as she reaches for Kara's hand and clasps it tightly.

Finally, Kara nods in agreement. "But you haven't lost everything, okay? Even if you don't remember... you still have us."

---

Kara tells Lena everything. She shares every detail she remembers of the day they met, without glossing over the circumstances of her and Clark's visit, nor the eventual realization that Lena had been the target of the shuttle crash all along.

She shares what she knows of Lena's role in the Daxamite invasion, and her struggles with Morgan Edge the following year. Lena's breaths begin to shake when Kara speaks of Lex and his eventual escape, but she doesn't make any attempt to end the conversation. Lena listens, absorbing every detail in a way she hadn't before.

It takes all night and then some. Kara answers every question Lena has, never once losing patience as she attempts to paint a verbal picture of Lena's life. By the time the sun begins to rise, painting the room a dusky blue through the curtains, Lena's stomach calls an intermission by growling hungrily, reminding them that they'd forgotten dinner the night before.

"Maybe we should pause for some pancakes," Kara laughs, grateful for the reprieve. Lena allows her to help her to her feet, her features heavy and pensive. As they begin mixing the batter for pancakes, Lena seems to process the information she'd been given, casting them in a pall of silence.

It's not until they're tucking into their mountain of pancakes and maple syrup that Lena speaks up again.

"So... I shot my brother."

Kara nods. "That's what you told us. But like I said, he was resurrected to help save the multiverse, so it didn't really stick."

Lena pushes at her breakfast with her fork, her gaze somber. "No wonder he shot me, then."

"You killed him to try and protect others, Lena." Kara shoots her a pointed glance, one that Lena can barely meet before looking away. "You are not the same."

At that, Lena can only shrug, one shoulder lifting as green eyes meet Kara's gaze with a flat expression.

"Maybe we are."

Lena's features remain heavy through the rest of breakfast. As Kara prepares the pullout bed for Lena to sleep on, Lena asks one more question.

"Is there anything else?"

Kara freezes, her heart lodged in her throat. They haven't yet touched on the summer between Lex's death and the crisis event, or the events following Kara's tearful confession at the Pulitzer ceremony. They haven't discussed Mount Norquay, or Myriad, or their fractured friendship.

Kara looks at Lena, with her heavy features and heavier heart, and makes her decision.

"No," she utters. "That's mostly it, really."

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,565 Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is Part 5 of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: A violent encounter outside the walls only increases Daryl's questions and concerns about Y/N.

Your name: submit What is this?

You immediately and instinctively grappled for your knife at your hip and unsheathed it, staring up in horror at the two men now standing over you. A lot happened very quickly. It must have only been matter of seconds, but it felt immensely long.

“Ohhhh, sweetheart. You’re in trouble,” one of them said, laughing as he glanced over at the man beside him.

You tightened your grip on your knife but the next moment there was a swift kick to your wrist and then a boot came down on it, crushing it into the floor, eliciting another yell from you. Your knife clattered away and you followed it with your eyes desperately.

You struggled to get away but the man was suddenly grabbing you by the ankles and dragging you closer.

“Get the fuck off me!” you growled. You lashed out with your boot and caught him in the face with the toe.

“Agh! You fuckin’ bitch!” he roared, spitting out blood onto the floor. He let out an animalistic growl and stood over you. “You’re coming—with us!” His words were punctuated with strong kicks into your ribs, which left you unable to cry out or even to breathe. You curled into yourself on the floor, willing your diaphragm to unclench and draw breath.

Daryl. The only desperate thought in your mind.

The man who was standing over you suddenly dropped down so he was straddling over your writhing form. “I said, you’re coming with us. Back where you belong.”

You finally were able to wheeze in a breath and glared up at him. “Fuck. You,” you spat, disdain contorting your face. Where the hell was Daryl? you thought desperately.

“This will go a lot easier if you don’t fight it!” his partner shouted down at you, rifling through his bag for something. “We don’t want to hurt ya!”

You shot a knee up as hard as you could and caught the man over you in the tailbone. When he doubled over forward, swearing with his face growing more and more red, you did the only thing you could think of and headbutted him in the face. Hard. As hard as you could.

His nose crunched sickeningly and started to bleed profusely. He let out an anguished scream while you were seeing stars. Fat, crimson drops fell down onto you as you struggled, still beneath him. You were trying to extract your body from beneath his but his weight was too much. He was now completely enraged and the next thing you felt was his hands around your neck, squeezing, compressing. You couldn’t breathe. You tried to break out of it but his hands were so large they wrapped completely around your neck, compressing blood vessels and your airway. Your scratched and clawed at his hands, trying desperately to pull them away. You started to see spots and darkening around the edges of your vision. You clawed at his arms with your fingernails and tried to break his grip at the elbows. You were vaguely aware of some commotion in the background as your struggling grew weaker by the second. You were going to black out.

But suddenly, you could breathe and the weight of him on top of you was gone.

You curled over on the floor, coughing and sputtering, gasping in rasping breaths desperately.

“Y/N! Y/N!?” Daryl’s voice nearby, completely frantic.

You couldn’t stop coughing. Your throat was on fire. Your neck felt raw.

“Jesus—can ya breathe?!” Daryl’s urgent voice again. You felt his hand on your shoulder.

You finally managed to gain control of your gasping breaths again and rasped out. “I’m okay,” nodding but unable to look over at him. You submitted to another coughing attack. Your gasps were wheezes like a kid with asthma.

Daryl was kneeling beside you with his crossbow in his hand. “Are ya sure?!”

You finally glanced over at him, certain your face was bright red and your expression desperate. His features were overwhelmed with panic and concern, blue eyes piercing through the curtain of dark hair around his face. You nodded. “Uhh… I think so. Mostly.” You winced, feeling pain suddenly shooting through your wrist and ribs and a pounding in your forehead as the wave of adrenaline had crested and now started to diminish. “Fuck… What the fuck?” you said, glancing around. There were the bodies of the two men, both with a crossbow bolt through their head.

Daryl clenched his teeth and gently grasped your arm. “C’mon.” He pulled you gingerly to your feet. You stayed hunched over, an arm wrapped around your ribs. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to steel yourself for a moment.

“Fuck…” you muttered again, not even meaning to speak it out loud.

Daryl froze, looking at you with his brow furrowed. His stomach was rolling with regret. “I—'M’ sorry. I should have been faster. I—but this goddamn ankle and I had to get my bow loaded and��”

You raised a hand to quiet him and shook your head. “S’not your fault. At all,” you said, pressing a few fingers to a particularly raw feeling spot on your neck.

But Daryl was blaming himself. He should have been there faster. The angry red marks around your throat were burning into his memory. He bit back his anger at himself and re-secured the front door as best he could. He glared down at the two corpses and retrieved his bolts. He nudged his head in the direction of the other room.

You followed him in, still hunched over. He pointed at the couch and you sank down onto it slowly, hissing through your teeth with each movement.

Daryl set his crossbow down and immediately grabbed his pack. As he was digging around inside it, he spoke with some anxiousness. “Ya know them?” he asked, not looking up from his bag.

You gulped. “What?”

All his movement stalled, his hands still inside his pack, clutching medical supplies. “They sounded like they recognized ya. Said you’re ‘comin’ back where ya belong.’ Did ya—d’ya know them?” When he finished the question, this time his eyes flickered up to your face, watching your reaction carefully.

You were gingerly holding your wrist in the other hand and Daryl thought your eyes looked a bit frantic. You didn’t answer. You seemed—frozen.

Daryl nodded and shrugged, turning back to the pack. “S’alright. Ya ain’t gotta say.” He felt like he pretty much had his answer. “What hurts?” he asked you gently.

You didn’t answer for a moment and Daryl thought he saw waves of panic rising and falling in your eyes.

“Y/N—” he said again.

You seemed to come back to reality, grounded by the sound of his voice saying your name. “Umm… right. I—my wrist. I think that’s the only thing we can do something for. Nothing to do about my ribs,” you said with a wince, your breath hitching every time you tried to inhale too deeply.

Daryl pulled out some gauze and materials to splint your wrist, which he suspected was broken, based on the swelling and how it was already changing colors. “We need to get ya back to an actual doctor,” he mused. “Tomorrow I’ll see if I can find a car close. We can take it back to our truck. Can’t let that wrist go too long without gettin’ set.” His eyes continually found the ring of angry red around your neck and he watched as you pressed a hand to your head, which was pounding.

“You can’t go out there by yourself. You’ve got a fucked-up ankle,” you argued.

Daryl shot you a look and heaved a sigh, leaning his arm on his bent knee where he was crouched. “Well, now out of the two of us I’m in the best shape. So, we’re gonna do what I say and you’re gonna sit here and rest. Ya got a broken wrist and probably some cracked ribs. Not to mention that fucker nearly choked the life out of ya.” His tone told you arguing was pointless. “Now gimme your damn arm.”

You avoided his eyes and held out your hurt wrist. His rough hands on your skin was grounding and you were again reminded of how he had insisted on stitching your arm up that night when you came back after your last bad run-in outside the walls. He was amazingly gentle. You marveled at how small your arm looked in his hands—like something fragile. Daryl was trying to minimize the skin-to-skin contact—almost fearful of what was happening inside him every time his skin brushed yours, but it was a little difficult to do while he was tending to you. He splinted and wrapped your wrist, frowning at the way your thumb was already bruising purple. “Ya scared the shit outta me,” he murmured softly, not even meaning for it to actually fall from his lips.

You raised your eyes to his face in surprise but he was still fixated on bandaging you up. “I’ll, uhh, try not to do it again,” you said, and Daryl was relieved to hear that your voice had relaxed some, though the rasp was still in it.

“Better not,” he growled. He grabbed a small gauze pad and poured a little alcohol on it. “Here. Ya got a pretty good scratch on your jaw there.” He scooted closer to you and watched as you swiped a few fingers over it.

“Oh,” you said, looking at the rusty color that came away on your fingers. “Probably did that to myself trying to pry him off of me…”

Daryl’s expression darkened. “Mhm.” He hesitated a moment before dabbing at the scratch with the pad. “Really. Ya scared me.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Rosita exclaimed as she heaved the gate open to let you and Daryl into Alexandria. “Thank God!” she exclaimed next, looking both of you up and down. “Rick was about to send out a search party. We’ve all been worried sick. Aaron has been driving me insane, coming up to the gate every ten seconds to ask if I’ve seen anything.” Her eyes finally seemed to register the full extent of your injuries and she froze. “Y/N—your neck… Oh my God. What the hell happened?” she pressed, shutting and latching the gate behind you both.

“Uhh…” you walked unevenly, your uninjured arm wrapped around your ribs, though it did nothing to lessen the shooting hot knives of pain with every breath. “Walkers. And then more walkers. And then a corpse and rotten floor boards. And then—” you hesitated., suddenly feeling sick.

“And then people,” Daryl finished gruffly, sparing a glance over at you, his face darkening with worry.

“Shit,” Rosita said, her eyes going round. “A corpse? As in, not a walker? And did you say something about rotten floor boards?”

You nodded. “Yeah...”

Daryl shot her a look that clearly said ‘later.’

“Sorry—just… I need to get to the doctor to fix my wrist before it heals this way,” you said, avoiding her eyes.

“Right! Right, of course. I’ll grab someone else for guard duty and go tell everyone you’re alright. Here, I’ll take your guns.” You and Daryl handed over your weapons and Rosita hurried off.

You limped your way to the clinic and he insisted on holding the door open for you and letting you go in first. Surprisingly, Pete was still there. You always assumed he just was drunk after 4:30 pm.

“Whoa! Looks like we’re running a little ragged, huh? Come on in and sit down and let’s have a look at you,” he said jovially. You eyed him with distaste.

“Where’s Denise?” you asked.

Pete looked around the room dramatically, hands outstretched. “Not here. So, shall we—”

“I would prefer to see Denise.” Your tone was cold.

Pete let out a laugh which he only managed to make sound half-genuine. “She isn’t here so—”

“I’ll wait,” you snapped. You limped over to an exam table and sat down, your countenance stormy.

Pete glanced at Daryl and he shook his head. “Nah. Just her. I’m good. Sprained ankle is all.”

Pete let out an exhale that was mostly a growl. “I guess I went to med school to be an errand boy,” he muttered under his breath, but nonetheless, he left to find Denise.

Daryl sank down on a rolling stool and scooted over to sit near you. “Hey,” he said suddenly.

You snapped out of some deep reverie you were having and looked at him.

“Ya alright?” he asked. “Really. I mean, that was some serious shit that happened out there…”

You nodded. “Fine.” You uninjured hand went to absently touch the bruises on your neck, which were now dark and mottled. “Thanks to you.”

Daryl shrugged. “S’nothin’. Wish I had been faster.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “No. No, it was definitely something…” Despite your assurance that you were okay, Daryl had the sense that it wasn’t entirely true. You were alive, sure, but since those men had busted into the house you had been uneasy. It wasn’t lost on him that you turned to glance behind the truck the whole drive back to Alexandria, and even now, safe inside the walls, you were rigid and on edge. You should have known better than to try and bullshit Daryl. The archer was annoyingly good at reading you. But, to be fair, you were also annoyingly good at reading him.

Your eyes shot up as the clinic door burst open loudly. Aaron ran in with his mouth dropped partially open and wide eyes. “Oh, thank God,” he said, rushing over to you and Daryl and immediately grabbing you into a tight hug.

“Ow! Ow ow ow! Aaron!”

Aaron drew back suddenly at your exclamations. “Oh—God, I’m sorry.” His eyes found the bruising on your neck and his face blanched. “Oh my God. What the hell happened? Are you alright?” he asked desperately.

“Define alright,” Daryl murmured.

You shot him a scolding look. “Yes, that’s what I need. Worry him more. Thanks, Daryl,” you said.

“What happened?” Aaron asked desperately again. It wasn’t lost on him how you avoided his eyes as you answered.

“Just—people. Bad people,” you said.

He stared at the dark purple bruising on your thumb and the splint before glancing over at Daryl.

“If Daryl hadn’t been there—” you broke off, giving Aaron a somewhat fearful look.

Aaron looked back at the archer again and heaved a heavy sigh. “I won’t hug you,” he said, cracking a smile, “but thank you. Thank you.”

Daryl nodded.

“Okay, I promised Eric I would come right back with an update so, umm—I’m gonna go, but thank God you’re back and you’re at least mostly whole,” he said, backing toward the door again. “Thank you,” he said again, looking at Daryl.

You let out a small laugh as the door shut behind him, shaking your head, smiling fondly.

“You’re close,” Daryl said. “With him and Eric.”

You nodded. “Yeah. When they first brought me in, I used to joke that I was like a stray cat they found and adopted. I felt so out of place, you know? And they just—they didn’t care. They just accepted me right away. Made it feel a little more like a home. They’re good like that. They understand what it’s like to be an outsider.”

Daryl nodded. He knew exactly what you meant.

Denise came in with Pete trailing after her. She looked a bit harried and you apologized for having her come in, to which she just gave you a small smile and a meaningful glance. She was well aware of your feelings toward Pete and she shared them… He stood lurking around in case Denise had questions.

“Okaaaay,” she said, gingerly unwrapping your wrist, wincing at the sight of the swelling and bruising. “Yup. This needs to be set…” she said gently, glancing over at Daryl who was still sitting nearby, his blue eyes taking in everything like he was standing guard. “Okay, Y/N, just lay back.” You obeyed, letting out a wry laugh and a forced exhale at the pain shooting through your ribs. Denise muttered an apology as she palpated your arm with her fingers. “Um. Okay. Daryl, I’m going to need you to hold her arm down while I—”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you teased Denise, a smirk on your face. She pulled a face at you, drawing a laugh which made you clutch at your ribs again and mutter a pitiful “ow.”

“Do you know you’re my least favorite patient?” she retorted jokingly. “Daryl. Come on.” Pete stepped forward, clearly annoyed.

“Are you sure you don’t want an actual--”

You cut him off. “Last I checked, Denise went to fucking med school. And for the last time you aren’t touching me.” Pete muttered something and backed off but he remained nearby watching.

“Ya ready?” Daryl rumbled, his strong hands firmly pressing your arm down against the table.

You nodded and focused on his blue eyes. “Sure…” you said, your voice coming out a little high with nerves and apprehension at the anticipated pain.

Denise didn’t give you a countdown or anything. She just forced the bone back into place. “MOTHERFUCKER!” you yelled, shooting upright on the exam table as soon as Daryl’s hands lifted off your arm. It felt like someone had rammed a red-hot poker into your arm. “Mmmm,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing breaths in and out.

“Done! Done!” Denise said. “See! Not so bad!”

You let out another sardonic laugh. “Easy for you to say.” She immediately fitted you with a stiff brace and instructions to limit use of your wrist and hand for four to six weeks.

“Six weeks,” you repeated. “Are you frickin’ kidding me?” You stared at her, incredulous.

“It’s a broken bone, Y/N, not a bumped elbow,” Denise said as she adjusted the brace.

You looked at the archer beside you for assistance but found none. “Six weeks?” you repeated again. You scoffed. “I’m going to lose my freakin’ mind in here. I can’t—I can’t shoot. I can’t go outside the walls… I can’t even write. It’s my dominant hand.” You let out a frustrated growl. “I might as well be a frickin’ baby,” you growled.

“Kinda are bein’ one right now,” Daryl rumbled. Your eyes snapped over to him and you managed to catch the quick twitch of the corner of his mouth in a rare smirk.

You shot him an unamused look. “I don’t know why you’re so entertained, chuckles. You’re benched too.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Ya heard her, though. Four to six weeks.” You read genuine concern on his face and sighed.

“Yeah, yeah… I heard her,” you mumbled.

Denise laughed. “Alright. I see your neck… Nothing we can do about that,” she said with a wince. “God. That looks painful.”

You pressed your uninjured hand to it, reflexively covering it up as you felt Daryl’s eyes hitch on the bruises and stay there. “It’s not too bad.”

“Okay, anything else?” Denise asked.

You hesitated for a moment. Daryl didn’t know just how bad your side was and you weren’t real keen on him seeing the extent of the injury from the man kicking you. “Umm… Yeah. Uhh—I think I have some broken ribs maybe and—” you gulped, but you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it so Denise could see your side.

Daryl immediately stiffened in anger as he saw the extent of the black and purple bruising all up your side. He actually let out what sounded like a low growl before averting his eyes. You noticed his hands clenching and unclenching into fists and he was suddenly restless.

“Oh my God… I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Denise said, her eyes flickering up to yours. She gently palpated your side. “I don’t feel anything concerning beyond the bruising and normal swelling—how did this happen?” she asked you quietly.

You were about to answer when there was suddenly a commotion as Daryl strode over to Pete and pushed him hard in the chest, making him stagger backwards. “Hey!” Daryl roared, posturing toward the surgeon. “What the hell are ya lookin’ at?” You and Denise stared at the two men in confusion and surprise. “We don’ need ya, so why don’ ya just get the hell outta here,” Daryl rumbled, flicking a hand in the direction of the door.

For a moment, Pete looked like he was considering hitting Daryl but he finally just clenched his jaw and left the clinic, slamming the door unnecessarily hard behind him.

Daryl turned to see you and Denise staring at him in confusion. He paced a little uncomfortably. “He was—I didn’t like how he was lookin’ at ya,” Daryl finally spat out.

You felt your cheeks color and averted your eyes from the archer. Apparently when you had lifted your shirt, revealing the bare skin from your waistband to the strap of your bra Pete’s eyes had been a little too hungry, a little too searching, and had lingered a little too long for Daryl’s taste.

You didn’t know what to say. The air in the room was thick and heavy with tension. Denise finally cleared her throat a little awkwardly and broke it. “Okay, I’m serious about the wrist. I’m going to give you some heavy-duty painkillers and anti-inflammatory meds to take for the next five days. If you feel any changes in your side or abdomen you come get me, okay? I’m serious.”

You nodded and Daryl rushed over to help you climb down on the table, hardly noticing the ache in his ankle anymore. You felt another flush in your cheeks as he gently gripped your elbow. “Thanks, Denise.”

She nodded. “Daryl, you’re sure you don’t need me to look at that ankle?”

He shook his head. “Nah. ‘M good. Just gonna get Y/N home so she can rest.”

“You too,” Denise said, pointing vehemently at him.

You walked, or hobbled more like, the distance back to your house with Daryl in silence. It still felt a little heavy, a little uneasy, like the air was holding things unsaid, but finally you climbed the steps and to the front door. You gave him a small smile, but there was something like apprehension in your eyes as you thanked him for all his help. “You know, I’ve known you only a short while and I think you have now officially saved my ass and patched me up more than anyone,” you muttered.

“Yeah, well…” he shrugged. “I think it’s about the same in reverse.” Daryl left with a hollow feeling in his chest as the heavy clunk of the deadbolt secured your door behind you.

Carol was waiting on the front porch and immediately grabbed him into a tight hug. “You scared us,” she said, holding him back to take him in, her eyes searching for injury. “Rosita told us you were back but nothing else. Are you okay?”

“’M Fine. Better than, Y/N,” he said, nudging his head toward your house across the street.

Carol’s brow furrowed. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed, a noise meaning he didn’t want to talk about it. He dug in his pocket for a cigarette and allowed Carol to gently push his hair out of his face and clasp his shoulder, before he stiffened and moved away to sit on the steps. She knew that meant he wanted to be alone, wanted time to think.

“I’m glad you’re both back and at least mostly in one piece. We’ll be inside if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” the archer murmured. Daryl sat there most of the night, smoking the cigarettes he had left and staring at your dark house, wondering if you were awake like he was.

You were.

The next day, Daryl found Rick in the kitchen in the afternoon. He’d already explained what had transpired outside the walls, why you had both been so delayed. Rick had listened carefully and firmly grasped his shoulder, telling him how relieved he was that Daryl was back safe and that you were too. His words seemed a little pointed, but Daryl shied away from it. But now, after being unable to think of anything else all day, he had a question to ask Rick.

“Hey,” Daryl said, finding Rick in the kitchen, trying to convince Judith to eat something as she squirmed in his arms.

“Hey, Daryl. What is it?” Rick perceived something in the archer’s expression as soon as he glanced up at him.

Daryl scruffed a hand awkwardly through his hair. “Y/N’s interview. With Deanna, when Aaron first brought her in. Did ya watch it?”

Rick nodded, his face falling. “Yeah… I did. I think I watched just about everybody’s.”

Daryl shifted his body weight anxiously from one foot to the other and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide the vulnerability he felt while showing such obvious interest in you and your story. “Well… what—what was on it?”

Rick sighed, finally giving up on coaxing Judith to eat, and set her down on the floor on a blanket. He stood and hung his thumbs in his pockets, staring down at his boots for a moment. “You want to watch it?” he asked the archer, glancing up to take in his expression.

Daryl shrugged and let out a non-committal hum.

Rick studied his friend’s expression. “Whatever you’re lookin’ for… Whatever answer… It isn’t on there. But you can watch it if you want,” Rick offered. “Ya saw somethin’ out there that has you worried. I can see that. You can tell me if you want to, but I also understand if you don’t. Y/N is… private… about whatever happened to her before this, before here.”

Daryl swallowed at the tightness in his throat and considered Rick’s words. He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, his face dark. “I ain’t worried about us,” he clarified. “I ain’t worried about Alexandria.”

Rick nodded. “Just about her.”

Daryl shrugged and avoided the look in Rick’s eyes, which was something surprised but knowing. “We’ll do our best to keep her safe,” Rick said.

Daryl nodded and this time when he glanced up at his friend there was a fire in his blue eyes, a fierceness. “Ya. We will.”

[tommyspeakycap]

nsfw alphabet - andy robertson

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's a sweaty cuddler after sex. He doesn't care that neither of you have cleaned up or that you're both hot, sweaty and sticking together. He couldn't care less. Andy loves to pull your naked body as close to him as you can get with his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your bare skin until you fall asleep comfortably in his arms.

B - Body part (their favourite body part of yours and of their own)

Of yours, has to be your boobs. He just loves them. Loves to knead them between his hands, rolling your nipples between his fingers to arch your back into off the bed so your body is flush against his. However, more innocently he loves your stomach. It's always so soft and warm and it harboured your little kiddies for nine months three different times. He loved to talk to it when they were in there and now whenever you get time to be together, he makes sure every single mark, scar, stretch of skin is kissed and named as beautiful as he truly knows you are.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…)

Ohhhh in you. He loves to cum in you. Got a bit of a breeding kink to be fair but we'll get into that later. To know you're full of him even when he pulls out of you or to think about you leaking him until he pushes his fingers up to stuff you full of him again is one of the greatest turns ons of his life. However, Andy would also argue there are few sights more fascinating than that of you on your knees in front of him, his cum dripping down your chin as you look up at him through your lashes.

D - Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He gets turned on when people call you Mrs Robertson or (y/n) Robertson or even Robbo's mrs. Anything like that just sends him fuzzy headed. You're his and only his. You have his name, you wear the rings that he gave you and he gets enthralled by calling you "Mrs Robertson" a million times a day and occasionally in bed. Get's him ready to go any time of the day to be honest. Also it’s not dirty, more fluffy and adorable but he gets really, really excited after you get married and he gets to refer to you as his wife. He loves to point you out and just be all awe struck with sparkly eyes as he proudly announces “That’s my wife.”

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not necisarrily experienced but he is very good with what he does know. You've been together so long that you've learned just about every nook and cranny of each other so no one is left un satisfied at the end of the time you get to spend together. He's learned your body like the back of his hand and even on a day where the sex is as vanilla as can be, you always finish it feeling very satisfied. Also, for some reason that man has absolutely mastered the art of using his fingers.

F - Favourite Position

I get the feeling Andy probably prefers plain old missionary. It's the easiest, risks the least injury possibilities and allows him to see every single reaction and movement of your face as he bottoms out of you before plunging back in balls deep. He loves watching your eyes roll back as his name dances off of your tongue.

However he does also love taking you standing up. He loves the feeling of your legs tight around his waist because your knees were too weak from him to hold you up anymore and despite the fact it is much harder work, it's always well worth it. This usually doesn't happen at home, it tends to be the hidden corridors and empty rooms of Anfield after matches that are subject to said against the wall sex.

And finally, possibly his favourite is also watching you sink down onto his length, eyes fluttering shut. You take the reigns and he just melts, turning to putty in your hands. He rests both large palm on your upper thighs, fingertips bruising the soft skin of your bum, but they usually wander to your boobs until he’s reaching his high, where on will return to your bum and the other will grab a fistful of the bedsheets in a white knuckle grip as hips buck instinctively until he shoots his load into you with a loud shout. He loves when you ride him whether that’s lying on the bed, sitting up on the couch where he has an angle for his thrusts or if it’s simply you, rubbing yourself against the material of his shorts until he tugs them from the way and allows you to coat his bare thigh in your juices. He loves to be ridden.

G - Goofy (are they more serious or humorous in the moment)

He's a goofy guy through and through. He actually strives to make you laugh during sex because its the most intimate way and space a person could ever make the person they love giggle. It's usually when he's going in hard, almost always afterwards anyway. He'll share or tell little jokes or one liners that make you giggle, a blush heating your cheeks because he's still literally balls deep inside of you and you're giggling away. He just adores everything about it and making you laugh during sex always feels like an extra accomplishment.

Although if he's frustrated or got a lot of pent up energy then no ones laughing. The only noises that can be heard as slapping skin and you on those occasions and no one is complaining.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes etc)

We've all seen that video from Jordan Henderson's insta story so we all know it appears as though he is completely clean shaven down there. He's not necessarily got a strict routine, he just maintains himself how he likes it as he pleases. It's his beard you think about. Andy likes to keep his faint beard and when between your thighs, it definitely makes all the difference.

I - Intimacy (how they are during the moment? are they romantic?)

He can be quite romantic depending on the occasion (birthdays, anniversaries, valentines etc) but romance is subjective. Some may like rose petals and candles, but you're happy with just Andy really. He can make things romantic sometimes and other times he's just Andy, making jokes and making you feel ridiculously good. Although he certainly can dress up nice, putting on suit, lighting some candles and dimming the lights kind of evening. Those are few and far between but you're certainly not complaining.

J - Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doens't do it a lot really. Maybe in the beginning of your relationship but almost never now. The time that he does want to get it on is always when you're there. Otherwise he's at training or with the kids or something like that. He's rarely not busy. When off travelling, Andy may opt to take things into his own hands purely for a release that he needs if he's feeling a bit wound up and missing you. There was one particular point however in your first pregnancy where you got all embarrassed one morning before admitting that the hormones raging around in you had conjured up a dream about Andy jacking off and you getting to watch, so occasionally he'll treat you with that in a nod to that little thing you love that has stuck around ever since.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Like I mentioned earlier, he has a bit of a breeding kind and further to that, he was absolutely always turned on for pretty much the whole of your pregnancy. He found himself doing a lot of jacking off then because you unsurprisingly weren't up for it most of the time that he was during the course of those nine months. But he was absolutely ravenous seeing you all swollen with his baby. He wanted to be all over you all the time. It just made him wild with desire.

He also has a hefty thing for winding you up in public. One time, at a players gala he fingered you under the table while everyone was eating and you had to sustain a conversation with Jordan Henderson, his wife and Jurgen Klopp. Andy just got so hard knowing what he was doing to you under the table and no one has any idea. It was marvellous; watching you fight everything back as he felt you clenching around his fingers, trying not to arch your back or buck your hips against him. You had a white knuckle grip on your silverware by the time your orgasm rippled through you and you had to pretend that you had chocked on your meal in order to cover up the small cry you let out.

To this day, Andy still whispers about it in your ear when you're in public and you're still waiting for a time to get one over on him for it.

L - Location (favourite places to do the deed)

He’s not really got a preference. Like i said earlier he really like to take you up against the wall, but he’s also partial to bending you over a counter or sinking you down onto him in the front seat of his car. He just is willing to take you anywhere really. Personally though one of his favourite is the shower. Your body can be all slippery, soapy and warm, reactive to his touch and despite the slight danger of possibly slipping, the heat of one of your legs hooked up around him, as he uses the stamina he’s gaining from being a professional athlete to pound himself into you as you yelp and shout out his name. The heat and steam just makes everything better.

M - Motivation (what turns them on/gets them going)

He is also insanely turned on by you in the mornings, groggy and messy haired with a sleepy smile and tired eyes. Watching you clamber out of bed ready to take on the day again with those little kids who laugh like you and yell instead of talk like Andy. You'll also usually emerge from bed wearing one of his old shirts or strips - like an old Hull City training shirt he hasn't worn in 5 years or a stupid cheap t-shirt he bought when he was 18 working in M&S that he thought he lost but actually had ended up being yours. You'll sit up on the bathroom sink while he showers, brushing your teeth ridiculously early just so you both get some time with each other before the little devils wake up. He'll stand between your legs, going in for a kiss that deepens until he's lining himself up with your entrance having pushed your very unflattering underwear to the side and you'll have to be as quiet and as quick as possible. He just loves every minute of living his life with you - even sneaky sex in the bathroom at not even six in the morning. He'll gladly take it.

N - NO (turns off, something/s they won’t do)

Andy is not at all interested in adding another person to the mix. He's surprisingly private as a person and he doesn't ever want your sex life to be something that comes out into the open to be talked about. There is always a risk with another person, plus he doesn't see either of you actually getting any pleasure out of it when sex is so good already. He probably will also never record or take pictures of the ac because he knows how easy it is for these things to end up in anyones hands. When he was younger, he used to. Andy had a really favourited picture of you on your knees in front of you with his hand in your hair as you look up at him after sucking him off. Cum and saliva were dripping down your chin and he still thinks about that long since deleted picture to this day. Andy is great at remembering things in his mind anyway, so he doesn't feel the need to create sex tapes that one day his kids might have to deal with when they're older if it ever breaks onto the news.

O - Oral (are they good? do they prefer giving or receiving?)

Honestly he prefers receiving but he definitely does not shy away from giving. Oh my god the beard burn he gives you is literally to die for, the perfect amount of friction he talks so much that his tongue is his lost exercised muscle so he is very, very good with it when it comes to going down on you. To be fair, it is one of those things that he wasn’t always very good at, but he has vastly improved and now it is something you will never ever turn down.

However, being sucked off by you is probably one of his favourite things ever. He literally cannot get enough of it, watching you get him off. God it’s unreal. Meanwhile he’ll have his head thrown back against the ball, hands on your hair muttering, “That’s it, pretty girl, fuck, perfect. Beautiful.” And you’re soaking wet waiting for him already.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

He’s usually going for fast and hard. It’s all sweaty bodies and rapid breaths, whimpering out his name as his skin slaps against yours. He can be very sensual but rarely ever slow. His pace lets him reach every inch of you, pushing into you in every way as your nails drag down his back with your ankles linked around his waist. The way his muscles ripple quickly and his body clashes with yours is hot and fiery and perfect. He loves it, you love it. Why bother doing anything else?

Q - Quickie (their opinion on quickies. do they prefer it? how often?)

Dear lord Andy loves a quickie. Slamming into you with his finger over your mouth, warning you to be quiet in a Hampden park back room? Bliss. Pure bliss. He could get off just thinking about it. Post-match quickies are very common and when you become parents, quickies are also necessary when short on time. He prefers to have all the time in the world to take on you, but he will never complain about having a quickie.

R - Risk (do they think to experiment? willing to take risks?)

Andy loves the risk. He loves to pump his fingers into you under tables or have his fingers wound in your hair as you suck him off in a fancy marble walled bathroom at a gala. The rush of potentially being caught always heightens the pleasure. When you were younger and he used to still live with his parents, he didn’t care for the thumping of his headboard against the wall as much as you did. He just loves that he can have you like putty in his hands wherever. It’s not about the people there, it’s about the fact he can drive you crazy and he is in full control and nobody even knows. Although, you too like to get your own back on him, shuffling around in his lap during movie nights so he has to stay glued to the couch the rest of the night because of the hard bugle in his jeans. He’s also into experimenting. Anything that could bring you more pleasure? Bring. It. On.

S - Stamina (how many rounds? how long do they last?)

Everybody says that Andy is one of the biggest grafters in the team in terms of his engine. He could run forever, so i don’t see him being at all different in the bedroom. He could genuinely probably go forever and he very, very much loves to do so. When you’re wildly overstimulated, muscles tight, skin shining with sweat as you pant and gasp for breath beneath him, he gets intoxicated by it. His eyes drink your in, flicking over your face and taking in every little bit of you. He commits it to memory every time, each better than before.

But yeah, Andy could go for hours and honestly he will. It’s a very special treat for you always. Plus, who doesn’t like a guy who can go hard and fast four three rounds and still be fully ready to go down on you afterwards?

T - Toys (do they own any? do they use any? if so, preference?)

He does own a few, all funny little things he bought to tease you with. Like little vibrators that he can press again your clit and stuff like that. He doesn’t use them often and many he got when he was injured and couldn’t have sex with you the way usually would it would want to.

U - Unfair (do they like to tease? if so how much/often)

Aaaaabsolutely. He’s a massive tease. Andy absolutely loves having you writhing and whimpering beneath him, begging to have him fully in you or to go faster, to just move. Loves it. Definitely a big fan of edging you so close until you’re hazy, incoherent and begging for an orgasm that’ll ripple through your whole body so every in a five mile radius will know his name. Whenever you’ve got the time and the freedom, he’s teasing you and sometimes it’ll start in the morning before he leaves for work and he won’t finish it till much later it the day, making for an even more intense orgasm.

V - Volume (are they loud? what sounds do they make?)

Not necessarily loud, but he is very very very into dirty talking right into your ear. His hot breath tickling at your neck between kisses, grazing his teeth against your sensitive skin, god it drives you crazy. He’ll hum against your clit about how wet and ready for him you are and tell you the whole time how beautiful and perfect you are. It’s both romantic and painfully attractive. Apart from that he’s mostly grunts and some groans of your name but the sound he makes when he cums is *chefs kiss*. It’s deep and guttural, coming straight from the base of his throat when his eyes screw shut and his mouth drops open. It’s unbearably hot.

W - Wild Card (random headcanon)

He low-key loves to be marked by you. Not even actively, just passively almost?? Like he doesn’t think about it at the time but afterwards when he’ll spot the scratches down his back when he passes the mirror or if the guys comment on it in the changing room, it makes him feel good. He’s glad everybody knows he belongs to someone in every way, from the most romantic and simply to the most intimate. And knowing you have the faint, painless bruises from his fingertips on your hips with little nipped in love bites around your breast makes him feel satisfied that he’s left you with a memory of the evening. Even just you wearing your wedding ring or looking down at his own on his hand proudly makes him silently happy and all fuzzy inside in a completely non-sexual way because you’re so happy to show off to the world that he’s yours and your his you both love each other so so much.

X - Xray (what’s doing on beneath the belt?)

Again, i’m sure we all seen that video on Jordan Henderson’s insta story the other week, so we all know he is fairly packing. He’s not got anything extravagant or jaw dropping, but it’s still moderately bigger than bang average. It’s honestly just more about what he does with it and how he reaches every but of you that’s the wow factor.

Y - Yearning (how high is their second drive?)

Pretty high, to be fair but nothing out of the ordinary. like it’s not overkill but it’s usually completely unscheduled. Some weeks you’ll want to jump his bones every single night and he’ll fuck you twice a day and other time they’ll be a week between it. Schedules can be awkward and after you get married and have kids it’s a lot harder for things to run to any kind of plan. At the moment, it’s more of an ‘if we have time let’s just fucking go for it’ kind of thing. Although his sex drive is always higher when you’re pregnant or if the team are having a winning streak.

Z - zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Both of you fall asleep pretty quickly after sex now to be honest. You’ll usually fall asleep first because he’s tells sweet, soft jokes while stroking your hair and drawing circles on your skin softly. It’s very soothing. And then once you’ve fallen asleep, fatigue usually finds him quite quickly, but he’ll get up out of bed and clean you up a little because he’s ever the gentlemen. Then he’ll climb into bed and fall asleep pretty much instantly once you’re wrapped back in his arms.

[dynananarmy]

REPUTATION|| Min Yoongi

Summary:

You were in the top. There was no person in the world who didn't know your name, either for your success or your reputation, believing that the only thing you should do is smile, be a good girl, don't force your opinions on people, and NOT for any reason deny the dating rumors. But then a gummy smile and a sweet accent came to change all your believe system, from a friends with benefits to falling in love, you encounter a new fear: would he love you despite your reputation

Pairings: Idol!Min Yoongi(SUGA) x singer!reader   

Warnings: distorted body image and unwarranted fear of gaining weight. Unhealthy habits like starvation, underage alcohol consuption. Mild smut and age gap (Yoongi is 25 and reader is 20) but everything is consensual). If i miss something please let me know.

Gorgeous

You should take it as a compliment That I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk You should think about the consequence Of your magnetic field being a little too strong And I got a boyfriend, he's older than us He's in the club doing, I don't know what You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much

You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats Alone, unless you wanna come along, oh

Anxiety was a familiar feeling, a daily occurrence even before you knew how to call it. The constant fear of making the wrong move, not filling everybody's expectations. But it never gets easier, walking a red carpet was nerve wracking at 20 like it was when you were 13, but expectations were higher, every single album need it to be different, different  sound, different style, you need it to be more mature but not to sexy because then you were to provocative for kids who follow you, but not to demure because then you are a prim. And then, you were too fat, and then too skinny, or you would have the nice flat stomach that people expect but you didn't have the hourglass figure. So everything you stand in an outfit risky enough for you, you would shake like a leaf, praying that the apple and the water that you had eaten would not somehow make you look bloated. That you contour was blended, that the powder under your eyes would not flash in camera. 

You were about to promote your second single of your album, a song who was for a ex manager and ended up seeing as a call out for war for a singer whom you were friends but ended up splitting ways when she started dating an ex boyfriend, an ex boyfriend that you don't actually love but it was still awkward going out with the new girlfriend of your ex. Your team takes it as publicity, even if there was not an actual feud, good or bad, publicity is publicity, and so the music video only seems to spark even more fire. Still you invited all of your friends, friends that you met through other friends, in fashion shows or while performing in lingerie runways, the kind of friends that you partied with in your mansion in Coney Island or the one in Malibu. But that only sends a spark of worry, appearing in a music video with models with perfect bodies only makes you even more insecure about your own, and you were scared about what people would think about it.

A tug in your arm pulled you out of the dazed of the camera's flash and your thoughts, Calum King was a producer, a handsome embodiment of masculinity, a strong build body, a short beard, barely there but enough to let you know that he was a man. He was older than you by a lot, not enough to be scandalous but enough to raise a few eyebrows.

 He smile and you copied and hold his arm to the cameras, the lady assisting the red carpet gesture you to move and once you were out of the sight of the camera you let a shaky breath a pound in the head and the emptiness of your stomach make you feel dizzy and your publicist move quickly, holding a hard candy to you.

“Are you okay?” Calum asks, still holding you, you nod immediately and put the candy in your mouth.

“I´m good, the lights make me feel light headed but nothing that a little bit of sugar does´n fix” you say tasting the candy, feeling a little bit less tired, he nods but his sight was already far away from you. 

“Baby, i´m going to say hello to a few friends, I¨ll see you in our seats, okay?” He doesn't wait for an answer, his manager following behind, you let a sigh of relief, relieved that you don't have to keep pretending anymore, Calum and you met a few months ago while visiting a friend of your to the studio, a paparazzi saw you having coffee and after that you kept seeing each other, he would be your date in events and to the world, you were official, but you didn't even be intimate,barely hold hands while walking in the streets, or kiss each other more than a few pecks when winning a prize, but even that, it felt forced. Your publicist looks away from her phone to look at you and gives you an indifferent look.

“A new korean band is in here, apparently they are very famous and are contending against you for one of the awards, maybe you should go and see them so people see that you support new talents”

Curiosity sparks within you  “Korean band, is it BTS?” you asked, sipping your water you publicist arch an eyebrow

“Yes, did you know them?” she looks rarely interested, you nod reminiscing how  a few weeks ago you had stumbled on a fan edit of you and one of the members titled “1997 golden babies” seeing the dark haired boy dancing and performing with that much passion caught your attention, looking at his name and thus his group, fascinated enough that you had expend a few hour looking at the music videos and some of their performances, a bubble of excitement grew in your stomach making you feel energized again and you started to walk knowing your publicist was going to take you to them, skipping to some people you got to the corner where a group of at least 10 men stand, you immediately felt short and tiny and intimidated but you put your confident face and wait for your publicist to talk with one of the men, who yo assume was their manager, he look surprised and his gazed fall to you where you standing sandwiched between your bodyguards, he nod and went to say something to the remaining men 7 of them wipe their heads instantly to you and you smile, you make the remaining and they scatter in formation, pushing the taller men in front, he gives you a smile and flashed with a set of dimples.

“Hii, is so nice to meet you guys” You break the ice, you scanned every single one of them, from the tall broad shoulder one to Jungkook, the one of the edit and then your eyes fall to one of them, instantly draw for the way he looks at you, like he knew something your eyes goes back to the taller guy as he start to talk.

“It's so incredible to meet, we are big fans of your music” he says, you had heard that a lot but he sound genuine and the rest of the boy nodded, your eyes went back to the guy with the feline eyes and you see something that you had seen before but rarely from another artist, admiration, but also understanding, like he understanded something and he was fascinated by it. 

“Are you performing tonight?” you asked trying to shake the feeling that he was reading you like a book he understands the language. 

“Ummm, no, not tonight, hopefully someday”  he looked a little ashamed but that only made you feel more admiration for them, they are escalating little by little.

“Id watched some of your performance” a chorus of ¨whoas¨ breaks their silence and you smile wider “You would have made us look like kids beside you, you are truly amazing” you compliment, the words flooding with ease, all of them let a ¨thank you¨ and when you meet eyes with the feline eyed boy he gives you the most beautiful and shy gummy smile, something inside you felt warm and fuzzy and you enjoy it so much that you wish it never went away. Your publicist asked for a picture and you stand with them.

The flash was quick, you changed the pose and at the same time you felt a delicate brush of fingers in your back. Tingles run down your spine and your hair stands, how was it possible that a man could make you feel that way without talking, without knowing him? You didn't even know his name, or how he was, he could be an asshole. 

The camera stop flashing and the warm fingers leave your trembling body (you didn't know if it was of starvation or the adrenaline running through your veins) You look at him, the man with the gummy smile, cat-like eyes and the rose petal lips, he bow and you did the same as a reflex, that make him smile fully and the giddy, warm feeling bubble in your stomach all the way up your chest. You broke eye contact and with warm cheeks you went to hug the taller guy hugging all of them (not without almost melting in gummy smile boy, and breathing deeply his mainly citrus smell).

Your entrance was cut out by your manager, who led you backstage and you hope you bump into them, to talk to him, to hear him and let his fingers pay with your skin, but you were immediately trap in the changing room pulling other set of clothes and when you get out your publicist was waiting with a mint and a glass of ice you chew while letting the makeup artist  retouch your makeup.

You had already stood up 5 times to receive an award and Top Social Artist was the last nomination before going to change for your performance. Sitting on the front row with Calum on your side being the perfect supporting boyfriend and with Zendaya on the other side beside her a bunch of other models friends, big names in the industry who appeared in the music video that had already premiered a few awards ago. And although you should've be worried if you would win the category you were already seeing black spots, nausea and heavy eyelids accompanying, and sitting beside with the most beautiful, tallest, slimmest, women of the moment didn't make you feel better, you could barely hear anything but the sound of blood pumping through your ears but after hearing your name and the loud cheers of your fans a smile appear in your clammy face, you wonder if you could even stand to get  the award if you win, a louder cheer broke in the arena and looking to the screen you saw the south korean band announced and when it disappears it took a few seconds for the screams to stop, the announcers opened the envelope, two seconds of silence in the speakers and then...“BTS!” You jump clapping finding strength out of nowhere and with a smile you saw the band walk in front of your eyes with wide eyes, open mouth and smiles, a single hand sticking out for you and knowing who it was you brush his hand with yours. 

Then you turn back and with a bodyguard in front and another in your heels, you walk into the main stage of the arena. 

Everything was blurry, you followed the guard into the hallway and crouched to get in the elevator, holding the mic and letting your head go over the choreography. And when the voice in your in ear says “one”you feel the lift move and stand.You felt like you were going to faint, but still make your moves as smooth as possibly, it felt like forever but when you give the final move and look at the camera you give the most convincing smile ever. Wait for the count to end and the light to ade out to let your body fall to the ground. But the light did not fade, and the camera was still on you. 

The host appeared to your side to announce that your music had already broken a record and that you had won another 2 awards. You accept the award and let the host hug you and unintentionally your body stumbles, your eyes give a turn and feel almost lost conscious.“It's okay” you said to the man and pulled out with a smile, looking to the worried crowd,”It's okay” you repeat in the mic ” I very excited, to be here and to win this awards, thank you to everybody that make this possible, my fans, my family, my team, everybody that listen my music and the art i make, thank you so much, i love you” You said, making well rehearsed words leave your mouth, you leave following the lady with the awards, numb. 

The act seemed innocent and so quickly and random that nobody should have noted, but it set something, pieces clicking in place, for you felt illicit, scandalous, it ignited something that you have never let your body cave in, lust. A sin so impure that only thinking about it makes you flustered, but it only took a couple of glances, some brushes of skin and a hug for you to continue the seduction game he started. And you wanted him to win, to ditch all the circus and let him take you to the hotel, seeing him all in black contrasting with his soft creamy skin, a fallen angel.  

Wanting to feel something, did you deserve the awards? Your music had moved so much from your original goal that  you barely felt it was good. So you didn't feel proud, and you did not feel happy, or sad, or angry. You felt hungry, and tired.

 How dare he be so cool? With the glinting earrings and the necklaces and the deep voice and side smile, a dream, you never thought he was just your type. Was it possible for you to have him? A quick internet research let you know his name, his position on the group and his age, he was a little over five years older than you, younger than your “exes” but so much different, he felt real, a real man, but at the same time he was surreal, to perfect,  to gorgeous. And you wanted to know all about him.

You sit alone in the buffet of your hotel, with other people who also went to the awards, munching on a chicken salad with some delicious sauce and bread sticks and a glass of orange juice. Your orange juice, of course, was spiked with alcohol by your manager, a way to make you last giggly and awake for the rest of the night. Feeling already full with your second plate and with already a certain amount of alcohol in your system, you felt better, enough to keep looking at the table in front of you. Where 7 boy sit holding a camera laughing at one of them knocking the glass with the camera gummy smile boy who had, just like you, been looking at you smile with you and you hold the big stack of tissues at him, he walk to you and brushing fingers he take it from your hands “thanks” he said with a deep voice, one that you had already heard in his music videos but never compared to the real thing.

It took you 30 minutes to shower, dry your hair, put light makeup and a flowy black dress, that fall above your knees, do a quick google research of what to expect at losing your virginity and chugging the mini bottle of wine of your mini fridge, cleaning all of the clothes on the bed and quickly fix it. And when you thought that he wouldn't come a knock was heard. You look for the last time in the mirror and open the door.

 And he was there, his hair now completely straight  and soft looking and his face was bare, no necklace and simple cotton shirt and black cargo pants. Like he couldn't be more gorgeous.  Oh wait, he could, looking at you with the damn smile. “Hi” you said, already losing the game “Hi”, deep voice and cute accent, you can't help but giggle, boozing  alcohol in your veins.

“Please, please come in” You open the door all the way “ I´m y/n, by the way” you said and he looks at you, “I know, I´m Yoongi” he says laughing “I know” you respondHe lifted an eyebrow “you do?” he said with a smug smile, “of course i know, i'm not that  dump to hook up with a guy i don't even know the name of” you widen your eyes and blame the alcohol by your blunt remark, but feel relieved when he laughs. He let you lead the way to the living room and when he sits on the couch he notices the object on the coffee table, an unopened copy of BTS 'latest album you had.

They said goodbye and you broke contact, gulping the last of your orange juice and immediately got replaced, you looked back at your manager and publicist, talking to their manager, using the translator that look flustered, and you knew why, after yourself had talked with your manager about your request, voice confident but cheeks flushed, your manager didn't even had to approach BTS manager before he was already on his way, at that you felt a weird feeling, a territorial frown in your eyes, but you couldn't blame him. Every celebrity you have met has done this.  A simple deal, a way for celebrities to keep their affairs as private and publicly clean, both sides agreed to keep it quiet and not slip ups. When they finally look at you, turn again to him, his manager walking to him, and slipping a black plastic card. A key to the room to one of the suites. Your suite.

“I thought you could signed for me” you explained with a shy tone “I found it on the airport bookstore and since i kinda collect music album i thought it was a nice addition” 

He grabbed it “can i open it?”  he said with the cute accent, you nod excited and he carefully start to unwrap you sit by his side to get a better look, when he finished it, he looks at you

 “it has a photocard” he explains and you giggle again at the way he pronounce the last word, feeling the warm feeling in your stomach and he send your favorite smile at you.He opens the book and stop at the page with the card stuck to it “It's random so is a surprise, go, turn it around” he gesture to the book, you grab it and turn it around,

 “Oww” you let out a disappointed sound when you look at the man that clearly wasn't your Min Yoongi, he laughs and you pout “what can i do if i want one of you?” you ask with a distressed look. He dares to look flustered and he reach to his neck and the his hair, you wanted yours in its place, you licked your lips and look at lis face, “You could buy lots of album until mine come out” hmmm

“That's a good idea” his stare became intense and his eyes darken, his tongue brushed his bottom lip and someone must move forward because your lips replaced his tongue was now kissing his lips. 

Your fingers grab his shirt while his palms was cupping your cheeks, thumb brushing against it, the darkest desires in your mind, the need to be touch to be taken care of,taking his hand in yours you put it on your thigh, where your dress had lift and he complied to your silent request, pushing the fabric up and caressing your skin, but not where you need it him.

 You lean in the couch bringing him with you, but he pull from the kiss, leaving you gasping, “are you sure?” he ask, with his soft, dark eyes, lips swollen and flushed cheeks, you nod, but he shakes his head “are you sure?” he repeats, you think for a second looking at your giddy, boozy brain, “yes, i'm sure” you said with the most confident voice you could muster, he kiss you again and then its your turn to pull away from the kiss ”wait, wait, i,  i haven't, i never have i ever before, i mean, i never had done this before” you confess and he looks at you still panting, he nods, and ask again “are you sure?” and you are.

He didn't let you lay in the couch.

He let you run your fingers through his torso and take his shirt off.

You let him pull down the strips of your dress.

He let you know how much he desires you.

You let him touch for the first time against the wall, making you see stars and blow away in a climax.

He takes to the bed, carrying like you were a leaf.

You let him stole sweet moans out of your mouth

He takes it slowly, touching skin like you were fine china.

You feel like a confident woman when you whisper “you are so gorgeous, I can say anything to your face.”

He lets a deep chuckle and gives a deep thrust making you scream of pleasure.

A mix of sloppy kisses, discreet love bites, nails against skin and pasional hip thrust between the sheets you let yourself think for a second that is not a one time thing, that euphoric feeling you were experimenting and that it was the most happy you had been in years was going to finish the moment he finish panting against your neck.

You tried to not look disappointed when he stood up and walked to the bathroom, closing your eyes, letting yourself feel the remnants of your climax.

He came back a few minutes later, cleaning between your legs and leaving a soft kiss in your thigh before slipping your underwear in its place, holding you in his arms.

You cried for the first time in front of a person. 

He tells you that he knew you were hungry, he had felt it before. Not by his own choice.

You tell him about the empty feeling in your stage while on stage.

He kisses your face while rubbing circles in your back.

  When the morning sun came up you watched his sleeping figure, his back up and belly down, face facing you and his arm around you.

You mindlessly start writing invisible letters, your name. Wishing he could be more than a stranger.

He lets you a note. His number. Breakfast. And a single pink flower and a book from the souvenir store “ The meaning of flowers”

Azalea

 The azalea is the flower that ushers in springtime in the southern United States. That’s one reason it’s so closely associated with beauty and rebirth. 

These blooms are often given as a symbolic message to, “Take care of yourself,” which is an important sentiment to extend to the bereaved.

Little-Known fact:

 Azaleas are celebrated in festivals throughout the world, especially the U.S. and Asia. In Chinese culture, the azalea is known as the “thinking of home bush” and was immortalized in the poetry of a famous poet during the Tang dynasty.

HIIIIIIIIII

SO 

I FINISH THIS CHAPTER

It took years, but my mental health has been bad lately and also was hard to write the first meeting, if it look to rushed, dont worry its kinda the point, they are not in love but definetly know that they felt something. But they dont know each other,  i like to think of them as soulmates. 

We see how she was physically and mentaly hitting rock bottom and her team is not as innocent as it look.

If i was vague about everything, when the managers were talking, they were basically negociating the one night stand, that way the public wouldnt found out. A normal ocurrence in this AU.

Everything you feel courius about, please let me know.

Thank you so much for reading, i love you

[peterprkrsbtch]

sapphire - part 1

Peter Parker x reader

A/N: This is some type of wish fulfillment writing for me because I like to imagine becoming a hot and badass superhero when I fall asleep and I thought other people may be entertained as well :) If you enjoy it, like or reblog to share!

REMINDER: in this story, the reader gains superpowers and I do describe the appearance of her body. i hope you know every body is a superhero body and weight does not impact your beauty at all-i just needed to show how drastic the changes were!

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, attempted kidnapping, guns/violence

The sun that came beaming through your window brightly as you opened the blinds in your room immediately brought a small smile to your face. Summer had always been your favorite season. As smart as you were, a three month break from Midtown has never sounded better. Junior year had not been easy for you.

Small goosebumps appear on your arms as you shiver when the memory of that night crosses your mind.

***

You’d been walking home after your first day of school, distracted as images of the day flicker through your mind. The first day was always exciting, new classes and people. Probably why you were too distracted to notice the man creeping up behind you until he wrapped his hands around your backpack and yanked it off of your back, making you let out a yelp of surprise.

Or, he’d tried to. Unfortunately, this dumb ass criminal didn’t know how backpack straps work and when he tugged, the straps caught around your arms and yanked you off your feet, slamming your body into your attacker with a groan.

Panic immediately clouded your mind. You’d never been mugged before. You try desperately to remember anything from the self defense class you’d taken in seventh grade. The attacker seemed surprised that your bag hadn’t slid off your body and this gave you the opportunity to scream. “Help!” You shrieked. “Somebody!” It was the middle of the day in New York and yet, the street you were walking was dead empty.

“Shut the fuck up.” The man growled in your ear and you suddenly became aware of his death grip on your arm. Before you could contemplate punching him in the face or kneeing his dick, a sharp poke on your arm made you whip your head, just in time to see a needle full of glowing blue liquid being injected into your arm by the man. He hadn’t wanted your backpack at all.

The shock you felt as you watched the unfamiliar substance enter your body was amplified at the burning sensation quickly spreading from the injection site to your whole upper arm. The man lets out a harsh laugh, and you finally turn to see his face. He did not look like a homeless man. Or a thief. The sight of his groomed beard and expensive jacket made you feel like you’d been plunged in ice. What the hell was happening?

“What did you do to me?” The sound of your voice is much stronger than you expect it to be, and it helps to ease a couple of the butterflies going mental inside your stomach. At least you didn’t sound terrified. He just lets out a low laugh and begins to drag you by your backpack towards a car parked on the opposite side of the road you hadn’t noticed until now.

“You’re coming with me.”

The burning had spread to your entire left arm and was now taking over your left shoulder. If you didn’t have adrenaline coursing through your veins due to your current situation, you would’ve been doubled over with pain. You struggle against the man’s hold on your backpack as he drags you closer to the large black SUV.

Hell no. I am not getting kidnapped today. You force yourself to calm enough to quickly think of a plan. Any plan. When the man reaches the car despite your struggling, a disgusting sneer on his face, he lets go of his grip on your arm to reach for the handle, and you take your chance to head-butt him as hard as you possibly can-letting your arms slide out of the backpack as you do.

“Ow! Get back here you little bitch!” But it’s too late. In the two seconds when the man doubles over to clutch at his head, you’d snatched your backpack from the ground where he’d let it fall and sprinted down the street. You try to tell yourself that the unbearable burning sensation now settling into your chest is from running, not from whatever the fuck he’d injected you with.

***

A loud beep, beep from the clock on your bedside table snaps you out of reminiscing on your near death experience and a large smile grows on your face. Finally it was 5 p.m, the time when your mom usually went over to her boyfriend’s apartment across town. Every night, like clockwork, since you were 13.

It used to bother you, but now the silence gives you the opportunity to do what you needed to do alone. You get up and move towards your closet as you let your mind slip into your memories again as you reminisce on the events after the attack.

***

You’d run home like hell and had never been so grateful to find that your mom had left early. Within ten minutes, the burning had spread and you were left to writhe around in pain on your bed for hours. There was no let up, no break. You knew you were going to die.

Whatever the man had injected in you was breaking apart every muscle, every atom in your body so slowly that you could feel it. Eventually, your pained screams became quieter as exhaustion began to take over. This is it. I’m really going to die. My mom is going to come home and find me like this-

Before you could finish your thought, a harsh gasp involuntarily left your mouth and you launch forward to sit up. Okay, maybe I’m not going to die. You thought as the pain suddenly ceases. You slowly bring your hands up to stare at them, scared that the pain will return. Just as you’re about to let out a breath of relief, it hits you again.

And it’s so much worse. The burning sensation shoots through your body, and every broken muscle and molecule felt as though it was being bound together again. The minutes bleed together as exhaustion and pain take over your body.

***

Looking back, you still have no idea what was in the injection. All you know is what happened because of it.

***

Beep, beep.

Beep, beep.

BEEP, BEEP.

The incessant beeping of your stupid alarm wakes you from quite possibly the weirdest dream you’ve ever had. You’ve never had pain in a dream feel so vivid before, and the memory alone draws your body inwards, hugging your arms in for comfort.

Your arms. Hold on.

They didn’t feel like this last night. You glance down at your skin, the shadow of your blanket making it hard to see. You rip the covers off and storm over to your full length mirror-and all you can do is let out a gasp. I’m going crazy.

With shaking hands, you grab your phone and unlock it, scrolling until you find a mirror selfie you had taken at the pool over summer, just two weeks ago. You glance at the photo, then back up at the mirror. Then at the photo, then the mirror. Photo, mirror, photo.

A shocked laugh rips through your lips as you stare at the photo of yourself. Smooth skin and curves. A couple extra pounds of baby fat you had yet to lose, a spot or three of acne on your forehead. You weren’t an extraordinarily insecure person, but you were a teenage girl and a couple of those things had bugged you but-

Your eyes flicker up to the mirror. You run your hands along your arms. You used to describe them as flabby, but you can feel and see the toned, tight skin. You move your eyes to your boobs. Were they bigger? They definitely looked bigger.

Any “baby fat” you carried had seemingly disappeared overnight. You slowly lift your shirt and let your jaw drop, running your hands over your small waist, not missing the muscle you can feel under your skin. Your skin was perfectly clear and your hair and lashes both seemed longer and healthier.

When you were younger and more naive, you’d hoped puberty would involve waking up one morning looking like a Victoria’s Secret model. But that was stupid. Things like that don’t happen, right?

Slowly, the events of yesterday began to register in your mind. The attack, the injection, the pain. A million questions flooded your mind. The most prominent being what the actual fuck??

“Y/n? You almost ready to leave for school?” Your mom’s voice rings out into your silent room as she knocks on your bedroom door.

“Yeah, Mom! Just a couple minutes.” You call out nervously, waiting until you hear her footsteps walk away from your door. You let out a curse as you race into the bathroom, the harsh lighting illuminating even more changes to your face.

Your lips were bigger, your eyes more open, and your cheekbones and jaw more defined. Fuck. If you weren’t so worried about anyone noticing your overnight transformation, you would’ve taken more time to think about the positives of this situation.

You were always shy and quiet at school, choosing a small group of people to hang around and mostly focusing on your classes. But every teenage girl dreams of being beautiful, and now you finally were. You pull your hair up to brush your teeth and wash your face faster than you ever have before, electing to ignore the fact that you should have a nasty bruise from your head-butt yesterday.

You choose to skip makeup completely, knowing it would draw more attention to your new face. You took one last look at your body in the mirror before pulling on the baggiest sweats you owned and a loose hoodie, hoping they would mask your new curves.

You had no idea how you were supposed to hide this all year.

***

You smiled as you remember how silly you’d acted the next day. You were overly paranoid, covering your face with your hoodie as much as you could and choosing to sit alone in the library rather than at your usual table. No one questioned you, not once.

You had felt a pang of loneliness at first, knowing that no one at your school even cared enough to notice the obvious change had hurt just a bit, but it made dealing with the powers easier.

***

You’d first noticed it on the walk to school. It was barely September and the summer sun was still coming down on the city. This paired with your heavy layers of clothing and the long walk to school would normally leave you slightly breathless. As you arrived at the school feeling more energized and alive than ever, you noticed you’d gotten there in a fourth of your normal time without even trying.

You next noticed it in gym, when the daily pushups the teachers forced you all to do every year were suddenly easy. Effortless. As soon as the final bell rang, you ran home within minutes without feeling winded at all and winced as you threw your door open, nearly ripping it off it’s hinges.

Something else was definitely going on. Your appearance was not the only thing that seemed to go through an upgrade. You said a quick hello to your mom before running up to your room.

For the first time since you woke up that morning, you relaxed once your door was closed and locked. Your shoulders release as you sink to your bed, dropping your head into your hands. You try to recall anything you’ve read about people being totally changed after some sort of injection.

Your heart sinks. Captain America jumps to mind. The Winter Soldier, Wanda Maximoff and her dead brother. They’d all been injected.

You bite your lip and glance at a book sitting on your bedside table. You straighten up and thrust your hands towards the book, trying to make it move. Unsurprisingly, nothing happens. You close your eyes and breath out a small breath of relief. Ok so I’m beautiful now and have great endurance, at least I’m not a superhero. You let yourself relax slightly, your eyes still closed. Now you feel dumb for throwing your hands around like some kind of knock off Scarlet Witch.

When you open your eyes, your blood runs cold. The book is floating in front of you, a blue glow surrounding it. Slowly, you raise your, now shaking, hands again towards the book until they flash with the same blue and it launches towards you, the force of it making you rock back as you catch it in your hands.

Well. Fuck.

***

After that, you were thankful that no one had noticed anything out of the ordinary. You bite down a smile as you remember the first few months after, thinking about how much you’d changed since then.

***

You spent nearly every night for weeks studying every superhero fight video you could find on youtube and practicing the moves alone in your empty house, over and over.

It didn’t take much for you to perfect them as your new body seemed to be built for this kind of shit. Black Widow was your favorite to watch, and you made sure to spend extra time working through her signature moves, letting the flips, kicks, and punches become muscle memory.

You spent time practicing your real powers as well, though those seemed to come to you naturally. After that first delay with the book, it had almost felt like second nature to lift up the heaviest objects in your house with just a wave of the hand, but still, you practiced. Over and over and over. You quickly learned you could move people as well, namely yourself. Flying over New York in the middle of the night was something that would always leave you breathless.

Once winter settled over New York, you decided you were finally ready to try and use your abilities for good. You had near perfect control over your “magic” and you were pretty sure you’d spent more hours in the past month punching the air than sleeping.

You spent all day Sunday bent over the dusty sewing machine you dug out of a shelf in your kitchen closet. The trip to Joann’s reminded you of your mother teaching a younger you how to sew, though you two never bought yards of spandex to make a skin tight suit.

It had taken a couple minutes for you to remember how to use the machine, but you were extremely proud of the final product. You’d made a simple skin tight black suit with a zipper up the front and a mask to cover most of your face, but you figured no one could recognize you by just your mouth.

Once you finished the last hem on your face mask, you took the suit and the mask and hid them in your closet next to a pair of black combat boots. You put the dusty machine away and finally made your way into your bathroom, glancing nervously at the box on the counter.

Although you had exactly zero friends at Midtown, you had grown up with some of these kids and you couldn’t risk one of them recognizing your hair color if they saw you in your superhero suit and the box advertising temporary spray on hair color seemed to be the perfect solution.

You take the small can out of the box and spray blonde-ish highlights into your hair and brush it through until your long hair is shades lighter than your natural color and you’re happy with the results.

Your hands shook as you pulled on your suit, then your mask, and finally, the black boots. You move to your mirror and nervously give yourself a glance, only to be pleasantly surprised. You really do look like a superhero, even more so when you will your hands to glow blue with your powers.

***

That night, you learned that you had severely underestimated yourself. You thought memories of your own attack would flash before your eyes every time you knocked down a criminal, but it didn’t.

Every time you would wrap your thighs around someone’s neck to drag them to the ground you felt strong and every time the person you just saved would begin to thank you aggressively, you knew you made the right decision to help people.

You kept your guard, and your hood, up during the school days but your months of training and now your late night rescues, had caused a spike in your confidence. After a particularly hard 18 vs. 1 fight in which your zipper had gotten yanked down a bit, you just left it. It looked better like that anyway.

You wished you had someone to show the new you. You used to be so unsure of yourself, and now because of a seemingly random attack, you had the ability to help people. It definitely felt good to be doing something good.

Unfortunately, your endeavors started to become sensationalized. New York was obsessed with superheroes, you knew this. But you never thought people would start paying attention to you.

You should’ve known better. A girl with enhanced curves in a skin tight suit, flying around the city with glowing blue hands and fighting crime with her front zipper pulled down, and you thought you could remain invisible in the media too?

Luckily for you, the spotlight was cast upon another new superhero around the same time-a Spiderman. Once he entered the superhero scene just weeks after yourself, you noticed the articles you’d previously seen sexualizing you and your costume turned into articles about the two of you instead. If only those reporters knew you were 17.

You were thankful for him even though you’d never met him, and your two names “Spiderman and Sapphire” were often used in the same headlines to discuss you two newcomers.

At first you hated the nickname the media gave you simply because of the increased attention, but you learned to love it. It was nice to see people appreciating what you were doing, even though every camera that was ever pointed your way made you anxious to protect your identity.

Ever since your first winter night spent fighting crime, you’d quickly fallen into a pattern. School with your eyes glued to your desk the whole time, sweats and hoodies concealing your body, then homework until your mom leaves, then go out and help your city.

Your fighting has improved to the point that you almost prefer hand to hand combat rather than using your powers. On especially slow nights, you’ve let yourself drag out a fight with some bank robbers or kidnappers just to entertain yourself.

It was your escape. In your suit, with your face covered and your hair thick with the lightening spray, was the only time you felt like yourself. Really yourself.

But you had a plan to change that. As easy as it had been to lay low throughout the last year at school, you’d had enough. You wanted more. So you had a plan. A new body and face overnight is impossible, but over three months? Totally plausible.

You were excited for three months with nothing to do but go out as Sapphire, and you knew these few months were going to be the calm before the storm if you really decided to go back to Midtown as the new you.

God, enough with the reminiscing. You told yourself, but you do allow yourself to feel pride at how much you’d matured from your first day of school this year to your last as you tug on your familiar suit and mask.

***

You glance down at the buildings beneath you, eyes silently scanning every dark alley and corner for trouble. Your hands glow blue as you fly yourself gracefully through the sky. Suddenly, loud sirens and screams sound from beneath you and you look down to see 8 large men climbing into a bank as they smashed the windows.

You quickly fly yourself down and through the hole behind the men as they point guns towards the only two people in the bank, a janitor and a man you assume is the manager. “Give us the fucking money.” One of the men growls and the others laugh menacingly at their friend’s threat.

The manager notices you standing behind the men and his eyes widen, causing the men to start to turn towards you. You grab the gun out of one of their hands using your powers and smirk at the oh, shit look on their faces. Before you can make a move to knock the man nearest you off his feet, a web snaps through the broken window and snatches the gun from his hands before you can blink.

Spiderman comes swinging through the opening, landing gracefully. “What’s going on here, fellas?” He asks, and you can’t help but smirk at the sound of his voice. The two of you seemed to live similar lives, and yet this was your first time meeting him.

The white eyes of his mask flicker from the men, frozen with fear, towards you, and his eyes grow with recognition and maybe shock? Hard to tell with the mask. He opens his mouth to say something else, but one of the men still holding guns raises it and fires towards Spiderman without a second of hesitation.

You raise your hand quickly, stopping the bullet in mid-air and everyone around you stares at the bullet suspended in mid-air, your glowing blue hand outstretched, almost as if you were catching it. Spiderman’s eyes widen even more. “Holy shit.”

You smile to yourself and clench your hand into a fist, letting the bullet crumble to the ground in dust. “Nice try.” You say to the man. “But you’re getting on my nerves.” You turn towards the 8 men in front of you, 5 still holding guns. You move your hand to face the men, and with a sweeping motion, the 5 guns are yanked from their hands to suspend far above their heads, where they couldn’t reach.

You can’t help a small laugh as one of the men tries to jump up and grab it. You turn towards Spiderman who’s standing there with his mouth wide open. “Sorry if I stole your moment.” You say genuinely. You had no doubt that he could’ve taken care of this himself, but you had gotten here first.

“Are you kidding?” He nearly squeaked. “That was amazing, oh my god! I can’t believe we haven’t met until now.” Your cheeks blaze slightly under your mask from his praise, you’ve never had a superhero compliment you before. You adjust your focus back to the men quickly, who seem to be thinking of a way to run.

Your eyes meet Spidey’s again. “You wanna web ‘em up?” He nods excitedly, his eyes finally breaking from yours as he jumps into action. As impressed as he was by you, you couldn’t help but watch in awe as he swings around the room and with a thwick, he webs all of the men together in a cocoon, hanging upside down from the chandelier of the bank ceiling.

He swings himself one last time to land next to you again. “Cool.” You say before you can even realize your mouth is open. “I mean, you’re not too bad yourself.” He bows his head a bit, seeming shy even though it was a half-compliment to cover up your embarrassment.

“Sorry to bust in on your fight,” He says, glancing around the room towards the two terrified employees staring at the two of you in shock. “Not a lot happening tonight, and I didn’t know you were here.”

“Ugh, I know.” You agree. “Not to complain about less crime, but our jobs have been a little bit too easy this past week.” His mask crinkles as he smiles.

“We could...work together sometime if you wanted too, of course.” He says nervously, nearly stuttering on his words. “It’s just, you’re really good and you seem really cool and I-”

You interrupt his word vomit. “Of course I want to! I’ve been wondering when we would meet.” His eyes move from staring at the eye holes in your mask down to your lips when you smile. “How’s tomorrow?”

“How’s right now?” You don’t think your smile can get wider. “One sec.” He holds up a finger before quickly running over to the two bank workers, who thank you both over and over and then they both hugged him. You were wrong, your smile grows and remains goofy and big as he runs back over to you. “Let’s go.”

That night you found out that your view of the city is 100 times better when you can also see a red and blue suit swinging from building to building out of the corner of your eye.

[collecting-stories]

Comfort - JJ Maybank

Request: hi!! i love your fanfic about obx and i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is struggling with her body image/self-confidence and the pogues don't know but JJ, her bf, somehow finds out and comforts her? i haven't been feeling very confident lately and i feel like this would help idk why. thank you <33 - @teaheeee

A/N: This was a tough one but here it is.

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

“I’ll be like five seconds.” JJ swore, running up the stairs to your room where he’d left his wallet.  

“JJ come on.” You groaned, falling back onto the couch. This was at least the fifth time he’d stalled the two of you from leaving the house. You were supposed to be meeting everyone at the beach and you hated being late.  

“Hold on!” He shouted. He had dropped his wallet under the bed earlier and almost left without it when the two of you were leaving. While you waited downstairs, he grabbed the wallet, pausing when he noticed the ripped picture on the floor. Shredded by hand into pieces was your school picture, the one you’d just gotten last week.  

JJ picked up the pieces, sifting through them for a moment until you called him again, reminding him that the task at hand was getting his wallet so you could get to the Wreck. He didn’t want to bring down the evening and he wasn’t sure what to say so he said nothing when he came down, only holding up his wallet to show you that he found it.

It was entirely possible that he was reading too much into things. That you had really just hated your senior portrait and thought it was awful. There was nothing wrong with that, school pictures were always cheesy. But ripping your picture to shreds wasn’t an isolated incident, not in his mind at least. You’d been avoiding any type of jean or tight all week. He was honestly surprised today to find you wearing a nice dress though he supposed that it was for everyone else’s benefit because you kept holding the hem like it was going to billow up.  

You were fine at lunch. It was JJ that caught Kiara’s attention, seemingly more distant than she remembered seeing him before, she leaned over at one point to ask if everything was okay at home.

“What do you mean?” He asked, gaze straying to you as you pushed at the food on your plate.  

“Are you okay? You seem really distracted.” She replied, keeping her voice down so no one else noticed.  

JJ shook his head, “fine.” He didn’t want to tell Kiara that he was worried about you. If you hadn’t said anything to her, and you clearly hadn’t because she seemed oblivious to your behavior, then he didn’t want to draw attention to you.  

It wasn’t any one thing. You couldn’t pinpoint the moment or the day, it wasn’t that you stepped on a scale and gained a few pounds. It wasn’t that your jeans felt a little too tight around the hips. Though now that you thought of it, you were feeling kind bloated lately. But it wasn’t just that. It was the sudden breakout of acne near your jawline and the way you felt like you just couldn’t quite ‘pull off’ the clothes you were wearing. It was the feeling of something being wrong but not being able to pinpoint it. That unsettling, unnerving feeling of looking in the mirror and knowing that it was all wrong. That you were all wrong. Your hair looked dull and lifeless, your skin was puffy and it didn’t glow the way the serum you bought said it would. You could name something from head to toe, there was list, sprawling inside your head of all the things that were wrong. Your posture, your nose, your waist, your legs, your eyes...everything had something wrong.

JJ waited until you were back at your house, sprawled out on the couch with you while you watched some rerun of a stupid show. Never good at confrontation that wasn’t with someone he didn’t like, JJ jumped right in, “Are you okay?”

It was a simple enough question. You could just say yes and he could be satistfied and everything could go back to normal. You could hope that you would eventually shake the awful feelings and be okay. Or you could tell him that you were just tired or just not feeling well or just whatever. It didn’t matter what you said, there were a million excuses and all you had to do was choose one.  

But that was easier said than done and you found yourself floundering for a moment, trying to think of the most believeable way to say that you were fine and he didn’t have to worry. He had enougn on his plate, he didn’t have to be bothered with you too.  

“Yeah.” You replied, voice a little shakier than you meant it to be and you grimaced slightly at your own voice.  

“Are you sure?”

If he was asking the question than it meant that he probably knew the answer.  

“Yeah, fine, good.” You nodded.  

“I saw you ripped up your picture.” He admitted.  

“I can explain-”

He nodded, “you know you’re awesome?” He asked, as if he was expecting some sort of response from you.  

“Sometimes,” you shrugged, “I don’t know...I just feel like...it’s not worth it. Like I just want to stay in bed and under my covers because then no one has to look at me.”

“Well I like looking at you so I can’t say I’m a fan of that idea,” JJ replied, smiling when bit your bottom lip, “although if the bed’s big enough than that’s fine, we can hide together.”  

“JJ,” you sat up more and so did he, “I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” JJ replied, “you think I’d hesitate to do anything you needed me too? You don’t have to believe me but that doesn’t mean I won’t remind you ever day how incredible you are.”

“You’re such a sap,” you tried to play off his words as if it didn’t make your heart race to hear him say those things to you.  

“Eh,” he shrugged, pulling you against him and kissing the side of your head, “worth it. Now, you wanna tell me what’s the matter, really?”

“I told you.”

“More than that.” He stressed.  

“I just feel gross I guess. I don’t know, it’s not any one thing it’s just like, every little thing that I see that I don’t like. It’s so easy to just...look at myself and see all the ways that I’m falling short. All the things I wish I could change about myself.”

“I don’t know how helpful it is to say it but, I wouldn’t change anything about you.” JJ admitted. “You’re my best friend, I mean...” he shrugged, almost as if he wasn’t entirely sure how to end that sentence. JJ wasn’t the best with words, he had always had trouble getting his thoughts. He could name every single thing that he loved about you, and the list was extensive, but saying the words felt like his throat was closing up on him.

It didn’t really matter though, you knew what he meant. The soft look and the kiss on your forehead that had you closing your eyes when his lips touched your skin. He wasn’t used to comforting, hadn’t ever had any example of it in his own life, but he was good at it. He was good at letting you know it would be alright. Even if he didn’t say it outright.  

-

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[eideticmemory]

WANT | SPENCER REID

Description: School sucks, what can you do? Well, sleeping with your professor is one option.

Inspired by this post.

Word Count: 2,013.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Professor/student relationship, 16 year age gap between adults, unprotected sex.

You kissed Spencer first.

In the quiet, hidden light of his office. You placed your fingertips to his cheek, leaned on your tippy-toes and kissed him. It was soft, hesitant, like neither of you quite knew what you were doing, but you were doing it. Most of the work fell on you, as you pressed your lips to his with a gentle force that made you hum in delight. His hands slowly made their way to your waist, holding you like you were a precious jewel, one that could crumble beneath his touch at any moment. That’s when you knew: the feeling was mutual, more than mutual.

When he did break the kiss, however, he broke it and put 5 feet of distance between the two of you, in less than three seconds. He combed his fingers through his hair anxiously, stepping back from you and looking anywhere but your frame.

“[y/n],” he whispered, visibly out of breath. “What are you doing?”

You let out a long sigh, unable to take your eyes off of his lips, his face, the beauty of his existence. You wanted nothing more than to be near him again, in his arms, against his body. “I don’t know,” you said. “What feels right, I guess.”

“Oh, [y/n],” he replied, a hint of sadness, pain in his voice. “You’re - you’re my student. You’re - God, you’re so young.”

“I’m 21,” you corrected him, stepping forward tentatively, while he quickly took a step back. “I’m not a kid.”

He rounded the corner of his desk, eyeing you and your movements intently to keep you at arm’s length. “I’m - I’m 37, [y/n]. 37.”

“I know,” you nodded, continuing to step towards him. The two of you fell into a little dance - consisting of you chasing him around the desk in a game of cat and mouse. For every step he took, the distance he moved became shorter and shorter, slowly but surely closing the gap between your bodies.

“Spencer,” you called. It was the first time you’d called him by his first name - not Dr. Reid, not Professor Reid - Spencer. Real and raw. It stopped him in his tracks, the sound washing over him and soothing every nerve he had. Your voice had that effect on him. Your presence had that effect on him. You had that effect on him.

You marched towards him, and this time, he remained stagnant, awaiting the moment you finally stood in front him. He closed his eyes and as you laid your forehead against his, you licked your lips. “Please,” you begged. “Please, just, just touch me, kiss me. I want you to, so badly, just, please.”

So, he did, and it had been a long time in the making. A semester’s worth of stolen touches, glances that lasted a little too long, inside jokes that made butterflies rage in the pit of your stomach. It had all built up to this. Him, kissing you. You dropped your jaw as it happened, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth and the taste of him to overwhelm your senses. You released a fragile moan, falling into his body like a leap of faith and gripping onto his jacket.

“You want this?” he mumbled.

You responded with a speechless nod, the majority of your energy focused on getting as close as humanly possible to this man. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He held you at a distance, your face in his hands and his gaze holding yours. “I need to hear you say that you want this.”

You grazed your lips against his as you spoke, your voice coming out low and weak, “I want this. I want you.”

“Say it again.” he said. But it came out like a plea.

“I want you,” you repeated. This time weaker, as you were just barely cut off by the sensation of his lips on yours. “I want you.”

By then, he was in. All in. You could tell by the way he tightened his hold on your face, pressing his body into yours and forcing you against his desk. The wooden table shook under the force, so, Spencer - being the genius he is - put you on top of it. In one full motion, he scooped you up in his arms and sat you on the edge of the desk, his body stood between your legs.

It would be a long time before you left that night.

That was evident the moment your hands slid under Spencer’s jacket, and you slowly pushed the article off of his shoulders, never breaking the kiss for a second. Your lips traveled down to his neck, and he responded by willingly tilting his head back to give you access. You arms were perched on his shoulders, your tongue drawing a line from his throat to his jawline.

“Spencer,” you murmured. “Fuck me.”

“Oh, God,” he sighed. “You’re going to be the death of me, [y/n].”

“Hm, you’re so hot,” you told him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Please?”

“R-right here?”

“Right here.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

And you took his hand in yours, subsequently placing it on your breast, and earning an uncontrollable moan from Spencer. You closed your eyes as your head lolled back, the feeling of his touch almost too much to handle. He admired your movement, the pleasure adorning your face. His other hand followed suit, gropping your second breast and massaging the tissue gently over your shirt. Quiet whimpers left your mouth, “Please, please, please, please.”

Suddenly, you felt his hands on your arms, his fingertips trailing over your skin until they found your hands, which he subtly placed on the buckle of his belt. You bit onto your bottom lip, eyeing him seductively as you began to undo his pants. The zipper fell down to release his growing bulge, which you quickly grasped over his boxers. He let out a strangled groan, leaning forward to support himself on the desk. You buried your face in his neck, smiling.

“Y-you have no idea,” you whispered. “How many times I would sit in here and imagine doing this to you.”

Your hand had now found it’s way inside his underwear, slowly stroking his erection. “I would stare and stare, just wondering if I-I got on my knees for you, would you let me. Or would you push me away. And I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t wonder anymore.”

He hips instinctively bucked into your palm, his jaw dropped and his head hung over your shoulder. “Please fuck me, Dr. Reid. I just, I have to know. Please.”

Spencer immediately gripped onto your wrist and removed your hand from his pants, pinning your arms down against the desk as he leaned into a hungry kiss. His hands located yours hips, where he quickly and aggressively gripped onto the hem of your jeans and pulled them down your thighs.

“Oh, yes,” you said. “Yes, yes, yes.”

You wiggled your way out of your clothing, kicking your jeans and panties to a distant corner of the room and removing your shirt to reveal a matching bra. Yes, you’d come prepared.

He held his cock in his hand, stroking himself slowly as he looked at you, held you close. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Positive?”

“Positive.”

“One-hundred percent?”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in before he could object. “Please.”

Taking in a deep breath, he lined himself up at your entrance and pushed himself into you gently, slowly. You had to hold yourself up on the desk, legs shaking, body overwhelmed with sensation. You whispered his name as he filled you up, your core letting him in so willingly. Once fully inside you, he froze, “You okay?”

You nodded, too stimulated to properly reply, and gripped onto the back of his neck, “Keep going.”

And he did. His thrusts were nice and slow at first, with him being too nervous that he was going to completely overwhelm you so soon. But that’s just what you wanted. So badly that you clawed your way at his chest, eagerly tearing the buttons off of his shirt to expose his skin, his collarbone - which you leaned in and nibbled on gently.

Spencer absentmindedly bucked his hips into you, earning a sudden gasp of pleasure from the both of you. He quickly covered your mouth with his palm as he began to slam into you, his arm wrapped completely around your waist, and his body fucking you in the desk.

It was just what you wanted. Powerful, aggressive, and heavenly. His cock struck a part of you so deep, you didn’t even know it existed until now. Until Spencer. He angled his hips to strike the spots that gained the most noise out of you, your moans muffled and constant.

You opened your mouth and began to lick at his fingers, an action that caused his eyes to roll back as he stuck two fingers between your lips. You sucked on them forcefully, moaning against the digits as his thrusts became harder.

“Fuck,” he panted. “Fuck, fuck.”

It was a beautiful sound, and an even better sight to see. He eyes were now staring into yours, his face flushed and his hair wild atop his head. You hallowed your cheeks against his fingers, slowly pulling them from your mouth. “I-it feels,” you moaned. “Amazing.”

“Yeah?” he huffed.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

Encouraged, he wrapped both arms around your waist and went to town, the desk rocking to the rhythm of his hips and your body shaking uncontrollably. “Oh, my God,” you whined. “Fuck, I,”

“You going to come?” He whispered in your ear.

You nodded quickly, biting at your lip to keep quiet. You started to rub your clit steadily, springs of electricity coursing through your body. You mouth wide open, moans poured out of you as your back arched and Spencer pounded you into your release.

The combination of everything pushed you off the edge, and you came - hard. With Spencer’s hand quickly covering your mouth, your body trembling and falling weakly against his own. Spencer’s eyes never left your face for a moment, and he couldn’t help but groan at the sight of your orgasm washing over you. He pulled out of you suddenly, one hand tracing your spine and the other holding his dick.

“What are you doing?” You whimpered. “Come back, come back.”

“[y/n], i’m so close, I,”

“Come back, give it to me, come on,” you pleaded.

“Oh, God,”

“You won’t get me pregnant, just, come back,” you gripped onto his hips, your hand finding his cock and pressing the tip against your pulsing core.

“[y/n]-“

“I know, I’m a treat,” you giggled. “Come on, Spencer, come for me. Please?”

He pressed into you gently, “You sure?”

“Oh, God. If you ask me if I’m sure again, I will scream,” you laughed.

He chuckled, shaking his head and watching as his cock slipped back into you. You placed your hands on his face and kissed him, sloppily, hungrily, trying to keep control of yourself as your body shook with sensitivity. He pressed his lips into yours, his hips maintaining a steady motion that had him moaning in seconds. “Mm,” he hummed against your lips. “Y-you feel, so good.”

You grinned, your hand finding its way to his hair, tugging lightly. “Yeah? Fill me up then. Show me.”

“Oh, fuck,” he sighed, dipping his head down. “You’re too much.”

“I just want you to come.”

Your voice broke him down, despite his slow movements and all his strength, he wound up orgasming - deep inside you and with a stifled groan. His body quivered against yours and you hummed happily as the warmth entered your body. You giggled, tracing the structure of his face with your fingers.

He shook his head at you, “You are trouble, [y/n] [y/l/n].”

“And you are beautiful, Spencer Reid.”

[sneezefiction]

making up for lost time

Daichi x fem!Reader - Scenario

@miss-rin​‘s request: “Where Daichi reunites with the reader several years after highschool... She’s messed up from her last relationship, but wants to try again.... With a fluffy ending though, please!!”

a/n: eeee this was really therapeutic to write. i know it’s a little on the longer side of things i usually post, but i wanted to set it up well. enjoy some angst to fluff Daichi content bb <33333

warnings: break ups, cheating, low self esteem, slight language, general angst

wc: 3350

---

It’s strange. Staring at your textbook, your fingers brushing against its textured, thin pages, you hadn’t noticed the tiny droplets forming on the sheets below. Only when you recognized its salty taste did you realize you were the source. You lean back, using the table to tilt your chair onto its back legs, balancing there for a minute to keep your tears from staining anything else on the desk.

With all the mentions of bonds and fusions, somehow chemistry homework has brought you back into the reality of your current life crisis. 

It’s not like you hadn’t expected tears, but did they have to overtake every aspect of your life? 

In public. Walking through the park. At 4 in the morning.

It was cruel, really. 

That even after a year of complete distance, everything insisted on reminding you of him.

---

Your ex was supposed to be a one night stand. A ploy to get over a deeply established crush. You were running from young, uncertain love, pushing it down, and drowning it all in heavy doses of pleasure. But weekend-after-weekend, your interactions with this mystery hookup turned into regular flings.

From there, you allowed something deeper to develop.

You started sharing with him.

Lying on the bed, limbs entangled, panting subsided. You released small thoughts and simple secrets into the dark of the night. Maybe he would capture those words, pondering them, making a space for them in his mind. Maybe he would let them drift by, like white noise and formless background music. 

But it didn’t matter. You spoke anyway.

Nights passed and you would let out more gentle, whispering comments. Insecurities, dreams, stories. 

And at some point, he started responding. Listening. Mulling over your words. Whether you meant for it to happen or not, things grew personal. He became your stand-in security blanket, pulling you in and showing you his own little world. You didn’t care if it was fabricated and make-believe.

Because for the first time, it seemed like someone reciprocated your words and actions. You were no longer relying on past passions and feelings because you were so busy drowning in the touch of a stranger. He gave you endless chances to let go of your greatest love and high school infatuation. And you took each one.

You pushed yourself to like him. You asked him to be exclusive. He agreed.

Because his touches were soothing. The way his arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you into his chest and whispering dirty, sugar-coated words into your ears. It made you feel wanted. Needed. Like maybe this could be the one. Like maybe you didn’t need the brown-eyed boy from so long ago.

Yes, your ex’s hold on you was physically tight…

But his intentions were loose and undefined. Eerily disconnected from the reality you had pictured yourself in.

In the back of your mind, you knew something was off. The puzzle pieces that tied your interactions together were either damaged or missing. Information and stories didn’t match up.

At some point, he started coming home wearing the scent of sex and perfume. Fragrances that didn’t belong to you. All of the staying out late and leaving the bed early... He was clearly cheating on you. 

But ignorance is bliss... and you were swimming in it.

You now realize he only told you what you wanted to hear. Little, white lies iced with sweet, generous promises.

What did you expect? That he actually needed you? Why would this stand-in boyfriend be any different?

Finding him on top of a girl in your bedroom should’ve cut you deeper. It should have left you with your knees collapsed and your fingers painfully digging into the carpet. You could have screamed and cried, kicked something, at least outwardly shown your pain.

Yet all that came over you was a dizzying numbness. So you shut the door, closing yourself off to their shocked expressions. Cutting yourself off from another failed love attempt. A worthless endeavor.

---

You’re still fighting a losing battle against hot, streaming tears in the library.

You wish the tears stemmed from the breakup. It would be a logical justification for your pain. Yes, it would be easier to cry over something present… or at least something sensible.

But fate is fickle and so are your emotions. Fragile and nostalgic.

Because you aren’t choking on sobs in the campus library over that unloyal asshole. 

No, your mind was fully centered on Daichi. The one person who had actually made you feel whole. Who regularly told you how much he wanted you.

You could’ve drowned in his warm, honey-glazed gaze. He drew you in, submerging you in a euphoric, blissfully intoxicated state. 

Memories flittered back to you. How he would always comfort you, using his firm shoulder as a pillow during after school hours to cry or sleep on when life began to smother you.

How he snuck up behind you in the schoolyard, grabbing you by the waist, lighting a fire inside you that filled you with warmth and made your stomach do somersaults. It was playful. Lighthearted. So very Daichi.

And you wanted more. More than platonic. More than best friends.

His touches were nothing like your ex.

It was like gentle floating fireflies, blinking and flickering in a field at dusk. Consistent but surprising. Sensitive, feathery, and comforting. Not at all greedy or dismissive.

You didn’t have to think twice about it. Daichi still remained in the softest parts of you.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. He isn’t coming back to save you. To take you by the hand and rekindle whatever it was you two had shared back then.

Because Daichi wasn’t ready to commit.

He had told you how he felt. How he wanted you so badly that it physically hurt him. That he wanted to be there for you, by your side, hand-in-hand.

But he just wasn’t ready to follow through. Not with graduation and change so near in sight. Not with the possibility of losing you just as soon as you’d become his.

You knew he was right. College shifted you two into completely separate directions. 12 hours to be exact.

You and Daichi were at the right place at the wrong time.

But as you drifted, the words morphed and manipulated themselves in your mind. They echoed a tone that claimed that you were the faulty one. That you weren’t ready. You weren’t lovable enough. He didn’t want to commit to you.

So naturally, you equated it with not being enough for him. That it was some silly, unfounded puppy-love. Just a bunch of hormones and high schoolers.

So you tried to bury your longing for him, making countless mistakes in the process. 

You had changed. This was your life now. Broken, exhausted, and weathered.

In defeat, you close up the heavy, tattered textbook, gently maneuvering it into your backpack and take your leave from the softly lit library. You’ve suffered enough for one day, so you may as well give yourself a break from studying.

As you make your way out the door, you feel an unexpected buzz in your back pocket, your phone lighting up with a notification. You reach a hand back to check it.

3:47 pm - sawamuradaichi38 followed you

You stop abruptly, feet planted in the doorway, eyes processing the words before you.

“Shit.”

Daichi…

High school Daichi.

The “I was just crying over how much I hate missing you 5 minutes ago,” Daichi.

You hadn’t spoken in over a year and suddenly this? 

It was out of the blue, not to mention at one of the most pitiful moments in your life. 

Broken up, red-eyed, and still helplessly in love with his brown-eyes. How could someone so wonderful have such disastrous timing?

You receive a rude awakening, the door to the library smacking you in the face, drawing you out of your thoughts and leaving you rubbing the now red spot on your forehead, the phone still clutched tightly in your palm.

Leaving the doorway, you spot a park bench and take a seat outside, your thumb still hovering over the “follow back” button.

It takes some persuading, but eventually you convince yourself it will be fine. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to him.

It’s just a simple “follow back.”

It also wouldn’t hurt to see what he looked like.

So you click.

And there he is. Several month’s worth of photos, flooding your eyes.

Party streamers, candids, squinted smiles, polaroid photo-shoots, flushed faces from tipsy weekends, throwbacks… and your heart is pounding at the sight of just how mature he looks.

He’s developed a flattering tan over the summer, giving him a golden glow. The deeper tone has either made him look more toned or he’s gained muscle in the past couple of years. Both are very likely.

You proceed your scrolling, subconsciously looking for any signs of being in a relationship, before you’re startled by another ‘ping’ noise.

Damn this stupid app.

To hell with media.

Why did he feel the need to message you? Is he messing with you, right now? 

But the questions don’t keep you from opening the text.

Nerves settle in.

3:55 pm - Daichi: Y/n!

3:55 pm - Daichi: I’m in town for a while and I really want to see your face.

3:56 pm - Daichi: Only if you want to though… I know it’s been a long time.

How is it possible that your hands are already shaking? It’s just Daichi.

Just Daichi.

What the actual hell, Daichi.

3:58 pm - Y/n: Heya! I’d love to, but I have so many questions???

You have more than just questions.

4:00 pm - Daichi: I’ve got answers. So is that a yes? Bc if it’s a no, that’d be super awkward…

4:00 pm - Daichi: ...given that I’m 5 minutes from your university right now. Could I pick you up?

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL, DAICHI.

4:01 pm - y/n: Well damn, ok. Looks like I don’t have any excuses. Come n get me :)

You do your best to sound smooth, sending him the corner to pick you up on, but you still looked and felt like a total wreck. Your makeup was messy, mascara staining the underneath of your eyes. Luckily, you had baby wipes and could clean up a little, but you were still left with a slightly puffy, red-tinted face.

The blush that appeared after receiving his text messages didn’t help either.

If you were being honest, you felt completely hysterical. You had finally given up all hope, tossing your dreams of being with him out the window. 

And here he was, casually asking you to hangout as if you two hadn’t ever lost contact. As if you hadn’t been bawling your eyes out over him for the past several months. Real cute, y/n, you laugh, thinking to yourself. 

You do your best to fix your face up with your phone camera and a little extra concealer, but if Daichi is anything like he was in high school, he’ll see through it almost instantly.

You spot his car, pulling up into a spot on the side of the road. He’s scanning for you.

Your breath hitches at the sight of him, heart skipping a beat.

He’s even prettier in person. Photos couldn’t capture something that strong and handsome. His features were still kind, but his expression showed how much he’d grown. The turn of his head, showcasing his jawline. Sharper, older. Your heart is pounding and you feel the anxiety settle in.

But as soon as he captures your eyes, you both grow soft.

You could tell from the way he was looking at you, he’d been longing for you too.

He hops out of his car, focused solely on you, and starts walking. Your pace matches his but it quickly increases. The hunger you’d felt for his embrace drives you both to move faster. He felt it too. It was magnetic. Almost like you’d been waiting your whole life for this reunion.

You practically throw yourself into his firm chest, his sturdy arms circling around your torso, the rate of your collision shaking his balance. But he managed, steadying himself one footstep at a time. One of his hands makes its way up to your neck and tangles itself into your hair, grasping locks and running his fingers through it. It was as though your bodies were making up for the lack of touch and all of your unspoken words, closing any spaces between you and affirming the reality of each other’s presence. 

You notice him tucking your head into his chest... just how he used to.

It’s as though nothing had changed. Like you had both been talking and touching and breathing the same air for the past year when in truth, your relationship had mimicked radio silence.

It stays silent, your bodies choosing to take one another in. He smelled of coffee and cedar, with a dash of maple. He’d always carried a sweeter scent. It never failed to make you melt into him.

Daichi’s face is buried within your hair and he can’t help but breathe in the familiar fragrance of your conditioner. A huge swell of nostalgia passes over him like a crashing wave, causing him to pull you even closer.

The very feelings you had been protecting yourself from were overloading your senses.

So you break off the hug, opting to grasp his hands instead.

His gaze is so understanding. So full of raw emotion. It’s apologetic.

“Daichi I-”

“I’m so sorry, y/n.”

There’s a pause. You give him a wobbly smile, nodding gently to let him speak first.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s silenced as raindrop lands directly on your nose. You giggle, wiping it off with your hand, then placing said hand back into his.

“How ‘bout we go sit in the car?” He suggests as the rain begins to drizzle.

You follow him wordlessly, taking him by the arm, quickly crossing the road.

You’re snug in his passenger seat, one foot tucked under your other leg, torso facing him directly. Daichi takes a moment to look you over. You flush under his intent gaze. That’s when he notices your reddened eyes. 

“You’ve been crying.” He states directly, hand making it’s way to your chin, lifting it while examining your face.

“A-ah yeah. You’re as observant as ever, Daichi, I’ll give you that.” You smile slightly.

“Why? What… or who did that to you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.

You look away, head tilting out toward the grey-lit street.

Should you be honest?

That he was the reason for your tears?

You want to trust him.

To believe his words at face value.

You wanted to bare your soul, letting him absorb every moment of the last year of your life. To cry out to him and explain that you wanted him so deeply that you betrayed your own feelings for him.

But look where it got you last time.

Your ex took the most precious pieces of you and stomped all over it. He had used you. Your stories. Your secrets.

You were different from the girl that Daichi used to know.

He couldn’t love that, he couldn’t possibly-

“Y/n, I mean it. You can tell me anything. I promise I’ll just listen.”

And with that, you muster up your last ounce of courage, putting full trust in him.

It comes out in a soft mumble.

“...I still love you, Daichi.”

His eyes widen, lips parting.

“I-” You begin to choke on your own words. 

The emotion of everything, from your breakup to seeing your ex with another girl, to the sad eyes in front of you. It all begins to spill out. It’s not a sob. More like a release.

“I tried to like someone else. I tried so, so hard, Daichi.” Tears drip down your face, catching on the hand still holding your cheek.

You do your best to speak slowly and coherently, but you can’t seem to prevent the stutters that emerge from embarrassment and months of pent-up shame.

“It didn’t work. I- he didn’t love me.” You pause, considering if you should share the next details.

You inhale deeply, remembering his words.

I can tell him anything.

“There were other girls and-” 

Daichi’s eyes darken, realizing what you meant.

“He- he didn’t,” hiccups break up the sentences you’re already struggling to form, “I just wasn’t good enough, Daichi.” You meet his eyes, “Not for you. Not even for him.”

He rubs a thumb over your face, somber and troubled.

A wave of guilt washing over his face, his own eyes tearing up at the sight of you.

Daichi wasn’t there for you. He knows it.

He had left you high and dry, letting himself get washed up within his own pain, not considering how badly it would affect you. You both cut off communication to make things easier, assuming it would help you both to move on, but it had only made things worse.

Now he’s watching it all unfurl…

You’ve been mistreated and he wasn’t there to protect you. To save you. To hold you tightly within his arms.

But he wants to help pick up the pieces.

He wants to dry those tears, one by one.

He’s ready to make up for the lost time.

It’s time to prove that he’s ready for you now if you’ll have him.

So Daichi removes his hand from your face and grabs your hand, staring at it for a moment. He brushes his calloused fingers over your knuckles.

“Y/n, I never stopped loving you.” He half whispers.

He’s tracing the lines and divots in your palm now, but his eyes are on yours now.

“I couldn’t handle not seeing you… 12 hours is a lot.” He acknowledges.

“But it should never have stopped me from being with you. That was my mistake. It had nothing to do with you not being good enough.”

“Y/n, please, God please, promise me you’ll never say that again.” He begs.

Ah, that.

You couldn’t remember if that had slipped out, but it, in fact, had.

This lie you’ve been telling yourself seems a real as the gentle drumming of raindrops on the roof of the car. Your ex had affirmed it. The breakup sealed it.

And now you’re being told to let it go? To just believe you’re enough? Worthy of love?

If only it were that easy.

“I know you don’t believe me right now… you have every right not to. But I want you to learn to trust me again.”

He continues, “You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t leave you.”

Heavy.

The words were so heavy on your heart.

“...Okay.” Your voice cracks, another few tears slipping out.

“I- I’ll try.” You look away, pain creasing your brows.

He drops your hand on your lap and reaches toward your face, cupping it.

“I mean it, y/n. I won’t leave you.” His tone is scarily serious.

His lips brush against yours, asking permission. You lean forward, gently pressing your lips into his.

It takes a moment to adjust, but you meld together smoothly. It was always supposed to be this way. His warmth is sobering.

It’s tear-soaked and somber, but oh so real.

Noses brush. He runs a hand through your hair, tucking loose strands behind your ear, running a thumb down your neck. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss while leaning into his hand. Lips parted, rhythm slow and comforting.

No part of it is rushed. This moment wasn’t for anyone except for you.

Kiss after kiss, you’re being seen. Listened to. Re-opened.

And it may take tens of thousands of kisses. You’ll probably cry into his chest more times than you can count. You’ll have to fight like hell to escape the lie of “never being good enough.”

But Daichi will be there. Because he came back to you. 

And he’ll keep coming back until he doesn’t have to anymore... because by then, he’ll hope to have you by his side forever.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @starfissure

[jaxsteamblog]

Longing

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

Katara had not done well in any of her creative writing projects. Flowery language didn’t come naturally to her and her public speaking engagements were riddled with awkward silences when she finished speaking far sooner than her audience anticipated. 

She worried her words lacked sincerity; Zuko often said such wonderful things about her as if he had put hours of thought behind it. Yet when she tried to reciprocate, she had situations like the time she told him he fought good after watching him practice. 

And worse still, Katara did think about him all the time.

As she walked out to her balcony, Katara gazed out over the wide ice fields. With the calm weather and the twilight midafternoon, the frozen desert looked like more of the sea. It was this empty expanse that thrummed the ache in her chest.

If she were a poet, she could describe the feeling better. But what came to her mind was the pitiful observation that longing just increased the distance between her and Zuko. Days stretched past its clock face bounds and the miles of ocean became leagues of doldrums. 

The time and space between them was long, and so her yearning was stretched painfully over the distance. 

And the wire between them, the red threads that bound her, were slowly being tightened by Arnook and her father. 

But it wasn’t going to be the threads that snapped. 

“Katara?”

She squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of her father’s voice. Rationally, she knew he would of course be staying in the North Pole until the coronation. Both as her father and the chief of the South Pole gave him reason enough to stay.

But oh how she wished Sokka was around.

“I’m out here.” Katara called.

Hakoda moved slowly through her bedroom and Katara took in a deep breath, feeling her lungs expand. As she blew out, her breath became a cloud and she watched it rather than looking over at her dad.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“I’m fine, dad.” Katara replied.

“You seem a little tense.” Hakoda said.

“I wonder why.” She said dryly.

Hakoda leaned against the railing and Katara glanced at him from the corner of her eye. 

She had always imagined him as broad shouldered and looming. Like he could cut icebergs in half with only a handaxe. 

But her father was as tall as Sokka, and almost as thin. His cheeks were carved deep into his face, a holdover from his imprisonment in a Fire Nation workcamp. He was not an imposing man and was often quiet, never drawing much attention in a room. 

He was only a man after all.

 “Katara, ever since the festival in the Fire Nation, I feel like you’re trying to avoid me.” Hakoda said.

“I was trying to avoid you before that.” Katara stated. “Now I just get pissed off when I’m near you.”

“What’s happened to you?” Hakoda demanded. “You were such a-”

He stopped and Katara turned, looking furious and curious.

“Such a, what? Toddler?” Katara asked. “But regardless of the whole growing up thing, I did fight in a war.”

“So did I.” Hakoda countered, his voice low and dangerous. “I was also trapped in a Fire Nation prison for years.” 

“I went out to look for you.” Katara said. “You and mom. All I wanted was for us to be a family again.”

“We can be Katara. Here and now, we can be a family again.” Hakoda said.

“You may not have noticed, but mom is dead.” Katara spat out. “We can never be a family.”

“I loved Kya and I miss her every day. But Malina is part of our family now and we can-”

“You can.” Katara interrupted. “Sokka can too for all I care. But I will never be part of a family that doesn’t include mom.”

“Except for the prince of the Fire Nation?” Hakoda asked. 

Katara glared at him, holding his eye and silently daring him to look away. 

“Zuko.” She clamped her mouth shut, feeling her emotions swirl up in her chest. Her chest was nearly heaving, as if she had run for miles, and her heart pounded adrenaline into her veins. 

“Zuko knows everything.” She started again. “Being the Fire Nation prince means he knows exactly what the war cost me personally, and he knows exactly how much blood is on my hands.”

Katara turned away from Hakoda, looking back out at the ice.

“Do you know how many men I killed? How many ships I sunk? How many bodies I took over in agnonizing torture?” She asked. “After Zhao, I thought I was a monster. After mom died, I willingly became one.”

“You are not a monster, Katara. You are my daughter.” Hakoda said firmly, but in a softer voice. 

Katara scoffed.

“You don’t even know who your daughter is. Haven’t you heard the whispers back home? Haven’t you talked with Hama?” She asked. When Hakoda didn’t answer, she turned to him. Examining his drawn face, she laughed bitterly.

“You met her.” She said. 

Hakoda turned his body away and Katara did the same. 

“She told you I was a Bloodbender.” She continued.

“It is forbidden. I know she was lying.” Hakoda said.

“She wasn’t.” Katara said. She turned away from her father to go back inside, but paused to address him.

“There is nothing forbidden to me. Not my bending and not Zuko.” She stated.

As she walked, she felt the thread pull at her. It dragged her heartstrings over the ocean and into the rich black soil of the Fire Nation. 

At the summit, when she watched Zuko circulate among dignitaries and journalists, Katara made her choice. She had sacrificed so much and gained so little in return. Every restriction she placed on herself, to make things easier, only resulted in her getting pushed around. 

There would be no more restrictions. She would not willingly shackle herself to weights that threatened to drown her.

This yearning, this longing, this distance, would be the only thing that would take her breath away and place this ache deep within her breast. 

Passing through her bedroom, Katara picked up her phone and opened her message app. 

She would see him soon.

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