#for anyone curious about what's wrong with this pattern:

[cultivating-wildflowers]

I have decided to start this crochet project over for the fourth time.

[gf2bellamy]

birthday — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you show up at spencer's door, ready to celebrate his 30th birthday, which he thought everyone forgot about content warnings: best friends who are in love with each other , literally just pure fluff, tiny mention of spencer saying he hasn't eaten dinner yet , reader is sort of bubbly ! , a/n: hiii !!! i was scrolling through tumblr and saw the gif of spencer celebrating his birthday and then felt inspired to write this !! <3 i hope you all like this :)

You let out a loud sigh as you reached the top of the building, breathing heavily. Why did Spencer have to live on the top floor? You thought to yourself, momentarily pausing to set the bag down and catch your breath.

You glanced down at the bag you were holding, checking to make sure everything inside was intact. You had spent hours preparing this surprise for Spencer, and you didn’t want anything to go wrong. 

Taking a deep breath, you picked the bag back up and walked the few remaining steps to his door. You knocked twice—long, deliberate raps—and then a quick one, the pattern you'd always used when it was just you and Spencer.

It was your little code.

You'd requested the day off from Hotch, making up some excuse about needing a mental break, but in reality, it was because you had something special planned for Spencer.

Moments later, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching the door, and then, there he was.

Spencer opened it, his usual surprise at seeing you evident, but something seemed a little off.

You greeted him with your usual cheerful grin, “Hellooo!” 

Spencer’s smile was there, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hi... What are you doing here?” He brushed his hair out of his face.

You grinned wider, trying to lighten the mood. “Celebrating your birthday, silly!” you teased, as you stepped closer. You slipped your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “Happy birthday.” 

At first, Spencer stiffened in your embrace, his body unmoving.

He had been confused earlier when he’d seen you had taken the day off. More than confused, he was hurt. He had hoped, that at least you would remember his birthday.

Because, everyone else hadn't.

As you held him, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, you could feel his body slowly warming up against yours. His hands, at first unsure, finally found their place around your waist, pulling you in closer. It was an awkward hug, with your right hand still holding the bag, but you didn’t mind.

For a moment, you both just stood there, until you felt his hands slowly loosen around you. You leaned back, resting your hand gently on his cheek, your thumb brushing over the soft skin of his cheekbone. 

“You’re an old man now,” you chuckled softly, teasing him lightly, and then letting your hand fall from his face, still smiling. You playfully poked him in the ribs, hoping to draw a smile from him. 

Spencer’s lips quirked just a little at the teasing. He glanced down at the bag you were holding, and then back at you, curious. 

You tilted your head with a grin, raising an eyebrow. “You going to invite me in?” 

Spencer finally stepped aside, motioning for you to come in, a faint, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Of course,” he said quietly, his voice a bit softer now. “Come on in.” 

You stepped into Spencer’s apartment, kicking off your shoes by the door. “I hope you haven’t eaten dinner yet,” you said, already heading toward the kitchen with the bag in hand.

You’d been here so many times that you didn’t even have to think about where anything was anymore.

It felt like home in a way.

Spencer followed behind you, still processing the fact that you remembered his birthday. There was a quiet confusion in his eyes.

“No, I haven’t yet,” he replied, watching you with a bit of hesitation. 

As you set the bag on the counter, you mumbled quietly under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, “I hope they’re still okay.” 

Spencer’s curiosity piqued, and he leaned forward slightly. “What is?” 

You didn’t immediately answer. Instead, you began pulling out items from the bag, setting them down on the counter one by one. First, chocolate donuts, then chocolate chip cookies, and finally, some fresh muffins. Spencer’s eyes widened as he took in the spread. 

“Do you know how hard it was to not eat these on the way here?” you said, half-laughing, half-complaining. You smiled up at him, the excitement of the day bubbling out in every word. 

Spencer still didn’t say anything, though he continued to watch you intently. You, on the other hand, had been so excited for this moment that you just couldn’t stop talking. 

“The guy at the counter was so rude,” you continued, shaking your head as you opened the box of donuts. “He kept huffing and puffing every time I told him what I wanted. Honestly, I don’t know what his problem was.” 

You handed Spencer a donut, watching him take it silently. “I was perfectly nice to him, too. I think,” you added, pausing to reflect. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t exactly smiling,” you muttered, “but I had been searching for your gift all day. I was absolutely exhausted.” 

You looked over at him now, your smile widening as you leaned against the counter. 

“My gift?” Spencer asked, his voice slightly confused.

“Yes,” you said, your tone playful as you tilted your head, as if the answer should have been obvious. “You know how on birthdays you usually receive gifts?” 

Spencer shook his head, a grin finally spreading across his face as he took a bite of the donut. “Yeah, I know,” he said, the happiness in his eyes undeniable. 

You watched him eagerly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Good?” you asked, your voice light with amusement. 

“Perfect,” he replied, his eyes softening as he swallowed. He paused for a moment, his expression shifting as the smile faded into something more sincere.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, a beat of silence passing between you. 

Your heart fluttered as you smiled at him. You shook your head, brushing aside the compliment.

“Don’t thank me,” you replied, your voice gentle. “I’m sorry for not being at work today.” You glanced at the clock on his kitchen wall. “I was just trying to get everything ready on time.” You paused, offering him a soft smile. “And I did.” 

“I know you like to watch Doctor Who at 7 p.m.,” you continued, your grin widening. “So I thought you should at least get to open your gift and have some food before then.” 

Spencer was quiet for a moment, his gaze locked onto yours. His heart seemed to skip a beat as he stared at you, breathless, like your words had left him momentarily speechless. 

Without warning, he lowered the donut and stepped toward you. The sudden closeness caught you off guard, but before you could react, he engulfed you in a tight hug. His arms wrapped around your waist as his face buried into your shoulder.

The suddenness of the embrace made your breath catch, but you relaxed into it, your hands instinctively finding their way to his back. 

“Thank you,” he whispered again into your hair, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. You smiled softly.

Without thinking, your hands gently moved to his hair, the same comforting habit that had developed between the two of you over time.

You remembered the first time you had done it—how he’d stiffened at the touch, his face turning bright red when you’d leaned back to look at him. You’d teased him playfully, but in the end, he had admitted that he liked it. And ever since then, you found yourself doing it without a second thought. 

His grip on you tightened, and you felt a surge of tenderness wash over you.

Then, as if to reassure you, Spencer pulled back slightly, just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. His hands lingered on your shoulders.

You smiled up at him, your heart racing.  

“You should open your gift,” you said, nodding toward the bag on the counter. Your words were light, but there was a slight nervousness behind them.

Spencer’s hands slowly dropped from your shoulders, and he turned to the bag, carefully opening it. He started pulling out the wrapped gifts, one after another, each one more awkwardly wrapped than the last.

You couldn’t help but shrug your shoulders with a small, embarrassed smile. 

“I gave it my best shot,” you muttered, pointing at the lopsided, crumpled paper and the hastily taped corners of the packages.

You tried to mask your discomfort with a laugh, but Spencer's gaze softened as he glanced at you.

With a loving, almost amused look, Spencer reached for one of the smaller gifts. He carefully untaped the edges and pulled it open, revealing mismatched socks. Each one was unique, some with strange patterns, others with quirky designs.

One sock had the Star Trek symbol, another had Doctor Who references, one was Halloween-themed, and the last one had books printed all over it.

"All mismatched," you said nervously, but there was pride in your voice. “The Star Trek one… that one took me ages to track down,” you added, pointing at the sock with the iconic symbol. 

Spencer couldn’t help but smile, glancing from the socks back to you. “Feel how soft it is,” you encouraged, still a little anxious but excited to show him the thought you’d put into it. 

Spencer did as you suggested, rubbing his fingers along the material, and he looked up at you, his expression brightening with genuine appreciation. “This is really nice,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. He looked at the socks again, and you could see the happiness behind his eyes.

You smiled, watching him as he took in the gift. “I thought they were fun,” you said with a playful grin.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and full of gratitude. "I love them," he said, shaking his head with a soft laugh. 

“Open the next one!” you urged excitedly, practically bouncing on your heels as you pointed at the second gift. 

Spencer chuckled at your enthusiasm and carefully tore the wrapping paper apart, letting it fall onto the counter. His hands stilled when he saw what was inside—a navy blue candle. He lifted it out of the box, his fingers tracing the smooth glass. 

“It’s supposed to smell like libraries and books,” you explained, grinning. 

Spencer immediately brought it to his nose. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before he exhaled, a small, content smile forming on his lips. “It really does,” he murmured, sounding almost in awe. “This is amazing.” 

Also tucked inside the wrapping were new knitting needles and a bundle of deep red yarn. Spencer’s eyes lit up as he gently pulled them from the box. 

“You told me you were going to that Doctor Who convention in a couple of weeks, so I thought you could use these,” you said, watching his reaction closely. 

His head snapped up, his face beaming. “Yes! Yes, I wanted to knit the Fourth Doctor’s scarf!” His grip tightened around the needles and twine, a spark of pure excitement shining in his eyes. “This is the perfect color.” 

You let out a relieved sigh at his words, your smile widening. Seeing him so happy made all the effort worth it. 

“Okay, last one!” you clapped your hands together, your excitement peaking. This was the gift you were the most proud of—the one you had spent the most time on. 

Spencer set the knitting supplies aside carefully before reaching for the final gift. He unwrapped it quickly, revealing a small notebook with a simple but elegant cover. He flipped it open, and as his eyes scanned the pages, his entire body seemed to still. 

Inside, the pages were filled with your handwriting. Some contained quotes—ones he had mentioned in passing, ones he had shared with you before, ones you knew he loved. Others had fun facts, little puzzles (which you knew he’d solve in mere seconds, but still), and inside jokes scribbled along the margins. But what stood out the most were the pages filled with descriptions of your favorite memories with him. 

Spencer was speechless. 

His ability to read at lightning speed meant he was able to skim through much of it quickly, his eyes flickering across the words. But even though he could read the entire thing in minutes, he didn’t. Instead, he slowed down. He flipped back to the first page, going through it with real intent now. 

You stood there impatiently, watching him, waiting for his reaction. You had spent weeks working on this, carefully picking what to include.

Each page was scattered with stickers, each one tied to a specific memory.

One page had a small sticker of a horse. You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, remembering why you had put it there. It was from that case you had worked together on a farm—when Spencer hadn’t realized a horse was standing right behind him. When it nudged his shoulder, he had jumped nearly a foot in the air. You had laughed about it for ages. Spencer had let you, despite his embarrassment, because he secretly loved hearing you laugh. 

Another page had a small rainbow sticker. That one was for the night you had walked back from Penelope’s Halloween party together.

It had started raining just as the sun peeked through the clouds, creating a perfect, vivid rainbow in the sky. You had gasped in excitement, pointing at it, taking in the beauty of the moment.

But Spencer… he had been staring at you. You hadn’t noticed at the time, too caught up in the sight before you, but in that moment, he hadn’t cared about the rainbow at all. He had been memorizing the way your eyes lit up, the way you looked when you were truly happy. 

Spencer continued flipping through the notebook, his fingers brushing over the pages, over the words you had written just for him. His lips parted slightly, his breath a little uneven, his emotions evident in the way his hands trembled slightly as he held the book. 

Finally, after a long, stretched-out silence, he looked up at you. His eyes were glassy, his expression unreadable at first, like he was struggling to find the right words. 

“You…” His voice faltered for a second before he swallowed thickly and tried again. “You made all of this for me?” 

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little nervous under his intense gaze. “Yeah. I—I wanted to make something special,” you admitted, brushing hair out of your face nervously. “Something that—” You hesitated, feeling vulnerable now. “Something that reminds you of how much you mean to me.” 

Spencer blinked, his jaw tightening slightly as if he were trying to keep his emotions in check. Then, without saying a word, he set the notebook down and took a step toward you. And then another. 

Before you could react, he pulled you into another hug—this one different from the last. It wasn’t hesitant or brief.

It was firm, filled with love and adoration. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. 

You felt his breath hitch slightly against your skin. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “This is… this is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.” 

Your heart clenched at his words, and you exhaled softly, wrapping your arms around him in return. “You don’t have to say anything,” you murmured, closing your eyes as you held him just as tightly. “Just… happy birthday, Spence.” 

Spencer didn’t let go. And honestly, you didn’t want him to. 

[aly4khq]

A DRAGON'S LAIR! ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*

— sum: You were exploring Tarus city as a self mission, trying to find the dragon who was told to have lived in the city for many years to come. You thought that you would encounter barely anything, but you were ever so wrong.

— characters: dragon!sylus

— warnings: pining, he tops ur clothes, double penetrartion (he had too dicks), improper use of his tail, manhandling, biting, fuckin from behind. (if i have missed any, please inform me!)

— wc: 1,746

You've never been one to lerk into unknown territory or to find refuge in a random city that you learnt about in a history book — it's never been in your nature at all. But once you saw the posters, you knew that it was a place of worship and surprise.

Tarus city, a city where it's been claimed to have a dragon that laid in the depths of a special cave. The cave was highly risky for any normal human being, I mean, the image that laid on the posters was frightening enough to keep away tourists. The unusually greyish-red that scattered around the cave's entrance, moving around like a line circling a branch, a black thick coating around it which looked like claws when compared to each other, the singular hand on the top leading to the cave like it was inviting you.

You loved mythical creatures so this was a field day for you, you needed to go.

There was also a garden which yearly grew beautiful flowers there, crimson in colour and rose in shape. They scattered everywhere, and they seemed to have been planted by a very skilled gardener — if there even was one back in the early years of life. Oh how you'd love to distress by rolling in there after a long day, what a dream.

But you weren't just there for the cool looking dragon, you were there for the sword. Like that playground sword that you had to remove from the ground, and whoever could move it was the 'chosen one', there was one that laid outside the cave, imbedded in the beautiful scenery of flowers and healthy grass with its delicate pattern leaving you with mysteries.

"Where did it come from?" "What does it symbolise?" "How did it get there out of all places?"

Who owned it?

Well, let's just say that you weren't too scared to find out. You needed answers and if you had to dig into a random mythical cave then you will. Despite the lack of information, you searched up any little tips to help you navigate inside of a cave.

You needed to be prepared, and properly prepared.

After a while of constant climbing and exploring the beautiful long yards of greenery, you stood face to face with the cave that was feared the most back in Linkon City, aka the Dragon's Lair. In the papers, it looked like absolute horror capturing in a frame but in person, it was gorgeous.

The cave was expanded and opened for anyone to come into, and you'd did just that. Entering the cave, you turned on the flashlight you brought, seeing insta treasures of many different kinds of art scattered around the walls of the cave. "Wow...this is cool..." you softly murmured to yourself, still engrossed in the scenery—

...what the hell was that?

A deep and raged growl sped through the walls of the cave like air, filling your eyes with an intense sound. Hissing, the growl's sound waves led you to an expanded room, where a big bed-like item was in the front, surrounding by more jewels of ancient treasures. You found yourself searching around, looking for what this place could've belonged to.

And after 5 minutes, you dug in, "What's the worst that could happen?"

Searching the amazing rich items on the floor, your bag got heavier and heavier with time. Each jewel that caught your eye went in. Some of them even had ancient symbols on them, now that's a lot of money.

But, a singular gem caught your eye. It was a necklace that had a black substance scattered all over it, laying on the bed that was in the middle of the room. "Oh?" your hand went out, curious, "This is peculiar."

The necklace was a beautiful golden chain, wrapping with ancient knots and twists so it was bonded together perfectly. On both sides of the pendants scattered around the necklace, there were small, very intricate patterns dented into the metal. It had a pocture of a dragon on the front, and it...was weirdly shaped. Like the top half was crossed out, but forget that, you just found a good millions of money in your hands.

"Well, that's been a nice journey here cave, thanks for the new finds and...yeah. I'll be going."

You turned for the entrance where you came from, and it was blocked off by a large bolder. "Huh..? Why...who?"

You turned around to find a way to get out when a tail wrapped around your waist, pulling you down to your knees in a rapid manner. You scrapped your knee on the harsh carpet. "Ah! Hah...ow.." You tired to arise from your forced position when you heard a deep voice.

"Were you never taught of etiquette? Or was it just you who missed out?"

He boomed over you, a...handsome man. He was silver hair, crimson eyes and weird black claws and a tail. His clothes bleeding in with his skin.

This isn't the dragon. I mean, it's a literally human being?

"Etiquette? Who are you?" You replied back harshly, not thinking before you spoke. Remembering quickly, it was too late, his tail went around your body before whipping the skin behind you thighs. You yelped, cursing the man-dragon above you.

"You!—" "Me what?"

He arose from his throne, walkijg menacingly to grab your waist before pulling you up to your feet. He turned you around, your back against his toned chest. His hand went over your chin and upper neck, pushing your head back to his shoulder with a smirk.

"Maybe I should teach you," he bite your collarbone before growling, "how to respect a dragon's cave."

"Gahh—Ugggg, you're so deep!—"

"Focus."

That same dragon had you bent over the same drawer you had stolen from, your clothes ripped from his sharp claws just where you soaked pussy was.Your back arched like never before and his hand still around your chin, his teeth biting and sucking on your collarbone with delight. His hips were slow but deep, reaching your cervix with long strokes, his dick sending you into a wave of pleasure.

"What's the answer?"

He'd made you write down the rules of entering his cave again, the pencil shaking vigorously in your trembling hands. The paper soaking up your falling tears as you begged and pleaded with the man above you. "Hahh— Sylus— please...! Please! I might just—"

His tail traveled down your clit, gently caressing it with the peek of the tail. "Write it down, or I'll do even worse." He threatened, and you obeyed, grabbing the pencil and harshly writing down, "I will be respectfu—"

"Ah!!" His hip gave you a sharp thrust, a warning to behave and write properly. His hand groping your wee cheeks to the point that you could feel his claws digging into your flesh. "You have one more chance." With every word, he thrusted harder until you shrieked, your body bending more forward to escape his powerful hips, you pussy squeezes into the life out of him.

Your hands went back, trying to push his pelvis away from you. "Hm?" He hummed, his eyebrow rising before you hear a chuckle, "Want me to slow down sweetie?" His voice was playful, yet you nodded quickly anyway.

"Too bad." 



He sped up, his hips snapping so fast with your to the point where it echoed in the room. Your hands banged on the drawer, lookijg for a way to soothe to intense pleasure that you were being given. You couldn't even speak, your face fucked out and your body slowly weakening.

"S-Sy...luss...I can't...! Please..." You begged, trying to find a better way to convince him to give you a break. His dick the was so deep that you thought that it was two dicks at once. It felt so huge, and more struggle.

The stretch was too much, you yelled, "Sylus! Why is it—" You gasped loudly, relent that he had two massive ducks in you at the moment, both of them lodged deep in your pussy. In that moment, you nearly passed out. "Ahh ah hah...hahh!!" You cried out, tensing, "Pleaseee..."

"You're fine, just one more." Sylus cheered on, his tail moving up to caress your back, travelling down the straight line. His tail met your ass, gently put slowly digging it into your other hole, "No! No no, please, i can't, please," Your whole body was shaking, your sweat coating your skin.

"Mhm, fine, for now." Sylus replied in a teasing tone before continuing to roll his hips into yours, and by that tight squeeze he knew that you were close. You stood a little, crying, "I can feel it!— I need to pee—Why does it feel like I need to pee?!—"

He reassured you, speaking in your ear, "It's normal, you're fine, just relax." You wasn't breathing at all. He grabbed your chin again before ordering you, "Cum."

Your orgasm hit you, your lungs not being able to take in oxygen due to the sheer force of your release. The intense feeling was still shocking you, your hands braking some of the wood of the drawer due to your grip. Your legs shaking like no ever before you felt his claws tap your chest, "Hey, Breathe."

You took a deep breath in before covering your mouth, instantly being met with fatigue. "I need a rest...I can't feel myself..." Sylus chuckled at your position, his hand goijg around your waist to carry you to his bed. "It's okay, you took both off my dicks, well done."

"I knew you'd come along," Sylus hummed, "so just relax my Queen, I'll take care of you.

this is not proofread! i was too eager to post so sorry hotties!

@ aly4khq, do not plagiarise, translate or copy my work. (30/11/24)

[hazymoonlinh]

Special ring

A draft I have saved for a whole month bruh

Pure fluff

(Phainon x reader)

In conclusion, he bites you.

The two of you were sitting under a tree on a quiet evening, the battlefield far behind for now. Phainon leaned back against the trunk, the sun painting golden hues on his face as he looked at you. There was a calmness to the air, a stillness that begged for conversation to fill it.

Out of nowhere, he asked, “What’s your take on marriage? And love?”

You blinked, a little startled by the question. “That’s…random,” you said, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

Phainon chuckled lightly. “Is it? I’m just curious.”

You rested your chin on your knees, the breeze tugging at your hair. “Hm…I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “I don’t think I really trust it.”

That response caught his attention. His brows furrowed, his playful demeanor replaced with genuine curiosity. “You don’t trust it? Why’s that?”

You stared at the ground, your fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt. “Well…because I grew up in an environment where marriage wasn’t about love. It was a transaction. A way to trade power, secure alliances, or gain something. Most of the marriages I saw didn’t have love in them at all.”

Phainon’s expression softened, though there was a flicker of surprise in his blue eyes. He stayed silent, letting you continue.

“It’s like…love wasn’t part of the equation at all.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the open air. “So…I guess I just don’t think I’ll ever have love. And I don’t think anyone would ever love me.”

Phainon’s eyes went wide at that. He sat up straighter, his full attention on you now. “Huh? Why would you think that? You could always try, you know that, right?”

You looked away, embarrassed by his sincerity. “I…haizz…I seriously don’t know. Maybe I’m scared.”

“You think you’re unlovable?” he continued, his voice softening. “Well, you’re wrong. If anything, you’re one of the most lovable people I’ve ever met. You’re kind, brave, and—hell, you’ve put yourself on the line for people who don’t even deserve it. You’ve got a heart bigger than most, even if you’re scared to show it.”

Your breath hitched, his words cutting through the doubts you’d carried for so long.

“And as for marriage or love?” he added, his signature grin finally returning. “Well, if you don’t trust it, I’ll just have to convince you otherwise, won’t I?”

You stared at him, stunned by his confidence and warmth. He smirked at your reaction, leaning back against the tree again. “So, what do you say? Give love a chance, duckling?”

For the first time in a long time, you felt a small flicker of hope. You nodded, the tiniest smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe.”

“Good,” Phainon said with a wink. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Phainon’s grin turned mischievous as he took your hands in his, holding them as though they were the most delicate things in the world. You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his mood, and before you could question it, he brought your hand to his lips.

The soft press of his kiss on your knuckles sent a jolt through you, your breath catching. But then—without warning—he popped your ring finger into his mouth.

Your eyes widened as his teeth grazed against your skin, the sensation both strange and electrifying. He bit down just enough to leave a faint mark, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. His playful smirk grew as he pulled your hand back.

“This’ll do it for now,” he murmured, his voice a low hum.

You gawked at him, completely frozen, but he wasn’t done. In one swift motion, he tugged you closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Before I find the perfect ring for you.”

Your brain short-circuited. Words failed you as a deep flush spread across your cheeks. “W-w-what? A ring? What are you talking about? You can’t just—what—Phainon!”

He leaned back, his expression utterly smug as he watched you stumble over your words. “Hmm? Something wrong, duckling? You’re looking a little…red.”

“Red? I’m not—no, you—you can’t just say things like that!” You clutched your hand to your chest, staring at the faint mark he’d left as if it were glowing. “A ring? Are you serious? Are you joking? What does this even mean?!”

Phainon chuckled, reaching out to gently tug at a strand of your hair. “Oh, I’m very serious. But don’t worry—I’ll give you time to process. I wouldn’t want you fainting on me.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but that only seemed to amuse him further.

“Take your time, love,” he added with a wink. “We’ve got forever.” And he gives you a peck on your cheek.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Lily's Touch

Poly!Marauders + Lily x Reader who's experiencing her first heat...

Summary: The reader is experiencing her first heat, and no matter how hard she tries, she can't get her nest right.

WC: 1.4k

CW: Omegaverse, grammar and spelling, not proof read, references of intense emotions and the reader is self conscious.

Remus knew it was coming- everyone did.

Seven years of Hogwarts, two years of living with your mates, and not once had you experienced a heat.

It didn’t bother him, not really. It didn’t bother any of them, but they all knew how much it bothered you. The way your shoulders tensed when Lily went into heat, how you’d quietly dote on her with sweet affections, offering soothing touches and cups of tea. But when it came to yourself, you withdrew, closing in on yourself like you didn’t deserve the same attention. You never said it outright, but they could see it- the way you felt left behind, as though your body had somehow failed you. It broke his heart.

They’d tried to comfort you in countless ways. Late-night reassurances, Remus’s soft words murmured over cocoa, James’s hand squeezing yours with that protective and reassuring energy, Sirius teasing you relentlessly until you couldn’t help but laugh, and Lily’s endless supply of comfort. They’d spent nights making sure you knew that even if you never went into heat, even if your body never did what you expected, it wouldn’t change how much they loved you. You were theirs, no matter what. But words only went so far.

Yesterday, everything changed.Remus was the first to notice.

It started small; little things, like the way you trailed after them through the house, never straying too far from anyone’s side. You clung to Sirius’s shirt that morning as he made breakfast, your fingers twisting in the fabric absentmindedly. Sirius had given you a curious look but said nothing, choosing instead to ruffle your hair and tease you lightly about being clingy. Normally, you’d respond with a sassy remark or a playful shove, but this time, you simply leaned into his touch with a quiet hum.

James noticed next. You curled up beside him on the couch, tucking yourself under his arm like you belonged there, and he didn’t question it. He simply wrapped an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple while Lily smiled knowingly from across the room.

By midday, it was undeniable. You were restless, unsettled in a way none of them had seen before. Your instincts were bubbling just beneath the surface, tugging at you in directions you didn’t fully understand. And by evening, it all came to a head.

The last sign was when Remus got up to move. You’d been half-curled in Sirius’s lap, Remus’s fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle. But the moment he shifted to stand, you stared at him, wide-eyed and panicked, as if the simple act of him moving away was too much to bear.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Remus cooed softly, pausing in place. He hadn’t meant to upset you, but the way your eyes began to water sent a sharp pang through his chest.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, your voice small and shaky. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Remus whispered gently, stepping closer again. “Come here.” He opened his arms, and you immediately clung to him, pressing your face into his jumper with a sniffle of a cry.

That night, Remus took you to bed with him, and the simple act of being close seemed to calm you. But it was only the beginning.

The next day, it became clear to everyone- this was it. You were going into heat for the first time.

No one said a word, not wanting to put pressure on you. The human body was strange, and any small thing could ruin this. They wanted you to experience it at your own pace, to live through it without the weight of expectations. But by afternoon, as everyone gathered in the living room, it became impossible to ignore.

You’d gotten it into your head that you needed to build a nest. It started with a pile of blankets and pillows in the corner of the room, but no matter how much you arranged and rearranged them, it didn’t feel right. You’d build it up, only to tear it apart moments later, frustration growing with every failed attempt.

Remus had seen it coming- how you were spiraling between uncertainty and instinct, your body and mind at odds with something new and overwhelming. It made his chest ache, watching you struggle to build your nest, tearing it apart moments later as frustration clouded your features. He wanted to reach out, to tell you again that it didn’t matter if it was perfect. That you didn’t need to prove anything to them. You were enough. You always had been.

But he knew better. You needed to figure it out in your own way. Still, he stayed close, crouched beside you, ready to help if you asked.

Lily’s voice was calm and soothing, her fingers brushing through your hair as she murmured reassurances. “It’s okay, love. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“But it feels wrong.” Your voice trembled, hands twisting in the fabric of a blanket as though it might somehow yield the answer you were looking for. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s strange the first time,” Lily said gently, her hand never pausing in its soothing strokes. “You’re doing great, I promise.”

You didn’t seem convinced. Remus could see the doubt weighing on you, the way your shoulders tensed under Lily’s touch. It wasn’t frustration anymore; it was fear. Fear of doing it wrong. Fear of not being enough.

“You’re trying too hard,” he said softly, leaning in a little closer. “It’s okay to ask for help.”

“I don’t want to mess it up,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I just… I want to impress you. I want it to be good. I want to do it right for once.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. You didn’t need to impress them. You didn’t need to be anything other than who you already were. He reached out, gently taking your trembling hands in his own, giving them a soft squeeze. “You don’t have to impress us,” he said quietly. “We already think you’re incredible.”

James knelt beside you, hazel eyes warm with quiet affection. “We’re proud of you,” he whispered. “No matter what.”

Sirius plopped down on your other side, grinning as he draped an arm around your shoulders. “Come on then, what is it?”

You blinked at him, confused. “What’s what?”

Sirius shrugged, voice teasing but kind. “What’s that pretty head saying? What’s it want you to do?”

For a moment, you hesitated. Remus could see the conflict in your eyes, the way you bit your lip nervously. But then, something shifted. You let out a shaky breath, slowly rising to your feet. They all watched in silence as you paused, glancing around the room like you were searching for something. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your breathing uneven.

And then, as though pulled by an unseen thread, you turned and made your way toward the shared room. You hesitated at the door, casting a glance back at them, eyes uncertain, before stepping inside.

Remus followed quietly, stopping in the doorway as you approached Lily’s nest. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to disturb whatever instinct was guiding you now. He only watched as you reached out, running your fingers over the soft blankets and pillows that made up Lily’s carefully crafted space.

You knelt down slowly, curling into the nest with a soft, content sigh, as though it was the only place you’d ever wanted to be. Lily covered her mouth with her hand, eyes glistening with unshed tears as she took in the sight of you nestled in her space. There was something unspoken between the two of you, something so deeply emotional that it made Remus’s throat tighten.

Of course. Of course, this was where you’d end up.

Was it really all that shocking? You had always been Lily’s girl. Always gravitated toward her warmth, her comfort. It made sense in a way that felt almost poetic, that your first heat would lead you to her nest, to the place where you felt safest.

Remus smiled softly to himself, heart aching with affection as he watched Lily crawl in beside you, wrapping her arms around you protectively. You sighed again, melting into her hold, and Remus knew- no matter how long it had taken, no matter how difficult it had been for you to get here- you were finally where you belonged.

[lovetommyactually]

White Noise

BuckTommy - Tommy & the 118 - Tommy & Maddie Ι WC: 5900 Ι cw: suicidal thoughts, blood and injury

Tommy never meant to chase after the call—he certainly never meant to get buried under a crumbling house with too many regrets and a body giving out beneath him. But one bad feeling led to a collapse, a broken leg, and a 9-1-1 call he almost didn’t make. With Maddie on the line and the 118 closing in, Tommy confronts more than just the pain.

[Read below or on ao3]

Tommy wasn’t the kind of guy who went looking for trouble. He went to work, clocked out, and went home. Sometimes, if the stars aligned and someone actually had time for him, he’d make plans. But most of the time, he liked his own company—muay thai practice in the garage, tinkering with the ancient car he couldn’t seem to give up on, watching cheesy rom-coms that he could quote line for line. Occasionally, he’d wander into a bar just to try something new, maybe listen to a band no one had heard of. He was curious in a quiet, careful way—but not reckless. Never reckless.

Well… not unless he was on shift. Or if someone asked him a favor. He’d flown into a hurricane once for the 118. But poking into weird call reports? That wasn’t him. He didn’t pry. He didn’t need to. Except today, something had itched at him.

They’d brought in a guy—mid-30s, unconscious, supposedly a fall. But the bruises didn’t match the story. The pattern looked wrong. Tommy had seen worse in his life, knew how to read signs. Defensive wounds. The man had a cracked rib, but no external trauma to suggest a stumble. There was something in his eyes when he woke up too—panic, the kind that wasn’t just from pain. When Tommy mentioned it in passing, his colleague waved him off with a laugh. “Don’t read into it, Kinard.” Right. And now here he was, surrounded by crumbling drywall and busted beams, realizing maybe he really shouldn’t have read into it.

But before everything came crashing down, he had found something. In the back hallway of the bungalow—walls scorched from fire damage, floorboards creaking with every step—he’d spotted an overturned medical bag. Not theirs. Older. Dried blood crusted on the edge. It was tucked beside the rusted remains of a couch, like someone had tried to hide it. Tommy crouched down, ignoring the way the air stung his lungs, and reached for it. There were bandages, a half-used roll of gauze, a name scribbled on a folded paper. He didn’t get to read it. The moment he stood, the floor groaned, deep and angry, and the ceiling above gave way with a roar.

Then everything went dark.

Darkness pressed heavy around him, not just from the rubble, but from the silence in his own mind. For a long moment, Tommy didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t remember where he was—or why. All he knew was that everything hurt. His head pounded in sync with each heartbeat, and something sharp throbbed near his ribs. He blinked slowly, vision flickering in and out of focus, catching nothing but shadows and dust.

Where…?

It was like waking up from a dream and forgetting what it was about—except this dream had weight, and blood, and pain. The wreckage above him groaned every few seconds, like it was debating whether to finish the job. He lay still, eyes open now, staring at a beam just inches above his face. His breath caught. There was blood on the corner of his lip. His own.

He didn’t move. Didn’t try. Not yet.

For a second—just a second—he thought maybe he shouldn’t.

What if he just… didn’t?

What if he stayed right here, let the silence stretch longer and longer until it was quiet forever? Would anyone even notice? Would anyone care beyond a shift or two of guilt and a few kind words at a memorial? Maybe they’d say he was brave. Or stupid. Or both.

He shut his eyes again. Stop.

It wasn’t the first time that thought had crept in. But he’d been good at burying it. Patching it over with purpose, routine, even laughter. But now, here, bleeding into the floor of a forgotten house in a forgotten part of the city… the thought whispered louder than it had in years.

Then the pain surged again, fiery and insistent, and instinct took over.

He grit his teeth and tried to move—just a little. A groan escaped his throat before he could stop it, raw and guttural. His leg was definitely pinned. His chest felt like it was being crushed. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, tasting blood.

His hand twitched, fingers brushing against something. His pocket. A lump beneath the fabric. Phone.

His heart kicked up.

It took nearly everything in him to fish it out—awkward, shaking fingers, a gasping breath every time he shifted. Dust clogged his throat. His vision blurred again, then cleared just long enough for him to see the screen when it lit up.

Cracked.

One bar of signal.

But the numbers still worked.

He pressed 9, then 1, then 1.

And prayed someone answered him this time. Then, almost immediately, he wished he hadn’t.

The numbers blinked faintly on the cracked screen, but even staring at them, he wasn’t sure why he’d called. His mind still felt fogged—like he was underwater, reaching for something just out of grasp. A name, maybe. A reason. Everything was blurred at the edges.

He didn’t even remember what had brought him here. Why he was lying under splintered wood and choking on plaster dust. Why his chest burned when he tried to breathe.

His thumb trembled over the speaker icon. His lip split further when he bit down again, trying to focus.

Why am I here? What happened?

He didn’t know. But somewhere inside the ache, there was a whisper—one sharp enough to cut through the haze.

Call someone. Call someone.

So he did.

Even as doubt settled in, heavy and bitter. Maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should’ve just let the silence stretch out a little longer. No need for sirens. No lights. Just one more forgotten mistake in a forgotten building.

He almost canceled the call. Almost let his thumb slip back toward the screen.

Because what was he even going to say? He doesn't even know where he was...

He squeezed his eyes shut, the pain behind them hot and sharp. His ribs screamed when he shifted. He almost dropped the phone right there, almost let it slide from his fingers into the dust and give in to the quiet.

Just lay back. Close his eyes. Let it fade.

But then—someone picked up.

And suddenly, he wasn’t alone anymore.

The voice cut through the ringing in his ears like a blade through smoke.

Soft. Professional. Familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency.”

He parted his lips but nothing came out—just a wheeze, wet and weak.

“Hello?” the voice asked again. “9-1-1, can you hear me?”

He blinked, tongue heavy in his mouth. Swallowed hard. Tried again.

“…M’phone…” he croaked. “…hurts…”

“Okay, I hear you,” the voice soothed gently, but now there was something beneath the calm—a shift. A tightening. “You're doing great. Can you tell me your name?”

He had to think about that one for a second.

His name.

Who was he again?

He licked his lips. His throat burned. Blood mixed with dust, bitter and metallic.

“…Tommy,” he rasped finally. “I think…”

A beat of silence.

Then her voice changed completely.

“Tommy?” she asked again, but this time softer—like she already knew. “Tommy Kinard?”

He swallowed, wincing. “…Y-Yeah.”

A quiet inhale on the other end. Not fear. Not yet. But recognition.

“It’s Maddie.”

His eyes slipped closed.

Maddie.

Yeah. That… made sense. That felt real.

"H-Hi Maddie"

Her voice gentled instantly, but it was laced with urgency now. “Tommy, I need you to tell me where you are. Can you look around?”

He blinked slowly, trying to make out anything in the mess around him. Smoke. Rubble. No signs. No streetlights. Just the steady creak of broken wood above his head.

“…I don’t know,” he admitted, the words like gravel scraping his throat. “Sorry. I… don’t know where I am.”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I’ve got your call. We’re pinging your location now. Just hang in there a little longer.”

Tommy coughed, winced, then sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Building… c-collapsed on.. me.”

“How bad are you hurt?” Maddie asked, keeping her voice steady, calm.

“My leg…” he breathed. “Pinned. Probably broken. Ribs too. Head’s ringing. I don’t know how long I was out.”

She was quiet a moment, typing in the background, then speaking low into her headset—coordinating everything as she talked to him.

But Tommy wasn’t done yet.

His voice cracked as he said it, “Maddie—p-please. Don’t send the 118.”

A pause.

“Please,” he rasped, more desperate this time. “Just d-don’t. Not them.”

Maddie hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice was careful. Gentle. “I’m sorry. They’re the closest. But Buck’s not on shift.”

A beat of silence stretched across the line.

Tommy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“…O-Okay. Okay,” he said. Then softer—more like a plea than a request— “Just don’t tell him. Yeah?”

“I won’t,” Maddie said firmly. “I promise. Help is on the way. Stay with me, okay?”

He tried. God, he tried.

But his breath hitched. The pain was rising fast, sharp and disorienting. A groan tore from his chest as the phone slipped slightly from his fingers, scraping against the floor.

“Are you still there?”

“Still… here. Just… tired.”

“Okay, okay Tommy talk to me.” Maddie’s voice cut sharp through the static.

Then nothing.

Dead silence.

Not even a groan.

On the other end of the line, Maddie didn’t waste a second. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, dispatching responders even as her heart pounded in her chest.

To the responding units, she typed and relayed through her headset

Be advised—victim has possibly lost consciousness. Priority one. Structural collapse, potential crush injuries. Location ping confirmed. Use extreme caution. Victim is one of ours.

She sat straighter, gripping the mic tighter, staring at the location tracker lighting up in front of her. Her fingers moved fast over the keys, updating the responders.

Then, a crackle.

A faint breath.

A shifting sound.

“Tommy?” she tried again, holding her breath. “Tommy, can you hear me?”

A faint groan.

Then his voice, distant and thick like he was dragging himself out of quicksand.

“…still here,” he muttered. “Didn’t… mean to sleep.”

Relief flooded her chest.

“You gave me a scare,” she said quietly. “Don’t do that again.”

Tommy exhaled a broken laugh. “No promises…”

Tommy's breathing was shallow, but steady. For now.

Maddie stayed with him, her voice a lifeline threaded through the line. Calm. Present. Holding him there.

Then, after a long stretch of silence, she said softly, “We should’ve talked more. When you were dating Buck.”

Tommy gave a dry, raspy laugh. It cracked in his throat. “Maybe… would’ve made things harder.”

Maddie didn’t laugh.

Silence fell again, but this one was different. Not the kind laced with fear or fading consciousness—just quiet. Waiting.

Then, almost too softly to be anything but honest, she asked, “Why did you leave him?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away.

He let the question hang there, like the dust in the air around him. Thick. Lingering.

His fingers curled slightly against the phone. The pain in his chest wasn’t just physical now.

“…Because I loved him, but… h-he didn’t.” he said at last. His voice cracked on it.

There was a pause on the other end.

Then Maddie asked, quietly, “And he told you that?”

Tommy hesitated, eyes slipping shut. “…Something like that.”

Another silence. Not cold. Just weighted. Maddie waited, like she was giving him space to keep going or pull back.

“And I knew he wasn’t done figuring himself out,” he added after a beat. “I didn’t want to be the reason he stopped.”

Maddie let out a slow breath, barely audible. “Ah… figure his feelings for Eddie, right? That’s what you thought?”

Tommy didn’t say anything right away. But she could hear it—how his breathing changed. Sharper. Shorter.

“…Yeah,” he murmured eventually. “I did.”

Maddie was quiet for a moment. Then her voice came through, low and steady, but with something harder underneath—something that trembled at the edges.

“Tommy… you don’t get to decide what Buck felt.” A beat. “I don't get to decide that either. We both need to stop doing that.”

She let out a bitter little laugh—half guilt, half something else. “God, we’re such idiots.”

Tommy didn’t have the strength to laugh back, but something in his chest tightened.

“And you don’t get to rewrite what he gave you just because it ended.”

Tommy blinked slowly. His chest ached in too many ways to count. The words hit somewhere raw. Somewhere tender.

He remembered Buck’s voice, barely awake, complaining about how cold the bed got when Tommy left it—even if it was just for water. The way Buck would bump shoulders with him on purpose just to hold his hand afterward. The quiet awe in his tone when he said, “You’re really here,” like he couldn’t believe it.

And God, that smile—wide, boyish, dimpled. It lit something in Tommy every single time, like a match striking in the dark. It didn’t matter how shitty the day had been—Evan’s smile could make it feel less heavy.

He used to laugh at the way Buck would get so worked up over the strangest things—deep diving into ancient myths or space disasters or haunted house theories until 2 a.m., rambling with wild hand gestures and eyes too bright for the hour. He argued that some objects had to be cursed, and pouted when people didn’t believe him—an exaggerated, dramatic little thing that Tommy loved more than he ever admitted. That pout had been his favorite—soft and stubborn and so easy to kiss away. It was ridiculous. It was adorable.

It was him.

It was everything.

The way it had felt like home.

And then the way he’d walked away from it.

His throat tightened, breath catching somewhere between pain and something heavier.

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” he whispered. “Didn’t want to ruin him.”

Maddie’s voice came through again, quieter now. Almost to herself.

“I saw how he looked at you,” she said. “Or when he talked about you. I just… didn’t understand it at the time.”

She exhaled slowly. “But I do now.”

But Tommy shook his head, even though the motion made his vision tilt.

“No,” he murmured. “He didn’t love me, Maddie. He’s just… too kind. That’s all. He-he made it feel like love because that’s who he is. But it wasn’t.” His chest heaved with effort. “This way it’s easier. For him. For me…”

Maddie didn’t respond right away.

So Tommy kept going, like the truth had claws and was digging its way out of him.

“I told myself it was the right thing. That it would hurt less this way. For him, at least.”

He exhaled slowly, and it sounded like something leaving his body.

“Didn’t work, though,” he added. “Still hurts.”

Maddie let out a sharp breath that bordered on a scoff. “He was hung up on you for months, Tommy. All the months you two didn’t talk? God, he baked for the whole city.”

Tommy blinked. “…B-baked?”

“Baked,” she confirmed with a sigh. “Cakes, scones, loaves of bread. Brought pastries to the station. Muffins to the dispatch center. I think even his neighbors got banana bread. It was like living next door to grief-flavored Martha Stewart.”

That dragged a sound from Tommy—half a wheeze, half a laugh. “That’s so stupid…”

“You two really need to talk to each other,” she said, softer now. “You’re both miserable and assuming the worst.”

His lips parted again. Breath shallow. Fragile.

“H-he’s jus’… s’kind,” Tommy murmured.

“Okay, Tommy, hey—stay with me,” Maddie said, her voice tightening again, edging toward panic.

A pause.

Then softer, barely audible:

“...Mmm maybe… jus’ tell him I did love him, ’kay?”

“Hey, hey—no,” Maddie said quickly. “You tell him yourself. They’re close, Tommy. Help is close.”

A shaky breath on the line. His voice was distant now, like it was coming from somewhere far away.

“Y-yeah?…”

“Yes,” Maddie whispered. “Hold on.”

But his lips only moved once more, forming something too slurred to catch—maybe a name. A whisper. A wish.

Then the line filled with static and silence.

He was unconscious again.

*

The world came back all at once.

Light—too bright. Sound—too loud. Everything sharp and jagged.

And pain. God, the pain.

It tore through him like fire as something shifted—no, lifted—off his chest. He couldn’t breathe for a second, couldn’t think. The pressure was gone, but the agony spread in its place like it had just been waiting for an opening.

“Tommy!”

The voice cut through it all, urgent and panicked.

“Tommy, hey—Tommy! Stay with me, man!”

He knew that voice.

Howie.

Tommy’s eyes fluttered, then squeezed shut again. Even blinking hurt.

A hand came to rest gently on his forehead—then shifted under his jaw, bracing.

“C-collar now,” Hen said sharply. “Suspected head injury. Don’t let him move.”

Cool plastic slid around his neck as firm hands held him steady. The collar locked into place with practiced ease.

He groaned, his throat raw, lungs barely keeping up.

“Easy—don’t move, don’t move,” Chimney said, crouched close beside him, gloved hands steady but shaking just slightly. “We’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Another wave of pain ripped through his leg as more debris was pulled away.

Tommy choked on a cry and tried to twist, instinctively, away from it.

“Pain’s flaring—he’s reacting to movement,” Hen’s voice came next, sharp and clinical but full of worry. “Ravi, hold that beam steady! We need to stabilize before we move him again.”

Tommy tried to say something, anything—but it came out as a hoarse mumble. Something like “Maddie” or “Evan.” Maybe both.

Chimney leaned in, one hand gently brushing Tommy’s dirt-streaked forehead. “They’re okay. Maddie’s the one who found you. And Buck’s safe, alright? You’re safe now too. Just keep breathing. We’re almost there.”

But the pain kept coming.

And Tommy—he just wanted it to stop.

“Okay, on my count,” Hen said, voice calm but urgent. “We lift and slide. Chim, you keep his airway steady. Ravi, brace the leg—don’t let it shift.”

Tommy couldn’t track what they were saying. The words blurred together, drowned under the throb in his head, the fire tearing through his leg, the crushing pressure in his chest that never quite went away. His body felt like it wasn’t his anymore. Just pain. Only pain.

Hands moved around him—professional, careful, but they had to move him.

And the moment they did—

Tommy let out a sharp, strangled cry.

His hands twitched against the board, chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. The collar locked his neck in place, keeping him frozen in agony.

“Ngh—stop,” he gasped, barely getting the word out. “Just—wait… hurts…”

His voice broke near the end—not loud, but raw, like he was forcing it back down and failing.

Chimney’s voice was close, steady. “I know, I know—just a few more seconds, Tommy. We’ve got you.”

Tommy blinked through the blur, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “’S too much…”

“Almost there,” Chimney said again, even as he adjusted the oxygen mask.

Tears welled in the corners of Tommy’s eyes, but he didn’t sob. He just breathed—fast, shallow, like trying to outrun the pain—“No, no, no—don’t—don’t—!” he gasped as they started moving again, slurring the words through sobs.

Chimney’s voice came fast, close to his ear. “Hey, hey, I know, I know, Tommy! I got you—just breathe for me, man, we’re almost there—”

Tommy was crying now, actually crying, which was more terrifying than the blood or the wreckage.

Chimney had known Tommy almost twenty years. He’d seen him come out of fires and wrecks and firefights with bruises and cracked ribs, but never like this. Never crying.

“Stay with me, alright? Keep your eyes open,” Chimney pleaded, shifting with him as the team carried the backboard out of the rubble. “You’re doing so good, just a little more, we’re gonna get you in the rig.”

Tommy’s head lolled slightly. His mouth moved again, lips trembling.

“Mmm—hurts… ‘s bad… s-sorry, I—” The rest dissolved into a groan so guttural it didn’t sound human.

Hen was at his side now. “He’s tachy, BP’s crashing. Let’s go!”

The doors of the ambulance opened, and cold air rushed in as they hoisted him inside.

Chimney climbed in after him. “You’re gonna be okay,” he said, even as his voice broke. “Just stay awake, alright? You hear me?”

Tommy whimpered again, tears still slipping down his face—despite the visible effort to hold them in. It was the kind of quiet breaking that hit harder than anything he could’ve screamed.

“Push the morphine now!” Hen’s voice cut through the air, sharp, decisive—like even she couldn’t stand seeing him like this.

Bobby’s voice cut through the chaos—steady, no room for argument.

“Hen, you drive. Chimney’s got this—I’ll ride with him.”

Hen hesitated for only a heartbeat. “Cap, I—”

“I’ve got him,” Bobby said again, already climbing in.

She looked at Tommy—at his pale face, the trembling in his hands, the streaks of blood and dust and tears—and gave a sharp nod. No more protest. She ran for the front, slamming the driver’s door behind her.

The rig rocked as the doors slammed shut behind them.

“Hang on, Tommy,” Chimney whispered.

Tommy didn’t answer.

He just let his eyes close.

Not from surrender. Just exhaustion.

Tommy’s breathing had eased—not normal, not comfortable, but manageable. The morphine had dulled the sharp edges of the pain, settled the panic in his chest, blurred the worst of it into something he could ride out.

He didn’t know how long they’d been moving, only that he wasn’t crying anymore. His voice didn’t shake. His hands had stopped clawing at the edges of the stretcher.

His eyes flicked to the side as Bobby appeared in his peripheral vision, crouched beside him with a steady presence, one hand braced near his shoulder.

Tommy blinked slowly. “You didn’t need to come, Captain Nash.”

Bobby’s brows lifted. “And let Buck kill me?”

Tommy let out a low, rasping exhale—a sound that almost passed for a laugh. A fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, slow and crooked.

“It’s fine, kid,” Bobby added, voice gentler now. “I wouldn’t leave you alone like this.”

Tommy nodded faintly, then glanced down at his leg.

Even with the drugs in his system, the sight of it—braced, bloodied, bone clearly visible—hit him like a weight in his stomach.

“…S-shit,” he muttered.

Then, after a beat

“…Well,” he muttered, blinking slowly. “That’s not supposed to be sticking out, I think.”

Chimney let out a breath that came out more like a laugh and a sob all at once. “Thank God you’re back.”

Tommy tilted his head slightly. “Was I gone?”

Chimney didn’t answer. Bobby did.

“For a minute,” he said softly. “But it’s good to see you again.”

Chimney exhaled, then added, “You didn’t crash Tommy—you just… scared us, man.”

Tommy blinked slowly, the weight of that landing somewhere deep in his chest.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Chimney gave a small smile. “Yeah, well. Don’t do it again.”

Tommy let the silence settle for a moment, the soft beeping of the monitors a steady rhythm under it all.

Then he looked toward Bobby, voice quieter now. “Does he know?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He knows. I told him.”

Tommy’s eyes drifted slightly toward the ceiling. He didn’t say anything at first, but something shifted in his expression—just a flicker of guilt, or maybe fear.

“He’s already on his way to the hospital,” Bobby added gently. “He’ll meet us there.”

Tommy closed his eyes for a second. Not from pain this time—but to breathe.

“…Okay,” he whispered. His throat bobbed like he wanted to say something else—but didn’t.

Bobby watched Tommy for a moment, the rise and fall of his chest finally even. The worst was over—for now.

“So,” he said gently, not pressing, “what were you doing out there anyway?”

Tommy blinked slow, drugged and dazed. “Dunno. Don’t remember.”

Bobby nodded once, not surprised. “Okay. Then let me ask something easier.”

Tommy turned his head slightly.

“How’ve you been doing… in general?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling again, like maybe if he stared hard enough, he could find a different truth up there.

Bobby didn’t fill the silence. Just waited.

Tommy’s jaw twitched. Then—quietly, almost too quiet—“There was a moment. Back in the house. Before I called.”

Bobby blinked, not moving, but his attention sharpened.

“I almost didn’t,” Tommy continued. “Thought… maybe it’d be easier if I didn’t.”

He didn’t cry, didn’t tremble. But something in his voice wavered, just slightly.

“Not because I wanted to die,” he added. “I just… I didn’t see the point. For a second.”

A heavy silence followed.

“Okay, Tommy. Thank you for telling me.” His hand rested gently on Tommy’s shoulder. “We can talk about this later—when you’re more awake, yeah?”

A quite defeated nod

“But I’m really glad you called.”

“Tommy…” Chimney’s voice came from behind him, softer now. Not judgmental—just full of feeling.

Tommy blinked, then let out a quiet, slightly slurred, “…Shit. Forgot you were here.”

It didn’t land like a joke, but there was the smallest flicker of a smile on Chimney’s face anyway. Like he understood.

After a long beat, Tommy scoffed under his breath.

“You said easier.”

Bobby let out a small huff—amused, but not surprised. “Fair enough.”

Tommy sighed, the sound long and quiet, then finally spoke—voice softer now.

“I-I thought… maybe if I left, it’d give him room to figure himself out. That it’d be easier for him if I wasn’t…”

He trailed off.

“In the way?” Bobby offered, gentle as ever.

Tommy gave the faintest nod.

Bobby sat back, letting that settle in for a breath. Then shook his head.

“Tommy, you weren’t in the way,” he said softly. “You were the way.”

Tommy blinked.

“I’ve known Buck eight years,”

“You’re like his father,” Tommy cut in, voice low but certain.

Bobby huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah… that happened.”

He let the moment settle for a beat, then he looked down, making sure Tommy was still with him.

“And I’ve seen him try—really try—to build something that felt real. Something solid.”

He glanced at Tommy, eyes gentle. “He’s always been full of heart. Brave. Loyal. But for a long time, he didn’t know where to put all of that. He was searching for something to hold onto. Something that made sense.”

A pause.

“And when he was with you… things made more sense to him. He didn’t stop being Buck. But he stopped trying to outrun himself.”

Tommy didn’t respond. His gaze stayed on the ceiling, unfocused but steady, like he was holding the words somewhere deep inside.

Bobby didn’t push.

He just reached out, resting a firm, gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Talk to him,” Bobby said softly. “I think you both would benefit from that. No matter the outcome.”

*

The ambulance backed into the bay with a low whine and a hiss of brakes.

Even before the doors opened, he was there.

Buck.

Standing in the harsh wash of overhead light, hands clenched at his sides, eyes wide with barely restrained panic. The moment the doors swung open, he moved.

“Tommy—!”

Tommy winced as the gurney shifted, pain blooming again under the haze of meds. He grit his teeth, groaning softly as Chimney and Bobby worked around him with practiced calm.

“Careful,” Hen warned, holding the IV steady.

Buck reached the side of the gurney just as they rolled it down the ramp. His voice cracked on the first word. “What happened? Are you okay? Where is he bleeding—why didn’t anyone call me earlier—?”

“Evan,” Tommy said, breath catching as they hit a bump, “it’s okay. I’m fine. I told them not to call you.”

Buck froze.

The look on his face—just for a second—was like someone had slapped him.

But Tommy caught it. Saw it. And the pain in his leg—white-hot, throbbing, radiating with every movement—was nothing compared to the sudden, gut-deep ache in his chest.

Because he knew that look. He’d seen it before, back when he ended things. That flicker of disbelief, the quiet betrayal that Buck never said out loud, just carried with him like a second skin.

And now Tommy had put it back there.

Even for a second. Again.

He hated that.

Hated that he’d caused that expression. Hated that he was the one who made Buck’s shoulders tighten and his eyes go distant like he was trying to armor up before the next blow.

He hadn’t meant it like that. God, never like that.

So before Buck could speak, before that silence could settle too long and twist into something sharp—

“I-I just didn’t want to worry you,” Tommy said quickly, voice breaking with the effort to sound calm. “That’s all.”

Buck’s jaw clenched. His eyes didn’t move from Tommy’s face.

“Well I am worried,” he said, not yelling, but not whispering either. “Jesus, Tommy.”

Tommy’s mouth tugged into the faintest, guilty smile.

Inside, the trauma team took over. Bobby, Chimney, Hen, and Ravi stayed close but out of the way, standing just beyond the curtain line as the nurses did a fast assessment.

Vitals steady. No signs of internal bleeding, will be confirmed with imaging. He was lucid, responsive, and stable.

“He’s clear to wait for imaging,” one of the nurses called over her shoulder. “We’ll prep for CT and X-ray, then call ortho for the leg.”

Chimney exhaled in relief and bumped shoulders with Ravi. Hen gave a small nod like she didn’t trust herself to say anything else.

One by one, they each stepped in to squeeze Tommy’s shoulder or give him a quiet word. Then they left—only when they were sure he wasn’t circling the edge anymore.

The curtain drew back.

Tommy looked up. Buck hadn’t moved far. Just enough to give the nurses room.

He looked like hell. Pale and wide-eyed, fists tucked under his arms like he was holding himself together by force.

Tommy reached out—not far, just a few inches.

Buck took the hint and stepped closer.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” Buck replied gently. “But you will be.”

They looked at each other. Neither moved.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the exact same time.

A beat.

Then they both laughed—Tommy wincing through it, but still.

“Well, good to know we’re on the same page,” Buck said, shaking his head, eyes soft.

“Y-yeah…” Tommy breathed out.

A small pause. Then “…You baked?”

Buck’s eyes widened. “W-Who told you that? N-no, don’t believe it—it’s Chimney, right? You can’t trust him—”

“It’s Maddie, Evan. She told me.”

Buck stopped. Frowned. “Maddie? When?”

“She was the 9-1-1 dispatcher.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…” Tommy let the word stretch. “So.. you baked?”

Buck looked away, cheeks turning red. “Uh, I-I-, ugh, yes! E-Every time I felt the urge to call you, I-I baked, okay? It’s embarrassing. Don’t make a thing of it!”

Tommy smiled. Soft. Warm.

“It’s adorable.”

Buck gave him a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Why didn’t you just call?” Tommy asked, voice quiet now.

Buck didn’t answer right away. Then he met his eyes again.

“Tommy… y-you ended things. I didn’t want to annoy you. O-Or cling… I thought I was giving you space.”

Tommy swallowed. “Fair…” His voice cracked a little on it.

Then—suddenly—something shifted behind his eyes. His brows pinched together. A spark lit up in the fog.

“Evan.”

Buck startled. “What?? What is it? What hurts?”

“No—your phone,” Tommy said quickly, urgent now despite the pain. “Call Sergeant Grant. Now.”

“What? Tommy—what’s going on?”

“Evan, just do it! Please.”

Buck didn’t waste another second. He was already reaching for his phone as Tommy’s voice sharpened with clarity.

“I remembered why I was there.”

After around 10 minutes

Buck ended the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket. His brows were furrowed deep in confusion.

“Wait,” he said, blinking. “So the guy was what?”

Tommy leaned back against the pillow, exhaling slowly. “The one we picked up earlier today. Mid-thirties. Unconscious. Supposedly fell.”

Buck nodded. “Yeah, the victim?”

Tommy gave a slow nod. “His injuries didn’t match the story. Defensive wounds. Internal bruising in the wrong spots. I couldn’t shake it. Something just… itched.” He glanced at Buck. “I went to check it out after shift.”

Buck looked horrified. “Alone?”

Tommy gave a sheepish wince. “Yeah, okay, bad call. I didn’t think, and the house was already burnt. But I found something. Old medical bag. Dried blood. Hidden like someone didn’t want it seen.”

Buck sat on the edge of the chair now, brows still drawn. “So what was it?”

Tommy’s eyes drifted shut briefly. “Sergeant Grant was already working on the case, turns out. She confirmed the guy wasn’t just a victim—he was a witness. Might’ve been part of something bigger. She’s gonna tell me more later, but she said what I found will help to confirm some of their suspicions for now.”

Buck let that settle, then gave a small nod. “So you were right.”

Tommy nodded, lips twisting into a tired, ironic smile. “Yeah… Didn’t let it go, guess trusting my gut was good for something after all.”

Then a nurse stepped in. “We’re ready to take him up to imaging and prep for surgery.”

Buck nodded, but didn’t look away from Tommy.

Tommy blinked slowly, the meds making his limbs heavy again. Then—quietly, almost like it surprised even him—he said, “Evan, I-I need to tell you something…”

Buck’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Tommy looked at him. Then away. Then back again.

His eyes were shaky, glassy—but when he spoke, his voice didn’t waver.

“I know things are… complicated—between us right now. I don’t know what will or could happen, but Evan, I-I—” he drew in a breath, steady this time. “I love you.”

Buck sucked in a breath. Didn’t speak. The silence stretched.

Tommy fidgeted, flustered now. “Uh, y-yeah, s-so, um—I think now you tell me to fuck off and I’m too late and—”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“No!”

“What??”

“No, you’re not telling me now,” Buck said, waving a hand at the hospital bed, at the IVs and the leg brace. “Like this!”

Tommy blinked. “What?”

“No, Tommy! You’ll go, then come back, then we talk properly—no running this time—” he pointed dramatically at Tommy’s leg with a half-smirk.

Tommy winced. “Rude.”

“Then,” Buck said, leaning forward just slightly, eyes warm and alive, “you’ll tell me. Properly.”

Tommy stared at him for a beat, then softened. “Oh…”

He blinked again, his breathing beginning to slow.

“S-so… you’ll wait?”

Buck finally smiled—small, but sure. “Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tommy exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. Then he let his eyes close.

The bed rolled forward.

And Buck followed.

[veeloveshawks]

Sent 9:01

summary: clicking on contacts in a hurry, you accidentally send a compromising photo Deku, your fellow classmate. Neither of you were expecting the other to be up so late when classes were to presume the next day, and neither of you really minded.

warnings: blowjobs, teasing, Deku’s first time

word count: 3123

[new message: yn]

Deku could hardly grab his phone fast enough, fumbling with the passcode in his excitement. Despite texting you numerous times a day, the rush of adrenaline he received when your name popped up on his screen was greater than any feeling he could get from battle. Maybe it was because he usually knew what to expect from fighting, always a plan in mind. But, with you, the possibilities were endless. Training? Study session? Dinner? Just chatting? He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t wait to find out. Scrolling through the pages of his home screen, he landed on the one with his texts on it, quickly tapping it with his thumb. You two chatted quite frequently, and in comparison, he didn’t text anyone much (with the exception of All Might, who constantly asked to speak with him during lunch periods, and Bakugo, who found the idea of being able to berate Midoriya without having to physically see him appealing), meaning you were already on top of his notification list. He anxiously opened your contact, reading the message hastily.

Minaaaa, this set is cute but lwk expensive - sent 9:00 p.m. do I keep??? - sent 9:00 p.m. wait let me send a pic - sent 9:00 p.m.

Admittedly, he’s a bit confused. First, he’s definitely sure he’s not Mina, looking down at the skin he’s confident hasn’t been changed to pink through some miracle. And, second, what were you even talking about? Set? Of what? Realizing it must have been a mistake, maybe even something he should stay not knowing, he opens his keyboard to tell you you must’ve clicked on the wrong contact. But, just as he begins typing, his eyes flick up at a new message.

[image attached] - sent 9:01 p.m.

Deku probably shouldn’t have been nosy, digging into texts clearly not for him. He wonders if this was almost as bad as digging into your texts with Mina herself. But, another part of him is curious. Most of your peers were sound asleep, not a single noise in the dorm except for the gentle breeze the stirring papers in front of him. He was supposed to be studying, was studying, before you texted. Fine, he decided to himself silently, going to click on the attachment. I’m already in this deep, what’s one more harmless distraction? He predicted he would click the image quickly, send an apology text that he’s in fact not Mina, but hello regardless, and be on his merry way. What he couldn't have predicted, though, was the image he actually saw. You stood in front of a full body mirror, one he saw before in your bedroom while passing. He observed a few things: posters of your favorite shows, shows you’ve bonded over, a particularly made bed, silk sheets flowing over the frame, and finally, the subject, you. Your face is covered by your phone, but almost every other aspect of you is exposed. One leg over the other, you showed off the white mesh socks you were wearing, sitting right below your thighs that were pressed together. Between your thighs were the lace underwear that rested just about on your hip line, lace trimming the edges . The color was light pink, along with your bralette, that hung on your chest, clinging to you. Looking a bit closer, he recognized the pattern of roses adorning the fabric. He admired for a moment before realizing what he actually just saw.

Oh. Oh.

Once he fully comprends, he shields his eyes immediately, wincing at how hard he just hit himself. That would definitely leave some mark, but it didn’t matter. Not with the already red shade crawling up his neck, threatening to seep into his face. He cracks an eye open only to swipe away, immediately hiding away in his face again. He just saw your legs with nothing on them besides, practically clear socks and a small garment covered in lace. Was this what girls usually send each other? He couldn’t even fathom the thought of asking Denki if a pair of boxers made him look good, or Todoroki if a compression shirt looked nice on him with his abs. There were too many questions whirling around his mind, and if he wasn’t short circuiting on the impact of seeing you, he was now. Maybe the, now swirling, gut feeling planted within him was correct. He rubbed the face once more over his face before opening his eyes, looking at the screen again. He was grateful for the phone’s option of being told there was an image attached without having to actually see it. What he wasn’t grateful for was the option to see when someone was typing, because it made him dizzy, not knowing what you were to say next. Did you notice it wasn’t Mina? Were you embarrassed? Mad at him? He couldn't even think about the last option without his chest tightening. The forewarning of a message almost made him sick. Through his fear induced haze, he came to an epiphany. If he could see you typing, that means… He looked at his keyboard, to discover not only was it open, he was very much typing. Ohgodohgodohgod he was so screwed. Maybe you weren’t aware of your error yet, but you knew whoever was behind the phone saw it, and was actively in the inbox. Red fully consumed him now as he scrambled for ideas of what to do next. He couldn’t even think straight with the mortification. And, though he’d been training extensively, he wasn’t sure his legs had gotten bulkier to the amount his boxers would feel this tight. Facing you seemed unbearable, and he went to the next best thing. Ending it. Through the window sounded like a good option, but since you were still awake, you might make eye contact on the way down. Suffocation could work too, but he felt weirdly… possessive over accidentally dying with his phone unlocked and anyone being able to see the photo. Plus, he really didn’t want to die with everyone knowing thinking he was a pathetic, lonely, horny loser. Did boners work when you were dead? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care to find out. He reached a dead end of idea as you texted again, the notification snapping him out of it.

why are you taking so long to type - sent 9:07 p.m. does this mean I’m jaw dropping lmfao - sent 9:07 p.m.

You were, Deku said to himself before scribbling the thought out of his mind. What was he thinking? You were his classmate! Yes, you were pretty, prettier than any girl he’s ever seen, but what he saw was still wrong. This entire situation and every detail was wrong. He took a sip of water to cool himself off because has it always been so hot in here? He spits it out and chokes on it with the next message.

Deku??? - sent 9:08 p.m.

This was it. He’s lived a good life, could’ve experienced some more things, sure, but simply couldn’t live after this. He threw his phone across the room, almost hitting a valuable All Might figure, and his face into the pillow. No one could see the photo if the screen was destroyed, he supposes. What could he do now? He had to see you tomorrow, and wasn’t sure if he could look you in the eyes. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do that again. He could try to pretend he saw nothing, but you were smart, and he was a bad liar. No, if he was going to die, he’d at least apologize first before smothering his face full of cotton. He paced around his room, practicing to himself. After a few minutes, he picked up his, surprisingly not cracked, phone again. Though, he did feel a bit light headed, so he assumed the throw hadn't been too hard. He was faced with four new messages from you.

your poor innocent eyesssss I’m so sorry - sent 9:15 p.m. omfg are you choking??? - sent 9:15 p.m. what just hit your wall, you okay? - 9:16 p.m. please relax I can hear your shuffling - sent 9:16 p.m

If he didn’t deem himself an idiot a few minutes ago, he did now, as he completely glided over the fact his dorm room was separated from yours by a single, thin floor. At least you didn’t seem mad, more concerned if anything, but it was still humiliating. He didn’t even send the photo, he was probably working himself up over nothing, but still. It’s been two minutes since your last message, and since you already knew, he may as well say sorry. Just as his hand reaches the first initial of your name, a new message comes in from you.

you can come see it in person if u want - sent 9:18 p.m.

Huh? You wanted him to do what? If there was anything Deku was, it wasn’t a ladies man. He was far too busy for that, the thought of dating hadn’t even crossed his mind. Very few were surprised when he mentioned to a small group of U-A boys that he hadn’t even had his first kiss during a game truth or dare (where he was originally asked his body count, and almost passed away on the spot). So, going over to your place would be a huge step. But was he willing to take it? Absolutely. He closed his notes immediately, maybe slamming the book down a bit more enthusiastically than he should’ve. He moved to his dresser, picking out a new pair of sleek black boxers (thinking it wasn’t very cool to show up with pre already staining his briefs), a pair of sweatpants, and an athletic shirt. He looked good enough. It didn’t really matter, he was going to take them off anyway. He opened the door gently, so as to not wake anyone, before closing and locking it to make it appear as though he was still in there. He was normally a rule follower, and sneaking out this late for a hookup was probably breaking the rules, but did he care? For once, not really. Then he checked the hallway, making sure no one was in there. If he got caught now he may as well just turn back, pretending he was sleep walking. When the coast was clear, he booked it down the stairs, not caring if anyone heard this time. After all, he was always known for moving before he could think.

-

One, two, three. He rhythmically knocked on the door, gently this time. He didn’t really care about waking the guys up, they woke him up with their late night shenanigans all the time, but the girls were a different story. He could say he was on his way down to the bathroom when on the guy’s level, but the girl's floor level? And at a door? There was no coming back from that. So as anxious as he was, he knew he had to be careful.

“Door’s unlocked!” Your bright voice echoed outside the door, and he winced. He loved your voice, it was his favorite sound, but he’s sure that just the phrase alone would cause a discussion among a few people that were either woken up, or happened to be quietly awake. He pushed the door open and the scene was even better than what he had seen on the screen. You laid on your bed, back facing the sky, and your neck twisted over to look back at him. Were you sure it was okay for him to see you like this? From the smile you made at his flustered expression, he guessed it was. You sat up, legs moved to the side on your bed, patting the space next to you.

“Come here, Izuku.” His name. He was already weak in the knees, wobbling over to sit on your bed. Out of what seemed like instinct, you placed a hand firmly on his upper thigh, and he swallowed a whimper. “I’m really sorry for looking, it was an accident, I swear!” He tried to be as expressive as possible without causing too much noise, to which you just laughed. Replacing the hand on his thigh to go on his cheek, you replied. “You’re fine, I didn’t mean for you to see it. Not complaining, though.” Your thumb began to rub figures on his face in a circular motion. He melted completely, his brain going to mush. “You and Mina’s contacts are both pinned on my phone,” you began to explain “I accidentally clicked your’s instead of her’s.” “Wait wait wait, I’m pinned in your texts?” He exclaims, not trying to be subtle about his shock. “Well yeah, I text you all the time. More than anyone I think.” He’s at a loss for words. Noticing this, you take charge, pulling him in further to kiss him. The connection brings sparks to his lips, which in turn, makes everything in him short circuit. This was really happening, and he had no clue what to do. He awkwardly guides a hand to rest on your lower back, and the other to hold the back of your hair. Trying to test for boundaries, you slip your tongue slowly into his mouth, two which he immediately gives access to. Just when he fades away into a shell of himself, you pull away, giving him time to breathe. Panting, he looks at you with a bewildered expression. Why did you pull away, was he not doing a good enough job? He hoped you enjoyed just a little, it was his first time after all. And he knew he was enjoying it thoroughly, wanting to feel your soft lips combine with his again. “Think you could take these off for me?” Confused, he looks down. Oh. Your hand is pulling at the hem of his shorts, and he nods immediately before slipping them off and tossing them somewhere in the dark room. He was about to take his boxers off too, before you stopped him, holding his hand so he wouldn’t continue.

“You seem really eager already,” you motion towards his dick, that is fully hard and straining against the boxers, threatening to break through at any time. Great, you hadn’t even done anything yet and he was already rock solid. Nice going. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is this your first time?” How did you know? Well, he wasn’t going to lie and say it wasn’t The way he looked away, a mixed between desperate and petrified, told you everything you needed to know. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with you.” He felt a hand palm his cock through fabric, and gasped, instantly going to rock against it for stimulation. “Here, you can take them off now.” By the time you said the last word, they were already off. Promptly, you got on your knees, not worrying about hair getting in the way. You palmed him again, finding it amusing how sensitive he was from just a light touch.

Then you flicked your tounge against his tip, swirling around the precum that was starting to run. Reveling in the feeling, you decided to stop teasing, and finally wrapped your lips against him. He gripped your hair, squeezing hard as you moved up and down. He’s never felt anything so exhilarating before, the fear of waking anyone up completely washed away under your mouth. He begins thrusting his hips forward, the movement being a bit stiff at first. Once he found his rhythm, though, he was completely addicted. Stuttering breaths and mumbled praises left his mouth. At one point, he slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to conceal a moaned out swear. You looked up, his eyes glossed over completely at the new feeling of your tongue. He looked down at you, taking note of your hand now placed on his hip, your concentrated look, and most importantly, the lingerie that landed him here in the first place. He wanted to rip them off you immediately. That would have to wait for next time, until he got more comfortable. For now, you being able to please him would be enough. When you made eye contact, that was enough to finally make him finish. Singing in your praises, ropes of white, glistening cum coated your throat, and you swallowed, savoring the taste. He layed back on your bed, completely out of breath. Disheveled was an understatement to how he looked at the moment, and you adored it. His green hair was slicked back with sweat, pink misting his face. Though collapsed, he made sure to plant a hand on your shoulder, as if commending you. You stood up and joined him, underestimating how much the quick blowjob would take out of him. Right, it was his first time, you remembered. Baby steps. Originally you planned on removing his shirt and going further, but he seems perfectly content right now.

“How are you feeling?” You said, interrupting his jagged breathing. Your hand began to caress his face again, as if lulling him to sleep. “That was… incredible.” “I’m glad you enjoyed your first. Maybe I should give you a closet tour sometime so you can come back.” You teased, and he turned beet red at the thought of coming back multiple times. He moved your hand away from his face, opting to hold it in between the space that divided you. He didn’t want to move, breathe, or blink. He didn’t want to miss a single second of this. “Do you want to stay the night?” You chirped in, noticing how his grip was growing more intense by the second. Cute, he was protective. “Can I really?” He replied enthusiastically. He never really considered it an option. But he was more than happy to find out it was one. “Of course. Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay?” You stood up, guiding him to the bathroom, and he quickly followed.

Midorya was known for moving too fast before his brain could fully think. Midorya was also known as a lot of things. Innocent. A rule follower. A loser. To some, a virgin. And hooking up with a girl in his class well beyond curfew, and sneaking into her dorm nonetheless was considered none of those things. But, just like the time, he was ever changing. Sneaking out this late for a hookup was probably breaking the rules, but did he care? For the second time in the night, and the second time ever, no, not really.

Author’s Notes:

First fic🙈🙈 This was sosososo fun to write. This might actually be my peak writing and it’s the first one but. I tiny tiny bit ooc but this is my first time writing for Deku so pls bear me. Also virgin Deku pls save me I love him.

[auncyen]

there are already villain sif aus but I kind of wonder about the au where siffrin isn't an antagonist

they just unintentionally say something that makes things awkward right after helping the group with the sadness that pings everyone on like. 'wait do you SYMPATHIZE with the king'

'everything's being frozen!!!' and siffrin's just like (oh!!! these people are nice, though, I'd like to help them look on the bright side) 'and we'll never lose anything again!!' and the resulting silence just makes them go oh no. I made things awkward, didn't I. this is the worst I've done it. I'm sorry, I'll leave and before anyone can protest he's already just like. BYE, STAY SAFE, BYE

the group keeps encountering him because he's also going to Dormont (because he's curious about the King?) but also whenever they ask what path HE'S been taking it turns out Siffrin's been following some absolutely bonkers cartoon-logic route in a pattern of "subconsciously use Wish Craft to find a way closer, follow the Universe's way which does not believe in GPS, get stuck/distracted/forget briefly, use Wish Craft"

Encountering Bonnie probably makes them stay with the group. They do not feel good about leaving a little kid alone. Do not make them responsible for a whole human on their own. And the group doesn't exactly dislike Siffrin, they can probably believe from their previous actions that Siffrin's genuinely concerned for Bonnie's well-being and even theirs (they helped against the Sadness!), it's just still kind of "what is wrong with you that you think a country freezing is a GOOD THING"

...it's basically just max length sus quest lol

[queenshelby]

AMERICAN GIRL (PART FOUR)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace's Stepdaughter!Reader

Warning: Grace is a bully, infidelity, taboo

The following day,  you went about your usual routine. Working in the shop, spending time with Ada, and avoiding Grace at all costs. But your mind couldn't stop drifting back to Tommy and that moment last night. The way his eyes bore into yours, igniting a flame inside of you that you couldn't ignore.

It was forbidden, wrong even, but you couldn't help the way you felt. You wanted him, there was no denying it. But at what cost?

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thoughts that plagued your mind but when you saw him again with Lizzie that day, you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

It was irrational, you knew it was, but you couldn't help the way you felt.

"Why does he see her, you think?" you asked Ada , attempting to sound as casual as possible, hoping she wouldn't catch on to the tightness in your voice or the yearning that was etched into your eyes.

"You mean Tommy?"  Ada asked, squinting as she looked in the direction where you were gazing.

"Yes, why do you think Tommy is seeing Lizzie, or any other prostitute for that matter?"  you asked Ada, feigning interest in a stack of fabric samples she had spread on the counter before her.

Ada gave you a sidelong glance before turning to face you fully. "I thought that was obvious," she then chuckled. "For pleasure of course,” she nonchalantly said, flipping through the fabrics, but not before catching a hint of a blush on your cheeks.

You felt the sudden knot in your stomach. It was the same question gnawing at the back of your mind ever since that one fateful night, but it took you this long to finally gather enough courage to voice it out. You couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed in her response.

"But he's in a relationship with Grace," you blurted out, biting your lip the moment after. Ada merely shrugged.

"I suppose, but Tommy has never been one to be held down by societal norms and expectations. Despite, many men who can afford it see whores these days,” Ada replied with a casual shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Men think with their cocks. It's all about sex for them and, quite frankly, I would be willing to pay for it too if I had the option. It makes things much less complicated,” Ada said offhandedly as she continued to flip through the fabric samples, making a mental note of the ones she wanted to purchase.

"Is it really that good?" you asked, curious and slightly taken aback by her blatant honesty.

"Well, that depends on your definition of good," Ada smiled wryly. "With the right man, it can be amazing," she told you before asking you a question. "Have you never done it before?" Ada asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise. You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment and looked away, studying the intricate pattern on the fabric before you.

"No, I haven't," you muttered softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've been in jail for two years and before that I never felt...you know, attracted to anyone before." You glanced up at Ada, hoping she would understand.

"I would never have guessed it Y/N. You are so confident, even around my brothers who can be quite intimidating. I thought surely you must have had a lover or two in the past," Ada stated, intrigued.

"No, there was never really anyone who caught my eye and to be honest, I don't think I was ever truly ready for something like that," you confessed, looking up to meet Ada's gaze. "But I can't say I haven't thought about it before. Especially after coming here."

"Oh god, you need to stay away from men in this area," Ada chuckled. "You should come and visit me in London. I will take you out. The men there are different. Sophisticated, even. You will see,” Ada winked slyly.

You smiled at the thought, already beginning to feel the excitement build inside of you. "I would like that, Ada. I truly would."

The exchange with Ada gave you a small reprieve from the chaos inside your mind, but the thoughts of Thomas and your growing desires lingered in your consciousness.

When the day came to an end however, you felt like drowning out these irrational and somewhat irritating thoughts about a man you knew you could not have and asked Ada whether she wanted to join you for a drink at any of the local establishments. 

"A drink?" she asked, chuckling. "There are only pubs around here and none of them are really appealing to say the least. Despite, I must be home for Karl. One of my maids is sick," she added, crinkling her nose in distaste.

"I don't think I have ever been to a pub," you confessed, somewhat abashedly, seeing that you had only ever visited a few clubs in New York, all of which had been elegant and modern for the times. 

"Well, you are not missing much," Ada replied, screwing her face in a wince. "But, if you insist, there are a few ones around here that are safe. Go to the Garisson and tell them that you are a Shelby. That way you will be served a drink, and no one will lay a hand on you unless you want them to. If you run into any trouble though, get them to call Tommy or Arthur," Ada said with a hint of a smile.

You looked at her, puzzled, not quite understanding the meaning behind her words. You were unsure what you needed protection from and why you wouldn't be served a drink in the first place, but you didn't ask.

"All right, I will keep that in mind," you replied, pursing your lips and nodding your head ever so slightly.

Ada left shortly after that, leaving you alone in the empty shop and you were quick to close up before embarking on your maiden voyage to one of these notorious local establishments.

You walked past the dimly lit streets of Birmingham, the cobblestone illuminated by the soft orange glow from gas streetlamps that lined the streets. You ventured further, passing the occasional passersby, feeling as though all eyes were upon you. Your heartbeat faster with every footstep as you grew closer to your unknown destination and you wondered whether, perhaps, this was not such a good idea after all. 

You already felt out of place in this city, with your elegant dress and your high heels from New York.  You were aware that this was not the kind of place that women like you dared to step foot in, but you were determined to push your boundaries and, perhaps, learn something new about yourself - and the world around you.

The Garisson was unremarkable among the neighbouring buildings, but once you stepped inside, you felt the atmosphere instantly change. It was charged with a tense, almost palpable energy, a strange combination of excitement and danger that seemed to reverberate through the air.

When you entered, the men inside turned to look at you, their gazes lingering on your figure for a moment before turning back to their drinks. You could feel the weight of their stares, but you didn't let it intimidate you. Instead, you walked with a newfound confidence, feeling an unexpected sense of power.

You made your way to the bar and took a seat, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked around the room. Yet, despite the unfamiliarity of your surroundings, there was something oddly liberating about being in a place where everyone seemed to be living on the edge.

"I am afraid I can't serve you ma'am," the man behind the bar said, breaking the spell of your thoughts.

You blinked, surprised by his words. "I'm sorry?" you asked, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

The bartender nodded, his expression apologetic. "I'm sorry, but we don't serve women here," he explained.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "But I thought the Garisson was a public house?" you asked, your confusion growing.

The bartender shrugged. "It is, but that doesn't mean we serve women," he replied.  "It's just the way things are around here."

His words hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the unspoken rules that governed this world. You felt a surge of frustration and anger rise within you, but you held your tongue, refusing to let these men see you falter.

"I see," you said calmly, mustering every ounce of strength and dignity to push down the hurt while contemplating your next move just as you heard a familiar voice from the distance.

"It's alright. She's with me," the voice said, cutting through the tension. You turned to see Thomas Shelby making his way towards you, his eyes fixed on yours.

The bartender nodded, his gaze flicking between you and Thomas before he finally relented.  "Of course, Mr Shelby. I am sorry. I did not know," the bartender apologized, eyes wide with embarrassment. "What can I get you, ma'am?" the bartender asked, his tone now deferential.

But Thomas hadn't taken his eyes off you. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low and husky. He was so close to you now that you could feel his warm breath on your face.

You swallowed hard; your throat suddenly dry. "I was just... looking for some... entertainment," you stammered, feeling like a schoolgirl again before quickly ordering a drink with the barman.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Entertainment, eh?" he chuckled. "This is fucking Birmingham, Love. There is no entertainment here unless you wish to stand up there and fucking sing,” Thomas chuckled, motioning towards the makeshift stage. He was so near that you could feel the heat emanating from his body and it sent a ripple of excitement through you.

"And I just may, after a glass of whiskey or two," you replied, cocking your head to one side as you gave him a playful grin that belied the tension between them.

Thomas chuckled, the deep rumbling sound drawing the attention of those around them. It wasn't long before the whispers and murmurs filled the air, the patrons whispering and speculating about the nature of your relationship.

The thought made you feel uncomfortable, and you shifted uncomfortably on your stool, but Thomas didn't seem to notice or care.

"No," he said, nonetheless. "Have your drink and then I will get one of my men to drive you home, eh. This is no place for a woman like you,” Thomas sighed, his voice low as he leaned against the bar. His words felt almost like a blow, and you couldn't quite understand why.

"Well, I want to stay, and you are going to buy me another drink after I am done with this one," you told him as you quickly downed the amber liquid in front of you before ordering another.

Thomas studied you for a moment, his gaze intense and penetrating. "And why would I do that?"  Thomas asked, arching an eyebrow. There was an amused glint in his eyes, but you could also detect a hint of sincerity beneath that.

"Well, because if you do, then I may keep this little secret of yours from my lovely stepmother Grace," you said, matching his smirk as you revealed your trump card.

Thomas' eyes narrowed for a moment, as if sizing you up and assessing whether you were bluffing or not.

"What little secret?"  Thomas growled, arching an eyebrow as he leaned closer, invading your personal space.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze on you before leaning closer and whispering into his ear almost seductively. "Lizzie Stark," was all that you said, watching as Thomas's expression shifted at the mention of the name. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his eyes darkening before he too whispered into your ear.

"Another whiskey?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear and you nodded.

"Yes, and make it a double this time."

The intensity between you and Thomas had grown palpable. You had pushed a button that no one else could, daring to confront him about what usually remained unspoken. 

Thomas gave you a curt nod before signalling to the bartender for a double whiskey. He downed his drink in one swift motion, his eyes never leaving yours for even a moment.  The look in his eyes was something you had never seen before - it was intense, powerful and overwhelming. It was full of the promise of passion, forbidden and uninhibited.

You watched him as he placed the empty glass back on the counter with a muted clink, swallowed hard and took a deep, steadying breath. Your heart raced in your chest and your head swam dizzily with the potency of the liquor as well as the proximity of Thomas Shelby.

You too drank your double whiskey in one swift motion, feeling the burn as it travelled down your throat and warmed your belly. The world seemed to tilt slightly with each passing moment, and you were glad for the bar to steady you in place.

Eventually, after a few more drinks, you indeed made up on stage, looking way out place in this rather run down establishment. Glamorous and with an unmistakable American charm, you stood out. In that moment, the entire bar fell silent, all eyes trained on you as you stood up tall. 

"Fuck," Tommy murmured to himself as Arthur and John took their places next to him by the bar in readiness for the show.

"Finn has been having his eye on that one, Tom. And I can't fucking blame him," John piped up, nodding towards the stage where you now stood.

"Finn couldn't handle her," Tommy brushed John's comment off as he looked at you with a mix of admiration and desire, the latter intensifying as you started singing. 

You had chosen a jazzy, sultry tune that perfectly suited your velvety voice and captivating stage presence and the patrons at the pub watched in astonishment at this unexpected interlude, but you paid them no mind.

Your voice, steady and confident, echoed throughout the room, sweeping everyone off their feet. The energy in the room had shifted from tense and uneasy to electric, filled with raw emotion that pulsed through your veins.

The room was full of men, not a single woman in sight, and as you sang, you felt like you commanded their attention, bending them to your will with the melody of your voice.

But then, from the corner of your eye, you saw him rise from his seat. Thomas Shelby.

His presence was overpowering, commanding attention without any effort. A shiver ran down your spine as those deep blue eyes locked onto yours, holding you captive in his gaze.

He moved closer, the throngs of whispering men parting in his wake.

He was a force to be reckoned with, radiating authority and desire that made your heart race: with fear, with excitement, or perhaps a little bit of both.

Two other men whom you did not know also moved closer, trying to make their move as you finished the song. They were rough-looking men, clearly not used to elegance or refinement, the types that frequented such establishments often. But they were no match for Thomas Shelby.

He moved in front of them just as they reached you, his movements quick and lethal, a silent warning etched on his face. The two men hesitated, sensing the danger in his eyes, and then turned around, choosing not to press their luck.

Thomas offered you a hand, and you took it gratefully, feeling like you needed his support more than ever before as you finished signing and descended from the stage.

Cheers erupted around you as you made your way back to the bar, your heart still pounding with the rush of singing onstage.

Tommy's hand lingered at your waist, drawing goosebumps to the surface of your skin. The warmth of his touch sent a ripple of pleasure through you, and you couldn't help but lean into him just a little.

"You shouldn't have done that Love, drawing these men's attention like this," Thomas murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I didn't mean to," you replied, looking up at him with a mixture of awe and confusion. "I just...I love to sing, and it felt good to let go, even for just a moment."

Thomas looked at you, his gaze softening just a fraction. "I know," he said. "But around here, attention can quickly turn into danger.  Men like these have not seen a woman like you before, and they will try to have you in any way they can," Thomas continued, his eyes filled with an intensity that sent a tremble down your spine.

His finger brushed gently against your cheek, a feather-soft touch that caused you to gasp before blushing scarlet. Your heart raced in your chest, aware that his words had some weight to them but also appreciating the gentle way he offered them.

You nodded silently, a mix of fear and gratitude coursing through you.  Thomas Shelby had a reputation for being a dangerous man, but right now, you couldn't help but feel grateful for his protection.

"Now, are you going to have another drink or are you going to allow me to take you home?"  Thomas' voice was low and gravelly in your ear, his arm still lightly draped around your waist. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine and setting your heart racing.

"Home, please," you replied softly, your emotions still swirling from the impromptu performance and the attention you received from these strange men. The energy in the pub had shifted once again, becoming charged with a tension that unnerved you slightly. But Thomas' presence was a comforting one, drawing you nearer to him with each passing moment.

He signalled to the bartender for your coat, and you slipped it on gratefully, feeling the comforting weight of the fabric against your skin.

The moment you stepped outside, the frigid winter air hit you like a slap in the face, jolting you from the haze of the pub's atmosphere. You shivered involuntarily, wrapping your coat tighter around your body.

Thomas' arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer to him in a protective gesture as several men kept looking at you with predatory  eyes from across the street. He led you to the curb, signalling for one of his men to bring the car around.

In the distance, the sound of an approaching motor roared in the silence of the night. Your breath hitched as the vehicle sped towards you, and then slowed down just in time, stopping inches away from where you and Thomas stood.

The door swung open, and Thomas guided you inside, settling into the plush leather seat with a sigh.

The engine hummed to life, and the warmth of the car seeped into your bones, causing you to relax slightly. You watched as the streets of Birmingham passed by in a blur, the city streets abandoned at this late hour.

Thomas didn't speak, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, but you could feel his intensity radiating from him. You shifted awkwardly in your seat, unsure of what to say or do.

Despite your earlier confrontation with him, you couldn't deny the way your body responded to his presence.

A warm flush spread across your cheeks and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart raced in your chest.

Thomas stole a glance at you, his eyes softening as he took in your nervous mannerisms. He didn't say anything, but the way he shifted his position in the seat told you that he was closer now, his arm brushing against yours and sending an electric current through your body.

"You did well up there," Thomas murmured, breaking the silence between you. "The men loved you."

Your blush deepened, and you shrugged off his compliment.

"I just sang a song. It's not a big deal," you replied softly, your gaze fixed on the passing buildings.

"You didn't just sign a song Love. You performed. There is a difference," Thomas continued, determination in his voice. The way he said it stirred something inside you, and your heart skipped a beat.

You fell silent again, lost in thoughts as you watched the streets of Birmingham pass by. Your mind raced with everything that had happened since you arrived in the city.

So many changes, so many new experiences, and so many unanswered questions, all of which you put aside when Tommy's Bently pulled up in front of Arrow House, the magnificent building that you and your sister now called home.

He got out of the car, coming around to open the door for you, offering his arm as he led you towards the staircase leading up to the grand wooden entrance.

His touch was firm and reassuring, and despite your earlier reservations, you felt safe under his protection.

"Thank you," you murmured, unsure of what else to say as you entered the house. 

"It was nothing," he replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You should get some sleep, Y/N. It's been a long day," Thomas said, his voice low and gentle as he caressed your cheek.  You blinked, his touch making you feel suddenly lightheaded. You couldn't remember the last time someone had been so tender with you.

"Yes, it has," you agreed, leaning into his touch for a moment.

Thomas' gaze held yours, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you stared into the depths of his blue eyes. Slowly, he closed the distance between you, and before you knew what was happening, his lips were on yours. It was a gentle kiss, one filled with both longing and tenderness, and you found yourself responding in kind. But all too soon, the kiss ended, and Thomas pulled away, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said softly before turning and walking away towards the left as if he had suddenly changed his mind, leaving you to watch him disappear into his office upstairs.

"Goodnight," your murmured almost to yourself, unaware of the fact that you had been watched by someone else.

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[celianity]

Movie Night

Jordan Li x Reader

Prompt: having your nemesis attend your roommates' movie night takes a turn when some unresolved desires flare back up

Warnings: cursing, mentions of smut

Word count: 1.246

Author's note: would anyone be up for a continuation? _________________________________________

“You seriously bought sour cream and onion?” Emma eyes the bag of chips in Marie’s hand like it is a nuclear bomb.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you the snack police?”

“It’s just a movie night, guys. No need to get at each other’s throats.” You try to be the voice of reason, but you are one pointless argument away from combusting into flames.

The drinks are wrong. The snacks are wrong. The placement of seating (for which you bared responsibility) is wrong. Well, there are only so many options to arrange the furniture in a dorm room.

“Shut up,” your roommates respond in unison.

“Nice to see that you can agree on something.” Emma is glaring daggers at you.

On some level, you understand their motives for organizing this night to hang out like normal teenagers for a change.

Things at the school have been slowly going downhill while you and your friends are still in the dark about most of the details. Too many questions, too little answers.

You can’t shake the feeling that that’s the motto for tonight too, but you wouldn’t dare to say that out loud. Marie would probably strangle you with her blood powers.

So, you have no choice but to suppress your annoyance, pull up an action movie on the flat screen TV by the door and fluff the pillows on Emma’s bed one last time.

Marie hands you a bowl of chips while announcing that Andre and Cate will not be the only ones attending tonight’s comfortable activities. Her lopsided smile does not soften the blow in the slightest like intended.

“Are you kidding me?” you groan out in frustration. “You can’t just invite my nemesis into my fucking bedroom.”

Marie shrugs her shoulders. “Technically, it’s our bedroom, so I’m allowed to invite whoever I please.”

Emma rushes to Marie’s defense, “Maybe that’s a good thing. Keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer. Understanding them better might help you finally break into the Top Five.”

You intend to outrank Jordan Li with talent and power.

Not by studying their profile in the flickering light of a movie.

Not by watching their fingers grasp for the last crumbs of chips in the bowl.

And certainly not by wondering what they might be wearing to such a casual event. A tiny voice in the back of your head suggests a pair of grey sweatpants and you suddenly feel the urge to punch yourself in the face.

Instead, you hurry to build up that protective wall in your mind to hold back the quickly resurfacing memory fragments.

Hot breath on your swollen lips. Curious fingers, tracing patterns on a toned stomach, muscles tensing under your touch, wandering southwards. Feeling their need on your fingertips. Feeling your own, searing in the pit of your stomach. Hitching, matching breaths.

Oh, for fucks sake, Marie, what have you done?

---

You loathe feeling weak but that was exactly what pushed you into Jordan’s arms one lonely night a few days ago.

After failing yet again to access the full potential of your powers and expressing your frustration about the matter cursing like a sailor, you were looking for a distraction to blow off some steam.

And there they were, hastily typing away on their phone in the locker room of the training facility.

“Sounds like you have a shitty night too,” they observe, back turned to you, pulling their hair together into a ponytail.

When your eyes finally meet in the dimly lit room, you both know this is inevitable.

---

The movie’s quite entertaining, but you have to resist the urge to continuously let your eyes wander to Emma’s bed where Jordan occupies the spot at the edge, farthest away from you.

Emma and Marie block your view a bit with their legs upright.

From your own spot in the desk chair next to the bed, you restrain from craning your neck.

Andre and Cate are on the floor in front of you, totally engrossed by the plot of the film.

Of course, Jordan’s wearing those damn sweatpants, leaving little to the imagination. They waltzed in here, all tall and lean frame, running a hand through their short dark hair, flexing their bicep in the process.

You received a barely noticeable smirk in exchange for a pointed look.

---

Your staring’s getting obvious.

Your phone screen lights up in the dark, earning an annoyed sigh from Marie. At first, you don’t recognize the unknown number, but it doesn’t take you long to connect the dots.

Stealing phone numbers now? That’s really depressing.

You dim the brightness of your display and roll your chair back as quietly as possible to further shield if from prying eyes.

Must be able to contact you in the event of an emergency.

You frown, catching a glimpse of Jordan’s fingers typing again. Their irritatingly pretty face illuminated by soft blue light.

You’ve been avoiding me.

You’re not sure where this conversation is going, so you try to put an end to it as fast as possible.

I’m a busy person.

And I’m fucking sick of it.

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard, afraid to make a wrong move that would burst this bubble of sudden tension.

That sounds like a you problem.

You take the safe route, hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

Maybe you’ve trouble remembering, but you came on to me. Practically ambushing me in the dead of night.

Oh, fuck you.

Yeah, I’d hope that’s what you plan on doing tonight.

You ignore the heat rising in your cheeks and begin typing again. Two can play this game.

If you ask nicely. I recall you’re good at begging.

Jordan’s laughter merges into an awkward coughing fit and you have to bite your tongue when Emma offers them a glass of water.

Getting a reaction fuels your… ambition. You’re getting bolder, tired of tiptoeing around the topic.

You know what else I recall? A fucking sleepless night after getting interrupted by that janitor. The imprints of your fingers all over my skin, between my legs, deep inside. Wishing every curve and hard edge of you up against me again in the dark. And no goddamn release.

The images come crashing down like a wave and you shift your weight, parting your thighs slightly, needing to get out of your own skin.

Jordan is catching onto your drift.

The image of you kneeling in front of me seared itself onto my brain. Those soft lips parted, ready to take every goddamn inch. I still feel your hair strands around my fingers.

Out of the corner of your eye, in the flickering light of the TV, Jordan suddenly switches to their female form.

“That’s it, I’ve had enough,” Emma declares, startling everyone in their seats.

Andre pauses the movie, him and Cate turning to see what she is on about.

You hide your knowing grin behind a yawn. It is a small victory, but at what cost? You’re itching to tear your clothes along with your skin from your burning body.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I wish to be excluded from this narrative until you two have sorted it out. Emotionally, physically, or whatever.”

The silence is deafening. Almost guiltily, Jordan puts their phone aside, you follow suit.

“It’s like watching a movie in the middle of a fucking porn shoot. Now, if everyone agrees to behave themselves, can we continue, please?”

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hello!! I am back with more questions from my Duolingo Welsh lessons. I am so sorry I’m annoying, but I am having a grand time but would like to get it right.

1. It doesn’t have a speech section so I’m having a hard time with my pronunciations - I’d love to learn the alphabet and know how to pronounce each of the letters. Might you have any recommendations for me?

2. I’m learning about past tense and it is very confusing. I can’t tell gwaeth from wnaeth (for example) which is worse now that I’m getting gwnes i fwyta. Have I completely misunderstood this? I thought gwaeth was the past tense of gwneud but I think maybe I’m wrong about that. Are they just past tense of Mae? But then what’s the difference between aeth and and gwnaeth and wnaeth? 😭 Am I even coherent asking this question?

3. Speaking of mutations. Any chance you can do a brief primer on that? I definitely understand it after the vowel but I’m pretty sure that’s not the only time? Because of nos, I think feminine mutations might be a thing? Also feminine mutations is going to be the name of my band.

4. Would you be willing to explain Mi? Sometimes there’s a mi and sometimes there’s not and I can’t tell why/when it should be there.

5. Also is there a difference between do/ydw and naddo/ nac ydw? Just curious.

6. Also also what’s the difference between eglwys and capel? I don’t really know if a church and a chapel are different things?

Thank you again for your patience!

Not annoying at all! Alright, let's see *cracks knuckles*

1 . Pronunciation.

Yes, this playlist on YouTube. Done by a woman from the north and a man from the south, so you can hear the differences between the northern and southern U, for example

(Southern is easier by far for a beginner. But northern sounds cooler, even though it does require you to unhinge your jaw to get it.)

2 . Gwneud.

I presume you mean "gwnaeth", rather than "gwaeth"? Gwaeth means 'worse' lol.

You're correct, though - gwnaeth is the third person singular past tense of gwneud, meaning to do or to make. 'Wnaeth' is mutated, and indicates that it's a question or a negative. Aeth, by contrast, is different - that's actually the past tense of "mynd", to go.

These, like in English, are irregular verbs, which is why they're tricksy. A verb table with regular verbs would be nice and straightforward and you just add an ending to indicate which person you're using; here's an example using "cerdded", the most beautiful and regular of Welsh verbs:

Cerddais i (I walked)

Cerddaist ti (you walked)

Cerddodd e/hi (he/she walked)

Cerddon ni (we walked)

Cerddoch chi (y'all walked)

Cerddon nhw (they walked)

Nice and easy! Ais/aist/odd/on/och/on. Plug in verbs as needed.

But, these lil fuckers are irregular. So "gwneud" goes:

Gwnes i

Gwnest ti

Gwnaeth e/hi

Gwnaethon ni

Gwnaethoch chi

Gwnaethon nhw

However, the irregulars do, at least, share these endings. "Mynd" becomes es i/est ti/aeth e etc. "Cael" has a slight twist - singular follows this pattern (ces i etc), but plural goes cawson ni/cawsoch chi/cawson nhw for no reason anyone can fathom. Even so, though, the endings are following the established pattern.

But, one extra note for "gwneud" - sometimes, rather than follow the cerdded example up above, you use gwneud to construct your past tense. So these two sentences both mean "I walked":

Cerddais i

Gwnes i gerdded

Literally, you're saying "I did walking", but it's grammatically acceptable. This means as a learner if you can hammer the six forms of gwneud's past tense into your verbal speech, you can construct that past tense with any verb you like. So, there's that.

(It also means some dialects of Wenglish use "I do" in an amazingly similar way to the AAVE habitual be. "I do go to town with Mam on Saturdays": a totally normal thing to hear in Abertillery.)

3 . Mutations.

I mean. GREAT band name.

Short answer: there are three types of mutations in Welsh, two of which (nasal and aspirate) are quick and easy to explain and one of which (soft) is a bit more lengthy and crops up all the time. They are used for two reasons: one (1), to make certain grammar clearer, and two (2), to make Welsh poetic forms possible (yes really).Do not stress about getting them right. Plenty of fluent first language speakers don't get them right all the time. You will still be understood. It is more important that you speak Welsh than stress about making sure you're perfect.

Longer answer:

Aspirate mutation. Very simply, a c -> ch, t -> th, and p -> ph. This is the only reason ph is a letter in Welsh, actually - to make the mutation more visible. Otherwise, it's pronounced the same as a ff, and so is redundant.

Used mostly after the feminine pronoun ei (her). Her cat: ei chath. Her shield: ei tharian. Her head: ei phen.

Nasal mutation. Affects a few more letters: b -> m, c -> ngh, d -> nh, g -> ng, p -> mh, t -> nh. The number of Hs there looks intimidating, I know, but they're almost always followed by a vowel, so pronunciation is actually quite easy and pleasant.

Most commonly used with the possessive first person singular pronoun fy (my), and after the preposition yn (in), both of which may change at the end to make it even easier. So Cardiff = Caerdydd, but "in Cardiff" = yng Nghaerdydd. Father = tad, but "my father" = fy nhad. Phonetically, those would be roughly pronounced "ung Hire deeth", and "vern haad", to give an idea.

Soft mutation. AKA the Bastard. A good quarter of the damn alphabet gets caught in this:

There are, IIRC, 28 different times you would use these. I shall not be listing them all.

But, the most common are:

After the masculine pronoun ei (his). His cat: ei gath. His shield: ei darian. His head: ei ben. (This is the only way, other than context, to tell whether "ei" means his or her - male gets soft mutation, female gets aspirate)

After prepositions. Am, ar, at, gan, heb, i, o, dan, dros, trwy, wrth, and hyd.

Feminine words after the definite article. Chair: cadair. The chair: y gadair.

Adjectives or adverbs following "yn". Exciting: cyffrous. The trees are exciting: mae'r coed yn gyffrous.

Adjectives following a singular feminine noun (not a plural). Beautiful: prydferth. Beautiful tree: Coeden brydferth. Beautiful trees: Coed prydferth.

Many other such occurances

4 . Explain Mi

God scientists WISH they could explain Mi.

So, this is where there's an odd little starter word, right? They come in north/south flavours (mi/fe). "I walked to town":

Cerddais i'r dref.

Mi gerddais i'r dref.

Fe gerddais i'r dref.

These mean the same thing, are entirely optional, and if you choose to use them they trigger a soft mutation. Why do this? Unknown. Helps with writing poetry to have the option.

5 . Yes and No

Yes, there's a difference - it's tense.

Welsh, like all Celtic languages, technically doesn't have single words for yes and no (although that's no longer true in informal Welsh, where ie and na are now extensively used. Particularly by learners.) Instead, each "yes" is actually repetition of the original verb, and therefore means "Yes it is", or "Yes I am", or "Yes there are" or any other permutation.

Wyt ti'n cerdded i'r dref heddiw? Are you walking to town today?

Ydw. Yes (I am).

Do and naddo are past tense. Yes I did/no I didn't, essentially, though they cover more than just first person.

6. Church vs chapel

They are different, but I am non-religious and don't really know the difference. I think it's different denominations, though. Certainly in Wales, religious Welsh-speakers are chapel-goers, and the choices are Methodist, Baptist and Welsh Non-Conformist, whereas English speakers are more likely to go to church and be, like, CoE or protestant or what have you. But yeah, this is more a religious question, so I shall have to bow out.

ANYWAY! I hope this has helped, hmu if you need clarifications or what have you

[brayneworms]

prompt: l lawliet + food play + pink

wc. 2.8k. gn!reader, foodplay, virgin!l, handjobs, sliiiight come eating, reader is a wet cat in a cardboard box kinda, safe sane and consensual, no real power dynamics.

L contextualises things in the way he sees the world.

Strings of numbers, statistics, behavioural patterns that he's memorised to a 'T' until he can tell guilt from the aversion of an eye or fury from the remnants of nails pressed into the palm of someone's hand. It's why maybe something like sex or desire is a struggle for him. It's not that he doesn't understand it, it's more like he doesn't see the—the need for it, or whatever. You chalk it up to him being extremely busy and also probably totally asexual and don't think about it.

(Don't think about it much.)

It sort of surprises you that it's you he corners with his questions about. Maybe he's more embarrassed than he lets on—as it is, he looks cool as a cucumber save for the faintest shade of pink across his cheekbones. There's no way he would escape a conversation about it from anyone on the squad without a degree of ragging. Misa would squeal like a pig if L dared to broach the topic with her, you're sure. Matsuda would blush bright red and trip over all his words, and Aizawa would probably stare at him like he'd set his firstborn on fire.

And Light is Light. He probably knows little more than L, for all the airs he puts on.

So it's you he comes to. When it first starts, you think it has something to do with a case or lead he's hunting. Tell me, have you had sex before?

Perched like a frog, licking whipped cream off his finger. You don't know if he's doing to be provocative or not; don't know which is worse, that he's aware of what he's doing or not.

"This isn't exactly proper workplace conversation L."

A flicker of a smile. Cheeky, omniscient. "Feel free to report me to HR, in that case."

You do answer—honestly and concisely, if not with a shade of awkwardness. He's essentially your boss. But L seems so far removed from the worlds of sexuality and desire that it seems harmless, occupational, and eventually it stops feeling embarrassing. Out of nowhere—what is the purpose of restrains in an intimate context? Why do you think some people like to feel as though they have no control in the bedroom? Would you say that visual pornography has given watchers unrealistic expectations of actual intercourse?

One night, the two of you alone in front of a big glowing screen, turning to him and asking. "Why do you ask me this stuff, anyway? Is it for a case?"

"No," he says neutrally. A quick glance from his dark eyes you could almost describe as coy. "I'm just... curious."

"Curious," you echo, deadpan. "You?"

"Does that surprise you?" he murmurs. You almost feel that your honest answer—yes—would be insulting now, so instead you just shrug and mumble something incoherent under your breath. "You're not completely wrong. I thought having a better understanding of things like sex and power dynamics would be beneficial in the long run. Most people have a greater knowledge of it than me, which—puts me at a disadvantage." He says these last words with an air of revulsion, as though the very concept of knowing less than someone sours in his mouth, and you chuckle at his childishness.

"That makes sense." You pause. Wonder if you're reading this all wrong, then barrel ahead anyway. "Wouldn't actually experiencing it for yourself lend a better understanding than anything else, though?"

L's eyebrow raises. His smile has vanished, leaving him bug-eyed and unreadable. "What are you suggesting?"

He's not stupid, and you're not subtle. He knows exactly what you were suggesting. The fact that he's trying to get you to go into more detail rather than firing you on the spot is probably a good sign, and further than you expected to get. You squirm in your seat.

"You know. It's like being told about how something feels rather than knowing," you say awkwardly. "I'm just—can I ask—"

"It only seems fair," L says slowly. "After I've been badgering you with my own questions for so long." His chair spins; he rests his wrists on his rucked-up knees, fingers steepled in front of him. "Please."

Hot-faced, you spin your chair aimlessly. "Okay, well, uh—have you? I mean, before?"

L hesitates before he shakes his head, an almost imperceptible twitch that has his dark hair floating. You swallow the sudden large dry lump in your throat.

"Okay. So. Probably somewhere to start," you mumble.

L seems to consider this. "Would you be willing?"

You don't have the right to be surprised, with all the dancing around the subject, but you are, still. You choke on your spit and fly around to look at him, which is a mistake. His gaze is so dark and intense, and you think he can see right through you before you even open your mouth to answer.

"I'm not—" you stammer, with no idea what you're going to say. "I mean—"

"I had assumed you would be," L goes on calmly, but you catch the slight flicker of his eyes, a ghost of uncertainty that makes your chest squeeze. "If I have read your responses incorrectly, though, feel free to forget I asked. I can guarantee no awkwardness tomorrow."

"It's not that," you blurt. L blinks at you, go on. "It's just... do you have any idea what you're, you know. Into? Where to start?"

L's eyes flicker, the barest furrow knitted between his brows. You can tell he hasn't thought too hard about it. "What would you suggest?" he asks, curling his long fingers over his knees.

You swallow. "Well... anything you like the idea of, I guess. Something familiar, to ease you into it."

L's eyes roll over to his desk, where a perfectly glistening slice of strawberry cake waits for him. Pink sponge and halved red berries, topped with pale pink cream. "Familiar," he echoes. "I may have a suggestion."

-

So you feed L a strawberry just to get started.

Hold it up. It's distinctly awkward; L just stares at it for a moment, the berry dusted with frosting that glistens between your fingers. You tell him, "If you're not comfortable with this, sex is probably going to be—"

He leans forward and plucks the fruit from between your fingers; you feel the barest ghosting of teeth, the sweep of his tongue sharp and curious against the pads of your fingers before he leans back again. You watch the motions of his jaw and throat as he chews and swallows. Pins you with his headlamp stare, wide and dark.

You deconstruct the strawberry cake carefully, removing the berries and setting them to the side. Cast a look over at him. "Take off your shirt?"

L twists the hem of this shirt for a few moments before removing it. It feels so strange to see him devoid of clothing, like a knight removing their armour. Pale ribs, pinched waist. He's not whipcord-thin like you had imagined—there's lean muscle packed under the skin, his stomach flat and somewhat soft. It flexes almost nervously when you look at it. He reclines back on his bed without being told, bracing his weight onto his elbows, legs dangling off the side.

"You sure about all this?" you ask, glancing from the smooth planes of his white skin—shit—to the plate of crumbling pink dessert. "Didn't think you'd be into, you know. All the mess."

"I have a shower," L says reflexively.

You take that as permission to approach with the plate. You place the strawberry halves in a red dotted line, starting at his clavicle, watching him shiver and flex at the cold touch. Down—one at the bottom of his ribs, one above his bellybutton, one at his naval just above the low sling of his jeans. He's started to flush, prettily pink down his chest. It makes you slightly dizzy.

"Okay. So. Okay." You try not to feel so nervous, but it's more like you feel out of place, or time, or space. It feels surreal, basically. Standing between L's legs with your fingers stained pink from fruit and frosting. Him looking up at you like that, all big dark round eyes and slightly parted lips. Damn it. You take a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, so, I'll start now if you're okay. And just say if you don't want—if you want to stop, or if you don't like anything, just say, okay?"

"I understand the basic premises of consent, if that's what you're trying to affirm." The words are all L, but there's an element of breathlessness to them.

"Just making sure we're clear," you mutter. You lean forward and smooth a palm over his collarbones. They're sharp, they jut up to meet your hand like cut diamond, and you hear and see his breath hitch, which is slightly intoxicating. His skin is warmer and softer than you thought it would be. You run your hands over his shoulders and neck, which he squirms away from with a wrinkled nose.

"No neck?" you ask.

He shakes his head. So no neck.

Once you're done exploring this part of his body, you lean forward, close your lips around the strawberry and bite the end of it, sinking your teeth into the flesh. Pink juice runs down your chin; L's eyes follow it, transfixed, as you tilt your head forward and push your mouthful against his lips. They part unquestioningly, and you push the strawberry into his mouth with your tongue. Your lips brush together, tantalising and sweet with sugar. A mimic of a kiss, a palimpsest of intimacy. You don't want to overwhelm him, anyway.

This goes on; your hands over his chest next, the soft pectorals. An experimental brush of your thumb over his left nipple that makes his whole body shudder. He's so sensitive, reacting to every prod and touch and tweak with a jerk and a shiver. Gooseflesh blooms up his skin, pebbling his nipples, and when you tweak the other one gently he lets out a choked sound.

Finding the strawberry nestled under his ribs. Taking it between your teeth and passing it to him. His face gets pinker with each one. Stomach, concave, flexing with every hard breath. A ticklish spot over his belly button. Strawberry, bite, pass. The flex of his jaw as he chews.

Fingers over his waist, indenting the skin as much as you dare. You try not to think of how easily he would bruise. Brushing your touch over his lower abdomen makes his breath catch again. You find the strawberry, hold it between your lips. L cranes his neck, searching this time—he thinks he knows the game, has memorised the steps, found the pattern, the sequence. He doesn't know that the best sex is the unpredictable kind. This time, you press your lips against him and when your tongue pushes the strawberry into his mouth it stays there. His lips part, slack against yours, either in shock or inexperience. You allow yourself the briefest twirl of your tongue against his before pulling back with a wet pop.

L stares at you as you retreat. The strawberries leave pale pink residue on his skin. Pulling back fully reveals the hardness between his legs, pushing up against the dark denim of his jeans. He grunts when your eyes land on it, either out of embarrassment or frustration. You swallow and its like sandpaper.

"Still want me to...?"

"I have not changed my mind," he replies, slightly hoarsely and a beat slower than usual. You shrug, smooth your hands over the tent at his crotch, and he whines. It's the most searing noise you've pulled from him yet, and all from some halfhearted palming over the jeans. It sends a thrill zipping through you, hot and addicting. His arms shake with the weight of holding himself up, neck craning to follow as you sink to your knees between his legs.

You unzip him, pop the button, and he groans slightly at the freedom from the constraints of his clothes. He's fully hard, straining against his dark underwear. You experiment, rubbing at the tip, feeling for the wet spot, and he keens and thrashes, losing his stability and crashing to the mattress. He makes a frustrated noise just after, as though cursing himself for his own lack of control.

"That—" he swallows hard, breathes shakily. "That feels..."

Your hand hovers. "Am I stopping?"

"No, I don't..." He scrambles. L scrambles over his words. "Please, continue."

You stroke him over his underwear for a few concentrated minutes, mostly enjoying the way he twitches and huffs and occasionally makes soft, whiny noises, the way he starts to rut his hips against your hand. No technique, no rhythm, just some sort of baseless desire that you find incredibly hot. There's almost a frustration to it that makes you want to laugh—of course there would be nothing more agonising to someone like L than seeing what he wanted so close to him but being unable to accomplish it himself.

When he starts gritting his teeth, you pull his boxers down to his thighs and he makes a choking, embarrassed sound. When you wrap your fingers around his cock for the first time, finding it velvety-soft and leaking, his eyes roll back and his hips arch into the loose wet tunnel of your hand. "Oh," is all he says. Small and soft like he's surprised. His neck twists and his mouth presses into the starched white sheets. "Oh," he says again as your fist moves slowly, stroking with intent, up and down. He's not overly big, fits nicely in your hand, makes swiping over the head where the pre beads with your thumb nice and convenient. And you love the way he shudders and thrashes when you do it.

"How does that feel?" Your voice is lower than you remember it being. L cracks a bleary eye open; his face is flushed bright pink now, a flush that bleeds all the way down his chest, blending in with the strawberry stains.

"It feels," he starts, before his brow pinches. "I—I am not sure how to—how to describe..."

"It's okay," you tell him. His thighs shake, flexing against the edge of the mattress. When he tips his head back the cords in his pretty throat bulge, so biteable. "You can come whenever."

"I wasn't—oh," he gasps, squirming. "I wasn't aware I n-needed your—permission, oh."

"Yeah, well," you say intelligently, a little struck dumb by the sight before you. "Just making sure we're on the same page."

"A-and what page is that?" he pants, thrusting his hips messily into your hand. He's so fucking sensitive that you swear you can see his eyes growing shiny.

"The one where I help you out, so don't be a brat," you murmur. L laughs breathlessly, trying, you think, to summon some retort. You twist your fist around him and it died, half-formed in his brain, his eyes rolling back and fingers flexing hard in the sheets.

After another minute, he reaches out and grabs your wrist hard enough to bruise. He doesn't say it—can't, maybe. But you know. Your pace speeds up just a touch and he honest to god moans, spilling out of him soft and breathy before he comes, streaking over his stomach in pearly arcs. You watch him flinch at the contact, fingers slipping on your wrist. His chest flexes—in, out, in, out.

You collect a big scoop of pink frosting on your finger and dip it in the come starting to cool between his pecs before pressing it to his lips. L's brow wrinkles, startled—but he opens his lips and lets your fingers pass into the hot cavern of his mouth. Like a cat he licks your finger clean, pointed pink tongue prodding with no technique or flourish, just something steadfast, something stubborn.

You do him the dignity of tucking his softened cock back into his underwear and zipping up his jeans. Unsure how to proceed until L sits up rather abruptly. His hair is even more tousled from his tossing and turning as he reaches for a tissue to wipe himself down.

He looks at you. "I understand it's customary to offer some sort of equivalent exchange in these circumstances." A pause whilst he gathers his breath. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm not quite feeling up to the task."

His tone is normal, if a little shaky. You rock back on your heels. "Did you like it?"

L blinks at you. "My curiosity has been sated," he says, carefully. "Yes, I believe I did enjoy it."

Well, that's a relief if nothing else. The pink remnants of the strawberry cake it on the plate; the shade matches his blush.

[yanderes-galore]

19. “That’s where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees.”From starbabytea yandere prompt list, for yandere Crocadile with a darling who keeps trying to escape from him.

Oogh, my favorite villain, here you go!

Prompts Here

Yandere! Sir Crocodile Prompt 19

“That’s where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees.”

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Controlling behavior, Dehumanization, Violence, Isolation, Kidnapping, Forced relationship.

Sir Crocodile is infamous in the seas. He's a Warlord, the leader of Baroque Works, and yearns to be a king. Not only that, but he is a wielder of a Devil Fruit.

Sir Crocodile is a master of manipulation. Others may view him as a hero, others may view him as a villain. It's all in perspective... but both sides agree that he is strong.

How do you view Crocodile?

He's more than a villain to you. To you, Crocodile is your captor. He's a tyrant who picked you to be the closest one to him. Sir Crocodile does not trust many.

You doubt he even fully trusts you, if anyone at all.

Despite that, Crocodile treats you as though you two are closer than you are. You can't tell if Crocodile intends to view you as a lover... or some sort of toy. Regardless...

You always feel sick when the people of Arabasta view him as a hero.

He's no hero. As someone who's been trapped beside him below Rain Dinners, you know what he is. He's still very much a pirate... and a crime boss with many under him.

While you hate his guts, you could care less what he does. What you don't understand is why he dragged you into it. You don't know what Crocodile truly wants from you.

Are you useful to him? Are you a hostage? Does he just want to be entertained? Are you meant to be a good servant?

There's no way he's keeping you because he likes you... right?

You wish Crocodile just let you leave. You wouldn't tell a soul about his true nature. You'd live your own life, alone, happily.

It's never that easy.

In fact, you should've known it wouldn't be when you made your escape attempt.

Crocodile never leaves you alone. He usually keeps you on his lap during paperwork or meetings. That or he gives you something to do while he watches you and smokes.

It really felt... wrong that he left you unattended.

Yet you're desperate.

The moment you were given a chance to leave Rain Dinners, you took it. You knew you should've hesitated, built more trust with Crocodile. Unfortunately...

There's no building trust with Crocodile.

It was an obvious trap. Crocodile is no doubt used to your escape attempts, running out of your 'home' like a curious dog every five seconds. You were always defiant.

So he got used to it... always ready for your next move.

It was a pattern your desperation always made you fall for. Crocodile always managed to find you. Yet he made when he found you take longer and longer...

Making you think you'll get away this time... Only to find you once again.

Just to see the hope in your eyes shatter.

To show you your place.

Crocodile never likes to let go of what's his. In his mind, you belong to him. You're meant to respect him... to praise and bow to him.

So he'll catch you as many times as he needs to... Just to make sure you get the message.

"I'd think you'd learn by this point...."

Sand always managed to catch you in the end. Really, there was never anywhere you could go. Crocodile has power over the entire country... Even if you made it out of one city, let alone got to sea...

Crocodile would always find you... and obliterate anything in his path to drag you back.

Yet, as fun as that would be for him, he never lets you get that far. He likes to stop you once you realize your efforts are futile. He likes to use his powers to hold you in place... as he approaches with a smile on his face.

"This is exactly why I don't trust you... You disobey, you run, and I'm forced to take time out of my day to hunt you down." Crocodile clicks his tongue, smoke leaving his mouth from his cigar.

You stare blankly at him when you are eventually dragged back to his underwater base. Sand still seems to bind you at his will as he speaks. He looks disappointed... but not surprised.

"I don't understand you. You escape and for what? You act like you'll get far. The heat will kill you if someone from Baroque Works doesn't find you... You never seem to learn your place."

Crocodile urges you closer and you reluctantly follow. His large golden hook wraps around the back of your neck before yanking downwards. You gasp, falling to your knees as Crocodile chuckles, sitting in his chair in front of you.

"That’s where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees." Crocodile hums, watching you as he uses his hook to force you into staying bowed.

"Is this life so hard to get used to? I can give you anything you want. I can spoil you, yet you fight me. All I ask for is your adoration... your devotion..."

You feel his other hand tilt your chin up, just to make you look in his eyes.

"You crave freedom over what I can give you? It's foolish. The faster you accept me as your ruler, the faster things will be easier for the both of us." Crocodile scoffs, his thumb stroking your chin and cheek gently.

You try to pull away, yet Crocodile merely pulls you forward with his hook. You're soon hoisted onto his lap despite you're struggling. You hear him laugh again... and he holds you tighter.

"You are such an annoyance..." Crocodile sighs, yet grins down at you. "But you entertain me. Someday, I'll break you. Someday you'll accept your place as mine... and when that happens..."

Crocodile leans closer, his lips ghosting your ear even as you try to pull away.

"I'll relish the day I make you mine... we'll both enjoy it, you'll see, sweetheart."

With that, you feel the warlord kiss you...

Which only seems to make you think of other ways to make his life hell... just like he did to you.

[daeholuvs]

“All I Ever Wanted” Cho Sang-Woo x fem!reader

hey so… no one make fun of my writing skills it has been a LONGGGGGG time. I will probably end up deleting this (i definitely will) i just love sang-woo and needed this imagine to come to life. Anyway guys pleak don’t make fun of me bc I will probably go into hiding 😊😊 A girl can only take so much criticism, also if ANYONE has done this creds to them!!!!! I just thought of this last night and I #needthat

There you stood. Happy, sad, excited, confused? Scared. You were scared. Your eyes fixated on the sight before you, a positive pregnancy test. You were late and that never happens so you bought a test to be sure . What if Sang-Woo isn’t ready for a baby? What if he isn’t excited? What if he doesn’t want to be a father? Your thoughts were soon interrupted when you heard the angelic voice of your loving husband.

“Y/N, sweetheart I’m home!”

You came downstairs and Sang-Woo pulled you into a warm hug and planted a sweet kiss to your lips, the kind of kiss that makes you feel like a silly high school girl.

He started to remove his coat as he spoke “You would not believe the kind of day I had. First my meeting with the board went wrong all because some intern spilled coffee on-“ he cut himself off as he noticed that you weren’t your optimistic self, you didn’t chime in as you normally would . He scanned your face as if he could read your mind, trying to solve the puzzles in your head.

“Y/N, baby, talk to me” he waved a hand in your face and you came out of your daze seeing a very concerned Sang-Woo looking back at you. You brushed him off and told him to continue his story.

About an hour has passed and you decided to start preparing dinner to ease your mind. As you were stirring the pot you felt a warm embrace come from behind you. Your adoring husband pulled you into a hug from behind.

He left soft kisses in the crook of your neck and whispered sweet nothings to you as he nibbled on your ear.

You both ate dinner with an awkward silence taking possession of the room. He still noticed something was bothering you, but he didn’t want to push your buttons so the silence continued.

As you both finished washing the dishes, Sang-Woo excused himself to go wash up. He began to wash up but he noticed a foreign object lying underneath his wife’s old hand towel.

As curious as he is, he tossed the towel aside and discovered the pregnancy test. He stared in awe, daydreaming about fatherhood, about how beautiful you would look during your pregnancy, about how much he would love his future daughter or son.

He slipped the test into his pocket and called out your name.

“Coming, I’m just putting away our glasses” and with that you walked up into your bedroom. Sang-Woo sat at the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to him, signalling for you to join him.

Without another word he placed the test into your hand and smiled at you. You felt your stomach drop. Anxious thoughts overtaking this intimate moment.

“Sang-Woo I was going to tell you I swear! I only found out today and I didn’t know how to tell you. I promise I wasn’t trying to hide this from you. I didn’t know if you would be mad or happy or-“

Your nervous rambling was cut short when a soft chuckle erupted from your husband’s chest. He continued to laugh at your cuteness. “Honey why would I be mad” he started to trace patterns your thigh soothingly.

“It’s just we’ve only been married a year and you’re so busy with your job, I just- I didn’t want to distract you from your career”

“Oh Y/N, a family with you is all I ever dreamed of. I can picture it now; me and you attending our children’s soccer games, science fairs, ballet recitals, graduations, weddings, and literally any event because our children will be little overachievers like me” You giggled at his last statement “All I ever wanted was to start a family with the woman of my dreams and here we are. I could never be mad about this”

You couldn’t help but become emotional after your husband’s words. Tears formed in your eyes and you smiled. You both got ready for bed early, deciding the only important thing was to prepare for your little bundle of joy. Sang-Woo even went as far as booking a doctor’s appointment for you first thing in the morning. You continued to discuss your future with your baby and couldn’t be more excited.

[l-in-the-light]

Luffy's and Law's similarities

Because people always talk only about their differences, time to do the uno reverse! You might be surprised how many there are, actually.

Snapping at exactly same thing.

Snapping at same stuff again, because sometimes they share exactly the same brain cell. Even their face expressions are exactly the same in both examples lol.

Whenever Law actually loosens his guard, he reacts in exact same ways as Luffy does.

They both have a very similar experience with their mentors sacrificing themselves for them and same selfblaming reaction. This serves mostly as a prologue because we will compare how child Law and child Luffy behaved.

Both were reckless brats with very wrong self-harming ideas to get what they want.

They hate "dirty tricks" and being lied to. And easily lash out.

Their initial reaction to making fun of someone tripping/being pushed on the floor or making fun of anyone. Also standing there in exact same pose with their fists clenched.

"I will go find a real role model", same vibes here honestly.

"You will pay for this" mentality. They were also both literally thrown which endagered their lives and they both can't believe it's actually happening, that anyone would do something like that. Also bonus points for swearing child Luffy haha.

Both consider some people to be just total scums that deserve punching. Bad guys should be taught a lesson. Law at least managed to land a stab, so 1:0 for him.

This is intriguing. This is the last time Law asks someone for help. And last time Luffy asks someone to help him. Both seem to be convinced "asking for help" caused their loved ones to get hurt, so you will never hear them do it again. The only difference here is Law is asking to help Corazon, while Luffy is the one who needs the help.

Later on Luffy is taught to ask for help by Vivi in Drum Kingdom, but he isn't asking for himself, but to help Nami. Meanwhile Law never again uses the polite words. The most he is capable of is to ask Cavendish "tanomu" which is more like "I'm counting on you".

Both sit in same pose whenever Law isn't trying to impersonate Corazon's style (yes, Law mimicks Cora a lot, also in the way he walks). At least once he slipped and sat in the way he found naturally comfortable instead and it was exactly same way as Luffy's preferred sitting position. What a curious coincidence.

Another funny thing about them is that they both like to wear exactly same type of shoes they used to wear as a child, Luffy the sandals, and Law his dark boots. It's not really that common thing in the manga, for example, Nami and Zoro didn't stick to same type of shoes they used to wear when they were kids.

They also sleep in exactly same position, the infamous T-pose. For comparison, the rest of the Strawhats all have their own different sleeping positions (first from the right is Usopp ofc lol).

They also match each other's pace pretty well. "Let's go, Torao!" and "Ike!" as Law's answer which literally means just "Go!", because Traffy is ready too, no need to stall back.

And finally my favourite:

If Law wasn't under Corazon's "calm" spell, would his laugh sound familiar? Perhaps would it be "shishishi" we know so well? Of course that's the last time Law laughs like that, so we can't compare him laughing when he's an adult. Families in One Piece often share similar laughs, it seems. Unless you're a devil fruit user, that also changes your laughter apparently hm.

There's probably even more similarities between their behaviour, thinking patterns and expressions than I managed to find. I find it suspicious considering those two did not grow up together, so why are they so similar when they're both children?

I dunno if whole D. clan is an actual family, but I think Law and Luffy definitely had a shared ancestor and probably not that far in the past. Very curious since they're from East Blue and North Blue, the two seas mentioned to be the hardest to travel from one another.

Many people speculated Dragon isn't related to Garp or Luffy because they don't really look that much alike, but if you compare Monkey, Trafalgar and Gol family members together you can start to see some pattern emerging: they all have naturally black ruffled hair Potter-family style (you're welcome for that comparison you never wanted to notice and now you can't unsee haha). I wonder if Joyboy will also be revealed of sporting similar style of hair.

[py-dreamer]

...um...hi?

so if anyone's concerned, no I'm not dead.

Thankfully the digital studio is intact this year (thank god I would've had another mental breakdown istg-)

to all my lovely marshiemallows, thank y'all so much for your patience omg!!!!

(and to all my mutuals, @furornocturna and @violetjedisylveon in particular I'm so sorry I haven't been responding or active online at all, I'm so sorry-)

But to sum it up:

I'm on holiday in my home country rn and have been having a blast personally. Meeting relatives, childhood friends, the food, familiar places ect.

and I'll admit I do have a lot of free time outside that but honestly I do feel a wee bit burnt out ngl.

And with my spare time, I've jumped down the demon slayer rabbit hole

(huh who would've guessed)

Basically it's all been a huge break for me.

But I will still post lmk stuff dw. Though don't be surprised if you see a kny thingy pop up somewhere in the dreamscape!!

And for those curious about the fic:

I'm sorry I haven't updated at all, the wips are still in my drafts. I have no formal posting schedule but after returning and getting some work sorted out I'll see what I can do! But no promises!

Regardless, about the pic then.

It is a WIP. It's a sketch for a shadowalkers piece (Wooh! Haven't heard of that au in a while eh?)

I have redesigned mostly Bai He's outfit and added a little pouch for Macaca. The change was mostly so I had more freedom to do different top designs for the new members of the fam!

If anyone has suggestions for outfit designs or accessories or jewelery, hair, anything! let me know pls!

This is just the WIP stage and I really want to achieve that semi-wild, untamed but mysterious and refined gypsy look.

(Also its a guilty pleasure of mine to dress up my characters in aus or just for the fun of it lol)

And fun fact: Wukong's the only one in the fam wearing shoes lol.

Another fun fact: That brick pattern rag he's wearing? Was once a part of tripitaka's cassock from their days on the mountain. (see shadowalkers lore summary for context)

I didn't forget their tails this time! Wheeee!!

Oooh! Ooooh! Also the top half of Wukong's body? I did that myself sans references!!! Woooooooh!!!

Not that there's anything wrong with references of course. Pros and beginners use them and I do recommend them for poses, ideas and such.

Though I am proud I could think of something off like memory and make it work! I think...you can tell me otherwise lol

(BTW this is the after of the main plot where shadowpeach reconciles, they escape the town and Bai He gains a new stepbrother!)

SH!T I REALIZED I FORGOT MEI!!!!

UM I'LL ADD HER IN!! PROMISE!!!!