#i left out some of my stinky shirts

[choking-on-roses]

One of my cats escaped over the patio wall yesterday evening and she has now been missing for almost a full 24 hours. I am so worried she's never going to come back.

[may-stuff]

The Only Thing He Needs | F.C

Franco Colapinto x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Cunnilingus, p in v, creampie (in that order) typos and grammatical mistakes because english is not my first language. reader has breasts and a vagina but nothing else about her looks is specified

Word count: 3k

Author's note: Behold... my first child. It's ugly af but I love it because it's mine.

This is shorter than expected and I'm sure it'll disappoint many of you, so I apologise in advance. I'm just a girl trying to make the fandom happy.

Interactions with this thing would be appreciated, even if you want to let me know how much it sucked 💖

The sun is setting when he finally enters his room after what it felt like an eternity. The weather outside is so hot that when the cool air touches his skin he almost lets out a groan.

Franco would be lying if he said that it wasn't an extraordinary day, because it was. Despite the tremendous heat inside the car and the physical pain he went through, he did an amazing job and couldn't be prouder of himself and everything he has achieved at this point in his career. Sensing that there's a lot more to come, he can only feel excitement for the near future.

Still, even after everything that has happened and all the love and support he's received in the last couple of hours, there's something missing. Someone.

You.

You were there at the paddock during the race, but trying to avoid the media and all the fuss that would be caused if they knew of your relationship, you left the moment you saw the cameras. He hasn't seen you since then, almost three hours ago, and he wouldn't be exaggerating if he said that he is dying because of it.

You're everything he needs.

When his eyes finally find you, you're coming out of the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in nothing more than one of his old shirts. Your hair is loose and messy, your feet bare and there's that glint in your pretty eyes when you realise that now he's here in front of you, breathing the same air. Your beauty makes his heart swell with love.

His arms are wrapped around your waist the moment you literally jump into his embrace. Soon you're showering him in kisses all over his face and neck. He giggles in response, the grip on your waist increasing slightly.

"Missed you." You mutter, nose nudging the left side of his jaw. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay."

"It's okay." Franco answers. "You're here now. That's all I need."

And he means every word.

You smile in response. A smile that reaches your eyes and makes them shine with such intensity that makes him feel dizzy with love.

"You should take a shower." You don't miss the way he pouts when you pull away from him to have a better look at his face. "You stink, love."

"You love me anyway. Stinky and all."

Your laughter echoes in the entirety of the room as you walk towards the closet, where you look for a clean shirt and shorts and then toss them towards him. Rolling his eyes, he walks to the bathroom, chuckling when your voice, from the other side of the door, reminds him that you love him always.

Almost half an hour later he comes out of the bathroom, all wet hair and bare chest. He finds you in front of the bureau where you’ve put some of your clothes and he knows he should be thinking about something else right now, maybe discuss the race and his future in F1, or maybe he should tell you how much he would love to let the world know that he is yours, but all he can do is stare at you. 

Leaning on the doorframe, he observes your every move. You’re not doing something extraordinary, only going through your things, probably looking for the earrings you’ve lost again, but he isn’t afraid of admitting that every single thing you do, no matter how big or small, make you look like the most fascinating creature in existence.

Soon, as every other day, he finds himself walking in your direction. Hands itching with the need of touching you.

There's something about you. Something that lures him in like nothing else has done before. Maybe it's your hair and the intoxicating smell that touches his nostrils when he buries his face in it. Or maybe it's your skin and its taste, so sweet that it forbids him from thinking straight. It sure is the sound you make when you feel his hands on your waist.

His long fingers roam the skin of your waist and back as his lips kiss a wet trail down the right side of your neck. A soft breath leaves his mouth when his lips reach the spot right over your pulse, wasting no time in sinking his teeth in your flesh, softly but hard enough to make you hiss in pain.

"Fran." You warn him. Dainty hands touch his in an attempt to push him away, but his grip on your waist becomes stronger with the fear of losing the contact  with your skin.

"No, no. Por favor." He whimpers. He whimpers impossibly close to your ear, the agonic plea making you squirm in his arms almost against your own will.

"You bit me, Franco."

"Perdón." He cries. "Perdón. I won't do it again."

The mere thought of you leaving hurts him so bad that it is almost physical. It's been such a tough day and now all he wants is to hold you and never let go. You're the only one who can make him feel safe, at home.

There's nothing in this world that Franco loves more than having you in his arms, being able to kiss every part of you and rejoice in the way your body and soul respond to him. Always you, no one else.

“Tanta belleza..." he whispers. Hands now travel up your abdomen and then your sternum, until they finally rest on your round breasts. When he starts kneading your flesh at the same time he keeps kissing and licking the skin of your neck, you moan softly. In response he chuckles, amused by the way in which his words and touch make you forget everything.

You want to be mad at him, you want to scold him and forbid him from touching you if he bites you again, but your mind is dizzy by his kiss and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. His touch breaks your resolve and he knows it, always taking advantage of that.

Today is no exception, because soon he starts moving against you. Hips rocking forward, his growing erection brushes against the roundness of your ass, making both of you moan out loud.

"Can you feel me, baby?" He asks and he sounds desperate. You want to answer but fail miserably because of the intensity of it all. "Can you feel how hard you make me? This is all because of you, for you." 

You moan his name when he moves his hips once more, your own body meeting him halfway, desperately  looking for the contact that makes your skin shiver. 

“You have no idea,” he mutters against your skin, words interrupted by the kisses he's still giving you. “The things I want to do to you…” 

Your answer comes in a shaky breath.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

The next few minutes happen so fast that you barely have a moment to process it all. In no time you're laying on the soft bed, your shirt is long gone and the cool air kisses your skin. The only piece of clothing remaining on your body is your underwear. 

Franco is at your feet, looking at you with eyes full of need and adoration. He takes a long time taking you in, pretty eyes looking at every piece of you, and when your own hands travel from your abdomen to your breasts, repeating his actions from before, a soft whine escapes his mouth. He observes as you touch yourself for him, right hand going down until you start playing with the hem of your knickers. He licks his lips, sight fixed on the wet spot in them. 

Just before you can sneak your hand under the soft fabric, his long fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you aside. He takes no time in replacing you, taking both sides of your panties and pulling them down. In no time they're being thrown to some place on the ground, long forgotten for the rest of the night. 

Hands on both of your knees, he spreads your legs open and lets out a shaky breath the moment your dripping cunt is finally on display. He has seen you like this countless times before but he always reacts the same way: enamoured with every part of your body. He wants to taste everything he can, he wants to drink from you until you beg him to stop.

And that's what he does.

Flat tongue travels from your hole to right under your clit, repeatedly, during a few tortuous seconds that feel like hours. Spreading you open with his thumbs, Franco keeps licking you there until you're the one whining and begging him to give you more. 

In response, you feel him smirk between your legs.

“You want more, huh?”

“Please. Fran, por favor.”

He chuckles.

“Qué putita que sos.”

You want to answer but nothing comes out of your mouth. Nothing but a high pitched moan when his lips finally lick your clit. Before you can even process what's happening, he's suckling on your bundle of nerves like it is the most delicious thing he's ever had the pleasure to taste. When your hands take a handful of his hair and tug at it softly, deep moans sound on the back of his throat and the vibrations rumble through your entire body, making your back arch in pleasure.

There's nothing better than this. His mouth on you, kissing, licking, making sounds that would make even the boldest of men blush. He eats you out like his life depends on it, ignoring the need for air in his lungs because all the oxygen he needs is in you, in your skin, in the very taste of you. He drinks from your juices as if they are the sweetest ambrosia, giving him life, giving him everything he needs. Nothing else, no one else but you.

You keep moaning his name louder and louder, not caring if others are listening. You'll deal with that later, but right now there's nothing in this world that could make you stop from letting him know how you feel.

“So good…” you moan. “You make me feel so good, baby.” 

He moans as well. Hips rocking against the bed cover, unconsciously looking for release. Your words are music to him, because all he wants is to make you feel so good that you forget everything else. Everything else but him. 

“You're soaked.” He groans after gathering your arousal on his tongue and then swallowing it. “Is this because of me, amor?”

Once again, you want to answer but his actions interrupt you. This time, your words get stuck in your throat by two of his long fingers entering you. Carefully, making sure he doesn't hurt you, but the only thing you can feel is the immense pleasure spreading all over your body, legs shaking slightly with the feeling of his fingers starting to move inside of you at the same time his lips wrap around your clit again, suckling with need. 

You moan his name like a mantra, both hands gripping his hair as your hips start to move almost involuntarily, rubbing yourself on his face as you look for your own release. He doesn't protest for a second, in fact, he grabs your ass in his hands to move you closer to his face and now it's impossible to part away from him, tongue and lips torturing your puffy clit as you cry out in pleasure. 

And then he does something that he's never done before.

His teeth grazes your sensitive bundle of nerves ever so slightly and that sends you to the edge. You have no time to react because soon entire galaxies are exploding behind your closed eyes. Some sort of electricity makes your body tremble as you cum on his tongue, and for a moment you feel like you are touching the sky with your hands. Seconds that feel like an eternity, you want to feel like this for the rest of your life. 

When you come back from some wonderful place you've never been before, you find yourself still laying on the bed, but this time Franco's on top of you. He's waiting for you to recover, only caressing your sides with his hands and leaving short kisses on your collarbone and chest. 

He knows you're back when you intertwine your fingers in his soft hair. 

“You okay?” He asks. You nod in response, a content smile on your lips. “Need you to use your words, baby.”

“I'm fine.” You answer. “Better than ever.”

He purrs like a kitten when your hands travel down his back, caressing his soft skin for a few moments. Then you remember that you’re the only one that has had an orgasm tonight, the realisationg making you feel incredibly guilty. Part of loving him is taking care of him as much as he does with you. That’s why it feels wrong, leaving him like this.

Your gaze finds his. He’s hovering over you now, one arm supporting his own weight as the other is in your face, fingertips brushing against your cheek and jaw. His big, pretty eyes are looking at you as if he’s trying to decipher you, and soon he does. It scares you sometimes, how easily he can read your thoughts by the expression on your face. 

“You don’t have to, you know?” He mutters. 

You kiss him softly, tasting yourself on his lips. 

“Of course I have to,” you object. “Because I love you.”

Franco smiles as you sit and motion to him to now lay on his back. He complies, never denying anything to you. 

Soon you’re kissing him again but this time you’re the one on top, legs on both sides of his hips. The sounds leaving his mouth are intoxicating and, trying to coax more out of him, you take your hands to the waistband of his boxer and pull them down, just as he did with your underwear before. 

You wish you could take your time with him but you know that he won’t last long. His cock is impossibly hard, precum dripping out of the angry red tip. That’s why his reaction when you touch him doesn't surprise you; he’s at the edge and it won’t take much time for him to come undone in your arms.

“Amor…” he moans as you stroke him, spreading his juices all over his beautiful dick. You know what he wants. He’s trying to tell you that he can’t wait any longer, that all he wants is to feel you. 

So you comply. 

Both of you moan the exact moment he enters you, hard cock stretching you out in such a delicious way that has you closing your eyes tight. You’re so wet that he slides in easily, filling you completely. 

Your name leaves his lips in a plea that makes you move in no time. The friction coaxing more sounds out of the both of you. He whispers sentences that are never finished, words both in English and Spanish that have no coherence. He’s so lost in the bliss of having your sweet cunt wrapped around him that can barely speak properly. 

“You look so beautiful like this…” he manages to say, the phrase interrupted many times by his own moans. “Riding my cock… so, so good…”

In response you move faster. You can feel him inside of you, twitching with the need of release that will soon arrive. His grip on your waist tightens as you ride him faster and faster each time, breasts bouncing with your moves and that, too, sends him over the edge. 

“Fran…” you moan, your eyes pleading. “Come on, baby. Fill me up.”

Those words and your walls hugging his dick with such intensity are enough to make him cum. He reaches his orgasm in seconds, warm seed spilling deep inside of you and triggering your own climax, which is shorter than the previous one but even more intense.

You keep moving for a few seconds, milking his cock a little more. When you start feeling him going soft you decide to take him out of you, hearing him moan one more time as he watches his own semen dripping out of you. 

The way he looks after he has an orgasm is one of the most gorgeous things you’ve seen in your life. Hair dishevelled, skin glistening with sweat and pretty eyes full of satisfaction, he’s drunk in love and adoration for you and you love it. You love seeing him like this, knowing that you’re the reason behind it all. 

“You’re perfect.” you whisper to him, your lips hovering over his. “The prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

Franco smiles as his right hand comes up to caress your hair lovingly. Now, after the intensity of the love-making, both of you long for your lover’s touch in a more innocent way, in a way that can soothe all the aches. 

You stay like that, resting in each other’s arms, for what it feels like hours. After a while and starting to feel a little sleepy, you sit up on the bed. He looks in your direction, surprised and almost offended with you for pulling away from him. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

“We need to take a shower, come on.” 

You try to get off the bed, but his strong arm is around you in an instant, taking you back to his side. You giggle as he holds you tight and starts biting at your neck.

“There’s no way I’m letting you go,” he says. “You’re staying here with me forever.”

“But we can’t!” You laugh again. “We need to have a shower and eat something.”

“No, no.” This time his tone is more serious. His hands are both on your cheeks, softly making you look at him in the eyes. “You are the only thing I need.” 

For a second you want to scold him for not taking his own well being seriously, but then a smile appears on your face, leaving the previous frown behind, because now you realise that you feel the same way.

.

taglist: @bicchaan @amz824 @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Diana helps mediate. Stinky Dad and the Alien Guy observe.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny’s space-watching time is very important to him. He’s pretty sure it’s on his schedule, even.

Every few days—and even more days in a week, now that people are relatively certain that he’s not going to start hitting the medical staff—Danny gets wheeled over to the big window to stare out at the moon.

The moon hasn’t changed all that much since his first few visits, since. You know. It’s in space. Still, the stars shift in their positions, and sometimes they face Earth, and sometimes they do not, and a couple times Danny sees people flying out there, which is super neat.

Sometimes Danny sees maintenance workers out doing repairs on their buildings, too. They wave back at him when they’re not busy or carrying something, which makes Danny’s core bubble and spark with joy.

So, Danny is watching the stars twinkle in the sky with all the meditative calm his Obsession requires when something plops onto his head. It doesn’t hurt, but it does put pressure onto his neck. Ow.

Danny hisses automatically, but he already knows who it is—the quick-fast-kid-who-hasn’t-introduced-himself practically vibrates against Danny’s skin, all excited by omg/omg/misch/iefomg.

Typical. Danny wants to feign a bite, but his neck kind of hurts. He settles for grumbling. “What?”

“Dude,” the teenager says, or, uh, Danny approximates he says something kind of like dude, anyway— “Want to come see a feoht?”

Uh. “A what?” Danny asks, ignoring how the guy’s chin keeps digging into his scalp. It might be the most non-medical physical contact Danny’s had since he broke down with Diana. Maybe.

The teen backs up, and models some very quick punches into the air, making his own sound effects to match. It’s all very impressive, or whatever. Danny’s not going to applaud, though; his arms are tired.

“…Sure.” It’s not like Danny has anything better to do.

“Berstan!” the kid chirps, and—

Danny clamps down on his wheelchair wheels because holycraptheyaremoVINGFAST. His wheels aren’t on the ground—the teen is carrying him, chair and all—!

He’s going to be in so much trouble for running. Danny’s wheels touch the ground, and he drops straight to the floor. His hands shake all the way up to his elbows as he grips his wheels. He is going to be in so much trouble when the nurses look for him and he’s not there.

Oh no. Oh no.

“Here we are!” the quickfast teenager announces, grinning. They’re in a room with a big, rubberized floor. It’s basketball orange. The rest of the room is virtually indistinguishable from the cloth folding walls Casper High uses to divide the gym into smaller gyms—giant cloth panels line every surface that isn’t the floor. Walls. Ceiling.

Well. It’s certainly…sound dampening. There’s vents, though. So. At least they can breathe.

The other teenagers Danny recognizes yell out to them, cheerful as ever. One waves—the kid behind him waves back, and then they’re all clustered together, pleased and breathing heavy and slightly sweaty.

“Feel alright?” one teen asks—Danny recognizes him after a second; he usually has a leather jacket on over his brightly colored shirt. He isn’t sure what the huge S is for, but hey, it’s a cool emblem or whatever. Danny used to have his initial on his…

…Danny doesn’t want to think about that, actually. He doesn’t want to think about anything about home at all.

Oh. Someone asked him a question, and now they’re all looking at him for answers. Danny nods jerkily—something sloshes inside his skull, though, which. Ew. He scrunches his face up when everyone else starts to look worried about his expression, though; it’s no big deal! It’s just! Gross!

The boy who is very fast pats his hand before sliding to the other side of the room. There are buttons there, which he presses; the room shifts, just a little, to make a piece of the floor turn away in favor of a rack of weapons. The teenager who’s always masked, but is now in an exercise shirt, whistles approvingly, and two of the teens—whoah—start flying off to grab at the equipment available.

…There’s some cool stuff there. Danny. Danny might…

He doesn’t want to fight, per se, but. Um. Weaponry is intrinsically cool. There’s no doubt about it. Half the reason he liked to play Doomed was collecting the newest and coolest weapon to blast at all his enemies with! And Tuc—

—and—

—Tucker—

Something clicks right up in front of Danny’s face.

He flinches.

“You good?” the teenager asks, big blue eyes on him as Danny struggles to breathe. “Do you want hweorfan?”

Danny gasps around three uneasy breaths before his ears catch up. Or. Well, his ears work, but his brain doesn’t know what the teen is saying?? Danny shakes his head anyway—he doesn’t want more to happen. He wants less.

The teenager frowns. Danny immediately worries that he did something wrong. “Okay, but tell me if you change your mod.”

As soon as Danny figures out what that is? Sure. He’ll tell him.

In the meantime, the kids split up into groups; one set of two goes to one side of the gym and the other goes in the air, floating on the other si— wait, they can float??

…Danny stares, and two ostensibly human-looking teenagers take to the air, loudly teasing the two left on the ground, and, yeah. They’re flying. Danny watches as the one on the ground starts counting, ready to start their match, only to interrupt his own countdown for a sneak-attack at the start and a PIFF of a smoke bomb going off. Danny can’t see the buzzing kid disappear from sight as the air begins to thicken, but there’s a distinct taste of JOY/games/VICIOUS that flutters through him that tells Danny that, wherever he is in that smoke cloud, he’s living his best life.

 And. Well.

The fighting is—there isn’t a better word for it, it’s just so damn cool. There’s kicking and punching and throwing and tossing and—sure, Danny can take a few hits and deal out some surprise punches when he has to, but these kids know what they’re doing, which is so cool, because once Danny lost the benefit of gravity mid-fight basically everything Mom had trained in him had been thrown out the window. The physics were just never right.

(And— Mom—)

Like, all the punches are happening at speeds that Danny can only kind of follow. His neck starts hurting from trying to follow them—but he can’t stop watching, and the kids are really having a blast. They’re laughing. They’re teasing. They show off, even, stopping to pose and flex and be admired by their sole observer, which Danny obliges with some gentle claps. The others are quick to jump on any distraction, though, and are more than willing to have Danny be the center of attention while they sneak up on showstoppers, stick or lasso in hand.

On one hand, Danny should probably be more alarmed by the sight of kids acting as literal child soldiers training to be combat ready. He…he’s pretty sure he’s meant to be one of them as soon as he’s recovered enough to get trained.

And…it is scary. It is kind of a scary thought that Danny might have to go back to…go back to fighting and getting hit and hitting and everything that fighting means.

On the other hand, there’s no one here. All the kids here are Danny’s age, and they’re not fighting because someone is making them; they’re having fun, and their job is to help people.

…Danny puts his legs higher up on his wheelchair, until he can wrap his arms around his knees. They’re supposed to beat up threats, but they don’t think that Danny’s a threat. They’re letting him sleep in a bed and get medical care and making sure he gets medication and everything. They let him hang out with their children and he has toys and fidgets to pass the time, and maybe he’ll have to pay them back later, but… isn’t helping out because he got helped only fair?

And they let non-humans live on Earth! That one teen’s stinky dad said that they could help Danny stay on Earth, he thinks. Or, uh, it’s what he thinks the green guy translated that as? So as long as he doesn’t leave, they could even protect him from the— all the bad stuff on Earth! So really, all Danny has to do is work on getting better. He’s safe here. Diana is here, the stinky dad is here, and there’s a whole team of super-people with super powers ready to help people.

Danny’s safe. He’s calm. He’s fine. He’s…worried that Diana doesn’t know where he is, but she’s smart and there’s probably cameras.

He watches the teens play around with various weaponry like they’re his model rocket. There’re thrown projectiles and giant hammers and dodgeballs and sticks, staves, and lassos; someone pulls out a shield, of all things, glittering gold and gleaming with something that itches at the back of Danny’s eyeball, and there’s a gun that sh—

Danny only breaks out of the memory of RUNNINGRUNNINGRUNNING when he realizes that someone is holding him. He’s choking. He doesn’t know who’s holding him, but they’re not hurting him right now and he can see a crowd of other colorful figures around him, which means he’s not with the Guys in White.

He’s hyperventilating. He can’t help it. He can’t stop it! His lungs hurt and there’s no end to the stress pressing out of his chest. Someone is holding him; where’s his chair? Did he lose it?? That’s really expensive medical equipment—they’re going to be so mad at him—!

Someone lifts him out of the stranger’s arms. It’s one of the older quick-buzzing humans. Not the teenager, and not the oldest one, he thinks. Danny can’t tell. He can’t breathe, and it’s hard to focus.

He’s shushing Danny like he’s a kid. Danny would be insulted, except he can’t breathe, and he really wants someone to help him, and his eyes are all weird and he can’t see and he doesn’t know where he is and his core hurts and his chair is gone—

Oh. The guy puts Danny’s hand on his chest and models breathing in with one big, visible breath.

Danny breathes in.

The guy models breathing out. It’s a long, slow breath.

…Danny struggles through the follow-through, but he manages. Well. He chokes hard enough to cough, twice, but…close enough.

The colorful forms milling about slowly disperse, until it’s largely just Danny, and the fast guy radiating very measured levels of calm, and his friend in black and blue, who is eating a sandwich. They breathe in, and they breathe out. That one guy eats his sandwich.

Danny looks around. He’s…the room he’s in is really big. Tables. Benches. Little stands of foo… Oh. He’s in a cafeteria. Cool.

…He squints through the new haze of green in his eyes. He’s probably strained something, but there are more important things at stake here: can he get some real food here?

“Where is here?” Danny asks. Rasps. He’s mostly horizontal, so manipulating his head around to glance at his surroundings is kind of a strain on his neck. Is that a hot dog cart?

“Wistheall,” the two say simultaneously—the guy in black and blue and a bird on his chest swallows his sandwich. “…Want a snakka?”

You know what? Danny’s going to assume that this means a snack. Sure! Why not. Nodding his head so quickly hurts, but he’s also not walking anywhere, so it’s not like it’s a full-body pain. The buzzing-quick guy sort of just…carries him around and asks Danny what he wants, and the bird guy gets it for him.

The little vibrations the guy is giving off are tinged a little with wor/ryworry/worry, but the guy’s mostly…at peace? Forcibly shoved it all down? Danny and the guy are practically chest to chest at this point, so it’s probably just that Danny’s close enough to feel even really quiet things.

His suit is super smooth, by the way. It’s not, like, skintight—there’s a little armor underneath, Danny can feel—but the fabric itself is like super slick. It’s cool. Texturally.

Also, he gives Danny a tube of something that are clearly off-brand Prongles, so Danny’s mostly just enjoying that instead of wondering what’s up with this guy and his friend.

“Are you okay?” the guy finally asks, his chatter mostly winding down into a question Danny can recognize. Danny swallows his bite of chips with a swig from his water bottle, and nods. He’s…unsettled, but he’s fine. He doesn’t know where he is, but he didn’t know where the teenagers had left him either, so this is about what he expected.

Even under his red hood-and-mask, the guy’s eyes are kind. Kinda worried. Not mean. “Something bad happened?”

…Danny looks back at his chips. Something bad happened, but it didn’t happen recently. “No,” Danny muttered around the crumbs in his mouth. He swallowed dryly. “Not…not now.”

The vibrations slow, and dim, melancholy lacing through the air. The sensation makes Danny itch. “Before?”

Danny nods. He thinks about his body melting from the outside in, his face dripping off in chunks of wet matter, his throat torn open still screaming.

“It was a—“ Danny tries, but he doesn’t actually know their word for gun or blaster. He just forces his fingers to make a familiar symbol, holding his own middle and end fingers back, leaving a shaking, uncomfortable thumb and pointer.

The quiet pew pew sound effects probably aren’t necessary, but the more detail, the better, or something like that.

Danny remembers how hot it got. Just…all the heat and light, and he could smell smoke right up until he couldn’t. And his face…everything hurt—everything still hurts, even—but the scary point had been when suddenly his face hadn’t hurt, and there was nothing left to feel.

…The guy holding him pulls Danny’s fingers away from his face. Oh. Danny was pulling at his still-green, still-healing wound. He. Uh. He doesn’t remember starting to do that anymore.

“Sorry,” Danny whispers. He swallows something wet from his sinuses to his stomach, and has to fight back the memory of a blood-and-ecto-and-flesh slurry taking its place in his esophagus as he tried to crawl away to die. Again.

The man sends out pulses of sorrysorrysorry through his skin. “Me too,” he murmurs back.

Then Danny gets hitched up—Danny squawks—and gets thrown into a better position over one shoulder, so Danny has better height to see from and a better perch in the guy’s arms. Danny drops half his prongles on the floor in the process. “Want to go find your chair?” the guy asks, body vibrating just a touch outside of Danny’s conscious awareness. Still, even without seeing the guy’s face, his whole body radiates sympathy/curiOSITy/Hungry.

…Didn’t they just eat?

Either way, Danny’s not torn between staring sadly at the ground where his prongles lay cold and bared to the cruelty of the world or getting up to go find his chair. “Yes,” he agrees, and uses the flat of his forearms to haul himself up higher onto the guy’s shoulders. Kindly, the guy in red doesn’t even budge. “Thank you.”

“Na geswincan,” the guy reports back easily, which Danny is pretty sure is a less-formal you’re welcome. Too bad there’s a whole language’s worth of context Danny’s missing out on here. His friend even snags Danny an extra can of prongles, and is kind enough to rips open the seal for him.

Nothing beats recovering from a crying jag like chips. Danny takes them earnestly.

The quick-fast guy hooks his arm onto his friend’s, and the world starts to stretch and blend into the in-between planes of reality, slices of world layered atop each other. The guy smashes through each one and pulls them both along for the ride.

It’s not quite like dunking his head in the portal, but it’s not not like sticking his head in a homemade portal either. Danny shakily pulls out a chip and starts chewing. He’ll just take the ride as it comes.

*

“Superboy.”

Kon winces.

“Robin.” Wonder Woman’s eyes turn to the more remorseful end of the bunch. “Wonder Girl. Impulse.”

“Wedidn’tmeanto!” Bart wails into a pillow, which. Fair. Cassie is sweating from possibly every pore she’s ever had (and maybe even a few she doesn’t??), and Tim is doing that stoic-faced thing that means he’s flipping the hell out too much to even tell his face to make expressions about it.

Kon just looks…miserable. Just absolutely miserable.

“…Triggered by firearms, maybe…?” Tim mutters under his breath, which means that he’s theorizing about their guest’s symptoms rather than coming up with solutions-oriented paths out of this confrontation and Cassie wants to shake him because this is NOT the time, Timothy Jackson Drake, except he’s kind of made of mortal human flesh and if she actually shakes him too hard he might die.

“I hope you understand how deeply irresponsible it was to take our patient out of his rooms without any form of supervision from either myself, his medical team, or an adult up to speed with our patient’s medical and psychological needs.” Wonder Woman’s voice is sharp—and her eyes are on Timmy Wonder Boy, who’s barely paying attention, making it clear that the majority of her ire is currently on him. “All four of you are being taken off of mission rosters for the next month in favor of remedial training. I hope that you are all satisfied with the decisions you made.”

“Fiiiine,” Cassie groans. Kon slumps in place. Tim nods without really looking.

Bart, still wailing at lightning speed into his pillow, continues doing…that.

[pupkashi]

satoru will always make sure your lips are well kissed

a/n: hi friends ! i hope you all still remember me o.o ,, please enjoy this small fluffy piece as i ease back into the groove of things, let me know what you all think !! I’ve missed you all so much <3

masterlist

satoru will always give you kisses, it was almost an obligation he felt to pepper your face over with kisses.

he’s waking up in the morning, still half asleep and dazed but he’s pressing his soft lips over your face, waking you up with the feathery sign of affection.

“g’morning angel boy” you whisper, smiling as he finally lands on your lips, pressing two quick pecks before smiling and whispering back, “good morning sweets.”

satoru’s hair is always a mess in the morning, and your fingers gravitate to smooth down the strands of hair sticking up. “you gonna be late again?” you ask, watching as his smile turns to a pout, blue eyes staring at the clock with disdain.

“don’t you want your lover to stay in bed with you five more minutes?” he whines, you smile at him.

“well yes,” you agree, “but I’m sure the kids want their teacher there so they don’t die on the field” you tease, pushing his bangs up and kissing his forehead.

“just say you hate me,” satoru sighs dramatically, laughing when you smack his arm as he gets up.

“i hate you so much pretty boy,” you smile, giggling when rolls his eyes at you, walking into the restroom to start his day. you follow him in, washing your face and brushing your teeth before sitting back in the bed.

minutes later he’s emerging out, slipping into his uniform and saying goodbye to you.

“I’ll see you later, right?” he asks, blindfold hanging loosely around his neck as you toy with it, pulling him down and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I’ll see you later toru” you grin, satoru smiles widely, pressing kisses all over your face before reaching your lips, two soft pecks before standing upright.

“I love you!” he calls out from the front door, a smile on his face when he hears you call out an ‘i love you too!’ closing the door and heading to Jujutsu tech.

when you arrive for lunchtime satoru perks up at the sound of you voice, immediately telling the kids it was time for lunch and leaving them in the field.

“y/n!” he calls out, a wide smile on his face as you wrap your arms around him. he wastes no time in picking you up in a hug and twirling you around, setting you gently down before kissing your cheeks and finally your lips, twice.

“missed me already?” you tease, satoru can’t help but giggle.

“as if you weren’t yearning for lunchtime to come sooner?” he retorts quickly, laughing when you roll your eyes at him.

“i made you guys some lunch in case you wanted some!” you call out to megumi, yuji and nobara, the three of them smiling and thanking you.

by the time satoru comes home most days he’s beyond exhausted, it’s almost 10 o’clock but all he wants to do is curl up next to you and sleep.

“hi toru!” you smile from the couch, watching as your lover throws his uniform off his body, left only in a white t shirt and his boxers as he curls up to your side, messy white hair tickling your neck.

“long day?” you ask, he nods silently. you let him lay there for thirty minutes, finishing off the episode you were watching before sauntering into the restroom, knowing he would follow.

“you’re just gonna leave your exhausted, love sick boyfriend to die in the couch?” he frowns, turning the corner and watching as you turn the hot water on.

“no i was going to come back and get you to shower” you state, grabbing his wrist and tugging him into the bathroom gently, “stinky.” satoru can’t help but smile as you scrunch your nose.

he undresses and gets in the shower, sighing in relief when the hot water hits his skin. you bring in a clean towel and set it on the towel rack, “you can use my body wash if you want,” watching as he stands up straighter, eyes brighter as he cheers.

he’s in bed with you twenty minutes later, snowy hair still damp as he play with it. satoru’s halfway asleep as you two talk, a soft snore coming from his lips as you continue talking.

you try your best to not wake him as you turn the lamp off on the nightstand, snuggling up to your lover and whispering a ‘goodnight’ before closing your eyes.

“goodnight kisses,” satoru mumbles, lazily pressing kisses over your face, lips landing on your twice.

“how come you always kiss my lips twice?” you whisper, even after dating for two years you’d never asked.

“one kiss isn’t enough,” he replies softly, “plus if i only gave you one kiss i wouldn’t get an extra couple seconds with you.”

your face burns as his sleepy eyes flutter open, smiling as he places two more kisses onto your lips, “goodnight sweetheart,” his voice is raspy as he softly lulls back to sleep, this time with his head burning in the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of your body wash and his laundry detergent.

“goodnight angel boy,” you smile, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

satoru would always kiss your lips twice.

on groggy or rushed mornings, exhausted or late nights, before or after dinner, sitting on the couch, getting in or out of the car, he would never miss an opportunity, he would never give up those couple seconds loving you for anything else in the world.

[tropicalszns]

hello kitten 😈

PLEASEEE do gojo 🙏 can you do like really silly gojo annoying reader from the SECOND she wakes up to the end of the day, like him and utahimes dynamic basically, and we’re extremely annoyed by him and are always trying to get him to shut up ? you’re welcome to do whatever prompt but make sure to make it FLUFFY!!! and smut if you’d like, i wouldn’t mind 🌚 with muchhhh love xoxo

ROOMMATES !

⋆˚⟡˖° 𐙚 gojo satoru x black!fem!reader

about

your roommate gojo can’t stop annoying you

content contains

fluffff, silly gojo, friends to ??, they were roommates!, slightly suggestive.

word count

1,242

a/n

hey let’s get married frl I love u 🙏🏾😍😍 THANK U FOR BEING MY FIRST REUQESY, forgive me for my tumblr being so glitchy and weird so like I can’t do what I wanna do!! but thank u again for requesting and I’m gonna try and make this the best I can possibly be 🫡 so sorry if it isn’t up ur standards 😭

“UGH!” You groaned. You were once again picking up the dirty socks Satoru left lying around the floor. In the living room, the kitchen, his bedroom, the bathroom, and your bedroom? You put two fingers up by your nose, squeezing hard to block out the stench of the sock you’d just picked up. “This is so gross..” you told yourself.

You walked the living room to see Satoru on his phone, his feet kicked up against the armrest of the couch you just cleaned not too long ago. “Stop leaving your dirty socks around the floor, stinky idiot.” You tossed the sock on his chest, seeing him immediately sit up and push the sock away. “Hey! Don’t do that! I just bought these clothes, not cool.” He frowned, glancing at his sock. “And for the record, I am not stinky, that’s all you.”

You raised your brow, “Me?! You leave your dirty laundry for me to clean!” You scoffed, “I’m not arguing with you, clean up after yourself and stop being lazy.” You begin to walk away. Gojo huffed, mocking you as you walked away, “Not my mom.” He murmured to himself. “I heard that!”

“Cmon! Cmon!” You bit your lip, your fingers fidgeting to your controller. You were in an intense game with your friends and so close to winning. “I got him!” You said excitedly, leaning back against the couch. Your eyes focused on the TV, you couldn’t have any distractions, no interrup- “Do you know where you put the leftovers?” Gojo announced. He slid his hand up his shirt and itched his side and yawned. “Not now, Gojo. Can you shut up?” Your brows pulled together, your frustration building up.

“I don’t know can I?” He snickered, hearing you say nothing after. His laughter died down as he pouted. “No fun, party pooper. Before I went to sleep I didn’t see anything in the fridge, did you make something?” He continued to speak, walking to the couch and glancing at the TV. If he was being honest, he didn’t really care that you were playing the game. He was hungry, and he wanted food now.

“Heeeeyyyy..” he nagged in your ear. You glared at him, swiftly slapping his face. “Ouch!” He held his nose, rubbing his face. “Seriously- not now! Go look for something to eat, stop bothering me!” You urged Gojo, putting your attention back on your game. “Fine.” Satoru sulked and walked over to the kitchen. He stood in front of the fridge, feeling too lazy to even open the fridge door.

He walked back into the living room and crossed his arms. “I don’t see anything, just your stupid drinks.” Satoru deeply sighed, crossing his arms. “Pleaaaseeee, make me something to eat! M’hungry! M’gonna die!” He whined. You felt anger boil your veins, before you could turn around to yell at him, you had gotten killed and finished in 2nd place. Your eyes widened, dropping your controller.

You were speechless. Your lips curled into a line, trying to take breathers but nothing worked. You turned your head to Satoru slowly, watching his sly grin. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you’re so fucking annoying!” You began to yell at him but Satoru only smiled. “Sooo.. are you gonna get me some food?”

Safe to say that the day ended off with Satoru getting cold microwaved left overs and a bruised body.

“This food is cold..” he whined, picking his fork at the cold mash potatoes. “You asked for food, stop complaining.” You narrowed your eyes at him, scoffing. “Such a baby.” You muttered.

Gojo laid in his bed peacefully, wrapping himself in his blankets with the only light in the room is his phone. “Oh my gosh! Satoru!” You squealed, barging in his phone. Your eyes looked around the room, “Ugh, you’re so..” you rolled your eyes and opened the blinds. Gojo groaned, putting his blankets over his head. “Stooop!” he insisted. “No, anyway, I got a date! So you know what that means!!” You smiled.

Gojo gasped, lifting the covers. “You’re gonna come home crying about your date, then somehow make it my problem because you are always annoyed!?” Your face dropped, “I should kill you, I don’t know how we are roommates.” You blurted. “‘Cause you’re broke!” He smiled.

“I hate you!” You groaned, walking about and slamming the door behind you. “I love you too, I think!!” He yelled back.

A couple hours later, you walked into the apartment, tears streaming down your eyes. Your mascara running down your cheeks, ruining your make up. You continued to sob with your head aching and barely being able to walk in your heels, you dashed to your room and slammed the door behind you. Satoru lifted his head, raising a brow as he heard your sobs. “Eh?” He hummed. He took the pillow off his chest and rested his phone on the coffee table. Satoru got up and walked to your room, the door closed.

He placed his ear against the door. Your sobs being heard so loudly, he jolted. He knocked on the door, his heart slightly wrenching from your heavy and horrific sobs. “Uh, are you okay?” Something he probably wasn’t supposed to ask but he didn’t know how to comfort you. Usually you’d come back from your dates upset or irritated because they were a jerk, now you’re crying. He’s never seen you cry, nor did he have it on his check-list for today.

“Go away, asshole!” Your voice was muffled by your face deeply hidden in the pillows. “Uh huh, no. I don’t wanna.” He testified. Satoru twisted the knob and opened the door to see you sulking in your bed. Your dress still on and one heel on the side of the room and another on your foot. Your pillow dirty from your make up and dry tears and mascara implanted on your face.

“You look horrific.” He snorted. He quickly shut down by you throwing a pillow at him. “Go away! You’re so! Ugh!” You cried. “I was just joking, oh my god! Such a downer.” He rolled his eyes, but he secretly was chuckling to himself. He sat on the edge of your bed, watching you try and hide yourself from him. “You don’t have to be upset because of a date, you’ll be fine.” He shrugged. Satoru wasn’t in your shoes, nor does he ever want to be in it. He didn’t know how to comfort you because he knows eventually you’ll find another date that’s probably better than the last.

“He probably doesn’t even deserve you, and you should be confident to know that. I think.” He added. You didn’t speak, only keeping your face buried in the pillow. “I’m not helping, am I?” He asked, you nodded. “M’sorry.” He apologized. He looked around the room, seeing your posters and plushies, it was like he was somewhat interested in it. He moved a bit, pushing himself further in the bed.

“Do you want a hug?” He offered. You somewhat nodded your head which is enough for him. He awkwardly laid down next to you, pulling you in for a hug. “You’re kinda heavy, no offense.” Satoru blurted out. “Shut up.” You replied harshly. “You’re right, my bad.” He snickered, putting his chin on your shoulder. It felt like more of a cuddle instead of a hug, but you weren’t complaining.

“Wait, what is that poking my butt?—”

made by, tropicalszns, please do not copy, steal or repost my work without permission

[ladyeyrewrites]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @unhingedangstaddict

This is a snippet from my BuckTommy mpreg fic featuring trans Tommy. It doesn't have a title yet and I don't know when I'll finish it.

It seemed Tommy wanted to look anywhere but directly at Buck, which was just another thing Buck had lost. Buck blinked against threatening tears as Tommy glanced around Buck’s loft, eyes taking in the subtle changes that had taken place since they’d broken up, until his gaze settled on the mess that was Buck’s kitchen island. “You’ve been baking.”

Sure, Buck had baked with Chris before to help out with a school bake sale since Eddie was so culinarily clueless but he hadn’t really done it in his own time until he’d found out about Tommy’s sweet tooth. He’d been practicing to make something for Tommy’s birthday but then Tommy had to go and dump him. Bitterness spiked through him. “Yeah. Anytime I get the urge to call you, I just I channel the impulse into something positive, like baked Alaska.”

Tommy’s face twisted with regret, eyes growing glassy. Buck wasn’t sure if that had been his intention or not, but maybe it would be good for Tommy to really see how much Buck had been thinking about him. So, Buck walked over to the fridge and pulled out three loaves, making sure the fridge door was opened wide enough for Tommy to see the extent of Buck’s foray into baking and how often he’d been thinking about reaching out. “Here, you should take some.” He plopped three loaves into Tommy’s unprotesting arms. “Here’s a lemon loaf, and a walnut loaf, and a pumpkin loaf.”

“That’s a lotta loaf,” Tommy managed to say. “Buck, I—”

“Hang on, let me go grab those shirts,” said Buck because hearing Tommy call him by his nickname rather than his name made him want to scream and he didn’t want to do that, not when Tommy looked like anything could cue the waterworks at any moment. So, Buck might have fled his kitchen, jogging upstairs to grab the reusable tote bag of Tommy’s tee shirts and flannels he’d accumulated over their six months together. That bag had been haunting him every night as he lay in bed – alone – trying to fall asleep, wondering if Tommy was also alone or if he’d already managed to find a rebound.

Buck hefted the bag and his heart panged. Once he gave this stuff back, Tommy would well and truly be gone from his life. There’d be no excuse for Buck to reach out. No trace that Tommy had ever been in his life save for the indelible mark he’d left on Buck’s heart. So, Buck did something maybe a little impulsive and indulgent; he snagged one of Tommy’s flannels out of the bag and shoved it under his pillow. He was absolutely not going to bury his face in it and cry himself to sleep later.

As he was engaging in some of the most pathetic breakup behaviour ever, his kitchen timer went off downstairs.

“Buck, do you need me to do something?” Tommy shout up the stairs, voice carrying over the shrill timer beep.

“Yeah, could you just grab the baked brie out of the oven?” he asked. He snagged his favourite Tommy t-shirt out of the bag and stashed it with the stolen flannel too. If Tommy was allowed to unceremoniously dump Buck then Buck was allowed to steal his clothes and not return them.

Buck gave a satisfied nod and started down the stairs to join Tommy. He was halfway down when he heard Tommy gag. Buck looked up from his feet in time to see Tommy turn literally green before unceremoniously dumping Buck’s baked brie on the counter, bee-lining for the sink and vomiting down the drain.

Buck raced down the stairs, rushing to Tommy’s side and rubbing smoothing circles on his back before he even realised what he was doing. “Are you okay?”

“Are you sure that cheese is okay?” Tommy asked catching his breath. “It reeks.”

Buck frowned as he got down a glass and filled it with tap water for Tommy to rinse out his mouth. “Uh yeah,” he said. “And brie’s not a stinky cheese.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tommy sagged, leaning against Buck’s counter. “But my sense of smell’s been really weird the last few weeks.”

A sinking feeling filled Buck’s stomach. This all sounded very familiar. They’d always been so good about using protection and between birth control and testosterone Tommy hadn’t had a period in well over a decade. But there’d been that little lapse before Tommy had found his new doctor and oh, god they’d definitely had unprotected sex that one time when they were both a little tipsy after getting back from babysitting Eddie. “You’re pregnant,” Buck blurted before his brain could send his tongue anything more tactful to say.

[freezingmcxn]

hey.. how you doing.. can you maybe make a lil thingy about toby like you did with the eyeless jack thing I'm just really focused on Toby right know idk why but like write it however you want I just want to see your writing on how you rhing he looks and acts take your time you dont even have to do it I love you I love you i love you I love you I love you I love you I lovw you

TOBY ROGERS APPEARANCE (AU)

AHH YES I CAN my motivation is so bad but these always make me really happy and are easy to write so OFC ILY!!

Toby’s hair is a pale, sun-bleached brown, almost blonde, falling to his neck and curling around his ears.

Naturally curly, his hair has become dry and unkempt from bathing in river water and using cheap soap. His curls puff out, lacking any defined shape.

Occasionally, in a fit of frustration, he shaves it all off or trims it, often in a dingy ass gas station bathroom, depending on how much he despises it at the time.

Standing around 5’7” (5’8” in boots), Toby’s constant slouching makes him look as if he might topple over at any moment.

His most noticeable feature is the gash on his mouth, though it’s not as large as one might think.

The wound is just big enough to expose his upper teeth, which are rotted and decayed. Despite its size, the injury reeks of infection, with pus occasionally oozing from the diseased tissue.

Toby often picks at it, making the wound larger over time.

Originally, it was a small bite he inflicted on himself, but his constant fiddling turned it into the gaping wound it is now.

He no longer bites at it, disgusted by the taste of his own decaying flesh. He usually covers it with a large plaster—often supplied by Jack or just lets the air hit it, depending on his mood really.

Toby has a small gold hoop earring in his left ear, a relic from a day when he and Lyra decided to pierce it with a needle. He didn’t feel the pain but kept the earring all these years, occasionally fiddling with it as a reminder of her.

His trusty hatchets dangle from a hardware belt around his waist, always clattering when he moves, a sound he makes sure to emphasise because he knows it irritates people.

The hatchets are mismatched, one is large with a dark oak handle, carved with doodles, while the other is smaller, with a plastic handle, but much sharper—often the one he uses for the first hit.

Both handles are wrapped in duct tape, one of his go-to solutions for everything.

Toby’s skin is sallow, marked by long exposure to the sun. Freckles and moles speckle his body.

His hands are scarred and battered, with half of his left pinky finger missing, and his right hand covered in self-inflicted bite marks. His palms are calloused, his nails ragged—some bruised black, others completely gone.

His teeth are a mess—sharp, chipped, and broken, with gaps where some have been knocked out from fights or lost to decay.

Toby doesn’t bother brushing his teeth, as he often forgets or simply doesn’t care. Eating people doesn’t help either, wrecking his teeth further.

He typically wears the same tattered hoodie for as long as he can stand it, only washing it at a laundromat when absolutely necessary (when it’s bloody and stinky).

He also has an old Joy Division t-shirt layered over a white long-sleeve, both full of holes, though Toby doesn’t mind, he wears it on warmer days.

He’s been wearing the same pair of jeans for five years, patching them up whenever needed—he’s surprisingly good at sewing thanks to Lyra.

On his feet are either old Timberland boots, once his father’s, now worn with a hole in the sole, or a beat-up pair of red Converse, duct-taped at the top.

He alternates between them.

Toby owns a fleece jacket, fingerless gloves, and two beanies—one grey and one black.

The black one is torn and faded, but he likes the way it adds to his look.

He carries everything in a worn blue Jansport backpack he once stole from a kid at a bus stop, where he rams all his clothes and supplies.

I think that’s enough 😭😭 I rambled I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say too much because I fear he won’t be as interesting but yeah! Hope you like him :)

[randomfoggytiger]

React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (Home Again), Part IV

This is the one Revival episode I was semi-curious about: it may drum up a lot of heartfelt ~emotions~, but my glasses-on-emotions-off side is dying to be intrigued or surprised or… placated. 

It’s gotta happen at some point during this series. 

Part I (My Struggle I), Part II (Founder's Mutation), and Part III (Weremonster).

Let's go!

HOME AGAIN

It’s Home Again tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime~. 

Oh, no. 

(Note from the future: Looking back, this sign makes me want to rage.)

…Why are the firemen antagonistically hosing down the homeless?

“You people?” In D.C.? In 2015? Sure, Jan. 

This man’s career woulda been over in five seconds. 

The firemen’s careers woulda been over in five seconds. 

The police wouldn’t be standing by eating food on the job while supervising, what? 

Does. 

Do the writers remember how police procedurals work?

Do….

Do the writers not care about the casefiles anymore? Well, yes; but… do they not care… at all?

Guys, if I read this in a fanfic I’d have already skipped to the end, skimmed through the last paragraph, and closed the tab. 

Solomon Grundy or the avenging Angel of Death or the Homeless Havoc Haver got off a dumpster… truck… and. 

I’m not taking any of this seriously. 

If the MSR is really good, I’m going to save all my snark for the plot. 

It’s a stinky one already. 

THE POLITICIAN GUY STARTS SCREAMING, THE BAD GUY STOMPS IN, RIPS HIS ARMS OFF, AND THAT KILLS THE POLITICIAN GUY?? RIPPING HIS ARMS OFF???? REALLY???

And no, he didn’t rip him in half-- he ripped his arms off.

All the homeless people zipped up their tents knowing the dead garbage... thing was coming-- so, do they have protection from it, or are they afraid of it? 

Also, why did that soda can crunch up before the garbage truck even arrived? A visual that the Garbage Gargantuan was coming? …Before he actually, physically arrived? Even though he apparently can’t manipulate matter in that way himself? Or hasn’t shown himself to do so, yet?

It’s all kinda… shoddy. 

“Sir, are you there?” said the most unconcerned voice on the other end of his discarded phone. …You couldn’t give me… something? 

Wait, the garbage truck dropped him off, drove off, then had to drive back, I guess, to pick him up mere minutes later. Less than five. Less than three, even. 

That makes no sense. 

Here they cooooooooooooooooooooome….

Oh, that’s where these outfits came from. This episode. 

Scully still has her middle-aged wine mom low-cut, very unprofessional-- and your girl knew how to be hot and professional back in the day. (I’m not even saying she has to be prudish, I’m saying why that shirt? Leaving it unbuttoned would work for a softer blouse, but hers has stiffer fabric, which makes the shirt bunch weirdly. You can see it particularly in the uneven collar and wrinkled lapels:) 

Wait, what’s that weird, discolored stripe on Mulder’s left chest? It’s not a shadow from the tie, I don’t think. Is it a wet patch? A thinning patch of fabric?

Also, yes, this episode is a rip-off of Arcadia, who cares. 

“Well, it looks like this person was born with no footprints. …Which is impossible, by the way.” Yes, Mulder, the team knows, THEY ASKED YOU ON THIS CASE. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if the cuts didn’t hold too long or end awkwardly. Whoever was in the editing room really hampered the already questionable quality of their material. 

Scully’s voice isn’t as “smoker” anymore. 

WAIT, WAIT, HOLD UP. NONONONONONONONONO.

Mulder just looks out a window and sees a MURAL of the KILLER??????????

WHAT, DID THE HOMELESS POOL THEIR POCKET CHANGE, BUY PROFESSIONAL GRADE ART SUPPLIES, AND PUT GARBAGE GARY UP ON A BILLBOARD?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

MULDER AND HIS HOMELESS ART, TAKE TWO, I GUESS. 

Maybe it was a local artist who heard the homeless stories and put it up, but.... 

Wait. 

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait, wait, wait, wait, wait. 

Scully has Bill’s name. In her phone. As William. 

As. 

William. 

AS. 

WILLIAM. 

That was purely to tease the fans because there’s no way Bill goes by William. 

Scully doesn’t even call Bill ‘William.’

Wait. 

Those aren’t Scully’s nails. 

Did the hand model casting department even try. 

I WAS RIGHT, oh, look, it changed due to Scully’s ~trauma~, I guess. 

The writers and cinematographers and directors didn’t even try. 

Why would Scully have Bill in her phone as ‘William Scully, Jr.’ and not Bill? He’s Bill to her, not ‘William Scully, Jr.’ the 2nd, ™. 

She didn't: it was a ~ trauma mirage~.

And a badly done one at that.

The writers tried to have a little “oh, look, it’s William!” moment, but the caller layouts are completely different. 'William' is front-and-center whereas the 'William' in 'William Scully Jr.' is shoved off to the left.

They should have done an extreme zoom-in on the ‘William’ part of ‘William Scully, Jr.’, then a snap over to Scully, then a snap back showing Bill's full name. It would get the point across without being nefariously baity. 

(Note from the future: This makes even less sense in retrospect.)

Shoddy scene splicing, what’s new?

Bill was in Germany, huh. Guess he’s still in the military. 

WAIT. 

Maggie, who is in Maryland, next to D.C., had BILL listed as her emergency contact. (Note from the future: Not even that, it's worse.)

Who was supposed to be in Germany. 

Instead of her daughter who is in D.C.

~~~~~~Tensions~~~~~~ I see. 

Mulder immediately notices the slight change in Scully's voice and intuits Something’s Wrong. Good, good. The bare minimum, but good. 

Wait, the EMTs found Bill's number on Maggie, or…? 

So, did Maggie not have anyone listed as her emergency contact? ...And the writers want us to think Scully would stand for that in case of an emergency??

Well... that could be a valuable character beat, we’ll see. 

Mulder telling Scully to immediately go and her “Yeah”ing and going is a good beat, too. They’re acting more like themselves... they’re acting like a 50-something version of themselves, at least; it’s good. 

Don’t ruin this for me, writers. Don’t do it. 

Scully’s gone and DID NO ONE THINK TO CHECK THE SECURITY TAPES??? NO ONE’S DONE THAT, YET????? NO ONE EVEN BOTHERED TO LOOK FOR A SECURITY CAMERA???

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

(WHY are we down but looking up into Scully’s face with really weird jumpcuts as she clops out of the building????

WHAT IS THIS. 

This is not displaying her anxiety. It’s portraying impending madness.

THERE ARE FOUR. FOUR. MOUNTED SECURITY CAMERAS. 

Mulder’s gauging the perpetrator's height based off of basketball players; but is this supposed to be a "heehee, haha, that's weirdo Mulder for ya" bit? Because his method is just... sensible and smart. (The other investigator has a split-second “what’s up with this dude?” expression, but that wouldn’t fit here because what Mulder did was, dare I say, normal.) 

None of this is offensive, and it’s not drumming up real anger, so. That’s a win, I guess. 

That street art was put up… this morning? THIS? Morning? How did someone scale and paint and get it all done before Mulder and Scully arrived? 

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatever. Probably supernatural, anyway. 

Mulder stepped in gum, then had the brilliant idea to preserve it as evidence. Smart. 

Scully’s at the hospital. 

Maggie’s in the hospital, alone. Ah, man. 

This scene’s shot really well thus far. It has the right balance of music, the right balance of silence, the right balance of camera cuts. 

And it’s immediately ruined.

WHEN MAGGIE GAINED CONSCIOUSNESS, SHE REPEATEDLY ASKED FOR "SOMEONE NAMED CHARLIE" AND NOT HER OWN DAUGHTER WHO LIVES IN D.C.

THIS ISN’T MAGGIE, WHAT. 

There had better be a real-- and THOROUGH-- explanation for any of this. Maggie LOVED her little Dana and her daughter Melissa and Bill. But here we’re to assume Charlie has supplanted Melissa as the outcast or Dana as the favorite???

Really. 

(Note from the future: Nope. It might be worse, though.)

To me, Dana was her "favorite"-- her "baby girl"-- all these years. The two always drew comfort and strength from each other, growing closer when Captain Scully passed and the other Scullys drifted away or died off.

But now Maggie wants Charlie. To what, right a wrong???

Scully has been shoved into this new reality of her mom not listing her as an emergency contact and only asking for Charlie-- NOT FOR HER, FOR CHARLIE-- and perhaps having suffered from health complications for a while now without filling her medical doctor daughter in on the details. 

It’s so. Cruel. 

“They’re estranged.” 

CHARLIE’S ESTRANGED FROM MAGGIE. 

WHAT. 

WHERE DID THIS COME FROM. 

I knew there were fandom speculations that Charlie was estranged, but I never knew it had confirmation in canon (well, the Revival canon.)

SO. 

All this time, Charlie didn’t have a problem with his father-- since Bill is Captain Scully’s carbon copy and Charlie always called or communicated through him-- but with his mother. 

What’s Maggie ever done? Honestly, what’s Maggie ever done for this to be her ending? What in canon pointed to estrangement or secrets from her children or whathaveyou?

If anything, this is Tena Mulder 2.0: estrangement from her son, asking for him to come before her death, keeping a health complication secret, dying without providing closure. But that’s not Maggie’s character and never has been. 

I don’t understand this, Morgan and Wong or Morgan or Wong. At what point did you think this was the right decision to make for this character??

I can pick up what the writers are putting down-- no one truly knows another person, even if they think they do, etc.-- the FLAW with that logic is, we know enough about a person to notice if they're acting differently or out-of-character. And Maggie has always been a flamingly consistent person: she can’t hide her feelings and doesn’t feel shame in expressing them, she’s terrible at keeping secrets, and she’s torn apart if excluded from her loved ones’ personal lives. These traits have consistently remained the foundation of her persona. Changing them now-- so suddenly and completely-- is poor if not lazy or "hack" writing.

My fury is not solely because I like Maggie and want her to have a happy ending but because that’s not Maggie-- never has been-- and Maggie Scully would never act the way this Maggie has. 

Regarding Charlie, he was never portrayed as “separate than” the Scully clan-- that was Melissa-- just always busy on military tour or whatever he was doing. He kept in contact with Bill, he let his sister babysit in Home (heh, Home Again, GET IT), and he sent presents to the family through Bill in A Christmas Carol. Maggie never seemed perturbed or disturbed or saddened or emotional when hearing his name or talking about him; and she would have been if there were something amiss. 

“She, she didn’t ask for me, or for Bill, or for her grandchildren?”

The implication here is that Bill has children and Charlie doesn’t-- if Charlie had children, Scully would have assumed Maggie were trying to get in contact with his kids-- her grandchildren-- by calling him. Scully doesn’t say “all her grandchildren” or “her other grandchildren.” Nope. 

So, Charlie’s not a dad, and Bill has more than one kid.  

I do understand he was written as the lone guy with a wife (while Bill had a wife and kids) in Beyond the Sea, but times and lore have changed; and I’m disappointed Morgan and Wong or Morgan or Wong didn’t update their memory, too. 

In a deleted script, Charlie was also, supposedly, single. And yes, that script was never produced, but I find it interesting that he and Melissa were kind of the “unattached” Scully kids, with Melissa being considered the black sheep and Charlie being considered largely absent. 

“Hey, Mom. I’m here. I’ve been where you are. I know Ahab is there. And Melissa.” Um, okay. Something feels off about this, but I can’t pinpoint what. 

“And Mom. I’m here.” That part can stay, wow it kinda got to me. Okay, Revival, you got something out of me. Huh. Don’t butcher this. 

(‘Kay, so, I thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink the problem I had with the first statement was that it was a little clunky, a little “remider”y. But it bridges the gap between redundant and old X-Files dialogue, sooooooooooooooooooooo. I’m not sure how to sort it.) 

“Bill, Jr.’s” (guess he’s forever called ‘Junior’, huh… that’s kinda hilarious, but also out of character) “here. And William.” Her crying over William a little, realizing she talked about him voluntarily for the first time, is also a nice touch. “And Charlie. Charlie’s here.” 

Too bad I’m not invested in Maggie because… welp. Review criticisms above. 

“Please, Mom, don’t go home yet. I need you.” 

I do wonder why this is called Home Again-- I get it, it’s a wink-and-nod to M and W’s Home title, but the material doesn’t reaaaally sync. Unless, of course, Maggie’s real proud of “her boys”, and is tossing aside Scully’s importance aside because she never had children.... Well.

…Oh, my word, the two politiciany people on the scene are so highschool play. Stop, please. “Are you threatening me?”/”I’ve been threatening you for six months.”/”Well stop.” UGH. 

Lady calls police-politician-whoever a name and Mulder jokes, “You married?” and mumbles a little as the lady stumbles over her words explaining…. That’s David-humor, not Mulder-humor. 

Mulder having to become the voice of the homeless while hashing out this not-married couples’ couple banter aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand. Snore.

This is like a little Professor Layton sideplot where you can’t pass down the alley you need to get to if you don’t solve a random villager’s puzzle. Groovy. 

Random homeless guy says “Band aid nose man” to Mulder and walks off. That’s a clue if I’ve ever been beaten upside the head with one. 

Oh, look, the mural’s gone. Groovy. 

WHY are we getting a flashback to Scully’s bedside from One Breath? I get it, I do, nostalgia, etc. etc. HOWEVER, I think this scene would have been better served if we heard Mulder’s voice instead of seen his hand because, I don’t know, Scully was in a coma and didn’t see this happening, I don’t think. Unless she had a bird’s eye view above her body and just hovered there for days, I guess. 

Maggie has a new coin necklace, ooooooh, the woman without secrets had secrets, ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh. Ugh. 

Bill called, and Scully finally called him ‘Bill.’ 

Bill needing to know if Maggie will die before he gets there and demanding expertise from Scully IS a Bill thing to do-- he’s probably not meaning to inflict more trauma on his sister, but he’s never paid attention to what does traumatize her. Nice, nice. 

Maggie wanted to remain on life support, nice, nice, that fits with her  One Breath experience and Catholic values, good. 

That was a REALLY good scene, I will admit. Just having Scully watch someone else’s body be packed up for the morgue while Bill continually leeches answers from her on the other line, I wish that’s how the One Breath flashback had unfolded, too. 

OH, it was a band aid, not gum, that stuck to Mulder’s shoe. 

Why does the undead man need to wear a band aid on his nose. 

Deadman’s neither dead nor undead. ‘Kay. 

Scully’s being hyper-vigilant and boundary crossing into "doctor mode" while keeping an eye on her mom. Bored, trying to distract herself with work, nice, nice. 

MAGGIE MADE A NEW DIRECTIVE WITHOUT TELLING SCULLY ABOUT IT. WHAT IS THIS, PAYBACK FOR WHAT HER DAUGHTER DID?????? But if this is payback to Scully, why is she ALSO punishing Bill??? Because Bill is being inadvertently punished: he was left in the dark, too, and only called incidentally. And even if that's the case, Scully's punishment is still WORSE. Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Because of William???

Sorry, that’s not a Maggie thing to do. She mended fences between her husband and youngest daughter, embraced her despite the chaos of her life, even forgave her after the whole cancer debacle (being kept in the dark then forced into secrecy without the healthy outlet of discussion.) 

MAGGIE’S JUST NOT VINDICTIVE, SHE’S NOT. WHY IS SHE NOW????????????????????????????????????????????????

Dudes are collecting the homeless paintings and selling them. 

So the painting wasn’t---

OKAY, WAIT. 

The mural (plural?) isn't supernatural. 

Despite being completely finished and all materials being cleared away before Mulder appeared on the crime scene. 

Despite two arthouse dealers swiping it before Mulder even walked away from the crime scene. 

Despite them swiping it (hauling a ladder over, climbing it, unpinning the painting or whatever, climbing down, and scooting off) within minutes of Mulder seeing it from the window, checking the cameras, and going out to investigate.

With police swarming everywhere. After Mulder let the head of the team know he wanted to investigate the mural.  

What. 

Scully’s still dealing with this alone, ‘kay. 

Not against that, either, because Mulder is busy and that is a thing he would do, even in his 50s. It’s how he operates. It’s how Scully expects him to operate. It’s how he operated when his own mother was on her deathbed (and after.) So, nice. 

Maggie’s gonna get extubated. 

The William screen thing keeps happening. Wish it WOULDN’T. At least do a zoom-in or weird camera angle then, not when Scully’s weirdly stumbling down the stairs. 

Mulder’s here. That’s nice. Another thumbs up from me. 

THIS is how you do character development: both characters acted on their modus operandi, but Mulder has grown enough to set aside time for Scully, to be there for her and help her. This isn’t after her mother’s death or after tragedy or after the truth has slipped through his fingers, this is during the long wait. Mulder’s still himself, but he’s also grown, too; and that growth hasn’t been shoved in our faces or jumped from A to B without proper explanation. Here, we get to see him make the choice and grow as a person. Further, Scully’s reaction lets us know this is NEW for her partner; and that she’s immensely grateful and touched to know he won’t leave her to do this alone.

THAT’s how it’s done. 

Case stuff, who cares. 

Mulder can’t stay. Scully’s going through it, doesn’t understand why her mother’s done what she’s done. Even Mulder’s surprised. 

Disclaimer: this isn't The X-Files of old. These scenes may be good-- excellently acted, not too shabbily written-- but Mulder and Scully still don’t feel like Mulder or Scully. The characters (when not poorly written or wildly butchered) don’t even come close to the essence of IWTB, at times: as badly as that movie fell apart, at least Mulder and Scully retained a spark of their original selves. Here? DD and GA act as twins or doppelgangers. They’re not Mulder and Scully, they’re Clone!Mulder and Clone!Scully who exist separately from the juvenile nature of the cases they investigate, who exist only to sit near each other and talk over their past, and whose very existence and nature are determined by the writing flavor of the week. There’s no cohesion and no point to the plots-- there’s only a hint of Mulder and Scully, and, hopefully, a quiet second for the characters to absorb. And that’s not even a guarantee, anymore. 

Mulder following after Scully and gently pulling her back when Maggie needs to be extubated-- good character moment. Scully not caring about the bigger questions right now-- also a good character moment.

The unfortunate darting on Scully’s top makes it look like she’s really cold in that hospital. (What an oddly constructed shirt, anyway. …Kinda just want to stare, marveling that it’s both: stiff and silkyish, has buttons and doesn’t, and isn’t naturally low-cut but is? ...I don’t miss 2015's fashion.)  

A Home music number as someone gets murdered? Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

Buuuuut why the lady and not the politician-police-guy? What? Why? 

ANOTHER bit of character growth: not only does Mulder show up, but he stays. Ding, ding, ding! Good writer, that’s a good writer! 

Though this all washes over and away because it’s in service of a Not-Maggie, so. Consider my investment shot. 

Here are the lines I always read in gif sets:

“Back in the day, didn’t we ever come across the ability to just… wish someone back to life?”

“I invented it. When you were back in the hospital. Like this.” 

“You’re a dark wizard, Mulder.” 

See, those lines coulda been cheesy; but they were tempered and calmly handled. (Good writers, good writers, who’s a good writer!) 

“What else is new?” Mulder adds, and laughs at his own joke. Self-deprecation and amusement in that one. And Scully is cheered up a little by it, too. Thumbs up, DD and GA.

Charlie called. Scully begging Charlie to “do what I can’t do” caught Mulder’s attention, as it did mine. That’s an interesting dynamic that could have been explored: she said it quite flippantly; and that’s a VERY big “I’ve just held you back” tell.

Aww, well. A question for a better series, I suppose. 

AND Scully thinks Maggie will come back if Charlie talks to their mom. WOW, okay, that’s a lot... and will never be explored again. Ah, well. Again, a better series. 

Charlie sounds how I expected him to, huh. 

OH, NOW Maggie wakes up. 

They all think it’s a miracle and then Maggie thinks Mulder’s Charlie. That made me laugh, I’m sorry. …Or am I? 

WAIT, she didn't, scratch that. It's worse.

Maggie came back to say, “My son… is named William, too.” 

Um. 

Uuuuuuuuuuum. 

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM. 

She really woke up, recognized both of them, then ignored her daughter, grabbed onto Mulder, and commiserated with HIM about their sons named William. As if she related to all of Mulder’s hardships and gave Scully absolutely zero grace or mercy. 

That’s cold.  

AND SCULLY’S SO DEVASTATED because she woke up that morning not knowing her mother had effectively cut her out of her life. Because of the past. Because of William. 

WAIT. Wait. wait WAIT. 

None of this makes sense. 

Scully has been seeing ‘William’ all day on her phone. At first, we the audience assume that’s her continual guilt. 

It’s revealed Maggie has open wounds over ‘William’, as well. 

Maggie wakes up only to utter “My son… is named William, too”, which suddenly introduces a supernatural element to the messages on Scully’s phone. 

But the only time Scully’s gotten supernatural messages in the past is from MELISSA. 

So did Melissa try to connect with Scully to prepare her for Maggie’s final message before Maggie woke up? Did Melissa do that ever since Maggie collapsed, from the very first phonecall Scully received? 

And if that’s the case… did Melissa hang out with Maggie in that forest with Ahab, but try to make connections with her living sister to prepare her?

And if so………………….. That’s the worst possible way to do it, giving Scully new layers of guilt and depression from failing her mother and reliving the moment she failed her son. 

That’s… that’s. Melissa levels of unawareness, but she’s supposed to be all-knowing or less… Melissa in the afterlife, right???? If this is even Melissa????

And if it wasn’t Melissa, WHAT WAS THIS ALL ABOUT?????

Maggie wanted Charlie, she wakes when he talks, she ignores Scully completely-- who’s been by her side since coming back from being on-the-run, supposedly-- and talks about WILLIAM with MULDER. 

It’s all so tangled and confusing. And, just. Mean. So unbelievably mean-spirited. To come back from the brink not when your daughter begs you to but because your son called while keeping said daughter and your other son out of the loop-- Bill was called by chance, after all-- and never leave clearer answers or messages or love or anything.... 

Wow. 

Wow, wow, wow. 

Tena’s was the worst death, but this angers me just as much because they did this to Maggie. 

Yep, she’s dead. 

SHE NEVER SAID A WORD TO CHARLIE, EITHER. 

Her estranged son finally called and she died without speaking a word to him, or looking around for his voice, or anything. 

Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow I’m mad. 

At least the episode’s not pretending to be a casefile. 

UH OH, here comes the (can’t remember the name, help me out) morgue bed. Scully’s panicking over it, Mulder has to go wrangle her (gently) AND THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I’VE FELT THE ESSENCE OF SCULLY other than a smirk or a smile. THAT’s Scully-- the fire, the fury, the indignation. 

“Margaret” is what Mulder calls Maggie. Can’t remember if that’s canonical, either. Oh, wait, he called her “Mrs. Scully” in the past. Eh, it makes sense he changed it to Margaret. 

Wait, does that mean “Maggie” was her husband’s endearment, and everyone else called her “Margaret?” The “Scully” and “Dana” nicknaming duality got a little more layered. If, if, if.  

Scully’s beating herself up about William, but at least she says, “That we gave away” which means she considers Mulder a part of herself and her decision (and that he’s drilled that truth into her head until it stuck.) 

“Why did she say that?” Because the script told her actress to do so. “Why did she have to say that?” I know, cruel, isn’t it?

Not getting Mulder from this scene, either. David can act, but he’s tooooooooooo… muted, here. Mulder would have given a little more. 

The last frame hanging on his face is okay, though. Still too… muted. 

Only one type of spray paint on crime scene evidence, one search on Scully’s part, next clue found in three seconds. Because that’s how life works. 

Scully still struggling with her mother’s death, not clued in. Mulder whistling after leaving the shop, really subtle, but a fine character tidbit. 

SCULLY JUST DROPKICKED THE--

NO. 

NO. 

NO. 

THAT’S NOT HOW PHYSICS WORK. 

SCULLY’S LITTLE TWIG ARMS AND LEG AREN'T TAKING ANYONE DOWN-- LET ALONE A GROWN MAN-- WITH A TEENY TWIST-FLIP-KICK MANEUVER, ON STILTS. 

WHAT. I thought that scene happened in the computer simulation whatever episode. WHATWHATWHATWHATWHAT. 

I can hear 90s David screaming about feminism from here. 

The case continues to descend into “who cares?"ville.

The kid gets away because Mulder doesn’t do stairs anymore. And though we're all with Mulder in spirit, this is his job.

“Mulder, back in the day I used to do ‘stairs’ and in three-inch heels.” ‘Kay, Barbie. But Ken didn’t. 

“Back in the day…. Scully, back in the day is ‘now.’” …..

………..

……………

……………….

What. 

What did that dialogue have to do with the kid getting away and Mulder not chasing him? If “back in the day is now”, then Mulder would have done stairs and caught the kid.

“Back in the day is now” doesn’t make sense even if you two flash your lights over it. 

OH, LOOK, THE FLASHLIGHTS ARE CROSSING AGAIN, GET IT. 

We’re, like, four episodes in and Mulder and Scully are still slowly getting back in the groove of The X-Files. 

OH, LOOK, THE CAMERA SHOT IS HOLDING ON THE FLASHLIGHTS MAKING AN X, DID YOU NOTICE IT YET???? Yes, yes we did. 

WHAT WAS THAT. A rubber mask and suit popped out, hit the wall in front of them, and fell back into the shadows????

That was as convincing as the rabbit fur puppets mauling Gillian’s face. 

Hurry it up, I don’t care about the case. 

Mulder doesn’t do stairs but can kick the door in with one try in his tight, tight Patriarchy Pants. 

I can hear 90s David screaming about feminism from here. 

Grotesque clay masks, got it. Okay. All right. I’m bored. 

A new character, the garbage man, is going on about homeless being treated like trash. ‘Kay. 

He’s the artist? What. Doesn’t... what. He wouldn’t have time to put up the art after the murder but before--

Forget it. 

Oh, it wasn’t him. They were… supernatural? What. 

THIS TRASH GUY MADE A TULPA OUT OF TRASH. 

HOW DARE YOU RIP OFF MY TRASH BABY TULPA EPISODE. HOW DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE YOU. 

I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS TRASH RIPPING OFF MY TRASH. 

GET OUTTA HERE. 

ACTUALLY GET OUTTA HERE. GO ON, SHOO. BEAT IT. SCRAM. GET LOST. 

AND NOW THEY’RE SAYING 'TULPA' WAS A MISTRANSLATION????? OH, THAT’S RICH. SO WHAT HAPPENED IN ARCADIA WASN’T A TULPA, BUT THIS ONE MIGHT BE. 

THAT’S REAL CUTE. 

A realized Tibetan thought form would never harm someone or kill. 

But what if… hang on with me a second… what if it already did? 

This guy willed it, so it happened. 

This is giving Scully an idea. Guess she’s gonna manifest Maggie from the dead. Or manifest William from the clouds, I suppose. Or manifest herself a better wig, I reckon. 

WHAT IN THE EXISTENCE FLASHBACKS IS THIS. HOW IS SCULLY COMPARING HER SON’S BIRTH TO WILLING A MONSTER INTO EXISTENCE?????? I, I, WHAT. NO. NO, DON’T DO THIS. THIS IS BAD, THIS IS VERY NOT GOOD. 

“He came to me,” the guy explains, and Scully now thinks William came to her???

Is… is this a revelation or a mental breakdown????????

“But in the end, he told me what he wanted to be.” 

ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW??? IMPLYING THAT WILLIAM WANTED TO BE PUT UP FOR ADOPTION-- SHOWING HIM CRYING IN S9-- IN ORDER TO GIVE SCULLY SOME CLOSURE ON THAT MATTER AFTER HER MOTHER’S RECENT DEATH???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

NO ONE TOLD ME THIS. NO ONE WARNED ME. 

THE AUDACITY OF THE WRITERS.  

SHAME, ACTUAL SHAME, ON THEM. 

…I will take all this back if the script does, but WHAT IN THE WORLD. THIS IS INSANE. 

Never have I EVER seen Scully so broken mentally. Wow. Morgan and Wong or Morgan or Wong love her character? I’d think they view her as the band aid on their shoe. Wow. 

(Note from the future: They don't take back any of this implication, only gaslight us into believing Scully was thinking a totally other, very normal thing about "responsibility." Which is utter doodoo.)

“All we do, is hold the pencil. All we do, is hold the clay. I think there must be spirits or souls--” GET OUT OF HERE WITH THAT FIELD WHERE I DIED GARBAGE. GET. OUT. YOU BUTCHERED THAT EPISODE THROUGH YOUR OWN SHEER INCOMPETENCE, YOU CAN’T TRY TO REWRITE IT NOW THROUGH ANOTHER LENS TO MAKE US SWALLOW YOUR POISON LIKE PUNCH. 

GET. 

OUT. 

OF. 

HERE. 

“And if you think so hard, if you want them real bad, they’ll come to you.” 

Stunning. 

A thought experiment that would be interesting to tap into when explaining the *insert words* of The Field Where I Died’s plot, but is ABSOLUTELY. IRRESPONSIBLY. IDIOTIC. here in light of the sheer amount of trauma you are putting Scully through, right this second. 

Full disclosure: I don’t care how many bad things are done to the characters-- I really don’t-- IF those experiences give weight or add to their stories or history. THIS, HOWEVER, DOES NOT. 

I’M FURIOUS. I’M SO FURIOUS I MIGHT TEAR UP. 

HOW DARE YOU INSERT EXISTENCE FLASHBACKS TO--

i’m done. let’s just move on. 

I’m struck anew with how these characters aren’t Mulder and Scully-- not even S9 Scully-- when both scenes are positioned back-to-back. 

I just knew this episode would be butchered, but never would I ever…. 

By the way, to catch us back up to speed, Scully’s having this… revelation while a garbage man rambles about the MURDERING THOUGHT FORM he dreamt into being. 

Also, the cuts and flashbacks A. reinforce my disdain of this series, B. are cheesy and corny, and C. are ham-fisted and clunky. You know how it should have been done? Without the flashbacks. Not one soul who is watching this episode needs to be hand-held through Scully’s memories, especially ones we’ve already seen mere minutes ago. 

Scully’s clutching her cross after remembering her mom’s words, ‘kay. 

I LAUGHED AGAIN. 

Mulder’s been listening to this guy and looks over and does a doubletake because Scully’s frozen LIKE THIS: 

Mental. Health. 

Also, considering what happens to Jackson’s character later on… this episode is kind of implying Scully was so terrified by the constant tragedy in her life that she willed a tulpa-alien-god baby into existence (or WOULD have, if given the opportunity, which is worse) for her own selfish reasons, or for the world’s protection; then yeeted it to the adoption agency, anyway. (Note from the future: This implication doesn't make broad canonical sense, and is kinda reverted, later, but:) ...Which plugs dangerously well into her disavowal of William in My Struggle IV. Which makes me hate Home Again even more.

(Also also, that turns Scully into Arcadia's Gogolak. Stellar writing.)

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh, have to break this down. 

If Scully thought William into existence, he wouldn’t be a normal baby in S8. Which he was. He also wouldn’t be a magic baby with independent will in S9 (who is closer to the alien DNA kids in Founder’s Mutation that cut themselves out of their moms to survive, but ANYWAY.) He’d be a thought form controlled by one impulse. A tulpa. Or-- let’s extrapolate-- a Supersoldier like Billy Miles. Which he wasn’t.

If Scully is comparing herself to the Syndicate that brought beings into a tormented existence for their own ends (or to the garbage guy’s intent) and is… freed? by that thought…. She needs help-- not “go to therapy, babe”, no, actual, real, extensive help outside of the FBI and away from work, period, for awhile. That’s so incredibly unbalanced it’s… kinda scary. 

Also, again, if Scully willed Jackson into Existence-- say, by touching the alien spaceship?-- the timeline wouldn’t match her late S7 pregnancy-- but what else is new-- but would condemn her for Jackson’s later erratic actions, anyway. 

And therefore, Scully becoming pregnant in My Struggle IV would have to be an actual, literal miracle because she didn’t taint it with a thought-form or alien DNA or any other thing this episode or Founder’s Mutation or the other Struggles are suggesting.

Any of these possibilities are foul. If William exists, he’d have to be a normal baby (as he was until the writers changed him) or it would crumble the very meaning of his birth and the leadup to it from Requiem to Existence. 

It. just. doesn’t. make. sense. and. continues. to. be. cruel. 

Scully now thinks she’s responsible for “making the problem” and Mulder’s like “huH” and “UHOH” at the same time. 

Okay, let’s say M+W or M or W take the aforementioned implication back: this scene is utterly and unfathomably cruel, a cherry on top of the other cruelty they put Scully through this episode. 

I’m gonna say it: at least Chris Carter gave William to Scully. 

“You’re just as bad as the people that you hate,” a.k.a. "You did a bad thing by playing god and creating life only to abandon it." 

Thanks M+W, I really needed “Scully comparing herself to the Consortium” on my list of Unexpected Things to Hate, that was nice. 

NOW the tulpa’s going after the politician-policeman. Not before killing the woman who wanted the homeless on the streets if they preferred, but after, now that he's moving them into a nicer facility. 

Oh, the guy’s soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo evil because one of the homeless people's dog’s temporarily at an animal shelter. Well, yeah it was kinda evil to separate them (temporarily.) Had to make politician-police dude eviler, I guess. 

He smells something bad, oh, nooooooooooo…………….

Guys, gonna be honest. How’s this politician-police-whoever guy bad? He’s callous, but he’s moving the unhoused into housing where they can, hopefully, have better access to resources to get back on their feet. 

…What’s the moral here? That no one treats them like people, therefore the tulpa or thought form will kill indiscriminately? Even if the homeless might be benefiting? That the garbage man just didn’t like HOW policeman-politician-whoever was operating, so thought up a tulpa to kill him and the others?

Slow clap for the stupidest morality tale I’ve seen in a bit. 

I. just. Can the writers craft an episode where the homeless are actually being victimized? 

Oh, wait, the 90s already did that. Huh. 

Poli-man’s about to be murdered. Mulder and Scully arrive and gently jaunt down the hall towards his screams. That’s cute. 

They were literally FOUR. SECONDS. too late. Then don’t express a sense of remorse or whatever that they were. And this guy isn’t villain- enough to be given zero remorse, c’mon, save that for the big 'uns. 

Tulpa’s vanishing instead of walking away, I guess. 

Scully’s too calm for acknowledging they just heard politician-policeman die. He was screaming for help and you two didn’t speed up. 100% they wouldn’t be able to pass the FBI field tests. A witness-victim-whatever just died because they were FOUR SECONDS late, that shouldn't have happened.

The gymnastics of this plot, summed up: 

Monster always leaves band aids behind, I guess. 

Garbage man made the band aid sculpture’s face into a smiley so it's gone forever, I GUESS. 

Wait, LAKE SCENE??

THAT’S IT???

THIS IS IT??????????????????????

“I know now why Mom asked for Charlie even if he was out of her life.” OH, THIS HAD BETTER BE GOOD and not  A. “she’s a mom, so she loved and missed him” or B. “she created him so he mattered.” Because neither of those answers explains what she did and didn’t do or say to the two children that stuck by her. 

*sharpens harpoon*

*THUNK*

I KNEW IT. 

SHE WANTED TO KNOW BEFORE SHE LEFT THAT HE’D BE OKAY. 

Then WHY did she ignore Charlie on the phone and TALK TO MULDER while laying on another layer of guilt about William WITH HER DAUGHTER, who'd been pleading for Maggie to come back to her, RIGHT THERE???

Just because Maggie “gave birth to him” doesn’t mean anything. 

Like. 

Guys. 

Of course she wants to know her son’s okay, of course. She raised him, she loved him, etc. 

But. But but but. 

If she’s the loving mother we all knew from the OG series that SUDDENLY took a dive into secrecy and distrust and guilt-tripping, there would have been signs. Scully missed all of them, didn’t even know her mom had her living will signed by other veteran sailors (AND WHO ARE THEY?), doesn't even know what the quarter lore is.

 You can’t have Maggie want to know her baby’s okay while actively neglecting and ignoring the others. You can’t. 

*sharpens second, third, and fourth harpoon*

“She made him. He’s her responsibility.” 

*THUNKKITY THUNK THUNK*

OH. MY. WORD. 

THIS IS SO TWISTED. 

Scully is now being guilted for giving up William, AGAIN, because she needs to "take responsibility" for him. 

Canonically, she gave him up because she was taking responsibility for him-- to protect him, to take care of him. 

And whether that decision was justified or not-- it wasn’t-- S9 Scully and IWTB Scully and pre-this-episode Scully and Mulder made the best they could of that decision for their son’s sake.

A.k.a. Responsibility. 

HOW DOES THAT TRANFSER ONTO MAGGIE? What responsibility does she have to take?? Perhaps she drove Charlie away?? But none of her behavior thus far would have driven him away. 

So, not only has Maggie’s character been harpooned on her deathbed, but her past off-screen behavior must also be harpooned in order to justify that "responsibility" line: a.k.a., she must have been a horrible person to Charlie, and must want to take responsibility for that action now. 

Because “responsibility” doesn’t fit IF Charlie walked away of his own accord for his own reasons, separate from his mother’s actions or behavior. 

Also, “responsibility” doesn’t fit PERIOD with either scenario: Scully already took responsibility for William when she sent him away (as stupidly as that decision was written, it wasn’t written for any other pretense) but Maggie DIDN’T take “responsibility” because she didn’t even apologize or question or talk to or whatever with Charlie. She did it WITH MULDER, and even THEN she was urging HIM to take responsibility of William, if anything. 

Know what’s worse? They’re saying all the pain Scully is going through (and put Mulder and her family through) is because she hasn’t taken responsibility for William, and that she needs to go find him and make it right. IGNORING THE FACT THAT IT WAS REVIVAL MULDER, NOT SCULLY, WHO PUT WILLIAM BEHIND HIM. IF ANYTHING, IT WAS SCULLY WHO TOOK RESPONSIBILITY ALL THESE YEARS. 

Which means Scully is culpable for everyone’s emotions and pain and trauma because she gave her son away for his safety. AND I DON’T EVEN AGREE WITH HER DECISION-- there’s no way she would have given William up, and most certainly not that way-- BUT YOU WRITE SCULLY INTO AN IMPOSSIBLE SITUATION, THEN PUNISH AND REVICTIMIZE HER AT THE HANDS OF HER OWN MOTHER IN ORDER TO "OWN UP" TO "RESPONSIBILITY." 

I’m... pretty mad.

I should be furious, really, because this does unfathomable damage to… everyone. But My Struggle I's and Founder’s Mutation's brain rot runs deeper-- by comparison this is a 0.5 to its -1,000,000. 

At least we know what the coin necklace date was supposed to mean: the date Charlie walked out of Maggie’s life. “Responsibility” and all that garbage.  

“She wanted us to be responsible…. To make sure William’s okay, even if we can’t see him.” That is NOT what Maggie said, and that is NOT what she meant. “My son… is named William, too” was a commiserating statement spoken to MULDER, indicating he, like her, suffered from an estrangement. And who would be the enforcer or creator of that estrangement? The same woman who broke up with Mulder over depression (before he had a meltdown or breakdown, despite knowing his history of suicidal tendencies.) 

The Revival does Scully (and her mother… and Mulder…) so dirty it’s. Ugh. 

Can someone knock Not-Maggie's ashes over onto the ground or something? That way she can join her brethren, the dirt.  

Let’s be honest, this Home Again should have been further down the season. ‘Cuz if Babylon’s next… guess they didn’t look for William. 

Scully’s smoker voice makes its first appearance, ugh. Code broken: GA uses smoker voice when Scully is feeling teary or depressed. 

UGH. 

“...To keep him safe. That it was for his own good to put him up for adoption. But I can’t help but think of him, Fox.” The requires the special 'what', *ahem*: WAHT. 

“I believe you will find all of your answers--” ALL. OF. YOUR. ANSWERS?

“And I will be there when you do.” WHEN YOU DO?! What is she, an elementary school teacher holding Mulder's hand while he explores around the gymnasium??????????????? Where’s the Scully who insisted this was her quest, too???? ...wwwwwWHAT.

This is. This is. Guys. Why. 

“But my mysteries… I’ll never have answered.” 

Um. Scully can’t figure out how to find William?

She can’t, just, go back to the agency and offer to connect with her son? 2012’s over-- the world might end, still, but CSM’s dead (as far as she knows), APPARENTLY there are no aliens or Supersoldiers, and no one’s cared about her and Mulder getting back on the files.... Where is THIS coming from???? Just ring up the agency, Scully! 

UUUUUUUUUG.

“...If he’s ever been afraid, and wishes I were there. Does he doubt himself, because we left him?”

While Scully continues to speak, I must add: Mulder looks like a browbeaten 50s housewife. I love watching DD’s acting as much as GA’s, but David’s giving nothing here. I KNOW it’s a direction issue because he’s been consistently this key the entire episode (except for the... comedy or “dark wizard” scene) so SOMEONE wants Mulder to be this way. But.  

But it doesn’t line up with his character from the previous eps.  

And the previous episodes don’t line up with each other. 

And all the Revival eps. don't line up with IWTB.

Or S9.

Or canon.

Etc., etc.  

“What… questions does he have of me? The same that I have of this quarter?” Um. I thought we concluded that was the date Charlie walked out. 

Isn’t Scully the investigator, here? Maggie kept that quarter necklace secret, Maggie kept her health secret, and Maggie only wanted to talk to Charlie-- ergo, Charlie’s connected to the quarter necklace. And if it’s not his birthday, it’s the date he left. Ergo, voila. 

“And I want to believe--” yeah, yeah, yeah, “--that we didn’t treat him like trash.” 

This doesn’t match. 

The writing treated him like trash because Scully was written to give him up for no reason. (Perhaps "like garbage" is a fun dig at CC's decision, but Scully ends up taking the damage for it.)

Scully herself didn’t treat William like trash-- she was trying to protect him. 

In short: writers = trash; Scully = not trash. Scully’s decision = trash, Scully’s canonical reason = not trash. 

Are we following canon now, writers? Have you caught up WITH YOUR OWN SHOW?

Mulder decides against talking, opting to pull her into a hug, instead. 

Um. 

Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhere’s the reassurance, Mulder. You reassured her in Founder’s Mutation quite soundly, but not. Here. When she’s in crisis.

Groovy. Stellar. Ugh.  

...WELP, that’s the end, I GUESS. 

CONCLUSION

What. was. that. 

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter VII : Hysminai

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

A/N: Hello tin can man nation, happy Mando Monday and one million billion trillion apologies that it’s taken me a whole goddamn month to update. This has literally never happened to me with any of my stories before, and quite frankly, it feels terrible! All I can say is that like I said in my last note, after this the story changes drastically, and I was having a difficult time crossing the bridge between how we were and how we will be (oh I sounded so philosophical, are you impressed?) I needed to figure out how it was they’d be feeling in the in-between sort of place they’re at in this chapter. Apparently, that took me a whole month to do, sometimes I think I need to get a grip or something idk. 

Anyways, more canon divergence more timeline divergence. so yes, that’s all. Here it is — it’s a little idk — idk how I feel about the chapter after all that, but it is what it is, so tell me what you think!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.0K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VII : HYSMINAI

Where does unbelief begin?

Anne Carson, Glass, Irony and God

“My fucking back hurts,” he groans, flopping down on top of you. Dirty and sweaty and a little stinky from his unsuccessful hunt today, you push your hands up beneath his shirt, pulling it out from where it’s tucked in his pants to get at his skin, wrapping your legs around the tapered expanse of his strong waist.

A soft whine, as if he thinks he should argue or tell you no but can’t bring himself to. “I’m sweaty,” and then like a confession, or something frightening and shameful, “And tired, and I’m getting old,” he whispers, heavy helmet digging into the crook of your shoulder, crushing your collar bone.

“My poor baby,” you croon at him, one palm stroking the slope of his spine, the other digging beneath the layers of fabric around his neck to get at his tender nape. “You just need a bath, some rest, something to eat. It’ll all be okay after that.” And he groans, great beast that he is, rumbling through the modulator and rolling the curve of the helmet over your shoulder. You press the tips of your fingers into the thick slats of muscles along his spine, feel him jerk at a particularly sore spot, and then melt once you begin to soothe the hurt away gently. His bones seem to sag into you, the entire tremendous weight of him pressing you into the blankets until you feel like you can barely breathe. He’s a huge mass of sweltering, sweaty man, worked into exhaustion. 

To say that it had been difficult convincing him you’d be fine left on the Crest so that he could go out and hunt the bounty you’d come to Yavin 4 to retrieve, would be putting it lightly. First, he’d said you’d be coming with him, and you’d watched, patient and silent, as he’d worked himself into a knot, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself as he talked himself in and out of bringing you along several times over before he’d landed on the decision that no, you could absolutely not come out on a hunt with him – too dangerous. And so, okay, sure, whatever you say, Din. Now come sit and have some soup, and he’d grumbled and huffed and puffed the entire time while you’d stroked all the bare skin you could get at, trussed up in the armor as he was, soothing him back into calm. But then he’d come up with the brilliant plan that you’d simply return to Nevarro, jumping up to pace once again, and he’d tell Karga that he’d be unable to acquire the remaining bounties, return the pucks, and wash his hands of the Guild entirely. That idea had lasted a total of thirty seconds before you’d helpfully pointed out that the two of you still needed credits to live, fuel for the ship, food and supplies. Somehow, it seemed the practical necessity of money had slipped his mind in the midst of his stress. However, eventually, in the gentlest and most placating voice you could muster, you’d bade him to come sit with you, and crouching at your feet while you perched on your stool, fingers pressed to the tee of his vizor you’d told him that you’d learned your lesson, you weren’t going to be caught unawares again, and that he couldn’t abandon his work and his Guild because of what happened. Something about the words had felt, not necessarily like a lie, but like a falsity. There was something frightened and aware within you now. And you didn’t want to examine it closely enough to categorize it for what it truly was yet, but you knew it was there, that it’d been woken and stirred to restlessness with the appearance of the Thalassians and all they’d had to tell you about the whispers of you circulating the Outer Rim. 

And worst of all, you hadn’t told him anything of what they’d said. You hadn’t told him of the claim that there were rumors of the two of you, knowledge of what you are being passed between scheming mouths with cruel intentions. You didn’t want to worry him, you didn’t want to distract him from his work. The thought of him going out there to face unknown dangers while he left his mind here on the ship with you, worrying and fretting and not watching out for himself the way he needed to, with full attention – well, it just wasn’t a possibility. And anyways, you told yourself, liar, liar, liar, you could handle anything else that came your way. You could handle your own worry and your own fear and your own raging thoughts, what you could not handle, and this you knew with absolute certainty, was his worry and his fear. You needed him to be calm, focused, well and happy. Nothing else really mattered besides that, especially not you. 

He pulls you forward, pulling your wrists to wrap around his neck, needy, needy Mandalorian, “I’m sorry. I’m just–” a gruff sound of frustration, “Just worried.” Sometimes you think he’s the one with the ability to read minds, not you. “I’m taking you somewhere,” he says into the crook, “Once we’re done with this one.”

We. Always a we now. There is such togetherness here and now, between the two of you,

“Where?” And it’s a funny thing, always existing in the dark with him now, and you hadn’t thought about it or looked at it closely enough up until someone else, someone bad, had stepped into this comforting darkness the two of you had settled into with each other, made you realize that that's what you’ve been doing, living in the dark again. But now it’s everywhere, glaring and demanding your attention, and you can’t understand how it is that you ended up here again, a different sort of dark, surely, but still the same thing constructed in an altered form, nonetheless. Or perhaps, how or why it is that you’ve pulled him, someone that burns like a flame on their own, into your shadow. And you’ve watched him, and you know him now, so surely it must be that a man such as he could never be pulled or taken or turned into anything he didn't choose for himself because watching him is like watching a man be a god, and for a girl who’d been told all her life she was a god herself while she sat in the place of slave, it is exciting and erotic and so many things. But it is also confusing. 

And there are locked rooms inside of you: lust, grief, apathy. You would like to take a hammer to them all, but it seems that, perhaps, Din is the one taking that hammer to those doors and obliterating them for you. That help you’d always been so afraid of, he’s there to give it to you, and so the easy answer, the right answer, would seem to be for you to take that help… no? To accept what he gives you in whatever way he thinks is best because he only wants what is good for you, to help, to soften, to make things easier for you. To remove that interminable struggle you’ve found yourself in for so long, for your whole life. 

Sometimes it feels like I haven’t been happy my whole life. But I know I feel it with you.

“It’s a surprise.” Another reminder of happiness. 

It only takes him one more outing on Yavin 4, before he returns with the bounty slung over his broad shoulder. Grunts and curses as he wrestles with the heavy weight of it, stuffing it into the carbon freezer. His hair is getting too long, the rich curls peeking out beneath the lip of his helmet in the back, and the sight of them does something strange to you. A small thing like a vulnerability, a reminder that he’s only a man, only human beneath all of that beskar. That thing of fear that’s been roiling inside of you thumps and thumps and thumps, and you try and swallow it and push it down, kill it if you must, but it will not be silenced or settled. As he passes you on his way to the ladder you stop him with a small hand on his chest plate, small and seemingly insignificant in comparison to the great breadth of him – you’ve always liked that, the way that if no one knew you for what you really are, in comparison to his size and strength they’d never take you for the more dangerous one. There’s something comforting in that. You reach up to tuck the soft curls back beneath his helmet, you wish you could reach up to press a kiss to his mouth also. “Hair’s getting long,” you tell him instead. But again, he’d been distracted, worried, forgetting the small things he needed, forgetting to take care of himself. You can’t help the feeling of guilt this brings on, but then he’s gripping you around the waist and pulling you up towards himself, pressing the round of his helmet against your cheek, a hard metallic nuzzle, basically carrying you up the ladder to the cockpit with him, and you’re forced to abandon your guilt and worries for the moment. 

After a maintenance stop in Mos Eisley on the planet of Tatooine, he takes you to the terrestrial ice planet of Maldo Kreis where he tells you he’d once crash landed and come upon, believe it or not, hot springs. Nestled deep into a system of caves that run below the surface of the planet, there live a collection of hot baths. He said that the caves weren’t entirely without their threats, but that if one was careful, the baths he’d found were enough of a desolate little pocket of space that he could relax without fear of discovery. 

You’d told him that you loved water, and so he’d brought you to water he could share with you.

You watch the broad line of his shoulders as he lumbers through the icy snow, he’d wrapped you in all your layers and one of his thick capes over your own cloak so that he was sure you were as warm as possible during the short trek from the toasty interior of the Razor Crest to the cave he was familiar with. He pulls you along behind him, blaster in one hand, your fingers gripped tightly in the other, his tactical light swinging in a slow arc from side to side as the two of you make your careful progression through the dark, near silent caves. Nothing but your short, excited panting, the hollow crack of the all encompassing ice around the two of you, and his low murmurs to watch your step here and careful, cyare and step where I step; ever careful and ever cautious with you. And the cave, when he steps into the high domed cavern, the great echo of the drip, drip, dripping of the ice above melting in the rising steam, and the sight of the baths, like nothing you could have ever imagined. Nothing like the ones on Carosi XII you used to visit in your youth in the moments you found to sneak away. The bath is large, about six by ten meters in diameter and it glows. Suffused by some sort of bioluminescent light at the heart of its basin, some sort of unearthly blue light shining up from its core to alight the cavern and refract against the ice glittered walls. You stand there shocked for a moment, eyes slowly roving the large space, small and shivering and maybe even a little terrified, beside a man that on the surface would seem to the unknowing eye to be just as hard and just as frigid. “Do you like it, cyar’ika? Did I do well?” He asks you in a soft voice that holds something like boyish shyness, vulnerable uncertainty. You squeeze his arm tight, hugging it to your chest and squishing your cheek against the ice cold pauldron, burning the fine skin there. 

“Oh, Din,” you look up at him with that thing you can’t say out loud, but that you’re so entirely full of for him, “It’s so beautiful – let’s get in please. Is it safe? Please, let’s get in.” He makes an indulgent noise in his throat, extracting his arm from your tight hold to wrap it around your shoulders and urge you forward gently. 

“You get in. This is for you, little one.” And you want to argue, to say that it’s not the same without him, that it’s not worth it without him, but the water looks so lovely and warm and an azure so pure and crystalline it looks as though you’d be stepping into the heart of a diamond. He pulls his own cloak from around his shoulders and lays it on the snowy floor of the cave for you to stand on as he removes your clothes in quick, efficient movements, somehow keeping you wrapped in the layers of your own cloak and his extra cape he’d tucked you into so that you’re never entirely bared to the frigid air of the cave until he’s gently wrapping one large, gloved hand around your forearm, the other clasped at your waist to help you step into the warm bath. And that first moment of contact, submerging the tips of your toes in to your calves, knees, thighs, your hips and belly and finally your breasts, that first moment almost hurts, the shocking change from sharp cold to soothing heat burns, your skin going too tight stretched over your bones and then loose and relaxed, all strength seeming to seep from your muscles so that you’re sagging into the pool weakly with an airy moan. You float slowly out into the middle and then suddenly, remembering the most important part of the scene, you turn back to look at him, but he's still at the edge of the pool, slowly going to a crouch on his knees to watch you. He isn’t going to come in, and you try and swallow your disappointment, letting yourself sink down to the bottom, squeezing your eyes shut tightly so that all that remains is the blue glow of the pool’s luminescence. Your bare bottom settles at the base, the rocks hot against your skin, and wait there a moment, feeling as though your at the heart of a womb, nothing but a thought at the start of your life, and then pushing yourself back up, breaking the surface with a gasp, pushing the sluicing water out of your eyes, your lashes seeming to crackle and freeze at the contact with the frigid air once again. When you turn back to look at him with a wide smile, he’s slowly shaking his head at you, pissed off sound rumbling through the modulator at you staying below the surface for so long. 

You let yourself sink down until only your eyes remain above water. Stretching your toes to skim the bottom of the warm rocks at the base of the pool, and you watch him watch you, that intensity of his, so powerful it spears his visor, suffuses your entire body, moving through your limbs like electricity and pooling at the tips of your fingers and toes. You know he can see the distorted shimmer of your naked body beneath the surface of the water, the tips of your breasts, the line of your belly down to the apex of your thighs, your hair floats away from you in ghostlike fingers, as if they were reaching towards him. You suck in a tiny bit of the slightly brackish water, hold it on your tongue, and when you let your mouth break the surface you spit it towards him in a crystalline arc. “The water’s so lovely. Come hold me,” you flirt at him. He’s crouched at the edge of the pool like some metallic sentinel, entirely still, frozen in time and space. You’ll remember him like this always, you think, silent and riveted only on you. That silence of his that sometimes says so much, echoes in your mind like a shout. The helmet cocks slowly to one side, entirely predatory, and if you hadn’t come to know him as well as you have, you’d worry for a moment that he’d seem entirely unaffected, but you can make out the tiight grip of his fingers around the cap of his bent knee. The restraint in the lines of his limbs he holds himself with, and the tips of your breasts go tight and aching at the display of want, subtle and silent as it is. The stillness and the silence, he uses it as a weapon when he likes, and sometimes they hold him in reserve, but other times, they tell you so much. “Please, come join me. I won’t look. I’ll be good,” you whisper, mouth just above the surface of the water, and slowly start to tread closer to him. “I promise.”

The hand over his knee tightens, and he makes a pained, frustrated sound, spit through the modulator. He looks around the cave again, visor slowly scanning the dark crevices and passageways, and you know he’s scanning once more for heat signatures. “Turn around,” he says quietly, vizor finally coming back to you. You obey silently, treading water to the far end of the pool, as far from him as you can go, giving him space and time and privacy to divest himself of the protections of his Creed. Protections he’s ridding himself of for you. You reach the stone ledge on the opposite side of the hot spring and rest there, arms crossed over the edge and chin propped on your folded wrists, and you close your eyes and listen to the sound of him giving himself to you, the disengaging of the magnetics that hold his armor together, the hollow drop of a pauldron, another, chest plate, vambraces, the thigh and shin guards. Then the heavier thud of his helmet, and the sound of his naked sigh, your heart drops into your stomach. You bring your face down into the cove of your folded arms, hiding away, heart racing as fast as a small, hunted creature. Your water warmed arms and neck are steaming in the frozen chill of the surrounding cave, but your lower half is enveloped in all of the sensual heat of the pool. The warring sensations shiver through you, up and down the length of your spine like electricity, the back of your neck prickling and breaking out into gooseflesh. Your entire frame trembles in anticipation, everything inside going tight and hot as a flash fire, and then loose and shaky, wet and molten. You hear the rustle of clothing, his softly pained grunt and sigh from what must be him bending to shuck his boots and pants, his back hurts, and then the splash of disturbed water and a different sort of groan, one of pleasure as he submerges his sore body in all the heat of the pool. You can’t help the almost silent answering whimper that claws its way up your throat, he calls to you so strongly always, that string from rib bone to spine that you’re terrified of being without one day. Terrified of the sort of lost you’ll become if it were to ever be severed. His movements go still suddenly, all sound seeming to cut off from one moment to the next, a pressurized sort of silence so immediately jarring that for a single second of panic you’re tempted to turn around to make sure he’s still there, but then: the whisper soft pressure of a single finger dragging straight down the line of your spine. His hand unfurling to spread entirely at the small of your back, pressing you hard against the stone wall of the pool. The facade is jagged, but warmed by the volcanic heat source deep within the core of the planet, and the incongruous sensations have you breathing out a whimpered moan. “Hi,” he presses a kiss to the ball of your shoulder, the top of his dark head flashes in your peripheral vision and you snap your eyes shut quickly, and then the press of his long, hot body all along your back. His chest, his groin and the already hard cock there, the rounds of his knees at the backs of yours. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you away with him, lets your bodies float out into the middle of the pool. The heat is more concentrated here, as if the pool possessed its very own beating heart, warming the rest of its body, and the two of you float there, quiet, with him wrapped around you like this, the soft press of his plush mouth every once in a while, and the deep hums and rumbly sounds of his relaxed contentment. You lay your head back on his shoulder and sit in the quiet risk of this with him, but everything is so well and so peaceful that you let your mind close away that worry and that fear and that door that’d been opened inside your mind, just for now.  The galaxy is exceptionally still, here in this place with him. 

“You’re happy,” he reads your mind all the time now and amongst all the risk that surrounds the two of you, nothing bests that. “I did good. You’re happy.”

“You’re perfect,” you say in return, turning your face into his throat, hiding yourself away in his skin.

“Tell me something else that makes you happy,” he says, and a furious flush of heat floods your face, you, you want to say, you make me happier than anything, a swift frantic throbbing starting up at your throat, wrists, the backs of your knees. 

But you hold your tongue, think of another thing you’d once thought you couldn’t live without. “My blade, I think,” you say slowly. “I told you once that I, perhaps, should not have made another lightsaber.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know if I deserve it anymore. But… she’s beautiful and unique and comforting. And I wanted one. I wanted to be the bearer of a lightsaber, and so I forewent what I thought I should do, and did only what I wanted to at the time.”

“And now? Do you still think you don’t deserve it?” His voice is gentle and tentative, and you’re sure he knows these questions will only aggravate old wounds. But there is also a part of you that wants him to know anyway. Amongst all the things within you that you’d like to keep from him forever, there are others which you’d like him to understand about you, as well. Things no one else has ever or will ever know. 

“Yes, maybe more than ever.”

An admonishing click of his tongue. You know there are certain things you believe about yourself that he doesn’t agree with, you can sense it within him, and it’s the greatest gift he constantly gives you, the benefit of his doubt. “What else do you want?”

You lift your head from its hiding place in his neck, chew on the thought, peek down at his bare arms wrapped around your middle. Something about seeing them so out in the open, water strewn, the soft dark hair covering the golden brown skin and sinewy muscle feels like breaking a rule. You hold your palm hovering just beneath the surface of the water, let the tips of your fingers break the glass-like edge, the glowing light that burns beneath the rockbase of the pool suffuses between them,“Absolution, perhaps.” You.

“From what?”

“Everything.”

“From who?” You have no answer for that – a moment of shocked speechlessness. The entire galaxy. Him, above all, him. “Because you aren’t going to get it from me,” voice grave and sad and serious, gentle, as if he’s telling a very young child a very big thing. “I have nothing to absolve you of, and so I cannot give it to you.” A lie he does not know is a lie. 

I know, you breathe in the smallest voice you can. As if the quiet will prevent the words from going out into the world. Acknowledgement breathes life into a thing, and you do not, cannot, acknowledge this truth. That you have started to fear that even if he knew the truth of it all, that it would still not satiate your guilt, silence it. That, most terrifying of terrifying truths, you fear you are the only one who can give that to yourself. You wish, very badly indeed, that you had the courage to tell him the whole of it, every bad or terrible thing, the worst thing, that you could be yourself entirely. You want to ask him how he finds the courage to be so brave and so mighty all the time? You would like to say: This is me at my best. I am asking you to endure it. I know it is selfish, but it’s what I’d like anyway.

The sight of the heavy end of the Thalassian’s stick hurtling towards you flashes in your mind, the sound of your bone crunching beneath the weight. Years and years of beatings and darkness and horror. You shut your eyes to it, focus on the sound of his breaths, the drip of water, the luminescence of the pool’s hot stones glowing through the thin membrane of your eyelids, the electric blue seeping into your corneas. 

“What are you afraid of?” You ask instead. You suspect that the answer to your own courage does not necessarily lie with him, and so you alter the framing, cast it in a more revealing light. “What sorts of things worry you?” 

He thinks on it for a moment, lets his arms slip from around you to tread water, and then stillness, the sound of him cupping little pools in his palms and letting them trickle back into the bath. “I’m getting older. I worry about the day I realize I’m weaker, slower. What that’ll do to me, what it’ll feel like – to realize the tool… weapon, I’ve relied on for so long is failing me, my own body.”

“You’re not that old,” you laugh lightly, “Only the disposition of an old man.” He bumps his spine into yours, turned to face away from you now.

“Brat.” You love this game of questions. Your favorite of all the games you play together. 

“If you can look into my mind,” he says slowly, “Could you also erase my memories?” Your stomach churns with the change in direction.

“Perhaps. I… I’m not sure – I’ve never tried to do that.” You hum in nervous consideration, “I could rework them, maybe, change them. But it would be difficult to pick and choose without running the risk of wiping a mind completely, I would think.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense.” He’s quiet for a moment, and you listen to the rustle of the water, the lapping of his movement slicking up against your naked back. “What am I thinking about right now?” He asks suddenly, and a flush of angry heat sizzles across your face. 

“Don’t ask me those things. It’s not a game, Din.” A hypocrite in your own mind.

Another silent pause, and you can hear a smile in his voice that forces your annoyance away. “Play with me anyways,” and he bumps his back into yours again, then turns to pull you to his chest once more, drags you slowly bobbing through the water to the far end of the pool to rest on the ledge there. 

The two of you sit there back to back, and you wrap your arms around your bent knees, resting your chin against the dome of your joint and close your eyes. All of these games… But you let the Force wrap around the both of you slowly, a bubble made entirely of yourself, let it slink around him, snake up his ankle to his knee. Another up the curve of his back and over the hill of his shoulder, up the column of his neck and over his face, your power licking and tasting as it goes, feeding off of him. You listen to him gasp and can’t help but smile a little. You feel him everywhere, always, you wish – hope, he feels you like this always too. And then in, gentle as possible, like piercing the thin, delicate membrane of a piece of fruit skin, a transparent membrane, and it’s like you’re running your fingers over the contours of his present thought, held just there, tasting it off the tip of his tongue: it’s you. He’s thinking of you, and the sight of yourself within the space of his mind is jarring like a snapping bone, ragged edges of white ivory, blood red marrow. You want to jerk away immediately at the sight of yourself, but you pause, take in the sight of yourself asleep earlier on the Crest. He’d woken before you, and you’re naked and vulnerable, cheek smushed against your folded hands, hair a bedraggled mess. He drags the pad of his thumb over the swell of your breast, feels the smoothness of your skin, leans forward and crowns a fading bruise along the slope of your shoulder with a kiss by the same mouth that had placed it there earlier. You can almost taste the scent of yourself on his tongue, and you smell like him, like you belong to him. The thought that you do, that you’re his follows, charges in on the tail end of your mingled scent. Ownership so pure, so intrinsic over another being should seem wrong, no? But it’s merely fact here, as he looks upon you. And he lo– 

You pull yourself back, blinking away furious, overwhelmed, distraught tears. Tears of exaltation and such grief. This is how he sees me, you think. I am beautiful and good in his eyes. Perhaps, the greatest lie you’ve ever made him believe. 

The Thalassian crone’s voice cracks in your mind, worth nothing more than an invisible and illusory thing, The Force. He doesn’t see it yet, he still believes in the game, but fate is about to best the both of you, you’re certain of it. And you feel so fucking angry at the thought, at the reminder and memory. So frustrated that they’d found you, that they’d pierced the bubble of happiness the two of you had secluded yourselves in these past weeks together, that you were letting them disrupt it. That you couldn’t let go of the past. 

“What do you see, cyar’ika?” His voice is gentler than the water. 

“Me.” Your tears salt the pool. 

“That’s you,” he whispers, reaches back to grasp your hip. And you want to argue, to make him see the fallacy for what it is, but it’s such a lovely lie. You can’t bring yourself to ruin the dream. A sob breaks in your throat, spills out, and he turns in the water, hugs your back to himself. His face is right there, so close, out in the open. You can almost touch the dream. “Don’t cry, little one. I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry–” you gasp, press a hand over your mouth, swallow the horrible outpour back down.

“I’ve never resented my Creed more than I do right now.” He says it through clenched teeth, as if he knows he shouldn’t. “Not being able to look at your face, not being able to have you see me, to kiss you – I want to kiss you so badly.” Your heart drops down into your stomach. 

“Don’t. Don’t – you can’t. You don’t want that.”

He’s silent for a moment, stiff, and then slowly: “Why not?”

How to be honest without splitting yourself open? “You can’t give that to me, Din. I don’t– I don’t deserve it,” your voice ends on a shamed whisper. The idea of him trusting you with that last, most important thing, the sight of his face. It could never happen. Never.

“So many things you think you don’t deserve… It’s my choice, isn’t it?”

“It would be the wrong choice.”

“I’ve never done it, you know? No one has seen my face since I was a boy. The night you told me we ran the risk of you seeing me in my memory– sometimes I feel like I can’t even remember it myself. Like that isn’t even a possibility because the memory doesn’t exist. Like the face I occasionally glance at in the mirror isn’t actually me.” You could understand this so well, the phenomena of being wholly unrecognizable to yourself, and it was moments like these, when he said something that reminded you so entirely of yourself, that showed you how alike the two of you were in certain ways, that frightened you more than anything. That brought that keen sense of knowing into awareness. That made you awake to that thing you felt for him that you could not yet name or acknowledge. Acknowledging a thing brought it to life, after all. He presses another kiss over the bruise, intensifies it further with a pull of his mouth. “I never want anyone to know something about me that you don’t know. If I were ever to give it to anyone, it’d be to you.” As if he’s the one who possesses the power to read minds, not you, and you're pressing your hand over your eyes and turning in his embrace, blindly, madly shoving your face towards his and stumbling for his mouth. He grasps you around the waist, another hand to your jaw, squeezing so tight your bones feel set to burst, and with a snarl, he kisses you. Blindly, madly, like everything else this thing between the two of you has been, so full of risk. Your name in his mouth is a savage thing full of sharp teeth and want and violence, and you breathe a warbled moan into him as he pulls you further onto his lap so that you’re straddling him, aching cunt nestled against his hardness. “I never want anyone to know something about me that you don’t know,” he breathes again, licks the words onto the surface of your tongue, and you’re sure he’s trying to break you, to leave an imprint, a brand, a burn inside of you in the shape of him. Something that hurts worse than anything else ever has. It’s unfair, it is almost a cruelty, for Din– Din does not always know how a thing will end as you do. He’s absolved of such a curse, and so he must not suffer the certainty in which you’re sure there will come a time when there is a whole life of things about him which you’ll not bear witness to. It makes you cry harder, it makes you want to scream and rage and draw blood, to drink him down so that you might keep him forever. Please, please, let me keep him, let me keep him. You sob into his mouth, pull at his hair so hard he whimpers, subdues you with sharp teeth and pinching fingers. 

What is it? What is it, cyare? Tell me, and I’ll fix it for you. I cannot overcome your anguish. Your eyes are filled with darkness again, and I wish you wouldn’t cry. I know everything, and I’m still here.

You bury your face in his neck, mouth at the warm, damp salt of his skin, try and control your anguish. He doesn’t deserve these hysterics. He doesn’t deserve this. So many lies he doesn’t know you’ve embroiled him in, and you feel unfixable, like you’ll always disappoint him, like it’s inevitable. The Thalassians had been a savage reminder of this. Finally, the hiccuping cries settle, the ricocheting stone in your chest resting, and you prop your chin on his shoulder to look out at the dim surrounding cave. Steam rises off the surface of the warm pool, and the yawning mouths of the branching tributaries are pitch black holes descending into absolute darkness. You wonder, first, what it would be like to become lost in that maze of pure dark, you remember, second, that you already have been. 

“I haven’t been to a hot spring since before,” you murmur, unseeing, feel the ruffle of his overlong curls tickle your damp cheek. “I used to steal away to the ones on Carosi XII sometimes. I loved it–”

“Before…” He smoothes a large, rough paw up the sensitive line of your spine. Calluses catching at your skin, scraping and inciting. Drawing back down in a swoop to press at your tailbone, nestling his throbbing erection more snuggly between the lips of your sex. 

“My escape.” Quietly, as if speaking of it too loudly will undo the entire thing. 

“Ah.”

“It was so dark for so long,” you confess, voice full of air and ghosts.  

Both arms wrapped around your back now, he presses you tight as possible to himself, squeezes all the air and memories of the past out of your lungs. “What did it cost you? The dark, your freedom?” You wish he wouldn’t ask such things, you also want to tell him anyway. 

“Hard to define. My soul, I think. But I’m getting it back.” A soft hum, one that understands. “Have you ever felt like that… like you’d lost your soul?”

“Once or twice, maybe.” A bite to the line of muscle connecting your neck and shoulder, a slick slide of your hips ending in a jolt of pleasure. “A soul is a finicky thing to keep hold of constantly. Don’t you think?” You’ll never be happy anywhere else besides right here with him. Of this you’re absolutely certain.

“Undoubtedly. Slippery little fuckers – souls,” and his laughter is always such a gift, almost a benediction. You wrap your hand around his throat to feel the humming joy of it there, and it pulls your own from your heart, matches his happiness in the way he deserves. He deserves to have his joy reciprocated. To be with someone capable of such unadulterated happiness, that can give it to him and return it to him and amplify it ten fold. An illusory sort of thing… and Din, Din, Din deserves more than a non entity, more than something non existent. Your Mandalorian deserves so many things. You never thought it would be like this when the two of you first started this, that it would require so many things of you you’re not sure you can give. You press a soft kiss to the shell of his ear, eyes closed and safe, fingers twined through the damp curls at the back of his head. You wonder if they flop down over his forehead, if they’re laying slicked and soaking wet, pasted against his skin. You wonder what color his eyes are – dark, you think, dark and warm and rich like his hair. His scruff is grown out too, beard scratchy and a little scraggly. It leaves burns and raw marks on your skin that you press at when he’s away, not looking. The reminder of his mouth at your cunt and breasts. Another kiss to the rounding of bone behind his ear, the scrape of teeth over his jugular, the flavor of his collarbone. An entire sun inside the heart of a single man, and you wonder what that makes you. The dark sky that consumes him, perhaps? That steals the light? 

“What does your Creed cost you?”

“Everything,” he says, and your name shouts at you from his mind. The two of you are so alike in so many unknown ways again and again and again. And so many things frighten you, terrify you. You feel afraid of everything and weak and half made, only half a girl, half a creature. You don’t want him to be anything like you. You want him to be only himself full of all the greatness and goodness he possesses. 

He slides his palm between your thighs, rough fingers whispering and teasing, and then he’s pulling your hips back and notching the wide head at your entrance, wedging that thick cock inside of you, in, in, in, bumping at the mouth of your womb. No preamble, no warning, only claiming. You lay your head on his shoulder, so strong and broad, and watch your tears slide over the hill and down the valley of his back; your moan is ragged as you take him within you, and he burns inside of you like a fever. Or not like a fever, like a second heart, and there’s no reason to cry, you want to tell yourself, console yourself. He’s here, he’s as close to you as he can possibly be. And you’re happy, you are, but you are also aware. You are also yourself. You also know so many things about yourself and fate and destiny that he does not. 

“F–feel so– so fucking good, cyare.” You wrap both arms more tightly around his neck, bury your teeth in his skin, and he grips your ass with one hand, the other wrapped around your breast and pulls you harder onto his cock. “Always.”

“Din,” you whimper, clit grinding against the bone of his pelvis, little toes curling in pleasure as you moan for him.

“Yeah? Like that?” You feel him spread his knees wider beneath you, deepening the angle, and you brace your feel on the stone ledge behind him to leverage yourself better on his lap, ride him. “Fuck, yeah – just like that.” He wraps a fist in your hair, “Close your eyes. Let me see you – need to look at your face,” and he tugs your head back, chin tipped to the ceiling of the cave, throat bared, mouth hanging open. 

“Din, no– wait,” he takes too many risks. “You’re being careless–”

“Am I? I don’t give a fuck,” he grits. “I have to look at you, I have to. You can’t say no to me, you can’t tell me no.” He fucks up into you quicker, hitting that spine melting spot inside of you. “No one fucks this cunt like I do. No one,” he growls. 

No one, no one, no one. I have to look at you.

“Din, please–” you beg for something unknown. 

And he tells you that he knows and understands while he drags his fingers through your wet hair. “I know it’s so much,” and he pushes his hips up again, your cunt letting him in that little bit further, opening and blooming for him. He is changing – a changing sort of man. A phenomena of nature. He is changing you into something different. You can feel it like this hunger that cuts you in two. You fold yourself into the dream that soon your past self will be lost to you entirely if the two of you continue like this, but what worries you is that you are, in turn, changing him, as well. And you aren’t certain that whatever change wrought upon him by yourself would be something good, something that wouldn’t be damaging. 

But you… the sun could only ever change a dark thing for the better. And it was true that together you could do such incredible things, but you would not let yourself be destructive with him. You would not let yourself destroy him. “I’m not going to open my eyes,” you tell him. “I’m not going to open my eyes.”

And he begs: “Please,” but he does not say that which he’s begging for, and you won’t ask. He bends his head and pulls on the tip of your breast, sucks as much of the heavy weight of it as he can into his mouth, you’re so beautiful, he murmurs, fingertips gripping your bottom, slithering down to pet at the place where your cunt is stretched swollen around the thick root of him, wedges his fingers on either side to feel where he enters you. You rest your cheek on the crown of his head, wrapping your arms around him so that his face is buried in your breasts. The feel of his cock throbbing and swelling within you is maddening, and you’ve done this more times than you can count now, yet each time feels like there won’t be enough room within you to take him, that he’ll cleave you in two, cunt stretched to obscenity, to almost pain. The whole sun inside of a man like a god, inside of a girl who only ever wanted to be a god and failed. The whole sun illuminating the darkness into flame, and your cunt begins to pulse and flutter around him, pleasure like agony surging up your spine in electric sparks and pooling in your pelvis, tightening around him to rouse his own orgasm to spill forth and coat you from the inside. He groans savage and wanton and yours into the deep crevice of your breasts, you feel his tongue licking into the space between, tasting and branding, and you wrap around him like vines. 

Perhaps… one single moment of truth now. 

You realize you’ve never loved anything before in your entire life. You’ve never had anything to love. Din is the first. The memory of your parents, always too weak, too far removed to have ever been anything more than an acute yearning, but him, he is here, he is alive, he is with you, and you love him. 

And Din deserves so many things, but he does not deserve this. He does not deserve such a fate, such a damnation – the love of a creature such as you, a thing you’d not wish on your worst enemy. After all, it’s an impossible thing to swallow an entire sun, it’s an impossible thing to abscond entirely from the darkness. I’m sorry, you whisper as he stills within you, and he presses you so tight, as if he could squeeze out the very seed of wrongness that still lives within you.

You love him, and they will always come for you. As long as you’re alive, as long as the dark exists, as long as The Force exists they will always come for you. And one day they’ll go through him to get to you. Like some sort of grotesque chant in your mind, endlessly, without mercy, this is the only truth that remains. 

I’m sorry, you say again and again and again. 

“Cyare, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what it is.”

And a lie to comfort can surely not be such a bad thing, if done with the right intention. Surely, it cannot be such a terrible thing. “It’s only that I’m so happy,” and you know, as soon as the words leave your mouth, that he won’t believe you, but he says nothing anyways, and it only makes you feel worse, for you know that his reticence only comes by way of his own fear. He's scared for you, scared of you, of the fact that he can feel that roiling shift within you, between you, and hasn’t yet managed to solve the riddle of it, of you. You realize that here and now, he’s scared of you. And the truth of it sears you, makes you feel worse than anything the Thalassians could have ever done to you, but this is the true mark, this is the scar forming, invisible above the injury. This is the true consequence, the worry and the apprehension and the seed of fear they’d planted between the both of you. 

“I believe in you above everything else,” you tell him in lieu of all the rest, in lieu of your love. 

He’s silent for a moment, the sound of his swallowed fear, “Why does it feel…sometimes, like all you’re doing is saying goodbye to me?”

Like a lancet through the throat, like dying, something worse than the darkside, but somehow, your voice is measured and even when you tell him, “I don’t think, even if the worst happened, that I’d ever really be able to say goodbye to you.”

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[twoidiotwriters1]

one bed trope with usopp?

Yeeeeessss....

Danny and I really enjoy this one-Val

One Bed (Usopp x fem!reader)

Warnings: SMUT

Words: 1,940

“A Captain, you say?” The receptionist leans forward as Usopp keeps talking bullshit. 

As if this day couldn't get any worse, you have to wait for him to flirt with that lady who was so fucking rude to you when you first asked for a room. Meanwhile, your body shakes in cold as your wet clothes stick to your skin. 

“So, as you heard,” says Usopp leaning on the desk between, making the muscles of his arms pop. “My last adventure left me completely exhausted and that woman,” he points at you. The lady looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, I just saved her from those evil men. So, she’s tired and she can get cranky, like we all do, right? Nothing personal, sweetheart.” 

She smiles, turning to him. “Well… I always had a soft spot for heroes like you, Captain Usopp,” she says caressing his arm. “So, I guess I can help you out,” She grabs a pair of keys from behind the desk and lifts them in front of him. 

“You’re really kind, sweetheart,” he smiles at her, taking the keys. 

“But,” he stops him before he can go. “If you want to add more action to your adventure… we can share a room. Mine is ready for you.” 

Now, the great Casanova Usopp is blushing and stuttering. You roll your eyes and approach them fast, snatching the keys.  

“Thanks!” You yell at the receptionist as you walk away. 

“Hey! Wait for me!” Usopp says behind you. 

“You have to be joking,” you whine staring at the shitty room of the shitty hotel.  

Just a basic, old, dirty, and stinky room with a bathroom, table, two chairs, a crappy kitchen and… just one bed. Before Usopp can say anything, you walk to the bathroom to shower. 

*** 

You close your eyes as the water falls over your body, relaxing your muscles and cleaning the dirt and blood from it.  

This is the moment when all the situations of earlier come to your mind. How your crew had to separate from each other, your enemies not having mercy on you, the rain never stopping and that bitch lady. Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock and the door being opened. 

“Hey, uh—sorry” you hear his movements. “I’m leaving some clothes for you and I—uh… I couldn’t find women's clothes, but I thought—uh…” he rambles nervously.  

“Thanks,” you answer. He leaves without saying anything else.  

You dress in a big men’s shirt, pants, and socks. As Usopp takes a shower, you sit in the middle of the bed and stay still until he finishes. 

“Uh… Are you okay?”  

You scoff. “Do I look okay?” You snap at him. 

“Yeah, Okay. I get it. I know you aren’t but don’t think being mean to me will make you feel any better, Y/N,” he pouts. “If you didn’t notice, I’m in the same situation as you so…” 

He’s right, you think. Now you feel even worse, and this is just the final drop for your sanity. 

“I’m sorry,” you say as your voice breaks. “You’re right. I’m such a bitch like the lady from downstairs,” you sob. 

“Shit, no, no, no, it’s okay,” he quickly sits in front of you and takes your hands. “I didn’t say bitch.” 

“But you thought about it!” You squeal. “I don’t blame you,” you clean your nose. “I’m so selfish and take it on you. I’m sorry, Usopp. It’s not your fault and bitching about it just makes things worse!” 

“No, please don’t cry,” he moves closer to carry you to his lap and hug you tight. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, it’s all my fault,” You hide your face on his chest. 

“No, it’s not yours either. It was just a shitty day, shhh,” he coos. “But it’s over now, okay? And we’re fine, we’re alive! And I’m 100% sure that the others are too.” 

“You think so?” 

He thinks for a bit. “Maybe an 80%—If Zoro’s alone, he probably got lost.” That makes you giggle, making him sigh in relief. 

You both stay like that for a while. “Thank you, Usopp.” 

“No problem, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

You frown and make a face as you lean back to him. 

“Ew, don’t call me that,” you chuckle. 

“What? Why?” He smiles confused. 

“You called the lady like that,” you cringe. “By the way, when did you learn to flirt?” 

You always saw Usopp as the one who gets all nervous when he tries to date someone. 

He laughs. “Well, I asked Sanji for a little help. Honestly, I didn’t think it’d work, but...” he raises a brow. “I’m good at it.” 

You roll your eyes as you stand up from his lap. “If you’re so sure, then go with her,” you say as you walk to the tiny mirror on the wall and try to brush your hair with your fingers. 

“What?” 

You shrug. “She offered her—I mean, her room.” 

“But I don’t want to be with her,” he stands up. “The reason I flirted was to get us a room,” he explains. 

For some reason, that makes you smile proudly. “Okay.”  

“I...” he sighs and grabs your arm to make you turn to him. “I’m not like that. I wouldn’t do that, I mean. We’re on a mission and, I wouldn’t let you alone, at least not in this awful room.”  

You make a face. “She was quite beautiful, though. I wouldn’t blame you if you, you know,” You shrug. “I mean, she was a total bitch, but I can’t deny she was beautiful.” 

“She’s not my type,” he chuckles. That makes you turn back to him raising a brow. 

“You have a type?” 

“Uh… well, I guess. I dunno, maybe I just think—ugh! Forget it. I’m gonna shut my mouth for good,” he whines embarrassed. You giggle. “You’re enjoying this, don’t you?” He smiles shyly. 

“A little.” 

“Why? It’s not like you don’t have a type, I bet you like guys like Sanji or Zoro,” he says like it’s a dumb thing. 

You shake your head. “Actually, no.” 

“What?” you shrug. “Well, how did your last boyfriend look like?” 

“Why are you so curious about that?” 

“I—I’m not. I just, c’mon it’s a simple question. A girl as beautiful as you must have lots of guys waiting for you.” 

You blush and smile. “You think I’m beautiful?” 

“Of course, you’re beautiful! Are you kidding? You’re the most amazing, lovely, beautiful, smart woman I’ve ever met!” He looks like he said that without thinking. “I—uh...” 

You look at him and nod. “I believe you,” your eyes go down to his lips, but you immediately pull away, afraid of your thoughts about your friend. “So,” you change the subject. “How are we gonna do this one-bed thing?” 

“Oh, I can sleep on the floor. There’s no problem,” he stretches his arms. “It’s not the first time, you know.” 

You giggle but then you make a face. “But this floor is dirty and who knows what kind of insects you’ll find?” 

“I’m not scared of bugs.”  

“Last time you saw a ladybug on your arm and practically cried about it.” 

He blushes embarrassed. “I did not! Captain Usopp is not afraid of anything!” 

You giggle. “Just come already,” You make a sign for him to get into the bed as you pull the sheets down and lay down.  

“A-are you sure?” He stands up. 

“Sure… it’s not like we’re gonna do something else than sleep, right?” You think about it and blush. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he jumps in and laughs nervously. He lays down at your side. 

You both stay face-to-face with anxious smiles. 

“Good night, Usopp,” you whisper looking at his eyes. 

“Tomorrow will be better,” he nods. “Good night, doll.” 

*** 

The truth is that you can’t sleep, no matter how many times you turn around the bed. His presence makes you uneasy and for some reason you— 

“Can’t sleep either?” he whispers. You turn back to face him, but this time you’re closer to him. You can feel his breath and your nose brushes his. 

“Usopp, I...” 

“I’m sorry,” he says before grabbing you by the neck and pulling you to his lips. You whine in surprise but kiss him back immediately. 

“Don’t be,” you mumble pulling back. You smile and he does it too. Now you lean forward willingly and kiss him. 

The kiss gets more intense as he grabs your waist, keeping you as close as possible. Then he moves to be on top of you. 

“Is this...” he breathes. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah, please. I want you, Usopp,” you practically moan.  

“Shit,” he says before kissing you. He can’t believe what’s happening. But he doesn’t want to overthink it. At least not now. He starts to kiss your jawline to your neck. 

“Usopp...” you moan. 

“My name sounds so perfect when you say it,” he chuckles. 

You smile as you grab his shirt and try to pull it off. He sits back to help you and then you two undress each other. You forget about the fact that your early clothes, with your underwear, are still wet somewhere in the room. You flush hard, begging for the night to cover everything. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he kisses you again. “I can’t believe...” Kiss. “We’re...” Kiss. “Doing this.” Kiss. 

“Why?” You giggle. 

“I never thought I had a chance with you,” he confesses. 

“Why?” You frown. “If you’re the most amazing...” You kiss him. “Strong...” Kiss. “Brave...” Another kiss. “And kind guy I’ve ever met.” Both of you laugh. “Stop thinking, Usopp. I want you, I need you.” He groans in response. 

You take his hand and guide him down on you. His fingers move slowly, testing you.  

“Fuck,” you moan when he touches your clit. He takes that as a good sign, but he wants more, so he boldly moves and start kissing your inner thighs. “Usopp?” 

“Don’t worry, just guide me,” he smiles eager to make you feel good. He takes your hand and puts it over his head as he dips down and kisses your core. You moan louder this time. 

He kisses, licks, and tastes like you’re his favorite dessert, he obeys you in every movement of your hand and when you tell him what you want. He makes you see stars and makes you scream in pleasure. 

“Usopp, please. Come up here!” You whine. 

“But you—” 

“It’s okay, I need more, please,” He obeys and returns to your upper body to sloppy kiss you. “Usopp...” 

“I got you, baby,” he moans as he guides himself to you. 

Both of you moan at the slow start thrust. He takes a moment for you to adjust, but then, his thrust becomes harder and faster. 

“You feel so good, so pretty, so perfect,” he praises like a mantra. 

Your hands travel all over his body, you want to feel everything of him. “You’re so deep, so good,” you mumble then continue to moan his name over and over. 

“I’m not… gonna last...” he grunts. 

You shake your head. “Neither will I, please, keep going.” 

With a couple of more thrusts you finish, Usopp stares at you in awe as he finishes too. He falls on you, hugging your waist and you caress his hair and play with his thick locks. 

“Is this a good time to say that I’m so in love with you?” He asks making you giggle. 

“Just if I can confess that I’m falling for you too.” 

He chuckles and kisses your skin.  

[holylulusworld]

When we were kids

Summary: It’s his turn to wait.

Pairing: AU!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, past Fratboy!Bucky Barnes x Student!Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: angst, language, unrequited feelings, best friends to enemies, jealousy, hopeful ending

A/N: This sequel got inspired by another song from Walking on Cars “When We Were Kids”. Lyrics in Italics taken from the song.

A/N: So, I decided to give this story a sequel. It's necessary to read the first part to understand the story.

<< Part 1 - Waiting on the corner

Yeah, it was better back when we were kids  Thought we knew everything, we really did  Had no money but so rich  Nobody cared about what we did  Another fight and another kiss  But now it's water under the bridge

Bucky watches you walk away from him with your head held high. You don’t turn around, even though, it takes anything in you to not give in and look over your shoulder.

It took you years to get to this point. Years of yearning, crying, and wailing with pain. The pain Bucky caused because some girl he barely knew, and didn’t even love, was more important.

His shoulders sag, and he sighs deeply. What did he expect to happen? Did he honestly believe you’d forgive him so easily after you left town because of him? 

He thinks of better times. Times in which you looked up at him like he was your whole world.  

But I still call out for you Yeah, I still call out for you

Ten years ago, months before Bucky met Dot, …

“Doll, it’s spaghetti Friday,” Bucky mutters as you run through the living room, a bunch of noodles in your hands. He’s chasing after you, calling your name.

You giggle and speed up when he gets closer. Dashing toward the middle of the room you almost run Steve over. 

“Whoa, watch out, Y/N,” Steve jumps out of your way. “What has gotten into you two!” He yells as Bucky throws a handful of spaghetti your way only to hit Steve right in the face. The pasta drops on his shirt, and he sighs. “What the fuck, Buck!”

“We are having spaghetti Friday,” Bucky says, expecting Steve to understand what he means. The blonde frowns. Bucky and you always come up with crazy new rituals and Steve can’t keep up with all the shit the two of you pull all the time. “Y/N started a fight! She wanted to have farfalle, Steve. Farfalle for spaghetti Friday. That’s a sacrilege, my friend.”

“They look pretty on a plate, Buck. I wanted my plate to look pretty, and they were cheap,” you pout. “Why not try something new?” 

“I want spaghetti. They look manly.” Bucky says, making you snort as he defends the spaghetti. 

“Yeah. Because they remind you of your dick,” you sass back. With your hands on your hips, you give Bucky the stinky eyes. “You wanna eat dick.”

He chuckles, but his heart flutters as you step closer to put the spaghetti in his hands. “My dick is much thicker, doll. I can prove it.”

“Just tell this to yourself, Buck,” you gently pat his cheek. He hums and drops his eyes to your lips. If only he found the guts to finally tell you how he feels about you. “Now, Steve will decide which noodles we’ll eat. You hit him with pasta after all.”

“Keep me out of your crazy fights,” Steve grunts. He looks down at his brand-new shirt, decorated with spaghetti. I got a hot date, and you just ruined my shirt. Now I gotta change before I pick her up.”

“Sharon again?” You turn your attention toward Steve, making Bucky pout. “So, are you in love Steven Grant Rogers? Is she the one? Can you imagine marrying her?”

Steve’s cheeks turn pink. He clears his throat and tries to not give away he has a huge crush on Sharon. Maybe it’s even more than a crush this time. 

“Wrap it before you tap it, Stevie.” You groan at Bucky’s words. “Do you need condoms? I got a whole drawer full of…”

You snap your head toward Bucky to glare at him. “We got it Bucky. You have a lot of condoms because you fuck every girl with a pulse. Stop dragging Steve into your shit. He’s a good guy. Sharon deserves a good guy. We all do.”

Bucky watches you sigh deeply because so far, you didn’t get lucky finding a good guy. And the one you could fall in love with asks every girl out but you. 

“Uh-first base,” Steve mumbles. “Sharon wants to take things slow. I’ll wait.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you,” you hug Steve. “I knew you’re a good guy.”

“HEY! I’m a good guy too,” Bucky grunts. He had hoped you’d see more in him than a promiscuous frat boy one day. Now he knows better. Maybe he should give in to Dot’s advances and go on a date with her…

Ooh, tell me what I'm gonna do now 'Cause I feel a little lost without you I'm a little bit lost without you Hear me, hear me out Tell me what I'm gonna do now Because I realize now I need you I'd do anything now to see you

Now, …

Hear me, hear me I still call out for you Yeah, I still call out for you

Bucky walks back into the gymnasium, avoiding everyone but Natasha. He goes straight to her to ask her if she knows where you went to.

“Nat, hey. Do you know Y/N’s hotel?” He asks, hoping to see you again tonight. “Natasha?”

Natasha is tangled in Clint’s arms. She dips her head to glance at Bucky, frowning deeply. “How shall I know? She said something about leaving to clear her mind. I think she left.”

“Where to?” Bucky groans. “I need to know.”

“Ask Wanda, they talked before Y/N left. I was kinda busy with…”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I got that you were busy sucking the life out of Barton’s tongue.” He looks around the room to find Wanda. 

“Who asked you?” Natasha mutters. “Get out of my sight.”

Another consequence, another day And now I'm caught up in a rat race Yeah, no money, just got picked You take me back to when I was free You take me back to a memory To the water under the bridge

Walking around the room Bucky despairs. Wanda is nowhere to be found, you are gone, and Natasha was no help. 

What did you say? You want to meet him at your special place. “But when?” He asks himself. “I can’t wait there for hours…”

“Here,” Wanda appears out of nowhere. She hands Bucky a piece of paper. “Y/N told me to give you this.” She sizes Bucky up. ��If you hurt her, I’ll castrate you. Don’t believe for one moment I won’t find you, Barnes.”

He takes the piece of paper, feeling his heart speed up once again. Just like it did the moment he laid eyes on you tonight.

Bucky leaves Wanda, and the party behind. He almost runs out of the building and toward his parked car to read your message to him in silence.

After unlocking the car, he jumps into the driver’s seat and unfolds the letter.

“Our special place. Tomorrow. At eight.”

“At eight…” he furrows his brows. “In the morning or evening.” Bucky groans because he’s got no clue if you want to have breakfast or dinner with him. “Doll…you always have been bad with time.”

Ooh, tell me what I'm gonna do now 'Cause I feel a little lost without you I'm a little bit lost without you Hear me, hear me out Tell me what I'm gonna do now Because I realize now I need you I'd do anything now to see you Hear me, hear me

Almost ten years ago, months before he met Dot, …

“Christ on a cracker, Y/N!” Bucky throws his hands up as you finally walk inside the apartment you share with your grumpy roommate. “Where have you been all day?”

“What?” You didn’t even make it inside the living room before Bucky started to look you all over. “Hey. What’s wrong with you?”

“Yesterday you said that you’ll be back at ten!” He argues and points at the watch on the wall. “It’s fucking ten p.m., Y/N!”

“Yeah, I know. I told you that I’ll be back at that time!”

“You said ten and I believed you mean in the morning,” Bucky releases a shuddery breath. “I was about to call the cops, doll! Never scare me like that again.”

“Oh-I forgot to write a.m. again,” you giggle, but your laughter dies when you watch Bucky. “I’m sorry for worrying you, Buck. I thought you knew I meant ten p.m.”

“I did not and was worried sick! Plus, you forgot your damn phone again! If you leave the apartment, tell me where you are going and when you will be back. And use a.m. and p.m. from now on!”

“Buck,” you wrap Bucky in a hug. “Love you too big grump.” He grins when you hold him tightly. “How can I make things up to you?”

“I’ll decide which movie we will watch tonight.” You’re tired and want to sleep for a week, but Bucky was worried about you. You will stay awake as long as possible and watch a movie with him.

“Deal.”

Half an hour later you are asleep in Bucky’s lap. He runs his hand over your hair, gently patting your head. “Never scare me like that again, doll…”

Now, Bucky’s car…

“Fine. I’ll be there at eight a.m., doll, and wait for you…”

The next morning, your special place, …

I still call out for you  Oh, I still call out for you  Hear me, hear me  I still call out for you  'Cause I feel a little lost without you  I'm a little bit lost without you  Hear me, hear me It was better back when we were kids

 No money, so rich Take me back to a memory  To the water under the bridge

Bucky shuffles from one foot to the other. He came here, on time. It’s past ten a.m., and you still haven’t shown up. “Fuck…maybe I got it wrong, and she wanted me to meet her at eight p.m.?”

He gets the piece of paper back out, rereading the few lines you wrote. 

Bucky sighs. What if he didn’t get it wrong? What if you won’t show?

“Still waiting, huh?” Steve steps out of his hideout to tease his friend. “Do you think she will show?”

“What are you doing here?” Bucky panics. Last time you were in his shoes and Steve showed up to tell you Bucky won’t come to meet up with you. 

“Uh-getting me some coffee,” Steve lies. He and Sharon wanted to find out if you will give his best friend a second chance. The first thing Bucky did was to call Steve and tell him what happened.

“She won’t show, I guess.” Bucky sits down on the sidewalk. He looks at his hands, sighing deeply. “I deserve this, right? I fucked up big time back then. I should’ve told Y/N that I love her. I didn’t even like Dot. She was the worst.”

“How much did you love her?” Steve asks. “Bucky, be honest with me.”

“So much that I forgot to eat and couldn’t sleep when she went on a date. I panicked any time she was running late. One time she was holding my hand while we were watching a slasher movie. I imagined this is how it feels when walk down the aisle together.”

“Hmmm…” you sit down next to Bucky, nodding at Steve as he looks down at you and his friend. “I bet you did dirty things in the showers too, imagining it’s me rubbing your spaghetti dick.”

“Stop with the spaghetti dick! I told you it’s thicker,” Bucky argues. “And farfalle don't count as pasta. It’s…too pretty.”

“That’s the whole point,” you talk back. “They look pretty, and you eat them to feel pretty inside too.”

Bucky snorts at that. “You’re late…like two hours late. Do you even know how to read a watch?”

You shrug. “I thought you should wait a little longer. I waited for much longer, only for you to not show. Now you will buy me breakfast and tea. They still make the best in town. So, I heard.”

Bucky slowly gets up, holding out his hand for you.

He doesn’t know where you go from here. But you showed, and he will be damned if he doesn’t take the chance and tries to win your heart over again…

I still call out for you Oh, I still call out for you Hear me, hear me I still call out for you 'Cause I'm a little bit lost without you I'm a little bit lost without you Hear me, hear me

Tags in reblog.

[s1nk1ngst4rg1irl]

CHAPTER ONE: 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷?

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻

╰┈➤ 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷?

╰┈➤NOTES: If you couldnt tell (cuz my writing sucks) you are a first year and daichis a 3rd year!! :). also couldnt contain my kiyoko crush lol. Also this ones pretty short lol

╰┈➤WARNINGS: you get smacked and cursing

╰┈➤WORD COUNT: 1.1K

╰┈➤masterlist

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚

“Kenma! Get your ass on the bus and tell Lev to hurry up and leave that poor cat alone!” Today was not shaping up to be a good day. You had woken up puffy faced and your hair refused to lie the way you wanted it too. Then, Yamamoto had decided today was the day he would try and actually hold a conversation with you, buying a coffee that he spilled all over the front of your shirt. So here you were, in suffocating heat wearing an old stinky back up jersey and screaming at the top of your lungs so that maybe, just maybe, you could make it to your destination on time.

“You know maybe if you weren't so snippy all the time you’d have moree friends, hey if you be a little nicer you might even meet someone at camp!” Kuroo chirped, leaning out of his open window from his comfy, cushioned seat in the air conditioned bus and looking down at you. Mustering up all the strength you had left you turned to face him and grabbed his collar, dragging him out of the bus face first. “Hey! Hey! I'm sorry ok?!! Put me dow- AH”

“You can manage herding the stragglers into the bus, cant you cap’n? Have fun and don't wake me up till we get there.”

︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵

“Um, Y/N? We're here.” You peeled your eyes open, it was sweltering, the colors around you blurred together into a deep purple. “Y/N? Practice is almost finished so the managers need you to help clean up and serve dinner.” Dinner? Managers? Practice? Oh. Camp. Yawning and stretching, you thanked Fukunaga for waking you up, trailing behind him to the kitchens, stopping in your tracks as you see the most gorgeous woman you've ever seen. She meets your eyes and smiles and you swear the world stops. 

“Im kiyoko, nice to meet you! Ill show you the ropes.” You stand there, opening and closing your mouth like a beached fish, trying to find words that won't embarrass the crap out of you. 

“Y/N! Im Y/N! Its super nice to meet you too!!” god you're yelling, and the rest of the managers and some of the players are turning towards you like you're a madwoman and oh dear you should’ve never agreed to this oh god.

“Y/N! Finally done sleeping huh, well quit slacking off and come help us clean up in the gym!” You turn around to see your delightful savior sent from above, annnnnd its Yaku. Whatever. 

“Coming!, ill see you around!” you say, Kiyoko smiles, handing you a stack of towels before waving you goodbye.

The Gyms stinks of man sweat at icy hot, and you've barely taken two steps inside before you’re ambushed by yamamoto.

“See? We have a manager too!! Isn't she pretty!!” and all of a sudden your vision is blocked by a scary guy with a buzz cut and- a child?

“Hey,” you say, bending at the knee to get to eye level with him “Are you lost? This is a gym, not a playground, here call your mom on my phone, you know her number right?” You watch as he grows redder, from his ears to his gelled up hair, and then Yamamoto and his delinquent buddy are laughing hysterically, slamming eachothers backs with open palms .”Hey, this is serious, you know if you guys were walking on the street right now you'd look like kidnappers with those hair cuts right?” That makes them stop their tracks, buzzcut- you think Yamamoto had called him Tanaka?- turns to Yamamoto and says.

‘Wow, she is totally hot”

“I know, right? Isn't it just the best when she insults you?”

 What the hell is wrong with these people, you sigh to yourself, muttering under your breath and getting to work on wiping down benches before you are absolutely bulldozed by a spike straight to the face. Before you hit the ground and everything fades to black you see the face of a beautiful angel, looking down at you with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen. Like those choco donuts that inuoka always eats before practice. (He says they help him dig better, so far its not working very well.)

So this is how it ends, looking at a stunning man in a stinky gym. You were going to kill Kuroo.

︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵

“Hey! Step away from the light, away from the lighttttt.” You feel a light slap to the face, then a harder one. Blinking away the ache forming in the back of your eyes, you see a fuzzy outline of Kuroo, or rather 2 Kuroos, oh, or is that 4, and there's 4 Levs behind him and 4 Yakus and then there's the giant clump of red and black jacket wearing losers. So this is hell huh. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you were a little nicer like Kuroo had said. Was this karma? But then the image of Kuroo is pushed away by an arm, a buff, tan arm, and replaced with the face of the angel. 

“Hey, you ok? Sorry about that, my team’s a little rowdy.”  And he tucks an arm behind his head and the muscles ripple and oh god. Karma isn't real, this was heaven, you reach an arm out to touch his face, his stunning face sculpted by some god. His face is cold...and... sweaty? Wait. Was this real? Were you fondling this random, real guy's cheek, in front of your whole team?? In front of half the campgoers?

 You push his face away as hard as you can at this revelation, wiping your eyes with balled fists as you get up, swinging your arms around to stay balanced as everything spun around you.

 “Shit! Sorry, I'm A okay, no problemo over here, just a quick question though, is this place built on a hill cuz everything's kinda slanted!” you blurted. You were making a total fool of yourself in front of your one true love, this was terrible. Glancing over to Kuroo for help, you saw his eyes flitting between you and the angel, a look of slight disgust creeping onto his face. God you wanted to punch that stupid face of his.

“It didn't really look like it-" The angel spoke. Was his voice always like this? It felt like angels were pouring honey into your ears. "Not to sound rude its just you were laying there for a long time, and you were kinda drooling.” Honey turns into lava and the angels are demons with spiky hair and volleyball jerseys laughing at you maniacally. When would the world just swallow you up already, his first impression of you must have been a drooling madwoman. This was terrible. Abort. Abort. Abort mission, new mission: get back to the dorms as soon as possible and then chew Kuroo out.

“Oh no! It's fine, everythings fine, um, I should get back to the dorms!”

“ Let me walk you back to your dorm to make sure you're ok.”

“That's fine, Kuroo owes me so he'll walk me back!" you squeak, ignoring the look that the middle blocker send your way.

“Oh.. well ok! But take my jacket, it must be cold.” God, chivalrous and hot? Who were this man's parents cause you'd like them to send a letter of thanks for putting him on earth.

“Thanks.” you say, taking the jacket from him. It was soft, and big, and it smelled like fabric softener. "I'm Y/N”

“Daichi.” and with that, you grab Kuroo and speed walk out of the gym.

︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵

“Are you kidding me, this is worse than when you wanted to bone squidward!”

"... Shut up."

︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵୨୧︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵

[dreamersville]

heyyy boo🥹🩷 can you do like some hcs or drabbles on how the hashiras would come home to you sleeping at night after a long misson🙏🏾🙏🏾 like maybe they try to like slip in the bed and reader wakes up??...or not- whatever come to your beautiful mind really😩.

preferably with tengen, sanemi, and mitsuri 🤭

thank youuuu❤️❤️

an? im soooo soo sorry about mitsuri missing, the blanks i was drawing when i seen her name is really insane and thats why it took so long for this to come out ..but she still not in the post..ANYWAYS i hope this was to your liking my love💜 and again i am very sorry for the wait, request are open

pairings? tengen black reader, sanemi x black reader

tw? cursing, mention of a fall lmk if there is anything else

Tengen — walks in the kitchen/dining area where you were laying at a desk, head in your hands, in what looks like an uncomfortable position. Ink spots on your hands and now face. From the scattered paper on the desk and the numerous ink spots around the desk, he can conclude that you were writing him a letter, again. He walks up to you snorting as you shift to lay your head right next to some ink, quickly stepping in set on stopping your head from touching the ink spot. You nuzzle your face into his hand more chasing the warmth from it. He uses his other hand to brush your braids back from your head, taking a quick glance around the table to see where your bonnet is. Gathering the braids in his hand he maneuvers you better so he could wrap them in the bonnet. Wrapping your braids so that he could place your bonnet on your head, giving your forehead a kiss when he is finished. Makio is probably standing in the doorway watching the scene with soft eyes, a blanket thrown over her shoulder with the intention to place it around your shoulders. She comes over and gives you and tengen a kiss on the cheek, places the blanket over your body as you turn around to curve into tengens body. You always take it the hardest when tengens goes out on these long missions so your wives take it upon themselves to pay more attention to you to make sure that you are okay. Tengen knows this also so you're the first one he seeks out when coming home from a mission. It's in moments like these where he feels lucky to have all of you. You stir in your sleep mumbling about “why tf your gumbo taste like that?” girl- Tengen smiled to himself as he readjust his hold on you as he picks you talking to your yall room so that he could lay you down with the rest of his wives. You shuffle under the covers, scooting closer to Suma looking to replace the warmth you just lost. Tengen maneuvers everyone so that he is in the middle with two on his left and two on his right, extending his arms out so that he could embrace his wives all at once, relaxing once he's sure that you all are all here and accounted for. Releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding in, he hums as he is lulled into a gentle sleep.

Sanemi — comes in from a long mission with a jittering feeling under his skin. Although he's been on longer missions than this one this was the first time he was coming back to you. Discarding his shoes and most of his clothes at the door, he intends to go take a shower knowing how much you dislike “the smell of outside” whatever tf that is, but he wouldn't wanna be on your bad side when he just got back, so he is going to grumble his stinky ass through that good shower, coming out more relaxed than expected. Slightly rushing now that he finally finna be able to get you back in his arms. In his rush he trips over a shirt that you must have taken off before you got in the bed, in a haste to catch himself, he does some of move so that most of the impact from the fall is more so towards left side trying to be as quiet as possible. rolling onto his stomach, he sees your toes mere inches away from his face. You were just going to use the bathroom, you didn't expect to see sanmei there on the floor. Still in your half sleep state you step around sanemi and county on your way to the bathroom. It is only when you're washing your hands and feel the water on your feet that you realize somebody `had used the shower recently but who? It was only you here .. you slowly open the door and see your husband still on the floor, now the dots are starting to connect.. You chuckled to yourself then went and helped him up eager to get him bed now that you realized he was finally back. As you are making an attempt to try and help sanemi, he jumps up and stares at you, until you run into his arms knocking him a few feet back as he has to stumble to fall on his ass again. Sanemi it's time to for you to go back to sleep, but you wouldn't relinquish him from your hold on him so he turn the bathroom light off, leaving the mess of water to dry up and makes his way to your bedroom, maneuvering into the bed in a way that doesn't disturb you since you decided that you were going to go back to sleep now that you had your man in your arms, adjusting you and himself so that you were being big spooned by him. You were laying on right arm while his left was slowly stroking up and down your leg, allowing himself to hold you before he drifts off the dream land

once again hoped you enjoyed my lovee <33. request are open

[sadistic-kiss]

🐺House of Alphas Chapter 49: Date Night With Daddy🐺

(Jujutsu Kaisen Omegaverse )

Summary: Waking up in a world that was not your own was problematic enough. Being the villainess was another. However, the possessive alphas might take the cake.

Disclaimer: Angsty but I ain’t Gege

Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sukuna x Alpha!Gojo x Alpha!Toji x Alpha!Nanami x Alpha!Getou

~

...

You walked in to find Toji on his bed putting on his shoes. He was wearing a tight black long-sleeve shirt with a few buttons open to reveal his chest. Nice jewelry hanging from his neck. His black pants matched with the black shoes he was busy lacing up. Fuck he looks so hot. You had to swallow the glob of spit that formed in your mouth lest you be drooling.

He looked up as you got into the room, his eyes fluttered in surprise, “Holy shit.”

Now you were starting to feel flustered from their responses. “Is that a good shit or a stinky shit- do I look okay?” let's be for real - deep down you knew you looked damn good you just wanted them to voice it.

Toji scoffed as if he couldn't fathom the audacity of you to question yourself. “You look better than okay. You look amazing baby girl…better than I could have imagined.” he reached for your hand and you grabbed it with a shy giggle. Bringing you close he prompts you to turn, “Give daddy a spin.”

You did a cute twirl as Toji touched upon you gently while offering appreciative sounds.

He rests his hands on your hips as you complete your circle. “Damn… we picked a beautiful princess… didn't we Sukuna?” His gaze shifts from your face to behind you.

Your skin grew hot, you looked back to see Sukuna leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked to be deep in thought staring at you. Toji’s question hung in the air without an answer but the alpha didn't seem to mind. He chuckled instead, “See? You left him speechless.”

“You… you look really handsome too.” You smiled at him dancing your fingers upon his neck.

“I clean up nicely huh?” he winked at you making you even more woozy. You might pass out before you make it out of the room.

‘Calm down girl-now is not the time to play!‘

“She shouldn't wear that.” Sukuna coughed finally speaking up.

“She can wear whatever she wants.”

Okay if you actually did want to wear this mad respect for Toji.

“She will freeze to death.”

That was actually your line to get out of this outfit-

“I got something for that.” Toji shifted you to the side as he stood. He walked over to grab something but as he did that you looked toward Sukuna and his glary expression.

You most certainly didn't want to wear this out but why didn't he?

“Here…” Toji came back with a small box. He opened it up to reveal dangling red earrings.

“Oh…” you gasp. “They are pretty Toji.” you offer him a smile as you take them.

“These will keep her warm.” Toji spoke to Sukuna as he held up a mirror for you to check out your appearance.

Firestones, nice. The dangling earrings really added to the outfit.

“Still...-” Sukuna continued.

You sat upon the bed as the two argued. You didn't know how to interject yourself into this conversation because it was clear Sukuna was jealous and actually didn't have a solid reason for you not to wear the outfit.

It was cute.

“Still what Sukuna?” Toji snapped the small box closed with a loud pop. His tone starting to get growly and irritated.

“-…You can't have her walking around like a piece of meat waiting to be devoured.”

Oh my is that how I look?

Toji snorted at the hypocrisy, “Ryoumen you took her to a sex club and tried to have sex with her in the park, I don't want to hear it.”

“Tch- that was different-”

“And how so?”

“I claimed her, showed them who she belonged to. Hell, I sent some people fleeing when I transformed, no one would ever think of touching her.”

“I don’t need to fuck her to show she belongs to me Ryoumen.” Toji growled while fixing the cuffs of his sleeve. “And if need be, ripping someone's head off with my bare hands will suffice.”

“I'm sure it won't come to that.” You added with a little laugh to hopefully defuse the situation. You could feel the heat rising and smell the tension. It was starting to give you the jitters. Light back and forth was fine but when it felt like the two were about to throw fists that's where you draw the line.

There was a knock on the door cutting into the tense air. Toji went for it, hissing at Sukuna while he was at it. “You don't think I can take care of my girl?” he sounded so offended.

“I didn't say that…” Sukuna muttered.

Toji opened the door as you silently tried to not stare too much at Sukuna. You were quite taken away by their exchange. You almost wanted to laugh, but you kept your giggles on the inside. It was always entertaining to see them do this little fight over you like you were some precious thing to have and be taken care of. Your inner feminist was dying of thirst but being pampered and fought over by your alphas most certainly fed something inside you.

You heard Inumaki’s voice at the door but before the beta could say anything Toji hushed him, “Don’t say anything I want it to be a surprise.” He then shouted to you, “I'll be right back.”

“Okay!” You called as Toji left leaving you alone with Sukuna.

In awkward silence.

You pat your legs to a random beat in an uneasy fidget. Soon you couldn't take it anymore- it may have been like thirty seconds really- but you don't know how to accept this weird atmosphere. So you go for some light teasing because comedy is your defense mechanism.

“You really think I shouldn't be wearing this?”

“Doesn't matter what I think. Your daddy is taking you out.”

“My oh my, Ryoumen, don't tell me you're jealous.”

Sukuna’s red eyes rolled to you in a slight glare, that's when you let your smile crack your lips and your mask fell. You just showed him you found this whole thing amusing. And that might have been your greatest mistake. Sukuna pushed off the wall clearing the room in two long strides. You let out a little gasp crawling backward on the bed.

Oh fuck oh fuck -

“Wait-”

“Don't run now.”

...

~

*Read More*

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Vesuvia Weekly: The Marketplace Incident

~ my little written sketch for @vesuviaweekly's prompt "How Things Went Wrong (feat the Arcana familiars)". Enjoy an afternoon from the perspective of my fandom self-insert :3 ~

Word count: 1.5k

The marketplace really is the best spot to write in. The bustle of afternoon shoppers in the sunny square is a soothing view from my shaded nook, tucked between Selasi's booth and an alleyway of stairs. The steady sea breeze makes the parchment in front of me flutter, carrying the smell of spiced bread as it tousles my hair from my forehead.

"Need a refill?" The baker leans on the stone wall above the low table I'm pretending to draft my next story on. "Maybe it will help the ink flow better."

"Thanks, Selasi, but I'm afraid I've barely had a sip." I gesture to my mostly-full clay cup. "It's a good blend, though - what did you use for it this time?"

"A craftsman never shares his secrets." He hunches closer, not-so-subtly trying to sneak a peek at my handwriting. "What is today's writing about? More of our six friends' adventures, by a friendly young man whose signature is a rotting brain?"

I roll my eyes at his teasing smile. "Okay, using the moniker 'brainrot' doesn't automatically mean gruesome physical decay -"

We both jump at the sudden cat's yowl from the direction of the baker's counter. A fuzzy orange blur streaks to my corner, tiny claws digging into my shirt as it uses me as a ladder to get to Selasi's shoulder.

"Pounce? What is it, little one?"

"Bad dogs!" Faust's face pops into view, her body slowly unwinding from the cloth umbrella over me.

I barely have time to stabilize her plop onto my arm before I catch sight of two more barking fuzzy blurs tearing around the corner, a screeching raven flapping frantically after them. All three start heading in my direction as soon as they see me stand up to intervene. "Mercedes, Melchior! Come here!"

As ill-trained as I know Lucio's dogs are, the half-finished roll I hold out in their direction is more than enough to convince them. They slide to a halt in front of me, paws and tail still skittering from side to side, eyes trained on the treat. The flustered raven descends on my shoulder and Faust scoots onto Selasi's arm to give him more space.

"It's rare to see these fellows here without their owners ..." The baker runs his hand over Pounce's bushed-out tail in a soothing arc. "Did something happen?"

"What didn't happen?" I mumble in response. I don't think I recognize the strange goop Faust has left on my shirt, or the hooped earring in Malak's beak, or the concerningly pleasant smell wafting off of the dog's silky coats. I hold out my palm in front of the bird on my shoulder. "Give me the shiny, please. Which friend did you take this from?"

"Took it when I squeezed!"

"Who did you squeeze, Faust? Was it Julian?"

"Stinky count. Stole my fishies!"

The hissed voice clearly belongs to a cat, but it's not coming from the trembling ginger tabby in Selasi's arms. Pepi lopes into view on the wall above me with a smug look on her little face. Oh, right. I keep forgetting that she learned how to talk ...

"Lucio ... stole your fish?"

"Pepi earned the fishies - Pepi was a good cat and caught all the rats! Went to the docks to get the fishies, but he took them first!"

I try to piece the narrative together, noticing what looks like a pearly white owl listening in from the roof of the booth. "So ... Portia went to buy Pepi some fish, but Lucio bought them first? Where did the earring come from?"

"Master tried to help!"

"Oh, did Asra try to trade their earring for the fish? I thought his piercings closed up years ago."

Malak caws loudly in protest. Faust wiggles and bobs from her perch on Selasi's shoulder as the distant owl takes off for a different corner of the marketplace.

"Not Master's earring."

I study the golden hoop, finally catching the protective gleam in Malak's eye. "Ohh, this is Julian's, isn't it? Okay, from the top." I watch five pairs of animal eyes point back in my direction. "Portia went to get fish for Pepi, but Lucio bought them first. Asra tried to intervene, and then Julian offered an earring that he apparently owns to bargain for the fish with. Is that right?"

I almost miss the variety of nods when a thick coat of fur unexpectedly brushes across the backs of my knees. When I look down, it's right into Inanna's bright green eyes - and the torn bag of rice in her mouth. She drops it at my feet, spilling the grains across the ground and sending Malak into a flurry of indignant squawks. The wolf curls up for a nap at my heels, completely unfazed. Selasi gently sets Faust on my abandoned parchment and returns to his oven with an amused "good luck!"

"O-Okay." I drag my hand down my face and do my best to analyze the mess. "So why do the dogs smell nice, why is Faust slimy enough to smudge my ink, and why am I the one currently holding Julian's mystery hoop?"

"Squeeze the thief! Rescue the shiny! Run away fast!"

Faust bleps her tongue proudly, while Pepi takes a smug seat on the stones and the dogs begin to growl. One warning huff from the large wolf pretending to sleep behind me quietens the impending ruckus.

"And ... do I want to know about the slime and the fruity smells?"

Pepi yawns above me, slowly succumbing to the sun-warmed wall. "Beauty stall."

Faust curls herself elegantly over my story draft in an attempt to flaunt her shiny scales. "Moisturize."

"You're practically glowing, Faust. Such a beautiful girl!" Asra's trotting in my direction, a very sweaty pair of Devorak siblings close behind and a red-faced ex-count bringing up the rear. The magician scoops her up off of the table, my freshly hydrated parchment going with it, as Pepi uses the top of my head as a springboard into Portia's arms. Julian gives his judgemental raven a sheepish look before brightening at the earring in my palm.

"Did you leave us the rice trail, Faust?" Asra scritches the serpent's chin.

"Wait - rice trail? What rice trail? Is that how you knew where you were going? Where did they get - my rice!"

Inanna gives the shocked doctor a guiltily amused look, nudging the torn bag with her nose and watching the last of the grains spill onto my feet. Lucio straightens from where's been fussing over his perfumed dogs, finally catching his breath.

"Hah! Serves you right for trying to take my fish!"

Portia bristles and turns on him as Inanna slinks off to the large figure skulking in the shadows several booths away. "Your fish? That vendor and I have been friends for three years, you heard him say that I'd get first pick!"

I can't tell if Lucio is grinning or gritting his teeth. "Does it matter? I already paid for those things, they were the least smelly ones!"

"Enough!" The Countess's firm voice rings across the corner of the square, effectively halting the brewing squabble that's hijacking my writing corner. Chandra reassumes her perch on the baker's booth roof as Nadia rubs her temples in resigned frustration. "I have already paid for a year's worth of cosmetics. I have no interest in paying for your argument with a headache as well."

She heaves a tired sigh as the familiars settle in with their owners, sparing me a comforting glace. "Considering the paperless state of your table, I trust there were no writing casualties involved?"

Portia scurries over with a worried look. "Oh, I'm so glad you hadn't started yet!"

"Well ..."

"I think we did interrupt him, unfortunately." Asra's already taking a seat at my table, holding a fresh bowl of rolls in one hand and my smudged paper in the other while Faust hides guiltily in their shirt. "What's a 'ringtone'?"

Julian helps himself to the paper. "Allow me - perhaps I can shed some light on - ah!"

I've already given up hope on restoring my draft, so I don't wince nearly as badly as my friends do as a sharp, golden hand snatches my handwriting and rips it in the process. Lucio's pout deepens the further he reads. "I'm not in this."

"He's probably not finished it." Nadia holds her hand out, impervious to Lucio's begrudging surrender, and carefully offers the paper back to me. "We should leave you in peace, or you'll never meet your deadline."

Portia takes the cue and begins herding Lucio back to the docks for a fresh round of fish. Nadia gives Asra a pointed look, resulting in them stuffing the last of their roll into their mouth and rising from the cushions. They leave the last two pieces of bread for me.

"Julian," I call as he turns away, "one more question."

"Ah - yes?"

"What's the story with the earring?"

"Oh!" He flushes unexpectedly, fumbling the hoop away into his pocket. "... it, ah, it doesn't go in my ear. Adieu!"

[pubbybutch]

Abby Anderson SFW/NSFW Headcanons

Minors DNI

(Requests are open btw, just so you know x)

Abby Anderson x Fem! Reader

Just some brain rot that I want to move to make room for more important information aka work is a lot at the minute and I’m too tired to write anything of great sustenance.

• She’s always found over-the-top public displays of affection to be highly embarrassing to witness as an outsider, so she refuses to call you anything that isn’t your name or babe in public. In private, however, there are so many terms of endearment for you, everything from babygirl and princess to snugglebug and muffinbuns.

• ABIGAIL ANDERSON IS A CUDDLE MONSTER. 

• When she gets off from patrol she assumes position on the couch, slumped exhausted across it, and makes grabby hands at you until she has you leaning against her chest with your legs sprawled over hers. And although she hates how much shit she gets from Manny for falling asleep like that (at least once a week) she can’t help but smile at the cute little noises you let off when snuggled into her side.

• If she can go without a bra, she will. But she will acknowledge how the sports bra she works out in gives her great support.

• When she’s in public with you, there’s always a hand on your thigh. Sitting next to you on the truck, one hand on her knee and the other on your thigh. 

• Abby keeps a photograph of you in the inner chest pocket of her coat, and when seasons change and she changes her wardrobe, the last thing she puts away is her coat so she can grab the photo and instantly change it into the matching pocket of her new seasonal wear.

• This might be a little bit TMI, but Abby loves it when you’ve not showered for a couple days and your hair is a little greasy, slightly oily skin and you're just generally not squeaky clean. She finds your aura of “it’s a fucking apocalypse, women are gonna be stinky too goddamn it” absolutely enthralling, especially after a long workout and you come into her room to relax and cool down after it.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

• As much as Abby loves eating you out, she can be a selfish bitch at times most of the time. She loves having you down on your knees, one leg thrown over your shoulder with one hand wrapped into your hair to guide your movements and the other palming at her own tits. Pressed up against the wall, her thrusting into your mouth until you push her hips back against the flat surface giving you more control over her pleasure.

• I know most people see Abby as like a top, but you cannot convince me that she isn’t the switchiest of switches, 

• Abby is happy when you're happy, such a pretty little service switch.

• Abby Anderson is an underwear thief and can’t even bring herself to deny it, you ask her one day about all of the pairs of underwear you think they might’ve lost down in the laundrette, and she admits then and there to having stolen them.

You rustle through the drawer again, neatly folded pairs of socks are left abandoned on the ground next to a couple of t-shirt bras and sports bras as your mind is racked with confusion. Standing again at full height as the door behind you opens and closes, your gaze meets Abby’s.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Sarcasm exudes from her mouth as she grins at the state of the floor.

Not noticing her tone, you look at the various garments strewn about the place. “Uh, well… I think that they may have accidentally lost some of my underwear down in the laundry, all I have right now is dirty or I’m wearing it…”

“Nope, they’re in my place, cupcake and you’re not getting them back.” Arms folded, she sits down on your bed and leans back to watch your face. 

“Babe… how the fuck did you get all of my underwear?!”

“A lady never reveals her secrets.”

• When you come around at night to hers, she always leaves one the sports jerseys she wears to the gym during the winter and a spare pair of her boxers underneath the pillow that you sleep on, as she sleeps with her window open during the summer she knows you’ll get cold and eventually slip into whatever extra layers you can grab in your semi-conscious state. This was discovered accidentally but is most definitely done on purpose by her now. Seeing how the boxy men’s cut clothing hugs your rolls and curves does something absolutely abominable to her, turning her completely feral so that she comes up behind you as you cook and slips a hand into the front of the boxer briefs to finger fuck you from behind while she’s left grinding herself into your hips.