#i think i must be having some sort of heart attack

[deergoddeargod]

If ppl keep drawing Geeta w/o her jacket it's going to kill me

[haggishlyhagging]

In 1847 the stereotypes for male and female writers were very rigid. Critics expected from a male writer strength, passion, and intellect, and from a woman writer they expected tact, refinement, and piety. They depended on these stereotypes so much, in fact, that they really didn't know how to proceed, what to say, or what to look for in a book if they were unsure of the author's sex.

So Jane Eyre created a tremendous sensation, and it was a problem for the Brontës. The name Currer Bell could be that of either a man or a woman and the narrator of Jane Eyre is Jane herself. The book is told as an autobiography. These things suggested that the author might have been a woman. On the other hand, the novel was considered to be excellent, strong, intelligent and, most of all, passionate. And therefore, the critics reasoned, it could not be written by a woman, and if it turned out that it was written by a woman, she had to be unnatural and perverted.

The reason for this is that the Victorians believed that decent women had no sexual feelings whatsoever—that they had sexual anesthesia. Therefore, when Jane says about Rochester that his touch "made her veins run fire, and her heart beat faster than she could count its throbs," the critics assumed this was a man writing about his sexual fantasies. If a woman was the author, then presumably she was writing from her own experience, and that was disgusting. In this case we can clearly see how women were not permitted the authority of their own experience if it happened to contradict the cultural stereotype.

But even more shocking than this to the Victorians was Jane's reply to Rochester, a very famous passage in the novel. He has told her he is going to marry another woman, an heiress, but that she can stay on as a servant. Jane answers him thus:

"I tell you I must go," I retorted, roused to something like passion. "Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton, a machine without feeling and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I'm soulless and heartless? You think wrong. I have as much soul as you and full as much heart. And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should've made it as hard for you to leave me as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionality, nor even of mortal flesh. It is my spirit that addresses your spirit, just as if both had passed through the grave and we stood at God's feet equal—as we are."

This splendid assertion violated not only the standards of sexual submission, which were believed to be women's duty and their punishment for Eve's crime, but it also went against standards of class submission, and obviously against religion. And this sort of rebellion was not feminine at all.

The reviews of Jane Eyre in 1847 and 1848 show how confused the critics were. Some of them said Currer Bell was a man. Some of them, including Thackeray, said a woman. One man, an American critic named Edgar Percy Whipple, said the Bells were a team, that Currer Bell was a woman who did the dainty parts of the book and brother Acton the rough parts. All kinds of circumstantial evidence were adduced to solve this problem, such as the details of housekeeping. Harriet Martineau said the book had to be the work of a woman or an upholsterer. And Lady Eastlake, who was a reviewer for one of the most prestigious journals, said it couldn't be a woman because no woman would dress her heroines in such outlandish clothes.

Eventually Charlotte Brontë revealed her identity, and then these attacks which had been general became personal. People introduced her as the author of a naughty book; they gossiped that she was Thackeray's mistress. They speculated on the causes of what they called "her alien and sour perspective on women." She felt during her entire short life that she was judged always on the basis of what was becoming in femininity and not as an artist.

-Elaine Showalter, ‘Women Writers and the Female Experience’ in Radical Feminism, Koedt et al (eds.)

[girlgenius1111]

study buddy

solstråle engen ft. @wileys-russo 's fresa! sol struggles with school, and facing the threat of having to repeat the year, ingrid and mapi try to get her some study help. it doesn't go... exceptionally well.

—

It was more frustrating than anything. For years, you hadn’t really given school much thought, or put in very much effort. And then, suddenly, you’d been shipped off to Spain and everything was different. Everything changed again six months later, and suddenly, school felt like something that held a lot more weight.

You didn’t have many opportunities to make Ingrid and Mapi proud of you. Sure, they’d say they were proud of you when you asked for help while having a panic attack, or for setting some sort of boundary. That just didn’t feel… right. It didn’t feel like it was enough. They were bending over backwards, every day, to make you feel known and seen and loved, and the least you could do was show that they were helping you, right?

So, very suddenly, school was important. Grades were important. It seemed, though, that the years of not caring and not paying attention had taken their toll. Because you studied, and you actually tried but it wasn’t enough. Your grades were still… mediocre. Nothing to brag about. 

You worked harder, to no avail. You tried different methods of studying, you devoted hours and hours to your schoolwork, and… no improvement. So much of your work felt like it went way over your head. 

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t be upset when you handed Ingrid the test you’d gotten back. She had a busy week and she really didn’t need you breaking down over a stupid test, like you had earlier in the school bathroom. Your plan was to bypass your sister and her girlfriend, head straight to your room, and maybe slam the door. If you acted angry, they were more likely to give you space to calm down, which meant there was much less of a chance you’d get all pathetic and upset.  

Only, you’d forgotten that Ingrid had known you were getting the test back today, having seen you study and study and study for it. Your sister was sure that since you studied so much, it must be a good grade, and she had a magnet all ready to attach your exam to the fridge. 

The minute you walked into the house and saw her waiting in the kitchen, freshly showered from training, an expectant and excited look on her face, you shrunk in on yourself, very suddenly wanting a hug more than you wanted to cry silently into your pillow all alone.

“How’d you do?!” Ingrid asked excitedly, her smile only faltering when your lip began to wobble. “Solstråle?”

“I’m sorry.�� You choked out tugging the collar of your shirt up over your eyes before she could see you begin to cry. Ingrid’s arms were wrapping around you only a moment later, holding you tight against her as she floundered, confused as to what had upset you.

“Hey, it’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” Ingrid promised, making eye contact over your head with Mapi, who had wandered into the kitchen and caught sight of you trembling against your sister. 

Ingrid thought something must have happened at school, and Mapi quickly came to the same conclusion. The thought that you’d done poorly on your test, and this was the reason behind your distress, never even crossed her mind. Ingrid had never known you to care much about your grades, and while you were trying harder now, she didn’t think something like a bad result could get you this upset. 

“I’m really sorry. I tried my best.” You whimpered, briefly wondering when you’d turned into this person who cried at the drop of a hat and allowed her sister to hug you whenever you were upset. It was so different. Everything was so different. 

“What are you sorry for?” She asked, heart melting a bit as Mapi walked closer and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before perching on the counter. “Tell me, Sol, tell me what’s wrong.” 

Wordlessly, you withdrew from the comforting embrace of your sister and swung your bag off your shoulder. You unzipped it, pulling out the exam from the red folder Ingrid had neatly labeled for you. You handed it to her, eyes brimming with tears again at the sight of all the red marks all over the first page. 

Ingrid’s first instinct was to sigh, but you’d been with her long enough for her to know you’d just shut down. Not to mention that she knew how much work you’d been putting into this specific exam. Prepared to ask you what had gone wrong, she looked up to see that the tears had stopped. There wasn’t a hint of emotion on your face, like you were preparing yourself to be yelled at. Ingrid had no such plans.

“Oh, Sol. Kjære, come here.” She said instead, pulling you back into her. There was some hesitation on your part, but after a second you melted into the hug, knowing that if Ingrid was upset, she would have told you so by now. “You studied so hard, I’m sorry it didn’t go well.” 

“I’m sorry.” You said again, frowning when Ingrid pulled back and placed both her hands on your face, tilting your head up to look at her. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You tried your best, that’s all I want from you.”

You shook your head, but didn’t say anything, instead opting to stare at your shoes. You hadn’t taken them off at the door, breaking one of Ingrid and Mapi’s rules. This additional mistake, regardless of how small it was, made you feel even worse. You couldn’t do anything right. 

A tattooed hand grabbed yours, and you looked up at Mapi. She had moved closer, holding the exam in one hand, her other gripping yours. 

“This is a passing grade, mi sol. Why are you so upset? It’s not like you to get so worked up over school.” Your face flushed, but before you could step away, Mapi’s grip tightened, as if she’d sensed you were about to run. “Come on, it’s us. You can tell us.” 

“I.. It’s not good enough.” You stammered, looking between your sister and her girlfriend with genuine despair written all across your face. “I wanted to do well. For both of you., I wanted you to be proud of me.” 

“Oh, Sol,” Ingrid sighed, exchanging a look with Mapi that only served to make you feel even more foolish. It had taken so much for you to admit why you were working so hard, and though you knew, logically, that Ingrid wasn’t trying to make you feel dumb, she had. 

You wrenched away from her, suddenly deciding that you didn't need her pity. Backing up until you hit the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen, you began to ramble. Unable to look either Ingrid or Mapi in the eye, you missed the sadness on their faces. “No, forget it. It’s fine. It’s really fine. It’s not a big deal, It’s my own fault, I’m too stupid to learn stuff my classmates already know-”

“Hey!” Mapi cut in, sounding uncharacteristically stern. “You are not stupid. Don’t ever say that again.” 

You froze, staring at her with your mouth agape. Ingrid took a cautious step closer, aware she was toeing a thin line between you breaking down again, and pushing you into anger. 

“You aren’t stupid.” Ingrid echoed. “You’re not stupid, and you know you aren’t. It’s just one exam, Sol, it doesn’t make or break anything.” 

At this, you averted your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck. This exam could be a determining factor in your educational career. Ingrid just didn’t really know that information yet. Like a bloodhound, though, Ingrid caught the scent of your secret, her eyebrows raising as she stared at you. 

“It doesn’t make or break anything, right?” 

It was a staring contest for a few moments, one you and Ingrid both knew she would win, yet you kept it going all the same. The silence became too intense, the gazes of your sister and her girlfriend breaking your resolve rather quickly. With a heavy sigh, you reached for your bag yet again and pulled out a slightly wrinkled envelope. 

Ingrid held her hand out expectantly, apprehension clear on her face. You handed her the envelope, eyes still training on the floor. 

“Solstråle. This is addressed to me.” Ingrid huffed, removing the letter from inside and beginning to read it. Mapi moved forward, peeking over her girlfriend’s shoulder, eyes quickly scanning over the letter. You braced yourself, prepared for the worst. 

The last time you’d brought home something like this… you’d ended up living in Spain. Which was potentially the best thing that could have happened, but you had a feeling the consequences of this letter wouldn’t work out as well. 

Your sister placed the paper down on the counter, raking her fingers through her hair as she thought for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. Part of her wanted to yell, but when was that ever the right choice? Before she could decide, María’s shoulder bumped into hers. Her girlfriend nodded in your direction, clearly trying to get Ingrid to see how terrified you were. 

And Ingrid couldn’t yell at you when you were like this, all sad and scared with your head bowed and your arms folded across your chest protectively. 

“Sol?” She said, her tone much quieter and kinder than you were expecting it to be. You looked up at her, shocked further to see that she didn’t look very angry. “Why didn’t you give this to me last week when they sent it?” 

Ingrid nodded towards the date on the letter, and you exhaled shakily. “I… I was hoping I could just try really hard for the rest of the year and do really well in all my classes and it would be fine.” 

Your sister nodded slowly, reading the letter over again. 

Mapi took the opportunity to chime in, her hand absentmindedly resting on your sister’s back, even as she fixed her warm gaze on you. “Nena, that is a lot for you to carry all by yourself. Having the threat of maybe needing to repeat the year hanging over your head… you should have told us.” 

You shrugged, blinking away the moisture pooling in your eyes at Mapi’s tone. “I didn’t want to disappoint you guys.” You mumbled. 

“You haven’t disappointed anyone!” Mapi exclaimed, frowning when you just scoffed in response. “I’m serious, Sol. We saw you study and study for this exam. You did your best, you’re doing your best. That’s all we can ask from you.” 

“My best isn’t good enough! I’m going to fail and have to repeat the year.” You cried, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. The mere thought of another year of school was horrifying. 

Ingrid finally put the letter down, a blazingly determined expression on her face. “No. You’re not going to fail anything. We’ll help you, we’ll reach out to your teachers, we’ll get you extra help. We’ll figure it out, Sol, but you’re not going to fail. Not if I have anything to say about it.” 

For anyone else, that may have sounded overbearing. For you, though, it just felt supportive. It felt like you weren’t dealing with this yourself anymore, and that was a relief you didn’t know you needed. 

“Okay.” You said quietly. “Thanks.” 

Luckily, your sister knew you well enough to understand that after such an intense conversation, you’d need some time to yourself to process. 

“Hey,” Ingrid said, catching your wrist and turning you around slightly before you could leave the room. “I’m already proud of you, and the person you are. You could fail every test for the rest of your life, and I’d still be proud of you. Okay?”

You blinked at her for a prolonged second, before you nodded jerkily. Turning to head up the stairs to your room, you changed your mind, spinning back around and falling into your sister. She hugged you tight, as she always did, and you wondered briefly how you got so lucky. 

—

It was the following day that Mapi and Ingrid proposed their plan. Before they’d even said anything, you knew a few things. 

One, that they were excited about whatever plan they’d cooked up that day at training. 

And two, that you weren’t really going to have a choice in the matter. 

As a general rule, Ingrid and Mapi didn’t make you do many things. If they thought something was important, they’d encourage you to try it a few times, and then they’d let you stop if you still didn’t like it. That was how it had been for the school’s climbing club, the school’s hiking club, and the school’s baking club. All those were activities you enjoyed, but… activities you enjoyed doing yourself.

Well, not always.You loved to climb and hike with Ingrid. Frido, too, sometimes. And you could bake for hours with Mapi helping, measuring out ingredients and getting baking flour everywhere. But doing any of the above with strangers who spoke in rapid, fluent Spanish or catalan, was not fun. It was anxiety inducing. 

You knew this was about to be another one of those ideas, the ones you had to give a fair shot. 

It was at dinner, and you were trying to hide the wince everytime you picked up your water glass with your right hand, your wrist intensely aching after the time you spent in the climbing gym after school. It always hurt when you climbed for too long, though it was getting worse with every passing day. Another problem for another day, you decided, seeing the barely contained glee on Mapi’s face as she cleared her throat. 

“What?” You said suspiciously, putting your fork down and narrowing your eyes at the Spaniard. 

Mapi opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Ingrid chimed in. 

“Mapi’s made you a playdate!” She said, smirking when her girlfriend wacked her in the arm. 

“Ingrid, that is not going to help me convince her.” Mapi huffed, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. 

Still unamused, you continued to frown at Mapi. “I’d love it if you didn’t keep proposing ideas that you’d need to convince me of. Teaching you how to rock climb, trying to get that stain out of my favorite sweatshirt yourself, being the keeper while you practiced your free kicks, helping you build that bonfire–”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mapi dismissed. 

“You got stuck on the rock wall, my sweatshirt has a hole in it, the ball hit me so hard in the stomach I threw up, and both of us lost part of our eyebrows!” 

Mapi glared at you, while Ingrid hid her face behind her hand as her body shook with silent laughter. 

“Well this plan,” Mapi sighed, “is Ingrid AND Alexia approved.” 

That wiped the smile off your face. 

“Alexia? What does she have to do with this?” 

There were a few things you knew for certain about Mapi. One, she didn’t give up easily. Another, that she wanted more than anything for you to be friends with Alexia’s little sister. And from the sly smile on her face, you were almost sure you knew where this was headed. 

“I asked her to ask Fresa to tutor you!”

“No.” You said immediately. 

Mapi continued like you hadn’t spoken. “Fresa is a bit younger than you, but already finished your year! She’s studying to be a nurse, she’s very smart. Fres speaks English and she can help you with your Spanish and any other school things you need help with.” 

“No.” You repeated, looking helplessly at your sister. Ingrid looked to finally be taking the situation seriously, a familiar look on her face; one you knew meant that no matter how much you argued, she was going to get her way. Meanwhile, Mapi was still droning on. 

“–get along great with her! I think you guys have a lot in common, and it could be fun and educational!” 

“And you know all the best things are fun and educational.” Ingrid chimed in cheerily, this time her face telling you to go along with Mapi’s idea because she was excited about it, or else. 

“Educational.” You said sarcastically. “Super!” 

Still, you agreed, Mapi grinned at you, and Ingrid patted your back reassuringly. Mapi had a lot of bad ideas. You were pretty sure this would turn out to be the worst. 

—

You always spent more time at the climbing gym when things were rough. Back in Norway, you’d spend multiple hours a day, everyday, there. It was one of your tells; Ingrid always knew something was bothering you if you went to climb right after school. It was your way of shoving your emotions down before you could feel them, before your sister could read the hurt on your face and give you one of those tight hugs that brought tears to your eyes. 

Only, sometimes climbing didn’t do it. Sometimes, it felt like the walls were closing in, like you were about to suffocate, if you didn’t have some time completely by yourself to think. On those days, you really preferred to hike. You hadn’t felt that urge in a while; the urge to just disappear for hours, walk until your legs felt like they were going to fall up, and sit at the top of the trail until the world felt like a place you wanted to be in again. The last time had been back in Norway, after a day you didn’t even want to think about. 

Yet you found yourself in that same familiar mindset after your first study session with Fresa. 

It hadn’t gone well. You tried to go into it confident, sure that if you acted chill enough, she’d maybe miss that you had no idea what you were doing with your schoolwork. 

Confident, even as you arrived 15 minutes late. Scout had gotten his favorite toy, a small tiger that squeaked, stuck under the sofa, and it had taken you time you didn’t have to get it out for him. You could have left it, but Ingrid and Mapi weren’t home and you knew Scout would just sit by the couch and cry the whole time you were gone if you didn’t get his tiger out for him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him to be so upset. And then you’d had a hard time finding a parking space at the library, and the directions inside were all in Spanish and Fresa had texted you to follow the signs to the study rooms but you misread the sign and went to the opposite end of the library before figuring out your mistake. And you would have texted you were going to be late, because you hated being late, but your phone was dead and the cord from your car had gone missing. 

When you entered the room, Fresa already looked annoyed. 

Annoyed, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, twirling a pen repeatedly in an almost unconscious manner. She looked very… put together. 

“Llegas tarde.” She commented, rolling her eyes when you didn’t reply. Your face flushed a bit as she must have picked up on your confusion, repeating herself in english. “You are late.” 

Any other time, you would have known what she said. Your issue wasn’t really understanding Spanish, it was more speaking and reading it. You felt weirdly flustered though today, like your brain was distracted and not quite able to follow what the other girl was saying. Anxious, too, at this social situation you’d been forced into. 

Briefly, you thought about explaining about Scout and the tiger and the parking space and the signs being in Spanish, but then you realized Fresa wouldn’t care about any of that. So instead, you just nodded and apologized, feeling your heart start to pound from the anxiety of the situation. 

You didn’t like talking to new people. Especially pretty new people who spoke a different language and were looking at you like you weren’t very smart. Even if you thought that yourself… you didn’t want anyone else to think so. Any intention of actually asking Fresa for help with the mountains of stuff you were confused with went out the window, then, and you almost subconsciously decided to just… try to get through without letting her know quite how lost you were. 

Fresa was alarmingly smart. She kept asking you questions about your work, about what you needed help with. Everything didn’t feel like an answer you wanted to give. Fresa seemed organized, though, and you assumed letting her take the lead and decide what to work on would placate her. Instead, she just looked more and more annoyed with every passing second.

 She kept asking questions about this paper and that paper and you didn’t know what papers she was talking about. You felt so stupid. More stupid than when you’d failed your test last week. 

“How do you even find the right paper in there?” Fresa asked, pulling a judgemental look as you rifled through your bag, searching for the article she was asking for.

Your bag was a mess, you knew it was a mess. You’d knocked your coffee over all your folders a few days ago, sitting at the counter when Scout barked and startled you. That was oddly upsetting in and of itself because Ingrid had gotten you the folders and labeled them for you and you felt like you’d destroyed something nice she’d done for you. You hadn’t told her, not wanting to hurt her feelings or anything, so now your school papers were living crinkled and disorganized in your bag.

And you were pretty sure the article Fresa was asking for had been a casualty of the coffee incident, because you’d scanned the paper and thought it wasn’t important before throwing it out. The Spanish had confused you, and you hadn’t realized you’d need the article for an assignment. Stupid. 

 You were feeling more and more embarrassed as the minutes passed. And, maybe, your reaction to feeling embarrassed was always anger. You pulled out a random piece of paper, slamming it down onto the table with more force than necessary in your haste to give the Spaniard something. 

Fresa instantly knew that what you’d given her wasn’t the right article, asking again if you had it as you shoved the other paper back into your bag. 

Logically, you knew you should just… admit you threw it away because you didn’t realize you needed it. For some reason, you just couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. You couldn’t get any words out of your mouth, feeling shockingly like crying. Nothing was going right and you were making yourself look like an idiot and all you could do was shrug as Fresa looked at you and took a deep breath. 

Then, she seemed to come to some kind of realization, her expression softening slightly. 

“Can you not read this? The spanish?” 

You flinched, feeling your face flush. Again, the reply of ‘no I can’t, would you please help me?’ seemed to evade you. Instead, you spewed some lie about being able to read the article, calling Fresa’s questions stupid and telling her she was wasting your time. 

Fresa seemed to have reached her breaking point, her voice rising as yours had. You didn’t really hear what she said, much too distracted by the way her eyebrows knitted together when she was frustrated, and the way her hand tightly gripped the pen she was holding. 

Then, she made an offensive impression of your shrugging. And if you hadn’t been angry before, you were absolutely fuming now. 

So what if you were quiet? It wasn’t like you really needed to talk much, considering how many questions she’d asked. You were furious at being called out for all your bullshit, feeling like a mess compared to the perfect girl next to you. A very angry mess who’d had a long day and was cursing one María León for making her do this and cursing the beautiful girl next to her for being so infuriating.  

“Alexia’s super little sister. Everyone says you are so smart. Can you not see I do not want your help? You want to be a doctor, no? So go find someone who does.” 

Fresa’s nostrils flared as she shoved her chair away from the table and got to her feet. She began angrily putting her stuff into her bag, and you remained completely still, unable to stop this whole meeting from going up in flames. 

“Eres un maldita idiota!” Fresa snapped, her face red with anger. 

There wasn��t really anything worse she could have said to you at that moment. 

“Snobbete kjerring.” You threw back, feeling a sharp spike of satisfaction when she zipped her bag angrily, completely incapable of understanding what you’d called her. 

“You know, I did this as a favor, tonta. I have worked all day, I came right here after my shift, on time. I have my own studies to do because yes, I want to be a nurse. I am smart, and I know what I want to do with my life. Maybe if you get your head out of your own ass, Engen, you might too! And you are right, this is a waste of time. My time!”

Fresa stomped out of the room, then, and you waited until she was out of sight before dropping your head into your hands with a deep sigh. 

That couldn’t have gone… any worse. And though it was probably all mostly your fault, you couldn’t help the resentment building for the intelligent, stuck up girl that had thrown insult after insult at you, hitting you in all the places it hurt. You packed your own stuff up once you were sure you wouldn’t run into Fresa again in the parking lot or something, shuffling dejectedly to your car.

The overthinking had begun. Was it really overthinking, you wondered, if you’d actually completely fucked up and the reasons for your anxiety were entirely reasonable? You weren’t sure, and you supposed it didn’t matter, your thoughts quickly spiraling as you rewinded the short meeting in your head. 

The shrugging had really gotten to her, but you weren’t sure what else to do. When in doubt, you had learned silence got you the best results. Often, no one really cared what you had to say anyway. Fresa was different, though, looking at you with her wide eyes, expecting an answer. It was intimidating. It scared you, honestly, how well the other girl seemed to see right through you. 

And maybe… maybe there were some other feelings brewing. Ones you didn’t want to consider. Feeling that didn’t even matter given the way Fresa had stormed out. It didn’t seem like there would be another study session.

This led you to your other problem. You’d fucked this up. Something your sister and Mapi had gone out of their way to set up for you, because they didn’t want you to have to repeat the year. 

You didn’t like to make mistakes. Every single one you made carried the risk that Ingrid would lose her patience with you, and give up. She hadn’t yet, and you’d messed up a fair amount in the past several months, but you couldn’t let yourself believe that no mistake could push her away. That just wasn’t a possibility. So, rather than face your failure, tell Ingrid and Mapi how awkward and weird you’d been, you ran. 

Or walked, you supposed. Your study session with Fresa had ended at 4:00, and it was almost 8 when you found yourself at the top of your favorite trail, legs scratched and aching, as the sun slipped below the horizon. Your phone was still dead and now Ingrid was absolutely going to kill you for going off the grid. 

You broke traffic laws on the way home, any peace you’d found at the top of the hiking trail entirely gone as anxiety began to build up inside of you again. 

Stepping into the house, you slipped off your muddy shoes, wincing at the blood trickling down the few cuts on your legs. Before you could even set your car keys down, though, footsteps were pounding down the hallway towards you. 

“Oh, thank god.” Ingrid gasped, sounding alarmingly emotional as she rushed forward and crushed you into a hug. “She’s here!” 

“Dios  mio.” Mapi muttered, appearing over your sister’s shoulder a moment later. Ingrid pulled away from you, her hands on your shoulders keeping you at arm's length. Her face quickly transformed from relieved to furious. 

“Where the hell have you been?” She hissed. 

“I–”

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You were supposed to be home hours ago, Sol. Your location wouldn’t show up on my phone, Fresa even said you ended your meeting early,” Ingrid ranted, though you began to tune her out at the sound of her name. 

“You talked to Fresa?” You interrupted, ignoring the incredulous look on Ingrid’s face, turning your attention towards Mapi who was staring stonily at you. 

“That doesn’t fucking matter right now. Where were you? Are you drunk? High? Were you fighting?” Ingrid demanded.

Each accusation felt like a bullet to the heart as Ingrid grabbed your chin and yanked it towards her, looking intently at your eyes. You shoved her away angrily; Ingrid wasn’t supposed to see you as that person anymore. She had promised that she didn’t, that she knew you weren’t a bad kid, that you had just been having a hard time. Now, though. She was looking at you like she didn’t trust a word that was about to come out of your mouth. 

“No.” You spat at her, grabbing your phone from your pocket and slamming it on the front hall table. “I went on a hike after I met Fresa and my phone died. I lost track of time. I wasn’t getting drunk or high and I wasn’t fighting anybody, but thanks for having some faith in me.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm, and even though you expected Ingrid to soften with a bit of guilt, she only seemed emboldened with anger. 

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me. You were supposed to be back four hours ago Solstråle. Four! This was so irresponsible. Do you not care that we were worried? Do you not care that we were here waiting for you? That Mapi made dinner, and you were going to work on her bike? Or that we were supposed to make cookies? After everything we’ve done for you, Solstråle, I expect more.” She was shouting at this point, pacing back and forth in front of you. 

You looked to Mapi, hoping for her to step in and talk her girlfriend down, but she looked almost as mad as Ingrid was, and you shrunk in on yourself.

“You are…. you are grounded. This is unacceptable, and you better never let it happen again. That is not how family behaves Solstråle. Did you think about how worried we would be? I am so upset with you, so disappointed that you didn’t think about anyone but yourself, that you were so selfish–”

“Alright, Ingrid. Enough.” Mapi cut in finally, stepping forward to grab her girlfriend's hand and squeeze it. You were frozen in front of your sister, fighting the sob that was building in your throat. 

Ingrid stepped back, her face still red with anger. A hint of regret flickered across her face at the sight of your lip trembling and the tears in your eyes. Still, you looked confused, and Ingrid couldn’t shove her anger down at your lack of understanding. She turned, stomping off towards the kitchen, leaving you and Mapi behind. 

“Sol-”

“I’m going to shower. Sorry, Mapi. I’m sorry.” You mumbled, pushing past her and heading up the stairs before the Spaniard could get out another word.  

Mapi sighed tiredly, rubbing her hand over her face. Her Engens were going to make her go grey. 

—

You had only just pulled some pajamas on after your shower when Mapi knocked, her gentle voice calling to you from the hall. 

“Yeah?” You called back, voice gravelly from all the sobbing you had done in the shower. 

Mapi entered, the first aid kit in her hands and a much calmer expression on her face. She was in her pajamas, too, clearly having been waiting up for you to get out of the shower. It had been a long one. Another thing to be sorry for, keeping Mapi awake. 

“Can I help with your legs?” She wondered, gesturing to the many cuts that littered them.

Shrugging noncommittally, you sunk down onto the edge of the bed, Mapi soon taking a seat opposite you. She pulled your calf up to rest across her lap, getting out the antiseptic spray and a few bandages. You purposefully looked away, barely having been able to get the blood off in the shower without getting light headed. 

“Are you okay, mi sol?” Mapi murmured, fanning her hands over the cuts so the spray would dry faster. Mapi had a way of looking at you, eyes crinkled with concern and kindness, that made you want to burst into tears. You fought that instinct. 

“I am fine.” 

Mapi sighed, unwrapping a few of the bandages and beginning to carefully put them on you. 

“Then someone else was crying in the shower while you were in there?” 

No reply came, and Mapi sighed again, tapping your leg to tell you she was done with that one. 

“Look, I know Ingrid was harsh, but you have to understand how worried she was. How worried we both were. I know you still remember the things you wrote in that letter all those months ago. Things like that don’t just go away, Sol, and when you disappear for hours without a word, we worry.” 

This time, Mapi got a shrug in reply, and a small sniffle. She finished up with your other leg, gently pushing it off her lap and pulling you into a soft hug. “It’s okay, Solstråle. Everything is fine now.” 

You scoffed through your tears. “Nothing is fine, Mapi. I screwed up with Fresa, I screwed up with Ingrid. They both probably hate me. Please, just go. I’m tired.” 

Mapi shook her head. “You’re upset, I just want to–”

“No Mapi, just leave me be.” You tried to sound firm, but your voice was shaking almost as much as your hands were, and you were sure you just came off as pathetic. 

“Alright, nena. I love you, hmm? Don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

You remained silent, flopping back onto your bed as Mapi walked out of the room. Scout hopped up on the bed in her absence, licking your cheek twice before curling into your side. 

It wasn’t being too hard on yourself; the self hatred you felt in that moment was completely justified. You were very sure of that. 

—

You were tucked into bed when the door creaked open again, Scout not even bothering to lift his head from where it was tucked into the comforter draped over your leg. You blinked your eyes open and they widened in surprise at the sight of Ingrid walking into the room, hair messy as though she’d been tossing and turning. She neared the edge of your bed, leaning down and kissing your forehead gently. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I don’t hate you, okay? I love you very much. Everything is going to be okay, so just try to get some rest.” 

You nodded weakly, impatiently pushing a tear off your cheek with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, Ingrid. Really sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You’re safe, yes? And that’s all that really matters.” Ingrid promised, and you nodded, sniffling pathetically. “We can talk more tomorrow, but just go to sleep, okay? Everything is fine.” 

“Love you.” You mumbled, Ingrid smiling softly down at her. You didn’t often say that first, something Ingrid attributed to having said it to your Mamma and not heard it back so many times. 

“I love you.” Ingrid replied, patting your cheek twice before tucking the covers up tighter around you, and heading out of the room. 

—

You woke up to a few unexpected things the next morning. One, it was almost 11 and Scout hadn’t woken you up demanding a walk. In fact, Scout was nowhere to be found. Two, the sounds of Mapi’s Spanish soap and Ingrid’s clanging around the kitchen echoed through the house. You’d forgotten they had the day off today. Ingrid must have taken Scout out to let you sleep in. 

The first two unexpected things, then, were explainable. The third… was not. 

A text from Fresa. 

Tuesday at the library. If you want to give it another shot. I think I can help. 

You thought about the way you’d behaved, and the way Fresa had spoken to you. Before you could delete the thread with her and close your phone, though, you thought about the letter you’d hidden from your sister. The excited smile on Mapi’s face when you’d agreed to let Fresa tutor you. 

Before you quite knew what you were doing, you pulled the message back up, your fingers typing away without you telling them to.

Yeah. I’d appreciate that. What time? 

There was something that drew you to Fresa, even as she infuriated you. Maybe it was how her voice had softened when she’d asked if you couldn’t read the Spanish on the paper, or maybe it was how she’d smiled unconsciously, watching Alexia score a goal the past weekend. It was a nice smile. And she had a nice voice. 

None of it really made any sense to you, but you’d already sent the text. 

—

For some reason, you felt a bit awkward. There was something very odd about knowing Mapi had been upset with you, because normally that was just Ingrid. But you knew Mapi had been just as worried last night as Ingrid, and just as upset. She’d been in the garage all morning, too, and you wondered if she was avoiding you or allowing you to decide to come to her if you wanted to talk.

After the 5th time you glanced at the door to the garage, though, Ingrid rolled her eyes from where she was sitting at the other end of the couch, typing away on her computer. 

“Go talk to her. She’s not angry, I promise.” 

Ingrid wasn’t angry anymore, either. You’d spoken with her practically first thing when you’d woken up, apologizing again and again and emphasizing that you hadn’t really realized how your actions would have affected Ingrid until it was too late. 

You’d told her about a time back in Norway when you’d stayed out all night after a fight with your Mamma, and when you’d come home the next morning, she hadn’t even noticed that you’d been gone. Ingrid understood a bit more, then, and was quick to hug you tight and whisper that she forgave you.

And even though Mapi had come in last night and tried to make you feel better, you knew she might have been waiting to be upset until she knew for sure you were okay. That made you even more nervous. 

Ingrid snorted from behind you when you knocked on the door to the garage, as normally you just walked right in. You shot her a glare, stepping inside the garage at the sound of Mapi’s quiet come in. 

The defender didn’t glance up as you walked in, but you took a seat in the chair next to her. Your chair. 

It was quiet for a moment, the sounds of Mapi’s metal tool gently clanging against the bike. 

“What did Fresa say to you last night?” You blurted out, face flushing red because why was that the first thing out of your mouth. 

Mapi fixed you with a half amused look, shaking her head. “That is what you’re asking?” 

“No.” You sighed. “Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” Mapi echoed, going quiet for a moment as she thought. “Not mad. It’s just hard for me, Sol. Last night, you didn’t even think that we’d be worried about you and where you were. It just makes me a bit sad.”

“Oh.” 

“And it’s not your fault, nena. I just worry for you.” 

You nodded slowly. “I’m really sorry. I should have thought about how worried you guys would have been.”

Mapi gave you a half smile. “I know you are. And you won’t do it again sí?” 

Your head bobbed up and down rapidly as you agreed, more sure than you’d ever been that you’d not be doing something that stupid again. 

“Now. Why are you so concerned with what Fresa said to me, hmm? What did you do?"

—

[lady-ashfade]

Hi, I wanted to request something platonic with Percy, with him meeting his older half-sister after he finds out he's the son of Poseidon.

Sorry for my English, I'm using the translator to write, and sorry if you don't understand my request

Pictures On The Wall

Percy jackson x older!sister (platonic)

-£ this was the first thing that came to mind and it’s such a cute idea! thank you.

-£ words: 700

-£ warnings: short, nervous percy, cool reader, sassy and kinda grunge reader, siblings bonding, fluff.

the wall across from his bed was covered with many things. pictures of people he didn’t know along with a bed half made and clothes piled up. “that’s y/n’s” a name he never heard but yet was family. his half sister was somewhere on a quest and didn’t know that he was snooping round her things.

he looked at the pictures all the time, liking the smile you had. he knew that smile, a distinct memory in his mind but you wore it with pride. you looked so cool and by all the stories he heard you were one of the most awesome person at camp.

every cabin knew you, it was like he needed to fill some sort of shoe now that you walked in but he didn’t know the first thing.

“percy,” grover peaked into the cabin and looked around for his best friend, when he found him he looked nervous. “I think you should come.” percy jumped up at the sound of his voice that sounded like something horrible had happened.

percy walked along his friend while his heart raced, “what happened?” had another monster attacked the camp, what could have happened that he had to come.

“she’s back.” Grover muttered while sighing, “And we thought you should meet her.” oh,- oh gods. you were back so soon? he didn’t have a clue on what he would say or do. would you like him, would you hate him and somehow kick him out of the cabin? he’s never had a sibling before.

“she’s getting patched up and I’ll warn you,” Grover patted his shoulder with a kind smile, “she’s unpredictable at times.” Yeah, that makes me feel much better Percy thought.

as soon as the walked into the infirmary all they could hear was yelling and arguing making the young boys look at each other. they walked to the door and saw the girl on the bed glare at the other around her age.

he knew you. the picture he looked at every day you seemed to be exactly like that, but you didn’t look happy like all of them. the shirt you wore had rips in it and a bloody bandage wrapped around your arm. the redhead girl in front of you held a spoon up to your mouth but you kept fighter her off.

“I’m fine! It’s just a few scratches, I’m not a child!” it was ironic that you looked like a bratty child that wanted to stomp their feet. your lips pouted slightly. percy didn’t know what to think at the scene.

“take it. you’re just keeping yourself from leaving, so do it so I can leave!” the other girl seemed to knock some sense into you as you huffed and took the spoon in your mouth. if looks could kill then she would be on the ground by now, you looked so angry.

humming the redhead walked out of the door and looked at the boys before rolling her eyes and kept going down the hallway. you didn’t seemed to notice them as you started to take off the dirty bandages.

Grover was the first to speak, “excuse me,” you looked at him quickly but your eyes were now soft and no longer sharp. “Grover, come in!” you invited him over but your eyes soon fell on the boy next to him. and immediately the connection between the two of you went off in your head.

“you must be percy?”

he shifted closer and awkwardly not knowing want to do, “yeah. how do you know?”

“I received letters telling me of the idiot brother I seemed to have,” you chuckle and throw the dirty cloths in your hands on the bed. The cut was gone but dry blood still stayed on your skin, “you have dads eyes.” You pointed to your own.

“really?” he asked quietly as you hopped on the floor and stretched. “Oh yeah, less disappointment in them but I’ll give it time.”

you yawned and picked up the black jacket and your backpack, “I’m starving,” you stood between the two of them and then swung your arms around the two of them.

“Now, tell me what you did to Clarisse!” You smirk at the brother you just met, “my favorite sibling already.”

[literaila]

Reader meeting gojo parents when since they’re confirmed to be alive ☹️

the next time gojo satoru claims to be a “grown man” you’re going to pull his annoyingly soft hair and shove him down a sink drain.

this child, this infant—the very same one who got lost exactly one minute after you told him not to wander off—is going to be the death of you.

you’d always thought that you might go out peacefully, in your sleep or lying in a hospital bed. or, at least, heroically. saving some innocent bystander, leaving the world with some witty last remark.

but no.

instead you’ll die of a heart attack. instead you’re going to look for gojo and accidentally wander into some den of cursed spirits and die before you get the chance to pull on his ear at least one last time.

even tsumiki doesn’t get lost this much—and she gets distracted every time she catches a glimpse of pink in a window.

you walk amongst the crowd, looking for long legs and a stupid blind-fold, thinking about how you should’ve brought megumi. he’s more observant than you are—he’ll look for any chance to get gojo in trouble.

namely, this one.

you sigh, dialing his number again. but you can barely hear it ring as you hold it to your ear, you can barely hear the, “it’s gojo, you must feel sorry that you missed me—“ before you hang up. he’s not going to listen to any short of breath voicemail you leave anyway.

he can teleport home, you suppose. it might be nice to have a couple of hours to yourself, to teach him a lesson for once—

(and no, you won’t miss him. that’s a ridiculous suggestion. why would you miss a third child that clings to you, and whines every time you’re not paying enough attention to him, and whispers sweet things in your ear when he’s bored, and follows you wherever you go, and always trails his hand down the small of your back because he knows—

no, okay? no.)

you’re thinking about how gojo satoru is the worst person you’ve ever met—and you’ve had to sit through meetings with the higher ups, so—when you run into someone.

you get your obliviousness from gojo, thank you.

“i’m sorry, i—“ but you look up and you’re met with the same smile you were just cursing out in your head.

though, maybe not quite the same? it’s usually not so pained and he’s usually sticking his tongue out a little bit—

“baby,” he breathes, chest inflating.

you frown. “i thought i told you to stay by me. i’ve been looking for you for, like, fifteen minutes, are you—“

he turns, just slightly, and usually you would pinch his cheek for trying to deflect but… there’s a woman standing there. looking at you—at him—like she’s seen some sort of ghost.

satoru has that effect, you suppose.

“oh, sorry,” you say, stepping so you wave at her. “did i—am i interrupting?”

“no, we—“

“it’s nothing—“

they both stop. and satoru may be blindfolded, as ridiculous as he is, but you can practically see the glance that they share.

the quick look away, awkwardness floating through the air like dust.

you tilt your head, brows furrowing.

satoru doesn’t necessarily like talking to strangers, but the man doesn’t know what social expectations are. and he’s certainly not awkward.

you wrap your hand around his arm, feeling the release of his technique (and yours), as you consider them. “satoru. who’s this?”

“she’s…” he makes a vague gesture with his hand, trying to telepathically communicate with you, and winces again.

you give him another strange look.

but the woman clears her throat, gesturing to satoru. “i am his mother.”

you still, keeping your eyes on satoru. he doesn’t look back towards you, doesn’t nod to confirm or acknowledge her in any way. his head is tilted up, eyes to the sky.

eventually, you look to the woman.

suddenly you see it, like a flash of light. her eyes are blue, and though not as breathtaking as satoru’s, still light enough to be beautiful.

her hair is a glimmering silver and her entire body is tense.

but she doesn’t look like satoru at all, you think. satoru is always smiling, always moving a million miles a minute. he’s gesturing and trying to make you laugh and he’s never nervous, he’s never caught off guard.

except for maybe now.

some hindrance in your mind thinks about how megumi resembles satoru at times—the model of his smirk or the tease in his eyes. you recall tsumiki’s laugh, the mimicry of sound when she’s laughing with satoru.

it’s not biology, you hear, but connection.

the way you mold each other, the tight grip that admiration has on the very material of your soul.

“oh,” you breathe out finally. but you don’t say anything else to her, can’t think of anything you might want to. you turn to satoru, leaning closer to him, hand gripping his arm. “satoru, do you want to—“

he finally looks forward, towering both of you. “this is my wife,” he interrupts, smoothly. “we were just shopping.”

“it’s lovely to meet you.”

the woman is trying to smile but it doesn’t mean much to you. she keeps glancing at satoru—staring like he’s some public attraction, hesitating like he might bite if provoked.

you pull on his arm a little bit, dragging him a step away. you don’t want to ask in front of her—dont want to take that means of distance away from him—but you don’t have a choice.

“do you want to go?” you whisper to him, wishing you could meet his eyes. “we don’t have to stay.”

his mouth opens, then closes. “i’m not—“ he swallows, stopping.

you’re about to say something—to tell him that he doesn’t owe her anything, that he doesn’t have to be afraid—but she clears her throat again and you turn, ready to say whatever you can to get your satoru back.

the one who’s never left speechless, never left not knowing what to say.

“satoru,” the woman speaks, saying his name like she deserves to. like it’s different when it’s in her mouth—a possession no one else can have. “i have to go—we aren’t supposed to be in the city for very long.”

you frown at her and satoru continues to stare at the side of your head.

“here’s my phone number. i would like—love. i would love to speak with you, if you have the time. whenever you want. if you want.”

she holds her hand out to him and you already know that he’s not going to reach out to her.

you already know that even if he did—she would never get past the world of space between them.

so you reach out instead, grabbing it from her. “thank you.”

“no—thank you. i am…” she pauses, looking away, finally. “i am glad you’ve found happiness, satoru. i… have to go. it was nice seeing you,” she blinks at you, a slight bow as she takes a step back. “and meeting you.”

you don’t say anything but wait, watching for satoru as she walks away from the two of you—keeping him safe for just a moment.

and as soon as she’s gone, you turn to look at him, not sure what to say.

it’s not like with your mom—if satoru understands your childhood at all, you’re completely lost to his.

“you okay, baby?” you ask, staying close to him. maybe it’s a defense mechanism—trying to keep him from shutting you out—or maybe it’s so he knows that you’re there.

“i didn’t think i would ever see her again.”

“did she…” his eyes meet yours, even through the fabric, his mouth a straight line. “did she say anything before i showed up?”

he shakes his head. “no. she just stared at me. i—i didn’t realize who she was, at first.”

“that’s understandable.”

“i don’t know why she would be here.” he looks around, seeming to come to, and then finds you again. “did i get lost?”

you laugh, a bit shocked, pushing your forehead into his chest. “ran away, more like.”

his arms wrap around your back, holding you in place. “sorry. i smelled dessert.”

“of course you did.”

he takes a deep breath, then pulls away. “okay. more shopping? did you check out at the gift shop?”

“are you okay, satoru?”

“i’m fine,” he answers immediately. you stare at him, unblinking, and wait. after a moment, he licks his lip. “okay. yeah. i don’t know.”

“that’s okay.”

three years ago, he wouldn’t have said anything to you. two years ago, he would’ve feigned indifference and hidden himself away for a week.

but you’ve learned to move past these walls, learned how to fill the space and not push too hard.

and you love satoru. too much to let him fall away from you, now.

he sighs after a moment, shaking his head again. “she.. she looks different.”

“it’s been at least ten years, right?”

“yeah.”

you wipe his cheek, adjusting his blindfold for him. “do you want to call her?”

“i don’t—“ he frowns, just minimally. “i don’t know.”

“that’s okay. but you can, you know?”

“would you help me?”

“help you dial her number?”

he grabs your wrist, his cheek quirking. “help me talk to her.”

“hmm…” you tap his nose with a finger. “maybe if you beg.”

“this is why i ran away,” he says, just barely pouting.

and that’s how you know you’ve gotten your satoru back. as annoying as he is.

[panlight]

Really is wild when you start to think about what other characters went through during the course of the books that just . . . doesn't matter all that much.

Alice found out how/why she was turned, that she had been hunted by James and a vampire who cared about her turned her to save her and then died protecting her. That's a lot. And then in New Moon she finds out her father had her committed to an asylum and the date on her supposed gravestone matches the date on the admission papers. Also a lot. I guess with this one you can sort of handwave it with "she doesn't remember any of it though so maybe that's why it doesn't affect her much."

Then there's Leah and Seth, who lose their dad, and that's like, hardly a thing other than a) allows for the "funeral" miscommunication and b) makes Sue single so she can take care of Charlie while Bella's off blissfully vampiring. Seth is happy and sunny and sweet pretty much 100% of the time, and Leah's issues are all attributed to the Sam/Emily drama rather than, oh, I don't know, the shock of her phasing into a wolf causing her father's fatal heart attack. The guilt she must feel about that even though it's not at all her fault!

Then there's the Cullens in general dealing with having to hunt down and kill James; having to deal with Edward running away and nearly dying in Volterra; being under the threat of the Volturi because of Edward's misadventure in Italy; having to fight to the death against a bunch of newborns; and facing off against the Volturi. They presumably have been living in peace since whenever it was Maria had shown up in Calgary and then in the space of like a year and a half just complete and utter chaos, and all they can say about it is like, "we're so grateful you saved Edward, Bella!"

Quil, watching all his friends join this mysterious 'cult' and being left out and confiding in Bella about it. Sam dealing with All Of It when he wasn't even supposed to be the Alpha. Embry realizing he's the half-brother of one of these guys and probably searching for that belonging but knowing it could throw the community and families into chaos.

And then there's the pregnancy. Only Rosalie gets to have any feelings about it really and again, it's mostly so she can be Bella's bodyguard and less about Rosalie herself. But Esme has also longed for motherhood and sure she "makes do" with her Cullen kids, but they were all essentially adults when she adopted them. But more importantly she actually HAS been pregnant and HAS had a baby and LOST said baby. She also crushed hard on a vampire when she was a teenager, and now she's watching Bella getting to have a child with the vampire she loves when it's impossible for Esme herself and surely surely surely this would bring up some complicated feelings. But we get nothing. Like, literally nothing from Esme, she might as well not be in the book. She just existed to renovate the cottage.

Then there's Carlisle, whose mother died in childbirth from his normal human birth, watching his new daughter-in-law dying from a pregnancy and listening to his first and most beloved son say how he could never love the creature, his own child, if it kills Bella, and probably looking back on his own fraught relationship with his father and reliving that same resentment from the POV of the 'creature that killed the mother' and again, nothing. Not a factor. No one even mentions it in passing.

And like yes, I know, it's a YA romance, it's Not That Deep, it's about a girl falling in love with a vampire and finding wish fulfillment fantasy in that. I know. Everything else is just set dressing and not given any depth at all because it's not the point. But man, there's SO much there in the little throwaway details and unexplored backstories, and I fully believe that's what is fueling a large part of the fandom to this day.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Cardigan

Summary: Spencer Reid x Fe!Reader (BAU Agent) -> A case, a cardigan and a life time of memories help both you and Spencer realise something about yourselves.

Disclaimer: Not proof read. Mentions of Criminal Minds level violence. 16+. Fluff, pining. Descriptions of being attacked and falling into a river (but ends safely). Garcia sorting out two blind oblivious idiots. Happy Ending.

23:49

Usually, people were asleep close to midnight. Usually, people were dreaming of their favourite TV show and character, imagining a world where they worked alongside them or danced the night away with them in a ballroom that could make a Disney Live-Action movie jealous. 

However, that was not what you were doing. 

Instead, you were opening up your bathroom door and walking back inside your hotel room. The carpet a little rough beneath your feet, you unravelled your hair from the towel and began ringing out what was left of the water from your shower. 

Moving over to your closet, you pulled open the door and found what you were looking for. 

A cardigan. 

The Cardigan. 

The one you wore whenever you were in need of a little comfort because, despite owning it and washing it multiple times over the years, it was still him. 

One touch of the fabric and it was like being transported back to the day he gave it to you. Or, at least, let you borrow it then proceed to keep it. 

The case had been in Colorado. 

Four female students had gone missing in the space of two months. And, as much as it could be considered a coincidence, they all matched the same description and had last been seen at a convenience store, with fresh spray paint of their single initial. 

And, on the fourth night of the case, you were at such a place. 

All it had been for was a snack run for yourself, JJ and Morgan. However, as you began walking back down the street, you heard the shake of a spray-paint can and, the minute the stranger found your eyes, they set off running. 

And so did you. 

Making a call on your way, you shared your location with Garcia who patched in Morgan and Reid from the precinct. 

“Hey, wait! Stop!”

Round a back alley corner, you lost them. You walked further up to see if you could find a trail, however, all you found was a small bridge and a river. 

And as you looked around, from behind you, you felt someone try and run you down and it became a struggle. 

Fighting back and forth until he took hold of your jacket and pulled you over the edge with him. 

Disorientated from the fall, you struggled to find your way back up to the surface and when you did, you were only dragged back down. 

However, in all the commotion, a light came from the bridge and your attacker suddenly let go and, from the waves of the water, began swimming away as fast as he could. 

Coughing up the last of the water, you pulled yourself up the edge of the riverbank, laying on your back until your heart rate slowed down enough for you to catch a decent breath. 

“Hey, hey! Y/n! Look at me.”

Turning on your side, you tiredly pushed Morgan’s hand down from your face. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Do you think you can stand it?”

You nodded. “Just give me a minute.”

“What the hell happened?”

“You mean other than me being dragged into a river giving me flashbacks of college?”

“Y/n!? Y/n?! Are you okay?”

“She’s fine, pretty boy.” Morgan called back up the riverbank as Reid made his way down. 

“Are you sure?!”

“I’m fine, Spencer. I swear.”

Having made his way to your side, he kneeled down a little, checking you over. Only when he touched your skin did you realise you must have hit your head under the water on something because it was stinging from an open cut. 

“Sorry,” Spencer said as you hissed. 

“It’s okay, Just…help me up.”

Spencer did as he was told and Morgan led the way back up the bank. 

By the time you made it back to the precinct, considering it was closer than the hospital and they already had a paramedic waiting, JJ and some other officers had found the Spray Paint runner, and had pictures taken of the job he had done outside of the store. 

Having taken a shower in the locker room, Emily passed you through some of your spare clothes which consisted of a black t-shirt and some grey joggers. You were sitting in the hallway, your hair was damp and still dripping a little around your shoulders. Meanwhile, in your hands lay one of the pictures the CSI had taken. 

It could have been a coincidence, but more than likely it wasn’t. 

It was your initial. 

A shiver had taken hold of your body, whether from the truth or the cold you didn’t know. 

“Hey, here.”

From down the hall, Spencer approached you and removed his cardigan. “You’re cold.”

“I’m fine, Spence.”

“You fell in a river and now have washed, wet hair in a building filled with AC. You’re cold. Here.”

With a slight smile, you took the cardigan from him and in almost an instant, it warmed you. It had been warmed by him and now it was warming you. 

“Thank you.”

Spencer smiled, looking around before picking up the towel that was laid over the back of your chair. 

“Here.”

Slowly pulling your hair around to one side, Spencer rang out the last of the water with the towel. 

“Did they get him?”

Your voice was quieter than usual. 

“The spray painter? Yes. Hotch has him in interrogation right now. Morgan and Emily are out looking for the guy who attacked you.”

You just nodded, part of your brain reliving the attack. 

From the back of your neck, Spencer could see a large bruise. It wasn’t too bad, but he knew it still hurt you considering whenever you moved in your seat, it seemed a struggle. 

“But I don’t match the MO.” 

This was something you couldn’t wrap your head around. You were out of college age range. The girls kidnapped didn’t have the same features. Similar, perhaps. But not the same. You hadn’t been in any similar places, other than the convenience store. 

“We’re thinking that perhaps he revisited some of the old sites.”

“And I’m the one that is closest to his victims…”

Spencer nodded and you took a deep breath, handing him the picture. “I can’t keep looking at that.”

You both sat in silence for a few minutes until Spencer finished and placed the towel down on the back of the chair again. 

“I was thinking about picking up some food, how about you come with me?”

Taking in a breath, you collapsed your hands between your knees and stood. “Yeah. Let me just use the bathroom.”

Spencer nodded, watching you push the door to the ladies room open, before Hotch walked over. 

“You’re taking her out?”

“Yeah, I thought it would be best.”

Hotch nodded. “Maybe try and get her to talk about it. See what she remembers. Anything that can help us track down the attacker.”

“Ready to go?” Spencer said, watching as you came out of the bathroom door. 

“Yeah.”

Sitting in the passenger seat, Spencer drove through the small town, and a little down the highway towards the only decent diner close to the town. 

In the passenger seat, you kept your eyes fixed on the scenery outside the window whilst the scent from Spencer’s cardigan blocked out the scent from the cheap shampoo one of the officers had found in a locker. 

Every now and again Spencer would glance over at you, that swirling feeling in his stomach getting stronger and stronger. When Garcia had patched the call through, he had heard your voice and something dropped in his stomach. He tried his best to remain calm, asking where you were and what you saw but when you went quiet, just before he heard a grunt in pain, his heart dropped. 

Spencer had met you in the Academy. 

Like himself, you too had been a child prodigy of sorts so you were around his age, too. Often, you found yourself in the same circles, however a small part of each of you seemed to compete against one another. 

An exam, a race, a training course. 

However, neither of you were too focused on your small rivalry to not help when the other needed it. 

After all, after Hotch, you were the one to help Spencer continue to hold his gun licence. 

And he was the one to help you finish up paperwork on those late nights. 

And when he saw your body unmoving on the side of the riverbank, it felt like his heart was shattering. 

It felt like you had been there for most of his life and you had, at least, for his adult life. And the thought that you wouldn’t be there for the rest of it brought such pain to him…he didn’t know what to do other than try his best to remember your voice and the way your hand fit into his as he helped you up from the grass and how you felt, leaning against him on the drive back. 

He didn’t want to let you go, so when Hotch said someone should watch you, he was the first to say yes. 

He’d known you the longest and, for what it was worth, he knew you trusted him enough that if you wanted to open up, it, in one way or another, would have been to him. 

And he was right, by the time he pulled up outside of the diner, you explained all that you could remember to him. From the turnings you took, to the feeling of being under the water and having a split second of thinking you wouldn’t make it back to the surface. 

And when you cried, wiping away the tears on your cheeks with the sleeve of his cardigan, Spencer unbuckled his belt and reached over, hugging you so tight it was like if he ever let go, he would stop breathing. 

You thought back to that night as you slipped your arms through the sleeves. 

There had been a couple of different nights after that, that you thought of when you took in the feel and smell of The Cardigan. 

One such night had been when Spencer and JJ had been out in the field. You had stayed back with Garcia, however that same feeling of having someone pull your heart so far back in your chest it began to hurt your spine, washed over you again. 

The only thing that helped settle it was wearing his cardigan. 

It was rare you did wear it, however when you did it was often for comfort and to settle your nerves from whatever was happening. 

Garcia didn’t say anything, but she smiled. 

She’d seen you wear The Cardigan when you came back from the Colorado case, and when you were stuck in the office late at night a few months later, and whenever she called someone on the jet when you fell asleep on Spencer’s shoulder, his head resting on yours. 

But this was the confirmation she needed. 

Both against you, and Spencer. 

So, when nightfall came and you had decided to wait for the rest of the team to get back, she finally said something. 

You had been sitting at your desk, leaning back in your chair, a pencil poked through your hair whilst a pen twirled in your hand. 

“You should talk to him.”

“What?”

Garcia smiled. “Reid. You should talk to him.”

“Why?” your stomach dropped. “Is everything okay? He’s not-”

Garcia shook her head. “He’s okay. But, you should talk to him.”

“Why?”

Penelope placed a hand on your shoulder, the soft wool of the cardigan under her palm. 

“This is his.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. 

“If you're worried he doesn’t feel the same?” Garcia pinched the fabric and shook it a little. “This is proof he does.”

“What are you-”

“For being a top profiler, you guys sure don’t know how to read a love story when it’s right in front of you.”

“Pen-”

Garcia just smiled again. “Talk to him. You’ll be surprised.”

She took her leave from there, calling out her goodbyes from the entrance door. Not too long after that, the rest of the team walked back through the door to collect the rest of their things, and if you weren’t mistaken, they all seemed to have a quiet smile on their face when they spotted what you were wearing. 

However, in the end, it was just you and Spencer. And Garcia’s words kept circling around in your head. 

“Hey, Spence?”

He turned around. 

And you chickened out. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I- it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, okay. Well…goodnight.”

“Night.”

What you didn’t notice as Spencer left was when he took another look. You had your back to him, so he could take a slightly longer look. The feeling in his heart grew a little more as he took in the memory of you in his cardigan. 

You had tried to give it back, sneakily. However, he thinked you looked better in it. And, due to the feeling in his heart, it would forever be yours. So, he made sure to be out of the office before you one night so, when you found it looped through your bag, you had no other option but to keep it. 

And now, with it holding your body. Holding your soul. You took in its scent. 

You had been in love with Spencer since shortly after you had both joined the BAU. He was the first familiar face you saw when you landed in the office. He’d already been there at least five years, maybe bordering on six when you joined. And all it had taken was a simple coffee order. 

You had changed your coffee order since you’d both been graduates since the Academy, however, despite the change…Spencer didn’t have to ask. 

He turned up at the door of your apartment, holding out the cup for you when you opened the door to let him inside. 

All he did was stand in your apartment and look around, whilst you drank him in. You’d both changed over the years and of course you had liked him, ever since you first met him. Anyone that took the time to know him, liked him, too. 

But there was something. 

Maybe it was his confidence. 

Maybe it was the fact he knew your favourite coffee order after six years of not seeing one another. 

But either way, you knew. 

You knew you loved him. 

A familiar knock came to the door of your hotel room, knocking you out of your memories and back into reality. 

An hour later, you were sitting downstairs with the others, examining all the old case files, begging for something to jump out. 

JJ sighed and threw one of the finished case files onto the table. “I’m beat. I can’t find anything. I think if I close my eyes, I can see the text written on the back of my eyelids.”

The others felt the same so it wasn’t long before they, one by one, went to bed. 

Leaving just yourself and Spencer by the warming fire. 

As it approached four in the morning, you closed your file and rubbed your eyes. 

“Anything?”

“Nothing.”

“I think I’m gonna go to bed. If I look at this case file much longer, I’m gonna be like JJ.”

However, despite wishing to go to bed, you must have fallen asleep on the sofa as a few moments later, Spencer’s hand was on your shoulder. 

“Hey, you fell asleep.”

“Oh.”

“I would have left you, but you’ll probably wake up with a stiff neck.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Spencer helped you sit up and you watched him tidy away a couple of the case files. They were safe enough in the boxes considering the entire team had all the rooms in the hotel booked out. 

Once he had done that, you tidying up a few of the boxes, Spencer fixed the fire guard in front of the diminishing flames when you stood and said;

“Goodnight, or…Good morning or…whichever it is. I’ll see you when I wake up.”

“I love you.”

That stopped you in your tracks and woke you up. 

With you back still to Spencer, you took a moment to breathe. Maybe you had just imagined it. 

You heard Spencer whisper something to himself, a small battle growing large in his head over letting those three words slip. 

Until, he said them again. 

And this time you heard him crystal clear. 

“I love you.”

Turning around slowly, you were soon met with his own back.

“What?”

Your voice, despite how much you thought you had your emotions in check, wavered. 

Spencer turned around to face you. “I-I’m sorry. I-I should just let you-”

“Spencer, wait-”

You practically jumped forward, reaching out for him to stop. And he did. 

“Say it again.”

Standing so close to him, the heat you felt…you couldn’t tell if it was from the diminishing embers or from Spencer himself. 

“I love you.”

“Do you…” you swallowed, looking down for a moment, feeling his fingers trace yours. You finally looked back up to his face. “Do you mean it…as in…”

“M-more than what we are.” 

It was his turn for his voice to shake. 

“Are you…sure that you…”

“Sure enough, like how I know how…how to…breathe. Although, right now I don’t know how much of that is true because…because I don’t know how to-”

You placed a hand on his chest but Spencer’s own hand came to cover yours and moved it over his heart. 

“I’d say you’re breathing.”

Spencer smiled. “Good.”

“I love you. I-I don’t know what this means, or what it will do and, honestly, I didn’t mean to tell you like this but I was thinking and then, I started overthinking and, I don’t know, when you said goodnight, I meant to say it back and then I-”

“Spence. Spencer,” you tried your best to slow him down. His heart was practically beating out of his chest. “I love you, too.”

“You-you love me, too?”

“I do.”

“You do?”

You nodded, holding his face in your hands. “I do. I love you, too, Spencer. I-I always have.”

From your hips, one of Spencer’s hands stopped at your waist, pulling you in just a little bit closer until your body was flushed with his before allowing his other to move further up, brushing the hair from your face and across your back. His finger traced the shape of your face, before settling under your jaw, bringing your face closer to his. 

He took it slow. 

Even despite the fact you had reciprocated his feelings of love, he gave you time to opt out. To say no. to push him away. 

Flicking his eyes from your own, to your lips and back again. The first touch of his lips against yours was soft, barely fleeting. 

Until you kissed back. 

Your relaxed hands pulled him slightly closer, first by his neck, then by the collar of his shirt. All the while, his arms snaked around you, holding you flush against him. 

“I might be a few years late in asking, but,” Spencer said once he finally managed to catch his breath. “Can I take you on a date?”

“Yes. Yes, Spencer. You can take me on a date.”

Years Later...

“Did I ever tell you you look good in this?”

“Your cardigans, you mean?” You smiled as Spencer took hold of your hand and pulled you closer. “Oh, every day. But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

“Well, you do.”

With a smile as he pulled you down and onto his lap, you kissed him, your arms coming around his neck and across his shoulders. 

“Good.”

It had been four years since Spencer had first admitted his feelings for you and, even if life had sent you both through trials and tribulations, you’d both made it alive, together and stronger than ever. 

It hadn’t taken that long for the rest of the team to figure out something had finally happened between you two, however, it still had taken a while. It was only because Morgan recognised a second cardigan that had belonged to Spencer less than a week earlier suddenly wrapped around you one late evening. 

“And speaking of cardigans…” you sat up a little straighter to see Spencer as he leaned his head back to take you in fully. 

He still looked at you with as much love and adoration as he had done that early morning in the hotel. Perhaps even more. 

“We’re gonna need to buy a couple more.”

“Didn’t you just buy one yesterday?”

“Perhaps,” you nodded. “But this one isn’t for you, well…us…exactly.” 

It hadn’t taken long for you to start wearing Spencer’s cardigans on a daily basis, but he was more than agreeable to it considering whenever he saw you in one of his, his heart soared and he knew you felt safe in them, too. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, considering ours might be a little too big…”

Then it clicked for Spencer. 

“You’re…”

From a small pocket in your cardigan, you pulled out a positive pregnancy test. 

“You’re gonna be a dad, Spence.”

Tears already starting to fall from your eyes, you watched as Spencer welled up and with a shaking hand took hold of the test to look at it. 

“You’re pregnant?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant!”

“I’m pregnant!”

In a sweeping kiss, Spencer pulled you closer as you slid down and lay against his side, your legs still over his. 

“We’re gonna have a baby.” Spencer smiled, turning from the pregnancy test to you with a smile unlike any other you’d ever seen on his face. 

“We’re gonna have a baby.”

[prentissluvr]

this is real, it's right — sam winchester

pairing : husband!sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : hurt/comfort ➖⟢ cw : nightmares, sam dying in said nightmares, snakes, blood, crying, lowkey a panic attack, poorly edited ➖⟢ wc : 3K summary : when you get continuous nightmares, your husband sam comforts you.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

maybe it’s just a bout of strange and inconsequential deja vu, but the moment sam reaches for the door knob, a heavy pit in your stomach blooms and grows each second he gets closer. you’re not sure how, but you’re positive that if he opens that door, something horrible will happen. 

“sam, no!” you cry out, just milliseconds too late. the door swings open and you see sam’s expression morph into one of surprise. from your vantage point by the car, you can’t see what’s in the doorway. “sam!” you shout again, taking off towards him, only to be tugged back in place by the feel or cold, hard steel around your wrist. you look down and find yourself handcuffed to the car. panicked, probably beyond reason, you yank at the cuffs and search desperately for something in your pockets to pick the lock.

sam’s shout tugs your attention back to him and you just about scream in desperation when you take in the sight before you. there’s a horde of snakes spilling out of the doorway, small, yellow, and visibly viscous. they swirl around sam’s feet and he tries to run, but it seems as if he’s held in place by some invisible force.

a witch. it must be a witch, you reason. we have to find and kill the witch. i have to save sam.

the serpents waste no time in swarming him, curling around his legs, going higher and higher. they wrap around his torso and he struggles against them, calling out your name to beg for help. the snakes bite and hiss and squeeze and the pain on sam’s face is too much for you to handle. you’re in hysterics, shouting his name and drawing blood against your restraints as you pull against them.

“no!” you scream as the snakes twist higher and higher and higher and tangle in his pretty hair and mar his pretty face and the weight of all the serpents brings him to his knees and swallows him up and you shriek his name out one more time as he disappears and the snakes turn to you and then you wake up and you’re panting, trying and unable to breathe until you hear his soft, sweet, gentle voice calling your name.

“sam?” your voice comes out quiet and shaky and so fragile that sam thinks his heart must be breaking. breathing still panicked, you practically claw at his shoulders with fingers trembling too hard to cause any real pain.

“shh, i’m here, it’s okay. i got you,” he whispers, as convincing and sure and gentle as he can. so you can breathe better and he can hold you closer, he pulls you up to sit, tucking you into his chest and rubbing your back in a sweet, soothing motion.

“sam,” you sigh out in utter relief, clutching at his arms, shoulder, back and whatever you can get your hands on to be sure that he’s as solid and real and comforting as you want him to be.

“uh-huh,” he reassures, “i’m right here, honey. it was just another nightmare, i’m right here.” and because you’re finally sure that he’s safe and sound, you begin to relax into his hold, letting your arms curl around his middle and his hand rest on the back of your head. your breath begins to even, and sam relaxes too, still worried but feeling better now that you’re not whimpering in your sleep or wetting his neck with your panicked tears.

with your head tucked under his chin and his big arms holding you together, you feel sort of like his broad shoulders are shielding you from the horrors your sleeping mind makes up, and you’re lucky because you think you could drift back to sleep like this.

then sam’s breath shudders and a choked sound tumbles from his throat. you pull away from his hold, and he lets you, his hands reaching for his neck. suddenly the room is brighter than it was before, just enough for you to make out the features of his face and the blood. it’s seeping from his nose, his ears, his eyes, and the corner of his mouth as he chokes on the warm red liquid.

“no. no, no, no, no, no, no. this isn’t real,” you sob, “this can’t be real. no, sam, no. please, please, please sam, please.” you cup his face and you realize his skin is more of an idea than a real feeling which means that this is a dream, but that doesn’t make it any less horrifying as you’re unable to wake, forced to take in the sight of his panicked, bleeding eyes, silently begging for you to help him. he can't speak, and it would physically hurt to hear if you weren't in a dream and could feel real pain.

“i don’t know what to do, sam, please. i don’t know what to do, i don’t know what’s happening, i’m sorry.” you feel responsible for him; it's your dream, it's all in your head. why can't you stop it? why can't you ever seem to save him? “sam, sam, please. please don’t, please. i’m so sorry. no, no, no, sam!” he falls limp into you and you can barely keep him upright. his weight is pushing you down, pressing you into the mattress and his strong hands are holding down your flailing arms.

“wake up, honey, you gotta wake up,” he begs, afraid you could hurt yourself in this state. your eyes shoot open, vision blurry with tears as you gulp in air. you’re being pulled up from the mattress again, taken into strong arms and pulled into a solid chest. if you weren’t so panicked out of your mind, so entirely shaken by the worst of your nightmares yet, you’d be able to tell that he really is as solid and real and comforting as you need him to be, but tonight, the calm of his deep, gentle voice and his protective broad shoulders aren’t helping.

“no,” you rasp, unable to say much else into the soft fabric of his grey t-shirt. “no, no, no, please.” pushing against him, you struggle like you never do, trying to escape his grasp like he thought you’d never, ever do.

surprised by your vehement attempts to get him to let you go, he loosens his sweet hold on you and lets you jolt backwards and away from him. “what’s wrong? what is it, baby, what’s wrong?” suddenly, sam’s terrified that this dream was different from the rest, that this time he hurt you and now you’re scared of him.

but the moonlight coming in from the open window betrays the utter concern that you hold for him, swimming in your eyes and overflowing in the form of tears. you look so devastated, so much more shaken by this dream than any of the others and all he wants to do is take that all away, pull you close and whisper sweet comforts until you’re sleeping soundly in his arms. but you look at him like at any moment he might burst into flames right in front of your eyes, so he knows he has to help you some other way.

you just stare at him, frozen in fear and he lets you look because he’s so beyond worried that he doesn’t know what to do. he wants to talk, to reassure you, but it seems as though a single syllable from his mouth or minute change in his expression will have you panicking too far out of his reach. so he lets you stare, for a long, long moment until your hand moves up, slow as it reaches to cup the side of his face.

he feels real. like really real, and the exact details of your nightmares already begin to fade. the horror of it, the idea of it, remains and still has your breathing rushed and your heartbeat wild. but you can feel his stubble under your palm and his jaw clenching and unclenching as he resists the urge to sweep you up and back into his arms.

“tell me this is real.” your voice is so quiet that sam barely understands what you’re asking. his face morphs into one of crestfallen understanding as he predicts what may have happened in your nightmare. it must have been something similar to this, only it wasn’t reality, and it probably ended in another one of his horrible deaths.

so he chooses to say it soft, with just a hint of that underlying conviction he could muster up much stronger, for the sake of not overwhelming you. you need authenticity, and though sam is strong and solid and convincing, he is soft and gentle and sweet-tempered above all. so he tells you, “this is real,” in nothing more than a whisper and a raw, tender voice.

“o-okay,” you breathe out and sam’s gaze softens infinitely. you’re trusting him. but you’re still frozen in fear, terrified that if your eyes leave his face for just a moment, the safety of this reality will melt away and he’ll be bleeding and choking and begging for you to save him once more. “how do you know?” you beg for more solid confirmation. this, he can give you too.

slowly, he brings his hand up to gently hold your wrist that still brushes against his jaw, just because he needs to touch you.

“we can check, honey,” he says softly. he hates to take your hand away from his face, but he needs to twist and grab the alarm clock on his bedside table. he keeps your wrist in his hand and shows you the digital clock. “first we can look at the clock. check the time, then look away, then look back. if the time stays the same, that means you’re not dreaming, okay?” you nod and follow his instructions. the clock reads 2:47. you look away for a few moments, then back. it reads 2:48. your face morphs into a look of horror as you fail to think straight.

“sam, it changed,” you whisper, voice so shaky and afraid and on the precipice of falling back into panic and hysteria. it scares him to see you so utterly vulnerable, so far from your normal self; assured, unafraid, and clear-thinking. something has scared you so bad that you're just about incoherent, totally unable to think straight, and horrified that you're stuck inside your own head.

sam silently curses at his own carelessness as he rushes to comfort you. “oh, honey, no, no that’s not what i meant. it’s only a dream if it changes drastically. it’s really 2:48 now, i promise. the fact that it changed like this is good, actually. it indicates the kind of continuity that dreams don’t have. it’s okay, honey, i’m sorry. why don’t you check it one more time? it’ll stay completely the same, i promise.” you oblige his request by repeating his instructions, and he’s right that it stays the same, but it’s not enough. while his explanation and the second time-check help you to not fully panic, you’ve still been spooked, and sam can tell that much with ease.

you look at him with pleading eyes, your face illuminated only by the light of the full moon, unhindered by clear skies or curtains, coming in through the window behind him.

sam switches his hold on your wrist to slip your hand into his. “i’m gonna turn on the light and we’re gonna do as many reality checks as you need, okay?” he doesn’t move until you nod in approval, then he sets the alarm clock back down, switches on the lamp, then turns back to you. “oh, honey,” he whispers as he gets a better look at you, finally caving and letting his free hand drift to your face to wipe away a few stray tears and cup your cheek. “it’s okay. this time we’re gonna just turn to the wall and press our hand against it, okay?” you nod again, and turn with him, mourning the loss of his hand on your face. he goes first, letting you follow his lead and place your hand right by his on the wall above your bed frame. you push your palm against the solid surface, and nothing happens. you’re pretty sure that’s a good sign, but you still tilt your head to look at sam for confirmation.

“good,” he smiles a little for your sake, “that’s good. in dreams, solid objects can pass through other solid objects.” he squeezes your hand after you let it down from the wall. “the fact that we can feel each other’s hands like this is also proof that this is real.” with relief, sam notices that your breathing has evened out when you nod a little.

“okay,” you relent, finally letting your shoulders sag in relief and exhaustion.

“do you want to do another one?” sam asks carefully. you shake your head and collapse into his chest. he catches you with ease, and he lets his face crumble now that it’s hidden from your view. his arms wrap around you, and this time their solidity, strength, and comfort aren’t just an idea, but a reality. sam has never felt a greater relief than having you in arms at this moment. he rubs your back and kisses your forehead and squeezes you close just like you need.

after these consistent nightmares over the past few weeks, you usually fall quickly back asleep in his warm, safe hold. but when long minutes pass and you haven’t even begun to melt into his hold like you normally do as you fall asleep, sam knows that’s not going to happen tonight. a few more minutes of silence and he realizes that you need him to be the one to say something first.

he shifts a little and brings a hand up to cup the back of your head gently.

“how about we head to the kitchen for water and a snack? then we’ll turn on the tv or i’ll read you a book in the living room, okay?” you nod into his chest, a little stronger and more convinced than before. sam gives your back a final rub before sitting all the way up and pulling you with him. he smiles a little when you part from him on your own, swinging your feet over your side of the bed and standing as he does the same. you cross the room to the door and sam meets you there halfway, placing a comforting hand on the small of your back.

the only sounds in the house are the padding of your feet against the hardwood floors and the rustle of clothing as you move from the bedroom to the kitchen in tandem. it’s a small house, perfect for the two of you and whatever the future will bring. you hate that your bedroom, when bathed in night’s darkness, might now be long tainted by the horror of your nightmare.

in the kitchen, you hoist yourself up to sit on the cool surface of the counter, glad to see that everything in this room and the spaces you walked through to get here are familiar and right. you reason that dreams often don’t get the details right, but the toaster is where it should be, with the decorative vase beside it. the small succulent in its brown pot sits on the windowsill, and the tall glass that you left by the sink last night is still there. sam grabs two new glasses, earning you a glimpse into the cabinet. glasses on the first level, mugs on the second, and some miscellaneous small kitchenware on the third. everything is where it should be. the details are right because this is right. sam, standing tall and safe and at ease in your shared home, filling you a cup of water and setting a snack by your thigh in case you feel hungry; that is right.

you don’t have the stomach to eat, but you accept the water gratefully and let it soothe your dry, hoarse throat.

“thank you, love,” you hum, still shaken up but beginning to recover. he leans back against the counter by your side and you drop your head onto his shoulder.

“of course, honey,” he assures as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, his voice gone extra soft from your sweet pet name. no matter how many times you call him “love,” he’ll always find it special and better than any precious metal in the world. you let your eyes drift closed for a moment and you focus on the rise and fall of his breathing, the feel of his t-shirt and the muscle underneath against your cheek, and his wide hand curling around your shoulder.

“we’re gonna figure this out, okay?” he whispers, not wanting to remind you of the nightmares, but unable to let tonight go unaddressed. you nod. “i know you don’t want to use a spell or anything like that, so we’ll find something else. just please, let me do something. i know you don’t want me to worry or spend all my time trying to fix it and that you can take care of yourself, but i can’t keep seeing you like this, love… will you let me try and fix it? please?”

“we’ll fix it together,” you agree. “i can’t keep seeing you like that either, it’s– it’s awful, sam. i want them to go away,” you admit in a quiet voice. “awful” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

sam sighs in relief when you finally relent to letting him help. you won’t want it, but he’ll call dean in the morning and ask him for help too. anything for you to stop waking up in horror and in tears, for sam not to wake up in the middle of the night to your broken, sleeping voice calling out his name in desperation when you can’t save him in your dreams. he’s going to do anything for you not to be scared to go to sleep, for you not to have to worry about him so much.

he pulls you even closer, pressing a firm kiss to your temple. “i know, baby. this is good, though. we’re gonna make the dreams stop and everything’s gonna be just fine. we’re gonna be just fine.”

[floatmeintothesun]

How Genshin guys react to you calling them by their full names:

ok I know this isn’t original at all but I seriously loved this sort of concept and found it hilarious! I’m sorry to the person who originally came up with this but thank you for thinking of this wonderful idea!

tw: none

tags: a little suggestive (only implied), some nicknames, fluff, no gender mentioned

—

Diluc:

“Diluc Ragnvidr!”

Poor guy. His head instantly snaps to wherever you're standing, whether it be behind him, to the side, a full floor above, or underneath, Diluc will immediately twist in your direction.

(Ouch. I can hear his neck pain from here.)

He’ll be all worried, seeking you out and asking you if he’s done anything wrong, or if you need him for something important. You usually call him sweet little pet names and he’ll reciprocate, calling you his darling, my sweet, my dear, etc, more romantic gooey names, so something must be wrong if you're resorting to his full name, right?

He’ll be so stressed out in those moments when you haven’t cleared anything up. Give him cuddles after you tell him it’s just a prank, he’ll be relieved, but sulky and somewhat pouty. 

As he should be. You nearly gave him a heart attack, and not in your usual lovely way with your wonderful affection…

“Darling? Is everything alright--no, did I do something, not to your liking? Ah…a prank. I see…actually, come visit my office after work…you can say my name all you want there…”

Zhongli:

“Rex Lapis!”

Oh no. He’ll blink slowly, turning to look at you with curiosity and slight apprehension while he tries to figure out why you're using his Archon title. Sure, his name sounds wonderful falling from your lips but he can’t think of a reason why you’d use it now.

Do you require his assistance? Oh, you look displeased, did he do something that warrants your anger? Zhongli will stare at you placidly while you try your best to look angry at him.

He already has an idea that you're playing a prank on him, but just in case you aren’t he’ll just wait for you to break character. After a second your expression melts and he finds faint amusement as you sigh exaggeratedly as if he’s ruined the joke. 

Oops.

“Ah, my apologies, my dear. I had an idea that this wasn't quite as serious as your voice had made it out to be. You can be quite intimidating when you want to be, but let’s keep names like those in the bedroom, hm?”

Kaeya:

“Kaeya Alberich!”

He’s sitting up ramrod straight, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. What happened to the sweet little nicknames you usually call him? Wait—you sound a little angry, did he do something wrong?

“Yes, my dear,” He stresses those last two words, looking at you with unmasked curiosity. All the while he’s probably analyzing every conversation he’s had with you and trying to pick out the bits that could have offended you somehow. Although he may not show it, he’s subtly freaking out while you stare at him.

When you finally tell him that it’s a prank, a slow smirk will crawl up his face, his eye narrowing darkly because how dare you. He was genuinely worried that you were mad at him for whatever reason.

“Hmm…I’d much rather hear you calling me dadd--Hey! Don’t hit me…”

—

I’m down bad for these bitches lmao

[gremlingottoosilly]

That last ask was an inspiration but now I give you short!reader that grabs Konig's shirt collar, gear, harness or if for once the mammoth of a man is wearing a tie. It gets nabbed before he's yanked down to meet reader eye to eye.

You're only doing it for two reasons. First, the obvious one is to kiss him. This man is huge and often doesn't even notice you in front of him unless you're shouting...so if you want to give your man some smooches and he is too dumb and too huge to lean down and give it to you willingly, you'd have to take drastic measures.

Konig actually thinks he is being attacked in his own home, for a second. He is ready to start swinging before he notices a familiar smell and understands that it, in fact, is totally okay and it's just his pretty wife being silly and wanting to give him a heart attack simply because she needs to kiss him. He loves it when you're taking the initiative in this sort of thing - usually, you are not really all about reciprocating his feelings, so he kinda adores you for being fine with giving him affection. Seriously though, you look freaking adorable like this...he can't wait to claim you even more, to make you his in a major way. So, he is fine with you pulling him by the straps of his combat wear, when he is all sweaty and dirty as you claim his lips in a kiss. God, he can't love you even more. Your second option is, well, when you're really fucking mad at him, and you need to literally pull him to your level. He might be a bit more apprehensive about being in your area when you're angry like that, but once he can see your mad face up close...yeah, even if you're genuinely trying to seem threatening and force him to listen, he still wants nothing more but to smother you in his affection. So, no matter how much you want him to listen, you will still be getting kisses - only this time, he would be even less careful. If you're pulling him close, you must be expecting kisses - and there is literally no way for you to escape this. Nope.

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 1

Moniker: Soap Risk Level: Low. Soap is a part-time resident who is detained as needed. He is currently not detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Oral sex, “69”ing. Note Soap has biologically female genitalia with an enlarged clitoris or “t-cock”. He accepts feminine and masculine terms for this. Safeword: The word RED is to be used by any party if at any point the session must stop. If any party is unable to vocalise they are to signal physically by touching their thumb to each of their fingers in sequence to signify RED. At no point should any party be both unable to vocalise and unable to signal physically. In the event that this happens, RED will be considered in action and the session will be stopped.

Thought losing your virginity on the first day might scare you off so I’ve shuffled the plan around. You’ve spoken with Soap before, helped him diffuse a bomb on the Medusa mission. He’s insistent you got along so hope having him first helps settle your nerves. I’m on cameras for this one, so I’ve got your back - Price

Well fuck you sideways, your first sexual experience with another person and Captain John Price was going to be watching. You don’t know how he thought that was supposed to settle your nerves. The poor paper that briefing was on had been twisted to pieces in your nervous hands as you made your way to the room. This was where you’d go everytime, this was where you worked. You’d seen it once and Kate had stressed that it would be thoroughly sanitized and reset after each use to fit whatever purpose it needed to. She further stressed that anybody who entered this room had been tested for any transmittable diseases, sexual, blood borne or otherwise, and would only be permitted entry if they came back clean. That wasn’t terrifying at all.

Did you knock? That would be the polite thing to do. Well the correct thing to do at least, Soap was a Sergeant and while the ranks were different in your service your equivalent would be somewhere around Corporal, a rank beneath him. Did he remember you or did Price just know as his Captain that you had spoken before?

The door opened and you about had a heart attack as Soap stood grinning before grabbing your wrist and yanking you through. You had sort of pictured him as handsome because he had a nice voice, but you hadn’t expected him to be so damn broad. Bomb specialists tended to be a little more wirey in your experience.

“Price said ye were out there having a moment, but I’ve only got the day with ye so cannae be wasting time.”

The room did not look as it had when you had visited it. It was warmer now, more welcoming. The raised platform in the middle had a big bed on it with a soft looking duvet. You couldn’t help but smile seeing all the bedclothes were tartan. So the soldier of the day had some say then.

“Right, first off cannae believe I get ye first. I bitched Price’s ear off but didnae think I had a chance. Very, very grateful tae my bonnie Captain for naw ignoring me though” he said, loudly announcing his thanks and sending a grin to the camera in the corner. “I ken ye probably have a bundle of nerves rioting in that pretty stomach, but ye need tae get over them and get over them fast because I need tae winch your cunt.”

You started choking as a gasp caused saliva to go down the wrong pipe. He laughed and patted your back, or at least he started on your back but his hand very much wandered to your ass and squeezed, hard.

It was a knee jerk reaction. You didn’t fully catch up to what your body had even done until you saw the blood streaming from his nose. Shit. You thought for sure Price was about to march in here and give you a dressing down for punching his solider in the face on your first day as a glorified sex toy.

“S-sorry! I wasn’t expecting you to… I mean I know that’s why I’m here, it was instinct” you blurted, getting increasingly panicked at the feral glint in his eye as he rubbed a hand across his nose which only served to smear the blood everywhere.

“Look at the camera for me hen, aye that’s it. Now tell Price that nice wee safeword so he kens ye remember it. The non-verbal version too.”

You shakily followed his instruction, freaked out at how calm and warm his voice was when his eyes were still manic.

“That should dae it, aye Captain? All mine until ye safeword out now hen.”

He attacked you, no other way to describe it with how fast and violent he was in grabbing your face and shoving his tongue into your mouth. He was still bleeding and you could taste it, could feel it stick to your skin. It’s not like you had never kissed someone before, but you never realised just how another tongue could bully yours, writhing against it and pushing it around at it’s pleasure. Oh fuck, if that’s what it was doing in your mouth… an almost painful jolt shot to your clit and you jumped at the shock.

He led you backwards until you hit the bed and then his hands were gripping the back of your thighs so he could use a combination of strength and momentum to lift you a little and toss you back onto the bed. You stared at him as his mouth broke of from yours with the movement. His face was a mess, blood and saliva coating his lips and chin even as the fresh blood had started to slow from his nose.

“Fucking need this hen” he said, almost a keening whine, as he shoved your legs apart and buried his face between them. “Been dying of thirst, ye need tae drown me.”

It was overwhelming just how desperate he seemed and you were shocked and embarrassed at the whimper that spilled from you when he started to lick and chew on the seam of your jeans. The scrape of teeth through the thick fabric had you feeling your heartbeat throb through your clit and your legs were trying to close, you weren’t sure if it was to escape the sensation or chase it with friction, but he muscled his shoulders between them and gripped hard around your thighs so they were locked open.

“Think ye can soak through them? I can make ye soak through them, fuck” he groaned, kissing and tonguing your jeans like he had your mouth.

It was so erotic and so wrong, he was leaving them marked with blood and spit and you felt powerless to do anything about it. You didn’t know if you were getting wet over it and you fisted the duvet below, the urge to run your fingers under your jeans and panties and check flooding through you. It was as if he knew because the next moment he was pressing the pads of two fingers hard against your opening over the jeans, but it was enough. Your panties grabbed onto the slick that had pooled around your hole and it was like a dam breaking, suddenly you could feel it everywhere.

“I-I-” you started, not actually sure what you needed but needing something.

“Nae patience eh?” he said, lifting his head to peer up at you, the picture of some decadent predator feasting on his prey. “Say please.”

“Please?”

“Say please Johnny, get me naked and eat my cunt.”

You felt like your cheeks had just become about equal to the surface of the sun in terms of heat. You had listened to fucking torture sessions to gather intel but dirty talk from this bloodied creature was the thing that tied your tongue up? There was almost an anger at yourself over it. No wonder you were a fucking virgin if you couldn’t even handle this, they should have chosen one of the confident candidates who would already have made demands of him.

“Naw, stop thinking hen. Please Johnny, get me naked and eat my cunt” he repeated expectantly, keeping his eyes on you even as his head turned and he nipped his teeth into the meat of your thigh.

“…please Johnny, get me naked and eat my cunt.”

He was about ready to cum from hearing you say that particular nickname so sweetly.

“Good lass” he said, planting a kiss where he had just sunk his teeth and wasting no time undoing the button on your jeans and peeling them down your legs, his eyes taking in everything underneath them on the way. “That all for me?”

You had forgotten the prep you had done over the last week. Hairless, smooth, soft. It hadn’t been a plan so much as a mad evening of bathing, shaving and nearly drowning yourself in scented oils and lotions in some sort of panic. Lingerie that you had nearly bailed on because it was so delicate and lacy and see through that it felt a level of sensual you weren’t confident in pulling off was now on full display for him and the fabric was so thin that your arousal was making it cling lewdly.

“Aye, think that’s all for me” he grinned as your jeans hit the floor with a thunk.

Fuck he was a sight. He looked like he had just been tearing into a carcass. You had around 5 seconds to take a breath and try prepare before his head was back between your legs. You didn’t realise how much the jeans had muted the sensations, but now with barely a scrap of thin fabric between your pussy and his mouth you saw stars. There was a scream that you vaguely realised was coming from you. His hair was so soft in your fingers, you felt delirious almost as you mumbled out a question about what conditioner he used and then about died when he chuckled right against your clit before he pulled back and ever so slowly pulled your panties off.

“Fuck that’s pretty” he commented before bringing your panties to his nose and rubbing them against his nostrils.

It broke some of the congealing blood, caused a little trickle to start up again. He didn’t seem to care and after another huff neatly, reverently folded your panties and placed them on a little table at the side. Your shirt he was quick with and showed less care, it going flying to rest on the floor a few inches from your jeans.

“These are pretty too hen, if Price wouldnae gie me a spanking for going off brief I’d fuck them” he said as he squeezed your tits together. “Just a wee taste.”

A wee taste here meant him crushing your tits together so he could suck both nipples into his mouth with such force you bowed off of the bed and felt like the wind had been knocked right out of you. Your bra was taken off and folded with the same reverence your panties had been, placed on the table with pink marks on the cups from that little trickle of blood. Most of the blood around his mouth was gone now, only a pink tinge left among all the spit and arousal.

“Ye ever cum for anyone else before?”

“I… no. I mean I’ve done it myself. Or with stuff to help.”

“Price remind me tae blow you later!”

With that he latched on your swollen clit. At first he suckled, humming as he did which drove you fucking mad. Then he pulled off with a slurp, gathered more wetness from your hole on his tongue and drooled it back on your clit. The tip of his tongue flicked at it rapidly, ramping up in speed as your body coiled tighter and tighter.

The noises were erotically disgusting, wet. You tried to tug his hair to get him to let up because you were going to explode, his writhing tongue was about to send you right over the edge.

“S-stop, gonna cum” you panted, trying to hold on.

“That’s the idea hen.”

“The brief said you wanted to… do other things?”

“Aye?”

He had stopped at least and your body was slowly stepping back from the cliff which felt awful. But the brief said he wanted to “69” so you couldn’t cum this early. You just looked down at him debauched between your legs, waiting for him to move on to the next part.

“When ye play with this fat pussy, dae ye stop at one?”

You felt a little panicked at his question. Theoretically, you knew people with your anatomy could have multiple orgasms. In practice you usually just got off and left it at that. It didn’t feel good to keep touching when you were so sensitive after cumming anyway. You sort of shrugged in response.

“Oh hen, you’re going tae gie me 2 like this, 2 when I eat ye from the back and then we can move on so you can have a taste of me. Thinking at least 3 while your lips are wrapped around my cock.”

“I- what? I don’t think I can have that many.”

“Thought I told ye tae stop thinking?” he said with a wink before he dove back in.

If you thought he was giving you his best before, you were quickly disabused of that notion. It took him around 5 seconds. His mouth latched onto you and his tongue eagerly abused your clit without any respite. You rocketed right back to that edge and went tumbling off, thrashing on the bed while he just pinned your hips down and kept going. Your pussy clenched in waves that seemed to never fucking stop.

It was uncomfortable when the orgasm was done but you were still being stimulated and you tried again to shove him away, but fuck he was strong. He refused to be moved, lapping messily at you with a desperation that gave you goosebumps.

“Stop, I can’t!”

“Ye fucking can” he barked back, teeth scraping on your now very oversensitive clit in warning. “Now get your legs up.”

He shoved upwards with his shoulders while his hands forced your legs back, bending you in half. Your hips were tilted now, both of your holes so fully on display for him that it made some undignified sound of humiliation come from you.

He feasted. No part of you escaped him - he licked the seams where your legs met your torso, he sucked on your lips and you wondered if they would bruise with lovebites, he lapped at your rim and had you screeching when he bullied his tongue in, only stopping when a beep sounded in the room.

“Aww fuck off Captain, her arse is fair game for oral!”

Another beep.

“Killjoy. Sorry hen, nae rest for your delicious wee cunt.”

You knew the tongue was a dexterous muscle, but fuck it was insane how he managed to get so much of it inside your pussy. He massaged your walls, flattened and curled the appendage and then flicked it fast. The barest brush of his pinky on your clit was enough to set you off again. You were sure you were nearly pulling his hair out when you came and he drank it up like wine. Decadently, savouring.

His face was a wreck, strings of spit and cum connecting him to you and then snapping and dripping off when he moved his head further away. There was a little blood around his nose, the rest long gone from all the fluids helping to dilute it. You licked your lips only to taste iron. That was right, he may have gotten wet enough to soak it off, but his blood was still all over you.

Fuck he looked drunk. His eyes were unfocused and dreamy, a dopey smile on his face as he went to his knees and looked down at you splayed underneath him. There was a wet spot, a large one, on the duvet. You felt boneless, like you had run a marathon. You weren’t sure you could move. But despite that you couldn’t help but drag your eyes across his still clothed body.

The brief had said he had biologically female genitals, but that his clit was enlarged. You’d never heard of the term t-dick but now it was all you could think about. You wanted to make him feel the way you did, boneless and ready to sleep for two days straight.

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Can see ye thinking away hen, ask me what it is you’re wanting tae.”

“Oh…” you said, trying to bring your fuzzy brain back online and be brave. “I want to see you. And uh… you know.”

He stripped his t-shirt off with one arm and it was like a damn porno as he tossed it on the floor.

“Cannae say I do hen, ye need tae tell me.”

You sighed in frustration and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Taste you. I want to taste you the way you tasted me.”

“Aye ye do. Still owe me 2 before that though.”

You shot up. He could not be serious. You were already about dead. He could not actually expect you to cum two more times before you even got to the next part of the briefing. You’d fucking die, you were sure of it. You snarled at him when he went to grab you and it was an actual fight.

Your wrestled with him, feeling the burn of something like humiliation whenever your pussy rubbed up somewhere on his body. At one point you tried to lock your legs around his torso, feeling like fireworks went off when you rubbed against the hair running down past the hem of his sweatpants. You squealed in alarm when he wrestled you off and it left a shining wet streak across his skin. You fought hard but you had no chance against him as he roughly got you over onto your knees and shoved hard between your shoulder blades to pin you to the bed.

Your hips wanted to follow, to collapse down, but he didn’t let them. He bullied his knees between yours to spread them and gripped hard onto your hips to give him control over exactly where your hot, wet cunt was. Perfect position for him to dig in.

Another beep.

He grabbed you by the back of the neck and you whimpered when he wrenched your head up and turned it to the camera.

“Tell him ye still ken the safeword” he growled.

“I still know the safeword.”

His other hand cupped your slippery and unbearably tender cunt and gave a warning squeeze.

“You’ll remember yer manners soldier.”

“I still know the safeword, sir.”

Satisfied he pinned your head back to the mattress, returned his hand to your hip and maneuvered you so your hole was at just the right height for him.

He dug in.

Oh God, oh God from this angle anytime his mouth was at your clit the rest of his face was getting soaked by your gushing hole. He seemed so much closer now, like he was somehow inside you. His beard felt like it was ripping your lips apart and the prickly pins of pain were so sharp against the all consuming pleasure.

He was suctioned to you, only ever pulling of for a second to take a deep, gulping breath. There was a reluctance to breathe, to ever do anything but drink you down even if it meant he was half suffocating himself.

You tried to have any coherent thoughts about this. It was insane. You had signed up to help him get this out of his system but so far you were pretty sure you should be hiring him and not the other way around. You never knew this could be so all consuming, that your whole body would be so easily played by someone. You were at his mercy, every thump of your heart sending blood wherever the hell he decided it needed to go.

The next orgasm was powerful. It sent your body wild, your legs violently shaking and a choking scream fighting past your lips. You fucking hated him in that moment. He was so eagerly eating at your cunt, taking so much pleasure from it. It made you want it. You wanted to eat him out. You wanted to feel what he was feeling. But he wanted another orgasm from you first so he wasn’t stopping even with you screaming at him.

“Fuck you! I can’t go again, I can’t! Let me see you, let me taste you Johnny! It’s not fair!”

You’d lost any sense of shame. You think you might have lost any sense at all when you screamed your throat raw as your body fought the stimulation, tried and failed to get away so then just accepted it.

Cumming this time felt different. It was almost sore to have your muscles contract again, so exhausting you wanted to cry and beg to just sleep.

He slowed down, was gentle in cleaning you up with his tongue. When his grip on your hips loosened you collapsed to the bed, panting.

You could hear him taking his sweats off and it was the only thing to will you to turn yourself over onto your back. You needed to see him. You fucking needed it more than you needed anything as inconsequential as rest.

At first you felt like your brain was shorting out. He was standing at the end of the bed, now totally naked. His body was gorgeous, rugged. Your mouth watered as your eyes trailed down, following the path of hair to his pussy. He certainly hadn’t shaved in a panic like you had, the hair was just as thick between his legs as it was everywhere else. His fingers were lazily playing with his clit and you swore it was a cock.

It stood proudly through the thatch of dark hair, was dripping like you imagined a cock would. But that’s what it was. You understood now why the brief had called it a t-cock. Oh God you wanted to kiss, lick, suck - devour him the way he had you.

“Go on then hen, get that wet wee mouth on my cock” he said, his tone that of a man indulging the whims of some silly creature whose desperation he found cute.

You swallowed thickly, your body slow in moving through the exhaustion as you got to your knees and crawled across the bed to him. At first it was just a kitten lick, a little taste. Sweat, salt and something tangy and sweet. He was so slippery beneath your tongue and it was instinct to lap up the liquid, to keep chasing the strange taste.

“That’s it, good lass. There you go” he said, barely above a whisper as if coaxing some scared prey animal.

You shifted to get a more solid position, knees splaying wide to get you the right height and hands gripping his thick thighs. You needed to taste more, feel more. You fucking needed your mouth on him like you needed oxygen. You needed to drink down his arousal, the proof of what his body thought of yours.

He smiled down at you in tentative delight. You were so gone for this, all that trepidation vanished as you savoured the first tasting of him. No longer the shy thing that he had dragged into the room, now an animal understanding that the feast came before all. He knew the place you had went to couldn’t be permanent but while you were there he intended to enjoy it.

There was no skill in what you were doing, just a clumsy and selfish exploration. Your concept of time floated away as you treated his cunt and cock like the mouth of a stranger in the drunken haze of a club, wet, sloppy kisses against the heat of him.

He was dripping down your chin, the red around your mouth tinging pink and eventually being drowned entirely. His hands were massaging softly on your scalp, your shoulders. You wanted to stay here forever. He could not think of a compelling reason why not.

“Fuck, need tae get your taste back on my tongue” he groaned.

You barely registered your body being moved, only focused on keeping that connection to him. You wanted to crawl inside him, live there. Your nails dug into the meat of his thighs when you muscled your tongue inside his hole and felt the walls of him eagerly try to coax you deeper.

He maneuvered his body over yours and somewhere in the recesses of your brain you knew you should find this dangerous. He was big over you, could choose to drop his weight and smother you. Instead you found it comforting, like a warm nest for him to keep you safe and fed in.

“You’re so fucking pretty hen. Want tae keep you all tae myself.”

“You taste so good” you said, words muffled from the now insistent press of his wet cock on your face.

Everything was so wet, so hot. Touch yes, but scent and sound were both soaking, dripping, gushing. The first time he came you thanked him and begged him for more, more, more as your hips writhed up against his mouth.

--

You were sobbing when you came back online. You had been for a while from how tight your chest felt and the way your eyes stung with dryness. You were crying out broken words, begging him, saying you couldn’t.

“Ye can, one more. Just one more.”

Fuck, everything was tender and sore. No wonder you were such a wreck, your body was too wrung of pleasure that it could only give you pain now. He was relentless at your pussy and when you came this time it fucking hurt. Every muscle was cramping horribly.

“No more Johnny” you whined even as he ground his cock clumsily against your face and moaned through his own pained orgasm.

“Aye, one more. Need it hen, fuck. Could die in this pussy.”

You didn’t know how his tongue kept going, yours was useless now. You could only hold it out for him to rut against. You only knew he came again from how he howled. Your face was so covered in him that another flood barely registered. You really couldn’t anymore. You felt like you were about to die.

“Red.”

You mumbled it so softly and deliriously that you weren’t expecting anything to come of it, but he patted your flank and rolled off of you to lay on his back and pant.

“Jesus Christ hen, where the fuck did Price find you?” he said, voice hoarse and rough.

You couldn’t move. He didn’t seem mad at all that you had safe worded out at least. No, instead he pulled himself up with a long groan to flop down beside you.

“Gie me 20 minutes for a cuddle and a nap then I’ll get ye all cleaned up aye? I’ll let ye use my conditioner.”

And then he was snoring in your ear, his sweaty body wrapped around yours as you drifted off to unconsciousness.

—

Price was exhausted. He hadn’t intended to wank to you, but you had put those big, wet eyes on the camera and called him sir and then all bets were off. Christ alive the two of you had went for hours, writhing like animals on that bed.

He though after he had cum it would relief the pressure, but then you had so sweetly crawled over to lap at his boy’s cunt and he got hard all over again.

Soap certainly did owe him a blow job. You had been perfect for him, let him push his pleasure too far like he loved. And now there you both were boneless and passed out in puddles of arousal. He groaned imagining how the room must smell.

But he wasn’t needed. Soap was exhausted himself yes, but he enjoyed looking after a lover after such an intense experience and Price would not deprive him of that.

Part of him was tempted to change the plan, get you to one of the residents earlier, one of the ones who would ruin you so badly that you would need Price afterwards.

Thankfully, he was just about a good man when he dismissed the thought.

[deuteragonists-mismatched-socks]

Living Mirage - Gregory House x Amputee!Reader

Warnings: Amputee reader, possible medical inaccuracy, angst, arguing, House being House, I'm not an amputee so unfortunately I can't accurately convey the experience, symptoms of heart attack described briefly

Word count: 1.5 k

"Why do you choose not to feel anything?" The question is abrupt, out of place, as you open the door to his darkened office. You should be at home right now. Instead of driving, you've spent the last half hour chewing on a hangnail in the break room and thinking. That was always dangerous.

House looks at you quizzically, feet balanced on the desk and magic 8 ball in his hands.

You expect some sort of pithy remark that deflects the question and brings it all back down on your head. You don't care. You didn't ask the question just to be cute.

Instead, he just shakes the ball, eyes locked on the result as he answers. "I'm in pain," he says, which is obvious. "Given the option, most people would choose not to feel that."

You shake your head. You're a rheumatologist, you're no stranger to people in pain. "You're not most people," you argue, starting with a point you knew he couldn't disagree with. "And that's not what I meant."

He gives you a look that says, 'get on with it or get out.'

You take a deep breath. "I meant you run away," you say, and for some stupid reason the words sound small. You can already see him sneering and calling you pathetic.

You had some big speech and some well thought out argument all fleshed out in your head. But just like every discussion you've had with a boyfriend, every fight you've had with your mom, it flies out of your head the moment you open your mouth.

"Every time you get close to feeling something that isn't euphoria or misery, you shut down. You pop another pill. You get high."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Did Wilson recruit you?"

"Believe it or not, there are people beyond Wilson who are capable of caring about you," you say before you can think it through. You fidget with your fake hand—it's starting to feel heavy, and if you had thought of it, you would have taken it off before you came in here.

He levels you with another look. "Well, quit it," he demands; there isn't much fire to be had in the statement. "I already have Cameron's pity, and that's plenty."

"This isn't pity," you correct him. "It's concern. House, like it or not, we've worked together a while. People tend to… Develop attachments in that sort of situation. I've come to see you as a friend. Friends worry about each other."

"I don't worry about you," he shoots back, raised eyebrows challenging your perceptions—trying to hurt your feelings, trying to push you away.

"You're doing it again," you say, your voice becoming less confrontational.

He rolls his head to the side dramatically, rising from his chair. He doesn't reach for his cane. He just stands there. "What? What am I doing?"

He's irritated.

"You're trying to piss me off so I leave and you can wallow," you explain calmly, and you can tell by the flicker in his blue eyes that he knows you're right. "So you can feel guilty instead of reflecting."

"And you're, what? Altruistically trying to help someone who so desperately needs it but won't ask because they're embarrassed? What's in it for you? Am I gonna run into your arms for comfort and understanding?" He spits.

You fold your eyebrows at him. You want to tell him that yes, you will be there for him. You will help him. You will stand by him. But you know he'll twist it. "I'm not Cameron," you remind him.

At that, he does head for you. But he must not plan on leaving—his cane is still left balanced on the edge of his desk. He stops an foot away from you, right leg just barely trembling. If you weren't looking, you wouldn't notice.

"I don't pop pills because it's fun," he grates out, and you notice the way his hand discreetly kneads his thigh. "If I didn't, my patients would die. You know that. You saw it."

"You refuse to let yourself be anything but miserable," you insist, stepping closer. "And this self-pity is fake and a poor excuse. You and I both know it's because you're afraid," you say, emboldened and a little angry.

"Sure, you are genuinely addicted. That week was hell for you and everyone around you," you admit. "You almost killed your patient because you couldn't stop sweating and being an irritable piece of crap."

Maybe you were more angry than you thought.

"But you refuse to wean yourself off with the proper assistance because then what? Your withdrawal symptoms are lessened, and one day you might actually do it," you say surely. "You might actually, physically, be able to live without those stupid little tablets that control your whole life.

"But mentally?" You ask, taking another step towards him. "You wouldn't be able to take it. You'd be forced to be happy, God forbid. You'd be forced to confront the miserable emptiness of your life and realize it's a sham. Because we care about you. Me, Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, Cameron, we care about you. Probably as much as you care about us," you remind him. "Don't think we all just forgot how you were ready to burn this hospital to the ground if it meant saving Foreman's life. Don't think we all just forgot that you just about let your heart get crushed just so you could have Cameron back at work. Don't think that I forgot that you spent weeks reading literature on phantom pains after I complained," you say more softly, flexing your elbow where your prosthetic attached. You massage it for a moment—it seems to be aching in sympathy with his leg.

"And for some reason that I can't wrap my head around, you don't want to know that all those gaping voids in your life aren't there at all," you huff. "Because then you're just boring. You're just experiencing life like a person who has friends that care what happens to him. You're miserable and in pain because you're numb," you conclude. "Not the other way around."

He's had his eyes on the floor while you talk at him. The anger in you has faded, but your heartbeat stays quick. You breathe quietly, waiting for him to say anything.

"Being happy makes me a bad doctor," he says conclusively when he finally looks up at you. His hands are clenched, but he doesn't sound angry. "And love," he says derisively. "Ain't gonna fix my leg."

You sigh in defeat. He shuffles away from you, back to his chair, back to his ball, back to his wallowing. You can't… damn it, you can't make him believe you just because you want him to so badly.

The thought makes a tear fall from your eye. You try to swipe it away before he notices.

"And that," he points at your face. "Is why feelings make you a bad doctor," he says, and you know he's trying to hurt you. He's trying to push you away, again. You wonder if it'll work this time. "What if you have a patient next week that you can't crack? Are you gonna bring him to me and save his life? Or are you gonna stubbornly refuse because you're trying to teach me a lesson, because you just care so much," he pouts at you. "And let him die?"

You don't have the energy to argue with him. Suddenly, you can't remember why you tried. Why you stayed. Why you aren't at home in bed right now with a bowl of mac n cheese.

"You are… The worst," you say, your voice reedy and thin. You can feel your chin trembling and figure there's no point in stopping it.

"I'm the worst? Or I'm misunderstood and in a deep cycle of self-destruction that I need help for?" He questions sarcastically. "Can't have it both ways, sweetheart."

"You won't help yourself or let anyone else do it," you make your logical, rational argument for your conclusion. "It's both."

"That's sweet," he says drily. "Thanks for taking the time to let me know all that."

You don't want to turn around and head for the door. But you have nothing left to say, and he's wanted you gone since you showed up.

The thought makes a dull pain overcome you, like the emotional hurt has become physical. "If I have a patient I can't help, you'll be the first to know," you promise, finally moving to leave. "I won't bother you again."

You hope he'll feel a little guilty at that, but you hardly expect him to do anything about it. He'd die before admitting he did something wrong.

You have one foot past the glass wall when it happens.

It's as if your legs are taken out from under you, your lungs are wrung out, the lights above go from dim to strobing.

House calls your last name. When you don't respond, you think you might hear his cane and your first name.

Well, then, it must be bad.

You want to say something, but your mouth clamps shut and your arm grasps at your chest instead. It isn't long before House's blue eyes fade into nothingness.

[currebunz]

Captured (Kenji Sato x singer!Reader)

A/N: I just wanted to write something after watching the movie. Considering making a proper story but I dunno :P

It had all happened so quickly, the drones surrounding your car and the men dragging you into an unmarked vehicle. Your phone was taken and your secretary was left frazzled as you were abducted by a mysterious group. It wasn’t until you were in the car did you realize who had taken you. The panic wore off as you steeled yourself the best you could. The KDF had acted upon the suspicions you had been warned about. Then you were blindfolded and presumably taken to their base.

When your sight returned, you were in an interrogation room of some sort. It was obvious by the one table and two chairs. Surveillance cameras in the corners and the one way out of the room. If it wasn’t, then it was your prison. The door opened and the tall presence of Dr. Onda entered the room.

“I’m sure you have your questions, so do we” he began.

You kept calm, not wanting to show fear or nervousness. You know why you were here.

“Let’s not beat around the bush, I saw you with the infant kaiju. Where is it hiding?” Onda demanded.

A monitor brought up the event from a few nights ago. The baby kaiju that you had only recently met, it had gone on a rampage at night as Onda had put it. The creature had been attracted to your concert and jumped over the venue walls to join you on stage.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you said plainly.

“You cannot deny the evidence, it was familiar with you” Onda accused you.

“Hello? I am the number one on the charts right now. I’m sure my music reached the baby at some point. My music videos are being played all over Tokyo” you argued.

“How do you explain your reaction? You didn’t run from the infant” Onda continued.

You kept your face still and calm. In your head, you thought of the baby Kaiju and Kenji. You were determined to protect both of them.

“Dr. Onda, just like with any other attack my fans hold priority for me over my own safety. I was scared, but I needed to ensure my fans had time to evacuate. Even if it meant being in the line of fire. I do this all the time” you explained.

Of course he knew, there was an ongoing buzz in your fanbase about kaijus enjoying your music. It didn’t bother you one bit, especially after meeting the cutest one you had ever seen before.

“Then you sympathize with these monsters? Is that why you hide the infant?” Onda continued to press.

“If the kaiju had attacked me or my fans, I would have felt some sort of way about it. But you can see clearly on the footage, the baby started dancing. It was singing along, not trying to hurt anyone” you said firmly.

Onda paused, letting the camera footage replay once more. You were still singing on stage as the pink baby kaiju screeched and chirped along with the beat. It was clumsy, but the creature had a vague understanding of the choreography. As if practiced.

“If you won’t tell us, I have my ways of extracting the truth from you” Onda warned.

“You can’t hold me here without reason for arrest, I’ll throw the book at you as many times as I have to” you shot back.

“I’ll have you know the KDF acts above the law” Onda smirked.

“And if you knew anything about musicians, you would know we have a reputation of not giving a fuck about authority figures” you said confidently.

Onda must have realized this was going nowhere as his smile fell. He stopped the camera footage and made his exit.

“I’ll give you time to think about it, surely you will make the right choice once you have cleared your head” he said as the door shut.

Now that he was gone, you let out a deep sigh. How were you getting out of this one?

____

It hit him hard hearing that you were kidnapped. Mina had found surveillance footage of you being dragged away. The panicked look on your face made his heart clench. Even the baby had let out a sad screech, clawing at the refined glass walls of her containment unit. The moment Kenji saw the footage end, he was storming to the exit.

“Wait, Kenji!” Professor Sato stopped his son.

“I can’t wait! Don’t you know what they will do?!” he shouted.

“I know that, but you can’t just break in as Ultraman. We need a plan” the professor said firmly.

Kenji could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. As much as it pained him, his father was right. He probably wouldn’t be able to maintain his Ultraman form in this state.

“Then what do we do?” he asked.

“We do what we can, Mina. Hack the systems and get me eyes inside the base” Professor Sato requested.

“Very well” Mina responded.

“Hack? Dad, is that even legal?” Kenji asked in shock.

“Legality was thrown out the minute they abducted [y/n]” Professor Sato said.

Kenji felt a bit of hope, it had been a long time since he saw his dad like this. He watched as the camera feed showed up in front of them. It cycled through rooms until they found you. They watched the interrogation with Onda, proud of your strong reply.

“I knew they wouldn’t break [y/n]” Kenji smiled proudly.

“Reminds me of your mother, tough as nails” Professor Sato agreed.

The cameras began to feed other rooms as Professor Sato mapped a way out.

“It’s possible I can guide [y/n] out of there. It will be difficult and we will have to believe in [y/n]’s ability to make it out. But that's all we got” he continued.

“What can I do?” Kenji asked.

“You are going to be the getaway driver, get ready to rendezvous outside the base” Professor Sato ordered.

“Got it, Mina, keep me in the loop and send camera feed to my watch” Kenji requested.

“Already on it” Mina said.

____

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but your mind was getting fuzzy. Just being in the room was unsettling and you wanted to get out. You had tried to look for a way out but there was none other than the locked door. The cameras followed your movement, stripping away what little privacy you had left. They gave you back your phone, but there was no reception at all. The device was just a heavy bar in your hand at this point.

“[y/n]!” a familiar voice hissed.

You turned your head to the monitor in the room, it looked turned off but you were sure you heard a voice.

“Don’t look, pretend like you don’t hear us. I’m taking the cameras down in a second so you need to work fast” Professor Sato explained.

You nodded, not wanting to seem suspicious. You waited until he gave the signal and then rushed over to the monitor.

“There isn’t a lot of time to explain, but I am going to guide you out of the base. Follow the map I am sending to your phone-”

“My phone doesn’t have a signal?” you began.

“It’s jammed, I can only shut down the jammer for a second so keep the image up” Professor Sato said.

Sure enough, a strange map was sent to your phone. It looked like a maze to you but there was a portion lit up with a bright color.

“Follow this path, I will keep an eye on you and use their systems to warn you. But you must go now!” he warned.

“But what about when I get out?” you asked frantically.

“Kenji will be waiting for you,” Professor Sato said before disconnecting.

The door to the room slid open and you could hear sirens wailing. Spurred by the thought of meeting with Kenji, you started to run. The halls felt like they went on for miles, barren with solid colors and a few lights. If you weren’t careful, you could easily get lost in the minimalist design of the base. Occasionally, you could hear Professor Sato over the speakers in the base direct you to change paths to avoid guards. However, it was inevitable that you would run into someone.

“I found the captive!” the guard shouted.

You didn’t stop running, charging at the man and sliding on the floor. You used the momentum and the weight of your body to crash into his legs, sending him onto the floor. You quickly recovered, stumbling as you tried to maintain the speed and fix your running stance. The halls began to turn and soon you found yourself in a different area. All you could do was hope that it was closer to the entrance.

More guard appeared and the ground began to descend, a trap to keep you from getting past them. But you let the floor get low enough that you could jump on their helmets like stepping stones to cross the divide. You jumped, just barely making it onto the edge and kept running. Your heart was beating in your chest and your throat burned like it was on fire. You wanted to stop, you wanted to rest.

But Kenji was waiting for you.

That spurred you on until you were sure you were nearing the exit and entrance. Professor Sato’s words of encouragement reassured you as you ran and jumped over the guard’s gate. The sunset blinded you as you kept running, until you heard the rev of an engine. A large shadow filled your vision as your eyes adjusted to the brightness. A hand was extended out to you.

“Let’s get out of here”

You could see Kenji’s smile and grasp his hand tightly. He pulled you onto the back of his bike and you held on for dear life. You kept your eyes closed as your hands dug into his toned body. Your face was pressed into his back and you inhaled his scent. It was all you could do to try and calm yourself. At least until you were sure you were safe. When the ride came to an end, you were at Kenji’s place. You climbed off the bike and Kenji removed his helmet frantically.

“Oh my god! You were amazing, I saw everything! You were so, so-” Kenji’s voice died off as he finally looked at you properly.

Your shoulders were shaking, your hands clasped together but still shaking. Your pupils were blown and your breathing unsteady.

“You were scared…” he finished as he realized the gravity of the situation.

“Kenji…. Ken…” you tried to speak properly.

You reached a hand out, but then brought it back to your body. But it was too late, he had already seen it. Kenji’s larged hand closer around your wrist and he pulled you into him. He had been a bit forceful, making your cheek tender as your face was thrust into his chest. You could hear his frantic heartbeat, it nearly matched yours.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” he whispered into your hair.

“Ken…”

“It’s all my fault, I should have been there to protect you”

“Ken?...”

“I won’t let it happen again, I promise you that-”

You tighten your hands on his shirt, balling his shirt into your fists.

“Can we just… go inside for now?” you asked.

Kenji pulled back, looking deeply into your eyes. He could see the worry still in them, he was being selfish with his guilt and ignoring your anxiety.

“Y-Yeah, yeah! Let’s go inside the house. Dad, Mina and the baby want to see you too” Kenji stammered out as he pulled you along to the door.

You let out a shaky breath, his grip kept you grounded as you felt like you would fall apart in a second. Kenji was your lifeline right now, and you were grateful for it.

[deadghosy]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇! ||𝐙𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐄!𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄

Synopsis: accidentally killing one of the most popular Slytherins, you tried to bring him back only for him to not be the same as before.

Inspired by American horror story; Coven

Viewer discretion: brain dead Theo, choking, biting, slight panic attack, Zombie!Theodore not knowing personal space, gore/blood/death mentionss.

MONSTOBER

Shit… shit.. shit…..SHIT! You don’t mean it! You didn’t at all! Your eyes are blown out wide at the dismantled body in front of you. You can’t believe you killed him…You didn’t mean to kill him. Your heart beating loudly in your ears as you fell to your own knees. You slowly felt tears prick your eyes.

You were only practicing your magic. Your own magic. Not Hogwarts, not dark magic. Your own. You didn’t hear Theodore coming from behind you. But it was too late as he startled you into shooting him. Shooting him with the magic that killed him. A pool of blood reaches to you. Scatters of brains sprayed the crisp green grass. You scream backing up, gripping your wrist as a sort of calming gesture. But it’s helping. You kept saying, “it’s not your fault.” But it is, isn’t it? You gotta fix this. You can’t let anyone know that you killed the Theodore Nott. Not a single witness.

Dragging Theodore’s body. It felt sickening. You couldn’t really pick up his damn body. He was taller than you! And with his playing quidditch, he definitely has some pounds on him.

Finally getting to your dorm. You set him on the floor, getting your magic book your folks had gave you so you could practice your own family magic. That’s where you found the spell to bring back the dead. Without hesitation you chanted the words, placing your dominant hand on the bloody chest. The lights flickered in your room, each word you chanted a green and gold aura surrounded you and the dead Slytherin. As the spell ended, you opened your eye and waited it out.

Soon, Theodore stared to groan softly. His normal dead eyes looked..more dead. You gasp shocked. He looked emotionless as he only eyed you in your dorm. His skin was so pale that you started to curse in your mind. Before you knew it, Theodore snapped and attacked you. Gripping your throat with a strong grip, grumbling nothing but mumbles. You clawed at his arm. “Th-theo! Sto-" he suddenly stopped. Loosening his hold on your neck as his eyes looked normal before returning to that dead look. He let go and sat down like a child.

You coughed holding your neck. Getting your breath back. Theo stared at you again. With that dead look that made you shiver. “I…I’m sorry Theo..you must be mad I killed you. But you’re back.” You smiled a weary expression. Theodore tilt his head, clearly confused with his own emotions. Narrowing your eyebrows you slowly moved towards him. Reaching your hand to him, he bit you. “AH! MOTHER FUCKER!” You kicked him at his chest gaining a small groan. “Gr…aughh..” you let out a groan, getting up you checked if the bite was deep only to sigh out of relief. “Fuck…fuck…okay so you don’t really have the normal brain. Fuck me…”

You hissed still holding your bitten hand. Theodore however seemed to be in his own world. His messy brown hair sticking to his forehead after your kick. It seemed he was actually thinking for once as he’d seen you walk back and forth. You were also in your own world. Thinking about how you were gonna talk to the professors about your mess. Or more so your own people. Maybe they can make him more normal? You didn’t seem to realize a tall brooding body behind you. You turned around to only flinch.

He towered over you. Theodore opened his mouth, his lips chapped lips sticked together as he did so. “…Y…Y/N…..” your eyes widened. Backing up with each step, he stepped to you closer. Theodore grabbed your arm, pulling you close to him. “Y…y/n…” you couldn’t believe it…no fucking way. Theodore started to hug you. And you just stood there confused and scared. Was he slowly gaining his memory back? Or was it some sorta of confusion? Connection? Whatever it was. You didn’t know if you liked it or not. As whatever this Theodore was doing, he was making sure you won’t leave his side.

[littlerequiem]

the hitchhiker's guide to isekai ˚⁎⁺ levi x gn!reader

CONTENT — Levi getting isekai'd into our world, (questionable) humor, slice of life, swearing, Levi is a boomer when it comes to technology, pop culture refs, suggestive, mentions of bondage (wc: 1.1k words). Written for Day 3 - Isekai, Levi Month 2024 - @levievent

For as long as you could remember, Levi Ackerman had always been your favorite fictional character. There was something about his strength, his empathy, and his kindness that drew you to him.

Then, one day, the universe delivered him on a silver platter.

It was midsummer night when you found him. There he was, lying in your new antique wardrobe, groggy and half asleep, dark hair tousled to the side. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing; was this really your favorite anime character, in the flesh?

Before you could think on the logistics of it all, however, Levi was already reaching for the small knife tucked in his boot.

And threatening you with it.

It all happened in a flash.

With your heart drumming in your chest, you remember fumbling for words, looking straight into those sharp, silver eyes you’d always imagined must shine like starlight (and gods, they truly did).

Looking back, your first words lacked a certain decorum. “Wh—who—is this some kind of skit, huh? Are you some kind of pervert?!?”

Levi looked at you then like you were a complete idiot.

As it turned out, Levi was not, in fact, a pervert, nor did he mean to end up here in the first place.

Instead, he told you the hard facts: that he was Levi Ackerman, Captain of the Survey Corps. That he owned the same closet in his office, only in his own world. That the last thing he remembers was falling asleep in this piece of furniture, an attempt to hide from Hange who’d been up in arms trying to convince him to help with an experiment.

Your reality, it seemed, was connected to the Attack on Titan universe through a mysterious wardrobe.

(Like fucking Narnia.)

It was then that it was decided that he would stay with you until he found a way home.

A month has passed since this first moment, and to say that your daily life has been altered would be an understatement. You’re living with one of your personal heroes, after all—not that you let him know you view him as such.

Levi is trying to get back to his world, and in the meantime, Levi gets to discover your world: the joys of washing machines, the taste of matcha tea, the ease of hoovers, rock music.

And today, he’s uncovering the mystery that is the internet.

“I don’t understand,” Levi grumbles, his voice rough like sandpaper. Lines of tension form across his pale forehead, his gaze fixed on your laptop propped on the kitchen table. “People spend their time looking at cat... paintings?”

He’s perusing your blog.

“These are actually photographs that you’re looking at, but I suppose people also love drawings of cats. Cats are a very popular topic, see,” you explain, coming closer as you stop him from clicking on a sketchy looking pop up: ‘Free iPhone 15! Claim Yours Now’.

Levi's charged gaze follows as he watches you go about it; you have the thought he smells nice, like fresh linen and tea.

You clear your throat, withdrawing from his personal space. “Um... anyway, that’s not all you can do with the internet. People use it for all sorts of things: you can look up the news, the weather, forums…”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair. “What’s that? Sounds like a disease.”

Ah, where to start...

“Forums are online spaces where people can discuss things. You can host debates, provide instructions, and more. Personally, I use them to gush about things I love. Like books!”

Levi clicks his tongue. “So, a bookclub?”

“Mm, yes, and no. Like sure, on the forum I'm a mod for, I love to discuss the plot, the characters, and the writing, but I also just enjoy goofing around with my friends and sharing memes.”

“Me...mes.” Levi looks puzzled by this word.

You stifle a snort. “Memes are like... jokes. Only sometimes, they're also cultural staples.” At his skeptical expression, you shrug. “I guess this world is different from yours, in that respect. We have... less immediate dangers, more free time.”

“That's not a bad thing,” he mutters, tone oddly soft. He averts his tepid gaze, looking back to your blog as he exhales through his nose. “But your world still makes no sense to me. Especially all of this.”

He nods towards the web page.

“It’s okay, the internet takes a while to get used to," you say. "Even for me... I constantly feel like an old crone whenever I hear all the lingo kids are coming up with these days.”

“Hmph.”

Levi looks unimpressed. So, forums—and the internet, it seems—aren’t his thing. Probably for the better—the last thing you need right now is for him to realize there’s a whole fanbase devoted to discussing his character (not to mention the other, less PG-friendly aspects of the conversation).

“Hey, how about we take a break?" You tilt your head, flashing him an easy smile. "You’ve been staring at the screen all morning. It can be a strain on your eyesight.”

Levi’s half-lidded stare crinkles, his lips pursing into a thoughtful pout, the same look he gets whenever you throw him scraps of information about your world and its strange customs.

“I was planning to make some tea,” you add, “want a cup?”

“… if you're making one anyway,” he mumbles, scowling in a way that reminds you of a grumpy cat. Cute.

You head towards your small kitchen, grabbing Levi’s favorite tea bag and laying out clean cups. As the kettle groans alive and you eventually hear that familiar sizzling that tells you the water’s come to a boil, another noise coming from behind garners your attention.

“Oi, something happened to your cat photo-thing,” you overhear Levi drawl.

You turn with a raised brow.

That’s when you notice that Levi’s somehow ended up on your desktop page, the familiar sight of your screensaver (more cats!) appearing into view.

But that’s also when you notice the mouse is hovering dangerous close to one of your folders... your babygirl folder.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no...

“DON’T CLICK THAT!” you plead, attempting to rush to his side to avoid the embarrassment of a lifetime.

Too late. Levi has entered the folder and somehow managed to click on one of the more scandalous pictures; your peripheral catches his expression, and it's the most stupor you've seen on his face yet... and is that pink dusting his cheeks?

Because Levi is looking straight at one of the fanarts you’d saved of him months ago.

Where his pixelated counterpart is tied up. Stark naked.

Well, shit.

— Masterlist / Join my taglist

[dantakeyoman]

omg.. i need a pt 2 to the seeing you for the first time :") it was so well written!! maybe something where he keeps staring at her and not doing well to adapt until his parents scold him?? if ur too busy then no need obv, but yeah i like ut writing alot !! 🫶🫶

Neteyam Is Struggling In Learning The Metkayina Ways, So You Give Him Some Encouragement (SFW)

Part 2 of "Head Over Heels"

CW: simp Neteyam, touchy reader, Lo'ak and Kiri duo, annoyed Ao’nung, reader is lowkey kinda crazy lol ( but in a good way i swear ), i headcannon that the Sully kids use beads as a barter system of some sort, and the person with the most beads has the most bragging rights, which is why Lo’ak and Neteyam have so many in their hair ( they bet a lot), Kiri has a few, and Tuk has next to none ( she doesn’t really understand it, but still attempts to )

“Neteyam, how many times have I told you? You must breathe from here, not here,” you playfully scolded, placing your hand on his chest and stomach to show how he was doing it wrong.

Neteyam’s breath hitched, already feeling his heart rate pick up.

Shit.

You moved you hand from on top of his lungs, to on top of his heart, and sighed.

It was practically going a mile a minute, like every other time you had checked these past two weeks.

“And your heartbeat. You must calm down, Neteyam. Allow your mind to go blank, and your heart rate to slow.”

It had been the same shtick since the boy got here.

All of the other Sullys had taken to their lessons swimmingly, now able to keep up with Ao’nung and Tsireya.

But Neteyam was the only one that couldn’t quite get the breathing right.

When Ao’nung taught him how to ride an ilu, he got it almost immediately. It only took him two tries.

When Rotxo taught him some basic sign language, he got each gesture the moment it was shown to him.

So why was he having so much trouble when you showed him some simple breathing techniques?

Little did you know, the boy could to do the breathing perfectly fine.

Practicing in his free time, he had managed to get it on his own.

But in order to graduate from his lessons, he had to keep up the technique for 5 minutes, with you checking to make sure he maintained the proper form.

And that was the root of the problem.

In order to check, you had to touch him, feel up on his chest.

And that always sent his heart into a frenzy, making all memory of the technique go out the window.

You were just so...you.

Every time you got anywhere near him, everything about you would flood his senses.

Your smell, your voice, hell, just your aura in general. 

It would all cloud his mind, and leave him unable to think about anything else.

It was overwhelming, and made it so he couldn’t be anywhere near you unless he wanted to become a stuttering idiot.

Which was, obviously, impossible to avoid during your lessons.

How does Dad do this everyday?

Who knew having an angel could be so frustrating.

“Here,” you started, snapping him out of his thoughts. “I think I have one more way to help you get it.”

He watched you, intently, as you tied a large rock to a really long stalk of kelp, then tied it to your ankle.

Once it was secure, you gave him a warm smile, which practically turned him to putty.

Fuck.

“See you later,” you winked, pushing the rock in the water and jumping in after it.

Neteyam stared, confused, as he watched you sink.

What is she doing?

2 minutes go by.

Is this normal?

4 minutes go by.

Okay, something’s up.

5 minutes go by.

That’s it.

Neteyam quickly dove into the water, frantically looking around to find any sign of you.

When he couldn’t see anything, he swam deeper, turning at a large coral reef.

There was no way you could’ve disappeared. So why couldn’t he find you?

It was scaring him.

What if you drowned? What if you were attacked by a predator? What if you had been swept away by the current?

These thoughts only fueled him more. And when he made it past this giant school of fish, he saw you.

The fish had been obstructing his vision at first, but he could now see that you were floating in the water, limply, as the rock from before kept you tethered to the ground.

Without hesitation, he swam towards you, whipping out his knife and cutting off the kelp stalk, before taking you in his arms, dragging you up.

He could feel himself slowly running out of air, but he had to stay strong. He couldn’t let you drown, not like this.

Not when he could’ve saved you sooner.

“Sure, men can have angels. But only real men can protect them,” his father’s words repeated in his head, keeping him going.

He was a real man.

And he was going to be his angel’s protector.

When the two of you broke the surface, he let out a loud gasp, flopping the both of you back onto the rock, panting.

When he turned to you, you were unconscious, laying still on the stone.

“(y/n)! (y/n), are you alright?!” Neteyam frantically asked, trying to shake you awake, pressing on your chest a few times.

That seemed to do the trick because you gasped, coughing up a little bit of water as your eyes snapped open.

“For Eywa’s sake! You surely took your time,” you breathlessly laughed, looking up at the boy with a smile.

“I-...wait....YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE?!” he exclaimed, shocked.

He was absolutely befuddled. You scared him half to death, and you did it on purpose?

“I’m sorry I tricked you. But that was the only way I could see the breathing get through your thick skull,” you apologized, giving him a little flick in his temple, making his nose twitch.

It made your smile grow.

He looked cute when he was shocked.

Without warning, he pulled you into a bone crushing hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Please don’t scare me like that ever again,” he asked, his voice quiet and slightly broken.

It made you blush, and your heart wrench, at the same time.

You hadn’t thought he cared for you that much. Not to the point where he sounded like he was on the verge of tears at your death.

It made you guilty for pulling such a cruel stunt.

But it also made you feel loved, loved in a way you had never felt love before.

“I am really sorry, Neteyam,” you apologized once more, your joking tone gone.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he backed out the hug, keeping him close.

He expression turned confused, and you gave him a chaste kiss as an answer, making his eyes blow wide.

This was really happening. You were really holding him. You were really kissing him.

Eywa, please don’t let this be a dream.

You kept it short and sweet, long enough to let him feel your emotion, but short enough to make him want more.

When you pulled away, his lips chased you a little bit, mindlessly, and you giggled.

“Let’s take it slow, forest boy,” you smiled, placing a hand on his lips.

He nodded frantically, like a child being promised candy, and it made you burst into full laughter.

This boy made you feel happier than you had in a long time.

“C’mon, let’s go for a swim,” you suggested, moving your hand from his mouth and nodding towards the water.

“I’m in,” he smiled, staring at you with an enamored glint in his eye.

That’s when you remembered.

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better,” you started with a smirk, turning to him and resting your hands on his chest.

His breath hitched, and his heart picked up speed yet again.

You leaned into his ear, dropping your voice to a whisper.

“You passed.”

The way you said the words made a shiver go down his spine, and a warmth spread through his body, it’s origins being your hands.

You pulled back, flashing him an innocent smile as if what you did was the most natural thing in the world.

But he knew better.

You knew exactly what you were doing to him, hiding it behind that beautiful smile and those gorgeous eyes.

Little did you know that that was making you all the more enticing.

Who knew his angel could be such a little troublemaker?

bonus !!

Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk, and Ao’nung watched you kiss Neteyam in the distance, their ilu lessons being put on hold for the spectacle.

“Look at my bro. It’s only two weeks and he’s getting some tail in,” Lo’ak smirked, setting a reminder in his head to congratulate his brother the next time he saw him. 

“You better tell him to keep his hands to himself,” Ao’nung grumbled, turning to Kiri.

He did not find the situation as amusing as Lo’ak.

“Tell her that,” Kiri playfully scoffed, watching you move your hands down to his chest.

“Are Neteyam and (y/n) mates now?” Tuk asked, tugging on Lo’ak’s arm.

“No. But it’s only a matter of time,” he shrugged, ruffling her hair.

“Hey!” Ao’nung exclaimed, shooting the boy a sharp glare.

“I’m betting a week,” Kiri smirked, crossing her arms as she turned to her brother, holding up a satchel of beads.

“I’ll take action,” he smirked back, holding up his own.

“I hate you all,” Ao’nung groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But in all honesty, knowing his sister, he gave it a few days.