#me not shutting the fuck for a considerable amount of time is not normal

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

12 Days of Christmas: 2024 Christmas Event

Day 4: Gingerbread

Pairing: Hyrule x Reader

Warning(s): N/A

Notes: This is dedicated to me getting rear-ended on my way to work and having a panic attack in a Walgreens parking lot, and all the people who've been requesting Hyrule (I SEE YOU).

Main Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Previous Day | Next Day

Hyrule was a hylian of many talents.

He could wield a sword like no one's business, create lightning with a mere snap of his fingers, and possessed a mouth quicker than anyone you'd met before. Though, you realized upon waking up in bed--alone, no less--to the frighteningly familiar scent of burning, there was only so much the man could be perfect at.

Standing on unsteady legs, you followed the scent to the kitchen, mouth falling open as you beheld the chaos. There was batter everywhere: on the counter, the walls, the floor, and, most notably, the shifty-eyed form of your boyfriend. Not only that, but it was a very suggestive shade of brown that made you want to simultaneously scream and throw yourself into the comfort of your shared bed.

"G-Good morning," stammered the fairy bastard himself, arms coming up to partially cover his bare chest, which only brought more questions to the frazzled forefront of your mind. Why was he shirtless? Why was it making you want to jump something other than whoever told him he could make... well, you weren't quite sure what he was attempting to create, but you would sure as hell find out. "...How did you sleep?"

You opened your mouth to respond.

A glob of molten shit fell from the ceiling.

Your jaw clicked shut in shocked solidarity.

Hyrule was still staring at you, looking very much like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Except the cookie jar was a considerate metaphor for whatever the fuck was currently cooling in that blasted cooking pot.

"Good," you managed to force out. It was true, you had slept amazingly; if only your waking life could have started as perfectly. "What–"

"I can explain," Hyrule cut you off, taking a step closer. Dear Hylia, he was covered in batter, from the tops of his freckled shoulders to the tapered dip of the beginnings of a v-line through the band of his sleep trousers. You instinctively held your hands up. Another glob fell from the ceiling. "I, um, heard you talking about wanting to make... gingerbread a bit ago," he paused, and you caught sight of the cookbook sitting innocently on the counter, feeling your exasperation ebb like water through clenched fingers. Hyrule's gaze turned melancholic as he surveyed the damage. "It was supposed to be a surprise..."

Fuck, you couldn't even think to be upset after all that. He had tried, and you were goddamn proud of it. "Don't be sorry," you said. Soft, comforting. Without missing a beat, you closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping him in a fierce hug. To hell with your clothes, you could wash them later. "We all start somewhere, honey."

Hyrule returned your embrace, hands fisting in the back of your tunic. His head wormed to where your shoulder met your neck, nose brushing sensitive skin, and you giggled softly at the ticklish sensation. "It's okay," you rubbed his back, paying extra attention to the sharper-than-normal slopes of his shoulder blades. Sure, there was an ungodly amount of failed gingerbread coating every inch of the kitchen, but you were an adult, damnit! "How about this," you began. "We'll clean this up and I'll show you how to make gingerbread the non-exploding way, okay?"

Hyrule's response was a grateful, mentally-assuaged peck to your cheek. "Thank you," he said, and you hugged him closer, unbothered by the goop still dripping from the ceiling.

"Okay, what the fuck," you muttered in disbelief as you worked on the mess that was the ceiling with a half-damp rag, precariously perched on the highest chair you owned. Naturally, it had begun to harden as time passed, and you were seriously regretting leaving your cookbook within reach of your boyfriend's grubby little fae fingers. You still loved him, obviously, but it had been no secret who would be doing the cooking in the relationship from the moment you witnessed his attempt at fruit cake a year back. "Link, love of my life, how the hell did you manage this?"

"Sorry," came his sheepish reply from the counter, where a particularly stubborn set of globs resided. His cheeks were pink with situational embarrassment, and it couldn't have been cuter if he tried.

You glanced down at Hyrule, bit your lip, and scrubbed marginally harder. "It's fine, I'm just..." Shocked? Aghast? Completely and overwhelmingly flattered by the gesture? "...impressed."

And terrified, but you would keep that to yourself.

"You didn't have to do this," you continued, slower. More thoughtful. "Not that I don't appreciate it--because I do– but, um–"

Fuck, how were you to convey your appreciation without sounding like an asshole, or, worse, Legend?

"I wanted to," replied your boyfriend; simple, like that was all there was to it. Hopeful hazel eyes tore themselves from the hardened gingerbread to gaze at your perched form. "Plus, you said everyone starts somewhere. I'm not getting any better unless I try."

Double fuck, he was using your own words against you! To keep from squealing, you scrubbed harder, squeezing the rag with enough force to puncture the fabric. "That's..." you paused, because, really, he was completely right. He usually was. "Thanks, Link."

"At your service," the hero mock saluted, and you couldn't help but snort. He wasn't a knight–not by a long shot–but it didn't matter when he saved you all the same. The counter was clean, and he moved to the chair you stood atop, hands hovering inches from your calves, ready to hold you steady should the need arise.

You giggled, wishing you had a way of pecking the crown of his head without simultaneously sticking your ass in his face. Not that you hadn't enjoyed each other in the kitchen, but one mess was enough for one day. "Truly, I'm being blessed."

"Actually, I'd argue it's the other way around–"

"Shush, dear, we're having a moment."

A hand squeezed your calf. "Right, right."

You were bone-tired by the time the scent of gingerbread finally began filling the house, practically passed out on the small couch you'd purchased together to represent the greatest triumph of your love: combined social anxiety, which the item of furniture emulated perfectly by encouraging you to renounce hylian-ity and become the hermits your souls yearned for.

A clattering noise rang out from the kitchen. You raised your head from the soft backrest, your expression not able to fully contain your budding terror. "You okay?" you called hesitantly. Letting Hyrule assume control of the kitchen while you collapsed in the living room was a battle unto itself, but you had faith. A tiny, sniveling, quivering faith that his response would either make or break.

"Yep!" Hyrule called back. He sounded giddy, though you weren't sure if it was a bad thing or not. "Ready to be amazed?"

"Hit me!" you cheered, and the hero rushed into the room, holding two vaguely-square blobs that smelled more than promising. It seems you made the right choice in overseeing the dough-making procedure, because he had a silly little habit of... adding ingredients that sounded good, but were actually what your mom warned you about when it was your father's turn to cook. "Oh my Hylia, you did it."

Hyrule chuckled, sitting next to you and handing over one of the mouthwatering blobs. "You haven't even tried it yet."

"I don't have to," you shot back, hefting a wide grin in his direction. You took a bit of the cookie and, fuck, if that wasn't some of the best gingerbread you remembered having in a painfully long time. "Holy shit, this is amazing."

"R-Really?" Your hero leaned closer, eyes glimmering hopefully. His thigh brushed yours when you took him by the back of his neck, pulling him closer until you were nose-to-nose. You kissed him, and there was no hesitation in the way Hyrule's arms snaked to wrap around your form. He tasted like gingerbread, and you almost wept when it came time to separate for air, lips swelling and mouths panting. "I love you," he said, holding you like a strong wind would blow you away. "So much."

"I love you, too," you pressed your foreheads together, content to bask in the fading dusk light and freshly-fallen snow caking the frosted outside of the windows. The cookie in your hand meant nothing when you had him, even if it was delicious as fuck. "We should do this again."

Hyrule's eyes crinkled at the corners, and he pressed a ginger-tinged kiss to the tip of your nose. "I'd love nothing more."

A bit shorter than usual, but I'm still proud!

[crowcryptid]

the biggest impact jimmy rings show had, besides causing immense despair, was pre season 1 when it caused my dad to ask me to explain The Lore and that was probably the most I’ve ever spoken in a 1 hour period (also it was a very brief rundown. It was only an hour after all)

not out of excitement I thought he actually wanted to know

I think the situation is a lot worse if you know this happened in a public setting (restaurant)

that is all.

[xiaowhore]

hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry!

premise. in which you manage to make neuvillette feel better at the expense of your dignity. (a fair trade, really.)

word count. 1.5k

note. do umbrellas exist at teyvat. i really don't know.

You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to dramatically brood in the rain when he gets sad, but to be fair, you don't know much about him at all.

You clutch onto your umbrella, contemplating. So, uh... Are you supposed to approach him now? Shield him from the rain with your umbrella? That doesn't sound too bad, actually. But then what? Ask him if his pet fish died and now he's mourning his loss? That's hardly appropriate to say to the Chief of Justice... But it would be creepier to just stand there without saying anything, right?

You could leave and pretend you didn't see anything. Of course, that's an option too. It's possible he prefers to be left alone when he's unhappy.

But sulking while standing in the rain just gives “I want someone's attention” vibes, doesn't it?!

With a fit of reckless courage and a “fuck it” mindset, you advance your way forward to where he stands.

Regretting something as soon as you do it is on-brand for you, you realize as you soon come to learn you have to be on the tip of your toes to have the umbrella barely raising over his head instead of hanging from him. You must make a pathetic sight, attempting to shield both yourself and this hulking tower of a man from the rain with a tiny umbrella.

“...What are you doing?” Neuvillette turns around, taken aback when you're in much closer proximity than he expected. Panic flares in his eyes, and like the gentleman that he is, he steps back to create some distance. His head presses against the edge of the umbrella.

“Hey, you shouldn't move away!” You follow his movements, closing the gap. His head is now safely within the umbrella's reach, but you're an inch away from being pressed up against his chest. “I miscalculated. This thing's too small for us.”

When the initial shock wears off, his shoulders slump, a sign of him lowering his guard. “If you know that much, you should use it for yourself and go home.”

That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Appealing, even. You've never felt so silly in your entire life and the option to run away is looking more enticing with each second that ticks by.

Still.

“It's dangerous to walk alone at this hour. Won't you accompany me, sir?”

...Not the best excuse you could've come up with, but your mouth runs faster than your brain. Neuvillette, being the considerate person he is, actually takes some time to think about it, and you hurry to say, “If you leave me alone now, you could have another disappearance case in your hands tomorrow. Would you really like more work on your desk rather than some company tonight?”

He gives you a long, suffering stare that looks suspiciously like the one he gives to Lady Furina when she disappoints him, but he doesn't say no. His hand wraps around the umbrella handle, overlapping with your fingers. It takes another two seconds of that stare before you get the message and you let go, finally able to rest the balls of your feet on the ground as you stand on normal footing.

“I hope you don't make a hobby of coercion,” he hums as you walk together, your shoulders brushing every so often. “Or else I'd see you as a criminal suspect tomorrow instead of a victim.”

“I see that jokes aren't your strong suit, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You laugh awkwardly, your nervousness spiking to an all-time high throughout your entire interaction with him. It's been barely ten minutes.

Silence ensues.

“Do you like showers, sir?”

You should've just kept your mouth shut, damn it.

“I like them the same amount as the average person, I suppose.” The ridiculous question doesn't phase him, and you don't know how he's able to keep a straight face while saying that.

You decide to push your luck. “...Do you prefer bathing with cold or hot water?”

Finally, you draw out a light chuckle from him, the sound deep and pleased. It almost makes playing the fool worth it. “I've been told I'm not the best with small talk, but you seem to be worse than I am.”

Your head snaps up to look at him, affronted. “It wasn't a bad question!”

“Certainly not as bad as talking about the weather. Do you want me to praise you?”

Was the Chief Justice always this sassy? “You're making fun of me,” you point out the obvious, turning away and crossing your arms. “I asked about showers because you were standing in the rain.”

“You thought I liked showers because I was in the rain?”

“Well, I didn't know for sure. That's why I asked.” Even you can tell you're sounding more and more ridiculous by the minute. Was your house always this far? You can't wait to dive to your bed and pretend this encounter never happened. “I think I'll just shut up now.”

“Really, now?”

“Every time I open my mouth around you, I embarrass myself further. I think it's for the best.”

You hear another chuckle as heat crawls up to your cheeks, spreading to your ears. “For what it's worth, you did put me out of my terrible mood. You're quite funny.”

“That's a nice way to say you think I'm being strange.” You hide your face with your hands, peeking at Neuvillette's expression between your fingers. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, he looks straight out of a painting, even with wet hair and drenched clothes.

You've never seen him up close, never even dreamed of standing next to him. Now, you're exchanging jabs at each other like it's the most normal thing in the world, like you weren't just thinking he was someone out of reach when you watched his court trial in amazement. Now, he's so close that you can almost feel the heat from his body, so much more tangible than just a figure you admired from afar.

“But I do have your strangeness to thank,” he admits, looking off into the distance. The stars shine bright in his eyes. “Had it not been for you squeezing me under your umbrella and forcing me to walk you home, I'd surely still be under the rain.”

“...Couldn't you have phrased that better?”

“In court, I only state facts.”

You laugh dryly. “You could spare me some dignity by embellishing the story a bit... Oh, we're here.” You were so occupied defending yourself from his witty comments that you didn't realize you had already arrived home until your door was right at your face. You glance at Neuvillette, who then nods towards the door. If he's disappointed to have the stroll cut short, he doesn't show it.

“Go in. It is rather late.” He closes the umbrella and offers it back to you, a gentle smile on his face. The sight is almost like a reward for your efforts; the small upturn of the corners of his lips makes all the difference, his sharp, cold gaze softening into something more affectionate. The rainbow after the storm. The gratitude for a small kindness.

“You have to get home, too,” you utter, pushing it back to him.

“The rain stopped a few minutes ago,” he insists, gesturing behind him. You blink owlishly, observing the still pools of rainwater. You didn't even notice. Why didn't he say so? You didn't have to squeeze together under such a tiny umbrella, then.

“You should still keep it.”

He raises an eyebrow, inquisitive. “Why?”

You unlock your door, stepping inside, but still not closing it shut. “Well, it gives you an incentive to see me again.” You grin at him mischievously, like you thought of a genius plan. “I work at the cafe in the main street. I'm sure we have some tea that will strike your fancy. Make sure you're not moping next time we meet, yeah?”

Not for the first time, he seems taken aback. But his gaze softens once more, his expression molding into something pleased. “Very well.”

And so, he leaves with a small umbrella in his hand, a smile on his lips, and the clear skies over his head.

The next time you see Neuvillette, the sun is high in the sky. Compared to that night, you can see him a little better now.

That's how you notice he looks unusually shy with a bouquet of flowers in his arms and a pink blush high on his cheeks. “...Good afternoon,” he starts, his lips curving to a beginning of a smile. “The weather is great today, isn't it?”

You stare. You stare some more. And when the sight finally processes in your mind, your twinkling laughter rings in the air, as sweet as the aroma of freshly baked muffins. “And who stooped so low to talk about the weather this time, huh?”

Neuvillette can't even pretend to feel bad about it, not when you're jumping off the seat in the counter to show him a table for two. “Your silliness is infectious, it seems.”

“Hey!”

(You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to be smart-mouthed, the type to be indulgent to your whims, the type to be romantic towards the person he's interested in—

But now you have all the time in the world to get to know him better.)

[tacagen]

Healthy Eobarry AU

(yes its just called that. no there is no actual romance, the word eobarry is here only so i dont have to write 'barry and eobard' all the time im talking about them. some things are very close to that tho but thats just the way it always is with thawne.)

the core idea: eobard is still a flash fan from the 25th century with a huge crush but he never wanted to be a hero like barry. he always wanted to go back in time and become flash's archnemesis instead, so there is no rejection abandonment and disappointment drama at all. not a single trace of canon hatred, thawne just wants to have some good time with his favorite hero in a weird way. barry, on the other hand, has no idea what the fuck is even going on. the vibe is most reminiscent of silver age eobarry. their dynamic:

ALSO their dynamic: this jla short

the lore:

they first meet in 21st century. eobard just finds barry, comes up to him like 'omg hi flash!! im your fan from the future and i just synthesized myself the speedforce connection to go back in time and meet you irl :)', waits exactly until barry believes and starts marveling at that fact, goes 'BUT THERE'S ALSO THIS LITTLE THING YOU SHOULD KNOW :)))) youre probably wondering why these colors. well, i call myself the reverse-flash and actually im here to cause problems for you on purpose. NOW CATCH ME IF YOU CAN :D', runs off to break the brakes of a bus carrying children or something like that while barry stands for a few seconds like 'huh. reverse? where are you going?'

right after barry, utterly confused and shocked, averts the situation thawne caused, he goes 'WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL WAS THAT?? DIDNT YOU JUST SAY YOU WERE MY FAN??' which thawne answers with 'wow. you really thought i was one of these boring "my favourite person of all time inspired me to become a hero like them" rip-offs with no imagination, didnt you? tsk tsk, i am so disappointed'

secrecy of their identities to each other isnt a thing since the very first fight. 'by the way, my name is eobard thawne! and i know you're barry allen, i actually know most of the 21st century heroes' identities but i promise you can trust me with that!'. indeed, he doesnt reveal this to anyone or threaten to do so but trust isnt exactly the right word either as thawne fucking loves visiting barry while they're both in their civil clothes at times + itwasmebarry still becomes a thing (elaborated on further below).

thawne is faster than barry here from the very beginning on pure theory and little to no speedster experience but only because barry just desperatly tries to process all the information he recieves from thawne every time they fight along with handling whatever endangering civilians shit eo does and he isnt doing well. at all. like, it does require a lot of hard effort not to lose your mind while constantly being hit with stuff like 'OOOHH DID I MENTION THAT I WORK AS THE CURATOR OF THE FLASH MUSEUM IN THE 25TH CENTURY?!? BTW WE STUDY YOUR HISTORY IN SCHOOL IN COMICS FORM, ISNT THAT AMAZING?!!'

thawne never shuts up. thawne genuinely enjoys the whole thing and admires barry an impossible amount and he's always fascinated by every aspect of the speed force, especially seeing and using it in action. thawne never acts like a normal villain as in 'commit crime->run away/fight the hero/watch the chaos'. he does something that endangeres people's lives (ALWAYS in front of barry because that is the whole point) then runs alongside barry as he saves everyone, never initiating the fight and ENDLESSLY commenting on everything barry does with consideration of flash facts, speed force and other physics stuff and even barry's personal background. it always goes like 'must do this and this to get everyone to safety!-' and thawne, instantly from somwhere behind barry's left shoulder: 'YES you DO, because this this and this and of course you could try that but-' and it goes on for 5 minutes on superspeed at the very least. from a non-speedster perspective, it looks like two blurs with lightnings, red and yellow, are saving people and going with some kind of weird squeaking high-pitched sound, which is never there if there is only flash around.

by the way, the rule that it is Very important for thawne to touch barry at any given chance and prolong it by going faster than him is still present. the same goes for becoming a speedster partially to have an opportunity to get away from 25th century and its mildly or not so dystopian shit and boringness. doesnt really realize the first part tho, sometimes casually drops some crazy ass facts about his future as something totally normal (like that one good-bad detection chair from silver age that gets a cameo in rs) and gets confused when the reaction is something like '.....i am so sorry.'

THE SAME ALSO GOES FOR 'IT WAS ME BARRY', its just way more lighthearted and has the purpose only of annoying and messing with barry through slight inconveniences in his life and it is a whole another part of their enemyship outside of the usual tag games. examples: 1. barry in his lab, extremely tired and almost exhausted, stumbles on air, says 'dammit eobard, this again??'. thawne unphases nearby with an offended look, goes 'HEY. THAT WASNT ME.', demonstratively pushes barry's mug with coffee off the table like a cat, 'now this was me, barry', grins and runs off before barry can do anything; 2. imagine thawne's excitement when he plays chess in iron heights, looks away, notices yellow lightnings with the corner of his eye and turns to the board again only to find that his queen is gone. the very next encounter starts with thawne running around barry in circles like 'it was you. it was you. IT WAS YOU! ITWASYOUWASNTIT!!'

this thawne is incapable of murdering anyone close to barry or ever hurt him at all. the best he can do is threaten anyone's life in barry's sight (and he knows barry will save everyone. more, he never arranges the events with the chance of barry not being fast enough to save every single life threatened so it isnt a big deal) because in other case he just wont come out to play with him :( ((i dont think thawne's generally capable of murder here? he feels too silly for that to me))

following important things: 1. barry obviously never killed thawne because he never did anything that extreme. 2. nora allen is alive and well and probably met thawne personally. he visits her in his civil clothes and acts in the nicest way possible, barry hears about the mysterious friend from work he never mentioned later and chokes on tea as nora recalls 'what did he say his name was? edward taurine?' 3. BARRY'S DOG IS STILL DEAD THO but it actually was an accident. he still blames himself for not shutting the back door that day in the way he blames himself for the not emotional enough postcard for his grandma in dc superhero girls. (see also: this vid but its about the dog instead of nora) ((ALSO thawne is most likely actively empathetic about it because he cant stand seeing barry sad or hurt. unfortunately he is also actively neurodivergent so that turns out to be awkward))

they team up often but barry is never aware of that as it happens out of his control. thawne has every single event that threatened barry marked in his calendar and an alarm set for it and he just shows up there like 'fuck you, this is MY archnemesis/idol/inspiration and nobody is going to fucking hurt him'

barry is generally always in the state of confusion when it comes to thawne. he doesnt understand what's going on like 80% of the time. as thawne never gets any clearer to him, barry just accepts that this, at some point, is now a part of his life.

instead of love letters, thawne writes and sends barry personally discovered speed force equations like 'look!! this is how it all works there!!' and occasionally mentions other science things discovered after 21st century. barry reads all that, understands and sometimes uses those against thawne who is completely delighted by that.

one day thawne manages to lock barry up in anti-meta cell and spends the following 3 hours on MATHEMATICALLY PROVING THE EXISTENCE OF THE SPEEDFORCE TO HIM STEP BY STEP, reciting his dissertation verbatim which was written in the context of no one knowing and caring about the concept.

thawne participates in the legion of doom and other supercriminal associations out of 'is flash gonna be there?? whatever youre planning im in, just leave him to me and me alone'. probably doesnt even listen to the scheme details and learns about it directly from barry in the final fight when he asks him 'eobard?? what?? the?? fuck?? why are you participating in something that's ultimate goal is DESTROYING THE FUTURE??'. (or others just stopped telling him the details, OR he doesnt listen on purpose after that one time he edited the whole plan like 'oh cmon do you actually think you could succeed with THIS?? let me show you how its actually done' only for them to lose epically. whats worse is that thawne saw it as something obvious. 'wait you really thought it would work?? cmon the whole point of being a supervillain is that the good guys always stop you no matter what you come up with.' they naturally never let him speak on the plans again which he responded with 'WHATEVER. YOU DO YOU IG. NOT GONNA INTERFERE AGAIN :/') unironically protects barry in group fights if any other villain is trying to aid him against the flash and attacks his own allies for that (barry once uses that to his advantage to take out the whole legion one by one lmfao. thawne genuinely doesnt notice that he is the only one standing until barry mentions it. he takes a moment to look around and that's when barry takes him out, too). as you can figure, he doesnt get invited into villain associations often, and if he does its usually the last resort bc he is a Genius Even By Future's Standards and therefore one of the most competent scientists out there.

nobody wants to sit at the same table with thawne in iron heights or interact at all because he instantly starts infodumping about the flash and their relationship. you accidentally get closer than like 2m to him and after a few seconds he just goes 'me and flash are best enemies, you know? we even always wear matching suits, oh and did you know-'

thawne gets mad if you compare his suit with kid flash because his suit has a Deep Idea and acktually he got to 21st century before wally was also struck by lightning and therefore was here first (yep, he did that on purpose and it gets revealed the very same moment he mentions it)

speaking of kid flash. thawne argues with him at any given chance because fighting a literal child on who is the biggest flash fan is something he would do on a daily basis. it just feels right (and it shouldve happened in canon at this point at least once. fucking Come On dc. almost 60 years of thawne's existence and for what!!). his points are that: he is the flash's Equal (even in height. thawne is very fucking proud of that fact) and not a pathetic sidekick; he got powers after years of hard scientific work and not by coming to barry's lab at the right moment; he is an Expert, a Professor, a Curator of the flash museum and knows everything about flashes, including the things they dont know themselves yet (he accidentally reveals that wally is also gonna be the flash but is quick to claim that he was the slowest and dumbest of them all and actually fuck you ima erase that from the timeline later), 'therefore l + ratio + IM his biggest fan and there is nothing you can do about it' 'lmaoooo who the heck taught you these words?? dude you sound so cringe. like do you even know what ratio means??' '*thinking it's just a figure of speech from 21st century literature classics or something like that for his whole life* well i- h- wh- DONT CHANGE THE SUBJECT.' wally doesnt care at all and just trolls him, harshly at times. he doesnt take thawne even a little bit seriously, which eo tragically doesnt realize.

thawne's comedically jealous of barry to iris between the lines and is completely unaware of that. the same thing going on with the rogues about emenyship with barry but that one is direct and on purpose. probably fucking jumps in their fights with flash like 'hi i just took out cap cold for you no need to thank me <3 now, can WE dance?? :|' every now and then. probably it gets super awkward when they inevitably end up in iron heights together that same day. honestly i think every supervillain who met thawne wants to kill him at this point. he's extremely annoying, both on purpose and not

thawne finds and starts nitpicking the first curators and architects of the flash museum in 21st century from the very project stage like 'NO it should stand THE OTHER WAY everyone shut up im from the future i Know Better'. it continues right until barry comes to pick him up and apologise for the inconvenience. 'eobard, i know this place means... a lot to you but please let history run its course. i mean, arent you risking your whole existence by trying to make these changes?' 'BUT THEY'RE DOING IT WRONG >:('

CANONICALLY ALMOST DROWNS 3M AWAY FROM A BRIDGE WHILE TRYING TO RUN ON WATER WITHOUT KNOWING HOW TO DO THAT YET OR AT LEAST HOW TO SWIM. every time barry mentions that incident thawne blushes like hell out of shame. imagine being saved from the lake by your crush/nemesis/everything who is actually Worried that you almost drowned out of your own stupidity which kind of covers the cringefail at first so youre enjoying the Moment but then you hear 'why did you even decide to run across the lake, there was a bridge nearby?'. thawne BEGS barry not to tell anyone (and especially wally). that probably was the first time thawne actually stayed in iron heights for longer than half an hour without getting out the very second everyone looks away on barry's condition of secrecy. now, the funniest part? if thawne hadnt shown that it was cringe even to him, barry wouldnt even say a single thing any further. to him it was a usual impossible to grasp shit thawne does every single encounter.

thawne considers heroes and their morals objectively dumb but his thoughts on barry having the same mindset are 'god he is SO adorably naive. so pure. so innocent. havent done anything wrong in his life. sweetest cinnamon roll of all times'. occasionally tells him that out loud because he has no fucking shame except when it comes to the lake incident

his own set of morals is just 'be gay do crime' where be gay stands for teaming up with barry on practically everything that isnt their one on one fights.

following: other villains are dumb to him as well. sometimes complains to barry about how nobody Understands him and his superior taste in being a supervillain, especially in the legion. poor barry just tries to get some rest between work and superheroing and then thawne casually comes running out of fucking nowhere, lies down on his lap and starts venting about how barry is the only one that Gets him on superspeed.

[interstellarlyinlove]

“Summer is ending,” Remus says– sighs, really, as soon as he notices Sirius. He’s leaning against the Astronomy Tower’s railing, looking soft and incredibly sad, sounding as if what he’s holding up on his shoulders would give Atlas himself a run for his money.

“Summer has already ended, technically. When was September 23rd? A couple of days ago, right?” Sirius says, standing next to Remus and kissing his cheek. Sirius’ idea of comfort is someone sitting next to him, caressing his hair and kissing him softly. He hopes Remus feels a little comfort from those things as well.

“I’m really shitty company today. I’m sorry, I’ll probably calm down by tomorrow, though, so–”

“Oh, stop it,” Sirius says, kissing Remus to shut him up. “You’re my favorite person in all the world, I’m always happy being with you. No matter what.”

“I am sorry, though. This sucks. So bad. I’m whining. I’m sorry about–”

“No more sorry. And no more whining. Think about something else.”

Remus smiles sadly. It doesn’t reach his eyes at all. He’s smiling for Sirius’ sake and it’s breaking his heart. “Like what?”

“Like your hot boyfriend.”

“I’m always thinking about my hot boyfriend. Even during existential crises. Always on my mind.”

“He’s that hot?”

Remus whistles. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Sirius grins. He softens his smile and asks, “What’s on your mind, darling?”

“You,” Remus says, and his smile is a little less sad. “Truly, always.”

Sirius realizes suddenly that Remus deserves everything. “You’re always on my mind, too. Like, all the time. Like, even when I’m dreaming, I swear. Last night, I dreamt that we were sitting in the Slytherin common room and there were like seventeen Slytherin cats and–”

“What makes a cat a Slytherin cat?”

“And– all cats are Slytherin cats, Remus, they’re all mean and evil– but it was fine, they were mostly around you, and it was pretty cute, even though they’re tiny death machines with fur.”

Remus actually laughs, then, and his hair is all messy from the end-of-summer wind, and he’s perfect, and kind, and Sirius wishes he had all the power in the world to make sure he’s never ever sad. “I am a cat person. Sounds about right.”

“The biggest heartbreak of my life,” Sirius says. “You liking cats is truly my cross to bear.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling. I love you enough to not pester you about what’s bothering you and let you change the subject as much as you want.”

Remus laughs. “This is you not pestering?”

“Oh, you don’t want to see me when I’m pestering. This is me gently gently guiding.”

“It truly is nothing.” Sirius must have looked at Remus a certain way because he clarifies, “Or, not nothing, but also not one specific thing, you know? It’s like a thousand tiny little things that are making it a little hard for me to breathe? But also, truly not a big deal.”

“How could anything making you feel like that not be a big deal?” Sirius asks softly, rubbing Remus’ forearm. “Do you know what the normal amount of displeasure you should feel on any given day?”

“Like, a 6.5 out of 10, maybe?”

“Like, none, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Sirius nods. “Yes, my love. It’s supposed to be so much fucking easier than that.”

Remus laughs. “If you say so.”

“If I say so.”

They don’t say anything for a while, just looking ahead and breathing together. It’s so calm and serene and it would’ve been Sirius’ idea of a perfect evening spent if he didn't know how shitty Remus was feeling.

After a few more minutes, Remus rests his head on Sirius’ shoulder and starts talking. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like I have to do so much more to get where everyone already is. Or, doing so much to get so little. Acceptable grades aren’t okay because being a mediocre werewolf is not going to get you anywhere, and I have to always be kind and considerate and never get angry or annoyed or irritated because most days I can’t really believe that I even have friends to begin with, so all those emotions make me feel like an asshole because not being alone is all I’ve ever wanted, really, and when the people I love most and am so grateful for get on my nerves I feel like I’m throwing all that away or spitting in everyone’s face, and– It just sucks so bad. All I want, Sirius, is to feel normal. I’m mostly okay with being a werewolf, truly, and it’s not something that’s constantly on my mind usually but it’s been all I’ve been able to think about for a couple of weeks and– Sirius, it’s actually making it difficult to breathe or enjoy things or just fucking exist.” Remus lets out a shaky breath. “Or maybe It’s just not summer anymore and that’s fucking with me a little bit.”

It takes everything in Sirius not to interrupt Remus 75 different times because he knows how difficult it is to put what you’re feeling into words, and he feels like Remus really really needed to get that off his chest. Remus’ eyes are glassy and a few tears fall down when he blinks and Sirius wishes he could go back in time and be the one that was bitten that stupid night. He wants to rip out Greyback’s heart and throw it in the place designated for all the rotten things of the world. Sirius touches Remus’ face and wipes under his now shut eyes.

“I don’t think you realize how much everyone fucking adores you, my love– and no, stop, you don’t get to interrupt me, okay?” Remus smiles, then sobs, and Siirus keeps talking. “Really, Remus, and I’m not just saying that. Do you know Regulus once told me you were his first crush? Lily, also. Peter never said it aloud but come on. My boyfriend makes everyone blush, how lucky am I?” Sirius rolls his eyes jokingly. “And, Remus, you’re making it sound like you owe people something for being your friends, and I guess we all should hold a certain amount of gratitude in our hearts for our friends but that definitely goes both ways, my love. People aren’t your friends because they feel bad for you or whatever is going on in your pretty brain. They’re your friends because they want to be, and you are so fucking lovely, Remus, you are my favorite person in all of the universe, and losing your temper or being annoyed or not being able to stand me sometimes is so understandable. Our friends, too. Not fighting with someone when you’re close is impossible. Do you remember when James and I didn’t speak to each other for seven weeks in fourth year? I can’t even remember why we were fighting but I remember that I truly believed I hated him with everything I had. But also, even during the heat of it, I knew I could never really hate him even if I wanted nothing else. You’re allowed to be angry, Remus. You’re allowed to lose your temper and fight and– that’s not a werewolf thing. That’s an everybody-on-fucking-earth thing.”

“You think?” Remus asks, and he’s still crying, and Sirius is incredibly sure Remus really doesn’t believe most of what Sirius said but he doesn’t mind. He has the rest of his life to make him change his mind.

“I think,” Sirius says. He snaps his fingers and a bottle of Firewhiskey appears on the Astronomy Tower ridge. “Do you want to drink with me?”

“Where’d you get that?” Remus asks, snatching it and unscrewing the lid. 

Sirius kisses the edge of Remus’ mouth. He’s no longer crying. They’ll talk more about this, definitely, and Sirius has so much more to say, but later. “Don’t ask that if you don’t really want to know. Sad looks stupidly good on you.”

Remus laughs mid Firewhiskey gulp. He coughs, and smiles, and he’ll be okay.   

[dreaminghour]

Blacken My Name (10000 words) by dreaminghour

Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy

Rating: Mature

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, victorian au, Blood and Violence, Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Dubious Morality, Ex's to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, so much fucking rain…, Post-Duel on Mustafar (Star Wars)

Obi-Wan contemplated the rain that ran in coursing rivulets across the cobble stones. It stank considerably less now that the rain had come, but it was a long walk back home from the pub. He splashed into the puddle and nearly tripped over the man who had been left for dead in the gutter. He would drown soon probably if the rain kept up. Obi-Wan sighed, feeling the rain creep in his collar and soak up his trouser legs, dripping into his shoes. He'd not been prepared for the rain. Nor for an impromptu rescue of an old friend.

Click "keep reading" for a preview of the fic.

Thank you for reading ♡ Fic log → @dreaminghour-archive

Preview (1,310 words):

~

On the threshold, the bartender's heavy hand on his shoulder, Obi-Wan contemplated the rain that ran in coursing rivulets across the cobble stones. It stank considerably less now that the rain had come, but it was a long walk back home from the pub.

He wouldn't be walking, however.

"Out!"

The bartender pushed Obi-Wan with considerably more force than was necessary, sending him splashing into puddles and nearly making him trip over the man who had been left for dead in the gutter. He would probably drown soon if the rain kept up.

1,310 words below the cut:

"You need not tell me to never darken your doorstep again," Obi-Wan said, making sure his upper-crust accept was as crisp as possible. "You won't have a doorstep by the time I'm through with you."

The door slammed shut, taking all the warmth of firelight and tallow candles with it. Gas hadn't come to this part of the city yet, which was part of the appeal of older pubs like this. Obi-Wan sighed, feeling the rain creep in his collar and soak up his trouser legs, dripping into his shoes. He'd not been prepared for the rain. Nor for an impromptu rescue of an old friend.

He was in no rush to make sure Anakin wasn't drowning in his puddle, however. The last time they'd seen one another, they'd left one another battered and bloody; his emotions still felt scrubbed raw.

When he knelt in the gutter Obi-Wan prodded Anakin, felt the soaked fabric of his shirt, felt how cold he was, and some ancient, innate instinct to care for his friend, for someone he'd once thought of as a brother, overrode all the other messy emotions. He rolled Anakin over, earning a groan, water spluttering out of the unconscious man's nose, along with copious amounts of blood. If he didn't lose a tooth over this, he'd be lucky. He was breathing normally however, and Obi-Wan stepped away for a moment to hail a cab with a loud whistle. The carriage jolted from the end of the street where it waited, and Obi-Wan worked on getting Anakin sitting upright, trying not to think about how thin he felt, or about how he was shivering.

The cab drew up beside them, the horse's harness jangling loudly despite the kick of thunder above them, and the driver made a point of grumbling, "You two are soaked. You'll get my carriage wet."

"We're going to the Temple Club," Obi-Wan said curtly.

"Oh, let me help you with him, sir." The driver was down in the muck immediately, now that he knew how much money was in the fare.

The ride to the center of Coruscant was long, and Anakin slept soundly, dripping onto Obi-Wan's shoulder, giving him plenty of time to mull over the distant past and the time in between. Thinking about Mustafar was still too hard, but he was a soft touch, and he still could not help coming to Anakin's aid. Despite everything.

Though it had been late evening when Obi-Wan had left his rooms in the Club, it was early morning as they rattled across the bridge and closer to warmth and safety. Still Anakin slept.

At the door, the butler came out with a footman who helped Obi-Wan get Anakin down and into the dry foyer, while the butler passed notes to the driver who then rattled off to pick up another early-riser or ne'er do well. Which of them was which, Obi-Wan could not say.

The doctor gave Obi-Wan such a glare as they brought Anakin in, he had to wave her off before she could irritably pluck at Anakin's wet clothes. "I'll be taking care of him, Dr. Che. I know your services are for members only." He winked for good measure, but she frowned as the footman continued to help him with Anakin.

It required both of them to get Anakin up the stairs. In another life, Obi-Wan might have carried Anakin all by himself, but propriety being what it was, the escort was for the best. Anakin had not been banned from the Club per se, but kicked out rather unceremoniously just before he and Obi-Wan had had their unfortunate and rather final confrontation. Behind them, voices drifting up the stairs after them, he heard the butler trying to soothe the doctor, but he didn't want to hear what baseless assurances were being made.

Obi-Wan himself didn't know how he felt about having Anakin back here.

The black and white cat yowled as she was kicked out of Obi-Wan's bed, but he quickly stripped Anakin with the footman's help, put him in pajamas which were too short for him and bundled him under the covers. Turning up the stove in his room was easy, and Obi-Wan bustled around while the footman got out the cot and made the fire in Obi-Wan's little parlor room.

The footman left the kettle near the fire when he left, taking Anakin's torn and bloody clothes with him, ostensibly 'for cleaning' but if they were never seen again, that would be alright. It wasn't as though Anakin lacked for clothing or anything really. He'd stepped up as far as any of the Temple Club members were concerned. The Temple wasn't a charitable institution, but it did demand a certain code of conduct from its members, and allowed them certain privileges in return. Unlike the Senatorial Club, or any of the clubs with exclusively noble members, having money or a name was not a requirement to take up residence. A member could come to the Temple a pauper if they had certain skills and values, and through the support of other member become an influential member of society in their own right.

Obi-Wan fell into his chair by the fire, realizing he was still wearing his soaked clothing, and let himself be dried out the slow way rather than going back into his bedroom and changing. The thought of undressing while Anakin lay in the bed sent an unpleasant tingle down his spine, it threatened to ruin untainted memories.

It did not do him any good to see Anakin getting into bar fights, to see him so thin. The man in the bed, pale and weak, was so far from the arrogant youth who'd turned away his offers for help. That man had almost single-handedly destroyed the corruption case Club members had been working on, digging up a conspiracy whose roots stretched back decades…

In Obi-Wan's bed lay a man almost as delicate as the boy who'd been brought in from the poor house after his mother had died. It was almost too easy to believe he was still that young man, whose hubris had never betrayed them all.

Being naked even just to change his clothes, being vulnerable around Anakin for any amount of time felt shockingly easy — but it was too much like forgiveness. Obi-Wan could not allow himself to fall into old habits. He would care for Anakin while he was bloody, maybe let him say his piece, but beyond the charity he would extend to any stranger, he could not allow them any intimacy.

Artoo jumped lightly into Obi-Wan's lap, chirping as she realized how damp he was, and jumped back down.

He did not dare go back into the bedroom, but he could hang his own clothes on the grate and wrap himself in the old brown robe which hung behind the door. He made himself tea while Artoo watched him with slitted eyes, not even pretending he would sleep in the old camp cot the footman had made up for him. He didn't see a chance for sleep for himself, his nerves were too shaken — he made himself a strong tea.

And if he checked on sugar for Anakin's tea when he woke, that was merely another old habit.

~

Keep Reading "Blacken My Name" on AO3

[mousemilf]

its rly interesting 2 me that this poll has held steady right around a 25/75 split from 5 votes to 222 votes.

few things: i am turning 27 in two weeks and voted 5 years. if u think thirties is old thats really really weird to me. i am pretty confident that i am going to look about the same in 5 years other than the vampire prep changes i would make (invisalign, tattoo coverups, hitting the gym, etc) and like. minor fine lines which i already have and literally do not mind at all. if youre living a lifestyle that would age you that much in 5 years i think that is an individual thing. normal people dont just randomly start hagmaxxing at an arbitrary age.

job and money obviously still matter as a vampire because you can still die but now u can die from vampire stuff. ik in vampire media theyre always independently wealthy but that would not just magically happen to you when u got bit. in my view stable income is likely more important as a vampire bcs you have to shelter from sunlight every single day or u die. if you're living paycheck to paycheck and suddenly you cant survive your morning commute or short walk through the parking lot, and you cant find a nighttime job in time and you lose your housing, you might be completely fucked. like way more than a human. you can't sleep in your car (windows) and most shelters will not accommodate a nocturnal creature of the night; you cant wait outside for them to open bcs u will burn up.

on top of that, even if u manage to keep your housing, what if your utilities get shut off or you get fines from the city and you literally are not able to go to the office while theyre open? a frustrating amount of things require you to show up in person. better make sure youve planned and prepared for that.

for me personally i dont have any yuppie skills and i doubt that id be able to find a high-enough-paying remote job in time. overnight non-yuppie jobs would be difficult to find post-transformation too, bcs if they wanted to interview in person before dark thats pretty much not an option.

its possible too that your social circle will also shrink considerably once you're nocturnal, so youll gradually lose at least some of your support network. 5 years would give u time to build a new nocturnal one.

on the other hand - even if we're assuming that as a vampire you no longer have joint pain and u get vampire strength, illness and pain that may worsen over the 5 years will affect your permanent physical appearance. the reason i dont have very good abs is bcs of improperly healed neck and back injuries that make most ab workouts painful. i have ugly blotchy scars from chilblains on my hands. cysts in my feet. etc.

if i take the 5 years i am risking more shit like this. imagine u spend 5 years prepping and then right before u get turned u have a toenail get ripped off and u get to spend eternity without a toenail. ofc other things can happen too, u could find a remote or overnight job and lose it right before the transformation, or get a botched haircut, or of course you could just get run over by a car or whatever and never get to become a vampire.

would u rather be turned into a vampire right now immediately or in 5 years? assuming your body stays exactly the same forever as the moment when you were turned, including haircut, piercings/tattoos, etc. 5 years would give u time to change these things as well as set up a lifestyle that would work for a vampire ie working from home or working nights, but it is also possible that your circumstances and body would change in ways you would not want as a vampire (illness, debts, aging) as can normally happen in a 5 year span. do you take the time to prepare, but risk this, or preserve your current state even w flaws....

[starcrossed-sky]

(previous anon again) oh yeah asian sizing is rough x(. i haven't checked my waist size in literal years but it should be 40+ inches or even 50+, who knows. i mostly buy XXXL (or 3X, as it's called) IF it's offered, but whenever it is it's either always highly coveted or in limited quantities, and thus the first to sell out. some places have bigger sizing where i can get by on XXL/2X, some smaller where even 3X is not enough for me. buying clothes was such a trifle that for many years i just preferred to gradually steal from my dad's closet. thankfully he was a stingy old man and welcomed that!

about anemia- yep, i am an estrogen gas tank haver and i've long suspected i might have it, even though i've never gotten checked out (due to money, time, other illnesses, worry i'm gonna be told "just lose weight/exercise more," etc.). puberty really fucked me up... with ovarian cysts, menorrhagia, and just endless amounts of pain pain painnn starting from age 10. had 30+ days nonstop bleeding cycles a few times and other such fucked up stuff. in my early teens, my bed and the house bathroom could look like a horror game whenever i was menstruating lol. to this day, i am unable to detangle my dysphoria/gender identity from the pains of "growing into a woman" (which i never consented to). i don't know whether i would feel exactly the same about my gender if my experience with puberty wasn't quite so awful for medical reasons.

puberty also about when my fatigue started and gradually got worse over the years. as far as i and any relative can say, i was a very outgoing and energetic child. i couldn't read a lot of the social cues but was nonetheless considered a delight by adults who were entertained with my rambling about various topics as well as by fellow children who found a ready playmate in me. i ran and biked and gladly tagged along on long trips with my parents without a problem. meanwhile, as a teenager and even up to today i have a permanently fucked up rotating sleep, tiredness that never goes away and only gets worse with exercise, and a negative amount of energy such that daily commute to my job is the maximum my body can take and i hardly leave my bed on the weekends.

chronic fatigue is a consideration as well, and even though i know there's technically no cure for it, i still hope there's something better for me. for example, during the quarantine, i got to work from home and not only saved all the money i spent on transport but also time spent commuting and pretending to be busy in the office (with air conditioning uncomfortably cold at 17C). i had time and flexibility in my sleep to keep on top of chores at my own pace, and overall felt probably the biggest increase in my quality of life, even though i was basically a shut-in with a job, haha. just... longing to live slow and unburdened, while also still providing for myself, y'know?

For anemia, if there's somewhere around where you can donate blood, try checking there. A hemoglobin count of less than 12 is anemic (and they'll likely turn you away if you're too low) - it's the simplest blood test out there, like blood sugar they only need a finger prick these days to check. I have to get mine done every time I get my man juice tests done.

Your puberty horror story also genuinely sounds like PCOS which... fat gain and retention is a known symptom (and PCOS people are way more likely to be gender variant according to a Japanese study a few years ago). You might be able to sell your doctors on getting you tested for it if you play the "this might be why I'm fat" angle. What you're looking for is an elevated testosterone level in comparison to "normal" cis women.

As someone who routinely sleeps on the clock at my work from home job i feel you on the last one.

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on. 

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish. 

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy. 

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands). 

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding. 

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.” 

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all. 

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t. 

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world. 

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about. 

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease. 

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do. 

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind. 

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.” 

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused. 

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves. 

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop. 

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening. 

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[giri-giri-waifu]

This is a long post--

Listened to my friend compare me to his guy friends; how I'm 'more mature' than them, even though I'm younger than them. And he did the spiel of 'girls mature faster than guys' and also saying how they're all awkward shut ins and irresponsible and going nowhere in life. And at least one of em has really bad anxiety that hinders him in doing 'regular things in society'... And I was just thinking like... Im not any better. I might be better at hiding that Im Like That. I still live with my parent at 26, going on 27. I have anxiety over shit every single day and have to work really hard to 'get up and do the responsible thing'- like being an adult and going to work and not having breakdowns in the bathroom, etc. My job causes me a considerable amount of stress and I wish I could simply quit. Even going out with friends causes me anxiety sometimes. It sucks and I feel so guilty if I cancel on people last minute. I have to make notes for EVERYTHING, set multiple alarms and reminders for stuff, otherwise I WILL forget within 5-10 minutes, both for work and my everyday life. Like I dont understand how people turn up their noses at shut-ins, like "omg can u believe. they have so many problems existing in society. Ugh! What an inconvenience to me!!' I hate this. I hate the grind. Call it laziness or whatever, but fuck this society where we have to grind or die. That in and of itself is tiring- add to it that so many people are suffering with mental and or physical illnesses and disabilities, in a world that is not built to accommodate them- a whole new level of tiredness. Like congrats if you don't have to take a bunch of extra steps to do One Regular Adult Task. But Stop being holier than thou about 'shut ins' or other people that don't fall within the 'normal'. lol And please don't fucking compare stupid shit like 'girls mature faster than guys'- I am afab and the oldest sibling, and even as a child, always had to conform to that 'you need to be the responsible one and take care of x,y and z duties. Oh and don't ever fuck up. Why are you so shy and quiet? You should be more responsible than this tsk tsk!' I am STILL a people pleaser because of this shit. And its unhealthy and annoying. lol Yes most of the time, I am physically capable of adulting, but fuck if my mental health hasnt been in the fucking garbage buried underground for years because im trying to hold up this 'responsible' persona that I've had drilled into me since birth. Please just stop. lol

[justwhumpythings]

Thanks for the tag @deepwoundsandfadedscars! Turns out I have exactly 10 fics to my name so far lol, so here's what I've got:

(I assume like the last few people that it can be more than the first sentence, because that would be very boring for some of them XD I really like my single sentence starters apparently)

Heed the warnings if you go readin'. Nothing super nsfw below. Oldest first.

I know I have some very talented writers following me, so if you see this and want to share your first sentences, consider yourselves tagged!

1. On Your Left - Captain America MCU

“On your left.”

Sam looked up. Steve lay back against his pillows, eyes shut. He might still have been asleep, but for the tightness visible in the muscles of his jaw and the laboured rise and fall of his chest.

2. Pleasures of the Flesh - Good Omens (TV) (NSFW)

“I’d like to try sex,” said Aziraphale suddenly during a quiet, golden afternoon in the flat above the bookshop, causing Crowley to immediately inhale a considerable amount of the wine he’d been drinking. Aziraphale perched on the back of the sofa and waited politely while he finished choking for a reply.

3. All's Well That Begins - Good Omens (TV)

Crowley was thinking about ducks.

Specifically, he was wondering whether they could learn to recognise human faces, or human-shaped faces at least. He and Aziraphale were in St James’ Park, where they’d just finished feeding the flock at the pond, and were now enjoying a pleasant stroll along the shore underneath a pastel blue sky.

It was this one black drake. He would try to chuck some crumbs in its direction and every time the bastard thing came flapping and squawking for him like it had a personal vendetta against anything and everything in snakeskin shoes.

4. Love is on top, fucking pain - Good Omens (TV)

He hadn’t actually meant to smash the plant.

One second he was clenching it, scolding it viciously for the tendrils that were creeping beyond the boundaries of the pot, despite the severe pruning he’d meted out. Why can’t you just stay in line? Do I have to tell you again? The next, the blasted thing was floundering on the floor amid a constellation of ceramic fragments and splattered soil, and Crowley had found his empty fingers clenching around thin air as an inferno of emotions hit him like a punch in the chest.

5. Heaven's Final Betrayal - Good Omens (TV) (NSFW, noncon)

The archangel Gabriel looked thoroughly pissed off. Crowley had seen him angry before, but this was new. This time there seemed to be an icy hatred lurking behind his usual façade of charm, beneath the insincere smiles and the pretence of piousness. It sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine.

6. Rescue from Jerusalem - Assassin's Creed 1

It had been more than a week since Altaïr was last heard from.

Maria Thorpe crouched on the sandy rooftop, her blades ready at her wrists and fingers itching with worry and anticipation. Below her, a group of Crusader guardsmen were dragging several figures through the shaded alleyway towards the building she had come to infiltrate.

7. O Unhappy Dagger - Good Omens (TV) (character death)

The sign on the door of the bookshop read ‘closed’, but that didn’t stop Crowley.

Of course, it wouldn’t under normal circumstances, but this time was different. Rather than sauntering up to the threshold with a subtle spring in his step and a ready grin for his angel, Crowley’s heart pounded with terror as he approached the entrance to A. Z. Fell & Co. He felt as though some phantom hand had a grip around his throat, applying a pressure so crushing that he couldn’t speak and could barely breathe. What breaths he could draw were rapid with panic. His footsteps rang out against the flagstones as he strode forward – except that they weren’t his footsteps. Oh, it was his body, drawing closer and closer to the familiar doorway. But Hell’s footsteps. Hell’s oppressive malice invading every corner of his mind, and Hell making him grip the object behind his back so tightly that his knuckles hurt.

8. Heartbreak was never so loud - Good Omens (TV)

It’s over.

The words fell from his mouth before he even thought them.

Almost instantly, Aziraphale wished he could reach across the distance between him and Crowley and snatch them back. But he could do nothing but stand there, looking across the bandstand at the demon, as the words washed out across the void and then crashed down onto both of them.

9. Wrong Angel - Good Omens (TV) (character death)

Crowley’s heart was always gladdened to see Aziraphale, even if he tried to act cool and nonchalant whenever he was in his presence. This occasion was no different.

[I don't like the start of this one, I was grasping at straws]

10. Such Exquisite Torture - Good Omens (TV) (NSFW)

“Crowley, my love?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“There’s something I’d like to try. Y-You can say no, it’s alright, if you don’t want to. Although I think you might enjoy it too.”

First Line Tag Game

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Tagged by @set-phasers-to-whump! Thanks for the tag!

I'll tag @rottenmarigolds @justwhumpythings @whumpdoyoumean @whump-captain and anyone else who wants to do this! Tag me if you do :3

Excerpts under the cut cause 10 excerpts is loong

In Between - Shadow & Bone

"Are you really sure this is the best use of our time, boss? I was rather hoping to be keeping warm with a drink and a rousing conversation over a hand of cards this evening," Jesper griped for the third time.

2. Car Crash - Locke & Key

"-yler! Tyler, please!"

Tyler groaned as awareness came back. His head felt heavy and like it had been stuffed with cotton. Everything felt muffled, including his hearing as he only distantly heard someone calling his name. His mouth was dry and his eyes felt like they might as well be glued shut for how hard it was going to be to open them.

3. Just Get It Over With - The 100

“The Ring’s starting to look pretty good right about now…” Murphy trailed off. He turned back to Emori as an idea came to him. “How much fuel is left in this thing?”

“Not enough. Why? What are you thinking?” Emori asked, wielding the screwdriver in her newly gloved hands, ready to take another jab at removing the collar.

4. The Fall - Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order

He woke to a shrill beep and something nudging against his hand. When he managed to pry open his eyes, a small vial with bright green fluid rested in the palm of his limp hand and he could see two more in the grass next to it. It was familiar, he knew he needed to do something with it, but the pain radiating up and down his spine and around his torso was too intense. A little droid bounced from one foot to another until it squatted down and pushed against his fingers with its head again. He curled his fingers as much as he could and tried to bring it closer to his face to investigate with blurry eyes.

The tiny movement made pain explode through his neck and he succumbed to the blackness again.

5. Finding Nic - TANIS

Watching them bring Nic out of the cabin is an image that will stick with me forever, no matter how much I want to forget. He looked awful. His face and clothes were streaked with blood, what little colour of his flesh I could see was pale, alabaster in the afternoon sun. His brown hair was a mess, half plastered to his head and half standing nearly on end with a mixture of dried blood and mud. He seemed completely unable to focus on his surroundings, confused and blinking warily around the clearing. For a moment his eyes settled on me and I held my breath, hoping for a flicker of recognition. Instead it seemed like he looked right through me, as though I wasn't even there.

6. The Dream - Original Content

The waning light of the evening sun bathed his skin, giving what warmth it could before the cool breeze overpowered it. The wind chased through the grass, swaying it around Michael's knees as he stood on the hilltop overlooking the city. The landscape looked weird, the city skyline black and contrasting against the colorful orange and pink of the sunset that glowed like fire on the horizon and reached across the sky, a last fight against the darkness of night.

7. Drowning - Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order

"Kid, you read me? They're not responding…" Greez turned to look at Merrin where she sat in Cere's usual spot at the communication station.

"They will, I am certain of it," Merrin said, her no nonsense tone leaving no space for argument. She pressed on the earpiece clamped over her head, as though trying to push the device deeper into her ear would make Cal respond faster.

8. Just Breathe - Uncharted 4

He claimed he was fine. Nate kept pestering him, asking him again and again if he was sure he was alright. Again and again he insisted he was fine and just to get on the damn plane, little brother.

In reality Sam's head was aching something fierce. Even without touching it he could tell there was a considerable goose egg on the back of his skull from when he hit the ground as the beam fell on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was an open wound on it too, swimming through the salty water as they escaped stung like a bitch, both on the bullet graze on his arm and on his head, not to mention the various smaller abrasions he’d acquired over the past couple weeks. He hoped maybe the water washed away any blood that had been in his hair before anyone saw it, he didn’t want Nate to fuss over him. His little brother had enough to deal with between him and Elena. The two of them seemed better off after a few hours alone together in the jungle, bounds better than after the fight at the hotel for sure, but they still had a long way to go.

9. The Trunk - Original Content

“She came out of nowhere sir, never saw her coming.”

Michael had repeated that sentence to himself so many times he almost believed it by now. Of course that was the best way to deal with a lie, try to replace the real story with the one less likely to get your ass thrown in with the fish a long ways from home.

10. Magical Exhaustion - Loki (TV Series)

Loki looked down as he felt warm fingers slide into his hand, squeezing tightly. He glanced between their interlocked hands and Sylvie’s face, her mouth pressed into a determined line as the wind whipped through her hair.

[wlwloverwrites]

Big Jet Plane

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: sex toy use, cuckhold of some sort, smut (18+)

Summary: Emily Prentiss makes the jet ride home a little more pink then usual, but it’s okay since Spencer Reid is there to help.

Main Masterlist

DO NOT STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS ON ANY OTHER PLATFORMS. NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO DO SO

“Do me a favor, babe?”

“M’course, babe.” You say while looking through your latest case file. The graphic picture in front of you barely graze you, a skill that came with working with the BAU for the past five years.

You look up to your girlfriend when you didn’t receive a response but gasp when you see what she has in her hand.

A pink toy that would be the death of you.

“Bathroom break?”

Your eyes jump from her then to the toy in her hand and back to her. Her eyes lock with yours, never faulting at making you look away. Nodding, still in shock when she tilts her head to the jet bathroom, again.

Nervously, you make your way in the jet bathroom. You try to make it as quick as possible before the rest of the team boards the jet. You can feel your heart pick up its pace when Emily closes the door behind her.

“Let’s make this quick, yeah?”

In shock, you let the agent slide her hand down you pants and tease you with the toy over your panties. The pink toy is on its lowest setting which causes wetness to build up between your legs.

Sighing softly when she added the slightest amount of pressure above your clit. The weak vibrations weren’t strong enough to make you moan or tighten your legs shut, but enough for you to lean in for a kiss.

Emily wants to laugh at the way your brain is already fuzzy. Fortunately, she saves you the embarrassment, pressing her lips against yours. She silently thanks you for not putting on your usual bold red lip today.

A considerable thought you always have when doing your makeup in the morning, are you going to want lots of kisses today? If yes, lip balm. If not, bold red lips.

See the thing is, the team don’t know the two of you are together. So when Emily kisses you in a much needed bathroom break she has to double check her lips aren’t matching yours.

“Should I warm you up a bit?” She’s teasing. Her phone is in her other hand, her thumb is hovering over the settings, twitching to bump up the setting.

“No, I can take it,” you say confidently, but inside you’re trembling and want nothing more then to make love to her on this jet.

“You sure, baby?” She questions adding a tilt to her head. You gasp loudly when she slips your panties to the side and dips the toy lower towards your entrance. Of course, she makes sure to increase the vibrations. “Cause it would be so much fun.”

“Oh fuck.”

Emily smiles at your curse, but she knows she has to be quick. It will be only a matter of time before the rest of the team boards the jet. She dials down the vibrations, much to your dismay, and slowly pushes the toy inside of you.

At first, the toy feels awkward but Emily is quick to rub small circles on your clit to help ease the discomfort. She turns off the toy and gives you a stare.

“Ready?”

“Y-yeah,” you whisper back shakily as Emily slowly removes her hand from your pants.

With each passing second, you slowly comprehend what had just happened and what was about to happen. You know Emily Prentiss, your secret girlfriend of just a couple months, loves playing games, especially with you.

“You step out first.” You nod. Walking out of the bathroom is both smart and unlucky.

Smart because the faster you get to sit down, the less of a chance the rest of the team gets to see you wobble to your seat.

Unlucky because Emily gets the chance to see you struggle to walk normally. She even wants to turn the toy on but even she thinks that would be too cruel.

Your heart races and legs bounce with anticipation for when Emily would turn on the toy back on. The very pink toy that fills you up so good. The toy that just so happens to push against your g-spot in the most pleasurable way.

Your eyes find hers but she doesn’t make any move to turn the toy on. She sits comfortably in her seat, smiling at Spencer when he finds his seat... next to you. He’s completely unaware of Emily’s presence in one of the farther seats.

You don’t notice, but there’s a slight blush to his cheeks and nervous movement in his hands when he sits down. Emily, of course notices, and decides this would be a perfect time to turn the toy on.

“Oh!” You shout, unknowingly you hand searches for Spencer’s as your eyes shut tight.

Spencer’s eyes widen in shock at your sudden outburst. He’s paralyzed from your touch for only a second and jumps into action.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

Whimpering at his words, clearly he’s clueless. You try to ignore the strong vibrations as you give Emily a pleading look. Pressing your lips together as you clenched your thighs together. The vibrations coming from the pink sex toy buried in your pussy were strong enough to make your grip on Spencer’s hand tighten.

“M sorry, Spencer. Cramps.” You finally have the chance to reply when Emily lowers the setting and shuts her phone off.

“Menstrual cramps, also know as Dysmenorrhea, is the cramping pain that comes during or before a person’s period. The pain is actually cause by a natural chemicals called prostaglandins. Prostaglandins cause the muscles and blood vessels of the uterus to contract, hence the throbbing pain pe-”

“Reid.”

The toy is back on.

“Sorry.” Spencer feels filthy when his name falls past your lips. He pictures you whimpering his name just like you’re still doing now.

“Reid.”

“You could try massage therapy. I read that massaging pressure points help relief cramps. Could you try that?”

“Can you do it for me?” Your words shock both of the passengers whose attention were trained on you. In any other situation you would have laughed at the way their eyes widen. Spencer is blushing and Emily has a glare in her eyes.

Two can play a game.

“Please, Spencie.”

Spencer’s stutters over his words but allows you to drag his hand over your abdomen. His hands are firm and his touch makes you want nothing more then to moan his name. His voice fades when Emily changes the setting even higher.

You feel her eyes burning holes into yours, but you make no move to connect eye contact. There’s a small part of you that’s scared, scared about what you’ll see in her eyes. Is she mad? Sad? Aroused?

Emily always knew you had something for Spencer, but never took it to heart. He’s good looking and quite a genius. It’s sweet really. The little show the both of you are performing.

When your innocent eyes meet Emily she gives you a nod. Letting you she’s okay with whatever you’re doing. Surely she’s loving the show.

You’re squirming in your seat, chest rising with each breath. Spencer has a red tint on his face as his thoughts are dirty enough to have sex therapist hot and bothered.

“Lower, Reid.”

Before he could even protest you lead his hand beneath your pants and between your thighs. You guide his hand so his fingers are just over your covered clit. At this point he could feel the strong vibrations coming from between your thighs, but you give no fucks.

“Please,” you beg. You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Begging for Spencer to rub your clit? Have Emily turn off the toy? For everything to go faster? Maybe stop?

Fortunately, both Spencer and Emily don’t give you much a choice to decide what you’re begging for. Spencer begins to rub soft circles on your swollen clit, you underwear is soaked through and he begins to feel himself get hard. Emily watches the both of you, sliding her thumb up and down her screen, creating a pulsing sensation.

“M so close, Em.”

The name that falls past your lips shocks Spencer. He looks up and sees Emily, he turns as red as a tomato when he sees his fellow coworker send him a wink. The small gesture embarrasses him to a point he almost removes his hand. Luckily your thighs shut around his hand, trapping it in its place.

“No stay, please. I’m so close, Spencie,” you whine to him. Your eyes are shinning with tears, thighs shaking.

He feels the way your body strains for its pleasurable release and he almost forgets the whole bizarre situation he’s in. The rest of the time could easily walk in and catch the three of you in this sexual act. His hand down your pants, Emily watches while squirming in her seat. Not to mention the way you have no shame in letting out small, sweet moans whenever you felt like it.

“Gonna come for Spencer, Y/N?” Emily’s voice is dominant and always has Spencer blushing, just by the way she calls his name.

“I am,” you whimper.

Spencer keeps his pace and takes in the beautiful sight next to him. Your nose scrunches when you feel yourself get closer to the edge.

“Well that’s too bad because we have some company.”

[navegandoaciegas]

Crybaby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader (College AU)

Warnings: smut, ass fingering, orgasm denial, humiliation, lots of talks about panties.

Summary: You catch Bucky trying to steal your panties on laundry day.

A/N: this is partly @buckycuddlebuddy​ ‘s fault tbh. Enjoy some desperate, horny Bucky. Minors DNI.

The timer on the dryer unit you’d occupied went off, signaling that your weekly load of laundry was dry and ready. Bucky cast a nervous glance around the eerily empty room, fingers twitching in the front pocket of his hoodie.

He knew it was wrong, but his laundry was done too (just a coincidence, really, not like he’d wake up at 3 am on a Monday because he knew you did your washing around that time), and you weren’t there yet. You usually retrieved your load in the morning anyways.

Just a peek, he reasoned. Out of curiosity. You wouldn’t even realize they were missing, and if you did you’d chalk it up to the washing machine eating your clothes.

You’d show up to class on Tuesday and sit next to him while he’d be wearing your pretty lace panties and you’d be none the wiser.

Fuck, he was getting hard just thinking about it.

He dug in your laundry, sifting through mascara stained washcloths and an endless amount of oversized t-shirts, until he found what he’d been looking for.

Small, so tiny in fact that he wondered how your lips could fit in them. He groaned -the idea of your pussy hanging out of the material made his cock twitch, and brought the panties to his face, rubbing his nose all over the lace. He’d fantasized of burying his face between your legs all semester long, and this seemed close enough, the closest he could get to you anyways.

They seemed stretchy, and he hoped he could manage to stuff himself inside them.

“Didn’t peg you for a panty sniffer, Barnes.”

The world stilled around him, the ring in his ears so loud that he wondered if you could hear it too.

He was so engrossed in his creeping, that he hadn’t heard the door open and click shut, nor your steps as you walked behind him, or the slight groan that the washing machine behind him emitted when you settled on it, swinging your legs.

Slowly, he turned around, your lace panties still tightly clutched to his chest.

You almost chuckled at the sight of his bulging eyes and gaping mouth. Almost.

“That- it’s not- not how it looks like- I-”

“What, you were gonna fold my laundry for me? How considerate,” you sneered, but the look on your face was far from disgust.

Derision, sure, but not disgust. The mischievous interest in your eyes sent chills down his spine, not necessarily the good kind.

He felt dread settle in his stomach, anticipating whatever consequence his actions would have.

“You do this often?” you asked, tilting your head to the side, naked legs still swinging over the washing machine.

Bucky couldn’t find the words, and honestly the gall, to speak, so he just shook his head vehemently, shuffling on his feet.

“Hm, you like sniffing ‘em?”

He remained unmoving, too humiliated to do anything.

“Oh, I got it,” you beamed, pointing a finger at him and squinting your eyes, “You like touching yourself with pretty panties, hm? Like using them to fuck your dick, and cum all over ‘em?”

He wanted to answer, tell you to fuck off and sprint away to hide in his dorm for the rest of his life, but honestly he deserved this and so much worse. He almost considered dropping out of college entirely, but that glint in your eyes kept him anchored to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, keeping his gaze on his white sneakers, “I-, I promise, I never done it before, I don’t know why-, look I won’t do it again, I swear,” he pleaded, tears pooling in his crystal eyes and threatening to stream down his face.

You cooed, honest to God coeed, a mocking pout on your lips.

You should have left, and reported him, but those pretty tears of his, the tremble in his voice, the stuttered pleas, only served to spur you on, a familiar warmth building up in your core.

“I bet if word got out of this, no one would want to hang around the resident creep anymore. Good luck getting girls then. Although, well, I don’t think you get too many under normal circumstances, do you?” you snorted, “That would be embarrassing, hm? Wouldn’t want that, would you?”

He found himself shaking his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat to avoid giving you any more reason to mock him.

“It’s your lucky day then, because I have no intention to tell anyone,” you announced, stepping down to lean against the machine, arms crossed over your stomach.

“You- you don’t?” he wondered.

The notion should have elated him, but he felt himself growing more uneasy and confused with the smirk on your face.

“Won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Cross my heart,” you laughed, making a show of placing a hand on your chest.

He eyed you suspiciously. “Why?”

“Where’s the fun in that, Barnes? I wouldn’t enjoy bullying you if I’m not the only one doing it,” you chirped, “That doesn’t mean that my forgiveness should come for free, tho.”

His breath hitched, and you followed his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down his throat.

You could feel the control in your grasp, panties getting wetter with each one of his tears.

“I’ll do anything,” he swore, and you almost wished he’d fall on his knees and beg.

“Anything you say, huh?” you paused, “Strip,” you commanded, leaning back against the washing machine.

Bucky furrowed his brows and looked up in confusion, then disbelief, finally embarrassment. “Wh- what? But, but what if someone sees, I-”

“Then you better hurry.”

“But I-”

“You fuckin’ heard me the first time.”

He was startled into action, hands hastily pulling at his hoodie and jeans until he was standing in nothing but socks and underwear.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself again.”

He gulped visibly, and hesitated before hooking his fingers around the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down his legs.

He blushed harder, ducking his head.

His cock sprung out of his boxers, and the mouthwatering sight of it had you reconsidering Bucky Barnes and all your life choices during this semester.

He was glistening in pre cum, painfully hard and veiny, and definitely thick enough that fitting it inside your cunt would be hard work on both parts. You imagined taking him in your mouth, how you would definitely choke around his girth, and your jaw would be sore for days.

Not today, though. Bad boys did not get that kind of privilege.

You bit your lips, and Bucky fought the impulse to squirm under your intense gaze.

“Something wrong?” he rasped out, praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole in case you found him too small, too crooked, too hairy.

You snorted, eyebrows raised skeptically. “Yeah, babe, the fact that I haven’t seen you naked before. You been hiding all this,” you eyed his crotch suggestively, “from me all this time?”

“T- thanks,” he stuttered, offering you a small smile, eyes trained on the ground. He tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered when you called him an endearing term, reminding himself that this was all a game to you, a game that he was more than willing to play if it ended up with his cock buried deep inside you.

You sighed then, pondering your thoughts. He was not your usual type, but he was cute in a nerdy way, shy and quiet, and he was packing more than any other man you’d had before.

Plus, this was way too entertaining for you to pass up.

“Wear ‘em.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at the command, but this time he did not hesitate to follow your instructions, a bit too eager as he slid the panties up his thighs.

The shutter of your phone’s camera brought him out of his thoughts, and his eyes widened in horror when he saw you take pictures of him. He trusted you wouldn’t spread them around, but the thrill of danger had him leak more pre cum, wetting a patch on the lace.

“So that’s your deal? You like wearing panties? Didn’t even try to act like you didn’t want to,” you snickered, “What a whore.”

The situation couldn’t get more humiliating, and he couldn’t get more desperate for you.

“Be a good boy, Bucky. Fold the laundry for me, since that’s clearly what you meant to do,” you laughed scornfully, nodding to the basket at your feet.

He walked to you slowly, bending over to pick it up, and yelped when you slapped his ass harshly, the sound bouncing off the walls and shooting straight to his aching cock.

“Cute. Now go, you got something to do and I don’t have all night.”

He sighed, and got to work, unloading each item from the dryer, and folding it neatly.

You eyed the lines of his back, the round globes of his ass, the string of your thong dipping between his cheeks. You almost lost yourself imagining how pretty he would look all scratched and marked before you furrowed your brows, observing the way he folded on of your nicer shirts that you wore on interviews and internships.

“Can’t even fold laundry, look at you,” you tsked, shaking your head, “Try that again, I don’t want to spend more than necessary ironing it.”

He obeyed, without any protest, smoothing the creases he’d created, and continuing with your load, until the dryer was empty and you were satisfied.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praised, beckoning him over.

He got closer, close enough that you could feel the heat emanating from his body. He looked so pretty like that, all teary and obedient.

You wanted to make him yours and ruin him for everybody else.

“You’re a fuckin’ pervert, you know that? A creep and a pervert.”

You saw the way his cock twitched behind your lace at the words, and almost doubled over in laughter.

The night couldn’t get any better.

“Fuck, you really are a pervert. This what you get off to? You imagine me calling you names, degrading you like the bitch you are? You want to be humiliated, don’t you?”

A desperate, pathetic whine escaped his throat, and he felt his knees growing weak with need. He was naked in a public space where everyone could see him, being belittled and humiliated by the girl he’d been pining over, and he was hard as a rock, getting off every word that spilled out of your mouth.

“Well,” you purred, fisting the hair at the back of his neck and tugging harshly, “I think we can arrange that.”

“Yes, yes, please, I want it,” he whimpered, chest heaving, “I want you, I’m your slut, I-, you can do whatever you want to me.”

You almost moaned then, intoxicated by his burning desire.

“Good boy,” you hummed, releasing his hair to stroke his cheekbone, smiling at the way he leaned his head against your palm, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“Remember you can tell me to stop or slow down whenever you want, and I will. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” you added more serious, observing his face for any trace of anything but enthusiasm.

When you found none, and he nodded feverishly, you let your hand fall from his cheek to his shoulder, tracing the outlines of his lean muscle.

“Can- can you kiss me, please?” he asked, and he begged so prettily that you could do nothing but humor him, crashing your lips against his.

It was messy, rough. He was sloppy, and from the way he moved against you, you guessed he didn’t have too much experience.

Better, you reasoned. You’d teach him all he needed to know to please you, and you only.

You bit on his bottom lip, and Bucky yelped in surprise, parting his lips.

He tasted like mint on your tongue, and you sighed in content, letting your hands travel down his sides, barely grazing his skin, scratching the hair on his belly.

He shuddered under your touch, goosebumps erupting in your wake.

When you reached his lower stomach, you felt him tense, his breathing getting harder, his tongue more insistent.

He was drooling and crying, you realized, as he snapped his hips against your leg, humping you like a dog.

You broke away from the kiss, catching your breath.

“Look at you, you gettin’ real worked up and I barely even touched you. What are you, a fuckin’ virgin?” you chuckled, playing with the little bow on the front of your panties.

You’d expected him to laugh, or deny, but he just stood there awkwardly, avoiding your gaze,

“I’m not,” he grumbled, avoiding your gaze.

“Then why are you acting like one?” you prodded, but didn’t wait for him to answer, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss.

His hesitant hands groped your breasts, finally gaining the confidence to do more than linger awkwardly on your hips. He twirled your stiff nipples, rubbing his thumbs over them, movements getting more frenzied the closer he got to his release.

He crouched awkwardly to be at your chest level while still pressing his hips onto you, and tugged your loose tank top down, moaning at the sight of your tits.

“Go on baby, suck on my tits.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement to assault your nipples, latching his mouth onto one of them, and suckling. You wondered if he’d ever even touched a pair of boobs before, but his ministrations were working either way, making your walls clamp down on nothing.

You finally grasped him in your hand, his cock heavy and throbbing in your palm as you stroked him lazily, spurred on by his little whimpers.

His whole body quivered when you ran your thumb over his slit, and you marvelled at his sensitivity.

“You like it when I touch you like this, baby?” you moaned in his ear, “I bet you do, I bet you could cum already just from this. Just a handjob, like the pathetic little boy you are, hm?”

He released your tits with a wet pop, and rose to full height again, resting his forehead on yours.

“Yes, yes, please,” he sobbed, “please, princess, more.”

You complied, doubling your efforts. He inhaled sharply when you added your other hand and began twisting both your wrists in opposite directions.

“You want your princess to suck your dick, baby? Want me to get on my knees and take you in my mouth?”

He nodded against you, grinding his hard cock against your hand, desperate to chase his release.

“Or maybe you want your princess’ pretty pussy? You want to fill me with your fat cock and stuff me full of your filthy cum, don’t you?”

He began blabbering, breathing harder, sloppily snapping his hips. He had a look of pure bliss on his face, his eyes shut tightly, mouth hung open and a layer of sweat coating his forehead.

You could feel him grow and throb in your hand, and just before he was about to reach his high, you stopped your hands.

His eyes shot open and he opened and closed his mouth to protest, but you gave him no time, fisting his hair and slamming him against the washer, bending him over the cold surface.

“What, you thought I’d catch you stealing my panties and I’d let that go?” you tutted, bending over him, pressing your front to his back, whispering in his ear “Bad boys need to be punished, don’t you agree?”

A choking sound escaped his parted lips, and you giggled against his skin, licking a strip behind his neck.

You let your hands wander down the expanse of his back, settling on the waistband of your panties. You indulged yourself again, slapping his ass because you liked how it jiggled and how Bucky whined.

“You have a nice ass, you know,” you mused, slouching back to get a good vision of it, “You ever had anyone stick anything up there?”

“W-what?” he sputtered, crooning his head to look at you, “N-no, never.”

“Cute.”

He squirmed in embarrassment when you spread his cheeks, groaning when he felt your spit drip down on him. You massaged a finger around his rim, your hand coated in your spit and his pre cum.

“Relax, I’ll make you feel really good, promise.”

You gradually felt his muscles relax under your touch as you soothingly ran a hand down his back and kept whispering calming, sweet nothings in his ear.

Then, you dipped a finger past the rim.

“See, not that bad, huh?” you smiled, working your finger inside him, caressing his walls.

You nipped the skin of his back, peppering his muscles with fluttering kisses, grazing your teeth over his column.

You dipped another in, and Bucky hissed, wiggling his legs.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you shushed him, “You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

He preened under your praise, and you began scissoring your fingers inside his ass, working him open and looking for the spot you knew would make him beg for more.

The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, your pussy desperate to be stuffed full of his cock.

You loved how pliant Bucky was being, obedient and submissive in your grasp. You noticed the tears that hadn’t stopped streaming down his face, and huffed a laugh.

“A pervert, a slut, and a fuckin’ crybaby, aren’t you?” you mumbled, a genuine smile tugging at your lips.

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, holding onto the washing machine for dear life, tongue lolling out of his mouth, drool dripping down his chin, making it known that you’d found what you’d been looking for.

“Yes, fuck, please princess, gimme more,” he begged, overwhelmed with a pleasure like he’d never experienced before.

He felt like a fire had been lit in his lower belly, and it was spreading to every limb, encompassing him whole.

You grasped his cock in one of your hands while your fingers kept pummeling into his ass, feeling the rim clench around you and his cock pulsate.

You thought you could cum from his beautiful sounds alone, and you kept going until you were sure he was on the verge of a mind shattering orgasm.

Then, you stopped again, and this time Bucky sobbed, blabbering and wailing, begging you.

“Please princess, I’ll do anything, just please let me cum, please, please,” he continued, shamelessly bucking his hips against nothing.

You released his cock and pulled your fingers out of his ass, cleaning the fluids against his panties.

“You’re so fuckin’ pathetic, begging like that,” you mocked him, retrieving your phone from the pocket of your shorts.

You snapped a couple of photos of him bent over the washing machine, pent up and debauched. His balls hung from the lace of your panties, and you made sure to zero on his tear stained face.

“So pretty, my pretty crybaby,” you cooed, helping him stand up again.

He fell on his knees, clutching the hem of your t-shirt.

“Please, you can’t leave me like this, I-, please,” he blabbered.

You committed the image to memory, knowing you’d see it again soon.

You could see it in his eyes how hooked he was to you.

“Baby, bad boys don’t get to cum, do they? You can’t go around stealing people’s laundry,” you tutted, lightly slapping his cheek, “You deserve some punishment, don’t you agree?”

He hesitantly nodded, slumping down on his shins. You grasped his chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze.

“You got to bed now, no touching, and I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll know if you disobeyed, and trust me, you don’t want to know what’s gonna happen if you did.”

You smiled, and took a few steps back to retrieve your basket, leaving him to catch his breath on the floor.

“See you tomorrow at 4 pm, you know where my dorm is,” you chirped despite your own neglected arousal, sauntering to the door, “Get dressed before someone comes in, you wouldn’t want to see how much of a pervert you are, right?”

He shook his head, agreeing with you despite the sobs that silently shook through his body.

“Good boy,” you purred, hand twisting the knob. You paused, and threw him a look over yourself, “Oh, and thank you for the laundry.”

-

I hope you liked this! Please leave some feedback if you can! ❤️

[mrs-gucci]

Subliminal Pleasures {anesthesiologist!Kylo Ren x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooo! thanks to my good friend @safarigirlsp​, I finally wrote my first darkfic. thanks for ruining me a little bit, Shannon! ;) I’ll warn you now, this is honestly the darkest thing I’ve ever written before, and at first I was a little nervous, but I’m surprisingly pleased with how it turned out. and hey, it’s called fanFICTION for a reason, right? 

**THIS IS A DARKFIC THAT CONTAINS DARK THEMES/CONTENT!! please read the warnings and tw’s before proceeding!!**

warnings: smut. non-existent medical practice ethics. kylo’s a bad doctor, but damn, he looks good doing it. mentions of a medical procedure. some fingering. light dirty talk. masturbation. praise.

tw’s: noncon (but it’s not unpleasant, if that makes sense?). somnophilia.

word count: a touch over 2k

When you came into the hospital today for your dental surgery, no makeup and clad in baggy sweats, you weren’t prepared to meet anyone even remotely interesting or attractive, much less the anesthesiologist. 

And, when he walked into the room, your heart immediately skipped a beat, maybe even two.

He was one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen before. Handsome seemed like an insult and injustice to his beauty when it came to the broad, raven-haired god. He wore a very stern expression as he sat over in the corner of the room in a stool much too small for his great size, gathering his tools. 

“Hmm,” His eyes scan the file. “Miss Y/N?”

You nod over at him.

“That’s me.”

He turns back to preparing himself for surgery. “I’m Dr. Ren, the anesthesiologist.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Ren.”

A silence stretched between the two of you, the only sounds coming from his movements or your adjusting positions on the paper-covered seat. Then, he speaks again, voice even deeper and somewhat huskier than before. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Have you ever previously been put under for a medical procedure, or otherwise?”

“I have.” You reply. “Although I didn’t think that I’d need it for this type of procedure?”

He turns around in the stool, a small smirk on his expression.

“Would you like to be awake when your teeth are hammered into pieces and pulled from your mouth?”

Normally, you would’ve laughed at this joking question, but his delivery and sinister demeanor chilled you to the bone.  “N-No, not really.”

“Then you’ll be put under.” He simply states, pulling on a pair of latex gloves before handing you a fabric gown. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Strip and put this on. The snaps should be on your left shoulder, otherwise you’ve put it on incorrectly.”

Looking into his eyes takes your breath away, out of captivation or a bit of fear, you were unsure. He holds onto the gown a bit too long before releasing his grip, eyes lingering over your face before walking out of the room with commanding footsteps.

Despite his chilling intensity and seemingly emotionless demeanor, you still found yourself incredibly attracted to him. There was something...magnetic about him, like the mysterious aura surrounding him draws you in. The warm tingle between your thighs was undeniable as you stood and removed your clothes, tucking them in your bag off to the side before slipping the gown on over your mostly nude body.

Dr. Ren comes back in as soon as you lay back on the chair once again, his timing impeccable. He puts on a surgical mask and rolls the equipment over on a small cart, parking it next to your head.

“We’ll put you under now.”

“W-What?” Your eyes widen. “But the doctor hasn’t even come in yet.”

He glares down at you.

“Must I remind you who the medical professional in the room is?”

“No, sir.” You shake your head, lips pursing as your eyes dart away.

The mask is placed over your nose and mouth.

“Breathe in and out deeply, count to ten.”

Your eyelids grow heavy almost immediately as you begin taking deep breaths, letting the invisible medication into your lungs. 

“One...two...three...four...five...s-six...sev-seven...eigh...t...”

Kylo grins when you’re finally under, body limp as you sleep peacefully under his influence. He loved his job, loved having complete control over someone’s consciousness, loved having the power between life and death.

His cock hardens in his pants as he reclines the chair so that you’re now laying flat. You don’t move a muscle, and he quickly removes his latex gloves along with his mask, tossing them into the bin.

He’s never had a patient like you before, so beautiful, so docile and obedient, so...seemingly innocent. He wants nothing more and would take great pleasure in absolutely ruining you, turning you into his pretty little slut.

The doctor wasn’t even here yet, as you were his first surgery patient today, but Kylo knew without doubt that he needed time alone with you. He needed to have his way with you.

With one last flicker to the locked door, he brings his hand down beneath his trousers and wraps it around his hardened cock, groaning under his breath with the first pump. Your vitals are stable as his other hand begins popping the snaps of your medical gown.

He pulls it open and lets it hang down over the side of the table, exposing your body to him. All you’re wearing is your undergarments, and yet, Kylo’s length pulses in his hand at the sight. You’re truly a sight to behold, even with your intimate areas covered.

You squirm just a bit when the doctor’s large hand grazes over your ankle, but he knows he won’t wake you, not completely anyways. His hand trails up over your calf, then over your thigh, climbing until he reaches the underwire of your flimsy bra. 

There’s not enough time to remove it, to expose your pebbled nipples to his hungry gaze, but he spreads his large hand over the mound, squeezing it gently. In your unconscious state, your back arches slightly and a soft sigh escapes your lips under his touch. 

His hand pumps his cock faster as he bends down and presses a few kisses to the fabric over your nipple, walking around to give your other breast a similar treatment. Then, he walks to the foot of the table and mounts it, kneeling between your legs. 

Both his hands spread out on your inner thighs, gently spreading them apart before tracing his thick, calloused digits across the crotch of your panties. You squirm again, hips subconsciously rocking up to meet his touch.

“That’s a good girl.” He purrs, rubbing small, lazy circles on your clit over the fabric. “Even like this, you still want it. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Kylo dips his fingers beneath your panties, cock twitching under his pants as his fingers swipe through the considerable amount of slick there. He finds your clit, rubbing it gently, enough to stimulate but not disturb you.

“Look at this...you’re absolutely soaked for me, little dove, and you don’t even know it.”

His hands grip your hips and lift them up as he slides your panties down, revealing the glistening treasure that lay below. He lines a single finger up with your entrance, then pushes it in, growling softly when your cunt clenches.

You stir just a bit, but not nearly enough for him to worry. He lifts his digit up inside you, enjoying the way your hips suddenly jerk as he rubs over the spongy surface of that special spot. Then, he pushes another one of his fingers inside of you, hearing a soft whine from beneath the mask.  

He begins fingering you gently, just enough to prepare you, making sure not to force you back into consciousness. Soon, it became too much for him, and he pulled his digits out gently, observing the slick that coats the two fingers. He brings them up and takes a quick whiff, cupping his clothed erection and squeezing as his tongue pokes out to lick some of the substance off, hips bucking forward at the semi-sweet taste.

“Oh, little one, you’ve got such a tight little pussy. And you taste so good, just as I knew you would.”

The young doctor wipes the rest off on the paper below, then makes quick work of his pants and underwear, pulling them down just enough to expose his aching length. It bobs in response, desperate for attention as another bead of precum forms over the slit. His finger spreads the semi-transparent substance over the fat mushroom head, groaning breathily. 

After giving his thick length a few strokes, he brings it down to rub through your slick. They buck forward out of instinct when he slides over your puckered entrance, wanting so badly to be buried inside of you. 

His body leans over you, one hand next to your head as the other lines himself up, aiding in direction as he presses his hips forward, burying himself inside your wet welcoming walls. His eyes flutter shut as he bottoms out, but quickly snap open when you moan.

Luckily, you hadn’t woken up with his intrusion, and he takes a long sigh of relief before drawing back and pressing forward again slowly. The table trembles on its legs, bolts creaking as he fucks you steadily but gently, extra cautious of your vital signs and level of alertness.

Part of him wishes that you were awake, that you could see what he was doing to you and enjoy him, but the feeling of knowing that even unconsciously, you were still wet and tight for him was one too good to resist. It was all so arousing; an ego feeding greater than his regular days work could ever offer.

Your face scrunches in pleasure with more rolls of his hips, moaning and whimpering each time he buries himself inside you. They’re all so gentle, your noises, and Kylo finds himself lost in each quiet breath.

“Good girl--fuck--oh, good girl.” He says quietly, using every bit of his willpower to keep from pounding into you. “Such a good little cunt, taking my cock so well.”

You tighten around him, then, and he growls, fists clenching next to your head. His teeth grind together as he picks up the pace ever so slightly, feeling his climax approaching quickly.

“T-That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

His head hangs, eyes squeezing shut. He’s close, now, and his own noises get a little bit louder and a lot more frequent as his balls begin to pull and tighten.

“Gonna cum, little dove, you’re g-gonna make me cum so hard with this tight pussy.”

Unbenounced to him, you wake up slightly, eyes opening just a crack. You see him on top of you, body flexing with each thrust, and you feel the obvious intrusion in your lower half. You’re surprisingly not bothered by it, nor do you feel uncomfortable with it. Before you can think on it further, you slip back into the blackness.

He can’t cum inside you, he knows that, so just as he teeters on orgasm, he pulls out as gently as he can and drags his pulsing cock against your lower stomach as thick white ropes paint your soft skin.

“O-Oh y-yes...so good, d-dove.”

Kylo takes himself through orgasm and right into oversensitivity, pulling away and sitting up when this happens. His length softens, the extra skin re-covering his head as it does so. He tucks himself back into his pants, prepares a wet cloth and wipes the cum from your abdomen before pulling your panties back up over your used cunt. 

His fingers quickly re-button your gown and he runs a quick hand through his hair before the doctor comes in, completely oblivious as to what’s just happened. Kylo greets him nonchalantly and takes his place off to the side as the doctor begins the surgery.

Your eyes flutter open lazily, grogginess hitting as you awaken a couple of hours later. Immediately, you feel the pain in your mouth, but more noticeably, you feel a certain ache in your lower half. You have no recollection of what you saw, as this memory is now trapped in your subconscious, but somehow you just sort of knew what’d happened.

You’re disgusted at yourself that you don’t mind the idea, that you don’t feel violated or like you’d been assaulted. You should feel those things, he did those things without your express permission, but...you don’t.

In fact, you feel as if your feelings for the mysterious doctor have grown even stronger. The gaping hole he’d left, the orgasm he’d robbed you of, just ached to be fulfilled. It was an itch you couldn’t scratch, sensations you couldn’t recreate on your own.

Only he could satisfy this desire, this need. 

And, as you sit up slowly and the doctor debriefs you, you know that you must fulfill this new destiny: Find Dr. Ren and make him yours once again.

[breathings-of-the-heart]

Stuck on You (Levi Ackerman x Childhood Friend! Reader)

A/N: Hi, guys! I just want to preface by saying that this is a TWO (maybe a three if i decide to write an epilogue drabble) PART SERIES, and I have just a few more scenes to write before I can post it! I don’t expect this one to do so well, to be honest, but it’s been so long since I’ve written anything I’m proud of and I think I’m happy with how this turned out. So yes, stay tuned for part 2 which i will link at the end once it is posted. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, season one/no regrets ova spoilers

Word Count: 3.5k 

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

5 years ago

“Why is it that you always seem to be on my case the most?” Your frustration was obvious and your patience dissipated, feet shuffling in their spot as you finally turned to face him. “You never nag Isabel this much.”

For a moment, Levi didn’t respond, scanning your body for injuries. After asserting that you were indeed okay, he stepped over the unconscious man who laid on the ground, jaw set in anger as he walked forwards until he was so close you had to tilt your head slightly to keep eye contact.

Your snappy behavior was uncharacteristic. It only fueled his temper. The raven shook his head in disapproval, trying to keep his anger in check as you glared at him defiantly.

“Isabel doesn’t make such careless mistakes,” he pointed out coldly. “You almost got yourself hurt, (Y/N)! What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up to cover your ass?”

The both of you stood there in silence for several minutes, gazing at each other and listening to your uneven breathing. His face, unlike so many others, never really did reveal everything he was thinking. Feeling. You were dared to search for something else in his steady gaze besides disappointment, but for once, you could not tell what you saw. It was infuriating, humiliating, and hurtful.

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s even a brain inside your thick fucking skull.”

His harsh words didn’t normally cut you, but this time you flinched, looking away from Levi as all the fight drained out of you.


Wearing your jewelry out at night was a careless mistake, that you could admit. What was hard to swallow was the fact that you had just been mugged, and nearly assaulted, yet all Levi could do was find the time to scold you, not seeming to care at all if you were shaken up by what happened.  

It didn’t scare you that the other man’s hands found their way onto your skin. It didn’t scare you that something bad could have happened had Levi not knocked him out. You weren’t afraid of any of it; you were afraid that all the raven-haired man could see you for were your mistakes.

“So you think I’m a burden then?” you asked, choking up.

Your change in tone caught Levi’s attention. You suddenly looked smaller, and more vulnerable than the last time he looked at you. He sighed again, shaking his head softly. It took all your strength not to shy away from his fingers as they threaded through your hair, stopping on your shoulder and tugging you against him. You let Levi do it nonetheless, knowing this was his way of saying sorry; knowing this was his way of saying: “I’m tough on you because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”  

You pressed your ear against his beating heart, letting the sound soothe you.

“No, brat. I don’t think that. Let’s just go home, and forget about it,” his voice was more gentle this time.

You sniffled and nodded, chest bursting as Levi placed a feather light kiss on the top of your head. 

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

You never thought you’d miss the Underground. Especially when taking into consideration the miserable days after Levi, Isabel, and Farlan took that fateful deal, and were forced to leave you behind.  

Your feelings on the matter were conflicted, of course, but you were relieved and happy that the people who mattered most had such a big opportunity. They didn’t need to see you crying, nor hear about how scared you were to be by yourself. Each one deserved better than that, so you put on a brave face as they reassured you over and over that they’d come back. You beamed as brightly as you could, sending them off with words of encouragement as you continued fighting off the lingering feeling of dread as they left. 

You didn’t want to be a nuisance. Never wanted to be the reason they’d hold themselves back. 

Although he didn’t show it, Levi took it the hardest. He implored you to stay alive, in a scolding tone that he only ever used when he was worried. You could hold your own, but weren’t a fighter like the other three. The stern male had only ever been thankful of your gentle nature in the past, surprised to be cursing it now that he couldn’t protect you. But for him, you’d try your hardest, knowing that with a little faith and patience, you could be reunited in the future. 

The goodbye had been bittersweet, your lips slotting against his for the very first time. In a way, the way he kissed you seemed more like a promise than a farewell. His arms were wrapped around you all night, warmth lulling you to a sleep that otherwise, would never have been able to claim you. 

Parting afterwards the following morning became all the more difficult because of it.  

When Levi pulled a few strings with his newfound respected status and got the military to sponsor your citizenship, you were over the moon. Becoming a soldier was the last thing you expected out of your life, but wherever Levi and the others went, you would gladly follow. You felt at home again, throwing your arms around the man for the first time in months and giggling at the fact that while he accepted the gesture and patted your head awkwardly, his lack of affection never changed. 

But you were quickly learning that the ideological existence that lived right above your head was just an illusion. You came only to find your friends dead, and Levi more closed off to you than he’d ever been before. Up here, things were far from perfect, and as time went on, you instead yearned for the past if only to appreciate it better a second time around. And although things slowly got better, life was not yet finished throwing its hardships your way. 

The last person you had left slowly became out of reach, as time apart inevitably distanced the two of you and gave someone else the opportunity to fill that hole in his heart. 


Reality, you found, was much crueler under the blue of the sky.

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

“You don’t have to deny it, Levi. I know you better than anyone. I see the way you look at her,” you whispered, wringing your hands together in a feeble attempt to rid of the painful churn in your stomach. “I see it because you used to look at me that way.” 


It was admirable, at least, the effort you put in to keep your voice even. But the silence that followed those broken words was pitiful. The silence made it even more difficult to meet the gaze of the man in front of you. Levi had every opportunity to deny the truth of your burning statement; to bring you back into his arms and reaffirm his love like he used to. Like he would if maybe things were different. 

You knew, he had no desire to do that now. Instead, the Captain’s eyes screwed shut and a light sigh escaped his perfect lips, the warmth of it tingling your skin. It was nostalgic, almost, being alone with Levi like this. His face was nearer to yours then it had been in months, enough so that you could make out every tiny detail. The irony of it seemed mocking: for once, you couldn’t bear to look at him. Not that you needed to, with every feature of his sure to forever haunt your memory. 

But now all you could see were the interactions they had. Your vision consisted of watching as their bond and understanding grew. It was created in such a short amount of time, but hardly unpredictable with the amount of time Levi and Petra spent together. Even if Levi himself had not realized it, for you, it was plain as day. You knew him better than anyone. Could see that there was no pain in Levi’s eyes when he looked at her. Afterall, unlike you, Petra wasn’t a painful reminder of the past.   

Despite his physical closeness, this was the most detached you’ve ever felt from the male. The space between you was strange and unfamiliar. Lonely and cold.

At your words, he exhaled through his nostrils. 


“I would never be unfaithful, (Y/N). I never have been,” he spoke firmly, in that certain tone of speaking only he could manage. “I promised I would never leave you.” 

A tear spilled down your cheek, despite your best brave face. It was too much to handle, even for a calloused girl like you. Because despite everything, Levi had always been there. It seemed scary to have life any other way. 

Said man took your hand gently, handling it like porcelain. It wasn’t until his skin touched yours that you realized your fingers were shaking, and your facade was crumbling. His gesture was another reminder of what once was. The familiarity of his skin a testament to all the time spent simply existing with one another.

How did it come to this?

“A lot has changed since then, it seems,” you laughed softly, for once pulling away from his touch. “I bet you can’t even look at me without thinking about those two, huh?” 

You never once thought it was his fault. Even if you told him that, you knew Levi would always take accountability. Knew he would blame himself for taking Isabel and Farlan away from you. You should have seen this coming. It was inevitable that your love would be tainted, and that he’d find it somewhere else, even if it was unintentional. 

“(Y/N), wait—“ there was a small panic that awoke in the raven’s steely eyes that only those who truly knew him would be able to detect. 


“—You know how I feel about you, don't you? I want to be the one who you'd wake up next to every morning. The person you'd trust enough to spill all your secrets to, the one you want to hold close, the one who would make it hurt too much to ever let go. I want to be the person who can make you smile, or laugh until you can't breathe. Your first and last thought of the day, and the one you wonder about even when they’re not around.” 

You swallowed a whimper, fists clenched at your sides as your restraint came undone. It was all you’d ever wanted since you were small and starving and Levi was all you had to hold onto.

"But more than anything I want you to be happy. You deserve it.”

And because that’s how much I love you.

“I’d spent the rest of my life with you, if you asked me to,” the stoic Captain stated, as simply and mindlessly as if reciting the weather. 

You knew it was true. You also knew better than to let your mind wander to that fantasy, or to let a world come into fruition in which you stopped Levi from pursuing his happiness; held back simply because his loyalty knew no bounds. You refused to be that selfish. You’d rather die a miserable death, a thousand times over. Rather endure this anguish for as long as it resided in your heart then watch his indifference turn to hatred as years of a one-sided relationship droned on and on.

He doesn’t want you anymore. 

“I know, Levi.” You paused for a long moment. “Petra's wonderful. I don't hate either of you, I want you to remember that." 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying desperately to forget the feeling of Levi’s lips on your skin, your face against his chest. The warmth between your ribs or the butterflies in your stomach, or the fireworks of passion that only he could make you feel. Tried to forget the rare but special, secret words of affirmation only your ears got to hear, and the goosebumps they’d send across your skin. 

You wanted to erase it all, if only to make it easier to walk away with the knowledge you’d never feel any of that again.  

It was pathetic. 

There wasn’t anything left to be said. So with the task near impossible, looked at your lover, your best friend, your rock, your Levi, and turned away.

You only managed three steps before a voice followed you and a hand closed around your wrist.

“Is this what you want?” He sounded apathetic, but you knew better. His underlying worry only made the pain feel worse. 

“I don’t know.” At the very least, you were honest.  

"Will I see you again?"  

As adaptable as he was, Levi was never a fan of the unconventionality that was “change.” He was never surprised, quick to go with the flow, even if he preferred certainty and steadiness. 

This conversation, though, was one he never expected. 

"Of course," you forced a tiny smile, knowing it was more convincing than it felt. "I just need a breather. I'll be back for dinner." The words tasted bitter in your mouth. 

That was the first and only lie you'd ever tell Levi Ackerman, having handed in your resignation papers to Erwin just yesterday.

Forgive me, Levi. 

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

Snow fluttered down from the sky, coating the local shops and roofs of buildings with a thick, white blanket. Merchants and store owners alike grumbled their disapproval, bustling to sweep the front of their shops. The air was crisp and biting, yet you relished in the feeling and absorbed the atmosphere. Drunk garrison soldiers loitered around merrily, cheeks flushed from alcohol, catching the flakes in their hair and occasionally slipping on hidden ice in their drunken stupor. It made you chuckle softly, the residences of Wall Roses’ inconvenience the source of your contentment-- this was your first time seeing snow, the real thing a thousand times better than anything you read about in any book. 

You strolled through the marketplace, a basket holding bread, dried meats, cheese, and several fruits resting in the crook of your elbow. Your coin purse felt lighter than it had that morning, yet you carried on nonetheless, curious as to what Wall Rose had to offer. Children ran past you, throwing snowballs at each other and nearly running into you because of their haste. The sight made you grin as one of them bumped into one of the street market’s booths, knocking over a few items as he went. 

The woman behind the counter chastised them, her shouts growing louder when they barely spared her a glance and blended into the crowd of shoppers. Nick nacks and books were left scattered in their wake, askew on the cobblestone ground.

“Need help, ma’am?,” you asked her, picking up the objects from the ground. 

“Thank you, dearie,” she sighed gratefully, taking them from your hands. “Kids these days, so reckless and always in such a hurry.” 

You laughed airily, mirth swimming in your eyes. 

“You’re just lucky they didn’t steal anything,” you joked, reminiscing about your own thieving past. Your attention turned towards the noting the soldiers now dozing off on top of their card table nearby, tutting their behavior lightheartedly. “Levi, if only the police were like that back when we--” 

Out of habit, you turned around to meet his gaze, heart clenching when you remembered he wasn’t there. Your fists clenched to prevent you from smacking yourself at your carelessness. He’s not here, dumbass. 

“What was that, hun?” the woman behind the counter inquired, preoccupied in sorting her things. 

You put on your best smile, shaking your head before your thoughts could fill with images of a certain raven-haired, steele-eyed, heart-stopping male. The back of your eyes stung, the momentary joy of your first real winter quickly fading away.  

“Nothing important.” 

This is for the best, (Y/N). You’ve only ever gotten in the way, his whole life. Let the man be. 

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

It had been a few years since that last encounter with him. Part of you still wondered if Levi tried looking for you after realizing your true intentions of never coming back. You hoped he didn't, imagining instead that he'd made the most of the opportunity you'd given him. Prayed that it wasn't all for naught and he instead pursued what (or who) truly made him happy, instead of worrying about other people. In truth, you became content with life, learning to look back on memories fondly and being thankful for their existence. 

Residing above ground was enough reason to be grateful in itself, and you did your best to make the most of it. Your days were now spent in ways that paid tribute to your humble beginnings: individuals from the underground who managed to secure citizenship to the surface were put into your care. You helped men, women, and children alike assimilate into living on the surface, which included introducing the area, and assisting in finding housing and jobs. It was rewarding work, but more than anything, reminiscent to be able to see the wonder when their eyes meet the clouds for the very first time. The flickers of hope from your clients were things you carried with you every day. Your chosen profession left plenty of free time, however, as it was relatively rare for individuals to pay the hefty toll of climbing up those stairs. 

Your life was average, and for the most part, uneventful. The quietness that accompanied mediocrity proved to be comforting, however. It was a far cry from the days of constantly looking over your shoulder and needing to carry a knife in your boot, just in case.

At first, it was difficult not to cry at the thought of the stoic, raven-haired Ackerman. The heartache weighed down in your chest for a good amount of time. The simplest things reminded you of Levi, but after a while, instances where he’d cross your mind became fewer and further between. With a nicer home than anything you previously owned, a livable income, and an overall peaceful existence, you didn’t have any regrets. 

At least, that was what you told yourself until you heard the news. 

On off days you worked as a waitress at one of the many taverns within Wall Rose. Large tips were one of the many perks that drew you in originally. The chatter of the customers and frequent bar-goers was a welcome ambience, and an opportunity for you to combat the occasional feeling of loneliness. 

Occasionally, Scout Regiment gossip would filter through, especially about Humanity’s Strongest and the new titan shifter Eren Jeager. Updates were nice, knowing Levi was safe and thriving in what he did best. But as you placed a pint of beer on one of the tables and overheard a heavy set man babble loudly to his comrade, dread splashed over you in waves.

“The Captain was the only survivor in his squad. He wasn’t even with them when it happened, poor guy. He must feel terribly guilty.”     

Your vision became hazy as you tried not to panic; of all the rumours that filtered through the drunk mouths of customers, you had never heard bad news like this before. The last you’d heard, human kind was given a beacon of hope, and things were looking up after Eren Jaeger managed to plug up the hole in Trost. 

“Excuse me, but which squad did you say this happened to?” you heard your voice say. 


Across the table, the other man took a swig of his drink, and grunted indignantly. 

“Levi Squad, the best in the military I heard. A shame, but I suppose even the top in the Survey Corps are still just suicidal maniacs when it comes down to it.” 

No, no, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen!  

After that, everything became white noise. You could only register every third movement, heart thundering in your ears. The tray you’d been holding to carry the drinks clattered as it fell to the ground, causing a few gasps and strange looks to be thrown in your direction. In your horrified state, dread weighed down like lead in your body. You rushed to the back room, tears clouding your vision as you tried not to stumble. 

You gripped the edges of the washroom sink, dizzy with this newfound information.   

Levi has now lost more people that he loved, and was probably experiencing the same survivor’s guilt as he did with Isabel and Farlan. He was most likely suffering alone right now, never having been one to let people see his vulnerability so easily.

You did not witness first hand what your friends’ deaths meant to him. When the Captain waited for you at the top of the staircase, his expression never seemed out of the ordinary. Levi was kind enough to let you enjoy your first few days up with him simply enjoying the newfound freedom. He made the excuse that your two other comrades were out on business somewhere, and would be back to see you soon. Maybe, at the time, your excitement blinded you from the deeper emotions hidden in his voice. 

When you found out the truth, their passing broke you. The fact that Levi shouldered any blame, however, is what twisted the knife. He had been grieving by himself; feeling that pain without anyone to comfort him. He had to put on a brave face just to see you; secretly spending that last month alone, probably relaying over and over how he would break the news to you. 

Your remorse increased tenfold when it was him who held you, and him who put you back together, just like he had to for himself. And now he was by himself all over again.

I have to do something. 

Splashing water on your face, you straightened up and looked in the mirror, a sudden surge of guilt coursing through your veins.

You refused to let Levi be alone this time around, no matter how he might feel about you now.

~~~~~~~

Part Two!

[tutuandscoot]

I’ve had several asks come in the last few days all kinda on the same subject and making the same kinda frankly, ignorant assumptions. I am of course accepting of and recognise others opinions but since there were a few I’m just going to address them in one post, and hopefully that will be the end of it, coz frankly it’s not something I like, nor feel like it’s something we have any right to discuss.

I’m not a gossip blog, I’m not a reality/trash blog. I’m not a blog that’s going to comment on the subjects’ of my blog’s personal lives. Every opinion I write is based on everything that has come from them. I do not read into anything based on timing of Instagram posts, how frequently someone visits their cottage, when someone is in a certain city. What anyone is doing with their private lives. I know me saying what I do isn’t going to convince anyone to necessary change their behaviour just coz I think it’s poor form, but I’m saying it anyway coz based on my own morals, it’s the only way I can in good faith participate in a discussion about two real people.

My blog is about love and appreciation of TS as humans, athletes and artists. Humans with flaws, humans that are not perfect and in fact celebrate their imperfections while still becoming the best in the world. Humans that spent their athletic careers under the spotlight and were unnecessarily probed at endlessly and dealt with assault upon assault of their relationship purely because it didn’t fit the story people (who had mostly just discovered them) wanted. There is absolutely no problem with fantasising and imaging ‘what if’ but please just keep it respectful. These are real people with real feelings and to think they hear certain things people were saying about them makes my heart ache for them (not necessarily the things in the asks- much worse things).

It’s really sad that the world has become a place where anyone can make assumptions on people relationship/s based on what happens on social media. The weight the “life” lived through social media has on peoples’ opinions and judgement. I’m not saying I’m immune to this, but for the subjects of my blog it is certainly not a factor in my opinion of them. I’m dancing around a few of the specific things said in some of these asks as to not to call anyone out but some of it is truly astounding and hypocritical. The idea that there are people who think that because a certain amount of time has passed between them seeing each other means they are no longer friends... how would you like it if people were doing that to you and your best friend, or you and your partner who were separated due to work or border closures or inter-personal problems that is nobody else’s business? Not to mention THE FUCKING PANDEMIC that literally shut down the world for a better part of 18 months (some places shorter some longer). My best friend and I live in different countries (she in NZ, I in AUS) I went to see her in NZ 5 weeks before Covid started. I was meant to go back for her 21st birthday in July (2020). I couldn’t. AUS and NZ had some of the strictest travel/covid restrictions in the world. We had a brief travel bubble in March/April 2021 before the delta outbreak where she was going to come visit me but we couldn't get it to work coz it was too risky. We tried unsuccessfully several more times but we finally got to see each other last month when she came to visit me after my surgery. Yet over those 2 1/2 years we got closer and closer just by staying in contact and laughing together even tho we weren't even in the same country. I’m not certain of the specific restrictions in Canada (I know for a fact it was more strict and considerate of the health of the country as opposed to the meth lab downstairs) but I think at this point with most places being back to normal its hard to forget just how unprecedented covid was and how it separated us.

I’m not going to get into the specifics of what TS were doing and where during covid (coz again IT’S NONE OF MY BUSINESS) but i know for fact they were on opposite sides of the country (at a time different countries) for a significant period, then on top of that, they are both insanely busy people who take enormous pride in their work. They are workaholics (especially T) and they love what they do. She has worked so hard her entire life at becoming the best ice dancer in the world despite horrible injuries and is such an incredible person that once they decided to stop, in fact even before they did she was planning the next phase of her life. She didn't want to be remembered as ‘the girl in the red dress’ for the rest of her life, she didn’t want February 20, 2018 to be the peak- the end of her life, at just 28. How easy would it be for any of us, if we were to put ourselves in her shoes, to cash in on endorsements and tour the world as a skating celebrity (with or without Scott) and make a bomb from doing that, with her technique and athletic ability waning, performing increasing slower and laboured versions of MR for the next 30 years. NO. She values herself as a whole human being and wanted to challenge herself in new areas that have always interested her. For anyone who judges her for how many brand endorsements appear in her IG, think about how intelligent this girl is. She put herself through an MBA over zoom. she studied through a psychology degree while being the best Ice dancer in the world. Think about when she said how she was beyond simply posing with a product, and she wanted to really be part of what these brands do and work with people who share her values. We see her posing with the product still because that IS part of it, she is well known- BECAUSE of her career that is so iconic it manages to reach into mainstream culture. But there is so much that goes on behind a still photo. TV has so much integrity and would not be doing these things if she didn’t love it, if she wasn’t contributing to things she believes in. And honestly, the fact that she’s a girl and gets so much slack for that is even more disgusting.

Having said that, it seems the treatment of Scott was and possibly is worse. I’m really not going to get into any of that because it’s really disgusting and considering he is so much less on social media, the way info was found out and assumed is the reason I fear for what humanity has become (ngl with some of this stuff I get Princess Di flashbacks* (not flashbacks, I was 1 mth old. images moreso) After some of the stuff that’s been said about them and the schemes people set up to tear them apart (ie kobe) it’s a miracle we still have the fortune of following along with their new careers. If you love them you should be grateful for that.

I hate to be so harsh about it, but whoever is making their determinations on the status of TS lifelong bond, history, and FRIENDSHIP based on an Instagram posting schedule, frankly i judge you and that’s really dumb. If you have a different definition of ‘friendship’/ ‘best friends’ then I do, that’s fine but I don’t know why you follow me considering literally everything I write and post celebrates this extraordinary friendship.

I’m not fan of confrontation and hate reading opinions- not that differ to mine, but just seem hypocritical and in human. Yes, what I write is my opinion, but if my opinion was based on something completely, realistically unjustifiable I wouldn't post it because that’s not fare to TS.

Some advise: Don’t get caught up in twisted social media realities- it is no one’s whole real life and should not be used as a barometer for judging anyone on stuff we couldn’t possibly know about.

People’s opinions are their opinions and I don’t consider myself to have any effect in changing opinions, but I want to keep this a positive space that CELEBRATES TS and everything about them. They are extraordinary human beings and we all have a lot to learn from them about how we should treat each other. They are not perfect and of course they have made mistakes like we all do, but were they actually perfect I’m sure there would still be those out there making up flaws on the basis of entertainment. It seams this place will never be truly free of harassment to their partnership and friendship, and that’s really sad. So therefore, this is going to always be a space of celebration and admiration where we live in realty (not social media/reality show/soap opera type reality).

I’m going to leave this post with a few things.

Firstly: this lovely message left on one of my YT videos that I thought was really poignant and showed me that there are others out there who see the enlightening effect TS have on humanity:

Second, some truly heart warming sound bites of TS talking about each other, while they weren't able to be with each other in person. Take this as you like, I’m sure there are some who will twist it into some bullshit story but I take it as I hear it and I hear two people who will eternally love and care about each other, and celebrate what their beautiful, unique friendship has blossomed into:

I do not like making these posts because I respect that everyone is entitled to their opinion, yay for free speech, and I want this blog to be what it is but it just kinda puzzles me when my view is I feel so... what my view is, that anyone thinks I’m gonna come along, back flip and say, ‘yeh you know what is weird that, since I know what TS 24/7 schedule of every day of their lives-coz that’s info I need to know, that they wouldn’t stop by to remind each other that “hey, since we haven’t seen each other in person in 6 months we should really reassess the value and definition of our friendship, since you know, we were so good at finding an exact definition for our incredibly unique and loving partnership we’ve shared for 22 + plus years since we were 6 and 8...” coz that’s what two incredibly successful and talented people need to be doing with their lives” and take the time to inform us all coz they care so much about what we think of them... ‘

Me rn:

Finishing it all off with one of their Hugs coz you’re definitely gonna just choose to stop being best friends with the person you did this with for 10 years..🤨