#please change it if you think of something better

[silenceofserenity]

Haikyuu Boys as your Boyfriend.

PART 1 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

↳ Includes: Kuroo, Kenma, Akaashi, Bokuto, Tsukishima & Terushima

Part 2, Part 3

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Kuroo Tetsurou

Dating Kuroo means pillows don't exist anymore - he loves resting his head on your thighs instead.

He loves challenging you with trivia competitions but he picks out questions only he knows, so he can brag to you about how smart he is.

I doubt this man knows how to cook and is probably the type to say, "but baby, the way you make it is just so much better!"

On that note, he's a food stealer. If you go and make yourself something to eat, just know he's taking portions when you're not looking.

He'll randomly text you science facts as a way to start the conversation, "hey, did you know that there are more trees on Earth than stars in the galaxy? anyways, I miss you."

His lockscreen is the ugliest photo of you just to annoy you, but he has a hidden photo album with all of your pretty photos named 'my girl/my boy/my partner'.

Wears your hair ties on his wrist 100%.

He's incredibly proud of his body and will take any chance to flex his biceps in front of you.

He'll text you, "please don't be mad" and then follow it up with a photo of his cat next to a broken plate because he swears you can't get mad at a cat.

Grabs your chin when you're distracted just to kiss you and whisper, "focus" in the most smug tone.

Tries so hard to be nonchalant but there is not a single nonchalant bone in his body.

Kozume Kenma

When he's gaming, he will let you lie on his lap and will instinctively play with your hair.

He lets you paint his nails when you're bored, acting like he doesn't care but he actually think its adorable.

Most of your dates consist being at his house or in a quieter setting like a little cafe.

After training, he'll come to you and rant about his teammates, "Yamamoto spiked it so hard he hit Kuroo in the face and no one laughed. I was the only one that laughed. Also, I tripped on a ball and Kuroo said it was karma, can you believe that?"

Loves cuddling with you - whenever you're over he becomes extremely clingy.

If he's gaming and you fall asleep beside him, he'll lower the volume, slide a blanket over you and keep glancing at you in admiration.

He's not the jealous type, but if he sees someone flirting with you he will make fun of them after they leave, "did he really just offer you (food you hate)? Idiot. I know you hate that."

Mario Kart competitions - that's all.

He has really specific spotify playlists for every scenario and has an extremely long one that's like 52 hours of songs you like for when you come over.

He hates PDA but when he gets overstimulated in public, he likes to hold pinkies or something small like that just to get your attention.

Expect random texts from him at any given time - like one at 2am in the morning asking to hop on minecraft.

Akaashi Keiji

I already know this man know how to cook a good meal so you better be ready for the best dish ever.

He's extremely observant and loves watching you speak, so he notices everything - a new habit, a subtle frown or even a slight change in tone of voice.

He loves reading in his spare time, and once he read one of your favourite books, annotated it, and gave it back to you with neat sticky notes saying, 'this part reminds me of you.'

On his phone, all of his notifications are off, except for you (and bokuto) but your name is starred and pinned at the top, always.

When he's annoyed or frustrated, he'll text you saying, 'can I call you? I need to hear your voice.'

After a rough day, he will show up at your house with your favourite snacks, a blanket, and your favourite movies to watch together.

He's the most grounding person, and always knows exactly what to say without sugarcoating it, 'you're capable. You're smart. And you don't need to prove it to anyone to be valid.'

Big believer in forehead kisses!

He lets you read over his shoulder, even if he's deep into schoolwork. If your head rests against his, he doesn't flinch. Just smiles a little.

He's memorised your schedule so he knows when to text you 'good luck' when you have that one evil teacher.

When you're crying, he doesn't panic. He just pulls you into him, rubs your back and mutters, "it's okay, my love. I've got you."

He loves listening to you rant while his fingers just softly trace all over your skin, humming at certain things you say to let you know he's still listening.

Bokuto Kotaro

Bro is literally your biggest fan. You could sneeze and this man would be looking at you in awe.

He absolutely adores it when you wear his jerseys to his games, he'd shout, "LOOK THAT'S MY BABY!!" in public. Especially in public.

Clings to you post-practice - arms wrapped around your waist, forehead resting on your shoulder as he whines about being sore and hungry.

Has NO poker face. If he's happy, you'll know. If he's sad, you'll know. He's also so dramatic when he's upset, "so this is how I die. Heart shattered, and all alone."

He will talk about you to anyone that will listen. Poor Akaashi is actually a victim of this.

This one time when he was in one of his sad moods, you were sitting with him in silence, and letting him rant when he suddenly looked up at you and said, "thank you for being patient with me."

He sends voice messages instead of texts because he claims texts don't show enough emotion but he always gets distracted when sending them and talks through 5 topics before getting to the point.

Random bear hugs. All the time. He loves hugging you, he says you're his safe space.

Probably sleep talks - like you'll wake up to him murmuring, "that's my baby, don't touch them or i'll fight you." He also wouldn't remember it in the morning.

He needs reassurance, but sometimes it's for the most random things. This one time he asked you if you still thought he was cool...

He's definitely got the most chaotic and weird food combinations that he tries to make you eat, "It might look gross but it's made with love, so just try it!"

Tsukishima Kei

Acts like he's not paying attention when you're ranting, but actually remembers every single detail.

If anyone ever says anything to you, he'll defend you but then deny it right after with that stupid smirk on his face, "no, that wasn't defending. I just hate stupid people."

When you're overwhelmed, he won't pressure you to talk - he'll just sit beside you and let you tell him when you're ready.

He definitely follows those dinosaur pages so he can get all the new updates on 'how dinosaurs really looked back in the day.'

Gossiping sessions with him go so hard because he has no filter and will literally say it as it is, "did she actually say that? Jesus, I'm surprised her boyfriend hasn't broken up with her yet."

He let you wear his glasses once, and he made it your contact picture. He claims it's because 'you look stupid' but we all know he loves it.

Pretends he hates PDA but he secretly likes it. You held his arm while walking together once and he called you clingy, yet didn't do anything to stop it.

He's weirdly competitive about game nights and if you beat him in Uno or Mario Kart, he'll go quiet for a bit before saying, "one more. That didn't count."

The only person he will help study is you. Hinata asked him once, and he said no straight up, but as soon as you asked he told you to meet him after school (Hinata has never lived this down).

He always makes height jokes and if you say something he thinks is stupid, he'll look down and say, "what was that? I can't hear you from down there."

He sends you random memes and just adds a comment like, "this is you."

Terushima Yuji

He's the type to compliment you in the middle of an argument to throw you off, "you're so hot when you're mad, you know that?"

Loves post-practice cuddles where he'll literally wrestle you into a hug and then just collapse with his head on top of your stomach.

He always talks through movies like he actually cannot stop talking. "wait, babe was that guy the killer? I though-" "shut up." "Okay, my bad."

His love language is physical touch and always needs to be in some form of contact with you - arm around your waist while walking, head in your lap when watching a movie, legs thrown over you when cuddling.

He's an incredibly unhinged texter and sends the most random messages: "opinions on matching tattoos?" "If you were a zombie, I'd let you eat me." "Look at this dog I saw today, we should get one. Or maybe a baby?"

Carries snacks for you and pretends it's not on purpose. He'll whip out one and be like, "oh you're hungry? Lucky I packed an extra bar. Total coincidence, I know."

If you attend his training, he will get totally distracted by you. You'll be in the stand watching as he turns to look at you, winking just in time for the ball to smack him right in the face.

Honestly, he's quite a messy person, and probably has clothes all over the floor in his room but he uses it as an excuse for you to wear them. "I left them out on purpose for you obviously!"

Gets pouty if you don't kiss him before he leaves, "oh okay... guess i'll just die then."

[ijustwannabecool]

Two Seats Apart

Harry Styles x Reader

Summary... You’ve never spoken. Not once. But for eight months, he’s sat two seats away on the 8:42 train, and somehow—he feels familiar. Then one day, he leaves behind his journal. And in it? You. Now, everything is about to change.

Trigger Warnings: None—just soft, warm feelings and lots of eye contact

A/N: For anyone who’s ever fallen in love with the possibility of a stranger. I hope you guys enjoy this ordinary!Harry fic. Let me know what you guys think. If you like it please comment and leave me feedback. As always, requests are open :) Have a beautiful day today.

If you like this fic please reblog, leave a comment, and leave a like.

Happy reading.

You don’t know his name. You’ve never heard his voice. But you know the shape of him in your periphery better than most things. The curve of his shoulder in a wool coat. The way his fingers hover just above the page before he writes, like he’s asking permission from the paper first.

You know he likes chamomile tea. That he reads fiction—literary, sometimes thrillers—and switches to poetry on Fridays. You once caught the title of a collection, its spine cracked and pages dog-eared: The Sun and Her Flowers. It surprised you.

So did the small flower doodles that lined the edge of one page you accidentally glimpsed when he turned it too far.

For eight months now, he’s been two seats apart on the 8:42 train into the city. Not beside you. Never that bold. But not across the aisle either. Close enough to hear the soft scratch of his pen. Far enough to remain a mystery.

You’ve never spoken. But in a strange, quiet way… he feels familiar.

There are days when your eyes meet by accident in the window’s reflection. Days when he offers his seat to someone else—always with a soft smile, a quiet nod, never words. Days when you wonder if he notices you too.

And days when you know for certain that he does. Like today.

——

You started taking the 8:42 because it was the only time your nerves settled.

After the move. After the breakup. After the kind of year that left you cracked in quiet places.

The earlier train was too hectic. The later one too full of people who’d already had too much coffee and not enough patience. But the 8:42? It felt still. A breath between worlds.

The job you commuted to—children’s publishing—was both a dream and a challenge. Quiet offices, messy manuscripts, and your favorite part: stories that reminded you to believe in magic again.

And somewhere between chapter submissions and deadline emails… you noticed him.

——

The rain had been half-hearted all morning. The kind that misted instead of poured. Still, it clung to your hair and coat as you stepped onto the platform, coffee in one hand, umbrella folded under your arm.

You saw him immediately.

He was already on the train, leaned against the window with his eyes closed, earphones in. The collar of his coat was turned up, curls damp against his forehead. His lips moved ever so slightly, like he was mouthing lyrics. Or words he hadn’t yet written.

You took your seat. Your usual one. Three rows down, two seats across.

And the routine began. Train lurches. Announcements drone. The rhythm of the tracks settles in.

You steal a glance. Just one. Maybe two.

He’s awake now, journal open on his lap. His pen glides across the page like it knows where it’s going. Like it’s been here before.

You wish you had that certainty.

Your stop nears faster than usual. Time, for all its consistency, seems to bend when he's around.

You stand, tucking your book into your tote, adjusting your coat. The train begins to slow, that familiar squeak of brakes signaling the end of another almost-meeting.

You glance toward him one last time before the doors hiss open.

He’s looking out the window.

He never looks at you.

——

It’s not until the train is pulling away behind you that you realize it.

He left something behind.

You see it through the glass—his journal, still nestled into the space between the seat and the window. Half-covered, half-forgotten. Your heart does something funny, like it’s tripping over itself.

You could leave it. You should. But curiosity wraps around your ankles like a tide.

You step back into the station. You wait until the next round of boarding is done. And then you slip back onto the train, now mostly empty, and walk quietly to where he always sits.

The journal is still there. Still open. Still warm from where he’d been.

You pause.

Then you slide it toward you.

The page is filled with handwriting—messy but beautiful, slanted slightly right, like it’s always leaning forward. There’s a sketch of something in the margin. A coffee cup. A scarf. Your scarf.

Your breath catches.

You read the words slowly, carefully, like they might disappear if you blink too fast.

She always chooses the same seat. Three rows down. Across from me. The green scarf. The way she hums sometimes, too softly for anyone but me to notice. The way she looks up when the train crosses the bridge, like the river might finally answer her questions. I want to say hello. But I don’t want to ruin the silence. The silence where she exists most beautifully.

You stare.

This can’t be about you. It couldn’t.

And yet…

Tucked into the spine, almost hidden, is a smaller piece of paper. A note, folded twice. You unfold it with shaking fingers.

If you’re reading this, then I forgot my journal. And that probably means this was meant to happen. I’ve been writing about you for months. I thought I’d keep it all to myself. But now… maybe tomorrow, I’ll say hello. – H.

Your hand clamps over your mouth. Your heart? A mess of thunder and flutter. Your brain? Useless. Spinning.

You fold the note and place it carefully back between the pages. You press the journal to your chest, unsure whether to scream or cry or laugh.

You know one thing, though—one absolutely certain thing:

Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

——

He doesn’t mean to leave it.

The journal. The damn journal.

He realizes it too late—two stops too far, heart plummeting somewhere around the back of his throat. He’s halfway to the café, rain curling at the collar of his coat, when he freezes mid-step.

“Shit.”

People move around him, umbrellas clashing, shoes scuffing against wet pavement. But his world is suddenly still. Loud with panic.

He left it on the seat.

His mind replays it on loop. The way he’d tucked it under his arm, distracted by the last line he’d written. The way his fingers lingered too long on the note he tore from the back. The way he looked—really looked—at you for the first time that morning. Not through the glass. Not sideways.

You were laughing at something on your phone. Hair falling forward, scarf bunched under your chin, lips pressed together like you were trying not to smile too much.

He wonders if you were laughing at something someone sent you. He hopes, stupidly, that it wasn’t a boyfriend. (He tells himself it doesn’t matter. He’s lying.)

The thought that you might find the journal makes him nauseous. And exhilarated.

Because he wrote about you.

God, he wrote about you.

And now you know.

——

The journal is still in your bag.

You haven’t opened it again. Haven’t dared to read more than that note. Haven’t let your mind spiral into the million different ways this could go wrong—or right.

You don’t know what to expect when you board the train the next morning. If he’ll be there. If he’ll look at you. If he’ll speak.

But when the 8:42 rolls in, and you step into your usual carriage, there he is.

Two seats away.

Except this time, he’s not writing.

He’s watching you.

The look in his eyes is gentle. Hesitant. A question wrapped in hope.

You meet his gaze.

And for the first time, you smile.

You slide into your seat, fingers curled around the edge of the tote where his journal sits. He looks down, then back up, lips parting as if to say something—but he doesn’t.

The silence stretches. Not awkward. Not empty.

Just full.

At the next stop, a folded piece of paper lands in your lap.

You glance up. He’s facing forward, pretending he didn’t just pass you a note like a boy in a school hallway.

You unfold it slowly.

I know this is insane. I didn’t mean to leave it behind. But then again… maybe I did. Maybe I just didn’t want to hold it all alone anymore. You don’t have to say anything. Just… if you don’t want me to write again, don’t reply. But if you do... if you’re even a little curious—leave a note on the seat tomorrow morning. I’ll wait for it. I’ll wait for you. – H.

You read it twice. Then again. Then tuck it gently into your pocket.

And you don’t hesitate.

——

That night, you stay up later than usual. The lamp on your bedside table glows soft and golden, and the words come quicker than you expected.

You don’t try to sound clever. Or poetic. Or perfect.

You just… write.

I don’t know why I noticed you first. Maybe it was the way you always offer your seat. Or how you tap your fingers to some rhythm I’ll never hear. I don’t know what this is. But I think I’d like to find out. I’ll leave this here. Same time. Same seat. – Y/N

——

The next morning, he boards the train earlier than usual.

Heart racing. Hands in his pockets. Hope coiled like a spring inside his chest.

And there it is.

A folded note. Sitting exactly where you promised.

He exhales.

Something loosens in his chest.

He reads your words three times before daring to smile.

You replied.

You replied.

He spends the entire ride writing back.

——

That week becomes a blur of letters.

Tiny pieces of folded paper, slipped under armrests. Descriptions of favorite songs, dreams too big to say out loud, little anecdotes that feel like secrets.

He tells you about his love for rainy mornings and black-and-white films.

You tell him how you once cried in public because a stranger sang your favorite song and it felt like magic.

He says he used to play music, but doesn’t anymore.

You ask why. He doesn’t answer—yet.

The words pile up. So do the feelings.

You start dressing with him in mind. He begins saving you a seat—closer now. One row apart.

And still, not a single word is spoken aloud.

Until Friday.

The train is late. People are restless. You’re standing by the door, heart thudding.

Then you feel it—his presence. His warmth behind you.

You turn.

He’s holding a note, but not offering it.

Instead, his voice breaks the quiet.

“Hi.”

You blink. He smiles. Soft, crooked, unsure.

“I figured it was time,” he says, voice low. “To actually say it.”

Your breath catches. “Hi,” you say back.

And for the first time, it’s not paper holding your words.

——

You’ve spent weeks reading his thoughts like stolen poetry. Now you’re sitting beside him for the first time, and you can’t think of a single thing to say.

He’s real. He’s right here. And he smells like cedarwood and morning rain.

Your knees are almost touching. His hand rests on the journal in his lap, thumb tracing over the edge of the leather cover. Yours are clutched tightly around a paper cup of tea you barely remember buying. Everything is too loud inside your head and too quiet between you.

“So,” he says, a little nervous, “we’re talking now.”

You smile. “We are.”

He chuckles softly. “Not as romantic as ink and paper, is it?”

“No,” you admit. “But it’s nice. Different nice.”

The pause that follows is soft. Not awkward. Just full. Familiar.

You glance at him. “Harry,” you say gently, tasting the name for the first time in your mouth. “That is your name, right? H?”

He smiles—warm, bashful, with that little dimple like a comma at the end of his grin.

“It is. Harry Styles. And yours is…?”

You tilt your head. “You mean you’ve been writing about me for months and didn’t know my name?”

He bites back a laugh. “I didn’t want to assume. Figured if you ever wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

You offer your hand. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

He takes it. Holds it gently, like it’s fragile or sacred. “Hi, Y/N.”

Your heart does something stupid and syrupy.

“Hi, Harry.”

——

He’s never been more terrified than in the moment your fingers touched his.

Because now it’s real.

This girl—the one he watched from two seats away for almost a year, the one who unknowingly filled his journal and his mornings and his mind—is holding his hand. Saying his name. Smiling like maybe she’s felt it too.

He doesn’t want to scare you. Doesn’t want to rush this. But he also doesn’t want to go back to silence.

So he says the thing he’s been thinking for days now.

“Would it be too forward if I asked to walk you to wherever you're going after this?”

Y/N looks down at their still-joined hands and shrugs, playful. “That depends.”

“On?”

She glances up. “If you’ll keep writing me letters.”

Harry grins. “Even if we talk?”

“Especially if we talk.”

He nods. “Deal.”

——

The rest of the ride feels like a blur. A blur wrapped in slow smiles, shy glances, and questions like tiny paper cranes unfolding between you.

He asks about your favorite breakfast. You tell him about your obsession with bookstore cafés. He lights up when you mention poetry. You light up when he says he used to sing.

He tells you he stopped because life got loud and messy and he didn’t know how to make room for it anymore.

You tell him maybe he didn’t have to make room—maybe the music was always still in him.

He goes quiet then. But not because he’s uncomfortable. Just thoughtful. As if something you said tugged on an invisible thread deep inside him.

When the train slows into the city, neither of you stands right away.

People move around you. Rush. Push. The world spins.

But you two? You sit in the stillness. And you stay there until the carriage empties.

——

You walk together to the end of the platform. He’s close enough that your scarf brushes his wrist, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to take your hand again. You kind of hope he does.

When you reach the stairs, you stop.

“This is me,” you say, nodding toward the east exit.

He points in the opposite direction. “And I’m that way.”

A beat passes. Then another.

You rock gently on your heels. “Well…”

“Wait,” he says, a little breathless. “I—can I see you again?”

Your eyebrows lift, teasing. “We see each other every morning.”

“You know what I mean.”

Your smile softens. “Yeah. I do.”

And then you lean in—just enough to kiss his cheek. It’s featherlight, a brush of a promise.

“I’ll be two seats apart tomorrow,” you whisper. “Unless you want to sit next to me.”

You walk away before he can answer, scarf trailing behind you like punctuation at the end of a beautiful sentence.

And behind you, you know—without looking—that he’s smiling.

Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like the story is just beginning.

——

Epilogue: One Month Later

The train feels different now.

There’s laughter where silence used to be. Shared playlists through split earbuds. Hands brushing, then holding. Notes still passed, still folded, still filled with little thoughts—because some habits are worth keeping.

Y/N reads today’s one while sipping tea:

I used to think my favorite part of the commute was the quiet. But then you looked at me, and now it’s the part where you smile. – H.

She tucks the note into the back of her journal—the one he bought her last week, soft-bound and navy, with her initials stamped in the corner.

And then she looks over at him.

He’s already watching her. Of course he is.

She leans her head on his shoulder.

And this time, there are no seats between them.

The End.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this story. Let me know your feedback.

[dinoandguitar]

I'm lovinggg the holding their newborns for the first time series, it's just sooo sweet <33

Do you think you could do one for Woozi maybe? 🥺 It's fine if you don't, thnks and have a nice day!

"Something I never want to forget"

Husband!LeeJihoon (WOOZI) x Afab!Reader

Genre: Pure Fluff!

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, childbirth (Reader has just given birth). The setting is at a hospital.

A/N : Hi! I'm so glad you liked the series! 🫶🏾 Thank you so much for the request. Hope you like this one as well :) Please feel free to send in more requests ✨️

Masterlist

The room was quiet. Not in an uncomfortable way, but in the kind of stillness that follows something life-changing. The kind that makes everything else fade into the background. The machines, the hallway noise, the soft murmur of nurses walking past the door. All of it faded when they placed her in his arms.

Your daughter. His daughter.

Jihoon stared down at her like she was something he’d dreamed about once and never thought he’d actually get to touch.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked. Her tiny fingers twitched against the fabric of the blanket, and he looked like he’d stopped breathing for a second.

“Is she okay?” he asked, so softly you barely heard him. “Is she comfortable?”

“She’s perfect,” you whispered with a tired smile, still tucked into the hospital bed, weak but glowing. “She’s with you.”

Jihoon’s arms tightened just a little, like the thought alone gave him strength. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but it took him a moment. He blinked quickly and glanced at you for just a second…then back at her.

“I didn’t think I’d be this scared,” he said finally. “But I am. I’m so scared.”

“Why?” you asked gently.

“Because I’ve never loved anything this much.” His voice cracked, barely audible.

You didn’t expect that-not from him. Jihoon wasn’t cold, but he was quiet. Reserved. He held his love in actions and music and the quiet weight of his presence. But now, as he stared down at your daughter like she hung the stars, all of it was spilling out.

“She’s so small,” he whispered. “I didn’t think she’d be this small.”

“She’s new,” you chuckled, tired. “She’ll grow.”

He nodded slowly, still unable to take his eyes off her. Then, as if realizing it all at once, he shifted and sat on the edge of your bed so you could see her better. He angled her carefully, his movements full of reverence and awe, like he was holding something sacred.

“This is your Eomma,” he whispered to the baby. “She’s amazing. She’s everything. She did all the hard stuff while I just stood around like an idiot.”

You laughed again, tears burning your eyes. He looked loving at you. “You brought her into the world.” His eyes flicked to yours, more serious now. “I watched you do the impossible. I’ve never-” he paused, his jaw clenched slightly like he was trying not to cry again. “I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life.”

You reached over and touched his knee, your fingers brushing against his hand where it cradled your daughter’s head. Jihoon smiled, then glanced back at the tiny girl resting against his chest.

“She’s warm,” he said, smiling now, voice soft and shaky. “And squishy. And she smells like something I never want to forget.”

He looked down at her for a long time, eyes glassy but full of light. Then, with a little breath of wonder, he said, “Hi, baby girl. I’m your Appa.” His thumb gently stroked her forehead. “That… still feels weird to say. But I’m gonna keep saying it.”

The baby stirred, her nose scrunching, mouth puckering slightly. Jihoon froze.

“Wait…did she just make a face?” he asked quickly. “Was that a face?”

“She’s a baby, Ji,” you giggled. “She makes faces.”

“But that was a real one! Like… she was thinking something. What if she didn’t like my voice? Is my voice too deep? Do you think I sound scary?”

“She’s not judging you, love.”

He let out a tiny breath of relief, still looking down at her in total disbelief. “I just want to get everything right,” he mumbled. “I want her to love me. I want her to feel safe. I want her to know I’d give her anything-everything. I want to be someone she’s proud of.”

“You already are.”

He looked at you, and his whole face softened.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice trembling with emotion. “For her. For doing all of this. For letting me have this moment. For choosing to do this with me.”

You reached up, touching his cheek, feeling the warmth and the dampness of tears he didn’t bother to hide. “I’d do it all over again, just as long as it's with you.”

Jihoon laughed through his tears, wiping at them half-heartedly with his shoulder so he wouldn’t shift her too much. “You’re too good to me.”

He leaned forward and gently rested his head against yours, the baby still between you, safe and warm.

“I’m gonna love her so much,” he whispered. “And you. Always.”

The three of you stayed like that for a while-tangled together in silence, in warmth, in everything that mattered.

And when the nurse returned quietly to check on you all, she paused in the doorway, smiling to herself before backing out again. Some moments, she knew, were too perfect to interrupt.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

A/N : Hope you liked it! Appreciate all your support 🫶🏾

[andromeda-nova-writing]

I'm so glad I keep all my works I posted in docs still. makes things easier to search

Like always, you grab everyone I would tag. But this time you left able to tag @woofwoofwolf

Your words are: strange, count, company, moved, judgement

“The second part. I've never called your personality charming.” “You sounded charmed when you were describing me moments ago. And considering what you said, I should feel important that you want me to meet her.” He threw her words right back at her. “If you would have regretted it, I don’t think you would have brought it up.”

Impressions Wriothesley x Reader

“I am too busy dealing with the affairs of Inazuma for a love life. I get proposals once a week and they are a waste of my time. You are wasting your granddaughter’s time. If getting married can free her to do as she pleases then I find no issue with ‘disgracing’ my name. If anything it would make my life easier having a translator in my home as Inazuma continues to reconnect with the world.”

Better Days Coming For Sure (If This World Were Mine) Ayato x Reader

Cyno slowly placed the cards in his hands on the table now fully paying attention to what was unfolding in front of him. Kaveh choked on his wine only for Tighnari to pat his back as he coughed.  Y/N’s face dropped. “It’s a heirloom. It’s been in my family longer than my grandpa has been alive. It can’t be. You must be mistranslating it.” She reasoned.

Hate at first sight Alhaitham x Reader I hate how this is the only fic i have that has the word card in it.

“Everything you said has made it sound like you pride yourself on a proper example.” “So you do know how to listen. You’re just horrible at application.” She leaned her head to the side, her boldness only dropping momentarily as it returned to her voice. “We should revisit what a life-changing moment is once your class has upped the passage rate.”

Qualifications of Critique Dr. Ratio x Reader

…okay maybe phrasing it like that she could see Navia’s point. Y/N sighed. Guess it was time to change her ringtone for Wriothesley to be something more appropriate. It was a 2 am decision and to be fair, no one ever had good ideas at that hour. She could hear bags being placed on the counter. “Part of taking a break requires you to get down from there.” Wriothesley was quick to remind her.

CUFF IT Wriothesley x Reader

Writing Tag Game 🏷️

Rules: I'll give you five words. Find the word (or the closest approximation you can) in your works and post an excerpt. Tag others to play and give them new words too!

My words were: Touch, Heat, Lick, Time, Ache — tagged by @oncasette, original post here! (This is such a sweet idea, thank you for thinking of me!!)

New words: Home, Dream, Hand, Think, Feel — Tagging: @solifloris @irandial @zara-renata @kentofic @grabby-smitten @comatosebunny09 @leighsartworks216 and anyone else who writes!

Touch

When Sylus touches you— when the tip of his finger catches yours and makes an honest, desperate request— you don’t pull away. Something inside tugs at you, warns you, tells you a monster without a sword in its chest is one that can bite. What colour of blood would your hands prefer? His? Your own? — (Monster)

Heat

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves. — (Technical Difficulties)

Lick

You’re feeling everything too keenly: the water licking at your throat, the darkness beneath you, around you, waiting to pull you under and fill your mouth. You never feel further from Rafayel than when you remember he calls that darkness home. — (Practice Makes Perfect)

Time

Pretend you have time: His gaze is full of faith and oh, the world is going to enjoy punishing the two of you. “I know,” he insists, because this is the second time you’ve fooled him tonight. You feel his hand on your face and you let him kiss you— again, then again— so achingly slow, so arrogant. The world can wait; he wants to punish you first.  — (To Remain Silent)

Ache

Your life is hunting monsters, and his is finding beauty in a world where they exist. It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Crimson to him is a sunset; to you it’s blood. Something in you aches as your eyes roam over his latest work. He won’t tell you what it’s meant to be, not really: that’s a private understanding between him and the canvas, his heart and every stroke of paint. — (Perspective)

[dailyevans26]

he sets the tone

pairing: Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x F!Resident!Reader summary: Dr Michael Robinavitch has had better days at work, Dr Cassidy Miller is determined they make it through. word count: 1.8k a/n: i have not written fanfic in years so please be gentle. have loved noah wyle ever since i stumbled upon er based on my parents rec and ever since watching the panic attack episode knew i had to write something, edited with a glass of wine so you've been warned. i will not apologise for how purely indulgent this is, oc looking after robby during and post panic attack, established relationship, oc is early 30's, robby is late 40s in my world. might be a small follow up or other adventures with cassidy and robby if there is demand. please also enjoy the little er easter eggs

✩☽

“Dana, have you seen Robby?”

The charge nurse halted, her eyes still darting around the Pitt. The aftermath of the shooting continued to revolve. Patients were scattered across chairs and in beds, doctors, nurses and med students still trying to mop up the mess. Cassidy could smell the blood seeping from her scrubs, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Scrub change, however, was the least of her concern. 

“Honey, I was going to ask you the same thing.” Their joint look was one of panic. Robby's bad day had started the minute he walked into the Pitt. A breakdown this late in the day was inevitable, if that’s what had happened, but Cassidy knew people still needed help. They needed Robby. It wasn’t the time for their attending to go AWOL. “He took Jake to see Leah,” Dana began.

“You don’t think?” Cassidy interrupted, scanning around the family room for a sign. 

“Go I’ll cover.” Dana gripped her arm reassuringly, before turning away and barking updates. 

Cassidy wove her way through patients and doctors. Head to the ground, trying to avoid being called in on any urgent cases. She passed Abbot and Mohan, both working on patients, their techniques getting progressively unorthodox as supplies continued to run out. Cassidy overheard them call out to Dana, looking for Robby. She had to find him before anyone else realised he was missing. There was already enough panic in the air. 

The anniversary of Adamson’s death was hard on all that knew him. A mass casualty was just the cherry on top. She wasn’t even meant to be working, Robby didn’t want her there to worry him. He was always looking out for her. It had started the day she’d walked into the Pitt, a fresh faced student doctor, completely unaware of the job she was about to begin. Dr Robinavitch, Robby, to friends, had been her senior resident. He was her anchor in a storm, a calming and patient presence in a sea of unease. He believed in see one, do one, teach one. Never afraid to take a student under his wing and give advice not criticism. Under his and Adamson’s tutelage, Cassidy Miller thrived into the doctor she was today. Just as calm, and as patient, steadfast and always ready to help.

They had started as co-conspirators, inside jokes, talks in the stairwell, shared early morning breakfast or late night dinners. He was her friend. But over time they became a team, they were partners. Talking each other off the ledge. Taking whatever feelings they would let out, limited as they were, and helping each other carry the burden. Robby could read Cassidy’s like one would flick through a magazine. Her thoughts and feelings always as clear as day. Cassidy was just as perceptive to Robby’s moods, and had over the years managed to tease more out of him than anyone else. They only thing stopping the two of them: Robby was 15 years her senior. It was what had stopped him making the first move, any move. However, life was short, they both knew that, and they couldn’t keep running from the inevitable (the amount of money on them getting together was also getting out of hand). 

So, when Robby asked Cassidy to not work on the anniversary. She understood. What she still couldn’t determine was why he was determined to work today. It was never going to end well. So, Cassidy had made plans. A bottle of wine and the ingredients for a lovely late night dinner still awaiting use in the fridge at home. She was unsure if, after the day, she’d even have the strength to open the bottle, let alone cook the three course meal she’d planned in her head. She was meant to be at home, waiting to take the weight off Robby’s shoulders after his bad day, as she had done before. As his friend, now as his girlfriend. She wasn’t meant to be covered in blood, striding through the Pitt, heart racing. 

Cassidy knew Robby was taking today particularly hard, losing Leah hadn’t helped. She had watched, stitching up patients in chairs, as he had done everything in his capacity to save her. Watched as Robby did everything he could for Jake, but some days everything just wasn"t enough. She knew he would feel like a failure. No matter how many patients he saved today, none would make up for the ones he lost. He had told her, more than once over the years they had worked together, that doctors that kept their feelings were going to get sick every once in a while, that was just how it is. Sickness always found them in the end. 

The family room had been repurposed again. It was where they were keeping those who hadn"t made it, surrounded by the paintings of green fields and happy woodland creatures. For a room that was meant to bring calm, it only housed trauma for Robby and Cassidy knew it. The grass would have been greener in any other room in the hospital. Taking a breath and steadying herself, Cassidy pushed the door open slowly. She glanced around, assessing the scene, taking in Robby hunched on the floor. One armed wrapped around his knees, a hand covering his face. He was mumbling, self-soothing as he fought to have oxygen in his lungs, shaky breaths heaving from his ribcage.  

Robby was covered in blood. None of it was his, and she knew she looked the same. 

Cassidy lowered herself down, sitting next to him, while still giving enough room for him to breathe. A gentle hand placed on his forearm. 

“Robby, darling, I need you to look at me, you need to breathe.” He continued to mumble, his hand clasping the chain around his neck. 

“Micheal, you’re having a panic attack, c’mon darling, breathe with me.” She sucked in a dramatic breath of air. Robby’s hand found hers as she counted down, slowly exhaling. Cassidy repeated the breathing and the counting, as her breath slowed, so did his. 

“Good, keep breathing.”

“Yo-you need to get back out there, they need you,” He whispered. 

"Right now you need me more.”

“Cassie,” his voice broke. He buried his face into the crook of her neck. “I couldn't save her. I couldn"t save either of them.”

“I know darling, I know.” She ran her hand through his hair. “But you can't think about that now, your team needs you out there, I need you out there, to help us with those who are still waiting.” 

“I can't.” He removed himself from her embrace, finally looking at her. His tears were barely holding in the corner of his eyes. Robby"s head shook, defeat washing over his face. 

“You can.” Cassidy stood, holding out her gloved hand, “Take my hand.” A pause. Grasping her outstretched palm and stood, lightly brushing her away. Cassidy took a step back. Her eyes scanning for any lasting damage, his breathing had returned to normal. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” She asked, her hand resting on his forearm. 

“I'm fine.” He replied shortly, shrugging off her hand. 

“You are not fine.” 

“What would you know?” He bit back. Trying to get a rise out of her, push her away. Cassidy never took the bait.

“Enough.” She stared, her eyes boring into him until the anger seeps away. Robby kept his eyes trained at the door, but his shoulders sagged, head hanging low as a hand found his way through his hair. “We’re going back to work, we’re going to see as many patients as it takes for this shift, this day, to be over and then we are going home, together.”

“I don’t think–” 

“No arguments, as the doctor assigned to your care.” Robby snorted, finally making eye contact and raising an eyebrow. “As the doctor assigned to your care,” she pressed on, “I am putting you under surveillance for 24 hours.” 

“You're going to watch me for 24 hours?”

“I might also watch some TV and some Chinese takeout, but yes, I’m not leaving you alone darling.” 

“I don’t thin– I can’t, I can’t talk about it.”

“I don’t need you to talk to me about any of it Robby, I understand implicitly, and because I understand I"m not going to force you, but I"m also not letting you go home alone, okay?” He nods his head, his hand finding hers again and giving it a squeeze. Cassidy replies with a small smile, standing on tiptoes to gently kiss his forehead. Robby hated all forms of PDA, but considering the circumstances, she was happy to risk it. “C’mon, it’s just another beautiful day to save some lives.” Sarcasm heavily coating her words, as she quoted the inaccurate medical drama. He laughed, eyes rolling. 

“I should have never let you watch Greys Anatomy.” Cassidy lets out a short laugh, walking to the door, glancing over her shoulder. 

“Don't need to now I have a real McDreamy.” Red tints his cheeks, and ears, as the smile on her face grows. 

“Hey,” Robby said, grasping her hand and pulling her towards him, “I love you.” Cassidy wraps her arms around his neck, as his snake around her waist. The hug is brief but full of everything that won’t be said until their day has ended. 

“I know, I love you too.”

The moment the two of them exit the family room, Robby is pulled into another case. Cassidy takes a steadying breath before also returning to the throng, looking for her next case. 

“Hey, Cass, Robby alright?” Abbot asked, pulling her to the side, searching her face intently. His military training had kicked in the second patients started rolling up. Everyone needed to be on their A-game, there was no room for mistakes. They couldn’t have a weak link. 

“I talked to him, he’ll be just fine when this day is over, I think we all will be.” He grinned slightly. 

“Amen to that sister.” He put his hand up for a high-five and her palm collides into his. Jack holds her hand for a second, squeezing with reassurance. Her and him were a team, they would get Robby through this day, together. His hand drops at the sound of yelling. 

“Jesus Gloria!” Robby exclaimed, "The police are still looking, why don’t you go back to your managerial high tower and let the rest of us get back to work." Jack and Cassidy make instant eye contact as Robby storms off. 

“You talked to him huh?” Abbot teased, as you both drop what you’re doing to run to Robby. 

“I did the best I could.”

“Dr Miller, we need help over here!” 

“Go," Jack murmurs, giving her a shove in the right direction, “We’ve got Robby now.” Cassidy let herself be pulled back into the chaos of the Pitt, now wasn’t time to be worrying about Robby, he would be okay. When their shift ended, she would make sure of it. 

✩☽

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Running to You 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You’re rescued by a man who you don’t even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

With a quarter of the oatmeal cookie wrapped up in your purse, you head back home at last. You’re a bit behind but it’s not so bad since you have help. Despite your protests, which recede each time they’re swept over, Steve insists on carrying your bags to your building.

He doesn’t let the subway ride deter him even as you anxiously wiggle in your seat. You sit beside the bags as he stands in front of you. He holds onto the overhead bar as he shields you from the rest of the car. You don’t mind it. Often times you feel like people are watching you. 

Your stop comes and you get up. Steve keeps you from falling back down as a press of bodies pushes by. He takes both bags and follows you to the doors. 

You sigh as you get off. You look at him. “I always get a bit... claustrophobic.” 

“Me too,” he agrees coolly, his eyes scanning the platform. It’s cracked and stained. There’s a faint smell of urine rising from the concrete. “Been a while since I hit this end of the borough.” 

“Hm, yeah. The shop’s a bit further but nowhere closer sells what I need,” you explain. “Used to go further when I worked... for someone else.” 

You shrug. You try not to think about that time. Those memories are not fun. 

You come up to ground level. There’s a man sitting against the brick wall along the sidewalk. You don’t look at him. You used to offer some spare change but stopped after a few mean names too many. You didn’t mean to insult anyone. 

Steve sighs as you carry on down the street. 

“Rough area,” he says as you pass a group of men in hoodies and ball caps. They quiet as you go by. They even turn to watch Steve. 

“Mm, everyone needs somewhere to live,” you shrug. “I don’t go out much anyhow.” 

“I wouldn’t either.” He steps closer, almost protectively, as a slouching man mutters something under his breath. You don’t bother anyone and they do the same. For the most part. 

Your apartment isn’t very far. At the front door, you quickly unlock the heavy grated door and grunt as you open it. Steve gets his elbow against it and pushes it back all the way. He trails you inside. 

“You can leave those with me now,” you say as you approach the end of the staircase. “You came all this way already.” 

“You live upstairs?” He peers up. 

You bite the inside of your lip. “Yes, but only one floor.” 

“I came all this way, like you said. What’s a bit more?” 

You hum. He tilts his head. 

“I’m... bugging you?” 

“No, Steve. I just... I feel bad, is all. I don’t have much to pay you back with.” 

“Pay me back? I’m being nice.” 

“I know but... no one’s that nice. Not even me.” 

“Sure you are,” he shrugs. “Just one more floor, right?” 

You don’t argue. You hop up the steps ahead of him. You’re drained from a day out in public. You just want to get to where you know is safe. 

You lead him to the second floor and pad along the hall. As you near your door, the one next to it opens. A familiar face looks out. Mike sniffs and rubs his dark eyes as he waves and steps out. 

“Oh, hi, Mike,” you greet your neighbour. 

“Was wondering where you were,” he utters dully. His tattoos peek out beneath the thin fabric of his white tank, another traced onto his bicep. “I was knocking—oh, uh, who’s that?” 

He looks past you as Steve stops behind you. 

“This...” you look over your shoulder, “this is my friend, Steve.” 

“Friend?” Mike echoes flatly. “Huh.” 

“I had to go get some stuff. Did you get what I left you this morning?” You ask. 

“French toast,” he grins sleepily. “Yeah...” 

“I made it with the special sugar,” you say. 

“Mmm, alright,” he sways and leans back into his door. “Sorry... I... see ya.” 

He turns and nearly tumbles through his door. It snaps shut behind him. Steve lets out a long breath. 

“He your friend too?” He asks. 

You’re suddenly very self-conscious. You know you don’t live in the best neighbourhood. He must have thought you were better off shopping up at that organic shop. He must be, at least, if he hangs out around there. 

“He’s my neighbour,” you say as you unlock your door.  

You turn to take a bag from him. He stares at Mike’s door. You frown. 

“He’s nice enough.” 

“His arms...” 

“Yeah... diabetic. He takes insulin. Probably his blood sugar again,” you give a sad smile. “My aunt had diabetes too.” 

“Diabetic?” His eyes flick over to you. “Did he say that?” 

“I... I didn’t ask,” you murmur. “I just thought...” 

“You don’t...” he begins then shakes his head. “I think you’re right. He must be sick.” 

You’re quiet. You step forward and take a bag. You turn to put it inside your door. Then you reach for the next. 

“You give him food?” 

“He’s skinny. I have extra,” you say. “Nothing wrong with sharing.” 

“No, there’s not.” He hands over the other bag. “But there is such a thing as being too nice. Being used.” 

“What?” You hug the bag. “No, Mike is... Mike is nice to me. He... he watches out for me. You know. Someone broke the chain in my apartment. I was so scared but he chased them off. Stayed and watched the apartment until I got back.” 

Steve’s brows knit. He looks over again at Mike’s door. 

“You weren’t home?” 

“Luckily,” you nod. 

His eyes spark and his cheek dimples. Why is he upset?” 

“Oh, um, the beard oil. One second.” 

You spin and scurry into your apartment. You put the bag down and rush around the tight space. All your supplies are along one wall on shelves and in boxes, then you have your work station and the package mat. You sit on the floor and pack it all up. It’s like a little factory. You have just enough room for your cot in the corner. 

You grab a vial of beard oil with bergamot and a comb to go with it. You hurry back to the door as Steve peeks inside. He backs up as you do. 

“Here. You can use this,” you wiggle the comb at him. “To work it in a bit better. I’m all out of the evergreen oil.” 

“Uh, thanks,” he takes them in his large hands and examines your hand written labels. “Wow, this looks almost... like it could be in a store.” 

“I do my best.” 

“You’re good at it. You make a lot.” 

“Enough to live.” You assure him. “Steve,” you put your feet together and stand up as straight as you can. “Thank you so much. Really.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“It’s everything to be kind,” you say. 

“You make it easy,” he turns the vial between his fingers. “Can... is it too much to ask for your number?” 

You stare at him then your chest thrums. You clap and bounce on your toes. “Oh! You can take my card.” Once more, you twirl and race into your apartment. You search for the box with your business cards and return to him again. “I had a bunch printed out. A few shops let me leave them there with a bit of product.” 

He accepts the card and reads it. He brushes his finger over the font. He smiles and looks at you. 

“I’ll call,” he says. 

“Sure,” you rock back and forth. “But please, go home and get rest. It’s been a long day.” 

“It sure has,” he agrees. “You do the same.” 

“I will. Once I get this all put away.” 

He chews his cheek then reluctantly backs off. You wait until he turns and starts down the hall. You don’t shut the door until he’s at the end.  

You slide your chain into place, the wood frame still splintered from where it was broken by the intruder. It would’ve been a lot worse if you didn’t have such a good neighbour. Just like today would’ve been so much worse without Steve. 

🎀

Your phone rings. You hold up your hands, wax oily on your gloves. You really don’t want to take them off. You’re just getting into the swing. 

You look around desperately. Huh. You bend and tap answer with your nose. 

“Hello,” you say too close to the speaker. 

“Hey, it’s Steve,” the greeting comes from the other end. “Is this a bad time?” 

“Ummmmm. Not bad. I’m just making some stuff.” 

“Right. You’re busy.” He says. Disappointment laces his tone. 

“Not too busy,” you assure him, speaking up so he can still hear you as you go back to it. “How are you?” 

“I’m... okay,” he drags out. You can hear him moving on the other side. “Long day.” 

You scrape the wax into a tin and level it off. “Long... how?” 

Silence. Then you hear him set down the phone. Something shifts. A chair spring, maybe? 

“Just... I hate being out of the city. I know it’s work but... being far from home. It reminds me... of a long time ago.” He takes a deep breath. 

“You work out of town?” You ask. 

“Sometimes. Most times.” He answers, almost reluctantly. 

“Wow. Well, you must get to see lots of new things. There’s that at least. Even if work is crummy.” 

“That’s definitely the bright side,” he agrees glumly. 

“But you miss your family,” you say.  

He’s silent again. You wait but he doesn’t break it. Oh. Maybe you said too much. 

“Sorry, I hope... hope I didn’t overstep.” 

“No, no,” he says. “No. It’s... I miss my friends, I guess.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“Don’t have many others to miss,” he hums. “Anyway, I didn’t just call to complain. The beard stuff you gave me. It’s nice. It smells great and helped soften this up. You know, it gets so itchy.” 

“Really? I’m so happy you like it.” 

“Of course I do. You made it,” he assures you. “I was thinking of shaving. I should. I want to. But, eh. I don’t mind it as much now.” 

“Well, if you do, let me know. I have shaving balm. It’s like aftershave but a cream,” you say. “I’m slowly expanding my men’s products.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He says. 

“If you wanna know about my work, it’s messy! I opened the window. I was getting dizzy,” you giggle. “And it’s not very exciting unless I burn myself.” 

“Did you?” 

“No... not yet,” you laugh again. “I’m used to it. Not too bad.” 

“You do all that in that tiny apartment?” 

“It’s not that small.” 

“Can’t be that roomy. Or safe. Don’t they have building codes?” He wonders. 

“Sure they do but they only enforce them when they know what you’re doing,” you shrug. “I’m just making soap and whatever. I’m not hurting anyone.” 

“I know, it’s just... you could get hurt.” 

“I guess,” you drone. “But, you know, I’m saving up for a real space. Some day.” 

“Some day,” he sucks his teeth. You frown. You know you’re breaking the rules but him reminding you, doesn’t help. This is your livelihood. You don’t have a choice. “What about your neighbours? They don’t care?” 

“Never say anything,” you mutter. 

“What about Mike? You talked to him lately?” He wonders. 

“Sure. He’s cool. He helped carry my laundry back from the machine. It was so heavy.” 

“Helpful,” he remarks. 

“Like you,” you reply. 

He takes another heavy breath. “I’m back in town in a few days. Wanna go find the best cookie in the city?” 

You hesitate. It sounds fun but you can’t really afford all that. “Maybe or... we can just go watch the birds in the park.” 

“Sure, whatever you want, doll,” he groans and you hear that squeak again. “Ugh, I’m all cramped.” 

“I’ll save you a bath bomb!” You offer. “Take a nice hot bath. It’ll help.” 

“I should...” he yawns. “In a bit. Why don’t you tell me what a bath bomb is?” 

“You don’t know? Wow. Okay!” You begin giddily. You don’t get to talk to many people and those you do, rarely care about what you do. 

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (19/?)

Saw this post ^ immediately thought of seekers :,) Just a short thought about change

———

Starscream had come to notice a quirk of yours - your tendency to just… lie down.

It usually happened after solo training. A satisfied look on your faceplate, you’d lower your frame to the grass. There you lay, spread-eagled on the ground, staring up at the sky and drinking in your fill of blue. The only reason you weren’t still in the sky was your drained fuel tanks, and even then, you strained your frame until mechanisms protested just for another moment in the air.

Starscream had come to fetch you yet again, probably because you hadn’t showed up to refuel. It still surprises you that he would bother with something so inconsequential when you’d seen him tell others to just starve and leave precious fuel for others if they cared so little about their own maintenance.

“I’ve told you countless times that the chemicals in the Terran plants are a nightmare to remove from your paint. It’s almost like you want your wings to be splotchy.”

“I don’t,” You say, but make no effort to move, optics fixed on the wide, wide expanse of the cerulean sky. Similar to the colour of your paint. If you flew high enough, would you’d blend in with the sky? Allow it to hide you from the war below? The only thing keeping you tethered, really, was Starscream. Not that you weren’t grateful for your connections with other mechs - TC, Skywarp, Bee, Ratchet. But try as hard as you might to muster any modicum of emotion for them, it simply wasn’t coming today. That only compounded your guilt, weighing your exhausted frame further into the ground.

You wave a lazy servo in the general direction of Starscream’s voice, resigned to rejection yet hoping to make light of it anyway. Anything to soothe the ache of loneliness in your spark.

“…You could join me.”

Starscream’s emotive EM field prickles irritably. “Were you listening to a word I just said? The stains-”

“I’ll polish your wings so good after this. Promise.”

“…What could possibly be so pleasurable about… lying on the ground?”

“Join me and find out.”

A pause.

“…You’re vulnerable to attack, you know.”

“Not with you around.”

There’s another beat of silence and you think he’s just going to leave you there in a huff. Possibly with an irritated command thrown over his shoulder to be back in the next joor. And it would be more than you could really ask for, that he would allow you your moment of peace even if he didn’t quite understand it.

Unexpectedly, the grass rustles beside you.

“This is beneath me,” Starscream mutters, but he tentatively lowers his frame to the ground, next to yours. Feeling your gaze on him, Starscream tilts his helm to better study the expression on your faceplate, the apertures of his optics whirring quietly to focus on you. His optics glow brightly even in the daylight, and something unnameable in their ruby depths warm you even more than the sunlight on your plating.

You look at him for a klik longer before turning your optics back to the sky.

Blue. Blue. Blue.

You knew your optics had been changing colour and you didn’t know why.

Maybe later, when you were less… whatever this non-emotion was. Empty? When you felt less of whatever this was, you would be pleased that it reflected a growing harmony with Starscream. But right now, it forced you to confront just how much you’d changed without even realising.

Who had you been before?

How had you turned into… this?

Like this, the piercing blue of the sky reflected against colour of your own, you could almost imagine the pure cerulean that they used to be.

“Do you ever wish you could just… fly away?”

“I can’t,” Starscream says bluntly, but it lacks bite.

“I know, I know. But… just… do you wish you could?”

You can feel his optics on you, but you don’t turn to meet his gaze.

“…Why? Do you?”

“I mean, I won’t.”

You almost laugh, then. Sidestepping the question just as he had done.

“You won’t,” Starscream repeats, optics narrowing.

Finally, you turn your helm to meet those blood-red optics. Turning away from the blue of the sky to see the red of his optics reflected back in yours.

“Not as long as you can’t.”

His optics bore into yours. Searching. Even so, not commanding your attention as much as asking for it.

Unable to tear yourself away, you startle when you feel the warmth of his servo over yours.

The question on your faceplate must be clear, even as you grip his servo tight.

But it’s Starscream’s turn to avoid your gaze, his optics trained on the sky.

You trace the shadow of a bird in his optics as it soars over you both. Free. For a klik, his optics glow with a rippling sheen of cerulean blue, and you could have sworn you caught a glimpse of a mech who didn’t know he would become Starscream.

You squeeze his servo gently, and after a beat, feel him squeeze back.

If change is inevitable, then at least you’re changing together.

Previous / Next (Another incredible piece by @quasarwake !! Showstopping stuff that draws out the intricacies of trining instincts and the ways in which our potential connections resonate - undeniable in spite of being unconventional. Aaa)

And some more amazing art from @jackalackqwq !!!!!! Thank you!!!!

[myfictionaldreams]

Hey so I was thinking what if steddie ran like a piercing/tattoo shop, and the reader comes in to get a tattoo and or piercing and is absolutely infatuated by the boys 

INK & NEEDLES // Steddie x F!Reader

Summary: Fresh off a bad breakup, you walk into Steve and Eddie’s tattoo shop looking for a distraction. You leave with a lot more than just some ink.

Requested by: im so sorry this took me so many months to write! thank you for the request my love x

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, toxic ex-boyfriend, praise kink, MFM, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, light dom/sub, slight innocence kink

Words:2.3 k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The skin around your finger nails was becoming sensitive with the way you’re wringing your finger together as your anxiety became as unsettled as your bouncing leg. A change. That was all you’d been thinking about for the last two weeks. Your hair had already been drastically changed, the clothes on your body more revealing and just – comfortable damn it.

Three fucking years, wasted on that asshole just for him to be caught in the gas station toilet, jeans around his ankle and lackluster cock shoved in some random girls throat.

Change. You needed it. Needed to get away from the same rules and regulations that you’d been trapped within for three years. “Oh, babe, just make sure you wear a jacket with that.” “Babe, your hair looks better without the clip”. “No, babe, we can’t hold hands right now, I’m trying to watch the game”. “Babe, babe, babe”. FUCK OFF. Even just reminiscing on him, the time wasted, the lies easily spilling from his lips that had you hoping for stability in a relationship, just for it all to come crashing down. And you know what? Thank god because the sadness and devastation was now very much anger and FUCK HIM attitude.

All of this didn’t mean you were feeling any less anxious about your current decision as you stared up at the black-and-white writing across the shop windows: “INK AND NEEDLE.” Nothing screams change like a permanent something tattooed onto your skin. This wasn’t a quick decision that you’d made, in fact this topic had been something that you and your dickhead ex had aruged about for three days and eventually, like always, you relented and decided against having it.

Now, though, nothing was stopping you except your nerves about stepping into a place where pain was expected to have the desired result.

The tiny ‘ding’ of the bell above the heavy door jingled as you timidly stepped inside, and immediately, your senses were overwhelmed with the smell of antiseptic.

“Be right with you, Sweetheart!” a low, raspy voice called from the back of the shop, currently hidden behind a high wall of every shade of green foliage.

As you were trying to smooth the black material of your skirt, he appeared in the door-shaped gap in the plants. You tried not to swoon visibly. Tall, messy dark curls spilling from under a backwards cap, a sleeveless black band t-shirt stretched across heavily tattooed arms.  Eddie Munson. One of the reasons you chose this specific shop to get your first tattoo is because he was a familiar name, having been the year above you at Hawkins High School. However, it had been years since you’d last set eyes on him, the weird metalhead who never quite fit in, who laughed too loud and lived too fast. Now, it seemed he was just your type of rebellious with the way your thighs were clenching together.

He smirked, like he could see your heart trying to escape your chest. And then behind him – Steve Harrington. Stripped-down casual in ripped jeans and a tight white t-shirt, holden tanned skin and that familiar cocky glint in his eye that you’d admired for years whilst at High School.

You were so fucked.

“Um, hey- hi. Hi, I’m um. Would like one please”.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. One sentence and you’re ready to turn back around and leave Hawkins for the rest of eternity.

“First time?” Eddie asked, tilting his head, grin widening.

Nodding with certainty and flexing your fingers to avoid picking at the skin again. “Yeah. I, uh, wanted something small. Hip area, maybe?”

Steve’s arm wraps around Eddie’s shoulder, casually leaning his weight against him as his hazel eyes drag down your body, lingering on how your skirt floats mid-thigh to the bare strip of skin between your skirt and knee-high socks.

He smiled slowly and warmly. “Cute spot,” he said. Eventually, his gaze met yours. “Do you want Eddie or me to do it?”

The air felt heavy suddenly. Eddie, you recognized and everyone in Hawkins knew of Steve Harrington - both slightly older and confident in ways that made your skin tingle and pussy squeeze with anticiipation.

“Could”. You swallowed hard to try and coat your dry throat in some spit so you didn’t choke. “Could you both do it?”

Silence was your initial answer. Thick and charged.

Eddie’s grin widened into something dangerous. “Fuck, Sweetheart. You sure?”

Steve’s chuckle had your eyes dancing between the two men. “She’s got good taste,” he seemingly answered.

~~~~~

Following the duo further into the shop, it was then that you realised that it was only the three of you in the building and no one else. A cosy room welcomed you, a black padded table in the centre with shelves lining the walls with tools and bottles. Art in different styles covered every inch of the remaining magnolia-coloured wall.

Eddie tapped his tattooed knuckles against the table, “Hop up, Peach. We need to see exactly where you want it”.

Trying to maintain composure, you casually walked to the table's side as both men snapped on a pair of black sterile gloves. With trembling fingers, you shimmied out of your skirt, leaving you in your pink panties and loose white T-shirt. Maybe it was the cool air against your thighs or the nerves that caused you to shiver, but with your head held high, you turned to face them both, standing to show them the left side of your hip.

Eddie’s touch was firm but careful as he tilted your hip. Steve crouched beside him, the head of his body right there, had you biting painfully on your lower lip to refrain from moaning.

“Here?” Steve asked, gently moving the pantie material that covered the curve of your hip so that he could stroke the area with his thumb in a feather-soft touch.

Finally, you risked glancing down at them, and it was then that you gasped, releasing your bottom lip and knees trembling at seeing both men on their knees, staring at the naked spot on your hip.

Steve and Eddie shared a look. Excited. Mischievous. Lustful.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty”, Eddie murmured, his voice thick. “Gonna look even better with our mark on you”.

You whimpered - barely - and they smiled like you’d just handed them the world.

~~~~

The machine buzzed to life, low and sinful. Steve perched beside you, holding your hand, his thumb stroking soothing circles over your skin. “You’re doing amazing, baby. So brave after everything you’d been through.”

That one sentence alone made you realise how much you wore your heart on your sleeve. It felt intimate, like they knew from just one look that you were healing something broken.

Meanwhile, Eddie worked with steady hands, the machine humming against your sensitive skin. He’d occasionally glance up at you, dark eyes hooded, mouth curled into a wicked smirk.

When Eddie finished the outline, he swapped with Steve. This was when Steve’s fingers accidentally skimmed the inside of your parted thigh as he adjusted your position, making you arch involuntarily.

“Sensitive, baby?” Steve teased softly.

You were more than sensitive. You were utterly soaked, your panties damp, and you knew it was visible, that both men could see it.

“You gotta use your words when you’re in this room, I’m afraid. I need to make sure our pretty girl is still coherent,” Eddie drawls as he takes your hand, much like Steve had been holding as he looked down at you.

“Ye-Yes.” You were unsure if you’d answered verbally or in your head because all you could hear were the words, “our girl.”

It sounded nice. More than nice. It sounded downright filthy coming from Eddie Munson.

“Do you mind? I just need to move your panties slightly to make more room for the tattoo”, Steve asked casually as his fingers grazed the edge of the material resting on your hip.

“That’s fine”, you answered in a whisper, still staring up at Eddie as a distraction.

A whimper rushes from your parted lips, thighs squeezing together as the adjusting of your underwear caused it to tighten against your labia and clit, applying pressure to the delicate area.

“You good?” Eddie asked as his thumb continued circling the skin on the back of your hand.

“Yes, sorry”. Attempting to relax your thighs again as Steve began his part of the tattoo.

“You’re doing so good, baby”, Steve murmured moments later, his tone soothing and drawing you out of the thoughts screaming in your head.

You tried to focus on your breathing and remain as still as possible. Still, every time Eddie shifted slightly at your side, the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the roughness of the pads of his fingers had you shifting to try and control the feeling between your legs.

When Steve had moved your underwear, not only did you feel the tightness of the material against your sensitive pussy but the material was damp. More than damp, it was wet.

And they noticed. Oh, they definitely noticed.

Risking a glance down at the man tattooing your hip, you caught Steve’s gaze flicker across to where your thighs slightly quivered, to the darkening patch of your underwear.

Steve didn’t utter a word; he didn’t have to because you knew he had noticed your predicament from the slow and knowing smile that glowed on his face.

Eddie’s mouth curved up, too. A dark, wolfish grin that disappeared as he leaned close enough that his lips were only an inch from your ear. “You’re making a mess, sweetheart.”

Raging heat flooded your cheeks, your chest, your core. You couldn’t move or breathe, feeling like you’re the prey caught between two hungry wolves.

“She likes it”, Eddie admitted on your behalf as he sat back again, eyes flicking back to meet Steve’s momentarily.

“Oh, I know she likes it”, Steve chuckles lowly as his gloved hand slides ever so slightly to the left on your hip, nearing your pubic bone. Not quite touching where you wanted, but close enough to make your hips jerk. “Knew you were a good girl the second you walked in”, he muses whilst continuing with the tattoo. “Knew you’d let us care for you if we pushed just a little.”

Were you really this predictable?

You whimpered again, hips tilting helplessly towards him, towards them both. Moments later, Steve shuts off the tattoo machine - the sudden silence deafening - and sets it aside whilst carefully wiping down your tattoo.

“All done”, he said, voice rougher now. “Are you going to continue to be good for me whilst I carefully wrap it for you? Don’t want you to get an infection, baby”.

Nodding your head as an answer, you waited as Steve carefully applied the second skin wrapping to your new tattoo. All the whilst, Eddie’s fingers skillfully skimmed over the skin of your cheek and neck, a soothing stroke that left a wake of goosebumps over the path.

“Looking good, baby. Still need to reward you properly, thought, don’t we? For sitting so nicely for both of us.” Eddie drawls whilst standing where he was perched on the table's edge.

You barely had time to breathe before Eddie kissed you - rough and sweet and hungry - whilst Steve’s gloveless fingers slid beneath your soaked panties.

You gasped into Eddie’s mouth, giving him an open invitation for his tongue to delve deep whilst Steve’s fingers found how wet you were, teasing your labia, separating them so that he could circle your entrance slowly.

“You’re perfect”, Steve praises as he moves around the table, climbing on so that he's half lying now between your parted thighs. “Deserve better than what you had before. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

Eddie kissed your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat as his fingers quickly moved to shift the material of your shirt up and over your head, leaving your matching pink bra. “So fuckin’ pretty”, he muses, his thumbs brushing against the nipple poking through the thing material before his lips wraps around the sensitive area. 

“I love your sexy little moans, don’t hold them back for us”, Steve encouraged from between your legs as you feel the warmth of his breath against your now exposed cunt as he holds your panties to the side.

This was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Your pleasure was being prioritised. They wanted to hear your verbal response to their touch. You’d always been told you’re too loud, too whiny, but with their encouragement, there was no way you were going to hold back.

It was Eddie moved your bra’s material aside and the soft wetness of his tongue stroked against your sensitive nipple and the stretch of Steve’s two fingers pressing into your cunt, that you lost all sort of control.

“Fuck!”, you scremed whilst your head tipped back, eyes closed as you savoured the sensations from both men.

Eddie laughed against your chest as his lips moved back up your neck, “I love hearing such filthy words coming from you, Sweetheart”.

“Oh god!” Your fingers trembled as you reached for Steve, whose fingers began to curl inside your wet warmth gently.

“Does he feel good? You like his fingers right there?” Eddie teases whilst biting your lower lip.

“Yes! Please-!”

“You want to cum for us?” Steve asks whilst leaving stinging bites on the inside of your trembling thighs.

“Yes! Don’t stop!”

“Oh, I’m not going too”, Steve drawls whilst using his thumb to apply soft pressure to your clit, circling in tight circles, matching the speed of his curling fingers.

Eddie’s fingers wrapped around your throat, the pressure grounding you to the spot and moment. “Let go, baby”, he encouraged whilst watching the pleasure dance across your features.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as you finally orgasm, hips rutting against Steve’s fingers as your inner walls pulsed in pleasure.

“Good girl. I knew you were special the second you walked through the door,” Eddie kissed your forehead while whispering those soft words to you.

And as you lay your back against the table, boneless and ruined, Steve grinned as he eased his fingers from inside you, “I hope you’re free next week, Sweetheart. We’ve got a few more ideas for that pretty body”.

[andiberzatto]

Reassurances (Carmy Berzatto Smut!)

Summary: Carmy wants to try a new position but it’s not working for her.

Carmy hums, then asks softly, "Can you turn around? Reverse cowgirl." He wants to watch her round ass bounce while she rides him slowly.

“You want to go again already?”

He chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pulls her back against his chest, his half-hard cock nestling between her ass cheeks. "Never said anything about going again, just wanted a different view." He nuzzles into her neck, placing soft kisses along her collarbone.

He watches as she turns around, his eyes roaming over her curves appreciatively. As she sinks back down onto his slowly hardening cock, he lets out a low groan. This view is even better than he imagined. He grips her hips gently, guiding her movements as she starts to ride him slowly.

she hold onto his thighs as she bounces softly.

He watches as her perfect ass bounces up and down on his lap, his hands gripping her hips tighter. He pushes up slightly with his hips, meeting her slow bounces. This is gentler, more affectionate - and he loves it. He leans back on his hands, enjoying the view.

she feels disconnected having to face the wall, “need you to talk. Please.”

He notices the slight disconnect in her voice and immediately understands. He sits up, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. He starts talking softly in her ear, describing what he sees, what he feels. "Your ass looks so fucking perfect bouncing on my cock like this..."

she nods grinding softly.

He continues his soft murmur, letting her feel his words as much as hear them. "The way your back arches, goddamn... You're absolutely beautiful riding me like this." His hands slide up from her hips to just beneath her breasts, resting there as he feels her grind slowly against him.

she nods, “thank you-”

He hears the slight hesitation in her voice and pulls her in for a soft kiss on the shoulder. He turns her face towards his and kisses her deeply, passionately. When he pulls back, he whispers against her lips. "You don't have to thank me for telling the truth, baby."

“Just don’t like this position.. feels disconnected..” she says softly, a little shy to say it.

He immediately understands and gently helps her lift off him. "Fuck, I'm sorry..." He turns her around to face him properly, pulling her close. "What position do you like better? Missionary? Spooning?" His normally dominant demeanor softens with concern.

“No no I’m happy to do it”

Carmy cuts her off with a gentle finger to her lips, shaking his head. "No, no 'no'. If something isn't working for you physically or emotionally during sex, we fucking stop and adjust. That's non-negotiable." His expression turns serious but loving.

she nods softly “okay.”

He studies her expression carefully. He realizes she's the type who would rather not complain and just deal with something she doesn't like if it means the other person enjoys it. He finds this sweet but also slightly infuriating. He pulls her close by the hips again, softly.

she kisses him softly, “really I don’t mind doing reverse-”

He shakes his head firmly, his hands cupping her face gently. "Stop it. I don't want you to do something you don't enjoy just because you think I'll like it more. That's not how this works." He kisses her softly, trying to convey his sincerity.

she nods “yes sir.”

He groans internally at the'sir'. He loves it when she calls him that, but right now he wants her to understand something important. "Listen to me." He says sternly, his hands still cupping her face. "I want you to enjoy sex just as much as I do."

He kisses her again, this time deeper, more passionately. "So if you don't like a position, we change it. Got it?" He pulls back, looking into her eyes intensely. "And if I'm being too rough or not rough enough, you fucking tell me. Understood?"

“Yes sir.” She nods softly

He smiles softly, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. "Good girl." The praise slips out naturally, and he watches as she shivers slightly. He files that reaction away for later. Right now, he needs to make sure she's comfortable. "So, what position do you actually like?"

she blushes “I’m fine with whatever”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression turning stern again. "Wrong answer." He says firmly, his hands tightening slightly on her face. "Tell me, what's your favorite position? The one where you feel the most connected, the most comfortable?" His tone brooks no argument.

she nods, “when you have me ride you, but then you pull me into a bear hug and make me rest on your chest and hear your heart while you fuck me til I cum…” she gives him the specific details the opposite of what she was giving him in feedback.

His expression softens significantly. That's exactly her style - sweet, innocent, and slightly shy. He realizes she's like this even when talking about sex. He pulls her close, kissing her forehead softly. "Jesus. That's really your favorite?" He asks softly, his voice lower than before.

she nods “feel really close and comfortable.. and it’s really hot hearing you grunt and whisper mumble dirty words while you do it…”

He pulls her tighter against him, a rumble of a chuckle escaping him. "Fuck, you're kinkier than I thought." He murmurs playfully, a mischievous grin spreading across his rugged face as he realizes the dirty words she likes hearing.

“You spoil me” she blushes

He laughs softly, his arms wrapping around her waist possessively. "I do, don't I?" He admits, his hands sliding down to squeeze her ass gently. "And you love it when I spoil you with my dirty mouth and strong arms, don't you?"

He groans, his hips pressing against hers instinctively. "Goddamn, you're cute." He kisses her neck softly. "So, if I pull you down onto my lap and hug you close while I fuck you, you'll actually enjoy that? You'll actually get off on it?"

she nods.

He grins, a mix of lust and tenderness in his eyes. "Fucking hell." He says softly, already imagining it. "You know what that does to me? Knowing you get off on that shit?" He pulls her even closer, letting her feel his growing hardness.

she kisses him and shifts to sit on his lap, “can we.. do it?”

He grows hard immediately at her innocent yet demanding question, one hand sliding to her thigh while the other cups the back of her head possessively. "Hell fucking yes we can. Come here..." He guides her down onto his lap, supporting her weight easily. "Just like this?"

she lets him pull her into a bear hug while his other moves to adjust his dick to her entrance.

He holds her tightly against his chest, one arm wrapped around her waist while the other guides himself to her entrance. "Fuck, you're already so wet..." He murmurs against her neck, slowly pushing inside her inch by inch as he hugs her close. "Just like this..."

her head rests on his chest, hearing his heart beat quicken at her tightness around him.

He groans deeply as she clenches around him, his heart beating faster in his chest. "Goddamn, you feel good." He starts to move slowly, thrusting up into her as he holds her close, his strong arms wrapped protectively around her small frame. "You like that?"

she nods against his chest, “yeah”

He chuckles softly, the vibrations rumbling through his chest. "Good, because I fucking love it." He squeezes her tighter, picking up the pace slightly as he feels her warmth enveloping him. "You're so goddamn perfect like this."

she mewls at the pace, kissing his bicep and chest, anything she can reach.

He grunts softly each time he thrusts up into her, his powerful arms flexing as he holds her even closer. He can feel her small kisses on his biceps and chest, making him feel oddly cherished and protected in this position. "Damn it..."

she’s glad carmy made her move to a position that make her enjoy it.

"Fucking love this position on you..." He murmurs dirty whispers against her hair, thrusting deeper. "The way you trust me to hold you... to fuck you nice and slow..." His voice becomes rougher as he feels himself getting closer. "You like feeling my heartbeat, baby?"

“Yeah”, she whines, “feel so sweet”

He growls softly, his arms tightening around her possessively. "You like feeling my strong arms around you? Like you're the smallest, most precious thing?" He thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that makes her whine even more.

He groans, his voice low and husky. "Fucking hell, you're making me crazy." He kisses the top of her head, his hips moving in a steady rhythm as he continues to thrust into her. "You know what I love about this? How fucking intimate it is."

she whines softly, “mhmm need a little more”

His eyes flash with intensity as he hears her needy whine. He knows exactly what she means - she needs him to go a little deeper, a little harder. "Like this, baby?" He adjusts his angle slightly, hitting that spot deep inside her as he thrusts up more forcefully.

“I’m close.. so close..” she whines, grabbing onto him.

He feels her body tensing in his arms, her breath hitching against his chest. He knows she's close, and it drives him wild. "That's it, baby. Come on my cock." He growls softly, thrusting harder and deeper to match her need.

she cums hard.

He feels her orgasm rip through her, her body convulsing in his arms as she cries out against his chest. He groans loudly, his own release hitting him like a freight train as he buries himself deep inside her. "Fuck... yes..." He holds her tightly through their shared climax.

He holds her close as they both catch their breath, his strong arms still wrapped protectively around her trembling form. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Damn, sweetheart... Feel fucking incredible, don't you?"

“Mhmm thank you Carm” she mumbles

He smiles against her hair, his heart swelling with affection at the nickname. He loves when she calls him Carm, it feels intimate and special. "Anytime, baby." He shifts gently, still buried inside her as he settles back against the headboard. "Stay like this for a minute."

He smiles softly. He loves how she trusts him enough to just sit on his lap like this, his softening dick still inside her. He realizes something and chuckles softly. "Baby?" He murmurs. "Can I ask something?"

“Sure”

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if this is too personal or weird to ask. But he decides to go for it. "Do you mind if I stay inside you like this for a bit? I like feeling your warmth around me, and I don't wanna pull out yet." He admits quietly.

When she agrees he wraps his arms around her tighter, holding her close as he enjoys the feeling of being inside her without moving. It's surprisingly comforting and intimate, something he didn't know he would enjoy so much. "You're so fucking adorable, you know that?" He murmurs softly.

[electrosuite]

where no one would see us

warnings: swearing, fingering, oral sex, descriptive sex, rough sex

word count: 2k

masterlist

"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter asked, trying to keep his voice down the best he could. He dragged you back into the alleyway he was hiding in, getting you both out of view.

"I knew you were doing this shit again, Pete. You promised you were done. Stalking escaped convicts, for what? To see if they're putting the city in danger?"

"Yes!" You tilted your head in frustration. "Baby, it's my job."

"No, your job is to take pictures for the newspaper. That's it! You don't even have your camera on you."

"I have my phone."

"Which is in your pocket."

"What do you want me to say? Huh?"

"I want you to admit that you broke your promise and are doing the Spider-Man shit again."

"Hey, baby, don't disrespect the suit." You just stared at him, clenching your jaw. "I know I promised you I was done, but if I can do something to help catch bad guys, you can't expect me not to do it."

"Yes! I can! You promised me. You're this close to getting yourself killed, and I can't just stand by and let you do it. And you're doing this right before our dinner reservations. I put on a nice, sexy dress for you, you're in a suit! If you needed to were you gonna just ditch me at that restaurant?"

"Please calm down and lower your voice. You're gonna get us caught."

"Oh, I'm gonna get us caught? Says the guy stalking a criminal in plain clothes. I might as well just walk up to him and tell you who you are myself."

Within a split second, his hand was clamped tightly over your mouth and he had you pushed up against the wall.

"Peter!" you exclaimed, your voice barely audible past his hand.

"Baby, please just be quiet for one second."

From a distance, you could hear two male voices talking. "I heard his voice from over here."

"You sure it was him?" This voice came from the man Peter was following.

"Oh yeah. I'm sure."

"Shit," Peter said, scooping you up and swinging the two of you through the alley and a few buildings down. You landed in a different alleyway, this one with a brick wall blocking the other men's path to you. "You almost got us killed, Y/N."

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" There were a few seconds of silence between you two. "Look, Pete, I'm not upset about you being Spider-Man."

"Oh, could've fooled me."

"I'm upset because you lied to me." He sighed. "I don't want to lose you. And I don't like being lied to. And I really don't like the idea of you not showing up for dinner because you're fighting someone."

He nodded. "I know. I shouldn't have told you I was done, and I shouldn't be doing this before our plans. I just wanted you to feel better about all of it."

"I know. And, I mean, it doesn't matter how hot I think you are in that skin-tight suit." Your voice had changed, your tone sultry and low. He looked up at you, squinting a bit. "Or how good you look webbing up those bad guys."

"Is that so?" He slowly stepped toward you. You walked backwards at the same pace, eventually bumping into the wall.

"Mhm. Or how good your arms and your thighs look in the suit, too." He was only inches away from your face, his eyes darting from yours to your lips. "It's so private here."

"It is, isn't it?" He placed his palms flat against your sides, his mouth latching onto your throat and leaving gentle yet firm kissing to your skin.

"Mhm. You could do anything you want to me and no one would hear. No one would see us."

"What do you want?" he whispered. "Tell me."

"I want you to pin me up against this wall and fuck me so hard I can't walk home."

Within a second, he was on his knees, pushing your dress and underwear out of the way. He immediately attached his tongue to your clit, and you whimpered shakily. You lifted your left leg and propped it in his shoulder, giving him more access to you.

Goddamn, he was good at this. And he knew just how to overstimulate you. Two fingers entered you, and you were already so wet they went in with ease.

The sounds echoing in the alleyway were unholy and disgusting, your moans mixing with them to create the sound that Peter loved so, so much.

Normally the two of you would be as quiet as possible so as to not wake up his aunt May or your parents. It, admittedly, wasn't very sexy. But the times you guys would fuck while home alone, he was sure his neighbors hated your guys' guts.

Your hands pulling his hair and your thighs shaking was how he knew you were getting close. And as you began thrusting your hips to grind on his face, he knew you were teetering over the edge.

Fucks left your mouth like breaths and he had to hold you up to keep you from falling over. But he didn't stop once your high ended. In fact, he kept going until you had another orgasm, and then another.

"Peter, please, just fuck me already," you begged after your third.

He shot to his feet, quickly spinning you around and pressing your chest into the wall.

"I don't have a condom with me," he whispered as his lips attacked your shoulders.

"Good."

He almost growled at this, the thought of fucking you raw making him almost feral. He pulled your dress back up above your ass, moving your underwear back out of the way, and reaching in front of you to begin fingering you.

You were so sensitive at this point that you couldn't stop your hips from bucking backwards into his crotch, feeling how hard he was.

"Goddamn, you are dripping," he whispered. And it was true. It was like a leaky faucet, your thick juices covering your thighs and running down your legs.

You wanted to lean back against his chest but he had you pinned to the wall, keeping you perfectly still and submissive.

"Peter, please, just fuck me."

He clicked his tongue three times. "No rushing, baby. You have to be patient."

By the time your fourth orgasm washed over you, you were screaming, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Such a tease," you breathed.

He was fully holding you up at this point, your legs too weak to support yourself.

You heard him undo his belt and then his pants, the anticipation making you take a shaky breath.

Feeling his dick glide up and down your pussy lips, soaking himself in your wetness and sliding across your unbearably sensitive clit drove you insane.

But the feeling of him effortlessly sliding into you, stretching you out and filling you to the brim and then some, it almost made you collapse.

He didn't start slow this time. He immediately picked up speed, slamming into you at a speed he normally reserved for rougher sex like this. He was like a fucking machine, knowing exactly what spots to hit to make you turn to puddy in his arms.

His right hand reached up to grip your neck and pull your back against his chest, then took you a step forward so your stomach was flush with the wall. He kept your head pinned back against his shoulder so he could kiss your neck and cover your skin with hickeys.

He pulled your arms behind your body, crossing them and gripping your forearms where they overlapped. Every time he slammed into you, your body hit the wall. It took the air out of your lungs, and that combined with his hand firmly around your neck made it so it was difficult to breathe. But it turned you on to unimaginable levels.

This is the type of rough sex you loved. Being completely at his mercy and being completely controlled by him. Not even being able to reach back and touch him, almost as if you were tied up, made you antsy. You needed to be able to grip him in some way, and he knew this. Taking that away from you only established his dominance and gave him control.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours and echoing around on the concrete walls of the alley was much louder than he meant for them to be, but he was so distracted that he barely heard it.

He moaned and groaned in your ear as he drilled you, your cries of pleasure only pushing him to go faster and harder. You squeezed him so tightly, making it a slight challenge with every thrust. But he was so strong that he barely noticed, only able to focus on fulfilling your request to make it hard for you to walk home.

Peter was the only person you'd ever had sex with that could make you cum during just penetrative sex. At first you thought it was because you were already sensitive from him eating you out, but the first time you guys had sex where he didn't go down on you he still got you there just by fucking you. And typically you only had two or three orgasms during sex.

But you were approaching your fifth one in just a few minutes, and you honestly weren't sure you could handle it.

"P-Peter, fuck, I don't know if I can take another."

"Ooh, but you can, baby. I know you can."

You shook your head. "Too much."

He knew your safe word, and so did you. But you didn't want to say it. You wanted to be fucked out of your mind, to cum so many times you're out of it for hours. You wanted him to push you to your limit and see how much you could take.

"Nothing is too much for you, baby. I know it's not."

The second he pushed you over the edge, the hand on your neck went to your mouth, covering it tightly. You screamed into his hand, seeing stars and feeling him have to keep you on your feet. He didn't slow down to give you a break afterwards, in fact he somehow went even faster.

But this didn't last for long, as he could feel himself getting there too. His thrusts were becoming ever so slightly out of rhythm and his grip was tightening on you. And you noticed.

"Peter, please, cum inside me."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Fill me up, baby. Please."

He was so focused, so driven by your begging. Your ribs were slamming into the wall but you didn't care. The pain felt good. Him using you as nothing more than a fuck toy felt good. And the idea of him filling you with his warm cum was something you needed.

You squeezed down on him once more and he slammed so hard into you it hurt. With a long 'fuck' he emptied his balls into your pussy, the white substance dripping out of you, onto the ground and onto his pants.

He leaned against you for a moment, not moving either of you. You were both so dizzy and so tired that you just needed to catch your breath.

"Fuck," you whispered.

"Was that what you wanted?"

You nodded. "So good."

When he eventually let go of you, you leaned your back against the wall. You situated yourselves back to look relatively normal, aside from the sweat. He checked his watch and grimaced.

"I think we missed our reservation."

"Ah shit. By how long?"

"Ten minutes." You nodded. "Wanna just go home and shower?"

"Yeah, we need one."

He kissed you deeply and you both smiled at each other.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too."

"Let's get home before the cops show up, yeah? I think we were pretty loud."

"Yeah, please."

And with that, you were wrapped around his back as he swung you two back to his apartment.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Damaged

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After a bad evening with your parents, Tim Bradford reminds you that you aren't damaged, and if your family won't be there for you, he will.

Warnings: abuse (emotional, verbal, and physical), 3rd party alcohol consumption, fluff and comfort, protective!Tim, platonic leading toward romantic

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Slacking off?” Tim asks. “A little early for civvies.”

You look up quickly, surprised by his presence outside the locker room. “I’m leaving early,” you explain weakly.

“I remember,” he replies, observing you. “Dinner with your parents.”

“Right.”

“Enjoy.”

Dropping your eyes to his boots, you nod and answer, “I will. Bye.”

Tim watches you go, wondering why dinner with your parents puts you on edge. Every time you mention them, your eyes shift, you grow nervous and jumpy, and the strong, confident cop he knows retreats into the shell of a scared woman. It’s a change he recognizes, one he understands, and he knows you lied when you said you’d enjoy yourself.

“You know what I think?” your dad asks.

You’re going to tell me no matter what, you think.

“Your job is bad enough,” he says, interrupting himself to take a drink. “But you could at least dress like a woman while you’re off the clock.”

Glancing down at your outfit, you try not to let his words affect you. Your parents have been like this for your entire life. Some might call it verbal abuse, while others consider it an absence of a filter. Regardless, your parents have never hesitated to point out your every insecurity. The worst part of seeing them, you think, is that they see your scars and rip those old wounds open again, tearing you down with every word they speak.

“Can you afford some new clothes?” your mother asks. “Maybe then you could find a man who’d give you a second thought.”

Chewing your inner lip, you nod silently. You feel like you’re twelve years old again, too big for the frame they try to shove you into. It’s been years since you gave up on trying to please them, but it doesn’t take away the pain.

“Although,” your dad continues, “who would want to start a family with a beat cop who could get shot at any moment?”

“Beat cops are a real family,” you mumble under your breath, fiddling with the napkin in your lap.

You don’t see your mom move, but the sharp slap sound of her palm hitting your face startles you enough that you finally look her in the eye. Your hand raises to your stinging cheek without thought. You know it won’t bruise, and something deep inside you tells you to stand up for yourself, to leave, and never look back.

“I’m getting another drink,” your dad states, stumbling slightly as he stands.

You’ve been in this exact spot too many times, you realize. So, you decide to play the part until they’re ready to leave. Sitting still, you listen, nod, and apologize as you hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“Look at the time,” your mom mutters after you serve dessert.

“And we have people who give a crap about where we are,” your dad adds, laughing at you. “We better head out. Next time we do this, don’t make the- the food like that and buy more drinks.”

“Will do,” you answer, standing.

“That didn’t sound like an apology,” your mother patronizes.

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately. “I’ll do better next time.”

“That means we have to come back,” your dad grumbles.

Not if we can help it, you think.

“Sweetheart,” your mother says, wrapping her hand around your wrist. Her nails dig into the sensitive skin above your pulse point, but you level your expression. “You need to try harder.”

“Sure. I will.”

She releases your hand, but your dad takes it just as quickly, his grip tighter and stronger than hers. You pull back instinctively, and he raises his other hand. When you cower away from him, dropping your chin, he laughs and twists the skin of your arm harshly.

“Better food,” he seethes. “Better news. If we come over here again and you’re still a disappointment… Just don’t.”

“Yes, sir,” you force out.

You stand in place, staring at the dirty dishes on your table as the door slams behind them. Alone, you stumble backward until you hit the wall, your vision growing blurry with tears. Sinking to the floor, you let yourself cry, and within a minute, heavy sobs shake your entire body. You feel paralyzed, your mind viciously reminding you that you and your parents are on a crashing course that only worsens with time.

But, you remember, they are your parents. They loved you at some point, but it’s always been like this. Maybe you are the problem, a voice you don’t recognize says in your mind.

You want to forget tonight, forget the pain in your chest and along your skin, so you reach for your phone. You’re texting Tim before you think about it. You don’t know what to say, but you’re desperate. Anything would be a welcome distraction, so you ask if he’s busy.

It changes from Delivered to Read, but he doesn’t reply. So, you toss your phone aside and pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself as if it will make the world disappear.��

A knock on your front door pulls you out of your teary reverie that is on the constant brink of returning to the nightmare of reality. Walking to the door, you hope that it isn’t your parents. You look through the peephole before you open the door, sure your surprise is evident.

“What happened?” Tim asks, his face softening when he sees your tear-stained face and red cheek.

You shake your head as you step back, and Tim follows you inside, closing the door softly.

“Did your parents come over?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer, laughing humorlessly. “They were here.”

“Hey,” Tim says. You hold the back of your chair and stare at the table again. “Hey,” he repeats firmly. “Look at me.”

You turn your chin toward him, your eyes glassy and your skin blotchy.

“You’re okay,” he promises, spreading his hands with his palms toward you. “Whatever they said, whatever they made you believe, it’s a lie. Your parents are… they’re abusive.”

“They just-”

“Crossed a line,” Tim interrupts. “I see it every time you mention them. I don’t know what they said or did, but if it brought you here, they are the problem. Not you.”

You rub your chest, failing to lessen the pressure there before Tim steps toward you. When you don’t stop him, he lays his hand on your shoulder.

“What if they’re right?” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

Tim looks between your eyes, then says, “What if my dad was right?”

Your eyes clear as you look at Tim. His question, his vulnerability, brings you back into this moment. Tim is here because he saw something in you. Despite his gruff exterior, he cares about you. And now he’s sharing something about himself to help you. To save you.

“My dad was abusive,” he says. “He shoved my head through plaster, yelled at me, belittled me, made me doubt myself and all that I could do. You? You’re stronger than you think, stronger than your parents make you feel. You are not what or who they say.”

“Then why am I like this?” you wonder.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Tim repeats, his thumb brushing kindly, comfortingly over your shoulder.

“They…” you begin. “Their voices are in my head constantly, and it’s so loud.”

“They talk with razors on their tongue just to provoke your combat, use new weapons to snap those final strings just to watch you fall back,” Tim replies. “I get it. Their voices, their lies, they follow you everywhere because they’ve ingrained them into you.”

“How do you do it?” you ask, wiping the tears from your face. “How do you do everything that you do, and do it well and confidently, after going through it?”

“You know who you are and what you can do. Place your confidence and your belief in that, not the words they yell trying to make themselves feel like they’re better than you.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Tim,” you argue, shaking your head as you sink into your chair.

“Then shut them up, drown them out, listen to me,” Tim encourages, moving with you. “Whatever it takes.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy. I’m not as strong as you Tim.”

“You’re stronger,” he insists. “And I’m here for you. You’re not alone, okay?”

You nod, willing yourself to believe him. Tim takes your hand, and when your sleeve shifts, he sees the bruise forming around your wrist. Without hesitation, he pushes the fabric up to your elbow, revealing the darkening patch and angry red scratch marks.

“They touched you?” he asks, his voice different than before as he stares at your arm.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Was it the first time?”

“I…”

Tim releases your hand as he stands. Your unwillingness to answer was better confirmation than he would have received if you had said yes. Tim moves toward the door, on his way to leaving you alone. Again.

“Tim,” you call, your voice strained as tears well in your eyes once more. 

He slows, his hand on the doorknob. “They touched you.”

“Please,” you plead.

“I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Tim, please don’t leave me,” you whisper, fresh tears running down your face, the salt stinging your raw skin.

He sighs, turning toward you. As he returns to your side, he makes a promise to himself. No one will ever hurt you like this again. He let his dad impact his life for years after he moved away from home. When his dad got sick, it felt as if a strong current was pulling him into the nightmare his dad created all over again. If your parents are so willing to take you for granted, to hurt you, then Tim Bradford will be at your side to stop them from damaging you.

You’re not alone. As long as Tim is breathing, you never will be.

[muxshwriting]

revelation

charles leclerc x reader

summary: it could never work again. could it? you don't know unless you try || warnings: mental health, angst, fluff || word count: 895 || masterlist

part one to this: doomsday

REQUEST: hii! i loved doomsday!!! would you consider a part 2?

You stayed at the hospital until Pascale arrived, gently excusing yourself. You can't escape the fearsome hug Pascale pulls you into, whispering how grateful she was that you had come at all and how she missed your weekly coffee dates. The woman had been so kind to you during your relationship with Charles, meeting you every week for a girls day where you could forget how rocky things had become.

Charles was discharged a day later, a little quieter, a little more strained, Pascale had texted you. You hadn't asked her to but were thankful for the update, the knowledge that he was doing better.

One of the F1 gossip columns had gotten a picture of Charles leaving the hospital, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, hands shoved deep into pockets and eyes tired. The discourse online all seemed to be as worried about Charles as you had been, finally seeing what you had said for months. But you didn't feel vindictive, or proud. It was simply sad.

Weeks passed without a call, without a text, without an update. You weren't sure what you were expecting, a thanks for coming to the hospital that you weren't entitled to. Maybe it didn't matter. You hadn't come back for him, you went because part of you always would have and because if you didn't, who would?

Then there's one night, without warning, where the doorbell of your apartment rings. You're not expecting anyone but having friends drop by isn't unheard of. You open the door just a fraction and it's Charles standing there, soaked to the core.

It's been raining, his hair sticking to his forehead like in all the movies. But his eyes, they look far more miserbale than you'd ever seen them.

"Charles?"

"I shouldn't be here." He says quickly. "I know I shouldn't be here but can you hear me out? Please?"

For a moment you think about saying no, shutting the door, being sane and moving on entirely, not being dragged back to that part of your life. But instead, you take one look at Charles and step aside, "Come in, I don't want you to get pneumonia."

He walks in silently, water dripping from his coat. He glances around the living room like it's a stranger to him, like it wasn't once half his. He notices the empty vase on the sidebard where flowers from him always used to stand. Now it collected dust and just looked sad.

You bustle through the closet in your bedroom, coming back with a towel for Charles that he doesn't immediately use. It's clutched in his hands, knuckles turining white when he rfinally wipes his face from rain.

"I lost you because I was trying not to lose everything else." He finally says, voice low and quiet. "In the end I just lost everything."

You wait for him to keep going, seeing the desire on his face.

Charles looked down at the towel, then back up at you. "I stepped away." His voice shook slightly. "After the hospital, I… I pulled out of every media commitment. I stopped doing double training sessions. I fought the team when they tried to push. I started seeing someone. A doctor." He forced a small, almost broken laugh. "For therapy. For everything."

You blinked, stunned by the admission.

"I didn’t know how to stop," he said. "Until you left. And then it all caught up to me. And I realized… I was doing it for the wrong reasons. Not because I loved it. Because I thought I had to earn it every second. Prove I was worth something."

The tears burning in your eyes weren’t fair, you decided. They weren’t fair at all.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness," His voice cracked slightly. "I don't ever expect that but I owe you the fact that I'm trying to be better. I'm trying to be the man you saw in me."

You exhaled slowly. A shaky breath that sounded too much like relief. "I never wanted you to change who you were, Char," you whispered. "I just wanted you to live."

The room was so silent you could pick out the individual raindrops hitting the glass windows. You stare at the man in front of you, the broken but beautiful boy who had finally seen what you'd been begging him to see for so long.

You reach forward to wipe a raindrop from his cheek, or is it a tear? He leans into your touch like he hasn't felt touch for years, like a man starved.

"What if we try something new?" You ask tentatively and see him perk up. "We can't go back, so we make something else, something better?"

He nods, quickly, desperately, "Anything. Anything you'll give me. And I'll give you every-"

"No." The remark is short and sharp and you see Charles recoil slightly. "You don't have to give me everything, just give me you. Keep everything for yourself."

He swallows, hard. "We figure it out. Together."

"We start slow, we see where it goes."

For the first time in a while, Charles smiles. Then, through the cracks, soft and a little tired, you smile too.

Maybe the love you share wasn't about saving someone, but choosing them again once they learned to save themselves. And this time, no one would need saving, so you could just choose.

feel free to send in a request xx

[hallowmoon-art]

TS DEMO UPDATE!!!

Spoilers ahead!

Edits in blue now that I've had more time to sit and process everything

WHERE DID MY HOUND GO!?!? MY BABY!?!

I mean I'm not completely surprised. The Hound seemed to be the least picked background. I actually like the new origin. The insight on how the Soulless' act is so interesting, and MC seems to have better survival skills.

But a heads up on that big of a change would have been nice. 😭

BUT ANYWAY

AISSSS, MY BELOVED

AND YALL

SLAMS MY FIST ON THE TABLE MY HEART CANT TAKE THIS

I AM ON MY HANDS ANS KNEES

Ais didn't have much changed at all, but the little extra fed me for life. He's already perfect 😌

2. Vere

LOVE the new changed to Vere's dialogue and 101 scene. Hoping for more chances to jerk him around by that collar of his. 😈

The more "softness" of Vere makes a lot of sense to me. When MC first meets him - he grabs MC by the arm and does his eye thing, he seems surprised by what we are rather than indifferent. Even saying that he underestimated MC. So it would make a little more sense for him not to scare them off just yet. Plus it makes him seem more like a viable LI than a pure threat.

3. Kuras

GORGEOUS new background art of the river bank! Idk if it's just me, but I feel like I can see the halo in his eyes better in close up sprites.

Not much changed with Kuras either, if any thing. So if you noticed something, please tell me bc I think I missed it. 😓 Other than his red choice.

4. Leander

I still wanna pop this fucker in the mouth with a bat. But his new 101 scene was a major improvement. A bit disappointed that the bartender didn't as quite as obviously rat him out on his hoe ass tendencies. lol

Love the new name change from Bloodhounds to The Adderstone. Adderstone sounds more... proper(?) rather than a gang name, and Leander wants the best image he can have. Not sure why the 'As Above, So Below' was taken from his posters, but eh.

Leander's really taking advantage of MC's weak mental state. Which deep in my core, I hate, but it makes so much sense.

5. Mhin

Loved how they talked more about the Soulless anatomy. More ✨CrUUUUMbSS✨ for my weary soul.

I feel like the extra knowledge the Exile has of the Soulless sets it up where more than just the Alchemist can work with Mhin. I think the Alchemist origin is still the only way to get Mhin's red choice, but even though the Exile doesn't know the technical terms, they are just a little more on par with Mhin and Vere. The hound just had no advantages with those two, and didn't seem like it could fit with Kuras much either. The world building seems like it's really about to come into focus.

[somethingg5]

Chapter 5

Today was the day! Azzi is officially 5 months pregnant and Paige and Azzi are getting ready for the doctor's appointment they have been waiting for. The gender reveal. “I'm so excited for today when we finally get to know the gender!” Azzi said as she looked into Paige's eyes. “I know I can't believe that the time has come.” Paige took a breath. The plan was simple: they would go to the doctor and get an envelope of the gender. They would give that to Nika and Nika would fill a balloon with the corresponding color. 

“Alright, are you all ready?” The doctor asked as she started the scan. “I'm so excited!” Azzi said as she held onto Paige's hand. The scan came to an end and they were handed the envelope. “I can't believe that it's right here. Like this is the gender right here our whole lives is in this envelope.” Paige stared into the envelope hoping to see a pop of any color. “ I know I can't believe it. We have to go and bring this to Nika now then we need to get ready for the reveal.” Azzi looked down at her belly and rubbed it.  

Twin! We are here and we come bearing the gender! “What's up you guys? I'm so excited for today.” Nika says as she takes the envelope from Azzi. 

Paige and Azzi head home and change into gender reveal clothing. Azzi wore a Blue dress representing a boy and Paige wore a Pink shirt and white pants for a girl. They were buzzing with excitement. 

When they arrived back at Nikas house for the reveal the whole team was there. Some in blue and others in pink. They had invited family and friends. The food was delicious and the company was even better. The time had finally come to pop the balloon. Azzi and Paige stood side by side and they laced their hands together. Everyone was crowded around. “Alright let me take a picture before holding on.” Caroline said as she held up her phone in front of them. A few more members took a picture and then it was time for the reveal. 

3…2…1… pop! 

Pink came out the balloon. Paige ran into Azzis arms and picked her up. “IT'S A GIRL!” Paige yelled! Azzi was crying from excitement. Everyone around them cheered. KK was on her knees cheering. And Caroline was filming the entire moment. CD and Geno were clapping. It was the best moment. “Oh my gosh you all need to get her a peoples princess junior shirt.” Jana said. Geno pulled Paige aside. “I'm proud of you kid. You are going to be a great mother. Take tomorrow off and please don’t let Azzi stress about the upcoming baby shower. Those are always so stressful.” “Thanks grandpa.” Paige said, smirking. “I think she's already stressed, there is so much to do. Finding doctors, the crib, carseat, hell a birth plan. I think we could use a day off.” Paige and Geno continued their conversation, while Azzi was talking to Nika. “So a baby girl. How does it feel?” Nika handed Azzi some water as they sat on the couch inside. “I feel so blessed. This is all Paige and I have ever wanted and it's even more of a blessing to have a baby girl. Thank you for all you did today. This was amazing.” Azzi hugged Nika. 

After they said their goodbyes they headed home. “It's a girl Az. I can't believe it.” Paige was sitting next to Azzi on the couch as they ‘watched’ old recordings of their games together. “I can't believe we are here after everything. We made it here. Our little girl on the way. It just makes me so happy.” 

As the months went by they had the nursery prepared. They had a doctor. And they were finalizing their birth plan. 

Azzi was now 7 months pregnant and Paige was getting ready for a game. 

“Az- I love you but I dont think it's smart for you to go. The media not only will be there but what if something happens. I can't come and help you.” Paige was pleading with Azzi not to go to her game today. It's not that she didn't want her there, it's that Paige was scared something would happen. Azzi had been having morning noon and night sickness now and Paige feared that something would happen. “Paige, I haven't been to many games this season. I want to go to them before the baby gets here.” Azzi was trying to dress the bump. She was trying to hide it. Layers, baggy shirts, and a jacket. She looked ready to go. “Azzi if you come you need to sit behind the bench and text me. Okay?” Paige said with worry in her voice. 

As the game started fans went crazy, Azzi took pictures with fans and nobody suspected anything. Quarter 2 was coming to a close when Azzi started to feel sick. She knew exactly what was coming. She was about to throw up. SHe got up as fast as she could and ran to the bathroom. She just made it. Meanwhile Paige noticed that Azzi was gone and a pit went into her stomach. Was she okay? Did something happen? She couldn't leave but tried to focus on the game. It was so hard to focus when she knew her wife was not okay. Azzi was in the bathroom cleaning herself up when she sent a text to Paige 

Azzi: Hey baby, I got sick around half so I'm going to head home. I love you. I'm okay. 

Azzi knew Paige would not be able to see the text until after the game but she sent it anyway. When Azzi got home she turned the game on. Paige had won. Not 5 minutes after the game ended Azzis phone buzzed with a text from Paige. 

Paige: You had me worried. I'm sorry you got sick? Are you home now? 

Azzi: It's okay you were right I should have stayed home. And yes I'm home. 

Paige smiled at her phone knowing that her wife and baby were okay. 

Azzi was curled up next to Paige as Paige was scrolling through Twitter. AZZI FUDD RUNS OUT OF WNBA GAME SICK. The headline read. Paige knew that it would be best if Azzi didn't know so she turned her phone off and placed a kiss on her wifes forehead. That night all Paige could think about was the media. What if they now know? What do we say to the media? 

hello everyone! sorry I went like MIA today. send me requests if you have any thank you!! :)

[55sturn]

to see that people i considered myself to be decently good friends with, close or not, use such a historically cruel word as if it’s just another swear or phrase genuinely saddens me.

the R slur is not just another word, and it’s not something you can causally toss around as if there isn’t history behind it explaining the cruelty it’s caused for so many people, predominantly those who are intellectually disabled. it is not a word to replace the term stupid or dumb with. and it’s definitely not a word you use to refer to your favourite influencer or person.

as adults, i would hope that we know by now, the power our words hold, whether or not they’re affecting those they’re directed at or someone just scrolling through their phone. if someone who just happens to scroll by a post with the slur it in, and they’ve been upset by it. even if they’re not directly affected by that word, what would that mean for someone who is targeted and affected by that word due to their disability?

those who can genuinely reclaim that word still choose not to for a reason, and it’s because how cruel it is, it’s because of what the word means and stands for. and there is a group of very specific disabilities that are able to reclaim it, and the autism community does not fit into the group that can reclaim it. autistic people cannot and should not ever reclaim the r slur.

edit: autistic people can reclaim the slur, if they have other comorbid disabilities, meaning if they have an/another intellectual disability alongside their autism.

to call someone that very slur, you’re not only demeaning and dehumanizing the person you’re calling it, you’re giving the word more power to continue dehumanizing an entire community of people. you’re reducing people to nothing more than their disabilities. you’re turning their disabilities into something to use as an insult, when that’s not the case. but what it does do, is make you an ableist.

to be ableist is to view yourself as though you’re above those with disabilities, is to put people with disabilities down. they are human. they are people. we’re all human, we’re all people. no one is better than anyone.

your words reflect who you are as a person. they reflect your character, and if you’re so comfortable as to use such a disgusting word, as if it’s nothing, what do you think that means? we need to think about what we say when we’re posting for so many people to see because our words affect everyone, wether they’re directly involved in the conversation or not. you need to be mindful, observant, and a little more wary about what you say.

i don’t know how someone can feel okay using that word, and this is making me reflect on who i surround myself with and who i associate with, because i don’t stand with cruel behaviour like this. i don’t agree with people using these words. every space i create, online and in person, is meant to be a safe space for those around me, for every person, for every group of people. i welcome everyone into my life, whether you’ve got a disability or not, and i want you to feel safe. i don’t defend using slurs, and because of this, i will absolutely distance myself from those involved, especially if they cannot see why people are upset.

to those that have been hurt by todays actions, even though i am not involved in the group nor was i involved in the conversation, i apologize. that word should never be used, by anyone. and if you are hurt by that word, i am so sorry. i can’t take away a lifetime of hurt caused by the r slur, but i can help by standing with you and helping your voice be heard.

to those that thought it was okay to post that and to the person that said it, please be better. please do better as a human being. take time to really, seriously, reflect on your actions. take time and this experience to grow as a human. realize that your actions do have consequences. poor actions don’t necessarily make you a bad person, but if they become a pattern without any genuine change, which these actions are starting to become a pattern, then you need to work on yourself.

edit: also, how can you claim to be a fan of the triplets, and yet say such mean and hateful things about them? how can you claim to be a fan and constantly call them ugly, stupid, and even call them fat, when they are nowhere near any of those things, especially not fat. again, your words won’t affect just them, but everyone that sees what you say.

[coffee-in-rain]

there is no better feeling than getting kudos from my tumblr moots & tumblr followers on my second AO3 account designated for my dark fics. i wanna wail "omg hi, guys, i'm so glad you enjoy my darker fics, too!"

unfortunately, some people are very much against dark fics to the point they harass writers of dark content, so i keep those fics separate from my main account, but please know ily and am kissing you all on the forehead whenever i see you've left a kudo or a comment. people who can enjoy very different flavors of writing are blessings in fandom. <3

maybe one day, i'll post the link here if y'all are interested in reading them! feels a bit daunting tbh. fandom spaces have changed so much since i was a kid and the rise in purity culture / want for censorship on fanfic (literal fiction; nothing real at all) is something i never thought was necessary even as a kid when i found ff.net and then AO3 years later as a young teenager. i remember reading my first dark fic on AO3 when i was like fifteen.

i never assumed or thought the author condoned what they'd written. (that is literal common sense); do authors of published books / screenwriters of movies or shows condone the dark things they write? most certainly not; it's written because every aspect of human life is interesting to explore; even the ugly / taboo parts of humanity; take, for example, horror movies where characters are murdered in brutal ways, like "sinister" (2012); or movies that portray someone being sexually assaulted; or movies / tv shows based on published books, like 'flowers in the attic' & 'game of thrones' / 'a song of ice and fire'; those contain dark fictional explorations, and mainstream media doesn't think those writers condone what they've created because we understand it's only a work of fiction and an exploration of how people have behaved all throughout history, even if it is uncomfortable to read or watch; taboo topics are interesting to write about because it is so far removed from what we're taught is an acceptable way to behave in society; writers of dark fanfic don't condone what we write about; it's a simple exploration of a topic, and if certain people cannot differentiate fanfiction from reality, then they probably shouldn't be reading fanfic at all; especially if they're going to harass writers who write about topics they don't agree with being written, because it is entirely fictional and not a condoning of those behaviors; there are tags and warnings on AO3 for a reason and people pushing for censorship are doing more harm than good. most young people nowadays weren't in the trenches on ff.net being blindsided by shocking turns of events like non-con, assault, etc. (which couldn't be tagged because there is simply not an ability to do that on ff.net), so they don't realize what a blessing AO3's tagging / warning system is. they just see content they don't like, which they can literally scroll past (and also exclude with filters), and scream "ew, censor it! because i don't like the fact that it was written, even though it is no different than movies or books or tv shows portraying the same themes."

when i read a dark fic for the first time at fifteen, i never thought the author was deserving of my judgement, hate, etc. because i knew it wasn't real at all. i was only reading words on a screen. when the content started making me feel uncomfortable, i simply stopped reading and i never considered leaving a disparaging comment because i'd willingly clicked on the fic after reading the tags and warnings. i really shouldn't have been reading that type of content at that age, but it'd piqued my curiosity. then i realized dark fics weren't for me at that time, but it was not the author's fault when i chose to read it. and i reminded myself it wasn't real and moved on with my life. i really wish that line of thinking returned in fandom spaces.