#so maybe i shouldn’t do that even hypothetically

[autism-disco]

man i sure do love being a human person with Things To Do (i’m on the floor again. the floor is nice though)

[melancholicscoundrel]

just read My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness. bawled my eyes out. never felt so seen. considering hiring myself an escort.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀…

Sukuna

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Sukuna comes to terms with the idea of having a daughter with you.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, double penetration, creampie, pregnancy, slightly ooc but still a misogynist, fluff at the end

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“What the hell are you doing?” Sukuna squints his eyes, looking down at you as you knit something for your baby girl. There’s no way of actually knowing the sex of your baby, but something tells you that you’re expecting a daughter. Sukuna negates the thought, assuring you that you’re carrying a son. He can’t possibly have a daughter, he’s always saying something along those lines. 

“Just making a little something for our child.” You inform him, and Sukuna frowns. Your child is not going to wear something so pink because they’ll be a boy, Sukuna is sure of it. He snatches the cloth out of your hand and tosses it.

“Why pink? Are you saying we’re having a girl?” Sukuna questions, and you cross your arms. You look up at your husband, mad that he's tossed your hard work to the side. 

“You have pink hair, Suku… Are you a girl?” You cock your eyebrow, and he’s not amused. He crosses both pairs of arms, rolling his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t associate colors with a certain gender because you are right, he does have pink hair… But he also knows that you’re making a pink blanket because you think you’re having a girl.

“Make a blue one.” He orders, and you glare at him. You shake your head in response, you’re not making a blue one. He grits his teeth, grabbing the blanket that he just tossed to the side and shredding your hard work to pieces. 

“Keep an eye open tonight, because when you least expect it, I’ll strangle you.” You warn him, and you’re dead serious. It’s clear that you’re carrying his child, you’ve never threatened to kill him before. 

“If you even come close to it, I think I’ll fall more in love with you.” He chuckles, walking away, leaving you alone with your own anger. You let out a yell, cursing at him because the twinge of fear that you had for him completely faded a couple of months ago. 

He holds no threat to you anymore. Sukuna wouldn’t have done anything to you anyway, since he hates that he loves you so dearly, but the realization that you carry his child and he’ll do no harm to you really gives you much more power and comfort. Sukuna finds humor in a very nonthreatening person, threatening to do something to him; especially when he knows that you can barely lift yourself up anymore.

He knows that you won’t even come close to succeeding in hurting him, and he laughs in amusement at the mere thought. But you’ll get him back, you know you will.

“I thought we were going to spend the day together?” Sukuna asks as he watches you get ready to go out. You never invited him anywhere, so he was shocked to hear that you weren’t at home. He isn’t well liked in public, there’s just something about being huge, having four arms and being extremely scary that people don’t like. Sukuna can kill anyone without a second thought. 

“I thought so too before someone ruined the blanket that I was making for my daughter… So I had to get the materials to make it again.” You tell him, and Sukuna nearly gasps when you drop the d word. You’ve always refused to call the baby your daughter since you have no idea what the sex is, but it seems like you use it to piss him off. You click your tongue when you notice his reaction, “What? You’re so overdramatic. You’ve killed for fuck’s sake, why is saying daughter so scary to you.”

“Because we’re having a son!” He yells, getting defensive about it. You don’t understand why he gets upset at the mere suggestion that he’s having a daughter. Before you got pregnant, Sukuna never seemed to care about the gender of a hypothetical baby– Although you shouldn’t be shocked since your husband isn’t exactly the most fair when it comes to different sexes… Sukuna is a misogynist, that’s what you’re trying to get at. He treats all humans with the same disdain, but particularly women. It seems that you’ve forgotten because he doesn’t treat you the same way he treats everyone else.

“Sukuna, we’re having a daughter.” You reiterate, and you watch his eye twitch. You’re doing it to piss him off, he knows it, yet it’s working. “You wanted a baby, Sukuna. You knew there was no guarantee that you’d be having a son, but you still decided that you wanted one. You can’t cry about having a daughter.”

Sukuna takes a deep breath, surprisingly managing his anger well. He decides to leave the room, leaving you alone to do whatever the hell you want. You fuel his anger even more, yelling at him, “And don’t come back until you fix your attitude!”

You stare off into the distance, your hand resting on your bump. You begin to wonder what Sukuna will actually do, and you can’t do anything but hope that he’ll come around to the idea because you know Sukuna. He isn’t good whatsoever, he won’t hesitate to hurt her, even if she’s his own flesh and blood. You’re not sure you could stay by his side if he were to do anything, but you wouldn’t really have any other option either.

You decide to go to sleep, because thinking about it further won’t really help you in any way. You delude yourself, thinking that he’ll come around to the idea.

A large pair of arms wrap around you, waking you up from your slumber. Sukuna does it to try and be romantic, but he nearly suffocates you. You slap his arm, telling him, “Loosen the grip–”

He loosens his grip, which lets you know that he wasn’t trying to kill you. Thankfully. Sukuna would never do anything to harm you, but sometimes you swear you don’t know him much. It’s very rare when you get a heart to heart with Sukuna where he actually talks about him, he usually prefers to listen to listen, and to threaten anyone in the stories that offend you in the slightest.

“Can I say something without you getting mad?” You begin, still half asleep. Sukuna furrows his brows. Due to his lack of answer, you decide to speak, “You’re overreacting.”

“I just don’t know what I’d do with a daughter.” He confesses. He doesn’t know how he’d handle her, how to treat her fairly, how he would– He doesn’t know how he would do anything. He doesn’t know what being a woman entails so he won’t know how to teach her anything. He wants to teach her how to do everything. 

“Everything you’d do with a son.” You reply. You really doubt that your child will be raised to have great morals, so there’s no point in really raising them differently. “Sukuna, how will it be different?”

“How will it not be different?” He sounds offended. There’s nothing similar between men and women. Sukuna’s hands go to your bump, his hand caressing it. “But for my heir, I guess I can make an exception.”

“Is that your way of telling me that you won’t make a fuss over the possibility of having a daughter?” You ask him, and his silence gives you an answer. Yes, Sukuna is fine with it, as fine as he can be at least.

His hand goes under your nightgown, caressing your thighs. You feel Sukuna kiss the back of your neck, and you squeeze your thighs, his large hand stuck between them. The man rarely touches you nowadays, seeing you as fragile as ever. You don’t know about the sudden change, but you certainly don’t mind.

“What changed in you?” You ask him as his hand goes up to your panties. He pushes them to the side because last time he tore something of yours, you got too mad at him so he’d rather not risk it. His fingers run through your folds before going to your clit, and you bite your bottom lip due to pure excitement.

“Was thinking about how I’d be nothing without you.” He confesses, letting you know that he didn’t come to terms with having a daughter– Sukuna is a man that fears nothing, at least that’s what you thought up until now. He fears losing you. It’s your issue… You’ve never paid attention to the love in his eyes when he speaks to you or about you. Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you mean to him. “Then I remembered how gorgeous you look carrying our son.”

“If you say that again I’ll–” You begin but Sukuna is two steps ahead of you. He pushes two large fingers inside of you. You can’t help but moan, covering your mouth immediately. One of his hands pulls your hand away, even in the dark he knows what you do. After all, you’re not just getting to know him, but he’s getting to know you too.

“Did I tell you to be fucking quiet?” He asks through gritted teeth. You have to be quiet at other times, like when the baby gets here and you risk waking them up. Now, if any of the servants hear, that’s their fucking problem. “Be loud, my love. Remind everyone who you belong to.”

“They know.” You tell him, which is quickly cut off by a moan as his fingers move faster. You feel his thumb graze your asshole, teasing you before he pushes it in. “Suku–”

“You’re not going to be able to stay quiet.” He ends up laughing. You never do because he’s just too much for you to handle. He curves his fingers so they hit your sweet spot. You shut your eyes, quickly succumbing to pleasure. You’ve missed this feeling so much, and he refuses to give it to you.

Sukuna loves when you turn into putty by his touch. It takes practically nothing to work you up, and you begin to squeeze around him. He smirks, knowing that it takes nothing for you to be practically screaming his name. Sukuna speaks into your ear, “Already so excited for me? Do you want more?”

“I need more.” Your voice sounds so demanding and Sukuna laughs. Another hand goes under your nightgown, his fingers focusing on your clit. You loudly moan his name as it all gets too much for you to handle. 

“Is it too much?” He mocks you as your orgasm builds up, until you finally reach your peak, your legs shaking. Sukuna takes his fingers out, shoving the fingers that were in your cunt into your mouth, making you gag. 

Sukuna lights a candle, providing some light in the room. You sit up, getting on top of him, undoing his robe. Your body yearns for more, and he smirks since he knows it. You lean down, your lips going on his, your tongue entering his mouth and pressing against his own. When you pull away from the kiss, you mutter, “I’ve missed you.”

You raise yourself, aligning the cock on the top with your pussy before slowly pushing yourself down on it. You take a moment to adjust to him since it’s been a while since the last time you’ve fucked her. You begin to bounce on him, and Sukuna spits in his palm, grabbing the cock on the bottom and teasing your asshole with the tip.

Sukuna holds you down when he begins to push the other tip in your asshole. Even though you’re expecting a child together, you’re still loud when he fills both of your holes. It’s too much for you to handle at first, but throughout the time you get used to it.

“Tight little cunt–” He groans, and he never thought that he of all people would end up touch deprived. But then he got too scared to hurt you in any way when you knew you were expecting, so he stuck to… Nothing. To suppress his dirty thoughts. 

“Move.” You order, too tired to continue. Sukuna begins to move for you, thrusting slowly in and out of you. He continues at the pace you had set. 

“Is it good? You’re making a fucking mess.” He says as he picks up speed. You throw your head back, one hand going down to play with your clit as he thrusts in and out of you.

“It’s so fucking good–” You answer. You’ve been needing this every single fucking night, and you’re lucky to be receiving it now. He’s finally giving into your cravings. 

“You just love being filled up like a little slut, don’t you?” Sukuna’s hand goes up from your bump to your mouth, shoving two fingers into your mouth again. He feels the vibration of your moans through your tongue before you begin to twirl your tongue around his fingers. 

Sukuna loves the way you take in his cocks, smiling at you at how well you take him– Of course he wouldn’t tell you though. Your hands go to his chest, using it for support as well as subconsciously digging your nails into his skin. It stings for him, but he can’t help but love it.

Sukuna does you a favor, his fingers rubbing your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, 

A second orgasm overtaking you. Sukuna feels you squeezing on both of his cocks, feeling himself get weak. 

“Suku–” You loudly moan as you reach your second orgasm. Sukuna mocks you for it.

“What? Can’t handle it?” He asks, your nails digging deeper into his skin. He’s losing control, his thrusts getting sloppy. It’s been so long since the last time he did this– And when he finishes, he fills both of your holes with so much cum, and you swear you’re in heaven because there is no better feeling than this. 

When he takes his cocks out, so much cum drips out of you. You end up falling on his chest, him wrapping a pair of large arms around you while another fixes your clothes. 

“This is a nice way to apologize for misbehaving.” You comment, and Sukuna scoffs.

“Who said I was apologizing?” Sukuna is frowning, and you lightly smack his face which pisses him off more. He holds your hands so you don’t try to do anything more with them.

“I’ll take it as an apology.” You tell him. Sukuna wants to laugh, but he manages to keep a poker face. He grabs you up by your hair, putting his lips on yours. 

“It was not an apology, woman. Shut your mouth.”

Bonus:

You swear that hell is freezing over because what the hell is the scene you’re witnessing. You’ve never seen Sukuna like this… You don’t think you are supposed to see him like this.

“Who’s a headstrong girl?” Sukuna is putting on a baby voice for fuck’s sake. For a daughter that he didn’t want. Your baby girl laughs, and he falls in love all over again. She’s just so fucking perfect– With her little eyes, her little nose, her little mouth, her four little arms, her soft pink hair. She’s everything to him.

“Do you need anything, Sukuna?” You approach them, but Sukuna pays little attention to you. He keeps looking down at his daughter who lays on your bed. She’s in need of a nap but Sukuna doesn’t like putting her to bed because she’s boring then.

“Yeah, how do I order another one of these?” He asks, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“Of what?” You respond, wondering what the hell he talks about.

“Another daughter.”

[serafilms]

the golden quartet

art donaldson x reader, slight tashi duncan x reader, slight patrick zweig x reader, wc: 2k

author’s note: basically just a way less toxic (?) version of the movie with the reader inserted. they’re all still incredibly codependent and tashi/reader are very much in love and art/patrick are very much in love and art/tashi have their own kind of friendship/relationship and so do patrick/reader, but really patrick and tashi are one couple, art and reader are another couple, but like they would all live together and probably sleep in the same bed hypothetically. but in a healthy way. i like to imagine a world where they’re all codependent but skip all the “villain” allegations in their mess, and it’s just a beautiful unspoken symphony of love and four-way fidelity and infidelity. will probably write more in this universe.

part two here

“Tashi, stop it.”

Tashi stops and her eyes lock in on you, racket dropping to her side. “Stop what?”

You watch the way she bounces the ball a few times and don’t miss the way her gaze keeps flitting to your hand.

“Stop analysing me.”

She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and doesn’t break your gaze. “It’s my job to analyse the opponent so I know how to win the game.”

“Yeah, but you’re not looking at me like an opponent.” Your lips purse. “You’re looking at me like you’re trying to calculate how to get me back on the court.”

“You’re on the court right now, aren’t you?”

“You know what I mean, Tashi.” Your racket falls to the court exasperatedly and you manage a step towards the net. “It’s over for me, I’m done playing tennis and I’m okay with that, but I’m not sure that you are.”

There’s just a tiny quiver in her eyes before her gaze steels itself again and she nods. “Fine. I get it.”

She tosses you the ball. “Just help me train.”

You watch as Tashi gets into position, and pick up your racket slowly. Maybe you shouldn’t have snapped at her. You so rarely do, but you’ve closed the door on that chapter of your life now, and you’re sick of her trying to pry it open. You don’t want possibilities of what you could have had. You don’t want to put in more years just to watch yourself fail at something you never really liked in the first place.

There’s a dull ache in your chest as you serve the ball.

Tashi Duncan has been your best friend for five years. For the life of you, you can’t remember the details of the tournament you were at, but you had a game against her. It was electrifying. You’d never played tennis like that before. It felt like you’d never known what it was like to breathe before Tashi Duncan. She basically crushed you, but you managed to get in a good few points, had the audience and line judges on the edge of their seats, and at the end of it, when you shook her hand, you felt like you’d just discovered a missing limb.

She found you afterwards in the stands and sat with you to spectate the next few matches. And hadn’t let you go since. You couldn’t imagine a life without Tashi. She was there for your first boyfriend, she was there when you broke up with him, she was there when you failed a class and your parents threatened to pull you out of tennis, and she was there when your wrist shattered and you quit.

Tashi never really understood why it was so easy for you to walk away. “You’re one of the best,” “You have so much potential,” “You can learn to play with your other hand.”

She never seemed to hear you when you said you didn’t want to play anymore. She’d look at you, with her piercing gaze then look away and move on. But the conversation was never over. It was like you didn’t exist to her without tennis, like it was your one achievement, and she couldn’t gauge who you were without it.

You suppose you were flattered, touched even, that she cared so much about you, in her own weird way.

Tashi looks at you questioningly when you lower your racket. You smile, “You should rest up. Your drills are perfect. You’re gonna crush her tomorrow.”

She takes a look at her watch, then nods. You can tell she wants to stay longer, but there’s really no reason to. Especially when you can feel her itching for a real match. That you can’t give her.

You bump her shoulder as the two of you walk out. “Wanna grab some donuts?”

The unimpressed face she gives you makes you laugh. “Come on, we can get you one of those healthy ones. The gluten-free, vegan bullshit.”

“Sounds delicious,” she drawls, but makes no further comments. You grin. A success.

She says nothing as you swing your borderline crippled arm over her shoulder, but you feel her muscles underneath relax just a little bit.

The following day brings a new round of pretentious young assholes on the court. Some of them eye you up as you make your way into the bleachers, whispering to each other. A girl comes up to you and asks for a picture. You’re a little surprised, and feel a little blindsided, but you suppose it’s only been a year since your injury. And well, considering where you are right now, it sure does seem to the rest of the world like you’re not fully done with tennis.

“Yeah, no problem,” you say with a smile.

The girl takes the picture, thanks you profusely then leaves, and you make your way up to the bleachers, and find a nice spot in the middle. Tashi liked you to be right in the middle of the game so you could watch her and her opponent. You wonder if she’s secretly preparing you to become an umpire.

There’s a flurry of whispers all too close to you, and then there’s a shadow blocking the sun to your left.

Two boys stand facing you, staring at you with their mouths slightly agape. You can’t help the amused smile that splits your face.

“Can I help you?”

The brunet snaps back into reality first. “Sorry, we were just— are you Y/N L/N?”

“Yeah, I am,” you say, eyes flitting between the two. They’re cute. Really cute.

The blond shakes his head slightly, like he’s coming out of a trance, and says, “Sorry, this is just the first time we’ve seen or heard about you since….you know.”

He winces, and his head ducks a little like a scolded puppy. “Sorry to hear about that, by the way.”

You let out a laugh that seems to catch his attention again. His friend jabs him in the side with his elbow. “Oh, don’t worry about it, seriously. It’s been a year, I’m over it.”

“Huh,” he says, nodding a little absently. He glances to the brunet, who’s just grinning at him. “Um, by the way, we’re—“

“Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig, right?”

The blond, Art, looks a little speechless.

Patrick chimes in. “Yeah, that’s us.”

“I watched your game just before. That was quite some victory celebration.”

The way Art’s ears turn red makes you happier than you’d like to admit. There’s a little flip in your stomach as he fumbles, “Yeah, well…”

There’s a flurry of movement as Patrick puts his arm around Art’s neck and pulls him impossibly close in a one armed hug. “Social conduct’s not gonna get in the way of me celebrating with my boy.”

The blond leans away and fights to get Patrick off him, and you smile as you watch. “Don’t worry, it was cute. Plus, I get it. We’re sort of the same way sometimes when it comes to victories. I mean, not the same, but you know.”

That seems to catch Patrick’s attention. “By we, do you mean you and—“

“Tashi Duncan!”

The announcement rings loud and clear through the speakers as she walks onto the court.

It’s almost comical the way Patrick’s jaw goes slack and he slumps onto the seat behind him.

You watch as Tashi waves at her screaming fans, shoots her winning smiles and makes her way to her side. She catches your gaze for a moment and you nod. She looks away and begins to stretch, but you’re not bothered. She knows you’re here, and that’s all you need. Can’t try and take Tashi Duncan out of the zone.

As you sit down, you’re a little surprised to find Art mirroring the action, still looking at you. “So, you’re best friends with Tashi Duncan?”

You nod. “Since we were like, thirteen.”

“Oh wow,” his eyes widen and you can’t help but think how impossibly cute he looks, “that’s almost how long Patrick and I have been friends.”

“Really? Oh, wow.” There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for you to catch each other’s eye and look away with awkward giggles.

Luckily, that’s when the match starts. And your focus locks in.

“COME ON!” Tashi’s scream is palpable in the air.

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of you. You’ve heard it a million times before, but it never fails to strike you.

There’s something akin to awe in Patrick’s eyes. Art looks like he’s in disbelief.

You can’t help but agree with their faces.

“So, are you guys coming to the party tonight?”

Patrick’s eyes flit away from Tashi’s to look at you. “Yeah, we were just talking about earlier. Art was saying how excited he was. He just loves parties.”

You can’t quite decipher the smirk on his face, but he looks like the kind of guy who’s never up to any good, so you turn to Art expectantly.

His eyes meet yours and your stomach does another little flip as he says, “Yeah, I’ll— we’ll be there.”

“Cool,” you reply. “I’ll see you guys later, then.”

You manage one quick glance back as you walk away, and see Patrick grinning and shaking Art’s shoulders. A smile plays at the corner of your lips and you leave.

Tashi finds you at your agreed-upon meeting spot, and wastes no time in grabbing your hand. “Come on.”

“Don’t you need to take pictures with your trophy?”

“Got a few, they’ll take more at the Adidas party. We’ve got to get ready.”

There’s a warm feeling like sunlight dancing in your chest as you let her drag you away.

The party is in full swing by the time you finally spot Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig lurking in the corner of the yard.

You’d just stepped off the dance floor for a moment, telling Tashi you were going to get another drink. The two boys seem to be arguing about something, but as you close the distance, you can see that they’re grinning too.

“Hey,” you greet the two. Their heads turn towards you in unison and they both stand up straight.

“Hi,” they chorus.

You take a sip of your drink as your eyes flit between the two. “So….what are you guys doing all the way over here?”

“You know,” Art says dryly. “Just enjoying the ambience.”

(Cute and funny. Man, you’re screwed).

“It’s a lot less creepy if you actually talk to her instead of just staring at her.” Your words are directed at Patrick, whose eyebrows shoot up. A smirk falls on his face. His charm instantly covers up the awkwardness.

Art barks out a laugh. (It’s a sound you wish you could inscribe in your mind).

“What makes you think I’m here for her?” Patrick smirks, looking you up and down. It’s so clearly a deflection, but it feels so natural that you can’t help but smile, and you feel your cheeks warm just a tad.

You glance back at the dance floor, and see Tashi excuse herself, glancing at you as she goes for her drink. You reach over to pat him on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

As you turn on your heel and walk towards Tashi, you hear a slap behind you and an, “Ow!”

“Tashi!” The smile in your voice is audible as she looks up.

“Hey,” she smiles back.

Then, her head tilts to the side and she looks at the boys. “Hi.”

“Hi,” they both say.

There’s a quiet moment in which you all exchange looks, a twinkle in each of your eyes. You can almost feel a spark of something in the air, and suddenly you’re thirteen years old again, meeting Tashi for the first time. Like another puzzle piece has finally fallen into place.

You feel your chest warm. If only you knew what your life was about to become.

[doromoni]

The Tip Off | MV1 , LN4

Off Time : A Spin Off (Max’s Pov)

Ships : Max Verstappen x F1 Presenter! Reader, Lando Norris x F1 Presenter Reader

Genre : Angst

Subtags : Unrequited Love, Untold Feelings,

A/N : SURPRISE! bet you didn’t expect this huh? 🤭 pls do let me know your thoughts. Also, I’m sorry in advance 🥹🙏

Summary : Off Time - retold in Max’s perspective

Masterlist

Series : Off Time , On the Defence , Playing Offense

Max couldn’t exactly pinpoint where he started seeing Y/N L/N in a new and different light. Max always saw you around but he didn’t exactly pay attention to your presence. But now? he was hyper-aware whenever you were near or when someone said your name.

Max knew that nursing feelings for you was not smart, not at all. Everyone knew that you were Lando’s girl — even when Lando himself gave you no time of the day. Even more so he, himself was in a serious long-term relationship!

Maybe it all started a year back when the rain had been pouring in Silverstone and you were stuck in the Red Bull motorhome after your one-on-one interview together.

Everything was all smiles and the mood was cozy and warm, the two of you were just lounging waiting for the rain to subside. Till suddenly you looked at your phone, and your smile fell.

Max was about to ask what was wrong when you suddenly stood up, held his hand and pulled him up from the couch.

“Max come play in the rain with me” Max was taken aback. Not by your request, but by the amount of emotions that filled your eyes. It held pain, but your smile held courage and bravery.

To Max, you looked dazzling. He admired the strength you held. A strength that he wished he had when he was still a young boy.

Max indulged your craziness. As the two of you stepped out into the rain and the water soaked you both, Max couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Your arms were spread wide as you ran circles around Max, then suddenly stopped and squatted down. It reminded Max of the ducks from his childhood; one of the few good memories he had then.

“What are you doing Little Duck?” Max couldn’t help but ask as he squatted down beside you. People were looking at the two of you weirdly — but that didn’t matter.

“ Max, would you date me?” Your question stirred something in Max. He knew that he shouldn’t entertain such questions or thoughts, but he did.

“What do you mean?” Max asked carefully examining you, while you still stared at the ground.

“Hypothetically, would you date me?” You asked again, now looking deep into his eyes.

“Never mind, don’t answer that”

Max was thankful that you cut him before he could answer because it scared him how much the answer was an astounding “YES”.

You suddenly stood up and looked up at the sky— feeling the rain pelting down on your face. Smiling at nothing in particular.

Max was once again mesmerized at the sight of you. His heart beating faster as you gazed down at him and offered your hand for him to hold.

“Thank you, Max… I needed this” You thanked the Dutch.

“Always, Y/N. Always” Max smiled back and it was now his turn to pull you back into the Motorhome — where soft and warm towels were waiting for you.

Or maybe it was during the FIA gala when you both came dateless. Max without Kelly because she was off on a photoshoot in Milan, and you… well, you were hopeful that Lando would’ve asked you.

Max saw you gazing at Lando and the date that he came with; you looked like a kicked puppy as you tried to smile through the pain.

Max knew that he needed to do something and take your pain away. Max stood from his seat and went to you. People were once again giving lingering glances at the man of the night, The year’s World Champion who was looking determined as he pushed past the crowd.

When Max offered you a hand, your eyes drifted up to meet his. Your eyes were glazed with unshed tears and your brows scrunching up with confusion. Max only smiled and offered his hand once more, which you reluctantly took.

He led you to the middle of the room, as the live orchestra started playing “I See the Light”

Max saw how your eyes shone as you recognized the song. A soft smile gracing your face as the two of you swayed together to the beat as Max held you gently.

“Thank you, Max. Really” You whispered as your head tilted up to look into the blue eyes of the driver.

Max was awestruck with you. Your dress made you look even more beautiful under the dimmed lights. You were an angel sent amongst mere mortals here.

“ He doesn’t deserve you” Max had suddenly voiced out, surprising you both. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but he did and Max stands by what he said.

“I-, I know, but I can’t help it you know?” You said as you gazed at Lando once more. Max felt an uncomfortable feeling settle in his gut, but paying it no mind as he focused on you. Only on you

Max then twirled you out and back to him, successfully distracting you from the British driver.

Max Verstappen knew that what he was doing was dangerous and he was asking for heartache — it was clear as day where your heart lay. But he did not care because having you in his arms now was more than enough.

The night ended with Max dropping you off at your hotel door. You gave him one last smile, bid him goodbye and thanked him for everything — then laying a peck on his cheek. It was meant to be friendly— but to Max that was a sign that he needed to confirm to himself. Max Verstappen had fallen for you.

Max’s drive back to his hotel had him all over his thoughts. He needed to end things off with Kelly— it wasn’t fair for her when Max knew that someone else held his heart.

And break up with her, he did. But not before the news of his dance with you during the gala caught Kelly’s ears. She was furious, but she saw it coming … she did know Max; their years together allowed her that. Kelly knew that she was losing him even before Max knew himself.

Even then when Max was free to pursue whoever he liked, he chose to wait for you. Max had hope that you’d give up on Lando. Yet he would never pressure you to move on from the British driver who was also Max’s closest mate on the grid. Because it was your happiness that was the most important.

But Max was only patient when it came to you. When it came to other matters — Max was his usual assertive and hardheaded self. If he can’t rush you… he had other ways.

“Mate, are you not interested in Y/N?” Max quizzed Lando.

“Even you mate?? Why does everyone ask me that? No, I don’t like Y/N. I’m seeing someone else. Happy?” Lando could only shake his head in denial.

Happy? Indeed Max was happy. Lando was out of the picture and it was only up to Y/N. And the heavens had heard Max’s prayers— when Y/N had then started to distance herself from Lando.

Yet that only lasted for a while, because just like the rest of humanity — Lando finally saw Y/N in the same light that Max saw her.

Max knew that Lando was still the same person he knew, he was still one of his best mates— but Max couldn’t help but hold grudges against him.

Lando had now started being possessive with you— as if he owned you. It was as if the past where he didn’t care for you was erased into nothingness. Max remembered every tear you shed for the British driver.

Yet, Max’s heart was set on whatever you decided. You held his heart even though you didn’t know. It was yours to crush. Max was ready for you to break his heart into pieces just as much as you’d like.

And break it you did, even if you weren’t aware that you did — Max’s heart broke nonetheless.

You were late for your interview with Him and Checo. Although it has only been minutes, Max was worried about you; much so that he looked for you himself.

And there you were, In front of McLaren’s Motorhome. Max felt his heart crack — but he smiled nonetheless as he went near you.

“What are you doing, little duck??” Max asked. But he knew exactly what you were doing.

“I came looking for you, dummy! you’re late. What are you doing here just standing” Max lowered his head by bending his waist— leveling his eye with yours.

Max pretended to act dumb for a second, as he glanced at the glaringly orange motorhome.

No matter how much control Max had, he was just a man whose frustration was impossible to avoid.

“Oh, I see. It’s Lando again. Oh…Y/N. I wished you weren’t this blind. Others’d love to have you” Max muttered — it appeared that you didn’t hear the last part that he said. Max wasn’t sure to be thankful or annoyed.

“ What?? speak up, dude! I don’t know how Kelly puts up with you.” You asked. Max felt like he was punched in the stomach. Not from hearing the name of his Ex — but at your lack of awareness. Here he was offering you his heart, and there you were thinking that he was committed to someone else.

“Y/N. Kelly and I broke up months ago.” Max could only say; as he forced his face to put up a casual facade — and it came easily from the years of practice he had.

“What?! how?! why?!” You could only ask startled by the revelation.

BECAUSE OF YOU! Y/N L/N. YOU! FUCKING HELL, I LOVE YOU! Max wished he could scream it to the world. Max wished that he could scream it to you.

But he didn’t. Instead, he said “Never mind that you nosy little thing. We’re late!” and he pulled you in the direction of their motorhome.

Apparently, Lando wasn’t as ignorant of Max’s feelings towards you.

“Mate, do you like Y/N?” Lando asked without any added words.

“Yes, I do” Max replied directly to Lando not holding anything back.

“What?? What the fuck Max… how could you?! I love her!! I was here first” Lando was suddenly all up in Max’s space - demanding an explanation.

Max could only scoff as he pushed the McLaren driver off of him and away from his space. He couldn’t believe the audacity of the man.

“ Bullshit! you were only there because you were afraid that someone else wanted her!” Max exploded, as the memories of you crying because of the man in front of him.

Lando was speechless for some time; he knew to himself that was true. He only saw you when he lost you.

“ That may be true, but I love her now! and she loves me. You and I know it! Don’t make things harder for Y/N, don’t make her choose … because I’m not backing down.” Lando shouted his monologue then left right after — not even waiting for a reply from the Dutch Driver.

Max knew that his love for you was true and he couldn’t bear for you to be in pain. So if choosing between Him and Lando would do that — he was willing to give the chance up just to see you smile even if it wasn’t with him.

Max says that, but he didn’t expect just how much it hurts to see from afar. Max saw everything and he couldn’t look away because even if you were with Lando … at least he could still see you happy. Even if it wasn’t him who made you smile.

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[notjoelmiller]

i cared

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader summary: three and a half years ago and an ocean away, he tore you apart. now he's turned up at your door. wordcount: 4.1k warnings: smut (fingering), drinking, AFAB reader, possible past dub-con (reader was in a bad mental state and simon knew), simon is a shitty guy in this, talk of hypothetical suicide, talk of past bad mental state (depression), mentioned PTSD, heartbreak on both sides, death mention (MW:III canon) a/n: hey remember when i said that my next fic would be joel and i posted a little insert. that was a lie! instead of working on that (12k word, currently) monster, i wrote something else. if you couldn't tell, i started this before the holidays and then forgot about it.

ao3

The house is much nicer than Simon anticipated. When he saw the New York City address, he had expected you to be crammed into a shitty 6th-floor walk-up. But no, not you. Instead, you have an honest-to-God three-story home with red brick delicately dusted with snow. You certainly couldn’t afford it on the 141 salary. He always suspected you came from means. This just confirms it. It just makes him wonder why the hell you decided to slum it in the services for so long.

It reminds Simon that he shouldn’t be there. You weren't made for that life and left for a reason. Who is he to ruin your peace?

He’s not alone on the street. Well-to-do families of strangers pass by, all watching the masked man observe their neighbor’s home. He can still turn around and leave you to the life you so clearly want.

Something shifts in one of the windows, the curtain being tousled by something. A dog. You got a dog– a golden retriever with sharp eyes and, evidently, an even sharper bark. The canine goes berserk, barking and howling and growling at Simon through the window. It’s Simon’s cue to leave, to leave you be with your semi-rabid, semi-domestic canine.

But before he can move, the curtain shifts again– pulled this time –and you’re there. You squint for a moment, surely wondering what masked freak is standing in your walkway like he owns the damn place. He lets you scrutinize him. It’s now or never. Either you’ll tell him to fuck off once you realize who he is or you’ll call the police on him, though it’s not like they would do anything after he calls Kate.

Instead, you disappear behind the curtain, your loyal steed of a dog following hot on your heels. In a moment’s notice, the large front door, with a gilded knocker and door knob open. You beckon him in. He follows, eyes trailing up and down your body once you’re facing away from him. You’re dressed casually but smartly in a short denim skirt and cashmere sweater. Simon’s never seen you in that getup before, even when going out to the pub.

“Shoes off,” you order, motioning towards the neat shoe rack next to the door. They’re all women's shoes of the same size. Simon’s shoulders relax, and he slips off his boots. It was for the best, he figures. His old boots would have just dragged dirt into your space. He takes off his mask too, hanging it up with his jacket. It’s nothing you haven't seen before.

Simon follows you into the sitting room– at least, that’s what Simon guesses the room is. It’s too neat for your taste, or his memory of what your taste is exactly. The couch and single chair seem untouched, the air still, like Simon’s presence is cutting through some sacred stillness.

You point to a couch and Simon obeys, sitting with his hands on his knees. Your eyes lock with his without granting him any semblance of your thoughts. Simon keeps his gaze soft, neutral. You can scrutinize him all you need.

You sigh, straightening your posture. A smile pulls at your lips. Your smile lines crease deeper than he remembered. Or maybe they always creased that deep.

“Tea?”

***

“He’s quite protective,” you drop two sugar cubes into a cup of tea. The spoon in your hand lets out a delicate tink as it hits the porcelain cup. You hand Simon the teacup, it’s just how he likes it. “Always has his haunches raised, even when he’s not working.”

Ah. A service animal. He’s surprised to not have put that together sooner. Always loyal, the pooch plants himself at your feet, gaze burning into Simon. If looks could kill…

“Your home?” Simon asks. He lifts the teacup to his lips and sips. Simon places the teacup on its saucer impossibly slowly. Simon can’t believe you’d trust him with something so delicate.

“I inherited it.”

A smile creeps on Simon’s face. Teacups and generational wealth. He always knew you were posh. Or whatever Americans call posh.

“You’re on holiday?” You ask.

“‘Tis the season.”

You hum. Your house is the only one on the block without some sort of holiday decor. Simon wonders if it was a pointed decision.

“And you came here.” Why?

He can’t tell you the truth. The fact is that every day since you left– all one thousand two hundred ninety-eight of them since John uttered to his fuming lieutenant that you just weren’t fit to serve any more –he’s ached. One thousand two hundred ninety-eight days of no contact. Of his only proof that you ever existed being a photo and a tear-stained note with one sentence scribbled in ink: John has contact info– emergencies only.

“I wanted to wish you a happy holidays.”

You laugh dryly, though it sends a pang of pain through Simon. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound. “Usually people send a card for that.”

You observe Simon with precision, like you never left the force, though the way you scratch Yogi’s belly unconsciously betrays the hardened exterior. It’s a glimpse into the last three and a half years. Of the woman you’ve become– so foreign to Simon. Foreign to your past self. Or not. Maybe this is who you’ve been all along, just hidden behind fatigues. Maybe the woman Simon thought he knew was just a farce. Rich girl playing army for a few years.

Maybe you joined the force just to fuck around for a bit. After a few years, you’d have stories to tell your socialite friends back home. Except, you didn’t get what you wanted, didn’t you? Simon knows well and good that serving, the 141, and him, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, destroyed something in you. 

You tap the porcelain of your teacup. It makes a pleasant ding. “Did John tell you where to find me?”

“No. Well–” Simon tries to tell you the truth without throwing his comrade under the bus. The truth was, John had indulged in one too many drinks at the pub one night and hadn’t locked his quarters. An envelope addressed to you sat front in center on his desk. “Not intentionally.”

It’s a satisfying enough answer. Only a small twinge of annoyance crosses your face before you hum. “This isn’t a guilt thing, right Simon?” You ask, “I didn’t do what I did because of what happened.”

“What we did back then, on the field,” Simon traps you under his gaze. His stare is aggressive, but he hopes it conveys the intense feelings he’s struggling with. “I can’t just leave it. That’s why I came.”

Simon doesn’t dare speak. He doesn’t dare breathe while he watches you process his words. It’s a load of crap, he knows it, and he knows you know it. It’s just a matter of whether or not you want to kick him out.

You smize, teeth coming out to tug at your bottom lip. “Have you ever had New York pizza?”

***

You order two pies, hushing Simon when he insists it’s too much. You were right. Two isn’t enough. Simon scarfs down one pie without coming up for air. It’s delicious. It isn’t until he’s four slices deep that he realizes that you, smiling widely at him, haven’t yet picked up your first.

You’re a gracious host– a natural, really. You perch yourself on the kitchen island, legs crossed in a way that makes your skirt ride so sinfully up your thighs. Simon doesn’t look of course, he’s a gentleman. At least, he is for the first bottle of the ungodly expensive red wine you procure. It’s then that you perch your leg on the counter opposite your spot on the island, right next to Simon. Old habits die hard– especially when inebriated –and Simon places a hand on your leg, massaging the skin of your ankle.

You pay no mind to Simon’s ministrations, though, lost in the domestic bliss and mindless conversations you’ve probably been drowning yourself in for the last few years. You wave the glass of wine wildly about, like you wouldn’t give a damn if it spilled all over your expensive clothes. It seems so natural for you. Simon wonders what you were ever doing with the 141 when posh city living fits you like a second skin.

Simon inches his hand higher up your leg as you speak. He doesn’t get very far, but it’s enough so that he can trace patterns into the soft skin of your thigh. It’s too much, though, because your eyes lock onto his. But you’re not mad. You don’t tell him to stop. Rather, you examine him, and in your eyes Simon sees what looks like mirth.

“I missed this,” Simon says. He cringes at the words leaving his mouth. He’s succumbing to the domestic bliss you’ve created, looking at the past through rose-tinted glasses.

You reach for a third bottle of wine and a corkscrew, furrowing your brow in thought while twisting the screw. “I didn't want to abandon you,” you say. Simon, watching you pop the cork off with ease, almost forgets that you’re talking to him until you lock eyes. He watches you sniff the cork, pause, then sniff it again before topping off your glass. You take a heaping swig, like that Pinot Noir worth more than Simon’s monthly pay is unremarkable. “I left for a reason, you know.”

Oh, Simon certainly knows. The rumors had been inescapable in the first weeks of your absence. All around base every soldier had entertained the question of what happened to the American chick in the 141. Simon had only so many threatening looks to give privates before curiosity got the better of him. He abated the desire to ask John for so long, but there was only so much longing he could handle coupled with the cacophony of voices asking the same thing he desperately wanted to know.

John didn’t flounder when Simon finally came to him, demanding to know why you left.

She was discharged.

Why?

For… mental reasons.

Simon lost his shit in Price’s office that morning. He collapsed onto the couch with a gasp, a hand grasping and squeezing his heart. His breath left him, but Simon was too bloody stupid to understand what the hell was going on until Price was handing him a brown paper bag.

Breathe, son.

“Simon,” you breathe, your saccharine voice the most tantalizing sound Simon has ever heard. You lean forward, your finger tracing the scar parallel to the cut of his jaw. You were there for it, saw the knife slice through his mask and the skin underneath. You bandaged it in the helicopter after, making Simon promise to go to medical afterwards. He promised he would. That night he closed the wound with superglue. “Why did you really come?”

Because you disappeared. Because Price said you were on the brink of becoming a statistic. Because I fucked up. Because I said things I didn’t mean and I thought that it killed you.

“Johnny’s dead,” he lies. But it isn’t a lie. It’s true, sure, Johnny’s been reduced to ashes and scattered in the Scottish highlands. But that isn't why he came.

“I know.” You sniffle. Christ, Simon’s made you cry. Nausea washes over him. A voice in his head screams, fix it, idiot! But emotions were never Simon’s strong suit. Instead, Simon reaches for the bottle and tops off your glass of wine, probably a bit more than he should have, but it seems like you need it.

You mutter a thank you and down a bit more than half of the glass. You come up for air and hiccup. “John told me.”

“Price?” He asks, as though there was any other John. Anything to get you talking rather than crying.

You nod. “He dropped by around Thanksgiving. Asked if I wanted to be there when you all…” You wave your hand in the air, “You know.”

Something ugly festers in his chest. Maybe if he actually went to a therapist, Simon could recognize what it is.

“You said no?” He asks.

“I didn’t think I could.”

Simon nods, holding your gaze in a way that he hopes conveys his sense of understanding.

“How’d it happen?” You croak. Your eyes are glassy, a reminder of the ever-looming threat that you could fall apart again. Simon reminds himself that you wouldn’t be crying if he had just kept his distance.

“Bullet in the head.”

You tense, your head flying to Simon. Your eyes are frantic, searching for something in his face. “He…he…?”

Christ. 

“No, no,” Simon scrambles to get his next words out, “Makarov. It was-” His voice cracks. Unusual. “-was too fast to stop it. To save himself.”

You hum, slumping down like it’s comforting to you that Johnny had his life torn from his arms. Like it’s comforting that Johnny couldn’t go on his own terms, but on the terms of a Russian terrorist.

“You know,” you say like you know he knows, “Johnny’s the reason I got out.”

Simon shifts. Johnny never talked about your discharge, always responding to speculation like he was none the wiser. “He is?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. It’s deep and watery. “Things were…bad one night. He found me. Talked me through the night. Listened to me.” You throw your head back, eyes tracing imaginary patterns on the ceiling.

“He told Price?”

You nod.

“That was after we…”

You nod again. Simon feels sick.

“It had nothing to do with you, Simon.”

“I never thought it did.”

“Then why,” you ask, “did you bring it up?”

Simon shifts. “Thought it was relevant.”

You smile, though your eyes are still lined with tears. “Guilty conscience?”

“Of course not, love,” Simon laughs, hoping you buy it. It works, he thinks. You seem to deflate, slumping a bit. You take some time to think. Simon, panicking at the thought that your self-reflection could send him out the door, pulls out the one trick he has over you.

He lets your legs fall. They bang against the cabinets with a soft umph from your lips. Simon slides off of the counter and stalks your way. You watch him and put up no fight as he slots his wide body between your knees. You don't even complain as the parting of your legs forces your skirt to ride even higher.

Fingers card through Simon’s hair. He hums.

“Why did you do it?” You ask.

Simon tilts his head, and with the wine in his veins and your hand in his hair, the world spins. Your other hand slips under the hem of Simon’s shirt. Warm fingers graze the skin of his stomach and then side, before your hand settles on his back, palm splaying across scarred flesh.

“I–” Simon croaks, “–I felt something for you.”

You snort. Simon’s chest burns and he takes some deep breaths to calm himself. He imagines Price’s paper bag, inflating and crinkling over and over.

“You knew I would leave. That’s it, isn’t it?” You accuse with a gleam in your eyes. “I was in a bad place and was leaving so it didn’t matter if you hit it and quit it.” You laugh. “You got what you wanted without risking your position.”

“That’s not true.”

Your thighs bracket his legs, trapping him against you. Your words curl around your wine-stained tongue. “‘I don’t love you’. Isn’t that what you said Simon?”

“Love–”

You tense, thighs squeezing him like a vice. “Love,” you coo, the imitation of Simon’s long vowels curtles unnaturally on your tongue. “Love, love, love. You know Simon,” you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and lean into the crook of his neck. Your lips brush against his skin as you speak, “You say it, but you’ve never meant it.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon utters, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re not.”

He’s not. He doesn’t argue. He could– should, rather –but he can’t think straight with you this close to him. The scent of your perfume itches the deepest part of his brain. You never wore perfume when on duty, rather, always coated in the aroma of base-issued shampoo and sweat.

“I really cared for you, you know,” you whisper, your lips millimeters from his, them parting when his fingers rub you through the fabric of your underwear.

“I know,” Simon closes the distance, capturing your lips with his.

He pushes you back onto the counter, you let him, lets Simon cage your body like he has the right to. You groan into his mouth when he traps your bottom lip between his teeth and melt when his fingers slip past the hem of your panties, his fingers plunging through the wetness into your cunt.

It’s obscene— the noises you make as he thrusts his fingers into you. With his free hand, Simon pushes your skirt up over your hips so he can watch your cunt squeeze around him.

He slides his thumb up to your clit and you gasp. “Simon,” you moan. He nearly stops. It’s been years since he’s heard you say his name, let alone moan it. Fuck, Simon can’t help but grind his cock against the island counter, groaning.

It doesn’t take much to work you into an orgasm. Before he knows it, your moans become softer, higher pitched, and you’re coming apart, clenching hard on Simon’s fingers.

He works you through your orgasm, whispering praise into your ears. Simon gives you no time before pouncing, fisting his hands in your hair and devouring you. You wiggle underneath his weight, uttering something, but the words are lost into Simon’s mouth. He pulls away, his eyes meeting your expectant ones.

“What?”

“Upstairs,” you say, chest heaving. “My room is upstairs.”

***

Simon wakes before dawn. He’s lying on top of you, your strong breath rocking him up and down. Your limbs are impossibly tangled. He’s reminded of an identical morning, years ago, of what he did then, and what that choice led him to. But that was years ago. You were different then, broken. How was he supposed to know that his choice would make you shatter?

He untangles himself slowly. It feels like the process takes hours, though the sun fails to make an appearance by the time he slips out of bed. The clock reads four in the morning. That explains it. It also explains the way the room around him is spinning slightly. He’s still drunk– or at least buzzed –from the night before.

His pants are an easy find, discarded by the door. His shirt though… Simon spins around the room, eyes glazing over the space. He tries not to take anything in too deeply, too personal for this morning.

He spots his shirt on your vanity. Simon yanks it off, but something hard and heavy comes with it. It nearly drops to the floor, but Simon catches it before it can hit and wake you up.

It’s a perfume bottle, heavy and half-filled. Simon can’t suppress the urge of his half-drunk brain to sniff it. The scent— the scent of you —explodes in his synapses. He tosses a glance over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still asleep, before pocketing the bottle.

The dog follows Simon as he walks through the house. Luckily, as he slips on his shoes, the dog disappears into the rest of the house.

Simon lingers with a hand wrapped around the door knob. It warms under his touch.

“Are we doing this again?”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, “I ‘ave to.” Simon stays facing the door, though he doesn’t make a move to turn around. He knows how he must look to you, too cowardly to face you. He’s reminded of the last time he spent the night with you. He got out scot-free. What would have happened if you found him then? Simon can’t say for certain whether or not he would have left then, if you called out for him in the same delicate voice.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“In New York,” you say, voice dry with sleep. “With me. Get out of the SAS, the 141, all that bullshit.”

“‘S not that easy.”

“It is. I left. You can leave. Or you can stay and end up like Johnny–”

“What do you know about Johnny,’ Simon growls, turning on his heels. He straightens his spine, puffing his chest up like you’re a threat. Your dog buys it, growling and worming himself between you and Simon. You don't take the bait though. You honest to God laugh in Simon’s face.

“I know enough.” You step closer to Simon. The pooch gets the memo, clearing the way for you. Simon almost does the same, he wants to. Some instinctual part of his brain needs to cave to you. “You mean something, Simon,” you flick your eyebrows up, letting them drop immediately. It feels like a challenge, like you were asking Simon the silent question. Do you matter? 

“You’re more than a soldier– more than a body on a field, waiting to drop.” There are tears in your eyes. You don't let them fall. Simon hopes you’ve finally realized that he isn’t worth your heartbreak. He’s never been, but at least your realization would stop his cruel cycle of him chewing you up and spitting you right back out.

“Come to New York, Simon, please. There– there’s a butcher shop up the block, they’re always looking for help. You said you used to do that stuff, right?”

Fucking hell. He had said it to you, years ago after a mission. Simon went drink for drink with Johnny and Gaz and got positively wasted. It was the night he first set his sight on you, when your tenderness sunk its claws into his heart and refused to let go. You didn’t know then what it would lead to. Simon did. Every love Simon had wilted in his claws. Why would you be different?

“Come here,” you plead, “Take the job with them. I can help you find an apartment or you can live with me but–” You grab Simon’s shoulders, tugging. It isn’t strong enough to turn him around, but he does. Your cheeks are wet and eyes glassy as you stare up at him. “Simon, it’s too late for us, but don’t let it be too late for you.”

Simon lifts his hand to your cheek, fingers grazing the plump skin. It slides to the back of your head and tugs– yanks you into his embrace as he crashes your lips against his own. The morning makes you soft though, as Simon nips your lips with his teeth, you melt, softening and slowing your movements.

It’s you that pulls away first, staring at Simon. You let him swipe his finger across your cheek, caressing you.

“Please,” you beg, kissing the palm of his hand.

Simon lets his hand fall from you. It sits achingly cold at his side.

It would be cowardly to leave you without a goodbye after forcing himself back into your life, even if it was for one night. Simon considers himself to be many things, but never a coward. Yet, standing in front of you, staring into your expectant eyes, words don’t come easy.

You step towards him. Simon steps back. The door knob presses into his back. His heart is pounding, the blood in his eyes deafening him. Your scent wafts his way, your perfume. The one whose bottle he knocked over, nearly let slip through his fingers and shatter. The one which you never got to wear in the 141. The one weighing down his back pocket.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Simon says.

He doesn’t look back. Not when you gasp his name. Not when he opens the door. Not when he walks down the snowy street.

Price and Gaz will ask about his holiday. They’re kind like that. In the cab to the airport, passing the bottle of perfume between his hands, Simon considers his answer. Single word answers are his forté, but won’t suffice with the prying curiosities of his captain and sergeant.

The answer comes to him when he sniffs the perfume once more.

In the coming week, when Gaz claps him on the back, he will ask, “How was the holiday, Ghost?”

Simon will answer, “I had a meal with an old friend.”

[scribere-flores]

Sabo x Reader

~Just as a hypothetical question~

Part 4. Other Parts

Word count: 4,5k words

Short summary: Reader spends her morning getting whiplash. Sabo is a touched starved mess.

A healthy amount of fluff and spiraling dirty thoughts in this part. Things get a little heated at one point, but nothing graphic yet. (Love building up the tension)

MDNI 18+

___

This must be the most wonderful dream.

Y/N was laying with her head against a chest, a strong arm gently wrapped around her back. She didn’t dare to open her eyes, afraid the wonderful dream would end if she did it. A comforting warmth embraced her whole being, as she carefully traced small loops on the soft skin.

She couldn’t find the right words to describe what the wonderful dream made her feel. Secure, or maybe cared for? Whatever the name of the feeling was, it made her whole body tingle, filled to the brim with warmth.

For some reason, Y/N imagined that her head was resting on the handsome revolutionary. The man that had comforted her last night when she slipped up. Had that really happened, or had that also been part of her wonderful dream? Whatever happened, the weird punch-drink was surely to blame for her mistake.

Her hand moved upward, her fingers tracing a path from the neck to a strong jawline. Was this what it would feel like to touch him, even if it wasn’t a dream? Her thumb touched something soft, lips maybe? She could feel how the mouth parted, a hot puff of air grazing over the upper part of her hand.

Suddenly she could feel something bite down on her thumb. Which was strange, since if this was a dream, she shouldn’t be able to feel any pain. Y/N reluctantly began to open her eyes.

And to her surprise, she saw Sabo with a smug grin across his lips. Biting down on her thumb.

Oh Dear God… this is not a dream. Abort, abort abort!!

“Please, don’t stop on my account.” Sabo said, making a wave of embarrassment wash over her.

Y/N jumped back, moving away from the handsome devil. Dear God, had she really just done that? She could feel her heartbeat quickly picking up pace, a hot feeling spreading through her body.

She looked around in an attempt to get some grasp on her current situation. She was in Sabo’s room, now sitting on the end of his bed. Far away from him, but not far enough. Dear God, don’t tell her he was completely naked under that blanket.

At least Y/N saw that she was wearing a large oversized button-down shirt and no pants. The shirt smelled like him and felt soft against her skin. She was wearing underwear, which was good. And the shirt looked kinda cute too… AND THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO THINK ABOUT STUFF LIKE THAT!

Had she changed clothes herself last night, or had he undressed her? Dear God, had he seen her naked?! She couldn’t for the life of her remember what had happened after they had left that lake. Why was she in his bedroom? Had they done something during the night?

Y/N felt like she was starting to get dizzy from all the questions in her head, and from the fact that she had shamelessly let her hands travel all over him just moments ago. Her slow descent into madness was interrupted by Sabo’s laugh filling the room.

“You really are too fucking cute when you’re flustered” Sabo wiped a tear from his eye.

“I- How?- What…” Y/N tried to ask him what had happened, but all she managed to say was incoherent words put together in a jumbled mess. She took a deep breath and tried again. “My clothes?”

“Oh, you probably don’t remember anything after you fell asleep last night, right?” Sabo asked, and Y/N nodded in response.

“First off, I did not change your clothes. You did that on your own, even though you were half asleep when you did it. And I had my back turned the entire time. So, don’t worry. I wouldn’t do something like that unless you wanted me to.” He explained as he gave her a kind smile.

Y/N let out a sigh in relief. That was good to know. At least now she didn’t have to worry about the possibility that she had also stripped down in front of him. This situation was already bad enough.

The feeling of shame slowly faded away when she heard another small laugh escape Sabo’s lips. You gotta be kidding? She was practically dying from embarrassment, and he was amused?

“Why am I in your room?” Y/N asked, seeing a satisfied smirk spread over Sabo’s face right after.

“Well, you were clinging onto me like your life depended on it and refused to sleep in your own bed. Something about my bed having a nicer scent?” Y/N could feel the blush spread over her cheeks. “To be completely honest, I was kinda surprised when you blatantly asked me to sleep together. Didn’t mind it though, you were acting fucking adorable. Practically begging me to hold you and-”

“CAN YOU PLEASE STOP!” She exclaimed, hiding her face in her hands.

She could hear a small chuckle escape Sabo’s mouth. A blanket was draped over the lower half of his body, bare torso on full display. He somehow seemed to be totally relaxed with this situation, sitting with his legs stretched out and hands behind his head.

Like he wasn’t bothered, flustered or even embarrassed about the fact that Y/N practically had her thumb in his mouth less than five minutes ago.

“Sorry, I may have overexaggerated a little, but you’re too fun to tease. So please, don’t be mad at me.” Sabo said, giving her that kind, dangerous smile. “Truth is, you were pretty upset last night. And it was kinda my fault for pushing you too far, so I didn’t want you to be alone if it got worse during the night. I know what it’s like, or at least I understand why you were sad.”

Y/N felt her heart flutter.

This was not fair. How was she supposed to keep her distance from him, when he kept saying and doing stuff like that.

Sabo was a revolutionary, a man that was supposed to despise the Noble class and anyone from it. She was 90% sure he had figured out her background already, and that he had known the moment they met.

So why did he not call her bluff out? Why did he treat her with such kindness at times? Why did he want to comfort her when she was sad? None of it made any sense.

And all of it made her confused. Her emotions felt like a jumbled mess, and he kept stirring them around with every teasing remark and caring word. Y/N didn’t know what to expect from him any longer.

But somewhere, buried deep inside her, she hoped that his words were true. That he didn’t just do this to play with her for his own amusement. That the stupid feelings she had started to develop wasn’t going to make her feel like a fool later on.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention to make you upset, so please don’t cry.” Sabo said as he gave her a worried look, suddenly moving closer so he was sitting face to face with her.

“Cry?” Y/N asked, as she brought her hand up to touch her cheek. It felt wet. “Oh… I didn’t notice. Sorry, don’t let it bother you. I’m fine.”

“Stop saying stuff like that.” Sabo sighed, before grabbing hold of her hands and giving her a serious look. “It’s normal to be sad at times, you don’t have to hide it. I don’t mind and I won’t ever be bothered by it either. It’s my fault you’re upset, and I apologize for making you feel this way. So please, stop saying you’re fine, when you’re not.”

Oh no, he completely misunderstood her tears…

Y/N felt her heart picking up in pace. She looked at her hands engulfed by Sabo’s, his hands felt warm. The same comforting warmth she had felt in her wonderful not-a-dream this morning.

She didn’t want him to think he’d done anything wrong, when he hadn’t. He had only wanted to comfort her when she was sad last night.

And Y/N felt grateful for that. It wasn’t anything she had experienced before. Sabo was the first that had ever wanted to do something like that for her.

“But, I am fine… I think I’m just happy you wanted to do that for me.” She admitted, rather sheepishly.

A relieved smile spread over Sabo’s lips, as he let go of her hands and fell back on the bed.

“Thank fucking God! I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself if I made a cute girl cry twice. Well, at least if she cried for the wrong reason.” He chuckled, fully back to his normal, unserious self within seconds.

“The wrong reason? You make it sound like there’s a right reason to cry.” Y/N asked, moving closer so she could see Sabo’s face.

“Oh, there’s definitely a right reason… Curious?” He asked with a wide grin.

“Well, maybe a little? I can’t think of anything that would make me-”

Y/N pondering was cut off by a hand pulling her arm. And a moment later, she laid on her back, pinned under Sabo and confused beyond belief.

She could feel a warm flush spread through her, as she saw the bare, toned body over her. At least he had underwear on, which was good. She would probably have passed out if he had been completely naked.

Sabo wasted no time pinning her arms over her head with one hand, as he gently placed his other hand on her waist, giving her no chance to escape. The concerned eyes she had seen just moments ago were now filled with a mischievous look.

Whiplash. That was the only word to describe this feeling.

“Tell me your name, and I promise I’ll have you crying for the right reason within an hour.” Sabo whispered into her ear, hot breath tickling her neck.

This position, this situation, everything about this! It was far too intimate and out of nowhere. Y/N wasn’t dumb, she knew what Sabo meant by that.

It wasn’t like she disliked it, in fact she even felt a little excited. His thumb made small circles on her stomach through the fabric of her shirt. His touch felt warm and comforting, yet at the same time, expectant and demanding.

But everything was happening way too fast. How could he be so comfortable doing this when they hadn’t even kissed? Unless…

She took a deep breath, sparking a curious look in Sabo’s eyes, as she mustered up the courage to ask the embarrassing question that desperately needed an answer.

“Last night, did we, you know… I mean, I would have liked it if it was with you- I just want to know before-” The words rambled out of her mouth, a bright red blush spread over her face.

It looked like Sabo froze for a second, before he leaned back so he was sitting on his knees over her hips. He moved the hand holding her wrist, placing it over his mouth.

“She’s even admitting to wanting it now…” He said under his breath, barely loud enough for X to hear it.

“S-Sabo?” She stuttered.

She could see a soft pink tint on Sabo’s cheeks as his eyes roamed over her body. A small gasp escaped her lips when the grip on her waist tightened.

“God, you look fucking lovely when you say my name…” He sighed as his hands started to travel over her body. Not touching anywhere inappropriate, but close enough. The now familiar knot in her stomach was back, the knot she got anytime he touched her.

“Do you know how hard it was to hold back when you kept touching me like that this morning? You looked so goddamn cute, it took everything in me to not rip that shirt off you and kiss every inch of your body. I wanted to touch you so fucking bad, see you twitching under me. Hear you moan my name over and over until that was the only sound your pretty mouth could make.” His voice sounded like honey, somehow making the dirty words sound gentle.

“And now you’re telling me you want to? Do you even know how frustrated that makes me, when all I want to do is bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you oblivious.” Sabo’s lewd explanation was beginning to make her head spin.

Y/N hadn’t noticed when it happened, but Sabo was now leaning over her, one knee pressed in between her thighs. One of his hand was traveling up and down her leg, bending it and squeezing her bare skin. Every greedy touch against her body, left a hot feeling in its wake.

An involuntary moan escaped her mouth as she felt a palm against her throat.

“But noo, I can’t do that. Because I don’t even know what your goddamn name is. And just the thought of not knowing is driving me fucking insane and-”

Sabo stopped, looking like he just caught up with what he had been saying and doing for the past few minutes.

Y/N’s body felt hot and tingly, and it felt like the knot in her stomach was about to snap. Heavy breaths escaped her parted mouth as she looked up on the handsome man towering over. One of his hands still pressed against her throat, the other placed under her thigh.

Did he really want to do all that to her? She didn’t even know what half the things he said meant. Twitching? Oblivious? What did he even mean with those words?

Sabo still looked a little lost in thought, but seemed to snap out of it when she moved his hand away from her throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Just give me a moment.” He said with a closed eyed smile, before he got off the bed and walked to the bathroom.

Y/N sat up on the bed, utterly confused as she heard the tap on the bathroom sink turn on. A moment later, a muffled scream came from behind the door. It sounded like someone screaming under water.

Then there was silence for a minute before Sabo walked back into the bedroom, giving her the same closed-eyed smile, but now with water dripping from his hair.

Whiplash, again.

“S-Sabo?” Y/N stuttered, not sure how to react. “W-why are you wet?”

“Don’t worry about it. I just needed to cool down a bit.” Sabo said with a kind smile, as he pulled a pair of trousers over his legs.

“You were- And then- But now- I’m so confused…” She sighed, rubbing the area between her eyes as she tried wrapping her head around what just happened.

“I know, and I apologize for my behavior.” He answered in a calm voice as he put on a blue, button up shirt, before sitting down on the bed. “You’re just so fucking cute sometimes, it’s a little hard to hold back. But don’t worry, nothing happened last night. And nothing will happen, at least until I know who you are. After that… Well, I can’t make any promises. I would never do something unless you want to, that goes without saying. But I like you way too much to not at least try.”

Sabo’s blatant confession made her heart skip a beat.

How could he say those things in such a calm manner? Did he really like her? And was it the same type of ‘like’ as she was starting to feel for him?

What was she even supposed to say after hearing that? It felt like he was being honest with her right now, so maybe it would only be fair if she was honest too.

“It’s okay, I mean, about what you did earlier. I- I kind of liked it and-” Y/N’s flustered mess of words was interrupted by a hand over her mouth. She looked at Sabo and saw his eye twitch.

“Please, stop talking. You’re literally torturing me right now.” He said with a strained smile and waited for Y/N to nod in response before moving his hand away.

“Look, I really, really, want to know who you are. But I don’t want to push you about it and make you upset again. So you can tell me on your own, if you want. Which you won’t, because you’re stubborn. But don’t worry, I have other ways of finding that information.” Sabo said, giving her a reassuring look.

It felt good hearing him say that. Y/N still didn’t want anyone to find out who she was, or were before running away. She was ready to leave that life behind her and start over.

But she could tell Sabo wouldn’t give up either, even if he stopped pestering her about it. Maybe she could make him drop it if she pressured him a little.

“Why are you so obsessed with finding out who I am to begin with?” She asked, thinking this was a good place to start.

“You mean beside the fact that I want to know your name before I turn you into a cute, moaning mess?” He answered, grinning as something flickered in his eyes.

Whiplash…

Y/N nodded with a forced smile.

“Well besides that, it’s kinda my job as the Chief of Staff to know stuff.” Sabo said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Chief of Staff? For this base? Isn’t that a lot of responsibility? And in that case, shouldn’t it be Koala’s job?” She asked, hearing a small chuckle from Sabo right after.

“No, not just this base. For the entire Revolutionary Army, and yes it’s a lot of responsibility. Koala is my partner, she can really be a godsend at times. The other’s say she keeps me in check, and they're kinda right… But don’t get me wrong, I’m good at what I do.” He explained.

“What do you mean ‘the entire Revolutionary Army’?” Y/N said, even more confused than before.

“Hmm, how can I explain this?” Sabo pondered for a moment, before he went and got a notepad from the desk, drawing something on a plank page. “It’s a big organization, so I’ll try keeping it simple. These five people are the Army commanders, they are responsible for overseeing the Army in one different area of the world each. They also have partners like I have Koala.”

He pointed to five blobs on the page that she guessed were supposed to resemble people.

Sabo was bad at drawing. That was kinda cute.

“I don’t really like using the word ‘above’ when talking about myself, but for this explanation I think it’s the easiest word to describe it. So, above the Army commanders is me. And above me is Dragon. Even you must know who he is, right?” He pointed with a pen, moving it up on the paper as he went along.

“Yes, I know who he is… But I’m still not following.” Y/N sighed.

“Dragon holds the highest authority in the Army. The one with highest authority after Dragon…” Sabo stated, then a bright smile spread over his face as he pointed to himself. “Me!”

“Y-you?” She stuttered, feeling a shiver run down her back.

“Yes, I’m the Second in Command within the Revolutionary Army. Pretty impressive, right?” He had a proud look in his eyes. “Oh, you can’t tell anyone though. My identity is kind of a secret to outsiders.”

Danger.

Alarm bells started ringing in Y/N’s head. The handsome, blond man that smiled at her so brightly was not just a regular revolutionary. He wasn’t someone who followed orders and just happened to treat her with kindness.

He posed a real threat to her. Sabo was the Second in Command over the organization that took pleasure in torturing Nobles. There was no way someone with such a high position would let her be, if he found out who she was.

A cold sweat made her shirt cling to her back. Sabo was giving her a confused look.

“Hey, are you okay? You’re not sick, right?” He said as he put his hand against her forehead, making X flinch.

This man was dangerous. He was probably manipulating her into a false sense of security, playing on her emotions. And after he was satisfied, he would most definitely drag her to the guillotine.

Not a thing Sabo had said was true. The Revolutionary Army hated Nobles, despised them in fact. That was the undeniable truth, even if it made Y/N’s heart break.

She had been such a fool, believing that he was different from what she had been told about the Revolutionaries. Believing that he really liked her, that he cared for her.

She needed to get away from this base, from him. She just needed a little time to plan her escape, and until then, she had to avoid him at all cost.

Y/N stood up from the bed and turned towards the door, hair hanging over her face. She knew escaping was the logical thing to do if she wanted to leave with her life intact. She knew that was the only way.

So, why did it have to hurt so much?

“I’m gonna go now.” Y/N said, quickly running out the door.

She didn’t want to give Sabo the chance of stopping her. If he did that, she might not be able to stop the tears that desperately wanted to fall from her eyes.

None of this was fair.

___

“Hey, wait… And she’s already gone.” Sabo sighed as he fell back on his bed.

What the fuck happened?

One moment they were having a normal conversation, and in the next one Jane Doe was running out of the room. He thought back on their conversation, trying to figure out what he could have done to make her do that.

Was it because he had said he liked her? He couldn’t think of anything else that would make her run away. She was embarrassed and probably felt a bit shy, there was no other explanation.

“She’s so fucking cute.” He whispered to himself as the memories from the night started to come back in his mind.

Sabo liked the mystery girl. He liked the sound of her voice. He liked how easily flustered she would get. He liked the feeling of her cuddling against his chest. He liked how stubborn she was. He liked the warm feeling he got in his chest when he was around her.

And he fucking loved her smile. Anytime she smiled it felt like the world surrounding him became ten times brighter.

So yeah, Sabo definitely liked her. There was no use denying that anymore.

Not after he spent the entire night planning how to keep her with him for as long as possible. He wouldn’t describe himself as a scheming person, but it was always good to have a plan. And a backup in case the first plan didn’t work out.

He felt a desperate need to have her near him, to keep her safe. Sabo knew how dangerous the world could be, and he didn’t want anything to happen to her. She had already been through enough, growing up around people who treated her like that.

Bringing him to the other thoughts that had occupied his mind during the night. How was he going to make sure those disgusting bugs never came looking for her again? Sabo had thought about it a lot, and still wasn’t sure what the best way to go about it was.

A revolution was a delicate thing. And a provocation (like crushing some noble’s skull, for example) at the wrong time, could cause their enemies to seek revenge. That would most likely put a lot of civilians in the crossfire, and Sabo wasn’t willing to let innocent people get hurt for his personal gain.

The problem would solve itself after the revolution was over anyway. When they won, the noble class system in this country would be abolished, the ruling class would most likely be put on trial and sentenced to at least some years in prison. Or maybe they would be exiled from this Island. Whatever happened was up to the people to decide. And the outcome would serve as a means to protect the lovely angel he had held during the night from being found.

All Sabo needed to know was her name, and everything would be fine.

Maybe it was better if he just patiently waited until the girl told him. She would tell him at some point, if they kept getting to know each other.

He didn’t want to keep anything hidden from her, he would tell her anything she wanted to know. It didn’t matter if it was a question about his job, or why he pinned her to the bed with a desperate need to touch her.

If she wanted to know why he did that, and the reason was because he liked her so much he was slowly going insane, he would tell her. It was just dumb to hide it, when she had such a cute reaction when hearing it, running away to hide her adorable, flustered face.

He was sure that was the reason she left in a hurry.

Sabo just needed to be a little bit patient.

Only problem was that it was becoming increasingly hard to hold back around her. When in reality, all he wanted to do was mark every inch of her body, leaving proof of how much he craved to have her near.

Earlier, when Sabo pinned her under him, he had really planned to only tease the poor girl a little. But then that cute blush spread over her face and those sweet words left her mouth.

‘I mean, I would have liked it if it was with you-’

He nearly lost his fucking mind when she said that. Before he even knew what he was doing, lewd, airy moans kept slipping past her lips as his hands roamed over her body. She looked fucking angelic in that moment, and it took everything within him to stop himself.

And then, that angel told him that she had liked it. He could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a second.

But he held back. Sabo had promised himself he wouldn’t sleep with her until he knew her name.

And how he desperately craved to know that name…

“Fuck… Maybe waiting will be too hard.” He sighed, as he touched the place on his lips her thumb had pressed against this morning.

It wasn't a delusion, that girl liked him too.

And it wouldn’t be fair to keep her waiting too long, right?

___

[feyhunter78]

By Any Other Name - Nerd!Miguel

Description: You + his last name? He knows it's all hypothetical, all circumstantial, but it's killing him. Artist cred: Lintufrikki on Twitter

Miguel remembers the first time it happened. You asked him if he wanted to get lunch before your next classes, it’s a two-hour stretch, one he knows you’d rather spend at home, and honestly normally so would he. But when you broach the topic, dangle it before him like a carrot on a string—though he knows you’d never do that maliciously, you just don’t understand what you do to him, how you make him feel—he can’t bring himself to say no.

Chick-fil-A, it’s the only food you’ll eat from the student center, and you lean against the pillar with him, your shoulder brushing against his.

“You didn’t have to do that; I would’ve gotten my own food.” You tell him, your expression a soft mix of guilt and gratefulness.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, looking down at you, at the way you fidget with your nails. They’re that same long almond shape you always get, but this time colored a smooth, glossy pink. They make a pleasant sound when you tap them together in thought, and for a moment he wonders how they’d look against his skin. Not in a vulgar way. Just your hand in his, or pressed to his chest, or resting on his back when you hug him. Or maybe around his throat as you ride hi—he stops that thought in its tracks and pulls his phone from his pocket.

Gabri: So, you’re finally on a date with your sorority girl? Took ya long enough.

Miguel: It’s not a date, we’re just getting lunch between classes.

Gabri: Yeah, okay, and water isn’t wet.

Miguel: Fuck off.

“O’Hara?” The girl behind the cash register calls out.

Before he can even take a step, you bound up to the register, with a happy "right here!" on your lips.

His stomach flips, his hand curls around his phone. You acted like it was nothing, sprang up before he could even react, as if O’Hara had been your last name all your life.

Y/N O’Hara, it sounds nice, he savors the thought, rolls it around in his mind before locking it away.

You hand him his bag with a bright smile. “Want to go sit outside?”

The second time it happens, he’s even less prepared than before. Miguel guesses it shouldn’t be as bad, no one is calling you O’Hara, you’re just walking around with his name on your back, in big white letters. He doesn’t even know why you’re here, this is a chess competition, it’s boring, well he knows you find it boring. He’s tried to teach you to play once, but gave up in favor of hearing you bitch about your sisters, and how no one on exec knew how to do their jobs.

Then he sees Gabriel, with his arm slung around Mina’s shoulders, and it all makes sense. His stupid but big-hearted brother brought you here for “support,” even though Miguel was sure he was going to lose now. How could he focus when you were sitting on the sidelines, proudly wearing his last name for all to see?

It takes all his concentration to not let his eyes flicker to you every free moment he has, and when the competition is over, and he’s come out in second place, he finally relaxes.

Which was a mistake.

You practically throw yourself at him, smiling up at him. “Miguel! That was amazing, you were so fast, and the way you moved the pieces and won—okay I don’t really understand what I was watching, but you did so well! Second place, that’s so good!”

He shoots Gabriel a look, then smiles sheepishly at you. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise, Gabriel said people don’t usually come to support, but that he and Mina were going to come today, so I thought I’d take them up on their offer to join them.” You untangle yourself from him and turn so he can read the back of your shirt. “And isn’t this cool? Mina made them, we all have one.”

“Yeah, it’s—it’s really cool, thanks for coming, it means a lot.” He’s sure his face is red, and he pushes his glasses up, clearing his throat. “I hope it wasn’t too boring.”

“Miguel.” You drag out the L sound in his name, giving him a faux annoyed look. “You gotta stop apologizing. I told you; I like seeing you in your element.”

“Yeah, man, don’t be such a Debbie Downer.” Gabriel claps him on the shoulder. “Now smile, I’m taking a picture for mom.”

Miguel smiles at Gabriel’s phone, and you turn towards Mina, whispering.

“They look good, huh? I like seeing Mina with our last name on her, feels likes I’m staking a claim without even having to do anything.” Gabriel says conspiratorially, nudging Miguel with his elbow. “How about you, feeling good?”

Miguel elbows him back. “Fuck off.”

You’re drunk when he finally gets the gift of hearing you say it yourself. You had called him from the bathroom of some frat house, all sad, and dare he say needy? You were whining into the phone, begging him to come get you because you missed him, you needed him.

He weaves through the house, nodding at Brett, who—after Miguel got over his jealousy that definitely wasn’t jealousy—he found to be a pretty decent guy. Maybe a bit too much of a people pleaser, but he was harmless. It was Brett who let him in, after all, who vouched to his frat brothers that Miguel would be in and out, just here to pick up a drunk girl.

His words, which will echo in Miguel’s head maybe till the end of time, were, “he’s cool, just here to get his girl, she drank too much, called him up, he’ll be quick.”

His girl. In the eyes of Brett and a few random guys whose names, he never learned; you were Miguel’s.

He finds you with a friend, leaning against the wall, your head on her shoulder.

“Y/N, your rides here.” She says, rubbing your bicep comfortingly.

Your eyes fly open, and you smile when you see him. “Miguel!”

He crosses the distance between you in two strides. “Hey, you alright?”

“She drank too much, I don’t know what’s up with her, she seemed fine when we got here, but then she just took a nosedive.” Your friend, Janey—he thinks—says, as she passes you to him. “Just get her something salty, it’ll balance her out.”

“French fries, I’d kill for French fries right now.” You mumble, as Miguel wraps his arm around your waist.

“Why don’t we get in the car first and then talk about French fires?” He suggests, leading you back through the house, and into the cool night air.

Once you’re away from the music and the heat of the crowd, you straighten up, and scrunch up your face, bringing your hand to your forehead. “Fuck, I am way more drunk than I thought.”

“Let’s get you home.” He says, trying to guide you towards his car.

You shake your head. “Too tired, can’t walk anymore.”

“Y/N, my car is right over there.” He points to his car that’s no more than fifteen feet away.

“Can’t do it, too far, I’ll just sleep right here.” You say, slowly moving to lower yourself to the ground.

Now he knows you’d never sleep on the ground, never sleep outside or even in a frat house. If you were by yourself, you’d be calling your friends, or an Uber and going home. And maybe he should feel honored that you feel safe enough with him to give into the drunkenness and act silly, but he really doesn’t want to stand here all night.

“No, no, why don’t you just…come here.” He scoops you up into his arms bridal style and starts walking.

“You’re so strong, how are you doing this?” You ask, amazed at his strength.

“You weigh less than the weights I use at the gym, this is nothing.” He says, unable to resist puffing himself up a bit.

“Miguel, you’re amazing, seriously, you’re like a superhero.” You say, looking up at him with such adoration it almost hurts.

“And you’re drunk.” He snorts, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other while you toy with the buttons on his shirt.

“Yeah, so?” You manage to undo the top button and are working on the second.

“So, you don’t know what you’re saying, or doing.” He says, his voice pitching up slightly at the end when you successfully undo a third button and press your hand against his chest.

“You know, it’s kinda funny, you’re carrying me like a bride. Like I’m Mrs. O’Hara, Mrs. Y/N O’Hara. I like it.” You look up at him through your lashes, head tilted to the side alluringly.

He nearly drops you. “Y-Yeah?”

You nod then yawn and rest your head against his chest. “I’m tired, no French fries, just sleep now.”

He gently sets you in his car and buckles you in. “Just sleep then, I’ll wake you up when we get to your apartment.”

“Okay, thank you.” You say sleepily, already curling up in the seat, eyes closed.

He shuts the door and rests his elbows on the hood, burying his face in his hands. You’re going to kill him one of these days, and he’ll happily let you.

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer

[live-laugh-legolas]

Hiiiiii omg your head canons for the fellowship are so cuttteeee I love it. Do you think you could write how the members of the fellowship would be around a character who has a dragon companion? I’m sorry I know that is soooo weird but I literally love dragons so much and Lotr so y’know. Preferably a f reader or just Gn. Sorry if that’s weird and no pressure!!!!🫶🫶

What a fun prompt! I’ve literally thought about this before. I’m picturing you show up at Rivendell just casually with your dragon. Totally breathes fire because that’s cool as shit.

How the Fellowship reacts to a dragon companion

Aragorn:

-Has to do a double take

-wtf

-He’s a chill dude, but this feels unhinged

-He will introduce himself with you only once you’re not with your fire friend

-Once you introduce the two he’s back to his chill self and act like this is totally normal

Legolas:

-Fascinated, and immediately introduces himself to you and your dragon

-Elves have a way with nature and animals so I don’t think he would be scared

-Wary, maybe, but he just wants to pet it

-He sees is as a big puppy

-Will tell you a billion dragon facts

Gimli:

-Listen, dwarves have a bad record with dragons

-Doesn’t trust you, and certainly can’t believe the “beast” could be friendly

-Keeps his distance and is definitely a bit cold to you like he is to Legolas, at first

-He eventually warms up to you but still doesn’t like your companion

-The dragon wouldn’t hurt him, but he doesn’t know that, and the dragon totally takes advantage of that and will scare him

-“I don’t like the way it looks at me”

-Big “it don’t bite, yes it do!” energy

Boromir:

-I just feel like he would not care

-He would be casual about it like the cave troll

-Totally sees the advantage of having a literal fucking dragon on their team

-Talks to it like a person

Frodo:

-You thought his eyes were big before? Well guess what? They are literal saucers

-Mostly knows only of Smaug so he doesn’t have a particularly positive view on the species

-But he’s also nothing if not curious

-Asks you so many questions

-This I think applies to all the hobbits except maybe Sam, but it would be so cute if they cuddled up with the dragon at night to keep warm

Sam:

-Big nope

-He’s heard Bilbo’s stories

-His main priority is keeping Frodo safe

-Probably wouldn’t warm up until he saw Frodo petting it with a big smile

-Would ask if it wants a bowl of stew when you all settle for the night

-Worried it might eat him if he doesn’t keep it fed

Merry:

-Guess what?! You now have a new biggest fan! Congrats!

-No fear in this hobbit

-Maybe that’s not a good thing, but he’s a confident boy

-“Hypothetically how would one go about acquiring such a creature?” “You can’t have a dragon Merry” “…I was asking for a friend”

-Will brag about knowing you and that he’s friends with a dragon when they eventually get back to the shire

Pippin:

-?????

-So confused

-He must have smoked too much and is now hallucinating

-Once he gets over that shock, he’s probably the type to watch from afar, but weary to ask to pet it

-“Do you think we could roast marshmallows with its breath?”

-It’s a genuine question. And yes, the answer is yes

-That is if you like your marshmallows burnt and basically disintegrated

Gandalf:

-He probably invited you to the council

-Wary because he knows what dragons are capable of, but trusts you so therefore he trusts your judgment

-He’s got his eagles, you’ve got your dragon, unstoppable duo

*Bonus Elrond:

-“Um…whatcha got there?” “A smoothie”

-Wouldn’t let you in until Gandalf convinced him

-Then he just decides he’s seen so much shit that he shouldn’t even be surprised anymore by anything

I definitely don’t love all of these answers, some feel ooc, so as always I may edit when I get a different idea. It’s like how my mind will be blank when doing an assignment but the second I submit it I have so many better answers

[mime-the]

I should probably post more in general, but here’s my once in a blue moon tumblr post, complete with a new au.

Paramnesia

—

A hypothetical AU where Shadow Milk wears Pure Vanilla down over time. Revolutionary new idea? Not exactly, but still fun!

Essentially, it starts shortly after resealing via the “Light of Truth”, where SM plants doubt and paranoia within PV. He tries to ignore it, instead following what WL told him [to listen to her voice instead], but obviously that’s not an effective solution… especially when she’s not there to help all the time, she has duties to attend to, and other cookies do not know how to help. Even worse when you’re plagued with nightmares and some minor hallucinations that may or may not just be your own mind without the Jester’s influence.

Realistically, it takes weeks, maybe even months, for it to become truly detrimental. PV becomes more anxious, choosing to distance himself and overall isolate more. Not just locking himself in his room, but also him just making excuses to get out of social interactions. He’s paranoid that SM is right, and that whatever he does is going to harm someone. He’s terrified that he’s becoming a huge burden on White Lily, he begins insisting that he can do this on his own, that she shouldn’t worry. This is, very obviously, not a good solution, but it is enabled, and only keeps getting worse.

At a certain point, SM stops the semantics and just has casual [degrading] conversation with him in his soul’s abyss. These meetings become more frequent as PV keeps falling further and further into despair, and he soon starts to play the role of being “supportive”, which makes PV feel dependent. “This cookie is the one that made you realize the truth of your actions, he’s helping you” is the kind of mindset he eventually instills within the fallen king.

After a while, PV is essentially at his lowest. It’s yet another meeting, and SM proposes a deal. A deal where they swap positions. One where Shadow Milk Cookie takes over the “show”, and Pure Vanilla Cookie resides permanently in the abyss. Where he can rest and let the one who “knows what he’s doing” take over. Shadow Milk even offers him fantasies of his ideal life, all he has to do is close his eyes. Pure Vanilla, essentially completely broken from the long term pressure, agrees.

Shadow Milk Cookie takes hold of the body, biding his time for his strength to return. His first objective is to rid of the tree, and fully free himself and his friends. He is in no rush, eons of waiting in that tree have made him desperate. Manipulating Pure Vanilla Cookie has retaught him patience. He simply needs to wait within his new vessel. A rushed attempt at freedom is a faulty one.

Pure Vanilla Cookie, in the meanwhile, settled nicely into the Dark Side of the Moon, his new home. Never quite asleep but never quite awake either, clinging to the lies and “dreams” he is fed. It’s… addictive, after so long in despair, he finally experiences joy. He can finally forget about his failures and life. He finally “gets” what he’s strived for, a world of peace.

All he has to do is close his eyes.

—

Here’s what they look like!!

PM!SM pre/post-deal, and then PM!PV. One of them needs a lot of care..

[moedull]

HYPOTHETICALS

A/N: "you and dazai talk about the hypotheticals in love"

this was something that popped into my mind a few times and I always found that, if I wrote it with dazai, i usually arrived at a conclusion. He's like my internal therapist that I have control over, or, whatever

AKA. Posted from my ao3 once again!

words: 1540

tags: Mild Hurt/COMFORT!!!!!!, Established relationship, GENDER NEUTRAL READER YAYYYYY!!!!!!!

Enjoy!

“Dazai.”

The moment I speak, Dazai’s eyes snap open and his gaze settles upon me. He raises a brow, turning around to face me properly.

“Hm?”

“What if,” I begin, “I fell in love with someone else, in the middle of everything we have, right now?”

Dazai’s quiet. His expression is somewhat neutral, but it’s evident he’s not exactly thrilled at the thought. 

“Who?” He tilts his head.

“It’s just a hypothetical. Just a ‘what if’.”

“A ‘what if’…?” Dazai’s brows furrow as he stares at me, the gears in his brain turning. 

It’s a weird question, alongside the many implications that came with it. It’s not exactly the right nor wrong question to ask, but it’s not exactly something anyone would ask when they already have a good thing going. In fact, I don’t even know why I asked it– but there was this creeping urge inside me that compelled me to; a creeping urge called anxiety. 

Dazai shuffles closer, his hands resting on my hips. I blink, my attention moves back to him as he begins to speak.

“Hypothetically speaking,” He starts off light-heartedly, “Let’s say, you met someone more deserving of you, than me. Do you think you could love someone else? As much as you love me?”

“I don’t think I could. It’s hard to imagine, but it could happen, right?” I purse my lips, shuffling closer to him.

“I think so.” He raises his eyebrows, a bit surprised. “It’s entirely possible that there’s an even more charming individual out there. Someone with an even more charming smile, personality. Maybe that’s someone you’d love more than me.”

It sounds right, but it hardly feels so. He brings his hands to my face, cupping it and tracing his fingers on my cheeks.

“A handsome man with an attractive voice, it makes you fall head over heels.” He hums, a small, unreadable smile on his lips. “Could someone like that come along and sweep you off your feet, taking your attention away from me? If that happened, then what?”

“Is that even possible?” I raise an eyebrow, scrunching up my face a little that incites a little laugh out of Dazai’s lips. “I’d say, leave me first. If I were to fall in love with someone else when I swore to you, by my confession, that I would give my entire heart to you ; Did  I never really love you, or did I never love you enough?”

Dazai blinks, raising both his eyebrows and widening his eyes. He moves his arm down, rubbing my arm gently. “That’s… a good question.”

We lie in silence, just for a moment. Like him, I’m a little surprised by the sudden intensity of the conversation. I suppose, hypotheticals never really end up with simple answers– they’re hypotheticals, after all. Complex in itself, from start to finish.

Dazai decides to break the silence. “Let me give you another hypothetical: what if I were to encounter another individual who could bring me more happiness than you?--”

I’d be heartbroken.

“--Say, someone with greater intelligence? Someone who could make me laugh, even when I’m at my lowest? Do you think I could fall for that?”

“Yes.” I reply without a moment’s hesitation. “Absolutely. I’d say, there are better people out there than me.”

His gaze softens, and it makes me feel a little bit small; I shouldn’t be. Knowing where it’s coming from– but I can’t help but feel defeated to even question the state of our relationship, when there was never any problem in the first place.

“You think there’s other people better than you, and that I deserve better than you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I love you, and for that, you deserve the best.”

“But,” Dazai tilts his head, “Isn’t it true that I love you as well?”

I glance back into his eyes, my own eyes widening with surprise. He seems to know the answer, but, as always, he wants to hear someone say it. 

“It is.”  I say.

“See? So, if we were to go by that logic, I think I deserve you the same way you deserve me.”

He rests his hand over mine.

“But,” I frown, “In the case, if we were to meet someone else–”

“Would it be fair of us to abandon each other?” He asks.

“-- No, and, I mean, if we do.. How much do we really love each other, if that happens?”

Dazai is silent, simply nodding his head to indicate to me to go on. I take a deep breath, continuing. “So, that makes me a little anxious.”

I wrap my arms around him, letting out a big sigh. “It feels like betrayal– I would never want to betray you. I would question my very own heart: ‘Why would you love someone else? I thought this one was the one.”

Nuzzling my face into his chest, I take in his scent. I’ve never really taken notice of people’s scent before. It just never occurred to me that it was just as big of a personal trait as someone's eyes, hands or smile could be. But, recently, when I find myself in his arms, I’d realize he has a distinct sort of scent; It’s something my vocabulary could hardly describe, but it’s a scent that you’ll always know is his .

“Then, again, if my heart never told me that this would happen, why would it tell me the reasons why?”  What a troublesome heart I have.

“I understand.”

Dazai holds me closer, and I realize another realization: I am small. Dazai is, obviously, quite a tall man, so of course, I am small. I never really felt that way, not until now, at least. It’s not a self-depricating kind of ‘small’, but, it’s who I am, and who I am is in his arms.

“Even if I did meet someone who I think may have the potential to steal me from you, perhaps, I would try to ignore it.” Dazai mused. “After all, the love I have for you, and the one you have for me, It’s not something I’d easily discard.”

“That makes me question love.” 

My hand searches for his, and when I feel his bandaged hand, I intertwine it with my own. 

“People say love is certain, but, if people can fall out and find someone else– It definitely isn’t. If we were to push down those feelings, are we betraying our own feelings for a diluted version of happiness, or, are we right to not trust the indecisiveness of our thoughts?”

“Perhaps love isn’t something that’s constant. Maybe it’s more of an ebb and flow kind of thing.”

“Then, I guess there’s no such thing as being ‘deserving’ of love. I think it's something that, simply, should be.”

“Hmm.” Dazai hums, closing his eyes. A strand of his hair falls onto his face, and I reach out to tuck it behind his ear. He smiles.

“If one of us were to stray, then, perhaps the other would soon follow. Love is something that can only survive with mutual effort. Love, in that sense, is not automatic.”

“I suppose. “ I purse my lips, feeling my head begin to ache, just a little, and my thoughts have begun to clump. “I don’t really know where I was going with this, Osamu.”

Dazai blinks, raising his eyebrows. “Osamu?”

“Sorry.”

“I like it. It’s okay.”

“I just-” I pause, a bit flustered. “I just thought about it and I felt a little scared. I love you, a lot, and I don’t think I could ever imagine not loving you, if we’ve come this far. Why would I stop? That’s just something I could never think of.”

“You don’t need to think about it so much.” Dazai chuckles, a small cheeky smile on his face as he pinches my cheek. “Don’t worry about any of the hypotheticals, because, as of right now, there really aren’t any reasons for you to stop. At least, not to my knowledge. So, you’re welcome to continue loving me.”

I blink, and again, and again. A simple, but astonishing statement. Hypotheticals are like ferris wheels, I realize. You go round and round, you see the same things in different times, weathers, skies and places– but it all stops the moment you get off. Does that make sense? If it doesn’t, then that’s how it should be. I could only open my mouth brainlessly and mumble:

“I guess so.”

Dazai’s lips quirked up, and in place of a chuckle, he giggled.

“See? You don’t have anything to worry about. Right now, I’m certain that you love me. There’s no ‘what if’, ‘why’ or ‘how much’ to it, and I have no doubts about the way I love you.”

How contradicting for him to proclaim that when our hearts are unreliable narrators to the story of our choices. I guess that’s why it’s a story, and I guess that’s why people find it entertaining. 

Or, I guess it means, I should stop getting too deep into my head and see things the way they are, unless something hints to me that I shouldn’t. Yes, that’s much more simple than a metaphor, or any hypothetical.

“I love you.”  I mumble.

“I love you too.”

[frozenjokes]

PUSSY UP CUBFAN‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ cumbo cannibalism win💥💥💥

‘I’ve had an idea! Are you around?’

Cub got Mumbo’s message two days after the three of them brought Mumbo home. Given the length of time, neither he nor Grian was actually waiting in the moth ball anymore; everyone needed to eat and sleep among other obligations, so after day one, the two of them checked in for an hour or so at a time a few times a day. Apparently, Grian was not there now. Cub considered calling him, but from what he could tell from the tone of the message, Mumbo didn’t seem too fussed about being asleep for multiple days. Anxiety gripped Cub at the thought of responding- maybe he should call Grian- but Mumbo didn’t sound upset either, did he? The message was too vague to tell, but if Mumbo was in good spirits and wanted to tell him something, he should go, shouldn’t he? If he called Grian, would Mumbo be willing to say the same things?

Cub steeled himself, responding, ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ He could call Grian afterwards. So he set off, checking his communicator religiously on the way, but Mumbo only acknowledged him with a smiley face.

Cub didn’t even get to ask if Mumbo was okay before he was grabbed, hauled through the floor of the moth ball and nearly lifted off his feet until Cub thrashed and was let go.

“Cub! I had a thought. I have an idea.”

“I-yeah?” Cub stumbled back a little bit, half because Mumbo had unsteadied him and half because he didn’t particularly want to be touched, but Mumbo wasn’t bothered at all, Cub didn’t even think he noticed.

“I don’t have to hurt anyone, Cub, I don’t have to hurt anyone. I just have to kill them, right? I don’t have to hurt anyone. It’s just easier because I can control it, it’s consistent, but not necessary.” Mumbo was so bright and excited that Cub didn’t want to point out the oxymoron, but he was also entertained, amused maybe, and he did not have to ask Mumbo to continue, “So I was thinking right, people get upset on their own. It happens all the time! A build isn’t working out, spilled water on a redstone project, getting hit with a particularly nasty prank or just being plain upset with each other! I could take that. Truthfully, I don’t know how helpful this would be or if it��d even be close to enough, but I want to try! I think this could work. If I got frequent enough meals like the one you just gave me, I might be able to sustain myself on just that!”

Cub was starting to understand what Grian meant when he was speaking about the happier Mumbo; truly, he was radiant. Still, the content of what Mumbo was saying left Cub gaping.

“This. So you’re- Okay. Two hermits are really upset at each other, right? Hypothetically. They’re really tearing into each other, they are not happy. You want to get between them, break it up, then eat them?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t ask. Deescalating would take away from the pain, you know? I would just drop in and kill the two of them instantly.” Mumbo blinked, backpedaling at the look of disbelief on Cub’s face, “I mean, everyone would know! They’d know I’m not human, what I need to do to eat- I wouldn’t start doing this out of nowhere! I’d just be taking advantage of pain while it’s available. Do you not think-”

“Mumbo.” Cub stopped him, and Mumbo looked up, eyes wide and dark and startled, “This is the funniest fucking thing you could chose to do. This is awesome.”

“It- It’s not funny!”

“It is extremely funny. Just imagine it, right? You’re working on a build. You hate it. Everything is going wrong. You are having the absolute worst day. Suddenly you are dead. Just dead. You wake up in bed, extremely confused, then you look outside and there’s Mumbo Jumbo, swallowing your dead body whole. You go huh. Maybe I should take a break. That is hilarious. This is great. Please do this.”

“I-” Mumbo was flustered, waving his hands like this would stop Cub from speaking words, “I was going to! I was going to, but now I don’t know if I should!”

“It’s good! I think it's a great idea! I think it’s even better if you don’t tell people. You should just start doing it. Never address it.”

“I- no! You’re horrible!”

“No, it will be awesome. It would be hilarious. I bet they wouldn’t even care, they’d be so confused. Hey Mumbo, whatcha doing? Why. Why are you doing that? Doc would Lose His Mind. In fairness I think that would be particularly terrifying for him. That’s a whole- I- creeper? Goat? Big. Lots of limbs. That can’t feel good, swallowing something that big. Does it hurt? It looks like it hurts.”

“It- I probably wouldn’t- no, it doesn’t hurt, it’s just efficient most of the time. I don’t know what it looks like either, but-“

“You don’t know? It’s horrific! I have to show you.”

“Please don’t.”

“I just can’t believe it doesn’t hurt. Grian said you eat cows-“ and then before the mortified Mumbo could interrupt, “He knows everything by the way. Everything everything. Partially because he’s a pest and partially because he was there when I told Scar after you-“ Cub remembered suddenly, then shrunk in on himself, “I- I’m really sorry about that- just the whole debacle.”

Mumbo removed his head from where he had buried them in his hands, confusion gently furrowing his brow, “You left that note, didn’t you.. I couldn’t think what you were referring to.”

“You- Seriously? The whole last bit of our conversation?”

“What did you say?” Mumbo cocked his head, so genuine, but Cub still could not shake the feeling he was being majorly fucked with, though luckily, Mumbo filled the short silence on his own, “I.. Well, I remember most of it, and I’m sorry I kinda threw all that on you I guess. I wasn’t well, and I think you know. And I know you didn’t want to be there because I.. you know. And you kept working yourself up, and you weren’t speaking super clearly and I wasn’t paying much attention because the- it’s not a smell, fear isn’t a smell, but I don’t know how else to describe it to you. It was distracting, is all.”

Ah. Hm. Yeah. Mumbo was too busy salivating over him to realize what was working Cub up in the first place. That. Okay. On the one hand, he wasn’t sure how much he loved the idea that most of his friends took great pleasure in his discomfort. On the other hand. Cub had been so appetizing that Mumbo couldn’t think straight enough to hear about how that exact thing made his brain short circuit. Mhm. Yeah. Cub had normal feelings about that.

“Was it not okay?” Mumbo cut through Cub’s thoughts, suddenly distressed, “I thought- You were just so adamant about being eaten, but I didn’t ask and I really should have, I just-“

“No, it’s fine, perfectly fine, you don’t have to ask. I was just thinking.”

“Oh!” Mumbo blinked, then nodded, like this made perfect sense, “You think slow, I forgot.”

Cub snorted, laughing despite himself, “If you say so.”

“Well.. What did you say, then? What did I miss?” Mumbo asked, and while Cub probably should have seen this coming, while he wanted a second chance, he wasn’t expecting this to go down right now like the first chance hadn’t happened. Cub got the sense that Mumbo was seeing straight through him as his face heated up, anxiety prickling under his skin and raising the hair across his arms.

“Well.” Cub breathed, “I may have over exerted myself the day in the labyrinth, so I spent most of the two days after sleeping and-“

“Wait- Days? How long was I asleep?”

Cub blinked. Guess there was no way for him to know, was there. Had he not checked the date? “A little over forty-eight hours. Has this not happened before? Is it not normal for you to sleep like that after a big meal?”

“I- Well sometimes. It’s not uncommon with humans, but otherwise it’s not a frequent occurrence. I always assumed it was just a few hours though, not that I kept track of the time or would have done so if I had the means. I had no idea. Boy, that’s a little disorienting..” Mumbo looked back up to Cub, refocusing, “Sorry- Didn’t mean to interrupt. What was it you were saying?”

“Oh, I forgot.” Saved.

“No, no,” Mumbo furrowed his brow, “Something about you being tired, right? Sleeping a lot? And- and something else?”

Cub pursed his lips. This was his moment. This was it. No backing out. Time to impress. Say something sexy. Something suave. Be cool. Pussy up Cubfan.

“Masturbating.” God damn it.

“Uh,” Mumbo was clearly taken aback, a hand drifting awkwardly to the back of his neck, looking side to side like he was trying not to say something rude. “That’s awesome, mate. I.. I do that too, sometimes.”

“You what!?”

“Ah!” Mumbo startled hard, fright which turned incredulous, “Is this suddenly not a safe space!?”

“You- You think about me?”

“What!? That’s- No! That’s not what we were talking about at all!” Mumbo covered his face, “What- What are we talking about!?”

“I was talking about you!”

“Me what-?”

“You with your hands in my stomach and wrist in your mouth wanting to kill the hell out of me while I jerk it, man, that’s what I’m talking about!” Cub thought he might literally explode, every part of him red and molten under the surface.

“..what?” Mumbo practically squeaked, and it was Cub’s turn to bury his head in his hands. He was half convinced Mumbo would kill him right here and take the meal, or maybe Cub just wanted that, because being dead would be about a thousand times better than standing here like a blithering maniac.

“You said. You don’t do anything but hurt people.” Cub said, though not without a shake to his words, “And I said that isn’t true. Because I. Happen to find those parts of you. Incredibly attractive. And I think. Selfishly. It would be very sad if you never wanted to regroup in the labyrinth. Because I really want to. And while I’m digging a deeper and deeper hole for myself I’m dying to know if the flesh eating part of you also has a sex drive. For science. You don’t have to answer that. But. Yeah. I do think about you. In that way.”

“Oh dear,” Mumbo said, which seemed appropriate. He was normally so pale, it struck Cub how nice he looked with a little flush, though, this was definitely more than a little, “You know, I think I kind of remember that. You saying that. Yes. I think. Yes. I understand now.”

“You can say no.”

“I’m not saying no.”

“Please just say no.”

“You want me to say no?”

“I just want this to end. I suffer so much at my own hand.”

“Well.” Mumbo stopped short, and the two of them were suspended in a thick silence that lasted at least three thousand hours, “I,” and Mumbo continued to pause excruciatingly awkwardly between nearly every word, “tend to not.. I don’t. I’m not the kind of guy that ends things quickly, am I?”

Cub gaped at him. “Did you do that on purpose.”

“Do what?”

“Draw it out. Talk like that. Slowly.”

“Oh, no. I’m just nervous. Unless that’s the smart, hot thing to do, then yes, pun intended or- or whatever.”

“If I think about it hard enough, anything can be sexy.”

“Please do that then,” Mumbo looked genuinely relieved, and something about that was so sickeningly sweet it made Cub’s heart pound in his throat. He was at a loss for words then, though he was thinking an awful lot about Mumbo’s tongue, and maybe he was being a little obvious with his staring, because Mumbo did him a massive favor and let him taste.

The kiss was gentle and sweet, an awful lot like Mumbo himself, or the way he preferred to present himself anyway. Cub had quite a few ideas of his own on how this could go, but he did not chase them, far more interested in what Mumbo wanted this to be. Mumbo’s lips were chapped, likely from two whole days of mouth breathing in bed, but Cub’s were as well, typically in bad shape one way or another; he had a habit of picking he just couldn’t quite shake. But Cub had long retired the notion that a kiss was some angelic, butterflies and rainbows exploding out of your ears experience. It was nice, it was comfortable, and in a world of fast paced high energy bordering on desperate making out, Cub found he had forgotten what a kiss like this could be, that it didn’t have to be anything at all. He liked it. He liked how Mumbo held his hand. He would like very much to do this again.

Mumbo pulled away first, and Cub found himself satisfied, lingering, but only to watch. Mumbo chuckled, looking away, maybe finding Cub too intense, which was fair.

“Was that okay?” Mumbo asked, a little meek, fiddling with his mustache as if he thought it might have gotten in the way.

“I thought it was great.” Cub squeezed Mumbo’s hand, pleased that he hadn’t let go. “Now, I’m not in any kind of rush, but I would like to know what your thoughts on sex are, just so I can set my expectations.”

“Ah,” Mumbo said it in the way that made Cub think he probably should have waited, but he hated that lingering uncertainty between intimate interactions, he just wanted to iron things out now. But Mumbo looked thoughtful, if not a little nervous, “I mean, I don’t know if I’m looking for any commitments right now, but if you’re thinking something more casual, I would be open to a thing like that.” Mumbo stopped himself, amending, “Well- I guess it depends actually. I don’t- I don’t know all of what you’re expecting of me-”

“Casual is good, casual is better,” Cub agreed, “I’m not overly concerned about recreating fantasies, I have a perfectly active imagination to use in my own time.”

“Well what’s the point then?”

Cub snorted, caught off guard, “What do you mean?”

“You’re interested in me physically because of what I am, right? You like that.”

Cub stopped, shifting his weight as he thought how to answer. He hadn’t meant to give Mumbo that impression at all, but yeah, Cub could see how that had happened. “Well sure, but that’s not the only reason. I’m gonna work on wearing you down enough to get back in the labyrinth with me, but that’s not really about sex either, these are just things I do for fun. I have to get you in with Scar as well, or both of us at the same time. We could see who survives the longest, sabotage each other or work together, it would be incredible. I just also happen to think being hunted is sexy. These two things coexist.”

Mumbo grimaced. “I think I might just struggle to understand how being slowly tortured to death is a fun activity for you- for both of you.”

Cub shrugged. “I dunno. Sounds fun. If it’s not fun and you don’t need it for your health then I won’t do it again. But it will be. I can’t wait to try and stop you. You’ve seen Scar, he’s a lunatic. I’m worse. We also already do basically that in the labyrinth like.. all the time. Faster paced for sure, but that’s because we have to be, we know each other too well.”

“Well- I’ll think about it. How’s that?”

“Yes!” Cub pumped his fist. “You’ve made a man very very happy today, Mumbo. Someday soon I will take you home and thank you personally, but not now, because if I don’t call Grian immediately I will not live to see the light of tomorrow. However, you’d better believe I’d love nothing more than to bend you over my finest strap, got it?”

“Grian-? Oh dear, I know he- oh,” Mumbo finished processing, flushing prettily, then covering his hand with his mouth, a gesture that sparked a moment of violent cuteness aggression in Cub that he promptly forced down. “Oh dear.”

“Is that okay with you?” Cub couldn’t help a small chuckle, but the question was genuine.

“I- Yes. Perfectly.”

Incredibly pleased, Cub moved to open his communicator, finding Grian’s contact. He lingered for a moment, mildly disappointed, but called regardless, figuring he’d rather not be caught making out with Mumbo by a furious Grian who had just happened to check in at the wrong time. Cub hardly got two words out before Grian confirmed he was on his way, hanging up promptly. Cub sat down on a chest, sighing contentedly.

“To uh, answer your question..” Mumbo started, and Cub didn’t entirely remember what he was talking about, but was enraptured regardless, “I share most basic tenets of every species whose shape I take. Obviously, there are exceptions and spectrums in every place, though I usually fall somewhere in the middle everywhere. All this to say, I mean.. Yes. I have a sex drive. If I had my way, I would always be hunting, but there are moments of downtime where I share the same kinds of desires of whatever I am. Mice, birds, wolves, people. If I am a social animal, I want to be around others of my kind. If I am a dove, I’d like to find a mate, raise a family. These are passing desires, they fall below the need to eat, but they are still there, so. If things work out for me here on Hermitcraft.. If hunger isn’t so much of an obstacle, which I can’t promise it won’t be.. Well. Make of that what you will.”

Cub stared. He stared for a very long time. “I am making.”

Mumbo laughed, mostly out of concern, but Cub saw amusement there as well. He could live with that. He could very much live with that.

***

Cub’s shoes skidded on the honeycomb floor as he took a sharp turn, and he nearly wrenched his arm out of the socket as he grabbed Scar by the jacket, hauling him in the right direction. The hallway was long, the worst kind of way for it to be when it came to Mumbo; he got confused on too many turns, and if the two of them were smart, they could loop him around and continue without getting caught.

“He’s close-” Scar panted, “Nearly saw me around that last corner,” and indeed, Mumbo was very close, his footsteps louder than the sound of Cub’s and Scar’s combined.

“If we’re fast we can confuse him in the next part of the maze,” Cub tried, but Scar only scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“We are not that fast.

Indeed, just moments before Cub’s lab coat whipped around the next corner, Mumbo screeched, the surefire sign that the two of them had been spotted. No coming back from that. One of them was going down. Cub was in front right now, but Scar was faster, strong enough to shove ahead of him, though when he was alone, tended to lose time by paying less attention and making wrong turns. When Cub and Scar were together like this, Scar usually managed to squeak out alive, and it was no accident that they ended up together most days.

“One day,” Cub breathed, “He’s going to catch me. And it’s going to be in the sexy way.”

Scar snorted despite himself, “Uh huh, yeah, maybe today’s your lucky day?” Cub felt Scar’s breath on his neck, ready to push past Cub in the narrow hall, so Cub reeled around, shoving hard and catching Scar off balance. But Scar had too much momentum, tumbling forward instead of back, managing to catch Cub’s leg in both arms before Cub could slip away. Cub fell nearly flat on his face, unhelped by Scar yanking him backward and using the momentum to help himself to his feet. Dazed, Cub just barely caught Scar’s pant leg as he dashed past, but lost his grip when Mumbo’s weight slammed over him, crushing him flat to the ground. God damn it.

Cub felt Mumbo’s claws in his back, lifting him by the neck of his clothes before Cub could even struggle and whipping him into the opposite wall. His back cracked squarely against the deepslate, and beyond his daze Cub was immediately certain something was Wrong, though he couldn’t exactly place what that was as he crumpled to the floor. He couldn’t sit up. That was something. He couldn’t run either, which was mildly alarming, since he very much would have liked to. Luckily, Mumbo was the gentlemanly sort, lifting Cub into a sitting position when he couldn’t do it himself.

If Cub didn’t know him any better, he’d think Mumbo was angry with him. But no, Mumbo was definitely more irritated. Darn fragile human (-esc) body! So easy to break! Cub had to agree, he would much rather be running right now. He really got an edge up on Scar when they got to the parkour sections, though they rarely got that far. But even at the first one with the trapdoors, if Scar fell enough times, Cub could lose him in the key mazes, then he’d really get ahead.

Cub attempted to commiserate with Mumbo so he knew they were both on the same page here, but instead of actual words, mostly blood dribbled from his lips. Hm. Yeah, he might be dying. Mumbo was not the only person here who was disappointed, that was for sure.

And then Mumbo jerked forward, snatching something affixed at Cub’s belt and tearing it back, oh! He remembered! That was great, he didn’t remember the last two times this was a relevant issue. Mumbo was not gentle with the splash healing, shattering it into Cub’s stomach, which, with the glass, kinda ruined the point, but Cub suspected that was extremely on purpose. Cub heaved a shaky sigh, feeling the life bloom back into his limbs. Still trembling, Cub took the second and last splash healing potion off his belt, smashing it against the ground beside him. He needed it. Mumbo watched him carefully, those beady eyes narrowed in a scrutinous attention.

“What?” Cub mumbled, a hint of a laugh sneaking through despite the great ache that still wracked his back and limbs. Yeesh. If he hit that wall a little harder he might’ve just outright died. “Want some kinda reward?”

Mumbo snorted, animal-like, but he released Cub, getting back to his feet and turning away.

“No, no, wait. One second, I’ve got something for you.” Mumbo stopped, eying him suspiciously. Cub dug at his belt for his third and final potion, speed, one he’d been saving for the second part of the maze, though given he hadn’t made it out of the first section unscathed, he didn’t think he’d be making very good use of it. He threw it weakly, nearly missing, but Mumbo understood when the effect took place.

“Go get that bastard.”

Mumbo might have smiled. Either way, he didn’t have to be told twice. Cub got slowly back to his feet, taking a few deep breaths before he too plunged back into the labyrinth.

[weixuldo]

Allow me// ch 15

Vader x Reader

a/n: sooo little life update- schools starting back up and i’ll be busier with the cafe and my classes so updates may start to be a bit slower again :( im sorry- but ill try to keep on top of things as much as i can!! also this chapter was written in several diff sessions so im sorry if it doesn’t read well 😭 it’s basically a bunch of miscommunication and misconceptions

A moment of weakness? or just a part of being human?

warnings: cursing, angst, harm, medical procedures, cannon typical violence

_____________________

Vader bit back a scream as he gripped your hand; the droids working on removing his leg ports were not as gentle as you had been with his arms (regardless of the ice water method). 

“It’ll be over soon V, I’m so sorry” you comforted as he trembled. 

The searing pinch of the lasers around his sensitive stumps made him dizzy with pain. He just wanted the melted ports off. 

Once more he gritted his teeth to suppress another howl of anguish.

You clenched your eyes shut at a particularly forceful squeeze; you didn’t want to tell him it hurt because you knew what he was experiencing was far worse. 

He groaned once the droid pulled off the warped metal from what remained of his legs and threw them into the disposal bin.

The droid moved away to prepare the new ports, allowing Vader a moment to breathe. 

He exhaled a shaky breath and loosened his grip on you; he saw the red marks on your hand where his just was and felt guilty. This was not your fight, you shouldn’t have to help him through this when you weren’t even involved.

A part of him also was just embarrassed that he was so vulnerable right now, especially in front of you. 

He needed to be the strong and fear-striking sith he normally was- not only for himself, but for you too.

What if you didn’t like this side of him?

Of course in the past you told him you liked all of him, vulnerable, strong, and everything in between- but that was before you saw him when he truly needed help. 

This was still your first time seeing him fully out of his suit, seeing him have to ask for assistance with every little task, seeing him human. 

What if you were pitying him? Did you think of him as a burden now? 

He shut his eyes once he saw the droid returning, hopefully this wouldn’t be as bad since it was just putting on new ports rather than tearing old ones off. 

The ends of his legs ached much more than his arms; the droid had to sear off some of the skin around the metal and a bit higher on his thigh to fully remove everything.

His legs were also much more affected by the lava and flames based on the position he was thrown in. 

Vader sucked in a sharp breath as he felt the droid running disinfectant over his open wounds. You reached for his hand to hold once you saw he was shaking again but he snatched his arm from you dramatically. 

Vader didn’t mean to do it so harshly- he had problems with dexterity and motor skills when he was out of the suit- he was just so worried you wouldn’t be the way you were before he left if he continued to let you see him in such a vulnerable state. 

He needed to salvage the remaining image of a strong leader you still had left of him. 

He needed to do this alone. 

You, on the other hand, felt saddened by his action- all you wanted to do was be there for him, comfort him…

Even if it were a stupid notion; you wanted to be the one person in the galaxy the Sith lord could always count on… maybe even the only one to love.

Of course it was foolish to think he could love you the way you wanted him to… but you could try. 

Despite your efforts, he pulled away… were you becoming too clingy? Were you smothering him?

You fretted over the hypotheticals as you backed away from his table. 

You watched the muscles in his jaw clench with every movement of the droid- he was in so much pain and all you wanted to do was take it away for him… but apparently he didn’t want you to. 

Once the droid got the first port secured you exited the room silently. Best to give him some space.

 Vader sensed your exit and felt saddened at your absence- why did you leave? Were you really that disgusted with him? 

He had a familiar wave of shame as he heard the steel doors slide closed behind you; would you come back if he called for you?

No.

He needed to do this alone, plus it was probably for the better, he didn’t want you to gain more aversion towards him than you apparently already had.

As he endured the operation on his leg and thoughts of you leaving him; he felt the uncomfortable sensation of bile rising in the back of his throat. 

Now it was definitely a good thing you weren’t here. 

He closed his eyes again and tried to quell the urge… so what if you didn’t reciprocate his feelings? He was Darth Vader, lord of the Sith- you couldn’t  say no to him. He could end you-

The contents of his tired stomach emptied themself as Vader rolled onto his side. There wasn’t much for him to lose, but the motion of his esophagus simply wouldn’t stop. He gagged and heaved on his side as he imagined “ending you”.

Even if you truly hated him and posed a threat to his empire, he couldn’t kill you… he wouldn’t be able to.

It made him physically sick to think about your death. You meant too much-

It would break his heart…

Once he gained his bearings another droid came to his aid offering a towel and oxygen. It cleaned his chest and his mess before the original resumed the operation. 

He’d have to talk to you eventually… he couldn’t keep letting his mind wander. 

____________________

Outside of the exam room you sat quietly; hands fidgeting in your lap. You were so worried about Vader that it never occurred to you that he might not want you there.

You just assumed- maybe that was foolish of you. 

You cringed as you heard his muffled cries while the bot secured the his new port. It was hard for you not to immediately rush to his side but you reminded yourself to restrain. 

After a while you felt the familiar pull of Vader’s force signature- guess he wanted to speak with you now. You prepared yourself to face whatever mood was waiting for you behind the metal door. 

Vader was testing his temporary limbs when you entered; he sat up attentively and watched as you cautiously walked towards him. 

“Why did you leave?” he asked as if he didn’t act like your presence annoyed him ten minutes ago.

“I just thought I wasn’t helping you much by standing here and I felt that my presence was not wanted, I’m sorry sir” you accidentally added the title, making Vader cringe- back to formalities…

“Sir” he echoed. 

Your eyes widened and corrected yourself “My apologies… “my Lord””. 

Vader chewed on the inside of his cheek at your reaction- he knew you didn’t mean it in a facetious way; he could tell you were genuinely on edge. 

“Please, do not revert to titles again- I… did not intend to be so brash with you” he said as his eyes intensely scanned your face. 

“Of course, It is no problem at all, you were perfectly fine” you responded shortly. 

He knew you were just trying to not upset him- stepping on eggshells. That's exactly what he didn’t want; he didn’t want to intimidate you into telling him what you thought he wanted to hear (he had a whole galaxy of subjects to lie to him on the daily, he didn’t need that from you too). 

Sure, he wanted to preserve the strong leader image he had for you, but he also wanted you to be comfortable to talk to him on the same level- to trust him. 

Vader focused his energy and watched your relieved face once his force signature descended warmly over you; this was his way of offering you comfort (since he wasn’t completely sure how you felt about his body in this state).

As you felt the warm sensation wash over your body, a small sigh escaped your lips. He seemed regretful- sympathetic- apologetic even?

You were just so caught up in his fragile state that you may have hovered a bit too much- it was only because you cared for the sith so much. It was probably best to distance yourself.

“Would you like me to stay or shall I go?” you asked with a small smile. 

Vader’s brow bone quivered as his eyes called for you (he desperately wanted you to stay but he was too ashamed to admit his desire). 

“Do as you wish.”

“I believe I will take my leave then”. 

You cast your gaze to the floor and blinked back a few tears before managing to meet his eyes again. You didn’t speak; your eyes were glassy and held an expression that could not read. His blood ran cold. 

Nothing was exchanged for a few moments- only intense eye contact. 

“I disgust you” Vader's weak, raspy voice managed, breaking the terrible silence. 

“Vader-” you said softly, watching his eyes transition between yellow and blue. 

“Have I ruined us? This is what I was worried about- I never should have allowed you to get this close- I never should have let you in” he monologued (more-so to himself than anyone else).

“I was a fool to think you would want to stay by my side after you had seen my reality- I am broken… But I never wanted you to witness my incompetence... my weakness”.

His face contorted into a pained grimace and his voice became more hoarse than it already was; you could tell that tears would have been forming if his tear ducts weren’t burnt from past wounds. 

“Vader-” you called once more as you walked towards him slowly. 

He looked frightened as you cupped his cheek with one of your hands. 

“You have done none of these things. You do not disgust me and never have”.

He inhaled sharply as your thumb brushed over his scarred cheek. You bent down to kiss his forehead when he grabbed your other hand with his robotic ones. His eyes were purely blue when he searched yours once more. 

“Then why did you leave?” his voice was wavering with each syllable. 

Your brows furrowed for a moment, “what do you mean, V?”.

The nickname was a relief to his ears, but he pressed on, “Just a moment ago- the droids were working on my legs…”. 

“I assumed you didn’t want me here… you snatched your hand from me-”

Vader closed his eyes and rested his head against your chest. 

“I… have mobility issues whenever I am out of my suit for long periods of time” he said.

“I see, but why- why did you pull away in the first place- I know you intended to, I felt it”. 

“Would you be content if I were to tell you it was because I was trying to protect our relationship- or arrangement (or whatever the fuck we are)”.

You shook your head and he tilted his head towards yours, “No V, I wouldn’t”.

He sighed and sat up straight. 

“I was afraid that you were pitying me… I was afraid you would no longer desire me the way I do you. I thought if I pushed you away that you may not have to see me in such a state for much longer” he admitted, holding tightly onto your hands. 

He really was just a broken man with anxieties just like you- his vulnerability did not avert you from him; if anything it endeared you to him- he was making an effort to connect with you. He trusted you. 

“You could have just told me-”

“No! I couldn’t have- I… I’m not good with managing my thoughts and emotions, or conveying them at least'' he sulked before you tilted his jaw towards you and kissed him softly. 

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job- It really means the galaxy to me that you’re stepping outside of your comfort zone… for me” you said softly before kissing his cheeks. 

“Vader… I will always belong to you, we do not need to define us if you do not wish to- just know, no other being in the galaxy could captivate me the way you do… I am solely devoted to you”. 

Vader felt dizzy at your confession; you were truly loyal to him and that’s all he’d ever wanted (or so he thought).

But he couldn't help the nagging feeling in the back of his skull… he wanted more… he wanted love. 

“Now, we have some time before the emperor comes by for your inspection, right?” you asked, walking towards the droid that just finished his operation. 

Vader cleared his scratchy throat and nodded, “He shouldn’t be here for at least another five hours. Why do you ask?”.

You powered off the droid and turned back towards the man on the operating table, “because I think you should get some rest”.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep-”

“Not in here, I want you to actually get good sleep” you said, preparing a cloak for him. 

You helped him put his arms through the sleeves and loosely tied the robe around his waist (careful to not make it too tight around his still healing skin).

After giving him a small kiss to his cheek you helped him dawn a portable oxygen mask that looked almost identical to the black mask he wore in his bacta tank. 

You pulled the large hood over his head and took one of his metallic hands in yours as you headed for the door. 

“What are you doing?” he asked in a hushed tone. 

“Just follow me” you whispered, ducking around the corner. 

Luckily Vader’s chambers weren’t surveilled by the ship’s general command center- so it was easy to sneak him around without worrying about the cameras. 

Before you entered the general corridor you told him to disconnect the cameras until the two of you passed. He was tired and agreed because he didn’t feel like arguing- with a simple flick of his mechanical wrist he intercepted the surveillance links and made them blurry as the two of you made your way to the end. 

Before he could ask where you were taking him again you quickly pulled him into a room and shut the door. He removed the hood and took in his surroundings- he was in your room. 

“Why-”

“I know you wouldn’t have been able to relax on that stiff table, at least here you can have something comfortable to lie on” you said, turning on the warm bedside lamp. 

You guided him to the edge of your bed and helped him undress; the whole time he watched you in awe. You were so thoughtful, so tender, so wonderful. 

“Here, I'll turn the pressure up” you said, removing the tight mask from his scarred face. 

Once he was finally situated you pulled your blankets over him; they were a bit short for his tall frame, but his legs really didn’t need the warmth (the prosthetics had no temperature sensors).

His tired eyes blinked slowly as he felt the exhaustion catching up with him. He tried to fight it as much as he could because he desperately wanted to spend more time with you- but he also really did need sleep. 

Vader was positioned in the middle of your bed and you were perched on the side near his abdomen. You could feel his energy draining by the second (the force bond you shared was sensitive, yet strong). 

“Sleep well Vader” you cooed as you caressed the side of his face.

He reveled in the soft gentle brush of your beautiful hands. He wanted to stay awake- he wanted to hold you.

“Will you be here when I wake, My Darling?” he rasped out. 

A smile replaced the neutral look on your face- maybe it was just his delirium but he had never used such an endearing term with you.

Sure, he called your “My Dear” but it wasn’t the same as “My Darling”. 

Before you could respond the Sith had succumbed to his exhaustion; chest rising and falling steadily (though you could still hear the wheezing of his damaged lungs). 

In your head you reviewed the events that transpired today- he was really trying for you, something the Sith wouldn't go out of his way to do for just anybody.

You mulled over your emotions and actions towards him and his to you today...Maybe his feelings towards you weren't as different as yours.

Slowly you leaned down to plant a gentle kiss onto his forehead and got up cautiously (careful not to wake him),

“Of course- I will always be here, my Love”. 

***

a/n: well well well- what do we have here?? are they finally going to admit their feelings towards eachother? who knowsss- ngl i don’t have a definite plan for this fic but i hope it’s still enjoyable and coherent for u all haha

taglist: @vadersassistant @sxoulohvn @khaleesihavilliard @kashasenpai @darling-murdock @beautifulbearpolice @salvatoresister1 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @blueninjablade3 @jujuba096 @missmannequin @jellydodger @mirastark @wyvernthekriger @duckyhowls @monada43 @lauriidoesstuff @vienettacream @ray-rook @itswhatever06 @ilovenielperry @icequeen8043

[wisteria-lodge]

bird primary + burned bird secondary

Hey, if you’re still interested in sorting people i’d like to ask what you think! i think snake/bird or bird/bird are maybe likely for me, but the there’s some difficulty with finding what i’m motivated by as, similarly like you said about Ed Teach, the answer is not much.

arguments for bird primary (i think) are:

1. my co-worker saying that i’m a ‘technical’ person, being nitpicky about how things are said

Being very technical/nitpicky about phrasing is more of a secondary thing. Probably evidence of a Prep-work secondary (Bird or Badger) or a prepwork model.

2. that one time me and and friend A were trying to peek inside friend B’s sketchbook while friend B was saying to us that she doesn’t want to show us, but then to get me on her side she said that when i didn’t want to show my sketchbook i said i shouldn’t be forced if i don’t want to, so she shouldn’t be either, and i was like yeah that tracks.

3. i do create consistent framework of ‘rules’

You are also coming in pretty strong with the numbered list. Bird primaries LOVE numbered lists. And creating consistent rule frameworks… well that’s the definition, isn’t it?

I loved doing that write-up about Ed Teach, because I think it’s rare that we see a Bird primary who is *young* the way he is, actively creating his framework of rules. But it’s absolutely a type of Bird.

arguments against bird primary:

1. one of my ‘rules’ is that motivation and feelings should be taken into     account when deciding what to do, as my motivation and energy are fickle - just ‘the truth’ isn’t enough for me?

But “just a feeling” wouldn’t be enough for you either, I’m guessing? Yeah, this is still Bird. Some Birds like using emotion as a data point. It’s like the thing with the sketchbook. Probably it felt fine/fun/not a big deal trying to get a peek at your friend’s sketchbook, but then you were reminded it went against a previously established rule, and instead of questioning the rule in an emotional way, you were like “oh, right, of course.” No one like hypocrites, but Bird primaries HATE hypocrites. 

2. in the quiz, specifically the question that if something convinced me that my people-first moral outlook is not as logical as some other hypothetical outlook, would i be guilty about abandoning, and i would be guilty. though i honestly mostly think that that kind of outlook is right, but don’t act on it much. one time i almost went volunteering. this might point to snake-admiring-badgers phenomenon?

Or Birds admiring Badgers. Honestly, the way this is phrased is very “I would feel guilty giving up a people-first outlook, because people first is objectively right.” Which… is Bird. Heck, asking “is people-first the way to go” is a question you seem to be currently dealing with. 

i think i could be motivated by close connections, as even when i’m unmotivated by other things idea of it seems very resonant, but i’d never had ones (with deep mutual understanding and stability and whatnot. except maybe my sister), so i don’t know what i’d act like if i did.

So you think you might like the Snake way of doing things… but it’s totally a hypothetical. 

Tell me about what you were like as a kid: i read a lot, until i was 8-10 only encyclopedia-type stuff–i think i liked making sense of things, though maybe that’s true for all kids. 

Reading mostly/only encyclopedias until you’re ten is not typical kid stuff. I’m thinking Bird for you. I’m thinking Double Bird for you. 

i also remember being unmotivated and cynical in a specific way, like i remember thinking things like “sure, this superpower (like bending) seems fun, but if suddenly people were able to do it, it would very quickly become boring like everything else” a lot. i was also kinda shit at interacting with other kids, i approached them kinda earnestly, but was confused on what to do next.

Getting neurodivergent vibes off of you, which is unrelated to this system. All this really tells me is that whatever secondary you have, it’s got a social setting. 

people talk about missing experiencing happiness like they did in childhood, but for me it’s not like that, i actually became a bit better at it with time.

Personally I think it’s a red flag when people idealize or talk constantly about their childhood. 

What’s your fantasy?: i’d like to have people who really care about me and understand me and the other way around, have things i want to do and would be able to dedicate myself to, possibly something intellectually stimulating.

Pretty general so far. A kind of general Badger primary fantasy (which you did lead with, so there’s that.) And a pretty general Idealist fantasy. 

and that’d make me feel competent, be able to figure out how to express myself in art.

I think your secondary might be a little burnt. I’m keeping an eye on ‘I did a cool think but idk it’s probably pretty normal’ ‘I don’t know what to do in social situations’ ‘I don’t feel competent/able’ type asides. 

also not exactly a fantasy, but i’ve considered that if there was a button to press that traded my life for a huge amount’s of people’s lives or happiness i’d do it, because it makes sense to, 

That’s a general hypothetical, because honestly a LOT of people would do that, for a lot of different reasons. 

but i wouldn’t be that willing to put work in the greater good. except if the problem was fun i guess.

Your secondary is a  bit burnt, and if I were you I’d probably do a deep dive on executive functioning / adhd, but disclaimer - I do not diagnose with these, that is super unethical and also not possible. 

Is there a character who you *really* identify with? (Why?): honestly not really? there’s mostly instances. for example in sortinghatchats’ sorting of Sokka they talked about how when he understood that for example he shouldn’t be sexist, it was important for him to not to be, and that it wasn’t a gut reaction. other than moments similar to this. 

I mean, SHC did sort Sokka as a pretty loud Double Bird.  

i might relate to  characters who are disconnected from themselves and are basically learning how to be a person. 

Yeah… that sounds pretty Bird to me. That sounds like a lot of Bird primaries I know. 

What makes you feel powerful?: when there’s a need to define/make sense of things, and i get to do that

Bird. 

What was an especially difficult time in your life? What made it difficult?: there was a period in uni where i stopped doing assignments and got really behind and isolated myself. it was difficult because i felt incompetent, bored, and like there was nothing worth doing, and because even though i was really down, it didn’t seem like my friends cared that much to help me or even to listen to me.

Have you considered that you might have been depressed? 

Tell me about your parents/family situation/current living situation: i live with my parents and two siblings.

my dad is gets stuff done, is analytical and seemingly never thinks that he could be wrong. i like asking him questions and listen him to him explaining stuff, and he likes doing the explaining but i kinda gave up on having non-one-sided discussions with friendly disagreements - he gets way too intense about 'convincing’ me he’s right, and i’d like him to just talk like there’s a possibility that there’s truth to what i’m saying too. he obviously cares about me and my siblings but does have emotional-stuntedness of a dad. can often be cold to my mom.

It sounds like your dad is an extremely loud Bird primary - and I’m thinking that being told again and again that your own Bird is wrong and doesn’t measure up… has probably contributed the burning, and the way you seem to see yourself as not especially capable. 

my mom is very emotional, spiritual and absentminded, has a bit of a thing about not expressing her boundaries at all, until pushed to the edge, and trampling a bit over others’. we regularly go get coffee or travel a bit, but in our dynamic she tends to share about her life and feelings a lot, and i mostly not at all, because if i did i’d just feel misunderstood and frustrated or patronized, or she’d just ignore what i say about my perspective and continue talking about how she sees it. our sense of humor is sometimes nothing alike, and sometimes exactly the same.

Your mom sounds like a pretty loud Badger secondary. 

me and my older brother used to bicker a lot, and he would tease me, a bit meanly - basically typical sibling relationship, but later we mostly stopped interacting, then he had some serious mental health issues, he got somewhat better and now we’re awkwardly polite. also in a weird turn now i seem to have more power in our dynamic, because he sees me as a confident and assertive person, which i’m not?

I wouldn’t say that. You’ve got a burned secondary, but you definitely seem to be out there doing stuff. And you somehow beat that period of depression, so cheers. 

my little sister is about a decade younger than me, she’s in early teens now, but i think we understand each other best in our family. we sometimes watch shows together. when she was very small i didn’t like her much and thought my mom spoiled her, but at some point realised that when i was younger and being a bastard my family pointing out that i was being a bastard and judging me just made me feel and act worse, so i tried be someone who she’d feel likes her as a person even when i don’t like how she acts, and we got along since then. she has a bit of fiery temperament and has a tumultuous relationship with our mom. 

And here we get a little peek at your rule making progress  “Acting like a bastard doesn’t mean you are a bastard, and equating the two will only make the behavior worse.” Seems like a decent rule to me. 

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Wednesdays mean a new chapter of Wídfara and Guthláf!

Part 5 of 8, in which Wíd gets a glimpse of what it’s like to lose Guthláf, and it helps him make a big decision. Thank you to the small but mighty crew who support this story—I deeply appreciate all of you!

Catch up on previous parts here: One. Two. Three. Four.

Wídfara was back in the stables again early the next morning, having spent the hours since his confrontation with Guthláf in tortured sleeplessness. Maybe we just shouldn’t be together. His own words echoed in his ears, so foolish and so hasty. He wanted nothing more than to take them back, to undo everything about the night before. And yet, he wasn’t sure there was any better outcome.

If he did as Guthláf wanted, he was sentencing himself to a life lived in abject fear of a tragedy he felt certain was coming. But if he managed to impose his will on Guthláf instead, their relationship would be forever poisoned by the acrid taste of resentment. Even worse, he ran the risk that the Guthláf who remained would no longer be the same man Wídfara had fallen in love with, that some irreplaceable part of him might die along with his discarded dreams. No matter what he did, he seemed destined to lose Guthláf somehow, and his aching sorrow was mixed with a heavy dose of grievance toward a world that was giving him only impossible choices. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew that he needed to talk to Guthláf again. Things couldn’t end as they had last night.

As more men arrived to prepare for the day, Wídfara withdrew into himself, taking up menial tasks – changing out bedding, refilling feeders, polishing tack – to keep his hands busy while his mind struggled to work out his thoughts. Ordinarily, these simple barn chores would be his novice’s work, but Freogan seemed to intuit from just a glance at his face that this was not an ordinary day. He gave Wídfara a wide berth and posted himself a short distance down the aisle, where he could quietly discourage others from unnecessary disruptions.

Even Freogan’s dutiful attentions, though, could not stop the eventual inquiries that came when Guthláf’s continuing absence began to draw notice in the stable. Several of the senior men of the éored came to Cypren’s stall to ask Wídfara if he had yet seen his friend that morning, and he was forced to shrug off those inquiries, feigning ignorance as to Guthláf’s doings since leaving the tavern. But amidst his bitter sadness and confusion, a chord of worry now also sounded in the back of his mind. Guthláf was never late and rarely alone, and yet now he seemed to be both at once. Wídfara couldn’t help but worry about what this unusual behavior might mean.

It wasn’t until an hour after the start of training that Guthláf finally appeared, and his arrival did nothing to assuage Wídfara’s concerns. He had never seen Guthláf as he looked that morning — dark circles under his eyes, pale, listless and with none of his usual spark or good-natured easiness. He walked slowly and with an awkward remove from his surroundings, as though his body was present but his spirit was elsewhere. He ignored the teasing innuendo of friends about overindulgence in either drink or women, and he silently accepted a reprimand for tardiness from Déorwine before mounting his horse and taking his place in the ranks. But while others soon went back to business as usual, it remained painfully obvious to Wídfara that Guthláf was not alright. His riding was sloppy, he was frequently out of position, and his reactions to the movements of others were delayed.

Widfara watched him carefully from the periphery of his vision, one eye always on Guthláf even as he followed commands and executed his own drills. When they lined up to practice defensive tactics, with some riders occupying the roles of hypothetical enemies, Wídfara could see right away that Guthláf was out of position again, leaving himself dangerously exposed. Elfhelm saw it, too, and called out for an adjustment as the drill began, but it was too late – Herubrand, in one of the enemy positions, easily knocked Guthláf from his saddle, and his helmet, poorly secured, slid off as well. Far closer than he should have been to the adjoining paddock fence, his head struck a wooden rail with a sickening crack on his way to the ground.

All organized action came to an immediate halt as men rushed toward Guthláf from all directions, but no one got there faster than Wídfara, who was off his horse and across the open distance before much closer men had even been able to dismount. He skidded to his knees at Guthláf’s side and felt his own heart stop at the sight of a halo of bright red blood quickly pooling in the dirt behind Guthláf’s head.

“Guthláf? Can you hear me?” He patted Guthláf’s cheek a few times, but his eyes remained closed and he didn’t stir even as Syndrigan nosed heavily at his shoulder. With trembling fingers, Wídfara reached down to check his pulse and let out a shuddering sigh of relief when he found a faint but steady beat.

“Get on his horse, Wídfara. Now.” Elfhelm had elbowed his way into the tight circle that had formed around Guthláf’s crumpled body and taken in the circumstances in a quick glance.

“What?” Wídfara looked up, wild eyed at the thought of being sent away from Guthláf in this moment.

“Get in the saddle and we’ll hand him up to you. You’ll get over to the healers much faster by horse than trying to carry him yourself.”

Wídfara jumped up and pulled himself onto Syndrigan’s back. She stomped a foot and shook her head in agitation at bearing an unfamiliar rider but calmed as soon as Herubrand, Elfhelm and a few others lifted Guthláf up and set him in front of Wídfara, his limp body leaned back onto Wídfara’s chest and shoulder. He clasped an arm across Guthláf’s middle, gave Syndrigan a nudge and rode off to the healers as fast as she would carry them. A horn was sounded behind him, the notice to the healers of an incoming injury, and by the time he arrived at the right building, several men waited out front, ready to carry Guthláf inside.

The next hours were the longest and most desperate Wídfara had ever known. The healers whisked Guthláf away from him before he could protest, and they blocked him from entering the room where they worked to treat the injury. Once again, Wídfara found himself standing in a hallway, listening to the appalling sounds of distress drift out to him from behind a closed door. Groaning and vomiting as Guthláf regained consciousness. Raised, urgent voices speaking short, barked commands. Cries of pain. He paced a dogged path back and forth in front of the room, certain that he would wear a groove into the stone floor if he was kept outside much longer, and his entire body thrummed with frantic energy, the charged sting of panic. He clung to the very edge of his sanity and felt even that slipping from his grasp when, at last, the door opened and a woman in a bloodstained apron emerged. Wídfara nearly tackled her in his fervor to hear news.

“There is a break in his skull,” the woman said, “but it’s a relatively clean break. The external wound is now sewn closed and we are satisfied that there will be no critical swelling. He needs a lot of rest, but the bone should heal on its own over the next few weeks. You can go in, but he’s been heavily dosed for his pain and won’t wake up for several hours.”

The sudden easing of Wídfara’s fevered anxiety was so strong that he almost lost his balance, and he slumped back against the wall for support. “Thank you,” he managed to rasp out. “Will you please send an update to Marshal Elfhelm as soon as you can?”

“Of course. And someone will be back to check on him regularly.”

Wídfara let himself into the room as the remaining healers went out, and he looked down at Guthláf’s still, fragile form, sleeping curled on his side with drying, rust-colored blood matted through the back of his hair. Out of sight of others at last, he finally allowed himself to cry, the tears that had brimmed his lashes for hours now spilling at last down his cheeks. Through those tears, he took a clean cloth left by a water basin in the corner and tenderly washed away as much smeared blood as he could from Guthláf’s face, throat and hands. When he was finished, he sat quietly in a chair at the side of the bed and gratefully studied all the little signs of life he could discern – the slow rise and fall of Guthláf’s chest, the minute movements of his eyes behind his closed eyelids, the faint pulsing in a vein at his temple as his heart did its work.

Minutes slipped by, and then hours, and Wídfara sat silently, interrupted only by the woman in the apron, who came in every hour to briefly check on Guthláf’s condition.

When it began to grow dark outside, Wídfara rose to light a lamp, and just as he sat back down again, Guthláf stirred at last. His eyes slowly opened, unfocused and with the black of his pupils so large that the light blue surrounding them was almost entirely obscured. The eyes searched around, disoriented, but when they landed on Wídfara, they stayed there.

“What time is it?” The question came out as a hoarse whisper, the words slightly slurred.

“It’s getting late,” answered Wídfara. “But that doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere else you need to be.”

Guthláf’s eyes traveled from Wídfara’s face down to his chest and shoulders, where his shirt was soaked in blood from the ride to the healers. “Did someone hurt you? Whose blood is that?”

“It’s yours,” he said gently. “There’s been an accident. But don’t worry. You’re alright now. You’re going to be alright.” Tears flooded back to his eyes, and he choked down a sob.

One of Guthláf’s hands slid across the bed and grasped Wídfara’s, the grip weak but determined. Wídfara held onto it tightly, so desperately grateful for the gesture that in that moment he didn’t even care if the healer walked back in to discover them this way. He held Guthláf’s hand as his eyes drifted closed again and for long minutes after, but just as he decided that Guthláf had fallen back to sleep, his eyes fluttered open once more.

“Wíd?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, too. I should have said that yesterday, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m the one who is sorry.” Wídfara raised Guthláf’s hand and pressed it quickly to his lips. “We can talk about it all later, but now you need to rest. I’ll still be right here when you wake up.”

Wídfara was there when Guthláf next woke, but he wasn’t able to maintain his hold on the seat by the bed for long. As they always did when there was a major injury or illness, the éored posted a rotation of men to Guthláf’s sick room, each taking six hour shifts to either watch over him while he rested or, as his strength returned and his head cleared, to keep him company while still confined to bed. After the blur of that first evening, Wídfara had been forced to yield to procedure, allowing Brunloc to take his place early the next morning. What’s more, the presence now of others forced him to stifle any excess emotion or expression that might expose to others the true depth of his feelings. As a result, the most he could manage over the week that Guthláf was in the healers’ care was to drop by for short visits, always in the company of the many others who lined up for the chance to sit with a beloved friend.

The weight of their fight in the stable still sat between them, unresolved. Every hint of Wídfara’s anger and resentment had washed away cleanly in the flood of his panic and then relief after the accident, but his fears were as potent as ever, if not even further heightened now. His frustration at being unable to address them was tempered only by his relief at Guthláf’s continuing improvement, which allowed him to maintain a basic semblance of calm as he went about his daily routines – attending to duties, adding regularly to the pile of small offerings to Béma that sprang up outside of Guthláf’s room, and taking care of Slaga, Guthláf’s dog.

It wasn’t until Guthláf was finally released back to the barracks for another few weeks of general rest and recovery that the opportunity to be alone again returned. On the day of his release, Wídfara went to the central market, buying up all of Guthláf’s favorite things – plums and honey sweets and walnuts and spice cake and anything else he could find that would bring a smile to Guthláf’s face and show him how much he was loved, fight or no fight. It was far more than he could have afforded on his own, but the old women at the market stalls always doted on Guthláf when he came by each weekend and they loaded Wídfara with extras when they found out who he was shopping for.

He stopped off on his way back to pick up Slaga and headed eagerly to Guthláf’s room. He arrived at the door just as Guthláf himself came slowly down the hall from the communal baths, a towel around his waist and a steadying hand on the wall. The sight of him filled Wídfara’s heart with both warm relief and the sharp bite of concern.

“Should you be walking around by yourself?” Wídfara shifted the bag in his arms so that he could put a supporting hand under Guthláf’s elbow.

“Maybe not, but after a solid week trapped in that bed and not even able to take a piss without three people watching, it was nice to get washed on my own for a change.”

“Oh.” A sudden nervousness gripped Wídfara. Maybe it had been presumptuous of him to assume that Guthláf would be ready to talk to him now or would even want to. “I can just drop this off if you’d rather be alone for a while…”

Guthláf glanced quickly around the empty hallway before moving his hand from the wall to Wídfara’s arm. “No. I’ve missed you, and I want you to stay.” He eyed the bag in Wídfara’s other arm and smiled. “And I’m not just saying that because you’ve brought gifts.”

They went inside and Guthláf spent a few happy minutes fussing over Slaga, who was positively vibrating with joy to be back in the crook of his arm, and sorting through the bounty Wídfara had brought him. He tasted a little of everything as he pulled each item from the bag with a delighted exclamation, and he insisted that Wídfara share in his own gift, giving him generous portions of all the best treats. Wídfara was grateful to see that both Guthláf’s appetite and manner seemed normal, though his movements remained slow and hesitant.

After receiving many profuse thanks, Wídfara held Guthláf’s arm again as he stepped gingerly into his trousers, tossing the towel to a corner of the room. Before he picked up a shirt, though, he gestured to his hair and the brush that sat on a small table beside his bed.

“Could you help me with this, too, Wíd? I can’t see the back of my own head, and I don’t want to snag my stitches.”

“Of course.”

Guthláf carefully lowered himself to the ground, sitting between Wídfara’s knees, and leaned back with a sigh as Slaga curled up contentedly in his lap. Wídfara raised the brush to begin his work, but his hand faltered at the first sight of the many small loops of thread that cut across the back of Guthláf’s skull and the inky black bruising, easily visible through the light blonde of his hair, that still spread all across his head and down his neck, where it slowly faded first into dark purple, then blue and finally a greenish-yellow. The sense of calm that Wídfara had worked so hard to maintain over the past week dissolved in an instant, and every word he had planned to say vanished from his mind just as quickly, leaving behind only the bitter taste of fear in the back of his throat.

When he heard Wídfara’s breath hitch, Guthláf reached back to squeeze his leg. “It’s alright. It’s not as bad as I’m sure it looks, and it feels better every day. In a few weeks time, it’ll be fine, and everything will be back to normal again.”

Back to normal. His words were meant to be comforting, but they terrified Wídfara instead. Because he wasn’t sure that he saw a way back to normal. If Guthláf could really put all this behind him – wait for his physical wounds to heal and then just move on – what would happen if Wídfara simply couldn’t? How could they ever be together if Guthláf moved steadily forward and Wídfara languished where he was, an eternal prisoner of his own dread? He dropped the brush to his lap and covered his face with his hand. “But how?” The words came out with a pleading tone that embarrassed him, but he was helpless to control it. “Every time I close my eyes, I see your head hit that rail and my heart is in my throat all over again. I’m not sure that terror will ever leave me, and the idea of maybe living through that again each time you’re out there with the banner, where you’ll be defenseless and exposed and targeted…I can’t face it.”

Guthláf set Slaga aside and hoisted himself up to sit next to Wídfara on the bed. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, pulling Wídfara’s hand from his face to look into his eyes. “I really am. And I understand how you feel. I worry about you, too, you know. That’s what happens when you love someone. Your own happiness gets tied up in their well being, and that’s always going to be risky. Because we don’t get any say in how much time we have with anyone else.”

His hand trailed absently across the scars on his chest, and after a moment’s silence, he looked back to Wídfara with a sad smile. “Trust me on this, Wíd. You can run yourself ragged trying to change the past or control the future. You can even force me out of achieving my dream if you really want to. But sometimes a candle is going to catch on a bedsheet in a neighbor’s house on a windy night, and no amount of fear or precaution will stop everything you’ve ever known and loved from going up in flames. So you’ve just got to make use of the time you’re given before anything like that happens. Enjoy what you have while you have it, and don’t let regrets or worries take it away from you any earlier than necessary.”

Wídfara heard the wisdom of those words, coming from one much better acquainted with tragedy, and he was humbled, as always, to contemplate the strength that Guthláf needed to live his life with optimism and spirit despite that tragedy. But Wídfara had never been tested that way and still doubted that a similar strength was in him. “I…I don’t know if I can.”

Guthláf squeezed his hand. “I’m asking you to try. And I know that’s no small thing, but I wouldn’t ask it of you if I thought you couldn’t do it. You’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for, and I promise that I’ll do what I can to help. And if it turns out that you never can bear it, then…I don’t know. I guess we’ll deal with that when it comes. But I need you to try first. Please. For me.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to Wídfara’s, once, twice and then a third time before Wídfara caught hold of him and didn’t let go.

Whatever dark uncertainties plagued him, the one thing he knew to be true was that this was where he wanted to be. In Guthláf’s arms again, he felt his defenses and objections begin to relent, thinning like river ice in the first sun of spring and then giving way entirely under its spreading warmth. If he had to swallow his fears for his heart to get what it wanted — to get this — then he would try his hardest. He couldn’t just walk away from everything that was good in his life. If the last week had made anything clear to him, it was that the only thing worse than losing Guthláf later would be to lose him now.

“I will,” he said. “I’ll try for you. For us.”

Guthláf answered by kissing him again, and Wídfara fairly melted into the embrace, savoring every element – the pleasing roughness of his beard, the warmth of his breath, the scent of his skin. All the things he had missed so desperately since everything had first gone wrong.

He would have been content for that kiss to last forever, but he didn’t want to overtax his patient and so he lay back on the bed with Guthláf beside him. For a time they talked of other things, seeking respite from the high emotions of recent days by gingerly turning instead to the lightness of gossip Guthláf had picked up from those who sat at his sick bed or a recounting of how many pairs of Wídfara’s boot laces Slaga had chewed through while staying with him. Eventually Guthláf, still easily tired from even small exertions, began to show his fatigue, and Wídfara encouraged him to sleep. When he had drifted off, a cheek resting comfortably on Wídfara’s chest, Wídfara kissed his forehead and lay quietly, staring up at the ceiling in aimless thought.

From the hallway, he could hear the faint voices of men, friends being summoned or someone’s whereabouts sought. It reminded Wídfara of his youth in the plains, when his cousins would call to him and to each other from their places at far ends of the herd. Back when his life was basic and uncomplicated, and everything he feared was just the standard fare of childhood. The low rumble of thunder in the dark. The shadowy specter of a wolf prowling around in his dreams.

Back then, his mother would sit by him in the night, hold his hand and tell him to find one small thing to focus on very hard, something that brought him peace and calm. No matter how often his mind tried to veer back to the storm or the nightmare, he was to return it again and again to the small thing and think only of that. And he would listen carefully to his mother’s slow, even breathing, counting each inhalation, changing the pace of his own breaths until they matched hers, resting a hand on his chest so that he felt the movements in sync with the sound. And soon, inevitably, his fear would begin to recede and he would find himself able to return to rest.

He set a hand on his chest again now, just next to Guthláf, and he concentrated on their breathing. How it sounded. How it felt, both in the rise and fall of his own ribs and in the warmth of Guthláf’s exhalations on his hand. How it looked when the whiskers of Guthláf’s beard fluttered slightly as air left his nose. He counted breaths and brought his mind back to the count each and every time it slipped to darker matters. And many long minutes and many hundreds of breaths later, he eventually closed his eyes and drifted into uneasy, dreamless sleep.

Guthláf’s first months as banner bearer passed in relative quiet as he finished his healing and the éored was confined to exercises and training, there being no other need for them at the time. Even so, Guthláf was happy in a way that Wídfara had never seen before. Pride poured out of him when he returned to service, and he greeted each opportunity to practice and drill as one who had been given an unexpected but precious gift. It couldn’t cure Wídfara’s misgivings and dread, but it did help him to see the joy and fulfillment that his endurance allowed. And for his part, Guthláf did all that he could to show Wídfara his loving appreciation for the sacrifices he knew were being made on his behalf, for Wídfara to give up his peace of mind in support of Guthláf’s dreams and ideals that far surpassed any of the modest ambitions Wídfara had for himself.

They held onto a tenuous calm, and Wídfara slowly grew accustomed to the presence of his fears. They were never gone, but they receded into the background, as constant yet indistinct as the sound of the surf to those who live by the sea. But his ability to withstand the present was one thing. It remained uncertain what would happen when the first call for relief brought those fears racing back to the forefront and sent them off to battle with Guthláf in his new role.

That call eventually came from the West-mark, where the need for extra assistance was becoming increasingly common as forces of Isengard grew bolder and more aggressive toward the Rohirrim. Of the éoreds in the city, Elfhelm chose to send the king’s to keep their skills sharp after a period of inactivity, and the order went out around midday for a departure first thing in the morning. Guthláf’s eyes had gone right to Wídfara when the announcement was made, but the busy press of preparations kept them from a moment alone until long after the sun had gone down and the rest of the garrison was settled for sleep.

In those small hours of the night, Wídfara was stretched out on his side, a hand on his chest and counting his breaths, when Guthláf quietly slipped in. Without a word, he lay down alongside Wídfara and pulled him back into his arms. A tall man himself, with broad shoulders and a solid build, it wasn’t easy to make Wídfara feel small, nor was that a sensation he necessarily enjoyed. But held in Guthláf’s long, strong limbs and pressed tightly into the niche made by his body, he surrendered to the feeling and let himself be wholly enveloped.

“Are you alright?” Guthláf whispered the words, his lips so close to the soft, curving edge of Wídfara’s ear that he felt each one.

“I’m trying,” he answered. And Guthláf kissed his ear, pulled him even tighter, and held him that way all night, until the morning bells called the éored to its muster point and they left for battle.

In the next chapter, Wíd sees Guthláf carry the banner for the first time with surprising results. Click to part 6!

@emmanuellececchi @hobbitwrangler @dreambigdreamz @konartiste @sotwk

Dividers by the wonderful @quillofspirit

[oohsocialmediaiscool]

WELCOME TO THE KRIS-KNIGHT EVIDENCE COMPILATION

Originally, this post was me asking why people didn’t like Kris Knight, but eventually I began looking around for evidence and it resulted in this!

At the very least, I want to convince you that it’s not an impossibility.

Technically still a work in progress. Feel free to contribute evidence, counterpoints, or tell me if I’m coming across as rude.

Orange: Catagories

Red: Hypothetical Debunks

Blue: I am confident in this evidence

Green: I am mostly confident in this evidence

Pink: Completely baseless but possible

(Best Evidence)

Kris is the only person we’ve seen creating a dark fountain.

Kris sleeps during the entire class in chapter 2, which means they were up for a while that night. [setting up and creating the fountain]

(Foreshadowing)

Kris is dressed as a knight in The Dark World.

The images that Queen displays during her speech near the end of chapter 2 are of a knife creating the dark fountain.

(Miscellaneous Evidence)

Toby Fox (discussing LIVE A LIVE) said this:

I don’t know anything about LIVE A LIVE but I think this is very good evidence (I think the entire screenshot is important, but the underlined sentence is what initially piqued my interest.)

(Debunking the Debunks)

“Kris just wanted some pie.”

They look to be in extreme pain when pulling out the soul, and as much of a gremlin as Kris is, doing that just for the pie is excessive.

If all they did was eat the pie that night then they shouldn’t be THAT sleepy. It probably took a while to eat but was it enough time to make Kris tired enough to sleep through the ENTIRE class?

“Kris couldn’t have made it to the library within the night at their pace.”

I tested this in game. I tried to match the cutscene Kris’ pace to the best I could. It took me 3:10 mins to get from the center of the bedroom to the computer lab door. Let’s say I was going too fast, so we’ll double that time. 6:20 minutes to get to the library. The trip back would take around the same time so double that again, 12:40. Plenty of time.

At the end of chapter 3 the fountain doesn’t immediately create a dark world, so it’s likely Kris could’ve left the library before the Cyber World was opened.

“How did nobody see them going to the library?”

It’s the middle of the night so most people are probably asleep.

The townspeople don’t know much about humans and Kris is already considered weird so if they saw them they’d probably think this is a normal human thing or just Kris being Kris.

“How would Kris get into the library in the middle of the night?”

Undyne and Alphys both talk about how there’s never any crime. People probably feel safe enough to not lock the doors of their businesses at night.

In fact, the school is a great example of this! Even after the school day is over the doors are still unlocked.

“Noelle and Berdly were in the library when the Dark Fountain was created.”

Alright, this counter-point has a lot of variations. The counterpoints will be represented with PURPLE instead of red. W.I.P and not as well made as the rest.

“Their books were already laid out in the table and open!”

Their books were not open. I don’t know why people think that. (I need to put image of books here)

As for why they’re stacked on the table… I don’t really know. I don’t think they became Darkners, nor were they in Noelle’s inventory. Maybe Berdly’s homework attack? We still don’t really know enough about how Dark Worlds work so it’s not conclusive enough evidence.

Regardless, why would these books, which aren’t even brought attention to, be THE evidence to take down multiple knight theories? It’s a huge stretch.

“The Knight was hiding in the closet!”

The line about a large person being able to fit inside is very vague. It could mean so many things! Spamton NEO, Giga Queen, Berdly’s body…

That’s… a really bad plan. If anyone opens the closet they’re immediately going to find The Knight, holding a weapon. Then The Knight is either cornered or have to attack whoever sees them, regardless, bringing attention to themself.

Not counter-evidence but… That’s terrifying, even if it’s a bad plan. The idea that someone was hiding in the closet wielding a blade waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“Ralsei said he “felt a dark presence and hurried over”. If the fountain was created earlier why didn’t Ralsei go then?”

If the fountain was created just after Kris and Susie left Castle Town then the Knight would have nowhere to go without being seen. There’s a traffic jam blocking off the rest of the town.

He doesn’t necessarily say that the presence was a fountain. I assume he is talking about the fountain, but still.

He could be lying.

Jeez it’s hard to convey these thoughts in a way that makes sense.

(SOURCES)

1. LIVE A LIVE conversation

(EDITS)

EDIT: Added 1 more category and 1 more evidence.

EDIT 2: Added images to accompany some evidence. (I cannot figure out how to make them smaller)

EDIT 3: Removed some less substantial evidence and replaced it with something better. Reworded some things.

EDIT 4: Reworded some things and completely revised the introduction.

EDIT 5: Added new counterpoint(s).