#sure let's give these posts their own tag

[lenneygirl4ever]

the alchemy || Will Lenney

“where’s the trophy? he just comes running over to me”

part one of THE ALCHEMY.

pairing: will lenney x fem!reader

warnings & tags: friends to lovers. idiots with tension. idiots in denial. slowish burn. lots of nerdy football talk + a side of Willne.

summary: The two times you were recruited to play in a Sidemen charity match, and the one time you score.

a/n: hello!!! this is based on the 2022 sidemen charity match, but for convenience purposes, it's set in 2023. for the plot, of course.

also, i’m tired of looking at this so this is being posted without review! i promise part two will have more will, i’m just setting us up for success in part one. you’ll absolutely love it.

please enjoy <3

wc: idek at this point

The buzz that interrupted your sleep wasn’t what concerned you, it’s the fact that after you had hung up the first and second time, there was a third call. Begrudgingly, you toss your sheets aside and sit up, eyeing the phone on the bedside table. To no surprise, it was Simon.

You were no stranger when it came to working with the Sidemen. Starting off as a crew member who was good with a camera, slowly you were incorporated into videos, and eventually had the confidence to create your own platform. After leaving the Sidemen to focus on building your solo career, most of your audience didn't know where you gained your footing, becoming a bigger public figure outside of their work.

Getting a phone call from Simon wasn't uncommon, needless to say. You were always ready to film, to bring in new ideas for them, to be on set. After all, you had been friends with the lads for years.

"Hello?" you croak, trying to smooth down the hair that was knotted in the back of your head.

"Y/n! How are you, mate?" Simon's voice was overly chipper and sweet, too sweet. You eye your phone for a moment before pressing it back up to your ear. It was too early in the morning for either of you to be awake.

"Christ, Simon, I know you aren't just calling me at seven in the morning to ask how I am," you replied. Simon sighs briefly before letting out an airy chuckle.

"Alright, I need to ask you for a favor." That's what you were expecting. His voice hesitant and low, it made you wonder what this could really be about.

"Okay, go on then," you yawn. You weren't sure why Simon was being so ominous; you had done the lad loads of favors in the past. Bringing in extra camera crew, reaching out to other influencers, helping plan out events-

"Would you sub in for Andres for the charity match next week? I know it's last minute, but he had other conflicts, and you're one of my best mates. You-" Simon rambles before you swiftly interject.

"Simon, what are you waffling on about? You can't be serious," you say seriously. The grogginess from waking up immediately disappears, and you begin to regret picking up the phone.

"I know it's mad, but we've tossed around a ball quite a bit before-"

"I haven't seriously played footy since I was in high school! I can't imagine the shit I'd get if I were to even step foot into that stadium."

"I know-"

"And I'm the only girl! That's like a misogynist's nightmare, a woman who can think and compete!" Getting on your feet, you pace around your room like a madman. Your free hand finds its way into your hair, coarsing through it multiple times, stressfully.

"Would you let me finish? Then you can decide if it's bollocks or not," Simon asked finally. You heave out a breath of air and then hum in response. The least you could do is give him time to try to convince you.

"Look, it's the first time a lot of them have played football, and some of them play like it's the first time. It's really about having a good time, " he explains, which admittedly puts some of your worries at ease- and gets a small laugh out of you.

"Also.." he says hesitantly, hitching his breath as he trails off. You roll your eyes and groan. Of course, there's more to it; there always is. You sit back onto the edge of the bed, foot impatiently tapping on the wood floor.

"I may have called Will, and he may have told me to ask you; he promised me that with enough begging.. you'd say yes," he says, almost like a question. There's a small hint of teasing when he says it, and you can practically see the prat smiling through the screen.

Your end of the call goes silent. A flush starting at the tips of your ears and growing at the bulbs of your cheeks.

..

In 2018, the day before the charity match, you met Will in person for the first time. You knew of him through brief passing and mentions of him from Cal and the other Sidemen. Yet you never spoke to him until you were messing around with your camera during practice, getting ready to film the match the next day.

"This is who I was telling you about, Will," Cal smiles, grabbing your attention from the camera. You peer over your shoulder to see a younger lad with dark hair standing beside him. You politely set the camera down on the bench and extend your hand out to him.

"Hi, I'm y/n, I've heard good things about you!" you smile, and he leans down, weakly taking your hand and shaking it.

"Hello," he responds, his once loud chatter with Cal made you assume he'd be much more talkative. But now he is quiet and fidgety, and it makes you wonder if you've already made a bad first impression.

"Y/n is our best camerawomen. I ought to get you familiar with her; maybe you can get some good screen time." Cal smirked. Will shoves him lightly with a chuckle.

"I'm not all bad, I reckon," he insists, and you put your hands up defensively.

"Hey, we'll just have to see on the field, won't we?" you express, grabbing the large equipment and getting ready to move it inside. You stand up, getting a better look at his face. He's tall, his hair short and freshly cut, his jawline is carved out sharply, making it hard to go unnoticed.

"Cheeky," Will commented, crossing his arms over each other. And unknowingly, a grin had worked its way onto your face, your tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek. You shrug,

"I gotta get going, it was nice meeting you Will,"

..

Since then, you and Will have kept in contact frequently. He interacted with you on social media, had you come to feature in his videos, and texted you almost every day. Seeing one another once every few months had become every weekend when you moved closer to London. And you can bet that this didn't go unnoticed by anyone. Sharing clothes, traveling together, posting each other, seeing each other more than your own family— you can only assume why everyone has their presumptions.

Yet, you were great at denying, avoiding, and more importantly ignoring these blistering questions on if they or won’t they.

"So.. you called Will first, before calling me?" you ask slowly, processing it yourself. The pads of your fingers rub against your temple, then smoothing your palm across your cheek hoping it would brush away the pink that dusted your face.

"Yeah," Simon says quickly. "Is it more convincing now? "

"Fuck off,"

"I know it is," he insists. You mutter profanities under your breath before letting it go silent.

Because it is much more convincing knowing that Will had that kind of faith and trust in you. It's more convincing knowing the person closest to you would be right by your side. You weigh out the options in your head. If you do play, you'll get to say you played in front of 30,000 people, raised money for charity, and more importantly, were able to help out some of your closest friends.

"Simon, I don't know.." You mutter hesitantly, biting the nail on your thumb. Sure, you had played footy competitively in high school and tossed a ball around here and there with the lads, but other than that, you hadn't really played in a few years now.

"C'mon, you don't have to be any good, it's for charity y/n! You have to! There will be loads of fans happy that you're playing!" Simon coaxed. You shake your head instantly, knowing that half the boys lived and breathed football.

“You can’t say I don’t have to be any good when you’re probably one of the best players out there.” Countering his argument, you can tell you're at the breaking point. He's cracked you down efficiently, being nice, complimenting you, bringing Will into it- It's working so well you almost hate him for it.

“I’ve exhausted my options, y/n, please, this one time, and I’ll never ask again.” Simon protests. You huff, exasperated, and without letting another beat pass,

"Alright,"

"Alright?" he repeats, the surprise evident in his tone. You gnaw at your bottom lip, adn squeezed your eyes shut before speaking again.

"Yeah, okay, put me in." You decide finally. You can hear movement on the other end and a few other voices shout in delight. Of course, he couldn't be alone when he made the phone call.

"Oh my god, this will be legendary, thank you, thank you, thank you," Simon begins excitedly, which brings a smile to your face. Simon, even though he always was teetering on the edge of your limit, was charming and kind and that's what makes it hard to deny him.

"You're playing center, by the way. See you in a week mate!" and the phone call clicks. There, you're left to stare at your phone screen, watching as you get added to a group chat and texts start to roll in.

One week, seven days, to magically get good at football again. Right, well, it’s much too late to turn back now.

"Cheers," muttering to yourself. You fall back onto the bed, checking your messages to see a new one from Will.

"wanna show this novice the ropes?"

Word obviously spreads fast, is the first thing you think. And then you snort, with a quick eye roll, the pads of your fingers drumming against the screen.

"fuck off" you begin to type but instead you text back,

“pitch at 6 sharp"

And almost immediately Will texts back,

“wouldn’t miss it :)”

⚽️...

You arrive to the pitch first, bringing an old ball covered in dirt from when you had last dribbled with Chris. Will arrives shortly after, a wide smile and an excited pep to his jog.

“Six sharp!” he says, checking his watch to show you it's exactly 6pm. Will is very timely; he’s considerate of people's time and even makes an extra effort to arrive early. He never wants to be the wanker who shows up late and wastes others time and efforts.

"That ball is just filthy, innit?" he comments, his true Geordie accent making a clear appearance. You roll your eyes quickly.

“I don't see yours anywhere,” you respond, finishing up tying the laces of your shoes. You rock on your feet a few times, creasing the shoe and getting it to warp around your feet snugly.

"Fair enough." Immediately, Will picks the ball up and twirls it between his fingers. "What should we do first?"

You both practice dribbling, passing, and shooting. Eventually, moving on to striking and stealing, which gets aggressive, causing you to have bruises all along your legs. Will thinks that after a while, it's a good idea to mess around so you both don't end up hating each other. The time passes by swiftly, the sun setting behind you both before you realize it.

The sky is highlighted with hues of orange, yellow, and a deep red in the horizon. You turn to look at Will; his shoulder grazes your side, and as if on cue, he looks at you, too.

He silently smiles, and for a second it’s all it is, but then his hand comes up and brushes the cool of your cheekbone. He brushes the stray hair that fell, tucking it behind your ear. Smoothing down any hairs that stuck out on the back of your head with his palm.

Will always find an excuse to touch you, to be physically closer. He’s an affectionate person, you’ve always riddled it as. Oh, there’s a stray hair on your face, oh a piece of fuzz on your sweater, don’t worry if you’re nervous— his hand crawls its way onto the small of your back. And every time he did something like this, your feelings soared and free-fall in the air. You don’t know how much longer you can swallow down the shyness you feel when it happens.

Instead, you give him a small shove.

“Stop it,”

“I was just helpin’ ya,” his voice squeaks.

“Just like how you helped get Simon to convince me to play in the match next week?” You shove the ball into his chest, backing up, motioning him to play. He lets out an airy chuckle, rolling the ball onto the field and dribbling it between his feet.

“Heard about that didn’t you?”

He kicks it toward you.

“Mhmm. “

And you kick it, hard, right back.

“I didn’t help him; all I did was suggest that he ask you because you’re reliable.” Will tried to dribble around you, but it rolled just far away enough for you to steal it.

Will runs towards the goal post, attempting to block you or maybe even tackle you, you aren’t sure. From the times you’ve watched Will play, his limbs tend to fly around and it’s like he’s just experienced walking for the first time.

“And not because you know I wouldn’t say no to the prat?”

“Look, to make it up to you I’ll score you a goal at the game,” Will offers, making you raise your eyebrows. He says semiseriously, but you have a feeling it’s more joking than anything. He was always good with banter anyway.

“Yeah right,” You walk back, running up to the ball and kicking it with the side of your foot— flying into the right corner of the net.

Wills eyes widen as he watches you jog over to grab the ball again.

“And you’re the one who needs practice?” he pipes, forgetting about the conversation. You smile shyly and shake your head, grabbing the ball and handing it to Will.

"You think too highly of me, Will." His hands cup yours, causing you to look up at him. The eye contact is soft, yet his eyes squint, and you notice the small clench of his jaw.

"I don't think so. I reckon others think the world of you as well, " Will retorted seriously.

There it is again. What is so small and meaningless to him is the grandest gesture you could ever receive. Whatever way you feel is growing, and you're letting it kill you. You can hear it in the silence, see it with the lights off, and feel it when he steps into a room. It has never been clearer to you than now.

Will notes the silence on your end, reeling back his hands and letting the ball drop to the ground. He scratches the back of his neck before sweeping the ball between his feet and turning around.

"We should focus, shouldn't we? Keep practicing," he mutters absentmindedly. The words are caught in your throat, itching on the tip of your tongue. It takes every atom of your being not to blurt out your every thought. You try to ground yourself by moving your fingers, shaking off the tingling feeling Will left. Your mouth opens to say something, anything, but it snaps shut at the sight of the geordie man looking back at you.

So, instead, you ignore the interaction completely.

"Yeah, let's do that, practice."

And that’s what you did. Every day for a week, you both played until your fingers were numb and noses pink from the chill. The sun would be long gone, the stars visible in the dark, the dim lights that lit the field flickering during the times when they were ready to turn off.

And every night, when Will offered to take you home, you said yes. Will would walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to the road, his shoulder would bump into yours, and you would listen quietly to anything he had to say. He would go on and on and on the entire way home, and you still would ask if he wanted to come inside your flat for a few.

A few minutes would be you showing him your next video, and then you would cook together, and he would sit on your couch and scroll through his phone. The time moved quicker than it did on the field, causing you both to stay up late into the night.

“Where are you going?” You question from the couch, eyeing the way he begins to walk over to the door. He stands up straighter than before, looking at his phone, and then back up at you.

“Home, it’s late,” he reminded.

“Exactly. Stay, don’t act like you haven’t before,” you insist, already going to grab a few blankets and pillows for Will on the couch.

Some nights weren’t always like this. Sometimes, you’d watch something on the telly, and he’d scroll through his phone. Your body would press against his casually, like you two have done for months. Except you're more weary and hesitant, feeling like your every move was a gesture of something more.

For a week it felt like you two were playing house. It was odd, and you knew it. Everyone knew it. When James would call Will there would be quiet snickering, loud teasing. Faith and Sabina would ask for updates after seeing both of your story posts. When Simon called Will to see if he was coming to training day, he asked to speak to you knowing you’d be around.

Yet this didn’t stop the overnights at your flat, it didn’t stop Will from doing his work from your room, it didn’t prevent you from doing loads of laundry together, and it definitely didn’t stop you both from taking the train together to the hotel the day before the match.

⚽️…

The ground below you rumbles from the audience in the stadium. As the time passes you know it’s getting closer and closer to the start of the match. Your leg bounces up and down as you stretch in your own locker room, your hands shake putting on the red uniform, there’s a dryness in your throat that not even all the water in the world could wash away.

“You alright?” Wills asks quietly as his hand slips onto your shoulder. He’d been asking if you were okay ever since you lot left the hotel. And everytime you responded,

“Yeah, yeah,” except your eyebrows were knitted together, your hands picked at the beds of your nails, and you could barely interact with anyone without feeling like passing out.

“Don’t psyche yourself out, darlin. I make a fool of myself every year, all you have to do is show up and you’ve done your part!” he says delicately. You inhale through your nose at the nickname, jaw clenching to focus on breathing. All you do is nod, giving him a small smile.

You aren’t sure what will kill you first, the charity match, or the yearning in your heart. And hopefully, it’ll be the charity match.

Once everyone begins to stand, it’s three o’clock, and just like that the world begins to move incredibly fast. The lads begin two straight lines, moving through the tunnel swiftly. They all seem so confident and excited and you don’t think you even remember how to run. With Will standing infront of you, he’s the only thing that is blocking you and your vision from the roaring crowd outside.

Forgetting his gopro is on, you tap on Wills shoulder

“I’m literally shitting myself right now Will,” he laughs and he takes your hand in to his for a moment with a small squeeze,

“We’ll be all right, swear,” and by the time he turns around, you’re out in the field and the roar of the audience is jarring. You’re convinced your head whips an entire 360 to get a good look at how big the crowd was.

Once you’re down the field, you’re shaking hands with the opposing team. You nod politely and greet your friends, making polite, quick, small talks with JJ, Vik, Josh, Harry, and then Simon. You brief him with a handshake and shove at him lightly,

“God if this goes to shit, i’m blaming it all on you, ya know that?” you joke and he laughs loudly.

“I’ll keep that in mind, y/n”

You greet Chris, Tobi, and Jimmy finally before jogging your way to center to get ready for the kick off. You look back and squint your eyes to see Will as right wing, he can see you and he shows you a thumbs up. And for a moment, it washes away your nerves, until the whistle blows and the game has begun.

..

The first half of the match goes by incredibly fast. Chunkz and Niko make the first goals of the match, allowing for the teams spirits to remain high. You’re able to say that you helped assist Niko with his goal, tackling the ball under four large men. The next goal was made by Vik, and as a good sport, and friend, you made your way over to congratulate him properly.

You stay close to Hp and Chunkz during this time, the only two you feel like trust you enough with the ball. The banter is great but the encouragement they give you is better.

As the sweat beads on your forehead, your chest rises and falls quickly. Everytime you manage to catch your breath, you’re off running again. Your eyes squint looking towards Danny, seeing him get ready for the throw-in. You look around at your team and you eyes are quickly looking for Will, to see he’s already looking at you.

There’s a small smile followed by a little wave. You feel your chest tighten again, this overwhelming feeling is all so sudden and new. The sweaty palms, the overthinking, the flush on your neck. Hopefully it’s all from nerves, and not just from the Geordie man.

The moment ended as quick as the moment came, because Danny Aaron’s then throws the ball into the field. Luckily for you, you were on the edge of the box. The ball comes rolling toward you fast, you’re able to dribble it between your feet, swiftly moving past Callux. You decide to create space between the two of you, but with the other team circling in on you, the only thing to do was shoot.

So, you shoot.

The ball is headed straight towards the net and looks like it could make it past the post, but to your disappointment, the ball bounces off the post and goes right back onto the field.

“Shit,” you mutter out, a hand wracking through your hair ready to run after the ball again. But, Theo is quick to take the ball from under one of the lads on the opposing team, making a quick recovery by striking and making the goal.

A breath you didn’t know you’d been holding finally came out. While you smile and clap for Theo, your energy is low and you are so tired.

“Y/n!” a familiar voice yells from behind you, and you’re quick to turn around. Wills hair is pushed back and sweaty, yet he doesn’t think twice before engulfing you into a bone crushing hug.

“Not making a fool of myself am I?” you ask, pulling away to look at him. Will chuckles and shakes his head immediately,

“That’s a joke, right? You’re ridiculous,” he says sincerely and breathlessly. You thank him briefly before substitutions start to happen, allowing there to be some down time.

Which give you the time to remember what he said to you the first time you had practiced together.

“You still promised me a goal,” You mention, before looking into the gopro on his chest, “Will owes me a goal today, and I better get it,”

“I didn’t promise anything,” he counters quickly. Your head tilts at this, with wide eyes, and he nervously laughs and rubs his neck. Even though he knows you’re joking, he still feels the need to fulfill it.

“You know what, I’ll.. do my best to. I can promise you that, y/n.” And without warning, the lot of you are off again.

…

4 - 3

After the first half of the match, it’s looking promising for your team. Theo scored another goal, and spirits were still high. You were able to switch out and take a needed breather. But after the second half of the match started, that’s when your team started to take a tumble.

You were off the pitch until Pinero got injured, and needed a substitute. So with half a bottle of gatorade and an electrolyte packet in your system, you hopped to your feet and ran back on the field. Once you hear that Simon is getting switched out with Chris, you sigh.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you mutter under your breath, knowing that Chris is a force to be reckoned with. Speed also gets switched off the field, and you’re not sure without him you guys could win. You look around hoping to find a familiar face, but for some reason you can’t find him. Where is the left wing player?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the blow of the whistle, allowing the match to continue. You see the ball fly in the air, and you’re on your feet, going wide incase someone needs to pass. But the ball goes farther and faster than you could run, that’s when you see Will.

Will runs from left back and goes towards the net like he’s a striker. He runs right past Ethan and Harry, getting a close range of the ball. Once Chunkz taps it down, Will slides toward the ball, knocking it into the net.

In the 80’ minute, Will scores what could be the final goal of the match.

“Oh my god,” you say aloud, mouth agape.

In the moment you got tunnel vision. All you could see is Will getting on his feet and spin on his heels looking for something, someone. Everyone starts to run towards Will, to congratulate him, to dogpile on him. But when his eyes land on you, he bolts toward you with all his might.

As he’s running, he’s yelling something, pointing at you. He says it multiple times, too quick for you to make out.

“What!?” You yell breathlessly, leaning forward like you were going to be able to magically tell what he said. But without warning Will comes crashing into you, the impact causing you to stumble backwards, almost losing your footing.

Guess you’ll have to find out what he said later.

When you pull away, you grab onto his shoulders firmly, bouncing with delight.

“Did you see that? I haven’t scored a goal like that ever, i’ve always been in the back—“

“I know! I know!” you cut in between his excitement.

“I’m so glad you were here to see that—“ He’s quickly cut off by the rest of the team congratulating him. Patting him on the shoulder, squeezing him into a brief hug, Chris even comes over and says he’s done well.

You begin to back off to get back into the center field, watching as the smile on Wills face takes over him completely. He radiates warmth, sunshine, and complexities. The ache with quiet yearning, watching him celebrate. There was nothing in the world like it, and if it meant having Will this way rather than not at all- you’ll live with this ache forever.

8 - 7

The match finishes briefly after Will scores. Manny scoring at the 86’ minute tying up the two teams. And Simon, of course, gets the last goal of the match putting his team first. Your team is able to score another point, Theo ends up stepping up to kick the ball and Pie face blocks it from the net. Meaning, the Sidemen have won. Regardless, everyone is in a good mood no matter the turnout. All the players rush towards the field, congratulating each other, briefing the match that just ended.

You thank Hp and Chunkz for a good game, and shake Theos hand for being another good defensive player with you.

Simon makes his way over to you and he puts his hands on the tops of your shoulders, shaking you gently.

“See! It wasn’t so bad was it?” he teased. You roll your eyes and lick the dryness off your lips, admittedly, it wasn’t so bad. After you got over the burning in your chest, the ache in your sides, and the soreness in your thighs.

“Uh no, no, wasn’t too bad. I stayed with Hp and Chunkz a lot of the time, we were all playing really well,” you say before asking how Simon think he did.

“I got a hat trick and three assist, what more could I have asked for?”

“That’s fair,” is all you can respond with. All you can think of is the times you could’ve tried to score, the times you weren’t able to make a good pass, or interfere a pass. Simon reads your mind as he sees the conflict on your face, quick to bring you back to reality.

“I mean you were really great. A few assists, you and Theo on defense was a nightmare, there is no complaints on my end. I hope you consider coming back and playing again, Y/n, seriously.” Simon squeezes your shoulder one last time before he sees Harry, the two rushing towards one another excitedly.

You turn around to see Elz and Munga coming up to you with their mics, a cameraman following. They pull you away from the group of lads whilst everyone gets ready to clap around the stadium. Taking a step back upon seeing the camera, a lopsided smile creeps up on your face.

"Y/n, what an incredible match. You were all over the pitch this game! Can you give us some words about your first time playing in a Sidemen charity match and how it felt?" The mic comes in your face, and you let out an airy chuckle.

"Yeah..um, I haven't played footy since high school, really. When Simon asked for me to play, I was.. reluctant at first, you know, but now I'm really glad I said yes." You rattled on.

"We saw some great strikes on the pitch. How do you feel about barely missing the goal during the first half?" Munya asks.

Licking your lips, you let a beat go by for a moment so you can think. The question poses room for scrutiny from the audience; you can feel your stomach churn, anxiety creeping up on the hairs on the back of the neck. You knew if you seemed too confident, people would not like that, but if you seemed too humble, people would condemn you too.

"Uhm... That's a great question," you begin to say, craning your neck to look for comfort. Your eyes try to find someone in the swarm of people, desperate to get away from the hosts.

"It was my first time! I definitely could've made it if I had been a bit closer or wasn’t getting closed in on,” you finish honestly. There, you see Will is staying back to wait for you. His eyes are wide, and his head is slightly tilted; it's a tender look that was being reserved for you.

"We are thrilled to have you here, and we hope you come back next year,” Elz says and you thank them both quickly before jogging over to Will.

He doesn’t say anything, instead all he does is wrap his arm around your shoulder and guides you to where everyone else is doing their claps around the stadium. You’re curious to see if this moment will make the video, or any of the other ones between the two of you, after all it is up to Mikey.

You find yourself smiling at the crowd, the people, the cameras. In that moment, you truly felt like you belonged and deserved to be there. Saying hello to fans, signing papers, and receiving handmade items. Although, you knew that once this was over, you'd be under mass criticism. You'd go on Twitter and see everyone criticizing how you played, but getting the validation from your mates was all the resignation you needed to tune those other voices out.

“Why the sour face?” Will leans down to whisper to you, amongst the ruckus the lot is making as they leave the pitch.

“Nothing gets past you,” commenting, crossing your arms over on another. He rolls his eyes and groans at this.

“I know you,”

For a second you debate sucking it up, going to the pubs to celebrate with everyone after. Or, going back to the hotel room for the night, and getting ready to leave as soon as possible to see your cats back at home.

“All I want to do is go home, really,” you sigh. Wills face doesn’t change, all he does is hum in response before looking at his phone to see the time.

“Yeah? Why don’t we go back to the hotel and get going,” he suggests simply. You quirk an eyebrow, knowing that prior he was more than willing to go to the pubs with everyone.

“Is.. that what you want?” asking hesitantly. Giving him time to think, and change his mind. But without another beat passing he nods his head.

“Not what about what I want, let’s get home,”

He flashes you a soft, genuine smile that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle. Will smooths your hair done with his palm like always, before silently walking to the locker room to change.

You’re left to stand there, cheeks flushing. Home. Insinuating that home is with you. All of this feels so natural, the soft touches, the quiet intimacy, the longing stares. You wonder how long it’s going to take for you to crack, to risk it all and reveal the raw truth. But, for another day, you can hold on to the pieces of Will that you already have.

TAGLIST:

@mosviqu @ivvees-blog @ooostarwarsfandom501st

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[starmocha]

HELLO. MAY I INTEREST YOU IN SOME FALLEN ANGEL CALEB BRAINWORM

very much based on this previous post I had made lol

btw i'm also begging for an angel/devil au, but we're the devil he falls in love with and he gets cast out of heaven and i would totally write this if i was not juggling 82438238932 wips rn.....but we'll see i tend to do the most impulsive things ever

tagging some ppl who i feel like to enable my intrusive brainworms often <333 @solifloris @aeyumicore @deepspacenova @quiet-oracle @philosians

this is totally not based on all of the biblical references/symbolism surrounding Caleb

apple — symbolizes knowledge, but also temptation, sin, immortality. and as in the story of Adam and Eve in the Book of Genesis, it also represents the fall of man. Also known as the "forbidden fruit".

name — The name Caleb is of Hebrew origin, meaning wholehearted, faithful and dog-like. In the Old Testament, a follower of Moses named Caleb, was rewarded for his faithfulness and was one of the few to visit the Promised Land.

Caleb's love of flying and being in the sky — ...no angel reference here, no sirree.

Caleb returning to the main story after the...explosive...events of chapter four...I'm not saying it's a rebirth (which in a biblical sense could mean a number of things, including seeking forgiveness and salvation).

Caleb and MC both talking about keeping the other person to themself, in a world of their own.......could mean anything. Not like it's a direct reference to Adam and Eve only having each other in the Garden of Eden, their own paradise. Oh what's this, one of Caleb's theme songs is called "Weightless Paradise" ....what a coincidence.....

The report stating Caleb and MC are the optimal weapon for destroying one another...probably means nothing. Never mind the fact that Eve was also created for Adam from one of Adam's ribs.

And she is the one who persuades him to eat the forbidden fruit, setting in motion their exile from Eden.

Surely, the gratuitous back shots are not trying to make you think of wings, right.

It's probably just a coincidence that the back of Caleb's uniform looks like there's an emblem of wings. And oh, what's that, when he is hurt in battles, his uniform is torn the most in the back...not saying this is trying to depict his wings being mutilated and torn off. 🙂

But you should all absolutely read @eeriepromis analysis about seraphim for funsies.

Choosing to give Caleb the Evol to manipulate gravity was probably not intentional........not like he could make himself float almost like he is flying............

I'm sure this means absolutely nothing that in the third theme song Cosmic Encounter, Caleb and MC are both falling from the sky (the "heavens," if you will). 🙂 This probably has nothing to do with the image of him being cast out of Heaven and fallen from grace.

random lines that I am in no way inferring he is speaking like he is her guardian angel

"I'm Caleb. I'll always be by your side." — Main Story: Homecoming Wings, 1-4

"Lay a hand on her again, and I will kill you." — Main Story: Homecoming Wings, 1-9

"I will protect you." — Main Story: Homecoming Wings, 2-7

"No one can take me away from you." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"Then, can you carry a little of this sin, too? Don't leave me in this loneliness any longer." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"...When you held my hand that day for the first time, I knew I'd never get away from you." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"So, don't be afraid... No matter what happens, I'll be here for you." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"Maybe it's because... I love you a little more than you realize." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"But until that final moment, we'll always be together." — Myths: Lucid Dream

"Even if it's pain... As long as it's from you, I want it." — Memoria: Painful Signal

"Don't go... Don't leave me alone." — Memoria: Endless Summer

"A ruined world doesn't deserve you." — Memoria: Hidden Waves

"I want you to stay here. Stay with me." — Memoria: Hidden Waves

"Let me protect you... I can guarantee this will be the last time." — Bond: Rain's Embrace

"I won't lose! I have someone I must protect!" — Memoria: Deceptive Solitude

✨fallen angel Caleb myth pls✨

✨pretty pls fallen angel Caleb myth✨

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mercy No More 1

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

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

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

Summary: your misplaced kindness brings a dangerous man to your door.

Characters: Thomas Shelby

Note: a less popular character so I'll just post whenever.

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"There's a man in the backyard."

The statement is matter-of-fact, not a hint of distress in your sister's tone as she informs you of the trespass. You wipe your forehead as you turn away from the porridge on the stove. You frown.

"A man... how? Who?" You wonder.

She shrugs, "he couldn't say."

You near her with a glower, "Anna, could you say less?"

"He's face down. He could be dead," she says. "Like old Chester."

"Is he old like Chester?" You go to the backdoor, slipping in a glob of mud. "Anna, your shoes."

"I was distracted. By the dead man."

You tilt your head wryly, "yes, you're brain does seem to be working madly to unravel the riddle."

You slip into your shoes, leaving the laces loose. You turn and go out into the yard. Sure enough, you see the man on the ground. He does look to be lifeless, though you can't be sure.

You glance back at Anna. She gives a coy grin, "I went and got water, I'm not dealing with him."

You sigh. Your father's already at the factory. It's only the two of you and it took enough arguing to get her to bring in a bucket of rain water.

The muck sucks on your soles. The man's face is smeared with mud and his hate rests next to his head. His limbs are askew in all directions. You hear him breathing as he blows bubbles into the slop.

"He's alive," you peek over your shoulder. You're talking to the door. Anna's back hiding behind the brick.

You cautiously bend and jab the man's shoulder, "sir, sir," you poke with each word, "hullo, you're sleeping in the dirt. Sir!"

You shake him. He doesn't stir. You reach across and grab his hat. A sharp pain sears in your thumb. You let the hat drop and look at the sliced pad of your finger. Rats.

Then the damp cold seeps through your stockings. The realisation trickles down your spine. Your eyes search out the sharp edge sewn into the hat. He's one of them.

You turn and march back to the door. You keep your injured hand aloft and let yourself in with other. You stomp into the kitchen and snatch up a cloth. You press it around your throbbing thumb.

"Sister, your shoes," Anna chides drolly.

You huff. She doesn't bother to ask if you're well. You hiss and grit your teeth.

"Get father's rye," you demand.

"Bit early, innit?" She snickers.

"Anna," you sneer.

She drags herself away from the table and takes out a dark bottle. She pulls free the cork and you grab it. You pour it over your thumb, shaking over the sink. You quickly cover the gash again.

"What's happened? He have a knife?" She asks.

"Anna," you face her, your heart top turns. "That man... has blades in his hat."

"Blades in his hat. Well, that's rather foolish." You stare at her and she blinks wide. "A blinder? Out here?"

You nod.

"What do we do?"

"Now it's we?" You challenge.

"It's not good, is it?"

You shrug.

"We could leave him there. Let him wake up."

"Yes, we could. But s'pose he wakes up and thinks we did leave him there. To drown in the mud," you tut. "But the alternative..."

"Wake him up?"

"He's not doing that," you clutch your hand.

"We can't carry him."

"We're going to have to," you say.

"And when he does come to, what then? He could hurt us."

"He might but I know where father keeps the pistol," you say.

"Do you know how to shoot it?"

"No."

"And wouldn't that be worse? To kill one of 'em?"

"Better than being killed," you look around. "Anna, I don't know any better than you."

"How..." she glances at the wall.

"You get one side, I'll get the other?" You suggest.

"How'd he even get there?"

"Now you're asking questions."

"Well, I thought he was a drunk or some'in."

"Oh, no doubt he is," you scoff. You wrap the cloth around your finger, securing it as best you can. You teethe your lip and dip your chin. "Right then."

You take the lead. Anna drags her feet. You go out into the yard. You near the man. He snores now.

You lift up his hat carefully and tuck it into your apron. You step around him as Anna reluctantly hovers some distance away.

"You get that arm." You point.

She whimpers but comes closer. You take his right arm and she flinches away as she reaches for his other. You grunt and grind your teeth as you try to lift him. Your sister whines, "he's too big."

"Anna, put some guff into it," you demand. "Christ be risen."

You manage to get him upright. Sort of. He hangs between you and your sister. You stagger to face him toward the house.

"I'm too weak."

"Stop, just move," you hike the man up as hold his hand over your shoulder, his arm draped around your neck. "Onward."

Your steps are teetering and uneven, lurching as the man threatens to bowl you both over. You haul him crookedly up the stairs, breathless, sweating, aching. His toes catch on the threshold and you all crash to the floor.

Your elbow pangs and your knee burns. You roll over and push the man's arm off you. Anna snivels as she crawls away from him.

"Now what?" She pulls a splinter from her hand.

"Well, he's inside," you get up, panting, and bend his legs enough to close the door. "Put a blanket over him."

"He's just gonna... lay there?"

"Better than the mud." You utter and step back, exhausted.

"What about when Da gets home?"

You give her a look, "let's pray he wakes up first."

🚬

You stir your porridge as the back of the man's head is visible just through the doorway. Anna won't sit still as she cradles her bowl and paces. Your thumb is pulsing with each bend.

The man's hat sits on the table. You did your best to wipe the mud off. You wiggle your foot, as restless as your sister but reluctant to show it.

You rinse your bowl and she gives you hers half-finished. You tisk. "Wasteful."

"Pardon me, my insides are splitting like twigs," she hisses.

You dump her bowl in the bin and wash away the oats. Anna tends to avoid things. She's always been that way. You can hardly blame her, there isn't very much worth facing in this world. Still, some things just must be done.

"Go on then, go to your room," you bid her. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"Are you certain?" She asks.

"Not truly but no use you tittering around," you shoo her with your fingers.

She makes no fuss in doing just that. Your dread mounts as you're left alone. She wouldn't be much help as it were, but are you any more formidable? Especially with a man like that?

You carry on, tidying, going through your usual toil, anything to busy yourself until your father returns. You sit and wring out the clothes by hand over a bucket and toss them in the basket to go on the line. You focus on the work, made more difficult by your tender thumb. Your joints ache from the effort, your forearms and the cuffs of your sleeves soaked through.

"Eh, Polly," the gritty voice has you sat upright. "Bring me a cuppa."

You stare at the man. He's not moving still. Just the rise and fall of his breath. He groans.

"Polly, ain't I your favourite?" He rasps and laughs, wincing at the effort.

He sucks in a deep breath and drags a hand over the floor. He pushes himself up with one arm and his head bobbles. He looks around, his nose like a beak. He gets one foot flat, still hunched, then the other. He stands and staggers, catching himself on the wall. He grunts and turns his head. He sees you before the bucket of soapy water and linen.

"You're not Pol," he limps in. "You got any tea?"

You stare at him and drop the shirt in the tub. He's entirely too calm waking up in a strange house. You stand stiffly.

"Whisky?" He hobbles past you and opens the cupboard.

"Sir," you back up. "This isn't-- we don't got much." You cross your arms and keep the chair between you. "You were out in the mud. We only brought you in to dry off."

"We?" He takes out a tin of flour.

"Hm, um, yes, the neighbour helped me," you lie.

"Aye, they did? Ya have a good laugh then? Over my drunk arse?" He accuses as he shuts the cabinet.

"No, sir. It was only--"

He moves towards you and you stumble out of his path. He swipes up his hat and pulls it on.

"Well, give ya some advice," he points at you. "You and that nosy neighbour, keep your mouths shut, eh? Don't be cheeping around with the hens."

"Sir, no, we wouldn't--"

"Know ya wouldn't." He looks around with a sneer, "it's a shithole but I'm sure you don' wan' it it in ashes."

He trips on the leg of the chair. You react without thinking. You grab his arm and the other side of the chair. He sways but stays on his feet.

You swallow as he looks at you. You shudder. "You wanted tea?"

His lips thin. There's a glimmer of shame in his irises. He maneuvers to sit on the wooden seat. He sighs and rubs his hips.

"Ole bullet casing's acting up again," he snarls. "German rubbish."

You go to the stove and put the kettle on the burner. You light it and step away. He bends forward to hold his head.

"Like I said, not much round, but I've got some bones. I could make ya broth," you offer.

He shakes and grumbles. It's not a clear answer. You grab the pork bones and put them in a pot. Your only shield is to do those things you know how to.

You brew the tea and bring it to him. He sits up and watches you set it down. He scrapes the chair closer to the table. He squints at your hand.

"Cut yerself?" He wonders.

"It'll heal up," you assure him and hide your hand behind you. He scratches the side of his head below his hat.

"Razor's cut deep," he remarks.

"They do," you affirm.

"Sorry then," he reaches for the cup. "I'll just get meself straight and be off."

"Very well, sir," you agree and grab the basket of clothes. "I'll be hanging these."

He takes a cautious sip and drones again. He wipes the moisture from his blond mustache with the side of his finger.

You leave him and go out into the yard. You unfurl the garments and pin them in place with the pegs. The gloomy sky won't dry them quickly. You go down the line as you hear Mary hollering at her husband. You've never heard her speak without yelling.

You finish and leave the basket at the door. The man has his head on the table. You go to check the broth. It bubbles but smells good enough. He groans.

You serve him a bowl with a butt of bread. He sits up with a tremour. He doesn't say a word as he draws himself in to the table and dips the rye in the broth. He eats without a care to the dribble down his chin.

He gives a contented hum when he's done. He looks up and smiles. You follow his gaze past you. You turn to see Anna before she disappears behind the doorframe.

"Well, hello, birdie," he growls.

"All done, sir," you take the empty bowl.

He refocuses on you, "didn't mention another of ya."

"She's shy," you insist as you take the dish to the sink.

"Mmm, well," he clucks. "Shy ones are sweet."

"Sir," you approach him again.

"Eh, I know what I said," he stands with an effort that makes him croak. "Yer a good woman. Won't be no bother 'round here. I'll make sure of it."

You nod as he heads for the back door. You follow him and stand in the frame as he stiffly struts to the gate. You frown. There never was any bother before him.

[joelmillerisapunk]

WIP TUESDAYYYYYYEEEE

tysm for the tags @probablyreadinsmut and @letsgobarbs <3

Hiiiiiii friends <3 this week I come with a small snippet of my clint x f!reader fucking to a porno in the break room fic that I will post tomorrow, dave york finding his au pairs only fans, police!joel, and a bunch of special mentions down below at the end. If you ever wonder why it takes me 50 years to post a fic it's because I'm always working on too many fics at once thanks adhd <3

Clint x f!reader

“Tell daddy what you need,” he orders, voice rough, commanding. “Tell him how you wanna be fucked.”

Your pride wars with your arousal, but the heat in his eyes, the way he’s holding you down, leaves you with only one answer.

“Like that.” Your voice is breathless, shaky, but firm. “Fuck me like that.”

Clint exhales a low chuckle, fingers tightening on your wrists. “Yeah? Knew you had it in you, baby. Knew you’d give in.” His voice is smug, dripping with satisfaction as he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “Say it again. But sweeter this time.” His lips brush your jaw, teasing. “Come on, princess. Call me daddy like you fuckin’ mean it.”

Heat prickles down your spine, your body betraying you as a shiver rolls through you. You grit your teeth, but the way he’s looking at you—like he owns you, like you’re already his—makes resistance feel impossible.

“Fuck me like that… Daddy.”

His eyes darken, his cock twitching against his jeans. “That’s my good girl.” Dave York x au pair!reader -> based on my fic subscribe this will be a whole au with other pboys in the same situation of finding readers only fans. this is just a concept for now but here is something At first, he finds it by accident. Maybe he’s looking into something unrelated, or maybe your name pops up in a place it shouldn’t—a random transaction, a hidden tab left open. He tells himself he’s just checking to make sure you’re not putting his family at risk. That’s what he does: he eliminates threats. But then he subscribes. Just to verify. That’s what he tells himself, at least. The first time he clicks on one of your videos, his grip tightens around his phone. He shouldn’t be watching this. Not his young, innocent-looking au pair—the one who tucks his daughters into bed, who smiles so sweetly at Carol, who walks around his house like she belongs there.But you’re not so innocent, are you? Because there you are, on his screen, wearing next to nothing, fingers trailing over your skin, whispering filth to faceless men who don’t deserve it. His jaw clenches as he watches you tease the camera, your voice dripping with need. You don’t even know he’s there. Watching. Listening. Obsessing. Police!Joel x f!reader Your pulse slammed against your ribs as the baton nudged under the waistband of your panties, Joel’s grip firm as he held it there, teasing, testing.

Joel let out a low chuckle, deep and lazy, like he was genuinely amused. “That so? You a cop now, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, your body tense against the car. “I know my rights.”

That only made his grin widen. “Cute. You think you got rights out here?” His free hand trailed up your side, slow and possessive, fingertips barely grazing the underside of your breast before trailing back down. “Nah, see, out here… it’s just you and me.”

Your breath hitched as he gave the baton a little tug, the elastic of your panties snapping back against your skin. A warning. A promise.

And you - god, you shouldn’t be reacting to this the way you were.

Your thighs clenched, a frustrated heat building in your belly that had nothing to do with anger.

Joel must have noticed, because he hummed, his mouth brushing the curve of your jaw as he murmured, “Somethin’ you wanna say, sugar? Or you just gonna keep pretendin’ you don’t want this?”

That snapped you out of it.

Your elbow shot back, aiming for his ribs. You twisted, trying to shove him off, trying to pull away—

Big mistake.

Joel reacted fast. Too fast.

The baton clattered to the pavement as he grabbed your wrist, twisting your arm behind your back with practiced ease. His other hand went to your throat, pressing you firm against the car. special mentions (because I'm never only working on one or two wips)

Pirate Joel x siren!reader

dbf!Joel catches you masturbating (ikkkk its still in the works)

home depot!joel

bounty hunter!joel

vacation!joel

Severance Joel AU series(?)

npt: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @sawymredfox @kedsandtubesocks @arcanefox207 @slimybeth69 @evolnoomym @yxtkiwiyxt @myownwholewildworld @ohhoneypascal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @whocaresstillthelouvre @sizzlingcloudmentality @sunshinehaze1 @sunshineispunk @cxrsed-angel @mushgloomz @baronessvonglitter @jazzy11scorpio @almostfoxglove @ace-turned-confused @aurorawritestoescape @604to647 @iknowisoundcrazy @greenwitchfromthewoods

[deathblacksmoke]

when my heart skips two beats / jolly x f!reader

pairing: jolly karlsson x f!reader

cw: fingering (m receiving), pegging (m receiving), use of sex toys, filthy dirty smut, seriously it's purely smut, jolly gets ~subby~

word count: 1.4K

author's note: final jolly request done <3 this one was a fucking doozy. an anon requested jolly getting the strap and my brain melted. extra special thank you to @darksigns-exe for saving my ass when this accidentally posted earlier completely unfinished :)

title from "memento mori" by architects

divider by @saradika-graphics | tag list sign-up

You’ve never seen him like this.

It had shocked you when he’d asked for this, yet there was no hesitation in you when you’d responded with an immediate of course, baby. You had a thousand follow-up questions, but they were overpowered by the confidence that you wanted to do this for him. You imagine it was something about the shift in his demeanor — how the normally confident and self-assured man you had come to know was considerably shrunken. You didn’t think you’d ever given him a reason to doubt you, to think that his requests and needs wouldn’t be met with care, but you knew it was a big ask.

Leading up to today, there was still a spot of trepidation in you, an uncertainty on whether or not you should do this. You adore when he’s happy, and would do almost anything to keep him that way, but the last thing you want is to let him down. There was a moment when you nearly called it off, but your mind shifted back to the night he asked, the way you could see him physically relax when you told him you’d do it. You knew you had to keep your word to him, and you’re so glad that you did.

He is a sight before you, his head slung low between his shoulders and his skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. He’s always gorgeous, but never more so than he is at this moment. Your free hand gets a grip on his waist, and as your fingers sink into his flesh, you hear him whimper and watch in awe as his forearms give out beneath him, his face instinctually burying itself into the pillow.

There’s something almost holy about being the one who gets to make him feel this way, about this beauty before you being your own doing, about this man giving himself over to you completely, his soft and needy sounds barely reaching your ears past the muffle of the pillowcase.

You curve your fingers, notch a thumb gently at his entrance just to see, and his needy plea of your name nearly blinds you.

You’re drawn so desperately to him, met with the unbearable need to get as close to him as you possibly can until you’re draped over his back. The angle is off, but the skin to skin contact is what you’re sure the both of you need right now.

You think he’s ready — you feel him pliant around your fingers — but you aren’t sure you’re ready to leave this moment yet.

“Joakim,” you mutter, pressing a delicate kiss to the skin of his shoulder. You can feel him shaking beneath you, and press your cheek to his back, hoping it will ease him up a little bit. He makes the quietest sound of acknowledgement, his head dropping somehow lower still. “Do you want to get on your back for me, honey?”

There’s a tiny shift beneath your cheek, and you glance up just in time to see his nod. You’re careful, slow and gentle as you remove your fingers. He makes the prettiest little sound as he finds himself empty, and you can’t help the way it shoots through you, starts a burning in your belly.

He’s a little stiff as he rolls over onto his back, a little teary as he covers himself up shyly, his arms draped over his tummy. He watches intently as you undress — you know he likes to see you, needs a little something extra right now.

You make a show of it for him, carefully unbuttoning your pj top and slowly sliding your shorts and panties down your legs. He begins to relax again, his fist unclenching and falling to his side, his eyes glazing over just slightly. You’re sure to be watching his face when you slip the harness on, delight in the way his eyes widen, just slightly, for only a moment.

His skin is red hot to the touch when you crawl into bed beside him, let your hands explore. You feel his muscles clench and unclench beneath your wandering fingers, goose pimples erupt along his arms. He lets out the prettiest little gasp when you wrap a hand loosely around his cock.

“You’ve been so good for me, Jolls,” you tell him, watching his eyes flutter closed as you tighten your grip, start a slow drag up and down his shaft. He looks so gorgeous like this. “Are you ready for more from me?”

He gives you the smallest nod, and you’ve let him get away with the silence until now, but it’s time.

“I need you to use your words, my love,” you say, scooting closer to him, as close as you can get. He clears his throat, still only manages to get out a broken little please, but you decide it’s good enough. “Do you want to be on your hands and knees or your back, baby?”

He doesn’t answer with his words, again, something that you decide to let slide as he pulls you on top of him, digs his strong hands into your hips and kisses you deeply. You can feel as the confidence re-enters his body, as he moves a hand from your body to dig around in the bedside table.

As he presses the bottle of lube into your chest, desperation seeping back into his gaze, your question is answered.

“I want to do it like this,” he answers, sounding awfully self-assured, although you can feel his hand shaking where it touches your own on the bottle. “I want to see you. Please.”

You can’t imagine how you’ll ever live without this.

His sharp intake of breath on your first press in sears right through you. You feel the muscles of his tummy tense as he adjusts to the size, his whine pitching higher than you’ve ever heard from him.

You wish you could feel how tight he is around you. When you’re fully seated inside, you trace a fingertip gently around his hole and delight in the loud groan he lets out, seemingly against his own will. The temptation gets the better of you for just a moment — you have to know — you press your thumb in just a bit, feel not a bit of give, and let up even as he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you closer.

As you let yourself fuck him, a slow drag, you can see yourself now getting addicted to this. You see yourself climbing into his lap and begging him to let you get inside. You wonder if you could train him to take more, if you could fit a finger in next to the toy, slide in just the tip of your thumb, feel him welcoming you in.

His other hand traces the side of your face, twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. Your gaze lands on his, his eyes unfocused and teary. You smile at him and the grip on your hair tightens, his mouth spreading into a smile to match your own, a tear spilling from the corner of his eye that you’re quick to kiss away.

“I won’t last, honey,” he confesses, his voice coming out shyly and barely above a whisper.

“No?” you tease, moving your hips just a little bit faster, a little bit harder. Another tear slides down his cheek as he nods desperately. “Good. I wanna see how pretty you look when you cum for me, Jolls.”

You commit it all to memory — the hitch in his breath, the shake in his hands, the way that without even a hand on himself he finishes on his own tummy, breathless and teary. He looks prettier than you’ve ever seen him, his expression contorting and then relaxing, a content and satisfied look on his face. 

He’s boneless as you slowly pull yourself out, settling at his side, as close as you can possibly get. You grab his t-shirt from behind you to clean his tummy, unwilling to separate yourself from him to get a proper towel. 

There will be time for that once he’s come down, wiped his tears and relaxed, come back into himself. As you’re kissing a trail over his cheek, his chin, down his neck, his chest, he speaks up.

“Thank you so much for doing this for me,” he mutters, his hands no longer shaking as they wrap around around you, pull you closer.

“Will you let me do it again?” you ask, charmed by the way he tries, and fails, to hide his blush.

tags <3

@circle-with-me @darksigns-exe @concretejunglefm @baddestomens @sitkowski

@ladyveronikawrites @malice-ov-mercy @mysticdoodlez @somebodyels3 @sorrowsofsilence

@collapsedglasshouses @fadingangelwisp @cookiesupplier @spicywhenspeaking @lacy1986

@dollieomens @agravemisstake @cncohshit @dominuslunae @poisongirl616

@iknownothingpeople @thisbicc @theanarchymuse95 @shilohrosechicken @blackveilomens

@geminigirlfromfinland

[day-mark]

at least watch the clip before commenting about it

https://x.com/DNI_lowkey/status/1901922848681161008

youre right that i shouldve watched the clip before talking about it, but im afraid this still changes very little on how i feel about what they said.

you know if tub.bo had gone into the stream with this attitude instead maybe things wouldve been different. also changing your mind means nothing to me if it's not admitted privately to the party affected, and frankly also publicly in this situation considering how much of the harm was done publicly

disclaimer none of this is directly quoted

sad that there was no middle ground to be had between him and dream/sad he realized they wouldnt be able to reach and agreement and become friends again -> i added this later in the tags of my original post, but there could never have been a middle ground to reach with dream when he refuses to give dream even the tiniest benefit of the doubt. the entire time he reacted to dreams stream, he assumed nothing but the worst despite repeating over and over that he would be fair, multiple example i cant be assed to bring up, but him assuming dream didnt defend punz automatically and then being told no, he did defend him. or reading into why dream removed the mention of caiti when all it was was that dream interpreted the end of the sentence differently. dreams concedes multiple times to tub.bo but not once does he extend that same attitude to dream. hell he got mad at dream for using his own clip of saying his friends shouldnt be making grooming jokes

the stream humanized dream and it would make their audiences put down the pitchforks - i find this extremely ironic given that what came out of tub.bos streams instead was mass dehumanization again to the point where someone said he could queerbait because he "operates as a business". also no, having dream on stream does not humanize him to your audience if you again, only are on the offensive and take issue with every single thing he says. also basically having this attitude of "well I tried my best to humanize him to my audience" but sitting back and watching them spread misinformation and "dream is an evil manipulator" and saying nothing means nothing to me.

neither side was mature/this couldve been ignored - braindead fucking take. "ah yes, lets ignnore the situation We Provoked by repeatedly calling dream a groomer, trump supporter, etc'" harassing someone until they snap and then turning around to go "oh neither of us were mature, we shouldve been the bigger person and ignored it 😔" is idiotic and shows zero self-awareness. i cannot tell if they are that dumb or if its intentional at this point.

jack saying there was never a middle ground and he was proven right that they could never be friends/didnt work as friends and he was glad he didnt prematurely cut ties with someone he couldve made amends with + he distanced himself a while ago - also stupid when he is one of the worst offenders of bringing dream up "days since jack mentioned dream" anyone? sure you could distance yourself and sometimes you just dont get along with people but then the reason he doesnt like dream that he cites is that he made a joke to George about being the reason for his success and repeatedly made poor taste jokes about dream and punches down on him Constantly. sorry but this does not scream "being mature about distancing yourself and simply having different personalities that clash"

comments its weird how much people care and that they dont care - motherfucker you actively fueled it with your repeated "jokes". the "red flags" they harped on about in their Other podcast episode. also if you dont care why do you keep fucking bringing him up. even before this whole situation

tubbo realizing he exaggerated his own emotions about the situation because of the stream and afterwards realized they were all stupid - again. this would mean more to me were this not a paywalled podcast and if he acknowledged it Publicly. also idk, making another comment about how unlabelled people cant be queer weeks(?) after the stream does not scream "i realized i overreacted and was immature about this situation"

jack doesnt want to stop making "little jokes" because theyr funny and tub.bo says and as long as its not malicious - does not scream "distancing myself from dream and wanting to move on" also how many fucking times do we have to say that calling someone a groomer (especially when people already actively believe this) and a trump supporter is not "a little joke". at this point it doesnt matter if jack is not being malicious, his audience will take it as such and continue their hostility.

yeah sorry but with their recent behavior both before and after the stream, this means absolutely nothing to me. this still screams that they dont understand the harm theyre causing and frankly dont Want to understand, they want to keep using dream as their punching bag. if they truly want to be mature about it then fucking act like it. they have flipped between sides too often for me to think this is anything meaningful, i mean hell tub.bo couldnt even decide on if dreams a trump supporter or not in those streams(and yeah if it was a joke that "haha oh idk actually he might be a trump supporter" it was not funny and made things worse bc his audience is braindead and will take it as gospel". like im tired of them pouring gasoline on a situation or hell even Starting The Damn Fire and then turning around and acting like they didnt.

also i find it hysterical jack said tub.bo seemed miserable at the end of the stream and was wondering why he would do that to himself, when he does not stop tommy from doing the same thing and at some points even encouraged/fed into said behavior making him miserable.

also the entire queerbaiting conversation and comment made after is utterly unacceptable to me and its not something im going to forgive with no apology or understanding regardless of what they think of dream

i might come back to this to add/change things, im at work and this may be incoherent rambling*

[sturnioz]

I actually haven't been that active on the fratboy Chris tag in a WHILE. So, imma give my take on what I think had happened in their pasts and what could possibly happen.

We all know Chris can be and is and asshole. He doesn't care for romantics, and it has been proven time and time again. He's cold and closed off, even to his brothers which you would assume he'd let loose a little. He's close to his mother (from the phone call bun overheard) which I'll get back to. But that's kinda it? He doesn't plan on opening up to anyone, so maybe something triggered that and there could be a future stressor to reopen that. Who knows what your series will say.

Now, bun is different. Not in the way of 'opposites attract' but there are key differences that are mentioned. Her shy behaviour for one. She has only been with Chris and had all her firsts with him. She isn't exactly as shy anymore in thay department but either way, she is close to Chris given that he is the only one she's been with. But I also don't immediately take her for an overtly romantic person. I'm sure she dreams of it or imagines situations like that but if she really wanted that then would she stay with Chris? I doubt it. Bun has friends, connections and it's stated that Chris isn't making her stay with him that way sooo...

To their pasts I'd say they are similar with a lot of aspects. A decent childhood with opportunities like a lot of other children, a close network of friends and family to keep them well. However, I'm thinking that Chris had his start to differ maybe around puberty or a little later. A lot of kids start to explore sexually or in relationships and something could have changed with him. A bad relationship made him stiff, not wanting to open up like last time. The fact he is still close with his mother in a way also gives me reason to think his father or other family member was narcissistic or problematic. (Based on my own experiences). Either way, he wasn't always like this, a triggering event or course of events changed his behaviour when he was vulnerable to change.

I'd say that Bun has been consistent a lot of her life. She was always shy in childhood and kept to herself, enjoying quiet more than most. A tight network of friends that she wouldn't dare stretch from unless she was introduced by another friend etc. I wouldn't say she's had any stressor to make her suddenly submit into herself, hence her naïvity around Chris' situations and attitude, brushing it off as 'him'.

I do think Chris will crack at some point. Like mentioned before, a stressor could occur where he lets something slip etc. During the whole formal event, he was upset and beginning to subtly get upset when bun wasn't messaging back. If he was any closer to bun than he was, some shit EASILY could've gone down, paranoia, arguments etc. Bun might find out information she isn't meant to? The phone call with Chris' mother was enough to make her question things for a moment. Let alone anything else of any other level. I don't mean stuff he does eg. Sell drugs - one, he is open about that, and two, he has no reason to lie over it. Yet, knowledge is more powerful in this context.

This is slightly vague over scenarios I see them in, but I'm going a lot based on psychological reasons rather than just imagination, so I'm likely to be wrong. I also haven't read a lot of your recent works due to my inactivity, so this may have been proven wrong in updated posts. However, this is just what I think. I could easily write about if Nick or Matt knows what happened to Chris or even if the same thing happened to them etc. But I'll save that.

Enjoy I guess lmaoo

im sorry i dont have much to say to this without giving my own plot away but i just want you to know that i enjoyed every second reading this beautiful fucking take.. the way you analyse everything is so fucking gorgeous

[lkfarrout]

Main Tags: Family fluff, Grunkle Stan and Mabel bonding

Summary: Stan's memory is fully recovered, including his ability to drive, which comes with the return of an old bad habit. Mabel takes things into her own hands and reminds Stan how important he is to her. [1584 words]

Based on the first part of my most popular tumblr post of all time: Stan and Mabel Headcanons

Warnings: None! Just cute wholesome stuff <3

"There they are, Dipper, come on!" Mabel dragged her twin out onto the porch of the Mystery Shack, practically jumping up and down at the sight of her two grunkles pulling up in Stan's red Cadillac.

They'd been gone only thirty minutes.

"He did it!" Dipper exclaimed. "That's a really good sign."

A six-fingered hand waved at the kids from the passenger window, and they eagerly waved back. But as the car got closer, Mabel's hand fell slowly back to her side, and her eyebrows furrowed as she squinted into the windshield.

"How did it go?" Dipper asked, as the two older men joined the kids on the porch.

"Like ridin' a bike," Stan said with a grin.

"He stills drives as recklessly as when we were teenagers," Ford teased, "but I believe it's safe to say that Stanley's memory is fully recovered."

It was a long-anticipated moment among them all. Grunkle Stan was finally back to normal, able to take care of himself, give tours, tell jokes and stories like he used to, and now drive himself around too. Dipper embraced Stan in a hug, showing off how proud he was of all the progress Stan had made – and just in time, too, because there was only a few days of summer left.

As Dipper let go, Stan expected to be eagerly met with another hug from his niece, but instead he found her in the same spot, her gaze on the ground at their feet.

"Mabel, sweetie, you okay?" He crouched down a bit and put a hand on her shoulder.

Mabel looked up at him with sweet eyes, full of concern. "Grunkle Stan, you didn't wear your seatbelt."

"Oh," Stan shrugged, "yeah, I guess I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Well... to be honest I never really did when you kids weren't in the car." Stan tousled Mabel's hair with a chuckle. "Plus, back in my day seatbelts were more of a suggestion anyway."

With that, the family made their way inside, leaving Mabel to begrudgingly fix her hair as she followed behind them.

---

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mabel? What if he catches us?” Dipper whispered, anxiously peering around the corner as he and his sister watched Stan settle into his chair to watch TV for the evening.

“We have to, Dipper! This is important,” Mabel insisted. “You remember the plan?”

“Yeah,” her twin conceded. “Remind me what we need the syrup for again?”

Mabel sighed, slightly annoyed with her brother. “So he has a reason to drive somewhere in the morning, duh!”

Dipper didn’t really see the point in all this. After all, Grunkle Stan had survived without a seatbelt for like, a hundred years. But Mabel had gone along with plenty of his crazy plans, so it wasn’t like he could say no.

“Alright, but I’d rather get the stuff while you distract him. He’s more likely to listen to you," Dipper suggested.

With that, Mabel set off determinedly to the living room. “Oh, Grunkle Sta-an,” she said in a sing-songy voice, trying to look as sweet as possible. “Can you make Stancakes in the morning?”

At the same time, Dipper headed to the kitchen. He rummaged around in the cabinets as quietly as he could, and Mabel’s voice continued to permeate the house.

“Why don’t you put your feet up, Grunkle Stan, relax a little? Can I get you a blanket?”

With three bottles of syrup in his arms, Dipper headed to Stan’s bedroom. The sash was easy enough to find. After all, it was the only item that colorful in the entire room. Finding the car keys was a bit harder. When Stan was dressed, they were usually in his pockets, but now that he was settled down for the evening in his boxers and undershirt, Dipper assumed they had to be put away somewhere. He was right, and after a bit of digging, he found them in an empty cigar box on Stan’s nightstand among other items like spare change and a lighter. Dipper tucked the keys into his vest pocket, quietly shut Stan’s door, and made a beeline for the attic.

On the way, he ran into Ford.

“Oh, hello Dipper,” the older man’s eyes narrowed curiously as he noticed the bundle of yarn and maple syrup in the boy’s arms. “What’s all that for?”

“Oh, this?” Dipper tried his best to sound casual, “Mabel needs this for… an art project. You know how she loves to craft.” He laughed awkwardly.

“Indeed,” Ford agreed. He walked away, leaving Dipper to continue his mission, and wondered what art project could possibly require all the syrup in the house.

Once the syrup was successfully hidden away in the attic, Dipper met his sister on the back porch with the other stolen items.

“Got the stuff?” She asked.

He nodded as the two of them made their way to the Stanleymobile. “How long will this take?”

“I’ll be done before his episode is over!”

---

Stan searched all the cupboards, wishing that he’d checked for syrup before he started making the pancakes. It was odd -– he was positive that he had stocked up on it specifically for the apocalypse. He thought about sending Ford to the store, but no one else was awake yet. And if he had to be honest, part of him was itching to drive the car again. So, he turned off the stove, shoved the rest of the batter in the fridge, threw on his robe, and headed outside.

Upstairs, Mabel excitedly watched from the attic window while her brother slept soundly. She observed as Stan crossed the yard with an energetic gait, swinging his keys back and forth. A few feet away from the car, he slowed and approached more curiously, wondering what the odd splash of color peeking through the window was.

Stan ran his fingers over the soft yarn of the Our Hero sash, which had been expertly cut apart and knit back together around the driver's side seatbelt. He chuckled to himself -- it was a fashionable seatbelt cover if he'd ever seen one. As he climbed into his seat, he noticed the folded up note on the dash. He unfolded it, ready for whatever silly message Mabel had left him about "making the car prettier" or whatever.

It was written in purple gel pen: If you want to be our hero, you have to wear your seatbelt.

It included a sticker of a bumble bee saying "I bee-lieve in you."

"Oh, Pumpkin..." Stan began softly. He forced a small laugh at the cheesy sticker as a last-ditch attempt to stop the emotion rising in his throat.

Above him, Mabel was having a hard time containing her emotions as well. She squeezed Waddles to her chest and lightly shook him to stop herself from jumping up and down with excitement. "He's reading it, he's reading it," she whispered to Waddles. She watched her uncle set the note down and carefully click his seatbelt into place so that the words fell over his shoulder and chest just like when he used to wear it as a sash. "It worked!" she exclaimed.

Mabel leaned back, satisfied that her plan had been successful, and waited for Stan to pull out of the driveway. Several minutes passed, however, without the car moving. Stan just looked at his lap and gripped the wheel with both hands.

"Uh oh," Mabel's tone changed, "maybe he doesn't remember the sash..." When he defeatedly leaned forward and rested his forehead on the wheel, Mabel threw her slippers on and hurried down the stairs.

Stan was startled back into an upright position by the girl's soft knocking on the passenger window. Stan quickly wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his bathrobe and gave the child a soft smile.

"Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly, climbing into the seat next to him. "Grunkle Stan, are you crying?"

"No, no," he denied, "I just, got the sun in my eyes is all."

"Do you remember that?" She gestured to the sash-turned-seatbelt-cover.

"How could I forget?"

Mabel fiddled with the sleeves of her nightshirt. "Do you like what I did? Or..."

With one hand, Stan gently lifted her chin so their eyes met. "Of course I like it, sweetie. I love it."

Mabel smiled and he continued, "Thanks for lookin' out for me. I'll always do whatever I can to be your hero."

She felt his arms wrap around her, embracing her in a big hug. Mabel rested her head against Stan's shoulder and lightly ran her fingers along the soft knit fabric of the sash.

As the two separated, Stan asked, "You wanna go to the store with me? I gotta get some syrup for your pancakes."

"Oh, actually, all the syrup is upstairs... I needed a reason for you to get in the car this morning."

"Yeah?" Stan wrapped his arm around Mabel, this time pulling her in for a noogie, "C'mere, you clever punk. I thought you were bein' suspicious last night."

As he relaxed his arm, he said, "Well, might as well go anyway since we're out here. Anything else ya want on your pancakes?"

Mabel thought for a moment while she fixed her hair. "Marshmallows?" she suggested.

Stan just grinned in response and started up the old car.

"Can I ride in the front?" Mabel asked, smiling up at her uncle with the sweetest eyes.

"Hmm," he pretended to think, "only if you wear your seatbelt."

[qveenpoppy]

okay let's go episode 2:

wolf somehow doesn't know what pokemon or game of thrones is (i know his pop culture knowledge is near nonexistent, but even i've at least heard of both franchises, despite never engaging in them)

there's little references to the hospital being understaffed (like dr. landon apparently performed a surgery herself) and underfunded, but i feel like the show's been mostly glossing over it (unless it's just something that's easy to miss, given that it's yet to play a major role in an episode plot)

wolf lowkey has a bratty side, given how he talks to his mom this episode

wolf ignoring nichols got me giggling and kicking my feet

wolf also can't do sports analogies to save his life. now is that bc he's gay or a nerd? /j

wolf's lil striped sweater is so cute. if i could make a gifset dedicated to that look, i would.

"oliver, try not to get too attached. we both know it hasn't served you well in the past." hmm (i know they tie this line to him empathizing with a frog in hs, but i feel like it might also refer to a patient he treated in the past)

the way they depict jessie's feelings of disembodiment are incredibly well done. the one shot in particular of her simultaneously falling and rising is really cool. (this show in general makes some cool, unique directing choices. i know i talk about emmys deserved for the acting, but this show deserves some love for its directing too.)

wolf also doesn't understand dana's sixth sense reference

"dr. wolf is the chief's son?" i love you, token himbo van (he is so golden retriever-coded)

"you keep blowing past me... on three separate occasions." "why are you counting?" lmaooooooo get him, wolf

(something something nichols fell first but wolf fell harder)

never realized how prominent the height difference is between them when they're standing in front of jessie's brain scans (i can't believe nichols makes 6'1 wolf look tiny)

it's implied that wolf didn't really need nichols to look at the scans with him. he said he wanted a second opinion, but also admitted he was scared for jessie. could he have wanted nichols there for... emotional support?

someone made a post the other day about what ericka's neuro/psycho issue might be. idk if it counts, but i wanna say she might suffer from some sort of issues with perfectionism? or maybe people-pleasing? given how she said she spent all her time in college studying and working rather than partying and socializing (but that's also pretty typical for those of us more studious folks, i say as someone who went to community college and therefore did nearly nothing in terms of social things on campus...)

actually maybe i was wrong about the underfunding thing being irrelevant, since it comes up for jessie, who may have had to be sent to a long-term care facility so, as wolf says, the hospital can "free up a bed" (and i know a similar thing was said about roman once, i forget in what episode - 4, maybe 5? before he showed any real signs of awareness)

the "freakishly large hands" exchange is so incredibly flirty, i can't take it. i dare say the wolfnichols dynamic did a complete 180 from the pilot to episode 2. like the pilot gives enemies to lovers, but episode 2 (and beyond) just gives... lovers. (or like flirty coworkers who both slowly (given how much time it takes for them to act) and quickly (in terms of episode count) develop a bond and fall hard for each other.)

underrated parts of the scene: wolf's little smirk when he jokingly addresses nichols without looking at him, and nichols wringing his hands when asking what his defining feature is (like he's a nervous little boy talking to his crush)

did i rewind and rewatch that scene 3 times in a row? yes, yes i did

the end scene with muriel & carol really makes it seem like wolf did some fucked up things in his past, which, as i discussed with someone the other day, i once thought meant he was responsible for his dad's death, but that doesn't seem to be the case anymore. at least, he's not directly responsible, though he probably still harbors some guilt about the whole situation. still, wonder when the implications of that scene come back into play. (could that be one of the "surprises" showrunner grassi referred to when he talked about what was in store for wolf & nichols?)

[sengenism]

The Ishigamis and The Gifts of Science

Dr. Stone is a love letter to humanity and its sciences. The main character, Senku, often acts averse to all forms of affection, and the only love he doesn't deny is his love for science. But Senku is so so full of love. He just expresses it in a way other than physical touch or words of affirmation. He gives.

But let's go back to the one who taught him so– Byakuya Ishigami, his father. The love of Senku's life.

Byakuya is introduced in the tenth chapter of the manga as a dotting father who sells his car to present Senku with scientific instruments he will need for a more efficient research. This car is Byakuya's means of transportation, and given that he is crying and shaking in this scene, it could not have been easy for him to lose it. But his love for Senku is so big, that he wants to support his son's passion even if it means sacrificing a great convenience for him.

And Senku? Senku truly fell in love with science at this moment.

If there is anything that Senku is, he is Byakuya Ishigami's son through and through. They may seem like two very different people, as Byakuya is an openly affectionate guy while Senku is more closed off with showing his true emotions. But Senku takes more from Byakuya than not, and one of them is by showing his love and/or care for others through giving the gifts of science.

And it starts with Byakuya.

[Bodysuit Acquired!]

Byakuya had failed his first attempt at being an astronaut ten years back, but he doesn't give up and tries again. Senku then creates a bodysuit that manipulates muscle movement to help Byakuya pass his swimming test. And while the bodysuit doesn't quite help Byakuya to swim, the thought Senku had put into it had motivated Byakuya more than ever to pass the test. This is one of the fundamentals of gifting– sometimes, it really is the thought behind it that matters.

This motivation is what Byakuya credits during his interview with JAXA for passing the tests. He understands that Senku might not have given him any words of encouragement, but this bodysuit was all the words that were needed between them. Senku wants Byakuya to achieve his dreams just as badly. It's the way Senku shows his love for his father.

And it's the way Senku shows his love for others too.

[Glasses Acquired!]

One of the primitive aspects of the Ishigami village is that it considers bad eyesight as a type of "disease". Fuzzy disease, to be exact.

Suika wears a melon mask at all times to help clear her eyesight, which Senku later reveals is due to the pinhole effect. She, however, has never told Senku or the others about having the fuzzy disease. Senku himself notes how odd it is for her to wear a melon around, and confronts her about it once he decides to create glass. This is one of the most beautiful scenes in Dr. Stone, as Suika finds out that her disease was never a disease, and is finally able to see as clearly as the others. Senku basically gives her perfect eyesight, something she didn't even know was possible before.

[Antibiotics Acquired!]

One of the most beloved people in this village is the priestess, Ruri. Two of Senku's new friends, Kohaku and Chrome are deeply affected by her unknown fatal disease. Senku is such a person who would help a stranger even if there is no benefit to do so (though he would never admit to it), what more a person who his new friends truly love and care about. He cures Ruri of pneumonia, giving her a chance to live a life without the worry of it being her last day every day.

[Cola Acquired!]

Senku forms an alliance with Gen, who plays the role of Tsukasa's spy, for the promise of a bottle of cola. Both Senku and Gen are aware that the cola is only a front for Gen's loyalty to Senku and the Kingdom of Science, for Gen needs his superficial reputation as a comfort and cannot simply join them if there is no personal benefit for him to do so.

This cola is also the first gift post-petrification that Senku brands himself on, probably because it represents the first gift that is not out of necessity and leans toward a comfort/luxury that they both used to enjoy in the modern world.

For a modern man such as Gen, drinking his favourite soda in the stone world might have been one of the happiest days in his life.

[Cotton Candy Acquired!]

Senku cares about people so much, even if the people in question have tried to kill him. Senku sees Homura as a soldier who is merely following the orders given by her leader, but he also sees the Homura as a lonesome girl sitting by herself on trees day and night.

As usual, Senku hides his kindness and care by showing an evil ulterior motive, such as turning Homura to their side using the cotton candy, but Ruri points out that this is a facade. Similarly to Gen, a person with such an ego is unable to seem as if he is doing something good out of the kindness of his heart.

[Stove Acquired!]

As winter approaches, the elders in the village are worried about losing people to the cold. Senku hears about this and creates a stove which has a multi-purpose of cooking and also radiating heat for the people to stave off the coldness of winter. And speaking of winter...

[Christmas Acquired!]

Senku hangs up lights in the tree for the "light bulb test" on a random night. Except the date isn't random at all and he drops enough hints for Gen to catch on that it is the night of Christmas. The significance of the day is only appreciated by Gen and himself, as they are the only modern timers in the village. It is for the sake of nostalgia, but Senku would rather be caught dead than admit that he is a sentimental guy with such irrational feelings.

And well, it all comes back to that scene with Byakuya, doesn't it? If you recall, Byakuya calls himself "Santa" while giving the scientific presents to the young Senku. This indicates Senku received them during Christmas. Which means... Christmas is a sentimental day to Senku and his father. An anniversary of Senku receiving his Christmas presents from Byakuya, which led to his deeper dive into his science obsession. The beginning of it all, one would say.

And even though he's dead and buried, Byakuya never stops giving. He gives Senku the Ishigami village to provide Senku with allies. He gives Senku Lillian's music, because he believes in the light of music and understands the importance of media to society. He collects platinum till his last breath, because he believes that Senku will need it someday. Byakuya keeps on giving to Senku, because his love for his son is so huge and unconditional. And because he promised.

Surely, there is no greater love in the manga than Byakuya's love for his son and Senku's love for his father. Byakuya could easily win ten billion best father awards... well, not like there's much competition for that in shounen mangas.

[wickjump]

im gonna start posting fanfic recs btw whenever i find good ones. both here and my (awfully barren) 18+ account. because there are so many good fics out there with so few hits and fewer kudos and sometimes no comments period and it SUCKS because i REALLY LIKE THEM A LOT.. and i hope that by linking them here and yelling at everyone to COMMENT DAMMIT they might actually do it

seriously though any comment means a lot. most people who read a fic don’t even give a kudos. even if the fic wasn’t top tier, if you didn’t dislike it, hand over some kudos!! and if you liked it, comment!!!! even if the comment is one singular heart emoji it will be appreciated. if the comment just says “great fic!” the author will be happy. your comment doesn’t have to be this long winded gushing or analysis.

so many authors quit writing or lose motivation because the comments are few and far in between or just sometimes nonexistent. trust me when i say authors don’t care about how long or cool or smart sounding your comment is i promise!!!

i hope that mmmaybe recommending fics and telling people to comment might help fics i really like get more support maybe. and i, points at you reading this, hope that you will listen!!!at least a little….at least sum kudos….

[seysei]

One of the many tragic aspects of Mikuni's character is that if he were to prevent the affair from happening, misono wouldn't be born.

With that being said, the reason why he would want to be misonos' father becomes simple. It's because that's the only way to prevent the affair from happening, and still make sure his little brother is born.

I mean, someone's gotta do it. (Im sorry lmao)

Im thinking he goes back in time, offers Hokaze to marry him to solve the money digging issue, meaning she wouldn't have to go after his father. Preventing the affair, preventing his mothers death & countless others, while also making sure misono still gets born eventually, except it's as his.. and Hokaze's son.

...yeah

And this might be the first time you'll find me not rooting for him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 5

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

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

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

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As the day winds down to close, you steel yourself for the inevitable. It doesn’t come. Laufeyson remains in his office as you pack up your bag. Your lunch is untouched. You’ll have that for dinner, though your appetite is fleeting. 

You shut down the computer and check that everything is tidy. You get up and approach the door. You linger there until five minutes after the hour. You go but cannot leave the dread behind. 

You get home and leave your bag at the door. You step out of the creaky heels and go to the couch which makes up the bulk of your furnishing. You sit in silence. Just like those days in your cell. The air crackles in your ears, buzzing through your skull. 

You’ve done worse for less. It’s more bitter now because you thought those days were behind you. No, you hoped they were. Whatever optimism you’d clung to is gone. You’re back where you started even if you’re on the other side of the walls. 

Your phone rings. You get up and dig it out of your bag. It’s Dina. You better answer. 

“Hello,” you stand by the door, an arm across your churning stomach. 

“Well, hello,” she trills in her pretentious way, “I’ve only had a rather long conversation with your employer.” 

You falter and uncurl your arm, placing your hand flat to the wall. You lean as your legs shake. After all that. You should’ve known better than to trust a snake like him. 

“He gave a shining review of your work,” she says. Your ears ring and you shake your head. You don’t believe it. You can hardly understand. “Punctual, attentive, thorough. I’m only just sending in your monthly report. The board will be happy.” 

“Oh,” you utter. “Right.” 

“They will be inclined to review your conditions. Granted you stay within them,” the edge returns to her churlish voice. “And who wouldn't be good for a man like that.” 

You frown. 

“Thank you,” you sniff. 

“Oh no, you be sure to thank Mr. Laufeyson. Had you another disappointing report, I think there may have been a bit of reversion. I hear the ankle monitors are not very comfortable,” she warns. You were lucky to avoid that at least. 

“Yes, Dina.” 

“Don’t lose sight of the end goal. We both know the rates. I’d hate to see you back in orange,” she chides. 

She hangs up. You’re happy she does before you can respond. Your lip curls as the grey humiliation blazes to white hot rage. You black the phone and drop it on top of your bag. It falls to the floor. You don’t give a fuck. 

You strip off your clothes as you head for the boxy bathroom. There’s not enough room for a tub, only a shower. All your time in lock up and you looked forward to that final soak. There was so much you wanted when you got out. As usual, you’re wrong. 

You stand under the stream of hot water until it turns cold. You don’t notice the difference. You get out and dry off. You pull on your green swears and a black shirt. You unfold the couch, the frame squeaking beneath the thin mattress. It’s as stiff as a bunk but bigger. 

Your phone goes off again. You want to scream. You want to break every single thing in this place, not that there’s much.  

You retrieve your phone from the floor. It’s him. Laufeyson. You hesitate but answer. You left without saying goodbye. Would he be unhappy? Hardly concerned. You won’t fool yourself. 

“You’re welcome, darling,” he begins the conversation as you put the phone to your ear. “Now, don’t think I can’t hear you huffing like some rabid dog. Speak.” 

You inhale and cross the apartment. You stand by the window. “Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

“I am not in the habit of lying. Especially for felons,” he slithers. 

“I understand, sir. I am... grateful.” 

“Are you? Because you sound rather angry.” 

“No, sir,” you counter. 

He snickers. You huff.  

“Oh, do not fear. I will assist you in refraining from your worst instincts. I have no doubt I will break you of those unseemly habits,” he tuts. “I will make a lady of you. Or a facsimile of one.” 

You grit your teeth. “Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.” 

He laughs again. 

“I shall allow you to get your reprieve for surely you will need your energy tomorrow,” he taunts. 

“Yes, sir.” You mutter.  

He only finds it amusing as he chuckles. “Good night, darling.” 

The line clicks. You squeeze the phone and spin. You hurl it at the wall and it pings off the corner. Fuck it all. 

You stomp to the mattress and fall onto your stomach. The frame jars you through the narrow cushion. You bury your face in your arms and growl. 

You’re a fuck up. You always have been, you always will be. You hear your mother’s voice; I told you so. 

💼

You walk into the office. You wouldn’t say you’re ready. You’re resigned. It’s a familiar feeling. It’s how you got through those years. Alone. 

Mr. Laufeyson sits at your desk, leaning back, one long leg crossed over the other, arms bent behind his head. His nonchalance is a bit too performative. You put the cortado before him. 

“Ah, like a well-trained dog,” he smirks. “Let us see what else you’ve learned.” 

He’s completely prepared and you are anything but. You put your hand on your bag and dig your nails into it. Your anger aches in your knuckles. 

“Let us see,” his eyes flick down, “did you attend to your work attire?” 

You stare at him. You slip your bag from your shoulder and place it next to your feet. You didn’t change anything. You were too paralysed to do much more than hate yourself. It’s better to do nothing than to fuck yourself any more than you already have. 

You pull up your skirt. He sighs. 

“Off,” he commands. 

You let the skirt fall slightly as you reach under it. He clicks his tongue. 

“Pull it up and take them off,” he orders. 

You swallow your disgusts. You roll the skirt above your waists and clutch it with one hand. With your other, you tug down each side of your panties. You step out of them. You ball them up and near him, holding out. 

He pinches the seam and pulls them free of your grasp. He unfurls them and turns them around. He runs his thumbs along the back of the panties. 

“This. None of that. You will not show up again unprepared. I haven’t the time for you to waste,” he reproaches. 

You drop your skirt. His green eyes flash but he says nothing. He tosses the panties in the bin and pushes himself out of the chair. 

“I pay you well, you will meet the standards I set,” he sneers. 

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.” 

He comes close and stares you down. He’s not as intimidating as Jenny who used to steal your shampoo. Not scary, but a problem nonetheless.  

“I’ve been told that employee appreciation is... important. You’ve made it this far so why don’t you book us in somewhere for lunch and I will show my...” his eyes skim up and down you. “Appreciation.” 

“Mr. Laufeyson.” 

He rolls his eyes and swipes up his coffee. He leaves you. You grab your bag and round the desk. You sit and tuck it beneath. You leave your cracked phone inside. Best not to get distracted. 

You login and get started. You go into the deleted folder and search out anything you can find. You don’t know many places for lunch that aren’t selling burgers for two bucks or pizza and wing combos. You don’t expect he’ll be pleased with that. 

There’s nothing in the inbox. You revert to the shared drive and review the receipts and cost reports. Several business lunches later. There’s a place he’s been to several times and written off. Well, that seems a safe choice. 

You don’t think you’re passing his test but you’re doing enough. You’ll never be good enough. He’s made that clear. It’s what he gets off on. 

As if you haven’t been through that before. He thinks that he’s the big bad. You’ve dealt with assholes your whole life. You just wanted to try not to become one. 

You make the reservation online under his name. That will feed the ego. You forward him the confirmation. No response. That’s perfect. 

You get to work. The stuff in your job description. Emails, filing, all that boring, safe stuff.  

Your Teams bings. He’ll have some gripe about the booking. You click on the chat. It’s a hyperlink. You click without thinking. 

The image of the lingerie surprises you. It shouldn’t, really. He’s not very subtle. 

It’s not really your style. You don’t have much of that. You wear what’s expected. Years of the same uniform every day made you less concerned about clothing. Coming out, you just tried to match what was normal. You could laugh at the teenage rebel in her band shirts and striped leggings. 

The style is much too refined. Too elegant. That ever-present sense of inadequacy grows suffocating. He’s winning. 

You’re not a lady. You’re never going to be like him. You’ll always be another cog in the machine. Just doing what needs to be done. Even after your through your probation, you’ll have that stain for life. 

You send a thumbs up. What else can you do or say? You’ll look for something like that. The thought of walking into a lingerie shop makes you shrink further. If it’s anything like the boutique, you’ll be lucky not to be chased out by security. 

There’s always online. 

Sigh. Back to work. Think of anything but that. But him. Not so easy when everything around here is stamped with his condescending touch. 

💼

Laufeyson struts out as he checks his watch. He clears his throat and you’re on your feet. He waves you ahead of him. 

“I would guess you haven’t a car?” He wonders as he locks the door. 

“No, Mr. Laufeyson.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” he sniffs. 

You’re patient and placid. You count up to ten and back down in your head. Let him say whatever he likes. Reacting is what got you into this. 

He strides ahead of you. You follow him outside and to his car. A sleek silver luxury sedan. You only get it as he buckles his seat belt. You will not presume. Especially with him. 

He turns the engine as you click the seat belt in. He checks his blind spots before he pulls out. He exhales heavily. 

He joins traffic and stretches his arm over to tap along the headrest behind you. His touch crawls along your hair and he extends his finger across your skull.

“It is a mess today,” he drones. “Come, let’s pass the time.” 

He wrenches you away from the seat. Your neck pangs with his strength. You grip the edge of the seat as you resist throwing a punch. 

You hold air in your chest and bend awkward between the seats. He shoves your head over his lap as you push the top of the seat belt behind you. You brace his leg as you twist awkwardly. 

You pick at his fly as your vision hazes. He’s already hard. You can’t help the shudder as it rolls through you. You take him out and stroke his length. Your jaw locks up and you take several breaths to loosen it. 

“You must sing for your supper,” he teases. 

You put your lips to his tip. Slowly, you open and slide down his length. You close your eyes and recede into yourself. Like you did when Shanna bashed your head into the top bunk. Everything after that was black. 

It’s not much different than that. Reality shifts and time whirs by. It all comes back in a sickening tide.

You choke as Laufeyson spurts down your throat and you pull off him with a cough, covering your mouth to catch the mess. Your spit is smeared down him and across your palm. Your face is wet with it, your tongue salty with his cum. 

You blink and look around. You don’t recognise this area. It’s far from the office. You’re shaken by the blip. 

“Darling,” he pets your head and lets you sit up. You gag as his cum gathers behind your tongue. 

You reach for the door and open it. You spit out onto the tarmac. There's a car right beside you, and to the other side of the car. You’re in a parking lot. The restaurant marquee greets you as you sit up. 

“Mm,” he tugs his pocket square free and wipes himself clean. You swallow down the dregs and drag your hand across your mouth. You check yourself in the side mirror. 

You’re silent as he gets out. You follow. You can only mirror him as the shock slakes away piece by piece. 

You enter the restaurant behind him. The hostess takes his name. It’s all a blur. 

As you’re led into the dining room, a squeal cuts through the din. 

“Loki!” A woman’s shrill cry stills your feet. Laufeyson stops and grumbles as you nearly hit his back. “Oh, what a surprise!” 

[waterfallofspace]

So, posting audio for the first time...!

Quite nervous bout this, so I'm pretty sure I won't leave it up, but I wanted to give it a try seeing as I'm feeling weirdly brave right now~~

[soupacool]

congrats on taking T and experiencing voice changes, that's so exciting!! 🥳🥳✨✨

thank you!!! it's been a period of intense learning of myself and my place in the world and I wouldn't trade it for anything

[no1ryomafan]

SRW is such a funny thing for me to think about cause it’s like “wow a trpg game that’s been ongoing for decades that really encapsulates how huge and significant mecha is to japan by having every and all mecha been featured in this giant crossover that also has really cool attack animations that replicate the shows they’re from well, with new original content for some shows sprinkled in as well” at first glance then I proceed to be salty by going “oh wait the main show I like in here is only ever used for one iteration which they end up butchering and all the other mechas I’ve liked have shown up maybe once because I’ve liked the ones that had to flop in Japan- also this game caused tags to be unnecessarily filled with crossovers and people acting like they know a series just because it was in SRW thanks I hate it” and this cycle is only a constant because I haven’t actually played a SRW besides 30s demo for a bit 💀