#there's probably pictures of me here but good fucking luck finding them

[kulvefaggoth]

Symbolically following in the footsteps of miquella by erasing any reflection of my physical form from public view

[g0dlyunsub]

for the night.

the flight back from a case gets delayed and the team’s forced to book rooms for the night. what a coincidence that you’re paired with spencer.

pairing :: s5!spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: fluff, flustered spencer, this is literally just an excuse to write about spencer with crutches

word count :: 1.7k

author’s note :: one of my favorite tropes asfdfafssfsd we all know where this is going right ;)

accompanying song :: let’s fall in love for the night by finneas

“i have to admit, i am quite surprised. engine failures are extremely rare — statistically, they only occur once every 1.4 million flight hours.”

“uh-huh, very interesting.” you roll your eyes, but the smile that tempts to play on your lips is too overpowering to withhold. 

“it is!” spencer excitedly flashes you a smile. “we’re actually incredibly lucky to avoid an in-flight shutdown, which typically happens once per million flight hours-”

“reid, i think our luck might be running dry here. it’s 1 a.m., the jet’s engines are acting up, and we can’t leave portland.”

you take both of his crutches in your hands with an exasperated sigh. it’s not his fault, and you know better than to project your annoyance at him, but the disappointment of not being able to enjoy a nice, hot shower in the walls of your home has you uptight.

with an apologetic smile, you extend your shoulder to spencer; slowly, he places his hand on you, and you help him carefully descend the jet’s stairs.

the two of you are the last to join the rest of the group on the ground, and hotch sends an acknowledging nod in your direction once he sees that you’ve been assisting spencer. 

“l/n, reid, you guys okay with rooming together for the night?”

the words don’t initially register, and it’s only until spencer speaks up that you realize hotch isn’t asking – he’s confirming.

“we’re rooming in pairs?”

hotch nods, and his sidelong stare roams over spencer’s face like he’s challenging him to continue, to contest his proposal.

“emily? jj?” you pipe up this time, sending a pleading glance at both of them. they look back at you with sheepish smiles. 

“it looked like you guys were having a really good conversation back there. didn’t want to disturb you,” emily returns, slowly raising her shoulders and mouthing sorry.

spencer clears his throat and leans into your ear. “i can probably book a room at another place-”

you widen your eyes and immediately shake your head. “no, that’s not necessary, i’m completely fine with it! unless you’re… not?”

this time, spencer’s the one shaking his head fervently. “oh no, i’m entirely comfortable, perfectly content, uh- sharing a room with you.”

you display an awkward grin. “alright then, perfect.”

—

“i’ll set your bag on the table, is that okay?”

“yeah, thanks a lot.”

you heave a sigh of relief as you close the door behind you and rest spencer’s bookbag on the wooden table. spencer slowly lowers himself into a chair, and you gently lean his crutches against the walls near the door. 

you’re pleasantly surprised by the room’s decor; its soft carpet floor and mahogany picture frames hanging from the walls easily exceed your expectations for a traditional hotel room.

you’re about to make a comment commending the room’s quality when your eyes zero in on a terrifying sight.

there’s only one bed.

you do a double take, circling around the bedroom once more to check if there’s an extra mattress lying around somewhere – at this point, you really wouldn’t mind if the bed has a trundle.

“fuck me.”

“what?” 

spencer’s eyes immediately divert to you, and he stifles his reaction to your comment with a hasty cough.

you point to the bed, which prompts spencer to crane his neck to get a better view. 

“there’s only one bed.”

spencer’s eyes widen, and his gaze snaps up to your face so fast you wonder if you’ve just made a grave mistake of telling him. 

he was bound to find out anyway.

“it’s okay, i’ll take-” you start, but he cuts you off short.

“the floor? not a chance.”

you press your lips together tightly and gesture to his leg. “please, take the bed. your leg… you’re injured.”

spencer looks down at the floor briefly, a light shade of pink spreading across his face. “no, we can… we can share the bed.”

you feel your cheeks grow hot at his suggestion, but a refusal fails to surface on your lips. 

moving your hands to your hips, you nod slowly. “only because you’re insisting,” you murmur.

a brief silence veils the air, and the two of you have utterly no idea what to do next — neither of you wants to be the one to crawl into bed first.

but the clock’s hour hand had just moved past the two, and you know your eyelids aren’t going to stay open for much longer.

with a weary sigh, you gesture towards the lightswitch. “do you mind if we dimmed the lights a little?”

spencer turns, almost hobbling on his leg, and flips the switch for you. the room turns dark almost instantly, but a faint light emanates from a lamp on the nightstand.

“are you, um, going to sleep soon?”

you hate to be the first one to bring it up, but you have to — you can practically feel the tiredness tempting you like a fuzzy blanket.

“uh yeah, we should sleep.” 

you watch as spencer grabs a pillow from his side of the bed and positions it near the edge of the mattress. you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he props himself onto the bed and rests his leg on top of the pillow, elevating his casted knee.

oh. as the realization hits you, you reach for your own pillow and gently place it next to his head. “here, use this.”

“that’s your pillow.” 

“i know.”

a soft chuckle sounds from his throat as spencer raises his head ever so slightly, allowing you to tuck the pillow beneath him.

“thanks,” he murmurs, and pats at the space next to him, urging you to join him on the bed.

once you’ve slipped your feet into the blanket, spencer stretches his arm to turn off the lamp and moves back to whisper a hushed good night into your ear.

you turn to say it back. “good n-”

his hand gently starts to wedge under your neck, and as he moves, strands of your hair coil around his fingers. 

he’s offering his arm as a pillow.

you lie frozen, your breath hitched in your throat, as his arm extends fully beneath you. 

“spence,” you exhale, caught off-guard by the sudden move.

“it’s okay. don’t worry about me,” he softly whispers, inclining his head towards your face.

you smile, though you doubt he can see your face in the pitch-black darkness. 

“sweet dreams,” you hum, and close your eyes to let sleep overtake you.

—

you wake up not to the sound of your alarm, not to the birds usually perched on the tree outside your window, but to the sound of spencer clearing his throat.

you think it’s a dream at first, but you can feel everything — the vibrations coming from his throat like he’s talking to you, his hands stroking a pattern on your back, his breaths tickling your hair.

you open your eyes to see spencer staring back at you with flustered cheeks, his eyes flickering back and forth between your face and… 

you follow his gaze and look down, only to see that your leg’s wrapped casually around his hips, anchoring him to the bed. with a panicked yelp, you immediately retract your leg and leap out of the bed, frantically apologizing to him over and over again.

“i’m so sorry about that, d-did i hurt you?”

your voice sounds scratchy from your parched throat, but how you sound right now is the least of your concerns.

spencer chuckles softly before slowly sitting up. “no, you didn’t do anything.”

you let out a relieved sigh at his response.

spencer grunts as he lifts himself up, tenderly listening to your continued apologies with a warm smile.

“by the way,” he starts, fixing his tie and reaching for his suit jacket, “we're a little late.”

“what?” you gasp, hurriedly tucking your dress shirt into your trousers, “fuck. how late?”

a pause, and then: “five minutes and twenty seconds.”

“oh my god,” you squeal as you fling your and spencer’s bag over your shoulders, “they’re probably all waiting for us.”

quickly turning the doorknob and making way for spencer’s crutches to move past the door, you rush to the elevator and hit the juddering call button.

“next time, you’re-“ you cough out as you try to catch your breath, “-you’re welcome to just push me off the bed. it’s guaranteed to wake me up instantly.”

spencer looks at you questioningly, a small grin spreading across his lips. “next time?”

you clasp a hand over your mouth. “wait no, i meant – hopefully we’ll never have to sleep in a room together ever again, but i’m saying in case-“

spencer tilts his head and lets out an amused laugh. thankfully, the elevator doors open just in time, and you’re spared the trouble of having to explain yourself further.

you bite your lips as the image of his lopsided grin lingers in the back of your mind, and the fresh regret of your words burns your face like a hot fever.

the embarrassment doesn’t end, however, as the doors open once again to reveal your team standing right outside. when the elevator’s chime echoes throughout the lobby, everyone’s heads turn to you and spencer.

you walk out with nervous steps, grimacing when hotch merely nods and announces that the plane is ready for takeoff. spencer makes his way over to derek, who tousles his hair teasingly.

“so, how’d you sleep last night?”

you freeze when rossi’s husky voice drifts into your ears.

you force out a smile. “i definitely could’ve slept better.”

“really?” he hums with a smirk, “i slept like a baby.”

“yeah, you upgraded your room, we get it, you’re rich,” you sigh, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the older agent.

once seated in your usual seat on the jet, you’re accompanied by spencer and morgan, who slump into their seats across from you.

you watch suspiciously as morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you and nudges his elbow into spencer’s sides. “so, late night, huh?”

spencer looks at you briefly, flushed cheeks failing to suppress the smile splaying across his face. 

“shut up.”

[thebluester2020]

[RE4] Kinktober Day 11: "In Heat"

Summary: Livestock guardians were rare enough, and training them was no easy feat either. But...being in a bind, you decided to take your chances and adopt one! Only, you weren't warned that his heats would be so...intense.

Warning(s): Perv!Reader (She watches Leon fuck his pillow), Yearning(Leon wishes to fuck the reader but doesn't), Dog!Hyrbid Leon, Whiny! Leon, Begging, Masturbation (Both on the reader's and Leon's side obv), Thigh-fucking, Leon low-key being a horn dog.

Side Note(s): Lol I was going to do Lycaon (again) from ZZZ but— the fact I haven't dedicated any Kinktober days to my favorite baddie Leon Kennedy yet is blasphemous, so here I am <33

Searching for a good livestock guardian dog was hard.

Costs aside, training them and getting them used to the farm animals was no easy task. It took a lot of patience and practice over the years and even then? The dog wasn't promised to be absolutely perfect! In hindsight though, you knew you should've been on the lookout the second you had begun buying the necessary resources for your farm. After all, it seemed like just yesterday when you were still waiting for your house to be built, and now? You were only a month away from moving!

The clock was ticking, you needed a guardian dog and you needed one now. No training required.

Which was how you ended up where you are today, at a dog hybrid adoption center, located in the center of your small town. It was a homey place, plenty of space for the hybrids to wander around, and even a dedicated meeting area for them and their potential owners to get to know one another. At first, you felt almost...strange, for considering a hybrid for your farm.

They were called "hybrids" for a reason. They were human but...with animal features and some tendencies here and there, you probably wouldn't even have been here today if your friend hadn't convinced you to at least check it out and so far? You were having no more luck than you were shopping the market for a traditional dog.

"Do you have any hybrids that are good with livestock? Guarding, maybe?" You asked the front desk worker after another conversation with a hybrid cut short.

You weren't searching for a puppy, they had too much energy and you were certain that wouldn't bode well with the animals! An older dog would have been preferable. "Still no luck?" The woman said with an apologetic smile as she searched through the system.

You shook your head with a sigh. "I'm moving in a month, I want to hopefully find a dog today and bring him home soon so I can get him or her used to me."

The woman didn't respond for a beat or two, her eyes narrowed in focus as she searched and searched...until her eyes brightened and she turned the computer screen towards you. "Leon may be a good fit for you! His background is in government, very calm and dependable." As you looked at the picture, you were shocked that no one had picked him yet. good traits aside, he was handsome and you knew that there was a market for people who preferred to use their hybrids for lovers rather than pets.

Not that you planned to use him in that way of course.

"Is he available to talk now?" You asked.

"He will be tomorrow! We try to give our shyer residents more time to know when they want to be spoken to."

You nodded your head in understanding as the worker passed you a few documents to sign as well as choosing a time when you wanted to talk. You suddenly felt nervous, intimidated even! When you looked at Leon Kennedy's profile, he appeared dangerous and you weren't just talking about the deadly scowl on his face nor the fact that he was a Malinois hybrid. His eyes were a deep baby blue, combined with his dirty blonde hair and his hardened features as well as his muscular frame.

You weren't able to deny that he was handsome.

But...you could worry about keeping your mind out of the gutter once you talked with him.

. . .

The next day came by quick. The second you woke up, you were already getting ready to meet with your potential hybrid and you wanted to make a good first impression! You donned a cute but professional style and even took the time to bring gifts as well as had photos of your current apartment and new home already saved to your phone. You wanted to make sure all your cards lined up to having Leon accept you as his owner.

And...you thought you were doing good so far, hopefully. As you currently sat in front of him, his expression was unreadable as his eyes flicked from the photos of your home that you had given him as well as the treat basket you brought along with you.

"You want me as a livestock guardian?" He questioned.

"Yes!" You chirped. "The animals aren't there yet but they will be pretty soon, about a week or two after I move in."

When he didn't respond, you added on a question. "Are you...good with livestock?"

He slowly nodded his head. "I can learn, it can't be any harder than guarding people."

"Your profile mentioned you were in the government. What did you do?"

"Classified missions." He curtly responded.

"...Like?"

He scoffed at your pushiness. "The word classified is there for a reason."

"Seeing as you're still so loyal, you must've been a good one." You complimented. You tried to withhold a chuckle at the sound of Leon's tail thumping against his chair. "Why did you leave?"

"I—" You tilted your head when he paused, the sight of his cheeks beginning to tint pink a little also making your suspicions go up before his shoulders eventually slumped and he sighed. "It's not important, I was simply no longer fit for the missions they were assigning me." His ears flattened at the memory of him being dismissed. For the last few years since that day, he tried to convince himself that it was for the best but...he was used to being active, constantly on the move and doing things. Trading that lifestyle for a quiet and inactive one here in the shelter?

Although the place was nice, it wasn't for him!

Life on a farm could give him some movement, some purpose again.

"Well, I think you'll be a perfect fit for my farm! If you want to actually come with me that is."

Leon looked you up and down, you appeared hard-working and stern. But kind and gentle, it also helped that you were a pretty thing to look at. After being in the government for so long, so many missions where he'd seen the most unimaginable horrors that no normal person should ever see...it was nice to know that he'd be able to look at you all day, working for you.

So, he nodded his head, his tail once again beginning to wag at the sight of your smile.

You grinned. "We'll get along just fine, you and me!"

. . .

And get along fine, the both of you did.

It turns out that there was a reason why Leon wasn't adopted. His ruts were insatiable.

A week after adopting him, you and he had spent the entire time decorating the room you had dedicated to him! You had learned that before he worked for the government, he used to be a guard cop (the puppy photos he had shown you were absolutely adorable might you add) and he was a fan of old-school music groups. You had struck gold with him, you thought. He was a hard worker and was relatively quiet! Although his jokes were a little dry and he had so many cop one-liners that you couldn't even begin to count them all.

You liked Leon.

And that like towards him...you wouldn't deny that it began to inch towards a more romantic direction, especially after what you were currently witnessing tonight.

"F-Fuck..." Through the crack of Leon's door, he was currently rutting against his pillow feverishly. It was bunched up underneath him, his claws threatening to tear the sheets underneath him with how hard he was rutting his dick back and forth on the pillow.

You should've turned away, you should've ignored that ache that started to build up in the pit of your stomach. It was inappropriate of you to watch him like some type of pervert! And you almost did until...you heard your name. "Y-Y/N..." Leon panted out, you could see the light of the moon shine on the hint of drool that began to dribble out the side of his mouth. He sucked in his bottom lip as he threw his head back with a low growl. "Fucking cute owner..." He whined. "I-If only you would help me..." His words were so whispered that you almost missed it.

The ache in your panties was growing near unbearable, and even as every rational part of your brain told you to keep your hand away from your throbbing clit, to go back to bed and act like you hadn't seen or heard anything. You continued to stay, soon clasping a hand around your mouth in order to withhold the moan that threatened to escape from your lips. Especially as your fingers began to circle around your clit, the aching growing more and more by the second as you continued to listen in on Leon's moans.

"Fucking hell—" Suddenly Leon pushed the pillow away from him before he sat on the bed, his hand quickly rushing to his cock as he started to fist his length, the slick sounds of his hand moving along his cock aiding in your own masturbation as you began to finger yourself to the pace of his hand movements.

And in the process, you imagined what his cock would feel like inside your sex. You imagined the veins along his cock rubbing against your inner walls, the sound of his rough growls against your ear whilst the lewd sounds of his pelvis meeting your ass rang throughout the air. "Y' like that owner?" You heard Leon mutter to himself before his curses steadily turned into moans.

You could tell he was close by the way he began to buck into his own hand, causing you to speed up your own ministrations as it quickly became a struggle to withhold your moans. Until a squeak accidentally escaped your lips, and Leon's ear flicked to the door before his pants began to slowly come to a stop.

Yet his hand didn't. "Naughty girl..." Leon said in your direction.

You quickly tore your hand from your underwear with a gasp, but before you could walk away. Leon stopped you with a sharp growl. "Leaving so soon after watching me fuck my own hand? And while you were flicking your clit." He snapped. "Get in here and help me out!" He ordered.

You hesitated for another moment or two before you slowly inched the door open with an embarrassed blush on your face. However, your hybrid had little concern for your embarrassment at the moment before he suddenly rose to his feet and grabbed ahold of your arm, and forced you to sit on the bed. His eyes were trained on you as he then pushed you gently to lay on your back whilst he lifted your legs.

You softly moaned at the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your ass briefly before he took your chin into his hand. "...Can I?"

You heard the desperation in his voice and how hard he was trying to reel it in. "I just wanna fuck your thighs, promise. Nothing else, just that." He assured you, his hips unconsciously bucking against the back of your thighs. And the second you nodded your head "yes", he let out a deep moan when he finally pushed himself between your plush thighs. "Been thinkin' 'bout this for a week..." He began to babble.

"You and this sexy body," He moaned. "Made my rut come early..." You whined when his hand began to feel up and down your body, all before his hand began to rub at your clit. "Clearly you've been thinkin' about me too, huh?"

You nodded shamelessly. "T-Tried not to..." You admitted with a whisper. "Didn't—oh...—want to make you uncomfortable..."

"With having a slutty owner who likes the idea of her personal dog fucking her needy cunt? Oh no baby, quite the opposite..." Then he leaned down to press his soft lips against your own, the feeling of your lips on his own after so many previous nights of imagining them on his cock...he couldn't help but begin to fuck your thighs with more fervor. "Couldn't get you out of my mind." He mumbled against your lips.

Leon's other large hand then left your waist to begin fondling your breasts, taking more care to give one of them more attention than the other as he began to flick your nipple. Leon's body was practically molding with your own body as he continued to kiss you, his technique becoming more sloppy along with his thrusts. "C-Close..." He whispered, tearing his lips from your own when you lightly smacked him for air.

You moaned. "M-Me too." You responded, a needy whine leaving your lips when he began to speed up his rapid flicking of your clit. Your increased moans and whines were going straight to his cock, nothing but lust and adoration for you as both his owner and the woman he now wanted to breed coursing through his veins as he felt your pussy twitch as his cock rubbed against it. "Cumming!" You just barely managed to get out before your eyes slammed shut and your mouth opened in a silent scream.

Leon wasn't too far behind as a string of curses fell from his lips, his hips bucking against your ass a few more times before he stilled and you felt strings of his hot cum shoot out and onto your stomach and chest. The two of you breathed heavily, the lust in the air hot and unignorable as you both came down from your highs. With a shakey moan, however, Leon slipped from your thighs as he looked over you.

Already he could feel himself getting hard. Something that you quickly took notice of. "A-Already...?" You said tiredly.

He nodded his head, his tail beginning to wag eagerly as he gently began to part your legs. "You're the reason why my rut started early...take responsibility."

It seemed you were in for an even longer night further taking care of your new hybrid...

[minkyungseokie]

Private, But Not Secret | Max Verstappen

synopsis; max is in a relationship with a pilot who, despite being popular on the internet, likes to keep their relationship as private as she could

warnings; none

note; requested

note2; I don't think I'm as funny as anyone else who make smaus. I have the sense of humor as a bag of dirt. I tried and I hope you all enjoy this enough to keep requesting. I also did not know how to do a private, but secret romance, so take whatever tf this is

fc; any random woman I find on pintrest

Come Talk to Me

Autosports Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Max Masterlist

pilotynv posted a photo!

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liked by maxverstappen1, nyckdevries, landnorris, and 2,786,231 others

pilotynv A day in the life

tagged: pilotfriend1, pilotfriend2, pilotfriend3, maxverstappen1

dadlicker MAX CRUMBS!! I REPEAT, MAX CRUMBS!! ⤷ubertomywip First of all, your name 💀 second of all, what ⤷dadlicker Y/n doesn't really post Max ⤷Userdd Because they want to keep the relationship as private as possible

maxverstappen1 ❤️ ♥ by author ⤷pilotynv ❤️

danielriccardo I'm so glad you got that picture ⤷pilotynv You were there and you sent me the picture, dumbass ⤷danielriccardo I did? I must've been so drunk

Duign-23r Why is this bitch so fucking rude? ⤷pilotynv Rude how? I'm interacting with a friend. You would know friendly banter if you had friends ⤷User4 GAGGED

landonorris I didn’t know those windows opened

maxverstappen1 posted a photo!

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maxverstappen1 Simply lovely. Thank you to our orange army in Bahrain for coming out and supporting us. Next stop Saudi Arabia ➡️ 🇸🇦

drillarkillar Simply lovely, my ass. When are you going to stop winning? You're ruining the sport 😒 ⤷ alliseearesainz @drillarkillar Fr, like, let other people win ⤷ hj219 @drillarkillar You DTS crybabies are what's ruining the sport

tututtutmaxverstappen My 2023 world champion!

masterbaiter give us Y/n content 🗣️🗣️🗣️

meirfyct See you in Saudi!

hamburgerler The 2023, 2024, and 2025 world champ

pilotynv You did amazing, my love. It was amazing seeing you in your element ❤️ ♥ by author ⤷maxverstappen1 @pilotynv ❤️

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pilotynv Flew us to a remote getaway in Greece

tagged: maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1 ❤️ ♥ by author

gaggingballa she😭 flew 😭 them 😭 there 😭

lalalalisa_m that pizza looks so good! We should visit togther sometime ♥ by author ⤷pilotynv @lalalalisa_m Girl, I'd probably ne flying the plane you take here 😭 ⤷8bobbit0 @lalalalisa_m ariana, what are you doing here?

ariangrande Those pizzas look amazing ⤷arialandomis @arianagrande ARIANA?! ⤷greenblattbanner @arianagrande I knew Y/n was popular, but not that popular

pilotynv added to their story

replies

username omg max! He looks so good

Jossleftpinkietoe More Max pls!

Ynsimp His smile is so cute

landonorris Tell Max his face looks weird

Fuck off- Max

danielricciardo next time, take me and Heidi with you

Bet. I'll fly us all there again

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pilotynv decided to watch a race for once since I'm off

tagged: maxverstappen1

urethka here before Max

lugunam The hand holding in the car is so cute

Taggedidj We stan a supportive queen

Fashionicosn She looks so good

Bootlicker GOOD LUCK, MAXIE

pilotynv added to their story

Honestly, I as struggling a bit with this one. I don't know how to make a smau about a private, but not secret relationship lol. Anyway, feel free to request more smaus or written fics

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Poems

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: dean searches your room when you’re missing, and the love letters he finds break his heart

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 1.9k (1.5k excluding poems) 

warnings: reader goes/is missing, language, 

author’s note: please don’t make fun of my “poetry”, i know it’s not good that’s why i don't write poems lol

“Hey Dean, I’m working a case near Wichita so I’ll probably be back home by the end of the week. See you soon, bye.”

“That’s the last I heard from her,” Dean told his brother after playing him the message you left. “It’s been over a week, I’m gettin’ worried here!”

“Do you know what kinda case she was working?” Sam asked, Dean shook his head. “Okay, well I’m sure she’s fine, Dean. Let’s call the hospitals around where she is and ask if she’s there.”

“You do that, I’m gonna head to Wichita,” Dean replied.

“I think we should call the hospitals first, Dean. She said she was near Wichita, she could be anywhere from here to there!”

Dean sighed but agreed with Sam’s plan.

**

The boys had no luck with any of the hospitals so they decided to head over to Wichita and look for you. They searched for a few days before heading back to the bunker, hoping you might be there waiting for them. You weren’t, of course, and that only made their worry grow.

You’d been missing for nearly two weeks!  

Dean thought there might be some kind of clue in your room and decided that searching it was next on his to-do list. Though he knew he was grasping at straws, he did it anyway.

Opening the door to your room, he smiled at the poster near your bed. It was the one he’d gotten you for Christmas last year. It was a kind of gag gift—it was his favorite band. (His real gift had been much more thoughtful.)

He began his search at your desk, digging through the mess of papers splayed out on the wood surface. His brows furrowed when he found one paper in particular. It looked like… a love poem?

The way your hair looks in the morning

The way your laugh adds life to moments boring

The way your breath hits my neck when you’re standing just behind me

Reaching over to grab something off the table

A lore book, of all things to be

And the way your eyes light up when you look into mine

I swear I almost see a hint of love

Behind those piercing starlights

Your lips on mine is what I need

Did you hear me? 

I said kiss me, you fool!

We’ve not got much time

In this line of life 

And I need you at my side.

Dean didn’t know if the poem would be considered “good” in the public eye, but he knew it made his heart clench. You were in love? But… with whom?

To him, the words were beautiful, and the thought that you wrote them about someone else broke his fucking heart. He knew there were no clues to your whereabouts in the next poem, but of course, he read it anyway.

I think of you when I drive and spot a classic car

I think of you when I eat a cheeseburger 

And I’ll turn it upside down when I’m missing you

I think of you when I hear a Zepplin song

And I turn the music up when I’m not with you

I think of you when I see anyone wear flannel

Or a leather jacket that’s clearly a size or two too big

And I love to think of you

It just makes sense to me

I love to picture you beside me

At night when I can’t sleep

Or when I get scared of what I’m facing

I think of what you would do

Day or night

Night, day, or noon 

I always think of you

Whoever this mystery person was, they were fucking lucky. Dean had never felt so jealous in his entire life. He always thought you two had a “will they won’t they” side to your relationship but at that moment he realized it was completely one-sided. The fun, flirty side to all your late-night conversations had just been friendly. Two friends playfully talking as if they both wanted to be more.

Of course Dean wanted to be more. Of course he knew he wanted to be with you. But now? Now he knew he’d either missed his chance or he simply never had one.

You were in love with someone that wasn’t him. And the love you’d been writing about wasn’t the kind someone gets over. It’s the kind that sticks—for life. The kind that people write songs about, the kind that people fight wars over, and the kind that makes people go crazy in the best way. 

He knew he’d found that love when he first fell for you, but it turned out you had found that love in someone else.

“Anything?” Sam asked, walking into your room.

“Uhm,” Dean cleared his throat, hoping his eyes didn’t look as cloudy as they felt. “No, nothing important. Just some love letters or something.” 

Sam furrowed his brows and picked up one of the poems off the desk, one that Dean had not read yet. As the taller Winchester read what you wrote his eyes grew wide, practically popping out of his head as his mouth fell open.

“Oh my fucking god!” Sam exclaimed. “Y/n’s in love with you?” He looked at his older brother in shock.

“Me? No, these poems are about whoever she’s been seeing recently, they aren’t about me. We’re just friends.”

“You haven’t read this one yet, have you?” Sam asked with a small smile before handing it over.

You asked me today; “what’s your favorite color?”

And I just shrugged; “I don’t know, blue?”

Cause how could I have said the truth?

The color I love most in the world

The color that brings me nothing but joy

In this sad, awful little life

Is the green and hazel of your eyes

The emerald diamonds that shine

When you look into the sun

The soft hazel that looks over at me

When we’re reading in the library

How can I tell you all of this 

When the question is so simple and plain

How do I go into such specific detail

About the color I’m in love with

Without freaking you out

Or scaring you away

Or making you laugh at me

Because I know your favorite color 

And I know it’s not the color of my eyes

“You…You think this is really about me?” Dean asked his little brother, hoping Sam was right.

“Dean in all my life I have never seen anyone but you eat a burger bun-side-down,” Sam chuckled a little having read one of the poems Dean had read earlier.

“Oh my god.” Dean furrowed his brows, looking back down at the paper in his hands. “We’ve gotta find her, Sammy, I gotta tell her!”

“Tell her that you went through her stuff while she was gone? Don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“No! Tell her I’m in love with her! Tell her that the color of her eyes is my favorite fucking color too! And every time her favorite band comes on the radio I turn it up, and every time I see a woman wearing her type of clothes I think about her. Tell her that all I do every waking moment of every day is wish I was with her, wish I was holding her in my arms so I could never let go.”

“I think you just told her.” Sam smiled, nodding to where you now stood at your door. Dean turned around quickly. Tears of joy stung your eyes as you looked at him and smiled.

“You love me?” you asked.

“More than anything,” Dean admitted as he hurried to you. He wrapped you in a tight hug, kissing your temple quickly before he tucked your head under his chin. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call, it’s a long story,” you mumbled. “When vampires ban together with twisted humans, they’re a lot harder to kill.”

“We were really worried about you,” Dean admitted. “Like…fucking terrified.”

“Is that why you decided to dig through my personal shit?” you asked. You were one hundred percent kidding, but Dean was still nervous.

“Yeah…sorry,” Sam cringe-clenched his teeth, “it was my fault.”

You and Dean pulled back from the hug, but you took his hand in yours as you narrowed your gaze at the younger hunter.

“I know your tell, Sammy,” you said. “But it’s sweet that you’re trying to cover for Dean.” 

“Yep, all Dean’s fault,” Sam admitted before heading for the door, giving his brother a pat on the shoulder on his way out. “Good luck.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, I swear,” Dean told you quickly. “I was looking for something that might tell me where the hell you were.”

“How many did you read?” you asked.

“Three,” Dean sighed, still thinking you were pissed at him.

“So…you know, then? That I’m hopelessly in love with you? And you think I’d be mad at you for looking through my stuff?”

“I mean, I know you value your privacy.”

“Dean,” you started, putting a hand on his cheek and turning his face to look down at you, “would you please just fuckin’ kiss me already?”

He seemed almost surprised by your question but he quickly smiled as he bent down and kissed you. His one hand stayed clasped in yours while his other went to your waist and then trailed to your lower back. The hand you had on his cheek went to the upper back of his neck so you could tangle your fingers in his hair. The smiles on both of your faces only grew before you both pulled away.

“Wow, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Dean mumbled before he let out a short, breathy laugh.

“Me too,” you replied. 

**

You’d been back home for a few days now and you had explained the whole missing situation to the brothers. You told them how the simple vampire hunt turned sour quickly when you realized the small-town’s sheriff was in on it and helped the vamps with making humans just disappear. They’d made you as a hunter instantly and held you hostage for a few days before you killed your way out. 

Dean never left your side so when he saw a new poem on your desk his brows furrowed. Curiosity got the better of him as he sat down to read it.

My god aren't I lucky

Now that you're holding me at night

And that first time we kissed in the doorway

I could’ve sworn I was kissing pure sunshine 

When your lips hit mine it was better

Then I could’ve ever imagined

And the love poems I've written became

Manifested words of affirmation

The butterflies in my stomach fluttered

And the blood rushed to my head

Think I could stay like this forever

Won't overthink it, I’ll just go and kiss you instead

“Well, well, well.” You came up behind him, and put your hands on his shoulders before you trailed them down and clasped them together over his chest, leaning your chin on his shoulder and kissing his cheek. “Look who’s digging through my shit again.” You smiled against his skin. He turned his head and placed a deep kiss on your lips.

“I’m not even sorry this time, because I think this might be the best thing I’ve ever read.”

“I love you,” you said and kissed him again.

“I love you so fuckin’ much,” he mumbled back.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Eccentricities

Yandere! Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Dark Themes, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Yandere!Miguel is a warning on his own, spying, peeping, camera use, masturbation (m)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Enjoy my brain rot I now infect you all I'm so sorry it took me so long to finish

Taglist: @vineberries9 @irmiki @autismsupermusicalassassin @obi-mom-kenobi @rin-matsuoka345-blog @loosecan @6thhokageswife @selarus @heyohalie @sapphire-and-ruby @night-spectrum @famouscattale @thespaceinbetweennothing @lazy-idate @toshimoshiko @saharadesertaj @flaps200 @amelialysm @fried-milkfish @zaunsin

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Pt. 1

You weren't sure if it was your luck, or your resume that landed you probably the easiest, most well-paying job you've ever worked. But man, were you glad whatever did get it, got it for you.

Little did you know, it was neither.

The truth is... your boss, Miguel O'Hara, noticed when you emailed it to him. Something about the pictures attached stirred something up inside him.

Maybe it was the soft, Mona Lisa-like smile in your photos, or maybe it was something else entirely. He himself didn't know it, the reason why you immediately piqued his interest.

Sure, he's hired female employees before, one or two housekeepers. They were always buxom girls looking for the whole "boss having sex with his hot maid" cliché. One even tried to trick him with a false pregnancy test, just for him to call her out with a body scan right then and there.

And yeah... he almost always wound up fucking them. But that was it. They were good, warm holes to fuck, that was all. Fuck them until he got bored with them, and toss them out; that's what he would do.

Hell, some of them weren't even good fucks... He'd had better sex from random women he brought home from clubs.

Thank god for non-disclosure contracts.

But you... He had a feeling you would last longer than all of them. There was something about you.

And whatever it was, when he met you for the first time in person in that tiny café, was absolutely intoxicating. Your scent, your voice, the way your eyelashes batted your cheeks, even the shy shuffle of one foot behind the other as you spoke with him.

He could already imagine himself splitting you open with his cock, right then and there. Making you gasp, and scream and writhe and beg him to show some mercy at how he would pummel that sweet little cunt of yours; showing everyone there that you now belonged to him.

But patience is a virtue, and good things come to those who wait.

And Miguel O'Hara always got what he wanted, in the end.

It was just a matter of waiting.

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"I just have to say that, I... It's very generous of you to offer me a room to stay in, Mr O'Hara." You say as he leads you down the hall.

"I really can't thank you enough."

He sucked in an imperceptible breath at your little smile and twinkling eyes as you rocked your head back to look up at him and meet his red-brown ones.

He flashed a smile, charming. His teeth were crooked in some places, but for some reason it put you a bit at ease. Despite his sheer size, Miguel looked... Normal. Drop dead gorgeous "normal", but still. It made him... more relatable to know someone like him wouldn't immediately run to a dentist to fix his teeth to project an image of perfection. That he wouldn't give in to vain appearances.

"Of course. You don't have to thank me at all." He said, leading you down the hall of his impossibly large house--no, mansion--to where you would be living.

"All my previous maids have been given their own spaces to live in, it's easier on them so they don't have to worry about arriving late, or paying for taxis or finding their own ways to work." He replied casually.

"Oh, actually, I'm curious about that. I haven't seen other staff around here, why is that?" You chirp innocently.

"Ah, well..." He said, giving a strained smile. He had to think of something. Fast. He couldn't possibly tell you the real reasons why. Maybe.

Yet.

"They simply didn't work out. Many of them didn't follow direction well and were constantly challenging my authority."

You frown, your brows furrowed. "Okay, arguing with your boss sounds kind of... Dumb."

"Indeed." He chuckled, his voice a deep timbre that you swear sent shivers right through your very bones.

"And as for why you are currently my own employee? Well. I do like my privacy." He tells you.

God, the smell of your perfume and the way your lips sparkled from that lip gloss...

"Ahem. Technically, the only other person you'll be seeing is Lyla."

"Lyla?" You echoed.

"Yes. She's my... assistant. Artificial intelligence. Don't let her snark fool you, she's not so bad once you get to know her." He smirked.

He could hear your pulse quicken whenever he smiled.

"Oh! An AI? I've... I've never actually met one. Like a literal one, not the ones they program into taxis..."

"No, she's far more sophisticated than that. Expertly programmed by me, smart... And of course there's the sense of humor, I don't know where she got that... But she won't bother you often." He assured you.

"Oh! Of course..."

"Now, here's your room." He gave you a grin over his shoulder as he reached for the control panel of the double doors. He could hear your heart pitter patter already.

The doors opened with a dramatic whoosh, and Miguel stepped aside for you to walk in.

He felt a smug sense of pride at your shock of the huge room he'd given you for your own personal space, and how you'd murmured that it was larger than your whole apartment.

Luxuriously furnished, it looked more like some kind of... Of ten-star hotel room or something!

The way your eyes sparkled and your mouth parted in a soft, excited smile. Everything about you had his heightened senses on alert, but not in a bad way.

You looked so soft. So delicious. Something about you made him want to devour you, bit by tiny bit.

"Mr. O'Hara, I... Oh I can't thank you enough! This is..."

"I'll leave you to it." He chuckled, giving a wave as he walked past you back out into the hall.

Pausing in the doorway, he gave you one last look.

"And you can call me Miguel... Pequeña ave."

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He simply couldn't wait and had to violently suppress the urge to drop to all fours and leap like an animal to his office and check the well-hidden, practically invisible cameras he had planted in your room and bathroom.

The moment he entered his office, he locked the door and turned Lyla's access to the room off to leave him to his privacy in case she called him.

Miguel felt a buzzing beneath his skin at the thought of what you could possibly do once you've fallen into a sense of safety and privacy, especially since he'd given you permission to have a few days to become acclimated to your new environment before you had to start work.

He sat on his chair and immediately opened up the files on his monitor, selecting the camera feeds until holograms of you at various angles were projected for him to see.

He watched intently as you unpacked your clothes, placing them in the large ornate dresser.

He already made a mental note to hire movers to bring the rest of your meager belongings to his house.

Yes. Yes.

You would stay.

For as long as he wanted you. And right now he could see himself wanting you for a very, very long time.

The moment you flopped on the bed, your breasts jiggling so beautifully to him, the cute look of surprise as you sunk so deep into the downy mattress before settling in with a relaxed groan that sounded so pornographic to his ears it sent blood rushing straight to his dick.

He leaned back, running his tongue over his fangs as he continued to watch you unwind and unpack, careful not to prick the sensitive muscle on the sharp bone.

He watched you pull a small black box out of one of your suitcases and hastily move to hide it beneath your clothes in your dresser.

Bottom row, far left side, all the way to the back. He made a mental note to inspect that drawer later.

Miguel leaned in towards the projections and tapped the one of you nearest to your new closet as you slipped your blouse off and down your shoulders, revealing your back and the straps of your bra.

The leather creaked under his weight as he shifted, switching the angle to the one directly above the closet, facing down, getting a full downward view of your breasts.

He groaned and reached down to palm at his cock that throbbed in his trousers, stroking the clothed flesh in languid motions, vein beating relentlessly along the length.

He let out a guttural groan when you bent over, slipping your shoes off and placing them on the rack within the closet.

He switched angles as you bent over again and pulled your pants off, revealing your cute ass peeking out from the cotton, cherry-print panties you wore.

He ripped his trousers down to his thighs and fisted his cock in his large hand. He was disappointed you didn't notice he went without boxers today, or maybe you had but were too shy to look.

You were putting on quite the show.

Surely, you couldn't be this naive, right? So innocent? You couldn't just believe some rich man would let you, a cute, sexy little thing live in his house without planting cameras in your room and bathroom?

You must know. You must simply know, and that is why you are sashaying your hips this way and that as you dump your clothes into the laundry bin and grab the vinyl bag containing your hygiene products.

He used his thumb to smear the stream of precum leaking viscously from the head of his cock, groaning as he switched the feed to your bathroom cameras.

He watched you place your pads and tampons in one of the drawers of the vanity, organize your oral hygiene products next to the sink. He studied each bottle of vitamins you placed, his eyes picking up the words "prenatal" on one.

He dropped his head back with a groan and rolled his hips, languidly stroking his dick as his eyes rolled back.

Prenatals. You weren't pregnant, he'd be able to smell it if you were. But already the thought of fucking you full of his cum played in his mind.

His head snapped up when he heard the shower turn on and he frantically switched the feed to the shower cam.

He watched and listened as you hummed a little song to yourself, giggling at the rainfall-like streams that filled the stall.

The way your lips parted and you made that little "oooh" sound had him wondering how you'd sound when he fucked you so hard your eyes crossed.

He began to pump his fist harder, the rivulets of precum giving him ample lubrication to stroke himself.

He ran a hand through his hair as he panted, watching you as you slowly slip your bra off and toss it to the floor, along with your panties.

His hand smashed the control after to change the camera to one that had a better angle of you.

He made a sound that was almost a whimper as you closed the stall door, stepping under the steamy water with a happy and content sigh.

Miguel bit at his bottom lip, fangs threatening to prick the plush skin.

Everything about you was cute and sexy, even that cute little patch of hair between your legs, cut into the shape of a heart.

The thought of lasering that hair off and replacing it with a permanent tattoo of his spider symbol... His own little brand...

He moaned loudly into the dark of his office, feeling his balls draw taut as his orgasm got closer.

Your hands lathered in shampoo, you started scrubbing your hair, your flesh jiggling deliciously as you rinse it out, nails scratching at your scalp.

He wondered what you'd do if he pulled your hair, what sounds you'd make.

He wondered how you'd do if he pulled your hair and made you choke on his cock.

"Mierda!" He hissed, pinching the base of his cock in an effort to stave off his orgasm.

Miguel continued to watch, giving himself teasing strokes as you conditioned your hair right after.

His fist pumped harder and faster when you began soaping up your hands to scrub your skin, cupping your breasts and brushing over your hard nipples.

His breathing was so fast he was practically hyperventilating, the tip of his cock leaking more and more, the length of it throbbing and twitching as you washed the soap off.

When you slipped your hands between your legs to clean yourself there, all Miguel could do was moan pornographically, grabbing at his balls and stroking his cock as he arched his hips off his chair, his thick ropes of cum painting his fingers and dripping down to his palm, splattering a part of his leg and the underside of his desk.

He dropped down, sighing as the buzz of his orgasm slowly faded.

He cut the feed to your room.

And in the dark, bright, ruby-red eyes opened and a fanged smile bloomed.

He was going to enjoy making you his.

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Pt. 2: Link

[myosotisa]

Hiding Lately - s.h. & e.m.

Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington

‖  summary: You've been hurting and hiding. Steve and Eddie come over to check on you and offer to help.

‖  tags: hurt/comfort. depictions of depression, a depressive episode, and anxiety. suicidal ideations. she/her pronouns, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart, baby, angel, and doll. could be read as platonic or romantic.

‖  word count: 2.1k

The knock on your apartment door had never felt more damning than it did in that moment.

A knock on the front door was always a nightmare for someone who struggled with their mental health but that was on good days. Today, a knock on the door was definitely not something you were prepared to handle.

So you ignored it. Pulled your covers even further up over your head and hoped that whoever it was would just go away.

No such luck.

You hear the muffled sound of the deadbolt turning and then the seal of the door breaking as it inches open. “Hellooooo?” Is the familiar echo out into the empty space of your place. “Anybody home?”

“She’s gotta be here, her car is out front.”

Fuck it’s both of them. Every hope you had of just hiding and Eddie leaving got thrown out the window the moment you heard Steve was with him. On their own, either might be disheartened by no response – decide they were invading your privacy and leave before venturing too far inside.

Together, encouraging each other, it’s only a matter of minutes before they knock at your bedroom door.

Your pigsty of a bedroom that is covered in dirty clothes and dishes and probably smells weird and they can’t see–

“Don’t come in,” you rasp from your bed, voice tired from disuse as you break your silence for the first time in who knows how long.

“Sweetheart, where have you been?” Steve’s voice comes through the door, obviously right outside it. “We've been calling and calling for days.”

“I… I’ve been sick.”

“Sick? Why didn’t you say something, angel? Could’ve brought you some soup or something,” Eddie adds, sounding concerned. You can clearly picture the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Eyes closing from their stare at the ceiling, you take a deep breath to force down the sickness that is threatening to rise with every lie that leaves your mouth. “I’m contagious. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“Oh, come on. We’re big strong men, right Harrington? We can fend off a little stomach bug, no problem.”

“Super human immune system, baby,” Steve confirms, and you can hear the smile on his face. It nearly breaks your heart. “No chance you’ll give us anything. So can we come in?”

“No!”

Neither of them say a word after your quick and forceful denial, leaving it to feel like it’s echoing out around the room and grating back into your own eardrums. Just to get it to stop, you softly add, “Please don’t.”

While you’re worried it might’ve been too soft for them to hear, you’re proven wrong by Steve saying, “Then will you come out here?” It’s a soft plea, warm and velvety in its concern and compassion, and it feels like a knife in the chest. “Tell us what’s really going on?”

There’s no way to get out of this. You haven’t showered in days, you probably smell rough and look even worse. You’ve been wearing the same sweatpants and hoodie for a week. And you’re going to have to open your door and face your two closest friends like this.

If you don’t go out there, they will come in here. And that’s too much, it’s safe in here, they can’t come in here–

“Okay, okay. I’m… Just gimme a minute.”

“Take your time, we’ll go hang out on the couch,” you hear one set of footsteps away from your door after Steve’s confirmation.

“Not too long though,” Eddie teases, “I’m gonna raid your fridge and eat all of it if you don’t stop me.”

The threat means nothing as he walks away too. There’s nothing in your fridge left that’s edible.

Anxiety from them being here and wanting them to be gone is enough to get you out of bed for the first time today, picking through the remaining pile of clean clothes to find a different pair of sweatpants and a top that isn’t as marinated in body as your current set, slapping on some deodorant and changing your underwear at the same time. You do the bare minimum to make your hair look less like a greasy, horrible mess and gargle some mouthwash because it’s easier than trying to brush your teeth. This already feels like so, so much effort and you haven’t even faced them yet.

This shouldn’t be this hard. Why the fuck is being a normal human being so hard for you? What is wrong with you–

As soon as you’ve even cracked the door open, their murmuring to each other stops and they turn toward you, looking small and unsure in your doorway. Two pairs of brown eyes staring holes into you, seeing right through you, and it feels so fucking painful that you want to just slam the door shut again. They’re looking at you so softly, with so much warmth and openness. 

Because they pity you.

“What do you want?” Your voice is colder and softer than you meant it to be, not moving from your spot that blocks the view of your room from them. You could step out into the living room and close the door behind you to hide your shame, but leaving the safety of your bedroom isn’t something you’re willing to do yet.

“Your fridge is empty.” Eddie’s voice is as soft as yours but the corners of his mouth are turned down in a small frown. “The dishes in your sink have started to smell. Your trashcan and your mailbox are both overflowing.”

Shame and embarrassment presses hot behind your eyes, looking down at your feet. “If you’re just here to point out everything that’s wrong, you can get the fuck out of–”

“Sweetheart.” Steve cuts you off, not cruelly but enough to make you stop anyway. “When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Your heart drops into your stomach when he slowly stands, starting to slowly walk toward you like you’re a skittish animal. “I dunno… I’m not hungry.”

“Shit,” Eddie mutters from the couch, head falling to look at his clasped hands as he leans forward on his elbows.

“When’s the last time you showered? Left your apartment?” Steve continues, looking like his heart is breaking.

“Steve…” You whisper, a croak in your voice again while you shake your head at him. “Please, don’t… Don’t make me answer that.”

Eddie’s head raises again, drawing your attention. He looks just as heart broken as Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything, doll?”

A humorless laugh leaves you, sounding more like a choked gasp. “What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh? ‘Hey, sorry guys, I can’t even get myself to go to the fucking grocery store like a normal human being, can you help?’”

“Yeah,” he answers, sounding almost angry, shaggy hair falling off his shoulders when he nods, “for a start.”

“Eddie.” Steve looks back at him sharply, giving him a warning look that makes him soften again. When he looks back to you, still a safe few feet away, he asks, “What happened, sweetheart? What’s got you…?”

“Hurting?” Eddie offers when the other falters, pushing off his knees to stand as well.

“It’s just…” Your voice cracks, tears you haven’t been able to find in days suddenly pushing at your eyes without warning. You squeeze them closed as your breath catches to try and stop them.

What are you gonna tell them? ‘Oh everything’s so hard.’ Just tell them you’re a fucking child who can’t handle being alive? Might as well push them out the door now–

“Hey,” Steve’s soft voice interrupts your mental berating, taking another few steps closer. “It’s okay. You can tell us anything.”

“No judgement,” Eddie adds, an echo of one of the first things you said to him when the two of you met. It’s been a constant in the relationship you have with both of them. Anything any of you say – no matter how stupid, or fucked up, or wrong – no judgement. Maybe some teasing, depending on how stupid. But they’ve never judged you for anything and there is no reason for them to start now.

But this? Trusting someone, opening up to someone, letting someone in about this? The idea is terrifying.

“Everything’s just…” You trail off again, looking off and down the hallway away from them as you bring your arms up in a sort of hug for yourself. “It’s all just a lot, right now.”

“Will you…” Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets as he kicks out his boot like he’s kicking a rock. “Will you let us help you?”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I– I can’t ask you to do that.”

Steve’s fingertips brush your elbow, the first human touch you’ve had in longer than you can remember, and it has your head whipping toward him. “You’re not asking. We're offering.”

Hot tears increase the pressure in your head, now starting to pool at the bottoms of your eyes as you struggle to make eye contact with either of them.  “I don’t even know how you could help. It’s just… I can’t…”

I want to curl into a ball on the floor and wait to die–

“How about this,” Eddie walks up, moving to rest his shoulder on the wall beside the door frame you still occupy. “I’m gonna run to the store and stock up, plus grab us all something to eat on the way back.”

You open your mouth to protest but he holds up his hand, “Ah, ah, ah.” It’s enough scolding to close your lips again in a tight line before he points at Steve. “Mr. Mom here can get started on cleaning up the kitchen so it’s nice and easy to cook in. And you tell us what you want to do.”

Your teary eyes finally look back and forth between them, begging for an answer – for them to put you out of your misery for even just a moment. “I can give you a couple of options to choose from, if that would help?” Steve offers, fingertips still lightly resting on your elbow.

Door 3, door 3, door 3, every bone in my body wants to get back in bed and never get up–

Squeezing your eyes shut, both to let some of the tears fall and to push back the shame that wants to explode out of your mouth, you give him a stuttered nod of your head. “Okay. Door #1: While we do that, you go and try to take a shower.” The immediate pain must show on your face, because he quickly moves on.

“Door #2: You come out here and lay on the couch while I start to clean up. You can take a nap, or we can talk, or we can listen to music – whatever you want. And Door #3, you go back and curl up in bed and we come back to get you when Eddie has some food for us.”

A shaky breath in and out, you open your eyes to look at them. Eddie’s face is forced casual while Steve offers a small and supportive smile. You know they wouldn’t judge you if you picked Door #3 and got back into bed. If you went back to the indent you’ve most likely made from all the hours and hours spent in the same spot. But you want to try. Even if it’s just a little bit. Even if you end up back in bed right after anyway.

“If… If I pick Door #2,” Eddie’s mouth tilts up slightly and Steve’s eyebrows raise in interest, “then can I have a hug?”

“Oh angel,” Eddie presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “If you thought you were going to get away without a hug in any of those options, you’re sorely mistaken.”

You exhale a small laugh out of your nose, a teary smile on your face as they both step up to sandwich you between them in a tight hug. Eddie’s face presses to your ear, curly hair tickling your nose as he rests his mouth on your shoulder. Steve settles higher, resting his cheek on the side of your head as he tucks you closer to his chest. Both boys are warm, solid, and alive on either side of you – almost crushing you with the force of the embrace. But it’s the best crush you’ve ever felt, one that tells you that you’re alive and that someone cares. It makes the tears come through faster, falling down your cheeks with more force as you shudder in a breath.

Steve presses a kiss to your temple, squeezing you just a little bit tighter. “We’re here for you, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s hand fists in the back of your shirt, forcing you an inch closer. “As long as you need us. Not going anywhere.”

-

now I live in a place that feels smaller by the day four walls closing in from months spent inside them there is too much grief packed into this small place packed into this bed with unchanged sheets packed between these ribs that somehow are still unbroken and no one has ever been here not in this space, not in this bed, not between these ribs they are too full of my own grief for there to be any space

-

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thanks for reading. please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it, they make my day.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hi, so I saw that your request for tokio hotel are open. Can I request dating headcanons with Tom? Have a nice day!

(hello! I had time and I was bored so what the hell? Here ya go! Bear with me, it's my first Tom one and I hope you like it! If anyone else does, please tell me if you would like more in the comments!)

Dating Tom Headcannons

He would be the proudest boyfriend I feel like

On stage he's like 

"That's my babe! Over there, not you- them! Them!" 

All excited and stuff

But he is flirty

Doesn't matter where or when

Is extremely flirty

Would be the person to just sneak in a kiss before going on stage and be like "it's for good luck" so you have no choice but to give in

If you have a style similar to his, he would love it

If you don't, he would still like it

He thinks you look good either way, and he's still gonna flirt with you

Is not a possessive person, like you can do what you want and stuff but if something goes too far he'll say something or if someone makes you uncomfortable

But he's not the type to say "don't hang out with them" or stuff like that about your friends or he wouldn't feel threatened by another guy

He wouldn't feel threatened because he knows who he is, and that you're already his partner so he's locked down and ready to go

He finds it funny when someone tries flirting with you

He'll just be in bothered and go up to you and kiss you

He doesn't take offense to it

You're pretty man, why wouldn't you be flirted with?

He takes it as an accomplishment

They flirt with you but he's the one with you

Same with fans from his side, if you're okay with like kisses on the cheek from fangirl he'll be good to go

But if you're not, hell do his best to avoid them and give them hugs or smth idk

If you have a piercing or lots of piercings, he'll love them 

He loves anything about you man

Is definitely the one to pull you onto his lap anytime

If you're in the band, he'll do it in interviews or anywhere in general

Even if you're not in the band, he'll do it all the time

When he notices paparazzi taking pictures of you guys, he'll purposefully give them a picture of you guys almost full on making out

He is shameless

If you're in the band, he'll be having the time of his life on stage with you

He'd be behind you and kiss your neck just because he can

Does not give a single fucking of how many people are in the arena or the audience

He's the type to let you take his shit

Like shirts, rings, pants, hats, anything

He likes how you look in them

Kisses your knuckles or the back of your hand sometimes to substitute kisses

Or he'll be messing with your hair

Oddly likes having his head in your lap or your head in his

He'll take your stuff and act like he doesn't know where it went to keep you from leaving

"I don't know where it went, could you have dropped it when we were walking back? Looks like you'll have to stay."

He has it in his pocket.

Is proud anytime he sees you in the crowd or backstage

Or after a set or concert he'll just be asking you if you liked his performance

Please tell him he did great

He won't take anything else except that

If you aren't in the band, he would like that you got along with his brother and band mates

And especially if you got close with Bill, he'd probably fear being the target of pranks

He doesn't feel threatened no matter how close you get to his brother or Georg or Gustav

They're his closest friends and he trusts them and you so he has nothing to worry about

Has a lot of trust in your relationship if you couldn't tell

If you played a instrument or sing in shy type of way, he'd love it even more

He'd be a flirty and proud boyfriend of the century

Even if you guys did break up, not that I'm saying you will, he will forever have a specific and special place for you no matter how much time passes by

[randomyuu]

the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

My guy Vox once again graced us with lovely Goyuu fanfics, and the way it follows you home, the stories i never told, made me go FERAL.

Time travel? Two Gojou Satorus? Double affection for our sunshine Yuuji? Yuuji sandwich? What feels like possible continuation of (you'll whisper, serpent tongue) what you fear you have become???

FUCK.

I need to stop indulging my imagination too much. I should’ve been content with writing long-ass comments but noooooo, my brain goes “you gotta draw it”. DAMMIT VOX, YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITINGS HHHHHH

So… usually I should’ve picked a favourite scene that is within my drawing capability, but I just… love all three chapters??? So I made a questionable time investment? I can’t stop??? Help???

This is probably the most ambitious fanart project I’ve ever done so far. Fair enough, considering I might combust if I keep these welled-up emotions inside from reading Vox’s Goyuu fics. Fuck.

Fic info:

Title: the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

Author: @voxofthevoid

Pairing: YuuGoGo. Future!Yuuji, Future!Gojou, Teen!Gojou

(idk why I laugh writing YuuGoGo. I’m beyond help)

Currently, it is 3 chapters out of 8. And it’s gonna be NSFW chapter 4 onwards, so don’t forget to read the tags first, folks!

The drawings are under Read More, because I have lots of thoughts surrounding each chapter and drawings. It’ll be hella long if I didn’t hide it here. It was a mess down there. A combination of hours before, during, and after I read said fic. I’d say good luck finding the art among the sea of jumbled words but… you’ll find them easily. Don’t worry about it haha

SPOILERS FOR ALL 3 CHAPTERS! I highly recommend reading those first before diving into these drawings!

Also for the comics, read from right to left please!

From here on, I will be referring to the Future!Gojou as Gojou and the teenage one as Satoru.

Overall, drawing all these is fun! Really fun! This project pushed me quite hard, forcing me to test my limit (because I rarely draw this much back to back). Since this is a combination of drawings and comics, the coloring style will not be consistent. In a way, I want to try some brushes I never get to use, as well as try out my new graphic tablet. Drawing these got me giggling because I was finally able to let loose during line art. It's much easier to do so, and sometimes I just get to reread the fic and giggle to myself for the nth time.

CHAPTER 1:

Whooo. Whooooooooo—

Ok, ok, the premise is just that good. It intrigued me, fascinated me, and I just… oomph. I cannot refuse a Time Travel Yuuji Sandwich. Sign me up.

Honestly, there are two scenes that are just… a bit too clear in my mind when reading this chapter. That would be the one I drew above, and the other is when Yaga called Gojou to come outside of the class. I love, loooove how Vox wrote Satoru’s POV. And when Yuuji fucking giggles?

I lost it.

Can you imagine, drawing Yuuji grins, with shiny stuff, maybe some sunlight, just purely happy and indulging Gojou?

Help me, for I am drowning in my love and adoration for Yuuji.

Page 2 is an experiment on using harsh black as shading (kind of?). I really enjoyed colouring Yuuji, and drawing those buffalo skulls! I wish I can grasp the concept of contrast a bit better tho :v

CHAPTER 2:

This is probably the only chapter where I picture still images instead of comic panels. A bit like those cool chapter covers in mangas. The one I really, really want to draw is the scene with Satoru on the table. Can’t pass the opportunity to highlight Satoru being a brat, albeit a really cool brat.

Cool idea drawing always proves to be a challenge, because of course my artistic skill just so happens to be below the requirement. Thank you, Sketchfab, for the chair and desk’s perspective otherwise I’m screwed lmao

The second scene that I want to draw the most is this:

Gojou is one step away from climbing Yuuji. Also, I have a bit of a problem picturing a man pouting that makes him look crazy instead, so please have Gojou pouting adorably instead. Because, as Yuuji said (with love), Gojou is (also) a brat.

This is possibly my favorite art in this project, after Yuuji's in Chapter 1 page 2. It's clean because I don't have to draw background, and I was having a fun time drawing Yuuji. And Gojou's squishy cheek as well.

Oh, actually, there is a “manga” scene in this chapter. It’s when Yuuji said, “I love Satoru.”

I just—

AAAAAHHHHH YUUJIIIIIII YOU AND VOX ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. That secure relationship between Yuuji and Gojou? Satoru’s description of how Yuuji’s smile could blot out the sun??? Not me screaming 💀 I also see bits of hints of possible co-dependency, though I could be reading those wrong, but either way I’m good. Secure and possessive relationships are fun to consume hhhhhh

But yeah. There are too many wholesome Yuuji smiles in this fic, and I… I am not confident enough to draw genuine happiness. It’s too much for me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

For this chapter, another reason why I chose these two scenes is just because I want to try and draw cover-worthy pictures of Yuuji and Satoru, and Yuuji and Gojou (cough)

CHAPTER 3:

We start the chapter with Nanamin. Ah, Nanamin. I forgot what his teen self looked like and was surprised to see his design again lmao

I want to draw Yuuji and Nanami scene because… I just want to, I guess. I have never drawn him before (Yaga as well) so that's an interesting challenge. I got two ideas on how I want to draw it. One is a bit painting-esque, and the other one is like another chapter cover. In the end, I chose the cover one because I want to emphasise the difference between teen!Nanami and the Nanami from Yuuji’s original timeline, and how the watch feels like a connection between the same (yet not) person. It’s a bittersweet feeling? In a way?

I’m not really good at explaining my intention ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

I love Yuuji’s answer to Nanami's question.

AND FINALLY.

A Yuuji SandwichTM scene.

And oh B O I do I love it. Have I told you I like every chapter? I probably have. But this one? Satoru’s curiosity, Yuuji’s on-brand self-deprecation, and Gojou come strolling down to show more of Yuuji to his mini-self. I want to draw this whole scene, from Gojou finding them, feeding Yuuji snacks, bitch-slapping Satoru into the backroom, to Yuuji growling. Them trying to hide a boner from Yuuji’s growl got me cackling so hard I LOVE IT 😭

I love it all. Please love Yuuji in my stead, Satoru and Satonyan :3

Oh! Also! 40-finger Yuuji sounds really, really cool! I’ll be happy with whatever Vox will give us in future chapters, but 40-finger Yuuji… possible scene with this timeline’s Sukuna… my god. The action! The drama! The bloodshed! One can only hope.

However, as much as I love that whole scene, it’s still too much for me :”) I’m still not yet confident in delivering the humour and action. Also my already-long drawing plan had my brain groaning in protest so I can’t push my luck :'D

When Gojou said "He looks sweet, but he's a bit of a beast", I kept picturing Yuuji staring innocently, but there was an edge to his look. As if the moment Satoru looks away, he will pounce. But in the end I just stick with innocent-looking Yuuji because I accidentally drew his eyes that way and I want to keep it in lol

Since Satoru points out how soft and cuddly Yuuji is, I also want to draw soft Yuuji :v

And the last one… is the last scene. For some reason, I read that both Gojou and Satoru share Yuuji’s lap and was having a frustrating yet fun time figuring out how it’s… physically possible, without having their butts on the ground because they both are not small at all. As I lined the art, I reread it again and… perhaps I read it wrong? Satoru is beside Yuuji, and not on his lap? So yeah, this one might be the least accurate, but hey, at least you can view it as a crack drawing or something :v

AAAANNNDDD I HAVE EXCEEDED TODAY’S BRAIN CAPACITY OF FORMING WORDS

Have I told you I love this fic?

…I probably have.

Have an amazing week (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

[ppushable]

two ibuprofen

jean kirschtein x gn!reader / oneshot / wc: 7.3k

part 1 of rose tinted hours

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Sunday morning. What's the best way to spend a Sunday morning?

Craned over the plaguefest of the guy I'm dating-not-dating, trying to shove two ibuprofen down his throat?

(It works the second time.)

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

ao3 tags:

ok here we go / Alternate Universe - College/University / Sickfic / Sick Character / Fluff / Kissing / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting / Texting / Vomiting / Not at the same time / Winter / gender neutral reader / i dont know how to make tea / mentions of sanrio / mentions of bagged milk / slight angst? i guess? if you squint? / reiner texts like a boomer and im sorry / POV First Person / Present Tense

i live in a special part of canada so excuse the bagged milk. (just kidding bagged is better)

reader is gn! if anything seems off please lmk. (do that if the text names are confusing too!)

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Bzzz.

The darkness and warm comfort of sleep cracks as my eyes peel open to the vibration of my phone. My blurry wall is bathed in orange light and the cold draft coming in from the open window carries the swoons and trills of birdsong. Pretty…

Holy shit I have class I’ll be late—

With effort, I blink until the shapes around me become clean and defined. Am I late? Sunlight on the ruffles of my quilt like a Renaissance painting. Coats and bags hanging from the hooks on the back of my bedroom door. Clothes from the night before, still on the ground from when I dropped them there, dead-tired. My phone buzzes again, causing an internal jolt that spurs me to snatch it off the nightstand and expel the charger in one swift movement.

mr. handsome: emergency alert! 🚨 alert! god-level threat!

mr. handsome: One image attachment

Oh, it’s a message from Connie.

Oh, it’s 8:19 AM.

Oh, it’s a Sunday.

The glowing numbers on the screen indicate the next minute and I toss the phone somewhere on the bed before re-curling myself into my nice warm quilt in this nice cool morning. Sorry, Connie, the grocery run to 7-11 for more sushi will have to be done by someone else. This is probably the happiest I’ll be all day, provided I stay sleepy enough not to feel guilty for doing nothing. The world goes black.

Bzzz.

This time, my eyes peel open on their own.

Fine, Connie, you win.

Trying to ignore the bitter taste of morning in my mouth, I grope for my phone and lift it above my head.

sashacado: BAHAHAH GOOD LUCK WITH THAT ONE BALDY

Another message pops up.

mr. handsome (replying to @/sashacado): 🖕

mikachu: you need to get out of there, connie. like rn.

lainah: Run while you still can! LOL! 🤣

Although the last text pains me on a metaphysical scale, I open up the groupchat. It’s getting fishy now: first of all, Connie’s never up this early, least of all on a weekend; secondly, he said ‘god level threat’ (which is apparently the worst level of threat), and third, Mikasa rarely speaks in the groupchat. Sure, she lurks, but she only ever emerges when something big is happening.

Some more people are active now and I have to scroll up to find Connie’s image.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Blurry and off-centre as the picture might be, it clearly depicts the ugliest green-and-white striped couch I ever laid my eyes on (“It’s an antique!” Connie had argued) that belongs to Connie and Jean’s shared dorm in which the latter of the two is curled up in (yet he still scrapes the armrests with the top of his head and toes). Littering the stained carpet around him — they prefer eating on the couch than on an actual table, so spills are inevitable — are wads of crumpled-up tissues. To really top it off is the Cars blanket that Jean won at a festival that’s seemingly in the process of being violently torn from his form, clinging to the armrest closest to the camera and pulling beyond. A message banner pops down from the top of the screen.

jean: i’m fine. and give me my fucking blanket back. i can hear you giggling from your bedroom. connie.

grammar police: connie give his blanket back

lainah: Haha!

grammar police: i swear things like this only happen when I’m gone

Right, Marco usually goes home for the weekends.

ymi: Lmfao that thing prolly gave you a disease in the first place

ymi: Have u even washed it once

mr. handsome: cut the ccrap Ymir we wash it more than you wash ur hair

sashacado: LMAOOO

ymi: At least I have hair

sashacado: AGAHAHH CONNIE

grammar police: you guys

grammar police: missing the point here

mr. handsome (replying to @/ymi): and its sad cuz mine is still better than youres

mr. handsome: like girl tf is up with the shaved sides

mr handsome: jojo siwa looking ass

sashacado: LMAOOOOO CONNIE EAT HER UP

Smiling, I return to the main chat screen.

ymi: Count your fucking days springer

ymi: At least I still have a girl

grammar police (replying to @/mr. handsome): ^yours

mr. handsome: ok nerd

grammar police: I’m taking away your Netflix

mr. handsome: I sincerely apoligize for my words.

grammar police: it’s the effort I guess

grammar police: back to Jean though

jean: i told u im prrfectly fine. just give ne back my blanket i’ll sleep it off

grammar police: do I need to come back to campus for the weekend?

mikachu: im stopping by the store. can grab some medicine

jean: ffs IM FINE GIVE ME MY BLANKET CONNIE OR IM TELLING THEM ABOUT THE GRATER THING

grammar police: Jean you need some medicine at least. I heard there’s a nasty flu going around and you’d be the type of person to catch it

grammar police: did you call your mom? I can call her if you want

jean: IM

jean: FINE

jean (replying to @/grammar police): DO NOT DO THAT

Poor Jean. He doesn’t have anyone to take care of him. Connie’s a mild germaphobe, believe it or not, at least when it comes to sickness (he nearly went crazy during Covid) and is probably keeping a safe distance from his roommate. And it’s not like any of his other friends are willing (or able) to help out, with Marco out of town. He doesn’t have any siblings here; the closest relative he has might be his mother all the way back in Trost. Not even a significant other.

Well. I mean.

There’s me.

But we’re technically not dating. Not yet. We’re still trying to figure things out — hell, I don’t even know if he likes me back.

Well, okay, there was that time we kissed. But it’s just a kiss. And it was an end-of the year party, and everyone was feeling it. And it’s January now and we haven’t done it again so it’s nothing. It’s nothing!

But that doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at my foundations like a tiny, evil beaver.

Wow. So you’re willing to let a guy suffer just because you’re unsure? Now that’s selfish. While you’re sitting here muttering to yourself he’s probably burning with fever and wishing he were dead. Real classy.

Shut the fuck up, beaver. It’s weird to just barge into someone’s house like that. And we don’t know each other that well.

You’ve known each other for a long time. He’s sick. At least take care of him. You don’t need to be his lover or whatever. Just be a good friend, huh?

I guess…

And you know Connie, too, don’t you? You’ll be doing him a big favour by getting this plaguefest out of his living room. He needs to finish off Breaking Bad so he can look at the memes without being spoiled. You’re not helping dear old Connie out, either.

Fuck, you do have a point.

Besides, everyone knows what happened between you and Jean at the Christmas party. They’re probably waiting on you to—

With great effort I manage to unfocus my eyes to see if anyone mentioned me but Connie and Jean have devolved into another stupid somewhat one-sided argument. So they aren’t saying anything outright. But they’re probably thinking it.

They’re definitely thinking it.

Okay, that’s enough from you.

I swipe off the groupchat to see all of my chats and open up my DM with Jean — right near the top — and start typing.

me: hey. sorry if this is weird, but i wanted to check on you bc ur really sick apparently

No, that won’t do. I purge the message.

me: hey fuckass. did you go out without a coat again? do i need to come and take care of

No, not that, either. Hopefully he isn’t looking at our messages or else he’d see me typing like an idiot. I tap the side of my phone as I think, stringing together ideas and words and different ways he could perceive me based on how I put them together.

I go back to the main groupchat.

me: @/jean @/mr. handsome im coming over. be there in 15

me: also @/mikachu could you pick up some lozenges and cough syrup? ty i’ll pay u back <3

I zone out at the screen until someone starts typing and throw the phone down on the bed again before scanning the ground for something wearable. Goodbye, sweet air and Renaissance scene and birdsong. After assembling myself and brushing my teeth, I check the mirror attached to the back of the shared bathroom door that Sasha decorated with some Sanrio stickers from Amazon. She had a phase.

Matching socks, jeans, campus sweatshirt, T-shirt underneath big enough to splay out underneath like a fan. Hair a mess. Face a mess. Good enough. It’s not like Jean will look much better. It’s not like I care that much about how I look around him.

I pull the door aside and collect my belongings — phone, bag, coat — before whisking through the door, full sail for Connie’s res building. I hit the stairwell running.

Do I know how to take care of sick people? I mean, more or less. It’ll be fine. All you have to do is feed them and make sure they don’t puke all over themselves. Right?

On the way I stop by one of the cafeteria atriums, one of the smaller ones I frequent for its souped-up coffee counter with every additive known to man. I scan the containers on the counter — milk, cream, nutmeg — until I find the packets of honey and shove one into my bag while trying not to look guilty to the few people that dot the room. I more than paid for it just by attending.

Now on the main floor by the parking lot, I struggle to untangle my keys from the mess in my bag and, without looking, push the unlock for my car. It beeps faithfully in the same place I left it and I hurry to the sound like a moth to flame.

It’s a smallish car that’s starting to rust near the top. I open the drivers’ door and toss my bag in the passenger seat before throwing myself in and shutting the door, shutting out the world, disturbing the rubber Kuromi keychain hanging from the rearview mirror. My breath comes out steamy. The car comes to life on the third try — best to let it warm up a bit before I go.

Inhale, exhale. I open up the groupchat.

jean: you will do no such thing

jean: @/me

mr. handsome: so THATS what it takes for u to finally visit

mr. handsome: ive been keeping it nice and clean just for u 😙

mr. handsome: until mr covid came and ruined it

mikachu (replying to @/me): dw about it babes xx

sashacado: mika get me chocolate

mikachu: maybe. driving

Mikasa and I, weirdly enough, were the first to get our full licenses. A smile pulls at my face and I duck down to look at my lap. Jean had nearly begged us to give him driving lessons, and of course, I agreed. Days of close calls, driving under the speed limit, getting honked at, constantly checking the mirrors, nearly rear-ending people at stop signs, elbows touching on the armrest…

Of course, now Jean can drive without a hitch. Maybe not good enough yet that I’d sleep while he does it, but that’s a personal thing.

I almost put my phone down before noticing I have a few more private messages.

jean: seriously you dont have to come. im fine

jean: its acc not a big deal

jean: i had colds like this before. im not ur responsibility

Something about that last line stings. I guess he’s right, technically. We’re not that close. Who am I kidding?

But I already announced to the world what I’m going to do. And I already decided on it.

me: im coming whether you like it or not. watch connie for me

When I can’t see my breath anymore I start driving.

Stohess is a big campus. And while I’m not a huge fan of carbon emissions, I’m also not a fan of 20-minute walks in blistering, dry cold (or wet cold, for that matter). Also, I don’t want to keep Jean waiting. The eco society is going to kill me.

I pull in to the all-too-familiar parking spot, the one Jean pulled into a hundred times in preparation for his driving test in his new, expensive car his parents bought him because “he was doing so good with his driving!”

He’d thanked me profusely for helping him out, which, in hindsight, was mildly out of character for a broody, arrogant guy like him.

But then again, so was kissing me at that party. Not so much the kissing part. Just the me part. And the gentle-tight way he held me, the way he looked into my eyes…

I suck in a sharp breath. But I’m doing this as a friend. Not because of whatever we might be. If Connie was the one who got sick, I’d be here, too.

Steeling my nerves, I take my bag with an iron grip and make for the dorm.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

The door is already open when I arrive, propped open by a deflated volleyball. Weird. Some music that sounds like it was taken straight from Fast and Furious plays from inside. Knowing Connie, it probably is.

Nothing stirs when I open the door, but it is a pretty quiet door. The living room is right in front of me, ugly antique couch and all, but it’s completely empty. I didn’t walk into the wrong room, did I?

“Connie? Jean?” I slip off my shoes — Connie is insistent (I think shoes in the house is a crime anyway) — and creep through the dorm. “You guys?“

My voice rings through. Nothing. Peals of dread condense in my stomach and I pick up the pace, nearly barreling to a stop in front of the bathroom. I knock; first on the bathroom, then Jean’s bedroom. Connie left his door open.

“Jean? You in there?”

No response.

“I’m gonna— I’m opening the door, okay?”

And without time to think about what might be on the other side, I twist the knob and push.

Nothing. I even look behind the shower curtains.

Who even closes an empty bathroom?

Next is Jean’s room, but it’s also empty.

Where the hell are they?

I check my phone again and text the group chat.

me: @/mr. handsome @/jean where are you guys?

Waiting…

lainah: Gym

.

What.

me: are you sure.

lainah: One image attachment

Sure enough.

I should have noticed when his parking spot was empty.

me: dont let them leave. omw now

Sasha starts typing something but I throw my phone in the bag. I should have known they’d pull some bullshit like this. Well, not they. He. Something blistering and boiling threatens to spill over within me, but I take a deep breath. I’ll deal with him when I get there.

Jean’s a smart man, but not when he’s being stubborn.

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The car ride, despite being short, gave me a chance to cool my nerves.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. I grip the steering wheel in front of the gym. It’s fine. And step out.

Anytime Fitness is a strange and marvellous place full of people you might not see anywhere else. I don’t care about them. I scan the machines and see Reiner on the treadmill, and he meets my eyes a moment after. He nods in a different direction and I follow his gaze until I see the unmistakable bronze and shaved hair combination. I mouth a thank you and he smiles.

I must look completely out of place here, weaving between sweaty and half-naked bodies in my coat and jeans like I have a demon on my tail until I’m standing behind the chest press.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Connie’s saying and by the way Jean grunts it’s definitely not the first time.

“Let it go. I’m fine, and I’m going to the gym like I always do.” Jean’s voice is thick and nasal. “Buzz off.”

“Look, I already left the house with you. I can’t let you die here.”

“I said I’m fine—”

At the end of Jean’s rep, I slip the pin out of the weights. Jean nearly lunges over as the heaviness suddenly decreases.

Both look at me.

Connie looks normal. Jean is already slick with sweat, hair askew, red-nosed, with a slight wheeze lining his breath as he sits on the edge of the seat. Not normal. Not fine.

“Jean. My car. Now.” I point at Connie. “You take his back.”

A slight smile cracks his visage and that’s all I see before whipping around like an army man and making my way out.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

There’s a lot of things I could be saying, but I don’t, because there’s too much. So we drive home in silence.

Now that we’re closer, I can really hear the struggle with Jean’s every breath, the occasional cough, the mucous-laced sniffs, as much as he might try to hide it. He just sits there, going on his phone, staring out the window, until:

“Pull over.”

And his eyes are closed, head tilted up, pained look on his sweat drenched-face. I move to the side of the door without question and he scrabbles for the handle — I unlock it for him — before opening the door and half-falling over as he pukes.

I pinch my lip between my teeth and look the other way as the smell hits right after. Fine my ass.

Ever since I was young, the sound of heaving has always unsettled me. Even fake gags. Like it flips a switch in my heart to induce a sudden thrill of terror as if someone horror-movie screamed. And yeah, it’s just throwing up, but I hate it.

My heart races as he unloads again and I just want to plug my ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t sit here.

When the coast is clear I hop out and walk around the back. Jean is squatting on the pavement right before it hits the grass where his vomit lays, poking up through the stiff shoots. Though we’re outside, the smell is even worse. I try not to look at it as I hand Jean a bottle of water and set a stack of napkins I filched from Wendy’s on the passenger seat beside him.

“Thank—” he manages to croak out before pitching over again.

He’s been growing out his hair. I guess I didn’t notice it before, but now it’s long enough to get in his face in this position.

I gather the strands in my hands — soft as that day before the turn of the year — and hold them on the crown of his head as he retches.

When he’s done, I consider rolling down the windows, but decide against it.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Jean hardly notices when I pull in (again). Weirdly enough, his car still isn’t here — either Connie drives like a grandpa or he’s gone off somewhere.

“Jean.”

He inhales through his mouth, sucking up the new, pukey scent of my car, and opens his door with half-lidded eyes, leaning hard. It bumps against the campus van I’m parked beside and I cringe. Parked too close. He’s in no state to stand up on his own, let alone walk.

“Let me help you.”

He grunts in something like disagreement and I shut my door on him, going around the back again. Soiled napkins are shoved into the door storage and the water bottle is half-empty and crushed on the floor. Well. I offer a hand and after some hesitation he takes it, clasping my shoulder, and when I help him stand the added weight nearly crushes me. Jean is big, maybe not muscular like Reiner, but tall. Even through my coat and his too-thin sweater he radiates heat and he grunts a sickly air into my ear as he finds his footing. There’s barely enough room for the both of us between the car and the van so I shuffle us sideways, around the other side of the car and to the front. I gently lower Jean so he leans against the hood.

“Wait here.”

He doesn’t object as I shut the passenger door and lock the car before going back and offering my shoulder once again and I nearly fall over once again and we huddle together into the building. He’s never this quiet. Never so agreeable. Never so willing to take the help that’s offered to him.

This is a side of Jean I’ve never seen before. A side that I surely was never meant to see.

I swallow thickly and shuffle our bodies forward so I can push the button for the elevator. His head bumps against mine as it droops but he quickly straightens. “Sorry. Sorry.” His voice is gravelly and small, so small, as if it came from another person entirely.

I stare at the side of his face, but he’s focussed on something far away. “You’re okay, Jean.”

The elevator dings open and we go in. Seventh floor button. The door rolls shut.

Beep. Our knees buckle as the elevator accelerates and the screen above the button panel indicates that it’s going up. It usually smells of antiseptic unless it’s been raining.

Beep. The elevator’s always been slow which is why most people take the stairs instead. Connie calls it the ‘hellevator’ because he swears it almost dropped him once.

Beep. Jean’s trying to steady himself; hold himself up.

Beep. We haven’t been this close together since the party.

Beep. Jean takes an unusually large, wheezy breath and holds it. “Sorry.” His voice is hardly a rumble against my side.

“Why are you sorry?” I ask, quietly.

Beep. “For making you do this.”

Beep. The door retracts and muffled hip-hop fills the air. We walk off the hellevator and stand in front of the dorm. 704. An opaque plastic bag hangs off the handle and I take it in the same hand I hold my bag — thanks, Mikasa.

“You have your key?”

Jean grumbles and taps his pockets, pulling out a key ring. A rubber charm — Badtz-Maru, the little angry penguin — hangs from the ring. Sasha gave all of us one in her Sanrio phase. Keroppi for Connie, Charmy for Mikasa, Pompompurin for Marco, Cinamaroll for Eren, Kuromi for me. I (was forced to) help her choose.

The key retracts and Jean uses his free arm to turn the handle and shoulder the door open. He clears — tries to clear — the phlegm in his throat. “Alexa,” he gurgles. “Alexa, stop.”

The music immediately ceases and we stumble to the couch where Jean unceremoniously drops and tucks his head between the armrest and cushioned back, looking utterly uncomfortable.

“Get up, Jean.”

He sniffs.

“Come on. Bed.” I drop my bags on the coffee table. “Not couch.”

“No.”

“Connie will throw a fit. And so will I.”

“Just—” he tries clearing his throat again— “go.”

“I’m not leaving until you get better.” I blink. No, I’m not leaving him here alone. Why does that surprise me?

“I’m fine. I told you. Done it before. I’ll get better.”

“Done it before?” I giggle falsely. “What, you used to rawdogging colds all by yourself?”

A car passes outside, a familiar rising and falling sound against the unfamiliar silence of the dorm.

“Jean?”

“Go…”

And I swear he’s never sounded so… vulnerable before. Like he’s laid out all his organs on a big table and I’m holding the scalpel. Just waiting for the incision.

A little softer, I tell him, “I’m not going anywhere, Jean.”

And I take the goodie bag and head for the simple kitchen — that is, an inlaid fridge, stove, and pantry cramped behind an island counter with a sink. I hold the electric kettle Reiner got for Jean’s and Connie’s fifth anniversary (he thought they were together at first) under the sink and let it fill to two cups just in case before setting it back and switching it on.

Then I rummage through the drawers and cupboards until I find an old, strangely moist box of tea packets. Yuzu mist or Cheerful Citrus? I opt for the latter.

Tearing open the package, I glance at Jean who still hasn’t moved. The teabag I dump into a printed mug that Jean likes to use.

NUMBER 1 COUGAR

I wonder where he got that.

The kettle clicks off when the water boils and I fill the mug. Oh. Honey would be good. I return to the couch and sift through my bag, shifting my keys in the process. Now Jean stirs.

“Are you leaving?”

“No, Jean.”

I keep rummaging. I know it’s in there. Might be in deep, but—

“Please don’t.”

I pause, emotions — affection? concern? — swirling like particles of tea in water. “Okay, Jean.”

I finish making the tea in silence with an almost-empty bag of milk left in the fridge. How do these boys even survive? All that’s in there are cold cuts and a bag of only bread butts, among some other, strange things. Including a pair of boxers.

“Can you sit up?”

Jean sighs into the cushion and braces against the armrest to push himself into somewhat of a sitting position.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

His eyes cast down. I swallow the silence that suddenly envelops us. Nothing weird. Just a room. I’m just a caretaker. “Come on, Jean.”

“Can— can you help me?”

I fall into the little divot in the couch where Jean sits and let him wrap an arm around my shoulder. “Ready?” I say. “One, two…”

We stumble up and pass through the already-ajar door to Jean’s bedroom and I nearly stop to take a better look. He has blackout curtains, currently drawn, painting the room in a dark blue light except for a thin bar of sunlight from between the curtains that propagates as a glowing line on the carpet. The walls are plastered in posters, sketches, paintings, sketches. Half-finished drawings on his desk and swivel chair and a few on the ground. A small compartment shoved into one corner with every art supply imaginable.

Still taking in the view, I (we) back into the bed, butt-first, and Jean unwraps himself from me.

“You won’t… do anything weird… to me?”

I smile. Conversational, that’s good. “Not unless you want me to.” And I wish I had shut up before the first word even came out of my stupid mouth. Standing, I look over my shoulder. “I’m getting the medicine.”

“Wait. Don’t.”

Under the doorframe now, I pause. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be right back.” And I go to the goodie bag.

I should just work on keeping my mouth shut. Mikasa had picked out some ibuprofen, NyQuil, and lozenges. Pills should be good. I take the mug and the box and head back.

When I get back Jean’s sitting against the headboard, trying to uncrumple his blanket to get underneath.

“Let me help.”

He watches me then, helpless — Jean fucking Kirschtein, helpless! — as I set down the pills and mug on his glass nightstand and unfold the mess he’s got on the mattress. “Pull your legs up.”

He obeys. I pull the quilt over him.

I try not to stare. “You can put your legs down now.”

He obeys.

“Sit up, Jean. You need more pillows.”

Eyes glued to me, he leans forward so I can take his other pillow to prop him up more comfortably, leaning back when I touch his warm shoulder. Then I take the mug and offer it to him. “Drink some of this.”

Painfully quiet, he takes the mug with both hands and takes a tentative sip, lips curling around the brim of the ceramic to slurp up the soothing drink. He’s doing good. Until he hits a bump and starts sputtering.

Immediately I take the drink as he coughs up whatever went down the wrong way. When he’s done I realize I’ve been rubbing circles into his back so I take my hand off.

My phone buzzes in the living room. Shit.

“I’ll be back.”

Jean stares at his knees under the blanket and doesn’t move when I come back.

sashacado: omg yall

sashacado: theyre gonma be killed💯

armong us: What’s going on?

sashacado: @/lainah what did u do

lainah: One video attachment

sashacado: ONG LMFAOOO

sashacado pinned a message

mr. handsome: @/me im headed to urs with sash for a while. hope thats cool w you and all lmk if u need anything

jägermeister: are u fr leaving those two alone

mr. handsome: well good morning to u too pricness

Deleted message

jägermeister: oh right

sashacado: connor springer delete that message rn @/mr. handsome

sashacado: @/mr. handsome

sashacado: @/mr. handsome

sashacado: @/mr. handsome

mr. handsome: ok ok jfc im sorry

sashacado: @/mr. handsome

sashacado: ok good

Whatever the hell they’re up to now.

Jean thrashes slowly and I feel a little guilty for staring down at my phone the whole time. “Are you okay?” I breathe, sticking to his beside like a magnet. “Are you in pain?”

“Hot,” is all he says.

I peel the blanket off. He is hot. Really hot.

Not like that. He’s feverish.

“Can you… help me?”

“Yeah?” I stare at him — help with what? — until he raises his arms over his head.

Oh. A few circuits in my head switch off. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m can help.” Idiot.

Like touching something radioactive I grasp the edge of his sweater and slowly raise it, catching the shirt underneath for a fleeting second before it falls back down. Deep breath. Yes, I am helping out a guy I’m dating-not-dating who I’m definitely not attracted to to take off his clothes in his bedroom in his empty dorm. Because he’s sick. No problem. Because I’m a good friend.

The neckline catches on his jaw and I unhook it, delicately trailing the scruff on his jaw in the process.

And it’s off and on the ground. Holy shit. Jean’s been sweating. And I know all that dampness on his shirt, clinging feebly to his attractive sick form, didn’t come from his 10 minutes at the gym.

He doesn’t lower his arms. Oh, so we’re doing it like this.

Okay.

I come forward again, within earshot to the rattling in Jean’s chest with his every breath, and quite literally peel the thin white shirt off. This time it’s impossible not to touch his incredibly warm and damp body, not to scrape my nails against the softness of his skin, from his waist to his broad shoulders all the way down his arms. Now he puts them down.

I almost forget he still smells like puke.

“My pants…”

Ohoho. No way, buster. You’re on your own. I’m calling Connie. Nooo way.

“Okay, but unbuckle yourself.”

He does without question, fumbling first with his belt, which I help slide off, and then his jeans.

What in the ever-loving fuck am I doing? This sounds like a smut setup. No. I’m just a friend helping out a sick friend, two friends who have never done anything even slightly romantic together.

“Sit up on the edge, okay?”

He heaves his sweaty self to the edge of the bed, palms leaving wet marks on the sheets, and, staring at the ceiling, I grasp at the hem of his pants (skirting his boxers or whatever he’s wearing because I’m not looking) and pull them (he lifts himself at first to help) all the way down. In one smooth movement I turn back around.

“Put your shirt over your… yourself.”

I wait a good few heartbeats before turning back around and lo and behold, he’s done as told. Frankly, it looks even worse now, like he’s lying in bed completely naked with just a shirt covering him. (But that’s only true if I think it’s true!) The jeans I’m still clutching for some reason I deposit on a chair.

“Jean, I’ll be right back, okay?” I wait for a response I should know isn’t coming before going out again, this time in search for a facecloth. Which I do find, shoved in the corner of the linen cabinet. I should be grateful they even have some, but then again, it might’ve been another gift from Reiner they didn’t have the heart to throw away. I rinse it under some cool water and announce my re-entry.

“I’m back. Sit still.” Folding some of the damp cloth over two fingers, I carefully dab at the sweat on his forehead. No, I need to… I pick off some strands of his sandy hair from his face, holding his hair back against his scalp, and try again. Better. “Jean?”

He opens his eyes halfway, and they raise lazily to meet mine. He’s sweaty everywhere and too late I catch myself stroking his head. I wipe his cheek next.

“Drink some tea, okay? I need you to take a pill.”

“Pillk?”

“Yes,” I say encouragingly, like training a puppy. Neck next. “Just a pill.”

He takes in a deep mouth breath. There’s a portrait stuck to the ground on the other side of his bed.

Is that…

“I can’t.”

My eyes snap back and I pause, dabbing at his collarbone. “What’s that?”

He shakes his head, furrowing his brows as if the action took too much effort. “Can’t… swallow. Can’t swallow pills.”

I blink. “You can’t take pills?”

A fleeting smile meets his lips. “Vitamin gummies. Not. Vitamin pills. Might get stuck in m’throat.”

I fold up the cloth into a rectangle and smooth it out onto his forehead. “Just take some tea with it.”

“Tried. No.”

Who knew? For a guy with such a big mouth, he sure has a small esophagus.

“Jean, it’ll make you feel better.”

“No.”

I pop open the box and break open the tinfoil seal to take out a single pill.

“Noo…”

“Jean, you’ll be fine. You’re a big boy now.” And I vow never to speak again.

When I push the little oval against his mouth, I find it won’t open. Jean is breathing laboriously through his 90 percent clogged nostrils.

“Open up.”

He purses his lips, further preventing entry, and I swear he’s smiling a little.

“Very funny. Take your pill. You’re gonna suffocate yourself.”

Still nothing. I pinch his nose. He makes a muffled noise but otherwise doesn’t react.

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. At thirty-three I let go. “Are you really willing to kill yourself over a pill?”

“Don’t want. Don’t need.”

“Yeah, and I ‘don’t need’ you choking over your own puke in your sleep.”

“No…”

“Jean.” I feel terrible already for doing it like this. “Try. If you don’t at least try, I’ll leave.”

I bite my lip, awaiting his response. I really shouldn’t have said that. I’m such an asshole. Fuck.

“Okay.”

Deep breath. I push the pill against his bottom lip and the soft tissue yields against my fingers for a moment before he opens. The mug is to his lips not a moment after; he gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing, and the tea in his mouth suddenly explodes out and sprays warmly all over my face.

All. Over.

I peel my eyes open after impact. Jean looks more awake than he did before, and with a discernible expression, too: terror.

Okay. Good!

Slowly, he reaches for the sweat-soaked cloth on his head and offers it to me. I shake my head.

“Be right back.”

Bathroom. Cold water. Cold water against my face. There’s two razors on the sink and the edges of the white surface have some hairs on them. Face hairs, I’m sure. I pray.

If whatever Jean has is contagious, I sure as hell have it now.

I turn the tap off and swipe the water from my face. Great. Okay. I bunch up my now-wet sweater. I can do this.

I re-enter the bedroom. Jean sits up a little straighter now, sipping in small increments. “Sorry.”

I put my sweater on the chair. “It’s okay.”

“I— really—”

“Jean, it’s okay.”

“I’m fine. I’ll get better.” Which is about the most complete sentence he’s said in a while.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere, didn’t I?”

He doesn’t say anything. Almost unconsciously, I gravitate to his bed.

“You already did too much for me.”

“Nonsense.”

“Why do… you do this?”

Now that gets me thinking. Because you’re sick. Because I’m a good friend. Because you’re my guinea pig for Hospitality 101. Maybe all three.

My eyes trace back to the scribbled portrait on the other side of Jean’s bed and I take the cloth from his forehead.

Thousands upon thousands of excuses, and a singular truth.

“Because I like you.”

And I take my time going back to the bathroom.

Cold water. Cold water against my hands.

“Coming in.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” Jean clears his throat, almost inaudible against my beating heart. “Back at the party. Wasn’t… nothing.”

“Wasn’t all that much, either,” I say dryly. Hopefully he doesn’t notice how shaky my hands are. How shaky against his pallid skin.

Jean inhales and I can see the movement through his chest. “No. Wasn’t a lot.” He tilts his head up at a minuscule angle to scan my face, and maybe it’s the perspective, or the weird lighting, but I could swear he’s never looked at me like this before.

Except for that time.

“So I’d…” he swallows. “Like— like to have more.”

For a few seconds, it’s silent. For a few seconds, all that there is are his dim eyes and mine. For a few seconds, we fall into each other and tread water, sinking, fading…

I break our gaze and tremblingly pluck a tissue from a box on the ground; hold it to his nose. “Blow.”

He takes a shaky breath and obeys.

Fold. “Again.”

He shuts his eyes and blows.

“Again.”

He blows until his air gives out. I drop the spent tissue.

“Again?”

He shakes his head.

“Let’s try the pill.”

He nods and stares as I open the foil for a second time and pop the new one in my mouth.

He watches, confused, until a wave of realization seems to hit him.

He stays statue-still as I lean in, put a hand on the headboard on either side of his head.

His heat, like a barrier, raises the hairs on my skin. He cups my jaw. I cradle the side of his neck, and his pulse beats at a million miles a minute. The pill begins to dissolve.

Our mouths barely touch, and I make the final connection.

Jean is tall. Jean is arrogant. Jean will laugh at you when you fall.

But Jean has the softest lips, the sweetest mouth (even when he puked out a buffet no more than half an hour ago). Jean will melt like soft butter under your touch. Jean will accept your tongue, no questions asked, and retaliate with twice the vengeance.

Like I’ve been dreaming of since that brief moment at the party, I let my hand run insouciant through his hair. No eyes watching. No social boundary.

He gasps softly for air and I do the same, pulling his scalp so he tilts to meet me better with a small grunt. God, I fucking love his hair.

Now both of his iron-hot hands are on me, hooking under my shirt, running up and down, claiming every square inch, and I let mine fall from his neck down to his slick chest down to his stomach down to his abs. Other still planted firmly in his hair, pulling, twirling, pulling, and when I tug again Jean squeezes so hard, doubling down, suddenly hungry, suddenly a starving man. Wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me closer, I oblige, hooking a leg onto his bed, between his knees, and my thigh brushes against his still-damp T-shirt, and he groans softly into my mouth—

and swallows with an ulp!

and it’s over.

I stroke his throat as the pill goes down and he stares hollowly at me until it’s gone. I recline and smile.

“Is that enough for you?”

Unblinking, he pulls me down again.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Connie kicks the asphalt with his definitely real Gucci slides. “Are you done?”

“Shh!”

He shoots his friend a withering look — that is, as withering of a look that he can muster.

“This is creepy. And I’m cold. Can we at least—”

Sasha puts down her binoculars and shows him what a real killer glare is. He rolls his eyes and scans his phone. Eren’s sent a message to the matchmaker groupchat.

emo king🖤⛓️: are u sure this plan of urs worked out

emo king🖤⛓️: excuse me if this is harsh, but it’s probably the dumbest shit of ur dumbshit ideas

me: yeah try telling Sash that

sharmin ultra soft: Eren’s right. Chances are Jean puked and turned everyone off

intimidating woman: i think there’s a chance

emo king🖤⛓️: are u fr in on this mikasa

sashami: you guys shh the star coming

Sasha shoots him another look before putting her non-stalker scope away in preparation for the star of the day’s arrival.

“Whad’d I do?”

As far as he knows, Connie is doing everything right. He’d told everyone that he was sleeping over at Sasha’s. (Her idea.) And now it’s Monday, and it’s time for the star’s (code name) first class (and also Sasha’s), and now they’re sitting out in the cold like a couple of dumbasses watching the stairwell windows. (Also her idea.) What the heck?

“I’m going in the car,” Connie grumbles. He doesn’t wait for the inevitable retort and climbs in to the drivers’ seat.

The car. The one silver lining to this whole ordeal. He’d eaten, put his feet up in, and used up every last drop of gas on this baby and Jean couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

But the person coming through the door isn’t their star. It’s Jean. Huh?

Connie pops out of the vehicle and joins up with Sasha.

“Oh— you’re here, too?” Jean’s brow furrows deeper. “What’s going on?”

“Well, hello to you, too,” Connie grins. “Looks like you‘re doing a lot better.”

“No thanks to you lot.”

“Where are you going?” Sasha pipes in, and he knows what’s coming next. She’s using her interviewer voice.

“Just… going to class.” Jean smacks Connie’s shoulder. “Keys?”

He produces them with a flourish and a jangle and the taller takes them, unlocking the car.

Beep beep!

Sasha casually tails him, twisting around to block the driver’s side door.

“Sash.”

“Were you a good host?”

“I mean, I was really sick.”

“You have actual, proper food, right? Did you feed your dear caretaker?”

“Uh…” he smirks. “Yeah.”

“Is your room clean?”

“It’s fine!”

“Did you sleep together?”

He rolls his eyes and wedges a hand between his car and the girl. “Okay, get out.”

“Answer my question!” Sasha cries as she stumbles back and Jean hops in. Without another word, the car backs out. Jean turns and comes forward so he’s perpendicular to the parking spot before lowering his window.

“Connie! You owe me 20!” And then he’s gone.

Dumbfounded, the boy looks to Sasha, finding her staring at her phone. “What’s wrong? You on your period?”

“Oh, fuck off. Look.”

star: sorry sash,, not coming to hospitality. i got sick :(

star: jeans staying home for me tho. dont wait up <3

And the mastermind screenshots the fruits of her labour.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

would you look at that. more kissing. *throws tomato* i did 80% of this in one day. no regrets!! (said eren.) (ill shut the fuck up now) i hope you enjoyed! it actually turned out a lot less gross than i originally planned (they were gonna do it with the nyquil ewwwww) but this is fine. right? i never actually kept a pill on my tongue like that for so long so for my sanity's sake let's pretend this is how it all works.

this started out as a oneshot. however,,, i decided to add more parts to it because i'm a sucker. check it out if you like! <3

byebye

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

masterlist part 2 - low tide

[lunatic-pudge]

Postal Dude NSFW Alphabet

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

Was gonna work on my TF2 and Postal requests, but I've been sick and was in the ER cause of it. But depsite all of that, I'm still horrifically down bad for this stinky pissman. My need for this man cannot be contained. Halp

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

A: Aftercare (What they're like after sex):

Admittingly, his aftercare kinda sucks. Just wipe ya off then pass out. It's just not something he's used to. You're gonna have to teach him how to do some proper aftercare. It'll take some time, but he'll get better at it with some time

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of their and also their partners):

Now I'm putting my own (weird) biases here, Dude likes his hands. They're so long and spidery. Perfect to shove his fingers down your throat. He's such a long and gangly man.

Now his favorite body part on you would be your thighs. Thick thighs means a nice, fat ass and I can just tell that this man is an ass man. And also thigh highs?! The way they hug the thighs are there's that little thigh pudge at the top of the thigh highs. You know what I'm talking about. Dude lives for thick thighs. Choke them with your thighs, he'll die a happy man

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically):

I'd like to think cums a lot. Please let me dream. Just picture him cumming in you so much that it spills out of you as more tries to fill in you. Maybe even creating a little tummy bulge.

But for taste wise, it is BITTER. Like it starts salty but gets bitter the more you taste it. So good luck with that. Man's good for stuffing ya, but the taste is one that will take a bit to get used to. Someone get this man on a better diet!

D: Dirty Secret (pretty self explanitory, a dirty secret of theirs):

I feel like he's secretly an exhibitionist. I just know that Dude would get off to people seeing him getting fucked. Hell, he'd probably let people run a train on him if given the opportunity. This man's a slut to the highest degree even though he gets no bitches

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?):

I'd say he's got a decent amount of experience. Like, he definitely knows what he's doing. Could it be better? Yeah. Much of this man's potential has yet to be discovered

F: Favorite Position (This goes without saying):

Homie doesn't discriminate. Any position is a good position. You wanna ride him? Go for it. Want him to bend you over and pound the fuck out of you? He's already bending you over. He definitely loves being bent over, stuffed and fucked

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.):

Has this man ever been serious? He's a chill boy. I don't really have much to say here. He's a goofy goober

H: Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpent match the drapes? etc.):

I'd say Dude's got a decent amount of hair. Definitely not hair, but not bare. And even then, it's light in color so it doesn't catch your attention at first. And he's kinda groomed. He'll keep up with it if asked

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment? Romantic aspect):

Dude's not much of a romance person. But that doesn't mean he isn't trying. On special occasions, like anniversaries or your birthday, he'll put the effeort in. He'd be cheesy and break out the rose petals. How'd he get them? Don't worry about it. He's even broke out the candles as well, ignore the burn marks on his hands, his ass was not paying attention when lighting them and almost set the trailer on fire

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanons):

He does jack off, kinda often, but it's just never enough for him. He's tried all sorts of things but finds much more satisfaction being able to fuck someone. He gets irritable when he doesn't get needs fufilled

K: Kinks (One or more of their kinks):

I'm doing it. I'm going there. I don't care what you people say. He's got a piss kink. (So does Sniper but he's not apart of this, fight me) He will piss on you and he will have you piss on him. He'd be gross and try to drink your piss. He doesn't care. I'm a piss kink Dude truther

Another major kink I'll throw in here is pegging. He loves it when his lady put the strap-on on, bends him over, and makes him her bitch. Pegging makes Dude the most adorable little sub ever. Just a begging and moaning mess. You know you love it, don't deny it

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do):

Anywhere and everywhere. Just say the words and he's ready. Nothing will stop this horny man. NOTHING

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going):

Your existence gets him going. You could be sitting around, reading a book or watching T.V. and that gets him hard. It's his inner simp showing. What really gets him going is seeing you wearing one of his shirts and nothing else. Especially when the shirt starts to ride up your thigh. It's like your teasing him without realizing

N: No (Something they wouldn't do, turn offs):

Now Dude is a pretty open guy, but of course he has limits. I'll just say that he's not into the really gross stuff. The only gross thing he likes is piss. Like, that's the only time you're gonna see this man at his most vile. Anything else gross and he'll start gagging and leaving

O: Oral (Preference is giving or recieving, skills, etc.):

Loves oral. Prefers to receive but will gladly give. Sit on his face. He's begging you to. But when you give him head, watch out cause if you don't stop him, he'll wanna fuck your face. He loves being able to stuff his cock down your throat

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.):

Loves going fast and rough. He lives for it, especially when you mark him up during it. Rarely is slow and sensual. He'll be slow on thos rare intimate moments he has. But wither way, he will leave you a shaking, satisfied mess afterwards

Q: Quickie (Their opinion on quickies, how often, etc.):

Not the biggest fan but desperate times call for desperate measures. He tries to not partake in quickies often so when it does happen, he's so desperate to cum

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks etc.):

Huge risk taker. The risk is what gets hims going. Always ready to take them. Bouns points if you're like him in that aspect. You two would be such an unstoppable force, for real for real

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?):

He's got some pretty good stamina, especially when he's high on crack. He's practically insatiable. You two will be going at it for HOURS. Practically a whole day of sex so you better be prepared or you'll be a pile of dust afterwards. And yes, he will make fun of you for it.

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?):

Literally in the one scene in Brain Damaged when he's sitting on his couch, there's a fucking dildo on the floor. So obviously yes, he owns toys, and yes he uses them. And yes, he will use toys on you. Why wouldn't he? Using toys means extra fun, and Dude ain't gonna pass up such an opportunity to tease and overstimulate you

U: Unfair (How much do they like to tease?):

Such a teasing bastard, and a hypocrite. Loves to tease and make you beg, but can be stubborn at first when you try to same tactics on him. He knows how to press all the right buttons when teasing. He rightfully deserves to be treated back, but also a little more harsher for being such a little shit

V: Volume (How loud are they? What sounds they make? etc.):

I'd say Dude isn't the loudest, he prefers to hear you rather then himself. But that can easily be changed with a little pegging. Remeber, he's a hoe, so he is fun to make a moaning, whiny mess, just begging for more

W: Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character):

If it isn't obvious by now, this man is bi/pan. You cannot look at this man and say he's straight. It's just such a bold face lie. Homie likes his men, women, enbys, trans people equally. All he wants is a good time. I'd say he has a slight preference for more feminine people. But now by saying that, I'm thinking of femboy Dude and I'm more than here for that

X: X-Ray (Let's see whats going on under those clothes):

Now please bear with me here, cause I unfortunately don't have male anatomy. I'd say he's about six inches, cut, head's this nice little rosy pink color and SENSITIVE

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive):

Very high drive, constantly horny. He cannot be contained. Sometimes multiple rounds a day isn't enough for him. He understand that sometimes, you're not gonna be needy as him so he's used to having to take care of himself. Though he'd appreciate some help during these trying times

Z: Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards?):

Almost immediately after doing the do. That's probably why his aftercare sucks cause he's ready to pass the fuck out most of the time. Falls asleep like a man in the Victorian era dying from Influenza. He's practically clonked out like a dead man too. It's ridiculous and deserves to be bullied for it

[ariathelamia]

Hellhound HRT - Day -???

Little note at the start: Hellhound HRT is being written by Arynia, who is a alter... the only alter in this system ^^ Since she is unable to front so far, we decided to have her write the story~ well she tells me what to write and i do that~ Don't worry, Lamia HRT is going to continue! It's just a bit of a drawing rut on my end^^..

Thank you @dawning-mars for the cameo and help writing this~ it was a lot of fun working with you!! Anyway~ on to the story!!

“That FUCKING asshole!” 

I shout while kicking the empty can of soda down the alleyway, hitting a trash can and accidentally spooking the Racoon that was currently inside of it away..

I just happened to leave the clinic of this gigantic egotistical asshole doctor Erian, my tail all the way along my back and fur all over the place. Shit, getting ahead of myself here.

‘Sup, Names Arynia, but people just call me Nia. I’ve been on Wolf HRT for a while… probably what.. 4 to 5 months now? Well let me just paint a picture. Think about an average height punk girl, with a body mostly covered in a mix of orange and gray fur… Got a nice long undercut for hair, and an otherwise still pretty human face, if you discount the slight elongation that would become my snout one day.  Got me a pretty neat tail though! Doctor was quite surprised when he saw it, usually they don’t get that tall so quickly? I guess I lucked out on that one. Legs are still humanoid though… no signs of paws yet… they do ache a little but i guess i traded the Tail growth for the leg restructuring.. Well none of this matters now cause that fucker just cut me off the meds anyway because i accidentally let slip that “being a normal wolf might not be as fulfilling as i thought… that i wanted something a little… extra.”... Guess that was enough for that idiot asshole bastard to say “If you are not happy with the current progress then continuing from here on out won’t be in your best interest.” And something about coming back when i know what i actually want and if this is the right thing and- URGH!! I should have kept my mouth shut but that's just not my style… 

Anyway back to the here and now. Feeling kinda bad for the Racoon… well can’t say sorry now that it’s gone. But what the fuck do i do now? Well first things first, checking the messages… Lot’s o’ new people sending in their first dosage posts… pretty neat. Some new faces joined the support group-... ah shit gotta make the news that i probably gotta leave now.. since i don’t really have an ongoing prescription anymore… ACTUALLY- maybe someone has an idea what to do… yeah thats a better outlook, after all that asshole Theodore isn’t the only doc around. 

I ended up sending a lengthy text in the vent section about my situation.. At first people sent some pleasantries but then also some neat ideas on where to go. I did mention my wish for something more… extravagant and low and behold, someone heard of a library in Hypercity that I should check out. Something about a Mysterious worker there that spooked some customers away with her… “monstry aura”? Sounds neat. Just gotta find the place.

Good thing the Maps app on the phone works in Hyper City.. otherwise this place would become a maze… It’s been neat just exploring new areas though, seeing all kinds of people on different stages in their HRT. Cats… Bats… a freaking DRAGON… pretty sure saw some cyborg too but not sure if that’s HRT or just them wearing prosthetics.. either way looked pretty neat. Ever since this stuff hit the market, and more people managed to grab the formula and distribute it, new kinda therians pop out by the day. Good thing I got a spot in that support group when they still had any. Although things do be a bit hectic in the chats.. but that’s alright. Anything major and important is learned in the group sessions anyway.

After another half an hour of walking and listening to the instructions on my phone, I finally made it to the library…  Pretty normal looking place from the outside if you think about the worker here that everyone is making mysteries of is apparently supposed to be some kinda… space monster.. though the descriptions do shift from mention to mention. Anyway I decided it’s enough waiting around… time to go in.

The SECOND I stepped into the lobby, my instincts fired alarm signals. I don’t know how to interpret that but god damn, my fur was standing upright and my ears clenched backwards. What the fuck is going on? Despite my body telling me to run, I go forward… this wolf ain’t no quitter i tell you that! My hand slowly reaches for the bell at the reception, after three deep breaths I finally manage to ring it. The body is making one last attempt to try to make me run away, now that I have given away my position to whatever predator it was so afraid of. But I won't. I gotta know what the hell this place is about now.

As the bell rings, the library quickly goes cold. The lights seem to be weaker, trying to fight against a layer of darkness that wasn’t present before the ring. The air is heavy and the sounds of footsteps can be heard from book stacks. Through the Darkness emit 5 bright eyes, their pinkish purple hues fluctuate and pulse. 

“Hello Deary, Welcome to the Thayer Library. My name is Mars, how can I help you?” 

Her voice vibrates with an unnatural distortion. Emerging into view is a 7 foot tall creature. Her skin is an unsaturated purple that resembles that of a shark's skin. She wears a black 50’s style dress with a ribbon tied at her waist. A large black sun hat covers a portion of her feature lacking face.

Quite the contrast in style compared to my black tank top, skinny jeans with ripped sides and black and white sneakers…

Mars passes me, walking back to the front desk. She looks down and gives me a monstrously happy grin. 

I take a moment to take in this surreal sight… I’ve seen my fair share of therians and otherkin before… Hell, one of my friends is a freakin’ Lamia… but THIS?! This is something entirely different. Feel like I just got transported into a whole different world, even though my actual position did not change…

“Uhm- name’s Arynia.. I was told this place could help me out with a predicament I found myself in. You see i uh-... just got cut off from my HRT for wanting something more… “Special” than a normal wolf and uh-... yeah-... here I am. Is there anyone you can introduce me to? Or how does this work?...” 

I stop myself from just babbling on and wait with baited breath for the answer of Mars. Trying to figure out WHAT kind of otherkin she is…

“Hm, what exactly do you mean by ‘special’?” She asked, looking me over and giving an inquisitive glare. She didn’t have pupils to track, but the way her brows shifted and glared. I felt myself being scrutinized, like I was being dissected. I struggled to find the words, the eye on her forehead looked deeper than the rest. It’s unblinking resolve pierces through me to my very being. I felt afraid, angered, lost. She must’ve noticed how I felt as she reached to the lid of her hat and pulled it down to cover the fifth eye.

I looked at her with an unsure expression… What DID i mean by that? God, his words about being not sure what I even wanted came back to my head… I didn’t want to be just a wolf… although being a Wolf isn’t bad I just needed something more… “... demonic…”

I suddenly said quietly.. my own thoughts bubbling out of my mouth involuntarily.

“Not… like a demon-demon but like… I don't know… a Demon Wolf? Fur that is almost like smoke but also… solid? ... heat that burns in my chest…

That kinda special…”

Mars' expression changes and sits down at her computer. As her attention turned to the screen I felt a weight ease off me. I nervously watched as the being before me tapped away on her computer. As she typed up something she looked up.

“I think I understand” 

Mars says, not looking up from the computer screen.

“There are ways to be… ethereal, cosmic, existing both in the mortal realm and the outer realms. Technically speaking, what you’re asking fits the description of the Abrahamic Hellhound. But I feel that’s not what you're looking for. It’s hard to explain the unexplainable… trust me..”

Mars hits the enter button as she looks back up at me. A kinder smile on her face as she looked for my response. The pressure of her presence once more weighed down on me as I stumbled to respond.

I scratch the back of my head and nod. 

“Y-yeah. Kinda hard to find something that describes the kind of thing I am looking for. A Hellhound sounds not bad, maybe some kinda different version! Maybe something with a bit more… fur hehe.. I guess you would know what it’s like. I don’t want to sound mean but I have never seen anything like you either.”

“Well my transition is a bit… different than the rest.. it’s hard to explain and it’s harder to understand. Frankly I’m still trying to figure out what I am and what’s going on…”

I notice her grab something from behind their desk. She looks down as I hear her scribble something out before standing up once more.

“I think I have something of interest to you, within the archives we have a selection of old reproductions from the Library of Alexandria. It was there where I found a way to become what I am. I believe I know something in the vault that might help you”.

She walked past me, her back appendages stretching outward and then falling back to a rest state. Her tail sways as she walks past the stacks and to a glass door saying ‘Employees Only’.

“Stay here and I’ll have the item brought down for you, feel free to look around while I’m gone.”

It was then that I first noticed how freaking exhausted I was from all the tension that was constantly in my body. I slumped against the desk and felt like I could breathe normally for the first time in my life, even when I didn't notice me breathing abnormally before. This entire situation is beginning to make me feel… somewhat… no… not somewhat.. REALLY excited! When I first started my transition into a Wolf, I felt a slight excitement with it.. not nearly as strong as it is now.  I was sure, this is it! I am at the right place, whatever comes next is what I really wanted!! 

I didn’t start looking around, my feet were almost stuck to the ground, my body still somewhat on edge. My fur definitely needed a brush now with how much it keeps shifting from the adrenaline that keeps shooting through my body in waves. I can’t wait to see what Mars is going to bring back from that employee section… figures that the good stuff is being held back from the general public but hey, who am i to complain. It’s not like the things are not being used for others outside of the employees, guess there is a genuine reason.. if it is able to “produce” beings like Mars, maybe that’s for the better to keep it somewhat detained.

There’s a ding from behind the door and the sound of something rolling. As the employee door unlocks Mars steps out, pushing along a small cart. The second she’s within eyesight I feel her presence once more as I find myself frozen with anxiety. 

“Here we are, the Alexandria Chronicles.”

She says with a pleased chirp. She sets the book between two angled pieces of foam. She gently flips through the pages, being extra careful with her sharpened talons. She settles on a page with incantation circles and text written in some ancient language. She moves her head and runs her claw along the text before turning back to me.

“Arynia, what I have here is a book that contains the remnants of the Library to Alexandria. Within these pages contain the history of the old gods, the ones who continue to influence us in secret. If you want to be like me, you will be made aware of these old ones. You will endure immeasurable pain and psychosis. I say this not to scare you, but to warn you.. to prepare you..”

Mars ushers me forward with her hand. I feel myself walk towards her, but not on my own volition. I approach the book, seeing the inscriptions up close and find the page overwhelming with information. 

“Do you have any questions?”

I take a long look at the writing. Nothing I could ever understand… but still i feel the weight of Mars’s words on my entire body. “I was ready for the pain of the HRT. I saw how much it weighed down on people I care about so that point I am sure is not going to hold me back. As for these old ones…” I took a determined look at Mars, as much as I felt afraid when simply in her presence… There was also the resolve to continue.

“I guess my only question would be when we can start. I can worry about the rest later. Right now my heart tells me that this is the right thing for me.”

Mars smiles and gestures back to the book, her clawed finger gently pointing at a scribble written in the margins. The blurb appears to be an old attempt at translating the chant. The combination of consonants and vowels made it difficult to read. 

“If you need assistance, never be shy to reach out. With that said, let’s begin”.

I nod, but then raise an eyebrow. “So-  I just read out the stuff written on the page?”

“We’ll need to set up a ritual circle, but try reciting this till you feel confident. I’ll get the circle set up.”

Mars steps back and walks to the front door. I hear the latching of the front doors and her footsteps walking to the front desk. I turn my attention back to the few lines of translated text. I reread the text a few times working on the exotic letter combinations. Once confident I try saying it out loud in a hush tone. Tripping over a few words but finding it not as difficult as I initially thought. 

Would have never thought I would end up in a library, practicing ancient texts in order to get some medicine that turns me into a hellhound! Not to mention this being connected to eldritch gods? Wonder if i should give this maybe some more thought… but then again.. it’s this or going to that asshole Erian and beg him to put me back on the hrt… yeah no this is definitely the better option. 

I ended up practicing for, what felt like an hour, managing to no longer stumble over the words. I pick up the book, still mumbling the text while walking to where Mars is probably either still setting up, or is waiting for me. 

I reached a clearing and found a large summoning circle matching the one from the book. Another circle filled the center as well as a ring of the ancient language. She smiled at me as she stood and handed me a candle. 

“Set this where you like and light it. Once that’s done we’ll be ready”.

I nodded and turned away as I was handed a candle and a match. My mind raced with thoughts and feelings. I couldn’t stop contemplating if this was the right choice. If this would truly make me a hellhound. I felt drawn to a certain part of the circle and placed the candle. As I lit it I felt the air shift, my breath could be seen and as I turned back Mars sat just outside the circle with the book. She ushered me forward and like earlier I felt myself moving at her command. I kneeled next to her and looked at the book, sweat racing down my cheek as Mars placed a hand on my shoulder.

“It’s ok hun, I’ll be here to help you”.

I felt comforted by that and gave a gentle smile. I turned down to the book, nervously grabbing the edges and looking back at the translation. I grew worried that I would mess this up, that I flub the pronunciation. I felt like I was drowning and gasped for the biggest breath I’ve ever taken. And then, I began reading.

“Ph’nglui Mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh.. Wgah’nagl fhta-“

I felt a pit in my stomach, the last syllable seemed impossible to say, the ease and confidence was gone. Now I fought against some external force to finish the words.

“FHTAGN!!!!”

Then there was a flash, my eyes began to tear up as I felt a rush of surging energy. The circle illuminated, the ground shook, I felt my face being pulled in all directions. I wanted to shut my eyes but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but witness waves of images and voices. My vision began to split, I could see more than just the library. I could see pillars, a cracking moon, a hall draped with yellow banners. These images flooded my mind and soul and then nothing. I was floating in a vast void, I felt a moment of ease before the realm began splitting, an eye larger than anything I’ve ever witnessed glared at me… through me? I tried avoiding its gaze, but I wasn't able to… I tried to speak up but my instincts clenched my mouth shut. 

I felt another rush as I was pulled away and then, finally, I blinked. My eyes celebrated the release of the tension as they began to refocus. I felt control regain in my mind and arms as I reached up and wiped the tears. I took a moment to recover, my mind still reeling from what I witnessed.

“Harsh, isn’t it?”

I turned to see Mars who looked relieved. She smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. 

“You seemed to handle that very well. It’s something to have every sense we have to be overwhelmed. It’s crippling, and when we have that control it feels so foreign..”

Mars reached for the now closed book and took it in her arms. She cradled it like a child and stood up and offered me a hand. I wasn’t sure I could stand yet, my legs felt like they were still trembling. I could tell Mars read my expression as she pulled her hand away. 

“Sorry, why don’t you relax a bit while I get this all cleaned up.”

I nod to the best of my ability. Still trying to come to terms with what just happened. My eyes went from Mars towards the ground as my mind tried to make sure that I was back on earth… and not in whatever place I was before… It is at this very moment I start to realize what I just signed myself up for. And the fact settles in that this is not going to be the last time my very foundation of reality is going to be shaken. I look up at Mars one more time.

“Di-” I cough.. damn spit must have gotten in my throat at some point…

“Did it work?”

Mars turns her attention to the center of the circle and sees a small orange bottle. And smiles and turns back to me and nods.

“It did, welcome to family”

I looked back to the center of the circle when Mars did, turning back shortly after with a smile. 

“Thanks~ I guess I’ll be visiting this place more often now~” 

I slowly stand up, my legs still shaking from the ordeal and pick up that small orange pill bottle. It has my name on it… hades-lupusitine… bit on the nose name but hey, ain’t gonna complain as long as it does the job. The name of the prescribing doc was left blank though… then again that makes sense… don’t think you can fit whatever that eyeball's name was on the small tag of a pill bottle… IF that was the one that heard my call from the ritual… 1-0-1… so guess two of them a day… mornings and evenings huh?

I turn back to Mars with a smile as big as I can manage, and a wagging tail swishing behind me.. 

“Thank you so goddamn much for all of this Mars!” She smiled back at me. No more words needed to be spoken… not that I was really able to speak much after that mental strain anyway.. She kindly walked me out of the Library after putting the book back where it was safe. We waved each other goodbye, promising to stay in touch. I took my walk home, caressing the small pill bottle in my Jeans pocket and just itching to take the first pill in the evening. I just hope the next cosmic horrors at least knock first…  

-----------------------------------------------

Definitely check out Mars's Eldritch HRT series!!

[luvtonique]

I realized something this morning.

This is probably gonna be a long post. (Edit, yep)

I'm a pretty fairly public figure on the internet, and I very regularly interact with a huge amount of people. From YouTube Comments to Discord to Tumblr Asks/Comments to Newgrounds Reviews to MMO Chat to Mic-Chat on Games to Twitch Chat to Stream Chat, blah blah blah.

I've, for years now, over a decade (hell over two decades) talked to probably thousands of people, and have been able to get a gauge on a pretty safe to say "average" of collective human intelligence on the internet.

I've come to realize that not everybody has that kind of experience talking to people online as I do. I've talked to literally thousands, probably near ten thousand, people online in my life.

This is a staggeringly high number and puts me in an outlier position among the rest of you, who likely have only interacted with a double digit number of people online in your life.

Now that you have that information in mind, here's what I realized this morning.

I realized that the reason I don't listen to people, ESPECIALLY when it comes to politics, is because I have learned through talking to all these people that fucking nobody knows what they're fucking goddamn talking about.

I study a lot of things in my spare time, and history is a huge one that I study. I very regularly read and listen to multiple sources talking about historic events, and I make sure to look at as many sources as possible, sometimes including reading encyclopedias in my own home that we've owned for like 40 years.

I cross-reference all of these things and paint a picture of the most likely truths through various means.

Why's that important? Because sometimes a 14 year old on Twitter, literally nearly less than a third my age, will occasionally come along telling me that I'm wrong. Not about history necessarily, but about some opinion that I have based on my own experience and my own knowledge that I've researched myself.

I usually ask them where they got their information, and I'm met with boldfaced idiocy. Completely braindead shit like "180,000 people said it on Twitter," or they link me a Tumblr post with 100k notes, or they say "It's common knowledge," (which is the biggest red flag of them all because not only does it prove they have no evidence to back up what they're saying, but as this post will go on to explain, "common knowledge" is quite literally the worst source of information on anything. People commonly think the earth is flat and that Scientology is real. People commonly think that walking under a ladder or breaking a mirror gives you bad luck. People commonly think that naturally blue food exists.)

In my life I have met thousands of people, and THOUSANDS of them are fucking idiots who very very smugly state completely incorrect knowledge. Earlier today someone tried to tell me that the creators of Beat Saber never sold the company to Facebook, and I showed them proof and they went silent for 3 hours and then went "Yeah so what, Facebook is still a good company" and I wanted to beat my head against the desk.

The internet is full of people who are fascinatingly ignorant. I'm not calling myself "better" or "smarter" than anyone here, I'm just saying that I have learned better than most people that people on the internet are not, and never fucking will be, a good source of information. I don't care if they're your best fucking friend, the coin-toss of them knowing what they're talking about or actually having the facts is so heavily weighted against them, it's seriously like a 98% chance they have no fucking clue what they're talking about.

I urge everyone to take a moment and realize that the internet is, in fact, a good place to find information and do research, but PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET, especially MEDIA AND SOCIAL MEDIA, are NOT SMART PEOPLE AND ARE NOT GOOD SOURCES FOR YOUR INFORMATION.

These are angry, smug, annoying little idiots who are likely 14 years old with a 1st grade reading comprehension who aspires to be a TikTok content creator as a career, and under no fucking circumstance should you ever, ever, EVER listen to any social, financial, religious, gendered, medical or political advice they give.

The world has gotten vastly out of control with how much people think "A lot of people agree with me" is a good enough reason to solidify your opinions. "A lot of people agree" is the biggest red flag ever, because people on the fucking internet are complete fucking idiots, I'm sorry, but I'm someone with far more experience talking to people on the internet than literally any of you reading this. I talk to people on the internet as a career and have been doing this for longer than most of you reading this have been alive.

So what's the point of this? What's the take-away?

The take-away is that I'm saddened by how many people will attack each other vehemently, cut off friends and family members, label people as toxic or problematic, jump to conclusions, etc. based on complete and utter misinformation spouted to them by people who have never once in their entire life actually looked up what the fuck they're talking about. They treat random strangers on Twitter as "experts" because that person is well articulated or put together a YouTube video with really good editing that's softly spoken by a British accent guy and has scary music whenever some "evil" person is on the screen.

The take-away is that people, like yourself (don't you dare try to deny it) will just believe whatever they read on social media, or whatever their Discord friend-group is talking about, because they are living in a complete falsehood that people on the internet know better than they do.

You are not incapable of doing your own research. You are not incapable of finding the truth. You are not stupid. Just do your own research, look into things yourself, cross-reference, use the scientific method, go to a library, read books, for fuck sake please adopt the basic social skill of "If someone says it on the internet it is most likely not true and I should look into it myself."

Because the current state of people is monstrous.

Y'all get so fucking mad about things that are just plain not true, and you revolve your entire life around things you were told by complete idiots and/or children on Twitter and other social media websites.

Stop.

Look at yourself, look at how angry you get about things, and consider that there may be a possibility that anger stems from a complete lack of any foundation or truth in your own beliefs.

Consider the almost 100% guaranteed possibility that you have been blatantly lied to by people who have no fucking idea what they're talking about, and that you are violently upholding standards that are incorrect because you have placed trust in the word of untrustworthy people.

Look up confirmation bias, read about it.

Look up manipulation tactics, read about it.

Look up "Plato's Republic" and read about it.

Absolutely, under no circumstances, should you ever, EVER, form your social or religious or political or financial or gendered or sexual etc. opinions based on SHIT YOU READ ON SOCIAL MEDIA.

And while we're here, don't listen to the news either. They're just a bunch of parrots saying what needs to be said to get you all fighting with each other so that the government can fuck things up while you're distracted. Do your own research, check multiple sources, don't consider social media or regular media to be a 'source,' get every bit of information from every angle, and for fuck sake, stop attacking people for disagreeing with you when you, yourself, only believe what you believe because your friend group believes it and you know that if you disagree with your friend group they'll all attack you so you'd rather be on their side, which only further proves my point that y'all need to fucking chill.

"Democracy will never work. If 3 medical experts tell you that you must eat a ginger root to cure your ailments, but 100,000 idiots with no medical experience tell you otherwise, you're more likely to believe the 100,000 idiots. They are louder, there are more of them, and you will gamble on the hope that among those 100,000 idiots, there must be more than 3 medical experts. The voice of the ignorant will always drown out the voice of the educated."

-Plato's Republic, 375BCE (Paraphrased)

"I can't believe Jay just called us all idiots and expects us to listen to him"

-Someone in the comments of this (It's gonna happen)

PS: If you looked up "Naturally Blue Food," and found out it does in fact not exist, good for you for doing your own research!

[soraviie]

chasing after you.txt

━ type: bts x f! reader ━ navigation

━ about: dynamics in order: Joon - one-night stand + enemies to lovers, Yoongi - neighbours with a bit of a bad boy influence, Jin - sort of arranged marriage au, Hoseok - exes to lovers, Jimin - sugar daddy/fake dating au, Taehyung - tease x anger issues/clingy + tsundere/f2l, Jungkook - bodyguard x ward

━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: "Aw, fuck, who invited that guy?" you growled, whilst rolling your eyes at the corner where Namjoon had been so precariously sat like an asshole. You hated everything about him - the smug smile, the cocky tone of his voice, the winks he threw your way. Kim Namjoon was nothing but a sure way to get your blood pressure up and stay that way all through the night.

"Probably one of his fri- Shit! He's coming this way!" as your friend dipped over the bar and away into the crowd, courageous as ever, you snatched your drink partially pondering about throwing it into his face.

"You look lonely," he cooed with that shit-eating grin that you had wanted to smack away since the first meeting. And maybe to kiss but he didn't need to know that. "Why don't I keep you company?"

"Keep company with your left hand like you usually do," you yelled over the music.

"Well it does pair well with certain memories of you," he smirked and you groaned in disgust.

A misguided February 14th evening could lead to many foul things - unexpected pregnancy, STDs, Kim Namjoon having the delusional idea that you liked him.

Frankly, you'd rather endure a yeast infection than have this 6 feet fuckboy in the disguise of a pacifistic art lover keep chasing you every night out. More than once you wanted to slap your younger self only to come to their defence over and over again.

Namjoon was big. Big man. Big muscles. Big...well you get it.

And that may have made you a little bit stupid once! But not twice.

Yes.

"I can't stand you," you sneered at him with the most contempt you could possibly muster

"Sit on my lap then, baby."

You took a long swig to finish your drink, sliding it across the bartop and walking backwards, you levelled him down with a:

"You'd only cream your jeans, caveman."

"That's possible," he reckoned with a soft smile watching you mingle with the dancing crowd.

And for a while, it all went well, you'd find someone to at least waste some time with only for them to suddenly start sprinting away for their lives. You frowned after them, coming to a screeching halt in the fun.

Did your breath smell or something?

Taken with dancing, you hadn't noticed the broad-chested giant charging forth, smoke practically fuming from his nostril as his eyes glinted devilishly when tracking down the opponent. As the music changed, you found your waist circled by a shovel-sized palm.

"You really have no luck out here. You keep on being stuck with lil' old me," he whispered in your ear, causing long trails of goosebumps where his breath landed and you elbowed him, hard, in the gut.

He didn't even seem to mind.

"I don't know who you think you are Kim Namjoon but I will never-!"

"Oh, how you hate me," he lets out a burst of raspy laughter, head thrown back on the pillow, pulling you closer as much as he can despite you both being considerably sweaty.

"S-shut up," you grunt back, thighs aching but just a little bit more and you'll be in your happy place even if it was with this obnoxious gym rat. "You're just a cock on legs to me."

"Oh, for sure," he smirks and then prompts himself upwards to bite on your neck. "But you might think of screaming a tad quieter if you want to be really convincing."

It's a sick sense of deja-vu to wake up sore and aching all over in a sun-filled room overstuffed with cacti and a very soft blanket. The bed was empty and as you clamber to the toilet wearing a shirt found on the floor, struggling to walk, you stumble upon him in the kitchen - Cheshire grin spread all over his lips.

"Good morning," Namjoon greets. "You want some eggs, babe?"

YOONGI: His eyes track your movement as though it's dazed him and it's in moments like these you wish he was a criminal or something, a certified member of a mafia. A flag touch redder.

Stay away from Min Yoongi, they said, he's trouble but what to do when he doesn't stay away from you?

"So a kitten does come out to play," he purrs pressing one of those veiny palms against the elevator doors, halting it in its tracks and climbing in. You roll your eyes and straighten your back to appear more threatening. Yoongi, of course, couldn't give less of a shit.

"You're one to speak," you counter. "The most walking you do is through your apartment. It's like a herd of elephants."

"Well then don't listen in on what I do, you little pervert," he smirks, pressing the 8 on the elevator and it jerkily moves through the floors, reminding you once again to be grateful for life.

"Give it here," without waiting for a reply, he grabs the hold of your bags and goes straight to your apartment doors. Once inside he makes himself right at home, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"What are we eating?" he questions gruffly, examining the produce with no small amount of judgment.

"You're speaking French now?" you push him away, relinquishing the rightful ownership of a pair of avocados you bought. "Whose "we"?"

He doesn't bother gracing it with a comment as anyhow a doorbell rings and you see his tongue poke against the cheek.

"Who the hell are you?" he questions sharply and you peer into the doorway.

"Oh, hello," you greet your coworker with a reserved smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, what are you doing here?" Yoongi echoes, placing his hand above your head and on the very edge of the door.

"Just interested if you're going to the uh... team bonding activities," he replies, fretfully glancing at Yoongi.

"Ignore him, I do," you smirk up at Yoongi. "And-"

"She has plans," Yoongi interrupts, pushing you back into the kitchen with his palm against your back.

"Oh, okay," your coworker stutters awkwardly, trying to lean in somehow. "See you around?"

"No," Yoongi cheerfully replies and smacks the door right into his face.

"You're such a dick," you groan.

"Did you have plans?" he asks with a teasing lilt, voice dropping nearly an octave lower. "And are you going to lie that it wasn't with me?"

"My jumbo-sized Charmander plushie and I are doing well on our own," you point at him with a packet of tomatoes. "Where you fit into the equation is a mystery."

"I'll tell you where I can fit," he laughed, wagging his eyebrows.

"No, no, goodbye," you wrinkle your nose in disgust, pushing his still laughing back out of the door. "Leave."

"Wait, what if I need some sugar?" he objects and you furrow your eyebrows, glaring up at him in suspicion.

"Do you?"

"No," he shrugs carelessly. "But what if."

"Begone, demon," you push against him harder but he seems to only enjoy it.

"Come to my game. It's right across the street in that park. I need a good luck charm."

"Will you be throwing a ball in your face? If no, then I'm not interested."

As you slam the door shut there still comes a raspy whine.

"Come on, short ass, come."

And if you do happen to drop by the nearest park with its shitty basketball court it's because you have nothing better to do and you needed some ice cream. Yoongi, uncharacteristically brazen for him, smirks at then winks in the middle of the game.

And promptly receives a ball to the face.

JIN: "Eat more garlic!"

"Straighten your hair with an iron!"

"Belch really, really loudly!"

You try to recall all of your friends' sage advice whilst pacifying your nerves. Being late nearly an hour didn't sit well with you but this guy was...determined. Insanely determined. So the ends justify the means.

When at last you arrive at the three Michelin star restaurant it's an hour later than what your family had set and you're wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Your face may burn with shame at such a display but certainly, this would beat this broad-shouldered man off the path. This was beyond and above rude. You're already prepared to be yelled at, scorned and insulted but Seokjin merely blooms into an eager smile. Doesn't even blink twice at your choice of wear.

He dismisses the host with a polite nod and pulls a chair out.

"Hello, _________," he greets innocently. "Traffic is hell, right."

There was no traffic and he knew it only making excuses to achieve whatever nefarious goal he had set out to.

"Just give him a chance," your mother pleaded over the phone. "He's been asking about you forever. Please, he's rich and handsome, what's not to like."

What's not to like? Well, probably something. Kim Seokjin in your mind had always stood as that annoying guy who'd dropped a water bomb on your head when you were about to take the most glorious profile picture ever. Spinning in overlapping social circles, you'd seen too much of him growing up and had to endure several of your friends flailing over him especially when the pool season began. He was like a jar of honey to their fly status. And as such only a tar in your own pot of sweetness.

He was old. You had not exactly a criminal age difference but still more than 2 years. He was a creep, you firmly plant that idea into the recesses of your mind.

Why oh why, was he so insistent on asking about you?

"Good idea," he praises, pointing at your outfit. "It's best to be comfortable. I should have done that as well, this is quite uncomfortable," he waves a disappointed hand over the blue three-piece suit.

The waiter along with the menu serves you a freshly plucked side eye.

"Yeah, that's why I did it," dryly you mutter back, hiding behind the menu.

Think, think, think, what else turns off snooty men?

"Fucking shit," you cry out to your own amazement. "These prices are ridiculous. I'm not paying for this!"

"That's fine," Jin shrugs with that seemingly permanently etched expression of a tender smile. "I invited you here, I'll pay."

You groan.

"I'll fart," you threaten.

He shrugs and gracefully pours you a glass of wine.

"Everyone does that. It's a part of life."

You slobber your dinner up like a beast.

"Hmm, you're making the meal look more delicious," he nods.

And not even when you "accidentally" spill a mango sauce on his pants worth more than your apartment, does he weigh the thought of becoming angry in his mind.

"Ah, it's a perfect colour now," he merely congratulates with a jubilant cry and you let your head fall on the table with a thud, only it hits his palm as he had stretched it out at the last second.

"Are you insane?" you breathe out in sheer desperation. "Why are you not running over the hills?"

"Do you really think I can't see that you're doing this on purpose?" he smirks in amusement, over the rim of the wine glass. "We've known each other for a while, I know you better than that."

"Exactly!" you yell before falling into a hush as numerous daggers shoot your way. "You know me! As the annoying friend of your cousin! Why are you asking after me all of a sudden?! What joke are you playing?"

"Well, first of all," Jin corrects all too self-congratulatory. "I've never thought you were annoying. Maybe except when you were like 14 but who isn't the worst person in the world at that age? And secondly," his ears abruptly turn quite pink and he lets the wine glass rest on the table, nervously fiddling with its stem. "I asked for you because as you may know your mother is quite eagerly seeking various wedlock opportunities. For you specifically."

That makes you groan only louder.

"Don't remind me. So, so what? You want to get married to me?" you snort at the idea but then, for the first time ever, Jin is not laughing.

"Yes," he says dead serious.

"Wait, is this a prank?" you glance all around in an attempt to find the hidden cameras. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"I'm pulling no legs. What a weird thing to do," Jin muses and you narrow him down.

"Don't joke. It's not funny. Say "got you" or something. You can't be serious?!"

"Listen, ___________, I've liked you for a while now. I wanted to ask you before you began university but then you brought Jae home and..."

"Jae? Jin, that was...that was five years ago! You couldn't have liked me for five years?"

He averts his eyes and sips on his champagne. Even his neck is red.

"Five years?" you cry out. "And you kept quiet?!"

"Well, I told you now!" he objects with some indignation but even more of a burning shame. "All you need to do is to decide what you're going to do. 'Cause I'll accept you as you are, belching, sweatpant wearing and all. Even if you straighten your hair with an iron."

For a second you sit still and stupefied on this ridiculously over-padded chair ad then you feel yourself match the heat blooming on his face.

"You know Giulia?" you ask, downing the entire wine while desperately trying not to smile at the soft amusement in his eyes.

"Of course, I know Giulia," Jin chuckles self-consciously. "Who do you think gave me the genius advice of this stuffy suit?"

HOSEOK: You should have known from the start that this would lead to nothing good. What else could wait for you at the end of the nondescript hallways of conference rooms? One thing you didn't expect however was the loathsome face of your ex-boyfriend. Hoseok was sitting already by the table, beautiful as ever, leg nervously bouncing against the floor and treacherously a click of a lock snapping in its place echoes behind you.

He springs up from the seat, nervously glancing at where you tried to somehow break through the door. Or the wall, whichever came first.

"Oh, hell no," you growled, nails scraping against the doorknob. The betraying Brutus of a friend he had bribed to text you to come here will find an egg on their window for sure.

"_____________, please, let's just talk," he pleads. "Just let...let me explain."

"I don't want to hear any explanation," you hissed, turning to glare at him. From the way his eyebrows sloped, you could tell he was deadset serious but then it comes too clearly back into your mind.

That you were weird, not his type, that he doesn't understand you. But instead of simply crying about it you left. To cry about it in your own space. And also then turn incredibly bitter over it.

"I just meant that..."

"That I'm a freak? Yeah, I got it," you snarled before yanking harder on the knob. "Open the damn door!"

"No. If you're going to leave then please do the courtesy of letting me memorize your face."

You close your eyes, steeling your resolve. Don't give in, you reminded yourself, not after a whole year of hunkering through yet another heartbreak. Hoseok was just like the rest. Taking weirdness in all the things you liked, that you were. Why should you ever change for anyone else?

"It's been a year," you note sternly, having slid on the floor. He's also there, watching away from the small distance with a crease of a frown between his brows.

"Exactly. This year was one of the worst I've ever had," he confesses, supposedly earnestly. "I admit the things that I said were wrong but I did not mean it like that!"

"________________ is just a bit weird. You know the people I used to date, there's a bit of a difference, softly said," you quote him word for word. "And you said that to someone else! You opened your mouth, said that shit and thought it was okay!"

The sun behind the window had nearly slipped over the horizon and the office space was illuminated with a soft orange glow.

"You know the first time I met you, that was a lie," he mutters into the air. No one had come to open the door despite you nearly beating it off the hinges.

"Oh, that too was a lie, wonderful," you groaned, rolling your eyes but Hoseok remains sitting sadly by, occasionally passively twirling his shoe laces.

"I actually went past you on the street. Remember the crossroad by that small confectionery?"

You did remember. You lived right above it for a while, making your hair smell perpetually of candy for half a year.

"I...I got lost around there and walked past you, and you were sort of listening to your headphones, not looking around. I remember," he chuckled as though taken by an old memory. "You wore that knitted jumper that kept falling off your shoulder, the faded beige one and I just...I was so jealous of you, you were so carefree."

You glanced at him surprised. As far as you knew the first time Hoseok and you met was at a graduation gathering, a friend of a friend sort of a situation. And as you sat there, enjoying your barbecue by the side, wondering whether to dip your ketchup-stained hand in some weed brownies, he came up to you with the brightest smile, talking as though he knew you. Guess he did then know you.

"And the next day I went there again. I didn't even know why but I just did and you were there again. And I kept returning," he smiled at the ground but it quickly vanished. "Every day for a month before I met you at that gathering. Sometimes you were there, a lot of times - not but when you did it lit up my entire day. I didn't know how to approach you though, it's not a thing you do in the middle of the street, you know?"

"No," you affirm faintly.

"And when you left..." Hoseok winced at the mere mention of it. "I still kept going back," his breath was nothing more than a whisper stained with regret. The look in his eyes was downright depressing and you wondered if he had roamed around bearing the same heavy chip that you had. "And our favourite cafe. And your favourite park spot. I was there like...like a ghost lingering in your presence."

"But why did you say then that I was weird?" you sniffled, letting, for the joke of your own mental stability, some of that defence down. Attempting to look at Hoseok without the veil of contempt you've draped over him for a year. Dragging yourself back from hell was hard, dragging yourself from hell when thrust there by the one person you thought wouldn't do that - even harder. But by peeling off at least one cover, you saw many wonderful memories behind it, as slightly tainted as they were.

"I don't know," he groaned, hiding his face in the palm of his hands. "I was stupid. I meant in my heart that you were unlike anyone I've been with before. Not bad but different. And, yes, sometimes I don't understand you but I want to," he rouses to look into your eyes across the room. "I want to. And even if I never fully understand, I would like to make you feel heard and stand by your side nonetheless."

You stare into the sun to avoid crying. Stupid thought as no one ever stared into this glowing orb of light hanging in the sky in order to not get misty-eyed.

"What I said there was, I admit, crass. I was scared because I...with you I don't want to leave. I don't want to call quits when it becomes uncomfortable or becomes uneasy, I want us to grow together. And that scares me because, for the first time, I can really truly get hurt," he exhaled a heavy sigh, voice growing strained. "So when you left, no explanation, just gone in the wind..." he glimpsed over the horizon. "Anyway, I recognise me cornering you like this is wrong but...if you ran away because you felt unloved, I just wanted to show that I'd be chasing after."

Hoseok wiped at his eyes and briskly got up.

"But if you didn't and don't want me, I'll open the doors," from the pocket of his jeans, he fished out a glinting silver key. "I really just wanted to memorize you for as long as I could. I'm sorry."

He opens the doors and you called out -

"Hoseok!"

JIMIN: The phone kept ringing. You'd put it on mute but even so the bright light of the flashing screen stirred you awake and after a brief wrangle of putting the chip bowl actually on the table nearby, kicking your leg free from the grasp of the blanket, you simply watched it ring. After eventually growing into silence, it went to the 45 unanswered calls like the rest. You sighed turned to your side and slid the eye mask over the face, trying to somehow coerce yourself into immediate and indisputable slumber.

This was just the outward manifestation of his bruised ego, nothing more. You don't think anyone had ever rejected Park Jimin so this must be a new, unfamiliar feeling, one he'll get over in time and then maybe even laugh about it years down the line.

I mean, come on, you thought to yourself cutting the words like bloodied post-it notes in your own mind. There's no such thing as a rich handsome guy genuinely falling for someone so...

The disgusting words sprung too freely on the tip of your tongue so you settle for normal. To not at least give into self-hatred so easy. Such was the plot of romantic dramas and fantasies hence why it was fiction. Rich, beautiful people went for other rich beautiful people, normal folks went for normal folks. Dogs did not mix with chickens or pandas with capybaras. It was simply nonsense.

But as you close your eyes, the memories make it harder to be as clinically objective. All too well, you remember. His hands on your face, grasping as though he feared you would leave.

"Why don't you ever believe me?" he asked with heated desperation. "Nothing I say is ever good enough. Nothing is trustworthy!"

You tried to pry him gently away.

"Because how can I believe you? Look at yourself and look at me. This is not even opposites it's...unfathomables!"

You wished partially that he'd go to the good old Mr Park of the beginning, one who'd walked up to you in a cafe and asked if for a fair amount of money you'd be willing to answer his phone and pretend to be his girlfriend. And since the sum he called out was the rate of an onerous monthly rent, you'd plastered the sweetest voice you could in a matter of seconds with no questions asked.

When thinking of all the troubles when he approached you again, completely by accident, you had thought to yourself jail, assault, violence, even cannibalism for good measure, who knew what kind of sicko this stranger could be, but never you considered you'd be scared by the simple fact that he was in love with you. He had been cold, rude and brusque at the start and you had been fine with that, your "job" was to sometimes go to family dinners and lie which while not moral was not a crime.

Only then he invited to accompany him to his office, then to trips, then to movies and then one day you wake up in your bed and Mr Park, once a cold and resigned man, drenched in his own riches, is now making pancakes on your old stovetop and smiles the kindest smile you'd ever seen and asks if you slept well.

How could it not be a scary sight?

"I love you!" he shook you by the shoulders, not hard enough to hurt but as if trying to shake the bad thoughts out. "But you hate yourself! And you never listen!"

"They'll think I'm a gold-digger!" you cried. Just looking around his apartment made you sick. You couldn't even afford his carpet. How could he love someone with whom he shared so little with? He had never known the feeling of counting one's last money to afford bread or not buying something out of impulse. And you had never known the etiquette of polite brutality, of caring about who sits where because one word spoken at the wrong crowd table could destroy your entire livelihood. Love didn't change two profoundly different experiences.

"They don't think that!" he argued. "My parents wanted me to be with someone-"

"Poor?" you interrupted finally wrenching yourself free. Why was he so cruelly saying these things? He will just make you love him and then dump you with nary concern. Like others and then in time you will always think that you should have known better. Should have gotten rid of those rose-tinted glasses sooner not when they're smashed in shatters on the cold concrete.

"No!" Jimin immediately counters. "Of a different social circle! And even if they did, I don't care!"

"But the press-!"

"I don't care!"

"The rest of your relatives and friends-!"

"I don't care!" he yelled back, ripping at his hair, faint tears lingering in his eyes. "What will it take for you to believe me?! Please, why don't you believe me?"

"I can't!" you shrieked back in a sob. "Because better you not love me at all than fall out of it after some time! I don't want to be loved! I don't want to trust! I just want to be alone!"

Alone is what you were now but it felt no better.

"It will," you calmed yourself aloud. "Give it some time and your life will return to how it was."

Boring. Monotone. A single actor performing the most dreadful play to an audience of no spectators. You sniffled punching the pillow. Stupid Park Jimin waltzing into your life and making you think you were not the person you saw in your mind. That you were better. But how can you be when you're always "you"? A nameless face in the crowd, a cog in the machine.

No one, really.

As a sudden hand wraps around your waist, you scream and nearly punch the lights out of the affectionate attacker before in the faint streetlight streaming through the windows you recognized Jimin's eyes.

"How did you get in here?" you rustled in indignation.

"I had a key made. Remember? So I could greet you at home after work," he explained sternly.

"Well, you can't be here now-" you tried to argue, even push him out if needed, but he grasped at your legs and wrestled you to sit atop of him. You always fretted you were too heavy but he never objected.

"I'll leave if you order me to leave. Say those exact words: "Jimin, I want you to leave and never return back."

"I want to be alone," you muttered out of force of habit playing with the neck of his shirt.

"It's not the same," he cupped your cheek. "Until you tell me to piss off in my face, I'll keep chasing you every time you run. You think no one would? I will. Over and over again."

Your lip wobbled.

"It's ungrateful work," you breathed as he tugged you closer into a hug, gently swaying from left to right.

"Not to me."

TAEHYUNG: It takes thirty minutes for your aunt, a known stick in the mud, to go from screaming why was there a whole ass adult man traipsing in the apartment her niece should keep an eye on, to peacefully discussing the best nut selection over the kitchen table with eagerly listening Taehyung on the other side.

You were 35% convinced he knew how to do magic, and 65% convinced he was magic. And if he feasibly could he would live in your asshole. And the worst of all you can't get rid of him.

Well no, the worst of all you don't want to.

Coming from a rough environment, no matter how you slice or dice it, that leaves its own impression upon the mind. Yours being - people leave, people lie, people bad. It was easy to go through life, more than two decades of them in selective solitude, having friends but never letting them too close in and soon after they would stop even being friends. It was easy and predictable and while no one cared for you, you had to care for no one, could go where you wanted, how and when you wanted and fully enjoy doing what you liked.

And then this curly-headed now human reincarnated tiger-bear hybrid showed up. Literally dropping out of nowhere whilst still in university, pointing a finger of his frankly too large of a hand at you and then basically saying: "I want that one, that one's mine". Actually no, he did say exactly those words as you remember faintly chucking a dictionary of law at his head, thinking he'll abduct you or something.

And that's how six years later you were moved in. And he had invaded every part of your life, with his kind words, sopping eyes and chiselled chin.

As Taehyung slowly drifted to sleep, eyes falling heavier, his hand is intertwined with yours. And as you'll go to sleep yourself, despite him having his own bed, inexplicably you'll wake up with his breath against the back of your head.

Which was strange you know. You don't even remember agreeing to be friends with him. But steady as a clockwork, lo' and behold, at two in the morning, Taehyung's thigh squirms in between yours and he sighs in content.

Bizarre to say the least.

"Hey, where are you going?" he asks in wonder, poking his very shirtless body through the crack in the bathroom doors, toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Out?"

"Wait, lemme comme with."

"Can I go out on my own? As the big girl that I am?" you huffed dryly, brows furrowed.

"No," he replied with a smile. Then you walk side by side you glare at your hands, swaying together in the warm air.

"A crazy question, one I'm just putting out there, will you ever...leave?" you ask with a faint frown. There might just be this...supposition, guesswork if you will, in your mind that it might just be that somehow you're...Taehyung's partner now.

"Hmm," he makes an act of pondering it out. "No, no, I don't think I will. Unless you kick me out."

Kick him out. Why didn't you? When previous lovers threw fits about Taehyung always being near, you parted with them with nary of guilt because they were...not your rock. Your rock and safe space had become this strange, occasionally vampiric-looking, a cardigan-loving friend of yours. But he never vocalized it. Or so you thought. He was always teasing you about being hard of emotional hearing, now that you thought about it.

You halted in the middle of the sidewalk and he turns to glimpse at you, curious.

"Taehyung...are you...in love with me?"

Astonishingly, he bursts into a peal of laughter.

"I have been for years now," he chuckles light-heartedly. "Though thank you for finally noticing."

"Wh-why didn't you say something? Anything?"

An expression of deep fondness settles on his face and it warms you like the late summer sun.

"I say "I love you" every day, dumbass. I've chased after you for like six years now. Oh, god," he gasps, sounding suddenly absolutely horrified. "Six years of my life wasted chasing after your stupid head. Oh, I'm an idiot."

"So a moron for a moron, a match made in lower intelligence," you grumble and he snorts at it, crossing the distance once more. When he takes your hand it feels weird for a second. But only for one. You ask yourself what will change and realize - not much.

"That we are Mrs Kim," he coos with a broad grin. "Great! Now I can show you the plans for our shared tombstone I sketched back in the university!"

JUNGKOOK: "He's...will he be staring like that for the entire evening?" your friend asks timidly, voice nearly overshadowed even by the pleasant music of the brunch place. You glimpse over your shoulder to find him aimlessly lounging around. When meeting your gaze, his lips, almost involuntary, spread into a wide grin as his nose scrunches in a manner that is inappropriate for any self-respecting bodyguard. He at least gathers that and sobers with a stern cough.

"Yeah, he's just...my...finance manager," lamely, you trail off but at least they believe it. Considering the last three months it wasn't that believable.

"In a twist of miraculous fate, a poor vintage boutique worker becomes the sole inheritor of the Durhanan Estate," she quotes with a mysterious smile and you squirm awkwardly as you always did when it was bought up. Six years of lawsuits had rendered the luck into a frenzied fever dream one you thought would never come to fruition. Even when the final decision was laid to rest and the lawyers of your great-grandfather popped their champagnes with cheery eyes it all felt so distant. Like a different life. That feeling, you find out, never left.

"Yeah, it's...crazy," you chuckled self-consciously.

"So is the old house haunted?" she questions leaning over the table with keen interest, though every once in a while her gaze does stray worryingly to where Jungkook was standing.

"It's just creepy. It's big...and old," you confess perhaps colouring it with hues too bold, knowing only the answer such as this would satisfy her interest. It was old and entirely too big (who needed thirty-four rooms) but with Jungkook it was less lonely, less of a ghost house and more of a...

No, it's stupid, don't say it, you think to yourself.

"So now that you're rich," she throws a not-so-small of judgemental look over the crystal glass of mimosa. "Will you be forgetting all about us?"

"No," you assure her. "This means nothing. It's just a change of...housing."

But she only scoffs in reply. You think you might not have your best friend much longer.

"You look unhappy," Jungkook reckons quietly, whilst driving back to the Durhanan estate. A nearly 300-year chateau hidden within an unnamed forest deep in the countryside. Once the chief story of the local children's ghost tales and now - your home.

Of sorts.

"I'm just tired," you deny, peering into the rolling landscape of the wilting greenery. A rougher hand suddenly rests atop of yours, stopping them from ripping the skin around the fingernails. Your face swelters with heat and you gently remove his palm.

You were his boss and this was...this was not appropriate.

But Jungkook has other ideas and despite there being thirty-four rooms and whooping nine acres of gardens there's hardly any escape from him.

"My lady, oh, my lady," he calls across the gravel path leading down into the overgrown, ivy-ridden paths. He runs up to you and then gently tucks the bloom of one of the wild roses ravaging the grounds behind your ear. He tries to suppress the smirk on his face and narrows his eyes against the glaring sun.

"You're...you," he stutters. "You doing anything special, tonight?"

You don't quite know why but that question, posed so innocently and presumably out of a need to start a conversation, makes you laugh. It was only you two here, no wifi, piss-poor electricity and the nearest town, a village actually, was thirty-minute drive away and the only thing interesting there was a two-room corner shop.

"Wondering whether we're going to be killed by demons, yes," you laughed lightly.

"I was just wondering whether we could bust out the old reliable solitaire in the library?"

You sigh but it falls more endeared than annoyed.

"Jungkook, stop trying to seduce me."

At first, his face seems to be crestfallen only for a cheeky smirk to appear.

"Trying?" he echoed and slightly leaned into you. A gust of sharp wind broke through the gardens and in sync you glanced at the sky above your heads. A cluster of dark clouds was gathering in the south.

"Let's go in," he urges softly but his body standing behind you flames your back.

A thunder was ripping outside like something crazy, rattling the panes of the window so hard you fretted they would shatter at some point. And the house screamed. Every breeze of the wind seemed to tear into the old floorboards as though they were alive.

Ghosts are not real, ghosts are not real, ghosts are not-

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

You screamed your lungs out, lunging towards the golden candelabra perched on the bedside table.

"You're alright? Are you okay?" Jungkook's voice swims through the dark and you exhale in loud relief.

"Do not! Scare me like that!"

After a moment and a creak of the old floor comes a bashful.

"Sorry."

Another crack of lightning. In the brief flash, you see him standing, unsure but not leaving. It was a bodyguard's duty to protect and he always took his duty quite seriously. Even if this duty was simply to protect you from any unwanted journalists and stalkers where there was none leaving him practically with nothing to do.

"Should I stay here? Protect you...from the storm?"

You raise an eyebrow.

"The storm? That is-"

CRACK!

"Yes, please and thank you," you whimper and not even a second later, the side of your bed dips.

Crickets might as well be chirping at the moment.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" he offers, sweetly, oh so sweetly as if he wasn't a little demon wearing a cheap halo. But still, the house continues its wail. How many lives had been lost in these walls? What stories did they tell?

You didn't want to know and so you agree but as he takes your palm, your hand lands on a very firm set of muscles.

"Jungkook, please retake 9th-grade biology, your six-pack is not a hand."

"It emits the same level of comfort."

He trails your hand higher, over his pecks and lands right on his heart. It drums like a fevered bird underneath your fingertips.

"Why are you so nervous?" you hum and he rolls on his side and settles himself onto the pillow.

"Because I like you. And you like me. Even if you pretend that you don't."

"It's really not ap-"

"Appropriate?" he finishes and then tugs his hands over your waist pulling you closer. "Perhaps not but you know what happens in the spooky old mansion, stays in the spooky old mansion."

His warm palm cups your cheek, stroking it with a dizzied smile.

"And if it doesn't, I'm a really good runner, so you can scurry all you like," a pause. His hand presses you even closer.

© soraviii/soraviie 2022-2023

[scumbagjaeger]

I LOVED UR GAMER SNK MEN HCS!! what about reader as a gamer 👀??

SNK MEN WITH GAMER!READER

starring: Eren, Jean, Armin, Connie, Porco, Reiner, Levi, Zeke

rating: mostly sfw! 18+

notes: Thanks so much for the request!! My first ask (‘: I added some of the other men because even though they might not understand video games, they can still support their partner hahah. Is there anyone else you guys would want to see included in these headcanons? Erwin? Bertholdt? Should I do some with the ladies? Let me know! Thanks for your continued support(:

EREN:

If you’re on the same team he’s supporting you 100%, doing whatever he can to help you out if you’re getting targeted or something

If you get killed? He’s going after the fucker who took you out at least ten times (or until you tell him it’s okay you’ve respawned!! He can chill!!)

But if you’re playing against him? Good luck because he’s going to target you hahah

He thinks it’s cute how whiny you get when he snipes you or gets you with his ultimate

“Sorry, (y/n), you gotta be better than that”

This man is so cocky oh lord

Secretly, when you get him back he gets so flustered? But you can’t tell because he just scoffs and tells you that he let you get him

Man’s is sportin a boner through under his desk lmao!! It’s hot seeing you take control what can I say

He invites you to the discord but then immediately regrets it because Jean will constantly try and talk about you

Jean is a homie! But he thinks you’re cool and it pisses Eren off whenever he asks you to check your dms so it’s a win-win (he just sends you memes lol)

Eren’s friends are all chill with you playing but he still likes to remind them that you’re dating

“Eren did you fucking set my house on fire” “that’s what you get for giving (y/n) a flower dumbass” “bro they needed it to make DYE you idiot”

You guys have a minecraft house together and it’s super cute! Eren will definitely let you decorate while he collects materials for you. Or you both will go on adventures together(:

If you’re playing alone he’s super supportive too! Totally down with you having time with your friends online

In between his matches with the boys he’ll come up behind you and kiss your head, not wanting to interrupt too much

But sometimes he’ll fully move your headset off of one ear and start backseat gaming

“You should use your ultimate after your teammate uses theirs. Theirs will freeze the enemy and then your pure damage will take them out… okay good now go over here and—“

After your matches he’s super affectionate ahhh

Wraps his arms around you from behind and plants a big ol’ kiss on your cheek

“M’girl did so good!!”

JEAN:

He’d be a touch cringey lmao

Insists on you both having his-and-hers desk-mats. Gives you a custom mousepad with a picture of you both on it for your birthday and the image turns out kind of wonky

He’s be heartbroken if you don’t use it though!! So you better

One day you come home and he’s rearranged half the apartment so you can have a gaming room together with your desks facing each other

But this ends terribly bc he can be too loud sometimes and he gets distracted by you

Invites you to the discord and then asks you privately if you can coordinate your nicknames online to be like “his (y/n)” and “her Jean” AA

The others never stop giving him shit for it

But he loves you! And he’s so glad you have this hobby in common

Might get a little salty about you playing with your friends without him

If you have a full team that’s fine!! But if he finds out you have a random on your team…

“Why didn’t you ask me to join?” “Babe you were in the middle of your own match!!” “So? I could have quit and joined >:(“

Probably super friendly with your friends and playgroup! Will happily hop on and play with y’all and he behaves himself

Not oblivious to the fact that some of your friends might think he’s cute/flirt with him a little bit?? But he’s confused because he has you so why are they talking to him like that

Doesn’t confront them but shuts them down respectfully(:

“No I can’t give you flowers because these ones are for (y/n) I’m surprising her with them because I love her!! I’m sure you can find your own though(:”

If you’re playing DOTA or League together he’s still garbage :( sorry hahah

Gets flustered by playing with you and then fucks up more

“Babe, can you come help me? The guys keep ganging up on me”

But he is SO PROUD OF HIMSELF whenever he can help you out!!

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ve got your back” “Dude you died four times just trying to get to (y/n)” “Shut the fuck up, Connie”

While you’re gaming you’ll reach for your drink and see it’s miraculously filled up? And there’s a little piece of your favorite candy next to it? You turn around and just see Jean sneaking back over to his desk oh lord

ARMIN:

surprise surprise, he is a total sweetheart

You two probably play a lot together just the two of you before he invites you the join their discord?

He just thinks there’s something really intimate about you both playing games together, without others

And you still definitely do that!! Armin would be the type of guy who would invite you to play games with him hahah

“Hey, (y/n)? I was wondering if you’d want to maybe play Civ 6 with me tomorrow night? Maybe we can make dinner together beforehand!”

He is the best player 2 when you guys play games, especially story games!

But similar to Eren, if you guys are on opposite teams he will show no mercy :)

“Sorry! I can’t help it” “Armin you literally CAN you’re looking for me to kill me” “oops! I’ll go easy on you, my bad!”

He never goes easy on you

He’s the best player out of his friends but he probably isn’t on every night like Eren and Connie are hahah. The nights he is on though he’s on all night!

If you stay up with him, expect super lazy mornings where you slip out of bed past noon and make pancakes together

Expect super lazy afternoon-sex where he just kind of lies on top of you LMAO, gently holds you and cradles you underneath him as he buries his face into your neck, you’re both so tired from a night of gaming but he loves getting to spend that time with you

If he’s reading or doing homework and you’re gaming, he leaves you be!

He thinks it’s important to have privacy and alone time (and he’s right)

But he’ll also come up to you after your game ends, put his hands on your shoulders and ask how your match went!

If you ask him to coach you during a match he’s actually super supportive and helpful? Unlike if you’re playing a co-op game with him hahah

He also probably likes getting to train you and teach you! He wants you to be the best(:

If he’s feeling particularly clingy he’ll just move a chair to sit next you your gaming desk and read next to you lmao

Not even talking or distracting you! He just finds the keyboard clicks and your voice calming

Okay I want to make random college headcanons for the boys should I ever write a fic, and Armin would also make models?? I’m thinking warhammer or DnD ones (DnD with the squad headcanons? 👀) imagine him with a headlamp and big ol’ glasses so he can get a detailed paint job!

And he’d custom make a model of your main in their costume and surprise you with it on your anniversary! It takes him weeks to make :')

CONNIE:

omg he’d be an ass

You know those memes about the pick me characters? He’d jokingly accuse you of that

“Idk do you really know how to play COD? Or are you just trying to hang with the bros” “Connie I literally kicked your ass last night what do you mean” “Fair point”

Probably just teases you a lot during the games in general

“Babe if you press Q while holding your diamond pickaxe it’ll make you mine obsidian faster” “Wait (y/n) don’t that’ll throw your pickaxe into the la—"

Seconds later: *conniespringaa tried to swim in lava*

In a match those he’s actually the most supportive I’d argue? He totally lets you do your thing, whereas Armin and Eren might still have you try and follow their lead

“Where you goin’, mama? Damn atta girl! I’ve gotcha, don’t worry (y/n)” literally just follows you around the map to be backup and to hype you up!

In my last set of hcs Connie was a streamer! If you also streamed he’d be obsessed with doing those fun collabs with you

Either that or he’d be like “ew guys this weirdo is trying to join my discord call rn lemme see what she wants— hello? Do I know you? Always happy to meet a fan but how did you get my discord?”

Idk why he thinks pretending he doesn’t know you is the funniest thing ever?? You guys start a new match with his friends and suddenly he spends the whole game chirping at you

“Damn mama where have you been all my life? You got a man? Why don’t you let me get your number, I bet you look fine as hell in real life” “Connie if you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’m going to lose it”—Eren

He’s so much fun to play story games with though! I’m thinking Detroit: Become Human

He’ll sit next to you and let you control things and he’ll do voices for the characters (he’ll even turn down the game voices so he can impersonate the characters instead)

Makes Connor and the other androids it sound like literal robots, add in extra comments, etc

Honestly I think Connie would be the best at voices? He does super great impressions of his friends and will share them a lot on discord while you’re all playing minecraft, to their dismay :)

Sometimes if he isn’t playing with you he’ll just send you a DM asking you to stream so he can watch? So cute

Too embarrassed to ask you in person but you just got used to streaming on discord now so he can hop on and watch from his computer

PORCO:

I feel like he’s pretty independent when it comes to gaming ngl so when he finds out you are a gamer he just kind of like “oh word? Cool”

Since he plays a lot of games like FIFA and GTA, he usually plays those while you do your thing

Idk why but I also feel like he would be the type of guy to have a spotless apartment? Takes pride in his cleanliness so he’s usually cleaning the apartment while you game

Which is okay with him! He likes hearing you talk to your friends

To him, gaming is kind of his thing to do when he wants to be alone? Even when he’s playing with other people it’s kind of like his private time

So when you’re playing with your friends he lets you have space!

He and Jean are probably the two gamers who would want to spend more time with you outside of the apartment doing things anyway!

But if you want to play with him he’s totally down!

He’s a pretty casual gamer but you can still expect him to get heated, especially if he thinks someone is targeting you or cheating

“No, Porco it’s okay! I made a bad play that’s all” “no (y/n) there’s no way he could have hit you from there, something’s going on”

He will make dinner while you’re gaming and surprise you with it after your match! Even though you can smell it from your desk lmao

“C‘mon, dummy, it’s getting cold,” he’ll call out and gestures to the chair he’s holding out for you

He scoots you in once you’ve sat and he asks you about how your matches are going

If you lost he’ll slide your dessert away from you and then say “sorry, winners only” 😐😐

He’s still not the most active when it comes to their DOTA or League games, but he invites you in to play with his friends so it’s okay!

Eventually he starts to insists on you being in their discord call while they’re playing just so that he can talk to you while you’re playing your own solo game or something!

Don’t get me wrong he still likes his private gaming time and thinks you deserve your own gaming time! But he quickly warms up to the idea of you being together and sharing that time together

REINER:

Okay I love Reiner to pieces yeah? But this man does not understand video games before he meets you

He just doesn’t understand the point??

“Why not just go outside and do something, love?”

He’ll comfort you if you get emotional playing a game like the Last of Us, but then he’ll ruin it by saying “I mean, they’re all dead when you think about it, yeah? They've never actually been alive! They’re not real, sweetie”

But he’s trying to comfort you I promise

I think if there was a game you could get him to play it would be a Dark Souls/Elden Ring type game! I think the dramatic music and fight scenes would pique his interest as he walks past your desk

After watching you fight Malenia or something he says he’ll give it a try

And then he loses to the Tree Sentinel and you have to comfort him. “Babe, that’s kind of the point, you have to go and level up first!” He thought he could impress you oh lord

Otherwise he’d love to watch you play Stardew Valley! Loves the characters and thinks that the heart events are super special

You might be able to convince him to start his own game of Stardew Valley, but he’s busy a lot and feels guilty about ‘abandoning them’, so he prefers to watch you play!

Will also cook you dinner and make sure your water is full while you play! He likes to watch you play and loves seeing you all happy when you’re winning

Sometimes he will try and hug you while you’re playing because he loves seeing you do something you love, but then you have to remind him that you’re in the middle of a game!

“So how was your game!” “It was good! Eren always plays aggro so he took most of the attention away from me!” “There’s a character named Eren in your game? Huh,” it takes him a second to understand that you’re playing with REAL PEOPLE

LEVI:

Just like Reiner (honestly all of these men who don’t understand video games) he doesn’t see the point? Like why not go outside and do something?

Kind of rolls his eyes at the games you play despite him not knowing about them

But he secretly takes pride in the fact that you’re sometimes the one taking control and bossing the others around

He’ll hear you tell Eren to shut up so you can focus and he’ll sneak behind you and peer over your head, maybe smooth out your hair a bit to let you know he’s there

You can talk to him about your games and he’ll listen but he’ll definitely not understand any of it

He’ll respond with a lot of “Ah”s and “Oh, I see” and “..is that good or bad?”

Silently brings you tea when you’re playing late and will usually stay up reading on the couch while you do! He’s a classy guy, likes to go to bed with you

Sometimes he’ll fall asleep on the couch so you have to wake him up :(

He just kind of shuffles over and wordlessly invites you to sleep with him there, cradled in his arms on the couch

I don’t think there’s any way you could get him to play a video game though, sorry

This is Levi Ackerman, who doesn’t understand how twitter works hahah

If you get upset over a loss he doesn’t really know how to comfort you, but he’ll kind of sneak over and mutter something like “that kid’s a bastard anyway” and kiss your head

ZEKE:

Will straight up tell you to go outside and touch grass if he thinks you’ve been inside too long

He’ll pick you up from your desk and try and carry him out to go on a walk with him or something after a match lmao!

Will ask you what is so exciting about your games and why you’d rather do that than do something with him :( poor Zeke

But he just says those kinds of things to get a rise from you lmaoo! He’s glad you have some hobby because it lets him also have private time, like Porco I think Zeke would like some space to do his own thing every now and then

Or maybe he’s just busy and glad you can keep yourself busy? I headcanon him to be going into a medical field like his dad! So Dr. Jaeger knows that you won’t be too lonely while he’s at work

You can get him to play surgeon simulator when he’s in a good mood. He thinks it’ll be easy. Ooh boy

He doesn’t become addicted or anything but when he fails, he insists that he can do it and he’s trying again. And again. And again.

Genuinely likes seeing you have a hobby and is impressed with your ability to balance your responsibilities and have time to unwind with a game

Likes to see you kill Eren in whatever game you’re playing, even minecraft hahah

Judges you for playing animal crossing though? Sorry he thinks it’s a kids game?

“…So you owe the raccoon money, huh?” 😐

You tell him he’d be a grumpy villager and he ruffles your hair before walking away with a huff hahah

Thanks again for the ask and your support! Ngl my ex boyfriend was a shitty gamer like he would ignore me a lot so this is my therapy now, imagining better gamer boyfriend scenarios for my attack on titan men :) hahah but thanks again for reaching out I hope I did it justice!

As always, thanks for reading! Feel free to drop an ask for more!

[brighttears]

Battery II Charged

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series masterlist

No physical description

Summary: On the road, your ease lasts only a couple hours before your luck runs out. An overhead confession from Joel leaves your head spinning. 

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: mention of Joel’s pill abuse, mention of death, suicide, and grief

A/n: not super exciting tbh, good stuff’s at the end. i’m gonna be fucking with some cannon stuff just so i’m not just rewriting scenes from the show so some things are changed/missing! don’t worry Joel stops being an ass like halfway through this and then we will have soft Joel from now on (mostly, probably)

—

You’ve been up for hours before anyone else wakes, Tess being the first, wandering into the room, obviously having just opened her eyes. 

“Hey.” She says when she sees you.

“Hey.”

“Coffee?”

“You have coffee?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she chuckles, strolling into the kitchen to start a pot.

“Thanks,” you say as you get up from the couch, stretching. 

“Joel’ll be up soon. Just has to shake off those pills.”

“Does he take those a lot?”

She nods, “Can’t blame him.”

“Why not?”

She turns to you, resting her elbows on the counter behind her. “Let’s just leave it as I can’t blame him.”

You nod. Not your business. Just as long as he doesn’t take them on the road. “Are they coming with us?”

Tess shakes her head, “Nah, he’s not stupid.”

As if on cue, Joel emerges, looking lost. He glances at you, double takes, eyes still almost half shut, and then shambles over to Tess, placing his hand on the handle of the coffee pot.

“It’s not done yet. Just put it on.” Tess tells him. He grumbles incoherently and then goes to slide into a seat at the table, rubbing his hands over his face. “You gonna be good to get outta here soon?” He nods slowly, face still in his hands. 

“I can help you guys get packed up if you want,” you offer. 

“Sure, you can help me get some stuff together. It’s all under the floorboards in the bedroom.” Tess answers. 

Joel speaks up, audibly groggy, “No. She doesn't need to touch anythin’. I can handle it fine myself.”

You sigh, unable to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, and Tess chuckles. 

“Whatever you say, sir.” You salute him. Joel stares at you, then looks to the floor, shakes his head, and peels himself out of his seat to trudge into the bedroom. You ignore the scraping of furniture on the floor and choose to join Tess at the table. 

“Is he always like this?” You whisper, sipping the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had, granted you haven’t had one in at least a decade. 

She shakes her head, making a face as she sips from her own mug, “He’s better once he warms up to you. But, he’s kinda just that kind of guy, you know? He’s a good guy, and he can be sweet, but, world’s really fucked with his head, you know how it is. He was a whole different person before.”

“You knew him?”

“No, but I knew his brother. He told me what he used to be like. Huge softy, if you can believe it.”

You nod and sip, trying to picture that in Joel. “So, what’s the whole story with him and his brother?” You whisper. 

“Well,” she sighs, “they were together from day one. I met them a few years ago, we ran with a crew for a while, met some Fireflies, and Tommy wanted to split and go with them. They kind of had a falling out, Joel and I stuck together, came here. They were communicating through the radio towers but Tommy stopped responding a few weeks ago. That's when we started looking for a car, go out and find him. Just got a tip he might be somewhere in Wyoming, so that’s where we’re going.”

“You think he might be somewhere in Wyoming?” You repeat back, giving her a leery look. You’re not in love with that plan—Wyoming is very far and a big state, there might already be nothing to find there. But, on second thought, you don't really care. You’ll be in a car with two capable people, and that is more than you can ask for. You’re fine just being along for the ride. 

“You got anything better to do?”  

“Nope.” You chuckle, and she returns one, smiling into her cup. 

Yeah, you guess you are friends. The thought almost makes you choke on your coffee; a whole year with nothing like this, only passing faces, fake friends created for the sole purpose of getting something out of it, and, well, Rat King. But now, you’re exchanging an honest smile and chuckles with a woman over coffee. What a lucky break, to have met Tess.

Ruining the moment, Joel plods back into the room, filling up a mug and choosing to lean against the sink rather than take a seat at the table with you. 

“I’m not infected, you know.” You say to him. “Not contagious with anything. And if I smell, you smell worse.”

“Fuck are you talkin’ about.” He says into his mug, squinting. 

“You’re acting like if you come too close I'm gonna put a knife to your throat.” You stare at him in all his beheaded glory, marks from the sheets not yet faded from his cheek. “I don’t bite.”

Joel just stares back, then, finally and reluctantly, he takes a seat across from you at the table. 

“Ok, I’m serious,” Tess says, setting her mug down, “you two better not keep this shit up. It started off cute, but now it’s getting real fucking annoying.”

“Cute?” Joel says, screwing his face up, and you say over him, “I’m not doing anything.”

“Alright, alright,” Tess puts her hands up, “we’re gonna cut this shit out now. You two, shake hands.”

“What?” Joel screws his face up again. You sip your coffee, looking between them.

“Shake her hand.” Tess gestures, raising her eyebrows at him. Joel moues. It’s been nothing more than irritating so far, but now, it’s starting to hurt your feelings a little. You haven’t done anything wrong. For god’s sake, he should be on his knees thanking you for what you're doing for him. What is it about you that’s so wrong? 

Finally, he offers his hand, and you shake, his hold firm and warm. 

A shock suddenly runs through you as if he was a live wire, and you feel like your skin is melting in the most delightful way possible. The moment of contact is over in a second, but you feel that something inside of you has shifted. You can’t put your finger on what it is, but it feels like trouble. You set your hand on your leg, but it’s as if the warmth from his hand has been transmitted through your skin and onto your thigh. You quickly take your hand away to place on your mug, warm like it’s supposed to be. Your eyes are stuck on each others, but neither glares. Just, stuck. His are brown like dark bark in the sun, rich, deep, pretty. You look down at the table. 

“Alright, we got that taken care of?” You hear Tess.

“Yeah.” You answer, eyes still on the table. Joel clears his throat before he copies your response, his tone devastatingly unrevealing. You will your gaze back up only to be caught in his again, and you look around at the wall, down at your coffee, and back up, all in a second, only to be caught again. He holds it for a moment before looking down at the table. Whatever this feeling he’s giving you stinks to high heaven of trouble. 

“Alright, good, then let’s get the fuck outta here.” Tess concludes. 

You bring the battery back up on your back while Joel and Tess carry the rest of everything you’ll have for a while, abandoning your coffee, not even bothering to place the mugs in the sink. This place will be left exactly as it is, but neither of them seem to mind leaving all of this behind. You leave the apartment and then follow the two wordessly through a maze that eventually leads out past the gates, ending in emerging from a literal hole in the ground. Once outside, still crouching on the ground, you take a deep breath of fresh air, free from smoke and ash and stink. The dawn is breathtaking, being seen for the first time in years, half of the sky barely past midnight's shadow, pulled up like a shade by blood orange leading down to the peachy halo of the sun somewhere behind the toppled buildings, speckled and tangled with green. A flock of birds pass overhead, dancing in the smearing sky. You could laugh. 

“Focus,” Joel hisses, looking at you over his shoulder, also crouched, scowl back in play, though it’s understandable in the stress of the moment. You nod. He’s right. Plenty of time for this later. Right now, you’re still not quite in the clear. 

The three of you scamper silently through the badlands between the Boston QZ and freedom. As you venture out, though, your excitement begins to fade, realizing that you’ve been looking through rose colored glasses for a while now. The QZ is a shithole, but out here is just a much wider shithole. There's less people, no rules, but neither of those pluses are as good as they had been sounding in your head. Less people, because they’re mostly dead or infected, the rest being not much more than animals who know how to talk sweet. No rules, means, well, no rules, no morals, just the loose goal of ‘survive’, which translates to fight dirty, do anything you can, anything to survive. Live to fight another day. 

“How far’s the car?” You ask, the first to speak. 

“Not far.” Tess responds, distracted as she scans your surroundings. You're in the city now, the remains of it at least, weaving around crashed cars and large, rocky craters, twenty years of weather and neglect preceded by bombings and a storm of hysteria. You were expecting Joel to say something like ‘We’ll get there when we get there’, but he stays silent, eyes also scanning around. You seem less fazed. Are you not scared enough? Or have they just been inside longer than you have? You do feel like an animal in its natural environment, ears knowing what sound to look at, eyes knowing what movement to check, agile feet over the broken mounds of rock and glass and all of the other debris out in the open broken world. 

“The car’s supposed to be at the church on Park Street. Few minutes walk from here.” Tess finally answers you. 

“I know where that is.”

“Good for you.” Joel says. 

“Fuck off.” You reply.

“Excuse you,” Joel looks at you, screwing his face up. 

“Hey,” Tess interjects, shooting both of you a look, “Jesus, I feel like the parent of two disobedient kids. Knock it off.”

Joel huffs and looks at the ground. You smirk to yourself, seeing him again as a pouting dog being checked by his owner. 

It’s silent until you reach the church, red brick with a steeple reaching high into the sky. Parked directly in front of it, as if on display, is an old Dodge Caravan, white with fake wood siding, dusted with dirt, wheel wells caked in dried mud. 

“This thing looks like it’s from the 90s,” Tess comments. “You think it’ll run?”

“It better.” You say, shoulders aching with a vengeance from the battery still hanging from them.

“You said that right.” Joel adds gruffly. 

You stop at the front and lower yourself to the ground to unload the battery from your bag. Finally free of the thing, you stretch your shoulders back with a deep sigh. 

“Surprised your back’s not broken by now.” Joel says as he comes to squat next to you, looking over the battery.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’,” he glances at you, “jus’ maybe we shoulda traded bags.”

“I can handle it.” You retort, though he sounds honestly well intentioned, “I’m not weak.”

“Wasn’t callin’ you weak. What, I can't say anythin’ without it bein’ an insult?”

“That’s all it’s been so far.”

Joel just sighs, then stands to open the hood of the car. You stand to look inside with him; all looks right, though you’re not sure you know enough to make a judgment. 

“How’s it look?”

“Looks fine.” Joel says, then bends down to take his pack off and dig through it, pulling out a couple tools which he sets on the ground before hefting the battery up and into the empty space under the hood, grunting with its weight. 

“You came prepared, huh?”

“Sure did.” Joel mumbles as he picks up the tools and leans over the engine to start working on it. 

“How do you know how to do all that?”

“Used to be a mechanic.”

“I thought you were a contractor.” Tess questions, coming up beside you.

“Before that.” Joel replies, “When I was in high school.”

“I can just see you now,” Tess chuckles, “jumpsuit all covered in oil, you name embroidered on the little pocket.”

You laugh at the thought—Joel leaning over a car, jumpsuit tied around his waist as he works, dirty white t-shirt straining against his back muscles and those broad shoulders—”Fuck,” you say to yourself, startled by your own thoughts. 

“What?” Joel looks back at you, panic in his eyes. 

You dart your eyes away, shaking the thoughts of him out of your head. “Nothing, nothing, sorry.”

“You sure?” Tess asks, raising her eyebrows at you. 

“Yeah, yeah, it was nothing, really, sorry. Is the car ready?”

“Just about.” Joel replies as he leans in close to continue with a wrench. 

“You sure you remember how to do it right?” You say, recovering yourself. He pauses to glare at you but doesn’t respond. 

“Let’s hope he does.” Tess says. 

He glares at her too, then states, “I know how to do it. Just give me a damn minute. 

“Alright,” Tess chuckles, raising her hands defensively, then steps back to examine the van. She slides over the side door to step inside, “Damn, look at this thing. We could sleep in here.”

You come over to peek next to her, “How the fuck did you score this?”

“Beat it outta someone.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Must have been a good beating.”

“It was.” Joel calls from the front, then drops the hood down and comes around to get into the driver's seat. A pair of keys fall into his lap when he drops the visor down, and he takes a deep breath before easing the keys in and turning the ignition. The van roars to life, and you all laugh with delight, Joel clapping his hands and whooping. 

“Hol–ly–shit,” You laugh, half of it being at Joel’s sudden enthusiasm, “look at that.”

“Look at that.” Joel repeats, and you watch his grin through the front mirror.

Just as he catches you, Tess says, “Alright, let me out.” You step back out and she walks around to get into the passenger seat, “Alright, grab your shit and let’s go before our luck runs out. 

You and Joel nearly bump into each other as he gets out and he mumbles a sorry before you both go to gather your things. He hands you your bag and you mumble back a thank you. The relief from having a working car must have flooded all the resenting sarcasm out of you, and you actually almost smile at each other as you both get back in. You flump onto the backseat, sighing as you rest against the cushion, rolling your aching shoulders again. 

“Thank god I don’t have to carry that thing anymore. N’ I’ve got plenty of room in my bag for all the shit we have to pick up now.”

“What’s our first stop?” Joel asks, adjusting the mirror to look at you.

“About twenty miles west.”

“What am I lookin’ for?”

“Gas station. BP. Next spot’s just the same, gas station about thirty miles west from that one.”

“Alright, perfect, we’ll see if we can find some gas.” He says as he puts the car in drive and starts out, rounding the corner, “We’ll be there in no time.”

You lean back in your seat and let yourself smile. It all worked out. With a car, dare you say, it looks like smooth sailing from here. 

“Lemme see if I can find some music,” Tess says, digging through the glove box. “Oh, shit,” she chuckles, pulling out a CD, “Don fuckin’ McLean. Were you ever into him?” She asks Joel.

“Shit, is that American Pie?” He asks hopefully, glancing at it held out in Tess’s hand, “Oh shit, put that on. I love this album.”

You chuckle from the backseat. Such a wholesome little moment, and as Tess slides the CD in and the music starts to play, an air of ease falls over the cabin. Morning sun cascades through the windows and you squint through the dirty pane, watching your surroundings start to speed up past you. On the road again, heading somewhere far, finally free again. No more curfews or guards, no more fucking ration cards or deals in basements. You look ahead to the front seat at your new companions, catching a small smile on Tess’s lips. All you can see of Joel is his shoulder and his hair, wavy and stroked with silver. In the mirror, his eyes are locked on the road, but his brow is relaxed, and there might even be a smile of his own hidden under it. Leaning back in your seat and looking back out the window, the music in your ears for the first time in many years filling you up with giddy warmth, you think you could get used to this.

—

The next couple hours are in fact smooth sailing, both stops being stress free and bountiful, two crates, found exactly where you’d left them, full of food, guns, and ammo next to you on the seat with two red jugs full of gas on the floor below them. 

The car breaks down just past the border of Massachusetts. 

“Shit.” Joel seethes, waving the gray smoke away from his face as he slams the hood shut. “T’s done.” He announces, looking at you and Tess. 

“Fuck.” She mutters, closing her eyes and dropping her head. 

You watch the fumes slinking out from the hood. It was foolish to think this thing would take you all the way across the country. Of course it would break down within two fucking hours. Why not?

“Come here and help me get this shit out before the car explodes.” You say, going back to open the side door and start packing whatever you can fit into your bag. You shove another gun into the back of your jeans and empty half a box of bullets into your jacket pocket. Joel is behind you when you back out, and you shove a crate into his hands, “I got most of it. Just take whatever else you can fit in your pack. Same with Tess. We’ll probably have to leave some behind.”

Joel does as you ask, kneeling to unload the contents of the crate and dividing it up for the two of them. Once everyone’s pack is filled to the brim, you leave only a few things behind, set in crates next to the car, and set off on foot. 

Joel traces his finger over the folded map found in the glove compartment as you walk. “We’ll just follow route 20. Maybe take a turn at, uh, Albany, ‘bout  a day's walk. That’s the next real town, pretty much just farmland for a while.”

“Great.” Tess says through tight lips. 

—

At dusk, you decide to call it a day, though you’re only a few hours away from Albany. You set up under an overpass and light a small fire before nightfall takes away the option. Everyone is all deep sighs as you sit back to rest, no one used to all that walking. Your shoulders are still throbbing, a lasting consequence of that damn battery, and you pull your shirt down to see red bruises covering both sides, flashing like a mockery in the light of the flames. 

“Damn, that battery really did a number on you.” Tess comments, leaning over to examine the bruising.

“I can’t decide if it was even fucking worth it.” You say, readjusting your shirt with a huff. 

“Well, commendable act.” Tess sighs, resting her arms over spread knees. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, not used to genuine praise. 

After a moment, Joel says, “You look tired.” You look up at him and he’s staring with puppy dog eyes, probably unintentionally, but puppy dog eyes just the god damn same. 

“I am.” You mumble, not meaning to be honest about it. 

“Well,” he grunts as he stands, pulling his gun out, double checking it’s loaded, and leaning against the concrete wall, “I’ll take first watch. Tess, I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

“This is starting to sound like you still don’t trust me.” You say. 

“T’s not.” Joel says, “You just look the most tired.”

You sigh, torn between a longing for sleep and hesitancy to be in such a vulnerable position. 

As if reading your mind, Tess assures you, “Don’t worry, we’re not gonna kill ya or split. We’re in this together now, and we need you sharp. Get some sleep.” She nods her head to the ground. You pause, then obey, curling up on the hard ground with your hands between your knees and pack under your head. You’re out within minutes, being more exhausted than you had realized. 

—

An almost silent scuffle is enough to wake you up and tense every single muscle in your body, but the two familiar, faint voices relax them just as fast. It must just be Joel waking up Tess for her watch, chatting in between shifts. Their low tones tell you this isn’t for you to hear, but you listen anyway. 

“She’s jus’… she’s just so damn… pretty.” You hear Joel. Who is? …Who else would it be, but you? At this realization, your face lights on fire. Tess starts to chuckle, but then it turns into cackling, as quiet as she can manage. 

“Sh!”

You can hear the wild grin on her face as she whispers, “You have a crush on her!” 

You want to squirm, twist your legs up, but you stay still. You don’t understand the impulse, but you don’t like it, either. You feel like a fucking highschooler; a callback to an alien world, but you haven’t felt anything like it since. 

“No, I do not, now be quiet before you wake her up.”

“Yes, yes you do,” she continues to stifle laughter. 

“No the fuck I don’t.” A pause. Then, “Shit, maybe I do.” He groans, voice muffled, “I’m fucked, aren’t I, god, I’m so fucked.”

Oh, shit.

“Yes, yes you are.” Tess chuckles. 

The worst part is that you’re just as fucked as he is. It seems to be hitting you both at the same time. A crush, yes, that’s what the young aliens used to call it. A fucking crush. Maybe it’s due to time, being much, much, older—hundreds of years older, it seems—but this crush doesn’t feel like any one you’ve had before. Maybe because it’s Joel, like no one you’ve ever met. But, how, exactly? You’ve met damaged people, you’ve met people just as cold, just as standoffish. No man has exactly been this standoffish to you, though; most men you’ve met on the road have tried something within a couple days, even if it’s been in a group. Warm bodies. Hungry animals. Horny survivors. 

There’s no way you’re going back to sleep now. Your mind is spinning, gyrating, tying itself into knots. Joel, Joel, what is it about him? You’ve met handsome men. You’ve slept with a couple handsome men. You even held one of their hands once. But, Joel, you’ve barely even touched.

Pretty. That’s all he said. Is he just another horny survivor? None you’ve known have confided in anyone, cared to discuss it with someone. And not anyone has ever used the word crush. Come to think of it, most of them only use the word sexy to describe you, just to say, hey, you’re so sexy, let me fuck you. That’s about it. 

Joel, Joel, Joel, shit, what is it?

“Ah, Jesus,” Joel says. 

“A crush, wow. Gotta say, I was not expecting that from you. I always thought you were a pork ‘er and move on, never say a word about how you actually feel kinda guy.”

“Hey, you callin’ me a slut?” Joel says. Tess tries to muffle her laughter but it burst out of her hands. “Sh!” She sounds like she has her hands pressed firmly against her mouth, but she’s still laughing. 

“Yes, actually, I am calling you a slut.” She finally manages to say, “I mean, with us, it was never like that. I mean, did you have a crush on me? Because, I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t call it that.”

“No,” Joel whispers. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, you know I… care about you, all that. But, yeah, y’know, it was jus’…”

“Yeah, we’re on the same page, don’t worry.”

“Jesus, Tess, this is… goddammit, I don’t have time for this shit. I mean, what should I—what should I do?”

“Don’t look at me, loverboy. I’ve got nothin’. Are you gonna tell her?”

“Fuck no.”

Tess chuckles, “Why?”

“Why on earth would I? This is my problem, not hers. You think shit’s tense now, imagine how’d it be with that piece of fuckin’ information hangin’ in the air.”

“You don’t think she likes you back, do you?”

“Of course she doesn’t.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I—well, I mean,” Joel stammers, “why the fuck would she? Look at me, I’m just some fuckin’... old man, who—who—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Joel. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a good guy. You’re handsome. You’re kind. You’re gentle. You’re a fuckin’ badass. You’re—holy shit, you’re blushing,”

“Would you keep your fuckin’ voice down?”

“Aw, you’re killing me, Joel. I’ve never seen you like this. Never. She has got a fucking hold on you, doesn’t she?”

“Tess, stop fuckin’ around, and just tell me what to do.”

“Hey, I told you, I’ve got no advice on this one. Crushes are not my strong suit. I’m sorry, but you’re on your own on this one.”

“Ah, don’t tell me that. Shit, Tess, come on,” he nearly whines, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

“Alright, why don’t you just sleep on it?”

There’s a pause, then Joel sighs, and you hear him shifting into place on the ground behind you.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This is bad. But it feels good. But it feels bad. You’re almost nauseous with the number of wings fluttering in your chest, almost dizzy, and you realize you’ve been biting the inside of your cheek so much it hurts. Half of your brain is having a party while the other half is looking for a knife to stick in its chest. What does this mean? What’s going to happen? What do you want to happen?

What do you want?

Joel is the first word that comes to mind, and you want to bang it out of your head and into the ground. But there it is, sticking like a bullet under your skin. Should you talk to Tess about it? The only person you can talk to? Tell her you heard everything? Or should you tell Joel? Oh, god, you don’t even know how you’d broach the subject to him.

What, are you two gonna start holding hands now? What else do couples do—oh, god, couples, what, are you gonna start dating? You almost laugh to yourself but you catch it before either of them realize you’re not asleep like you’re supposed to be. This is all like an out of body experience. None of this exists. 

Your mind wanders to the one time you have seen something like this—Agatha and John, who you met on the road along with a few others; the lovers, everyone always used to call them. Joined at the hip, linked by their hands almost all of the time. You used to make fun of them for their googly eyes at each other, but they never minded. They were in love, and they knew it, everyone did. Marriage without the $25 piece of paper or veil and bowtie. There was always this rosy air about them, their love was enchanting, so real, so innocent, so sweet. 

And then John died. And then Agatha killed herself. 

The whole group fell apart after that. 

That’s why all of this, ever since the second you touched him, just that shaking of his hand, had given you such a bad feeling. Because you knew what it was, and even before you found the word for it, you knew it’d end bad. 

What John and Agatha had was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, even before the world ended. They found each other, and they chose it—love, despite everything, the ugliness, the loss, the loathsome world. And it was so pure, like an angelic little bubble that they floated in. The way they touched each other, the fleeting passes over waists and arms, they way they flowed like a living duet. The way they held each other, when they cried, when they laughed, just, whenever they could. You’ve never seen people sleep so peacefully. The love was tangible between them.

And then when John died, Agatha fell apart, like an angel from heaven, like a baby bird from a nest, into a pile of feathers and blood. She was a shell. For a week. And then she killed herself. She couldn’t live without him.

You envied her before. And then, immediately, you mourned her. 

These violent delights have violent ends. 

Love is dangerous. A crush is a bullet with god cocking the gun.