#this is about my cat (and small small thoughts of my mean childhood friends)

[sensitivedead]

this is a small insecurity thought so sh but like man… everyone leaves me…

[sundrop-writes]

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless. 

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless. 

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least. 

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life. 

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long. 

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.  

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman. 

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy. 

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them. 

That night, you had become his hero. 

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections. 

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so. 

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship. 

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature. 

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy. 

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms. 

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack. 

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you. 

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you. 

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway. 

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you. 

He tried not to act like it. 

But on nights like this, it was just so hard. 

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade. 

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison. 

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’. 

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade. 

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you. 

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time. 

Again - he was hopeless. 

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes. 

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin. 

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him. 

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch. 

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.) 

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites. 

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried. 

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it. 

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns. 

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-” 

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet. 

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying. 

“Y/N, uh-” 

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat. 

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.” 

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!” 

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him. 

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding. 

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand. 

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically. 

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued. 

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.” 

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen. 

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep. 

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.” 

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place. 

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration. 

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.” 

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench. 

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries. 

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you. 

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter. 

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again. 

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter. 

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead. 

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke. 

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds. 

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly. 

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock. 

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too. 

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste. 

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him. 

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed. 

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.) 

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch. 

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment. 

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual. 

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day. 

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet. 

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.) 

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice. 

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years? 

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers. 

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day. 

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.” 

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out. 

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments. 

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him. 

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration. 

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!” 

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why. 

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh. 

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?” 

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret. 

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot. 

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies. 

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count. 

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock. 

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt. 

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front? 

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home. 

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him. 

… 

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged. 

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you. 

His little secret piece of you. 

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis. 

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild. 

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for. 

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle. 

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him. 

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain. 

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game. 

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win. 

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this. 

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real. 

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out: 

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.” 

And what else could he do but obey? 

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on. 

He was a man of simple, divine tastes. 

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric. 

“Stiles, please.” 

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life. 

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers. 

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in. 

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain. 

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work. 

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you. 

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties. 

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask: 

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?” 

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh. 

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.) 

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say: 

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.” 

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm. 

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now. 

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state. 

Though he knew that would never fucking happen. 

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though. 

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow. 

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like. 

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone. 

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole. 

But what would they smell like? 

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him. 

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination. 

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you. 

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live. 

He could always imagine the other aspects so well. 

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness. 

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. 

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness. 

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too. 

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you. 

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out. 

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.” 

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly. 

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock. 

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.” 

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer. 

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.” 

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind. 

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it: 

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do. 

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.” 

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy. 

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-” 

“Cum for me, Stiles.” 

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him. 

Fuck. He had fucked up. 

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition. 

… 

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean. 

The only problem? 

Hang to dry. 

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition. 

… 

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early. 

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.” 

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn. 

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today. 

Focus, Stiles. Focus. 

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him. 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why? 

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke. 

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought. 

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole. 

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences. 

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him. 

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find. 

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.” 

Stiles groaned.

...

Edit to my notes as of Oct. 9th, 2024:

It is now my biggest regret announcing that there is a sequel to this fic in my drafts, but there is one that is fully written and just needs to be edited (but that is something that takes time and effort - neither of which I am going to put into the fic right now). However, it will not be posted anytime soon, and it is delayed infinitely. It will be posted when it is posted (and currently I don't know when that will be), and I would appreciate people not chasing me down and not asking about it.

Originally, my point of having a comment and reblog goal on this fic was so that a certain percentage of the people who read and liked the preview for this fic would have to reblog it, but the ratio on this fic is still absolutely horrendous, and it's clear to me that once people saw that goal was met, they didn't care to reblog this fic or comment on it if they enjoyed it - they only care to nag me and chase me down for the sequel while this fic sits at over 600 likes and less than 100 reblogs and comments (including my replies to people's comments).

If you are reading this fic after the edit, I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you do stick around on my blog while I work on and post other things. But the sequel to this fic will not be coming out anytime soon because I am a person with shifting interests, not a robot. Those shifting interests (and me chasing them organically) is the reason that I can produce 200k of fanfiction in a year and post all of it for free for people to enjoy.

And as always - if you enjoyed this fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written. And perhaps, consider reblogging it to show your appreciation. Please do not comment about the sequel.

If you want to be tagged in the next part, you can ask to be put on my Teen Wolf taglist by interacting with this post, but please know that if you don't follow my taglist rules, you will be removed from the taglist promptly. If that happens, you are still welcome to read and enjoy future fics, you just won't be included in my taglists ever again.

Happy reading, and I hope you enjoyed the fic!!

[alottiegoingon]

hc!friends to lovers

natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

summary: going from friends to lovers with nat

warnings: golden retriever gf x black cat gf dynamic, nat is secretly a softie, drugs and mommy/daddy issues mentions, cursing, pure fluff, not proofread

𖧊 to this day, nat still has no idea on how you two became friends. you were too different

𖧊 it started with you complimenting her makeup once and she was so rude cause she thought you were making fun of her

𖧊 “your eyeliner is so pretty,” you tried to be nice just to receive a “fuck off” and a middle finger right to your face. you were flabbergasted! you were just trying to be nice to a pretty blonde girl and now you were her enemy?

𖧊 your huge smile disappeared in seconds and when nat realized you weren’t mocking her, she got desperate. “oh, shit. you were actually serious?”

𖧊 she was constantly being slutshamed and harassed by the mean students and the idea of being complimented by you didn’t even make it to her head

𖧊 you were too sweet for her taste. too smiley, too happy, too soft and too excited. her words, not mine. but damn, you were pretty

𖧊 not that she would ever tell you that, but being friends with you was better than spending her days alone or with the other two guys she had for friends but were nothing but drug buddies

𖧊 “dude, what the fuck is that?” she grunts at the second you show her one of your favorite songs by backstreet boys “it’s so cheesy!”

𖧊 you held her arms and made her dance with you and she was so embarrassed and tried to brush it off by complaining a lot but her eyes didn’t lie. she kinda enjoyed that

𖧊 then, late at night when she’s unable to sleep, she secretly listen to the too happy and annoying shit type of songs you liked just to think of you :(

𖧊 she eventually found herself enjoying the cranberries, spice girls and lots of your catchy pop or soft songs while doing chores and would never forgive herself for that

𖧊 at first, nat was easily annoyed by you. by your overwhelming enthusiasm and positivity and how you would always see the good in others even if they didn’t deserve

𖧊 however, that didn’t mean you wouldn’t speak up for her. if anyone was caught talking shit about nat, you were always the first one to have her back. “excuse me? hi. that’s my friend you are talking about and you might wanna apologize to her right now!”

𖧊 bless your heart you really tried to be scary like her. at least the intention was there right

𖧊 “i don’t need you to defend me,” she was already snarling at you but you could see in her eyes that she didn’t mean that. she just didn’t like being vulnerable in front of others

𖧊 nat was tough, she could take care of herself. you knew that but you couldn’t let anyone be mean to her

𖧊 “i know, but i care about you!” “yeah, whatever 🙄🙂”

𖧊 and it worked the other way around as well. a single threatening glance of nat was enough to make anyone scared of even saying your name. yes, you were a pain in her ass but she was the only one who could say that

𖧊 “but you just said she was annoying,” her friend kevin defends himself from her scary look. “don’t call her that, asshole”

𖧊 nat couldn’t invite you over to her house trailer so you would usually hang out at your house or secret places she knew

𖧊 nat is a really lonely and independent person and that’s a consequence of her unstable childhood. running away from the mess she had for parents, she eventually discovered a nice small park with pretty trees around and thought it would be the perfect hiding spot

𖧊 smoking with nat? obviously a must. you would give her the old speech saying that it was terrible for her physical and mental health (🤓☝️) even if you were 100% sure that she wasn't listening and was just giving you ironic commments. "you don't say, princess"

𖧊 deep down, very deep down, she appreciated you

𖧊 “kevin told me he caught you listening to backstreet boys yesterday” you smile at her, watching her messy bleached hair cover half of her face as she smokes

𖧊 “fucking kevin,” she mutters under her breath and it’s the perfect opportunity to play around with her. “aren’t you gonna deny it? wow, you must really like me, nat”

𖧊 “shut up, princess.”

𖧊 it was meant to be ironic but since the first time she called you that, you two were sure that it was nothing but a caring nickname and you were a complete sucker for it

𖧊 spending time together became a casual thing and as essential as breathing. that didn’t go unnoticed

𖧊 showing up to support her on a game day or just practice, holding a big sign with her name written with gliter gel pens and smiley faces and cheering so loud that people near you had to cover their ears

𖧊 thanks to that, she was so flustered that couldn't focus on the actual game

𖧊 classically, the yellowjackets would always make fun of her when you were around but especially when you weren’t. “are you happy that your girlfriend came to see you today?” van teases nat and suddenly she became their favorite subject to talk about

𖧊 “she’s not my fucking girlfriend!” she flips them off and storms off to hide how unbelievably red her cheeks were

𖧊 nat didn't take long to realize she felt different about you. but her doing your eyeliner to match her after you insisted didn't help. it was pretty hard to mantain her toughness when you were lying in bed with her on top, straddling you with face so close that you could smell the blunt in her breath

𖧊 "thanks, nat. what do you think?" you ask when she's done

𖧊 "not bad. thanks to me, obviously," she acts casually but she's like 🧍🏼‍♀️😊😮‍💨😵 seeing you with her goth ass makeup

𖧊 being jealous of you near anyone who would say hi to you was also a clear sign

𖧊 going from friends to lovers with nat would be something hard for her at first. she isn't used to trusting people that much. loving someone? what was she thinking?!

𖧊 this means that she would definitely push you away, intentionally or not, and would act weird for days until you finally confronted her

𖧊 and she tries to be rude to make you leave but it doesn’t work. eventually she opens up about her feelings, shaking and at the verge of tears, and you hug her tightly

𖧊 “i like you too, nat”

𖧊 holds your chin when kissing you 😵‍💫

𖧊 jealous girlfriend that was always there to keep an eye on you but wouldn’t say the words “i’m jealous” even if her life depended on it

𖧊 dating nat meant her having part time jobs to save money for weeks just to buy you something nice for your birthday or to take you to a special place in a special occasion. you cried like a baby

𖧊 you were aware that she struggled with money and you weren't rich either, so you kept things discreet. you would come to her with a tape with lots of songs that reminded you of her, "nat, you won't believe what i made you!"

𖧊 “i have no idea, baby..." but she definitely did cause you would do that at least twice a month

𖧊 she would be the first one to say “i love you” accidentally and got so stressed trying to fix her mistake with a cough but you had heard her and was freaking out, smile from ear to ear

𖧊 “you’re a moron, i love you” it took her five seconds to go from 😁 to 😧

𖧊 “i love you too.”

𖧊 when it comes to affection, i feel like she would be hesitant at first, not knowing what to do. having sex with random people was really different from wanting to show her love for you, it was harder

𖧊 realistically, nat wouldn't be the touchy type. she never really experienced affection from her parents (at least not in a long time), so it would be something new, but wouldn't be opposed to it once she realized how comforting it felt

𖧊 100% touch starved. you stroke her cheek once and she's tearing up already

𖧊 pretends to be bothered but always melts completely when you kiss her and loves to hold hands and intertwine fingers

𖧊 not everything was perfect and sharing feelings wasn’t easy for her. either way, you were always there for her, listening to her talk about her shitty parents or just comforting her after a bad day

BONUS!!!

𖧊 if the iconic barbie movie was released in the 90s, you would BEG her to wear pink clothes to go to the movies together and she would deny it every single time

𖧊 “but it would be so cute! we would match 🥺” you insisted, knowing that she was so close to cave in

𖧊 “it’s gonna make me look stupid, i don’t wear pink. quit it, princess,” nat nods, convinced that you would eventually forget about it

𖧊 a week later, nat is found at the movie theater looking like a damn flamingo

𖧊 “what happened to you? met an unicorn on the way here?” shauna mocks her as soon as she sees the blondie wearing a bright pink suit and black boots, matching your same color dress

𖧊 “shut up,” she gives them her middle finger

𖧊 “happy wife, happy life,” tai murmurs and she just nods, defeated. shauna, tai and van, all in pink thanks to your incessant pleas, followed her to get the tickets while you and jackie were excitedly buying snacks and pink popcorn containers shaped like barbie’s car

𖧊 (she definitely cried at the end and you had to kiss her tears away)

[writingroom21]

Omg I love Boys Bathroom!! Idk if you're doing a pt 2 but if you need ideas, how about sumn based on Jacqueline and Hamilton's relationship from the 2000s tv series Young Americans? (if you haven't seen that show, it's fine. I barely remember it, myself, other than the fact that Ian somerhalder has never not been fine).

Where rafe and reader continue to sneak around, and it gets to the point that people start to suspect them, not because of her identity, but because they're a little too close to be just dormmates but no one says anything as they're scared of what rafe might do 👊 if they confront him for something 'he isn't ready to come out with yet' if you catch my drift, lol and just like the scene in She's The Man (I love that you used this movie for inspo, that movie was my childhood), when it comes time to do the kissing booth, and all of rafe's friends line up at the chance to kiss y/n, that he finally steps in and sets them straight about who she is and what she is to him <3 I'd add more but this shit is long enough as it is.

If you write this, pls tag me: @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist

A/N: I giggle so hard at the thought of Rafe's face finding out people think he's seeing her brother.

Cat's Out of The Bag

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, oral (m receiving), squirting (Rafe's can't get enough), unprotected sex(wrap it up), (let me know if I missed anything)

Wc:2.9K

Since that night in the bathroom it was a free for all on fucking. With your dorms right next to each other it was easy to sneak in and out. Rafe had gone back to his room that night thinking what the fuck did he just get into. There are two things he knows for certain. One being that you were one of the best lays not just because he’s been pussy deprived. Two he doesn’t know what he will do after this week is up.

The day after was a little awkward. You didn’t know if he regretted it, he may have suggested doing it again but that doesn’t mean he would. It wouldn’t be the first time a guy said something to you for them to take it all back. The only indication that he meant it was in biology. He was already there when you entered the classroom. He looked really good and the school polo fits him snuggly. 

He smirks at you as you sit down, pulling your chair a bit closer to him. It’s a little jawing seeing you dressed as a guy after last night. Even more jawing that he still feels attracted to you. Not because you look hot as a guy but because he knows it’s you under there. “Hey.” You whisper to him. “Hey.” His fingers brush against your thigh. 

The two of you are trying to keep cool when really you just want to skip class and sneak off. The class goes by, small smiles being shared. Even dared to touch the other while no one was looking. Brushing your hands together on the desk or knees bumping under the table. He just wanted to be closer to you, taking whatever he will get.

He walked you to your other classes in the disguise of just talking to a friend. A friend that stands too close so your hands can accidentally brush against each other with each step. A friend that later sneaks his way into your room when you think it’s late enough for people to be asleep. Pushing you in the room as soon as the door opened a crack.

He’s kissing you, kicking the door with his foot. “You know how bad I wanted to kiss you today? Almost lost my cool.” His words melt into your throat, his lips going to suck on the skin. “Can’t leave any marks.” You warn. “Been wanting you too.” Your hands pull at his shirt, yanking it over his head. Sinking to your knees, you spread kisses down from his chest to his stomach. Nipping at the skin right above his sweats. 

You look up at him, palming him through the fabric. “Can I show you how bad I wanted this?” The way your eyes are looking at him, he would agree to anything. Rafe groans when you give him a little squeeze. Reminding him that you are still there willing to please him. He made you feel amazing last night and you want to do the same. Nodding his head, his hand makes a ponytail with your hair. “Go for it baby.”

Without another word his pants and boxers are on the floor. Discarded to find later on when he’s scrambling to rush out early in the morning. But for now he’s only worried about the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him. The way that you hollow your cheeks as you bob your head up and down, focusing on his tip. His back hits the door helping him stay upright as his knees want to give out.

Your mouth feels like heaven. He could die at this exact moment and die a happy man. The hand holding your hair starts to help guide your movements. Giving you tugs when the pleasure is too much. Your hand that isn’t assisting your mouth slides its way into your sleep shorts. Massaging your clit and teasing your entrance with a finger. “Are you touching yourself?” His voice is shaky, getting dangerously close to cumming in your mouth. 

He takes a deep breath when you disconnect, a pop sounds in the room. “Mhmm. Felt too good.” You go in again to suck it back in your mouth. He hates that he has to stop you from continuing. Rafe would love for nothing more than to be in your mouth, watching as you gag over it. Or for you to sit on his face as he eats the shit out of you. The last thought is tucked away for later use.

“Get on the bed. Ass up and you chest to the sheets.” His words emphasized with a light tap to your face. You do as he says, stripping your clothes as you walk across the room. Rafe kicks off the pants from his ankles, shirt being tossed along with it. He likes seeing you like this. Willing to do anything just to scratch the itch you can’t sedate yourself. It’s the same way you looked last night.

You wiggle your ass when you feel the bed dip, his hands finding your ass. He wants to slap it, leave it with red hand marks. Make it so you can’t sit down in your classes tomorrow. Ironically enough you are thinking the same thing. Wanting him to mark you in every way that he can. Deep down hoping he wouldn’t care what people will hear and just take you the way he wants. The rational part knows he won’t and shouldn’t but is still disappointed. 

“Fuck just look at you.” His large hands are playing with your ass cheeks like their dough. Spreading them he sees your entrance fluttering, begging to be filled like a good girl. A glob of spit leaves his lips, falling right above your entrance to slide down. You moan as his thumb circles it around, making you nice and wet. The digit slips in and out, giving you just barely enough to feel full. 

“Gonna be a good girl and be quiet for me.” He kisses down your spine to get to your ear. “I think you can do it. Wouldn’t want everyone in the hall to know how big of a whore you are.” An involuntary moan slips out. His thumb was replaced with his middle and ring finger. “Knew you would like being called that. Can feel how much your pretty pussy likes it.” Rafe’s fingers are stretching you out nicely.

Fingers curling to stimulate your g-spot. The feeling from yesterday starts to creep up, making it seem like you are going to pee. “Rafe I.” You are trying to warn him but the words can’t come out. They don’t need to because he already knows. Can see it written on your face. Lips parted, eyes pinched shut, and your face digging into the sheets. That’s what he wants for you to lose control to the point you drench everything.

“It’s okay baby. Let it go.” With the confirmation you do. The gushing noise filling your ears, the sheets underneath you getting wet. In hindsight he knew he should have put something down, he just didn’t care. He kinda wanted you to be left with the reminder of what he can do to your body. Your hands are gripping the sheets for dear life. All of your energy being taken out of you.

“Never going to get tired of making you do that.” He gives your left ass cheek a kiss, biting into the flesh. A shriek tears it away from your throat. “Sorry, I can't mark your neck so gotta mark something.” “It’s okay.” Your voice is soft, the post haze of your orgasim still has you under a spell.

Rafe chuckles as you push yourself back on him. Getting the hint that you want him inside, he lines himself up. “Wait, should I use a condom?” He didn’t think about that yesterday but he sure is today. You groan, taking him in your hands and pushing back again. You both moan as he fills you. “Birth Control just pull out.” He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Fleshing pounding into flesh can be heard from the hall, if anyone walked by you would be caught. It probably wouldn’t even matter at this point. Rafe’s hands can’t stay still, having to touch every inch of your skin. You were a mess, having to bite down into your pillow to swallow every moan that leaves your lips. 

In this position he feels bigger than he did before. Hitting a place deep inside you, the pain only makes the experience better. He flipped you around, wanting to see your face again. You make a face when you feel the wet spot on the bed, disgusted to be laying in it. The displeasure fading once he was in you again.

The weight of him was intoxicating. Holding you in place as his hips ram into yours. He brings a hand down to play with you, trying to get you there before him. “Come on, you can do it. I know you want to cum again.” He places kisses on your neck, your fingers intertwining with his hair and pulling. Now that you fulfilled that desire you can say you want to do it again.

With a couple of more thrusts you cum, trembling as he holds you. Only pulling out when he was toeing on the line of cumming inside you. He jerks himself off, rubbing his head on your lips, rutting into your clit. He paints your pussy, making a mess of your bottom half. Out of breath you both lay there. “We should probably clean this bed.” Looking down he can see the huge wet spot you left behind, his cum adding to the mix as it drips down.

“I’ll put them in the wash. You can go sleep in my room.”

The following few days were the same. You would wake up, get dressed as a man and go to classes. Flirt with Rafe any chance you're alone or no one's watching. Pulling each other into empty classes or janitors closets to makeout. The weirdness of kissing someone who looks like a guy left Rafe pretty soon. Only focusing on the fact that the person beneath that was you.

On the last day you two skipped your classes, pretending to be too sick for them. It was wrapped in sheets. Sweating out any toxins from the vigorous exercise. That night he went with you to meet up with Max. Telling your brother everything he was kinda confused at first. He thought Rafe had a thing for you dressed as a man and decided fuck it when he found out you were a girl. But with the reluctant sharing of information he soon realized that was not the case. 

The new plan the three of you created was simple. You and Rafe would still see each other and Max will butter up your parents to be nicer to you. It was the least he could do for all this trouble, which he reminded you didn’t seem as bad considering the facts. It was going well too. The boys get the weekends free, able to go out of campus and hang out. You would go visit on the weekends and hang out with them. Then go back to Rafe’s dorm at the end of the night, staying the weekend.

Max was sick of hearing the two of you from the thin wall shared between the two boys. But he was more sick of the nagging questions everyone asked. He will be walking around campus and people would just stop him to talk. “Hey man. How’s Rafe?” He looked at the guy like he was dumb. “Um, good? We watched the game last night.” The other guy would just smirk and nod. “Right the game. Good for you two.” Max would be confused as the guy walks off. Thinking what the fuck is that guy even on.

It was worse when it was girls that would talk to him. He only had access to them on the weekends and they never seemed interested. “Where’s Rafe today?” A girl would ask. “Oh he’s out with my sister right now.” He would mentally check if he looked good, thinking this might be the time a girl gives in. “That’s so sweet how close they are together. I wish my boyfriend was close to my family.” Either Max doesn’t pay attention or he really is that stupid because he was confused why you would want that. 

Yeah your partner should be close with your family but Rafe is literally fucking his sister, not just having lunch. “Yeah it’s nice seeing them like that.” He would then sit there as the girl talked about her boyfriend, clothes, girl drama, you name it. Max would make the way to his dorm that night stopping at his door when he saw the two of you down the hall. “Hey Cameron.” The two of you greet him. “Anyone say anything weird to you?”

Rafe just shook his head. “Man, everyone here is weird. I don’t pay attention to what they say.” With that you two would be in his room, locked away from the rest of the world. Max just shrugs thinking nothing more of it. That was until the day of the carnival.

Rafe had been defensive when he heard that you would be working the ticket booth. Telling you that there’s no way his girlfriend will be kissing other guys. He only calmed down after you explained why you had to. “I told my mom I would do this weeks before we even met. If I don’t she’ll be upset.” Rafe still wants to argue but from what you’ve told him about your parents he doesn’t.

Let’s be clear. He HATES the idea, he just hates the idea of you being sad even more. So he gives up letting you do it. Which is where you are now. In that stupid booth as guy after guy lines up to kiss you. The first shift was some random girl he doesn’t know so it was fine. Then she went on a break and it was your turn. The first few guys were chasist kisses, if you could even call them that. Then this asshole came in and tried to makeout with you. That was his breaking point.

“Where are you going?” Max questions as Rafe leaves his side. “Going to go kiss your sister. Don’t like how that guy was kissing my girl.” Max groans. It’s been like that since he got back. The two of you and then him, your third wheel. He’s still trying to get used to it. Max trails behind Rafe, agreeing with him for a different reason. These guys seem a little too demanding for some carnival booth.

Rafe cuts the line in the front, some boys from their school protesting. “Why are you even here?” One of them shouts. Rafe turns around shooting them a death glare. “To buy bread. What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” The boys look at each other then at Max and Rafe. “Are you also going to kiss her?” One of them questions Max. “Ewww no. That’s my twin sister.” He starts to gag just thinking about it.

Their confused faces turn to ones of shock. “You’re letting him makeout with your sister?” They all shout at the same time. The line keeps getting shorter, Rafe’s almost at the front. The one guy in front of him and the one currently kissing you. “Why would I care? What they do is their business.” 

The line moves again, your eyes twinkle at Rafe over the guy's shoulder. He turns back to the group behind him. “Not trying to be rude. Obviously your relationship is your own issue. But you really let your boyfriend kiss your sister?” Rafe and Max share the same look, seeing if they heard the boys right. “What the fuck are you on?” Rafe is irritated now. All he wants to do is kiss you but there’s this shit.

Next

“Well no one wanted to say anything but we know you two are together.” This caught your attention. “What do you mean?” The group looks at you. “Well they’ve been seeing each other. There was a straight week were we thought that would fuck in front of everyone. They got better at hiding it.” You can’t help but laugh at this. The whole time you and Rafe thought you were careful and you weren’t.

“This isn’t funny.” Rafe and Max yell at you, only making you laugh harder. “I’m not gay.” Max states. “It’s okay, You don’t have to hide it.” One of them tries to be nice. “He means it and neither am I. I’m dating her.” Rafe points back at you. “The only sex I am having is with my girlfriend. Now I’m you excuse me I think it’s my turn.” 

Rafe walks up, handing you the ticket and kissing you. His hand engulfs your face as he deepens it. “Who kisses better, me or Max?” You joke when he pulls away. “Shut up and kiss me again.” He slams a roll of tickets on the table. 

Looks like you’ll be here a while.

✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷

Tags:@ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist

[flowercrowngods]

felt like letting mike and steve work through some shit again

cw: descriptions and imagery of them being lost and self-sacrificing, left alone with trauma they have no means to work through, could read as suicidal tendencies or intrusive thoughts

🤍 also on ao3

“What do you want?” Mike asks when Steve sits down beside him, gravel crunching, their feet dangling over the dark and endless abyss that is the quarry at night.

Steve doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t really know what to say now that he’s here, now that he found him. He looks so small, now more than ever, and it reminds Steve so painfully that he’s still just a child. He was always just a child, and children shouldn’t—

It feels like they got their rights at a childhood revoked years ago, and then they were just… supposed to be okay with it. It was expected, it was implied when nobody came to talk to them after.

When all they got was one NDA after another. When none of the professionally trained adults took one look at the children that they were, and asked, Are you okay? What do you need to be okay? I will talk to you once a week and make sure you learn how to be okay again.

Steve feels like a big brother to most of the kids now, sure, but he’s not their shrink, and he sucks when it comes to actually talking about shit. He can be there to drive them anywhere, can provide an evening of distractions and as much of a sanctuary as a house as haunted as his can be.

With everything else, though, he’s helplessly lost. So he says nothing, weighs his words to make sure they come out right — especially for Mike, who’s always just waiting for him to say something wrong and throw it back in his face with the sunny disposition of a feral, rabid cat.

“Hey,” Mike says then, irritated again; but his voice is hoarse, too. Tired. No heat behind it after that stupid fight with Dustin and Lucas earlier tonight that made him snap and leave Steve’s house in a frenzy. “I said, What do you want?”

Steve shrugs, looking ahead into the darkness that feels endless and alluring and deeply terrifying.

I miss my friend! My best friend, Mike!

“Making sure you’re okay.”

You’ve changed, you know that? You’re not the guy who would jump off a cliff for me anymore, I don’t think I even know you anymore!

Dustin’s voice echoes in Steve’s mind as it undoubtedly does in Mike’s, too, and he can only imagine how much that hurts, especially if he’s shivering like that even though the night is warm for early September.

“I’m okay,” Mike says, sounding endlessly annoyed about the fact. Steve almost huffs out a humourless laugh. Yeah, right.

“Sure you are,” Steve says, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Mike’s shoulders without a comment, half-expecting him to just throw it into the darkness below. But Mike doesn’t move, is eerily still beside him, pretending not to notice that Steve’s watching him.

“But you know it’s, like,” he starts again and trails off, looking for the right words because this is unfamiliar terrain and the ground beneath his feet is quite literally nonexistent. “It’s fine if you’re not, right? It’s actually really fucking normal to be more than a little fucked up after everything, all that crazy shit. Or just… in general.”

You were twelve, he wants to say. You were twelve and you jumped off from here. You were twelve and you were going to die. And not because of those monsters, not yet. Just because… you were twelve.

Mike doesn’t say anything, but the gravel crunches once more as he reaches for a handful of stones to throw them into the darkness one by one, the void beneath them so enormous that they don’t even hear the noise of impact.

You jumped.

The longer Mike remains silent, the more Steve wants to scream, wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, wants to make him see and understand that Steve knows about the scars a decision like that leaves, especially when you live to deal with the consequences.

He gets seizures to deal with the consequences. His ear is fucky, his eye is twitchy, his head is aching constantly, he gets migraines that knock him out for a day or two, all because he wanted to protect his friends. All because he did protect his friends. It worked. They’re safe.

But they’re also unaware of… of everything. Of the horrible stillness as clarity dawns and all signs point to the one way that always seems to work. The one easy way out, and still the hardest of them all when the plan goes wrong and he makes it out alive. When It’s gotta be me is the only thing to say, but later turns into an angry It never should have been me because the world looks different when it’s smeared with your blood.

And it’s always the lost boys who make decisions like that. Steve wonders, some nights in cold sweat, what happens if he makes these decisions without immediate danger. What happens if he just… decides to jump. Decides to run. To give the world more of his blood. Without saving anyone.

It’s not like he wants to — but he’s terrified that it’s just who he is. Who he’s turned into, terrified that his friends will forever expect him to.

And he’s even more terrified knowing that Mike jumped before he learned about monsters. Before he learned about fighting and surviving.

You were a kid, he wants to say again, but his throat is closing up on him.

“I don’t think that’s okay actually,” Mike says after a while, tearing Steve away from his fears. They’re still both looking ahead rather than at each other, but it’s fine. They’re still here. “Like, people say it is, but it feels so empty when they do, you know? Like, sure, yeah, I’m not fucking okay, but what the hell do we do about that now? Oh, right, I know! Let’s throw it in my face that I’m not good enough for you anymore now that there’s no monsters to kill anymore. Now that I’m just Mike, who’s not even enough to be that anymore, sure. Right. Yeah. Let’s pretend it’s all fine, Steve, let’s pretend it’s okay to hurt all the fucking time!”

Mike is shaking now, violent tremors running through his body, and Steve’s first instinct is to reach out and pull him close, to keep him from that edge and take him to his car; turn on the heating and talk there. But Mike seems to need the darkness, seems to need to be faced with endless depth to give voice to his thoughts.

“What Dustin said was messed up. He shouldn’t have said that.”

Mike shrugs, throwing more pebbles into the darkness, though his motions have lost their vigour. “He’s right, though.”

Steve sighs, though not unkindly. “No, he’s not. Hey, listen to me.” He waits until Mike turns to meet his eyes, and he leans forward. “It’s not okay. It’s not right what he said. You don’t deserve to have that shit thrown in your face just because Dustin is a tactless little douche bag.”

Taking a bullet for someone is not the baseline for friendship, he wants to say, and it occurs to him once again how fucked up their perception and idea of friendship must be, now that they’ve all bonded over the most horrific shit and actual grief they never learned how to work through.

It’s not even Dustin’s fault, not really. They’re all just collateral damage to something Bigger, and all they have is each other, leaving them in a vicious cycle that is so, so fucked up.

“Why’d you jump?” he asks eventually, quiet in case the darkness tries to listen in. “Back then, why did you jump?” And do you wish El had let you? Do you sometimes wish that? When your room is quiet and it’s only you living with all those silent, terrible decisions?

Mike shrugs again, but there’s not much fight left in him, Steve can see that, can feel it in the air between them.

“Will was gone,” he says like it explains everything— and it sort of does. Steve has seen the way these boys look at each other when the other’s not looking, he has seen the hurt and the anger and the gentleness stored there, the words unspoken and the fear that, despite interdimensional monsters, kinda goes unmatched.

Because they have each other. They only have each other. And if someone’s suddenly different than what they thought they knew, if someone’s suddenly different, then… Everything might just fall apart.

And Steve wants to grab him again; wants to pull him close and say, I’m the same. We have the same scars. We have the same!

Slowly, carefully, he does lean over now, weaving an arm around Mike’s shoulders and pulling him into his side.

“I get that.”

Mike swallows heavily and exhales shakily. “I don’t think you do.”

“No. I think I really, really do. But it’s okay, Mike. You won’t be alone with this, okay. I’m on your side, you little shit.”

A pause, a beat, a moment’s respite. Then, “Why?”

“Because,” his heart is racing, his mouth trembling around forming the words for the first time, but he knows it’s the right thing to do. Knows it’s important.

Knows it might just save a life.

“Because I fell harder for Eddie Munson than I ever thought possible, and once i found out what was happening, I kind of wanted to jump off a cliff, too. But I didn’t, because I had someone with the same fears as me, and instead of stupid shit we just… Cried together sometimes. Screamed into our pillows. Laughed with and at each other, calling ourselves hopeless, and— I don’t know. It’s really fucking scary, and that doesn’t go away just because you have someone to talk to. But it‘s… better. It’s so much better.”

He huffs, swallowing around the lump in his throat, smiling into the darkness.

“So I’ve got you, okay? Whatever it is, whatever makes you feel like it’s not fucking okay, I’ve got you. You come to me, yeah? Lucas does, Dustin does, even Max does. This is your official, standing invitation and whatever, okay, dickhead?”

Mike shoves at him lightly, still not parting from the rather awkward side-hug they’ve got going on, and Steve is glad for it.

“Okay, okay, geez,” the little shithead says, rolling his eyes which Steve can see even in the dark, and it feels like the edge has moved away from them, like they have solid ground beneath their feet again.

Steve doesn’t say anything more after that, just waiting for Mike to stir to lead him back to the car, load in his bike and take him wherever he feels like spending the night.

But Mike doesn’t move for another long while, and it makes Steve feel like something big has just happened between them. Like they finally have found the common ground that Steve’s been suspecting they had for months now, even years.

Eventually, as they make their way to the car and Mike goes to grab his bike, he speaks up again, but more subdued now.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Does… Does Eddie know?”

“About what?” My tendencies to take a leap off the edge?

“You. Being…”

“Oh!” A smile as he unlocks his car and opens the back door to squeeze Mike’s old bike in there with minimal smears of dirt. “I’d hope so, we’ve been dating for months.”

“You’re dating?! You? Eddie’s dating you?”

“Yeah, listen, do you want me to just leave you here or would you rather be thrown out in the middle of nowhere?”

Mike grumbles something unintelligible as he climbs into the front seat, waiting for Steve to start the engine before he speaks up again.

“It’s just, you’re so… How did you even do that?”

Steve laughs at that, disbelieving and all, because, “Trust me, I have no idea. Must have been the ol’ Harrington charm and all that.”

Mike rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest, sinking lower in the seats to pout. “You’re so lame.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over how much I have a boyfriend and you don’t.”

If his heart skips a beat because it still feels like a forbidden truth saying the word out loud despite the playful banter, then he’s ignoring that in favour of revving the engine.

“Asshole.”

“Dickhead.”

“Grow up,” Mike says, but Steve can see the smile he’s not even trying to hide, and he mirrors it with his own as he turns on the radio catching the final tunes of Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark.

They’re not okay, none of them. But the car is warm, the cliff’s edge is behind them, and they’re not listening to the same ten songs anymore.

They’re getting better, step by tiny step.

[bucca2]

Shrike pt. 1 - words hung above but never would form

definition. male shrikes are known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling them on thorns

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, gender neutral reader for now but reader is afab and referred to as a girl, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander

4.8k words

tw: bullying, brief mention of cheating and domestic abuse (not explicit, mentions of violence, and not done by König), mention of terrorism, suicidal thoughts

[NEXT]

based on this post by @ceilidho, who gave me permission to write this! many thanks <3

this post is dedicated to @papaver-decervicatus, who I am so proud of for finishing chapter 4 of her fic cat/mouse/den (which I highly recommend) and eating NO glass in the process. her headcanons for König have had a huge influence on me, and while there are some differences between julius and alexander, I absolutely must thank Caedis for her wonderful portrayal of König.

and of course, to @danibee33, for fueling my König brainrot. without you, I probably would not have returned to writing <33

disclaimer, I am not Austrian, I do not speak German, so if there's anything that needs correcting, please do reach out!

You admit, you’ve always had an affinity for protecting the weak.

When you were twelve, a bird slammed headlong into your bedroom window. The poor thing had avoided snapping its own neck but was certainly in no condition to fly. You’d bolted out of your childhood home to check on it, but by the time you arrived, a huge grey tomcat was prowling, sitting back on his haunches and ready to pounce. You generally liked cats, but this one was a mean old stray, and you’d always been frightened to go near him.

Without hesitation, you had shoved the cat aside, spitting and yowling, and taken the little bird into your hands.

It took a few days to nurse back to health, and you still remember the day you released it back into nature. It was worth the long scratch down your arm, pride swelling in your heart as it spread its wings and flew into a vivid blue sky. You remember it even now: a charming little gray bird, a streak of black coloring over its eyes. A shrike, your mother had identified it as.

People are no different than animals, sometimes. People can be cornered, battered, and bruised as well. You recognize the broken hunch of the bird you rescued in the boy sitting by himself at lunch time. His shoulders curl inwards with a desperate need to go unnoticed. You’ve seen him around: he’s not in any of your classes, but your classes always seem to end up in the same hallways, so you pass each other all the time.

He jumps a little as you slide into the seat next to him, shrinking away from you in a way that breaks your heart. “Hey.”

No response. You offer your name, but he seems reluctant to divulge his own.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

He shrugs.

“Thanks. I don’t know anybody at this school, so it’s nice to have a friend.”

“…friend?” He has a nice voice, you think. Timid, but almost sweet.

“Well, if you’ll let me call you one.”

“…”

And so begins your friendship with König.

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn

You didn’t call him that in high school, of course. You wouldn’t know that name until much, much later. It takes a while to coax him out of his shell, cajoling him that you can’t call him “green-eyed boy” forever, to get his name.

“Alexander is a very good name,” you assure him, and he seems pleased. He’s still hesitant to speak to you at all, but that’s just fine by you. You’ve got plenty to talk about, anyway.

“You know, I read this book about Alexander the Great. There’s this crazy story about one of his battles at a city called Tyre. He was laying siege to it after a misunderstanding with their king…” you chatter on, unaware of the intense stare from the boy sitting next to you.

“…ordinarily, sieging an island is pretty difficult, but you won’t believe what he did,” you rattle on. “He—”

“He built his own bridge,” Alexander says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him at first. You look at him in surprise.

“Yes! You know this story already?”

“I read a lot about him.”

“Then why did you let me ramble on about it if you knew about it already?” You’re a little embarrassed, having felt proud of yourself for knowing niche facts about historical figures.

“I like listening to you talk.”

That shuts you up for a moment. Only for a moment though, before you start to laugh.

“What?” he asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just—usually people tell me the opposite,” you say. “People say I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes dart to your face before looking away again.

“That’s good to hear. But I hope you know this means you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tease, nudging him gently.

He doesn’t respond, but for a second, you could have sworn that a corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile.

Learning more about him is like trying to draw blood from a stone, but you do your best. He mentions sharing a room with a cousin. His oma makes the best comfort food. Sometimes his mother takes him into town to buy candy, but he has to hide it or his cousin will steal it. Not that he cares that much—he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but his family doesn’t come from means, so it means a lot to him whenever his mother spares a few pennies to buy him a frivolity.

It's what he doesn’t say that tells you the most about him. The way he fidgets with his clothes when he’s nervous. The brief panic that shoots through him whenever you call his name before he relaxes when he realizes it’s just you. The way he shies away from people in the hallways, just to avoid any contact whatsoever.

The fact that he never talks about his father.

The way he curls into himself when he’s being bullied.

“You should be apologizing to me for being in my way right about now, freak,” Andreas taunts him. He’s knocked Alexander’s books to the ground, like some sort of cartoon caricature of a bully, and you’re fed up.

“Hey!” Without missing a beat, you slide yourself between Alexander and Andreas. You’ve recently hit a bit of a growth spurt, so you note with a bit of smugness that you’re at least an inch or two taller than Andreas. You’re also quite a bit taller than Alexander, you realize. The two of you are usually sitting when you talk, so you’ve never really noticed.

“Leave him alone!” You stand your ground even as Andreas fixes you with a withering glare.

“Ah, so you’re gonna let your big strong girlfriend fight your fights now, is that it?” Andreas sneers. Alexander stiffens behind you, and you decide right then and there that you’ve had enough of this nonsense.

“You’re the last person who should be bringing up girlfriends, Andreas,” you say, staring him down with a look that you hope is sufficiently intimidating. “Everybody knows Yulia broke up with you because you can’t get it up.” You don’t know Yulia. You don’t give enough of a shit about Andreas to follow the gossip about him. But by the way his cheeks get ruddy, you know you’ve struck a nerve. The handful of spectators your little confrontation has attracted snicker.

“You little bitch,” he snarls. You hear the gasp of the students surrounding you before you feel it. You put a hand to your rapidly reddening cheek.

The little twerp had slapped you.

“That’s what you get for getting in my way,” he says, with a smug little look that you want to wipe off his face.

You’re not a violent person. And honestly, you could have been expelled for what happens next. But you cast a quick glimpse behind you at Alexander on the ground, and something about the look in his eyes reminds you of that bird you rescued, and a quick and hot anger rises in you.

You punch Andreas.

With no wind-up, no warning, you break his nose, and he drops like a rock, howling and clutching at the blood pouring from his nostrils. A sick little giggle comes out of you as you watch, drowned out by the uproar of your little audience.

“What on earth is going on here?!” You hear a teacher roar, and the crowd quickly begins to scatter. Without hesitation, you pull Alexander up and escape before you can be subjected to the consequences of your actions.

“Boy, am I glad he didn’t put up more of a fight,” you say gleefully, high on adrenaline. “That could have gotten quite ugly.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Alexander says when the two of you have gotten far away enough. The way he looks at you now is a little different—almost reverent.

“I didn’t know either!” you say. “I’ve never done that before!”

“Who knew such a pretty rose had such sharp thorns?” he mumbles to himself. Your eyes zip to him, and even he looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“A pretty rose?” you tease, nudging him on the arm. He flushes pink and turns away, but there’s a bit of a lopsided half-smile on his lips.

You’re not sure why, but the sight of it makes your skin tingle.

The first few years of high school are relatively uneventful outside of skirmishes with Alexander’s various tormentors. Your biggest regret is that you can’t always be there for him—sometimes you have to spend your free periods catching up on readings or speaking with teachers. But you’re always there for him afterwards, poison in your voice as you hatch plans to make his bullies’ lives miserable. The plans never go anywhere, but thinking about retribution always seems to make him perk up a little. And really, that’s all that matters to you.

It's silly, how long it took you to realize how much of a fixture he was in your life. There’s a street corner a few blocks from the school you always meet him at so the two of you can walk the rest of the way together. The few times you share classes, you’re always sitting together, exchanging notes and quietly judging your classmates together. And you always, always sit with him during lunch. Even when you start making other friends who surely would welcome you at their tables, you always return to the quiet green-eyed boy in the corner.

You tell yourself it’s because he’s lonely, and he needs the company. You tell yourself the rumors about the two of you are silly, the result of bored hormonal teenagers who can’t fathom being a genuine friend to someone of the opposite sex. You tell yourself it means nothing that your face feels warm whenever he smiles at you.

You never get the chance to figure out if it does mean anything. He gives you the bad news on the last day of classes before summer break.

“I…I see,” you say, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. For once, you’re at a loss of what to say. His fingers twist around each other in his lap, the way they only do when he’s really anxious.

“Well, a fresh start is good, right?” You offer him a smile, but your heart’s not in it. Maybe you haven’t spent as much time with him as you used to back in first year—you’ve started to take more advanced classes, and you’ve been so swamped with homework and projects that sometimes hanging out with Alexander is put on the back burner. But you’d always taken comfort in knowing that he would always be there at mealtime. A steady presence in your life, as everything around you seems to be speeding towards a future you’re not quite ready for yet.

Now he’s leaving. You’d like to think your concern is for him—what’s to say his new school won’t also be rife with harassment? Will he be able to make new friends? Or will he be all alone at the lunch table again? But really, who are you trying to fool? The sudden heaviness in your chest is selfish. What are you going to do without him?

The roaring in your head stills as you feel his hand cover yours. You stare at it dumbly, unable to lift your head and look him in the eyes. Your gut feels like it’s flipping and twisting all over itself.

You lift your eyes to his. For one breathless, indescribable moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. You lean closer to him, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your eyes slide shut.

A shout startles your eyes back open, and he jolts away from you. It’s your mother, calling that she’s here to pick you up. You let out a frustrated noise as you call back to her that you’re coming before turning back to him.

The moment is long gone, and your heart twinges with regret as he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” you say softly. “And we can still see each other?”

“Of course I will, rosethorn,” he says, with that shy little smile you love so much.

You don’t see him for another ten years.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

It’s ironic, really. Saving birds. Saving boys. But the one person you can’t save is yourself.

Your life post-König is like the drop on a roller coaster, but with none of the thrill. High school flies by in a flurry of deadlines and mental breakdowns. It’s worth it when you get into a good university—at least, you thought so. In reality, there’s no work in Austria for someone with your degree. Your parents are older, well on their way towards retirement, so you find yourself unwilling to burden them. You’re lost, stuck, and so very alone.

And then you meet him.

Tall, handsome, a little older, with a blossoming career. In hindsight, how much of a perfect package he presented himself as was the earliest red flag. But when you’re young and behind on rent, anything better than that feels like a miracle.

You know better, really. You knew it the whole time. Getting married after knowing each other for 2 months isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still too quick for your comfort. But the eviction notice was on your door, and he was a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. He at least has the decency to keep up the façade for another month, but that’s the only credit you’ll ever give the man you’ve shackled yourself to. It becomes increasingly obvious that he only married you to have a live-in maid while he philanders around as he pleases. You try, oh god do you try, for five long, fruitless years. God, it’s so silly when you think about it. You liked him so much, it took you so long to realize he had never liked you in the first place. He’d scooped up the first desperate college grad he’d found, and thinking about it makes you want to hide from everyone you know.

Which you do: hiding from what few friends you do have, hiding from your parents, hiding from the part of your brain that screams that you’re wasting the best years of your life cleaning up after a grown man who won’t even touch you, much less fuck you. Your 20s are for drinking, one-night stands, and figuring out what the fuck the rest of your life is going to look like. There is plenty of drinking, but the rest of it, not so much.

You’re going to divorce him, you tell yourself in year six. Once you get a job, you’re out. But you’re no fresh grad anymore, and the 6-year gap in your resume isn’t helping matters. You spot a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel when he tells you you’re moving: his company is offering him a higher paid position, and it’s in a bustling downtown area. Plenty of opportunity for you, right?

That’s when he starts hitting you.

You’re away from your parents, your friends, your home. You took English classes, but that won’t exactly help you in this equally European foreign country whose language you don’t speak. Now that you’re approaching your 30s, your husband seems to be rapidly realizing that his youth is also disappearing. His new job is more stressful, and most days he has no outlet for it other than taking it out on you.

Now you long for the days when he didn’t come home until you’d already fallen asleep.

And then the terror attacks begin, and your once-bustling city shuts down. More isolation. Even less hope. You stay at home all day, torn between hoping someone will get rid of your husband for you and the abject terror of being left all alone in a foreign country torn apart by violent partisans.

That’s when the despair really sets in: you’ve wasted over a decade in this awful, dead-end relationship. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your stomach: you should feel grateful. But you don’t.

You start hoping the attacks will take you out instead.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

“There are mercenaries in town.”

You look up from your breakfast, lost in thought thinking about all the errands you have to run today. “Yeah?”

“About time we stopped relying on our corrupt fucking military,” he grumbles. “Maybe they’ll end this goddamn conflict once and for all.”

You don’t have much to say about that. What does it matter to you, anyway? The only conflict that matters to you lives at home, and you stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

“The curfew’s a pain in the ass, though. You behave yourself, you hear me?” His sharp glare reminds you that he’s not saying this out of a concern for your safety: if you make trouble for him, you’ll pay for it later. You nod mutely.

Your morning goes by relatively uneventfully. You do the dishes, stare at the wall, sigh, stare at the wall some more. As much of a prison as this apartment is, you like it decently well when he’s not in it. Going outside and seeing the ravages of war all around you is anxiety-inducing. But you can’t put off buying groceries anymore.

The arrival of the mercenaries makes itself immediately apparent. The streets are somehow even emptier, and what people there are on the streets move quickly and cast suspicious glances at everyone else.

You were hoping not to interact with anybody, but your hopes are dashed when you see a checkpoint ahead, manned by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Although most of them are wearing different gear, they still look more orderly and well-kept than the country’s own military. Murder must pay well.

You look around nervously, but there’s no alternate route here, and nobody local going through with you. You strongly consider going home, but you’d just have to do this all over again tomorrow.

You steel yourself with a deep breath.

“Identification?”

You show the mercenary your ID with trembling fingers, gripping your bag tightly and praying he doesn’t find your nervousness suspicious.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just—just down the street,” you say, wincing at your heavy German accent. Years upon years of living here and you still sound like a foreigner. “Getting food.” You’re so anxious you forget the word for “groceries” for a moment. You only know enough of the local language to get by, and you’re sure you must sound like a kindergartener.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at you. “You are German?”

“I…Austrian,” you answer hesitantly. Oh God, you hope there’s no issue with that. You’re not so much afraid of being detained as you are of getting home too late to make dinner.

“Interesting.” The soldier hands back your ID. “Our commander is Austrian, as well.”

You perk up a little bit at that. You’ve met a handful of German-speakers here, but not a single one of your countrymen.

Well. Aside from the one who came here with you.

“He should actually be arriving here any moment now. Big guy in a hood. You can’t miss him. They call him König.” As if on cue, a military grade vehicle pulls up to the checkpoint, military personnel stepping out. And then…

Your blood runs cold.

Nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the beast that steps out of the car. Even from a short distance, you can tell he’s a colossal size. Two metres tall, easily, wearing a dark hood that reminds you of a medieval executioner. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, two red trails, like bloody tears, are bleached under his eyes. His eyes, which must have some sort of black paint around them, giving him the impression of being two eyes staring out at you from the pitch blackness of the hood.

Two piercing green eyes.

Trained directly on your face.

Staring in disbelief.

“I…need to return home. I’ve forgotten something.” All worries about appearing suspicious fly out the window as the enormous man in the hood hesitates for a moment before making his way towards you with alarming speed.

You all but fly back down the street, making a beeline for your building. Just a few moments ago, you were excited to meet the man. Now, the image of his eyes staring into yours fills you with a fear you can’t describe.

The next day you take a long detour to avoid the checkpoint. It’ll take you twice as long to get home this time, but it’s worth it. You can’t put the shopping off another day: the brand-new bruise on your arm throbs as a reminder. And you certainly don’t want to run into the hooded soldier again.

You get your shopping done without much fanfare. The old lady cashier, who usually looks at you from over her glasses with the stern look you’ve seen a lot of people around here level at foreigners, even pressed a piece of candy from behind the register into your hand. You’re pretty sure it’s just because she wanted to get rid of it, but it does wonders for your mood.

You’re busy plotting when to enjoy your little treat when you turn a corner and freeze.

He’s here. He’s there, standing in an alleyway near your building. Somehow even larger than you remember him yesterday, still wearing that awful hood.

Does he know where you live? You curse yourself for running straight home yesterday. He must have seen the direction you went in—or did he follow you? You attempt to quietly retreat and take another route home, but your shoe scuffs a paving stone. And like a hawk spotting its prey, his head darts towards you.

You book it.

“Wait!” calls a deep voice. Tears spring to your eyes as you hear heavy footsteps pursuing you. What have you done to deserve this? You’re no criminal. Your only crime is being a naïve dumbass in your twenties.

Your arm burns as you turn corner after corner, not bothering to take note of where you’re going. It’s no use, though: you can hear him gaining on you. Fuck, is this it? You can’t even fathom what he wants you for, and you don’t want to think about it either—

“Rosethorn!” You come to a screeching halt.

There’s only one person who has ever called you that.

You turn around, chest heaving with exertion, as the hooded soldier—König, the soldier said his name was—comes into view, approaching you slowly.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not really sure what the point is, considering the gigantic knife he’s got strapped to his thigh is intimidating all on its own, but somehow it still puts you at ease.

“Alex...?” you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” he says. His posture has changed from when you saw him at the checkpoint. He’s hunching over, trying to make himself smaller. It reminds you of that first day when you sat next to him at lunch.

It’s him.

You instantly drop all your bags and cling to him in a hug, tears spilling from your eyes. He’s so different: most obviously, he's so tall. He must have hit some growth spurt after he moved away, because he towers over you now. You can feel under all the gear that he’s put on serious muscle—not surprising for a soldier, of course. And when his arms fold themselves over you, you’re filled with a sense of safety you haven’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time. A giggle bubbles out of you as you watch his eyes crinkle in an obvious smile. God, his eyes are so green.

“I’m stationed here because of the conflict,” he says. “But what are you doing here? I contacted your parents, and they said you had moved here, but they didn’t say why.”

You’re not surprised. You’re still in contact with your parents, but you don’t talk about the elephant in your home. You know they would have helped you, if only you had asked for it, but you never have.

“I…it’s complicated,” you say, withdrawing from the hug. You stare at the ground, brushing away the wetness in your eyes.

“I have nothing urgent right now,” he says, staring at you intently.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I…got married,” you whisper.

Instantly, his body language changes, stiffening in shock. He takes a half-step away from you, which makes you want to cry all over again. This is awful. This is humiliating. You wish you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself.

“I see,” he says in a strangled voice. “Congratulations.”

Despite your best efforts, the tears spill over again. “No, not congratulations,” you say. “It—”

It was the worst mistake of your life, you want to say, but you just can’t get the words out. He must notice you beginning to quake with fear, because he raises a hand to touch you gently on the arm—right on the bruise.

His stare hardens as he watches you flinch. “Rosethorn, what’s the matter?”

Everything, you want to say. I’m standing in an alleyway with my childhood crush, shaking like a leaf because a monster lives in my house, and I can’t get away from him.

With a feather-like touch surprising for a man with such large hands—he grew so much— he goes to push up your sleeve. You catch a glimpse of the bruise before you have to turn away again, shuddering. It’s ugly: black and green, and very clearly shaped like a human grip.

“I…bumped into a shelf,” you say lamely. You can’t bring yourself to rope him into your troubles. He’s a soldier now, for Pete’s sake. He has bigger problems.

You can’t read his expression due to the hood—but there’s a blazing anger in his eyes you remember all too well. The quiet fury you often saw in him so many years ago.

He must see in your expression that you don’t want to be questioned about it right now, and thankfully, he relents. With an ease in his movement that must stem from some newfound confidence, he reaches over and picks up your bags for you. “Let me carry these for you.”

It’s nice, to be taken care of for once.

Your mad dash took both of you quite far away from your building, so you have enough time for quite a nice little chat. You tell him about your time in university, he tells you what happened to him after he moved away. He’d jumped at the chance to enlist as soon as he turned 17, on the recommendation of an uncle who had spent time in the military. You laugh when he tells you that they wouldn’t let him be a sniper, a pout in his tone. You could have imagined him as a sniper back in high school, but he’s so large now it’s impossible not to notice him.

“The discipline was good for me,” he recounts. “I needed to grow a spine.”

“Don’t say that. You were just trying to get by in school, like everybody else.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me?” You ask incredulously.

“My rose with thorns,” he says, with a fondness that makes you blush. “Do you remember that day you punched that punk Andreas?”

“How could I forget? My fist hurt for days,” you say with a grin. “But I didn’t regret it for a second.”

He looks down at you—that’s new—with pride in his eyes. “I thought about you that day all throughout training,” he says. “You were my guardian angel.”

Your cheeks grow even warmer, and you feel like a teenager again. How can he still make you feel this way so easily after all this time? “He had a punchable face,” you say dismissively. “If not me, then it would have been someone else.”

You’re almost disappointed to arrive home. Only yesterday, home was your sanctuary. Now, it means being separated from the one person you trust fully in this country. You turn to him, almost bashful. “This is where I live."

He sets the bags down like they’re made of fine china, and he’s standing so close you almost stop breathing. The air is charged, the same way it felt that night when you almost kissed. You watch him as he watches you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you say, and the sparkle in his eye dazzles you.

You watch him leave until you can’t see him anymore. And for once, you enter your home with a light heart.

Remember me, love When I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply! feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open, so please feel free to drop me an ask! I will 100% write little scenarios/headcanons about this couple because I have so many thoughts and ideas for them lol

I anticipate about 2-3 parts for this, maybe with König pov in the next part? he doesn't come across this way in this part, because it's from Thorn's perspective, but he is a very nasty boy indeed. also, I know putting lyrics in the middle of a fic is so passé, but I can't help myself. it's hozier! indulge me. also this isn't beta read so I really hope it doesn't suck

[no-where-new-hero]

Throwing in my hat into the LMM Rankings ring with...

Favorite LMM Abodes

Top Tier: Homiest Homes I Want to Live In

The Disappointed House (Emily of New Moon). A home you've loved since you were a child but isn't your childhood home but a fantasy of being grown-up and independent. A home you do eventually share with the love of your life. But also a home you got to decorate exactly according to your taste because your wealthy older paramour bank-rolled the operation and understood about the necessity of cupboards. A home haunted by ghosts but they're friendly and familiar ghosts. No, it may not be homey to most, but it is because it so aptly feels like an extension of you.

Patty's Place (Anne of the Island). On the other hand, sometimes you just want to live out a kind of intellectual sapphic eden with some friends and your gal pal and your gal pal's cool aunt and a couple of cats. A home that welcomes men and romance *sometimes* and then the rest of the time it's books and fireplaces and chats and hijinks.

Green Gables (AOGG). This is in the top tier simply because I couldn't bear to put it anywhere else. It's the place where Anne finds herself, finds love and companionship, endures some of her most important experiences.

2nd Tier: Homes I wouldn't mind living in as long as I acclimated to rural life

New Moon (EONM). Emily may love skimming pans for cream and helping Jimmy boil pigs potatoes but such arts are beyond me. At the same time, I'm not afraid of cows. And the garden and graveyard and orchard are manor-house-level accessories these days, so I would feel quite grand living here.

Lantern Hill (Jane of Lantern Hill). At least Jane doesn't farm, and I think I could handle her kitchen providing I had her supply of kitchen gadgets. I have also toasted my face while broiling fish, so I'm aware of the housekeeping hazards.

Cloud of Spruce (Magic for Marigold). This is this high up simply because it's well known for its cats and has a cozy, contented air despite its denizens. It feels less real than LMM's other houses, but everyone dreams of living in a fairy house once in a while.

3rd Tier: Homes that are Characters (so does that mean being in them implicates me in the narrative?)

The Mistawis cottage (The Blue Castle). TBC is a Gothic romance to me simply because of how important the cottage is (though it's also a Bluebeard retelling apparently so!) to Valancy as a person. A little wild, a little reclusive, but open and giving to those it loves. I would love a Blue Castle but I personally could not stand the mosquitoes that would invade off the water.

Silver Bush (Pat of Silver Bush). It's been very well argued that Silver Bush is the love of Pat's life and that Pat exists more as the numen of her house than as a real person. The house gets its own "introducing" chapter, laid out without a character's intermediary. It's huge, overwhelming, a more parasitic version of New Moon.

Tansy Patch (Emily of New Moon). The fact that Teddy comes from a House (unlike Ilse, who just has a house, and Perry, whose Stovepipe Town above is vague and ambiguous) automatically makes him important. He comes from this shadowy place, but do its shadows follow him? And how far?

4th Tier: Picturesque

Ingleside (AOGG). I've seen the real house that Ingleside is based off of, and it's not aesthetically my cup of tea, but I've always thought it would be glorious to grow up in a big rambling, bustling, bursting-with-people house. But it lacks a bit of oomph in the narrative.

Wyther Grange (Emily of New Moon). On the other hand, the Grange packs a punch in its small inclusion. I would like to spend a night in the pigeon-haunted pink room, please and thank you.

Echo Lodge (Anne of Avonlea). The echoes and Miss Lavender seem good company, but I would not be able to hide away there for years and years (I'm always posting on this damn blog).

I know there are more I'm forgetting, but here's what I've got so far. Would love to know other people's rankings too!

[bitter-me]

hi can i request wxs with a reader who bakes a lot, and often surprises them with fresh pastries? if you dont wanna write all of them just rui or emu is fine! 😊

It Only Takes a Taste

Wonderland X Showtime | M. Reader

----------

"You remind me of a girl I once knew.."

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Tsukasa Tenma

Will praise your baking skills like there's no tomorrow.

You once make star-shaped sugar cookies for him and he cherishes that thing like it's a real star.

100% brags about having someone who has amazing baking skils

If he sees you baking in the kitchen, he'll help you and you don't have the right to say no. I mean just look at him! Don't you see how he shines brighter than the freaking sun at the thought of baking with you?

The face he makes every time he takes the first bite is always priceless. His eyes practically sparkle.

Also suggested that you should open a bakery, claiming that, "with your skills you'll definitely become a famous baker in no time!"

Rui Kamishiro

Will tease you for giving him a surprise pastry.

Definitely eats them as a snack as he builds his inventions and draws his blueprints.

Either that or midnight snack. Let's be honest, he probably only gets 3 hours of sleep at best with how many inventions he makes. Not to mention those ideas of his.

If he ever catches you baking, it can and will turn into a flour fight. Honestly it'll probably be a war that ends with the kitchen being all messy.

Jokingly say "My compliments to the baker." although he truly meant it.

Nene Kusanagi

Will act all shy because she never has anyone give her anything and a surprise at that?

Definitely eats them as a snack while she plays her video games.

If she sees you baking in the kitchen, she'll try her best to help you. Cooking Mama style. Do the Mama accent and you either get a laugh or a jab in the gut.

She either groans or giggles as you make a Minecraft reference while making a cake/cookies.

She probably suggested you make foods from different games/shows. For example, cookie cat from Steven Universe, butterscotch cinnamon pie from Undertale, the cake from Portal, etc etc.

One day you surprised her by making bacon pancakes from Adventure Time for breakfast and her face lit up.

Emu Otori

Congratulations, you've officially become her favorite person.

Will ask you directly if you have any pastries with you. Who can blame her? It's delicious! And if she could she'll eat it all day everyday!

If she sees you baking in the kitchen, she'll be super excited at the thought of helping you. Imagine a child who wanted to help their parents cook/bake with stars in their eyes, yeah, that's her.

Will also suggest you to open a bakery.

Gives you a small kiosk in Phoenix Wonderfully because she thinks that everyone should try your pastries and it would definitely, absolutely, 100%, guarantee, make everyone smile with just a single bite with how delicious it is.

----------

Another day, another show, another successful day for the troupe.

"You guys did wonderful today, a total of 246 tickets were sold." [Name] stated, looking through the clipboard in his hand.

He's been friends with Tsukasa since childhood who have found joy in the world of theater although not being talented in either singing or dancing, [Name] has become their manager. He's quite grateful for such an opportunity. After all, what's a troupe without a manager?

His carrying nature made him the perfect manager for the troupe and they can't ask for a better manager.

"246 tickets!? That's a lot!" Emu cheered, it's only been a few months since they all started their path towards their dreams and to think they've already made such a progress. "Of course! It's only expected that people wanted to see our show! To see a star!" Tsukasa claims as he smiles proudly at their achievement.

Nene merely smiles as she watches the group being happy at their rising to stardom. "So manager, what's on our schedule for today?" Rui asked curiously.

"Why don't we have a break? It's been a long day."

.

.

.

As the group have a small break, [Name] left to grab something before long he returns with....

"Cookies! You're the best [Name]!" Emu cheered, her eyes sparkles the moment her eyes locked on the small container in their manger's hands. "When did you have the time to do this?" Nene asked.

[Name] puts the container on the table, smiling softly as he watch the group enjoy the cookies he made. He had always enjoy baking and surprising them with fresh pastries had easily became a hobby of his. "I managed." He replied, taking a seat next to Nene.

"Hmm~ You should open a bakery! These are delicious!" Tsukasa compliments as he took another bite of the cookie. "Fufu~ as expected of our manager~" Rui chuckles, eating the pastry with a cheshire grin.

"Honestly, you don't have to.." Nene says, nibbling on the cookie. "But I wanted to~ plus seeing your guys faces every time I gave pastries are always a joy to see~"

Their manager's baking skills had never failed to surprise them. They look absolutely adorable and they're really delicious! The first time he does this, they thought it would just be a one time thing but as time passes. [Name] continues to give them copious amounts of pastries.

They're forever grateful for their manager, not only for the pastries, but for his whole support.

It won't be long until their little theater troupe would make it big and they have their manager to thank them. Who knows? Maybe [Name] might actually start a bakery with Wonderland X Showtime promoting it? Killing two birds with one stone, no?

[howtofightwrite]

One of my characters is forced to kill one of their childhood friends to save a bunch of people and I'm wondering how quick (or painful) can you make their death with just a knife? Thanks for your input!

I'm not sure exactly how fast a bleedout from a severed femoral or carotid artery is. In the former, we're talking less than a minute, in the latter, death occurs within seconds. Being able to reliably open the artery you want does require a bit of anatomical knowledge, so getting the most value out of a knife isn't something that any character would automatically be able to do.

As for how much it hurts, I dunno. Neither one is particularly high on my bucket list, so I'm content on leaving that as a question mark.

From personal, subjective, experience, the condition of the blade has a bigger impact on how much it hurts. A clean, and sharp blade, fresh from the factory (or carefully sharpened and honed) will hurt less than a poorly maintained blade. In the latter case (or, with cat claws, as I was recently reminded), you can feel the foreign object catching and ripping your skin. It's an unpleasant sensation, and, far more painful than a clean blade.

In fact, my most painful laceration experience came from a hose attachment that came apart while I was using it, and ended up getting jabbed into my thumb. As a safety measure, if you find yourself in a situation like this, turn off the water beforetrying to repair the attachment.

In contrast, the scar on my right index finger was almost painless. It was a brand new knife, which I fumbled. (Specifically it's double bladed, and the handle is a little too short for my hand. I accidentally knicked my left hand on the base of the fore-blade, and instinctively, flicked it away, gashing my off-hand.) At the time, I didn't even feel the cut, and then saw what I thought was a small welt... before it started bleeding. There is some truth to the cliché about not feeling a cut when it occurs, but the blade needs to be in immaculate condition for this to occur.

How painful can you make it, intentionally? This is not going anywhere pleasant, but I'm not sure there's a limit. That's not sarcasm. There is a point where too much pain can cause someone to slip into shock and die, but, for someone with sufficient sadism, there isn't really a limit. The problem is that a knife in an experienced and knowledgeable hand can do horrific things to someone without killing them. If the point was to inflict pain and suffering, that could be drawn out for day. Probably weeks.

As for the scenario, I have reservations. I'm reading a lot into the way you phrased the setup, but there is something very artificial and, more than a little cliché, about the villain strong arming a protagonist into violating their morals. Particularly on ticking bomb scenarios.

In a lot of cases, neither side really gets anything of value out of the interaction. The villain gets a tiny bit of room to wag a finger and say, “we're not so different now,” but, really, they would have done that anyway. And the hero gets to have a chunk of their credibility chipped away, for no real benefit. In this case, I specifically mean their credibility with the audience.

The reason I say that is because this is a downright inhuman thing for someone to do. Kill someone who you presumably care about, or save the lives of five thousand randos. One of these things is an abstract concept, and the other is a person.

Now, the problem is, for you, both are abstract concepts. Your hero's childhood friend is not a real person to you. They are, at best, a simulacrum, but one you know is fake. Similarly, the mass casualty event is something you also know is fake. Even more so because you have already chosen the outcome. This means that, for you, this is a simple trolley problem. However, the evaluation would be radically different for your character. In situations like that, it is possible they'd elect to kill their friend on the basis of there being fewer casualties, but that kind of cold calculus is borderline monstrous.

This doesn't mean that you can't create a compelling scenario where a character ultimately needs to put down their friend. But, it is a deceptively difficult scenario to credibly engineer, and even then, can frequently result in massive plot holes. So, it can be done, but proceed carefully.

-Starke

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[kimbapisnotsushi]

ojiro aran headcanons bc @luminouschaotic asked me if i had thoughts (which was. a while back) but i'm out of town for two weeks in a couple days and won't be on much so i wanted to get this done before then so LET'S GO!!

aran has like spidey-sense Chaos Instincts™️ honed by years of taking care of the miyas so much so that on his first day at inarizaki he feels a tingle down his spine and turns around just in time to catch akagi michinari falling out of a tree

aran, being the kind soul that he is, goes over to help. because if there's anything the miyas have taught him it's that if you don't intervene early on there WILL be even more severe consequences down the line than if you'd just helped them in the first place

it basically goes "hi i'm ojiro what do you need me to do and how much plausible deniability can i get from this"

don't worry akagi had just been get a paper airplane bc he might be a little shit but he's a little shit with morals who cares about the environment

he didn't get the airplane the branch broke before he could

akagi tells aran that he's going to try one more time and asks aran to stand under the tree so that aran can catch him if he falls again and aran's dreading the day akagi and the twins will finally meet

i actually think it WOULD be funny if kita and akagi had been childhood friends or something previously bc a) SOMEONE had to have been akagi's handle before high school and b) it just makes sense in my head

also i think a fundamental aspect of the shiratorizawa and inarizaki rivalry that we're overlooking is reon and aran bonding

like. they get it. they know what it's like. loving a place that does not always loves you back. having a home that does not always feel like a home. it can be hard, sometimes. but if there's one thing they agree on it's that their teams ALWAYS have their backs

(lev and liam my lovelies i have NOT forgotten about you)

also this just makes the whole "aran's irrational fear is tendou satori" a thousand times funnier

since it's established that aran references older pieces of media i like to think that means he sits down with like idk his grandparents probably and they watch all kinds of things together

sometimes the only other people who get aran's references are people who ALSO sit down and watch things with their grandparents (kuroo, kageyama, kita. . . )

the haikyuu club of good grandchildren . . .

anyways so that's how kita and aran become friends!!

oh my god . . . do you guys think his sister had those small kid puppy crushes on any of his friends . . . .

my vote is akagi or the miyas do you know how funny that would be

i think a bit that akagi does with aran is saying "oh my god this is just like [insert fictional media here]" when something (usually an Event™️ involving the miyas) happens and aran going "STOP SAYING THIS IS JUST LIKE [??] AND HELP ME"

when the third years graduate aran gives gin a gift and tells him not to open it until he gets home

when gin does open it he finds a booklet titled "how to survive the miyas: a comprehensive guide by ojiro aran" and it's at least a hundred pages long

the first page is an emergency contact list with the numbers of the miyas' parents, aran's parents, and every hospital/clinic within a fifteen-mile radius

definitely prefers a real newspaper to a digital one

i think the whole of the inarizaki third years are tech-averse tbh if you took them to one of those restaurants with the little robot servers with screens for faces they'd slow blink at it like really confused cats

this sucks especially for suna bc every time he gives his phone to one of them when he wants pictures of himself with someone or something they always come out blurry or too much exposure or some shit

i think aran and oomimi go hiking with each other on the weekends and are always pestering everyone else to go with them

they win when they promise everyone, yes, we can go out for brunch and boba after

(do the twins fall into a stream while trying to cross it? yes. did they still go to brunch afterwards, sopping wet? also yes. aran doesn't think he's ever laughed harder in his life.)

[lcvekatsuki]

catching hearts ;

˖⋆࿐໋

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⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:⠀

⠀ `· . ୨୧⠀

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˙ . ꒷ a story in-which a girl captures hearts. 𖦹˙—

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꒰ bokutoxkenmaxkurooxfem!reader꒱

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౨ৎintroduction ౨ৎ

⠀ In which a twenty one year old girl goes back into town to visit her grandparents but catches three hearts along the way, maybe even horses as well?

Kōtarō Bokuto– L/n Y/n’s former childhood best friend, the tw In which a twenty one year old girl goes back into town to visit her grandparents but catches three hearts along the way, maybe even horses as well?

Kenma Kozume– Kenma Kozume, the town's veterinarian who’s able to cure the smallest and the biggest problems the animals in the tiny town might have. For him, saving animals is like a video game, if you can save the most you win! Though what happens if our little Y/n here wants to volunteer in his clinic? Will any feelings occur?

Tetsurō Kuroo– Tetsurō Kuroo, the head sheriff, and the best sniper you can ever find in the town. His cocky and flirty behavior leads to the crowd of girls following him around, most sheriff’s would use cars to travel. Not Kuroo! He uses his horse, King, that allows him to be the fastest one in the scene. What happens when Y/n and him bump into each other?

presenting . . . . . 01 ; welcome festival :

”Mhm I packed everything mom,” I assured the woman on the other side of the phone. “Yes mom! Down to my shirts to my underwear..” I instantly turned off the speaker and pouted in embarrassment.

I knew she was worried, I could understand, I wasn’t exactly the most prepared person in the room. Plus I was changing environments kind of, leaving the city to go and visit grandpa and grandma in the far away town they stayed at.

Mom lets out a sigh. “Baby, you know I'm just worried, after getting rejected... From that college you wanted to go too, you’ve been off lately. Me and your father had been noticing that recently. “ She says with her motherly soothing voice but the moment she said that I could feel my eyes getting dimmer. Like I wanted to cry for the 100th time already.

It was the classic story, I got rejected by my dream college, and I don’t really know what to do with my life anymore. I mean the whole plan was graduating from that college, and then becoming a [dream job], but life didn’t work like that. Shaking the thought away I focused back on the phone call. “You too don’t have to worry about me,” I started. “I’m not a kid anymore, trust me, I’ll be a fine mom. Love you bye.”

Before she had a chance to say bye too, I already ended the phone call. “URGHHHH” I yell pressing my forehead against the honk button letting out the loud beep noise.

This is going to be a long drive…

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Why is this suitcase so damn heavy!” I groaned trying to roll it out of my trunk but it ended up hitting my foot. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!” Holding my feet up I jumped around trying to stop the pain, But I ended up making a fool out of myself…

A guy with black and yellow hair started to walk up to me with a confused expression. His cat-like golden eyes fell on my foot. “Here.” He said, grabbing what looked like an ice pack from his bag and placing it towards my foot. And ofcourse like the idiot I was I stood there dumb-founded.

“Uhm…uh than–thank..you?” The boy with the cat persona vanished before I could even thank him. “Gosh that's so embarrassing.. He probably thinks I'm a weirdo. Great going Y/n!” I scolded myself, gaining weird looks from people.

The pain quickly went away thanks to the ice pack the mysterious guy gave me. I smiled at it softly before putting it away in my pocket. I made it to the small town my grandparents stayed at, the little town of Sendai!

I parked a little bit away from the location of their home, so I had to walk while dragging the stupidly heavy suitcase. “I shouldn’t have packed so much.” I whined rolling the suitcase across the concrete as I started to walk. Finding my grandparents house wasn’t hard since it was a small town and there was only one home that had a blue roof.

Finally I made it to their house and I knocked on the door. “Anyone home?” I asked and earlier than I could say something I could see a white haired small frame opening the door. “Y/n!” Grandma cooed, wrapping me in a hug. “Grandma!” I said back with the same enthusiasm, she started asking me questions like ‘how are you’, ‘what are you doing nowadays’, yada, yada.

Grandma invited me in and after a long bear hug with grandpa we started to chat again. “Yeah, that’s what I'm really up to these days.” I sighed crossing my arms with a tiny smile. “We missed you a lot Pumpkin,” Grandpa says with a wrinkled smile. “Especially someone in town.”

The last sentence Grandpa said was hidden under his breath so me or Grandma couldn’t hear it. “Sweetie, why don’t you go out and explore, it’s your first day back! You might find something surprising! Plus we’ll unpack your stuff.” Granny giggled as Grandpa rubbed her back. I give a guilty expression though. “Are you sure though?” I questioned them both and saw nodding from both backs.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon!” I yelled walking out of the house, I took the fresh air of the outside in. The city was never like this, never had open space, just filled with annoying crowds. But the tall beautiful skyscrapers did make up for them. I was about to continue walking by until I got tapped on the shoulder.

“Hu–” I got interrupted because I was wrapped in a hug by a muscular build. “Y/n!I missed you so much..” The voice said hugging me even tighter, I pursed my lips in confusion and looked up to see a guy with black and white hair. And there's only one person I know who has that.

“Bokuto,” I screamed, hugging him back and pressing myself deeper into his shoulder. “I missed you too, it's been like ages!” Little did you know his heart was beating 10 times faster. It was his childhood crush!

The tight loving hug was released and a goofy smile was placed on Bokuto’s face. “I just can’t believe your back..” He whispers hugging me again, slowly making me feel guilty for leaving before. I rubbed his back, smiling softly. “So, what have you been up to?” I asked, looking up at him when he released the hug. “Nothing much really. But now that you're here, everything's going to be 100 times better!” He chimed, picking you up and twirling you around causing you to hug his shoulders.

“Bok–Bokuto! Let me down!” I yelled with a faint blush of embarrassment on my face. “Oh c’mon, you used to love when I did that when we were kids!” Bokuto grinned, not letting me down and only spinning me faster. That only led to him getting dizzy, and falling.. And ofcourse I had to land on his lap.

It's like the universe was laughing right at my face. We both were embarrassed and quickly got up. “That u-uh.. Reminded me yeah! Everybody in town is waiting for us, come on.” Bokuto says, grabbing my hand, and leading me towards his motorcycle?!?!

“What the…” I say in surprise. “You never told me you had a motorcycle!?” I said as I looked back at him, as he got onto his shimmering black motorcycle. Bokuto’s eyebrows furrowed a little bit.”I mean you didn’t really call or anything after you left...” He mumbled but I heard it.

What he said made me feel horrible, how stupid could I’ve been? I was so busy trying to get into my dream college, I forgot about him.. AND I DIDNT EVEN GET IN! I wanted to apologize to him but it was too late, because Bokuto was already sliding his extra helmet on my head. “Just for safety precautions.” He chuckles with his sly smirk.

“Can’t we just walk!” I whined trying to avoid riding on his motorcycle. “I never knew how much of a scaredy cat you were Y/n~!” He teased, causing me to puff my cheeks. “Hmph! I’ll show you scaredy cat.” I declared as I tried to get on the big motorcycle, I tried to climb on it but I ended up falling. Luckily Bokuto catched me, “I forgot how short you were.” He grinned, easily lifting me up onto the motorcycle.

“Shut up!” I grumbled with a small laugh after. Bokuto then got in front of me and he started to start the engine of the motorcycle. Letting out the loud noise, causing me to press my hands against my ears. “Hold on tight, Y/n!” He yelled so I could hear him over the loud engine, before I knew it we flew, he was the quickest one in the road. I held on so tight to his waist and closed my eyes the tightest I could.

This was going to be a LONG ride.

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“Y/n you can open your eyes now,” Bokuto laughed. “We're here now.” Bokuto was the definition of YOLO (You only live once) on the road, he would drift so carelessly and push the engine as fast as he could. But I felt as though he was being much more careful than he usually was for some reason..

I opened my eyes to see colorful lights and a… welcome home banner? “What's this?” I asked with confusion at the banner and the fairlights that seemed like that led to something deeper. “Your grandparents, me, and everyone in town decided to pitch in to make you a welcome home party Y/n..” Bokuto says softly with a gentle smile.

“C’mon, everyones waiting for you!”

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I hoped u enjoyed !

follow please . . .

[2miniverses]

another night

warnings: a little bit of angst, mentions of stress from school

a/n: i haven't been very confident in my writing so this is the best i have rn... life got busy, i just turned 19 and i'm starting college this month so i've been having fun. anyway, enjoy this little drabble and i hope everyone's well!

a/n pt.2: lowercase is intentional, roommates to lovers?? maybe :3

wc: 561

minho’s in his head again. his life is good so there’s no reason he should be crying.

well, college is stressful, he misses his parents, and his childhood friends are far away, still living in his hometown and-

okay maybe he had a reason to be crying but it’s irrational. ‘this is a part of growing up’, he says to himself every night. this is just another one of those nights. just another night of him crying his eyes out about feeling an overwhelming feeling of loneliness while sitting in darkness in his comfortable queen-sized bed.

a knock interrupted the stressed man from his thoughts. he is lonely but not physically alone. he has a roommate named jisung, who’s unfortunately a night owl. he’s nice, adorable, and sometimes really loud when he brings his friends over to make music but other than that, minho has no problems with his younger roommate. minho wiped his eyes and opened the door, praying it was not obvious he was bawling his eyes out just now.

“hey. what’s up?” minho croaked out.

jisung tried to look at his face, the hallway light being no help illuminating the features of the man in front of him.

“are you okay?” the honey-blonde-haired boy asked.

“yeah i’m fine just trying to go to sleep,” the man sniffled.

“i think you’re lying. you know you can talk to me right?” jisung leaned on the doorframe with a small smile. “you said i could talk to you when i’m feeling down so the same applies to you.”

yeah, he did say that but he didn’t actually mean it. that’s lee minho, the man who tells everyone that he can deal with his problems independently. jisung was referring to some nights ago when he had a panic attack over an exam he had the next day. minho stayed there with him to calm him down and told him that he’ll be here.

that was the breaking point. minho started crying silently but the tear drops falling onto the wood floor made it obvious.

“oh, minho-ssi,” jisung said sadly, embracing him slowly. “i’m gonna take us to your bed okay?” minho nodded and let the younger take them to his bed

never in lee minho’s life would he think that he’d end up practically cuddling with his roommate after crying his eyes out for an hour yet here he was, calmer than ever. jisung was petting him like a cat and telling him random facts he saw while scrolling too far down youtube shorts which would get a snort or even a chuckle from minho which was enough for jisung to make him feel like he was helping.

“do you feel better minho-ssi?” jisung asked quietly, still playing with the other man’s hair.

“call me hyung, jisungie,” minho chuckled. “but yes i am feeling better. thank you so much.”

“you’re welcome hyung! it’s no problem,” jisung smiled down at him.

some minutes passed by and minho finally picked up his phone to scroll through social media before he went to sleep. he noticed the time and tried to get up from jisung’s embrace but failed.

“jisung, you should probably-“

he was asleep. minho shrugged and laid back down into his roommate— friend’s arms. he’s okay with falling asleep in his embrace. this is definitely better than how he spent his other nights.

[buriedpentacles]

Messages Sent on my Walk

Following on from my post How to Discern Sign from Coincidence, I thought I'd talk about some signs/messages I was sent on my walk the other day and how I've interpreted them!!

A White Feather Caught between a Nettle and Thistle

I spotted this out of the corner of my eye and the imagery was quite jarring to me, it really pulled me in.

The feather was clearly a contour feather; these help create the bird's structure and keep them aerodynamic. It was caught between a common nettle and blue-globed thistle (not native so odd to see wild where I live). Though it may be hard to see in the photo, there is a spiderweb just in front of the feather and a small cranefly on the feather - though these aspects didn't seem as important or significant.

I confirmed it's meaning later with tarot- it was a message regarding myself and the plunge I have taken in my spiritual practice.

A Shadowy Friend

In the corner of my eye, I could see a shadowy figure follow me for a while. He left after I noticed a small tennis ball tucked under a bush and moved it to a more visible spot by the gate for any dogs and their owners passing by. Clearly, that act satisfied him and he disappeared, I'm used to spirits dawdling by me and that specific area - for some reason, spirits congregate there and I think it's because it's a literal and metaphorical crossroads (a point between nature and man-made, water and earth etc).

I confirmed later with tarot what it was and that my act satisfied the lingering spirit.

Blocked Stream

I glanced down at the stream running next to me, to the specific area where I had previously performed a small spell and saw leaves and sticks blocking the area completely - perhaps put there by someone, or blown there by the recent storms. I felt a pull to it, a voice in my mind telling me that this was a sign relating to my spell. I felt a slight bit of sadness as I thought perhaps it was a symbol that the spell had failed but the falling sticks and leaves belonged to a Sycamore tree who loomed over the water - Sycamore's are protectors, wise and old trees that offer guidance and shelter. After I stood and moved from that spot, a white and tawny cat hopped over the same spot and through a gap in the bush ahead.

I confirmed later, with tarot and meditation, that it was indeed a messgae that challenges would lay in between me and my spell's outcome, but that these challenges will be overcome.

Non-Signs that I Saw

Along this work, I also spotted a periwinkle, a flower that reminds me of my childhood, a young purple snapdragon - I was very excited to see a few of these, and hope they grow strong. I also saw the bindweed and brambles commonly found in the area, though many of the blackberries were ripening now. I spotted lavender, a Buddleja bush and a Hairy Willowherb. None of these carried messages, nor were they signs, but I enjoyed seeing them still and found peace and meaning in each of their presences.

[deadglittergirl]

Paper rings { jack champion x f!reader }

I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this <3

Synopsis: Jack and you have been friends for a little over a year . Paper rings were their inside jokes, but what if it wasn't just a joke but real.

Cw: NONE 🤭🤭 just straight fluff, that's it bcs as much as I like angst I can't write it what so ever ✊️✊️

It was the scream six premiere and I was going with my life long childhood best friend jack! Everyone looked amazing but I couldn't help but feel a tad out of place! I mean these are FAMOUS people!!!!

We watched the movie, and it was so weird seeing Jack evil and also getting stabbed. We were on our way to the after party when I started messing with my small paper ring jack had made me a year ago.

" y/n meet Jack! " my friends say high off their mind. I laugh and shake his hand! " hi I'm y/n sorry about our mutual friends they take having fun all night to the literal definition! " I say as he laughs at our friends.

The moon is high. Like your friends were the night that we first met

I left a little after that and immediately searched up " jack," and what popped up was " jack champion " on Instagram and everything else. My friend follows him, so he must be the one ( a/n : hehehe t.s )

Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet. Now I've read all of the books beside your bed

" What are you thinking about y/n ? " I hear devyn ask with concern in her voice. " Oh, sorry ! Nothing important, don't worry !! " I say soothing her when Jenna pipes up," probably about jAaAaAcK, " she says in a sing-song voice. " Oh shut up, Jenna," I say, defending myself. But she wasn't wrong. I wanted to he his. He's the one I want, but I don't if I'm the one he wants.

I mean, sure, we played cat and mouse for a month or two or three, but I couldn't remove the thought that you just wanted to be friends. I wish I could just be next to him all the time.

Cat and mouse for a month or two or three. Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe

I just want to kiss him one two three times, but I will hold off on that till we confess. " Oh yeah, she's definitely in love with Jack," Jasmine says, breaking my thoughts that were indeed about him. " Who's in love with me?" I hear that oddly familiar voice say. I jump and give Jasmine a look . That " Shut the fuck up before I murder you " look and the girls all giggle while jack looks at me confused. " anywyas y/n I actually need to tell you something real quick! " everyone does their 2nd grade " oooohs " at this.

Kiss me once 'cause you know I had a long night. Kiss me twice 'cause it's gonna be alright.Three times 'cause I've waited my whole life

" Okay now that we're alone I've been meaning to tell you something but I don't know how to say this so sorry if it's not the best but, I really like you and I wanted to know if you'd be willing to go out on a date and maybe perhaps be my girlfriend?" He says as fast as he could. I just squeal. Embarrassing, I know, but HELLO ??? The jack champion likes ME!!!! " Oh no, okay, I'm sorry about that -" he rambles. "Jack, just shut up and kiss me." And with that, he does :)

" is that a yes?" I laugh " jack I would marry you with paper rings of course it's a yes! "

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings. You're the one I want. I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this Uh huh Darling, you're the one I want

A/n : I LOOOOOVEEEE LOVEEERRR!!!! Also, I really enjoyed this one!!!!! I know it's not a lot, but I have zero motivation, so!!!

[helpmyinterestsareverywhere]

DRAGONS RISING SEASON 2 SPOILERS!!

I'm trying to just get my thoughts out because HOO BOY

Lloyd, my baby boy, how on EARTH did the writers fill him with MORE trauma - im pretty sure hes going to explode soon - Sam Vincent's voice acting WAS SO GOOD, the geniune panicky breathing put ME on edge and the way he sounded in AGONY everytime another vision came OUUUCH - AND AND his vision/fear thingy from the trials?? Devastating how could you let Wu say the words, writers when I get you - also he was trying to be so helpful to Arin please he's just a little guy trying to parent I love him so much

the SECOND we got told about the warrior wolf masks and them shattering the good inside people in order to get strength/Spinjitzu/power etc my IMMEDIATE first thought was "Arin..." and then they bring up the fact that HES SO GOOD SO OF COURSE THIS MEANS THAT HE WOULD GET SO MUCH POWER AND THEN HIS RUN IN WITH RAS AHHH (also while I know it was a weird like knock-out vision, seeing him see Nya and Lloyd as his parents was cute to me (NOT IN A SHIP WAY DONT BE WEIRD) - Nya has been very "Mama Nya" so far and I'm loving it <3) - Arin's arc has been PAINFUL (in a good way) and THAT LAST BIT WITH SORA HELPING HIM DO OBJECT SPINJITZU DONT I KNOW THATS GONNA COME BACK TO BITE THEM IN THE ASS

Nya,,, and Kai,,, AND WYLDFYRE MY BABIES OOOUGHHH HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN TO THEM - seeing more childhood stuff for Nya and Kai is ALWAYS a delight they were so small just little babies and the way that it was how BOTH of them unlocked rising dragon OOOUGH THEY LOVE EACHOTHER SO MUCH - "My big brother is my hero, and now he's the world's hero, again." 😭😭 genuine agony - especially with Nya and Wyldfyre's hug afterwards - the little sob Nya let out DONT TOUCH ME - they miss him so much, that's his sister and daughter ooooughhh

JAY??? JAY!! what a pleasant surprise - oh jesus how are you traumatised with no memories - he was so terrified to have it revealed that he can use lightning my boy im so sorry - I hope he recovers from the agony of desk jobs soon <3 ALSO THE FLASHBACK WITH COLE AND JAY??? THEY'RE NERDS, THEY'RE SUCH BIG NERDS I LOVE THEM AND MISS THEM PLEASE BRING THEM BACK I MISS THEM THEY'RE BEST FRIENDS YOUR HONOUR - I'm not even gonna think about the fear/vision thing from Nya in the trials because OUCH

Cole and Geo <333 and their family <333 my babygirl Bonzle i love her so much 😔 - WHEN (if) Kai and Bonzle escape that maze thingy they BETTER come out friends - as soon as he meets her he calls her kid??? That man needs to stop being a dad to every breathing that crosses his path

Ras was as awful as always, hate him with every fibre in my being I hope he perishes /pos /pos - Jordana was GENUINELY tweaking out at the end there, can't wait to see her go insane and absolutely rock the Ninja's shit <33

SPEAKING OF ROCKING THE NINJA'S SHIT - CINDER???? godDAMN - what a ruthless little man actually genuinely I want to wipe that dumb smug smirk off of his face /pos - I enjoyed Sora trapping him in a box like a feral cat, deserved <333 (I will say, hearing his voice for the first time was... interesting 👀)

Sora is as wonderful as always, I love her so much <33 SHE WAS SO EXCITED LEARNING SPINJITZU WITH RIYU THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOUR - she's so silly I love her epsecialy since all she wanted to do was hype up Arin because thats her best friend who she loves so much dont talk to me <3

I think that's it?? Just goddamn what an EXPERIENCE - I love Dragons Rising - I can't wait for part 2 <3

[danielforshort]

Queer Loneliness

I sit on the couch and swipe through dating profiles while the Try Guys play in the background. I pause on a young man's face. I try to imagine myself loving him. Liking him. Hell, enjoying spending any romantic tinged time with him at all. I can almost imagine it. Almost. I swipe right.

My first few messages are exciting and fun to type. That imagined affection gains some weight. Then the novelty wears off. I realise I am bored. The imagining disappears like candle smoke. Our conversation tapers out. Just like the last one. And the one before that. And exactly like the next one will.

I have ages of my life forgetting about the concept of dating and romance. For months there is no yearning in me. I am content. I am happy. I am grateful for the found family I have. But then the yearning sets in. The Lonely. It is not the fear that I will be alone, or even the fear that I will never find a partner. It is the fear that I will never find connection in a fulfilling way. That there is too much of me, and in me, and that I am too small, all at once.

As a child I dreamed of being a spinster. I would live in the country, in a small farmhouse, I would own a horse, a dog, a cat. I would write books. I would be a teacher. I would be good, and kind, and loving, and I would be loved, and cherished, and cared for. And I would live with my best friend.

But that childhood best friend and I have outgrown each other; almost a decade ago now. And I have new, wonderful, best friends. People who have grown with me and fit with who I am now as a person. But their lives are so different than mine. Respectfully, their lives are entangled with other important people. They are kind, caring, wonderful, but they are not the connection I am looking for.

I yearn for that deep, soul struck connection. Intimacy.

My queer platonic partner and I fit together so easily. So well. I could feel the edges of our relationship. I knew where I stood, at all times, with them. We laughed easily, I cried easily. We supported each other, easily. And then we changed and life changed, and things were over. Naturally. The consequence of time.

And then I was full of giddy something. Romance? Desire? Yearning? I don't know. It was something. It was different than how my queerplatonic relationship felt. I thought it was romance.

When I tried to explain what I was feeling, I couldn't find the right words. My nervous laugh interrupted me too much. I sat, criss-cross, on my full sized bed, staring at the twinkling lights on my wall, trying so hard to not fuck up the beginning of something i had never had before.

I over-complicated it. I muddled my words and my meanings. What I meant to say was "I care so deeply about you. I care so much about what you think of me. I want to be important to you. I want you to want to be important to me. I want to be vulnerable with you. I want to lay my being out in front of you so we may learn to wind our lives together, like a vine and a trellis. I am scared of how to connect. There is something in me, or about me, that changes how I connect with the world. With people. I am scared I will not connect with you in the ways that are expected of me. I am scared my connection will not be enough. I am scared what i want is not what you want. I am scared."

Instead we let my muddled words suffice. So for nine months we tried to connect. We failed to connect. We waltzed through stages of our lives and found ourselves startled to not be waltzing together.

What do I do now? What do I do when I crave this kind of rare connection that i know can only be forged after ages of pleasant, normal, friendship? Patience should be my virtue, held close to my heart, instead it is loneliness.

How do I learn to accept the isolating loneliness of an aromantic heart, the exhausting experience of being Autistic, and the grieving wound of a lack of family?