#while they were also childhood friends before that

[dangerous-button]

I read Stone Butch Blues when it was first published. I was 18, just barely out, and a sophomore at a liberal arts women's college 45 minutes from my parents' house. That would've been... 1993? Yup. 1993.

The book fundamentally changed my understanding of... pretty much everything.

My great-grandparents were all working class. On my dad's side (his parents were cousins), they were farmers. On my mom's maternal side, they were European immigrants and union bricklayers. On her paternal side, Jewish immigrants. Her dad and his sister were raised by their mom, who was not, I believe, religious, and didn't raise them in the faith. She was a shopkeeper.

My grandparents' generation were college-educated (possibly except for my dad's mom). My dad's father was a math teacher and my mom's father, educated at Caltech, was a civil engineer. My mom's mother ran my grandfather's business, including a real estate office for a while.

Both my parents graduated from Stanford and taught English (my dad, who had a Ph.D., eventually went into corporate management to make more money).

So... I grew up surrounded by both the privileged world of aspirational academia and the, much more resonant for me, family stories about immigrant lives, trade unions, and beautiful craftsmanship.

I can do the academic thing, and do it well, but I have always preferred making things to studying them. I have always felt a bit out-of-sync with my family’s "evolution" towards increasingly academic pursuits. I like using my brain, but I like to keep my hands dirty while I do it.

Leslie Feinberg's writing became, for me, the first place where my own queerness and my identification with my family’s immigrant and working-class roots, made sense to me as parts of a single whole.

The summer after my junior year, I went through a directory I'd gotten my hands on of lesbians working in the arts, and sent out letters to those who seemed interesting, compatible, and far enough away from my childhood in California to let me try my hand at becoming something more than my parents' daughter. I asked for an apprenticeship.

As such things do, the end result wound up being... very different from what I'd imagined. I got a gig in New Hampshire helping a musician and her trans partner, who made their living busking on hammered dulcimer. I was meant to go live in a tent on their land, help with the straw bale house they were building, help babysit their 3 year old daughter, and join the busking on my harp. As it turns out, I have absolutely NO musical improvisation ability and had no clue what to do when there wasn't sheet music. The harp spent the summer in its case. Also turns out that my social anxiety made not having my own, completely private, space to retreat to unbearable. I wound up renting a tiny apartment in a nearby college town. And then... well, it turned out that the weather wasn't great for house building, and my girlfriend, spending the summer outside DC with her parents, was miserable, and so she came to join me, and...

Well. Before my girlfriend arrived, I did a lot of hiking and lake swimming, went to Boston Pride and cheered on my busking "bosses," joined them and their friends for a summer solstice ritual at which I was introduced to the concept of herbed butter and the back-breaking problems of invasive blackberry, and rode in their decomposing old subaru wagon (it's fascinating to warch the road go by through clusters of tiny, rusted out, salt-holes in the footwell) all the way to New York, specifically to hear Leslie Feinberg speak.

I was the most awestruck, hero-worshipping baby dyke imaginable, the youngest person in the room by at least a decade, and I still remember the sensation of blushing for *three hours.* Because. I was. In. The. Same. Room. As. Leslie. Feinberg.

That summer broke me wide open. It was the first time I ever felt like I, as an individual being, might hold power, make something that changed things, in the world.

That feeling, of urgent, hopeful agency, swells and recedes in my life, but I never experience it without thinking of Stone Butch Blues and of Leslie Feinberg. And yes, I still blush. Every damn time.

Happy (early) Nov 15th! Remember that Stone Butch Blues is free now and always to read here

Leslie was a communist, a butch lesbian, a nonbinary and transgender activist, and the person who made me who I am today. Consider checking out Stone Butch Blues if you haven’t already 😘 Do it for Leslie, and for hir surviving partner, Minnie Bruce Pratt 💕

[chuusmuts]

imagine submissive!pathetic!nerd!clingy!boobies obsessed!scaramouche

smut. afab reader, nipple play, fingering, (a little) dirty talk(?), creampie(??), top!reader, probably. not proofread.

idk how to title this so just imagine. also helo ig.

you had a childhood best friend, scaramouche, who was also your roommate and classmate. besides his good looking face, there's really nothing good about him. he's a nerd, the typical one that wears glasses and likes to read books. what's more, he's very submissive and clingy especially toward you. it was almost he had an obsession and was even more needy to you, laying his head on your chest, groping and kneading them.

for instance, you were supposed to be in class, yet here you were in the school's bathroom stall, sitting on his lap while he's seated on the closed toilet lid. he was clutching onto your breasts tightly, nuzzling into them as he whined and whimpered, refusing to let you go and mumbling about how soft you were. scaramouche pouted and clung tighter to your body, nuzzling into your breasts with a soft whine. "no.. i don't wanna go to stupid class... I just want to stay here with you forever..."

his fingers kneaded and squeezed at the soft mounds as he buried his face between them, inhaling your scent deeply. the nerdy boy seemed so lost in his own little world, completely ignorant of the importance of attending lessons. "mmmm your boobies are so warm and comfy... this is way better than any boring lecture..." scaramouche mumbled between nuzzles, his glasses slightly fogging up from the close contact as he made no move to let you go.

the bathroom was almost empty. it was the perfect place since no one but the two of you go to that bathroom. to other people, he appeared as an innocent boy trying to act all cute around you, but in reality, it's just his way of being possessive. he was so needy and greedy for your attention that he would ditch classes just to be with you, knowing that you'll let him get away with it.

scaramouche's fingers deftly worked open a few buttons of your uniform blouse, exposing your cleavage to his hungry gaze and touch as he whimpered. his pale cheeks were flushed and his breathing heavy as he pant softly against your skin. "but you promised me to go to class today.." taking off his glasses, you wiped off the fog with your sleeve and placed them back on his nose before stroking his hair, stirring up scaramouche to melt into your touch, and purring softly. he nuzzled into your hand like a needy kitten who crave more affection.

the way you pat him and stroke his hair so gently, the way you're being so nice to him even though he's being unreasonable.. they all turned him on so much as precum started leaking on the tip of his dick, dampening his grey pants. he whined loudly, his fingers still clutching at your cleavage as he pant. his face is flushed deep red, eyes glossy with lust behind his glasses.

"b-but I don't care... i just want to be with you..." he mumbled out between breaths, squirming in his seat. scaramouche's other hand moved down to palm at the growing bulge in his pants, letting out a soft moan. "mmmnh... you feel so good, y/n... i can't help myself around you..." his hips buck up slightly, grinding against your core through layer of clothes as his arousal continued to leak out, soaking through the fabric.

"nghh... y- your hands feels nice, don't ever stop..." he said, more to himself, the words came out in a breathy whisper, his voice low and husky with desire. his fingers pinched and tugged at your nipples through your uniform, sending jolts of pleasure through your sensitive body. in his fucked up mind, scaramouche thinks it's perfectly okay to miss classes as long as he gets to be alone with his you. you sighed defeatedly, half because of his behaviour, half because of you, yourself were starting to get aroused.

"scaramouche, scaramouche." you squeezed your eyes shut before calling him out who's still whimpering and moaning against your soft breasts. gently, you cupped his face and brought it up to look at you. there was a visible pout on his flushed face and his hair was all disheveled from all the nuzzling. "how about this? one round." you suggested. "one round, and we go to class together. and after class finished, we do another round?" you held out a pinky finger, trying to make a deal with him. you didn't want to miss another class and received a warning letter from the stupid professor.

scaramouche bit his lip and looked up at you with big puppy dog eyes. he squirmed in your lap, his arousal straining against his pants desperately. as much as he wanted to refuse you and ditch the class just to spend time with you, the deal sounded too good to be real. "o- one round... and then class... and then another after?" he repeated slowly as if trying to wrap his lust-addled mind around the offer. scaramouche's fingers twitched, his grip on your boobies grew tighter, causing you to whine in pain.

without thinking twice, he nodded eagerly, latching onto your outstretched pinky with his own. "okay, deal.." a wide, excited grin spread across his flushed face. "mmmnh... hurry y/n... i need you..." scaramouche whined impatiently, already wiggling his hips against you. his glasses are nearly fogged over again completely and his eyes were filled with desire. he looked utterly debauched already, and you've barely even started. you shifted off of his lap, and scaramouche's hands moved to fumble with the zipper of his pants, desperate to free his throbbing erection. more precum was leaking steadily now, leaving a noticeable big wet spot on the fabric.

meanwhile, you slid down your panties and pulled your skirt until it reached your thighs, enough to expose your glistening pussy. as his leaking erection sprung free from his pants, you unbuttoned your shirt completely and unclasped your bra before hanging them on the door handle. sitting on his lap, you let him bury himself deep inside your fluttering core while he let out a sharp gasp. his hands immediately flew to grip your hips, clinging to you desperately as he started thrusting upwards in earnest. "mmh come here.." you murmured, stroking his nape.

he began moving his hips upwards in unison with your downward thrusts, driving the entirety of his thick member up inside you, every thrust came along with a pathetic whimper as his thick shaft plunging deep into your welcoming cunny. the tight heat enveloping him triggered sparks along his spine. "mmh... that's a good boy.. i got you, darlin'" you praised him as you hugged his head to your breasts once again and scaramouche nearly lost it on the spot. the sight of your bare breasts and the way your tight pussy gripping him tightly was driving him wild, he almost cum on the spot. it was pitiful, he knew, but he didn't care. "haaahh... y-your boobies, your cunt... so damn perfect..." he buried himself between the pillowy mounds, motorboating and nuzzling into them with desperate enthusiasm.

"ahhhnn... nghh, y- y/n... so hot and wet... mmmnh!" the nerdy boy whimpered, panting heavily as sparks of pleasure shoot up his spine with each movement. he could barely think straight, lost in the incredible sensation of your fluttering walls gripping him tightly. your hips worked frantically, bucking down, enveloping his thick shaft over and over as lewd squelching noises fill the small bathroom stall, echoing obscenely off the tiled walls. his fingers dig into your soft skin resulting red marks to left behind.

your tight heat milked his cock mercilessly as scaramouche's movements grew erratic, you could feel his cock twitched inside you, his balls drawing up tight, ready to explode at any moment. your breasts quivered and bounced delightfully against his eager mouth, providing an erotic symphony of soft slapping sounds that drove him wild. bringing his head closer to your face, your hand slid up to wrap around his throat lightly, squeezing just enough to make his breathing difficult and he couldn't help but let out a deep groan. "come on, don't cum yet. you don't want this to end early, do you?" you breathed, trying to hold back your moams as a wicked smile formed on your face, licking your lips while you tightened your grip around him.

he loved how you're always gentle with him but switched 360° and became dominant when you're fucking him, it makes him hard it hurts, and every time, he would surrender himself to you completely. but the stimulation was just too intense, your slick pussy milking his throbbing shaft for all its worth. your grinding and the feel of your velvety walls squeezing his aching cock had scaramouche mewling. hand still around his throat, you pulled him in for a rough kiss as you shoved your tongue down his throat and scaramouche moaned desperately into the kiss, his tongue immediately and eagerly tangling with yours. the hand around his throat had him lightheaded, adding to the dizzying pleasure coursing through his veins.

he'd never been able to last long with you, your dominance and the sheer ecstasy of being inside you always pushed him to the brink embarrassingly fast. "haaahh... c-can't... nghh! too good...!" scaramouche babbled incoherently between kisses, his hips still moving erratically as his cock jerked inside your tight heat. his hands roamed all over your body, groping and kneading greedily at your soft curves, fingers pinching and tugging at your erected nipples, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to both of your core. the combined sensations had him seeing stars, his impending orgasm building rapidly at the base of his spine.

"p-please... m-mercy... ahhh... g- gonna... nnngghh..." scaramouche warned breathlessly, struggling to breathe and his face screwed up in concentration. you could feel his cock twitched inside you, clearly fighting to hold back his release. his fingers dug into your soft flesh, fondling and stroking as you sucked greedily at his lower lips while he sucked your top one. in mid of making out, you unfastened his uniform, letting it fall to the floor before brushing your thumbs against his nipples teasingly, causing him to mewl and moan into your mouth.

the sight of scaramouche's eyes listing focus, mouth hanging open, and drool leaking from the corner of his mouth as he lost himself in the sensations made your flustered, your heart fluttering as your heart beat faster. it made your fingers pinched his nipples and twisted them so deliciously, he shuddered and arched into your touch, a drawn-out moan spilling from his lips. something felt different— the kisses were frantic, desperate than before, your mind became vague. it's intense and intimate as both you and him were completely clouded with lust.

"ahhnghh... y- y/n..." he whimpered desperately as the last of his self-control slipping away, his cock throbbed and pulsed inside your tight heat, the stimulation rapidly pushing him past the point of no return. scaramouche's eyes fluttered open, glazed over with lust and adoration. he gazed up at you, his breath heavy, completely at your mercy. you crashed your mouths together once again, the kiss desperate and hungry.

"want... need... mmnnh... love you..." scaramouche mumbled between sloppy kisses, completely consumed by his intense feelings and the all-encompassing pleasure. he could feel his orgasm surging forward, his balls drawing up tight. with a final, choked cry, scaramouche surrendered himself to the blissful release. his cock erupted deep inside you, pumping stream after stream of hot, thick seed into your fluttering depths. the aftermath got him trembling and writhing under you as he came, his eyes rolling back in sheer ecstasy, almost seeing stars. the sensation of his molten essence flooding your insides pushed you closer to the edge as well, your walls clamping down rhythmically to milk him for every last drop as you moaned loudly.

all he could manage to do at the moment was breathed hardly against your neck, with lust and contentment. his sweaty skin pressed against yours and he peppered your neck gently, hoping that you wouldn't go just yet. but his wish went unfilled as you pulled away, your slick walls slipping off his softening member, a flood of your combined fluids gushing out, dripping down onto his thighs and the bathroom floor and he missed you already. "come on, time's up. get ready to go to class." you said, trying to catch your breath while in the process of wearing your bra. scaramouche whined in protest and immediately grabbed a hold of your arm, trying to pull you back, his voice filled with need. "w-wait... don't go... stay a little longer..." he looked up at you with big, pleading eyes, hoping to convince you to extend your intimate encounter.

you stared at him with the same look before bending down and stroking his head using your free hand. "another round after this class, remember?" a small smile spread across your face. "or do you not want that? you did a good job holding this time, i might give you an extra reward later, you know." grabbing his jaw, you pulled him for a quick kiss before continuing to wear your uniform. scaramouche cheeks flushed deeply at the mention of another potential reward, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. he nodded eagerly, the promise of more intimate time with you was more than enough motivation for him to be a good boy.

"y- yeah... i'll be a good boy... i want it, i want you..." he agreed shyly and reluctantly, nuzzling into your touch and desperately hoping that the lesson will pass quickly so he could have you all to himself again. scaramouche stood on shaky legs, putting his uniform around his slender, pale torso. he took a moment to adjust his glasses and smooth down his messy hair, trying to compose himself before heading to class with you, already craving your touch once more.

[oystermark]

Mohawk Mark x M!Reader (Suggestive)

synopsis: you're the only man version of yourself across all mark universes, still, he seems to recognize you just fine.

A/N: i wanted to make this longer with sinister and no goggles mark but it has been almost a year since i wrote anything and i got really tired.. but i can take requests. having said that im sorry if this is shit, its been a while.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

You sigh wearily as you drag your feet out of your bathroom, a towel wrapped around your hips as you use another one to dry your hair. It has been… a long week to say the least. Your boss decided that you’re the guy to pawn off every little responsibility to, you’ve been sitting on your office desk like a shrimp for weeks, you arch and crack your back with a satisfied moan.

You pick up your phone and toss the towel on your hand to your couch as your eyes drift to the news blaring on your TV.

“Multiple versions of Invincible have been spotted around the city—”

You feel your heart rate pick up as you look through your window without getting up from your seat, your instincts kicking in, though if one decides to come after you…

“Stay in your homes, stay hidden and stay safe, these dangerous vers–”

You turn off the TV with a sigh.

This… “Invincible” guy happens to be your childhood friend, also your first kiss at 13 when you were both nervous and he wanted to feel how it felt to kiss a guy and then high school happened and–

No. Stop. 

Shit happens, life happens, people break off contact without meaning to all the time. Though, it does hurt when that person has been your friend since 3 years old, the person that shared his first kiss with you.

You can’t– don’t know what to call him now though, the last time you talked was… a year ago. For your birthday. He remembered that, surprisingly. Does he even still… look at guys that way, does he even remember–

This isn’t the time for this.

All this to say, in your professional opinion, none of the Mark’s would give a shit about you so you should be safe and sound. You don’t have anything to worry about.

You put your phone down and get up.

You hear the glass of your windows shatter before the sight registers in your mind. Your eyes shut, your arms defend your face as instincts kick in but you never feel the incoming cuts of the broken glass. Instead, the air is knocked out of your body as Mark slams you down on the floor with his body.

“What the fuck– You– hold up,” he sputtered as your gazes locked, yours is terrified while his turns from glee to…confusion?

He yanks you closer to his face by your chin with an iron grip as he looks you over,

“Well… it is you, huh. Just a dude now, though,” just as you finally think to say something he yanks you up from the floor and sits you down on the kitchen table –when did you even get here– and he saunters closer. 

“Look at that, all ready for me too?” he coos, his eyes drifting to your —almost undone by now— towel, he steps closer, his hands planted on either side of your thighs, “did you know I was coming?” he snickered at his own immature joke.

“What– what the fuck are you doing here?”

You finally spoke and it felt like torture through your dry and constricted throat, your hoarse voice evidence of your nervousness. He cackles as his hand moves from where it was planted, to your ass and giving it a squeeze, his smirk widening when you let out a surprised gasp.

“Nice ass”

You don’t know what to do, you feel frozen, you could try to fight, punch, run, do something. 

You’re frozen, either because of fear or because of how frayed your nervous system is from overworking for years that your body just gave up when being confronted with a fight or flight response and just deciding to freeze.

He pouts and squeezes your ass even tighter, making you groan in pain, “Come on babe, say something, I missed you– well, you weren’t a dude but, I know it’s you,” his other hand deciding to pinch and grope your thigh as he goes on, “I know you aren’t so boring, so c’mon, this is foreplay isn’t it? I bet you’re used to doing this shit all the time with your mark–”

He feels the impact of your punch on his throat, letting out a surprised but satisfied groan he looks you in the eyes, opening his mouth before you interrupt him with a glare, “I don’t know which version you are or whatever but me and ‘my’ mark don’t have anything to do with each other. Not...not for a long time,” finally hearing your voice, although hoarse, plus your glare and fuck that punch has him so fucking turned on already. He can feel the uncomfortable constriction of the suit becoming more and more prominent as you speak.

“Which means I’m not a leverage or a hostage to be used, I– I won’t give you any kind of advantage so just– please just—” your rambling gets interrupted by his lips latching onto your neck, you let out a whimper involuntarily as you try to push him off of you. Grabbing his hair –as much as you can anyway– you pull his head back with as much force as you can muster and headbutt him. Which goes as well as you’d expect. Your vision blurs and your ears ring, you can feel blood seeping from your nose as your ears finally register the exhilarated laugh. 

“Yes, fuck! That’s it baby, give it to me, I can take it,” he cups your face with one hand as the other brings your bodies closer by his other hand on your ass, “let me show you what that little bitch boy could only dream of doing to you, what you’ve been missing out on,” you groan in pain as he plants a rough kiss on your lips, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip with very clear intention to draw blood.

[tyrantisterror]

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could knit me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

[weebsinstash]

As much as I like "obsession at first sight" yandere, that's also a certain...tasty seasoning in "yandere who has known you for a lil while or maybe even years but something either happens or you change as a person and then their obsession hits them"

yandere who was your childhood friend and then you move away and then years later you guys meet as adults and they think you're absolutely beautiful, like you were personally sculpted by the gods or something

yandere who watch you put a ton of effort and dedication into self improvement whether it be mentally or physically or whatever, and whatever aspects of you that may have given them the ick before are no longer there

yandere who have been chill with you and think you're not nearly as annoying as tons of other people and that MAYBE they hate you a little less than they hate everyone else and then you get REALLY sick or hurt and suddenly they're glued to your bedside/hospital room because they can't stand the thought of you not getting better and not being around anymore

yandere who were quite frankly massive pieces of shit to you in the past or whatever and then they actually take a hard look at themselves and realize THEY'RE the problem and they aren't happy with who they are as a person and once they turn themselves around, they're also suddenly learning to appreciate their surroundings and life and especially YOU more. A lot more. Maybe TOO MUCH more....

[blairwbb]

August

pairing: Paige Bueckers x fem!oc

summary: Paige Bueckers and Knox rivers grew up side by side in Hopkins, their friendship evolving over the years from childhood pals to something deeper, though neither ever dared to label it. They shared everything, from inside jokes to their dreams for the future, but something unspoken always lingered between them, creating an uncharted tension neither knew how to navigate.

A/N: This is loosely based ‘August’ By Taylor swift. I’m new to writing so enjoy!

-

Sitting on the porch in Hopkins, Minnesota, after being away for a while feels like stepping back into a quieter, familiar part of my life. It was different from North Carolina. The warm breeze of spring or the crisp air of fall gently brushes against my skin, making me realize how much I have missed the simple, peaceful moments here. The sound of birds chirping and the occasional hum of a distant lawnmower fills the air, but it's the neighborhood's calm rhythm that stands out.

The houses around me are cozy, with their well-kept yards and a sense of community that feels grounded in time. The trees, taller and fuller than before, offer shade, casting dappled light across the porch. I take in the smell of the earth and greenery, a mix of fresh grass and the faint scent of nearby flowers, a reminder of the seasons that come and go.

I can hear the distant sounds of traffic, but they’re muffled, more like background noise than a distraction. The streets, which once felt familiar, now seem a little quieter, almost like they’ve slowed down with me. The town feels like it has grown in some ways but stayed exactly the same in others, like a snapshot of what you remember, with small, subtle changes that only time can bring.

It's a moment of reflection, a mix of nostalgia and a slight sense of detachment, like reconnecting with an old friend after years apart. It’s comforting, yet a little strange. Strange because she was back also. She as in Paige Bueckers

It feels different now, being back in Hopkins, especially with Paige. I hadn’t seen her since that last summer before you both left for college. It was a summer full of familiar warmth, laughter, and easy moments, but it also ended with something unexpected. The kiss.

It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t something either of us had talked about before, but there it was—a quiet, unexpected spark that both of you had felt lingering in the air. It wasn’t the type of kiss that changes everything, but it was enough to make things feel a little more complicated than they were before. We both left that summer with unspoken words hanging between us, things we didn’t know how to address. Neither of us brought it up, and slowly, the distance between us grew—not just physically, but emotionally, too. College, new lives, new routines—it all just took over.

Now, we’re both back. Her return feels like stepping into a moment frozen in time, but also one where everything feels slightly off, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. We’re both trying to find your way around the awkwardness, but there’s an undeniable tension that I can’t ignore. She’s the same Paige—kind, easy to talk to, but there’s something different, a sense that maybe both of you are just trying to figure out what this is now, what it all means after that summer.

Our families are as close as ever, and it’s easy to fall back into those old rhythms of family get-togethers and shared moments, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the silence between you two. It’s not a bad silence, not something that holds animosity or regret, but it’s there. Both of you are different now.

When you catch her eyes, it’s clear she feels it too. There’s a soft, almost apologetic smile from her, like she wants to bring things back to the way they were, but doesn’t quite know how. You’re not sure either. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe some things are better left unspoken. Maybe, over time, it’ll all come back to a place where things are easy again—just like they used to be, before everything got complicated.

-

The families are celebrating the fact that everyone’s back in town, and it’s the kind of gathering that feels right—filled with the warmth of familiar faces and the easy chatter of old friends. My sisters, of course, know all about the night with Paige. It’s hard to keep things like that a secret, especially when Im surrounded by people who’ve seen you both grow up. They’ve been giving me knowing glances all evening, exchanging quiet conversations, like they’re just waiting for the two of us to figure it out and talk about what happened.

When the grocery run is suggested, it feels like a natural way to slip away from the attention of the gathering. Paige and I share a brief, almost relieved look before we both agree. It’s the perfect excuse, and a welcome break. As we drive through the familiar streets of Hopkins, everything feels easy again. The tension starts to dissolve the further away you get from the house, and the conversation comes back like it always did—effortless.

We talk about the usual stuff first—how school’s going, how your families have been. But then there’s that moment where things shift, the way conversations often do when you're with someone you’re close to. The air between us grows a little thicker, and it’s clear both of us are dancing around the thing that’s been unsaid for so long.

Paige’s voice breaks through the quiet first, her tone softer than usual, almost like she’s testing the waters. “I miss this,” she says, glancing over at you, her eyes briefly meeting mine. It’s not just about the grocery run or the conversation; it’s about everything—the simplicity of being around each other again, the familiarity that comes with time spent together.

I nod, a small, tight smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I miss It too,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them. There’s a vulnerability in the air now, something unspoken but understood. i want to say more, to explain everything that’s been swirling around in my head for months. But the words don’t come.

The car pulls into the grocery store parking lot, and there’s a quiet moment where neither of you moves to get out. You both know the time for the big conversation hasn’t come yet. There’s still a lot of unpacking to do, but in that moment, the silence feels comforting. It’s not awkward—it’s just... right.

“Knox, I know we’ve both been avoiding it,” Paige says, her voice quieter this time, “but I think we need to figure this out. Whatever happened that night...”

I don’t answer right away, but i don’t need to. She knows we’re both on the same page, both waiting for the right moment, the right words. But for now, being here, together again, is enough. You’re not rushing to fix everything. You’re just letting it flow, letting the distance between us shrink a little more with each passing minute.

When you finally get out of the car, it’s easy, almost like nothing changed. We walk side by side into the store, the quiet understanding between us enough to carry us through whatever comes next.

The celebration is in full swing by the time me and Paige get back from the grocery run. Laughter spills out from the house as soon as you step inside, the familiar sounds of your families blending together in a way that feels like home. It’s easy, effortless—just like things between paige and I  have started to feel again.

My sisters are the first to notice the shift. They don’t say anything outright, but the knowing glances they exchange are enough to make you roll your eyes. They’ve been waiting for this, watching from the sidelines like it’s some long-running TV show they’re personally invested in. And honestly, they kind of are.

Dinner stretches into late evening, and the teasing starts slow—little comments from your mom, a raised eyebrow from Paige’s dad when we end up sitting next to each other, the way everyone conveniently seems to leave just enough space for both of us to end up paired together. It’s subtle at first, but then my older sister, MK, never one for patience, finally says what everyone’s been thinking.

“So, have you two figured it out yet, or are we gonna have to lock you in a room until you do?”

 I nearly choke on your drink, and Paige just laughs, shaking her head like she’s completely unbothered. “Figured what out?” she asks, playing along, though the slight flush on her face gives her away.

“Oh, come on,” another sibling chimes in. “You guys always do this. Dance around each other, act like it’s nothing, and then—boom—you finally admit what we’ve all known for years.”

There’s laughter, a few exaggerated sighs from family members who have clearly been waiting for this moment longer than I even realized. I glance at Paige, and she’s already looking at me, amusement flickering in her eyes, but there’s something else too. A quiet understanding. A silent, yeah, they’re not wrong.

You shake your head, fighting back a smile. 

“Y’all are delusional.”

“Uh-huh,” My sister snorts. “Just wait. You two will figure it out.”

The conversation moves on, but the energy lingers. And the thing is… they’re right. You and Paige willfigure it out. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even tomorrow. But being here, with her, with your families, laughing and teasing like nothing ever changed—it feels like the start of something.

Or maybe, the continuation of something that never really ended.

The days pass, and little by little, things start falling back into place with Paige. The awkwardness from before fades, replaced by something easier, something familiar. We slip back into late-night drives, shooting around at the old park, sitting on the porch and talking about nothing and everything. It’s not like we’re pretending nothing happened that night before we left for college—it’s just that neither of us have pushed to bring it up. Not yet.

But then, one night, we finally do.

It’s late, way later than either of us should still be awake, but that’s always been our thing. We’re sitting on the hood of my car, parked at the edge of a quiet road just outside of town, where the stars feel a little closer. The air is warm but crisp, and there’s nothing but the sound of crickets and the occasional car passing in the distance.

Paige leans back on her hands, looking up at the sky, her face half-lit by the soft glow of the streetlight behind us. “I knew we were gonna end up here,” she says, her voice light but a little too careful, like she’s testing the waters.

I glance at her. “Here as in…?”

“As in finally talking about it.” She tilts her head toward me, and I see the flicker of something in her expression—hesitation, maybe. Or something deeper.

I exhale, running a hand through my hair. 

“Yeah.” A beat of silence stretches between us, and then I finally say it. “That night. We never talked about it.”

Paige nods slowly, and for the first time in a while, she looks a little unsure of herself. That’s rare for her. “I didn’t know if you wanted to.”

I let out a dry chuckle. “I didn’t know if you wanted to.”

She shifts so she’s facing me more. “I mean… it wasn’t nothing, right?”

There it is. The thing we’ve been dancing around. The thing that’s been sitting between us since that last summer.

I shake my head. “No. It wasn’t nothing.”

She holds my gaze for a second, then looks down, fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie. “I think I was scared,” she admits, her voice softer now. “We were both leaving, everything was changing, and I didn’t want to lose you. So I thought maybe if I didn’t say anything… it wouldn’t make things harder.”

I swallow, processing her words. “Yeah,” I say, my voice quieter now too. “I get that. I guess I did the same thing. I just—I didn’t want to mess anything up with you. And then time just… got away from us.”

Paige exhales, like she’s been holding that in for longer than she realized. “I missed you, Knox.” She says it so simply, but it hits deeper than anything else tonight.

I don’t hesitate. “I missed you too.”

We sit there for a while, just letting the words settle between us. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like we’re on the same page again. Maybe we still have things to figure out, maybe we’re not quite there yet. But tonight, under the stars, sitting side by side like we always have is enough for now.

-

The thing about Paige and me is that we’re almost. Almost back to where we were before we left. Almost talking about that night completely. Almost admitting what we both know is there. But we never quite cross the line.

 It’s frustrating, the way we hover in this space between something and nothing. We talk about it, about us, but always in circles, never fully saying what needs to be said. Some nights, it feels like we’re on the edge of something real, like one of us will finally just say it, just let it all fall out into the open. But then the moment passes, and we go back to pretending we don’t know exactly what’s happening between us.

Tonight is one of those nights.

We’re at her house, curled up on the couch after a long day, the TV playing some movie neither of us are really watching. Our families had another get-together, and at this point, I’m convinced they all see what we refuse to say. The teasing glances, the way they always find a way to leave us alone in a room together—it’s like they’re just waiting for us to figure it out.

Paige shifts next to me, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them. “Knox,” she says quietly, and there’s something in her voice that makes my chest tighten.

“Yeah?”

She hesitates, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Do you ever think about how different things would’ve been if we had just… talked that night?”

I sigh, leaning my head back against the couch. “Yeah. More than I probably should.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, but I feel her looking at me. When I turn my head, her expression is unreadable, like she’s caught somewhere between frustration and something softer. “So why are we still doing this?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I don’t know how to answer that. Because the truth is, I don’t want to be doing this. I don’t want to keep pretending we’re not caught in this push and pull, this thing that never really went away. But at the same time, there’s this fear sitting heavy in my chest—the fear that if we actually let this happen, if we try and it doesn’t work, I’ll lose her completely.

And I think she feels the same way.

I swallow hard. “I don’t know.”

Paige exhales, looking away like she’s trying to hide whatever she’s feeling. But I see it. I always see it. “I hate this,” she mutters. “I hate acting like it wasn’t real.”

“Me too.” The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and honest. “But I don’t know how to fix it.”

She looks at me again, and for a second, I think she’s going to say something—something that changes everything. But then she just nods, like she understands, like she’s just as stuck as I am.

We don’t talk for a while after that. The movie plays on, and we sit there in the same silence we’ve been living in since that night. So close, but still not quite there.

Almost.

-

It happens late one night, when the world is quiet and there’s nothing left between us but the truth.

Knox and I have spent the whole summer dancing around it, but the steps are getting messy, the space between us shrinking with every touch that lingers too long, every glance that holds too much. It’s been weeks of almost, of my heart kicking up every time she says my name, of her looking at me like I’m something worth waiting for. I think I’ve always known how I feel. I think I’ve just been waiting for them to catch up.

We’re sitting on my porch, just the two of us, the air thick with summer heat. The cicadas hum in the distance, the soft glow of the porch light making Knox’s features softer, gentler. She looks at me like she wants to say something, like maybe this time she actually will.

“Paige,” my name barely more than a breath. “I don’t want to dance around this anymore.”

I swallow, heart hammering. “Then don’t.”

Knox shifts, leaning forward, her elbows on their knees, hands clasped together like they’re steadying themselves. “I love you,” she says, and just like that, everything else fades.

I feel it in my bones, the way those words settle deep inside me, like they were always meant to be there. “You do?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

She laughs laugh, shaking their head. “Yeah, Paige. I do. I think I always have.”

My throat tightens. “Then why did it take us this long?”

Knox looks at me, really looks at me, and I think I already know the answer. We were scared. We didn’t want to lose each other. We let time and distance and fear get in the way. But not anymore.

“I love you too,” I say, and suddenly, I feel light. Like this was the weight I’d been carrying all summer, all year, and now it’s gone.

Knox lets out a breath, like she’s been waiting just as long to hear it, and then she’s pulling me in, arms wrapping around me in a way that feels like home. I close my eyes, breathe her in, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly how it’s supposed to.

The rest of the summer belongs to us.

Ice cream runs where we steal bites from each other’s cones. Flowers—daisies, lilacs, anything Knox can find, tucked behind my ear, left on my car, sitting on my porch with my name scribbled on a note. Bonfires with our families,her fingers laced through mine under the glow of the flames. Quiet mornings where we don’t need to talk, where just being is enough.

But time doesn’t stop, even when I want it to. The days slip by, and suddenly, the summer isn’t endless anymore.

I sit on Knox’s bed the night before we both leave, staring at my packed bags, my stomach twisting. “It’s gonna be hard,” I admit, because I don’t believe in lying to them—not about this.

Knox is lying next to me, her hand reaching for mine. “Yeah. But we can handle it.”

I look at her searching for any hesitation, but there’s none. Just certainty. Just us.

UConn and UNC. A thousand miles between us. But I think about every moment that led us here, every almost we finally turned into something real, and I know—we’re ready.

“I’ll call you every night,” Knox says, squeezing my fingers.

I smile. “You better.”

Knox grins. “And we’ll visit. And send each other stupid gifts. And make it work, because that’s what we do.”

I exhale, letting myself believe it. Letting myself trust in this, in us. “Yeah,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against hers. “We’ll make it work.”

Because we always do.

Long distance isn’t easy, but we make it work.

There are late-night calls, stolen moments between classes, texts that never feel like enough but have to be. I’m is busy with basketball, and knox drowning in schoolwork, but we find time. We always find time.

And when we can, we come home. Hopkins is still ours—the place where it all started, where we don’t have to worry about schedules and miles between us. On breaks, we fall right back into step, like no time has passed at all. And every time I have to leave, every time I watch Know board a plane back to South Carolina while I head North to Connecticut , it gets a little harder. But we promised each other we’d do this, and I’ve never been one to break a promise to. We make it work.

But tonight, I want her here.

It’s a big game. The kind where the crowd is packed, the cameras are everywhere, and the pressure is heavier than usual. I try to shake it off, keep my mind where it needs to be, but something’s missing.

Me: Wish you were here. Knox: I know, baby. I wish I was too. Me: It’s okay, I get it. You’re busy. Knox: I’ll be watching, though. You know that. Me: I know.

And I do. I know she’ll be watching, probably yelling at her laptop screen like she’s courtside. But it’s not the same.

Still, I push it aside and get my head in the game. Warmups, focus, deep breaths. But when we step onto the court, I do what I always do.

I scan the crowd.

It’s stupid, really. I know she’s not here. I know she can’t be. But still, I look.

And then—

I see her.

For a second, I think I’m imagining it. But no—she’s right there, standing near the front, hoodie slightly pulled up but not enough to hide that honey brown hair, those big brown eyes locked onto me.

I freeze, my stomach flipping, my breath catching.

She’s here.

I feel my chest tighten, something overwhelming rushing through me. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or run straight into the stands. All I can do is stare at her like an idiot while everything else—the noise, the crowd, the game—fades into the background.

Knox grins, standing up and cupping her hands around her mouth.

“Go get ‘em, Bueckers!”

I shake my head, biting back the biggest smile, because of course she showed up.

Because that’s who Knox is.

I turn back to the court, heart racing, body buzzing with something steady, something right.

And just like that, I know I’m about to put on a show.

Because she’s here.

Because she showed up.

Because she always will.

-

I almost don’t believe it at first.

When Knox first told me she was thinking about changing her major, I could tell she was nervous. Not because she wasn’t sure—Knox doesn’t do unsure—but because she knew what it meant. A new start. A big shift. And maybe, just maybe, a chance for us to finally close the distance between us.

I remember the night she told me.

I was lying in bed after practice, barely keeping my eyes open, when my phone buzzed.

Knox: Can I call you? Me: You never have to ask that.

When I answered, she didn’t waste any time. “So… what if I transferred to UConn?”

I sat up so fast I nearly knocked my phone off the bed. “Wait. Are you serious?”

She laughed, but I could hear the nerves underneath it. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. My new major makes more sense at UConn, and—” she hesitated, just for a second, then added, “And it’d mean being with you.”

That was all it took.

Now, months later, she’s here.

No more goodbyes at the airport. No more time zones or FaceTime calls cutting out when I need to see her most.

Now, I wake up knowing she’s close. Now, I get to come home from practice and find her already waiting for me, curled up on my couch with her textbooks in her lap. Now, I get to pull her into my arms whenever I want, no longer having to count the days until I can.

And life? Life is good.

It’s walking across campus together, hands brushing, no rush to say goodbye. It’s her waiting for me outside the gym after a long practice, pretending like she just happened to be there when we both know she was checking the time every five minutes. It’s late-night study sessions that turn into tangled limbs and whispered conversations under the blankets.

It’s us, without the distance, without the longing. Just us.

I watch her now, sitting across from me at our favorite coffee shop, her nose scrunched as she tries to understand whatever notes are in front of her. She mumbles something under her breath, chewing on the end of her pen like she always does when she’s thinking too hard.

I smile. “You good over there?”

She glances up, eyes warm, mouth curving into a grin. “Better than good.”

And I know exactly what she means.

Because everything is falling into place.

Because she’s here.

Because we made it.

[shiyorin]

Okay I’m silly I sent the sanguínus or fulgrim request but then I read your request rules like an idiot, so uh…. Yandere?? Something about being hunted down (lovingly) before never being seen again 🙏🏻🙏🏻 would sell you my organs for either of them

I don't think this is yandere because it feels more like romcom but anyway. Also there is an easter egg here, good luck to whoever finds it I realized that writing yandere, smut, and all that... is such a damn good stress reliever.

#Yandere au. Sanguinius x F!Reader (Reader is Sanguinius' childhood friend ????)

#Don't ask, I just want to cook it.

#Warning: Yandere, dark, a little gore,....

The sands of Baal were unkind. They scoured flesh from bone, polished rock into glassy monuments, and buried the weak beneath dunes. Sanguinius walked among them, wings folded tight against the burning wind, his shadow stretching long and alien across the wastes. The tribes called him angel, but their reverence stank of fear. They knelt as he passed, pressing their faces into the dust, whispering prayers to a being they could not comprehend. All but one.

You moved differently.

You were small where he was vast, dark where he gleamed, your hair braided with shards of obsidian that caught the light like fractured stars. You did not kneel so deeply as the others. Your forehead never quite touched the ground. When the elders chanted hymns to his glory, your lips moved a heartbeat late, your voice a murmur lost beneath the fervor of true believers. He noticed. How could he not? In a world of prostrate forms, your subtle resistance was a flame in the void.

He watched.

At first, it was accidental, a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision as you slipped away from the feast honoring his latest miracle. Later, it became deliberate. He tracked you through the labyrinth of sandstone huts, past the cisterns where women drew water with ropes of braided sinew, to the edge of the settlement where the desert began its endless hunger. You stood there often, arms crossed, staring into the horizon as if waiting for something even the sands could not devour.

Your fear of him was precise. Not the gibbering terror of those who thought him a demon, nor the awestruck paralysis of those who deemed him divine. You feared him as one fears a storm, inevitable, lethal, but natural. It fascinated him. When he approached, you lowered your eyes but not your chin. When he spoke, you answered in syllables sharp enough to draw blood.

"Why do you linger here?"  he asked once, wings mantled to shield you from the sun’s wrath.

"The view, my lord." you said, and said no more.

He learned your rhythms. At dawn, you gathered bitterroot from the fissures where night’s chill still lingered. At midday, you wove baskets from reeds that grew along the salt flats, your fingers dancing in patterns. At dusk, you climbed to the highest ridge and sat with your knees drawn to your chest, watching the sky bleed into darkness. He joined you there, once. You did not flee, but your body coiled like a serpent prepared to strike.

"You grow quickly." you remarked, your gaze on the distant dunes.

"Too quickly?"

You shrugged. "All things here either adapt or die."

He wanted to ask what you saw when you looked at him, angel or aberration, but the words dissolved on his tongue. Instead, he unfurled a wing, just enough to cast a sliver of shade over you. You did not thank him.

The visions came as they always did, in shards of light and screams. He saw you broken on a battlefield that did not yet exist, your throat slit by a blade he would one day wield. He saw you laughing in a garden of roses, your hands stained with nectar. He saw you aging, withering, dying in a bed of threadbare linens while he remained untouched by time.

Eternity, he realized, is a cage.

He began to linger at the edges of your life. When you drew water, he ensured the bucket did not scrape your palms. When you slept, he stands in front of your hut's doo, wings curled against the cold, and listened to the rhythm of your breath. Once, when a sandstorm threatened to peel the flesh from your bones, he carried you to the deepest caves and shielded you with his body until the winds died. You did not tremble. You did not speak. But your eyes, when they met his, held a question he dared not answer.

The tribe whispered. They saw his favor and resented it. Gifts appeared at your threshold, carved bone charms, strings of desert pearls, a cloak lined with the fur of some animals. You left them untouched. When elders pressed you to accept your role as his chosen, you smiled thinly and said nothing.

"You shame us." The elders hissed one night, the words slithering through the hut’s thin walls. "He is a god."

"He is a child." you replied.

Sanguinius, listening in the dark, felt something primal uncoil in his chest.

******

The Angel took you that night.

Not with violence, but with silence. While the tribe slept, he gathered you, sleeping form, parted lips, hands curled into fists even in rest, and carried you into the sky. You woke screaming, your nails carving furrows down his chest. He did not release you.

The desert shrank below you, its horrors reduced to patterns in the sand. You struggled until your strength faded, until your breaths came in ragged sobs, until you pressed your face to his neck and bit down hard. He let you.

When dawn broke, your anger stops, he took you to the highest peak. The air was thin here, the sky a riot of dying stars. You shivered in your thin shift, but refused his cloak.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the horizon where the first ships breached the atmosphere. Fire rained in their wake.

“Our future.” The Angel said.

He cupped your face, his thumb smearing ash across your cheek. “Come with me.”

“To war?”

“To eternity.”

You closed your eyes. As the first ships soared by, he wrapped his wings around you and prayed to a god he did not believe in.

Let you live. Let you hate him. Let you belong to him.

******

The ships came as he knew it would, giants of iron and fire, its hull etched with sigils of eagles and lightning. The strangers called him son, primarch, hope. They offered him stars.

He asked for a single chamber, sealed and windowless, lined with soft things. They obliged.

You raged. You clawed at the walls, at him, at the servants who brought food you refused to eat. You called him tyrant, coward, thief. He absorbed your fury like the desert absorbed blood.

At night, when your screams subsided to whimpers, he slipped into your room and watched you sleep. Sometimes, he brushed the hair from your face. Sometimes, he counted your breaths. Always, he remembered the vision, your body broken, his hands stained, and knew he would raze eternity itself to keep you whole.

You will love me, he told your still form. In time.

The future still haunted him. But now, when he dreamt of chains and blades, he also dreamt of this, your breath against his neck, your weight in his arms, your heartbeat syncing with his.

A different kind of eternity.

[artisiumstudios]

Holy shit this is so beautifully written

LIKE-

YES?!

Holy-

It’s like you read my mind.

Stanley calling ford dad definitely throws him for a loop because this is his BABY TWIN BROTHER calling him DAD. It’s such a big realization for ford to think how much the dynamic between Stan and ford is going to change. Now instead of Stan acting as ford’s protector, companion, best friend, and brother it’s ford who has to be the protector; the caregiver and the responsible adult in Stan’s life. He to raise his brother and hope he does a good job because he can’t imagine putting this Stan throw filbricks teachings. Not again.

Not after he already lost his brother once because of where those teachings lead them.

And to be honest, he actually enjoys taking care of Stanley. He enjoys seeing his baby (because sure Stan is still his brother but that’s also his baby now, that’s his son) growing up and discovering his interests, his personality, and just the world around him.

It makes Ford reflect back to his childhood and seeing how even in a different environment with a different upbringing Stan still seems to love the sea, still loves marine life, and still dreams of sailing one day. Except the difference is that unlike before it isn’t to escape a home or society, it’s to explore with his dad. (And if that doesn’t bring ford to tears I don’t know what does). Not to mention it makes Ford come to the understanding that while maybe their father had (semi) good intentions, the way he acted as a father was abusive. It makes him basically have to sneak into the library (he’s banned) just to read through every parenting book possible, it makes him suck up his misogyny (you can’t tell me he wasn’t even a little bit) and join their parenting group filled with women just to be the best father figure for Stan.

And yes he planned on telling Stan his origins, his purpose, how do you tell your son that? How do you tell him that the only reason he’s even here is because this universe’s version of him is dead because their father kicked him out and he ended up suffocating in the trunk of a car? How do you tell him that you lead your brother on because you were scared of his reaction about not wanting to sail the world with him? How do you tell him that the reason he was kicked out was because he broke your science project? How do you tell him that not once after being kicked out did you try to reach out, because you were angry and because you were scared?

How do you tell him that he’s meant to save the world and that you fear that you’re going to lose him again?

Ford can’t. He can’t do it no matter how many times his mind supplies that it’s the right thing to do and that Stanley deserves to know.

All he can do is be the parent his brother deserved to have. One that doesn’t link love with monetary value. One that isn’t afraid of affection and can hug, kiss, and be gentle with their child. One who can discipline without raising a hand, and one who listens and tries to be better everyday for their son.

And it works out, because now Stanley has a diagnosis (I love audhd Stan) and ford can adequately handle Stan’s behavior and learning process without their fathers ideals (Stanley was never stupid or a knucklehead, he was just wired differently). He knows how to help Stan with homework and he can speak with his teachers to get him the best education possible. He never once belittles Stan’s interests, but rather lets him indulge and even makes sure that Stan has everything he could possibly want (another flaw in his parenting style) but he can’t help it. Not when he sees Stan’s face light up every time they head to the beach for summer vacation, not when he pays to have a swim session with the sharks that costs a pretty penny (something else Filbrick would never do, especially if they hadn’t earned that penny), not when Stan filled sketchbooks upon sketchbooks of anomalies because he wants to mimic his dad.

Not when he knows their time is limited.

But that mixed with his overprotectiveness definitely causes a bit of conflict with Stan’s want for adventure and independence. (And if he sneaks out every once in a while, we’ll thank the gods Ford is a deep sleeper)

Stanley has an important role in the grand scheme of things, specifically saving the universe. His role is so crucial that if anything were to happen to him it could lead to not only the destruction of his universe, but also lead the destruction of others. So what would happen if Ford had lost Stanley somewhere during the ten years they spent apart, only for Ford to be met face to face with the time police and what appears to be 2 years old Stanley.

His ears feel muffled as he’s handed the toddler.

Death by asphyxiation

Trunk of the car

Far too late

Paradox

The child’s timeline was already gone

The fate of the universe

His hands

The baby coos in his arms babbling as he grabs Ford’s pinky.

[shmisky]

Analysis aside do you have any personal headcanons for the Stans/Stancest?

The way I had never stopped to think about it... But yes, I suppose I do! They just kept accumulating over the years, and many of them were “stolen” from people/posts I’ve seen. I think my headcanoning isn’t ever fully divorced from analysis, since a lot of my hcs are born out of canon observations, but there are many self-indulgent/random/funny ones as well!

I’ve included both types of hcs below! 👇

🐇 Baby Ford cried during the fifteen minutes he spent separated from Stan when he was born as the older twin. Stopped crying immediately as Stan was placed with him.

🐇 Stan was Caryn’s favorite child. She didn’t dislike Ford, Stan was just her baby and more relatable as a fellow creative liar. Ford low-key has mommy issues over this.

🐇 Stan wasn’t the only ���protector” in their childhood. When it came to Filbrick, Ford attempted to defend Stan to the best of his abilities. (He would never let Stan take the blame for something he did either, as I’ve seen happening in some fics.)

🐇 Ford & Stan’s childhood dynamic was low-key like Phineas & Ferb. Ford was the one who decided what they were going to do every day and dragged Stan along for the ride.

🐇 I mostly hc Ford as the middle child, with Shermie as the eldest brother (because the math really doesn’t make sense otherwise), but sometimes I like to imagine Ford as the eldest simply because being the firstborn would make his ego go bananas.

🐇 Ford doesn’t really gaf about Shermie. He’s the forgotten sibling. Every time Ford says “my brother,” you can be sure it’s his brother Stanley. And Stan? Well, he cares about Shermie a bit more, since he’s a family man, but not nearly as much as he cares about Ford. (I don’t see this in a tragic way, more in a funny way. Shermie isn’t hurt by this obvious fact of life.)

🐇 Stan’s memories in canon are not reliable, especially when they involve women. This is how I explain away the different/earlier designs for the (baby) Stans: Stan pictured himself as the most stereotypical nerd “loser” he could think of in his memories, and the result was the look in Dreamscaperers. And I don’t think Carla was simply a bitch who left him for a hippie. Stan is just misogynistic.

🐇 Ford was indeed jealous of Carla, though. Basic one. Stan and Ford were so codependent & inseparable and Ford was so autistic & clueless that Stan once told Ford he was going out with Carla and Ford understood he was meant to go as well, not even realizing it was a date and ruining the romantic vibes with his third-wheeling.

🐇 Fiddleford was only ever Ford’s friend, and they didn’t have romantic feelings for each other. (I really like Fiddleford, but not as a romantic interest for Ford, for many reasons. Sorry, no yaoi here.) They stay really good friends after the canon ending.

🐇 Bill and Ford were indeed romantically/erotically interested in each other, but nothing like smooching or sex ever happened between them. (In Bill’s case, it was more obsession and possessiveness than love per se; not “toxic yaoi,” but abusive yaoi.) Ford post-Bill’s betrayal fucking hates Bill’s guts and would never forgive him.

🐇 We all know Fiddleford, Bill, and Dipper were all Ford’s failed attempts at rebuilding the dynamic he had with Stan, right? Before Bill and Fiddleford arriving in Gravity Falls, in a moment of intense loneliness, Ford attempted to clone himself with the photocopy machine. It went as well as you can imagine.

🐇 Sometimes college/researcher!Ford didn’t hang up the phone and just ranted about his life to the “mysterious person” (a prank caller?) who somehow knew his number. (Stan listened to everything very attentively, glad for the chance to hear his brother’s voice.)

🐇 Stan fantasized about reuniting with Ford to get through his worst moments in the streets as a young man, going so far as to mimick Ford’s voice.

🐇 Ford also mimicked Stan’s voice while on the other side of the portal to push himself into surviving when things got really tough. Picture him staring wistfully at the photo he carried in his coat pocket like a WW2 soldier staring at the photo of a pin-up-looking sweetheart in a dramatic war movie.

🐇 Both twins talked to their reflection for that same reason. They also wrote things in their “bro code” that they would never send to each other, especially on their shared birthday.

🐇 Pre-Weirdmaggedon Stan was really pissed off at Ford and he actually meant it when he said Ford wasn’t his family anymore. Ford, meanwhile, didn’t take him seriously and still considered him his family. He would be really hurt if he knew the truth, but still too proud to admit it.

🐇 Mabel didn’t know about stancest, but she shipped them up until the moment Ford went too far and tried to separate her and Dipper. After Weirdmaggedon she started shipping them again.

🐇 I really like to read and write stancest fanfic with teen/young adult/pre-Weirdmaggedon Stans and imagine them smooching but when I think of the “canon” in my head I mostly think of them getting together romantically only in their Sea Grunkles era. It’s my “standard setting” hc, if that makes sense. It’s kind of what I’m picturing unless stated otherwise.

🐇 Regarding sex, Ford is definitely the top/dom one to me, hahah. That’s another “standard setting” hc, unless stated otherwise, in a very specific situation. Ford is too bossy & controlling, so he’d have to relax and let himself trust Stan and relinquish that control. Stan, on the other hand, is mostly a teasing brat.

🐇 Ford still has nightmares about Bill post-Weirdmaggedon. Stan has nightmares as well. They cuddle in bed together, listening to each other’s heartbeats (reassuring proof they’re alive & safe) until they fall asleep.

🐇 Ford gets really protective of Stan after Weirdmaggedon. Overprotective, even. And somewhat bossy about it, because this is Ford we’re talking about. He put a tracking microchip in Stan that Stan doesn’t know about. He would put one in Dipper and one in Mabel if he had the chance.

🐇 Stan’s inferiority complex regarding Ford isn’t gone and sometimes still shows its ugly head. Once Ford pretended he was very impressed by Stan’s sailor knot (when he actually already knew how to do it himself and was just trying to make Stan feel happy and proud about it). Stan eventually discovered the truth and spent an entire week giving Ford the cold shoulder. He still allowed Ford to cuddle and spoon him every night, but Ford wasn’t forgiven till the morning he brought breakfast in bed to Stan. Not so much because of the romantic gesture but because it reminded Stan there was something he could do that Ford couldn’t (cook).

🐇 Ford once sneakily read one of Stan’s hidden Duchess Approves fanfics and realized Stan was heavily projecting onto the duchess in love with her twin brother. Stan discovered Ford had been snooping in his things because Ford couldn’t help but correct the grammar of the entire thing with a red marker. After that, Ford became his beta reader. Sometimes they even roleplay it.

🐇 Stan has Ford massage his back daily. Ford doesn’t complain. He loves a chance to worship his brother’s body.

🐇 Ford gained a bit of fat after Stan forced him to eat real food instead of his nutrition pills. He’s still slimmer than Stan, though.

🐇 Ford tried to force Stan to exercise himself. It didn’t work. Stan likes life comfy & easy and punching monsters is already enough action and pain for his back. (He’s a pillow princess.)

🐇 Ford actually does know how to cook, but the result is something only Ford himself would eat. It’s edible, he swears, and actually delicious in the Bad Food Dimension (yes, Stanley, it exists, stop laughing), but tastes terrible for everyone except for him.

🐇 Ford, ever since they were children, thought that Stan doesn’t pay attention to his nerd rants. Stan, ever since they were children, paid much more attention than Ford would ever dream of. He loves hearing Ford talk about his interests. And because he’s a dumbass, he’ll never ever tell Ford about that. He’ll just roll his eyes and call Ford a nerd.

🐇 Ford somehow discovers the truth one day. He lets Stan keep his facade. It makes him unbearably fond & all warm inside and Stan is puzzled by his sudden good mood. Nothing Stan does annoys him for at least a few days, which in turn starts annoying Stan.

There are probably more I’m forgetting, but I hope you enjoyed at least some of these. I know I have very strong opinions sometimes, hahah.

[echoes-of-a-dream]

blind instinct 0.4 | matt murdock

blind instinct masterlist | matt murdock masterlist

synopsis: when you find matt unconscious and bleeding out, your instinct is to take him to the e.r.: good instinct. when they won’t release information on his condition to anyone outside of kin, you lie and say you’re his wife: bad instinct. when matt wakes up from surgery with amnesia, believing when the doctors say you’re married, you play along to keep him safe: you don’t even know how to categorize that one.

amnesia | childhood best friends to lovers | marriage of convenience/fake marriage | slow burn | mutual pining | wc 2.5k

note: this one is a lot longer than usual and literally none of what i planned on happening (there was supposed to be a conversation with a nurse [not claire] and the return of dr. bahl. and also a psychiatrist who got moved from character to throw-away comment) happened. and all of this conversation that happened wasn't meant to; basically matt looked at my planning and smirked and said no thank you. so without further ado...

<- previous chapter

You had all fallen into different conversations, the group avoiding discussing the elephant in the room until finally Foggy can’t take it. “Alright, let’s talk,” he begins once you’re conceivably sure that Matt is asleep.

You turn from your discussion with Luke and Claire to face where he, Jessica, and Karen are standing, having had their own conversation.

“Right,” you agree, forcing a confidence you don’t feel. “Jess, you manage to find anything?”

Jessica scoffs and shakes her head. “There were cops everywhere. Even blocked people from getting in the building.”

You raise your brow. “And that stopped you?”

“No. But it made things a hell of a lot harder. By the time I got there, assailants had been taken away, most of the stuff already bagged. I’m heading back in the morning when there’s less attention. Maybe I can find something they missed.”

You frown in displeasure at that but are unsurprised. 

“Do you have any idea why they attacked Matt?” Karen asks. “You’re the only one to have been there.”

“No,” you admit, frustrated with yourself for the answer despite the fact that it was entirely out of your control. You’re aware of what she’s asking. “They were all knocked out by the time I got there, so I don’t know if they know who he is or if it was just that lawyer Matt Murdock stepped on too many toes.”

“Well, if it was the latter, why not go after me?” Foggy points out.

Luke and Claire share a look. “Maybe you’re next,” Luke suggests.

“Great,” Jessica mutters.

Karen’s expression pinches in worry. “You might want to relocate tomorrow night, stay in a hotel with Marci for a few days.”

Foggy pales and whips out his phone, already headed for the door. “Shit, I didn’t even think about that.”

Foggy now gone, the others turn to you. “I don’t like those expressions,” you say slowly, already nervous.

They exchange glances until finally Claire puts a hand on your shoulder. “Look, while you and Matt were talking, we were trying to figure out the best way to move forward, considering the amnesia.”

“And?” You have a very strong feeling you won’t like where this is going.

“We think it would be for the best if you… played along with the marriage thing. When he gets out, he goes to your apartment.”

You laugh.

The group, once again, exchanges looks. “Seriously,” Foggy agrees as he walks back in, halting your nervous laughter. “You can’t tell him.”

“Why not?” 

It’s Jessica who pipes up, now. “For his safety. Matt doesn’t remember being… anything, so he isn’t prepared if they’re coming after him. Until he remembers, it’s safer to keep it all a secret.”

“So we don’t mention his extracurriculars, okay. Why does he have to still be married to me, though?”

“We can keep an eye on him better that way.” Foggy again. “There’s someone with him if something happens before Jess can figure out who did this. Plus, Matt’s an idiot—what if he decides to become a vigilante again, independent of us telling him? He sure as hell didn’t tell anyone last time. This way, we’re aware.”

“What, so this is just a unilateral decision? I don’t get a say?” By their expressions, the answer to that is no. The anger drops, gives way to exhaustion, and you scrub your free hand, the one not currently tangled in Matt’s locks, over your face. It falls away, and you grimace. “I don’t like this.”

“Nor do any of us,” Karen comforts. “But you made a choice, and… moving forward, this is the best option we see.”

You see their point, really, you do. Matt is a genius but his common sense is a little… lacking, especially when it comes to himself and his health. You sigh, hand stilling in Matt’s hair as you fiddle with your grandmother’s rings between your thumb and ring finger. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Foggy parrots, not expecting the easy acquiescence.

“Only until we find out who attacked him,” you clarify, eyes narrowed, subconsciously resuming your earlier motion of running your fingers through his hair repeatedly. “Or when his memories return. Whichever happens first.”

“If his me-”

“When,” you cut in. “When, Foggy, when they return.”

Foggy looks like he’s going to further argue that point, but Claire jumps in first. “Deal.” 

“Deal,” you agree. “And Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“Find the bastards quick. Please.”

You don’t know when you fell asleep. The others had talked for a little while before heading out—first Claire, returning to work, and Luke leaving with his girlfriend before heading who knows where; then Jessica, to investigate; Foggy, to check on Marci; and Karen, to… these days, you don’t even ask.

You wake up to the sound of nurses moving around, monitors beeping. You let out a groggy grumble as you lift your head from where it was resting in the crook of your elbow by Matt’s thighs. The brightness of the room causes you to wince.

“Apologies, Mrs. Murdock,” one says. 

“‘S fine,” you manage to respond to him, embarrassed at how you look. You look at Matt, who seems a lot cleaner than when you fell asleep. “H’re y’ feeling?”

Matt chuckles. “From how you sound, I feel like I should be asking you.”

“Matt,” you reprimand, a little more awake and alert now.

His smile turns thin. “Well, I still don’t remember anything.”

“Oh.” Your stomach sinks, but you force a smile back on. It’s better for him if he doesn’t, you remind yourself. “That’s okay. Other than that? Did they let you shower?”

“Not yet. Gave me a sponge bath, though.” His smile grows more strained, obviously uncomfortable with the idea, so you reach for his hand and squeeze it for comfort.

He maintains his grip when you try to pull away, prompting you to stop. He turns your hand over in his hand, feeling over the rings. “I got you these?”

You clear your throat. “No, uh, they’re my… my grandmother’s.” You quickly change the subject. “Uh, let’s get you caught up on the major events since 2012. Uh, 2014, you quit working at L&Z and dragged Foggy along with you.” And became a masked vigilante while you were at it, you think but don’t say. “A few months later, you guys started Nelson & Murdock. You remember Karen, one of the people that stopped by yesterday?”

Matt furrows a brow, thinking. “Vaguely, I think so.”

“Yeah, she was your first client.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Framed for the murder of a coworker, then someone tried to kill her in her cell, she had a pretty rough go of it.”

“Why?”

“Found some inconsistencies in the accounts, figured out some stuff people didn’t want to know. Someone got the data to the New York Bulletin and she was acquitted. Whole company got absorbed into another corporation.”

“And continued doing the same thing, I’m guessing.”

“Got it in one.”

“What about the others that were here?”

“Well, Jessica Jones is a similar story—you met when she was framed for murder, also stole evidence, but that one was real.”

“Are my friends all just former clients?” Matt jokes, although you can tell he’s a little disconcerted at the idea.

“Well, Luke was Foggy’s client, if that helps.”

He huffs out something close to a laugh. “Not sure it does, but thanks. What about the last one? The… nurse, right? I think she came in earlier, while you were asleep. Before the psychiatrist.”

Dang. How long was I asleep for? “You met Claire when you… passed out, she’s a nurse and took you to her apartment to help fix you up.”

“Passed out? Why? And why not take me to the hospital?”

Your smile strains. “She comes from a low-income area. Not everyone can afford a hospital, and it’s not like you were conscious enough to tell her whether or not you could.”

“You dodged the first question.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Okay, then,” Matt allows. “Just… I don’t have seizures or anything, do I?”

“Nope. Just chronic stupidity that sometimes leads to you not taking care of yourself well enough to make it home without passing out.”

“...That unfortunately tracks.”

“Yup.” You pop the ‘p’ awkwardly. “There’s a lot of other stuff to catch up on, so, uh… what questions do you have? What’s most important to you to cover?”

A shit-eating grin forms on his face. “I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?”

You gape at him, and if he weren’t injured you’d whack him with a pillow. “You can’t remember the past decade, but you can remember a line out of Much Ado About Nothing?”

“You only read it to me fifteen hundred times when you were memorizing your lines back at St. Agnes.”

“That-” you point a finger, “is not my fault. You could have left at any point.”

“And do what? Get in another fight?”

“You do seem to have a knack for that.” You gesture to his current state. “Although I must request you don’t get into any more. You wanna go to the gym, punch some bags, be my guest, but walking in and finding you bleeding out is not on my list of desired repeat experiences,” you joke.

Matt is silent for a moment. When he speaks, it’s a lot quieter. “You found me?” 

Shit. You hadn’t meant to let that slip. “...Yeah.”

“They said- I thought- When I woke, they told me you weren’t there.”

“I wasn’t,” you confirm. You search through your brain to find a way to word things so you aren’t technically lying. “I, uh, went back to my apartment. My lease ends soon, and most of my stuff is still there, hasn’t been moved to yours. I needed to grab something. But, uh…” you let out an awkward, slightly self deprecating chuckle as your breath quickens. You teeter on the edge of panic as you recount the events of the night, still traumatized by the scene, but try to maintain your composure. “Left my purse at the apartment, so I had to go back. You weren’t answering, so I freaked and broke in-”

“Wow, breaking and entering,” Matt interrupts with a joke, hand squeezing yours. To help you center yourself. You give him a brittle smile, grateful for the attempt to calm you. “Need a lawyer for that?”

“One not on bedrest, probably,” you tease, pausing to breathe. When you’re able to speak again, you give Matt a nod of thanks. “Oh, uh, by the way, you, uh, I know about the… sensitivities.”

Matt’s a little guarded at that, before forcing himself to untense. “Makes sense. We’re married, I figure I would have told you.”

“Well…” you worry your lip. “It’s not just me. Everyone in the… friend group, for lack of a better term, knows.”

“Why?”

“You’ve gotten a little more open in the past years.”

Matt scoffs. “That’s a lie.”

“No, it isn’t.” You brush a thumb back and forth across his hands. “You’ve had some… setbacks, some big mistakes, but you’ve grown a lot, Matty. You’ve gotten better at letting people in. You’re still by no means the best, but you’re better at it than you used to be.”

He’s silent for another long moment, before prompting, “So. You broke in?”

You allow him to change the subject, as he did for you before. “Yeah. Decided to follow in your delinquent footsteps.”

“Hey! I never broke the law!”

“Assault isn’t illegal any more? Battery?”

“Extenuating circumstances.” You raise a brow at his defense. “...I see your point. Touche.”

“I don’t think you see much of anything,” you tease.

Matt chuckles again, but motions for you to continue. You sigh, picking a spot on the wall to stare at. “You were- there were some other guys. Unconscious. You were in the remains of your coffee table-” here, Matt winces, probably imagining his back through said table, “and a lot of blood. I wish I could say more theirs than yours, but…”

“Hey.” It’s only when he wipes away a tear that you realize you’re crying. You sniffle slightly. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” His voice is gentle, soothing.

“I, I thought-” you choke slightly on a sob. “G-d, Matt, I thought you were gonna die on me. 911 was taking so long, and you didn’t stay awake, and you were- I was- I-”

“C’mere.” He shifts slightly, pain flashing across his features for a second before he suppresses it. 

“Matt-” You don’t want him in pain, nor do you want to 

“Please.” It’s that and his lethal puppy dog eyes that prompt you to sigh and comply, sitting on the bed and scooting closer to him. It’s nothing you haven’t done before—you grew up together, and Matt is a very tactile person, so you’ve cuddled before—but the context, pretending to be his fake wife, makes it all feel… different.

Matt wraps an arm around you, tugging you closer, but you resist when he tries to get you to lay your head on his chest. “Line drawn here.”

“Okay.” He sighs but complies. “How much have you slept?”

You check the clock. “About four hours,” you realize in surprise. Before that, you were awake for… well, a while. You had gotten to the apartment around 21:45, then there was ten minutes for the ambulance to get there and twelve minutes back to the hospital, Matt was rushed to surgery and that took about two and a half hours, and then there was another hour before you could see him. Then probably another hour and a half before you fell asleep, around 03:15, and now it’s 7:19. Combine that with having woken up at six the morning before and the trauma of the night before, and it’s no wonder you’re exhausted.

“Well, I’m tired, and you’re tired, and you feel like you have dried blood in your hair, which I now realize is mine, and I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that extends to your skin and clothes, which can’t be comfortable. So we’re going to take another nap until Foggy gets back here with whoever the other people mentioned earlier were, and then you’re going to go home and shower and change and get some food in you and come back.”

“You’re in a hospital bed, aren’t I supposed to be giving you orders?”

“I’ve got nurses for that. I’ve only got one wife, though, and I’d rather not lose her because she was so focused on me she forgot about self-care, okay?” “Mkay,” you murmur, already drowsy again, but can’t help the guilt when he says the word ‘wife’. Your last thought as you drift off again is a sad and you don’t even have that.

next chapter ->

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[vraiao]

sultry reunion

this was a request from my favorite (and only lolol) anon, and is now also an apology for disappearing for 4 months

✰ . fem!reader & wears a dress, calling him ajax in this, my hc with ajax having lots of freckles hehe, smut w plot-ish, lovesick and desperate ajax ehehehwhwehe he's so pathetic i hate him(lovingly), reader and ajax are drunk, nipple play, unprotected sex, very vague mention of pregnancy

in your younger years, you met a friend you quickly grew fond of. of course, eventually, your friendship came to an end when he had to abruptly skip town for an unknown reason. imagine your surprise when you met him again in a restaurant many years after! and later in your bed..

ajax swore to everyone he knew that he truly fell in love when he was young. many called him a fool for it, but he didn't care. he told them all the story of his dear childhood friend and first love, and to himself, he swore that he'd find you again as soon as he got the chance to visit liyue.

when you were a kid, you made friends with a blue-eyed boy who had bright ginger hair and so many freckles that you could map out constellations in them. he was a colorful and kind boy, usually the one cheering you up when you cried, and hardly ever the opposite. many of the other kids adored him, though you were his favorite above all else. not only that, but you two also made a silly pact to marry each other when you became adults.

unfortunately for you both, those dreams and fun times were cut short when you walked outside one morning to see his parents packing all of their things up in a moving van. you didn’t know why he had to leave, but you were both more than saddened to part ways. the last thing you remember is him promising he'd meet you again one day before his parents dragged him off and drove away.

and that he did! though rather unexpectedly. it was sort of late, and you were standing at the front of a restaurant arguing with the woman at the counter as she insisted that you didn’t have a reservation, even though you very much did. you turned around, about to leave the restaurant frustrated and hungry when you suddenly locked eyes with a very familiar man. big blue eyes(that no longer had that glow you'd grown so accustomed to :<), firey ginger hair, and just as many freckles as you remember.

the both of you froze, staring at each other with slightly widened eyes like deers in headlights. boy did he age like fine wine. broad shoulders and toned muscles all over, faint battle scars peaking from under his halfway rolled up sleeves, the lines of his perfect abs visible from under his shirt, and best of all, he was tall, towering over you like a building while his rich, musky cologne attacked your nostrils and clouded your senses. you couldn't help but wonder if those hundreds of dark and light brown freckles had expanded to other regions.

he was definitely eyeing you up and down, but after a short moment of shocked silence he was the first one to speak up. “..y/n?”

you smiled. “ajax! it’s so good to see you!” really good to see him, in fact. it took all of your might to keep your eyes from wandering all over him! he ran a hand through his hair, a charming smile as he spoke. you could almost detect a sense of.. nervousness from him? “likewise! you look.. wow, you look great. how’ve you been?”

you started off by telling ajax how your night was going, and luckily for you he happened to have a reservation. immediately after you both sat down, he ordered the most expensive wine on the menu, and through the night as you both caught up, one bottle quickly turned into three. just how rich was this guy?

you told him about your quiet life in liyue, and in turn he told you about his rather adventurous life all over, which was much more exciting. the one thing that didn’t go unnoticed by you was the underlying tension in the air between you two, and you wondered if he could sense it too. you didn’t once take your eyes off of him— you couldn’t, and you weren’t sure he did either.

a delicious meal and countless glasses of wine later, it was late enough for the both of you to head home. he somehow managed to safely drive you back to your place, but as you both stood on your doorstep and you glanced behind him at the rain that started to pour and got heavier by the second, you weren’t sure you’d feel safe letting him drive anymore given his lack of sobriety and the current weather. so instead you held your door open and said, “..do you want to come in?” it was the least you could offer since he paid for dinner.

he glanced at his parked car before turning his gaze back to you with a nod. "yeah, thanks," he muttered, trying to keep the drunken slurr in his voice down to a minimum. when you walked inside he followed behind you, and you hardly noticed his hand suddenly reaching forward and clutching yours.

you were tired and fairly wasted, the fancy wine lingering on your tastebuds as your fingers rubbed your temple and you tried to wish away tomorrow morning’s inevitable headache. you moved to your room, not even bothering to turn on the light as you sat on the edge of your bed and kicked your heels off. the moonlight peeking through your curtains was enough lighting that ensured you weren't rendered completely blind.

too dazed to pay him any mind, you didn’t know what he was doing until you looked up and saw his face so close to yours. so close that you could feel the softness of his breath brush over your skin. he was standing in front of you and leaning over, his hands on the mattress on either side of your legs, effectively caging you in. you froze. he was so close to you that your nose picked up the scent of liquor from him after you every breath. it was so silent that you could only hear the quiet sounds of his breathing, and you were sure that in this moment a pin dropping would be louder.

your breath caught in your throat and you swore he could hear your rapidly pounding heartbeat, but you didn’t pull away when he inched a little closer. he was so out of it that he hardly knew what he was doing, and all he could think about in the moment was how your perfect looking lips would feel against his. he moved his hand up, resting it on your cheek before he was pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours. immediately he was whipped.

the kiss was slow, a little messy as your teeth occasionally clashed with his. he leaned forward, pushing your back onto the mattress as he crawled on top of you, not once pulling his lips off of yours to catch his breath. he didn’t need to when this was so much better than breathing. his tongue slipped past your lips and prodded at your teeth, and your jaw immediately fell slack to let him in. his tongue tangled with yours, the taste of earlier’s wine somehow amplified by your lips locked together.

your hands moved up to tangle in his hair that was even softer than you remember, and his free hand moved to a firm grip on your waist like you were going to slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. his kisses suddenly moved down to your neck while you softly panted to chase air back into your lungs. he was so touchy, his hands mapping all over your body like he was some madman. your boobs, your ass, your thighs, anywhere he could grab and squeeze hard enough to leave faint nail marks all over your skin.

but it wasn't enough-- feeling you only from above your clothes. the fabric suddenly became a great bother to him as he reached around your back, fingers struggling to undo that pesky little hook before he started to drag the zipper down. he pulled his lips off of yours, his eyes searching your own for permission before he went any further. he wasted no time after recieving a nod from you. he started to pull the dress down your shoulders, and he pulled it halfway down your stomach before he stopped, abandoning the idea the moment he caught sight of your bra.

his breath hitched, and he was completely awestruck by the sight of your perfect tits sitting so nicely in the delicate red lace. he started to kiss all over your neck, his hands working fast to remove your bra. the fiery trail of his lips all over your skin started to travel down when he finally got it off, kissing and squeezing all over your soft breasts before his lips suddenly latched around one of your nipples. his tongue swirled around it, sloppily licking and sucking at your nipple like it was the sweetest lollipop he's ever had. that combined with the feeling of him pinching and rolling the other between the pads of his fingers pulled soft moans from your mouth as your back slightly arched off the bed.

he was painting a picture of this moment in his mind that'd be engraved into every inch of his soul from this night on. every ounce of love he felt for you then and still feels for you now was boiling inside him and screaming like a tea kettle seconds away from bursting with the overwhelming heat of affection and attraction. pulling his mouth off of you only for a moment, his hungry, half-lidded eyes met yours before he lowered his lips to give your other nipple some attention. one hand now free, he used it to continue pulling that bothersome dress down your body. sliding the dress over your hips and down your squirming legs, he pulled it off and tossed it to the floor with your bra.

he finally pulled his mouth off of your tits, but the look in his eyes as a string of saliva connected his lips to your sensitive mound told you he was far from satisfied. he brought his head back up and caught your lips in a passionate, messy embrace with his. he smiled against your soft lips as he felt your grabby hands dip down, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging up at it. he lifted his lips off of yours to let you pull his shirt off, but they were crashing right back down when the fabric was lifted over his head and tossed onto the floor. he couldn't get enough of the taste of you and the way your tongue melded against his.

his hands hooked under your thighs, lifting them up and pushing them so far back until they were pressed against your chest. you softly gasped at the sudden feeling, having been unaware that you could even bend like that. one of his hands kept firm on the back of your leg while the other slipped downward and struggled to unzip his pants. it was hardly a moment later when he was eagerly shoving his pants and boxers down, and you shuddered when his fat tip already leaking with pre cum fell against your panties after he tossed his remaining clothes away to join the pile on the floor.

you didn't even have to look to know that he was big, his fat shaft dragging against the fabric of your panties, and you suddenly felt so small beneath him. his lips hovered over yours, his pulsing eagerness shrinking to a minimum, much more gentle as he pulled your lacy panties aside, eyes glued to your pulsing hole that dripped with physical evidence of the pure need that radiated off of you. you understood why he had suddenly become so gentle when he pressed his tip against your entrance, slowly pushing and easing inside of you.

the sheer size of him stole the air from your lungs. your greedy hole barely let him in, pulsing and squeezing as he pushed further, but it certainly wasn't gonna let him out now. a deep, needy groan jumped out of his throat before he could stop it, and by the time he finally bottomed out, he swore your pussy would cut of the circulation in his dick if you clenched around him any tighter.

he started off slow, but definitely not gentle. he'd pull all the way back, leaving just the tip in before slamming forward, the loud smacks of skin contacting skin reverberating through the room. his face was buried in the crook of your neck, bites along your skin muffling the groans that jumped out of his throat as his cock kissed your insides a little deeper with each thrust. your hands were desperate, fiercely tugging and running through his soft ginger locks as he fucked the very oxygen out of your lungs. his nails dug marks into the backs of your legs as he held them in place, and his teeth marked your delicate skin up with reds and pinks after every bite mark like he was painting a picture.

your head was spinning out of control, wanton moans and sharp whines pouring from your mouth as his tip kissed the deepest parts of you that no one had ever reached before. euphoric was the only way to describe what both of you could feel right now. he started to get faster, pulling out less and less each time before roughly snapping his hips forward, effectively burying himself inside of your already gushing pussy.

he'd given up on biting you because he could hardly control the groans that leaped from the deepest pits of his throat. so determined to reach that pinnacle of ecstasy, that exhilarating feeling, he was thrusting fast and desperate, hardly keeping a steady rhythm as he urgently chased his high.

it was too much-- too much! you could feel that familiar knot coiling in your stomach, getting ready to snap at any moment. your arms clung around his neck, squeezing tight as you buried your face in the crook of it. he was fucking you so fast and so rough that you could barely even voice the fact that you were seconds away from completely unraveling, but you were sure he could tell by the way you clenched impossibly tighter around him. and he definitely could. he leaned in, hot breath fanning over your ear as he used the last ounce of self control in him to coax it out of you. "fuck- hm.. you're close, aren't you baby? come on," he whispered, his voice dripping with seduction and a severe lack of self control, "cum for me, pretty."

his words were certainly enough, but he really pushed you over the edge when he brought a hand down from your leg, pressing the heel of his palm firmly against your lower stomach right where that bulge was penetrating you. you practically screamed his name as you came, copious amounts of your juices spilling all over his cock and lower abdomen, creating a creamy white ring at the base of his shaft.

your head fell back against the pillows, looking up at him with an expression that made him lose all remaining restraint. your cheeks were flushed, eyes half lidded, and beading sweat stuck baby hairs to your forehead. your mouth was hung open, jaw slack as overstimulated whines and desperate calls of his name slipped past your pretty lips and floated straight to his ears that picked up the sounds as if they were a set of notes composed in a symphony.

those pretty noises, combined with your sultry expression, sent him over the edge-- his head falling slack and burying his face in the crook of your neck as he came undone. his already unsteady pace stuttered more, and a loud groan escaped the very pits of his throat as his cock pumped seemingly endles thick, sticky ropes of cum deep inside of you, painting your inner walls totally white. his thrusts stuttered and slowed to a stop after he finished dumping his heavy load into you, and he waited for a moment, catching his breath before he pulled out, watching as his pearly white seed dripped right out of your utterly stuffed hole.

he was panting heavily, the lust-charged haze he was in slowly dissipating as he held your trembling legs in place. “d’you still wanna marry me?,” he murmured against your neck, half joking, half serious. given the lack of protection in the previous moments between you two, you just might have to!

[hyuneskkami]

❪ ⭑ ❫ starlight: chapter 4───lee know.

04. ohayou gozaimasu! 「おはようございます」

ꕀ cw. mention of poor sleep schedule and anxiety , enha’s niki mentioned as ‘riki’ once (as reader's childhood bsf) ; wc. 1.06k

we were talking to the fans who were waiting for us. I spoke mostly with the kids who came, and then signed some autographs.

flashes blinded me, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable this time because of minho beside me.

in the last two days, we had gotten much closer than i’d ever thought we would. I had opened up to him about my sleep schedule and need (anxiety, more like) to become perfect, and he promised to help me through it. (he also scolded me about my ‘poor work ethic’ which was labelled ‘poor’ because it didn’t allow me to sleep, apparently.)

the cameras were still a little overwhelming, but he held my hand under the huge jackets we were wrapped in. he was drawing little circles on my palm.

han seemed to be doing okay despite the crowd, smiling and chatting with felix.

I noticed minho stiffening while making eye contact with a fan who was around our age. I followed his eyes to hers, and her eyes were on our intertwined hands. she was giggling, but not saying anything or taking any pictures (at least we could be sure that it wouldn’t turn into a scandal).

the checking happens quick, and our managers rush us off to our terminal. slightly jogging and saying ‘hi’s to fans, we made it to our flight before it could leave us at home.

nearing the time we were set to land around, minho and I were the only ones awake. we were scrolling through his gallery, looking at photos of soondoongdori.

the announcement system notified us of the landing in the haneda airport in tokyo. the loud voice of the announcement woke up chan and changbin, who set to work, waking up the other members.

we all got our bags out of the overhead deck, and spilled out of the flight to get our first glimpses of ōta city (a city in tokyo).

it was surprising to see many fans waiting for us in the airport, since it was very early in the morning. however, there were barely any flashing cameras or paparazzi, thankfully.

“minasan, ohayou gozaimasu! omachi itadaki, arigatogozaimasu!” I said, excitedly to some of the fans who could hear me. [translation: everyone, good morning! thank you for waiting for us!]

it was really comfortable to be able to freely speak japanese, a language I was fluent in because of my childhood best friend, riki. we both had the same dream: to become a k-pop idol. but we ended up going to different companies.

as I interacted with the fans (since we were told we had plenty of time till the vans reached the airport to pick us up), I felt minho staring at the back of my head from a distance. I turned around to stare back at him, maybe even win the glaring competition he started, but as soon as I did, his eyes dropped to look at a fan and talking with them.

after a while, when it was time to go, I thanked the fans near me once again, and we set off to get to the vans. we piled into two vans with the same arrangement as before. so, minho, hyunjin, felix, and I were in the same vehicle.

“how fluent are you in japanese?” minho suddenly whispered. hyunjin and felix had already fallen asleep on each other. “and why didn’t you ever mention it before?”

“very fluent, actually. it never came up, but yeah. my best friend was japanese, and he taught me.” I shrugged.

“oh.” he thought for a moment. “can you teach me?”

his question caught me off-guard, but I nodded quickly anyway.

and so, our friendship became more… special.

we took two days to settle into our hotel rooms: the jeongchan, hyunlix, seungbin, minsung rooms. I got a separate room for myself.

we were set to go to disneyland (finally) today. our managers reminded us to film a vlog of the day to upload in order to ‘officiate’ the collaboration.

I unpacked my vlogging camera for the day, and met the boys in the lobby, with the pockets of my jeans filled with my phone, earphones, and lip balm.

“you’re coming empty-handed?” chan asked, walking in behind me. I patted my pockets and he nodded.

while we were waiting for han and minho, the last ones to get ready (they always seem to need some extra ‘beauty sleep’), I was talking to jeongin about our days together at the school of performing arts in seoul.

not soon after, minho walked into the lobby, and our eyes met as we came to the same realisation: we were unintentionally matching.

“no one told me we were coordinating outfits,” han whined and pouted.

“we weren’t, hanji. it’s a coincidence,” I explained to him like I was talking to a baby, still not sure what to make of minho’s and my outfits.

I was dressed in black baggy jeans with grey stars on them, and he wore the same model with cats on them. I had a black sleeveless tank top on, covered by a black and silver sleeveless biker jacket. he was wearing a black button-up with his sleeves rolled up.

dare i say... he actually looked handsome?

he caught me staring, and smirked at me as we piled into our cars for the day.

he was driving the car, and I was in the passenger seat beside him. (only so I could have control over the music. obviously.) han, seungmin and jeongin were squeezed into the back seat. the others were in another car (that was being driven by chan).

we were told that our so-called groups for the disneyland vlog (technically a skzcode episode for the boys) would be hyunjin, han and me (the paboracha, though I refuse to accept my position in it), felix, minho, and chan (the kittyracha, and rightfully so), and lastly changbin, seungmin and jeongin (the in-racha because apparently it's funny that their names end the same way).

the winning team (the one that finishes all of its quests/tasks the fastest) gets their favourite food, while the others... don’t. and I would do anything for food.

as we drove to the tokyo disneyland, minho pointed at a board near a bus stop and looked at me.

it read バス停.

“ba-su-tei,” I read slowly. “bus stop.” I explained.

he nodded and repeated the word. “ba-su-tei.” I smiled and nodded at him.

prev < m.list > next

[nickrocketrodriguez]

As a fan of Camp Cretaceous, were there characters in particular you were excited about writing for when you came onto the team for Chaos Theory? Did any surprise you as being more engaging than you initially thought?

Day 03 of Rocket Answers in honor or Jurassic World: Chaos Theory S3 premiering on 04/03! Keep sending me your questions!

//

Ya know, I'm such a sucker for an ensemble that I don't really think there was any one character in particular whose story I was more interested in telling from a writer's standpoint. They were all so richly defined in CC that it was truly just so exciting to get to continue seeing what new shenanigans they would get into, and what pains we could force upon them.

To try to get a little more specific, when I heard Scott's pitch that Darius was going to feel responsible for the death of one his other friends and it was going to lead us into this whole thriller-vibe of a show, especially within S1, that was extremely exciting for me as a writer getting his first full-time staffing gig. Before CT I was a script coordinator and had written some freelance episodes of other shows, but none that had this level of intrigue or that took pre-established characters and really put them through the ringer. So being able to stretch those writerly muscles on a show that required so much forethought and planning was pretty great.

I think I've also commented before on how much I really connected with Kenji's relationship to his father in a lot of ways, so getting to write "Halfway Home" (which I requested to write before episode assignments were even handed out) was extremely special for me. I really loved getting to write that conflict, as well as Kenji's conflict with Darius in "The Drop." Oh, and the scenes between Brooklynn and Santos in "Troubled Waters" were *chef's kiss*. I love getting to bookend this quieter moments with action/horror beats. XD

And, obviously, getting the chance to write a complicated but still pretty healthy queer relationship with Yaz and Sammy healed a lot of childhood wounds, not gonna lie.

In terms of who surprised me as being far more engaging than I would have expected... I'd say Ben. Not because I didn't like him as much as the others, but I think *I* thought I knew him better than I did, so while we explored who he was and how he changed since CC, there were a lot of things about him I hadn't even considered, and ways he wound up responding to situations that took me by surprise. So that was also a lot of fun.

[vikuo-kuma]

“Anyone can wear Heels.. I just do it better”

— Teachers assistant! Hero! Reader x Various! Invincible

Warnings(?): mentions of blood at the end lmao

——————————

Chapter 4

“Hey pretty”, Zack stares at you from the top floor, leaning against the railing.

“Well isn’t it the only tolerable Hero I know”

“What do you mean tolerable? I’m literally your childhood friend?”, he almost looked offended by your comment, placing a hand on his chest for dramatic effect. “You know I’m joking”, raising an eyebrow towards his figure while keeping a grin on your face.

Zack looked back at your face, observing every single detail. From your lips to your eyes, seeing the obvious dark eye bags under your eyes.

“Lena over working you again?”, he wanted to start small talk, after all he hadn’t seen you for years since he was busy with wars on the Planet Geldaria. “Not really, I’ve been… having nightmares? Yeah let’s call it that”, you were trying to keep it a secret just in case your dear sister was listening in on the conversation.

“You know that I know when you’re lying”

“Uh, nuh uh”.

“Ey are you turning away from me missy?!”

You turned away from his gaze, making a face before turning back and laughing. “I missed you… truly”, a genuine smile rested upon your face, your eyes looked refreshed.

To him?

It felt like the world suddenly lit up.

“Zack? Helloooo? Earth to Zack?”, you waved a hand in his face, trying to catch his attention back. “Oh ah, yes?”, his face flustered up like he was caught doing something inappropriate.

“You seem to be distracted every time you visit”, you started walking upstairs where Zack resided.

“..is someone bullying you because you’re a dork again? If so, give me a name”, smiling so innocently, like you weren’t going to kill anyone.

“What?! No. Just distracted is all, it’snotlikeIdon’tenjoyeverymomentwehave”, playing it off by resting his head on the palm of his hand. You let out a simple laugh while looking at him. “What?”, tilting your head, while looking at him.

“I, uh-”, Zack got interrupted by Lena, slamming the door wide open. Her hair was slightly messy from what looked like her messing around with more technology. “Yikes. What happened to you”,

“New suit. Try now.”, Lena sounded out of breath but also demanding.

Your arm was suddenly yanked into the room and so was Zack. “Wait why am I getting dragged into this?”, at this point you were getting dragged across the floor of the room.

When you guys were finally let go, Lena handed you a chip to put in your ear piece.

Doing as your told, you place the chip in the area where your previous suit was at. Snapping your fingers, the new suit covers your entire body but some certain parts.

“What? Whats with the sudden quiet-ness??”

“Eh whatever, I’m going back on patrol”, you walked out, holding your new weapon. A scythe.

As you walked out of the lab, Zack’s nose started to leak, leaking blood. “Yup that’s the reaction I was looking for from you”, Lena crossed her arms under her chest while looking at his speechless face.

———————

A/N: I was sick for the past few days, and I’m still sick just less sick 👍

[rotting-ink]

V De Winters- The Market

They couldn’t bear being in the house another moment. Their fingers dug into their palms, so hard that it left fingernail imprints, deep and dark, when they forced themselves to unfurl them. Their spouse was in their own room, angrily needling a doctor about… Their aggressively lowered libido. They hated it. Their spouse had few pleasures and being deprived of just one had lit a fire under them. 

But it wasn’t just them. The maids couldn’t stop staring at V, whispering. They had half the mind to dismiss half the staff and keep the house quiet, they wanted their quiet! Not the ongoing noise, the refurbishments, the unpacking of the original De Winter’s storage and boxes, and V’s own meager belongings tucked elsewhere. Everyone who came by, the grocer, the carpenter’s, everyone, whispered about them, their marriage, in low tones, either gleeful or scandalised. They couldn’t bear to sit there anymore, doing nothing but looking pretty, with a bandage over half their face, just so they wouldn’t bleed everywhere. 

The accident had happened weeks ago, but their sliced flesh refused to properly mend, not for a long time. It was ugly. It made V ugly. Inflamed skin, that made their eyes seem to go yellow in the corners. For the first time their eyes, their pretty pretty eyes, that their mother always crooned that they got from their blue blooded father (a lie, V can tell when she was lying), seemed garish, and putrid. They were constantly running a low grade fever, the doctor making them swallow handfuls of pills each morning and afternoon, not daring to draw any blood in case it led to another seeping wound. 

No, V was a doll that should be kept out of reach, sweet and pretty, not to be broken unless you wanted the porcelain to yellow and their hair to split and fall off. Even one tumble ended with… This. 

V reached up to gingerly touch the bandage, already mostly bled through, and winced. They hadn’t even touched the wound, bound to create a disgusting scar, just the skin around it and it had throbbed painfully. They couldn’t decide which was worse, the noise around their new grand house or skin on their face feeling far too tight. 

They had enough. 

Not making too much noise, they clumsily wrapped another bandage over the spoiled one, before getting their coat and gloves. They just… Just wished to go outside for a while. V had always made easy friends before, with the limited amount of peers in their circle. Or maybe it was because they were basically family at that point. Who knows. 

When they stepped out, a lurch of nostalgia flipped their stomach. Made their wound sting too. Their entire face felt too hot. They hadn’t been back here in… Years. Maybe… A decade? They struggled with the exact amount of time split between here, the town they were born, and in Kaer Llundain. Only dregs of their childhood remained, the place their mother had lived in for years (They refuse to go near), the chestnut tree outside of a line of demolished homes, now being rebuilt. The mistletoe tree, where they had found out about their illness. Just a scratch as they climbed with their friends and they were in bed for weeks on end, the next door neighbour watching over them as their mother worked. It was a miserable time, and they couldn’t afford a physician or a Witch to come from out of town, and the hospital refused to take them.

V began to wander, pressing the bandage down more securely. They could hear the sounds of crowds just a few streets over and walked with purpose. For the first time, they were left alone. They were alone and for the first time since they were a child pinching pennies, they had money with them. 

Just something small. For themself. Something nice. 

They continued to walk, finding themself a bit breathless. Could be that their nose was stinging from their injury, but also they don’t think they had ever walked so far in just roughly twenty minutes. Yes, they were fit, but they had done exercises inside for about a quarter of their life now, nothing like this. 

But before long they were finally there- The markets. Right in the middle of town. Their mother used to take them here every Sunday, when it had been a good week for her. Up until V’s first experience with their sickness, then it was only when she went first, and saw it wasn’t too crowded. Even now, V took great pains avoiding other people, quietly wishing they had brought their cane that they had shut away. They wouldn’t even walk on the old cobbles, preferring the newer granite setts that looked like they were freshly laid in.

They finally stopped at one stall, selling blankets and shawls. Their fingers itched, remembering when they were forced to stop working for… About 3 months. They tried out knitting at that time and made a small, wobbly, dusty-grey square of wool. It looked terrible, but V was proud of it. Did the job too.

They smiled and slowly dragged their fingers along the fabrics. They were lost in a small fantasy, a thick blanket, soft, for when the house was at the coldest, so much so they only awoke when they heard a word that made their blood grow cold. 

“- That whore.” 

Their sharp intake of breath of cold hair hurt their throat. They risked a glance to their right, and were met with two pairs of eyes looking right at them. 

Suddenly the crisp air became so much colder. People looking, hard, cold, stares. They knew. The blanket underneath V’s palm moved back sharply. The seller pulled it out of their reach and refolded it, before giving V a look. 

“Buy it first, then you can touch.” She said pointedly. 

V felt their ears turn red. 

“Poor De Winters.” Came another whisper. “No doubt duped into it. Someone should be looking after them.” 

V struggled to breath. Their lips were dry but they didn’t want to stick their tongue out and wet them. Something hot rose behind their eyes, but they didn’t want to cry. No, they knew what tears would lead to. They weren’t some debutante, they weren’t an innocent, they weren’t a sheltered noble. V took a deep breath and put on a smile, showing their crooked canines, your tiger teeth, their mother would say. 

“I’d love to buy all of these. Poor, darling J struggles with the cold weather.” They drew their expensive coat further around themself. 

The seller gaped at them, nearly dropping the blanket that now bore V’s disgusting touch, like it was a black mark. The other two ladies tittered nervously and glanced at each other. 

“I… Yes, yes!” The seller immediately put out the fabric, sliding it right back under V’s touch. Where it belonged. 

“I’ll pay extra if you could deliver these within two hours.” Their fingers greedily dragged over the blanket. Soft. 

No more words needed. She started putting the blankets away in baskets, breath coming fast and hard in her excitement. V watched her, smiling to themself, and dug into their purse, tucking a few crinkled notes into the basket, nourished by the shaky gasp the woman made. They took the blanket and folded it over their arm, like it was an oversized hand warmer. 

“Have a lovely day.” They finally turned to the two bitches, and showed their tiger teeth again. 

They didn’t wander through the whole market. They couldn’t bear it. But with each step back home, blanket heavy against their forearm, they triumphantly aimed their foul thoughts at the crowd they left behind. 

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck all of you. 

[yanderes-galore]

Hii!! Could I get Mikasa from AOT with your prompts 4, 14, and 38?

As for the plot, maybe the time takes place somewhere around season 1? Where Mikasa desperately tries to convince Darling to not join the Scouts and to choose any other regiment instead. Of course, she'll follow them wherever they go, she just can't bear the fight of them dying to the Titans and the outside world, she just wants to protect her love :(

Yandere! Mikasa Ackerman Prompts 4, 14, 38

"My heart belongs to you, I'll adore anything you do to it."

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

"My life has been so barren without you...."

Pairing: Platonic -> Romantic (Implied to turn romantic near end of fic)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Paranoia, Fear of loss, Manipulation, Dubious companionship/relationship.

Mikasa has always cared for you since you were children.

You and her had met when she was following Eren and Armin around. Since then, she's never been able to forget your smile as you offer to hang out. At first she was hesitant with that idea...

Yet when Eren encouraged her, she relented.

You had often hung around her and the others. While she was quiet most of the time, she can't deny that she found your company soothing. You... added something to her life.

For better or for worse.

It had been rough when the Colossal Titan and Armored Titans broke in the walls of your childhood district. Mikasa was worried the titans had gotten to you. However... You showed up as a cadet to train against the threat outside the walls.

Since then, Mikasa has never truly taken her eyes off you for long.

Even when you don't notice her, Mikasa watched you through your cadet days. You go into a lot less trouble than Eren... But Mikasa is always worried about you. You had all trained together for two long years as cadets.

Enough time for Mikasa to realize things about herself that she never thought she would.

In the early days together, Mikasa took on the role of your best friend. Maybe even like a sister to you. You, other than Eren and Armin, were family to her

She's always vowed to protect you just like the rest of her friends. For the longest time, that's all it was. She was meant to help you grow, improve, and survive.

When you were just training as cadets together, it felt oddly... innocent. Despite what you were all training to do, Mikasa couldn't help but find the time with you comfortable. It reminded her that you're both comrades.

Yet she didn't realize that as those years ticked by you meant a lot more to her than she thought...

Not until it was time for graduation, at least.

"I want to join the Scouts like Eren."

You had pulled her aside after a training session to speak to her near the barracks. You knew how adamant Eren was in his goal to destroy the Titans. It seemed you shared the same sentiment....

Mikasa didn't realize how much she dreaded hearing those words until you said them. The Scouts... the regiment that would send you off to fight Titans. The very same regiment that had the highest death toll out of the three.

While you were entitled to your choice... Mikasa couldn't help but feel ill at the thought. Truth is she wished Eren would also join a different regiment. Yet she knew better than to change his mind.

For some odd reason... She can't bear the thought of what could happen to you. The thought of you getting yourself hurt caused her heart to be faster. Normally she tries to be silent about this...

But Mikasa still found herself speaking up.

"No! You shouldn't." Mikasa finds herself admitting, almost surprised by her sudden objection.

You look puzzled by Mikasa's refusal, your friend realizing she now needs to explain herself. There's a tense yet concerned silence between you two before you speak again.

"... Mikasa... why–?" You ask cautiously, noting the concern on her face.

The woman in front of you changes her expression to look more stern when you ask her such a question. Why? What did you mean why?

Have you been unable to tell how hard she's been trying to protect you?

She's harsh on you during training. She's always followed you around to prevent you from getting into trouble. You... don't realize how much she needs you...

She pauses, eyes narrowing when she realizes what she just thought. She... needs you. You make her feel alive, you make her feel like life's worth living for...

Maybe Eren can handle himself... but you?

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that." Mikasa states coldly, watching you with a darkened gaze.

You shift against the wall of the barracks. Mikasa was known to be stern and stoic. Yet the tone she uses feels... disapproving.

As if she's scolding you for your decision.

You try to protest, yet immediately go quiet when Mikasa steps closer. Such behavior puts you on edge. Mikasa has always been passive and observant...

But now her gaze holds conviction, as if she's determined to keep you in her sights at all times.

"... My life has been so barren without you...." Mikasa finds herself confessing, gaze wandering before glancing back at you. Her scarf covers her face a bit.

Despite being so overprotective and stern around you... You weren't expecting to see her become so vulnerable due to your decision.

You almost feel bad.

"Mikasa, I'm sorry...." You murmur. The woman in front of you just watches you, as if scanning for any sign of you lying.

Then you're met with a sigh and a hug.

"I can't lose you... I won't let it happen..." Mikasa whispers, keeping you caged against her chest. It's as though she's afraid she'll lose you to the Titans if she lets go. "I need... I need to protect you."

In reality Mikasa found herself wanting to say she needs you. She wants to be the one around you all the time. She wants to keep you hidden behind the walls... To keep you in her sight....

Although, when she sees you're unwilling to change your mind, Mikasa realizes what she must do. Truth is, Mikasa was going to follow you wherever you went. If you were going to join the Scouts... If you were going to follow Eren's example...

She was going to be there anyway.

"You... won't listen to me, will you?" Mikasa asks quietly. "Even if I say I don't want to lose you...?"

You hesitate but confirm what she asks. Yes, you were going to join the Scouts. In your mind... It's the least you can do to protect humanity.

Mikasa processes your answer... yet soon she accepts it.

You weren't leaving her though... Even if others wanted her to go to the Military Police for her skills... It isn't worth it if you aren't there.

"... I'm coming with you."

Once again, Mikasa's tone is stern. It's as though she's stating it. You can't negotiate with her and she can't negotiate with you. So, just like she did with you, you accept that statement.

"... Are you sure?" You ask, Mikasa not bothering to answer.

It was obvious how she felt...

You weren't going to leave her sight, she's been like this since you were all young.

"... Then, let's rest, there’s a big day ahead of us...." You answer, patting Mikasa's back before leaving for your quarters.

Mikasa takes a moment to watch you go, readjusting the scarf on her neck for a moment. As she observes you, she begins to wonder about how she feels towards you.

Did... she really see you as a friend...?

Or was this fueled by something else entirely?

"... My heart belongs to you, I'll adore anything you do to it." Mikasa quietly whispers to herself, hiding her mouth with her scarf.

This must be love... Why else would she follow you to hell and back?

Why else would she protect you from everything?

No matter where you went, Mikasa would follow. To her, it didn't matter what happened. She always felt she had to shadow you... She loves you... she knows that now....

So even if she has to follow you onto the battlefield, even if she dies...

Mikasa will devote herself to you, no matter the cost if it means you're hers... one way or another.