#why is hand washing so goddamn hard for people to figure out

[arctic-hands]

I wish contact tracing was still a thing AND they were tracing every major contagious disease rn. Would love to scream in the left ear of the rotten pig who didn't wash their hands and gave me norovirus

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Hiromi Higuruma; Wardrobe Malfunction

a/n: my first hiromi fic and it's for kinktober eeee! I love him. 18+ only. Hiromi fucks reader in courtroom and fucks reader from behind, wardrobe malfunction, dirty talk, hiromi is pretty smooth lol, reader's quite hard on herself. wc 2.0k

Kinktober Masterlist

You knew the blouse was a bad idea.

You were a goddamn fool. Why had you waited so long to do laundry? So you could shuffle into court, more court jester than lawyer, and astonish everyone with your messiness. You’d rolled out of bed this morning only to find all of your work clothes, save some slacks and your current blouse, crowded in the washing machine. Because of your negligence, you had no other shirts to wear but the ill-fitting hand-me-down courtesy of your sister’s you adorned now.

You made it to court, but just barely. You couldn’t disappoint Higuruma, the man you were shadowing — but maybe it would’ve been better had you stayed home; giggles and chuckles followed you all throughout the proceedings. Higuruma had gestured to you to bring him something pertinent to his defense. You raised to the occasion, reaching out an arm.

“Here you go, Mr. Higu —“ 

You felt the buttons of your blouse snap, revealing your pink bra underneath —

You yelped, withdrawing your arm from a wide-eyed Higuruma to shield yourself. Thunderous laughter followed your plop back down in your chair.

“All right, enough,” said the judge among the raucous laughter.

 But giggles persisted regardless, albeit fainter after his order. They came to an end when and only when Higuruma offered you his suit jacket soon after.

After it was over, you were red in the face. Notes full of messy penmanship sat in your jiggling lap. You felt close to crying. 

“It’ll be all right,” Higuruma said, ever the gentleman. He came over to you as people in the courtroom cleared out. “The prosecution probably didn’t even see —“

“Oh, spare me!” You ran a hand over your ruddy face, felt tears well up in your eyes. “I looked like an idiot today and you know it!” 

I looked like an idiot in front of you, too.

A blink and Higuruma had a hand around your recessed shoulders. He pulled your hand away from your face. “Look at me.”

You obeyed, blinking miserably up at him. “Mr. Higu —“

“Enough with the pleasantries,” Higuruma said. “Call me Hiromi.”

A flutter danced in your chest despite your misery. “Hiromi …”

But he wasn’t looking in your eye anymore, his gaze having dropped down to your chest currently still covered by his jacket.

“I believe they laughed because they’re jealous,” Hiromi said. “That gorgeous figure of yours …”

You were red now for very different reasons. “I …” You trailed. “What do you mean?”

Tentatively, Hiromi brought his hand to shy away the front of his jacket. Your ruined shirt was exposed again, along with hints of your cherry-blossom bra. “I,” he said, voice husky, “like how you look in my jacket …”

“Hiromi …” You were astounded, felt an instinctive need to cover yourself again before Hiromi shed his jacket from your shoulders.

“But, I think I’d prefer it if you wore nothing …”

This was insane. What was happening? In your pregnant pause, Hiromi leaned forward and captured your lips — gently at first, for you startled at the suddenness of it all — and held your chin in his palm. 

The unreality of it all kept you rooted on the spot, but your shock had to rival the touch of Hiromi’s kiss. It melted away; your body reacted so fluidly to his gentle yet insistent touch, and the kiss that grew more peremptory by the second. 

“This is inappropriate,” You said in between kisses. You shivered at Hiromi’s hand slipping past the lace of a bra cup. “We — oh — could get …” 

“It’s okay,” Hiromi murmured. “There’s no one else here after all …”

But this was a courtroom. Surely the two of you wouldn’t be alone for long. What would they think to see Hiromi Higuruma fondling his apprentice? 

But your concerns dissipated when Hiromi’s thumb flicked at a nipple, his tongue simultaneously swiping at the roof of your mouth before coaxing your own tongue into further play.

“Oh, fuck …” You pressed into him, your groin knocking into the hard shell of his knee. 

With a soft grunt Hiromi withdrew, but barely, his lips teasingly close to your own. You could just lean forward and … “You’re right; we should be quick about this.” He increased the distance; you glanced at his tie, disheveled and barely hanging on to his collar. Did you do that? “Stand up …”

You did so. He followed you, towering over your frame as he maneuvered behind you, fingers grazing over the hem of your skirt.

“What are you …?”

He paused when you glanced behind you, the ghostly, seductive touch at your thighs disappearing. “I was …” Hiromi’s gaze angled downwards. “Unless you don’t want me to …”

Your attention flickered from Hiromi to the double doors that could open at any moment. Your doubts returned, but it was like a fork of lightning, a flash of a reason, felt and then gone. You tugged Hiromi by his wrangled tie and gave him another kiss. He groaned when you gave a challenging nibble on his bottom lip. 

“You —“ You stammered when you drew away, but not before leaving a parting kiss on his nose. “You should make it worth it, okay?”

Hiromi gave you a soft smile. “I intend to.”

And you turned back around to the feel of him pressing into you. You sighed, angling your ass against his hard dick, as Hiromi’s lips reconnected with your skin, this time loving your neck with heated kisses. He hiked your skirt up before weaving his hand to cup your cunt.

You moaned, your head falling back as Hiromi’s much bigger frame surrounded you. His index and forefinger teased your lips through the fabric, spurred on by your sighs.

“Such inappropriate choice of underwear …” Hiromi’s lips grazed your ear. He shifted the center of your panties away and began stroking your folds in slow circles. 

“Oh, fuck, Hi —“

“Almost like you planned all of this.” His voice was right in your ear, his fingers now cornering your clit and pressing into the tight nub. “Maybe it wasn’t an accident after all …”

“No …”

“Maybe flashing your tits is just how you get off —“

“No, I swear!” Your voice was impassioned as Hiromi abandoned the act of teasing your cunt to slide down your panties. Content with the garment hanging around your knees, he hiked your skirt higher. 

Despite being nearly fully clothed, his hands made you feel naked, and they were everywhere; kneading your thighs, your ass, swiping at your clit again before a hand finally settled at the small of your back to incline you forward. You placed hands on the bench to the suspicious sound of a buckle being undone, the descent of a zipper …

“Oh …”You hung your head when Hiromi’s cock slid past your slick folds and back again, rubbing your juices onto his shaft to both tease and test your wetness.

“You’re perfect, you know?” he murmured from behind. “You’re excruciatingly pretty…”

You closed your eyes against the warmth of his admission, your face redden at the praise. “I never knew you thought so …”

“Who couldn’t?”

The tightness in your chest, always present, lessened to know your crush had been reciprocated all this time.

“Aaah …!” Hiromi’s cockhead brushed against your clit, followed by a chuckle from him at your restless writhing. “Hiromi, fuck, please …”

“Hm?” Hiromi caressed the junction of your thigh and ass, petting the skin there. He was rocking into you now, brushing his cock through the tight space between your legs. 

“Please,” You begged. “Please, c — c’mon —“

Hiromi kissed into your rolling shoulder blades, deciding to leave a trail of them over the span of your upper back. “But this is inappropriate.”

“I don’t care!” You were shuddering now, rocking back as Hiromi rocked causally into you — but not into you. You truly didn’t care; if you didn’t have Hiromi’s cock soon you would surely go insane. Your writhing accomplished nothing worth mentioning. Growing madder by the second, you had half a mind to rub your clit if you didn’t also sense Hiromi would swat your hand away from your snatch. “I need you, just, please, fuck —“

Another kiss, this time at your neck. “Of course.”

The presence of his cock disappeared, and you were left to wrestle with the intimacy of that parting kiss before he buried himself inside of you seconds later. 

“Fuck …” Hiromi took hold of your hips, simultaneously keeping you steady as he saw fit to fill you to the brim with his impressive length. “You feel even better than I —“ 

You moaned as Hiromi buried his face in your neck, his nose smooshed against your pulse. His hand freed one of your tits to fondle. Another thrum of pleasure sang throughout you to know he’d thought of this before. One hand fixed still on your hips, he snapped his hips into you, skin rippling from the thrust. You yelped, bit your lip against the pleasure.

“Oh my god …” You squeezed your eyes shut against the assault of senses: Hiromi’s discipline failed him as his thrusts quickened. You were in love with the long drag of his cock. You seized the railing, needing something to squeeze as much to hold on to. Hiromi resumed making out with your neck while his other hand’s fingers busied themselves tormenting your pebbled nipple. “Fuckfuckfuck, Hiromi, please …!“

Hiromi’s moans mingled with yours. His hand had abandoned your tit and was traveling upwards, long fingers grazing your neck —

“Hiromi!” You clenched around him, sure he was set to choke you.

“Nrgh!” Hiromi’s fingers trembled against your lips instead. Both his hands were gone from your hips now — not like you needed his help fucking yourself back on him — with one’s new position shoving your panties down farther and fingering your clit. 

“God, it feels so good, so —“ You choked as the combination of his cock and fingers were becoming too much to bear. You sucked his fingers into your mouth, resisting the urge to bite down hard on the offered digits. Hiromi’s sounds of utter pleasure at your ear told you he wasn’t going to last, which only added to your pleasure, making you convulse around him a second time —

Hiromi breathed out your name in utter adoration. “Where do you want it?” he rasped, pistoning into you now. “Tell me where you want me to — aargh —“

“I — in —“ You lurched over the bench, losing yourself to him. His balls slapped against your clit, fulfilling the much needed friction when his fingers grew too lax. “Inside, yes, god, please —!”

Hiromi had enough clarity remaining to ask, voice breathy, “You sure?”

You had no choice; wherever Hiromi received his strength from it was enough to topple you over the edge. His hips swerved a particular way, and with it your mouth fell open, lost in the feel of his fingers circling your clit and his cock spearing you again and again. Hiromi’s groan roared loud in your ears, but you could make no sense of anything as you rode out your high.

“Fuck, I’m — fuck —“ You felt Hiromi’s cock inside you, and with a few more sloppy thrusts he was coming, muffling his cries in your neck. 

With effort, you fucked yourself back on him, brain full of cotton, until Hiromi had the sense to pull out of you, lest you drove him into another state of arousal. He braced himself on the bench beside you, catching his breath as you did. 

His gaze dropped to your mangled bra, still stuck on you. “It’s a very nice bra, you know.”

You shot him a sheepish smile. “You can have it. I’ve got ones I like a lot more.”

“If that’s true, I’d like to see them.”

You set to redress yourself, blushing under his appraisal. “Thanks for not laughing at me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sincerely. 

Once your skirt was set right, you unclasped your bra and offered it to him, your other arm dipping forward to retrieve his jacket.

Hiromi blinked, stunned by your sudden moxy. He held up the bra with two fingers, his face tinted pink. “I didn’t think you’d actually give it to me.”

You kissed him on the cheek. “Want the blouse, too?”

[solarmorrigan]

For the angst prompt if you’re still doing it:

“Don’t listen to them. Don’t you EVER listen to them.”

Please

Hello! I'm afraid this one might not have come out quite as seriously as the others (might be channeling all my Serious Angst Energy into my ongoing fic at the moment), but hopefully it's enjoyable, anyway??

[No warnings except maybe some unkind self-directed internal dialogue from Steve]

-

“Y’know,” Eddie drawls, looking Steve up and down where he’s standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light of the front hall, “correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t look especially busy.”

Steve, caught out in a lie, clearly having been sitting around at home in his sweats when he’d specifically told Eddie that he couldn’t come over tonight because he was busy, does the only thing he can think of: he keeps lying.

“I am,” he says.

“Uh huh.” The way Eddie draws the hum of his agreement out says that he doesn’t believe Steve in the slightest. “And what, if I may ask, are you busy with, dressed in loungewear and sitting at home?”

Scrambling, Steve reaches for the first excuse that comes to mind, something he’d heard his mother say to someone over the phone years ago, when he was still a kid and she’d still made excuses to get out of social engagements and stay home with him.

“I’m washing my hair.”

Eddie bites down on a laugh so quickly and so visibly, Steve is surprised his teeth don’t go right through his lip.

“Are you?” Eddie asks, voice gone high and tight with mirth.

“Yep,” Steve answers.

“Well, damn, I don’t know why you didn’t invite me along to help,” Eddie says, grinning at Steve. “I feel like I’ve proven my skill in that arena before.”

Steve stares at Eddie, mouth working, feeling slow and useless and out of ideas. “Uh…”

With a sigh, Eddie lets his smile drop. “Look, can I come inside?”

The jig is up, so Steve just nods and steps aside to let Eddie in.

“What are you even doing here?” Steve asks as he leads the way back to the living room, where he’d been sitting on the couch and moping.

“Steve, I knew you weren’t busy tonight. You’re kind of a terrible liar,” Eddie says.

And that isn’t strictly true; Steve is a great liar – as long as he doesn’t feel guilty about it. He’s never been good at lying to people he loves.

They sit down; Steve shoves the magazines he’d been pretending he would actually be able to focus on out of the way (more proof of his pathetic attempt at a lie), and Eddie—ever blunt, ever direct—jumps right in.

“So I kind of feel like you’ve been avoiding me lately.”

Steve winces. “Not avoiding you, I’ve just been… limiting my time with you.”

Eddie looks stricken, and Steve would like to die, actually. Why did he phrase it that way?

“Did… I do something, or say something, or, like–”

“No!” Steve rushes to reassure him. “No, no, not at all, it’s nothing you did, you’re amazing, it’s not you, it’s…”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “It’s not me, it’s you?”

“I mean…” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Kind of, yeah.”

For a long moment, Eddie sits, brows furrowed, staring at Steve. Steve fights the urge to squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m trying super hard to figure out what’s going on right now, but I’m kind of coming up blank,” Eddie finally admits. “Are we… Are we breaking up?”

“No!” Steve blurts again, reaching this time for Eddie’s hands, as if he can keep Eddie from realizing what a goddamn idiot he is and leaving if he just holds on tightly enough. “Shit, no, that’s – I’m completely fucking this up, that’s the opposite of what I want to happen, that’s why I’ve been limiting my time with you.”

Though Eddie’s hands have turned in Steve’s grip, automatically holding onto him, he stares at Steve as though he’s lost his mind, which is fair. “Okay,” Eddie says slowly, “I admit you have a little more experience with relationships than I do, but isn’t the point to spend as much time as possible with the person you’re dating? Because you like them?”

“It’s… Usually, I guess, yeah.” Steve shrugs, suddenly wishing maybe that he hadn’t taken Eddie’s hands, because now he can’t get away, can’t duck out from under those dark, searching eyes. He settles for staring down at their joined hands as he speaks. “It’s just – I can be… kind of a lot? I like someone and I just kind of slam my foot on the gas and don’t look back and that’s too much, I know, so I’ve been trying not to, like, overwhelm you, because I really, really don’t want you to get sick of me, and–”

“Who the hell told you that?” Eddie cuts in sharply.

Steve’s eyes snap back up, finding Eddie looking so thoroughly offended that he’s not sure what to make of it. “Told me what?”

“That you’re too much,” Eddie presses, his hands going tighter around Steve’s.

“Uh,” Steve says, uncertain of what kind of answer Eddie’s looking for. The fact that Steve goes all-in too quickly is just common knowledge; the fact that it overwhelms and annoys people is kind of a general consensus.

Eddie shakes his head. “Never mind, it doesn’t even matter. Don’t listen to them. Don’t you ever listen to them,” he says, low and intense. “You’re not going to overwhelm me, Steve. I can’t get enough of you. I don’t think I’ll ever have enough of you, but the only way I’m gonna know for sure is if I get to have you around as often as possible for as long as you can stand me.”

The words, for a moment, don’t make any sense. No one has ever wanted Steve around that much; no one’s ever met him where he is in terms of hunger for companionship.

“You… want me around that often?” he asks, eyes flicking from Eddie’s face to their hands and back again.

“I want you around all the goddamn time. I want you when I wake up and when I go to sleep and when I’m having breakfast and when I’m doing shit around the house and when I’m playing a show and when I’m watching TV,” Eddie rattles off. “I’m not even exaggerating, it’s honestly kind of a problem.”

“A problem?” Steve asks, brows coming together in concern.

“It’s a problem because you’ve been limiting your time, thinking that I’m going to get tired of you.” Eddie disentangles their hands and reaches up to cup Steve’s jaw, palms soft and a little sweaty from their combined grip, but gentle—almost reverent—against his skin. “Sweetheart, I am never going to get tired of you.”

From anyone else, that would be hard to believe, but the way Eddie looks at him, dead-on and so fucking sincere, Steve can’t help but take the promise in with a hopeful flutter in his chest. He leans forward, pressing his mouth to Eddie’s, keeping the kiss chaste and slow before he pulls back to murmur, “Promise?”

“Promise,” Eddie answers immediately. “I promise, I promise, I promise.”

He tugs Steve forward after that, pushing and pulling him until he’s managed to lay out across the length of the couch and has situated Steve over him, lying on his chest like a weighted blanket. He sighs and wraps his arms around Steve, like he still wants to pull him closer.

“Perfect,” he says.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, balancing his chin Eddie’s sternum so he can smile up at him.

“Mhm,” Eddie hums. “Now I just have to figure out how to keep you this close all the time.”

“Might be kinda tough,” Steve says, fighting to keep his smile from growing to ridiculous proportions.

“Eh.” Eddie shrugs, ducking down to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’m willing to take the time to figure it out.”

And somehow, Steve thinks that might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to him.

[yourdarkcherry]

The Ballad of the Lost and the Living

Ch.1

Summary: It’s the end of the fucking world. Infected humans roam the earth, trying to tear each other apart, and survival is all that matters. For the past year, you've learned the hard way not to trust anyone. People are more dangerous than the infected. But then you meet Peter Parker. The kind, persistent, and somehow still hopeful despite the chaos Peter Parker. When you run into him while scavenging for supplies, your instincts scream to push him away. But something about him makes you take a leap of faith. He tells you about a sanctuary that his group found, a place where maybe, just maybe, you can rebuild what’s been lost.

Warnings: zombie apocalypse, rape/noncon, reader has parental issues, violence, reader is black, explicit sexual content.

You used to have preferences for water. Apparently, you couldn’t drink just any kind of water. It had to be cold, with condensation running down the tall glass. It must be bottled water, not tap, because that was just disgusting. It had to be slightly alkaline—you didn’t even know how you could tell the difference, but you believed whatever the water company told you.

But now, you don’t really give a fuck.

It was the end of the world. Any kind of water was good enough, as long as it was clean. Obviously, you had to boil it first before drinking it. But in your current state, you couldn’t even manage that. Not when you were standing on one good leg, with a fever making you feel hot and cold at the same time.

The bit of water in a bottle on the cashier counter of the pharmacy looked good enough to you, so you downed it along with an antibiotic pill.

Why the fuck were antibiotic pills so goddamn big?

Allegedly, before the world ended you were crowned the nickname of “Picky Princess” you almost want to laugh at that name as you rip off a bit of beef jerky with your teeth.

The world ended about a bit over a year ago, you were with a group. It consisted of your college friends and a few strangers that decided to join you. Then one of you suggested entering an abandoned mall. It was a small one, but surely there were gonna be some supplies begging to be scavanged.

A stupid mistake—one careless noise—and suddenly there were too many of them. You could still hear the screams, still see the way the blood splattered across the shiny tile floors.

You were the only one who made it out.

That was three months ago. Since then, you haven’t spoken to another human being. You haven’t heard your own voice in so long, it felt foreign to you now.

You were doing fine on your own. Until a rapid dog chased you, and you scraped your leg with metal wiring in your escape. You slept two days with the wound after covering it and washing it with water. But it grew irritated by the third day and made walking difficult for you.

It’s why you wound up in this pharmacy in a small town just south of New York. You want to sit down on the filthy floor, your legs unable to handle your weight any longer.

You capped the empty water bottle and slid it back onto the counter like it mattered to leave things tidy. That’s when you heard it: the faint sound of shuffling feet and something metallic clinking nearby.

You froze.

“Hey,” a voice called softly, startling you.

You whipped around, your knife already in hand, aiming at the figure standing in the aisle. A guy—tall, lean but still has some muscle to him, with big innocent brown eyes. His hands were up, palms out in a gesture of surrender.

“Whoa, easy,” he said, his voice calm but a little shaky. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

You didn’t lower your knife, not really buying his words.

“Get the fuck away from me,” you growled, “or I’ll stab the fuck out of you.”

He hesitated but didn’t move closer. His eyes flicked to your leg, the blood-stained bandage, and then back to your face. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to do that,” he said, a hint of nervous humor in his tone.

His attempt at dissociating the tension didn’t work. So, he cleared his throat and then you noticed his lack of supplies. He didn’t have a backpack, just a gun on a holster and perhaps a small pocket knife hidden in that big buckle of his belt.

Did he have companions? Did he leave his supplies with them?

You don’t trust him for even one second. The current state of the world takes away your trust in humans, and in men even more.

Men are more cruel than the infected. At least with the infected they would eat you up and not leave you to suffer.

"Miss, look…” He took a step closer, his hands still raised. But you weren’t buying it. “I got separated from my group about two days ago. I don’t have any supplies. I haven’t eaten anything since then. Will you be so kind as to share that?” He said then pointed at your right hand, that one that had the beef jerky.

His eyes were wide now, something in his face giving away the desperation creeping through. You could see it—the faint quiver of his lips, the sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the chill air around you.

You stared at him, eyes narrowing, the knife still loosely in your left hand, and for a moment, you considered just walking away. Leaving him to fend for himself, like everyone else you’d come across. It wouldn’t make a difference, would it?

Humans were as dangerous as the infected. That much you were sure of.

But then, you felt it. The gnawing hunger in your gut, the fever that made your head spin. You had barely enough for yourself, and the pain in your leg wasn’t making it easier. The antibiotic pill you’d just swallowed felt like a joke—useless unless you could properly rest and get more nourishing food.

You don’t know what it is about this man. You decide to blame it on his innocent brown eyes. With that, you take a leap of faith and sigh as you unzip your backpack and take out a can of beans. You place it on the floor, and kick it to him with your good leg.

He froze for a moment, staring at the can as though it were some kind of treasure. Then his gaze snapped up to meet yours, uncertainty still written across his face.

He didn’t waste any more time. He crouched down quickly, hands trembling as he grabbed the can.

“Thank you,” he said.

You nodded once, but that was all. No more words. It felt wrong, somehow, to let him think this was something more than survival. You weren’t in the business of making friends anymore.

Glancing back at the exit of the pharmacy, you made sure no one was coming in. The faint sound of the wind rattling the door was the only thing you could hear.

“I’ll get out of your hair now.” He says, then takes the empty water bottle you just downed from the counter. “Just so you know, there’s a herd coming. Less than ten minutes away. If you want to survive, you should leave. Now.”

With that, he turns around and heads towards the glass double doors. Before he pulls one open and leaves he looks at you. “Thank you.” He says, lifting the can. Before you can utter a word back, not that you know what to tell him in response anyway, he leaves.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of his words—the warning about the herd. Less than ten minutes. Your heart thudded harder in your chest, but it wasn’t fear. It was that strange, gnawing sense of urgency.

You needed to move. You needed to find shelter before it was too late.

The door had barely closed behind him, and you already heard the distant groan of the infected. You didn’t waste a second in picking up the makeshift cane, and leaving from the back door—just in case he was lying to you and he did have companions with him who were possibly cannibalists, or even worse, rapists.

But as you stepped into the cold air outside, you weren’t expecting the herd to be coming from the back door. The sickening shuffle of their dragging feet. You spun around, and faced the back alley as your pulse spiked with the world tilted on its axis.

Panic rushed through you. The sounds of the herd grew louder, closer. Your instincts screamed for you to run.

You moved quickly, forcing your injured leg to carry you, but the pain surged through your body, threatening to pull you down at any moment. You stumbled forward, adrenaline flooding your veins. You had to keep moving.

But the uneven ground, the weight of exhaustion, and the gnawing pain in your leg all took their toll. You didn’t even see the big rock until your foot caught on it.

Your body lurched forward, your hands hitting the ground, and you barely managed to catch yourself before the impact. The world spun, and you tried to scramble back up, but your leg gave up on you.

You looked down and saw the blood seeping from a newly opened wound on your knee, gushing out and soaking into your jeans. Not with your good leg being injured as well too.

You knew you couldn’t escape like this. You’d never make it.

And with all honesty, you didn’t want to anymore.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you laid back, staring up at the sky, feeling the weight of your body sink into the cold ground.

Death wasn’t something you feared. After everything, it felt like a relief. You were tired. Your life had never been kind to you.

Despite growing up with a golden spoon in your mouth, you had the worst kind of upbringing. The kind that left scars deeper than any physical wound. You didn’t relate to the term “the angry man in the house” because you didn’t have one angry man. You had two angry people in your home. Two people who never once looked at you like you were worth anything more than a mistake and a waste of space.

So, you let go. You welcomed the darkness, the peace that came with knowing you weren’t going to fight anymore.

And then you heard it. The groan. The unmistakable sound of an infected drawing closer. The first one, its face twisted in hunger, crouched down near your bloody leg. Its mouth opened wide, ready to feast.

For a moment, you thought you’d be nothing more than their dinner. You only hope they would attack your vital points so you don’t have to suffer through it.

But then a loud gunshot pierces the air. The infected falls on the floor, unmoving. You barely registered what happened as you tried to blink through your blurred vision.

“Hang on!”

You felt strong arms grab you, pulling you up against someone’s chest. It was him. The man from the pharmacy.

You felt his breath on your ear, his body steadying yours, his arms pushing you upright as he whispered, “You’re not dying today. Stay with me.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you could believe him.

Your vision was still swimming, the world spinning as you barely managed to keep your head upright. He wasn’t giving you time to question it. He was keeping you alive. As much as you wanted to lift your weight, you couldn’t whatsoever.

Not short after, your vision dotted with black and the last thing you remember was your body once again hitting the floor.

[violettavonviolet]

Tim Drake fic recs

All fics are finished and absolutely amazing. The word count goes up as you scroll. This rec list is entirely platonic but do check tags for triggers!

Janet Drake Is Alive And That's Officially Everyone's Problem (But Mostly Tim.)

Tht0neGal666

Summary:

They still hadn't looked at each other. It was starting to get a bit creepy.

"So you are satisfied, living like this?" She asked, with the slightest twitch of displeasure.

Quickly, Drake's eyes flashed over each of them, and he nodded. "Enough."

"Are you necessary?" She followed immediately, something dangerous in her tone, and there was the quickest flash of fear in Drake's eyes.

"Enough." He repeated firmly. She scoffed, but didn't say anything.

1.5k Janet centric teen

Wash Your Mouth Out

fishfingersandjellybabies

Summary:

Tim shows his worry in a different way than most.

2.3k tim & damian teen

Shutter Bug

Heartslogos

How could i not notice the stutter? Jason snorts.

3k gen batfam

A Worthy Father

Crowlows19

Summary:

Jack Drake forces his son to give up being Robin. He could never have predicted the consequences of parenting a Robin-less Tim Drake. He may never sleep again and Bruce Wayne certainly has no sympathy for him.

3.7k teen Jack & Tim

A Recipe for Disaster

Calypso_Rambles, JUBE514

Summary:

“You’re crying.”

That’s the Red Hood, standing in the doorway into the hall, a hulking figure filling the frame, head tilted in question and hands on a gun that’s pointed to the floor. He looks uncertain, head tilted to the side like a goddamn bird.

“What?” Tim asks, because Tim is confused– he knows this is Jason Todd, kinda hard to miss with the red helmet and when the dude tried to blow up Dick and Bruce about a week earlier in the same outfit, but what the actual fuck is he doing in San Francisco–

“You’re crying.” Red Hood repeats, forgoing a one handed grip on his weapon to gesture to his– well– his everything.

Tim moves his hand up to his cheeks because he is definitely not crying over something as stupid as his dinn–

Huh. 

Okay. 

Maybe he is.

✦✦✦

Tim and Jason make food, drink and talk about parents. Jason was meant to kill this kid, but plans have a way of being derailed.

6k teen Tim & Jason

Doctor, Except for Everything, I Am Perfectly Fine

Mouse_in_this_house

Summary:

Alfred and Bruce decide they have to update the kids' medical information. If the others aren't a fan if this, then Tim is even worse. Guess who's missing his spleen?

6.9k gen humor

A Cure For Starvation

PrinceJakeFireCake

Summary:

Tim has always had problems with people touching him. 

Jason also has problems with people touching him.

They try to work it out.

7k gen jason& tim

Little bird

Ididloveyou_once

Summary:

Tim knew he was fucked if only for the way that his brain was chanting Jason, like a litany. So he definitely didn’t need to hear the cold, mechanical chuckle or the chillingly delighted 'lucky me' to know that this was not good.

He took a second to look down at his coffee mournfully. 

Then, he threw it at Hood’s helmet and bolted down the Tower corridor. 

Or: Tim is supposed to be at Gotham Academy for a parent-teacher conference. Hood has other plans (Titans Tower AU).

8k teen Jason & Tim

lost treasure

adelfie

Summary:

“Dad, I don’t want to do this.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. This is why we brought you here,” Jack hisses. “So we can get paid.”

Or: When a cozy night out with his parents turns into a night of captivity and torture, Tim is forced to seek protection from his worst nightmare - the Red Hood.

9k angst teen Jason & Tim

wither on the shore

Scarlet_Ribbons

Summary:

“Replacement.”

Tim freezes, gaze still locked on Jack’s prone, silent form sprawled out on the floor, and pulls the phone back to look at the number.

It’s kind of funny, he thinks hazily. Of course he would accidentally kill his dad and then mistakenly call Jason, of all people.

9.6k angst teen Jason&Tim

Boom, Boom, Pow!

LilaVaporizer9000

Summary:

If anyone asked the Batfamily which Robin had the funniest ’joining the family’ story? Well, everyone would start with, “Well it seemed like Jason had the spot taken for good after having the audacity to try and jack the Batmobile’s tires and hit Bruce with his tire iron.” And then they’d say, “But then tiny Tim decided to try and steal the whole thing.”

Or: When Tim is 11 he figures it’s not hurting anyone if he. Ya know. Takes a picture in the Batmobile. But then the power goes to his head and all of a sudden he’s hacking the Batmobile and tearing through Gotham on a rescue mission.

11k feral tim teen

Street Lights would Guide you (and flicker in my shadow)

StarryKitty013

There was a lonely kid, hanging upside down off a fire escape looking at the world through a long range camera lens. 

13k angst teen

buried hope

paperxcrowns

Summary:

“You’re a sorry sight,” Jason says, and forces a water bottle in Tim’s shaking hand.

“Had a bad day,” Tim gasps, shakily trying to twist the cap off.

Jason snorts. “I’d say.”

Tim’s too busy draining the bottle to glare at Jason.

OR

tim spends another birthday alone and makes bad decisions.

11k teen angst

Into the Deep Dark Night

siren_of_the_ocean

Summary:

Timothy Jackson Drake drowns in Gotham Bay with not a bang, but a whimper. 

Luckily...or not, Gotham isn't quite ready to give him up yet. 

“Spirits of children and women drowned, my child. They live in the ponds that glisten like tar. The Rusalka."

14.8k angst teen

I’m Pretty Sure Tim Steals Clothes: An Elaboration In The Form Of A Long Fic

PrinceJakeFireCake

Summary:

Basically what it says on the tin.

““How many shirts do you have of Superboy’s, again?” Jason asked, his brows furrowed.

“I stole fifteen before Clark told me to stop,” Tim said. “I did not stop. Those aren’t even all of them, I have more upstairs.”

“How many Superboy shirts is too many Superboy shirts?” Jason pondered.

“I’m approaching the thousands,” Tim admitted. “I’m admittedly not the best person to pose such a question to.””

15k core four angst gen

Prince and Pauper

Vamillepudding

Summary:

When Tim first proposes his plan, Jason calls him batshit insane.

"Why?" Tim asks stubbornly. “It’ll be a win-win situation – I get a new life without some guardian tying me down, and you get a new life where you can eat food every day and live in a big house. You’ll probably have to go to school, but that’s the only downside I can think of. That, and pretending to be me, of course."

*

In the wake of Jack and Janet Drake's untimely death, Bruce sets out to search for their missing son, determined to adopt him. After a long, arduous search, he finally brings home a new addition to his family.

He fails to realise that the new kid living in Wayne Manor is not Tim Drake.

16k Tim & Jason & dick gen

You put Tim in box? You BOX him like dog?? Oh! Jail for Jason! Jail for one thousand years~

antebunny

Summary:

Jason tries a kinder method of getting Tim to give up Robin. It goes even worse than his original idea.

17k jason & tim teen

falling without caution

coffeecrowns

Summary:

Jason is twenty, decidedly less into murder, trying to avoid developing agoraphobia, and putting together some pieces into a life. 

Tim is sixteen, riding the edge of burnout, and in a show of his truly baffling survival instincts, decides Jason is friend shaped.

17k child soldiers angst mature

 Grin and Bear It (I got blood on your carpet)

Alia_JuneBug

Summary:

When Jack Drake’s business trip gets canceled, he is forced to stay at home while the legal kinks get worked out. He’s not used to having a teenager underfoot, so it’s only rational that he’s a little snappish around Tim. At least, that’s what Tim tells himself each time his dad’s idea of discipline gets harsher.

Bruce had told him to take a break from Robin in order to spend some time at home with his dad, and Tim can’t say no to that. He knows Bruce is probably glad to be rid of him for a short while.

And he can handle discipline. This is a Tim Drake problem, not a Robin problem anyway. There’s no need for Bruce to know anything.

Things get a little muddled when an injured Jason Todd crawls through his bedroom window.

18k not rated

The Lone Ranger Never Had to Deal with Bruce Wayne

theskeptileptic

Summary:

Tim is an independent, clever, and super mature eleven-year-old. Unfortunately, his dopey neighbor, Bruce, can’t seem to understand that.

When he decides to disappear on a “solo camping trip” and run away to Canada, he figures it’s the perfect plan that will make everybody happy. He didn’t expect the Waynes would tag along with him and ruin everything.

A six-chaptered tale filled with identity shenanigans, s’mores, soon-to-be-brothers, and a kid who is in desperate need of a new family.

25k gen

Dangerous and Noble Things

destiny919

Summary:

Timothy Drake was abducted by Ra's al Ghul.

Four years later, somebody notices.

45k angst

Let's be Brothers

Honeybuttons

Summary:

Jason was not the biggest fan of Tim, but it was clear that he didn’t hate him anymore. And if he didn’t hate him anymore, Tim could get him to love him. Right?

By his own carefully determined calculations, Tim could achieve this goal in 90 days or less. Day one started tomorrow morning with a surprise breakfast donut and an invitation to go watch the birds.

Or that time Tim was determined to be brothers and Jason was determined to be resistant and confused.

46k tim & jason gen humor 

Ain't No Compass, Ain't No Map

ebjameston

Summary:

CPS Agent, pointing at Tim Drake: We need to take him with us

Red Hood: He's fine where he is

CPS: He's a minor

Hood: Timbo, you a minor?

Tim: Can't prove it

CPS: I mean, I can. There are records –

Tim, who has just finishing hacking CPS to remove his own file: Oh really, tell me more about these records

+++

A CPS agent gets sent to investigate a tip that Tim Drake has been abandoned by his parents and is living with the Red Hood. The CPS agent leaves with no Tim Drake, a date with Red Hood's lieutenant, and an intern who's promising to fix the IT systems at his office. 

It's a weird day for Theo.

51k humor teen

Into the Brighter Night

shoalsea

Summary:

When an unknown enemy threatens Robin, Gotham's vigilantes come together to keep him safe. 

Unfortunately, they're protecting the wrong Robin. 

Or: Tim Drake plans his own rescue. Things get complicated.

160k core four gen

[sysmedsaresexist]

Why should I bother healing? I mean what awaits past the pain and sorrow? Feeling lightly better? I can just chase dopamine till I'll die and still have a good enough life

I feel like I know who this is, we have an unfinished conversation, don't we?? I still have your last reply and the start of my post in my drafts, waiting for me to find words that would help. If it's not you, I hope that user sees this, as well.

Friendo, don't let your current dumb feelings and silly brain get in your way of your future

Extreme positivity ahead

Fuck around on this post and find out

-the kids these days, probably

On a very serious note, I think we've all been there, where it just feels so goddamn pointless and you're so tired. Trauma survives long after the events that caused it, digging its claws into every aspect of your life-- even the parts that seemed unrelated and safe.

I can't give you the best advice because I don't know your full situation-- age, living arrangements, financial situations, education, all of that changes the conversation, but I'm going to try to give you a general bit of hope

Age and time helps

Even mental illness tends to improve with age.

As you get older, the brain naturally settles into a (generally) calmer, happier state. I promise you, with all the sincerity and genuineness in the world, even if you did nothing, in five years you'll still feel better than you do right now.

Yes, even dissociative disorders. (PDF)

Don't be so hard on yourself.

This won't apply to everyone, obviously there is a problem with mental health in aging populations, but... don't think that's the norm, or something to be expected, and you've already taken the biggest step by noting your mental health struggles early on. One of the biggest reasons that there is a problem in seniors is because there was very little early detection, and talking about mental health was seen as taboo. You're halfway there.

And as you experience more happiness and things just feel calmer, making positive changes becomes easier, especially as more opportunities open to you every year. So.

Looking back, I think my biggest mistake was looking at myself as I was, and looking at where I wanted to be-- or, more often, what I thought everyone else was. Happy, composed, financially successful, intelligent, popular.

And good god, I felt lazy. I wasn't chronically fatigued, I was lazy, I convinced myself.

Eventually, I started looking at smaller parts of my life and tried to make tiny, easy improvements, rather than anything big.

And with each tiny improvement, and with each year, I started to feel like it was worth it. And like I deserved to have a life I was happy with, whether that met anyone else's expectations or not.

Look, I don't know what kind of crack my grandmother was on, but I couldn't keep a house like that. She had six kids and a job back in the 60s, and even at nearing 85 she would still get on her hands and knees and wash the floor. That place was always immaculate.

And that's just unrealistic. And unnecessary.

My mother was the polar opposite, and I grew up in a hoarding situation.

When I finally got out on my own, it took a while to figure it out, but I settled somewhere in the middle. The idea of keeping the house as clean as my grandmother made me want to actually off myself. I am not exaggerating. The idea was daunting and terrified me. I would rather lay down and give up than find the energy.

But the closer I got to my mother's situation, the more I hated myself, because look at how gross I was.

Here's the truth:

Fuck. Everyone.

Seriously. I swear to god, one day, a lightbulb is just going to go off, and you'll realize that you never should have cared in the first place what other people thought or expected.

My home is crowded but cozy. I no longer look around feeling overwhelmed and disgusted with myself. I do what I can and I celebrate every little step.

It's my home and I'm happy with it, and that is the only thing that matters.

Life is like my house. Live it only for yourself, and do what you can. Celebrate all of the things you do, regardless how small.

Even if you did nothing, it's still going to get better.

Imagine how much EXTRA better you can make it if you just take it in tiny, tiny steps.

Like exponential growth of better.

Feeling just slightly better today makes tomorrow feel better, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Plus, think of all the (insert animal you love) that'll you'll see.

[kitkatcadillac]

i have such a hard time knowing where i stand with my gender labels and stuff.

im not a woman. i dont get attracted to women. im woman adjacent sometimes i guess. im not a man either, and im definitely not attracted to men. i like people more similar to me. so id argue even though im nonbinary arguably across the whole board, im like... homosexual. right???

at the same time i fuck around with myself in my brain all the time. id squeeze someones skull into a fine dust if they ever called me a lesbian, but i joke around at myself im a dyke on the inside all the time. except im this skinny little freak that wears mens clothes but has a fair face and long hair that hasnt seen a pair of scissors in years. i fixed the washing machine and sanded the rust off my brakes and rotors with my own hands and recoated them. i wear high heels like a runway model. i laugh that im a girltwink but not a girl or a twink. ill kill you if you call me a girl. twink is tolerable but you get like one. i wear baggy clothes and working jeans, and tuck my shirt in to see my body strikes just like my brothers did when he was younger and a twig, a lot like my dads did when he was younger and a twig, but my face is like a carbon copy of my moms and i feel weird about it. she never got to find out i wasnt just a fruit, i was the whole goddamn tree. but whose rejection, acceptance or guidance matters when you dont have any goddamn parents as an adult and youre the only queer in the family!!!!

not even out tho so everyone thinks im a lesbian. and its whatever. its easier to just let that sit that way. im not like, Queers For Dummies(tm) tutorial fag for everyone in my family, where i have to go through bit by bit and explain what everything means and why they should shut their stupid mouths and suck on some soap instead of wondering why Gays Have To Be Everywhere Now or something.

hhdjfkg frustrating. frustrating. liminal queer space in an already confusing queer space and between in and out where my small joys are putting on my silly little label hats and then eventually going oh, god, but thats crumbs of an existential crisis, isnt it??? insane

i have a hard time... figuring out my labels and stuff. i do. i do

[nochi-quinn]

I finished the game but apparently my remaining notes are going to have to go up in parts bc I Do Not Know How To Shut Up

“thieves, pirates, brigands” repeat-escapee mages, casteless dwarves, angry xenophobic elves…. 

Let 👏 Manfred 👏 be 👏 a 👏 warden 👏 

“nah, they were doin it” history will say they were roommates

“it sounded so tragic, and romantic” “never mind, that does sound like him” somewhere in fereldan, lavellan sneezes 

Taash: this story could have had DRAGONS the WHOLE TIME?? 

(I was about to do my usual “you could never be a dragon” but if anybody could be a dragon it's Taash) 

Solas is clearly the Maker, what's not clicking

(this is of course a joke. Sandal is the Maker.) 

The way Lucanis just goes “.....no” to some of the wilder things Taash says just tickles me so much

There is no way to convey through text the way he is just clearly bewildered by questions like “can Spite turn into an elf” 

THAT'S why Solas adopted Cole. He felt like home. 

“a memory of tranquility” oh god that's what they did, isn't it. they made the titans Tranquil. jesus.

“I suspect you have questions” look here you

“you can't fight a dragon bc you're an idiot” 

Emmrich is just so…pleasant. Maybe that's a weird descriptor, but I would absolutely hang out with him, in a quietly autistic parallel play way 

“but that's more than I should say” man the world is exploding, fuck the warden secrets

It's okay Emmrich I also had children so I wouldn't have to wash dishes 

The game begging me on its hands and knees to just follow the damn dwarf, me looking down and whispering “I'm ‘splorin’” 

“riddles riddles riddles, oh, I am a rock” what happened to being respectful

Okay I'm about ready to throw Ivenci in the blight water BUT “perhaps [the antaam] could be convinced to do more backflips while murdering” was funny

“imagine how big THEIR casino would be” 💀 

Harding like “life is already so weird, this might as well happen” 

“was there a plan after that?” absolutely not 

“you call that nice and quiet??” look here you

Mila has been more immediately helpful than any other authority figure in this entire game. Possibly the whole series. 

BIG FUCKIN FACE

“can we hire her?” “you don't have enough gold” I definitely want to hire her

HOF's chalice!! 

Kristoff's journals TT

this library is just a series of gut punches

“and now I die” no no, it's “in death, sacrifice”, run it again

I am torn btwn not wanting to redeem the first warden and not wanting Davrin to die 

cool l hate it 

(the way Gilan'nain moves is VERY nice tho) 

Emmrich said y'all need therapy

I just. I just love Mila so goddamn much.

My roommate assured me nothing happens to her which is good bc I would have deleted the game and complained to the BBB 

OSTAGAR THE MABARI

I completely forgot Taash had a quest here & was very confused to see them in the tunnel. Just chilling. 

I too would fight a dragon about gender feelings 

“how do you decide when one of your targets deserves to die?” “usually when the client pays up front” lucanis. 

“if you aren't dead, then you're still alive” people die when they are killed

“the joining ingredients are rare” I mean not the darkspawn blood, you've got a bumper crop of that now

you called him a WHAT

ykw I'm with Taash, who doesn't like dragons

Taash gets me

hatemail game on this website

Lucanis, we don't threaten our teammates just bc we told them where we hide the bodies. That was a you mistake. 

So. The Cauldron. What the fuck? 

spite you cannot eat the candles 

you will get heartburn 

my roommate keeps saying it's not like Eddie and Venom but I think she might be wrong 

“treasure…try down” thank you, bloodborne player

someone either had a ton of fun animating that hand or it was the bane of their existence 

“The Free Marches aren't worth considering after the disaster in Kirkwall” excuse u, her name is Hawke

Lucanis: all clothes are gender-neutral if you're not a coward

give 👏 taash 👏 a 👏 cape 👏

what in the Orin the Red 

no no fuck you, Zara said “amatus”, where's illario I just wanna talk 

Also big Orthax vibes with Spite going nuts that illario killed the person he wanted to kill 

BUT ALSO ILLARIO I JUST WANNA TALK

“Emmrich-” “looks at me like a thesis topic”

ahh, destroying gaatlok stashes. it's like we never left kirkwall. 

“you talk when it's your turn” “never my turn >:[“ 

“I'm surprisingly bad at knowing when I should quit”

magic ballista MAGIC BALLISTA 

I mean where did you get that but also MAGIC BALLISTA

“you've got a team with a lot of complications” which Varric knows nothing about 

“do you know what a lich is” [sprays Emmrich with water bottle]

it's okay Bellara I too write fanfiction to avoid thinking about my problems

“don't say it like that >:|” 

“the best way to the heart is between the fourth and fifth ribs; don't listen to Viago” 

“why are there undead things here?” “thousands have died in the deep roads” “not what I asked”

I don't like that it's called “flooded chamber” when there's no flooding. 

I don't appreciate the implication of future flooding.

Well those are fucking veins/nerve endings if I ever saw them

I hate this tunnel. It's giving brood mother and I don't care for it. 

“this is just lyrium that's angry” that's not helping

okay I didn’t cry during “you are Lace Harding” but I did tear up 

“we will thrive in spite of you” 

the heartbeat drums 

(heart. lungs. liver. nerves.) 

“acceptance of the truth and her own shadow self” squints in persona 4

are you a good lich or a bad lich” look here you 

Rowan's my new favorite character. I want a book about Rowan. 

“you misunderstood -” “then say it better!” YEAH

also the little sideways shuffle of shathaan getting out of her chair was a nice piece of animation 

wild going from “leandra amell was disowned for marrying a mage” to “my mom screamed at me for not being a mage even though my dad was” 

Emmrich: I'm gonna solve a murder! 8D

“dragons do not give one lyrium-infused crap about magical curses” 

The sequel to TotK Thoughts From My Notes App, Dragon Age The Veilguard Thoughts From My Notes App

please do not respond or reblog with spoilers, even in the tags, assume whatever the last thing is is how far I've gotten bc it probably is

first off, meet Kalais:

(I've tweaked her design since this but I don't have access to the ps5 rn for a new screenshot) (really I just filled her face out a lil so she's not so Pointy)

[quest marker flashes] NO, I'm ‘SPLORIN

okay jumping over the wall in D'Meta's Crossing & going from Standard Spooky directly into Turbo Hell was very effective 

“this blight is WEIRD” harding you were there for corypheus’ whole deal, you can't say things like that, it's terrifying 

they really took the deep roads and set it to “worse”, huh

(my roommate kept going "BROODMOTHER" bc she hates me)

NO WONDER THEY CALL IT THE DRAGON AGE

I watched my roommate do this bit with her Warden; she sent him off to probably die from the Joining. I just. left him there.

Morrigan if you're gonna wear the headpiece get your hair out from behind it you're driving me crazy

Morrigan smiles so much, idk how I feel about it 

this is gonna be a weird sentence but I miss how her mouth was shaped in DAO, it just suited her for some reason idk

OH she looks like a Carja, that's what's bothering me

(a lot of this game gives me shades of HZD if I'm being honest) (it's not a complaint)

Titan Harding TITAN HARDING

been trying to figure out who Bellara makes me think of and I think it's “Merrill if she had a support network that wasn't Hawke” 

(“and less blood magic”) 

oh, little backstory tchotchkes!

while Rook just monologues to themselves 

(definitely interesting being a Not Culturally Dalish elf with a vallaslin)

“it is merely a suggestion” gonna suggest you off a cliff

I'm so glad Varric didn't die. I was so prepared for it

as a through-line through the series I prefer him over Morrigan tbh

“your old friend is kind of an asshole” “I know, isn't it great” 

WAIT solas’ knife is the fucking LYRIUM IDOL?? 

that thing just can't stop ruining Varric's life, huh 

the way Harding's bruises and stuff actually take time to heal is so cool 

me: talks to The Viper one (1) time me:...godDAMMIT, Mercer

room: offerings to andraste  me: offerings to me :) 

I. Don't care for Neve so far. 

which is unfortunate bc I picked the Shadow Dragons origin

me: spots what is clearly a fade tear me:

ATAB (All Templars Are Bastards) 

“the venatori rise” yeah yeah, hail hydra, fuck off

hey? hey Varric? I don't think I like your foreshadowing Varric 

[indigoh4ze]

party || rafe cameron

warning- SMUT // vaginal fingering, eating out, vaginal penetration, mentions of intoxication

rafe cameron x fem!reader

a/n- so this is my first time writing for outer banks, im terrible at writing actual interactions so im sorry its so bad at first lmao. also disclaimer: rafe in this fic is nothing like he is canon, so his characterization is off. enjoy :)

also feel free to request for any outer banks characters i write for

turn on notifs here - @slvt4fakerealities-library - to be notified when i post a new fic

join taglist (add yourself to the outer banks section)

the lights were blazing, different colors zapping throughout the room as you made your way over to the couch. your head was slightly fuzzy from the intoxication, but you managed.

since the couch was empty, you took the chance to sprawl your whole body out on it, head on one arm and feet dangling off the other. you watched as everyone danced and made out and filled their bodies with even more toxins. soon, you found yourself just dazing up at the ceiling, lips opening and closing slightly as you lip-synced in a whispering tone to the loud music.

after what felt like hours, but could’ve only been a few minutes, you felt something nudge your thigh. without moving your neck, you let your eyes flash down to find the source of the movement.

hovering over you was rafe cameron. his dirty blonde hair framed his face messily, a single cross earring dangling from his left ear, a red solo cup in his hand as his free hand poked at your thigh.

“what?” you slurred, now moving up on your elbows and blinking back the haziness.

“i wanna sit,” he said, taking a sip from the cup. even in this state it wasn’t hard to notice how good the boy looked, tilting his head back and gulping down the liquid, eyes never leaving your own.

you groaned, pulling your knees to your chest and allowing rafe to throw himself onto the cushion. you were now facing his side, as his hands gripped your legs and pulled them back to their original position, except now they laid over his leg. giving him a curious look, you laid the side of your face on the back cushion and fidgeted with the bracelet around your wrist.

“shouldn’t you be like- getting shit faced or something.” rafe snickered at your words, sending you a glare before looking back down to his cup, which he was also mindlessly playing with.

“sorry, did i interrupt your little..nap?” he teased with a hint of amusement, referring to the previous state you were in, and you scoffed in return, mind clearing a bit more and making room for annoyance.

“whatever.” and then, you were pulling your legs off him and standing up, albeit wobbly as you almost fell to the side, caught by rafe’s firm grip around your arm.

“you good?”

“‘m fine,” you dismissed the boy, confused as to why he was even talking to you in the first place.

the truth was, you never liked him, he was rude and careless and selfish and way too much to put up with. but you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt towards the boy, and the tension that was always evident when the two of you were together.

but you always just pushed those thoughts aside, because even the thought of anything happening made your mind whirl with a plethora of emotions, not good ones by any means.

but then, you also couldn’t deny the recurring fantasies of things that could happen. could but wont, because he’s rafe cameron, and not even you’re desperate enough to be one of his bitches.

“hey?” a light tug of your arm pulled you back to the present, and you turned to see rafe at your side, cup forgotten as one of his hands molded around your waist and the other wrapped around your bicep to steady you.

“i’m really fine-.” you pulled away from him, and right as you did so, you felt someone back up on you, pushing you towards rafe and into his chest as a cold liquid spread from the lower half of your head and down your back.

you gasped in surprise, suddenly awake and alert as you sharply turned to see a boy standing there, cup tilted and empty as all its contents spilt on your back. he mumbled a quick apology, then took off laughing with his friends about something they said that probably wasn’t even funny.

“you sure about that?” rafe inquired, eyebrow raised in amusement as you stepped away from him, this time more cautiously. “c’mon, we’ll clean you up.”

although you wanted to say no and tell him to fuck off because you could handle it yourself, you were too exhausted from the long night to put up much protest other than a dramatic groan. then, you nodded, and rafe led you away from the crowd of people with a tug of your wrist.

—//—

now, you found yourself in a bedroom, rafes bedroom, waiting expectantly as you stood in front of the boy.

“what now?” you ask, palming your eyes and yawning, looking back at rafe with glossy eyes now, which were sending waves of tingles through the boys stomach.

“take a shower,” he implied, as if it was obvious. you scrunched your brows as he pointed to the bathroom on the other side of the room.

“i don’t have any spare clothes.”

“i’ll find you something to wear,” rafe shrugged, “go on,” he urged you to the bathroom, and you followed obediently, not having it in you to put up any sort of fight or ask questions.

“i’ll be right back,” rafe said from the room as you closed the bathroom door, only to hear the door to the bedroom close as well, meaning rafe left.

your mind was filled with the thought that he just ditched you, which was a possibility, but you ignored that thought and slipped your shirt over your head. once all the articles of clothing were thrown onto the cold tile floor, along with your shoes which sat messily in the corner, you lift a foot into the tub, stepping in.

immediately, you played with the oddly fancy knobs and managed to turn them on, warm water rushing through the shower head as your tilted your head back into it. the odd colored drink washed away from your hair, falling onto the floor of the tub and down the drain smoothly. you searched for soap, quickly cleaning up and scrubbing your hair twice for good measure. the smell of the soap reminded you of rafe, not surprising considering it was literally his own soap, you told yourself, annoyed by your current thoughts.

the feeling of the slightly cold water hitting your skin was enough to wake you up fully, but you were too lost in the blissful feeling of the water to pay much attention to your surroundings.

that was until you heard the door to the bathroom open, and you peaked your head through the curtain to find rafe, setting a towel on the counter, along with a shirt and a pair of shorts.

“who’s are those?” you questioned, making rafe jump as he realized you were watching him.

“sarah, i just took some from her,” he shrugged, and now you were even more confused.

first, he started talking to you randomly. then he’s helping you stand. then he’s taking you to his room..so you can shower. then he’s getting clothes for you to wear? how much did you have to drink? you started to ask yourself, questioning if this was all you just being wasted.

but it wasn’t, you felt pretty much fine. so there had to be something you were missing.

“just hurry up and change, i’ll be in the other room.” without another glance towards you, rafe left the bathroom, leaving you standing there, wet hair dripping forward from the way you had tilted your head to peek through. you went back to getting the soap out of your hair, rushing a bit more now.

meanwhile, rafe was in his room, just outside the bathroom, sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. what the fuck am i doing? was his only thought.

he was honestly just confused as you were. it started when he saw you laying on the couch, mouth agape as your eyes sketched shapes on the ceiling. you just being there was tempting enough, but after that he just had to make his way over to you.

the two of you hadn’t had many conversations in the past, at least no genuine ones. most were just bickering, to be honest. but, just as you thought, the tension was undeniable. the feelings weren’t one sided, that was for sure.

when he caught you from falling over, you had leaned into his warmth and something almost turned in his stomach, which was quite nauseating on his side. it was annoying how fucking worked up he got around you. his mind would spin with options of what to do with you. did he want to just kiss you, fuck you or annoy you to death? he had no idea, but it was overwhelming, to say the least.

so when he invited you to his room to clean up, he wasn’t really thinking about it, because everything was happening at once. he even searched his sisters room for goddamn clothes for you.

interrupting his inner monologue, a door opened and out came your figure, except you weren’t wearing the clothes he had given you. no, you were just in your towel, actually. your skin looked slightly damp still, but your hair had been fluffed out and dried a bit from the towel.

“what are you- where are the clothes i gave you?” rafe asked, standing hesitatingly.

“dunno, wasn’t my style i guess,” you shrugged, looking around his room casually, taking in the very rafe feel it gave.

rafe just scoffed, messing his hair up and stepping closer. “well, you can’t really go out in a towel now, can you?”

this reminded you that there was still a party going on, although it was muffled and a bit quieter as people began to call it a night.

“then i won’t go out.” you stepped closer, looking up at rafe with an expression of uncertainty, trying to identify the look behind his eyes, figure out what the fuck he was up to. but you saw nothing. if anything, there were just a bit of nervousness hidden there.

“and what exactly do you plan on doing, then? since your obviously so wise.” now his guarded demeanor was back up, though he had taken a step closer so your heavy breaths were hitting each other perfectly, hands close to grazing one another’s.

“i don’t know.” then, another reminder flashed in your mind, and you looked back at rafe, “wait, why are you even here? isn’t this like- your party?”

“well, technically topper wanted a party, i wanted to go to bed and sleep for a year.” you chucked at this, figuring he had already gotten fucked up today and didn’t feel like another party. then, taking a risk, you leaned in just a bit, and rafe didn’t pull back. actually, he pushed forward, bringing his large hands to wheel around your waist, setting fire through your veins.

it was as if both of you snapped at the same time, first eyeing each others lips, then pushing forward and taking said lips between your own. the kiss was hungry and long waited, immense relief flushing through you, which took you both by surprise.

not even a few minutes of this passed by before rafe was tugging at the towel, still clinging around your naked body, droplets of water probably wetting his floor.

before letting the fabric reveal your body, rafe looked at you, pulling away for a moment and looking over your features, silently asking permission. a quick nod was all it took for the material to be ripped off and throw to the side, rafe spinning you both around until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you fell back onto the mattress.

rafe looked over you with a smirk, eyes skimming over each and every detail of your body as if savoring it. a lick of his lips was all it took for your thighs to rub together, anticipation becoming too much as you waited for him.

this obviously pissed him off, because now his hands were tearing your legs apart, exposing your bare cunt inch by inch. “don’t even try to cover this up, got it?”

his voice was demanding, and luring, enough to make you nod, eyes softening in obedience, resulting in a snicker from rafe.

he leaned back in, delving down to leave kisses along your collar bone and suck on the flesh until bruises built against your skin, making you whimper and grab his dirty blond tressed with your fingers.

the sound of your whimpers made rafe go crazy, but he tamed the need inside him long enough to work his way down your stomach, placing teasing kisses down your inner thighs, but not once touching the spot you needed the most attention in.

“please, rafe,” you pleaded, not sure where it came from but gong with it once you saw the way he looked up at you, lust blown eyes and parted lips, waiting to be against your cunt.

“please what, hm? tell me what you want me to do, baby,” rafe cooed, fingers clenching around the inside of your thighs so he could push them apart and kiss your inner thighs, resulting in your back arching and hips begging upwards.

“n-need your mouth.” your face blushed with embarrassment of having to speak the words, but rafe just tsked, one hand moving upwards as he used his thumb to draw circles around your cunt, only passing your folds, earning a cry from you.

“i need more than that, doll.”

“fuck! please, j-just need your mouth on me, rafe, need to feel your mouth on my pussy, please!”

it seems that was acceptable for rafe, his thumb pausing just above your clit, then dragging down, finally grazing over the sensitive bud and stimulating it perfectly. your hips jerked at the sensation, but you grew accustomed to the feeling once he began working in small circles.

soon, his mouth was on your cunt, tracing paths over your folds and rubbing at the nub with a flat tongue, constantly sending shivers through you as you moaned with pleasure. his hands stayed at your side, ring clad finger’s cold against your flesh as his tongue dug inside you and began fucking your hole with no remorse.

the shapes and letters his warm tongue carved into you were almost too much, and when you reached down to rake your fingers through his hair, you fought the urge to push his head down and allow him to bury himself completely between your thighs.

“f-fuck! rafe, oh god, feels so good,” you sobbed, voice becoming louder as he hummed into you, a smirk on his lips, no doubt, from seeing you fall apart for him.

rafe pulled away within a second, licking his lip and keeping his eyes on your cunt, calculating his next move. you watched as he did so, suddenly feeling exposed as he raked his eyes over the slick coating your folds and your clit throbbing painfully through them. you squirmed at the emptiness, about to squeeze your thighs together, but you were too late as rafe brought a hand up, middle and forefinger pushing through your folds and embedding themselves within your walls.

a loud gasp escaped your lips as he did so, and you bit down painfully on the cushion of them as his fingers pumped in and out of you with nonstop speed. rafe looked up at you, his own lips parted beautifully as he watched moans flow easily out of your mouth.

“you like that, baby?” came his husky voice, only intensifying your already great pleasure that ran through your body. you nodded at his inquiry, not able to form coherent thoughts under his gaze. and that was when his fingers made a hook and pressed against your most sensitive part, making you squirm.

his smirk became bigger, and his fingers fucked you harder, a desperate attempt to ruin you right there. then he was leaning down, still pumping his fingers, and began to lick your clit with fervor, flicking the bud and sucking without resistance until your thighs were clenching around his head and you were a complete moaning mess.

“oh fuck- i’m g-gonna come rafe, pleaseplease,” you begged pathetically, having no time to be embarrassed as he hummed, nodding his head while still sucking on your clit, and permitted you to let go.

the orgasm took over in a huge wave, which came surprisingly fast, and the only thing on your mind was the bubbling in your stomach that was finally freed. moans and gasps fell from your lips as you wet his tongue and fingers, and rafe didn’t let a drop go to waste as he lapped up your slick, helping to prolong your orgasm.

hands reaching for his hair in dazed motions, eyes closed and lips parted, you mumbled, “t-too much, rafe,” which was the boys que to give you a final kiss on your clit, then remove his head and fingers from your cunt.

now, rafe stared up at you, swiping a ring clad thumb over his bottom lip, which was glistening with your arousal. his thumb then moved to enter your mouth, and you dutifully took in the digit, sucking with starry eyes, and whimpering when he removed it from your grasp.

rafe rose to his full height, still in his shirt and pants, which were no doubt keeping his hard dick from standing tall. suddenly, you felt that flush arise to your cheeks from your being nude, and you bit your lip and reached a hand out to grapple at his shirt. he took this as a sign to pull the material over his head, then going in for his buckle as well. the sound of the metal clinking as he loosened it from its straps was enough to send you into a spiral of anticipation, eyeing his clothed prick impatiently.

rafe had that smirk plastered to his face still, throwing his belt aside and then his pants, making sure not to go too fast as he tormented you.

you let out a whine as he hooked his fingers around his boxers, not pulling them down fully but revealing his v line. “rafe,” you pouted, and he decided to be nice and let them fall down, now unclothed as he kicked off his shoes and settled ontop of you, marking your chest and neck immediately.

sighing with content, you held him close and let his lips suck on your flesh, until the arousal was too much and he began to grind against you, slowly. your cunt was already becoming slick again as he rubbed against your thigh.

rafe lift himself up to his knees, pumping his cock, the point of his tongue poking out from the side of his mouth in concentration. the image of your breasts on display for him, and your lips parted and chest thumping was enough to make the boy cum on the spot.

he raised a brow at you, making sure you were still okay, and once getting a quick nod, he pressed the head of his cock against your folds. in the next second, he was thrusting into you, earning a loud gasp from you, which he covered with a hand on your mouth.

“shh, ‘m gonna fuck you good, okay? just lay there and look pretty,” he teased, but you nodded, wanting nothing more than to do as he said.

the thrusts started out mild, but soon quickened tempo, hips stuttering against yours as he wrapped a hand around your leg and pulled it over his shoulder. this allowed a better angle, and you moaned with him as he repeatedly pounded into your already sensitive cunt.

you slid a hand down your bouncing breasts and stomach, then to your throbbing clit, soothing it with your gentle fingers before rafe slapped them away, as if saying “mine.”

his own hand went around your propped up leg to thumb at your clit, whilst the other made a path over your hips and breasts, fondling with the mound of flesh and pinching your nipple.

the overstimulation was rushing through you violently, his thrusts becoming sloppy, orgasm at the brink. you watched his head fly back, eyes rolling and mouth a gape, hypnotized by how pretty he looked even when he was fucking you.

“rafe,” you repeatedly mumbled, forming no other words in your clouded mind.

“hm? does it feel good? d’you like the way i fuck you, pretty girl?”

“y-yeah, so good,” you hummed, your own head rolling back onto the pillow, hips thrusting up to meet his and satisfy the hunger that once again boiled in your core.

“i’m gonna cum on your tits, are you gonna be good for me?” he said just as your orgasm was about to wash you away, and you nodded fast, once again wanting to be the best you could for him.

then, you came, waves of pleasure splashing through you before he pulled out, still thumbing your sensitive bundle of nerves, using his free hand to fist his cock which hovered over your breasts.

you held your tits in two shaky hands, squeezing them together and massaging them while rafe came, painting your breasts and stomach until he had milked out every last drop he could. he mumbled yes’s and fuck’s, along with your name until his high died down.

breathing harshly, you set ur sight to the ceiling, deep intakes of air causing the ends of rafe’s lips to turn upwards slightly. he leaned down to place one last kiss on your flushed cheek before letting himself fall onto the mattress beside you.

“let’s clean you up,” rafe said, turning to look at you, “the party’s not over yet.”

uhhhh yeah idk how i feel ab this i hope it wasn't terrible ig. reblogs appreciated :)

@o-rion-sta-r @saggyb1lls @rylynn-m @dobbysockcollection @arcaneslut @arianagreyy @el-imaskingforyourlefthand

[absolutepokemontrash]

Kid!MC/Teen!MC Needs someone to go to Parent Teacher Interviews for Them and Guess Who’s Available?

Masterlist

The brothers being bad babysitters/dad figures is something I love very much, I bet you all could already tell that considering the Fic/Headcanon series I have going on. I would just like you all to know that Asmo’s section is based on a true story. Anyhoo~ onto the Headcanons!

Why? Why Him? (Lucifer)

Is MC really dumb, or are they just a kid? No one knows.

Obviously MC asked Lucifer, the only competent one in the house, the most professional, hard-working, controlled-

MC got their things together and gave Lucifer the run down on their teacher(s) before Lucifer got too absorbed in extolling his own virtues in an intense internal monologue.

News flash Lucifer, this isn’t a Shakespeare play, you can’t have a dramatic monologue or soliloquy about how great you think you are

At the actual meeting, if MC is in there, no, MC is not actually in there. Lucifer will speak to the teacher as if MC isn’t there. As someone whose not a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down kind of person, Lucifer expects the teacher to behave the same and not spare MC’s feelings.

Feelings do not deserve to be spared if MC is being a nuisance. No fake-kid/little sibling of his gets to be the class idiot!

If MC’s doing very well academically, he expects to be pointed at projects or tests they’ve done and the grade on it. It really makes him proud to see MC doing well.

Even if they’re not the best academically, if they’re not failing and they’re doing well in other aspects of school, he’s proud.

If MC really struggles in a school environment and just hates it there but they’re still keeping their head above water, they get a head pat of approval.

On the drive home, if MC came with him to the parent teacher interviews and everything went well, he just happens to turn onto the street that has a Baskin Robin’s or something of that caliber.

If they didn’t go, he picks something up on the way back.

No fun treats if MC is being a disruptive little heathen in class, no kid under Lucifer’s care is going to be the class Mammon. Not on his watch.

MC was busily stuffed their face with the treats that were gifted to them. Lucifer had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes at the kid’s blatant disregard for basic table manners when it came to sweets.

“Is everything the teacher said true?” Lucifer asked, MC looked up at him with a smile.

“Yep!”

“Good, good.” Lucifer held out his hand and patted them on the head. “You’re doing well. Keep it up.”

“Geez,” MC mumbled as they continued to stuff their face. “Can you get anymore affectionate?”

“Don’t be sarcastic, MC. It’s uncouth.” Lucifer said sternly. “Besides, I’ll have you know that many people enjoy my headpats. I’m quite affectionate.”

“Really now? Name one person.”

Lucifer opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He and MC stared each other down, one pair of eyes much more nervous than the other. Spoiler, MC was still calmly eating their treat as they maintained eye contact.

“…Cerberus.”

“If you’re reaching for Cerberus, you’ve already lost.”

…his pride was under attack. Right in front of his desert…

“You’re grounded.”

“Worth it.”

*Rides by on a Skateboard* School is for NERDS (Mammon)

Pff! Stupid human! He’s not goin’ to some lame parent teacher conference-

Wait! What’s with that face?! Ugh… fine. MC’s gone and forced his hand with those damn puppy dog eyes…

Mammon does not dress up for this event, he dresses like he would every day, maybe throw on some designer stuff to let all the parents and teachers know he’s hot shit.

If MC goes with him, he pulls up in his beloved car and takes up two parking spaces (pure evil.). Every parent present already hates him, but at least the other kids there are impressed with MC’s sweet ride. MC would have gained some street cred if Mammon hadn’t managed to trip up the stairs to the classroom in front of everyone.

He’ll act way to casual with the teacher, turning the parent chair backwards and sitting down so he can lean on the seat.

Mammon gets bored crazy quickly while the teacher lists and explains all the stuff the class is learning, so his eyes begin to wander to any and all displays in the classroom. Projects, annoying posters, class pet, anything is more interesting than this teacher’s explanation.

When MC finally becomes the main topic of the interview, he’s all ears. MC’s doing great in school academically? Ha! Nerd! Maybe giving MC a playful noogie and interrupting the whole interview wasn’t a good idea, but whatever.

If MC’s failing anything, or just isn’t that gifted when it comes to grades, it’s very much a “Aw man me too” from Mammon.

This teacher is speaking with the Great Mammon, the first demon in RAD’s history to fail three semesters in a row. If this teacher thinks bad grades will phase him, they’re dead wrong.

Grades don’t mean anythin’ about smarts anyway! I mean, look at him! He’s a fuckin’ genius but he can’t get through a history test without sobbing even though he LIVED THROUGH MOST OF IT.

MC gets treats no matter what’s up in class. Though, if MC didn’t go with him, he’s likely to forget and just order something for the two of them when he gets back home.

“Goddamn teachers and their rambling!” Mammon whined, grabbing a slice of pizza from the open box on his coffee table. “You owe me, MC! Ya really do!”

“Yeah yeah yeah.” MC said, they leaned over and rolled a pizza slice into a pizza-scroll then proceeded to eat it like a veggie roll. “How do you think I feel, listening to them every day? You know how long it takes to get to the actual class material?”

“Five years?”

“Ugh! Five years if I’m lucky! I swear, I know more about my teacher’s grievances with like… five of my classmates than I do about trigonometry, and guess which one’s on the test next week?”

Mammon winced in sympathy, then remembered he was supposed to be whining and went back to it. “School’s shit and a waste of money, ya should drop out as soon as you can and help me run my new business.”

“You mean your pyramid scheme?”

“It’s not a pyramid scheme, MC! It’s legit! It’s a multi-tiered marketing-”

“It’s a pyramid scheme.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SOCIAL INTERACTION (Leviathan)

Everyone else must have been sick or something for MC to have asked Levi. He’d flat out refuse to go otherwise.

So, Levi couldn’t exactly go to the interview in his usual “I haven’t left my room or changed clothes in eight weeks” look. With the help of MC, he was able to find his military uniform at the back of his closet.

Asmo nearly fainted when he saw Levi in the uniform, not because “oooo, a man in uniform~”, it was because the outfit was so crumpled and wrinkled that it made it physically painful to look at. No time to iron and wash, the conference was in an hour!

Levi (and MC if they went with) rolled up to the school in a less than impressive ride, but one look at the uniform and all the other people present went “yep, time to be respectful (tm)”

For the first time in his life Levi was more intimidating than Lucifer! And he wasn’t even trying!

When the teacher starts explaining the course material, Levi spaces off in horror as he realizes he remembers literally nothing from school (AND HE’S STILL IN SCHOOL!) all that’s running through his head is “A squared + B squared = C squared” and “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell”.

The actual interview was the least interesting part of the trip, the real stuff happened when Levi passed by some art on display in the hallway and something caught his eye-

Those colours… that hair… that adorable smile..!

IT WAS HER! LEVI’S PRECIOUS RURI-CHAN IN ALL HER GLORY!

Levi immediately started fawning over the art class fanart and by sheer coincidence, one of the kids walking through the hallway happened to notice.

The kid asked MC if their… parent and or guardian liked anime. MC responded with “obviously.” Levi then asked the kid if they drew his adorable Ruri-chan. The kid said no, and that they drew the My Hero Academia fanart a few rows down.

Levi was absolutely floored that there were two anime fans in one class, then his entire world shattered when MC explained there was more anime art inside the art room and other classrooms.

H-hang on… did that mean that… a lot of people here… liked anime..?

Levi needed a while to process. No snacks on the way home…

Levi and MC were sat in the back of their Uber, Levi, the Avatar of Envy himself, was having his entire sense of reality warped. S-so much anime fanart… in a school of all places..! What did this mean for the future of anime?!

“Levi. Stop.” MC sighed. “If this were an anime, the camera angle would be doing that thing where it’s right on the bridge of your nose and dramatic music plays in the background.”

“S-so many kids in your class like a-anime huh..?” Levi stuttered, weakly trying to smile. “Must be nice..?”

“Oh, that’s just my class. The other classes and grades have their fans too.”

“Oh… really?”

“Levi,” MC stopped looking out the window and looked at the otaku that was having a full scale silent mental breakdown. “Anime isn’t even a niche interest anymore. It’s a pretty casual thing to watch now. At least a third of my class watches- Levi?”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHH! ANIME! A THIRD OF THE CLASS?! ANIME… HIS PRECIOUS ANIME… WAS BECOMING A NORMIE INTEREST! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

“Levi?” MC waved their hand in front of their spaced out demon’s face. “Leviiiii? Okay he’s dead.”

The Know it All (Satan)

Ah, a smart choice, MC. Satan would be glad to help further their education. He’ll do everything in his power to make sure that the human’s brain is fed all that sweet sweet knowledge.

Satan can’t dress himself normally, MC had to coax him into a suit jacket, but he still only wore one sleeve.

MC was coming along to the interviews whether they wanted to or not, it’s important to hear what they need to improve on from the teacher themselves after all.

The two arrived pretty early, so Satan asked MC for a tour of the school. It was pretty tame until they reached the library. Satan was horrified at the state of some of the books…

Their spines lined with duct tape… pages missing and torn… someone apparently used a taco as a book mark…

The first thing Satan does when it’s time for his interview is demand the teacher take better care of the library, even though they’re not the librarian. MC tries to explain this, but Satan is too distraught to listen to reason.

He enjoyed hearing about the course material, but he made it known if MC thinks the assignments are too easy that they need to be given more challenging work. THEIR BRAIN NEEDS TO BE STIMULATED DAMN IT.

It was up to MC to either agree with Satan and nod to the teacher, or make frantic eye contact with them to try and communicate “NO DON’T PLEASE”.

Similar to (ugh) Lucifer, as long as MC is doing their best, he’s happy for them.

…but if they are in any way in the running for valedictorian he is HELPING THEM WIN.

He decided to stop at a cafe or bookstore to let MC pick out a “congrats on surviving your pitiful school” present after the interviews.

MC gleefully perused the shelves of the bookstore, there were so many books too look at…

“I’ll buy you as many books as you’d like, MC, just,” Satan shuddered slightly. “Promise me you won’t treat them like those poor library books…”

MC put their hand over their heart. “I swear on the duct taped book spines that I will never treat a book like that.”

“Good… good…” Satan breathed a sigh of relief and went back to looking at his book about cats.

“Are you… reading a Warrior Cats book..?” MC asked tentatively.

“Yes, why?”

“Satan, put that back.”

“I Will Seduce the Teacher For the Sake of Your Grades, Don’t Worry.” (Asmodeus)

Oh MC dear! He’d be delighted to go! Just let him get ready~

Asmo may not be the best choice, but he was at least going to be the best dressed person at that conference. (And MC just had to come too so all the other parents could be jealous of how well coordinated their outfits are)

He teased MC a little by saying he was going to flirt with their teacher to make sure they passed the class, but he was just kidding! …but he made sure to ask if their teacher was cute, he needed to know!

While waiting for his turn, Asmo flirts with some of the single parents, if he doesn’t see a wedding ring, they’re fair game.

Once his time slot arrived, MC realized that Asmo is one of those “my child has done and will do nothing wrong ever” types. This may have ended up working in MC’s favour if they were a class nuisance.

If MC is doing very well in sports, clubs, grades, anything, Asmo is fawning over them and gushing to the teacher about how great, smart and adorable they are.

Asmo surprisingly does not exactly flirt with the teacher, he was just teasing MC after all. But um… if MC’s teacher just happens to be cute and young, he may turn up the charm, just a little. Enough to make the teacher giggle and make MC cover their face in embarrassment.

After the interviews Asmo will probably schedule a nice day out for the two of them, shopping, a movie, mani pedis, something fun!

The real weird stuff happens in the months after the interviews… if Asmo did lightly flirt with the teacher, MC gets quite a few questions about their guardian. Questions that ask if Asmo is single in not as many words…

Oh lord, MC’s teacher developed a crush on Asmo.

Nail painting night was supposed to be a fun occasion, but MC was hopping mad and embarrassed. Asmo didn’t seem to notice as he continued to paint the little human’s nails.

“And then I told Phenex to get lost. The nerve of that little monster, right MC?” When MC didn’t reply, Asmo looked up and tilted his head. “MC?”

MC’s angry face would have been much more threatening if they weren’t just so adorable, but it was getting the message across.

“MC..?”

“Asmo.” MC’s glare deepened. “My teacher wants to know if you’re single.”

Asmo blinked a few times, before he hit his tongue to keep from laughing. “Really now~. I knew they’d be madly in love with me-”

“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIIIIIIIIIIIS?!”

Oh My Demon King is That a BAKE SALE?! (Beel)

Of course Beel said yes! He’d gladly go to MC’s parent teacher interview!

He even put on a nice outfit :D he ended up looking a bit like a secret serviceman guarding MC, the tiny president.

Beel stopped for McDonald’s on the way there, all the other kids were so jealous of MC when they stepped out of the car eating fries.

But a little something something caught Beel’s eye when he and MC walked into the school… was that a… bake sale?

MC quickly explained that the bake sale was fundraiser for their class trip that year and the snacks weren’t complimentary. He had to pay.

And pay Beel did. He cleared out the entire table. MC’s grade’s overnight trip was going to be decadent as hell. That was no longer a crowd funded thing, that trip was privately funded by a tall buff ginger secret service member and this tiny in comparison child.

Kids are incredibly blunt, just like Beel, so when a random kindergarten kid wandered over, looked up at Beel, and very knowingly said “you’re very tall”. Beel was like “yeah”. The kid then said “what’s it like being that tall?”

Beel’s response to this kid’s question was to pick them up and hold them for a few seconds before placing them back down. For just a few moments this kid knew what it like to be over 6’4. Of course, more kids swarmed in and asked to be picked up.

Sure it was cute, but Beel now has an army of kids ranging from kindergarteners to third graders.

Finally, the conference actually began. Beel snacked the entire time and dutifully listened to everything the teacher had to say.

After the interviews are over, he checks with MC to make sure everything the teacher said was true and that they weren’t lying. If all was well, the two made their exit.

They stopped at Wendy’s on the way home.

“I’m so full…” MC groaned, Beel held up a massive cookie.

“So I can eat this?”

“No. Gimme that.” MC took a very defeated bite out of it. “My stomach says no but my mouth says yes…”

“I don’t want you to get a stomachache, MC,” Beel said worriedly. “No more snacks.”

“It’s a little late for that. It’s past nine and I’m still eating, there’s no way I’m getting to sleep at a reasonable hour.”

“Oh…” Beel mumbled. “I may have not completely thought this through.”

“*Snore* Huh? Wha? MC’s Grades? Uh… Fuck…” (Belphie)

MC must be failing a class or something because why on earth would they pick Belphie otherwise.

They ask him to go while he’s delirious from just waking up from a nap, he sort of half nods and mumbles some gibberish before going back to sleep.

MC had to basically carry his ass to the school. Belphie drooled all over them in the waiting room, and when it was their time to go into the interview, Belphie had to be manually put into the chair and slapped awake.

He barely listens, he just sits and nods along with whatever the teacher is saying. The teacher could say MC brought an alligator to school and he’d just go “uh huh…” “mmmph… yep…” “really now?” then yawn.

The only thing that could possibly get Belphie to be interested is if MC is studying space. If they are, than boy howdy is Belphie suddenly interested in their education.

Other than that? *snore*

If MC is in fact failing or doing poorly, MC’s teacher asks to see another one of MC’s guardians at a later date. Their plan failed miserably.

MC drags Belphie out of the school and yells at him for not helping them. Belphie, still sleep delirious, tries to press the snooze button. MC does not have a snooze button.

“Belphie!” MC shouted, shaking the Avatar of Sloth awake. The House of Lamentation’s resident bastard was somehow sleeping standing up outside. “HOW COULD YOU?!”

“Eh?” Belphie half-snorted and looked around confused. “What’d I do? Where are we?”

“At my school! You said that you’d go to my parent teacher interviews!”

“…MC I don’t think I’d pass well for you.”

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GO AS MY GUARDIAN!”

“Sheesh,” Belphie murmured while he rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes. “You humans are so noisy.”

MC looked up at their dearest demon friend, and gave him their best glare. “I’m going to take all your fancy temperature changing pillows and switch them with normal pillows you traitorous bastard.”

[critical-thinking-is-mandatory]

gimme your top 5 hot takes about YA genre

Only 5? Let's see if I can narrow it down haha.

5. Love Triangles

They've been around a while, but truly only popularised by the likes of Twitlight and the Hunger Games. Almost any YA story trying to copy off of either of these will be guaranteed to have a love triangle.

Will they have any of the depth and symbolism and thought put into the THG triangle? Fuck no! The only thing happening here is a case of "oh no! However could I possibly choose between my two love interests uWu".

They're shallow, dull excuses to plump out the story and to set the shippers aflame. Most of the love triangles could be solved because everyone has two hands OR the fate of the relationship rests entirely on how hot both parties are, not chemistry or compatibility or any frame of logic.

Love triangles can fuck right off.

4. There's Like. No 'Good' Adults

You know how it goes. 'I'm a spunky teenager and what I say goes! Fuck you adults with 20+ years experience!' And then the adults get #owned by this badass teen that's 16 with 30 years work experience even though they only learned their skill/secret society/heritage/powers etc last week 🙄

The only good adults are dead, preferably before the story even starts, if not, sterile, unemotional death within the first 20 pages works just fine.

Everyone else is bad. Or dumb. Or useless. Or evil. Like? We get it you don't want any adults around, jeez.

This isn't a hard workaround! There's many many many ways to shunt aside your adults without making them all incompetent, evil or dead.

like I get it, being a young adult means sometimes you want to disobey authority. and what better wishfulfillment than bland white girl #39776× telling some adult (who may even be right!) to go shove it up their ass. It's not even used as like a study of hubris or the character and their development. It's a simple 'fuck you authority figure' and then they wash their hands of it.

Like bestie, young people need more experienced and older people, role models and safety nets and sounding boards and teachers alike! Why you gotta make every fictional adult evil? As if getting older makes you inevitably turn bad? Where is the camaraderie between generations? Where are the healthy relationships between young and old people? Why expect evil as if it's the default when we could simply lift our standards?

3. "Strong" Female Characters

It seems like no author who's heard the phrase knows what it means!

It means we end up with female characters who can kill a bear bare handed but have all the personality and drive of three day old dishwater. No! No no no no no!

A strong female character doesn't need to be strong! What she does need is a personality. Impact on the plot. Drive, decision making abilities. She makes the plot move, the plot doesn't have to drag her around like a limp noodle.

But no. These "writers" are incapable of understanding that 'strong female character' is a goddamn FIGURE OF SPEECH and then work in a field where understanding metaphors and literary devices is really really important. It's the kind of brain fuckery where say, a pet store employee doesn't know what a dog is. HOW. How does it happen?? These people need to go back to like Grade 5 english and literacy skills lessons. Bloody hell.

2. The Almost Constant Racism

YA racism is so *shakes fist* it's not even limited to the writing.

White authors are out here "writing" what essentially amounts to tropes cobbled together with tape and chewing gum, the same kind of shallow, bland plots that are a staple of fanfiction from my 14 year old self. And then you have all these amazing works of fiction rejected because the author is a poc or the characters are "too diverse".

This isn't even scratching the surface of how racist a lot of YA gets. Like, the majority of characters are white, the main character is 99% guaranteed to be white, their love interest/s will either be white or they'll be fetishised until the cows come home. Any characters of colour will either be relegated to 2 dimensional secondary character or will be killed off with little fanfare, depending on the overall mood of the story.

The Wasted Potential

YA could so, so easily be the stepping stone for young readers transitioning out of children's fiction. Like, there's a lot of literature taught to people in high school that is simply beyond their ability to comprehend, but is still important to learn!

Much of classic lit, and literature that's important to study, is simply just. Too much. I know I didn't really understand a lot of what I learned in literature and I was one of the best students in my class. It's hard. Genuinely it's hard.

You know what would make it easier? A midpoint. Writing with similar depth and care and craftsmanship, but written for a younger, less experienced and developed audience.

The likes of Animal Farm and the Hunger Games come to mind because they are both clear cut allegories that, with a little research and help, are easy enough to understand and analyse. Like, can you imagine what kind of stories we'd get if even HALF these trope collàge booktok YA books were written with the same kind of skill as any classic author? The same kind of conviction and power in their stories?

Instead of classics that are beyond the comprehensive range of teenagers that just make them hate reading and leave them confused and upset. What kind of lessons could these kids be learning, if there were high quality works written for them and their level of development? Like, they could be learning and developing their skills as writers and analysts because they wouldn't constantly have to have it pointed out to them what x metaphor means or why abc is important.

Idk. I just think it'd be good for students to have a medium specifically for their age group instead of being expected to comprehend the entirety of War and Peace.

anyway, these are my main thots on YA as a general genre. I have mixed feelings about it, as it was incredibly important for my development as a reader and writer and analyst but also :) most of it is shit :) as in like 99% of it is shit :) and we deserve better as readers.

[vexelier-suix-cipher]

Take me home.

Summary: You ran away from Ambrose after everything pieced together.

Genre: Angst, SFW, comfort at the end

Male reader. He/him used.

×VSC×

A/N: This is purely self indulgent (and based off a moment in my life) since I'm not having the best if days. Ignore the bad writing it's very lazy and I didn't really try. Just needed to write something out.

×××

The yells Bo shouted out came dead upon your ears as you ran as fast as your legs could go. With the added adrenaline of the moment, you ran faster than ever before. You could almost hear the way Bo scrambled to put his boots on and ring up Lester who would be on the road at this time.

Salty tears fell down from your eyes as you almost slipped on the wet stones of the washed in entrance of Ambrose. The ghost town you had called home for a good year. The brothers you called home.

So why were you running?

A group of visitors had visited this time, and you had watched as Bo killed them off. Vincent taking the dead bodies and dragging them down to the basement to become new figures for their town.

That's when it all came together. The figures weren't just wax. They were actual people. The skeletons that held up the wax weren't the metal wires most people used but actually human skeletons that had decayed over time from being there.

So you had ran for it due to the panic and shock.

Your shoes brought clouds of dust up into the air as you ran on the dirt road, knowing Bo had gotten Lester to get you instead since he had lost you.

As sad as it was, you didn't even want to see Lester. Knowing he also knew all that was happening, helped lead people to their death make a sour taste form in your mouth.

It wasn't long before your feet were hitting actual pavement now and that's when you realized just how far you had gotten from Ambrose. Knowing the brothers wouldn't find you anytime soon, you dropped to your knees on the pavement and sobbed.

∆

From the moment Bo had seen the panicked and fearful look in your eyes, he had dialed up Lester and put his boots on to chase after you. "Shit- WAIT UP!! GET BACK 'ERE I AIN'T GONNA HURT YA I PROMISE!!" He had yelled out, a desperate tone in his voice as you slowly ran out of sight.

"Bo? Th' hell happenin' over there??" Lester had spoke through the phone, the rattle of bones from his truck coming to halt. He had probably gotten home. "Y/n ran away. Found out what we did to th' town and took a run fo' it like a goddamn cat."

He was panting, out if breath from the running as the sound of an engine turning back on rang through his ears. Vincent was now making his way over to his twin, rapidly signing and asking what the fuck was going on.

"Take yer damn truck and find him."

He said, no longer a request but a demand as his felt his heartbeat in his ears and hung up. With just that sentence Vincent was panicking and asking just where the hell you were and what had happened.

"Y/n's gone Vince. He ran for it after seein' all th' dead bodies from today's group." He told his brother, a hand running from his forehead to his mouth as he bowed his head down and shook his head. "How th' hell we gonna 'xplain this shit when Y/n's back..?"

∆

Lester drove almost dangerously along the road he was oh so familiar with as his eyes darted along the sides. Yet after hours of looking, it had gotten dark and he had parked his truck in the entrance of the ghost town.

He stormed along the road, barging into his brother's home with nothing but rage filling his head. "Did you find him?" Vincent signed, responded to a cap being thrown quite hard at his masked face.

Bo stood with a scowl to yell at his younger brother but was stopped as well.

"If y'all two hadn't brought him to this damn town this wouldn't 'ave happened ya hear?! This 's all YOUR FAULT!!" He screamed out, his voice cracking when he raised it towards the end. And in the moment, neither of the twins could recognize their baby brother anymore.

"Les-" Bo had started, placing a hand on Lester's shoulder only to be harshly shoved away and hit against the wall. Sometimes they would forget this man was also one of them.

"No you listen here, if your dumbass knew how to be nice to someone and act as if you actually cared, Y/n wouldn't 'ave ran away. You got cocky Bo. That damn ego of yours always gets in the way." His words were low and filled with venom as he slipped his cap back on.

Lester hadn't even registered the tears slipping down his face as he walked out the door and slammed it so hard the paintings on the wall shook violently.

He wasn't coming back here anytime soon. Not without you at least.

So off he went again, this time tossing his phone into the glove box as he went back up the roads to search for you. He spent 'til the morning hours looking for you. He had gone well past Ambrose and the town he lived in before he found you.

His heart both swelled and broke once he spotted you, his truck coming to a screechy stop as he tripped out the door and ran towards you. You were too tired to run away and simply let the man knock you over as he sobbed into your shoulder.

After a minute of registering who this was and what was happening, you could only do the same in return as you cried in each other's arms.

"I thought you were gone... I-I thought I had lost ya Y/n..." Lester stammered out, pulling back to cup your face as he sniffled and scanned your face. You looked exhausted and tired. He had to bring you back home.

"..Take me home Les..." You told him tiredly, smiling at him lazily as your foreheads pressed together gently.

So that's what he did, he picked you up in your arms and muttered soft, loving words as he sat you in the passenger side of his truck.

The ride back was silent, only the jangle of his bone decor against the metal truck ringing through your ears as the familiar road home came into your eyes.

You would apologize to Bo and Vincent another day, but today you two just wanted to stay home and hold each other close for as long as time allowed.

×××

×Vexelier×

[kiridarling]

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

request | Can I have royalty au (soon to be king bakugou) (and soon to be queen reader) , katsuki and reader are supposed to be getting married (not to eachother) but they end up sneaking around and doing IT with eachother so top!kats , exhibition , begging , dumbification and spanking THANK YOU💞💞

this lovely request was submitted for the kissing booth event (the rest of the drabbles come out soon, ahem :)) so, if this was your request, um...hAHA whoops.

katsuki bakugou | f!reader, royalty!au, infidelity, nondescript!fiancés, angst (gasp), fingering, exhibitionism, dumbification + more! minors dni!

— 3.7k words

“C'mon, princess...can I make you feel good once last time?

You're getting married.

No more ignorance is bliss, no more I didn't know any better—this is when you put all your childish antics to the side and fucking woman up, now in charge of the safety of your kingdom and its inhabitants and whatnot. So yes, you must snuff all your adolescent tendencies, and that includes sleeping with the Crowned Prince of the neighboring kingdom behind your fiancé's backs.

But, boys are stubborn. And stupid.

Ding ding ding!

"Excuse me, Everyone!" Your fiancé announces to the crowd in your dining room as he stumbles to his feet, spoon clinking against his glass. He nearly trips, but no one sees except yourself. "I would like to make a toast."

You frown. This wasn't a part of the rehearsal dinner.

"First of all, I would like to thank you all for being able to be with us tonight," he says, shoving the glass higher in the air. As red wine splashes over the rim, you think to remind him that isn't a toast, it's the beginning of a speech, but your comments have rarely deterred the man in the past. "As you’re all aware, this marriage is vital. Not only for our kingdom, but for the neighboring kingdom as well."

Your fiancé regards the Bakugou’s with a lift of his chalice. In the coming weeks, two arranged marriages will melt the four most influential kingdoms into two, and your fiancé and his family had the genius to throw a massive Gala to celebrate it. You wouldn’t be surprised if they got off to the idea of stretching themselves so thin their hair falls out at age thirty; they won’t even allow you to choose the type of dress for your wedding.

"I would also like to thank my lovely, lovely wife, for just being so... lovely.” Your fiancé chuckles, accompanied by an uncomfortable massage to your shoulder. The guests find amusement in how whipped he is as he gazes your way expectantly, conceivably wishing to see you swoon at the compliment. All you give him is a blank face. His elation falters.

"You know, when I first met this woman, I knew she was going to be the love of my life," your fiancé shakes your glare off. You purposely block out the rest of his story in favor of folding and unfolding your napkin again, puffing under your breath at the cheesy comment.

"Sap," you grunt to yourself, obviously. You don't expect anyone to hear, but there's a snort to your right. Your eyes lift from your lap—and straight into Katsuki's smug blood red ones. He winks at you from across the table and your eyes roll at that, though there's a small smile playing on your face that's impossible to hide.

"Isn't that right [Y/N]!...[Y/N]?"

You blink yourself back to life, eyes reluctantly leaving Katuski's hypnotic ones for the pair that make you nauseous, "Oh—u-um, yep!"

The place bursts in laughter and there's even a little smile dancing on Katsuki's face. He catches you staring so your eyes divert to your lap, but his remain a physical force against you for the rest of the night.

*selene — the greek goddess of the moon

The balcony is much nicer than the ballroom.

For one, it's the farthest place you could have gone from the commotion, all the way on the opposite side of the castle. It's a solid five-minute walk when you aren't in heels and a heavy petticoat, but it provides a lovely view of your front yard, subjecting you to watch the early-sleepers leave in their carriages to call it a night. Meanwhile, *Selene watches you from her telescope the moon with a sigh and a sad smile, because she's the only one who knows how completely and utterly alone you will be.

You glare at her—the goddess doesn't waver.

Bitch.

It's no secret that Gala’s like these get overwhelming—especially when you're the center of attention. You see Lord Shinsou (Earl) stuff the eager Lord Kaminari (Baron) into his silver-plated carriage before looking around to ensure no one saw, and blanche upon seeing your figure stood on the balcony. You salute so he knows his secret is safe with you, and relief washes over his face before he too hops into the carriage. What a scandal, you giggle.

Plenty of couples resign home after that; it makes you uneasy. You're unsure as to why, but you have the ever-increasing urge to nip at your fingernails until you don't have them anymore, and jamming the sharpest point of your heel into the concrete seems like the only proper way to release enough kinetic energy before you explode.

"He loves me."

He does, embarrassingly so—so what's the issue?

There isn't an issue; there shouldn't be. He reminds you how pretty you are and you compliment his influence. Neither of you are marrying down. You look good together. The kingdom's future power couple if you will, where you two supposedly mold the great future in your peculiarly young hands. There isn't an issue. You're the one for him, and he's the one for you.

The balcony door whines open. You don't turn around, praying whoever it is will see that it's occupied and turn the other cheek. Yet, the stomp of whoever's boots only grow louder until you’re adjacent to a shadow of a being, his chin lifted towards the stars. You catch a glimpse of blond hair, though dyed a pale white by the silver moon, and you two stand in a strangely comfortable silence, watching carriages roll out of your driveway.

The silence doesn’t last for long, though. It never does.

"D’ya always go disappearing like that?"

You frown. "What?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Katsuki grumbles—he has yet to look at you. Seems like Selene captures more than one person's attention tonight. "Blinked and you were gone."

Your frown only deepens, and you return your attention to the courtyard. "I didn't know you were paying attention."

The ash-blond presses his forearms against the railing for support. "I wasn't. He was."

Oh.

"Said he wants you to come back, so," Katsuki clicks his tongue, carmine red eyes finally flicking your way through the darkness. You don’t dare look at him. “You run off often, or what?"

"Tell him I'll come back in a second," you sigh, balancing your face in your hand. Katsuki says nothing, but he doesn't leave, and you hate that you don't mind.

Until he points towards a couple crossing the lawn and says, "Oi, that's the Duke from my fiancé's kingdom. Fucker tried to poison my dad for the throne—straightened him out real quick.”

"Why are you talking to me?" You snap like a cornered animal. Katsuki lifts an eyebrow.

"What? I can't have a goddamn conversation?"

"I—" your chest rises and falls with a reason to why he can't, but you can only come up with one—and you don't want to think about it.

"Listen. I don't like these things either, alright?" He huffs defensively, so defensively that you have to take a step back. "If I have the opportunity to get some fresh air, I'm gonna fuckin' take it."

You shrug, supposing it makes you one and the same. The wind blows, not harsh, but harsh enough to ruffle your gown, and make the gold jewelry decorating Katsuki's tunic jingle.

“So. I guess this is it, ain’t it?”

You sigh, “Katsuki, you know we—“

"Yeah yeah, that's all you fuckin' say," he growls bitterly, and you blink in a poor attempt to find where the animosity came from. His face twists in an ugly way as he sits his hands on his hips, nose scrunched to mockingly pitch his voice that doesn't sound like yours at all. "We can't, we shouldn't—"

"Because we shouldn't!" You nearly shout, and Katsuki jumps from how quickly you raise your voice. "Because—because if we get caught, we're fucked. And I can't go to sleep terrified that I'll wake up to an exposé tomorrow morning and get beheaded by the afternoon. So...please. Just stop."

Katsuki clicks his tongue.

"You don't love that asshole."

Your throat feels tight—much too tight to be comfortable, and your chest rises and falls with disbelief as you search for the words before you can talk again, eyes never dropping from the stars. You've had this conversation, fuck, you have it too often; often enough to know that he would say those exact words, and enough to know precisely what you'll say in response.

"I love him, Katsuki."

"No, no you fuckin' don't," the ash-blond chucks a laugh and it's nothing short of acrid, his words eating away at your skin more than you'd like them to. You sigh, resting your forearms on the railing too.

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Always gotta be so goddamn emotionally unavailable, huh?" He growls, glare set on the mountains presented in front of you. You feel his suit jacket hit your freezing shoulders, unaware of the cool temperatures until you feel the cloth brush against goosebumps. It’s your turn to laugh bitterly.

“Careful. People might think we’re getting married to each other.”

“One day you’ll let me fuckin’ live,” he grunts, and your eyes meet for the first time. His usual red is dyed a deep purple by the moonlight, their usual hardness traded for something much softer. “Can’t even give you a jacket when you’re shivering like a goddamn leaf in the wind.”

You give him a look of utter exhaustion because you’re tired—tired of all this running around and hiding, the secrecy. It eats at your insides like a caterpillar does a leaf, knowing that you go to sleep every night to a man who’ll barely touch you, but at the same time, feeling guilty that you don’t need nor want him to.

“Why are you here?”

Katsuki clicks his tongue. His warm body settles behind yours, close enough to feel the warmth but not close enough to feel him. “You looked lonely.”

“I thought my fiancé told you to get me?” You ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Katsuki rolls his eyes, his arms settling on both sides of yours.

“He did. But I didn’t refuse the damn request either.”

“You saw my loneliness all the way from the ballroom. What an eyesight,” you scoff. Katsuki’s eyes narrow, but it’s clear he’s fighting a grin because you’re a little shit who loves giving him a hard time. The ash-blond’s chest rises and falls, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

“You know what I mean.”

You snort, tilting your head to the right. You suppose you do.

“And I’m marrying a bitch,” he adds to his list of grievances, his hands finding yours to gently play with your fingers. You nod in agreement. A bitch she is.

“And...I’m really going to fuckin’ miss you.”

It might as well pass for nothing but a breath, eyes trained on your held hands. His chest suspends like he has more to say, but his teeth tear at the inside of his cheek before he can. “I—fuck, I get it, okay? I’m a selfish asshole—“

“This doesn’t have to do wit—“

“And I really, really need to get my fuckin’ priorities straight. I mean, they are, just not in the way they should be.”

“Hey,” you chastise, shaking his hands for his attention. “You can’t control who you love, okay?"

Katsuki grumbles at that but you refuse, turning around to look him in the eyes.

"And neither can I.”

You let go of his hands in favor of pulling him down via his cheeks and giving him a big fat kiss on the lips. It’s peckish and brief, but it’s sweet and gets your point across. It's comfortable.

“The hell was that for?” Katsuki asks once you pull away. Though you see him struggle to hide a grin, eyes squinting more than they should.

“Easy,” you say, stepping forwards (as if there’s any space for that), “You looked lonely.”

Katsuki snorts, dropping his head, “Bastard.”

“And I’m being married off to an asshole,” you lament, pulling his face so close to the point you’re sure the strain on his back has got to be anything but sexy. He accommodates anyways—Katsuki always has; and night seems to suspend along with his baited breath as he waits for the next line, eyes shining with a painful hope you’re about to confirm.

“And I’m really, really going to miss you,” you say, shaking your head at how utterly true that statement is. Fuck.

The vulnerability slowly fades from his eyes at that, and Katsuki hums, clammy hands finding their rightful place around your hips.

“You shouldn’t call him an asshole, you know,” he says, face inching so close you can smell the champagne on his breath. “He means well.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” you quip back, raising an eyebrow. Katsuki shrugs, and you don’t realize he’s backing you up until your back kisses the cool railing.

“Well. I can’t help but feel a little bad,” he says cheekily as he inches closer, “‘Cause I make you feel so good, don’t I, Princess? Last time I checked, better than he ever could.”

You scoff at his audacity though it’s all good-natured, eyes preferring the moon over his heated gaze as he turns you around to face the courtyard.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, redirecting your attention using a finger on your jaw, “Eyes on me, Princess. You look really fuckin’ pretty under the stars, y’know.”

You snort at the compliment, rolling your eyes.

“‘M serious. A fuckin’ goddess,” he growls, leaving wet kisses up the column of your neck. Your breath hitches as he reaches your sweet spot and sucks, and you’re swatting him away before he can leave a mark.

“I sai—“

“One last time, Princess,” he bargains lowly as his hot hands slide their way from your waist to your breasts, taking their sweet time. Katsuki hooks his chin on your shoulder. “Lemme—Can I make you feel good one last time?”

You’re nodding with a whimper before you can berate yourself for being so fucking easy, the thought of not being able to indulge yourself with this, with him, any longer tosses any and all resistance out the window.

“Good,” Katsuki hums, tweaking your nipples through the bodice. “‘M gonna pay you back for being so good to me, yeah? For puttin' up with all my shit."

You scoff, mouth dropping to tell him you weren't putting up with his shit, but then a warm hand lands on your thigh—somehow, he's found a way under your dress. The hand slides up inner thigh and you feel Katsuki's chest shudder against your back as he finally reaches where you need him most.

"K-Kats—"

"Shhh, you don't want them to hear us, do you?" He grunts, pulling your panties to the side. You shiver from the change in temperature, watching another Duke and Duchess of half-drunkenly stumble into their carriages for the night, before there's a crack of a whip and hooves beat towards the exit. It's only a reminder of how painfully exposed you two are—one glance towards the balcony and any onlooker would know exactly what's happening. You hate it.

You hate that you don't.

"Atta girl," Katsuki purrs, groaning as he inserts a finger. You shiver, the weight of his being practically trapping you against the railing. "Always so fuckin' tight. I swear that asshole never fucks you right."

Katsuki's never been an impatient man and fills you with a second finger awfully fast, chuckling when you bite into the meat of your palm to hold back a whimper. His hips start to grind against the puff of your dress and he groans as quietly as he can, carelessly shoving down the sleeve of his suit jacket to bite into your shoulder.

You let out a broken moan much too loud for this time of night and it prompts Katsuki's free hand to stuff an equal amount of fingers into your mouth. "Y'know, something tells me you wanna get caught. You want the whole world to know how much you fuckin' hate that bastard, huh?"

You choke as Katsuki slides in a third digit next to the second, the slap of his palm against your pussy becoming nothing but obscene as your slick accentuates the sound. His hips speed up against your ass and that's enough friction to have the ash-blond groaning, along with the spit that drips down his forearm.

"So dirty for me, Princess," his hips stutter when you push back, tongue laving over the bite mark you'll probably have to conceal in the morning. Asshole. "You wanna cum like this, don't you? You're gonna cum all over my fingers in front of the entire royal court. Dumb little girl, can't even keep her mouth shut to keep us from gettin' caught."

You jam your heel into the balcony concrete so hard you positive it cracks before you're coming all over Katsuki's fingers, nearly choking on the ones in your mouth as you release the loudest broken moan you have that night. Katsuki's hips stutter against you and you're positive he's filling his boxers from the airy moan that follows, and his hand goes limp in your mouth before it slides out completely.

Your chests balloon in unison, his body draped over yours, and as you two catch your breath under the moonlight, you can’t help but think how much you’re going to miss this.

"Run away with me."

"I—" he does this. He always does this. He makes you feel on top of the world, acting like everything's fine, and then he pulls this shit on you. You look everywhere but him, nearly scoffing in disbelief. "Katsuki—"

"C'mon, Princess," Katsuki scrambles to flip you by the waist until your back is flush against the railing again and he’s cradling both your hands in his semi-damp ones. There’s a look in his eyes you don’t like, and it makes your chest burn. "Across the sea, people are movin’ over there and I—I know someone there, okay? Someone we could stay with, maybe help us get back on our feet an-and I found a fuckin’ ferry guy to take us across, and I can even pay him a little extra, o-or you, or—"

"Katsuki," you give him a sad smile, squeezing his hands tight. There's hope, too much hope in his eyes and it's fucking blinding. "Running away? I—this is—we have an obligation, we can't jus—"

"It'll be fine," he insists, stepping forwards and squeezing you back twice as hard. You sigh."I—the two kingdoms can merge or whatever the fuck they wanna do and then we'll be—"

"Katsuki."

"I—fuck Princess, I don't beg but goddammit, I'll do whatever you fuckin' want, get on my knees, I ca—"

"You really want to know what I want?"

Katsuki freezes. It's the first time you've ever seen some semblance of emotion in him that isn't anger or lust, with carmine red irises swimming in unshed tears—and fuck, you hate the sight. You want to shoot yourself in the fucking foot for what you’re about to do, but it’s for the best. It always is.

"Love her."

Katsuki looks at you, and his face drops, chest shuddering.

"I can't."

You drop his hands in favor of holding his face, thumbing at the hot tears running as they fall. God, Katsuki’s pretty—too pretty for his own good and he doesn’t even know it. His unsteady hands find themselves massaging your ribs and your foreheads knock together. "You need to try. Love her as much as you love me, yeah?"

"'S fuckin' impossible," Katsuki says with a wet snort, shaking his head with eyebrows raised. You giggle, throat impossibly tight.

"Almost, then? For me."

Katsuki’s red eyes stare at you through the darkness. You have half a mind to look the other way, but you figure you owe him this if nothing else, and as he lovingly absorbs your being under the moonlight for the last time, you really wish you could take your words back.

"I'll...fuck. Fine. I'll try." Katsuki resigns with a shrug, shaking his head. You two sniffle in unison and you suppress the strange urge to pinch him. "'M not gonna try to get over you, though. Sorry, not sorry."

You roll your eyes at that but it's all good-natured, followed by a choke you struggle to hide as his arms coil around your waist, "Then I won't either."

A genuine grin spreads across his face, and it’s borderline giddy—and a stark contrast against the waterworks. "She finally fuckin' admits it."

"Figured it was about time," you give him a wobbly smile before your eyes flicker to his, red blurring from being so close. Selene looks upon both of you with a reminiscent sigh.

"I love you, Katsuki Bakugou."

Katsuki sniffs before he laughs; it's wet, and near bitter, and he pulls you so close your face nearly shoves into his chest. "Fuck. Fuck, you're an asshole, you know that?"

"This is when you say it back," you bargain, squishing his cheeks. Katsuki presses his forehead deeper into yours.

"I love you too, Asshole."

He speaks with a softness you've never heard and it's like a gunshot to the heart, and as his lips inch closer to yours as your hands slide to thumb at his ears. One last kiss wouldn't hurt, would it?

Until there's a whistle and the click of footsteps. You and Katsuki jump a mile apart.

"Oh, [Y/N]! You're still out here in the cold?" Your fiancé asks with a raised eyebrow, but it seems like that's only an afterthought as he turns to Katsuki to say, "Your wife’s found the alcohol."

"Great," the ash-blond groans, understanding the translation—your fiancé is piss drunk in the ballroom.

"I do recommend you take her home. She's making quite a mess of the eclairs. And her face."

Katsuki heads inside without giving you a second glance, and your fiancé gives him a solid pat on the way in before turning to you halfway through the doorway, "Are you coming inside, Darling?"

"In a moment," you say with a smile. Your hand never leaves the railing. "Just getting some fresh air."

"Alrighty, then. I'll be in the bedroom. Waiting~" he winks, and with that, he's spinning on his heel, and you're alone with the moon again.

You watch Katsuki guide his inebriated fiancé into the carriage lovingly, with a smile on his face that isn't quite the one he wears with you but close enough, whispering whatever pleases her at the time with a chaste kiss on the cheek. You feel comfort in knowing that he has someone to love and someone to be loved by. He doesn't look your way—not once.

It's not until they drive away that you realize you still have his suit jacket draped over your shoulders. You don't doubt he did that on purpose, either.

Asshole.

[beautiful-and-terrible]

little things

Rating: Gen

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, SoftBoi!Rodrick, Insecure!Reader

Ship: Rodrick Heffley x Reader

Warnings: Body Image, Eating Disorders / Body Dysmorphia, Insecurity 

A/N: this is. SO shmoopy and cheesy lmaoooo but this was an anon request and i live to please :) enjoy!

---

You dragged yourself through your front door, kicking off your shoes in the foyer. The house was dark - your parents were probably asleep already.

You had just spent the day with Rodrick at Six Flags, and you were exhausted from spending all day in the hot sun, running around with your boyfriend like children. You smiled to yourself thinking about the events of the day, the thrill of the rollercoasters you went on.

You clutched the teddy bear Rodrick had won you close to your chest as you slowly ascended the stairs, trying not to make too much noise.

You entered your room and tenderly placed the bear on the bed, giving it a little kiss on the head as you did so before starting your night routine. Change into pajamas, brush teeth, wash face. As you were putting on your final face cream, your phone vibrated on the bathroom counter. You knew who it was from the specific rhythm of the vibration - two short bursts, like a heartbeat.

Rodrick had sent pictures of you two from today - a lot of selfies, but also a couple of far away shots that Rodrick had harassed people into taking for you. People rarely were able to say no to Rodrick once he had gotten an idea into his head - even if that idea was wrapping himself around a street lamp like a stripper for a good picture.

You finally, blissfully laid down in bed, letting out a giant groan as you cracked your back. You browsed the photos, feeling your heart-rate pick up as you gazed at Rodrick in the pictures. He looked so cute today - he had been wearing cut off black jeans, black high-top vans, and a loose button down Hawaiian shirt, half-way unbuttoned to show off his tanned chest and the multiple layers of silver necklaces he was wearing. His nails were painted black, but his eyes were free of makeup, simply accented by his naturally long eye-lashes and the smile-lines around his eyes.

After admiring Rodrick, you turned your gaze to yourself in the pictures. You felt your heart sink into your stomach. When you had left the house this morning, you had felt pretty confident in your outfit - just ripped jean shorts and a crop-top with converse. But as you looked closer, you couldn’t stop thinking about how unsatisfied you felt with the way you looked in the pictures.

As you continued to scroll through, the more faults you found in your appearance. Your thighs being squeezed by your shorts, which didn’t feel too tight but apparently were not as flattering as you thought. In one picture, you were sitting down on a bench, your legs over Rodrick’s lap, but you couldn’t stop staring at the roll of your stomach that came over the waistband of your shorts. You felt tears pricking your eyes, but you stubbornly refused to cry. You spent a long time trying to feel confident in yourself - you weren’t going to let that hard work be ruined by a few unflattering photos.

However, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way your body looked in those pictures. You got up to stand in front of your full length mirror, looking at the reflection critically. You were craning your neck to look at your butt when you heard a soft tap-tap-tap at the window. You jumped about 2 feet in the air before you realized it was just Rodrick, grinning from outside the window and placing a wet kiss on the glass, making you laugh. He made a grossed-out expression when he realized the glass was not as clean as he thought it was, wiping his tongue on the back of his hand.

“I swear to God, you’re like a toddler. Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to lick random surfaces?” you asked as you opened the window to let him in. He folded himself gracefully through the window, all long limbs and messy hair. You felt both comforted and electrified in his presence.

“Since when have I ever listened to any authority figure?” Rodrick asked, grinning wolfishly and leaning down to kiss you softly, juxtaposing his rebellious tone. For someone with such a seemingly hard exterior, Rodrick was always very gentle and sweet with you. It was one of the things you loved most about him - he seemed to hate everyone but you. It made you feel special and appreciated. 

As he pulled back from the kiss, he frowned, stroking his thumb over your cheek. “Have you been crying? Your eyes are red,” he said, making a pouty face. You shrugged, turning away and shaking your head.

“No, just allergies probably.”

Rodrick scoffed, “Sure, allergies. You’re a bad liar, you know that?”

You refused to look at him, instead going to your record player and flipping through the vinyls you had stacked in a black milk-crate. “I’m not a bad liar,” you said half-heartedly, not really able to come up with any other excuse.

“You totally are, you avoided eye contact and everything. Seriously, what's wrong? Do you not like the bear?” Rodrick asked. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, his chest pressed against your back, his nose tucked into the crook of your neck. You felt yourself smile despite your bad mood.

“No, I love the bear. I named him Sasha Bear-on Cohen. Get it?” you said, turning your head to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Ahh, a-very nice,” Rodrick replied in his best Borat impression. You giggled. He gave you a squeeze, hands warm on your waist, but the sensation made you self-conscious about your body again, and you wiggled away. You couldn’t understand how Rodrick could bear to touch you. You had no idea why he was attracted to you in the first place. It made tears spring to your eyes again, and you sniffled.

“Y/n”, Rodrick said softly, looking genuinely concerned. “I know you. You don’t get sad for no reason - unless you’re on your period, or you start thinking too much about the Mars Curiosity Rover.”

You sighed, but you knew he had a point. It took you a minute to get your thoughts into words before you spoke.

“I just... I know its silly. But those pictures - you look like a Hot Topic wet dream and I look... I don’t know. I just don’t like the way I look. And most of the time I don’t let it bother me - at least, I try - but I hate having my picture taken because whenever I see them, all I can see is the things I hate about myself. So. Yeah.”

You feel the tears making steady rivers down your cheeks, and your voice shakes as you speak. Rodrick listens attentively, sitting on the foot of your bed. He pats the space next to him, and you sit down. His hand rests on your leg - not constraining you or placating you with a hug, just letting you know he’s there.

“Y/n, I don’t know how to tell you this without sounding like a giant cheese-ball, but... holy fuck. You are so beautiful. I - every time I look at you all I can think is goddamn, I can’t believe she’s into a loser like me. And don’t argue, it’s just a fact,” he says quickly as you try to defend him from his own self-deprecation. 

“I’m not good with words... I’m more of a man of action, y’know?” he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. You smack him on the arm, but his silly expression still makes you smile.

“But, I can still tell you - and don’t repeat this to anyone ever because I’ll never live it down - you give me butterflies. Every time. No matter if you’re in pajamas or a ballgown. You make me feel like a stack of pancakes with warm butter and syrup,” he pauses as you laugh, his warm brown eyes gazing into yours. “Just... I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. You make my bones feel funny. That’s how beautiful you are.”

Rodrick finally wraps his arms around you. You let yourself be folded into the embrace, feeling content and more than a little overwhelmed by his confession.

“Thank you,” you murmur, unable to find any other words at the moment. You want to say all of that back to him, ten-fold. You want to tell him he makes you feel like flashing concert lights and Fourth of July fireworks. But your mouth can’t make the words, so you just wrap your arms around him tighter.

“Do you want me to spend the night?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your temple. You simply nod, already moving up the bed and pulling back the covers as Rodrick goes to turn out the lights.

In the dark of the room, only illuminated by the street-lamp outside your house, Rodrick looks very alien - all long lines and lean angles. It makes your heart-rate kick up again, and you feel a blush form on your cheeks. It’s not as though this is the first time you’ve slept in the same bed, or even been intimate, but this feels... different. 

Rodrick tucks himself in next to you on your bed - it’s a queen size, so it fits both of you well enough that you could sleep together not touching if you wanted to. But Rodrick is a big cuddler at heart, even if he would deny it to his grave. He wraps his arms around your waist as you lay your head on his chest, already being lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You feel like it’s important to tell him before you both lose the tenderness of the moment, so you finally open your mouth to speak.

“I’m so lucky. I know you think you’re... a loser, or whatever but, Rodrick. You aren’t. You are so beyond cool, and brave, and courageous. Thinking about you makes my head spin. And whenever I see you... I’m home.” You trail off, feeling awkward, but Rodrick simply tightens his arms around you, stroking your back with his fingers.

“If I knew we were getting this sentimental I wouldn’t have brought lube... and maybe a few tissues,” he snickers, and you pinch his nipple, causing him to squeal.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch,” he teases back, and you sigh softly, feeling your body and mind relax. You had almost completely forgotten about the pictures - and at this point, you didn’t really care. The pictures didn’t speak. The only voice telling you that you weren’t beautiful was the one inside your head, and it could definitely be a bitch sometimes.

You could’ve imagined it, but as your brain was finally shutting down, you could’ve sworn you heard Rodrick start to sing, “you are my sunshine... my only sunshine...”

“you make me happy... when skies are gray...”

“you’ll never know, dear, how much i love you...”

“please don’t take my sunshine away...”

[erwinsvow]

𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.

summary: he wasn't always alone. in fact, there was a time when levi had you.

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions/description of injury and patching up, levi needs sleep

author's note: been in the works for a while because i couldn't figure out what i wanted to do, but this takes place after levi & zeke's conversation and there will be an angsty part two, i hope everyone likes it! it doesn't really make much sense but bear with me :)

listening to: don't let me go

“I bet you’re not popular with the ladies. Don’t act like you know about someone’s feelings.”

He pauses, feeling his heart skip a beat.

“I know. And I was… popular enough.”

He lets his mind take him back, back a time before everything in the world was so messed up. When he knew what his responsibilities were, and when there were clear orders to follow. He can’t seem to recall when everything went straight to shit. It feels like it’s been a long time coming.

He knew he was screwed years ago, when he was trying to stitch up the deep gash on his shoulder by himself, sitting in his quarters with a bowl of warm water and bloody bandages. You had been helping the others, a traumatized recruit with a concussion and broken leg, courtesy of the fifteen meter that had overwhelmed him.

There were a few others too, especially a familiar face that seemingly always needed your assistance after a mission. He wondered just how many times the boy—because that’s all he is, a boy, and that’s all you are, a girl—could get away with the same old ruse.

Regardless, he wouldn’t be visiting you tonight. Never mind that the cut he’s trying to nurse by himself is nearly impossible to properly reach, and that he feels dizzy from consistent bleeding and lack of energy in his body. The alcohol he ingested to calm his nerves doesn’t really do anything, either, since there isn’t nearly enough of the stuff in his room to actually have an impact.

He’s going to crash soon, he knows, and even though sleep always evades him, he just wanted to get this wrapped up and lay down without making a bloody mess everywhere. He releases a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. The very thought of you is enough to tense up every muscle in his body, and the idea of you being alone with that idiotic, improper recruit makes his fist tighten around the needle. Sewing himself up tonight is a lost cause. He finally decides a bandage, no matter how bloody it might become, will have to do.

He stands up, slowly because he doesn’t want to pass out from a head rush, when there’s a knock on the door. He groans a little too loudly at the sound of it. He doesn’t feel like talking to anyone tonight, especially in this condition, wearing a torn scrap of a shirt and blood trapped underneath his nails.

“Who is it?” he calls out harshly, wondering if maybe they’ll just leave if he sounds scary. The other scouts knew he didn’t like to be bothered, and wouldn’t have come unless there was an emergency. If it was Hange she would have barged in already, and he would have recognized Erwin’s heavy footsteps from down the hall. No, he knows who it is. He just wishes that he’s wrong.

“It- It’s me. Petra said you were hurt earlier and that it looked bad. I just wanted to make sure it was okay…” Your soft, hesitant voice trails off, and he knows how much courage it took for you to knock on his door.

What he doesn’t know is that there was no way you were falling asleep tonight without making sure Levi was okay, no matter how angry he would get at you for bothering him at night.

You’re bracing for that reaction when the door opens, but when your wide eyes meet his tired grey ones, you feel yourself melt and all the words in your head disappear. There’s only one fragment of a thought left, the fact that Levi’s bleeding, and a lot, at that. You don’t even wait for his permission to step inside, suddenly energized by anger and mumbling to yourself as you set down your supplies and rummage through them.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” he questions quietly. He tries to line his voice with steel like he always does, but the facade is fading with every passing minute.

“I have to clean out your wound, captain, before something festers. If you had told me about this, say, right when we got back, it would have been fine by now, but now I have to rush because you’re too proud to ask for help-” You still and silence yourself.

It was out of line to enter without permission, but this is something else all together. Caring too much is one thing, you know, but insubordination is not tolerated, especially not by Levi.

You pick up a clean needle and thin silk thread that you need to patch up the wound, while searching for the jar of boiled water you need to clean it out first. Alcohol would work too, and you can smell it in the air, but you can’t find the words to ask for it.

Levi’s hands are unusually still, you know because you always notice them, and it’s a stark contrast to the way you’re shaking right now. It’s strange, because you stitched up a handful of others earlier today, and you were completely fine. Even Gunther, who you had always thought was handsome and could make you blush with an off-hand smile, never incited this kind of reaction from you.

You’re silently praying that Levi doesn’t comment on the tremor, but since you’re about to dig a sharp point into his shoulder to tie the skin back together, it would be idiotic if he didn’t say something. You turn to look at him, but it feels like he’s not even there.

His head is hanging down, propped up by the single functional arm, as the other one continues to bleed. You know it’s painful and that he should be saying something, something that makes you stutter and stumble over your words like he always makes you, but he’s just silent.

“Well, get on with it then. If that’s really why you came here this late.” His voice makes you tremble even harder.

There’s so much you try hard at. You try to be the best soldier you can be, even though both you and your superiors know you weren’t meant for this. Sometimes you can fool your fellow soldiers, and the handful of people you can call your friends, and with a few years under your belt, it seems like it’s getting easier to live this life. But you know deep down that it’s not. The one person who always sees right through it is Levi, though.

It’s part of the reason why you’re such a damn mess around him, because there’s no reason to present a false veneer if he knows the truth. You’re not a real soldier, not a real fighter, and you’re more useful as a medic stitching people up than anything else.

And yet, it’s always him who saves you. Him, who makes sure that any threat in between you and the scout you’re trying to rescue from the brink of death is eliminated. Him, that keeps one eye on the target and one eye on your back just in case. And every time, every goddamn time you need to be rescued, he rescues you.

But now, with his head hanging low and any semblance of not knowing why he always saves you gone, it feels your chance to repay him has finally arrived. The shaking stops when you go to sit down near him. Maybe it’s the sudden rush of energy in your body, but you find yourself unbuttoning his shirt to remove whatever remains of the cloth.

His body tenses further, but he doesn’t stop you, and he doesn’t say anything. You’re as gentle and careful as you can be, and once you’re successful, you drop the mangled shirt on the floor. Taking the water, you pour it over the wound as Levi releases a soft hiss at the feeling, for which you’re apologizing before you can even realize the words have left your mouth. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulder relaxing encourages you to keep going.

You take your time, trying to clean off all the blood you can. You think he’ll protest when you pick up his hands, and wash those too, but he doesn’t. It’s not until you run your own hand over his softly, squeezing the top of it because you don’t have any words to express the thoughts going through your mind, that he finally speaks up.

“Thank you.”

It’s so quiet, you could swear that you had imagined it. He doesn’t look up to meet your eyes like you wish he would, but a smile forces its way onto your face regardless. You focus on the hard part now; stitching up your captain and making sure your work doesn’t leave him with any scars. You focus on your technique, fingers working nimbly and mind focused on this, and for a short time, it doesn’t feel like you’re with your captain, your superior. It just feels like being there with Levi.

All the while, his brain is working overtime to figure out why you’re like this. Why you’re treating him so carefully and gently, when you have no reason to. He doesn’t pick favorites, and even if he did, you wouldn’t be anywhere near that list. You’re not the fastest, you’re not the most lethal, and in fact, he could count on one hand your titan kills and assists. You help people. You save people. But most of the time, you’re just recovering a half-dead soldier so that their body can be buried at home and not forced to remain out there, alone. You’re just there so that parents can have a grave to mourn at, instead of an empty tomb.

He doesn’t treat you better than anyone else, and most of the time assigns you more cleaning duties than the others. You always take it and never complain, something else that he always wonders about. He had come to the conclusion it was because he’s saved your life countless times, and the fact that he isn’t going to let up soon. So you take everything he gives you with a polite smile. And for some goddamn reason, he can’t get that smile out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. You don’t even know how you make him feel; like he’s special and that he deserves these attentions.

A particularly painful turn of the needle makes him flinch, and brings him back to reality. You’re apologizing again, murmuring how you’re almost done, but he doesn’t want you to leave yet. He lets his mind flicker over how you’re always apologizing, and how much he just wants to tell you that you don’t have to, not for anything. Not for having to come and save you, not for stitching him up, not for trying to fix him.

You let out a sharp breath once you finish, getting back up to fetch a dressing, but his hand grabs yours before you can get too far. Levi looks up, grey eyes full of an emotion you can’t exactly pinpoint, one you have never seen before from him.

“Will you stay a little longer?” And just like that, everything in the world seems to fall into place.

“Of course. Let me just wrap it up, first. I’ll stay as long as you want.” You’re surprised at yourself for finding the words so quickly, because your heart has never pounded so fast in your life. You fumble around, trying to find the right thing, hands shaking again, and you can’t seem to get them to stop.

You go back to Levi, wrapping the cloth around his shoulder and securing it around his arm, suddenly hyper aware of the feel of his skin. It’s softer than you had imagined it would be. Both of you sit in the silence for a while, your hand finding a place over his and rubbing soft circles on his knuckles with your thumb.

You want to say something, anything, but there aren’t any words that seem right. His fingers deftly work their way around yours, and you honestly wonder if he can hear your heartbeat or the blood rushing to your cheeks. It’s past midnight now, and you have a feeling dawn will be approaching before long.

“You should really sleep now. It won’t get better until you rest a little.” You’re speaking because his actions gave you a little bit of confidence, but he interprets it wrong almost immediately.

“Of course. You’d like to go now?”

“N-no! No, I just thought that, that you would be tired now. I can go if you want, I-”

“I don’t get much sleep anyways.” He doesn’t even mean to sound so dejected, but it comes out before he can stop himself. He’s spent too, too many nights laying awake, sleep ever-evading him, wondering how it might be to sleep besides you. Would he get some rest? Would he be able to close his eyes and not open them an hour later with a pounding chest? He can’t remember the last time he was able to fall asleep, and stay asleep. You don’t make any movement to get away, and he notices your hand twitch and wonders why.

You have to fight yourself internally to keep your hand down, and not wrap your arms around your captain as you process his words. Your heart feels strangely heavy at the thought of Levi laying awake, all alone, exhausted but unable to succumb to the ease of rest. He’s on guard, all the time, every minute of every day, and half the time he’s expending his energy on saving you.

You’re not confident, like some of the others. You never have been. But in this moment, you feel something rushing into your body and coursing through your veins, something close to confidence but slightly different. The feeling makes you release Levi’s hand and shed your sweater, and crawl into his bed. It’s almost exactly as you expected, and not nearly as soft or warm as your own. But you think about Levi sleeping soundly beside you, him peaceful and content, and it doesn’t matter how comfortable his bed is. You just want him to fall asleep.

He looks at you with a mix of emotions, surprise being mixed in with them. He hadn’t been expecting that, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it.

You’re sitting under the covers now, waiting expectedly for something. A part of you fears that this wasn’t what he meant, or wanted, but your racing heart calms down a little at the sight of him coming in to get settled beside you. He releases a sigh when his shoulder hits the mattress, at ease finally, and so exhausted that every muscle in his body is about to give out.

He sleeps on his back, you note, before shifting your gaze to the ceiling quickly. You certainly don’t want him to notice that you’re staring, or that you keep fingering the soft sheets between your fingers to remind yourself this is real and really happening.

“Stop fidgeting.” His voice is quiet, and even, and stills you instantly. You finally lift your head to look at him, letting out a breath at how he looks. Eyes closed, almost peaceful, laying on his back with his hand resting right near you.

You’re not sure if it’s the confidence from earlier, or something new entirely, but you adjust the sheets to cover him more, pulling them and letting them rest on his chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, but you notice the way he jerks a little at the motion.

“Sorry, Levi,” you whisper, trying to remain as quiet as possible. You lay your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and letting your own eyes close. You can hear his every breath, the scent of his skin taking over and clouding your mind as every sense slowly focused on one thing; him. “Let’s sleep now.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Vampire Chris and jake get stranded in the middle of nowhere one night. Maybe a car crash or something. As they walk back the sun starts to rise.

CW: Car crash, bruising, seatbelt burn, vampire whumpee, caretaker turned whumpee

The moment of the crash is gone.

He opens his eyes to the aftermath.

Jake blinks, the world spinning, and his head drops back against the headrest of the driver's seat. The world is still lurching, sickeningly, in circles around him. Something is ticking, the engine maybe, slowly cooling down and shit, at least it's not on fire.

The air bag has a smear of terrible vibrant red against its pillowy white as it slowly deflates, and all he can do is stare at it until he realizes the blood must be his own.

One hand comes up to touch at his forehead, and his fingers come away wet and red, too. What he'd thought was sweat is a head wound, bleeding down one side, tickling his cheekbone and jaw. It stings, a little.

The pain seems distant, somehow, like it's being held at arm's length. As if he's looking at his pain from a distance further than he can close.

"Ch-... Chris, you okay, buddy?" He turns, and the passenger seat is empty. The air bag deployed on that side, but there's no blood.

The door is standing open, dome light still on. It takes a long few moments of staring before he can understand that the door is open because Chris forced it open, closed his hands on the metal and squeezed until it bent beneath his strength and let him out.

Jake's body aches as he shifts forwards, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt. All the pain is filtering into his senses, piece by piece as if he can only understand a wound once he sees it.

He can't remember the crash.

They were at a four-way stop, listening to some of the terrible pop music Chris loves about the modern world, and Jake had pulled through. They were laughing at some lyric that Jake had had to explain, that had made the little vampire boy flush a little at the definition.

Then there were headlights blinding him, overtaking everything. Chris had yelled something and Jake had yelled something and then-

The moment is gone.

So is the entire back half of his car.

He turns around with a hiss to stare right out a giant gaping hole where his backseat should be into the cool, clear night.

Parts of his car are strewn haphazardly across the road and the grassy ditch he's come to a stop in. As he looks, he can see the frame of a door, crumbled metal that must be his trunk, a tire. Another tire. The bumper on the ground. Glass and metal everywhere.

The stop signs at the fourway are all standing totally untouched, except for one bent at a hard angle, leaning like a man fighting a strong wind.

The sweater he'd been wearing when he got in the car - removed and tossed carelessly in the backseat to pick up later - is hanging off the bent stop sign.

It's fucking spotlessly clean still.

He blinks.

Blinks some more.

What the fuck?

He'd driven Chris up into the hills to go star-gazing, making the most of Chris's bubbly energy that only comes out at night and his classes being canceled tomorrow because of some issue with the campus water supply. This is countryside up here, with houses miles and miles apart. Remnants of old orchards and homesteads, still kept by the descendants of the men and women who traveled out here. Nobody drives out this way this late. It could be morning before someone finds him.

His phone. He can call for help.

Jake looks around, but his phone is nowhere to be seen. He digs around the footwell, what he can touch of it, and there's nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

His windshield is shattered, open to the outside, and he wonders if his phone flew out of it. It was on the dash, wasn't it? On Chris's side...

Shit.

It could be anywhere in the grass, and he's a fucking moron who keeps his phone on silent or vibrate 24 hours a day. He'll never hear it out here.

First things first, then.

He settles for trying to open his door.

It's been crunched, just a little. Enough that it won't swing out, and he has to throw his shoulder against it, grunting in pain, again and again until finally it nudges just enough for him to fall onto shattered tiny squares of safety glass on the ground. A water bottle is lying there. It's Dasani.

He hates Dasani water, but it'd been free at the gas station they'd stopped at if he bought a bag of chips, so...

Oh, right. His car is full of fucking gasoline.

He groans, scrambling away from the vehicle, trying to remember what a safe distance will be if his car catches on fire or fucking explodes in the middle of the night. At least if it explodes it'll get someone's attention, right?

Shit, he's going to throw up.

Jake lays there, waiting for his stomach to settle, and then crawls again. He makes it up to the road, to the rough asphalt and the gravel that lines the side. The little pebbles sting his palms, rub dirt and dust into the cuts, but he ignores it.

He makes it to the road, twenty feet or so from his car, and then... then he just lays down.

"Chris..." He can barely think. Where has the little vampire gone? Why isn't he here, creeping out of the treeline to ask if Jake's all right? Did he run? Maybe he has Jake's phone. Maybe there was no signal and he's gone to try and find some, to make a call.

Maybe...

Fuck, it hurts to think.

Even just taking a deep breath hurts - something's wrong with his ribs. Bruised or broken. When he pulls his shirt up, he can see the seatbelt burn starting to deepen in color, a diagonal stripe from shoulder to hip written in bright red darkening to burgundy bruising, soon to turn purple and black. If he hadn't been wearing a heavy shirt it'd have torn his skin open. One side of his neck is rubbed raw, he can tell when he touches it and has to pull his fingers away at the spike of pain.

There are spots of dark on his pale shirt, blood seeping through or dripping from his forehead.

But, shit. It could be worse. Looking at the back half of his car, it seems like a goddamn miracle that it isn't.

Jake pulls his legs under him and tries to stand up.

His right leg just won't fucking do it.

Rather than take his weight, it buckles with a spike of pain so bad Jake cries out and collapses back onto the road.

As if it were a dam breaking, all the adrenaline holding off the worst of the pain seems to wear away at once.

Everything hurts, suddenly, a sickening wash of pain breaking against him like he's nothing but a shell to be worn to sand. He aches when he breathes, when he doesn't. A cough makes him whimper as his ribs creak and crack. His head throbs, his hands sting, his leg is swelling even as he looks at it, a broken bone. Definitely a broken bone.

"Jesus Christ," He groans, rolling onto his side, his face pressing into gravel and safety glass.

Nat won't notice they're not home until morning.

No one's going to know he's out here until after sunrise, until he's not up to get ready for class and Chris isn't curled up in the closet to sleep in his nest of blankets and pillows. No one's going to know what happened, and where the everloving fuck did his phone go?

Time passes. He doesn't know how much.

Maybe Chris figured they can't protect him and took the fuck off. Maybe he's going to find somewhere new to crash, some new people to care for him. Maybe he's hunting.

Who the fuck knows?

He comes and goes, in and out of consciousness.

He can't stand, and sort of scooting and crawling around does nothing to help him figure out where his cell phone has gone. No one else drives by on this mostly-abandoned country road, and it was a stroke of seriously bad luck the asshole who hit them and ran was there at all.

Asshole was probably drunk, driving back from the bar, trying to use the backroads to avoid the goddamn cops.

Bad. Fucking. Luck.

Jake wonders if the asshole will even remember hitting his car in the morning, or if he'll wake up and discover the front of his vehicle all fucked up and have no idea how it happened.

He thinks he might pass clean out for a while.

That can't be good.

His head hurts worse when he wakes up.

He raises his head slowly at the sound of a distant rumble, an ancient truck engine coming closer. It takes more effort than he ever imagined just to get himself up to sitting, ready to wave down whoever it is - whatever fucking angel is on this road at what has to be 3 or 4 in the morning by now.

"Please," He whispers, dry lips scraping against each other. "Please, please don't run m'over... please..."

Headlights wash over the scene of the crash, fading everything to nearly black-and-white. Jake raises a hand to shield his eyes, blinking rapidly, as the blue-and-white Ford comes to an idling stop.

A door swings open with a creak and then slams shut again, boots crunching on the glass and debris on the road. Jake raises his eyes to see an old man in worn jeans and a grayish t-shirt staring down at him. "Well, I'll be damned," The man says, his voice low, a little rough around the edges. His hair's dark, but speckled with silver that's visible even in the night air. "You all right, son?"

Jake slowly looks back at his wrecked, ruined car, then back up at the man. "I'm pretty clearly not," He answers, then winces at his rudeness. "Sorry. I mean... no."

"That's all right. We all of us get a little more honest when we're bleeding from the skull. I'm gonna bet you aren't a natural brunette and I'm looking at a big old ton of blood there. What happened?"

"Guy ran the stop sign, hit me... drove off."

"Well, damn. What're you doin' up this way this late at night?"

"Would you... y'believe me if I said... star-gazin'?"

The man chuckles, but it's a low sound, and he moves closer. He pulls a heavy old cell phone out of his pocket - one of those goddamn flip phones that never dies or gets destroyed. It's like Captain Fucking America. Jake has to hold back a half-hysterical laugh.

"Hm, I might. It happens from time to time. Y'didn't come with a young lady, did you?" The man looks over the scene of the crash, searching for more people.

"No, no... just... jus'... I'm just here." He thinks of Chris, the open passenger door, the total lack of a vampire nearby. Is he hiding in the woods? If he's seen, or found out, he'll be hauled back off to be locked up somewhere, milked for venom for pharmaceutical drugs, treated like an animal. They can't admit he was here, he can't be seen. He must be hiding.

That's it.

Chris must just be hiding...

"Please, man, I-I can't find my phone to call for help-"

"I got you, son. I'll make the call. Likely your phone's just buried in the grass somewhere, we'll figure it out. You stay put right where you are, you don't want to move around and make any of it worse."

"Yes, sir." Jake stays where he is while the old man makes the call to 911, feeding him details when he asks, staring off into space when he doesn't.

They can pick Chris up when he and Nat come to get his stuff from the wreck tomorrow. They'll get him then. It'll be fine.

It'll be fine.

The old man hangs up and heads back to his truck, pulling out a battered old first aid kit. "You're lucky I believe in ghosts, you know."

"What? Why? Am I dead?" Jake looks down at his hands. They're scratched and bleeding, and he's pretty sure dead people don't bleed like that.

"No, son, no. But I wouldn't be out here if I didn't."

Jake blinks. "I... I don't follow."

"Well, had a little ghost show up at my bedroom window and refuse to shut up until I drove out here. Redheaded boy. Kept calling for a medic. Felt like I was back in the war for a minute before I realized it was him."

"Which... which war?"

The man fixes him with a stare as he crouches, old knees cracking as he does, in front of Jake. He opens the box and takes out some gauze and adhesive, antibiotic cream, something else Jake doesn't recognize. "You need medics in every kind of war there is, son. It doesn't matter which one. I've fought in two. But this boy called for a medic like he's seen the need for 'em before and didn't have time to save someone. Some kind of old ghost walkin' these roads saw you and made sure I knew."

Jake exhales, almost a laugh, and feels tears burn hot in his eyes. He realizes he's going to cry from sheer relief and exhaustion and pain, and he's not sure he can stop.

A ghost in the window means...

Chris left and ran for help.

"Thank you," he whispers, and he's not really talking to the old man at all.

-

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