#you can keep a straight face through anything

[sunsburns]

clark kent and those damn glasses (18+)

one of the most endearing things about clark is his glasses. and it’s not just the frames themselves—it’s the way he wears them.

they’re charmingly imperfect, a little too big for his face (funny since he’s already so huge), the wide frames sitting just slightly askew over his eyes. they’re always slipping down his nose when he’s focused on work, and you adore the way he absentmindedly pushes them up with his finger.

it’s such a dorky gesture, pressing his pointer finger to the bridge and nudging them back into place, sometimes scrunching his nose without even realizing it.

his glasses are rarely ever straight. they always seem just a little crooked, as if they have a mind of their own. you find it endlessly charming, especially when he’s flustered, rushing to adjust them in the middle of a conversation.

and the way his glasses fog up? it’s honestly the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. in the winter, it happens all the time, especially when he’s bundled up in one of those thick scarves his mom knitted for him. he doesn’t just wear them; he practically swaddles himself in them, wrapping them up so high they cover half his face, his chin tucked snugly inside.

and it wasn’t like he needed them, that man never really gets cold.

but when the cold air meets the warmth of his breath trapped behind the scarf, his glasses fog over completely.

and he doesn’t even notice right away.

“oh,” he’ll mumble, sheepish, pulling the scarf down just enough to blow warm air into his hands or wipe the lenses with his sleeve. and you can’t help but stare, heart melting a little more at how utterly unassuming he is.

but the best part is when they fog up because of you. when you kiss him—really kiss him—the lenses go misty, blurring the edges of his face until all you can focus on is how soft his lips feel against yours.

you tease him about it sometimes—“superman can’t even keep his glasses clean?”—but the way his ears turn red when you say it makes you kiss him again, and again, and again. and every time, he’s the same—pink-cheeked, slightly embarrassed, and completely perfect. sometimes he won’t even bother cleaning them, his hands sliding back to your waist, pulling you closer, because really, all he wants to see is you.

all he wants to feel is you.

clark kisses like the end of the world is coming. his lips are parted, hands everywhere—gripping your waist, cradling your face, sliding down your back as if trying to memorize the shape of you. his mouth slots against yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless. and when his knee nudges between your legs, he waits—waits for that gasp, that little sigh you can’t hold back—before slipping his tongue into your mouth to taste more of you, to pull you even closer.

and then there’s the glasses. sometimes, more often than not, you’re the one reaching for them, fingers brushing over his temples, trying to fix them on his face when they’ve slid down his nose. he’s too caught up in you to notice or care, but you can’t help yourself. it starts as a simple gesture—your hands reaching for his face, for his hair, for anything you can anchor yourself to. you nudge the glasses back into place, only to watch them fog up again as he groans against your mouth, his breath hot and heavy between kisses.

and sometimes, clark forgets to take them off when things get messy. one kiss turns into another, and another, until clothes are being pushed aside, his hands roaming, touching, claiming. his lips trail lower, over your jaw, your throat, your stomach, until he’s kneeling before you, arms wrapped tight around your thighs, his mouth hot and relentless against your cunt.

his glasses are still there, perched on his nose, slightly crooked but somehow still clinging on. the lenses catch the faintest glint of light, fogged over from his breath, smudged from the mess he’s making of you. his tongue drags through your folds with deliberate precision, teasing and tasting, and when his nose nudges your clit, you jolt, a whimper spilling from your lips.

“oh, baby,” you gasp, voice shaky and half-laughing when he moans at the sound of you calling him ‘baby’. the vibration travels through you, making your thighs tremble in his grip. his free hand slides up the outside of your leg, fingers splaying over your skin before grabbing a handful of your ass. he uses the grip to rock you against his mouth, his tongue dipping into you again and again, insistent and unrelenting. every movement, every touch, feels deliberate—he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s determined to ruin you.

his glasses slip further down his nose, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause to fix them. his focus is entirely on you, on the way you’re gasping and squirming, your hands tangling in his hair, your hips bucking against his face. the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on you fill the air, and you’re half-delirious with pleasure, your body trembling as he pushes you higher and higher.

it’s only when you’re shaking, your thighs trembling around his head, that he finally pulls back. his face is flushed, his lips shiny and swollen, and those damn glasses—crooked, foggy, and smudged—still cling to his nose. he grins at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before finally pulling the glasses off and tossing them aside.

he rolls his eyes at your sad whine once they’re gone.

you’ve always liked his glasses for some reason.

[hauntedfawnn]

۶♡ৎ Ex!Boyfriend!Rafe Eating Your Ass ۶♡ৎ

Cheating (not on reader), ass eating, fingering, choking, hair pulling, daddy kink, spit kink, anal, possessiveness, Rafe and reader are low key toxic for each other 18+MDNI!

(I read this fic by @novashelby and it had me really thinkin bout ass eating so shout out to her for thaaaat)

“I knew you fuckin’ missed me, baby.” You can hear the smirk on Rafe’s voice even if you can’t see it. He has you face down on his expensive sheets with his large hand pressing the side of your head into the mattress. “You might not want to admit it, but how wet your pussy is for me, says it all.”

Rafe chuckles as he kneels behind you, running his fingers through your dripping folds. You hate that he’s right, you always end up bent over for him no matter how many times you tell yourself it’s the last time. He always pulls you back.

“You know you can’t stay away from me. You always come runnin’ back for more.” Rafe dips the tips of his fingers into your dripping cunt before running his wet fingers on your clit. He teases your pussy with his thumb, letting you get lost in the pleasure long enough to pull it away from you and land a harsh smack on your clit. It makes you squeal and try to close your legs on instinct but Rafe keeps them open with his knee. “It’s cause you know that lil boyfriend of yours will never fuck you like I do.”

“You don’t know anything about him-“ Rafe lands another harsh smack on your pussy and laughs at the way you squirm and squeal.

“Yeah? I know if he was keeping you satisfied you wouldn’t be bent over like a fuckin’ whore for me.” He smacks your pussy again, this time following it with a spank so hard on your ass you’re sure it left an immediate handprint. “Plus you’re drippin’ f’me.”

Rafe runs the tips of his fingers along your pussy, wetting them with your juices. He traces your lips and your clit before sliding his hand up to your asshole and circling it with his pointer finger. “Bet you don’t let him play with your ass, do you, baby? This hole is just for daddy, right?”

“Raaafe, Shut up.” You whine into the mattress, embarrassed by the truth in his words. You told your new boyfriend you weren’t into anal when the truth was you just weren’t into it with anyone that wasn’t Rafe. There’s a lot of things you only trust him to do and that’s why you can’t give him up. He’s so fucking toxic but he fucks you like he loves you and hates you all in the same vein and it’s like you’re addicted to him. Rafe spanks you with his free hand, pulling a little yelp from you that makes his cock jump.

“Drop the fuckin’ attitude, doll. That shit might fly with your gamer bitch boy boyfriend, but that’s not how we do things around here.” He spanks you again before thrusting two fingers knuckle deep inside you. He curls them just right, he always knew how to work you like you were his favorite toy. He presses his thumb on your clit, rubbing slow circles around it. Rafe grabs the globe of your ass with his other hand, pulling you open for him. He leans down and lets a line of spit drip from his mouth directly onto your asshole. “Miss this sexy little ass, you gonna let me eat it from the back, for old times sake?”

“You’re lucky to even have me in your bed-“ Rafe pulls his fingers from inside you to wrap his hand around your throat and pull you up against his chest.

“Nah, that’s not how we’re gonna play it, princess.” Rafe grits into your ear. “We both know you want it, so just admit it. Say ‘yes daddy I want you to eat my ass and treat me like the whore I am.’ Say it or I won’t fuckin’ touch you.”

“Fuck, please?” Rafe’s hand tightens on your throat as he leans down to sink his teeth into your shoulder. The pain sends a jolt straight to your already throbbing pussy.

“That’s not what I said, is it? Beg slut, beg me to eat your pathetic little asshole.” You can feel Rafe’s sinister smirk against your skin and you hate that you’re going to do exactly what he says because you aren’t leaving here without it.

“Please eat my ass daddy? Please? I’ll be so good, I’m sorry for having a bad attitude.” You pout your lips and look over your shoulder at him and god if you didn’t want him to touch you so bad you would probably punch that smug look right off his beautiful face.

“That’s my girl.” Rafe snickers before pushing your head back into the mattress. He grips onto your asscheeks, pulling them apart and spitting onto your hole again. The warm liquid drips down your pussy and onto your clit, sending a shiver down your spine. He rubs his thumb in little circles around your hole, pushing it in every so slightly and then he leans down and licks from your clit all the way to your asshole. “Missed this ass so bad, you gotta stop depriving me, baby.”

Rafe mumbles into your pussy as he runs his tongue back down your clit before laying it flat and running it across your asshole. He licks you greedily, sliding his tongue between your cheeks and teasing your pussy. He circles your ass with his tongue and then pokes it inside you, flicking it in your tight walls.

“Oh fuck.” You moan into the sheets as Rafe fucks your ass with his tongue. He switches between circles and flicks of it inside of you, making you drip with his spit as your pussy clenches around nothing. And almost as if he can read your mind Rafe slides his fingers into your dripping cunt, thrusting them in and out of you at a brutal pace. His thumb finds your clit and it makes your eyes roll back. “God I’m gonna come already, daddy.”

“Mmm, there’s my obedient little slut. Come for me.” Rafe groans into your ass before shoving his tongue as far deep inside of it as it can go. One of his big hands spreads you open while the other finger fucks you, bullying your sweet spot. His thumb finds your clit and that’s all it takes to have you clawing the sheets and clenching around his fingers.

“Fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming, oh it’s so good, daddy.” You grind your ass back against him as your orgasm wracks your entire system. Rafe fucks you through it before pulling back and admiring the view.

“Would ya look at that.” Rafe grips onto your ass and pulls it apart so he can watch your cum drip down your thighs, his spit dripping down your crack and mixing with it. His finger circles your asshole before dipping inside to the second knuckle. “You gonna let me fuck your ass, baby? Need to feel you squeezing my fuckin’ dick.”

“Yeah fuck, yes.” You’re so far gone you aren’t even ashamed of how quickly you agree. Rafe rubs his hand on your pussy, wetting it with your juices before bringing it to his cock and using it as lube. He jerks himself a few times as he spits on your ass again and brings his finger to your hole, shoving it all the way in. “Oh my godddd.”

“Oh fuck, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You really aren’t letting him play with this ass, huh? It’s all mine?” Rafe chuckles as he presses a second finger into you and thrusts them in and out of you slowly, opening you up for him. “S’gonna feel so good, goddamn.”

“Please.” You don’t even care if it hurts, you just want to feel him inside you. “Fuck me.” You wiggle your ass and arch your back even further, practically presenting yourself to him like a bitch in heat. Something in Rafe snaps in that moment and he brings his cock to your asshole and presses the head inside.

“Oh fuckin’ shit, baby, so tight.” Rafe groans as he brings his hand to your clit and rubs circles on it, the pleasure distracting from the burning stretch of his cock. He spits on you again before pressing halfway in and pulling out again. When he presses back in this time he slams his entire dick into your ass and it nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“Oh god.” You whine and writhe beneath him, your body subconsciously trying to run away from the stinging pleasure.

“Where you goin’? Huh? Fuckin’ take it.” Rafe wraps his arm around your middle, locking you in place. His hand on your clit slides up between the dripping folds of your cunt before he presses two of them into you and thrusts them in and out of you time with the pumps of his cock.

“Fuck, I feel so full, daddy.” You’re practically limp beneath him as you drool into the mattress. “Fucking use me.”

“Use you? Oh baby, I’m gonna do more than that.” Rafe pulls his cock out of you to the tip before slamming it back into you and repeating the action. “I’m gonna fill this ass, then I’m gonna send your pathetic little boyfriend a picture of it. Wanna know the best part?”

“Hmm?” You’re so fucked out you that you don’t even fully process his words, blindly agreeing as long as he keeps fucking you like this.

“You’re.” Thrust. “Gonna.” Thrust. “Fuckin’ let me.” Thrust. “Aren’t you, princess?”

“Uh-huh. Oh fuck.” Rafe’s thumb finds your clit just as he pumps deep into your ass, his fingers curl against your sweet spot, and it has euphoria washing over you. “God, I’m coming again.”

“Yeah, that’s my good girl, give daddy your cum.” When your pussy stops spasming around his fingers he pulls them out and uses his opposite hand to yank onto the back of your hair. He pulls your head back and brings his wet fingers to your lips. “Taste yourself.”

He shoves them into your mouth as the hand on your hair yanks hard. You swirl your tongue around his digits with a moan as you lick your juices from his skin. He pulls them from your mouth with a pop before giving your hip a bruising grip and using your hair for leverage as he fucks your ass harder than before. Skin slaps against skin and the groans leaving Rafe are nearly animalistic.

“Gonna fill this slutty little ass with my cum, tell me you want it.” Rafe’s thrusts grow harder and sloppier by the second and you can tell he’s close so you clench around his cock.

“I want your cum, daddy, fill my ass.” Rafe’s dick twitches inside you as the hand in your hair pushes your head back down into the mattress. He leans his large frame over you as he pumps hard and deep into your ass. All it takes to have his cock bursting inside you is another clench of your walls.

“Yeah, that’s it, slut, take my fuckin’ cum.” Rafe pushes your face into the mattress so hard it cuts off your airflow as he fucks himself through his orgasm. His cock fills you with ropes of his cum and when he pulls out, he takes sick satisfaction in the way it drips out. “Don’t move.”

Even if you wanted to, you’re so fucked out that you’re stuck where you are. Panting on Rafe’s sheets with your ass in the air. You hear rustling behind you before the snap and the flash of a camera go off. It takes your hazy mind a second to process what he’s doing but when you do, you shoot up and turn around.

“Hey! Give me my fucking phone, Rafe!” You squeal as you launch yourself toward him but he just holds it over your head as he types. You manage to get your hands on it right as you hear the sound of a message being sent. You look at the screen in horror as you see the text he sent your boyfriend accompanied by the photo of his cum dripping from your ass. “Are you serious!?”

“Yeah. I am.” Rafe tongues his cheek and runs his hands across his chin as he smirks smugly. “I was tired of watching you pretend you liked that loser just to piss me off. Now he knows who really owns your little ass.”

“Ugh, fuck you!” You huff and slap his chest but he just grabs your hand and brings it to his lips.

“Pretty sure you just did, baby. But if you wanna go for a second round…” Rafe licks his lips as his eyes roam your naked body.

“No. I’m leaving.” You try to turn away from him but Rafe grips onto your shoulders, holding you in place.

“Nah. Lay your ass down, I miss that fuckin’ pussy. You’re not going anywhere.” Rafe grips onto your throat and pulls your face inches from his. “You’re mine and you know it. So stop playin’ your little games, I’m over it.”

“You’re so fucking annoying.” You groan as you throw yourself back on his plush pillows. You’re not leaving. And you both know it.

Tagging mooties: @rafescorpsebride @rafesheaven @rafescvntyclubgf @eerielamb @that-sarcastic-writer @moonlightseranade 🤍

Divider by @anitalenia

[marauders1971-1978]

This is the post I channel for James' characterisation for years 1-3

The dormitory grew brighter around him at a snail’s pace, the weak Autumn light struggling through the flat, white cloud cover. Remus was exhausted and frustrated, but still, infuriatingly awake. He gave up trying to get any rest and clambered over to the bottom of his bed to pull out a book from his trunk to read until it was a reasonable time to be up. 

His eyelids were just drooping over his copy of The Wishing Chair, Again that he’d brought from home to lend to Lily when something heavy and unexpected dropped onto his legs. 

“Morning!” James whispered over Remus’ grunt of pain. He was beaming, and looked like he’d slept outside in a hurricane. 

“Yeah, morning.” Remus pulled his legs from under James, lest he break them, and put his book to one side. “You’re up early.”

“I suppose. Hey, sorry to spring this on you, but I forgot to ask yesterday with all the excitement. Are you a werewolf?”

Remus lunged forward and clapped his hand over James’ mouth, looking over to his left in a panic. Peter was still snoring. 

“Jesus Christ, James, shut up.” 

James pried Remus’ hand away from his mouth and grimaced apologetically. 

“Sorry mate,” James apologised, keeping his voice hushed. “Anyway, you are, aren’t you? I double-checked the lunar charts over summer-”

“James, are you mental?” Remus groaned. He couldn’t take much more anxiety in one night. “What do you mean, you were ‘checking lunar charts’? It’s like, five in the morning - why are you asking me this right now?”

James looked horrified. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I was so sure I was right - I suppose that was a bit presumptuous. Please, ignore what I said, I’m so sorry-”

“No, you’re right, it’s just that-”

“Wait, I’m right ?”

Remus wanted to obliterate himself on the spot. What an idiot. 

Well, he supposed at least he could stop worrying about it now. 

“Yeah, you’re right.”

He stole a tentative glance at James, expecting disgust, or horror, or fear. Instead, he looked… smug?

“ Knew it!” he hissed. “I’m such a great detective. Sirius isn’t going to believe that I figured it out before him-”

Remus couldn’t believe his ears. Was it simply that James hadn’t thought of the reality of what he’d discovered? Perhaps it was still all a game of Cluedo to him. Perhaps, once he’d had a few minutes for the horror of what he’d said to sink in, he’d go straight to Professor McGonagall, or Professor Dumbledore, and ask that Remus be housed elsewhere, or expelled, for their own safety. 

And he’d be right to. 

Remus flinched as a hand waved before his eyes, far too close to his face. 

“Hey, Lupin. You okay there?”

Remus blinked at him, waving his hand away. He didn’t want to touch him. 

“Am I okay?”

James huffed. “You keep just repeating me.” James seemed to stop, pull the breaks on his own train of thought, and really look at Remus for the first time since he’d sat on the bed. Remus could feel his eyes searching him. “Sorry. I think I’ve made a mistake.” 

There it was.

“I’ve really freaked you out, haven’t I?”

Freaked him out?

“I bet it’s been really hard for you, you tried to keep it a secret. And here I am blabbing away about it. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I can keep a secret, I promise. Especially for a friend.”

Remus refused to cry for the third time that day, so he leaned forward and hugged James roughly, before he could think twice about it. James squeezed him back.

BONUS - Peter

“I guess this is about the werewolf thing?”

Remus snapped his head up, bashing his forehead on James’ chin as he did. Peter stood beside the bed, sleepy eyed. Remus rubbed his head and looked bewildered at Peter. 

“How do you know?” He asked, incredulous. 

“You were sick at the full moon and your scars don’t heal,” Peter shrugged. “I supposed you were trying to keep it a secret, so I didn’t say anything. Seems like that’s over and done with now though.” He smiled up at him and Remus felt his chest ache like someone had reached inside him and squeezed his heart. 

How did he deserve this?

James unlatched himself from Remus and huffed at Peter. “Wait, when did you figure this out? I thought it’d gotten it first?”

“No way, I figured it out end of last year - I’m sure you only put it together in the holidays-”

“That’s not true, I was just double checking! I knew last year-”

“You did not, you’re a liar-”

Remus: Oh no. You don’t want to befriend me. I’m a handful.

James: [excitedly] I have two hands!!!

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

SOMEONE TO STAY

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: when rafe’s girlfriend doesn’t show up to his safe house during a hurricane he fears the worst, and wonders if he’ll get to tell her that he loves her.

based on this ask !! i hope this is what you wanted anon :) i wasn’t sure if you meant pogue!reader or actually meant pogue!rafe so i kept this open as to not interpret it incorrectly !!

A/N: my drew starkey & characters masterlist is here !!

WARNINGS: cursing, hurricane, fear of loved ones dying, crying, panic attack, arguments, angsty love confession, angst to fluff !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

SECOND PERSON +

The storm came fast and without mercy. What had started as a mild tropical storm rapidly intensified into a Category 4 hurricane barrelling toward the Outer Banks. Mandatory evacuation orders were issued for the Pogues and parts of the Cut, but for the Kooks in Figure Eight, the luxury of reinforced homes and private shelters meant hunkering down. The air felt thick with panic and pressure as everyone prepared for the worst.

Rafe had been at his father's old office on the more secure side of the island, trying to sort out some financial mess left behind by Ward, when the weather reports turned grim. His phone buzzed incessantly with texts and calls from people checking in or offering refuge. But Rafe didn't care about any of them.

He cared about one person.

"Y/N, just listen to me for once!" Rafe snapped, pacing the office as the storm began to howl outside. His voice was sharp, desperate even, as he tried to reason with his girlfriend. "Don't try to be a hero. Don't stop for anything. Just get in your car and come straight to the safe house. I'll meet you there."

"Rafe, I'll be fine," you said over the phone, your voice calm but firm. "I'm already on my way."

"You're sure? I can come get you. I should come get you," he pressed, running a hand through his hair. "This storm's getting worse by the second. I don't want you driving in this."

"I've got it under control," you reassured him, a smile in your tone even though he couldn't see it. "I'll see you soon."

But the second the line went dead, unease settled deep in Rafe's chest. He tried to tell himself you were capable, smart, and resourceful—qualities he loved about you. Still, that didn't stop the gnawing anxiety that clawed at him as he headed toward the safe house.

—

The drive was hellish. Rain lashed against your windshield, the wipers barely able to keep up. Floodwaters licked at the sides of the road as you maneuvered carefully toward Figure Eight. It wasn't long before you lost signal entirely, your phone cutting off mid-text to Rafe. You cursed under your breath but pressed on.

You'd been almost to the safe house when a thought struck you like lightning. Earlier that week, Rafe had been pouring over some old financial records and papers that he needed for his next move with the family business. He'd spent hours meticulously going through them, and you knew they were stored in his father's house.

Your chest tightened. If the storm destroyed everything, Rafe would lose all that work. Against better judgment, you turned onto the road leading to Tannyhill. You told yourself it wouldn't take long—just in and out.

By the time you made it to the safe house, it was well past dark, and the storm had intensified. The wind howled like a living thing, rattling the reinforced windows and slamming against the door as you stumbled in, soaked to the bone.

"Rafe?" you called, setting the plastic bag containing the saved papers down on a table. "I'm here."

It took less than ten seconds for him to appear. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled from hours of pacing. The moment his eyes landed on you, relief flickered across his face—but it was quickly replaced by something far darker.

"Where the hell have you been?" he shouted, storming toward you. His voice was a mix of anger and panic, his chest heaving as he stopped in front of you. "I've been calling you for hours! Do you have any idea—" His voice broke, and he ran a hand down his face. "I thought something happened to you."

"Rafe, I'm fine," you said, trying to placate him. "I—"

"You're not fine!" he snapped, his voice rising again. "You think this is fine? Driving through a hurricane, ignoring my calls—what were you even doing?" His eyes darted to the bag on the table, and something clicked. "You stopped for papers?"

"Rafe, I know how important they are to you—"

"Papers?" he interrupted, his voice incredulous. "You risked your life for some stupid papers?"

"They're not stupid!" you fired back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. "You've been working so hard on this, and I didn't want you to lose it all."

"I don't care about the damn papers!" he yelled, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Don't you get it? I don't care about any of that fucking shit if it means losing you!"

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, his breathing growing erratic. His hands trembled as he backed away, pressing his palms to his temples. "I can't—God, I can't do this," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you were dead, Y/N. I thought I lost you out there.”

"Rafe—"

"You're all I have," he said, his voice breaking completely as tears streamed down his face. "You're all I have, and I can't lose you. I won't survive it."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the raw vulnerability in his voice leaving you momentarily stunned. You stepped toward him cautiously, reaching out to touch his arm. "Rafe, I'm here. I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm right here."

But he didn't seem to hear you, his breathing growing more rapid as he sank onto the couch. His chest heaved, and his hands gripped the edge of the cushion like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You knelt in front of him, your heart aching at the sight of him falling apart. "Rafe, look at me," you said firmly, taking his hands in yours. They were cold and clammy, shaking like leaves in the storm outside. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

He tried to match your breaths, but his body refused to cooperate. Desperation clawed at him, his gaze wild and unfocused. "I can't—I can't—"

"Yes, you can," you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. You guided one of his hands to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your heartbeat. "Feel that? I'm still breathing. I'm still alive. I'm here, Rafe."

Something shifted in his eyes as he focused on the steady rhythm beneath his hand. He gripped your shirt like a lifeline, his breathing slowly evening out. "You're here," he repeated, his voice barely audible. "You're here."

"That's right," you said, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The storm raged on outside, but inside, the only sound was the quiet rise and fall of your breaths. Finally, Rafe pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair. "I'm sorry for yelling. I was just so scared."

"I know," you said, your voice muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry, too. I should've just come straight here."

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his blue eyes searching yours. "I don't say this enough—or at all—but you mean everything to me, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you. You’re my whole world. Not work, not money, not anything; you. I love you, so fucking much.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they were from something far warmer than fear. "I love you, too," you said, leaning into his touch.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms as the storm began to lose its fury. Whatever chaos the hurricane had brought, it couldn't touch the calm you found in each other.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i hope this is what you wanted anon !! this was such a cute one to write and i love me some angst to fluff😫

pls request some more angst guys !! i absolutely LOVE writing it :) and as always, likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[hivemuthur]

If it’s okay to request, may I request hcs or something with Viktor where he’s dating an autisc reader?

Okay, first of - I have no idea what I have done to be granted such trust, thank you so much Anon! I have been provided amazing advice from @rennethen while writing this and done some research and I hope, I hope, I hope it meets expectations.

ViktorXAutistic!Reader HeadCannons

viktorxgn!reader mature, fluff and again: Viktor setting impossible standards for real-life men

author’s note: I have decided to not include tics, as they come in so many variations and I didn't want to impose anything upon Readers, but I can imagine Viktor being a total sweetheart about them.

word count: 1,4K

—

Since your first meeting, Viktor has been smitten with your bluntness and your ability to take his acrimonious jokes apart without a hint of incredulity in your voice. The way you keep asking subsidiary questions until you dig through the layers of his sass to the actual thing he meant to say  leaves his soul naked as day, every single time. Finally, an inquisitive mind, he thinks to himself, as you go for the killing blow:

“So, what you’ve meant to say is that you find me attractive?”

“Eh, I suppose that is what I meant,” he admits dumbly, scratching the back of his neck. “Though usually I tend to be a little bit less straight forward.”

“I prefer straight forward,” you tell him with wide eyes.

“I… I shall remember that.”

Viktor soon realises that being asked a lot of questions makes him blush in a funny way and his chest gets all fuzzy. So, he begins to share every little aspect of his work with you. The more questions you ask, the warmer his heart gets and somehow the way you get excited about his ideas is worth more than any other academical pat on the back he ever received.

Before asking you out for the first time, Viktor conducts a thorough research, not very different to the ones he conducts for the sake of a thesis. He finds out what are your favourite places and favourite spots to sit. He books two reservations, just in case.

He does the same thing when you try out a new place. Just in case. It has proven useful only once.

As a man who values routine, he finds it absolutely endearing that good things remain in your orbit for a long time and discovers that being greeted with his own name by the barista is actually a nice little feeling.

When he asked you if he could kiss you for the first time, he held his breath while you were reconsidering. He found it hard not to laugh stupidly and nod his head a couple times too many when you responded with the same question.

He cupped your face and brushed his thumb on your lip tentatively. At first, he just rubbed his nose against yours. Then, his cheek, as he pulled you closer. You decided his hair smelled nice and that he could proceed. You didn’t know what to do with your hands at first, because he was wearing an incredibly itchy jumper, so you settled on his neck, and he took it as an invitation to kiss you deeper.

When you told him about it he gave the jumper to Caitlyn, and even though the sleeves are not long enough for her, she wears it often. Gradually, Viktor is in the process of exchanging his wardrobe to touch-friendly materials, currently he is half-way through. He wears the offensive clothes to meetings with Jayce, because Jayce will hug even a hedgehog.

You teach Viktor the value of comfort, not just in the clothing department. Suddenly he finds that his blankets are softer and that his flat increased the base number of cushions.

He religiously cuts the tags out of your clothes and his work is so precise it’s as if the tag was never there in the first place.

Viktor will still periodically ask for a permission to touch you, only to hear “Yes, please.” And it still makes him blush.

He keeps two notebooks—one on your current food fixations. He writes down a start date of each and marks every little alteration. He examines the lifecycle of each dish, as you eat it every day for a month and suddenly stop, to move on to the next one. On the back of the notebook he has a list of old reliables.

The second notebook, he treats more seriously—it’s a journal of stimming. He makes a note of each gesture in order to recognize your emotions better. After a while he is able to tell if you are feeling overwhelmed, just excited or trying to concentrate.

He is completely bemused by the fact that you always know what entered the bowl first—the cereal or the milk.

When you unconsciously repeat words back at him in his accent he makes it intentionally heavier, because he finds in unbearably cute.

After some time, he’s learned to recognise when you are masking. When it happened for the first time, he allowed himself a pinch of panic. Only when you unravelled at home, he sighed, partially relieved, and made a note of it in his journal.

Viktor carries a pair of noise cancelling headphones when you go out together. He puts them on you if you get overstimulated and presents you with something else to shift your focus into—a tight hug, a smell or he presses gently on your shoulders to steady you.

If you happen to have a meltdown at either of your homes, he wordlessly prepares you your favourite food and stays close enough for you to reach. Sometimes, he does a full body scan with you, to see which part requires the most attention.

There are certain sounds that Viktor makes which you particularly like—the click of his tongue, the intercepting ‘ehs’ and ‘ahs’—and once he connects the dots between him making those and a smile that always blooms on your face, he produces as many as he can, while still sounding natural.

He enjoys just existing with you. Sitting in the same room, while he works, and you read is his definition of a happy place. Just glancing over to you, your tongue filling your cheek as you read something particularly interesting, the small sounds you make at turning points in the story make his heart flutter.

He finds himself involuntarily memorizing the lyrics of the songs you play on repeat. He has no idea who the artist are, but he knows their songs by heart now. It makes him feel old, in a funny way.

It completely disarms him, when you return his gifts. After three futile attempts to give you something of popular romantic demand, he scolded himself for not changing the method soon enough. Instead of jewellery, he encourages your special interests, through getting you books on the topics or taking you places that embody your passions.

On the other side of the coin, your gifts are deeply appreciated. Every little pebbling trinket has it’s special place in the box on his desk. He takes them out periodically and counts how many times a tiny detail in the chaos of the outside world has made you think of him.

For dates, Viktor chooses times and days in which the world is less crowded. Instead of a busy Saturday night, you go out in the middle of the week. After a particularly failed attempt of gifting you perfume, Viktor takes you to a balm perfume workshop, where you can make scents for each other that are buildable and unoffensive to sensitive skin.

He’s built an intimacy with you that is based on trust and constant checking. He takes care of the mood and gives you enough stops to reconsider on the way.

You both talk a lot during sex. A change of mind is natural and there is enough space made for it. He has learned a lot about himself, and his self-esteem strengthened, when he realised that, ‘I don’t like it,’ doesn’t mean ‘I don’t like you.’

If, for whatever reason, the communication turns nonverbal, you both have come up with a system of pats that signals where each of you should direct your attention.

Your inquisitive mind helped him find three additional positions, in which he feels comfortable and painless, and it eludes him entirely how he could have missed them.

Viktor’s favourite part of aftercare is cuddling you naked. He adores the way your warm body melts into his. If you add head scratches to it, he will fall asleep in your arms. He breaths in the smell of your hair and his heart beat evens out with yours.

[rhiannonsknife]

— thinking about lucy and wasteland pollen…

— warnings: wasteland!reader. fem!reader. nsfw content. so mdni.

lucy is new to everything up here.

so naturally, she doesn’t think twice before bounding into a field of strange-looking flowers, her curiosity leading her straight to them.

“would you look at that?” she says, crouching down to inspect a cluster of golden petals swaying gently in the breeze. you don’t even have time to warn her before her boot lands on something with a soft crunch. the motion releases a faint hiss below, and suddenly a shimmering cloud of yellow spores billows up around her. lucy only waves a hand through it, laughing. “huh, weird plants!” she remarks, completely and utterly unfazed, oblivious to the danger.

“why did you stop?” she calls over her shoulder when she notices you lingering a few feet back, hesitant to follow. “don’t tell me you’re scared of a little flower dust!”

the golden dust of spores clings to her jumpsuit, her hair, her skin. every part of lucy seems coated in them, yet she doesn’t appear worried in the slightest.

instead, she frowns at you.

“you’re acting weird. did i do something?” lucy asks, unaware of the risk she’s already unleashed. the spores are likely already in both of your systems, setting something irreversible into motion.

lucy has always been so unaware of her effect on you. even now, she seems to find a way of making everything harder for you.

you’re the one who has to decide to leave the field and get her somewhere safer, (once again getting both of you to safety as per usual) but even then, it’s impossible not to notice the little things about her: the way the flush begins to creep up her neck. how her fingers nervously fidget with the straps of her pack. or the way, when you sit down at your makeshift shelter for the night, she keeps shifting closer to you without even realizing it

the silence stretches on until lucy, never one to hold back her curiosity, finally breaks it: “why is it so hot in here? Is it just me? Is that…normal?” she asks, tugging at the collar of her jumpsuit, exposing a sliver of skin that feels suddenly too intimate to look at.

you force yourself to turn away, to focus on literally anything else, even as heat pools in your stomach.

“maybe it’s the air circulation,” she muses aloud, her fingers still working at her jumpsuit. “vaults had better airflow! this place is like a furnace!”

lucy pauses, then glances at you again. “your face is all red too!”

she leans in, her eyes locking onto yours. the space between your bodies shrinks. suddenly all you can think about is how close she is, how her heat radiates against you, how easy it would be to reach for her and-

“lucy, it’s not the air!” you blurt, scrambling back with a voice that betrays how strained you feel.

lucy only frowns in confusion.

“what do you mean?” she asks. “is this one of those things i should’ve read about in that wasteland survival guide you made me throw out?” her brows knit together as she stares at you, the weight of the situation still not sinking in.

“lucy, stop!” you finally snap, the sharpness of your voice cutting through the haze that’s currently clouding both of your thoughts.

“why?” she demands, louder this time. “oh, gee, are you sick? are we sick? what’s happening?” her hands flutter in front of her, restless and unsure, and you have to catch her wrists to still her before she completely spirals.

“it’s not sickness!” you manage hoarsely. “it’s something in the flowers outside. it- it does things to people,”

lucy doesn’t miss a beat. “what kind of things?” she asks, and the innocence in her voice sends a fresh wave of heat crawling up your neck.

“it’s like…a chemical reaction!” you try. “a really strong one”

she blinks at you, her expression still painfully blank. “like hallucinations? oh my- is this a drug thing? because i’m not-”

“not hallucinations, lucy!” you interrupt her. “it’s…sexual.”

she stares at you, her mouth opening, then closing again. “sexual?”

you close your eyes, breathing deeply in an attempt to stay calm. “it’s an aphrodisiac. it makes people…” you trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence without your voice breaking.

her lips part in a silent ‘oh’.

lucy shifts her weight awkwardly, her cheeks flushed. “so, is that why i feel…kind of weird?” she asks, looking down at herself. her hands fidget at her sides. “because i thought it was just the heat, but my chest feels tight and i-” she cuts herself off abruptly, her wide eyes darting up to meet yours. “wait, do you feel that too?”

you grit your teeth. “it’s the spores!” you say sharply, refusing to answer her question directly.

lucy sits in silence for a moment, mumbling ‘okay, okay’ under her breath. “this is fine!” she blurts out then, pacing to her corner of the room like she can outpace her own discomfort. she tugs at the zipper of her jumpsuit, pulling it down halfway to reveal the damp fabric of the tank top clinging to her skin.

“it’s just a little warm, that’s all! we’ve been through worse, right?”

“it’s temporary,” you mutter, more to yourself than to her. “it’ll wear off. we just need to wait it out!”

but lucy clearly doesn’t know how to wait something like this out. she doesn’t stop talking once, her voice a nervous stream of energy. “it’s just, like, a fever, right?” she says, forcing a laugh that’s far too loud. “i’ve had fevers before! this is fine. totally fine!”

you don’t respond. you can’t.

your jaw is clenched too tight, and your focus is entirely on not looking at her: not at the way she keeps fidgeting with the fabric of her suit around her thighs, or the way her chest rises and falls with shallow, uneven breaths, or the way the flush spreads down her neck, blooming across her sweaty collarbones.

the air feels thicker by the second, stifling and heavy. you’re biting the inside of your cheek bloody and digging your nails into your palms, desperate for anything to ground yourself, anything to distract from the heat coursing through you, from the way your body throbs in time with your heartbeat.

lucy, who’s the one who got you into this mess in the first place, catches you staring at her. her breath hitches for a moment, her lips parting slightly. “are you okay?” she asks. “you’re being really quiet,”

“i’m fine!” It comes out harsher than you intend, and you turn away, pretending to rummage through your pack. your hands are shaking too much to do anything useful, but at least it gives you something to focus on besides her.

lucy doesn’t let it go. of course she doesn’t.

you hear the sound of her boots scraping against the floor as she stands and crosses the room, and before you can tell her to stay put, she’s kneeling in front of you. “hey,” she says, her hand hovering hesitantly near your shoulder.

“don’t!” you bark, jerking away before she can touch you.

her hand drops immediately, her face falling. “i wasn’t- i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to-”

“it’s not your fault!” you interrupt apologetically. “it’s just…”

you trail off. you want her, that’s what it is. you’ve been wanting her, long before she decided to step onto the petals and release spores that would only make matters worse.

now that they’re in your system, you’re hyper-aware of all the things you didn’t notice before: each breath lucy takes rings in your ears, the scent of her lingering with how close she’s sitting. hell, even the sweat that’s dripping from the side of her neck seems to draw you in.

lucy sits back on her heels, studying your face carefully. “it’s bad, isn’t it? the spores?”

you can smell her from here: sweat, heat, and something unmistakably sweet beneath it all. it only makes it harder to think. you swallow hard, nodding. “yeah. it’s bad.”

she hesitates, then asks the question you’ve been dreading. “is it bad for you because of me?”

you don’t answer right away, but when your eyes meet hers they seem to give her all the confirmation she needs. lucy, who’s very clearly not immune to the effects of the spores, doesn’t seem to fight them as hard as you are.

“i can feel it too, you know?” she murmurs. “it’s like this…heat. it won’t go away,” her cheeks flush deeper and she looks down. “i keep telling myself not to think about it, but-” her fingers twitch against the floor. you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to hold back, even as every fiber of your being screams at you to close the space between you.

“we can’t!”

lucy leans in. “why not?”

the dam breaks.

she freezes for half a second when you surge forward, only to melt into you moments later. your lips crash against hers, hard and desperate, and her back hits the wall with a soft thud.

her arms instinctively come up around your neck, pulling you closer. she makes a soft, startled sound against your mouth, but it quickly shifts into something hungrier, something raw.

lucy maclean, you only vaguely realize as her tongue slides past your lips, is moaning right into your mouth and you aren’t even touching her yet.

her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to make you shiver as the kiss deepens. the heat between your legs is unbearable now, a steady thrum that pulses through your veins, demanding release.

neither of you can stop the way your bodies move together, hips rolling forward in a frantic rhythm. there’s no relief there, in the way your hips meet halfway, only need, frustration growing with every futile attempt to grind yourself against her.

and yet you physically cannot stop.

it’s almost embarrassing how fast it sends you over the edge once you finally stumble to the dusty ground together and find a good angle to grind against each other, one that actually works.

it only takes a few lazy ruts of your hips until you’re cumming beneath her, rutting through the haze of pleasure. you’re just conscious enough to feel lucy tense up above you too, shaking and trembling with the force of her own orgasm, with her head thrown back and her hair sticking to the sweat on her face.

still, you can’t seem to stop.

a part of you expected this to be the end of the aching throb between your legs and the heat flashes, yet the orgasm only seems to make things worse: like an itch, only intensifying once it’s been scratched.

lucy, seemingly struggling with the same thing, feels greedy when she starts humping your leg all over again, whining: “can’t stop. m’sorry. i can’t stop!” as she drags her crotch over your thigh.

you can feel how damp she feels there, how hot and wet. at this point, you don’t care to think rationally about this. you’ve already crossed the point of no return, so you might as well make use of the…situation.

she is ever wetter than you’d expected from what you felt through her jumpsuit already (you both are): once you’ve peeled the fabric off her damp skin and reach between her legs for the first time, you’re taken aback by the sheer amount of arousal that has pooled there.

lucy is so wet, impatiently humping your fingers until two of them slide into her easily.

her own fingers curl around your wrist, moving it so she’s fucking herself on you.

two easily turn to three, her body gladly accommodating the stretch. and even then, even as the second orgasm crashes over her in record time, lucy is still panting and begging for more.

you know it’s the pollen. you know there’s no way to fully satisfy the urge until it wears off eventually. but how are you supposed to turn lucy down when your own body is aching for her and she’s quite literally begging for more? when she’s gushing down your wrists, her walls clamping down against your fingers so tight it’s hard to move?

of course, lucy gets you off too. you doubt you could’ve gone much longer without feeling her touch.

truthfully, you have no idea if she knows anything about this or if she’s going on some primal instinct caused by the spores.

either way, you’re in no position to question her when she aligns herself with you once she’s gotten you out of your clothes too. when she grinds against you with no restrictions in the way, clutching your hand tightly in her own to somehow ground herself. when her slick rubs against yours and you feel her cunt throbbing and her clit pulsing against your own until you cum with a desperate cry of lucy’s name.

it’s not surprising that neither of you had enough of the other just yet, with lucy already one orgasm ahead.

so she spins you around so you’re on all fours and puts her mouth on you from behind, lapping up your arousal.

her name echos through the night but you’re far too into this to care about the potential dangers you could be attracting. besides, if you die with lucy’s tongue inside of you, it’ll be worth it.

“oh my god!” you cry out, arching your back. she hums breathlessly, her hands on your ass and her lips closing around your clit as they suck.

it’s hours later, after she’s made you cum one final time on her fingers until you were gushing around them, that you both come to your senses again.

lucy is sprawled out on the floorboards by your side, staring at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes. her chest heaves with uneven breaths, inhaling the heavy scent of sweat and sex around you.

“oh,” she says finally, hands folded over her stomach. “oh wow,”

while the adrenaline is still buzzing faintly in your veins, there’s something sobering about the cool ground against your hot skin and the way lucy hasn’t moved except for the occasional blinks.

“so,” lucy mumbles eventually. “that was the spores then..”

you let that linger, unsure if you want to tell her that it wasn’t just the spores. at least not for you.

“well,” she chuckles softly. “at least we won’t have to deal with that kind of pollen again! lesson learned!”

[artist-issues]

Hi.

Jasmine - Went beyond the idea of “consent” to say what she really wanted was “a real friend” and “love” if married. Once she got those things, even when they were falsely found in Prince Ali, no more “boldly sneaking out for independence” for her.

Rapunzel - Wanted to go see the world and experience things for herself but discovered the best experience and dream was love, from a man, who she was willing to give “experiencing things” up for the sake of (when Mother Gothel stabbed him and she promised not to escape again if she could heal him.)

Snow White - Absolutely literally 100% “waiting for a man.” Her song is called “Someday My Prince Will Come.” Her prayer is for Grumpy, a man, to like her. She’s happiest when she’s showing love to the male characters around her. And that kind of love is what inspires and transforms them, to be less self-centered.

Mulan - Wanted to have a safe father and prove she was worthwhile—which she was. Long before she ever went off to war, she had her father’s love and esteem. “The greatest gift and honor is having you for a daughter.” She never needed to go to war to prove that. She never needed to prove she was as good as a man to do that, or better than a man, to do that. She had it all along.

Aurora - Not forced. Protected. By superpowered women who gave up their power, dignity, and identities just to keep her safe. And when she found out she couldn’t have the man she was in love with, she was heartbroken, but did not rebel against authority—because she’s the kind of precious woman who respects others and is worth protecting.

Cinderella - The Fairy Godmother does not “empower” Cinderella so that Cinderella can “reach her goals.” The Fairy Godmother gives Cinderella her “goals.” Literally. And she does it as a direct result of Cinderella willingly waiting for help. Not help necessarily from a Prince, but help from Something outside of herself. Fate, destiny, (in the original fairy tale it’s God) to “make her dreams come true.” And then after she meets the Prince? She certainly is “waiting” for him. She’s not sneaking out of the house by her wit and moxy to wave her slipper in front of his face and lecture him about how he can’t recognize her if she’s not in a ball gown. It’s her faith that saves her. And faith is dependent on something outside her own abilities.

Pocahontas - Wants to do the right thing, her “destined path,” instead of the smoothest, easiest thing, which is what everyone in her tribe sees as the highest good. And when hate is introduced, she combats it with love—not by “befriending” John Smith, but by giving her heart to John Smith, despite the fact that he can be a prejudiced blowhard. She loves him anyway. And that love allows her to see him as human, when everyone else sees him as less-than human. Same thing, with him to her. Without him in her life helping her to put belief into action, Pocahontas would have had no ability to convince anyone not to go to war.

Tiana - Why is everyone so obsessed with who-saves-who? Tiana worked to be an independent restaurant owner and that got her nothing, and if it had gotten her anything she straight-up says later in the movie that her dream (independence and ownership) would have been incomplete. Dissatisfying. Without who? Without a man. Without Naveen. Because love is worth more than gain, status, or validation—and she was never going to get love, gain, or validation without the help of a Higher Power. Her “the only way I’m going to get what I want is through my own hard work” philosophy was wrong, the whole movie worked hard to prove it wrong.

Belle - Belle’s “willingness to see past the exterior” did not save Prince Adam. Her showing him what it looks like to love someone self-sacrificially—meaning, you give up your own independence and your own dreams, for someone you love (her father)—is what gave him hope, and that hope led to him doing the same for her. Sacrificing his own interests for her, which is love, which is what broke the curse. Their love for each other broke the curse, it was not “her-saving-him.” And his name’s not Prince Adam, get over it, it’s the Beast.

Ariel - Ariel did not want to be human before she met Eric. She wanted to be part of the human world and understand it, and sure, she thought having feet and living in a world where she wasn’t told what to do all the time would be pretty cool—but “want,” as in, “give up anything for it, ready to go right now,” NO. She markedly did not want to leave her family and give up everything. Not until she had confirmation that she was right—that humans are not barbarians, and can be wonderful—and ERIC is that confirmation, for her. Eric is the inciting incident. Eric is the reason, the big “WHY” behind Ariel leaving the sea. She did give up everything for him. That’s the movie. There’s a shift in her motivations in the movie, and it happens when she sees that A) Eric is a dreamer like her, B) Eric is ridiculed for the way he sees the world like her, but he keeps believing anyway, and C) Eric risks his life to save other creatures instead of being a “spineless savage harpooning fish-eating barbarian.” Ariel did not want independence. She didn’t sign away her life and leave her family so she could dance around exploring the surface alone and independent. She did it so that she could be with someone. Who? Oh. A man. For love. And he absolutely does save her.

Merida - Merida’s movie is not about romance. The topic of “Arranged marriage” is only in the movie at all as a mini object lesson for “be brave enough to let a child decide what they’ll do with all you’ve taught them, instead of trying to force them out of a fear that they’ll make the wrong decision.” It’s really not making a statement about marriage at all. That’s just a low-hanging “the audience can understand Merida’s misgivings” fruit they grabbed.

Again—why are you all so obsessed with who-saves-who?

If you do the saving, congratulations, you demonstrated that you’re willing to sacrifice yourself, the hardest thing to sacrifice, for the sake of another. If you get saved, CONGRATULATIONS, you’re loved enough to be treated as worth such a sacrifice. BOTH THOSE THINGS ARE AWESOME. The worst thing to be is someone who 1) acts on their own self-interest (oh, like if your highest dream is to be “independent”) or 2) is completely unloved by anyone, and if you were endangered, nobody would even notice. Nobody would even want to demonstrate how much you mean to them by trying to save you.

Those are the worst things you could be. Why are you all so eager for your women characters to be those horrible loveless things? OR your men??

Also waiting?? Waiting to be saved? Have you ever lived any life, ever? Have you ever been in a circumstance you can’t change—yes you have, because you’re a human being who is not all-powerful. Don’t you know how incredible being able to wait for someone else to help you is? Do you know what the alternative is? Living in denial because you arrogantly believe that you have all the power to not only know what the exact right thing to do is to change your circumstance, but if you could just get it right, everything would change. OR. The other denial? Giving up. Letting your circumstances change you. My family hates me, so I’ll hate them back. I can’t get away so I might as well die. Those alternatives are the natural, easy, response we sink right into.

But waiting in hopeful expectation? Waiting because you trust someone else? Not letting your emotions be yanked up and down and all around by the shallow people and hard circumstances around you? That is hard to do.

These characters who wait on saviors and trust in love are so much stronger than the strong independent nothings you’re imagining.

Sincerely,

A woman who is waiting on The Man to come back and save her.

#StickIt

[quokkaholic]

Teenage Heaven h.j

Warnings: MDNI, fluffy smut with some plot, alcohol consumption, kissin and touchin, f nipple play, dry humping, cussing duh. Lightly edited

Synopsis: (NOT about teens)Y/n and Han are in the early stages of their relationship and are meeting up in NYC for the first time since you met initially while he is there for work. Despite being long distance, neither of you want to rush into sleeping together, but that doesn’t mean you guys can’t do other stuff to satisfy your cravings.

Song recommendation: Teenage Heaven by Be Your Own Pet

˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡

Han was anxious to tell you that, as much as he wanted to greet you at the baggage claim, it just wasn’t possible, no matter how much he begged staff to allow it. Despite that, he assured you he’s tracking your flight and will be in a car there waiting for you. When the plane lands in NYC, you turn off airplane mode to send a message to Han only to be inundated by messages from him.

“I cant believe i get to see you in a few hours”

“Im scared”

“And excited”

“Mostly excited”

“I can’t think about anything else. Why aren’t you here already?”

“It’s only been like half an hour”

“Im going to squeeze the life out of you”

“You should be scared too”

“I’m getting no work done”

“This is dumb asf”

“I should’ve been camping at your gate since last night”

“Should’ve never left the airport, and just waited there for you”

“You should be landing in an hour and 47 minutes”

“I keep trying to get them to take me to the airport already. They brush me off like im crazy”

“not crazy”

“Maybe for you tho 😉”

“Headed your way! Yuuh!”

“We’re parked outside”

“You landed 2 minutes ago…WHERE ARE YOU?”

“I tried to make a break for it, but staff knows me too well. child lock is on”

You are grinning at the phone screen as you read them, not only because of how adorable it is, but because you feel similarly. You tried to take a little nap on the flight, but your nerves and anticipation kept you wide awake. You let Han know that your plane hasn’t even taxied into the gate yet, but you'll be with him as fast as your legs can carry you.

“What does your bag look like? I could send someone to go get it for you, so you can just come straight to me. I'm already doing it. What color is it? Does it have a tag or anything?” He’s doing everything in his power to get you into his arms as soon as possible.

“I didn’t check a bag, Sungie. I just have my carryon and a backpack, so I can come straight to you ☺️” 

“Perfect. Better run babe”

Typically when you fly, you are one of the last ones to exit the plane, waiting for everyone else to grab their stuff from the overhead bins and trudge through the crowded aisle, but today you were the first one standing. You think people could sense your urgency; no one even tried to hop out in front as you slipped between the seats. Following the signs, you speed walk to the pick up area that Han is parked at. Your eyes are immediately drawn to a blacked out luxury hatchback with a tint as dark as us legally allowed; there's a man standing at the back resting on the bumper, and he waves you over. As you approach you see an almost unrecognizable figure wearing sunglasses, a mask, and beanie with his face smushed up against the dark glass. When you reach the car, the staff member waiting for you opens the trunk, and you go to pick up your luggage to load it, but are thrown off by a shout from the backseat of the vehicle.

“Y/nnah! Get in the damn car!”

You stayed up late last night stressing about this very moment. How would it feel to see him again? What if the connection isn’t there like it was last time? Would it be awkward? Would you two just end up sitting in silence? As you enter the car, you realize your hours of anxiety ridden overthinking were all for nothing. He immediately clings to you pulling you in for a soul warming embrace. You somehow manage to end up simultaneously both be in each other's laps becoming a roiling lump of limbs and love, unable to tear your hands off him. Memorizing how he feels, for those nights where you question if he is even real or just a self indulgent illusion. There are a few shared kisses, but you are holding yourselves back for the sake of the driver and security in the front seat.

Seeing him in person is a bit like seeing a ghost, and it has you and Han both in a state of awe. There is, in fact, a period of dreaded quiet between you and Han, but it's not awkward. It’s one you two share intentionally to bask in your togetherness. You are both but caught up in the moment, unable to believe this truly happened and worked out. Smiling at eachother with rosy cheeks and racing hearts, you train all of your senses on him, barely even noticing the soft sound of the radio in the background. 

You go over what the next few days of your vacation have in store with Han. When planning, initially he pitched going on a date tonight, but after some discussion, you both decided it would be better to have a hotel room date and just order food, so you cans have uninterrupted couple time for the first time.

The hotel is stunning, way fancier than you've ever stayed at. You enter through a back entrance that is arguably more grandiose than the main lobby as it's only used for high profile guests. Han shows you to your suite; his room is only a little down the hall. Opposed to your typical single rooms with a bathroom and a kitchenette, this place is like a luxury apartment: bedroom, living room, dining area, massive bathroom with a bathtub and shower, and a separate toilet room all designed and littered in the most up to date, trendy decor.

“Ji, you didn’t have to do all this. A normal room would have been more than acceptable!”

“Y/nn I know I didn’t have to. I do this because I want to. Plus, I kind of intend to be over here a lot, so I didn’t want it to be too cramped. I also wanted there to be a place we could sit together that wasn't the bed to be… respectful I guess” He can’t hold your gaze as the last part passes his lips. 

“You're so sweet, Jisung” You say as you walk over to him after you dropped your bags. He's cheeks hot and avoiding your eyes; you are drawn to him, possessed to hug and squeeze and never let go. The snuggle pulls Han out of his shyness caused by your compliment.

“That was the first time I’ve heard you say my name in person” He says nuzzling his face into your neck. He snakes his hands around your waist and delivers his promise from earlier; Han squeezes you so hard, like an python, he manages to squeeze tighter and tighter while attacking your neck with quick tight lipped pecks until your back cracks. It startles him a bit, gasping and releasing his hold to grab your shoulders with a look of horror on his face. If you weren’t immediately cackling about it, he would have been worried he hurt you. 

Han was considerate enough to think ahead, and the food was to be delivered soon after you guys arrived at the hotel for an early dinner so you guys could spend the evening together. For now there is nothing to do but enjoy being in each other’s company, and it feels so right. It's tender beyond comprehension, but not overly explicit: gentle kisses and even gentler hands traveling up ticklish sides or through lush hair.  Running your hands up and down his toned arms, you can't help but grab them briefly, feeling his muscles flex under your touch; they have definitely grown since the last time you saw him. You guys slowly start to get more and more comfortable and bold. The soft grazes transition to firm pets, but there is soon a knock on the door. He took your suggestion, and ordered from your favorite restaurant from the last time you were here as well as a bottle of your favorite wine which he must’ve committed to memory from a long passed conversation, as you don't even remember sharing that info. 

Dinner is a dream. The table is by the massive glass sliding doors that lead out to the balcony allowing the city lights to stream in. It goes without saying that the chat is immaculate, but the energy is so familiar and fun. You aren’t worried about eating too much in front of him or talking with your mouth full. Jisung just makes you feel comfortable and admired, like you can just be yourself and he’ll savor every moment. Once dinner is over and the bottle of wine is empty, you two make your way to the couch under the guise of wanting to show you some new music he has been working on, but the intense stares and frequent brushing hands had the tension quite high. He simply turns on some tunes to not be in silence, before your lips find each other. 

The intimacy from early returns tenfold with newly injected sensuality. The firm grips progress to needy grasping, with daring finger dipping under the hems of your shirts, and you find yourselves in a passionate makeout. Although the kiss is hot and lustful, his tongue is timid in its exploration, so soft and gentle as it glides through your mouth, careful to tame his raging desire and not to use too much force. It becomes the sloppy and impassioned kind of kiss you can lose hours to. Your session goes till your lips are swollen and your hair is a mess. You would say the light lip product you had on was gone, but you know exactly where it is, it’s smeared out all over and around your mouths only adding to the kissed raw look. Han’s messy love drunk expression spurs you on, and while traveling your kisses down to his neck, his hands grip your hips to lift and guide you to straddle him. You don’t hesitate to follow his lead.

Settling yourself down onto him, you both let out a small gasp, and you have to fight your instinct to seek friction, but your restraint is short lived. After Ji undoes your bra and helps you remove it from under your shirt, his hands are glued to your breasts gently kneading while intermittently rubbing his thumbs over your nipples drawing soft moans from your lips and little circles of your hips.

You keep trying to give him attention by kissing his shoulders or nibbling on his ear, but he will only let you do it for a moment before he switches his affections back to you. Once you notice the pattern, you pull away for a second, also partially to catch your breath. You ask through pants,

“Am I doing okay? You keep cutting me short,” staring down into his eyes you see no sign of discontent. In fact, at your words his full cheeks tense into a big smile before going back to attacking your neck and mumbling against your skin like he can’t look at you when he admits,

“You just sound too good, Yn. I can’t get enough.”

His words alone make you whimper into his ear causing him to shiver. He begins to move lower, lingering on your collar bones. Licking and nipping. He lightly presses together and lifts your tits to his mouth to kiss them through your shirt. Kissing all over but planting light kisses to your hard bud before switching to the other. He reaches for the bottom hem of your top and looks up to check in before he proceeds.

“This okay?” You struggle to find your words and just nod down to him with your lips pressed together, but he asks again wanting a verbal confirmation from you as he begins to raise your top.

“Feels good baby?”

It would be much easier to respond if he wasn’t giving feather light kissing to your sensitive nipples.

“Yes, Ji. I… I really like it” you say, gasping as he pinches your bud between his top teeth and tongue. Screwing your eyes shut as seeing him look up through his tousled hair with his adoring gaze, mouth connected to your chest, makes you feel like you’re going to melt. You can no longer restrain the involuntary rutting of your hip and decide to just commit. One of Han's hands shoots down to grip your hip tight enough to leave fingerprints and presses you down to grind into him. His previously low and soft moans are rising in volume and frequency being dampened by your skin. Your linen pants are cute and were so comfortable for the flight, but they do little in the way of concealing what you are grinding against. They are so thin that you can target your clit onto the zipper fold of his jeans over the shaft of his hard cock.

With all the work Han has put in with his mouth, it doesn’t take many circles of your hips to get the heat and pressure in your lower stomach to rise. You grab either side of Han's face and remove his mouth as the pleasure was starting to become too much and smash your lips down on his and moan into the kiss. Keeping your pressure firm and rhythm consistent, Han’s breath is trembling, whimpering and whispering your name. His sounds, his words, his touch, it all works together in symphony, and you contract forward to rest your head on his shoulder and groan as the you reach the tipping point and you orgasm radiates through you. As you hold onto him and attempt to ride out your pleasure, the sensation of Han now gripping you with both hands pushing you down on his lap, aiding in your grinding as he fucks up against you have another high crashing over you. His voice is shaky when he finds the ability to speak,

“Fuck. Feels so… I’m gonna…Oh my god”

His rolling of his hips has turned to erratic bucking as he cums hard shuddering, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing like earlier.

“Holy shit. I haven’t jizzed my pants since I was a teen” Han giddily admits with just a twinge of embarrassment, still clinging to you trying to catch his breath.

“This is a first for me! Didn’t know it could even happen” you confess still winded from the pleasure, causing you both to let out weak laughter, neither of you daring to move for a few minutes, just lounging in the afterglow. You guys decide that Han will stay to watch some stuff and if he just so happens to fall asleep here, oh well, right? Getting two rooms was out of respect and consideration, but you both knew you’d end up sleeping in the same bed. He lets you freshen up in the bathroom first, and once you exit, he has a fresh set of clothes in his arms. He must’ve called one of the guys to bring them. 

The rest of the night is filled with endless snuggles and random movies you can find on the hotel channels; the Harry Potter movies always seem to be on TV, so you end up watching two random ones of the series out of order. Han offers to go get his laptop to hook up to the tv, but neither of you care enough to walk the 40 feet down to his room and back. This night isn't about the movies, it's about taking in every moment of being in the same room. You guys end up staying up late flicking through channels, becoming amateur film critics. It's a bit past 1am when Han has the brilliant idea for you guys to go to a convenience store nearby and pick up some ice cream. You are in the city that never sleeps, and you will never turn down an adventure or a sweet treat. He sends a text to Minho claiming he can’t get ice cream without at least offering to get one for his best friend.

“Going to get ice cream. Meet in lobby in 10”

You and Han put on your shoes and coats and share a few more smooches before you can’t for 20 minutes.

“Did Minho respond?”

“No but he read it”

“So..?”

“He’s probably already down there waiting for us”

˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡° ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡

A.n- I initially wrote this for a Han fic I was making before I realized that writing long form fanfic was not for me, so there's a bit more plot in this one. Thanks for reading.

-mo 💕

Mastserlist

[echo-riot]

✞⛧ 𝒜𝒷𝒷𝓎 with an immature girlfriend ✞⛧

✞⛧ Abby likes to tease you for your immature behavior, but deep down, she adores the way you manage to make her laugh, especially when you get excited over the smallest things. You have a way of brightening up her days with your childlike wonder, and she’ll catch herself smiling whenever you do something silly, like making funny faces or cracking jokes at the most inappropriate times.

✞⛧ She knows you’re the type to act impulsively or get lost in your own little world, and while it can drive her crazy, she’s secretly proud of how carefree you are. You balance her out in a way she never thought she’d need, reminding her to enjoy life instead of always being so serious.

✞⛧ When you pout or whine for something, Abby tries to keep a straight face, but it’s nearly impossible to resist when you give her those big puppy-dog eyes. She’ll grumble about it, calling you “a handful,” but she’ll still give in every time. You know how to work her, and that’s something she’s both frustrated by and deeply enamored with.

✞⛧ On your more immature days, when you insist on doing something without thinking it through (like impulsively buying something ridiculous or acting out in public), Abby will facepalm, but she secretly admires your bravery and ability to go after what you want without hesitation. She’s a bit of a control freak, but you make her loosen up, even if it means she has to babysit you sometimes.

✞⛧ In moments when you get overly giggly or distracted, Abby will often pull you close, her hand resting on your chin as she sternly reminds you to focus. She’s not exactly mad, though—she’ll chuckle under her breath, shaking her head at how adorable you are when you get lost in your own world. She’ll gently kiss your forehead before nudging you back on track.

✞⛧ When you try to “play” at something dangerous or foolhardy—like making bets or goading people into pranks—Abby will become your personal bodyguard, always keeping an eye on you, even if you don’t always listen. You might get a bit of a lecture afterward, but she can’t deny that she gets a kick out of your boldness.

✞⛧ Abby’s often the one to reign in your over-the-top antics, but she’s also your biggest fan. She’ll support your interests—no matter how silly they might seem. If you get obsessed with something, like collecting random trinkets or going on crazy adventures, she’ll be the one tagging along, rolling her eyes but secretly getting sucked into the fun.

✞⛧ She’s a total softie when you pout or get upset over the smallest of things, especially when you act like you’re too “immature” for serious matters. Abby will often take you into her arms and reassure you, kissing your forehead, telling you that it’s okay to act your age, even if it means being playful and carefree. You’re hers to take care of, and she doesn’t mind one bit.

✞⛧ When it comes to sex, Abby might find your innocent or immature comments amusing. However, she’ll also help guide you, wanting to make sure that you feel safe and comfortable, even if you’re not as experienced as her. She’ll be patient, teaching you how to communicate your desires and showing you how to take pleasure in the simplest of moments.

✞⛧ Abby’s not one to let you get away with everything, though. If you push her too far with your antics, she’ll have no problem putting you in your place. But even in those moments, she’ll make sure you know it’s out of love—she’ll be firm, but not unkind, and always ready to offer affection once things are settled.

✞⛧ Ultimately, Abby loves how you make her feel like a kid again, bringing joy and excitement to her life in ways she never expected. She wouldn’t trade your immaturity for anything, because it’s part of what makes you who you are—someone she can’t help but adore.

[loviejohnnydovie]

Johnny x gn!Reader

It’s 4° F (-15° C) here tonight so of course I’m thinking about wrapping myself up in the embrace of the warmest Scot. Buttttt I got to thinking about what it would be like if he’s the cold one for a change.

Cw: Reader is referred to as Johnny’s love, partner, bird, and bonnie. Johnny gets real up close and personal, but can we blame him? Sfw. Lmk if I missed anything and if I can make this more gn friendly!

Johnny had run straight to his car and driven straight home as soon as he had been debriefed. No stop for his usual chatter with Simon and Gaz, lightening the mood after reliving the hell they had been through and back over the past three weeks. Only that hell wasn’t hot, it was fucking cold. Right in the middle of a frozen classified location with no clearance to start a fire for warmth for the last days of their mission, the lot of them had resorted to layering hand warmers between their long underwear and uniforms. Johnny was usually the warmest, his body temperature always resting at a high 98.9° only fluctuating to move higher after a tough work out or in the hotter climates they were subjected to. He even prefers to keep his place cool and he doesn’t mind wearing shorts out in the snow because he’s just so warm.

All it took was a zap in the usual humidity he is used to and sub freezing temperatures and suddenly the warmest in their taskforce was the coldest. His teeth chattered for half of the mission, leading Simon to worrying about the noise giving away their cover. Thankfully the majority of the mission wasn’t spent in such harsh conditions, but the chill built up inside Johnny in a way that made him regret ever making fun of his bird’s cold feet and shivering in the cold temperature Johnny kept his apartment set to.

For once, Johnny is glad that his love keeps the apartment so warm in his absence. He’s melts with the hug of warm air that greets him as he throws the door open, wasting no time in seeking out the ultimate source of heat: his partner. He finds you napping and wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, the tv playing a rerun of your favorite show. Christ he missed this. He missed you.

With no preamble he rounds the couch and hauls you into his arms. He barely notices how you startle and rear away as you’re rudely brought out of sleep. You hug him to you once you realize it’s Johnny who has you, and he carries you, blanket and all, to your shared bedroom. You’re always so warm when you nap so he has to strike while the iron’s hot, literally.

He shuffles your bodies underneath the covers and nuzzles his face into your neck. Before you know it, Johnny is moving away only to strip his clothes off and then attempting to climb into yours with you.

Body heat is the best bonnie. I’m frozen solid, can’t you feel?

He manages to get his thick legs into your pajama pants because you happen to have on the stretchiest ones you own. The blue ones that Johnny loves to see you in, or at least you think so because he always wakes you up on nights you wear them for a middle of the night rendezvous. The shirt you have on proves to be quite difficult for him to manage to squeeze into, but eventually he settles on putting his head into the bottom of the shirt and resting his cheek against your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your hips. Once he has settled, you finally notice the shivers wracking through his body. You pull the blankets over the top of your head and peek down at Johnny through the neck hole of your shirt to see him pressing his face into your sternum, trying to absorb your warmth right from its source. You wrap your arms around him and hold him to you, ignoring the press of his cold nose. Johnny is finally home and for once you get to comment on how he’s the one shaking like a wee leaf on a tree. But, did you forget bonnie? His arms are wrapped right around your sides that are oh-so ticklish, and it’s only fair for him to get you back for that smart remark.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

you've given me too much animorphs inspiration (animorspiration?) and I'm now drowning. help. I wrote like half an essay on The Tragedy of David and how it's not really about whether he deserved a chance to change but the fact that they just straight up did not have the luxury (or tools) to give one. I think that while rachel's only regret is not giving him a clean kill, at the same time she would have done almost anything to be able to throw david at a competent adult role model and watch him face a nonlethal and constructive consequence for his actions.

I think a lot of things about david, too many for the little shit. he's such an asshole, he's cruel and sexist and so fucking unpleasant to read about I can barely imagine the horror of actually being in a room with him. but he's also just fucking thirteen. I want to grab him by the scruff of his neck and send him to therapy. even better I want a story where his family lives and it doesn't magically make him a decent person, he's still awful because he's goddamn david, and *then* he's dragged to a good therapy program and has a real incentive to change. also I guess the child soldier thing would be happening too in the background or whatever.

I couldn't agree more, with all of that. The decision to nothlit him (and kill him) is excruciatingly well-justified in canon. He's so despicable that I often want to reach through the page and throttle him. He reminds me of myself when I was a spoiled, damaged 13-year-old sick to death of being The New Kid at every school.

Maybe I was never quite that misogynistic. But at 13, I thought Light Yagami had the right approach to ethics. I thought the world would be better off if people would just shut up and give more power to the government. I was naive, I was awkward, I was a rich white kid with more experience being excluded than befriended and my social skills reflected that. Oh, and did I mention my obsession with snakes and horror comics and trying to shock adults? Because that's the root of my personal desire to stomp David's face in.

He's a normal kid, with normal problems, with a normal amount of teenage self-centeredness and temperamentalism. And the other Animorphs have basically no choice but to kill him to get him off their team. Because he's not ready for the tremendous soul-crushing responsibility they're forced to take on, to keep their species alive.

You know that old joke, about including exactly one normal athlete on every Olympic team so that we can really appreciate just how astoundingly good all the Olympians are? That's David, for the Animorphs. He's not superhumanly selfless, and he's the only one on the team for whom that's true.

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: hi can I get a panic attack one please. thank uuuu!

A/N: Hope you like this! Requests are always open.

Sam and Dean Winchester x sister!reader

The bunker was quiet. The kind of quiet that only existed when you were all off hunting or deep in research. The silence felt heavy tonight, suffocating in its stillness and you couldn't shake the storm that had been brewing.

You had been sitting in the main hall of the bunker, staring at the dusty bookshelves and trying to focus on something, anything, to distract from the gnawing sense of dread. The weight of everything was pressing down on you, and no matter how hard you tried to breathe through it, the tension in your chest only seemed to grow. Your hands were trembling, fingers splayed out on the cool table as your mind raced. You had been through plenty of terrifying hunts, but the quiet moments, the stretches of downtime, always seemed to be when the panic would strike hardest.

You hadn’t told Dean or Sam about the anxiety you’d been dealing with. It wasn’t something you wanted to burden them with. They were always so focused on the next hunt, the next case, the next fight with whatever creature was out there trying to kill them. You didn’t want to add your inner chaos to their already full plates.

But tonight, the panic was different. It felt darker, more oppressive than it ever had before. The edges of your vision were starting to blur, your chest tightening with each shallow breath you tried to take. The familiar sense of fear was seeping in, taking root, and the more you tried to fight it, the more it seemed to grow.

“I can’t… breathe…” you whispered, half to yourself, half as if saying it out loud might somehow make it true. The words barely escaped your lips before your throat tightened further.

You stood up quickly, too quickly, the motion making everything spin around you. The floor beneath your feet felt unsteady, and your stomach churned with nausea. Your hand shot out instinctively to grip the edge of the table, nails digging into the wood as you tried to steady yourself. It wasn’t working. Nothing was working.

You felt like you were suffocating—like the air was thick, dense, and unyielding, wrapping around you tighter with every panicked breath. Your heartbeat was a hammer in your chest, a constant, unrelenting thud that made everything feel worse. The walls of the bunker, normally a safe haven, now felt like they were closing in on you. You stumbled backward, barely catching yourself on the nearest wall as your vision darkened and your thoughts became fragmented.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, the words falling from your lips like a prayer, but you knew they wouldn’t stop the oncoming wave of panic. You could feel the cold sweat beginning to trickle down your back, your hands slick as you pressed them to your forehead in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

You couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t focus on anything. It felt like the whole world was crumbling around you, and you were powerless to stop it. The noise in your head—your heart racing, your breath hitching—was deafening. You couldn't hear anything over it. You couldn’t make it stop. It was happening again.

Your knees buckled and you fell to the floor with a heavy thud, gasping for air, eyes wide in panic. It felt like drowning in the air itself. Every second stretched on forever, your mind spiraling deeper, unable to escape. You pressed your hands over your ears, trying to block out the world, but all you could hear was the relentless pounding of your own heart and the distant rush of blood in your ears.

Then there was a sound. Footsteps—loud, hurried, and unmistakable.

It was Dean.

He rounded the corner to find you on the floor, crouched in a fetal position, hands clutching at your clothes like they were the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Your face was pale, eyes wide and glassy, tears threatening to spill over the edges.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Dean’s voice was sharp, but there was an edge to it, one you’d never heard before—concern. Fear. Something in the way he said your name made you realize just how bad it must’ve been for him to be so rattled.

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except try to steady your breathing, but your chest wouldn’t cooperate, and the panic was relentless.

Dean dropped to his knees in front of you, his large hands coming to rest on your shoulders, gently trying to guide you into a sitting position. His touch was warm, grounding. “Look at me, okay? You’re fine. You’re safe. Just breathe with me, okay?”

But the words felt hollow in your mind. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t do anything. The fear was choking you, and all you could focus on was the overwhelming pressure in your chest.

“Sam!” Dean barked over his shoulder, his voice cracking just slightly. Sam must’ve been in his room, but he appeared in a matter of seconds, his long strides covering the distance as quickly as possible.

“Sam, help me, she can’t—” Dean started, but Sam was already kneeling beside you. His hands hovered, unsure, and his face was a picture of concern.

“(Y/N), hey, it’s Sam,” he said softly, voice low and calm, trying to match your frantic breathing with his own steady rhythm. “Look at me. It’s just us. You’re safe, okay? Breathe with us.”

The sight of both of them, their worry evident in their eyes, was almost too much to handle. You wanted to scream, to shove them away, but instead, you just clutched at their hands, tears finally falling from your eyes as you gasped for air.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Dean repeated, his voice insistent, but gentle, the repetition grounding you slightly. Sam mirrored him, his hand brushing your hair out of your face in a comforting gesture.

The minutes seemed to drag on for hours, the panic attack relentless and unforgiving, but slowly, your breathing started to slow. Your hands stopped trembling as you focused on their voices, on the steady rise and fall of their chests, trying to match your breath to theirs. The world still felt blurry around the edges, but the terror had dulled slightly.

“Just… don’t leave me,” you whispered through ragged breaths, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable in the face of your own fear.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Sam said softly, his hand tightening around yours. Dean squeezed your shoulder in reassurance.

You nodded weakly, feeling a shred of comfort in their presence. It wasn’t over, not yet, but for the first time that night, you didn’t feel completely alone in it.

And for now, that was enough.

[slowcatsisland]

Would you do a physical Characteristics Headcanons for Law? 😊♥️

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Trafalgar Law; Physical Characteristics Headcanons

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N: My opinion no one attack me lol

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I feel like his hair is more on the thin side but he has a lot of it so you can’t tell until you’re running your hands through it

His hair used to be a lot more fluffy than it currently is because of how much he wears his hat (he gets serious hat hair and you can tell even when the brushes it out)

His hair grows pretty fast which is one of the reasons he keeps a goatee

Shachi cuts his hair regularly (Law thinks he looks like his dad if it gets too short though)

He hates the feeling of a mustache though especially when foods get in it so he refuses to grow one (Bepo has a photo of him with his mustache)

Was born with like perfect 90s eyebrows

HIS EYES ARE A GOLDEN YELLOW COLOR-I shout as they drag me away

His eyes are the same color as his earrings

You know those people that just have really enlarged pupils? I feel like that’s Law..

He either has a really intense look in his eye or his eyelids are half open. He can see just the same either way

He has terrible eye bags. His tan makes up for it but when they’ve been submerged for a long time under the fluorescent lighting he looks undead at times

He wears eyeliner. He keeps it minimal and doesn’t really experiment with wings or anything but always tight lines. They make his bags stand out less and make his eyes pop more

He surprisingly barely has any wrinkles

His nose is more prominent and straight-downturned if that makes sense?

He flares his nostrils when he gets annoyed and Bepo finds it cute

He has a baby face and it makes him look younger than he really is despite his eye bags. It’s one of the reasons he decided to grow facial hair

He has a cartilage golden band piercing on his right ear but you don’t see it unless he takes off his hat

Imagine Law with an eye brow piercing..Idk if he’d actually ever do it but it’s nice to think about

He is one of those people that are the definition of lean, lanky muscle. He looks like a long distance runner but ended up gaining some weight and muscle during his time with the Straw Hats (the Sanji effect- bros food puts you in prime condition)

Even though it didn’t look like it for most of his life, his muscle is really firm and he’s one of those people that you get shocked when you see how well they can physically do something

I’m one of those guys that prefer him with his blotched spots post White Lead Disease. It’s a great representation for people with Vitiligo/people with melanin loss (tho his spots were said to go away after he cured himself I just..wished they stayed yk? It’s great for angst)

Has cold hands

He’s got long fingers and he’s ridiculously precise with them (yk those videos of surgeons folding origami with their tools? That’s him on a daily basis for fun)

Bros mostly legs - his hips are where Luffy’s belly button is

I want him to have some form of leg tattoos but sadly I don’t think he does..

Maybe he wants one but just hasn’t committed to it yet yeah yeah

Walks on the more quiet side and he’s always startling his crew members when they’re off the submarine because on the Polar Tang the metal makes it so hear the click of his boots

His wing span is crazy impressive

I feel like he has a very high pain tolerance (prolly didn’t feel much of anything when he got his tattoos nor his ears pierced)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[manias-wordcount]

Hi so I saw you write for legend of Zelda

Urbosa x male hylian knight reader

So could you do a short story during the age of calamity that while the champions were defeating ganon they got word that an army of monsters and yiga thousands strong was marching towards gerudo village and that it's only defense was urbosa's voe lover

And when urbosa and the champions arrive, they find not a single gerudo harmed and thousands of defeated enemies, and in the center of it all, a HEAVILY wounded, reader their shield broken and sword on the verge of shattering and when asked by a rightfully worried urbosa why they stood alone reader says while healers attend to him

"I swore the day we got together, on my sword and my soul I'd protect everything you love...and you love your people more than anything else..so i made sure not a single drop of gerudo blood stained the sands"

How would she react to this

Heavyweight (Urbosa x Male! Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗜 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗯𝗿𝗼. 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚!! 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗰, 𝗜 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸 𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱.

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Heavy. Your body feels so, so heavy.

You want to say that the pain is gone. You want to say that it has gone away- traveled to a different, more deserving person. That you never even knew what it was like to experience it in the first place. But that would be a lie. Because the pain? It’s still there. But it’s huddled under murky feelings of numbness and knowledge that you’re supposed to feel something else right there, but you just don’t. You just don’t. Not right now, at least.

But it’s hard to express that. It’s hard to share or say that. Because your body feels so, so heavy. And the person in front of you can’t seem to understand that as much as you want to answer her, you can’t. Because your tongue won’t work. Your lips won’t work. Your arms and legs are still there, but they won’t work. They only burn as sand rubs up against them. They only creak and groan in protest as you try to move them. They only hurt. They only exist to hurt. You only exist to hurt.

Because you’ve done all your other jobs. And you’ve done them well. But now, it’s time for you to pay the price. Still though…

“What did you do?” 

You absolutely hate to make her worry like this.

“What did you do?!” Urbosa’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife as her fingers dig into your shoulders. She’s kneeling before you. And if your mind was clearer and if her fear of you bleeding out right in front of her wasn’t very, very real at the moment, you both know you two would have done everything in your power to keep your composure. Especially in front of the troops that she leads. You can already see the blurry blend of faces as they lean into each other and whisper, faces half-hidden behind hands. This is a side of Urbosa that they have not seen before. This is a side of Urbosa that they have never needed to have seen before. But yet, here it was. “What did you do?!” 

Here it was being revealed for everyone and for all to see. All because of a man. All because of you.

You wish it hadn’t come to this. You wish you could have saved her the fear and the worry. You wish you could have been stronger and faster. You wish you could have fought harder and for longer. You wish you weren’t the reason she was breaking down in front of a group of her mightiest fighters, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes as she begs for an explanation- a reason why she found you all covered in blood with one foot in the grave. But you didn’t have that luxury. You couldn’t try to fix your positioning so you still sat up straight. You couldn’t try to move further away from the sacred city to at least avoid painting its historic walls red with your blood. In fact, you could do little more than hiss and groan as your love shook you awake every few seconds in order to keep you alive and working. 

“Tell me! Tell me, what did you do?!” 

But it’s just so heavy. 

You sword by your feet. The armor you eventually had to shed when it started to slow you down. The dead bodies you had to carry away from the walls of the village to ensure they wouldn’t get stained with such filth. Your head as you try to lift it to meet Urbosa’s eyes and ensure her that you’re fine, really, and that you were just trying to keep your promise to her. It’s all so heavy. It all weighs down on you. Makes your heart work harder. Makes your body move slower. Makes everything a lot more difficult than it needs to be. But you promised. You promised.

“I…”

So you had every intent to keep it. You had every intent to keep your promise. You owe it to her. You owe it to them.

“I swore…”You try to force something out. Anything, really. Just a response. That’s all you need. Just a response. And the words start off slow. They stumble around. They tumble around. They climb up your throat and refuse to jump off your tongue time and time again. But she’s counting on you. She needs you. She needs you to be okay. She needs you to answer her. She needs you. So you try again. With a voice that’s dry and cracks every other second. With a throat that aches from being choked and screaming out in pain and existing only to be part of you- part of your body that fights and battles and defends. You try again. “I swore…” 

“I swore…the day we got together…on my sword and my soul…”

She tries to say something. She tries to stop you. Tries to warn you against working so hard when you’re injured. Tries to warn you against making her heart hurt and ache and break for you more than it already has. But you can’t stop now. Because you didn’t stop then. She asked you what you did. She asked you why you did it. And as the words come out of your mouth, one by one…you don’t feel as heavy. You don’t feel the weight or the pain or the numbness.

“That I'd do anything to protect everything you love. Anything…”

You just feel her hands as she holds onto you. You just feel her gaze as she looks at you. You just feel the love that you have for her. And the love that she has for you. And for her people. And her village. And her troops. And for so much more.

“...and you love your people more than anything else. So I made sure…I made sure…”

And you used that. You used those feelings. You used her expression. Her touch. Her care. Her heart. Her soul. You used that to lift yourself up in this moment. To lift yourself up like those same feelings and memories lifted you up in battle. To lift yourself up like they did all so that things don’t feel so, so, so impossibly heavy anymore. So you can keep your promise. So you can keep on fighting. So you can keep on being strong.

“...that not a single drop of Gerudo blood stained the sands. Not a single drop”

At least, for just a little while longer.

[somniseeker]

HIHI i was thinking about your fic and was wondering, what would be the reaction frm the guys with a yn more mean? Like, they told yn to come to a party with them and yn answer "why would i want to be near You guys lmao"

swings legs i had fun with this one pls read until end for longer snippet !!

“How would the sans' react to a meaner MC?”

pairings; undertale sans aus/mean reader

cw; made with ding!sans' in mind, they're from my fic which you can find on my page. can somewhat be read alone.

You’re quick to deliver sharp, biting remarks, often pointing out flaws or poking fun at the others.

Fresh: At first, Fresh laughs it off and tells you how unrad it is, but you notice his responses slow down over time. You almost think you had hurt his feelings—not that you'd care, but then... Eventually, he starts countering with his own brand of overly chipper sarcasm. 90's insults and the whole shabang. “Jabroni!” “Bozo!” He’d text quick wittedly and honestly, you felt as if he didn't take you seriously at all!

Ink: Ink acts unbothered, but his emojis start feeling a little more passive-aggressive after each comment. He eventually flat-out asks if you’re always this “charming.” (Hint: yes, you are.)

Anytime someone gets excited about something, you’re quick to brush it off as “boring” or “childish.”

Blue (Swap): At first, Blue is genuinely hurt. He tries to win you over with kindness, but when it doesn’t work, he grows more defensive. “Well, at least I’m not a grouch like you!” Except this doesn't get taken that seriously through text messages, he made many typos while mad. Embarrassment sunk in his skull.

You don’t sugarcoat anything. If someone asks for your opinion, you give it to them straight—even if it stings.

Fell: While the others struggle with your bluntness, Fell almost seems to respect it. “Finally, someone who knows how to talk without all the coddling. You’re still a pain in the ass, though.”

Your humor leans sarcastic and borderline cruel, often making fun of situations or people when they least expect it.

Mutt (Fellswap Papyrus): Mutt starts out confused but eventually laughs along, he was used to his brother somewhat acting this way anyways. “i can’t tell if yer joking or just heartless. either way, i respect it..”

The Skeletons Get Used to You

Over time, the group adjusts to your personality. While the initial sting of your remarks still lingers, they realize that your meanness isn’t necessarily personal—it’s just who you are.

Fell outright calls you out one day: “At least I have the guts to say it to someone’s face. You just hide behind a screen like a coward.” Surprisingly, his bluntness makes you pause. After that, the two of you develop an odd sense of camaraderie, bonding over your shared abrasiveness. But, in your defense, it's not even like you could say anything to any of their faces—it was a groupchat! An online one!

Blue learns to dish out sass in return, though he’s not nearly as sharp as you. “Hah! See? I can be tough too!” It’s almost endearing how hard he tries to keep up.

Overall; the skeletons gradually adjust to your mean-spirited personality, finding it strangely entertaining rather than off-putting. For you, being snarky behind a screen is easier than dealing with the judgmental stares of real life. At first, your bluntness catches them off guard, but having already dealt with Fell’s abrasive honesty and Error’s sarcastic tendencies, they learn to roll with it.

───────────────────────────────────

Ink: we should do introductions!

You: pass.

BlueberryBoi: that’s no way to make friends!

You: i’m not here to make friends. isn’t that obvious?

GlitchBitch: ok, but why’re you still here if you hate us so much?

You: free entertainment. like watching a bad soap opera.

Ink: :\

───────────────────────────────────

BlueberryBoi: hey, what’s your favorite color? i wanna know more about you!

You: it’s not blue, if that’s what you’re fishing for.

BlueberryBoi: why would that be what i’m fishing for?!

FunkN’Fresh: dang, blueberry got roasted!

You: relax, fresh. you’re next. how’s it feel living in 2010 with that personality?

FunkN’Fresh: YO YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO GO THAT HARD!!

ISTHATTHEGRIMREAPER: this is just sad at this point.

You: what’s sad is your edge level. did you write this chat on a black notebook with skull doodles in the margins?

DANCETILLURDEAD: ok but that’s actually kinda funny.

You: congrats, first compliment of the night. don’t get used to it.

nastydawg: i’m crying.

───────────────────────────────────

Ink: it’s been a while since we had someone meaner than fell in here…

Fell2cool4school: correction: i say it to yer faces. this coward hides behind the screen.

You: pretty big words coming from an off-brand tsundere.

FunkN’Fresh: HAHAHA TSUNDERE FELL

Fell2cool4school: say that again, and yer dead.

You: aw, did i hurt your feelings?

───────────────────────────────────

FunkN’Fresh: hey brah, we’re watching a movie later. wanna join?

You: nah.

Fell2cool4school: you always say no. do you do anything fun?

You: yeah, but it doesn’t involve hanging out with people like you.

Fell2cool4school: just admit it. you’re scared we’ll out-snark you.

You: yeah, i’m terrified. let me go cower under my desk real quick.

ISTHATTHEGRIMREAPER: ngl, that sounds like a yes.

BlueberryBoi: i think you secretly like us!

You: doubt.

───────────────────────────────────

Ink: so you coming to the movie night or what?

You: didn’t i already say no? you forget things a lot for someone with so many brains.

Ink: nah, just figured you’d be too lonely to say no twice.

You: …ok, that one wasn’t bad.

FunkN’Fresh: WHOA, INK GOT A POINT!!

BlueberryBoi: hey, if you hate us so much, why’re you always online?

You: you’re that one annoying ad you can’t block.

BlueberryBoi: that doesn’t even make sense!!

Fell2cool4school: neither does their personality. move on.

You: says the guy who named himself “fell2cool4school.”

───────────────────────────────────

You had just logged off your last class for the day, stretching as you leaned back in your chair. The soft hum of your computer faded into the background as your phone buzzed on the desk. That group chat again.

Despite how bizarre it all was, you hadn’t left yet. Something about their antics kept pulling you back—though you weren’t sure if it was curiosity or sheer disbelief at their personalities. You picked up your phone, thumb swiping to open the app.

ISTHATTHEGRIMREAPER: yo, who’s up for a party tonight?

FunkN’Fresh: YO YO YO!! PARTY?? sign me UP, my dudes!

Ink: Party? Who’s hosting??

Fell2cool4school: tf u need to know for? either you’re in or you’re not.

nastydawg: bet it’s just some lame excuse for you to brood.

You couldn’t help but scoff. A party? With them?

You already knew where this was going. The thought of actually hanging out with the loud, chaotic group made your head hurt.

Before you could mute the conversation and move on with your evening, another message came through.

Ink: protégé, you coming?

GlitchBitch: doubt it.

DanceTillUrDead: um, we haven't even seen their face yet..

fell2cool4school: shut up remix no one likes u

DanceTillUrDead: i didnt even say anything :(

FunkN’Fresh: c’mon, protégé! it’ll be fresh. gotta let loose sometimes, you feel?

ISTHATTHEGRIMREAPER: yeah, don’t be lame.

The barrage of messages made you pause. Did they actually think you’d go? You glanced at the messages again, your lips curling into a smirk. If they were expecting you to jump at the invitation, they had another thing coming.

You typed quickly, the sarcasm practically dripping from your fingertips.

You: why would i want to be near you guys lmao.

The chat went silent for a moment. Then:

Fell2cool4school: lmfao

Ink: 😐

nastydawg: damn, that’s cold.

You could almost picture their faces—well, if skeletons had proper faces. Maybe they weren’t used to being called out like this.

FunkN’Fresh: WHOA OKAY, rude.

ISTHATTHEGRIMREAPER: not rude lol, just pathetic. they’re too scared to hang with us.

You raised an eyebrow at the message. Scared? Hardly. But the baiting tone was hard to ignore.

You: scared? pls. i just don’t waste my time.

Fell2cool4school: says the one still sitting here reading our messages.

You grit your teeth. Fell’s words hit a little too close to home, and you weren’t about to let him get the last word.

You: nah, i’m just here for the free comedy show.

gotta say, you guys are top-tier entertainment.

The chat erupted into a mix of responses.

nastydawg: ok but this is funny

Ink: yeah, hilarious.. /s

GlitchBitch: stop fueling them, mutt.

FunkN’Fresh: YO PRO, i’ll have you know i’m like, the LIFE of any party!! you’re missing OUT, my dude.

You: i’m sure. let me know when the clown

show starts, maybe i’ll swing by.

You set your phone down, satisfied. The chat was still blowing up with messages, but you ignored them. They wanted to play games? Fine. You weren’t about to make it easy for them.

Still, as you leaned back in your chair, you couldn’t shake the faint curiosity lingering in your chest. For all their weirdness, you wondered what they’d actually be like in person.

But you weren’t about to admit that—not to them, and definitely not to yourself. Why are you even wasting your precious time with some dumb no life roleplayers anyways.

[stars-remain2]

Find the word

How it works: I search for the words previously assigned to me in my latest WIP and then choose four words for you to search for in your WIP.

Thank you @joeyalohadream for tagging me! This was the first time anyone has ever tagged me into one of these and I just feel so honored. Plus getting to read more snippets from “Let your heart be light” just made my lil heart SO happy. Your writing lights up my life, truly! 🎄💕

My words: heat, step, heavy, light all from my upcoming fic “Lucky” for MoTA’s 1st Birthday Bingo. @mota-collab

Heat (I don’t have heat but I do have hot. Close enough. 😉)

Gale’s first mission back after his catastrophic injury will be a repeat of the same mission that nearly killed him: Bremen.

Gale isn’t superstitious, but John’s lucky deuce certainly didn’t do the trick last time. With John in London, he wants to take something of John’s up with him and it’s not like he can take his picture. That might get the guys talking and he doesn’t want a blue ticket home. They’ve been able to keep things discreet the last few months and they have to keep it that way.

At breakfast the morning of the mission, Gale is very intentional about spilling milk all over his dark brown bomber jacket. He jumps up from the table and tells the boys he will meet back up with them after he gets changed.

He heads back to the hut he shares with John and some of the other officers. Luckily everyone is on leave or at breakfast so the hut is empty when he arrives. He goes straight for John’s foot locker, opening it with care, knowing he will find what he’s looking for.

There on top of the locker is John’s sheepskin jacket. He’d stopped wearing it as often because Gale “hates” it so much.

Though John is slightly broader than Gale, something Gale has always found rather comforting (okay, hot), it still fits. Gale looks at himself in the mirror and feels satisfied with his new look. This was the perfect solution to taking a piece of John up with him. And better yet, John would never know. He’d have it hidden back in his foot locker before he ever got back from London.

Step

He’s brought up to an open train car where a group of men are being herded and thrust inside. He can only hope that this train is taking all of them to a Stalag and not to an immediate death. After some difficulty with his ribs, he climbs into the car and tries to find a spot along a back wall, out of the way. He needs to be able to brace his ribs and the middle of the car will not afford him that luxury.

“Buck!”

He thinks he hears his name but that can’t be possible.

“Buck! Is that you?”

He turns his head, seeking out the voice. He can’t help but smile when he sees the familiar face of Benny DeMarco headed straight toward him.

“Major, it sure is good to see you,” Benny says as they clasp hands and hug.

Benny’s brows furrow then. “But are you ok? You look pretty roughed up. Your face…was it the landing or did they hurt you, Major?”

Gale doesn’t want to discuss this at all but certainly not with an audience. He ducks his head and brings his voice down, “Ah, we can talk later Benny, ok?”

Benny knows Gale well and takes the hint. Gale hates any kind of attention. But Benny isn’t going to let this go once they get to where they are going. He can tell from the way the Major is holding himself that he is injured. Plus Bucky would kill him if he let anything happen to Buck.

The train soon delivers them to their new home at Stalag Luft III.

As they walk through the gate, Gale’s steps falter and Benny has to steady him. Gale says, “I’m fine, I’m fine,” but he’s gone three shades more pale.

Benny takes one of Gale’s arms and puts it around his shoulders.

“Let me help. That’s what co-pilots are for.”

Gale can’t argue. His strength is flagging.

Heavy

The problems for “Our Baby” that started on the tarmac continue in the air with the ball turret before they reach Bremen. Gale continues to do what he does best, he rallies his crew, encourages them to hold fast and remain alert as they approach the target.

The flak is heavy around them.

They all want this so bad they can taste it.

Then it all goes to hell.

Once over the target, their plane is hit by three fighters at 10:00 high, out of the sun. The damage is significant and takes out the No. 2 engine. Gale and Benny refuse to panic, they simply shut it down and continue with the mission.

Smoke pours from their plane making them an easy target. The Luftwaffe keep coming. Control cables are the next to go, completely severed. The smell of electricity fills the air and smoke filters throughout the cabin and fuselage.

Gale remains unshaken. This is what he’s trained for. He’s been beaten up his whole life. As a child, he didn’t expect this kind of treatment from people who were supposed to love him and yet he ended up bloodied and bruised. He expects this kind of treatment from the Germans.

A section of the left wing is blown off and shells rip through the nose of the plane. The death knell is beginning to ring but he refuses to hear it. He can’t afford to stop and listen. He’s got to try to get his crew to a place where they will have a fighting chance.

He comes on the radio then, “We are gonna try to make it to the Dutch border, boys. That means we gotta dump all of our gear not bolted down in order to lighten our load. Shoot the bomb sight and dump it too.”

He quickly stops transmitting because it’s all he can do to hold on to this bird. It’s pulling both he and Benny for all they are worth. He doesn’t want his crew to hear the strain in his voice.

He closes his eyes for a brief second, picturing Bucky’s face. He can do this. He can hold on. For Bucky.

Then he feels the plane shudder with another hit.

And another.

Engine No. 1 shuts down.

The blankets under Benny’s seat catch fire.

Engine No. 3 shuts down.

Then No. 4.

“No Engine Cleven” won’t be making a miracle landing today.

He allows himself one moment of terror. Then he leans his face down and brushes the part of his cheek not covered by the mask against the collar of Bucky’s jacket. The fuzzy texture against his skin grounds him once again and it allows him to regain his composure. He flips the switch which will change the course of the war for all of them.

“Bail out. Pilot to crew, I repeat, bail out.”

He sends Benny ahead of him and suddenly he’s the last one remaining on board. The proverbial captain going down with his ship. It’s always been like this, Gale against the world. But for the first time in his life, he’s got someone to live for. He pulls Bucky’s jacket tighter around him and whispers, “I love you Johnny.”

Then he jumps.

Light

With no money for college and a terrible reputation in his hometown of Casper, Wyoming because of his father’s gambling debts, Gale decides that entering the military is his best, scratch that - only - option. He then ships off to boot camp, simply trading one war for another.

The moment John “Bucky” Egan lays eyes on Gale Cleven, two things happen at the exact same time. He knows he is dealing with a wounded animal and he knows that this man is his destiny. He can tell that Gale will be a tough nut to crack, but he is certain that beneath that facade is the most beautiful soul he’s ever seen.

Gale’s walls are built high but Bucky has a plan to start chipping away at them. He is used to getting what he wants. Bucky then does what any normal human being would do. He gives Gale his name. He starts with his nickname since it wasn’t exactly legal for him to give him his last name. Yet.

“You look just like a buddy of mine from back home in Manitowoc. His name is Buck.”

With a hand on his chin and a serious expression on his face, Bucky studies Gale. It gives him the perfect excuse to look for a few extra seconds. Nodding and looking proud of himself, Bucky breaks out into the biggest smile, which lights up his entire face.

Gale finds it impossible to resist, feeling himself beginning to smile too.

“Yep, I think I’ll call ya Buck, Buck.”

Bucky slings an arm around Gale’s shoulders as they begin walking toward their barracks. Gale looks at him like he is crazy but there is an air of lightheartedness finally beginning to settle into the formerly rigid planes of his face. He’s made Gale Cleven smile. Bucky’s heart feels like it is going to explode and he knows right then and there that he will do anything to make Gale smile again.

Bucky isn’t sure if he is having heart palpations or if he is just falling in love.

One small problem though. Buck from Manitowoc doesn’t exist. Buck Cleven doesn’t need to know that though. That’s right, it is one big ole lie.

While it is the first time Bucky lies to Gale’s face, it won’t be the last.

Bonus Light

John thinks to himself that he has never seen a human being more pale and still alive. He rides with Gale in the ambulance transport to the hospital on base, not allowing an argument as to whether he belongs there or not. He holds Gale’s hand, which is ice cold. Gale is shaking now, his body going into shock from the injury and blood loss. John quickly rips off his sheepskin jacket and drapes it over Gale. He knows Gale hates this jacket but he’ll do anything to help keep him warm.

A medic places an oxygen mask over Gale’s face but he’s still struggling to breathe. He coughs and it’s a terrible barking sound. Blood splatters all over the inside of the mask, creating a ghastly combination of colors, the red blood and Gale’s blue lips.

John can’t look away.

Gale’s eyes flutter open then, searching. Searching for John. They are frantic, darting back and forth. John can tell he wants to speak so badly but his grievous injury won’t allow him the breath to do so. John starts brushing back Gale’s hair again, “I’m here, I’m not leaving you. You aren’t alone. Please fight Buck.”

The medic is too busy tending to Buck to pay attention to what’s being said between the two men and Bucky knows he’s got to give Gale something to fight for. Someone to fight for. He knows he can’t say it out loud so he moves in closer to Gale’s face. He then moves his mouth slowly without saying the words out loud and prays he’s not too late for Gale to see.

“I. Love. You.”

He can see the moment the light leaves Gale’s eyes. His chest stops heaving. He’s not breathing anymore.

John feels like he’s not breathing either.

John starts screaming, “He’s not breathing! You’ve got to help him! My God, SOMEONE HELP HIM!”

They’ve reached the hospital. The medical staff tear John away then, ripping Gale and John’s hands apart as they rush Gale into a treatment bay. His last glimpse of Gale is of someone jumping on top of his chest, doing chest compressions, John’s sheepskin jacket tossed in a heap on the floor.

John is left standing there, drenched in Gale’s blood, shivering without his jacket and wondering if he’s about to lose the love of his life. The love of his life who died not knowing he’s the love of his life. He’d been too late. 

He falls to his knees and allows the tears to finally come.


**Authors Note - I don’t do Major Character Deaths in my fics so have no fear. You can read this fic on Sunday on AO3. I will also be posting here on Tumblr. ❤️**

No pressure tagging @hogans-heroes @trekkiehood @onyxsboxes @blixabargelds

Your words are: touch, eyes, fight, walk