#and it's too complex and weird to put it down into words. but I'm still trying

[fratercrucis]

get me on the call with eric kripke because I need to know his version of the supernatural finale. I just know it would've been a banger. it would've been the darkest of shit and horrifyingly gory and too tragic to even rewatch but it would give you a fetish so bad you'd find yourself going back and watching it while you gag and jack off at the same time. it would've been wacky enough to even have him cancelled by a section of the fandom.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

"are you trembling for god, or for me?"

part I

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Angel!Reader

Summary: Ben never thought he'd like innocence this much... he wants to see how far he can twist it.

Warnings: 18+!, Soldier Boy is a warning, language, corruption, religious reference, violence, innocence, smut (dirty talk, dry humping, corruption kink, praise kink), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 5,853

Ben hated waiting. Especially for those assholes.

The safehouse was hot, dusty, and stank of something sweet and rotten—probably whatever the last squatters left in the fridge. Or maybe MM's shitty protein shakes. He paced the living room like a caged dog, boots creaking on warped floorboards, jaw grinding as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

They were late.

Again.

And Butcher's last text—got somethin extra, stay fucking put!—wasn't helping.

He scoffed under his breath. "Better be a goddamn nuke."

Outside, gravel crunched under tires. Ben rolled his eyes and dropped onto the arm of the busted couch, leaning back with a sigh just as the door swung open.

Butcher came in first, blood on his sleeve and that usual sour look twisting his face. "Christ, that was a fuckin' mess," he grunted, tossing his gun onto the table. MM followed behind him, eyes sweeping the room with military precision. Hughie was limping. Kimiko had blood spattered across her cheek.

And then—

You.

Barefoot. Wrapped in someone else's coat—Hughie's, maybe. Your face was drawn, pale. You looked... wrong. Not in a monstrous way. Not like a supe. Just—

Fragile. Quiet. Too quiet.

Ben froze. The air changed. He sat up straighter as you crossed the threshold, your steps hesitant, like each one needed permission. You kept your arms close to your body, your fingers twitching like they weren't sure what to do without chains.

You didn't look at the others. You looked at him. And he stared back. Hard. But you didn't flinch. Didn't look away. You studied him. Wide eyes. Calm face. Like he was a puzzle to solve, not a weapon. Not a threat.

It unsettled him.

"What the fuck is that?" He muttered, voice low.

Butcher dropped into the nearest chair with a groan and unceremoniously cracked open a beer. "That," he said, nodding toward you, "is the reason this whole thing went sideways."

Ben didn't break eye contact. "Looks like a deer caught in a goddamn bear trap."

"Yeah, well, she's Vought's little secret. Kept her underground for—what'd Frenchie say—six years? Seven?" Butcher waved a hand. "Some angelic-class prototype. Supposed to be a healer. Maybe a nuke. Who the fuck knows."

"A what now?"

"Angelic. You know. Wings. Light. God complex. That kinda bollocks."

Ben scoffed. "You're kiddin'."

"Do I look like I'm in a joking fuckin' mood, cunt?"

He didn't respond. You were still staring at him.

And it wasn't scared. It wasn't reverent. It wasn't even curious. It was detached. Like you'd been dropped into a world that didn't make sense, and you were trying to find a shape in the noise. You looked at him like he was a radio station that kept cutting in and out.

Ben stood up slowly, letting the weight of his presence fill the room like smoke. He walked toward the kitchen, keeping you in his peripheral vision, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He popped the cap with his thumb and took a long, slow pull. Still, you watched him.

It wasn't until you spoke—soft, almost unsure—that something in him twitched.

"Are you the loud one?" You asked.

The room fell quiet.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're the one I heard. From the van. The heartbeat." Your voice was calm. Tired. "It was very loud."

Butcher chuckled darkly from the couch. "Told you. Fuckin' weird."

Ben didn't laugh. He took another swig of his beer, then turned his full attention to you. You didn't back down. Just tilted your head again. Like a bird listening for rain.

She's not scared of me, he thought. That's gonna change.

He meant to forget you. Really, he did.

Meant to write you off like the rest of the weird shit The Boys dragged back from the edge of hell. Meant to file you away as some broken Vought pet project—another fucked-up science experiment with glass bones and too much light behind the eyes.

But the thing was...

You didn't do anything. You just were.

You wandered the safehouse like a ghost in someone else's body. Always barefoot. Always quiet. You'd trail your fingers along the walls like you were feeling the pulse of the place. You watched the toaster with reverence. You flinched when someone raised their voice but never spoke up. You didn't eat much. Didn't sleep, either.

And Ben—who wasn't subtle, wasn't patient, wasn't nice—found himself watching.

At first, he told himself it was because you were a liability. A Vought ticking time bomb wrapped in soft skin and borrowed clothes. He was just being careful. Keeping an eye on you.

But then you tilted your head at him one morning—like you were listening to a song only you could hear—and smiled. And he knew he was fucked.

It was late afternoon now. Too hot. Too quiet.

He sat on the windowsill, one leg propped up, watching the hallway like it owed him something. The rest of the team were out getting supplies. He'd stayed behind to "rest." Translation: he didn't feel like playing nice.

And there you were.

Walking slowly down the hallway, your hand brushing the wall, bare feet whispering over the scuffed floor like you weren't sure gravity applied to you yet. You stopped in front of a painting—ugly, generic motel art in a fake gold frame—and stared at it for a long time.

Then you said, softly, "Why is that tree on fire?"

Ben blinked. "It's fall."

You turned, startled. Then you smiled like he'd said something kind.

"Oh. I thought it was a warning."

He stared at you.

Who the fuck talks like that?

You walked toward him slowly, like someone approaching a wounded animal. You weren't scared. You were just... careful. He didn't move. You stopped a few feet away, folding your hands in front of you.

"Do you like it here?" You asked. No context. No explanation.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like someone who likes anything?"

You tilted your head again. That damn bird look. Thoughtful. Soft.

"You don't have to, you know."

He scoffed. "Don't have to what?"

"Pretend to be angry all the time. It makes your heart beat too hard."

What the fuck.

He stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

You smiled, barely. "I can feel it when it's too loud."

That made his jaw clench.

"You feelin' me right now, sweetheart?" He asked, voice low.

You paused. Then nodded. Softly. Innocently. "Always."

Ben looked away. He didn't trust what his body was doing. Not his breath. Not his pulse. Not the coil tightening low in his gut.

You weren't flirting. You weren't trying to get a rise out of him. That was the worst part. You didn't know. And that made him want to bite something in half.

Later, the sun dipped low, painting the walls of the safehouse in bruised orange and peeling gold. The shitty air conditioning buzzed overhead, doing a whole lot of nothing. Somewhere down the hall, Butcher was yelling about someone eating his last protein bar.

Ben ignored him.

You were in the living room, cross-legged on the carpet, watching the tiny TV like it held the secrets of the universe. Some rom-com flicker of mid-2000s sap, all fake city backdrops and orchestral swells when the guy finally realised the girl was his entire goddamn reason for breathing.

Ben stood in the doorway. Arms crossed. Shoulder leaned against the frame. Watching you watch the movie. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

You tilted your head the same way you looked at everything—curious. Quiet. Like you didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so you settled somewhere in between. There was a half-eaten orange in your lap. Your fingers were sticky with juice.

Ben didn't think he'd ever seen someone look more out of place and more made for a moment all at once.

"You ever seen a movie before?" He asked gruffly.

You didn't look away from the screen. Just nodded.

"Do you like it?"

Another pause. Then: "I think it's nice." You said it like it meant something.

He huffed. "Romantic shit always look that dumb to you?"

You blinked. Then turned your head, slow and deliberate, to face him. Your eyes held no edge, no sarcasm—just a soft kind of interest.

"I don't think it's dumb," you said. "It seems kind."

Ben didn't answer. He didn't move. Something sharp twisted in his ribs. You held his gaze like it was easy. Like you didn't know what it meant to make a man like him look away first.

He clenched his jaw. Then, before he could stop himself:

"You ever been kissed, angel?"

You blinked again, slower this time. Like you had to process the question. Your mouth parted, just a little, and Ben's hands twitched at his sides.

"No," you said.

He swallowed.

"Why?" That word. Soft. Curious. Not defensive. Not shy. Just you.

Ben stared at you. He didn't answer. Didn't trust himself to.

You turned back to the screen, unfazed. Like the question hadn't meant anything. Like it didn't split something open inside him. As if he hadn't just hurled a brick through the stained-glass window of your innocence and expected you to thank him for it.

Ben stood there for another beat, staring at the slope of your neck, the curve of your cheek, the way your lips parted in thought like you were tasting the word kiss without knowing what it meant.

And just like that—no warning, no control—

He got hard.

No buildup. No fantasy. Just you. Sitting there barefoot and honest, asking why. He shifted where he stood, jaw tight, swallowing back a groan like it might choke him.

Jesus Christ.

He hadn't been that hard in years. Not even during the real thing. This wasn't lust. It wasn't even want. It was hunger.

He turned and left before he embarrassed himself. In the hallway, he braced a hand against the wall, breathing hard.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

But he already knew. You were untouched. And now, he was fucked.

Ben didn't talk to you the next day.

Didn't look at you, either—not directly. Not when you drifted into the kitchen with that quiet grace like your feet barely touched the floor. Not when you tilted your head at Frenchie's joke and laughed like you didn't understand it but wanted to, anyway. Not when you gently pressed your fingers to Kimiko's temple after a headache and the girl visibly relaxed in your hands.

He didn't look.

But he felt you.

Every time you were near, the air changed. Like something holy was crackling just under the skin of the world, threatening to tear it open.

Ben kept to himself. Grunted when spoken to. Smoked more than usual. Tried to convince himself it was nothing. Just another freak in a long line of freaks.

But then the call came in.

A low-level Vought squad spotted across the city—unregistered supes doing damage, maybe a trap, maybe just cleanup. The team loaded up. He didn't ask why you were coming along this time. No one did. You just went where they went.

That was your thing. You followed. Quiet. Soft.

Ben sat in the back of the van, bouncing his knee, jaw tight as you stared out the window beside him. You didn't ask where they were going. You didn't ask why. You just watched the city blur past like it was a painting you weren't allowed to touch.

He told himself he wasn't going to protect you. That if things went sideways, you'd be fine. You had power. You could handle yourself. And if you couldn't? Not his problem.

Not his fucking problem.

You reached the target building around dusk. Grey light bleeding into alleyways. Frenchie and MM took the left flank, Butcher and Kimiko circled right. Ben moved dead centre—no orders, no backup. Just fists and fury.

You stayed with Hughie near the van, hands folded in front of you, waiting like someone told you to stay put and you still believed in rules.

The first hit came fast.

One of the supe bastards barrelled out from behind a stack of crates and slammed into Ben like a goddamn freight train. He didn't go down. Just grunted, spit blood, and swung back. Another one tried to jump him from behind—missed. Kimiko caught that one midair and threw him straight through a van windshield.

Chaos. Sharp and sudden. Concrete echoing with grunts, gunfire, the static of suped-up comms.

Ben was in it—fully, brutally in it—until he heard it. You. Screaming. Not a human scream. Not fear. Not pain. Something higher.

He turned before he could stop himself.

You were surrounded. Three of them. Closing in fast. MM was too far, Butcher pinned behind debris, Hughie unarmed. And you—barefoot, bleeding, breath hitched in your throat—you looked so damn small.

But you didn't run.

You stepped between one of the attackers and Hughie like you were made of steel.

Ben's blood roared in his ears.

"HEY!" He bellowed, already moving, too late to get there in time.

And then it happened. You raised your hands—trembling, bloodied—and screamed again. The air warped around you. Not like an explosion. Like a miracle.

For a split second, the sky went white.

Your wings burst into view—not solid, not whole. Like smoke and sunlight caught in motion, burning at the edges. Feathered shadow outlined in divine fire. They didn't flap. They didn't stretch. They just existed—blooming behind you like vengeance and purity all at once.

And above your head, a flicker. A ring of gold. Not bright. Not clean. Holy.

Ben stopped moving. His heart slammed into his ribs like it was trying to break out.

You moved faster than he thought you could—one hand out, a pulse of something unseen knocking one of the supes back twenty feet. Another charged and you touched him, palm to chest, and he dropped like a stone, eyes rolling back.

You turned to the last attacker, and for the first time, Ben saw your face twisted with something real. Rage. Sorrow. A divine kind of devastation.

Your halo pulsed brighter. Your wings burned.

And Ben didn't duck in time.

One of the remaining bastards clipped him hard from the side—a pipe or maybe a bat, he didn't see. Pain exploded across his ribs. He hit the ground with a curse, teeth clenched, vision blurring.

The fight blurred around him. Distant shouting. A body hitting the pavement. Concrete under his palms.

And then—

You. Kneeling beside him like you'd always been there.

Your hands hovered, unsure. "Ben," you whispered. "Ben, you're hurt." Your voice shook. You were crying.

He blinked up at you, his vision stuttering over the faint gleam above your head, the scorched shimmer of light curling behind your shoulders. Your wings were fading, flickering, like the moment was too much for the world to hold.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," he growled—weak, hoarse.

You didn't listen. You pressed your hands to his ribs. Light flared. Warmth poured through him—sweet and golden and goddamn unbearable. Not just healing. Not just power.

Pleasure.

His breath caught. His back arched. His hips twitched. He groaned. Loud. Rough. From the pit of his stomach, and your eyes fluttered open—wide, startled.

"Did I hurt you?"

Jesus.

He grabbed your wrist, holding you there.

"The fuck was that?"

You looked at him, confused. Tears still drying on your cheeks. "I made you better." Like it was that simple. Like you didn't just make him feel reborn. When you tried to pull your hand back, he didn't let you. You didn't fight it. You just tilted your head and waited.

She made me feel clean. I'm gonna ruin her.

He didn't sleep that night. Couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, it was your face. Your hands. The way your breath hitched when you healed him. The way your wings shivered before they flickered out. The way your halo burned like a gold ring above your head for a single, impossible heartbeat.

He swore he could still feel it. Your light. Inside him. Like warmth crawling under his skin, coating his bones, cleansing him. He hated it. He needed it again.

So when morning came and the others went out—supply run, recon, something he didn't give a shit about—he stayed behind.

Alone. With you.

It started in the hallway. Ben leaned hard against the wall, one hand pressed to his chest, brow furrowed. His breath came in slow, heavy drags. You found him like that. Quiet footsteps. The faint sound of your inhale as you saw him slouched against the wood paneling like something was wrong.

"Ben?"

Your voice was so gentle it made his fists clench.

He looked up slowly, gritting his teeth like he was in pain. "Heart," he rasped. "It's—fuck—beatin' too hard again."

You stepped forward instantly. No hesitation. Just soft urgency.

"I can help you," you whispered. "Let me—"

He caught your wrist, gently this time. Played the part. Scared. Shaky. Broken.

"Need you," he muttered. "You're the only thing that helps."

And God help him, he meant it.

You laid your hand over his chest, and his body lit up like a fucking altar. That golden calm sank into him again—cool and thick, like honey sliding down his throat, like blood being replaced with grace.

He groaned. Low. Unfiltered.

You froze.

"Is that better?" You asked, confused.

He didn't answer.

He watched your lips. The way your mouth moved when you said his name. He stared at your lashes, how they fluttered when you concentrated. He watched your throat work when you swallowed.

And then he said it. He had to.

"You ever think about how that feels?" He asked.

Your brows knit in confusion. "How what feels?"

"Touchin' me like that. Helpin' me." He leaned in. "You ever wonder if it feels good because you want it to?"

You blinked. "I don't—" You looked down at your hand still pressed to his chest. "I just... I want you to feel safe."

He chuckled, dark and low.

"Sweetheart," he said, "I haven't felt safe a day in my life." He leaned in, brushing his lips near your ear, not quite touching. Close enough to taste your breath. "But you made me feel somethin'," he whispered.

You made me feel clean. So I'm gonna make you dirty.

"I think you like it," he said next, voice gravel and sin. "I think part of you likes makin' me feel good."

You pulled back a little, eyes wide. "That's not what I meant."

He smirked. "You keep touchin' me like that, and I'm not gonna be the only one makin' noise next time."

You blinked, visibly thrown. "Noise?"

His smirk widened.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You really don't know what I'm sayin', do you?"

"I..." You trailed off. "I'm just trying to help."

Ben's tongue slid over his teeth. He took your wrist again, slower this time. Measured. Possessive.

"I know," he said. And then—just to twist the knife—"Come on, angel. Be good and calm me down again."

It was unbearable. Watching you. Every goddamn day. Still barefoot. Still soft-spoken. Still moving through the safehouse like a half-remembered dream.

You didn't flinch when you passed him in the hall. You didn't look away when he stared too long. You didn't snap, or scold, or blush—not even when his words started getting sharp around the edges.

He'd corner you in the kitchen just to see if you'd squirm. You didn't. He'd make jokes that would turn anyone else red. You'd just blink. Smile. Ask if he needed help. And every time, it got harder to breathe.

He wanted to snap his fingers and watch you shatter.

This time, you were leaning over the counter, slicing an apple with one of Frenchie's knives. Your fingers worked slow, careful. Your wings hadn't shown since the skirmish, but Ben kept watching for them anyway. Like maybe they'd twitch when he said the right thing. Like maybe they'd flare when you finally cracked.

He stepped into the kitchen, heavy boots echoing against the tile. You looked up. That same serene expression. That maddening stillness.

"Whatcha makin', sweetheart?"

You held up the apple. "It's fruit."

"No shit," he muttered.

You tilted your head. "Would you like some?"

"No," he said. "I don't want anythin' sweet."

You blinked. Confused again. He stepped closer. Slow. Deliberate. Stopped just a few inches from where you stood, close enough that your elbow brushed his chest when you moved. You didn't even react.

He leaned down, voice low, thick, like honey slathered over gunmetal.

"You gonna keep pretending you don't know what I'm sayin'?"

You turned toward him. Wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

He grinned, sharp and dangerous. "I mean, you keep actin' like you don't feel it."

"Feel... what?"

He laughed. "Jesus. You're serious."

You frowned, and for the first time, he saw a crack—tiny, delicate, like hairline glass in your expression.

He took it and twisted.

"You know what happens to good little angels like you?" He asked, voice dropping. "The world eats 'em alive. Chews 'em up. Spits 'em out in pieces."

You stared. Said nothing. He leaned in, mouth near your ear.

"But not me," he whispered. "I'd worship you while I ruined you."

Your breath hitched. Tiny. Barely there. But he heard it. He pulled back just enough to see your eyes. Still soft. Still confused. Still unbroken.

"Don't play innocent, angel," he said. "You touch me like you've already chosen."

You shook your head. "I was only trying to help. You said your heart—"

He grabbed your wrist again, same one he always reached for. Fit like a fucking habit now.

"You keep givin' yourself away like that," he said, "and someone's gonna take it the wrong way."

He waited. Waited for fear. For a flinch.

Instead, you just blinked. "Would that be wrong?"

Ben's grip tightened. He turned away before he did something stupid.

You don't get it. And I don't know if I want to teach you or just watch you fall.

He started doing it on purpose after that. The episodes. The short breath. The clutching his chest. The tension under his skin, real or faked—it didn't matter. Because you always came running. Like the good little angel you were.

This time, it was past midnight. The safehouse was quiet. Everyone else out or asleep. Ben was sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, shirt undone, head tilted back, breathing shallow as the phantom ache in his chest throbbed like it knew your name.

He didn't have to wait long.

Your footsteps were light. Barely there. You stepped into the kitchen with that same wide-eyed calm, your hands already glowing before you even spoke.

"Is it happening again?" You whispered, already close.

Ben didn't speak. Didn't nod. Just looked at you through half-lidded eyes and said, "Help me."

You stepped between his knees, one hand on his chest, the other hovering just below his ribs. And when your power touched him—when that divine warmth bloomed inside him—his eyes rolled back.

He exhaled like it hurt. Like it ruined him.

"F-fuck..."

Your eyes snapped up. "Did I—?"

"Keep goin'," he growled.

You swallowed. Nodded. Let more of yourself pour into him. And it hit him again—hot this time. Like liquid sunlight. Like his nerves were singing hymns and bleeding at the same time. He groaned—and not quiet.

Your hand twitched. You didn't pull away. Ben opened his eyes. You looked flushed. Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was him. He smiled. Slow. Predatory.

"You like that," he said.

Your head jerked. "What?"

"You like touchin' me. You pretend it's just healing, but you keep comin' back." He leaned in closer. "You keep givin' me this." His hand covered yours. Pressed it harder against his chest. "You could stop anytime you wanted. But you don't."

"I... I just don't want you to be in pain."

He chuckled. "I'm always in pain, angel. You're just the first thing that ever made it feel good."

You blinked. Tried to look away. He didn't let you. He caught your chin, tilted your face back to his.

"I make noise every time you touch me. You notice that?"

"I..." Your voice shook.

"Bet you never heard a man moan like that before."

Silence.

Ben leaned in. "I could make you sound like that."

You blinked—horrified or curious, he couldn't tell. He hoped for both.

"I could make you scream so loud your halo'd crack in half," he whispered.

Your mouth parted, and finally, finally your breath stuttered. He felt it. That little flicker of your pulse under his fingers. He grinned.

Bingo.

Slow. Shaky. "I... I think that's enough for now," you said. You started pulling your hand back. He didn't let you.

"Uh-uh. Not yet," he said, voice low, rough around the edges. "Feels too fuckin' good to quit now."

Your eyes flicked up, a little unsure. But you stayed. Of course you stayed.

"You ever felt this before?" He asked, his fingers curling tighter around your wrist. "The way it heats up when you touch me? Like your whole goddamn body's tryin' to tell you somethin'?"

"I... I'm just trying to calm you—"

"Yeah?" He leaned in. "Well, newsflash, sweetheart—this ain't calm. This is fuckin' divine."

You blinked up at him, confused. And then you made the sound. A whimper. Soft. Involuntary. Like it slipped out before your brain caught it.

Ben went still.

You looked down. Right at yourself. And fuck—his dick twitched hard enough to hurt. Your brows pulled in. Your hand drifted lower. Palm over your stomach. Down. Your thighs pressed together.

And Ben watched, breath shallow. You looked back up at him like you were scared of your own skin.

Holy fuck. She doesn't even know what the hell that is. And I'm the one who woke it up.

"You feel that?" He asked, voice rasped and wrecked. "That little throb between your legs?"

You nodded. Small. Scared. Curious. "I think something's... wrong."

Ben let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Wrong?" He muttered. "Oh, angel. That's the best goddamn part."

He stepped closer, towering over you.

"That?" He pointed lazily at your hips. "That's your body sayin' thank you."

You swallowed, wide-eyed.

"It's me," he added. "I did that."

Another whimper. Fucking perfect. He wanted to throw you on the counter and make you scream until the light burned out of your eyes—but he didn't. Not yet.

"Don't worry," he said, voice soft now. Dangerous. "We'll figure it out."

Your lashes fluttered. You nodded. Like you trusted him. And that? That was the most fucked-up thing of all.

Ben heard the knock and already knew it was you. Soft. Three little taps. Barely there. He didn't answer right away. Just let it sit. Let the silence stretch. Let you wonder if he was asleep or ignoring you or worse—until finally, he grunted:

"Yeah."

The door creaked open. You stepped inside like you were crossing holy ground. Ben was sprawled across his bed, shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, one hand behind his head, the other resting across his abs. He didn't bother sitting up. You just stood there. Barefoot. In one of Hughie's oversized hoodies again. Looking down. Looking unsure.

He kept his voice low.

"What's up, angel?"

You hesitated. Then closed the door behind you.

"I... I didn't know where else to go."

He sat up at that. His eyes dragged down your legs. Back up. You looked wrecked—not in the usual way. Not scared. Not hurt. Just... overwhelmed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Talk to me."

You shifted on your feet. Clasped your hands together like you were about to pray. "It happened again," you whispered.

His head tilted. "What did?"

You glanced up at him, almost afraid to say it. Then: "The... the ache. That throb."

Ben's mouth went dry.

You kept going. "I thought maybe it was just when I touch people, but I wasn't healing anyone. I wasn't even near anyone." You paused. Swallowed. "I was just... thinking about you."

His heart slammed against his ribs.

You looked down at yourself again, thighs squeezing together like you were ashamed. "And now it's worse," you whispered. "Now I'm looking at you and it's worse."

Ben exhaled through his nose. Tried to keep his voice steady.

"C'mere."

You blinked.

He patted the bed beside him. "Sit."

You obeyed without question. Slipped onto the mattress, still not looking at him. Ben watched you closely. You were flushed. Your breath came shallow. Your hands curled into fists in your lap.

"You don't know what to do with it," he said, voice low, almost kind.

You shook your head. "I don't even know what it is. Just that it... it hurts. But not like pain."

"It's not pain," he murmured. "It's want."

Your breath caught. He leaned in, slow, voice dropping to a gravel whisper.

"You ever touched yourself?"

You blinked. "I—what?"

He smirked. "Guess that's a no."

You looked away, embarrassed.

Ben's voice softened—not out of mercy. Out of calculation.

"It's okay, angel. Ain't your fault. You're new to all this. Whole world's been keepin' you wrapped in glass." He reached over. His fingers ghosted over your thigh, just enough to make you twitch. "But you came to the right fuckin' place."

You turned back to him. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

He grinned.

"You think I don't love that it was me?" He asked, voice rough with need. "That it's me you think about when it starts? That it's my voice in your head when your thighs start squeezin' together and you don't know why?"

You whimpered. Just a little. And Ben's whole body tensed.

Fuck me. She's gonna come apart and I ain't even touchin' her.

He brought his mouth closer to your ear.

"You wanna feel better?"

You nodded.

"You wanna learn?"

Your breath shook. "Yes."

He smiled against your cheek.

"Good girl."

You were squirming now. Sitting on his bed, knees drawn up under that borrowed hoodie, hands clasped so tight your knuckles had gone pale. Every few seconds your thighs twitched together like you were trying to hold something in.

Ben watched. Every breath. Every shift. Every desperate little tremble. His cock throbbed, heavy in his sweats, but he didn't move. Didn't touch you. He was too busy watching you unravel.

Come on, sweetheart. Fall.

You looked at him, eyes glassy. "I don't know what to do," you whispered.

He tilted his head. "Yeah, you do."

Your mouth parted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and mean.

"You came here."

You nodded, almost guilty.

"You're sittin' there all hot and achey, thinkin' about me, and you came here."

"I just thought maybe—"

"—I could make it go away?" He finished for you, grinning. "That it'd stop if you let me touch you?"

Your breath hitched. Ben's grin faded. His voice dropped.

"No, baby. It doesn't stop. It starts."

You whimpered. Just a little. But your thighs pressed tight and you rocked forward slightly—so innocent you didn't even realise you were grinding down against the tension.

Ben exhaled through his nose like it hurt.

"You want me to help you?"

You nodded.

"Say it."

Your brows drew together. "What?"

"Say you want it."

You shook your head—nervous. "I don't know what I'm asking for."

He reached out. Ran his knuckles over your knee. "You want me to teach you?" He asked, voice low. "Wanna learn how to touch yourself right?"

Your lips parted again. Slow. Breath shaky. "Yes."

Ben's cock twitched hard.

Fuck. That's it. That's the sound. She's never said that word like that before. Never meant it like that.

He patted his thigh. "C'mere."

You crawled into his lap like it was instinct.

He adjusted you with firm hands—one on your hip, one around your waist—settling you over his thighs. Your hoodie bunched up as you straddled him, and he nearly groaned at the heat bleeding off you.

He didn't touch you where you wanted. Just leaned in.

"Okay," he whispered against your cheek. "Let's start small."

He took your wrist. Brought your own hand to your belly.

"Lower."

You slid it down.

"Little more."

You swallowed. Obeyed.

Ben's voice dropped to a gravelly murmur. "Feel that pulse right there? That little throb you keep cryin' about?"

Your fingers twitched. You nodded.

"Press. Gentle. Just hold it."

You did. Your breath shook.

Ben's mouth nearly touched your ear now.

"Good girl."

You whimpered. Louder. And then, your wings flickered into view behind you. Not full. Not glowing. Just flickering. Like the light inside you was trying to escape.

Ben nearly lost it.

Holy fuck. She's lighting up just from her own hand. Just from my voice. She's mine.

"Now rub," he whispered. "Slow. In circles. Just like that."

You bit your lip. "Feels weird," you breathed.

"That's good, sweetheart. That's your body learnin'."

You kept going. Small motions. Breathless. And Ben? Ben was smiling. Watching purity fracture in real time. Watching you come to life. One little touch at a time.

You were trembling in his lap like your body wasn't sure it belonged to you anymore. One hand buried beneath the hem of that borrowed hoodie. The other fisted into the collar of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you'd drift away.

Ben sat back against the headboard, legs spread, letting you straddle his thigh with all the slow grace of a sinner crawling toward salvation. You didn't even know what you were doing—and that? That was what made it perfect.

You weren't trying to grind down on him. Wasn't deliberate. Wasn't dirty.

It was instinct. Need. Your hips rolled in these shallow, searching little movements that made his pulse hammer behind his teeth. And you kept murmuring tiny things—"I'm sorry," and "I don't know why," and "It's so hot"—like you thought you were confessing.

Like he'd ever fucking forgive you.

He could feel the heat through his sweats. Radiating off you. Soaking into him. Your thighs trembled every time his voice dipped low, every time he told you "just like that, sweetheart" or "keep rubbin', you're doin' so fuckin' good."

It was working.

God, it was working.

He could feel you—glowing faint under your skin. Light like static trapped in flesh, flickering in bursts. Your breath coming in high, desperate little gasps like you didn't know if you were allowed to make noise.

She's gonna fucking break. She's gonna fall apart with her hand on her cunt and my name in her mouth and she won't even know what hit her.

And then it happened.

That sound.

A moan—real, full, unfiltered. It cracked right out of you like something ancient finally getting free. Soft and wet and so fucking pure it nearly brought him to his knees.

Ben gritted his teeth. His hand moved—instinctual—down to cover yours, guiding your fingers harder, tighter, lower.

"Yeah, baby," he rasped, voice thick with reverence. "You're right there. You feel that?"

You nodded, whimpering. And then—you froze. All at once. Like you'd been caught in a spotlight. Your hand jerked back from under the hoodie like it was burning you. Your thighs snapped shut so fast they slapped against his.

Your eyes were wide. Panicked.

"I—I can't—" You shook your head, voice ragged. "I can't do this. I'm sorry."

Ben blinked. Not angry. Not shocked. Just still. You pulled back, trying to climb out of his lap like you were filthy, like you'd broken something sacred, but he didn't let you go. Not rough. Not forceful. Just firm. Grounded.

"Hey." His voice dropped into something soft. Something careful. But never kind. "You're okay."

You didn't look at him. Your halo flickered behind your shoulder like a candle caught in wind. "I felt something," you whispered. "It was building and it felt—wrong. Too big."

Ben stared.

You were still glowing. Still lit up in that faint, holy shimmer. You were divine like this—flushed and shaking in his lap, eyes wet with something like shame.

She was so fuckin' close. So fuckin' perfect. She doesn't even know what that would've felt like. And I would've been the first.

You breathed like you were trying not to cry. "I couldn't stop it," you said. "I didn't want to but I did—"

He reached up. Brushed your jaw with the backs of his fingers.

"Angel," he murmured. "That? That's what your body's built for."

Your eyes found his. Blown wide. Searching. Terrified.

"Don't you dare apologise for that."

You swallowed.

"But I don't understand it."

"I know. And that's what makes it so fuckin' beautiful." He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. Breathing you in. "You want me to stop, I'll stop," he whispered. "But don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself."

You nodded, breath stuttering. Ben pulled you in. Wrapped his arms around you, cradled you against his chest like you were something holy he'd just dragged out of heaven and didn't want to drop. Your halo pulsed once. Dim. And then disappeared. You stayed there. Still glowing under the skin. Still his. Still trembling.

And all he could think—over and over, as his hand curved around the back of your neck and you finally sighed against him—was:

Next time, you're not stopping. Next time, you're gonna see God. And it's gonna be me.

a/n: AHHHHH. Okay, I couldn't help myself, I had to post the first part. I've got the next two parts written up and ready to go, I just don't wanna post them until I've finished up the last two instalments. I'm so excited for you guys to find out what happens. Let me know what you think please!! And if you like it, then you can all thank @tinas111 because this was her idea, I'm just doing the writing, hehehe. All the love.

Soldier Boy/Ben taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @bitchykittenconnoisseur <3

[littlelovelunette]

OKAY. This sounds so weird. But I need this for my own selfish comfort please 😭😭😭 I beg. Now can you do a top Vi x bottom reader please. Where the reader has a tilted uterus and has pain during sex so she sees a doctor of Vis requesting because she knows that’s not normal but reader says it is normal. But the reader dose go to the doctor and finds out Vi is correct and she that’s when she gets told she has a tilted uterus and then she ask the doctor if there any way if she can have sex with out pain. And the doctor says Doggy and a few other potions. So you come home and you tell Vi and she tries it out and then you guys have sex, squirting all over her strap because you can finally come to your full potential with out being held back by pain.

Certain Positions

Vi x Tilted Uterus!Reader

Suggestive content, strap, doggy-style, squirting

★ Having a tilted uterus wasn't easy. Often you'd fallen into situations where sex was painful for you in missionary position, your legs were wrapped around Vi's waist tightly as she bottomed out her strap into your tight cunt. But the way your face contorted wasn't from pleasure, it was from pain. And probably a little bit of pleasure too.

"Are you okay?" Vi asked you in a gentle voice, strap still buried deep in your pussy.

You fixed her with your tearful gaze, "Oh, yeah, I'm fine." Vi shook her head with a tut, "No, you're not fine," she said, massaging where your uterus was supposed to be. "Does it hurt?"

You nodded hesitantly. "But that's normal. It always hurts during sex." Vi didn't take your word for it. She'd fucked a lot of girls before you, and she had experience. That couldn't possibly be... Normal.

★ "You have a tilted uterus," the doctor said, showing you an anatomical chart with complex drawings that your brain struggled to comprehend. "Oh." You stared blankly at the doctor.

Vi's hand tightened around yours, soothing circles being traced over the back of your palm. "Is there any way to relieve her pain during... Intercourse?" Vi asked nervously. "You could try some other positions," the doctor said in her stoic tone.

★ You got on all fours, sweat beading at your brow when you felt Vi spreading your plump ass cheeks to reveal your hole that was clenching around nothing needily. "Oh, my poor princess," she cooed as she rubbed the strap head over your slit.

"Vi, don't tease," you pleaded, whimpering when you felt the first stretch of the strap. Her dick was huge, and even if you'd taken it before, every time she put it inside, it felt bigger than the last time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt Vi bottoming out, and for once you didn't feel the pain you always felt when she thrusted herself all the way deep inside. "There we go, my princess. Feel good, hm?" Vi teased as she slammed her length inside making you cry out and claw at the sheets desperately.

The pleasure was causing a familiar knot building in your lower tummy already, her hand reached down and the calloused pad of her fingers started toying with your clit. You screamed into the pillow, Vi's thrusts were so fast you were sure you'd lose your mind.

You could barely form words—your breath hitched, your body trembling as Vi moved with deliberate rhythm, each motion sending waves of heat coursing through you. Her hand stayed at your hip, firm, grounding you as the other worked slow, mesmerizing circles on your most sensitive spot.

"You're taking me so well," she whispered near your ear, voice low and rasped with praise. You whimpered in response, body arching into her touch as the knot inside you grew tighter, hotter, until it threatened to snap.

Vi kissed along your spine, soft and slow, a contrast to the roughness of her pace. “Let go for me,” she breathed, and with her words, the world blurred into white heat—your voice lost in the pillow, your body shaking as you squirted.

[makeyoumine69]

heya! just wanted to say i really love your writing, you capture characters so well, especially patrick! i had a little idea and thought you’d be perfect for it: how do you think patrick would react if someone told him "i’m scared of losing you because i love you"?

Scared to Be Lonely

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: Fluff, romance, hurt-comfort, angst, established relationships, pet names, loving until death trope.

𝐀/𝐍: Thank you so much for the request! I hope you like it!💕

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: Dua Lipa & Martin Garrix — Scared to Be Lonely (I miss 2017!😭)

Please follow my writing community or my side-blog to know when I update!

You hated how easily fear could flip everything upside down. 

Now, even Patrick’s apartment seemed oppressive and gloomy, even though you loved the place and its owner. You haven't told him yet, but you love everything about him, including his complex personality. You love that he purposely pretended not to care about your drink preferences, yet he always served your favorite.

Everything about him was weird, but you loved him anyway. 

If only you hadn't seen it as a problem!

At first, you didn't take it seriously because you thought it had nothing to do with love or feelings. However, things changed when you realized you were afraid of losing him. This panic wouldn't leave your system, intruding itself inside every thought until it was all you could think about.

You shouldn't have let things go too far, but how could you resist this man? With his charm, his dorky sense of humor—or lack thereof—his little cheek dimples when he smiled, and his laughter whenever he thought he had delivered the best joke ever.

How could you stop yourself from falling for him?

Meanwhile, Patrick walked up to the white couch where you were sitting at with natural grace and offered you a glass of Château Latour, your favorite red wine. You nodded in gratitude and took a small gulp. The tart scent tickled your receptors, then warmth slithered down your body in soft, relaxing waves. Bateman kept his mesmerized eyes on you, glancing in your direction from his seat. He had one leg thrown over the other, and his arm was stretched on the back of the black leather armchair next to him.

"You seem a bit off," he suddenly remarked, twisting his foot so that the tip of his shoe almost brushed yours. "Tell me, what's on your mind?"

You averted your eyes too quickly, but you could still feel his smoldering glance roaming over you as if he could see right through you. Still, he wanted to hear you say the things he already knew.

"I'm scared to be left alone," the words came out of your mouth faster than you could think. "Scared to lose you."

An awkward pause settled in. You expected him to laugh after making some mocking comments about how weak and down-to-earth your confession was, but you didn't give him a chance to respond because you weren't finished.

"I feel like shit because...because one day I woke up with the realization that I actually love you," you said, your voice straying, but you didn't care. Your hands gripped the leg of the flute glass so tightly that you thought it would crack. "I love you, and it scares the fuck out of me."

Patrick just smirked as he finally darted his brown eyes over your trembling fingers. Your posture was tense, but he wasn't laughing, even though he despised seeing people in their weak state. But, you were different. And he wasn't going to analyze why he thought that way.

Frowning, he stood up and carefully took the glass out of your shaky hand. The brief physical contact sent an avalanche of chills down your spine.

"So, that's what it was. You’re scared.” He paused and put the flute on the nearest glass coffee table with a sonorous clatter. "Because you...love me?"

You didn't reply, so he stopped right next to you. Tall and imposing, he towered over you, but not in a malicious way. It was as if he wanted you to be bold enough to look him in the eyes. Why did he always have to be like that? So caring and doting when it suited him, when it could benefit him just to coax you to give in—to melt under his touch and get lost in him until you were gone.

"Babydoll," he crooned, pressing his thumb to your parted lips. "You know I'm not going anywhere. I told you—"

"No, you didn’t."

Patrick crouched down to be at your level and looked up at your unusually sad facial expression. "You just didn't seem to listen."

Hot, itchy tears were already welling up in the corners of your eyes. "Stop treating me as if I have a short attention span! I’d definitely remember if you ever told me this. I swear.���

The man smiled wryly, removed his hand, and let out a weary sigh. "Your paranoia is so loud," he replied, his warm palm finding yours. You didn't even notice when his fingers intertwined yours, "Have you ever thought about that?"

You gulped and looked down at your clasped hands, barely holding back tears. "Are you going to psychoanalyze me now?"

"No," Patrick murmured in a low, calm voice. His warm breath fanned along your skin as he leaned down to peck your knuckles slowly and methodically. His other hand rested on your knee and rubbed invisible circles into it. "Sometimes everything is right on the surface."

"In other words, you think I'm an open book?"

"You're definitely not an open book, but a stubborn woman who refuses to listen," he was literally cooing to you now, as if he were taming an unstable element. "Let me do this," he muttered, brushing his lips one last time against the top of your palm before straightening up and dipping into the slope of your neck. Slowly and tenderly, Patrick tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and planted a soft kiss on your earlobe. You squirmed in your seat but didn't stop him. "Promise me you won't think about any bullshit now?"

You almost chuckled at his question. He sounded childish, but you nodded and fluttered your lashes like a shy schoolgirl. "I promise."

Satisfied, he gave you a brief peck on the corner of your lips. "Good girl," he crooned in a gravelly voice, almost purring, and tipped down to your neck, inhaling your scent. "I thought my intentions were clear without needing to say it," Patrick whispered in your ear. You gripped the edge of the couch and pressed your legs together. "But if you want me to say it, if it can pull you out of your dumb spiral, then fine, here."

With that, the man caught your earlobe in his mouth and sucked on it. You gasped and tilted your head instinctively to give him more room. His palm remained firm on the nape of your neck. Steadying you, controlling you, keeping you right where he wanted you.

"I love you," he whispered into your ear. His voice flowed through your nerves like an impulse. To match his words, he kissed the shell of your ear. "I love you with every breath I take," he continued, kissing the bottom of your jaw. His lips were soft yet scorching—you wanted them everywhere. "Every day," he rasped, moving lower until he reached your collarbone. He didn't touch it, but he made sure you felt his hot breath tease your skin. "Every night," Patrick said as he knelt before you, pressing his face into your lap. He nuzzled your knee and wrapped his arms around your fragile figure, pressing you closer as if you were his shrine and he was a beggar desperate for salvation. "I love you so much that it hurts."

"Patrick..."

The man squeezed your sides in response, and you couldn't help but stroke his head. His brown locks tingled the inside of your palm like small electric pulses, and it felt so good and so right that you began to cry. 

Neither of you dared to break the silence. This moment was too special to ruin with questions and doubts. You just kept sitting there with Patrick at your feet and your hand in his messy hair. You could have sworn the hem of your dress was wet from his tears, even though he never made a sound. 

But even if he did, you wouldn't mind, and you wouldn't even use it against him later, since he was your broken boy. Yours and only yours.

Thank you for the reading!🖤 [MAIN M-LIST]🪓[SHORT REQUESTS M-LIST]🪓[KO-FI]

[jailforwriter]

Let's get into...

Look, at the end of the day, writing is word choice. You're choosing which words to put in what order to make other people feel Some Type Of Way about the result. But there are 4 bits of advice perennially swirling about the bowels of writing forums that, misapplied, might make you shit the metaphorical bed of optimal communication, and I very much don't want that for you. I'm staunchly pro-avoiding the literary runs, in fact. So let's get into how.

On the chopping block today is my nemesis:

"Cut all adverbs"

I'm not going to pretend that I don't know why this advice exists. All two reasons it exists, even. Let's break them down:

Too many adverbs: we're all guilty of inundating sentences with adverbs. There are many moving components to scenes, and there's often a desire to express every last one of them. It's not enough to say that the ball rolled down the empty street; the reader simply must know that the ball crept exceedingly slowly, cautiously inching downwardly and toward the eerily empty street. But see, that's clunky. It doesn't flow well, doesn't add anything that couldn't have been expressed more concisely through better wording, and, most importantly, it insults the reader's imagination. By overexplaining, you're taking away their (admittedly limited, but crucial!) agency to picture things themselves. Womp womp.

Redundant adverbs: pretentious people have invented far too many words over the years for anyone to be out here saying "ran quickly". Running is inherently quick, my guy. Otherwise, we'd be saying walking or jogging or promenading (yes, really). This is the moment to break out the thesaurus and realize that sprinted, raced, and dashed all say what you wanted them to say and bring an evocative, nuanced vibe to the sentence. And nuance is tasty. Nuance is the sauce that the quirked up white boy (the sentence) was goated with. So we're better off just saying "ran" and saving that adverb for when it's actually trying to communicate complexities, which we'll expound on once we get into why adverbs are hot, actually.

NOTE: this crops up particularly often in dialogue. "Said angrily" is a dialogue tag that may seem inoffensive — until you remember that snapped exists, and furthermore, so does slamming the door in their face.

So then when/where in the annoyingly nondescript hell should I use adverbs?

Fundamentally, when they add meaning to stuff. To elaborate:

Substance: a sad smile is different from a regular smile, and should be described as such. If you just say "they smiled", people will assume it's a "normal" (i.e. happy) smile and call it day. If someone almost smiles, it's also telling us something different than if we'd said that they didn't smile at all; now we can't tell that they found the joke funny but chose not to smile, and the interaction loses substance. (Moreover, waiting and waiting patiently aren't the same thing, as I'm sure your mom pointed out when she still told you off because you "gave her attitude" by breathing too hard while you waited for her to press play on the VCR.)

Pacing: someone shaking their head slowly is different from them shaking their head at regular, normal human speeds. The latter is simple negation, whereas the former has an element of emotional nuance, of why the hell did they do that that way? Was it anger or regret? Denial, maybe? No idea! But now the reader gets to ponder about it, and that's where interest is born, methinks.

Tone: there aren't too many ways to interpret someone saying "I hate you". It's a pretty straightforward phrase, for the most part, deployed with devastating expertise by schoolchildren whose parents won't give into capitalistic fads and buy them a Stanley cup. But if I were to say "I hate you" softly, then ah. Things change. We have contrasting emotions now. Depth. Is it really an "I love you" in disguise? Am I just mad that you're making me order at the counter when you know I get, like, weird when I have to ask them for no pickles? Perchance. The takeaway here is that the adverb made it so that you can't take the sentence at face-value, and that, unlike pickles, is very satisfying.

The other 3 horsemen of the misconstrued writing advice apocalypse (word choice edition) will be coming soon, so please keep an eye out for seals breaking on ominous scrolls. Happy writing!

[strangespinapple]

RC ~ When It Hurts

Rafe Cameron x FemReader

Blurb: you and rafe are together. and lately he's been acting differently so you confront him. but what happens when you find out he's been lying to you?

Warnings: angst, making out, cheating accusations, dark rafe (coming soon)

Word Count: 723

A/N: hey so I was planning on posting an entire fic with smut and everything when the poll was done, but I had to put my cat down. i've had her for 10 years and she was literally my best friend, so I've been taking some time to grieve. but I figured that I should post a blurb so that y'all can have something to read while I continue to work on the rest of the fic, and maybe just maybe a part 2 and 3 🤷🏽‍♀️. Enjoy!

P2 Here

Song Inspo: Hurts So Good by Astrid S

You and Rafe are the outer banks it couple. The minute you became his, you became the kook princess. There was nothing you could ever want for, and nothing anyone would ever deny you. The entire island knew you were Rafe's and he was yours. When you and rafe first began dating it was everything you could ever dream of and so much more. But it didn’t take you long to see the dark, ruthless, and impulsive side of him. Rafe Cameron is a lot of things, a complex puzzle you are still trying to figure out.

For the past few weeks Rafe has been acting really weird. Normally he would be glued to your side and be at your beck and call 24/7. But lately he has been out all hours of the night and barely saying two words to you. He’s even been hiding his phone from you. Whenever you would enter a room or sit next to him, he would put his phone face down or tilt his phone to the side so you couldn't fully see the screen. You know your intuition is trying to tell you something, but you didn’t want to invade his privacy by going through his phone. So you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and ask him about his behavior. 

You were laying against the headboard reading your book, when rafe walked out of the bathroom heading toward y'all's shared bed. 

“We need to talk” you sighed as you put your bookmark in your book and placed it on your nightstand table. 

“About what?” He plopped down next to you. 

“I need to ask you a serious question and you better be honest with me.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head. “Okay.” 

“Are you cheating on me?”

Rafe’s face drops a little, then he quickly regains his composure. But not without you noticing it first. 

“No, are you kidding me? How could you accuse me of something like that?” 

His face scrunched up with a look of hurt and shock on it. You kept your same expression, not fully believing him. 

“I’m not accusing you, I'm just asking you a question. You don’t spend time with me anymore. You act like you’re too busy to speak to me. You hide your phone from me, when you never did that before. You’ve been out all hours of the night and I just feel like you’re hiding something from me.” 

“Baby it’s because I am hiding something from you.” 

You turned your body towards him while raising your eyebrow. He places his hands up in defense and innocence. 

“I’m planning a surprise for you. I know I’ve been working so much and I wanted to do something special for you.” 

You could tell by the emotion in his voice and the look of hurt on his face that he was telling you the truth. You felt your heart sink into your ass, instantly feeling guilty. Overall Rafe is a really great boyfriend, way better than your ex, and you just accused him of committing a serious offense against your relationship. 

“Rafey I am so sorry. Please forget I said anything please. I’m so stupid.” 

You placed your hand on top of his, gently squeezing it. Rafe takes both of your hands in his, and holds them up to his lips and kisses them. 

“You are anything but stupid. I know how suspicious it seems, but I need you to believe me when I say I am not cheating on you.” 

He let go of your hands and brought his hands to both sides of your face. He caressed your jaw, while his thumb rubbed back and forth on your cheeks, staring deeply into your eyes. 

“I would never hurt you like that. I love you too much to lose you.” 

“I'm sorry baby.” You stared at his lips as he did the same to you. 

“I know. I’m sorry too, but we’ll be okay. I promise.” 

He pulled your face closer to his and captured your lips in a cultivating kiss. It started off slowly and passionately, filled with love and raw emotions. 

If only you knew it was all a lie. Rafe Cameron is a lot of things and unfortunately for you, a liar is definitely one of them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

P2 Here

A/N: thank you guys so much for reading my very first fic!! let me know if you guys would like a part 2 or if you would like me to make this into a series.

I have so many ideas for this fic and for many others. I'm still learning how to navigate Tumblr as a writer but soon I will be taking request for blurbs or full fics and have a fully functioning masterlist.

please leave a like and/or a comment I will respond back. Any feedback is appreciated BUT BE NICE cuz I will bite back 😉

[callingitquits]

Your interpretation of Johan is amazing. I rarely see people that can read characters well, and Johan is such a complex character that finding someone that manages to write him like you do leaves me really impressed. So thank you, but also really, you're amazing. Also I love your writing style and how you word yourself, your language is very rich and you're very creative. Every time I read something you write im shocked you didn't write his character.

Anyhow, after all the praise, that I truly did mean hole heartedly, I wanted to ask you, how do you think Johan will be like with a partner that's very good at reading him and can kinda see through him, but is also very secure and isn't afraid of what they see/don't seek to change him (unless they see an unhealthy behaviour he has that harms him and even then). I think it'll be really interesting to see how he'll react to that, someone that can see him but can take it if he challenges them.

Also, say that person was very good at making others feel secure and comfortable. They have their own problems ofc, but as a person they're a safe space for their friends and they're good at making people feel seen and protected in a womby way (sorry for the weird wording I've going on lol), but like I feel like if he'd like someone enough to be in a relationship with them, but then that person sees him too much and he's kinda like uhh... Yeah idk about that, and they can kinda tell but they also make him feel weirdly comfortable (just a tiny bit tho bc again, does Johan ever feel comfortable? The answer is probably no) in a way that makes him kinda stiff and alarmed bc damn that feels kinda good to- nooo I cannot I shall be a stoic little bitch

I'm so sorry for what I just put you through. To warm you and so you'll recognise me, I'll be 🪺 anon now. Idk why I chose this emoji it took me 3 minutes to decide

That was honestly such a sweet message….. I’m lowkey blushing here. Johan’s a tough puzzle, so hearing that means so much. 

Thank you anon!! 🩷

Alright, someone who truly sees him and stands their ground? That’s gonna shake him up in ways he didn’t expect.

Let’s get into it.

Johan would hate you.

Not in the ‘burn-your-life-down’ kind of way—more like the ‘sits perfectly still for six hours because he accidentally felt something warm and now needs to reboot his entire worldview’ kind of way.

Most people either try to fix him or flee. That suits him. Predictable, efficient. But you? You see him. The patterns. The emptiness. The trace flickers of someone still in there. And somehow, you’re not afraid. Worse: you’re not impressed.

You don’t idolize him. You don’t try to fix him. You just… exist. Calmly. Steadily. Like emotional gravity he can’t escape. He sees you do this—for others too. Not just him.

And he hates it.

Because what does he do with someone who sees him—really sees him—and doesn’t flinch, doesn’t fawn, doesn’t fall?

He tests you, naturally. Withdraws. Prods. Waits for the collapse. But you don’t break. You stay, unshaken. Not as prey. Not as savior. Just you.

And that quiet refusal to play his game? It gets under his skin. Suddenly, trust starts forming like frost on glass—unwanted, fragile, undeniable. And he panics.

Because trust is the gateway drug. It leads to comfort. Comfort to vulnerability. Andvulnerability? To him, it’s corrosion. A slow undoing of the persona he’s spent years curating.

See, Johan doesn’t see love as soft or safe. To him, it’s invasive. A contagion. It doesn’t warm—it strips. It renames you, reroutes you, ruins your detachment.

So when you offer it—not as rescue, not as worship, just gently—it doesn’t feel like affection. It feels like a threat. Like something he can’t control.

He’ll tell himself he’s still above it all. That you haven’t touched him. But deep down, he’s unraveling. Because you’re not trying to be his everything. You’re just not leaving. You see the monster and the child—and stay anyway.

That’s terrifying.

Because if he lets you stay, he might start to believe something dangerous:

That he’s not hollow.

Or untouchable.

That maybe—just maybe—he’s capable of being real.

So yes, he’ll resist it. Deny it. Try to outlast it.

But he’ll lose.

And it might be the first thing that ever makes him feel alive.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I request one where Lampert and reader were friends with Kasper aka infected before he got well infected, basically the reader kept hanging out with infected and ended up getting infected too and they end up going to Lampert because they are still them atleast for a bit. angst definitely but you could make it have a fluffy ending

"I put more tape on those posters, Kasper. I'm sure Poptart will turn up soon."

"Thanks for doing that, bro. But...who's that?"

"Huh? Poptart is-"

"No, "Kasper". Isn't he like...the friendly ghost or somethin'?"

"Um..last I checked that was your name."

"Nah I'm pretty sure it's Infected." Kasper, or rather "Infected" as he apparently started calling himself, just shook his head before turning back his computer. He was in the midst of a gaming session, the round beginning as he tried staying focused.

You, on the other hand, just sat on the beanbag chair in his room, confused as all hell.

Ever since he caught that weird virus and brought it back to the apartment...it seemed to be getting worse. It began as a common sinus infection that made him lethargic, with half the stuff he was saying nearly indiscernible. He denied being sick enough to warrant a doctor visit, though, and figured it'll eventually pass.

And as his neighbor and best friend, you thought that giving him space was the best thing to do until he felt better.

At some point, you noticed a gradient creature with an unpleasant color scheme wandering in the dark alleys and down the hallway. It never spoke a word, making you wonder why it was here or if Kasper's illness had something to do with its appearance, but not even he was sure about it.

Then Poptart, his beloved cat, went missing a few days later. He knocked on your door crying and panicking the following morning, clearly scared out of his mind as he woke up to find its food bowl untouched.

That led you both to believe someone kidnapped the poor thing, so together you put up missing posters around the apartment complex, hoping somebody knew their whereabouts. Kasper had his suspicions that the gradient might've had been involved, but as off-putting as it seemed...you couldn't accuse it of anything without solid proof.

Last time you saw Unpleasant, it went onto the elevator, so god only knows what floor it could be on now.

Until it came back, you decided to stay with Kasper and look for Poptart, making sure nobody tore down the posters.

At the current moment, however, as you watched him game, you were a bit grossed out to see the pink snot dribbling from his nose--but when he raised his arm to rub it on his sleeve, you saw something even more alarming:

Pink-checkered textures covering part of his skin, briefly glitching before they vanished.

You got up from your seat and approached him, tapping his shoulder. "Kasper? I saw something weir-"

"I need to focus--oh no, no, no, N0!! My str34k!!"

You froze for a moment, concerned by the stark change in his voice--as though it was ran through a bitcrusher--before frowning as you saw him staring at his screen now, shoulders slumped at the "Defeat" message displayed across it.

"Awh man..." He whined, now sounding somewhat normal.

"Sorry, but..I just wanna be sure you're okay. At least keep a tissue handy, my guy. You're getting it all over your setup." Your eyes surveyed his desk for anything that could be a good tissue substitute--besides magazines.

"I told you, bruh, I feel fi...ah...ahhhCHOO!!" Kasper turned to sneeze directly onto the floor, where a few tiles began flickering pink...before you saw that same checkered texture from before.

But your gamer friend, totally unaware, just turned to stare you with a biggest grin on his face. "See? My sinuses are clear now!"

Then he sniffled again, sulking as his nose betrayed him.

"Look, this virus is turning into something bigger. It's gone beyond a small sinus infection." You huffed. "A virus wouldn't make you forget your own name. A virus wouldn't turn your carpet into that." Pointing to the glitchy texture that showed up, you made sure he was looking at it.

He blinked. "I did that?"

"You need a doctor, Kasper. And I will drag you to one if I have t-"

"For the gazillionth time, that's not my name!!" He suddenly snapped, punching the desk with anger you've never seen before. "It's "Infected"! How have we been friends this long if you can't even remember my ####### n4m3?! $w34r 1'll b4n u fr0m my lif3 if y0u d0n't st0p!"

You stared at him in shock, taking a step back as you saw his fist nearly glitch through the desk.

What was happening to him?

Did the virus force him to call himself "Infected"? Was it making him refuse to accept any help?

You had no idea, and it was scaring you.

"...s0rry.."

"It's..fine-"

"N0. It isn't.." His shoulders slumped again and he looked down at his hands, wondering what was wrong with him. "I...I didn't m34n t0 3xpl0d3 0n y0u. I..I just..."

Then he trailed off, staying unusually silence for several long moments.

That gave you an idea. You had to test something.

"Hey, just amuse me for a second...do you remember this guy?"

Infected raised his head, watching you pick up the picture frame that sat beside his computer. It was photo of him and Lampert--the living lamp robot you two met at ROKEA years ago.

Ever since the day he came to life, you three were the best of friends, always hanging out on each other's floors, trading stuff, making friendship bracelets, and playing games. You and Kasper were the ones to introduce Lampert to all the cool things the world had to offer..and inadvertently turned him into a bit of a germaphobe once he discovered things like sickness.

Still, you three did everything together. The day you took that picture was most memorable--especially the embarrassment of realizing the arrows on their shirts were facing opposite directions, which you only realized after the photo was developed and printed.

Oh, well.

Then after Kasper got sick, Lampert's been keeping his distance, and oftentimes things became tense in the elevator when the former didn't cover his mouth when sneezing or coughing.

But now that his infection was worsening, you weren't sure if the lamp would wanna see him anymore.

Or even...if he recognized the person in the photo at all.

You could tell by the way he took it from your hands and stared at it for some time, eyebrows furrowed with confusion, that he was starting to lose his memory.

"This l4mp dude..I think..I've s33n him on th4t elev4t0r.."

"We've known him for years, Kas. You and I..pretty much brought him to life." You frowned, worried that he was starting to forget him..

How long will it be before he forgot you, too?

"Don't tell me, after everything we've done together, you're forgetting about him--about us."

"I..I...I w4nn4 r3m3mb3r..but..." His hands began trembling, which you were oblivious to as your frustration began to rise once more.

"But nothing. You have to try. Forget your infection and think to when we last saw him. Where were we going?"

"..I don't...kn0w..."

"Yes you do. Who was in the elevator with us besides us three?"

"I h4v3 n0 id34..st0p it.." His voice shook.

"Kasper. You need to-"

"ST0P S4Y1NG TH4T N4M3!! Y0U'R3 N0T H3LPING!!" He shouted, and in that same moment the frame glitched, becoming covered in checkered textures. It felt like a sharp pain that pierced his hands, causing him to yelp and drop it to the floor, where it turned back to normal after it cracked.

You scrambled to pick it up without thinking, afraid he'd cut himself if he tried getting it, only to turn it over and discover that the photo inside was now ruined.

Kasper's face had been ripped out, as though the virus was trying its hardest to erase him and make him believe he had this random picture of some guy and a lamp robot for no reason...

'It's destroying everything he touches..'

Then your attention went to your fingers, which have turned pink. You gasped and quickly put the frame down, staring at your hand in horror.

It was already spreading to your wrist.

"W04h! A-Are y0u 0k4y??" Infected jumped out of his chair on instinct, unsure of what to do but wanting to help in some way.

But the moment he reached for you, you stepped away, clutching your wrist and scowling deeply at him. "Stay back! Now you got me infected, too, you jerk!"

"......I....I-I didn't m34n it.." His voice trembled, sounding more and more broken up as tears filled his vision. "I'm s0rry...I'm...s0 s0rry. I sw34r..I-I'm n0t d0ing it 0n purp0s3." Clutching his arm, he fidgeted with his sleeve, looking down at the ground in shame. "I'm sc4r3d, [y/n].."

Slowly, but surely, your gaze softened upon realizing how hurt he looked, and the fact that your insults weren't helping matters. You knew the risk to hanging around him when he was sick, so....how could you blame him?

Even he didn't know what was going on with him.

"I...I'm sorry for yelling. I know you didn't mean it. It's alright. We can see if Dr. Retro knows anything about this. She might have a cure or some medicine."

"......"

"Ka--Infected.."

He perked up, seeing you stepping closer. You knew there was no use in keeping distant from him now, since you caught the sickness, too.

With a small sigh, you patted his shoulder. "I'm not mad, okay? It's my fault for touching that picture frame. But I promise..we'll find a way to deal with this. I'll try to remember stuff for both of us...that is..if it doesn't also take my memor-"

He abruptly flung forward to wrap his arms around you, crushing you in a hug. Despite him sniffling like crazy (and feeling sweaty and gross), you returned it, letting his head fall against your shoulder.

He needed this.

You can't even remember the last time you two hugged, or did any of those cool handshakes he taught you.

"You know we'll have to tell Lampert, right?"

"Mhm.."

"...you want me to tell him?"

"Y34h.."

"Okay, next time the elevator comes, I'll hop on it." You patted his back, already sounding congested yourself, but you tried to ignore it.

Instead, you dread what you're gonna say to Lampert.

'He's gonna be pissed...'

...........

3008.

No, the Regretevator didn't have 3000 floors, but that's what Lampert's home floor was called anyways.

You weren't here to ponder why it was given that name, as the doors opened and you stepped out into a familiar place. A place you'd almost call a "second home".

Unfortunately, you were almost rudely pushed to the ground by some of the occupants--all who were rushing into the depths of ROKEA to find him.

Whoever made the rules apparently decided that should be the "objective" of this floor. But you knew where Lampert liked to hang out best, somewhere only you and Kasper would be able to find him.

So while the players scurried around like rats, racing against the clock, you headed straight to your friend, hoping you'll get to explain yourself without him freaking out.

As expected, you found him standing perfectly still among some lamps, switching his light off after realizing it was only you approaching. "Hi, [y/n]." He greeted with a small smile. "Any luck finding Poptart yet?"

"No." You shook your head, absentmindedly tugging on the glove that covered your arm. "Kas has been worried sick, but I put fresh tape on the posters..so...we'll see if that little kitty turns up."

"I hope so, too. Say..what's with the gloves and mask?"

"Oh these? Um-"

"Were you just cleaning up his apartment with those?" He asked, before sighing and shaking his head. "I hope you changed them. Otherwise they're just as unsanitary as-"

"No, no. I wasn't cleaning. I just...just..."

Your nose began to feel itchy.

Lampert just raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"I..just..ah...HI-CHOO!" Turning away immediately to cover your sneeze, you were grateful that this place didn't allow it to echo through the air...otherwise you would've easily given away your location.

But after hearing him gasp, you looked back to see him take a huge step away from you, scowling. "Y-You're sick?! Why did you come here?!"

"That's what I was getting to. I...I just wanted you to know that I....caught whatever Kasper had." You briefly removed your glove, revealing the pink that was now almost covering your entire forearm.

Least to say, he was mortified. "No..what do you mean you caught it?? I told you not to hang around him until he felt better!"

"I thought he was getting better..but he's not. It's worse than we realized."

"Well are you surprised?" He scoffed. "He refuses to see a doctor and doesn't seem to care if-"

"It's the virus itself, Lampert. It's taking over his mind."

"...what do you mean?"

"He can't even remember his own name. He got angry and told me to call him "Infected". And even worse? He's...forgetting about all the stuff we did together. He could barely even remember you."

"That's...impossible. An ordinary virus wouldn't give people amnesia!"

"That's what I said, too. But..this clearly isn't ordinary. I was gonna go visit Dr. Retro. If she catches this in the early stages, maybe she can figure out some cure for it. But..I-I just didn't know how fast it would spread. So..." You sighed. "..I wanted to see you first. Just in case I end up forgetting about you, too...which I hope doesn't happen."

"I...understand, but you really should've went to her first." He simply responded, still in utter distraught as he stared at you.

As though you were the disease itself.

Why did this have to happen to his two best friends?

Did some higher being just...hate him specifically? All because he's a little wary of germs?

"I'm gonna go there next." You nodded, making sure the mask was snug on your face, but in that same moment, you heard somebody shout that they found Lampert, and you huffed. "Well shit..guess you gotta come, too."

"As long as you keep your distance, that's fine. Nobody else got sick from you, right?"

As much as his question hurt a little, it was a reasonable one to ask. So you just shook your head. "No. I'll stay in my corner and you can stay in yours."

"Fair enough. I just hope it's not too cramped.."

Nodding, you both headed back towards the elevator, keeping a good amount of distance between yourselves.

There was a time where you would've been walking side-by-side with him and Kasper, sometimes linking arms and bumping shoulders (which even the lamp tolerated back then), and you hoped that maybe one day..you'll be able to go back to that.

For now, though, at least he was willing to share a lobby with you and talk about what's been going on at ROKEA just like old times.

So this virus didn't completely ruin your friendship yet...not that you planned on allowing that to happen.

No way.

You'll find a way to beat this.

You had to.

[numinousmysteries]

@leiascully mentioned airports. JessM wrote the quintessential airport fic and this lives in that universe. I owe them everything, and they owe me nothing.

This has not been beta'd, edited, or put through any quality control whatsoever. Read at your own risk.

@today-in-fic @xffictober24

Paved Paradise

It's Bill Scully's turn to host Christmas. There is some sort of algorithm within the extended Scully clan that determines this. It factors in variables such as who's stationed abroad, who's too pregnant to travel, and who's just being so goddamn stubborn (Scully's words) this year. It's a complex calculation that starts as early as July if Scully's sighs and eye rolls during her phone calls with her mother are any indication. And despite all the time and care that allegedly goes into these deliberations, it seems that more often than not–in Mulder's mind at least—they end up flying to San Diego on the busiest travel day of the year.

Maggie headed out a week earlier to spend more time with Bill's kids, so it's just the three of them hunkered down at O'Hare for an extended layover. One that's becoming more and more extended as the snow piles up.

William has been characteristically well-behaved on the journey so far but even the most mature six-year-old's patience would be worn thin by now. Fuck, Mulder thinks, even this not-so-mature 46-year-old is getting antsy.

"I'm so bored!" He calls out, squirming in the vinyl seat at the gate. "Can I go walk around?"

"No," Scully says. She's not even looking up from her book. Mulder doesn't know how she can maintain her stoic calm in the boisterous chaos of an airport on Christmas Eve. "They could call us to board any minute now. And besides, it's too crowded, I'm worried you'll get lost."

Mulder doesn't want to remind her that they could have been called to board any minute in the past three hours now. "I'll go with him," he says, jolting up out of his seat. "We won't go far. And I'll have my phone on me, so just send a bat signal if we need to come back."

She looks up from her book to consider it. The two of them must look desperate because she just shakes her head and sighs. "Sure. Stay close."

Mulder grins down at William who smiles back conspiratorially.

"Yes! Thanks mom!" Full of pent-up energy, the kid grabs Mulder's hand and pulls him into the mire of human mass in the terminal. Will's red hair makes it easy to keep track of him in the crowd although, to Mulder's dismay, it's been getting darker recently. He'll always have Scully's bright blue eyes, though.

"Where to, kid?"

"I'm hungry," he says, excitedly. "And maybe they have a book store. I finished my book on the first flight and then I read the whole thing again. And look—there's a Pizza Hut. Can we get Pizza Hut?"

Mulder stops in his tracks in front of the restaurant. Still in motion in front of him, William stumbles a bit at the abrupt stop. He's been here before. In this exact spot in this terminal seven years ago. But there wasn't a Pizza Hut Express there before. It used to be a Chili's To Go. A very special Chili's To Go.

"What is this crap?" He gasps.

"Dad!" William glares up at him in surprised disapproval. A look that could come from his mother. "You can't say that."

"This didn't used to be a Pizza Hut, Will."

"Huh?" His son asks, confused.

"There was a Chili's here once. Before you were born. Your mom and I went there after a case once."

William is still staring at him skeptically. "Didn't you go to like a million airports?"

"Yeah," Mulder says, gazing in shock at the new restaurant as if its predecessor will suddenly appear before his eyes. "But this one was...memorable."

"Why? Was the food good?"

"I don't remember any food."

"You're so weird, dad," Will shakes his head. "Can we get pizza?"

"Um, sure," Mulder says. He's sadder than he should be by the replacement of one chain restaurant in an airport by another. But god, what had happened at that Chili's. It was the first time she let him touch her. The first time they fucked. In a red vinyl booth, no less. It was where their partnership finally became something more. William wasn't conceived there—and for that, he is thankful—but it set in motion the shift in their relationship that would ultimately lead to William's conception. That would ultimately lead them here. To this airport. On this holiday. As a family. And the Chili's wasn't even there to witness them.

Mulder goes through the motion of paying for William's personal pan pizza, bottled water, and a large diet Pepsi for him and William to share. He eyes the corner of the restaurant where there used to be a booth behind a retaining wall. The wall and the booth are gone. Probably ditched in a dumpster somewhere, trash compacted, or sold at auction. They should have been given a proper sendoff. A 21-gun salute. A hero's farewell at Arlington.

Eager to eat his pizza, Will skips his way back to the gate, his dazed father following a half-step behind.

As Will sinks back into his chair, Mulder turns to Scully any says, "It's official. They've paved paradise and put up a Pizza Hut."

"Blow on that, honey, it's hot," Scully says to William, not missing a beat. "What are you talking about, Mulder?"

"The Chili's that was in this terminal. Our Chili's? It's gone. They replaced it with a Pizza Hut Express. Can you believe that shit?"

"Language, Mulder," she whispers, nodding toward William who's too absorbed in his cheese pizza to notice.

Mulder can tell she knows what he's talking about though. She's starting to blush. A light rouge rising to her cheek not unlike the fuzzy pink of the sweater she'd been wearing that day. One that, now that he thinks about, he'd never seen her wear before or since.

"Are you sure it was even this terminal? These all look the same," she says.

"How could I forget?" It comes out louder than he wanted, even startling William briefly before he turns back to his meal.

"It could have been this terminal. Or it could have been any of the other identical ones though."

He slaps his hands on his thighs in frustration. "No, Scully, you're wrong. It was this one. I know it was. And I know you know, too."

"Oh, Mulder." She shakes her head and turns back to her book.

Finally, their flight is called for boarding. They gather up their bags and herd William onto the jet bridge. Once they're settled into their row, William in between them distracted with a new book, Scully leans over him to whisper in Mulder's ear.

"We'll always have Chili's." She winks.

Her low purr makes his groin twitch and he makes a note that he'll have to do something about that later, even in Bill Scully's house. It'll be more comfortable than a booth at Chili's To Go at least.

[cloudsmateria]

leon kennedy x reader / college au

summary: you and your best friend leon had gone off to university, too busy to see each other for the longest time you'd both been away. you eventually find the time to meet up, getting drunk and acting on some building up feelings :3

warnings: start of a smut, alcohol, not proof read idk its kind of a shit ramble that i didn't put much cohesive effort into but it's quite cute so i posted it

anyway, i’ll probably do the smut in p2

words: 2.7k

It had been a month since you last saw Leon. Ever since you started law school, and he got into his cop training program both of your schedules had been stacked, despite you both still living in the same city the 45-minute commute to each other's homes was too much. As your best friend, you both managed to call each other every other night, confiding about whatever stupid experiences you both had in your new lives.

Tonight, you finally were able to agree on him coming to your apartment tonight, as you finally managed to get all work out of the way to have a fully free weekend off. You didn't realise how excited you were for his arrival until he texted you he was at the door. You sprinted through the halls and threw the door open.

"Leon!" You shout, jumping onto him and wrapping your arms around him.

"Y/n." He smiled, hugging you back.

“I haven’t seen you in way too long.” 

“We saw each other on Facetime last night.” You finally pull away with a smile. 

“You won’t even let me have a moment to be sweet.”

“It weirds me out, you're impossible to take seriously.” He rolls his eyes in response as he walks into your apartment, falling onto your couch, you sit next to him, kicking your legs up and leaning your head against his shoulder. “Did you wanna order takeout?”

“I wanted to go out. Haven’t left my apartment to explore the city since I joined the training academy. But we’ll just stay in here for a few minutes, catch me up, then we can go outside and do dumb shit.”

“Catch you up on what?” You laughed. “You’ve been my virtual therapist for the past month. Let’s talk about you. Show me what you learnt in your training or something, entertain me.”

“You’re right, you’ve talked too much, your voice gives me a headache.” You slap his chest and he lets out a light laugh, grabbing your wrists and pulling you over him to lay on his chest. “Get comfortable first, it’s long.”

“Doubt it.”

“You have it easy. This training is just as physically draining as it is mentally.”

“It shows. You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you.” You say, tracing your finger up his arm that has noticeably grown in size, and he’s already been going gym since he was 15.

He laughs. “You must've missed me bad, I’ve never seen you this nice.”

“What’s the training like?”

“I’m at the top of the class right now but the coaches are fucking evil, 4 people have already left.” He rambles on about the jarring people he’s met and the few friends that he’s made until the story is over and he gets up regretfully as he loses the weight of your body on top of him. You go into your room to change as you are still in pyjamas, getting into a skirt with a baggy sweater you wore a little too much.

“Is that my jumper?” Leon asked as you walked out. “Is it? I've had it for ages." He steps closer and snorts when he gets a closer look, flipping the back to see the label.

"You stole this from me last year."

"You mean I borrowed it indefinitely."

"I could arrest you."

"I'd like to see you try your best, trainee. It looks better on me anyway, finders keepers."

"What if I took it back off you?"

"You'd have to catch me first."

"I'm pretty fast."

"Not as fast as me." You grin before pushing him and sprinting out of your apartment, the sound of his footsteps trailing behind you.

"You think you can lose me?!" He taunted.

"I've done it before!" You shout back, running down the stairs of the apartment complex, and out into the streets, almost losing your breath from how much you were laughing. Suddenly, he sped up to an ungodly speed, picking you up when he caught up and throwing you over his shoulder. "Oh my god! What do they feed you in training?!" You yell, slapping his back.

"Mostly protein." He says, sarcastically.

"Are you gonna put me down or carry me around the city like a caveman?"

"I’ll drop you."

"Don't even joke about that." He laughs.

"Fine, fine, I won't." He puts you down and you both start walking around the city, looking for a corner store to get into.

"Let’s get wasted." You say, pointing to a small corner store.

"You’re so irresponsible." He said, going into the store and coming back out with soda and a bottle of vodka, he popped it open instantly when he came out, taking in a mouthful without wincing, passing it over to you straight after as you both walked down the street.

"I found this nice spot, it's 5 minutes from here."

"You didn't tell me about this when we were on Facetime."

"I was hoping to show you in person, I haven't told anyone else about it." You say, taking a mouthful of the burning liquid, coughing slightly, and passing it back over.

"Well, lead the way."

After a few minutes, you were standing on the roof of an abandoned, bordered car park with a pretty view of the river that ran through the city. You already had a wooden bench up there that you took as someone left it on the side of the road.

"How did you find this?" Leon asks.

"I just went on a walk one day and saw the entrance was bordered up and decided to explore, no-one ever comes up here." You said, leaning against the rails. "How much have we drank?"

"About a quarter of the bottle. Do you want more?" He asked.

"Yeah." He passes it over to you. "Do you remember the time we broke into that abandoned hospital near our high school?"

"And you freaked out when you thought that fake skeleton was real.."

"You're never gonna let that go are you?"

"We had to climb out of the window and I had to catch you before you fell to your death. Of course, I'm not going to let it go, you owe me."

"What do you want then? A drink?”

"I can pay for my own drinks and I just paid for yours." He said signalling to the bottle in your hand.

"You get to continue to enjoy my lovely company, that's all I owe you."

"Good enough." He sighed, taking a swig. The both of you sit around, both of you talking each other's ears off until he makes a suggestion.

"We should play a game."

"What's the game?"

"Truth or dare."

"Yes! I don't remember the last time we played this. Truth."

"Any crushes yet?"

"Honestly, not really. There are some cute guys in my uni but I'm just too busy with work. Truth or Dare."

"Dare."

"I dare you to finish the bottle."

"No problem." He said, finishing the bottle, and dropping it on the ground. You laughed at him, knowing he's going to be out of his mind later.

“You’ve been going to too many parties.” You say, watching in astonishment. “This is definitely some pretence for a future alcohol problem.”

“You’re gonna be the reason for my future alcoholism.”

“To be fair you are the type to become an alcoholic over a girl.”

“You’re that girl. You’re the most annoying thing in my life and I can’t get rid of you.” 

You hit his arm.

“You hit me too. Can’t get worse.” You roll your eyes with a smile.

“Seriously, you got anything going on with any girls?” You ask, feeling a bit of tension rise. He gives you a knowing grin. “Because I love gossip, don’t get any ideas.”

“Yeah, her name is Sienna. Funny girl, might ask her out soon.” You nod, questionably annoyed. “I’m joking. God. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, got something you wanna tell me?”

“The alcohol is just hitting.” You say. “Don’t get so full of yourself. You know I wouldn’t get with you if you were the last man on earth.”

“Yeah, right.” He smiles amusedly, a plan in mind. “Truth or dare, y/n?”

"Dare."

"Kiss me." Your heart stops.

"I'm not kissing you."

"You have to."

“Do I?”

“Never took you for a girl who’d pussy out on a dare.”

You sigh.

"You have some sick satisfaction out of tormenting me." You say, standing up and straddling his thighs. Fuck. You can feel the thick muscles of his shoulders as you rest your hands upon them. 

"You have no idea." You stare at him with a small frown.

"You're so lucky I'm drunk." You lean in slowly, feeling his fingers trace over your skin, sending goosebumps all over your body. You're just a few centimetres away from his lips, your lips parting, your heart thumping, his gaze dropping down to your lips. Suddenly, you hear him quietly laugh as you start to close your eyes.

"I'm not actually going to kiss you." He says.

"What?"

"You don't have to kiss me, it was a joke."

"Oh god." You sigh, faceplanting into his shoulder.

"You're so cute." He snorts, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I think you’re the one who’s gonna make me an alcoholic." You mumble. 

“Come on, let’s go back to your apartment before you jump off the railings.” He says, letting you get off.

"You're evil." You say once you get to the ground.

"And you're so gullible. How is someone supposed to not take advantage of that?"

"Now you’re showing your true colours, you’re going to regret saying that." You say as menacing as you can, before tripping up from how tipsy you were, just for him to grab the back of your sweater to keep you upright.

"Keep threatening me, I love it."

“Freaky bastard.”

“You have no idea.” He says, grabbing your hand to speed you up for you to trip again, he laughs as you manage to catch yourself. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“No thanks.”

“Too bad because I want to get back in a timely manner.” He says, wrapping his arm around the back of your knees and carrying you off. You weren’t going to complain. 

“Are you not drunk?”

“I’m drunk. I just have more spatial awareness than you.” He carries you the quick 5 minutes to your house. Managing to walk all the way up the stairs with you still in his arms, his stamina was kind of hot, or maybe those were just drunk thoughts. 

He sets you down on your couch, getting you both a glass of water to put on your side table. 

"I didn’t say this but I took some judo classes." You say, just letting whatever dumb shit stumble out your mouth as you take a sip from the glass.

"Did you now?" He says sarcastically.

"We should spar."

"You never fail to surprise me with your stupid ideas." He says while watching you get up. "Are you that confident?"

"You're scared, that's why you're trying to chicken out." He pushes himself up off the couch.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” He says, watching you hype yourself up, jumping up and down.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Come at me then.” He said, fully intending to go easy on you. You quickly try to tackle him onto the floor, wrapping your leg around him to drop him, and to his shock he falls onto his back, leaving him groaning and rubbing his back. “I didn’t think you were being serious.”

“Fuck yeah! Told you you’d regret it!” You shout, jumping up, he grabs your leg and pulls it down making you fall over him, rolling over so that you were pinned down by your wrists.

“How cute, Leon.” You smile, tucking feet underneath him onto his chest and launching off you and getting up. You usually weren’t this successful given you’d only gone to 2 classes, the drunkenness definitely provided you some much-needed confidence. He laughs breathlessly from the rollercoaster you just put him through, resting on his wrists for a second before standing up with you. 

“You wanted me to show you what I learnt in training right?” He says, as you rub your hands together mischievously. You run toward him, him holding both of your hands when you try to push him, pushing against each other as he swipes both your feet from under you and pins you to the floor, his shins pressing on your thighs to make sure you don’t pull the same trick again. Both of you are still breathing heavily from the high of the last round. 

 "You should give up now." He whispers, lacing his fingers in between your own.

"You should know better." You whisper back, smiling. His eyes drop down to your lips, his head fogged as the alcohol in his system starts to kick in more.

"What if I don't?" He leans in, brushing his lips over yours, your stomach fluttering, you were so glad you were drunk. You never would've come up with this idea if you were sober.

"What are you doing, Leon?" 

"Beating you up.”

"You're drunk."

"So are you." He replies, connecting your lips. The kiss is slow and soft. Not how you expected a drunk make-out to be. His lips part and your tongue meet his, the both of you letting out quiet sounds as the kiss gets more heated, his body weight shifting down. His arms wrap around your waist, under your jumper as he stands up with your legs wrapped around him. "We shouldn't be making out on the living room floor." He says and presses his lips against yours again. You were already a little light-headed from the alcohol, his lips trailing down your jawline, your neck, the soft breaths of his breath against your skin, it was almost dizzying. His foot pushes your bedroom door open and he places you down on the bed his lips still all over and his fingers lifting the jumper over your head. He trails his fingers over the waistband of your skirt.

"How much did you miss me?" He breathes against your lips.

"More than anything."

"How much did you miss me, Leon?"

“I was going insane." He whispers, his fingers slipping into your underwear, sliding them off and throwing them across the room. He sits up, taking his shirt off.

"Now that's just the alcohol talking."

"It's not, the time away made me realise something I should've ages ago." He said, leaning back over and kissing you. His hand trailed back down under your skirt, a finger gliding over your slit, a soft moan coming from his lips.

[tobiasdrake]

The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy 07 - My Money's on Karua's Mom

Nothing like some good old-fashioned non-existential horrors to make your day feel so much brighter. Alright, Alexa, lay it all out for us.

Darumi wants so bad to be in V3. So bad. You have no idea.

I like that he specifically rules out the Neo World Program because y'all know I was thinking that. In the back of my mind, I was thinking that.

But Alexa is very clear that we're meant to take the purple wall of flame literally.

And I'm sure it's true. I mean, do you really think a Killing Game mascot would do that? Just get up on the podium and spread lies?

It's weird that they encircle the school. Kinda makes it seem like the school is involved in the Undying Flames. Like we're doing something to make those flames occur.

Ha! Nice reference to the original movie.

I mean, he obviously doesn't mean "of us". Otherwise he'd just detonate the bombs in our chests. Assuming they're really there; We kinda just took his word for it without any demonstration.

Is it "Destroy all monsters with your Blood Cocoon Magical Girl Powers"? Because I'm down for that. I love TRPGs. I'm not super great at them but I enjoy them.

Destroy all monsters with your Blood Cocoon Magical Girl Powers.

It's interesting to me that we've specified that our school is NOT within the population center where civilians live, but that we are here to defend the school from danger. Not the population center.

There typically is, yeah. My money's on Karua's mom, personally.

Also, we may or may not need to send information to our parallel reality selves via the Morphogenetic Field in order to truly prevail. Uchikoshi's big on that sort of thing. It featured in both the Zero Escape and the AI: Somnium Files series, so I give it decent odds of showing up here.

Okay that timing was suspicious as fuck. What are you hiding, Shinigamikuma?

There's gotta be something going on with the monsters too, right?

Having flashbacks of that prick from Silent Hill 3 like, "They looked like monsters to you!?" to mess with Heather. That's probably not it. But I'm wondering.

You know, now that you mention it, we have no assurance that the people in the complex survived. Karua said that the siren wasn't like normal sirens and they broke the ceiling.

There is a non-zero chance that we're "Last Defense" because nobody's left.

No no no, Gaku, I have the perfect role for you. We're gonna strap you to a plank of wood and then Takemaru can hold it out in front of him for defense.

Yep yep. There's a lot of buzz about "Should we?" "Shouldn't we?" but we all know in the end it's going to come down to do or die, and nobody here--

...oh, I guess Eito's taking his chances with the horde.

Huh. You know, he makes some fair points. Honestly, the suspicious timing of this attack really does imply that the "enemy troops" are in some way in league with this operation.

This whole thing has me paranoid. There has to be an angle here.

...but we still probably shouldn't let the monsters claw our faces off.

Wow guys. Over half the team is voting to let the monsters come eat our faces.

This is why a good military organization puts people through training first. You can't count on survival instincts alone to carry someone through war.

You know what, that's fair.

So we're going into battle with the Cool Team. Takemaru, Hiruko, and Darumi are marching off to war. I guess everyone else will just chill in this room and hope for the best. Hope all of you fuckers don't get killed by your decision to not help us or anything!

Seriously, I'm gonna need you to explain how that's all connected, big guy. Is the Tokyo complex under the school or something?

Blagh. Amazing how complicated something that seems so open-shut can actually be. I trust Sirei about as far as I can throw Takemaru, but ravenous stuffies who want to eat our faces are fairly uncomplicated in terms of what we should do. And yet....

[raddixie]

what was the process of setting/writing the ROs? And some facts or your thoughts about them (from your POV as a creator)

-Your loyal anon, screw loose

Aww I'm so glad you asked this question! Thank you so much!

Fenric:

So, as a writer, I think Fenric is the most complex character. Not just his power, but him as a character, too. Fenric’s that perfect mix of chaos and calm. He’ll dive headfirst into danger without thinking, but there’s this weird steadiness to him too yk? he’s already accepted the cost. He jokes a lot, but it’s more about deflecting than being careless. Deep down, he struggles (i know hes not the only one but jeidje) and doesn’t know how to show it. Complex as hell, but that’s what makes him so compelling.

Nova:

Nova almost didn't make it to the IF, actually. I know I created her powers to fit the genre and the plot, but she was actually created for another game with 4 other characters. She's also very queer (when I created her as my OC), not that she isn't queer right now, but yk what I mean XD and by game, I don't mean an IF lolol. (P.S. I'm still working on that game, but I'll have to replace Nova. Or maybe keep her as a parallel universe. That'd be fun)

Elias:

Elias' mannerisms and personality were entirely different in the first draft of me setting up the character. Initially, he was stoic, aloof, cold, and cautious. But then I figured that I didn't want someone like this in my IF. Personally, I didn't think It'd fit. So, I changed his mannerisms and personality to how he is rn.

Lira:

Although hadrian and Lira share a lot of traits, she was supposed to be the one associated with death. I thought it would have fit her. but then, I told myself no. I had another vision of her that I needed to work on. So, she became who she is today :)

Hadrian:

I created Hadrian right after I was done with Lira. I needed someone to have relation with death, and I thought he'd fit best. There wasn't much going on with hadrian other than the fact that he wasn't named Hadrian at first.

Selen:

I know it's funny, but selen was NOT selen. Originally, I wanted another character in, but then I thought she'd be too much like Elias, so I had to put her aside for now, and then I created Selen. I needed someone who'd have a flare for drama, and I don't think there's someone better than Selen for that.

It's still under progress (and still not sure about), but there might be a secret gender-selectable RO. And a last too. But that is highly subject to change, so don't take my word for it.

[hellonerf]

could you share some jpus thoughts? you can include cana, too, if you'd like

okk hold on let me try. idk how i'd include cana cz i have zero idea about him and japan lol but. disclaimer this is my #head#canons as usual nothing is real the hetalia in my mind is evil sorry i'm playing with my yoyo thank you Okay

for jpus the base for them to me is that they are vaguely friends vaguely "on one side" but there's. well idk if resentment's the right word. it's a rly different kind of "resentment" than i'd describe caname with. obviously 😇... jpus to me while they are "friends" they are also still kind of rivals. like ame would just laugh and impose himself and act like japan's chill with it but if japan started to gain more power he would respond to that. Does Ame Know Japan Hates Him? yes and no... he knows how much japan might be pissed deep down at him but as far as ame's concerned, if he doesn't see it then it's nothing for him to care or worry about. and he is purposeful in sidestepping so japan never has a moment for him to push back. power dynamics are here because it's ame🤣🤣🤣 but he also sometimes just assumes japan likes him and just needs to be reminded occasionally lol. so ame would say aw japan's such a good ally(reinforcement)(it's like he's talking about a dog) but he doesn't really trust japan. and japan certainly doesn't trust america

i think japan has a very particular sense of pride mixing with his manners so he's "apologetic" and "polite" but his bitterness is still palpable for anyone who knows where to look. he wants power he wants 'respect' and can be impatient himself. also he's a pervert(favorite character trait). his way of trying to get power is different from ame's but there's some points where their interests align☺️

they have very different views and methods i think. hetalia itself shows this a lot with the simple culture shock gags... in a larger scale there's a lot of things that they just Don't Get about each other. and sometimes those things they Don't Get about the other could be fascinating or could be fun, or it could be repulsive to them. so to me here's a relationship where they're working together but the more they get to know each other the more. kind of disgusted they are i guess? but they are usually ignoring this cz there's no time for that ✋ "polite" and "friendly" in a shallow way

for gross anime art perversion moments i like thinking about japan imagining ame in degrading ways. revenge in the crevices of his mind. he doesn't like when he can rly tell ame's looking down on him though. blablabla weird sex. japan has a view of ame that's like he's vulgar and he just shows off sooo much that japan never could but he's less i don't wanna say he has less complexes about sex because that's not true but ame is more christian okay thats the easy way to describe it 🤦‍♂️ ame is christian. weird and contradictory about sex. both of them

also them both having occasional shut in tendencies is funny to me. and cute. this guy kind of annoying. ok we can stay in all day sure. this guy hogging up my warm bed. fine. whatever

i think it's funny to think about them alongside my actual fav ships for both of them. kiku is funny. kiku is a sick freak. kiku is a funny guy. alfred is (cut for length). they're funny! jpus to me is like added context though. in my mind... in a japan centric hell dimension(if japan was my fave) i'd put ame around as the scary guy who kind of bullies japan but not really and japan is having hallucinations like i Have to kill that crazy bitch. but he is also a crazy bitch so he chases ame down the street at night with a rusty hammer and ame's like WHAAAT?WHO IS CHASING ME DOWN THE STREET?! and this is also one of japan's sick fantasies

[jayzioxx]

p.s, the moon was always beautiful

scaramouche x reader

ao3, masterlist

chapter 1;New teacher

High school students are always brimming with energy and life. Running around halls, gossiping in hushed voices, picking fights out of nothing, or even sitting in their own little corners building their own complex little worlds. School halls can never be expected to be silent, especially on the first school day of the year, where everyone is trying to fit in and find new friends, or catching up with old ones. After all it's universal that no matter what school it is, prestigious or not, children would always be children. 

At 7 o'clock sharp, the chemistry teacher set foot into the school. She went straight to the office to mark her attendance and slowly started making her way to the teacher's lounge to take out her laptop, her small pencil case and her clipboard with lesson plans, schedule, a little note she wrote for herself saying 'work hard today too!', and a few little pieces of paper with various information in them. This year, miss [name] had been given a first year class to be the homeroom teacher of. Skimming through the overview of the new class she received, the teacher headed to her class way before the first bell rung, greeting a few senior students on the way.

Sitting at the teacher's table she went over the student overview once more. 

"Sucrose has anxiety, best make sure her other teachers know as well." [name] thought to herself as she typed away at her keyboard, making a few notes for her new class. 

"Ajax has a hard time focusing and dozes off in class." [name] sighed, pushing up the glasses which tend to slip down her nose. "Hopefully he won't be a problem child..."

As she went down the name list, a certain name caught her eye. "Kaeya Alberich..." She muttered. Suddenly, she no longer wished to see the list. Putting down the paper in her hand, she finished the lesson note she was typing and shut her laptop. [name] checked the time and noticed it was still just 7:10, way before most student came into the class. Oddly though, one girl was sitting at the corner of the class, head buried in a thick textbook. 

[name] walked over to her, brushing down her outfit in an attempt to look less intimidating. 

"Hello dear." The teacher smiled at the green haired girl, who slightly jumped at the sudden attention. "I'm your homeroom teacher, you can call me miss.[name]. May I have your name?" she asked. The girl, feeling slightly relieved at the soft tone, meekly muttered her name. "Sucrose."

"So this is Sucrose." [name] made a mental note.

"Mr.Albedo told me about you, he said you were a smart girl. I look forward to teaching you." [name] encouraged her, and suddenly the glum little frame seemed to be oozing with joy. Seeing that her words made the desired impact [name] walked back to her table.

The first bell rang, and students started flooding into the classroom. After marking attendance, [name] introduced herself to the children. 

"Hello everyone, I'm miss.[name] and I'll be your homeroom teacher this year. If anyone has any questions regarding your schedules or teachers, or any other problems you can ask now or ask me privately later." She inwardly sighed. Even 10 year of experience didn't seem to get rid of the initial intimidation everyone felt. "Since we have a few more minutes left, why don't you all do a self introduction?" She suggested but most seemed confused and a few seemed skittish. "right, children can't work without specific instructions." She thought. 

"Just say your name and if you wish, something about yourself."

By the end of homeroom she got to know a few interesting characters like Ajax, who called himself Childe (he said child with an e, and she thought it was quite a confusing name choice), Hu Tao who openly advertised her family's funeral parlor, a young man called Xingqiu who stated a weird fact about writing books, and Kaeya who began with saying "for any of you ladies interested, my locker number is 083." Overall, the tension in the class seemed defused by the end and everyone began leaving for their first class.

Until recess, things seemed to go pretty smoothly for [name]. Her first few classes were final year students and most of the time, troublemakers never really attended school in their final year. 

The recess bell rang and classes dispersed once more, leaving [name] happy with the undisturbed teaching time she had just finished. As the seniors left, one particular student was left behind. He seemed to have the intention to ask something but waited till his teacher packed up her laptop. Simple gestures like these always left [name] feeling a little happier about her students, even if they didn't know.

"Diluc? Is something the matter? [name] asked with her usual neutral expression. Diluc paused for a bit, embarrassed maybe, before nodding his head. "I'm having a hard time understanding lessons these days."He said with an unusual shyness. [name] thought it was quite adorable to see the usually stoic child coming over to ask for help. She almost couldn't stop herself from teasing but decided that was probably the last thing the red headed boy would enjoy. 

"Would you like me to offer you some after school tutoring?" [name] asked to which Diluc immediately nodded.

"Alright, let's start tomorrow then. I'll send you some notes this afternoon you tell me what you can't understand tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay. Thank you miss [name]." The red haired boy said and almost left before turning back again. 

"I heard my brother was being troublesome again in homeroom, I apologize on his behalf miss [name]." The boy said, but [name] couldn't help but wonder who he was talking about.

"No no, they were all good nothing more than what first years usually do." She cleared. "But I can't help but wonder who you're talking about now."

Diluc looked a little flustered. Perhaps he was expecting to be berated on his brother's behalf, seemingly not for the first time. "Kaeya Alberich, the one with blue hair and the eye patch." [name]'s expression slightly fell, but she quickly regained her composure and nodded, and sent him on his way. 

On her way out, she noticed a few students outside the window, peaking into the class. As soon as their gazes met hers all of them sprinted so fast that she couldn't even figure out who was who. [name] laughed to herself, at the same thing that happens every year.

[name] settled down on a couch in the teacher's lounge, once again pulling out her laptop and placing it on her lap to go over the first year lesson notes once more. While she was reviewing, Xiao, a coworker of hers (and the headmaster's son) came over with 2 cups of tea, one for himself and one for you (or whatever you prefer idk) in hand. 

"Won't you even drink something? Or do you plan to be working over recess as well?" He joked but it sounded more like a deadpan instead...

"Since this honorable gentleman insists, I'll eat something too." She teased back and folded her laptop for the nth time that day. "I brought mooncakes, want some?" She asked, and Xiao almost said no but figured she would still force him either way, so he responded with a quiet yes.

"[name]?" Xiao asked, and [name] hummed in response.

"Does your hair ever move?" 

[name] almost spit out her drink laughing. Xiao's question wasn't odd. [name] came to school everyday with her hair in a tight low bun and the strands at the front gelled back, so he didn't ask without reason. Still, she couldn't help but laugh.

"You look so weird when you joke with such a serious face." She continued laughing as the other teachers continued to ignore them in return.

"They're flirting again..." Lumine joked.

"When are they not flirting?" her brother, the gym coach Aether replied with a sigh.

"Hey now we're all adults! Can we not shamelessly accuse each other like highschool children?" [name]  laughed with a slight pout which Xiao thought looked both off and in place at the same time.

"Accusations are only accusations if they're false, [name]." the civics teacher, Yanfei teased.

"Whatever the case, we're not flirting." Xiao deadpanned, despite the slight redness of his ears.

"If you say s-" before Lumine could finish her passive retort, the other chemistry teacher who worked alongside [name], Albedo, bust into the lounge eating a canteen sandwich.

"Guys the fanfic club just released another xiao[name] fanfi..." The teachers collectively shook their heads. Albedo, in all his soft spoken glory, simply said "Surprise...?"

To be fair, Xiao and [name] knew about the fanfic club and their antics, and failed to stop new content regarding them to be released so came to the agreement that as long as the fiction wasn't inappropriate, no one's harmed. It was safe to say they've been the school's hottest gossip for at least 3 years.

"So! I heard a new mathematics teacher's transfering in 3 days." Ganyu, who had been silent the entire time spoke up.

"Really? That's great! since miss Xianyun retired my class didn't have a maths teacher and has to squeeze in with Lumi's" [name] said with relief and the other teachers spoke in agreement. 

Meanwhile, in the school cafeteria, the new first years from [name]'s class had already formed a little gang, taking well over an entire table to fit everyone. And as the first gang meeting of a high school friend group, they believed it was only right they got straight to gossipping and sharing stories about each other as first priority.

"Guys you won't believe what I heard!" Kaeya stood up and slammed his hands on the table. Everyone who's attention had been garnered towards him leaned closer, ready to hear his wild tale. "miss [name] and mr Xiao are dati-" Kaeya couldn't finish his sentence because a senior harshly slapped him in the head with a book. 

"Stop spreading misinformation, especially something already well known enough." Diluc sighed. Kaeya pouted muttering out something along the lines of "You're no fun..." but Diluc paid no mind to his little brother's displeasure and walked past the group of hooligans in the making (that's what he called them). 

"Maybe we shouldn't spread gossip... miss [name] looks strict I don't wanna be punished on the first day again." Childe shook his head sadly, which everyone did question because who gets in trouble on the first day of every year?

"Actually... miss [name] is quite nice." The almost silent words from Sucrose was barely heard, but still managed to reach everyone's ears. And like such, the class bonded with each other and the day progressed smoothly. 

After school was over and everyone was dismissed, the last person to leave the school was [name], who picked out a few books from the library and wrote down their names for Diluc to use as reference material. 

Both the second and the third day of school progressed just as smoothly, but on the fourth day, [name] was almost, almost scared (for the lack of better words) shitless by the faces of her students, whom all looked like ghosts by the 3rd period, which was chemistry. 

"What happened to you all?" She asked with worry and Childe started sobbing, fakely, the acting was horrible too, and everyone could see it was for the dramatics but none the less he did so. 

"You have to save us miss [name]! The new maths teacher is horrible!" Kaeya, joined in on the theatrics. 

[name] sighed, thinking this was just them being troublemakers and getting into trouble, but looking at the haggard faces of the other students, including Xingqiu, Sucrose and a few other students who weren't ones to skip work or cause any trouble in class. 

"I'll see what I can do, sit down and focus on the lesson for now alright?" She said, keeping a hand on Sucrose's shoulder which seemed to be slightly shivering. The students didn't seem too reassured so she decided to take their mind off the matter with something else as an attempt to calm them.

"My class is quite bare, don't you think? Would you guys like to decorate it?" She offered, noticing how all her student's decorations from last year were taken down during the yearly renovations. This seemed to pique everyone's interest, so she added a few more words. "All suggestions are welcome." 

Recess came by quickly, and [name] headed to the teacher's lounge for her usual drink and chat with Xiao.

"Wonder what kind of piece of work transferred." [name] thought as she entered the teacher's lounge, curious about the new teacher. Although everyone was busy chatting away with each other, [name] felt a chill running down her spine. "Oh hey [nickname]! meet the new maths teacher, mr Raiden." Yanfei turned from the coversation she was in to talk. "Right. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." [name] muttered with her head slightly down, making a beeline towards Xiao trying not to look at the new transfer at all.

"It can't be him... right?" [name] thought to herself but the vibrant purple hair and unrealistically beautiful skin told her otherwise.

"Likewise." [name] turned her head at the all too familiar voice, and gulped as she accidentally met his eyes. His gorgeous, indigo eyes.

"It is him."

a/n; this app is so confusing to me help me pls

[keydekyie]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕄𝕠𝕥𝕙 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕒𝕣

~Frequently asked questions~

Wondering what the hell that human-faced bear monster was that you saw on your dash? Can't figure out whether it's supposed to be scary or cute? Confused deeply?

Well do I have the solution for you: All your questions answered, and more!

First of all: what am I looking at?

The creature you've seen is called a Kanai. They're basically a sphinx, a creature with a human face, but instead of the body of a lion, it's a bear! It's not that weird! (right?) Oh, and they're also the size of a house. Don't worry about it, it's fine. It's fine.

What is this setting?

The story is set in my headworld, which is a sort of an alternate-reality Earth, and specifically in a country called Kellabor. Here's a big worldbuilding dump if you're curious, but there's no need to read it all before diving into the books. You'll discover everything important along the way.

So there are books?

Yes! I've written three books in the series, and am working on the fourth and final book. I have a masterpost explaining them with content warnings here.

Okay but what is the story about? What happens?

It's a very PG (maybe edging on PG-13 in the fourth book) slow-burn fantasy romance adventure story with a dash of horror.

Oh, so there's romance?

Yep! It's been planned that way since the first words I put down. If you get through the first two books and are wondering where the hell the romance happens, just remember: it's a slow burn. A sloooow burn. We'll get there.

How many books are there going to be?

So far, I'm planning on four. Originally, I had three planned, but the second one was getting too long and I had to split it in half. That's why book II: The Crossing ends on a cliffhanger. Don't worry, it's not going to take four books to get to the cute parts.

Is there going to be a happy ending?

Yes! Yes, I promise there will be a happy ending. Might not, uh... seem very likely, at times, but yes.

What's the inspiration behind this story?

If you want a long, somewhat-spoilery answer, you can read this, but the tl;dr non-spoilery version is:

I wanted to write a story about a monster and a human where the monster is the one facing the ethical dilemma, and they come to be friends and care about each other. And go on adventures. And love each other.

Wait, so... are the giant bear monsters the good guys?

Um... yes and no. There really aren't clear good guys or bad guys in this story. I'm going to have to ask you to have a bit of an open mind, here.

Okay, but I swear I saw a gif of one of these monsters eating someone. Was that from this?

Yeah, that gif is from a side-project set in the same world. It's a little more explicit than anything that happens on screen in TMatB, but let's just say it's not... uncharacteristic. That's the dash of horror I mentioned.

Listen... it's the dash of horror that makes the cute stuff that much cuter. The horror is the flavor. Trust me on this one.

Wait so if the bear monsters eat people, how are they not obviously the bad guys?

It's complicated! You'll find nothing is black and white here in Kellabor. The country has a long, mysterious, complex history, and so do each of my characters.

Okay but... what happens, though? Who's this girl I keep seeing in these drawings? Why does it sometimes seem like they are enemies and sometimes not?

The protagonists start out in conflict in book I due to ✨circumstances✨. They have a lot of issues to work out. Depending on where they are in the story, drawings of them might show them being more antagonistic or more sweet. It'll all make sense with context.

I'm still confused...

Ask box is always open! ♥️

You can get the books on my webbed site: graceohare.com

[smosh-fessions]

In much recent streams Damien did disclose that he doesn’t feel the need the include himself in queer community/doesn’t expect people to include him under the umbrella etc. he said he is fine being a staunch ally. I don’t think that erases his complex feelings about his orientation and stuff, but it does tell us that he isn’t actively seeking that kind of support right know. Tbh even around the time of the stream that’s been discussed he wasnt asking for excaptence from community or whatever. He was just discussing his and his friends views etc. I don’t see this as him being inconsistent or hypocrite, it’s just the complexities being discussed openly, which the details of it might shift in time esp according to how relevant they are to ones needs. I think you are valid for laying out your stance clearly and arguing for your principles, I do not think you were doing all this for to be “Damien’s white knight” which is a very presumptios thing that was said by one of these anons, and them picking at your tone is just coward stupid shit which told me more about their intentions. But I still don’t think people not including him in conversations around querness is bad at this point esp, it doesn’t seem like something he is putting weight in at the moment. Who knows what’s changed but to me the important part is that he is aware of his privilege and I don’t think anybody could argue in good faith that he is taking some role/opportunity out of some other queer person in any material form that matters, this is a personal moment he shared with us at one time. It’s just that. It’s not posing as something else to get whatever . So it feels weird to me too when people act like you are imposing a foreign identity on him when you are just taking his word. I don’t think it matters that he is being discussed as queer in a corner on tumblr in a way that reflected his words at one time. You aren’t going under Damien’s comments and demanding that he openly identifies as queer or people/him arent demanding that he should be the voice of a queer only space or get ‘’benefits’’ -whatever they might be, from identifying as such. I find people calling other people/themselves things like queer lite a little annoying at worst in a sorta banal way regardless of how they actually identify. Just the verbiage is irrataring to me sometimes for many reason but I also get why people feel the need to work with that. I don’t see why this has to be adressed or fixed since it’s so “distastefu’’ I just don’t see the offensive part which means I also don’t see the need to prove Damien’s place in queerness so this flighty frustration of couple people can be absolved.

This was incredibly well put.

My whole argument is that whether or not he's actively looking to be in the community or just act as an ally, he's got a complicated orientation when you break it down to its base parts. And those have labels.

I'm thinking of it kind of like a watch. It's full of tons of small important pieces that all make it work, but they're still within a *watch.*

I'm simply taking him at his word and agreeing that he's absolutely always allowed to use cishet if that's the most comfortable way for him to do so. If he changes his mind, great! If he doesn't, also great! But we cannor erase the insides because they make up part of who he is.