#feeling complicated about it. mostly i think i’m feeling nothing at all but i’m not great at identifying emotions if they’re not dialled up

[ayliffe]

think my grandpa’s dying boys x

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ‘cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

“Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow—also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[mrsbarnesblog]

can you do rafe finding out the reader has no experience with boys, like first kiss and first time and what it would be like for them??

masterlist ko-fi ao3

requests are open

word count: 1k

warnings: like one mention of sex, reader is anxious about not having an experience

a/n: I wanted to write about their first time too but it felt kind of out of place here. so if y'all want, I will post it separately

You felt the palms of your hands getting wetter with every passing second as Rafe Camron was driving you to the beach to watch the sunset after dinner that you had together. He took you out to a nice restaurant at Figure 8 and you spent an amazing time talking to him and enjoying the warm summer weather. 

His hand was resting on your naked leg, not pushing or making you uncomfortable, but you were so nervous that you thought you might die. Rafe was fully focused on the road, not noticing your anxiety and obliviously humming to the song. 

You had no experience whatsoever, you had never been on a date or kissed anyone, and you were not stupid enough to know that Rafe had done way more than you. The thing that mostly freaked you out was the way he might react when you finally find the courage to admit it. 

You knew that a lot of guys didn’t want to be anyone’s first because it could make things too complicated. Even though Rafe was nothing but nice to you the whole time he tried to find a way to ask you out, you hated to think that everything might end before it even started. 

“You okay?” His soft voice pulled you out of your head. He squeezed your leg and you realized that the car had stopped. You quickly nodded, but even if Rafe didn’t seem like he believed you, he nodded back. 

He quickly got out of the car, circling it to open your door and help you get out. With your hand wrapped in his and your shoes left behind, you walked through the warm sand closer to the water. 

“It’s really pretty, Rafe.” You stopped when your feet touched water, too mesmerized by the view of the setting sun in front of you. Rafe hummed, his hands slowly wrapping around your waist, bringing you close to his chest. His head lowered to your neck; that way, he could place a soft kiss on your skin and enjoy your sweet scent. 

You didn’t know how long you had been standing there. It just felt so safe and comfortable to be in his arms, and you almost forgot about all of the concerns that you had. 

The sun had almost hidden behind the horizon when you felt your body being moved until you were standing face to face with Rafe. 

He looked down at you with that weird look in his eyes. His hand reached your face and he was slowly caressing your cheek with his thumb. Your heart was beating in your ears, and your own hands were gripping his shirt way too hard because you knew what he was going to do. 

He wanted to kiss you. 

You held his eyes contact until his eyes lowered to your lips and the look of complete desperation and desire in them made your stomach jump. 

Your head lowered, eyes closing and face heated up from embarrassment. 

“Did I do something wrong? You don’t want this?” Rafe tried to sound normal, but you heard a bit of disappointment in his voice. You looked back at him, trying to find words. 

“N-no. Everything was perfect. You were perfect, Rafe, I promise. It’s just…” You hesitated, trying to focus on anything but nervousness that was eating you alive. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never been on a date, never kissed, and never had sex. I’m scared and I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how you feel about it, because some guys don’t want to be anyone’s first, so I thought that since you were— like, you know, Rafe Cameron you wouldn’t like it and wouldn’t want to be with someone so inexperienced because—“

“Hey, hey, hey, Y/N!” He stopped your stream of words before you could overwhelm yourself. “That’s why you were nervous in the car, hm? You thought that I wouldn’t like it?” He asked, his blue eyes searching yours for an answer. “Goddammit, you’re so fucking cute, you know that? I don’t care how much experience you have, because I don’t expect anything from you on this date or after that.”

“No?” Your eyes lowered to his lips, which started to finally grab your attention as the anxiety left your body. The craving to have Rafe closer, to finally know how it feels to be kissed by someone, made you slightly tremble.

“No. I wanna be your first. I want to show you, teach you, and make you feel special. And I think I need to kiss you right fucking now, because you’re too beautiful. Can I?” 

You nodded, holding back a smile. Rafe’s lips curled in a smirk, his big finger under your chin tilted your head up and the next thing you knew, he was kissing you. 

God, he was gentle, so soft, with his other hand on your waist, bringing your body against him. His lips moved on top of yours slowly, not pushing you but letting you figure out how to move.

You let out a faint moan at the sensation of him all around you, which made Rafe smile into the kiss and tighten his grip on you. 

“You’re driving me crazy. I wanted you for so long…” 

“Rafe…” You pulled away, lacking some air. Your hands sneaked up his chest until you wrapped them around his shoulders and started fidgeting with the hair at the back. “I think I need more practice with kissing, you know.” You bit your lip, smiling.

Rafe playfully rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Mhm, fine, I think I can do that.” He mumbled and captured your lips in another kiss. 

[bbwcasey]

It feels strange and vulnerable to write something this personal here, but maybe that's why I’m doing it. Maybe because I feel like you all are the only ones who might truly understand the storm inside me—the anger and sadness that’s just really hard to put into words.

I've briefly mentioned my aunt before. She was my rock when my dad was deployed and my mom was working long hours. During that part of my childhood, she was the one who raised me. At her heaviest, she weighed over 700 pounds, almost 800. Over the years, I’ve been careful not to share too many details about her, because sadly, some of you struggle to respect the clear boundaries that should exist here.

She died on Monday. And she died in a way no one should ever have to. My heart is absolutely shattered.

She had been living in a bariatric care facility for over a decade—bed-bound, very limited mobility. For as long as I can remember, that was her reality. I watched it unfold slowly, starting in high school when she lost the ability to walk, when taking care of her became a shared effort between me, my mom, and my Yiayia. We loved her, we cared for her the best we could. But, as time passed, her needs became too great, and she was moved into the care of professionals. At least, that's what we thought.

But the facility failed her. They failed her in the most basic of ways. She needed a 4-person assist just to be bathed, just to go to the bathroom—and that wasn’t always available. Sometimes it was because of understaffing. Sometimes it was pure negligence. And that neglect led to infections. One of them turned into necrotizing fasciitis—a flesh-eating bacteria. That’s what killed her. That’s how she died. Suddenly. Painfully. Needlessly.

I am furious. And I am heartbroken.

It messes with my head in ways I can’t even explain. I’ve spent so much of my life obsessed with the idea of being that big, fantasizing about being absolutely massive, and now, here I am, mourning my aunt who lived that reality. I don’t know if she ever felt the way I feel about it. I don’t know if the things I think about were part of her experience. Honestly, I don’t want to know. Don’t make this weird. It’s not about that.

But I do know she was involved in NAAFA, long before I was even born—back when the lines between what we now call body positivity and fat acceptance were just starting to be drawn. So, there’s this overlap, this strange connection that I can’t quite reconcile in my head. I’m not scared by what happened to her, but I am devastated by it. I don’t want this for anyone, and it’s hard to see the reality of what we talk about here through this lens. It’s hard to hold space for all of it.

I don’t know how to wrap this up neatly because there’s nothing neat about this. I’m grieving. I’m angry. I’m confused. But mostly, I’m just sad. Sad for her. Sad for me. Sad for a world that lets people like her slip through the cracks because they were deemed too much—too much to care for, too much to handle, too much to love.

But she wasn’t. She wasn’t too much. She was just enough. She was everything. And I miss her.

I hate that I feel the need to add this disclaimer, but before anyone starts chirping and taking things out of context—no, this doesn’t change anything for me, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m still here, still the same weirdo who loves being fat and getting fatter. It’s just… complicated. I’m sad. It’s sad. That’s all.

[querenciasturniolo]

headcannons ⮕ m.s

a/n: 75% boyfriend headcannons, 25% plus sized reader headcannons, but i definitely did my best !! @rainsoakedphoenix , i hope you enjoy, love 🫶🏻💓

❥ matt in the talking stage is very quick to reply, and always has something to add to the conversation. he’s flirty, but subtle about it, not wanting you to think he’s moving too fast, or give you the wrong impression.

❥ this dude is an absolute open BOOK. any question you ask him, he answers openly and honestly.

❥ he hates small talk, absolutely despises it. would rather talk about incredibly deep, philosophical things instead of a simple “how are you ?”

❥ would ask you “what are we ?” instead of just asking you out, idk man, dude’s complicated.

❥ he would not give a fuck about you being plus sized, not a single one. he likes you bc you’re a good person, and nothing else matters to him in the slightest than that.

❥ “get out of here, you’re perfect just how you are.”

❥ hands on your hips and waist when you’re out in public. i wouldn’t say he’s a fan of pda, but he isn’t one to not have a hold of you somewhere.

❥ in a more private setting ? dude is cuddly and needy as HELL. constantly holding you, whether it’s just your hand, his arm around your shoulder, standing behind you with his hands on your hips, shoulders, waist, you name it.

❥ on days where you’re insecure, he’s quick to snap you out of it. he can tell whether you need reassurance or a distraction without you even having to explain.

❥ HUGE on reading body language and tone of voice, can tell immediately if something is wrong just by the way you’re breathing.

❥ pet names for days. “baby”, “babe”, “love”, “beautiful”, “bunny” (fight me, i dare you), dude will throw in “toots” in an awful boston accent, just to make you laugh and see you roll your eyes

❥ whiny, whiny, W H I N Y. constantly asking for cuddles, kisses, hugs, scratches, everything.

❥ huge words of affirmation guy, never gets tired of hearing that you love him or your thanks for him doing something for you. essentially, he’s a giant puppy dog.

❥ always has his hand on your thigh when he’s driving oh my GOD

❥ instead of physical gifts for anniversaries, he’d give you love letters (i’m sobbing)

❥ dude is not afraid to post you anywhere, absolutely ADORES showing you off, even if it’s just of you sleeping in his lap, or an underview of you watching the tv and playing with his hair

❥ “what ? i can’t show off what’s mine ?” (kill me)

❥ supportive of you in every single aspect, not once has he ever looked at you and made you feel like you couldn’t do what you wanted

❥ lowkey possessive, but not in a toxic way ! just wants you all to himself, and gets whiny when you have to go or you have other plans and can’t come over. it’s mostly a joke, and he’d never ever do it if it actually upset you, he just truly does want you around all of the time.

❥ HUGE on setting boundaries early in the relationship, wants to know your ‘hell yes’s and ‘hell no’s IMMEDIATELY

❥ says “i love you” first, no ifs, ands or buts.

❥ “i love you, ya know ?”

❥ is blushing the entire time he’s trying to get it out, but relaxes when he sees your grin

❥ refuses to “argue”, dude only has constructive conversations where the two of you find a solution

❥ “it’s us against the problem, babe. not us against each other. what’s going on ?”

❥ three quick pecks every time one of you asks for a kiss, sometimes more, but never less, and he will absolutely pout if you ever short him.

❥ “what was that ? give me a real kiss.”

❥ some nights when his energy is low, and his social battery is almost completely gone, he’ll just lay with you with his head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat.

❥ he’s a little snippy on bad days, but he always catches himself.

❥ “i’m sorry, love. i shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

❥ B A N T E R, he’s a shit, for sure

❥ “oh yeah ? wanna say that to my face ?” (think lori and noah from tiktok)

❥ on days where your body image is bad, he stops what he’s doing and takes the time to just hold you, and reassure you that your body is beautiful.

❥ “look at me, hey. i love you, every single part of you.”

❥ star gazing dates, midnight drives to nowhere, movie nights in the living room, nights where the two of you just stare at the ceiling and enjoy each other’s company.

❥ “penny for your thoughts ?” “what are you thinkin’ about over there ?” “what’s on your mind, beautiful ?”

❥ never shies away from mentioning you on the podcast/in videos.

❥ “oh my god, my girlfriend loves that.” “holy shit, me and y/n were just talking about this !”

tags: @strniolo , @ssturniolo , @thetriplets3 , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @dwntwn-strnlo , @tylerscreat0r , @toyourloves , @lvrsparadise , @angelcake-222 , @20nugs , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @jellybeanbby , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

is there anywhere that in game that says the Mc is the same age as the other first years?? I've been seeing a lot of discourse like "yuu can't do this/be shipped with that person bc they're like 16!!" (for ships this mostly refers to malleus, leona, and lilia)

but I don't remember anything that specifically indicates this? people argue its because they're in first year, but there are canon instances of people enrolling late/being older than their classmates. I was always under the impression that yuu was dropped with the first years regardless of age.

idk I've seen a lot of people get into stupid arguments lately, acting like other people's mc's are a crime bc they're like 17 or 18 (or god forbid 19, even though leona is 20 and there are other... complicated ages).

sorry, this ended up a lot longer than I meant for it to

I think many do assume that Yuu is 16 since they’re in class 1-A and hang out primarily with first year students. However, there is nothing in the game that states Yuu is 16 or has to be (similar to the vagueness about their gender); it’s probably left open-ended so players can imagine their own “Yuus”. As mentioned by the asker, there is variation in the age of canon students (Leona, Lilia, Malleus, etc.)—and even in the Yuus featured in official TWST materials, such as 17 year old Yuuka Hirasaka from the Episode of Savanaclaw manga. I feel it’s pretty pointless to argue over Yuu being “canonically” 16 or which Yuus are and aren’t “allowed” to exist since the game itself is set up in a way that encourages using your imagination to come up with whatever kind of Yuu you want.

More likely, Yuu is lumped into a first year class for reasons other than age. Firstly, they are “half of a student” with Grim, who is starting out his magical studies as a first year student. The two need to stick together—they “complete” one another. Secondly, first year classes center on theory and are basically the only ones Yuu is able to take. The higher level classes require the practical application of magic. Grim is not to that level yet and Yuu is incapable of meeting those magical demands.

Mmm, I think that’s about all I have to say on this matter? I’m afraid I don’t care to delve too deeply into the shipping discourse mentioned—though I do understand being frustrated with fans policing and attacking others’ creations 💦 My advice is to just enjoy your own slice of the fandom rather than letting bad apples ruin your experience.

[14thcommander]

seashore | hange zöe x reader

summary: a rainy day at the beach with hange. the shitty weather somehow leads to confessions of love. (idiots in love, friends to lovers, not beta read, a shit ton of symbolism, tooth rotting fluff)

i suggest listening to the song do you think I’m pretty by kingfisher

wc: 1.5k

The wind is gentle when it blows against your face — light, careful like a mother’s touch.

It brings the smell of cigarettes, the one Hange is currently smoking. They attempt to point it in the opposite direction, in order to avoid its terrible scent reaching you. It fails, but it’s the intention that counts something.

The beach is empty — well, mostly. There is a group of teenagers that are close enough to be seen, but too far to be heard. The sound of waves is the only thing you hear.

The ocean is a green, grayish color — the line that separates it from the sky, in the horizon, is blurred.

It is a chill day, one you consider the perfect atmosphere to go to the beach. Hange knows you like gray, moody days — the ones in which the sky looks like a warm, soapy bath. You were never a fan of sunlight anyway. Perhaps that’s why you admire Hange so much.

“Too bad Levi and Erwin are missing this sunny, hot day at the beach. Bet they’re sad just thinking about it.” Hange’s words are filled with irony, waiting for a reaction. The sarcasm that drips from their tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

The two of you are friends — well, sort of. You are part of the same friend group, consistently hanging out. Over time, you grew closer: what was supposed to be a collective hangout, turned into just you. It feels complicated these days.

“Oh, fuck off. You’re the one who agreed to come with me.” You offer them a middle finger, to which they throw their hands up in surrender.

The both of you are sitting on an old beach towel you brought, the fabric is wrinkled from being shoved on the bottom of your bag. None of you are dressed appropriately for the beach: Hange is wearing a thick flannel, protecting them from the chill breeze. You are wearing a beat down pair of converse, the ones you have since high school. Somehow, you match with each other. You try not to think too much of it.

“Call me crazy if you want, I wouldn’t let my friend go to this mopey beach all alone. I’m loyal like that.”

And that’s why you are at the beach, with Hange and no one else. Levi and Erwin were supposed to come along, however you are glad something came up for them. Nothing would be more awkward than ending up on a double date with your sort-of-friend.

The word friend tastes bitter on your throat, poisoning your lungs like Hange’s cigarette.

“You’re the only person I know that thinks this is appropriate beach weather.” They say, breaking the lack of dialogue between you for the past minute or so. Not that you’re counting or anything like that, of course. “Are you a vampire or something?”

It earns them a chuckle from you, almost a laugh — it drips like honey from your mouth, and Hange desperately wants to know how it tastes like. They want to hear it again.

“I doubt you like having fun in the sun either.” You reply, watching as the wind blows their hair — brunette locks dancing in the air, enhancing the messiness of their ponytail.

“Touché.”

Hange says, while burrying the remains of a cigarette in the sand, and you don’t point out how wrong it is — not with words, at least. Your eyes seem to translate your feelings either way.

“You’re so expressive.” It’s Hange’s turn to chuckle. “It’s adorable.”

Their words almost make your face heat in embarrassment. Almost.

“Oh, shut up.” Your tone is playful, not pointed at all. Avoiding their eye contact, you turn your face in order to pretend the ocean before you is a better sight than Hange.

“I mean it. I like it.”

Hange might tell you a joke, but they would never tell you a lie. Something about the honor of a scientist, you guess. It’s a beat of silence until you speak again.

“Yeah, well, you’re the opposite. I can’t read you at all.” This comment, though, this one is pointed — not like a knife, but similar to thorns on a rose. It comes with something beautiful, too: honesty.

The truth is palpable, swimming in between you. It’s all a funny, weightless banter, until it isn’t.

“My resting bitch face doesn’t help. Guess I’m better with words or something.”

This time you laugh, genuinely. It isn’t mean, you don’t mean to mock Hange at all — it’s just that the irony of it all is funny to you. Almost unbelievable.

“Oh, what a poet you are.” Your eyes are glued to the sea before you, admiring its chaotic beauty. The waves crash against the shore, becoming a conjugation of white bubbles.

It’s silent again, wordless tension building around you like a sand castle — ready to crumble at any sudden move.

“You’re really pretty.” They admit, which sounds like something in between a secret and a confession. It seems out of nowhere, but it truly isn’t. Lately, this is all Hange can think about. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The waves crash again, destroying the metaphorical sand castle you built around yourself, trying to protect you from whatever it is you’re scared of.

“Hange.” The sound of their name leaving your mouth isn’t a threat, although it isn’t an invitation either.

“No, I mean it. Truly.” They reach for something inside their bag, something important in the mess of papers, headphones, and a cigarette pack.

They’ve found it: a small, worn out notebook.

“Here, take a look.” They offer it to you, opened on a certain page. “Then tell me you think I’m lying.”

There are doodles of you. Your face, distracted, frozen in the moment, probably when you were laughing at something crude Levi had said. There is your silhouette, too: you guess it’s the view of when you walk in front of them, hurriedly trying to arrive on time for a move you went to see.

Your smile, your eyes. Every detail of your face, something that cannot be translated by a photograph. The traces Hange has memorized over the years you have known each other. This is what they picture before going to bed, or early in the morning when they wake up.

“Hange.” This time, when you say their name, it is softer — it warms them up. “Hange…”

It’s like you’re hypnotized, unable to say anything but their name.

When you look up, they are closer, nose brushing against yours. Hange looks at you through thick glasses, with curiosity. This time, they can’t read your expression.

“Kiss me.”

And they do. It is gentle, soft — their lips move against yours like the waves move against the shore, as if it was nature’s reason for your own existence. Their warm palms find your face, holding you preciously. It is brief, however. The kiss ends as quickly as it came.

Neither of you speak, too afraid to break the moment. Hange brings their forehead against yours, and like that you stay. You taste like salt air, warm like whiskey. It is fiery, overtaking them as a whole. They wouldn’t mind being swallowed by it, drowning in the overwhelming hotness that is your touch.

This time, Hange says your name, warm brown eyes looking into yours and finding nothing but love. Admiration. Devotion.

It’s a humorless chuckle, what comes next. It leaves their lips nervously. For someone so careless like Hange, it sure is a new sight to see them like this — a pink tint covering their cheeks, a loopy smile on their lips. They have never looked so soft.

“I have wanted to do this for so long.”

“What, go to the beach on a rainy day?” You ask in attempted humor, beaming when it earns you a laugh from them.

“Kiss you. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

You smile, breaking eye contact and looking at the sand. It looks damp, cold. Unlike what you feel right now.

“Me too.”

Hange looks into your eyes again, scanning it from any signs of mischief. They find none.

“I get the appeal of this now. If anything, the shitty weather makes it feel more romantic.”

You give them an I know, right? look, and they fight the urge to kiss you again.

“Glad I could change your mind. We could do this again, if you want.”

The words that leave your lips are soft, but confident. Just like you.

“What, are you asking me on a date?”

“Depends on your answer.”

Hange offers you a toothy smile, feeling like a child. They feel on top of the world now. How could they not, after all?

“Yeah. Obviously, of course. I would love to go on a date with you. Multiple dates, even.”

You smile again, cheeks already hurting from so much happiness.

“Can’t wait to make you mine.” They say, bringing your palm to their lips, pressing a gentle kiss on your warm skin. “Cause I’m already yours.”

You believe them.

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

These Nimona headcanons are kinda angsty cause I’m bored

I think it’s a genuine shock for Ambrosius when he finally realizes he gets to make his own choices

Sometimes it’s small things like choosing to grow his hair out and stop bleaching it and what he eats that day

And sometimes it’s bigger things like what he’s going to do with the privilege he was born with and what he wants to do with the rest of his life 

He was probably raised to believe that his voice and his body weren’t his own and all of his choices should benefit his family

And because of that he kind of has a little bit of an identity crisis 

One night Bal woke up to the sound of an electric razor and he went to go check it out cause he assumed Nimona was experimenting with their hair at 3 am again 

He was kind of shocked to find Nimona shaving Ambrosius’ hair while he sat crying in the bathtub 

But he didn’t question it he just sat next to him and held his hand while he went through a lot of complicated emotions 

I feel like it takes a while for Bal to stop acting like he’s on the run

When situations get stressful he’ll eat like he’s rationing 

If there is a controversial time in the kingdom he’ll leave the house with his cloak even when it’s 100 degrees outside 

It took him a long time to get back into his hobbies because he wanted to keep his belongings small and portable 

And it takes a lot of time and even more help to finally recognize those habits and break them

And it’s made twice as hard because Nimona has the same habits and will subconsciously fall into them 

Which sucks because after being on the run for so long all she wants to do is settle down for a very long time 

The trio also has massive trust and abandonment issues 

It takes a long time for Nimona to trust anyone that isn't Bal or Ambrosius   

If he does let someone in and they betray him he doesn't even think about giving them a second chance 

But it always hits him hard and it takes him a while to recover 

Bal is very wary of maternal figures in his life

He also doesn’t trust anyone from the institute/nobles as far as he can throw them (except Ambrosius obvi)

Ambrosius also has that same distrust and every time he goes to work he acts like he’s walking on eggshells

But he knows he has to be there to fix the problems his ancestors caused 

But their trust issues are nothing compared to their abandonment issues 

The first couple of months living together were tricky

Because they all have abandonment issues but they’re also very independent people

After a while they all figured out it was best to communicate where they are most times 

Even if it’s incredibly mundane and feels stupid to announce to a group of people “I’m going to work” when they leave for the day

It just put the rest of them at ease

So Nimona will leave notes before they go on their little solo trips

And Bal will call if he’s going to pick up supplies and won't be in the lab for a while

Ambrosius will text them to say he’s caught in another meeting so they’ll just have to eat dinner without him

Even with these steps they all have their bad days and sometimes those bad days sync up

Mostly on anniversaries of big events like the knighting ceremony, or the day the wall fell

And on those days they decide to take care of themselves and each other by sitting in the living room all cuddled up and watching stupid movies to cheer them up

[ribread03]

Wakie Wakie

C.sturniolo

In which Chris decides to wake you up the “good ol’ fashion” way, ending with complicated feeling and a flushed Chris.

This will be part of a short series

Warnings: none?

This is my work and i do not give anyone permission to use or take it

RI.talks: i honestly wrote this in like a hour and a half and i loved every bit of it.

Like, comments, and reblogs are all very appreciated and welcome!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sunlight filters in to nicks room as you sleep peacefully next to him. The two of you facing away from each other under the covers. Soft snore leave nicks mouth showing no sign of waking up, even though it is late into the day; 12:37 to be exact.

Neither of you hear the door open and Chris walk into the room. Chris has become impatient for the two of you to wake up; mostly you. He wants to wake you guys up in the good ol’ fashion way… this being pulling the blanket right off of your sleeping body’s.

What Chris doesn’t know is the pajamas you wore to bed last night; or lack of. Chris is fast to pull the blanket off of your body, exposing the big shirt that had ridden up along with the small panties you wore.

~~FLASHBACK TO LAST NIGHT~~

“Do you mind if I don’t wear any pants?” You ask nick, your back to each other as you change into your pajama shirt.

“Nah, I don’t care” He replies with a shrug even though you cant see it.

“Thanks” you say as you climb under the covers.

~~END FLASHBACK~~

Your eyes are slow to open at first but once your mind tells you there is nothing covering your bottom half from Chris’s eyes you are quick to try and cover up. Chris is silent this whole interaction, his eyes glued to your legs. He’s obsessed with the way a little bit of your stomach peeks out of the shirt before you pull it down over your body.

“Chris get out!” Your voice loud as you didn’t think he would have barged and yank the blanket off of you.

Chris is still silent as he backs out of the room tossing the blanket back to you. Once Chris is out of the room you see nick out of the corner of your eye. “He so immature” Nick groans as he buries his face back into his pillow, hiding from the sunlight.

“Yeah” Your voice is one of shock. You get out of bed and grab a pair of nicks pants that are lying on the floor, throwing them on before heading out of the room. Your met with a flushed Chris in the podcast studio, sitting wide eyed in a chair.

You cock your head slightly at Chris as you catch his eye. “I didn’t know- I’m so sorry, i really didn’t mean to” Chris starts to apologize like crazy, his face in his hands.

“Chris it’s ok, i know you didn’t mean it” Your voice is soft as it reaches Chris ears. As reassuring smile rest lightly on your lips.

“Are you sure, I’ll forget i even saw anything” He rambles on; but the lie of forgetting the way your legs looked slipped past his lips. He knows He’ll never forget the way your legs looked, how long and smooth they are under the baggy pants you wear.

“Chris I’m sure” You lock eyes with him for a split second. A soft smile now paints its self onto Chris’s lips as you look at each other. You can tell he’s about to say something but his mouth shuts as you hear the bedroom door open behind you.

“Will you two stop eye fucking each other,” Nicks voice is loud in the quiet environment, breaking the state you and Chris had been in. “It’s sickening.”

You didn’t move from your spot as Nick walked behind you to go downstairs, to lost in the fact that you felt a small spark on the base of your spine. The way Chris was looking at you before nick had walked in made you feel some way; a way you couldn’t put your finger on. All you knew is that you needed to figure out why he made you feel that way…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THANK YOU FOR READING LOVE YOU!!

Ri.talks: I wrote this in like an hour and I have a good idea how the next part of this is going to go!!! Be ready💋💋

[kirkenovak]

Obsessed with the idea of 1389-1889 Hob being asked to be Dream’s lover, husband, partner and agreeing but also completely misunderstanding the nature of their relationship.

Hob’s been around the block a couple (hundred) times, he knows what these words mean for a man like him. Men like them. He will be a kept man, a paramour, a secret, maybe a bit more open than not, depending on his Strangers’s social circle and the power he wields, but it’s not like their relationship can be official. What a preposterous idea! Maybe they’ll be able to carve out a little space for themselves where they will be able to be as open as possible. Weirder things have happened (says the immortal to an endless)

It’s possible that The Stranger already has a wife or a female lover and he can only hope they can be civil towards one another. Hopefully The Stranger has some sort of arrangement with her, he’d hate to be a source of awkwardness or some sort of revenge plot.

I’m guessing if Dream revealed his status as a king to 1389 and 1489 Hob, Hob’s train of thought would go something like this: “men can’t get married” “Dream is a king, kings can do whatever they want” “Dream can have a gay marriage, as a treat”.

Further than that things could get a bit more complicated (also 1589 Hob was a happily married man, I think he’d reject Dream, mostly because the 13/1489 Hobs would be attracted and mesmerised by his power, wealth and mystery while 1589 would have both in abundance and he was at this point getting used to the idea of The Guy Who Made Me Immortal just being there).

1689 Hob would probably agree to literally anything Dream would want and would not consider himself worthy of being anything akin to “a lover”, more like a servant with benefits (I have so many feels about 1689 Hob and Avelera’s Giving Sanctuary is blamed for all of them) - scrub the floor, chop the wood, suck my dick, wash the dishes; do well enough and you may sleep on the kitchen floor next to the fire tonight and not in the basement.

Which brings us to the MVP of their interactions - the 1789.

Imagine, if you will, that after fighting lady Constantine and her goons, Dream openly propositions Hob and Hob agrees to go with him. Dream transports them to his ridiculously lavish bedroom (either in the dreaming or somewhere in the waking world) and Hob has a decision to make - he can either start questioning things or take things in stride, get laid, and then question things. He chooses the latter.

However, after they are finished Hob notices that their clothes are neatly folded while he knows they left them rumpled on the floor and there are refreshments available that definitely were not there before. Dream makes an offhand comment that his servants must have come in and sorted it for them while they were busy. Hob has no problem with servants watching them have sex, he’s lived long enough to have been on both sides of this, but he is uneasy with the fact that Dream’s servants had seen him being intimate with a man. With Hob. This unease only grows when Dream offhandedly mentions that they are awful gossips and probably his entire Kingdom now knows that he has a new lover. (This is how Hob finds out that Dream is a King with a kingdom and subjects) Hob is devastated, because the last thing he wanted was for Dream to be ridiculed because of him but now his entire kingdom is aware that Dream has been with a man?

Meanwhile, Dream is literally writing invitations to a 10 day feast he’s planning to throw in the honour of his Lover, Maybe A Husband One Day Who Knows.

Seriously, tho: “Be my husband” “sure! I want nothing more to be able to call you…. wait what are you doing?” “Inviting people to our wedding” “Our what?!”

[barrenclan]

is it weird i’m thinking about a werewolf cormorantpaw au?? is that normal to think about werewolf cats??

(This was my Patreon illustration for October 2023! Go check it out if you feel like giving me a couple dollars)

Okay so fair warning, I have slightly hijacked this ask to talk about my MHA AU instead! I came up with it in a feverish pitch on the Discord this summer. But it's basically a REVERSE werewolf AU so it's fine!! WEHEHEHE ANYWAYS

I'm sure all of you know the basics of MHA, everyone has superpowers and there's heroes and villains and whatnot. (I have my own problems with MHA but it is such a fun world to play around with. And it has Shigaraki, which is a notable point in its favor. Regardless) The backdrop for this AU is basically the human AU for PATFW - ratty small Nebraska town, Defiance is a secret cult in the woods, etc. You can read more about it in the 'human au' tag.

I didn't include descriptions for Cormorantpaw and Pinepaw's Quirks in the drawing because I wanted to explain them a little more - they're a bit complicated. Pinepaw's Quirk, Seeing Eyes, allows him to form eyes on any part of his body, and up to around 20 at one time. However, any more than that and he starts to get overwhelmed; and unbeknownst to him, he starts getting prophetic visions. Corm's Quirk, Beastform, lets him change into the design you see in the drawing, basically a big Set animal with heightened senses and strength. But since his Quirk activated, the longer he stays in the form, the longer it is before he change back.

(Daffodilpaw, Asphodelpaw, Slugpelt, Rainhaze, Nightberry, Deepdark)

These are the rest of the main characters that I came up with Quirks for, although I do have some vague ideas for a couple other characters.

Applying Quirks is the main AU thing that changes here, and it's a big one with Corm! So in short, Thrasher (Dustin Turner) in this AU would have been a thief villain whose Quirk was having wings and talon-like hands and arms, but eventually one of his wings gets ripped off and it destroys his career. So when he starts having kids with Hush Puppy (Hope Turner), he’s super Endeavor about it and begins testing them all for training. Cormorantpaw (Cesar) becomes his favorite because of his Beastform Quirk, so he really starts hammering on Cormorant and doing his canon typical horrible abusive training.

They don’t realize at first the limit on Corm’s Quirk, since it's super short and unnoticeable at first, but eventually they realize that each times he changes it gets longer to change back. Once Hush Puppy dies, there’s nothing stopping Thrasher and he forces Corm to constantly train and do crimes for him in his Beastform. So by the time that he’s dead, Cormorant is essentially stuck in his scary beast form, and everyone assumes he was just born with a really fucked up physical Quirk. And then he comes to BarrenClan town! That's where the "plotline" of this AU would kick in.

And I did have to throw in an actual werewolf Cormorantpaw drawing. Mostly so I can justify my unhinged anime AU.

[beingsuneone]

Part Two!!

Memories & Delusions PART TWO!!

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

SYNOPSIS: You know Jason is alive know, you aren’t sure how just yet and you aren’t how exactly you’re going to keep his cover and also still see him regularly. There’s still too many complications to deal with.

FANDOM: DC

PAIRING(S): Jason Todd x fem!reader

RATING: G

MENTIONED: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth, Barbara Gordon, Joker, Ra’s Al Ghul

GENRE/AU: Uhhh a little bit of fluff I guess. It’s pretty subtle on the romance, mostly plot following I guess. Nothing overly angsty. Mentions of being committed to Arkham (just a joking conversation) and Jason is trying it get over the Lazarus pit.

WORD COUNT: 4.4K

WARNINGS: swearing, slightly graphic descriptions of Jason’s murder from him. Not proof read

A/N: jjjajsjakkskskshdhshjsjsis brain

DEDICATIONS: my dumb hyperfixating brain for coming up with this concept at least three years ago. And putting it into words only recently.

CREDITS:

“Why are you being so dodgy lately?” Dick asks skeptically, eyeing you up.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. Jason doesn’t want them to know yet so they won’t. “What do you mean?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Last week you were losing your mind and now you’re just… fine.”

You take a deep breath in and sigh. “I guess I realized that I was being delusional. I was just missing Jason.” Dick is about to say something else but you wave him off. “I have to go to meet my friend, so I’m heading out.”

Your ‘friend’ was Jason.

You stop to look at yourself in the mirror by the door, toying with your hair and smoothing out wrinkles on your clothes.

Somewhere behind you, Dick mutters: “See, Bruce, she’s being Dodgy.” And Bruce hums in agreement.

You’re apparently not as convincing as you’d like to be.

…..

“How do you plan on breaking the new to Bruce?” You ask, fidgeting with your fingers while he goes through some stuff on his computer. He shrugs in response. You continue. “Or is it that you don’t want to tell him at all?”

Jason's eye twitches subtly, something that you’re surprised you catch. He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Y/n.” He pauses, chuckling dryly. “It’s not like he’d care much to know.”

You recoil. Is that really how Jason thinks Bruce feels about him?

All you can recall is Bruce kneeling in front of his grave, sobbing like you’d never seen an adult sob; or the way he would walk into Jason’s room and stand in the doorway with a forlorn look mocking his features.

You remember the way he’d stare for several minutes before sighing deeply and walking away; he’d usually proceed to lock himself in the batcave and would snap when anyone disturbed him.

“Jason…” you say reluctantly. “You don’t think that Bruce would care if you were alive?” Jason remains silent, so you continue, missing the way his fists clench. “Bruce was… heartbroken for months after your death— we all were.”

Jason stands abruptly. “And yet, none of you were willing to kill the man who brutally murdered me!” He snaps, his voice raised. You flinch a little but try to retain composure; bite your tongue when you have the urge to remind him about your goals when he first died. He continues with a strange expression on his face. “Do you know what it was like to feel a crowbar splitting my skull open while I was still alive?”

The thought makes you sick. Makes you so utterly devastated for what he’s been through. “No, Jason, I—”

He cuts you off by holding his hand up. “If Bruce was ever going to kill someone, it should’ve been Joker; and if he’d really loved me so much it should have been for me.” His tone is much calmer but there is still a chilling effect in his voice that makes your spine straighten.

The look behind his eyes is flurried with an internal battle you can almost see. “Jason, I shouldn’t have—”

“Just go.” He says, finally sitting back. He doesn’t bother looking up at you.

“What?” You stammer, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Just get out, Y/n.” He snaps once more and that’s all it takes for you to turn on your heels and walk out the door.

…..

You’d been moody and upset for the past three days— you knew you were. You were upset at Jason, upset that he had so much sway or your emotion, and even upset at yourself for bringing something up that obviously triggered him in some way.

Jason was complexities locked inside other complexities, and you were beginning to learn that; what was once simple and easy with him, was now difficult and anxiety-inducing:

You weren’t sure where you laid in his eyes now.

Were you still the same teenage girl in his mind, or, were you the grown version of the girl he liked that had betrayed him.

Did he see you the same way he saw Bruce and Dick? Or even Tim? Was he just holding on the bond you used to have despite his bitter feelings for you now?

And, what made him this way? You know he must have gone through a devastating trauma, but, how far did that really go?

What were the details that Bruce never told you, and just how gruesome were they for him to lock the knowledge away and not let anyone else know the details.

He told everyone that Jason had died, and he had died by the Joker’s hands; when you or Dick had pressed for more information, Bruce had simply told you it was ‘Brutal’ and ‘Something you should never have to know’

But Jason's little outburst must’ve only told the smallest of details about his horrible, horrible death. If that was just the beginning, you couldn’t even imagine the depths of Joker’s cruelty.

You’re brain won’t stop trying though, even as you sit at the kitchen’s bar with a soggy bowl of cereal. You’ve been sitting there for an hour, pushing the stuff around in the bowl but you haven’t actually taken a bite.

“I think we need to send you to Arkham.” Tim says from the other side of the island, breaking you from your Jason-induced trance. You know he’s joking, but you’re pretty Bruce is genuinely considering committing you for your behavior these past few weeks.

You’re more hot and cold than faulty thermostat. Hysterical, and then Happy, and then violently depressed and introspective.

“I do not need to be locked up with a bunch of criminals, Tim. Rehabilitation is clearly not actually happening at Arkham.” You say back, appreciating his giving you something to banter about.

He’s the only one that didn’t know Jason, and that makes him refreshing to be around.

“They aren’t stupid, Y/n.” Tim says, completely unrelated to your response. “Bruce knows you’re still losing it over Jason, you can act fine all you want but Red Hood clearly got into your head.”

You shrug. “If anyone knew him as intimately as I do— uh, did, they’d lose their mind too.” Your eyes drop to the bowl in front of you and scrunch your nose in disgust. You push it away from yourself.

Gross.

Tim shrugs back, because, what else can he really respond with? “I didn’t know him at all.” He pauses, looking out the kitchen's open door. “Wouldn't Bruce have known him as well as you did?”

You shake your head. “No, Tim, me and Jason were… different, I guess. I had a crush on him when we were teens.” You shift in your seat and instinctively reach for the pendant around your neck. “And Dick was doing his whole Titans thing at the time, so they weren’t as close.”

Your sadness subsides and that familiar warmth runs through you as you imagine yourself and Jason laying on the roof, reading your favorite scenes from the book and enjoying the cool summer air.

In the winter, you would go out with a few blankets and huddle extra close; eventually, when your hands would get to cold to read, it would end in the two of you huddling close for warmth (something that Jason had always produced a lot of) and staying there until Bruce would start calling for you.

Your lips twist into a soft smile.

Tim stares at you. “You need help.”

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Force Batman To Have Another Robin.”

….

A tapping at your bedroom window stirs you from the near-sleep state you had been in; your heart pounds as you shoot up and look towards the window. Your heart slows only a few beats per minute when you see a familiar red helmet through the window.

You stand up and unlock your window, letting Jason climb through one side of the double doors.

He sighs through his helmet as he goes to remove it; you hear the familiar series of click and whirs and then he places the helmet on a chair in your room.

“Nice Pajamas.” He says, in a playful sort of way. There’s a healthy dose of something else though, that you can’t quite place.

You look down at yourself. You’re wearing a very thin tank top and some comfy PJ shorts. Not exactly appropriate in front of other people.

“Uh, thanks?” You say as you grab a hoodie from beside your bed and throw it on.

Once you’ve covered up a bit more, you turn back to Jason. “Why are you here?”

He stares at you, his eyes traveling your body for a few moments before they meet yours. “I just wanted to apologize. For the other day.” He takes a step closer.

You cross your arms. “I want to know why.”

Jason cringes. “I snapped yesterday because I’m just not right in the head yet. I still lose control and say things I shouldn’t. My perception of things is so fucked up sometimes I can’t tell what’s real.”

You nod slowly. “But why, Jason? How are you alive, why is your brain messed up?”

He sighs deeply. “I did die.” He says simply, like that really explains anything. You wait for him continue. “I died, and Ra’s Al Ghul threw me in the Lazarus Pit because he owed a favour to Bruce.” The words are spoken so plainly but you understand the pain behind them. “I’m only alive because of a favour.” His tone is so downtrodden, devastated.

You’ve heard about the Lazarus Pit, how it could drive someone to madness— you guess that must’ve happened with Jason.

It was the theorized reason for Gotham’s problem, after all; or rather, theorized by Barbara Gorden.

You supposed that made sense. “My God, Jason, you’ve been through so much.”

Your heart aches for him, for all the things you should have prevented.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

“It’s okay.”

…..

The morning light shines brightly through your window, usually your curtains are drawn but there are quite a few unusual things about this morning.

First and most importantly, you have a suited up Jason, sleeping at your side; his arm is wrapped protectively around you.

He looks so beautiful when he’s sleeping; you’re not sure if he ever has restless sleep, but he seems so peaceful and at ease— relaxed, even. It’s nice to see his face unplagued by any of his troubles.

However, according to your clock, it’s almost the time when Alfred would come to wake you for breakfast, meaning Jason had to leave— and fast.

“Jason.” You say his name softly, nudging him awake. He stirs, and his eyes shoot open.

He looks panicked for a moment before your face processes in his mind, then he visibly calms down.

“I fell asleep.” He states, disentangling from you and laying into his back.

You hum, still looking at him. “Yes, you did.” The air is thick with some sort of easy tension, a fading smile, a far-off laugh— a general sense of mundanity that you want to keep forever. “But you have to leave now, if you don’t want anyone else to know your identity.”

“Right.” Jason gets up from the bed and stretches slowly, causing you to do the same.

He turns to grab his helmet— or rather, you see him stop, stare at it for a moment, and then spin back around.

Before you can process it, he’s caging you on your bed. Your eyes close as he closes the gap between the two of you, a swift movement that leaves you barely anytime to think.

When he pulls back, off the bed, and flashes you an easy smile, you think you very well might swoon like you were right out of a 60s television show.

Jason slips his helmet back on and closes it before unlatching the window and stepping out. “Bye, Y/n.”

“Bye.” You stare at the spot where he was standing for a while longer before laying back down in your bed.

…..

“Hey.” You say nonchalantly, coming up behind Bruce.

He’s working on the Batcomputer right now. “Hello.”

“What’cha Doing?” You scan the contents of the screen, and it just looks like feed from the Manor’s many cameras. You aren’t too worried about Jason being seen on them, because he always hacks the cameras and scrubs himself from the data.

“I’m just doing the weekly camera check, Y/n.” Bruce looks back at you momentarily, and then returns to the feeds.

You screw around behind him for a while before you hear a small hum. You look up at the camera, trying to see what has caught Bruce’s attention. The timestamp says it’s from a few nights ago.

You watch as he replays a specific moment.

He replays it a few more times before you finally see it. A familiar flash of red, and then a motorcycle driving away from the manor.

Worse, the flash of red comes from right outside your window.

Bruce enhances the footage and zooms in on what you’re sure is Jason.

“Red Hood was at the Manor three days ago.” He states, looking back at you. “He appears to be leaving your bedroom, did you know about this?”

You pause for a second but shake your head. “No, of course not, I was sleeping.” You pretend to shudder. “That’s creepy to think that he was in there while I was sleeping.”

Bruce eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t protest or question any further. “We’ll have to heighten security in your room. Red Hood obviously chose it for a reason.”

You freeze. “That’s not necessary, Bruce, he didn’t screw with anything, obviously.”

“Even if he isn’t intending to hurt any of us, Y/n, there are several very bad things that could happen as a result of his being able to get into our house. Not to mention, I’ve noticed several discrepancies in our camera feeds over the past month or so.” He gestures to another frame, showing what looks like normal footage, but it’s the same five minutes replaying, according to the timestamps. “If you watch carefully, every minute, on the dot, a bug flies in front of the camera. It’s the same bug and the same flight pattern. If that’s Red Hood’s patch job, he’s not very good at this.”

Your lips purse, and you chew on the inside of your cheek. “That is weird.” You can’t really say anything else without making yourself look suspicious. You’ll have to let Jason know before he thinks about coming around here again.

He goes back to the previous footage, of Jason at your door, and enhances it even more— your window is clear now, and the floor behind it. Bruce rewinds it to the moment that Jason reaches the window. He presses play again, and lets the video play slowly, analyzing Jason’s every movement.

You cringe when you see Jason knock on the window a few times, and you’re terrified for Bruce to see what you know is coming next.

“Bruce!” You blurt, just before you’re about to come into view. “Tim just texted me and said he needed you to come upstairs right now.”

Bruce turns to you, confused. “Did he say what about?”

You shake your head. “No, he just said it was urgent.”

Bruce nods and leaves you alone in the batcave. You have maybe ten minutes until he comes back, knowing that you lied.

You try to fiddle with footage and delete that part that incriminates you, but without Bruce’s password you can’t do that.

Fuck. You don’t know it.

You panic for a minute and then abandon your mission to delete the footage, instead you race upstairs and into your bedroom, throwing together a bag of clothes and other essentials, as well as some sentimental items.

You’re about to sneak out the window when you see the old worn book. You snatch it quickly, along with your phone and car keys.

Bruce’s voice comes from down the hallway, calling your name; it doesn’t matter, you don’t stop until you’re outside and in your car.

You know he’s watching as you speed off, tears welling as you disable the tracking devices in your phones and car. When Bruce finally watches that footage, he’s going to think you betrayed him and you’re going to lose the one place that you’d ever felt at home in.

You’ve never felt so low before.

…..

Tears fall pitifully from your cheeks; you really shouldn’t be this upset.

Jason watches uncomfortably from his chair in his office; you knew he never liked you crying, and he was never great at dealing with it.

All he ever needed to do was be there, though.

“Please stop crying.” He says gently, as he walks over to you. “What happened?”

You shrug, which makes no sense because you know exactly what happened. “I can’t go back to the manor.”

Jason scrunches in confusion and a hint of anger at the conclusions you know he’s jumping to. “What did he do?”

“Bruce didn’t do anything.” Wiping the tears from your eyes, you pull back from him. “He was going over security camera footage and found a camera you forgot to wipe… he hadn’t watched the full thing when I ran out of there but he’s watched it by now, I’m sure.”

“And that matters…why?” Jason obviously doesn’t understand what you’re implying.

You absentmindedly drum your fingers against your wrist. “I very clearly let you in the window in the footage. You didn’t break in, I let you in. Bruce knows that now too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Jason looks around the office, like there’s something that would help on the walls. There isn’t. His eyes settle back into you, but you’re not looking at his face. “You can stay with me.”

He says it so easily, like it’s only natural— you suppose it is. Nothing had ever been more natural than being with him.

You also think you’d probably like that. “Do you live in this building or…?”

He laughs and then shakes his head. “No, I hijacked one of Bruce’s warehouses a long time ago and have been living there. We can go now, I’m done for today anyway.”

You step out into the hallway and he takes your hand in his; you think that he feels protective around his lackeys, because he doesn’t really like them. He would rather they all fell off the face of the earth, but he knows that won’t happen so he’d rather control where their product is being pushed.

Or that’s what he told you, anyways,

You go down a different set of corridors than you’re used to, and it leads to a garage.

The unsettlingly beautiful woman is standing at the door, she says nothing when Jason pushes the door open and leads you through.

It’s not her job to ask questions, you suppose.

“Do you want to take your car? You can follow me in mine so you know where we’re going?” He suggests, raising his eyebrows at you. “Or I can drive it over for you later and we can just use my car for now.”

“I don’t really feel like driving right now.”

He nods. “Okay.”

…..

“When you said warehouse, I was not expecting this.” You gape, looking around at his ‘apartment.’ “It looks more like a pent-house.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well, that's kind of what it is.” Jason runs his finger along the surface of his counter. “I believe it was catalogued as a safe house and a warehouse.”

You shrug. “You wiped it from the system, so I wouldn’t know.”

There’s a sort of awkward reluctance dancing around the two of you, like you aren’t sure what to do with yourselves now that it’s just the two of you alone. You haven’t been truly alone with him in such a long time.

“I guess there’s not a whole lot to do here.” He starts again, looking around. “I’m not here much. I usually just end up passing out on the couch in my office.”

You laugh dryly and look around; the whole apartment looks clean and modernist— you personally can’t stand this type of decorating but you don’t think Jason cared much to change how the place had looked when he found it.

There’s a TV, which you’re pretty sure works but it’s gone unused. There is a short hallway with three doors down it right off the living area. It’s mostly open concept besides that small hallway. You lift your gaze upwards, following the tall in-wall bookshelves; you find that there’s a small loft above the two of you and a ladder that leads there.

“What’s up there?” You ask, walking over to the ladder.

Jason gestures up the ladder. “I’ll show you.”

The two do you climb the ladder and you pull yourself onto the loft, feeling a little unsteady.

You notice immediately that the roof looks a little strange just above the platform.

Jason clears his throat and walks over to one of the walls. He hovers in front of a small silver panel. “You know, there’s a reason I chose this one.” He presses a button on the panel while he looks over at you.

A few creaks sound and then some loud mechanical noises sound before the roof panels recede to reveal the setting sun. The sunset is so beautifully visible from the sunroof.

“Jason.” You breath, dumbfounded.

He picks a book off of the floor of the loft. “I used to try to recreate our moments on the roof, but it just wasn’t the same without you.” He flips the book a few times in hands. “And this wasn’t quite right either.”

“I couldn’t handle the rooftop without you.” You whisper, not sure if he even hears you; you try to speak a little louder. “The first time you showed up at the house was the first time I had done it in years.”

“Huh.” Jason responds, sounding nonchalant but you know it means something to him.

“Wait here.” You rush back down the ladder and grab your book, and then head back up. Jason stares at it for a while. You hold it up, and pass it to him. “For Old Times Sake?”

…..

You had sat there with him for hours that day, you watched as the day melted into night and felt as you slowly fell asleep. You and Jason were tangled together, cuddled so close it was like you had never really been apart in the first place.

At some point, you’re drifting in and out of consciousness. Your hands twitch gently and you adjust yourself a bit but you don’t open your eyes.

You’re pretty sureJason still thinks you're asleep because he presses a kiss to the top of your head and then quietly speaks. “I want to do this with you for the rest of our lives.” He pauses and sighs a loaded sigh. “Not just for Old Times Sake.”

You decide it’s probably better to just try to fall back asleep, despite the way your stomach churns. You wanted to respond, and tell him that you wanted to fall asleep like this every night.

Tell him that you wanted to spend every day with him too.

…..

“I just want to know where she is, Red Hood.” Bruce’s voice comes through a little speaker in Jason’s office— it’s a line that Jason had hacked into and clearly Bruce knew that.

Jason scowls and you can’t help but think about Bruce when he does.

When nobody responds to him, Bruce continues. “I want to talk to her.”

You gnaw your lips, wanting to pick it up and say you’ll talk to him but dreading confirming his suspicions.

Jason slips his helmet on and picks up the microphone. He presses the button and says, cooly, “Where would you want me to bring her, Batman?”

You can hear Bruce’s sigh of relief. “The abandoned warehouse near Arkham. You know which one I mean.”

Jason hums. “The one that Joker blew up last month.”

Bruce confirms and then Jason looks at me. “Anything you want to say?”

You shake your head, and Jason picks up the mic again. “Give us a time and we’ll be there.”

And just like that, you were going to see Bruce again.

Great.

…..

“I just don’t understand, Y/n.” Bruce says immediately when he lays eyes on you, despite the fact that he wraps you in a tight hug. “Why would you work with him?”

You pull back and look back to Jason, who’s all suited up, of course. “I—” you have no idea what to say in your defense. “I wasn’t working with him, Bruce.”

Bruce gives you a sort of ‘disappointed dad’ look. “I saw the footage, I know that you let him into the manor.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“So you were working with him.”

“No! It’s not like that!”

You’re starting to get irritated because you know Bruce has absolutely no reason to believe you.

“First, you lied about Tim needing me, and then you tried to delete the footage and then I saw you wildly speeding away from the manor. Do you understand how suspicious that looks? Obviously, you are working with him, Y/n. You don’t have to lie.” Bruce sounds sure of himself. It makes you want to tear your hair out.

“Fine. I was working with him, since you’re so sure.”

Bruce looks between you and Jason, and you can see realization dawn on his face. “Unless… don’t tell me you fell for him just because he reminds you of— Y/n, please tell me I'm wrong.”

Jason steps in this time. “Don’t worry, you’re wrong. Just not in the way you think you are.” Your head snaps back to look at him as clicks his helmet open and pulls it off.

This was the moment. He was finally showing Bruce.

You look frantically between the two of them, trying to decipher the moment.

Bruce stands frozen for a good long while, just staring at Jason’s face before he suddenly locks his arms around Jason's shoulder/neck and hugs him tighter than you’d ever seen Bruce hug anybody.

Jason looks thoroughly disturbed and taken aback. This wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, and honestly, it wasn’t what you were expecting either.

“I didn’t fall for him because he reminds me of Jason.” You say quietly. “I fell for him because he is Jason.”

Bruce pulls back and nods slowly before turning back to Jason. “I’m so sorry, Jason.”

All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.

[littledollll]

Call me your angel

Lucifer Morningstar x human!reader

A/n: i love fics that just randomly come to me. In this case I was scrolling through the Lucifer tag like a starved animal (realized I’m practically the main user of it btw) and came across this post by: @masscared-star and immediately thought of some cute sort of intimate conversation scene simply because of that beautiful back-facing drawing. So this is whatever that idea was! Beautiful art btw!<3

Again special thanks to @pebbleswritessometimes and @v3nusxsky for helping me brainstorm and with the general writing process as always.

Warnings: Lucifer’s a little closed off, aludes slightly to sex (barely), non-sexual intimacy, slight insecurity, Lucifer suffering bc of their own mind.

_______________________________

“…you look so pretty..” Lucifer’s attention was captured by your barely whispered words. They were lost in their own mind, always thinking about something, there wasn’t a moment they lived without so much running through their mind. So much you would probably never know.

‘You know enough’, they said. ‘You know what you have to. You know what you really want to.’ Though it wasn’t quite true. You’d never know enough about them. There wasn’t an amount you could know about them without wanting for more.

You wanted to study each and every part of them and their complicated mind. You wanted to understand and feel whatever they did. To feel tethered to this wonderful being. But you know better. And so do they. There is a price to pay with that much knowledge, with all that power.

Maybe in far into the future, you’d finally know everything about the devil, maybe you could have a sliver of understanding for all of it. But for each thing there is time, unlimited time at that. So you had no rush. Lucifer felt comfort in knowing that.

The feeling of your warm hands wrapping around their back and just over their stomach made a slight shiver run through their body, their wings fluttering at the contact.

Your chest pressed against their back, wrapping them in a familiar and warm embrace. And in that moment you felt every running thought leave their mind as they relaxed into your embrace. Their ever-powerful wings rested against their back, against you.

“I wouldn’t know what it feels like.. I have my fair supply of never-ending thoughts. Insecurities and such. Curiosities mostly.”

Immediately, they knew you were observing them. Reading their behaviors. You already knew, or at least had an idea of what was on their mind.

“It’s not all that different from yours then.. no, not truly.” You nodded, they continued.

“Curiosity brought me here.” You disagree. But arguing that would be pointless, you have a thousand times before. “Why do you humans wish to know and have an explanation for everything? The universe is so grand and complicated... sometimes I wish I knew nothing.”

That’s a hard sentiment to combat. You say nothing, letting their statement be just that. “We think we deserve to, maybe. Is it wrong to wonder about everything that was and brought us here? We all want to know about different things, mostly anyways. I wish to know all about you.”

“You deserve to.”

Their statement leaves you confused. Didn’t they just argue we really shouldn’t? That it’s foolish for a human to want to know and understand everything. “I don’t think we d-“

“No. You deserve to. But I fear knowing everything might cause more harm than good. I do not wish for you to understand my wretched mind. But I wish to offer you understanding… does that make any sense?”

Their hands meet your own, feather light touches trace your forearms and each hand, each finger even. Like they’re just admiring you. As if they hadn’t a thousand times before. As if they hadn't a few moments ago. Their hands wrap around your own.

You nod again.

“I’m not in the dark about you… I don’t feel as such either. Maybe it’s my human brain making me want to know it all, hm?” They playfully scoffed, amused by your behavior towards this topic.

“There is vast knowledge that lives in me. Greater than any human mind could ever comprehend. Greater than even I can truly understand. It certainly feels like a burden. But you welcome it and me with open arms, why?”

That idiot. How can somebody so smart be so stupid all at the same time?

“I don’t think you need a map to understand why I love and accept you, angel.” That made them pause. You felt them suck in a breath, and their heart just- stop. Granted it was something they did for your comfort, the devil doesn’t truly need a heartbeat. So there was no concern for their health, but fear for wondering if you went too far.

“..I call you my devil so often, I-..” you wished you could see their face now, it would give you a bit of an idea on how to continue. But you’d have to guess and trust you know them enough to know how they felt in that moment.

You felt a soft squeeze in your right hand, before their thumb began to gently caress the back of it. It made you sigh in relief. “I feel as if you’re my angel, in a way that is very personal to me and no one else.”

That felt nice, hearing your soft words, understanding more or less what you meant by it. “I like it... you may continue calling me that.”

“Call me your angel.” They spoke almost shyly, even through what you would often call their ‘fancy’ way of speaking (a habit you’ve also picked up after so long with them). It was thoroughly amusing to you.

“And so I will, my angel.” They felt the words whispered against their skin, something was oddly comforting about it, Lucifer wished to relish in it forever, bathe in the feeling of the warmth of your love. But that was no far fetched dream, this was it. That warmth was you. That warmth was theirs for all eternity.

[lolamarlowe65]

Slash x reader

“𝓜𝔂 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓷 𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓮, 𝓶𝔂 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓾𝓫𝓵𝓮.”

“She can take my soul for the record, I don’t give a shit.”

one shot x reader

disclaimers : age gap (modern day slash), smut, thigh riding, unprotected sex, overstimulation, slash’s feral internal dialogue, cursing, smoking, rough stuff, grown girls stuff <33

4.6k words

AO3 link

iii];)’ .・• ✰ ⋆

y/n pov

I started to work as a staff member for Guns n’Roses a few months ago. Everything is great as fuck. The music, the job, the mood all around the band. In overall, everything is going well. My relationships with the band members were super friendly and they made me feel quickly as if I was part of the gang. But there is one thing. One person. Him. Slash. The moment I started my job here he immediately started teasing me. Nothing big. He tells me how much of a weird chick I am, he gives me smug smiles anytime he sees me as a way of saying “here comes the freak”. It has never felt as if he hates me or anything, it just amuses him to see me rolling my eyes to his puns. When I first discovered Slash, I admit that I developed a crush on him, you know the “rockstar crush”. I didn’t start to work here for that, but seeing him almost everyday was definitely a plus, well, if he didn’t drive me crazy with his provocations. It is a plus, yes, but I actually never thought of trying anything with him. I am a younger chick in whom he’d see no interest, apart from a way of having fun. I wouldn’t mind but that would be too complicated to manage with this job. Honestly, most of the time, his jokes make me laugh. I look at him with a pissed off grin and say “haha” or I stick out my tongue. It became a game between us. To the words of Duff “leave the girl alone man”. Apparently, Slash doesn’t listen to his best friend’s advice because he never stops. If we weren’t so different or if I knew him a little better I would say he’s flirting with me. “What a weird chick you are.” sounds like a love declaration coming from a man with such an attraction for creepy stuff. I do think about it as flirting sometimes. Mostly the days when I'm not in the mood for his jokes I imagine he’s flirting with me, helps me to not actually kill him. Being with a man like him wouldn’t bother me, actually, I would love it. He isn’t only hot and cool. He is interesting, passionate, peaceful but wild and genuinely beautiful. Beautiful on the inside and on the outside.

I am a person that’s pretty impulsive. When I feel frustrated, I will go for it, even if it means breaking my own promises. I try to hold myself back, but I have no desire to be perfect. I smoke, I have a high body count, anger issues, I keep doing the same shits over and over again and failing. But I also have skills that I don’t hide, I am strong minded and the way I see it : it has never really helped me with my relationships to people. Especially men. Labeling me “weird chick” is not original Saul. I’m sure most women are like me. But the world doesn’t see it I guess.

Today, I am not in the mood. We’ve got some problems with the gears, the venue isn’t ready and my hormones are working on me. Everything in me is boiling, every emotion. I can manage my emotions and impulses, hormones are not an excuse to be an asshole. But in this type of job, you have to take a lot of shit from people you don’t like so the band themselves don’t have to. Granted, they had to confront them in order to make their band what it is today but man, this isn’t easy. So, as for today, frustration will be my motto. One person pisses me off, I will send them to their grave.

As if it wasn’t enough, we’ve asked me to bring some guitar gear in Slash’s backstage room. I have purposely avoided him since the start of my shift, which is not easy when you are working for him. So far it seems to work, changing hallways last minute, not going to the crowded places and most importantly, his backstage room. From the glimpses of him I saw thorough the day I could tell you how beautiful he looked. He always does, but today it’s working on me. Which is frustrating me even more because I want to see him as much as I want to avoid him. His style didn’t change much from any other day, the sunglasses, the leather jacket, the hat and one of those shirts he has the secret of. It’s just that today is a day where my mind said fuck off to any type of morals I may try to have and I have to manage it as best as I can.

Before going into his backstage room, I made sure he wasn’t around. As I enter the room and leave his gear I can’t help but stop in front of the mirror before heading out. I contemplate my reflection, my eyes lingering over my body. The sadder part with those days is that I feel like I can’t and will never be understood or loved. This doesn’t bother me the majority of the time because it’s probably true and I have made peace with it a long time ago. My emotions are on the verge on days like those, so I let myself grief this fact. I wouldn’t say I look beautiful. I wouldn’t say I am satisfied with my life right now. Even if it is going slowly in the right direction. I let out a tear thinking of all this and whip it away quickly.

“- Looking good y/n, trying to cosplay a zombie?” Slash laughs.

Shit. Just what I fucking needed.

“- Not today Saul.” i answer, rolling my eyes.

He is standing right behind me, I can see his smug smile and I know his eyes are playful even if they are hidden behind sunglasses.

“- Wow, Saul? Did somebody give you food after midnight?” he jokes.

I turn around and look at him with defiant eyes. He needs to be teached a lesson. You don’t piss y/n off like that. Slash or not Slash. I don’t know what I am about to do, but that’s definitely going to be interesting.

“- Fuck you. Did it ever occur to you that your teasing game might piss me off?” i ask, sassily.

“- And what are you going to do about it?” he teases, again, big smile on his lips.

“- Well… I could do that.” i say in a provocative tone.

I slowly wrap my fingers around the sides of his sunglasses and remove them off his face. I let them fall on the floor. I want to stay defiant to his eyes, I want to keep holding his gaze. Being nice and clean, putting away his sunglasses nicely is not in my scenario today. There’s a look I have never seen on him before. A fire in his eyes. He holds my gaze as hard as I hold his. My breath becomes heavier as I approach my lips dangerously to his. I can feel his chest go up and down heavily. It’s working.

“- See. Pretty annoying right?” i smile.

Fuck. The swift of breath from his lips too close to my smile is actually going to drive ME crazy. What an ass. Making me feel this way. I must stay focused. He smiles back at me, hinting his approval. He understood that we entered a game and he is letting me play. Let’s see how much I can push him before I make him mad. He doesn’t say a word, waiting for my next move. I step back and close the door. I remark that Slash is studying me, looking at my body, his stare lingering over my ass and hips. At this instant, the teasing game turned into lust.

I breathe heavily, getting him to stare back into my eyes.

“- Careful where your eyes linger big boy.” i incite, biting my lower lip.

I approach him again, purposely making him take a step back in the direction of the couch behind him.

“- I could also do that.” i smirk.

I grab his crotch. His cock hardens immediately at my grip. My pussy gets wet at this simple touch. I didn’t know how much teasing and keeping a person on edge could make me feel that much desire. Or maybe it’s Slash. Probably both, this raw, pure, lustful desire. Everything in my head is torn apart and I question everything. Did he start teasing just for fun or was he trying to hold back everything I am about to unleash right now. Was it his way of making me a part of his life? And why didn’t he make me understand this obvious desire we have for each other earlier. Fuck. I need him.

I hear him groan and get even bigger in the cup of my hand. I push him on the couch. A big guy like him wouldn’t flinch from a light push from me. I’m not weak but I did not push him very strongly. He let himself be pushed, waiting for my next move. His legs are spread and I take a seat on one of his thighs.

“- I don’t know what you want from me Saul, but I will take what I want. Is that okay?” i ask languorously.

He doesn’t talk, he just bops his head with an audacious smile, answering affirmatively to my question.

“- Good.” i chuckle.

I dispose my lips on his neck. Biting slightly making sure to leave all the spots my lips went to stay wet with my taste. I start kissing his face, all the spots I can, expect his lips, leaving him on edge, teasing him. As I do just that, I start rubbing my clothed cunt against his thigh. I feel him gasp, both for the frustration on his lips and in his pants. I leave a mark in his neck, right under his ear only for me to go above and nip alternatively on both his ears.

“- Mmmh… Fuck.” i curse in between moans.

I rub against his thigh ruthlessly, my thrusts are short but harsh and my pleasure grows more and more. My back arch and I end up using my hands to support myself on his shoulders. I throw my head back and I hear Slash groan. A frustrated groan, making me even more thrilled. Knowing that at this right moment I own him just for my only pleasure makes me even more horny. His thigh is so comfortable, imagining how his pretty cock must be almost brings me to my release.

It’s getting harder for me to hold on. I don’t want him to touch me, I want to keep him on his limit so I take it upon myself and rub as good as I can on his leg.

“- Saul! Fuck that’s good!” i cry.

I pant heavily and I feel my jeans getting soaked with my cum. My legs shake and squeeze around Saul’s leg and my cheeks are all blushed with my effort.

I won.

Slash looks like he is about to explode. Good for him. He looks mesmerized and embittered. That’s what you get for being a little bitch like that. A wild mess lost in his thought. What a magnificent view.

I kiss his lips very quickly and lightly before smiling while putting myself together. Even if this kiss was quick, I had never felt such soft comfortable lips.

“- See. That’s what you get for teasing me.” i playfully say, getting off him.

Saul stays still on the couch, his eyes on fire and I walk toward the door, happy to have pushed his limit, ready to resist his game.

Slash pov

What a fucking bitch. A beautiful mess, out of breath and still taking away mine. She is lighting herself a cigarette. Like she is gonna get away with this. I can’t hold on anymore, I have to make her mine. I have to have her all for me, I have to fuck her and make her come again but this time around my cock. I have to make her my girl.

Truth is, ever since she started working here she drives me crazy. She is one of those women that don’t give a shit. She has no mind about being perfect, she’s completely detached from reality, she does her things and she doesn’t take shit. She’s a weird chick some might say, but I absolutely adore creepy shits. Her wilderness and emotions are always so honest. I have held back for the past few months because she’s much younger than me. I’ve never felt as if I was worth dating a chick like her and I was sure she would say no. I’d rather tease her and at least have some kind of interactions with her than avoid her all the time.

Before she could open the door I push her against the wall. Her eyes look like a lost puppy. I take the cigarette out of her mouth and throw it in the ashtray on the table. She had all the time she needed to get away, but she stayed here. Back against the wall still high on her orgasm. Watching her pleasuring herself on my thigh was both a torture and delight. I wanted to touch her and make her come with my hands. She refused and left me on edge. The only thought in my head was among the lines of “What a bitch, I want her.” I come back to her and put one of my hands on her waist pushing her more against the wall and the other in her neck, my fingers playing with her jawline. I breathe close to her mouth for a few seconds, teasing her as she did. She seems to take frustration way harder than me because she looks pissed and starved, and this makes me even more out of my mind. I take her lips hungrily, I kiss her, starving for her tongue. Fuck, I shouldn’t be so crazy about her but here she is, moaning in my mouth begging for my tongue to play with hers. Such soft lips. So tender and matching mine perfectly.

“- You shouldn’t have done that y/n. I will not let you get away, so if you wanna go, go now.” i say to her, drunk on her scent.

She moans as I take the back of her thighs and wrap her legs around me. Still against the wall, I wait for her answer while kissing her collarbone.

“- Hmmm… do it.” she almost whispers.

“- Do what?” i tease.

“- For Christ’s sake! Do it! Fuck me fuckhead!” she laments.

“- Your desires are orders madam.” i answer her playfully, smiling in the crook of her neck.

I go back to her mouth, mixing my tongue with hers while I tease her thighs with my hands. I can feel her wet cunt on my lower stomach and her laments desperate to deal with this ache. To hell with it. She deserves it. I rip her thin shirt away to expose her tits to me. She will take my shirt. Fuck it. She doesn’t wear a bra and I can access her perfect tits immediately. I lick and bite them mercilessly, teasing her more and more. I can’t wait to enter her but I just want to hear her beg for me.

“- Saul… mmhm… stop.. mmh… fucking around… mmhm… and fuck me already!” she pants, out of breath.

“- I fucking love the way you curse all the time.” i tell her, biting the skin around her nipple.

I remove her pants and underwear. What a pretty sight. What a pretty cunt. I could make this my meal for the rest of my life. I’d never starve. I put her back against the wall. I want to show her how bad I’ve wanted her for the last months. I want to show her what I wanted to do to her every time she’d pass over me in a hallway. How hungry, how bad I have been craving her. I unbuckle my pants and let my dick free. Her eyes got bigger and she opened her mouth to the view of my hard cock. She looks at it like she got to have a taste of her favorite meal and it drives me crazy. I give her no time to comment before I push her head against the wall kissing her lips as I bury myself deep inside of her. She’s so fucking wet. Fucking hell. I know I’m stretching her out. I can feel it. I love it.

“- SAUL!” she gasps, gripping my back. “It’s so fucking big!”

“- Shh.. I know you can take it. Scream if you need to baby, I don’t give a shit if we hear us.” i answer, moving in and out of her.

I pound into her fast and hard, making her moan each time I shove myself deep into her. She’s so damn hot. She feels so good. That’s it. I’m taking her with me. Her face becomes a mess as she cannot seem to catch her breath correctly. Between kisses, her mouth stays wide open, sometimes, she bites her lips, letting out small whimpers. I love it rough and she’ll love it too. I can tell she already does.

“- Saul… aahh.. that’s fucking good aaahh don’t stop.” she screams.

See? Told you. I give her one last hard pound and lift her up grabbing the back of her thighs. I’m still inside her, my cock hitting her deep every step I take. Her little whines are a melody I am more than happy to work on. She tries her best to hold onto me and makes my hat fall as she moves her arms around my neck. Whatever man, I have been wearing this hat since ages, her, it’s the first time. As I throw her on the couch my dick slips out of her, leaving me without her. What kind of fucking witch is she? Seconds out of her and my cock already misses her cunt.

“- Turn around.” i command, removing my shirt.

She smiles defiantly and executes herself. I waste no time and shove my dick back into her as I push as deep as I can. I keep her head buried in the couch as I mercilessly pound into her. I hear her whimper in pleasure. My mouth next to her ear, laughing, biting it slightly.

“- This is what you fucking get when you’re being a bitch.” i whisper in her ear.

I continue my rough pounding leaving trails of kisses all along her back. I know I’m about to come, how can I not when I’m banging her? Trust me though, I’m far from being finished with her.

“- AAH SAUL! I’M COMING! PLEASE! COME IN ME! FUCKING DO!” i hear her scream, muffled on the couch.

Just what I fucking needed. Hell yeah I will my love.

Not long after I come into her pussy still pounding as I feel her legs shake and her cunt getting tighter. She fucking came all over my cock. Just like I said I wanted her to. I grab her by the hair and bring her to my chest. She turns her head to me. She’s a mess with her hair all over her face, sticking with her sweat. Out of breath and panting for air. So beautiful. So fucking beautiful, as usual. I give her a wet sloppy kiss, removing the hair out of her face.

“- Good girl.” i tease into her ear.

I put her back on my side and lift her up again to sit her on the table. I still need her. I’m hard again like a fucking horny teenager. She makes me into this sex depraved slave succubuses love so much. She can take my soul for the record, I don’t give a shit. She can be the devil, a witch or an alien. To me, she's first and for all the woman I want, the one I desire and I want to be with. Bitch, witch, baby. Something like that. And in her eyes, I’m probably just the fucking dumbass who dared touching her. That’s okay. I’m cool with it. If she always looks at me the way she does now, I’m cool with it.

Sucking on her tits, I shove myself into her again, immediately pounding her hard. Her legs shake uncontrollably so I lock them up around my waist. She lies down on the table playing with her tits, moaning and biting her lips.

“- Oh my god that’s so good. Aaahh… Continue.” she cries.

Putting my hand around her neck I bring her back to my chest. Her back arches frantically at every movement I do inside her. So that’s why she was lying down. I slow down and move little by little inside of her to see how she moves her ass and back around on the table.

“- FUCKING STOP THE TEASING ASSHOLE… AAAH” she whimpers.

She puts her arms behind my neck and lets her nails sink into my back. With her head buried in the crook of my neck I laugh and go back to my hard pace. Hearing her little cries makes me the happiest man on earth. I hold her with one hand on her back and the other in the back of her head. At this instant, it’s like she is all mine. Like she could break if I let her go.

“- There babygirl, take it all, like the good slut you are. I know you love it, don't hold back.” i kiss her forehead before leaving her head to fall back in my neck.

“- AAH FUCK YES THAT’S GOOD! I’M SO FF-UUL IT’S SO B-BIG!” she whimpers.

Her fucking voice drives me crazy. She bites and teases my neck violently as a way to show me she is still holding on. I’m sure my back is all scratched and marked by now, but i’ll let her take everything off of me if it means I can get to fuck her brains out like right now. I groan, knowing I'm almost there, when I feel her legs squeeze around my waist and her back arch I know she’s also about to come again. I embrace her tightly as I screw her as fast and deep as I can.

“- AH…MHH… HAA… HM… SAUL… YES! YES! YES!” she comes screaming my name.

I come in her again. She stays like that for a few minutes. Panting, all naked into my arms. I hear her broken voice laugh slightly.

“- So that was it… all this teasing.” she laughs again.

“- You have no idea how much I wanted to fuck your brains out, teasing me back like that was not a good idea.” i answer.

“- Oh it definitely was a good idea. And I’ll do it again.”

“- No need to. I’m not letting you go. You’re mine now.”

She moves around to be able to look at me in the eyes. Her arms still wrapped around my neck and her cheeks still all flustered.

“- I am?” she smirks.

This smirk could make me fuck her again right now. Yes she is. I have been tortured by her presence for the past few months, now that she’s here I'm not letting her go. I move around to get a cloth to clean her up with. When I go back to her I catch her shy smile as she turns her head on the side.

“- Okay.” she almost whispers, smiling slightly.

I can’t resist taking her chin to turn her head to me to kiss her deeply. There was a chance it was a pure unique act of lust for her. A chance she’d left and say “never again”. A chance I’d taste her pussy only once with my cock, trying to forget how much I want to eat her out. A chance she’d realize I was older than her and she’d get away from me. Looking at the clock on the wall I realize it’s time for the show. What a great fucking day. Fucking the chick I’ve been thinking off non stop since months, playing on stage and then get back to fucking her. The two things I love the most. After the show, I’ll steal her away and get her back with me. What the fuck is the manager gonna tell me anyway? They don’t need her as much as I do.

“- Show’s gonna start baby. Let’s get the job done.” i wink, my hands resting on her waist.

I take my shirt and put it on her. God she looks so hot in my shirt. She should only wear that. She gives me a doubtful stare.

“- It’s okay, I’m hot anyway.” i smile.

Her gaze is playful as she goes down on her knees. She licks her lips and grabs my penis in her hand. She kisses slowly the tip of my cock. I take a deep breath and her smile goes feeble.

“- See you later big boy.” she brightens up again.

Bitch.

There she puts it back in my pants to only leave me my belt to put back on. Bitch. She’s lucky I can hide my bulge behind my guitar, she’s lucky we don’t have time. On the floor, I see her grab her thong that she slides into my pocket.

“- Eye for an eye.” she teases.

This isn’t fair. I give her my shirt, she gives me a piece of art. Putting her pants back on, I light her cigarette again and put it in her mouth.

“- Always finish what you started.” i say, getting her hair out of her face.

“- Whatever.” she rolls her eyes. “Go do your job.” she stops. “Play as good as you always do.” she smiles, cupping my face in her hands.

“- Coldness with a tinge of consideration, exactly what I love.” i kiss her neck, before letting her slip away to get out.

I hear her laugh evaporate as she disappears in the hallway. I know she’s playing around, she stays composed like her legs weren’t still shaking seconds from now. How fucking cool she is.

The show went great. When I get back backstage I see her there, cheering the end of this awesome show. She put on a leather jacket. After the show, we generally answer interviews and talk with some fans to end up having a little party all together. Not as wild as in my 20s, but still not very well-behaved. Tonight, I don’t give a shit, I have other businesses to attend. I greet the guys and let them know I’m going.

“- Where you going man, something to do?” Duff asks me.

I arrive in front of y/n and lift her up over my shoulder. She gasps and laughs.

“- Yeah man, something urgent! Might take me a long time, might kill me. Just in case, y’all can start looking for a new lead!”

“- Dumbass.” i hear her answer, which makes me laugh.

I fucking love her bitchy tone.

I admit. She won.

y/n pov

Here I am, being carried around like a sack of potatoes by the man I thought I could never have. I had the best sex of my life and something tells me I’m about to get it again. If I knew, I would have teased him back a long time ago. He said I was his.

In truth, he’s mine.

iii];)’ .・• ✰ ⋆

“Face of an angel with the love of a witch”.

A/N : i wrote that when i was horny as hell, clearly came from my delusions, i love the idea of slash having this feral internal dialogue because he just wants you so bad! enjoy loves <33 (slash if you read this i’m ready for your love ;))

[altades]

Vashwood rant

I can't sleep so why not analyze vashwood in the middle of the night

Now, this analysis is mostly of the manga, with maybe small takes from 98 and tristamp

To start let's look at the boys from their respective beginnings

Vash is so cruelly mischaracterized as a child, and it might be a little bit of trismaps fault, even though i do love it, or maybe people are just putting characters into boxes without really thinking about it but Vash is so not soft-shy-nice little baby brother. The whole thing with him being younger is so insane to me, i get why if Nai was born like 10 minutes earlier he would make it his whole personality (very sibling thing to do) but it's just so stupid. No, they have 0 age difference and it doesn't affect their dynamic cuz the are literally twins for the love of god. And, really, when you look at the manga as kids Nai was the emotional one! And he still is!

Nai is plagued by fear and anger and resentment and those emotions are what drive his every decision. Vash, on the other hand, is much more in control of his feelings and doesn't show them as much. That is to say that pre-tesla nai is the one worried about their relationship with humans, about their future, he's the one crying after talking to Conrad (what a sweet child he was) while Vash seemes much less scared.

And when they find out about Tesla Nai is the one who faints - he’s the more reactive one, the emotional one. And that small difference is what sets their paths so differently. Because Vash actually gets a chance to talk to Rem and figure things out.And that talk is so very important because it makes Rem, who already was everything to Vash, even more important. 

Now, I want us all to think about how terrified Vash was after seeing Tesla cuz he probably thought his own mother was going to dissect him and his brother. But then she saves him when he tries to end his own life, proving that no she’s not gonna kill him, because she, as every human, has the capability to learn from her mistakes and make better choices. (too bad Nai didn’t get that lesson lol)

And then we get to the big bad things. (it’s genocide) But the important part from that whole ordeal is Rem’s sacrifice. Because, listen, I love stories where humanity is shown to be capable of change and forgiveness is a virtue and love and pussy and all that but oh man can it be so so unrealistic and a little bit insane to watch (su im looking at u (i love su but oh boy that is not how the world works unfortunately)) but Trimax manages to make it work so well. I believe that’s cuz Vash is a very kind and loving man but is also completely out of his mind and has horrendous mommy issues. At least half the reason he doesn’t kill people is because Rem has died to save them, and killing them would make it all be for nothing. If he kills these people or if he lets them die would that mean that Rem died for nothing? Did she sacrifice her life to save these people only for her own son to end their lives? AND you know I’m right cuz he literally says it in the manga but also BECAUSE HE DOES THE SAME FOR WOLFWOOD (also he did kill Nai when he had the chance but we don’t have time to unpack that)

All of that is A LOT and very complicated (i love Vash he’s so well written he’s my perfect little meow meow) now let's talk about Wolfwoooooooooood /twirls hair/

WW is much easier to understand and analyze cuz he is, just a guy,, WW is just a normal person who gets insanely unlucky and gets in THE WORST possible situations (If he ever played DND he would roll straight 1s). That is to say that his story is sort of a way to show how much life in the badlands sucks, but also that there are good things even in the worst places (the orphanage) And WW reacts to situations in the most rational way possible way - he kills to survive. he doesn’t want to but he doesn’t get a say in it. If he could chose he would just live with his family and friend and do whatever. And that, him being so normal in such a violent and bloody world is what makes him suffer all the time. His inner moral compass is screaming at him what a terrible person he is and he promptly ignores it.

That is until that moral compass manifests itself in the form of a tall, blond and handsome stranger that he’s supposed to lead to his death. The stranger who turns out to be the most compassionate and kind man WW’s has ever seen. Who he’s supposed to kill. It’s like finding an oasis in the desert and being forced to burn it to the ground. And WW doesn’t want to do that, and he refuses to believe that the oasis is not a mirage so he tries to get Vash to kill someone, even if it’s WW himself. (It doesn’t work.)

As we all know WW changes his mind because of Vash’s influence. And he dies for it. Because even though Vash’s beliefs are born of human virtues, no man is made to walk his path, for he is not human and any mortal who tries to follow an angel to the skies is doomed to crash. WHAT YOU DON’T EXPECT IS THAT THAT MAN WILL BRING THE ANGEL DOWN WITH HIM

There is this line I wrote for an art i’m planning to make and if you’ve read this far you deserve a lil spoiler - “have you found absolution in bringing an angel to his knees?” and it captures perfectly what i'm thinking. And also Vash spends so much time trying to be closer to people but I think him killing Legato might’ve been the most human thing he’s ever done. Cuz it’s is so beautiful in the way he does it for the memory of the person he loved and yet so ugly in it’s cruelty.

I’ve said this before but most of the time when there is a human/ some immortal powerful creature relationship I don’t think the human is that special but WW HE SO IS. Maybe it’s the way that he’s just as deep in the nuclear bombs with personality business as Vash is, being one of said nuclear bombs, but still remains a normal person with relatively good morals that he can anchor Vash to a sort of normality that he doesn’t get often. Like what other guy would get hunted by all sorts of freaks with you, get in trouble all the time, get shot and etc and etc and then go for a drink with you like it’s a normal wednesday? Wolfwood. Or maybe it's that WW learns of every worst part of Vash, he sees him be on the brink of losing himself, he knows Vash has actually caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people and ALMOST did it again after Julai, and still stays with him? He sees Vash become something that is not human at all and still stay? Idk MAYBE IT’S ALL OF THAT but WW is just so important and so down bad but we all know that already so i’m not gonna add to that

Anyways, I got this all out of my system gn

[elisysd]

16. I want you to see, how you look to me

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack : BIRDS OF A FEATHER - Billie Eillish

He was furious. He had pictured Zandvoort and the second part of the season as some sort of resurgence. A fresh start. A new beginning. In his mind it was supposed to be different. He was feeling happy in his private life, why his professional one couldn’t follow the same path? The worst thing was that he wasn’t furious against his team, no, it was mostly against himself. He just needed some peace and quiet to focus on himself before going to media duties, which he dreaded. He wanted to hide in his driver room, he wanted to brood, just a while. He passed his door right as he felt an anxiety attack coming for him. His throat tightened, making it hard for him to breathe. He tried to cough, thinking it would make everything better when it just managed to make it worse. His vision started to blur right as two arms circled his waist and he felt a head pressed on his back as the sweet perfume of vanilla mixed with lavender hit his nostrils. 

“It’s okay, Charles. You’re okay,” you whispered, scared a sound too loud would scare him or make him spiral. As though he was about to break.  “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’ll try to get it.”

“Can you give me a better car?”he asked, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. 

“That might be out of my hands… sorry,” you pouted, trying to make him laugh for real. “But seriously, I’m here for you. You’ve been there for me when I needed you most, so it’s natural to show up when you’re feeling down.”

“This is the worst weekend of the season. I know I say this every Sunday but this is how I feel. But somehow, you’re making it a whole lot bearable,” he mumbled, burying his head in your neck. “I don’t want to go to the interviews.”

“Do you want to have an interview simulation with me?”

“As long as you don’t hold back.”

“When have I ever held back with you, Leclerc?” you teased him, bumping his shoulders with yours.

Coming back to the hotel with you, he was in a happier mood. Your help before the interviews had been much more useful than Silvia’s briefing and Pierre, his best friend, had earned his very first podium with Alpine after a complicated beginning of the season. In the end, the weekend was not that bad. His first move when crossing the door of his hotel room was going for a shower while he saw you throwing yourself on the bed, exhausted. He felt stupid for not checking up more on how you felt. He knew it had been a complicated day for you as well. He briefly hesitated joining you but he was feeling sweaty and in his own head. He didn’t want to drop his bad mood on you, even unconsciously. 

When he came back, you were sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, scrolling on your phone and not caring about his presence. He was sure you hadn’t even noticed him. He slowly approached you, carefully sitting next to you to see a picture of both of you arriving together, hand in hand, in the paddock. 

“Y/N…”

“They are blaming me,” you said, matter of factly, without an ounce of anger or sadness in your voice. “Because of your DNF.”

“It’s stupid.”

“It is. I don’t understand how some people can be so… violent. I’ve done nothing but walk next to you and hold your hand. And here they are calling me nasty names, saying that I only bring you bad luck. As if you had been exceptionally lucky this season… Sorry. How can all of this be my fault?”

Charles saw a tear forming on the corner of your eye and he quickly caught it before pulling you against his side. 

“I was stupid to think we would go unnoticed, that we would manage to stay out of people’s radar. It was naive.”

“If it is too much for you…”

“Don’t you dare finish this sentence. It’s not too much, you’re not too much. Your life is not easy to handle, sure. But I love you. What I feel for you is worth going through that. I just need to get used to it. I knew it was a risk, that being insulted was part of the game even if I don’t understand it. It hurts, I won’t deny it. But I love you. That outdoes the bad sides.” you reassured him, putting a hand on his cheek. 

“If you don’t want to attend Monza, I would understand.”

“I’m going to Monza. It’s your second home race, there is no chance I will miss it.”

“Then, I promise you, you won’t be alone. My mom will come and I’ll make sure you stay by her side.”

“I… I think I would like that.”

Monza was everything you were expecting and more. Sea of red and yellow flags were displayed everywhere. Fans chanted Charles’ name wherever he was going. Autographs and pictures taken every minute of every day. It was exhausting and you were not the one having all these duties. But Charles didn’t seem to look tired, quite the opposite. The more he was seeing people, the more he was excited and the more he couldn't wait to go on track. His goals were clear and he would do anything in his power to get them. That’s why he was absolutely crushed after the qualifying. He wanted to be the one on pole and no matter how much he was happy that a Ferrari would start P1, he would have rathered it be him. 

“You can still aim for the podium, Charles,” you tried to reassure him at the table of the restaurant the team had booked.

“No matter what, I’m proud of you Charlie,” Pascale said, stroking his back as Charles was sighing, defeated. 

“Negotiations for my contract renewal are on pause. Fred wants us to focus on the remainder of the season, he told me it was not his priority. Bu it’s mine. I need to deliver. I need to show Ferrari that I’m still their biggest chance to come back on top. And it means that I have to outperform Carlos. And being P4 while he starts on pole, is not showing that.”

“They know how valuable you are for the team, Charles,” Lorenzo intervened. 

“Do they? Because I’m not sure of that myself.”

You glanced at Pascale who shook her head, clearly disagreeing with Charles’mood. You bit your lips, trying to find the right words. 

“If you are not sure, please look at the crowd. They love you. They trust you. They don’t care which positions you are starting tomorrow, they have your back. Always have and always will. Look at them. Look at us. We love you. We are proud of you. We are with you. It doesn’t matter if there are bumps on the road, we are sticking by your side. And not only us but your dad too, Jules, Anthoine… my brother. We are all here for you. You won’t let us down. I don’t think you could ever let us down, if I’m being honest.”

Charles turned his head in your direction. You could feel how emotional you were. Since the beginning of the weekend, Luc had been on every corner of your mind. You couldn’t help but think of how much he would have loved to be there so you had tried your best to keep engraved in your memory each details you had come across. Your phone was full of pictures of the track, cars, little italian streets, crowds and flags. Charles. Charles in his suit, Charles in his team merch, Charles, half asleep on the hotel bed, Charles and you taking stupid selfie mirrors. You were a lovesick mess, you knew it and you couldn’t imagine what Luc would say about that. You knew he would feel excited and would tease you endlessly. You would have been annoyed, sure, but you couldn’t help to miss it. Missing something that would never happen was a strange feeling, but one you had regularly. 

“I love you,” he simply replied, kissing the side of your head. 

The race went by like a blur. Your eyes, Pascale and Lorenzo’s were glued to the screen as you watched Charles and Carlos battling in a not so clean way. You feared that one of the cars, if not both, were going to get taken out and you knew it would be a disaster. It was the very last thing Ferrari needed for their home race. Thankfully, Charles brought the car home safe but, you knew, deep down, that he would be disappointed and angry. And from what you could read on Pascale’s face, she was thinking the same as you were. 

It took a whale before Charles finally appeared and contrary to what you expected, he was smiling and laughing. You didn’t have time to react when he took you in his arms, spinning you around and burying his head in your neck, inhaling your scent. 

“I’m so happy,” he mumbled against your skin as you ran a hand in his hair. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s been a long time since I felt so alive walking out of that car. This battle reminded me why I love racing so much. The thrill, the danger, pushing the limits… I missed that.”

“So… you’re not disappointed of not being on the podium?” you asked, trying to get a confirmation out of him. 

“Would I have loved winning against Carlos? Of course. But this is what racing is about, you can’t always win. But one thing is for sure, it fueled me with a new desire to be the best for the next races.”

He took you hand in his, kissed his mother’s cheek, promising her to visit her soon and left. The Tifosi were still there, waiting for him and as he looked at you, silently asking for your approval to go and see them, you nodded. 

“Join me.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a need. You followed him as the screams were getting more and more intense and soon, he was totally swamped with pictures, autographs on t-shirts and caps, and gifts handed to him. In front of such euphoria, you came to his rescue, helping fans getting their merch signed, collecting the little books and letters for Charles’ to read later. You could see in their eyes how grateful they were and you tried your best to reciprocate the feeling. When they finally went out of the paddock, you were both tired, but happy. Charles swung his arms around your frame and leaned into you. Once in the comfort of the crowd, he faced you, suddenly serious. 

Here you were, a Ferrari’s cap on your head, eyes shimmering with pride and happiness, rosy cheeks and a smile that hadn’t left since he had come back. It hit him. You belonged with him. You belonged in his life, around his friends and his family, in the garage, in his car, in his apartment. You belonged everwhere he was. 

“I love you,” he blurted out. 

“I love you too,” you replied, your fingers tracing his jaw. 

“No, I don’t think you understand. I’m in love with you. I’m in awe of what you are and I don’t believe that you are mine. There is not one fiber in my body that has fully proceeded that you chose me. But, I swear, If I have to spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you, then it is something that I’ll do gladly. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

“I know. And I can promise you that I’ll do the same. I intend to make this, us, work. Because I truly believe you’re the love of my life, Leclerc.”

That night, as the moonlight was reflecting on your face, Charles couldn’t help a feeling of guilt to snake around his guts. You hadn’t complained about following him around, he knew you were happy with it, but he also couldn’t miss how you had, countless times, glanced at the media section of the paddock and he swore he had caught a look of longing in your eyes. You wouldn’t say it but he knew how you missed your job. And despite saying that you could find something else, that it was all okay, he knew you would never be as happy as you were in a F1 paddock, a media pass hanging around your neck. He was deadly serious when he had told you he would do anything for you. And anything started with talking to your old boss. 

Author's note: And I'm back! It feels good to be there and to finally uplaod. I feel like I haven't done that in ages. I still don't know how regular I'll be so bear with me.

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