#grow old w a man and see what it does to him!!! hes so comfortable n cocky

[sugar-omi]

It just hits so different when Cove tries to flirt with you??

Like when Baxter does it you get used to it pretty quickly or learn to expect it because that's just how he is.

But even when you can physically see how Cove is mentally preparing himself to say something, your first guess wouldn't be a compliment since he doesn't do it often or in ways you didn't expect.

Like one of my favorite Cove flirt attempts is the one in road trip. And even then it's done in such an amazing way "people having [your specific eye color], is something I like". I distinctly remember my reaction when I read that conversation the first time, I fucking screamed and didn't know how to handle it.

Then there is the more unique way of calling you cute, through a game of hangman!!!

complimenting you through fish names, etc.

or when you talk about hypothetical merfolk encounters and you ask him why he's so sure that you would choose with the merfolk "Isn't it obvious?? You're amazing, [...]"

be it a word of praise, adoration or simply making you feel treasured when Cove flirts, it's just adorable it makes me cry.

I love all of Cove's flirts but 13 year old Cove is a different level because it's just so cute how flustered and careful he gets about it.

not forgetting to mention that complimenting someone's eyes is just my favorite type of flirting~

please I love cove taking the initiative so much, that's why I love when he asks MC on a date when you're not dating like if he did that id ACTUALLY scream

cove: wanna go on a date-

me: *slaps hand over mouth to cut off scream*

cove: ...😟❓️

me: *muffled* sorry, continue....

LIKE PLEASE IM NOT OKAY I LOVE WHEN HE FLIRTS SM HES SO CUTE N I LOVE WHEN HE JUST SHOWS LET ALONE SAYS HOW MUCH HE WANTS/LOVES MC LIKE AJHAFJAHAG

also I love telling cove I'll be the mermaid and invite him into the sea bc I think he makes him so much happier than you think like if he could heads actually be purring idk what to tell you

STEP 4/ADULT COVE WOULD PRVLY FLIRT W YOU SM MORE TOO??? I mean, not that much since he spends most the time draping himself over you or following you like a puppy, but he compliments you as soon as you wake up, will walk up to you while you're making lunch and tell you some silly fish compliment like in the happiness moment

surprises you w gifts/flowers and goes "for my lovely partner" or smth like that and he even puts on a nice shirt n pants (don't look down you might see flip flops okay)

if you have kids or a Lotta pets (listen I pet sitter 3 dogs and 2 birds I was OVER IT OMG how do yall have so many pets???) and you're just so tired after taking care of everything, cove will hire someone for the night or call for a friend to come hold the fort down if necessary

and will take you on a nice date

maybe not even anything fancy since he usually does this pretty impromptu, but who says a movie and eating at a burger place or getting takeout from your favorite restaurant thats abt to close up for the night while sitting in the car to eat isn't fun or nice?

will flirt w you when you're old too

"you're so beautiful"

"stfu I just had hip surgery"

"absolutely gorgeous is that a new gray gair?"

please hit him 😐

[hana-no-seiiki]

WHY DON’T YOU GIVE ME A SMILE? (ACT 2)

YANDERE! BATFAM x JINX (ARCANE/LEAGUE)-ESQUE! READER

[ ACT ONE HERE ]

cw/tw: mentally ill reader. schizophrenic reader. reader w/ abandonment issues. manipulative reader. crimes. arson.

summary: we dive deeper into Gotham's explosive personality and history with those that took the title of ‘boy wonder’

MORE ON YOUR ORIGINS

“They were right! You’re just a Jinx.”

“Everybody shut up! I need to think!”

“We weren’t . . . “

As much as you scared the crap out of Joker’s goons. Since they saw you grow up first hand. A lot of them tended to be overprotective over you.

I mean, they’re insane enough to follow Joker. What more you?

They see you as his successor. An heir of sorts.

Which is why Jason Todd felt like he had no choice but to either fix you or keep you locked up.

You don’t remember much of him. If you did you would hate him.

He was the one that essentially helped you pull the trigger on your family.

If you haven’t read my other posts about it, here’s the rundown.

Jason had a massive crush on reader when the two of em were kids. Prior to everything. Before he was adopted, before reader set their world ablaze, before shit hit the fan essentially.

He saw how neglected you felt. The rejection you faced from your peers for not being strong enough. For being small and weak.

Him and your sister were pretty popular amongst the kids but it only made the comparisons worse.

It was always how they were “twice the kids at [Y/N]’s age.”

And so he thought of a little gift. Just a little something to show the others how cool you really are.

He didn’t expect you to use it that way. And the worst part of it all, he wasn’t there to comfort you. I mean sure, dozens of people died that day. Many of which he was somewhat fond of. But he was sure they’d want him to comfort you. To say that it wasn’t your fault.

And despite all that, you only knew Jason as that one guy Joker went too far with.

“Hey, [N/N].”

The call of your name almost froze you on the spot. Their screams pushed forward from the back of your mind into the forefront. You didn’t think. Your hands just pulled the trigger of your machine gun on its own.

“Who the hell are you?” You grit your teeth. You’ve heard of this Red Hood going around and ruining your adoptive father’s plans lately.

And what’s worse? The man kept forcing you to stay away. Plying you with all sorts of prostitutes and all the money you could ever need or want.

Despite your hostile disposition, the man in question doesn’t return it. “I’m sorry. This was all my fault. I shouldn’t have left you behind.”

“Leave.” You lowered your machine gun. A sudden wave of drowsiness overwhelmed you. A sense of calm. Weakness. Everything was screaming at you to end the source. But if he kept dodging your bullets them perhaps diplomacy would work.

You breathed out. [Y/N]. That name, that identity — though it fell down a well and was long dead it still had it uses.

Softened voice, doe eyes, and posture loose. If you had no other weapon they you always had your vulnerability.

“You need to leave, Joker is coming soon and I can’t help you if you’re caught.”

“Who was that, Jinx?” Joker asked.

You turned around. Your eyes meeting his chest and then his face, where that wide, freakish grin was stuck unto him.

“Old man, I think you mean what.” The toxic pink glint flashed through your eyes as you once again buried your old self along with the rest of the corpses that have met their demise by your hand.

“Meet Fishbones.”

BACK TO YOUR RIVAL:

Recently Tim had been . . . more agreeable to your demands somewhat?

You could tell he was pulling his punches.

Sometimes he’d even join you in your exploits.

You never trusted him of course. You never trusted anyone but yourself. But he was fun to be around is all. Whether it was you two beating each other to near death or blowing up buildings (he made sure to evacuate its residents before you two went all out).

“You know. I kinda wanna blow up that building. Don’t you think we’ll have a better view of the sky that way, Timmy?” You pointed to the structure with your signature gun shaped hand gesture.

That was one of Bruce’s buildings.

“You . . . “ Tim blinked at you a couple of times. “are so right.”

“Let’s go.” You yanked him the hand.

Tim smiled. Even if he wasn’t making direct contact with your skin, and you with his — he couldn’t help but smile at the intimacy of this moment. What were his worries with you beside him? All the sadness and anger felt so fleeting when he was with you.

His glee almost costed him his life as it took him a couple of moments to realize that you have pushed him off a building after a while of parkour.

He managed to grapple himself back, and with your assistance, he got back up to the ledge you two were on.

He gave you one half hearted glare. You laugh at his face, “You’re such a loser! Always ready to cry! Wah wah wah!” And you set off. Getting within the building with no care for stealth whatsoever.

What was the point of being all sneaky like when you had bombs on you?

"Wait up! Get back here!" Tim ran after you. He didn’t mind that you were essentially destroying all his and Bruce’s hard-work on his industries, but you were being too reckless. He would sure as hell minded if you were caught.

Turns out he wasn’t so far off when it came to his fears and suspicions.

“You. You set me up.” You glared at him. Hands on your blaster. Ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Your eyes flicking between the men in front of you, wondering who was best to pick off first.

Batman, Nightwing, or the man you stupidly thought was your friend.

“No. No you have to believe me I—“ Tim tried to explain. But Dick cuts him off, “Good job, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You traitor. I knew it. I knew it.” Your voice got weaker and weaker.

No, no, no. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t part of the plan. Tim was supposed to be with you for longer.

“I told you, you have no choice.” Bruce finally spoke. His cape moved to his back.

He wasn’t going to let you go. Not without making it bloody.

“Oh, boohoo. You’ve always been no fun!” Your eyes never leave the two dark suited men, but Tim knew you were speaking to him. “Good thing I never trusted you.”

And you take a deep breath, dropping the laughing gas Harley gave you for emergencies. It wasn’t as strong as the original one, hell you’re sure that those people probably expected that move. But it at least blocked their line of sights on you, allowing you to create some distance.

You managed to get far enough to ready your weapons and send a call of help to your adoptive parents before your prediction proved to be true — footsteps behind you; loud and clear.

“Look’s like we’ve got even more company. Huh, boy savior?”

“Don’t move and I won’t cut you down.”

Pow pow in your hand, and desperation in your mind. The last thing you heard is a blade unsheathing before you pull the trigger.

୨ ©️ ୧⸝⸝﹕hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2024﹐⊂☁️⊃ ‹𝟹

AUTHOR’s NOTE: YALL THOUGHT THIS WAS GONE!! WELL THINK AGAIN!! I AM BACK!!! Sorry for the late update!! Man I’m so excited for season 2 of arcane ahahsheudidj

Taglist: @w31rdg1rl @cherry-peach-flavored @ice-cream-writes-stuff @speckle-meow-meow @inejghafawifesblog @sitepathos @mimiissia @rolo-at-midnight @mossyvampire @kawaiimusiccollection @harpy-space @takottai @maddeningmangos @obsessed-with-a-fictional @ihatemylifeuwu @caramelstrikezz @szapizzapanda @vanessa-boo @imbiafandbored @victor-rose @earphonejack09 @rainnyydaysworld @bubbabobabubbles @ksziggy @evan-trand @emo-z0mbiezzz @nyra-42 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @orangeboulevard @alwayszealousdetective @huhuhhuhh @iwasveronica @imginarygirl @nebuluma @heyitsaloy @mysticalhills

[justaz]

somehow some time magic goes wrong and young arthurs from different points in time are pulled into king arthur era. everyone kinda has this back and forth of who is going to watch the literal 8 month old. gwen and lancelot are pretty good at taking care of him, so is percival but he doesnt seem comfortable with it so no one forces him. elyan tried to hold him but baby!arthur started wailing after three seconds. leon is sorta good but he has like no idea how babies work or what they need so when baby!arthur found his sword and almost lobbed his own head off, leon was forbidden from taking care of the child. gaius is too old and busy researching how to reverse the issue. who the HELL would trust gwaine with a child? arthur has this Odd aversion to the child but no one pushes him on it. ofc merlin, magic incarnate, has this like aura or energy that draws all these innocent woodland creatures to him so obviously little arthur is also drawn to him. in fact, merlin seems to be the person he likes the most. and merlins a natural w kids apparently so hes often the one that baby!arthur is handed off to.

he complains about it at first but when baby!arthur breaks into a fit of giggles after merlin calls adult!arthur a clotpole, he has merlin wrapped around his little finger. merlin stops complaining but does let arthur know that the one thing he Will Not Do is change his diaper. arthur laughs and walks away. merlin talks to baby!arthur like they’ve been friends for years (bc they have). arthur points out that baby!arthur cant understand him and merlin retorts that its like how it normally is. merlin gets to perform magic in front of baby!arthur and he LOVES it

my point to this was merlin dotting on little versions of arthur is a way that no one ever really did for him growing up and adult!arthur seeing it and healing little pieces of his inner child as he watches merlin play games with baby!arthur and make sure he’s taken care of. it especially hits him when gaius finally finds a way to send baby!arthur back and while everyone seems torn between upset they have to say bye, they’re also relieved to get the baby back where hes supposed to be,, merlin is like choking back fat tears. everyone backs off to give them privacy and merlin just kisses baby!arthur’s forehead and whispers some encouraging and heartachingly sincere words that have adult!arthur choking back tears.

then BOOM the spell also backfires and while yes baby!arthur got back to where hes supposed to be, now theres toddler!arthur. he has this gravitational pull to gaius (can recognize him) and merlin (magic soulmates ofc he has an innate trust in the man). merlin is happy to have his little friend back and gaius goes back to the drawing board. now they have this little 2-3 year old toddling after them and blabbering something that sounds like english if you’re patient enough

(merlin makes another comment about how little arthur has changed over the years)

the cycle repeats, merlin and toddler!arthur get attached and adult!arthur watches and heals a bit more of his inner child. gaius finds another cure that falls through the same way and now they have child!arthur. he has a bit more of uther’s influence in him but hes still a child. he gets hurt and tries to fight back tears but merlin sees he’s in pain and tells him it’s okay to be hurt, to feel pain, to cry. child!arthur says in that stutter cry children do when they’re fighting back tears that his father says boys shouldn’t cry. merlin wipes a tear that slips down child!arthur’s face and whispers about how he cries and lets himself feel his sadness before picking himself back up and dusting himself off before getting back to it, that it doesn’t make him weak but stronger. adult!arthur hears this and this may not be the beginning of his deconstruction but it makes a tremendous amount of progress in him rewiring his brain away from his father’s toxic ways of thinking.

idk if they’d get a teen!arthur since gaius probably would’ve learned his lesson by then but if they did, we’d get to watch Merlin vs Arthur Showdown 2.0 as merlin humbles the young prince and i think that’d be funny. especially for gwaine since he didn’t get to see it happen the first time.

[peachsayshi]

Can you write about how the JJk characters are like in their yandere version.

anon, I have actually been thinking about this recently - here’s some thoughts on yandere gojo, geto, nanami and choso!

(minors & ageless blogs dni) // tags: dark content (ish?); dub con; possessive; controlling; somno; mentions use of sex toy; use of pet name kitten; smut // a/n: I don’t usually write stuff like this so please don’t read if you aren’t comfortable!

GOJO - overwhelms you; he can’t keep his hands to himself whenever you’re around. he doesn’t care that you get nervous when he plays with your hair while you talk. he often loses his concentration to brush his knuckles down your cheek or swipe his thumb along your bottom lip. he expects a kiss whenever you greet him or say goodbye -and this kiss isn’t a chaste one on the cheek but a deep, consuming one on the lips. he wants to taste you on his tongue, to draw out every little breath and claim it as his own. the first time it happened you whimpered “s’too much,” but he just smiled against your lips and replied: “actually it’s not enough.”

you don’t fully understand why he treats you like this; why he can’t accept that his physical touch is more than you can handle. you hate that his face grows menacing when you deny him of what he wants, but you always end up succumbing to his advances. “this isn’t right, w-we aren’t even-ah…lovers…” you whisper in protest, your fingers digging into his lap while his own brush over your nipples underneath your shirt. he glides his nose up your neck and leaves a soft kiss just behind your ear as he pinches the sensitive buds. “we can be, angel…” he exhales, but his dark tone sends a shiver down your spine. “…it’s all I ever wanted…”

GETO - punishes you; you never expect him to behave cruelly towards you, because the man adores you in every way possible and regards you with nothing but admiring eyes. he’s so unbelievably sweet, you often question what you have done to deserve his heart in the first place. yet, you still find yourself easily triggering his jealousy. he won’t stand having others look at you, nor will he let it slide when you put yourself in positions of being around others who fancy you. it doesn’t matter how innocent the situation is - like when you decided to meet up with an old friend or when you gave the barista a gentle smile as he handed you your coffee - suguru will easily find it as an excuse to to remind you of what his love means over others.

“this is all they see when they look at you, you know?” he growls in frustration, his firm hands pressing your knees as he keeps you spread for him. “…your needy little cunt begging to be stuffed. they don’t give a shit about you…” - you whine when he thrusts his hips, because he’s rough and it’s entirely purposeful. he takes in the marks on your throat, your chest, and your inner thighs before softening his hard gaze. he brushes his mouth over your quivering lips, leaving a tender kiss in the wake of his retribution. “but I do, sweetheart…” he coos, as he finally eases his movements and you sigh with relief when he brings his fingers to your sensitive clit. “…I love you so fucking much. can’t you see that?”

NANAMI - controls you; he uses subtle manipulation tactics to make this happen, and because he’s supremely intelligent, it’s difficult for you to catch on when he does it. he has no ill intentions - he just wants to take care of you, and that has given him reason to claim ownership over you. you thought the diamond choker he bought for you was simply a sweet gift, but he’s particular about you wearing it at all times (except when taking a shower and sleeping). when your lease was up for renting your apartment, he arranged to have you move in with him without questioning how you might feel. “it’s for the best,” he insists, “you shouldn’t have to worry.”

he thrives off your submission; you so eagerly want to please him because you’re grateful for everything that he’s given to you. you’ll easily comply, and it works out beautifully for him. he narrows his gaze when he looks at you trembling against his sheets. “kento…wanna cum…” you mumble, and his ego flares at how you’ve been reduced to such a wet mess. he slowly shifts his gaze towards the phone screen, his thumb hovering over the control of the vibrating toy inside your cunt. “I know, kitten…” he sighs before taking a sip of his drink, pretending to show some consideration as he drags his finger to increase the speed. a wicked smile highlights his exceptionally handsome face, but your eyes roll to the back of your head that you don’t even notice - “just a little longer, hmm?”

CHOSO - claims you; he’s selfish about requiring your attention, and demands it at all hours. he hides how overbearing he is with his needy behavior, but he yearns for you in a way that aches. your time should belong to each other, it’s something precious that you both share together, and he can’t comprehend how you don’t feel the same way. of course he understands that you need space, but giving it to you is harder than he expected. he’ll often show up unannounced when you’re home alone or out with your friends, and he greets you by holding you tightly while murmuring “I miss you,” against your skin.

“please cho…” you implore, your heavy eyes drifting open as your fingers pull on the strands of his hair. “m’tired tonight…” - you are met with a hot gaze as he stares at you intensely from underneath his lashes, his lips suctioned over your clit while his fingers brush up against your gummy walls. he often does this when you’re sleeping, unable to resist himself even during the peaceful hours of the night. he doesn’t respond to your pleas, but proceeds to slurp and lick your tender pearl with even more conviction. “cho…” you hiccup, moaning a long, drawn out vowel as your breath shakes, “just…just one sec…” - he lifts his lips, his hungry eyes shifting down to focus on the sound of your pussy squelching around his thick fingers. “I’ll stop after this, okay, baby? I’ll let you go to sleep once you cum…”

[angelicsjn]

I was the one that submitted the form and it had Hayden as my favourite with the passing comment that I made mad money just so he can have his career.

I know in the Domestic Life ask, he fears settling down due to the fact that he'd need to give up his photography for something more stable. But ha! Sike! His darling makes 6+ figures and is willing to support him fully. The cutie is gonna get the house husband treatment but hey, he gets to pursue photography with a big safety net. If anything, his photography profits is their play money for vacations and getting pampered together.

So, how would Hayden react to that? Would he enjoy it and settle down sooner?

- ✨ Anon

HAYDEN WEST.

A N: I love this so much. When I read your answer, something lit up inside of me. This is so real. Honestly, the dynamic sort of reminds me of Levi and William on tiktok. Their relationship are my actual goals... ps. If you see any typos and mistakes, no, you didn't. Look away, it never existed.

A B O U T: Hayden is apprehensive about settling down, but you have funds to do so. How does he feel about it? Read to find out.

W A R N I N G S: None. Other than Hayden being a sweetheart.

As stated in an old post, Hayden's only setback in settling down is his career path, and he knows that it's not sustainable in the long run.

Hayden isn't the type to sacrifice his passions to make life comfortable; his passions are his life. He would be nothing without them.

But he knows that at some point he will have to decide on what path he will take because he doesn't only have to pay for himself now, he also has you in his life.

But! Maybe there's another solution...?

Hayden's obsession with you grew in a short space of time, he went from watching you; hoping that you'd look his way one day to sleeping in your bed feeling more loved than he has ever been loved before. He takes care of you, you take care of him and even though you don't know about all the things he's done behind the scenes, you know how deeply he loves you. He just has a way of knowing you, understanding you like no other.

One thing that he never found out was how much money you had in your bank. Really, Hayden doesn't care much for that kind of thing. Whilst stalking you, he never pressed much attention into what jobs you did, where your money came from and how much you had; money is just a thing to survive to him. He wanted to know the silly and deep things about you.

He never questioned it either due to the fact that you live humbly — sure, more well off than him, but that wouldn't be hard, Hayden didn't grow up in the best of areas. To him a home cooked meal each day is a privilege and reward, so he knew you were rich in sense of. But not in the way you actually are.

When the conversation of moving in together comes up he sort of freezes. He didn't see how you'd both survive. Besides his general insecurities of you growing out of love for him — he saw how his parents were growing up — he was also shitting bricks over how to get a place and keep it without sacrificing everything and living unhappily.

A huge part of him felt that insecurity riddle it's way into his system over the fact that he, a man, can't provide. That's his job... right? How can he be considered a good man. A good boyfriend. If he can't even look after you?

But you were adamant. You knew he was the one, you've never felt so seen by someone before. He understands you, respects you, loves you for who you are. And that's when the conversation comes up...

"We can do this, Hayden." You said, watching him as his eyes scan across the screen. He was gobsmacked. How the fuck did he miss this? After all that time watching you he missed out the fact that you're loaded, maybe you landed the job yourself. Maybe it's a family thing. Who knows. He didn't know if he was meant to be impressed with you. Or pissed off that you didn't tell him. Or pissed off with himself for missing out such a big detail in your life. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just wanted to be seen for more than what I can offer." You finished, and he understood — not from personal experience. But he got it.

"I know." He mumbled, pushing the laptop away. "I understand, it's okay. I'd have done the same." Hayden meant it, you could tell as he flashed his usual lopsidedely shy smile, his eyes soft and warm. He took your hand and pressed a kiss against your knuckles. "But I want to help out."

You knew how he felt, it was clear as he looked away. He felt small. It wasn't a secret that you lead the relationship, it was natural. The pants fit you better and you both prefer it that way. But you understood how he felt in that moment, what can he give back when he doesn't have much to give.

"Focus on your studies. Continue with your photography and make a business out of it." You said, squeezing his hand in yours. "If you want, you can help out around the house, keep your part time job, I don't know. Anything. It's fine."

Hayden needed some time to think about it, let it roll around in his head until he finally made his decision...

Ultimately, you both knew what would work best. So you tested it out.

Pushing aside his initial insecurities, he realised that the dynamic between you both worked perfectly and if anything you had both never been closer.

Half a year later you're both happy and thriving. The house is beautiful and Hayden even has the space for his own room thats dedicated to his interests and photography, with the saved up money he's gained, thanks to you for being the main provider, he was able to set his business up more professionally and buy better equipment! He's able to turn his dream into a job and he's so grateful and happy for that.

The two of you live happily in your own bubble, Hayden being the homebody that he is, he thrives in his peace and space, even better when you're home with him. He's picked up on new hobbies in the meanwhile, mainly things to make the house a home.

From DIY to crochet, he's making things for the house left right and center and the place feels so cosy and happy.

"I noticed the new pillow covers." You said, something he obviously made, and it looks cute. "Thanks. I'm doing a selection for the different seasons." He shrugged, eating the meal he cooked for you both not long ago.

He cooked you your favourite meal, something he's always cooked for you. You enjoyed it, especially after a hard day at work.

Later that night you would watch movies together in the comfort of your living room, cuddling and eating snacks before accidentally falling asleep.

At first he was hesitant, he didn't want to feel like he wasn't giving you anything back. But in reality he had given you so much more than the both of you realised. Due to you being so busy making the money, he made the house a home and gave you a reason to love going back home to feel loved and secure.

[samstree]

Jewel

(obikin, 1.6k, established relationship, also on ao3) Anakin is on painkillers and forgets something important.

Anakin wakes up warm and comfortable, swathed in layers of blankets and wrapped in strong arms.

The world swims, swaying and tipping to one side in the distinctive way of being put on painkillers. He blinks, and blinks again.

“Mmph…” he makes a confused noise, not sure how he ended up here. Or where here is, even.

“Hey, careful.”

Oh, that is the most beautiful voice he has ever heard.

So Anakin looks up, following the source of the voice and meeting the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen.

“Obi-Wan.”

He breathes the name in wonder, heart fluttering, nearly giddy. Of course, it’s Obi-Wan. He is the most beautiful man in the whole galaxy, and Anakin loves him so much even when his head is fuzzy with drugs. He’d know Obi-Wan when he barely remembers his own name. He needs to tell Obi-Wan that, how important he is, how much joy he brings into Anakin’s life, but all that comes out is—

“Obi-Wan, you are…here.”

An amused huff rumbles against Anakin’s ear, and Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkle softly. It’s Anakin’s favorite look, when happiness is etched into the lines around his eyes. He reaches out to touch, only to grunt in pain.

“Don’t move just yet. Your shoulder is in quite a state, darling.”

The arms around Anakin hold him closer, securing him in place. He then looks down to find his prosthetic arm tightly bound with a sling. The pain spreads from his shoulder to his chest, dulled like a distant echo.

“But I feel fine.” He nuzzles into Obi-Wan’s neck. The world doesn’t spin as much when he rests against Obi-Wan like this.

“It’s all the painkillers you are on. They had to double the doses, with your metabolism so fast. It’s still not working well enough.” Concern seeps into Obi-Wan’s voice. “Let’s not try anything just now. I’d hate to set your bones again.”

With that, gentle fingers run through Anakin’s hair, almost putting him back to sleep with all the petting and scratching.

A glint of silver catches Anakin’s eyes.

“Oh,” he says, struggling to extract the free arm to catch Obi-Wan’s hand. “What is this?”

He frowns at the silver band resting on the fourth finger of Obi-Wan’s hand, heart growing heavy despite the confusion. He pokes at the thing, the warm metal touching the tip of his index finger.

“It’s my ring, dear one. What are you doing?”

“It’s a wedding ring.”

Anakin turns Obi-Wan’s palm, observing the band intently. His head doesn’t feel like his own, but his memory is still intact. A silver band on the fourth finger, that is Stewjoni tradition to indicate that—"

“You are…married?”

Anakin meant it as an accusation. When did Obi-Wan get married? How? Where? Why does he not know about it? But all that came out of his lips is a sad whisper, voice trembling with hurt.

He meets Obi-Wan in the eye, but only finds surprise there. It’s rather unfair, for Obi-Wan to stare at him like that, as if he’s crazy for asking the question. He’d think he deserves an answer after all this time, the love weighing on his heart, never reciprocated. He is fine with it. He really is. It’s just…

He was still hoping, against all odds.

Now that is gone too.

“Anakin, I—You see, we—”

“But you can’t be.” Anakin shakes his head at the silly idea. “Not you, never you. What was I thinking? To be married, you’d need to leave the Order. My old master would never, not the perfect Jedi.”

He adds a dry laugh in the end for good measure, sounding properly putulent now, but Obi-Wan’s eyes only soften.

“Oh, Anakin, I did leave the Order. I left so I could marry—”

“No, don’t tell me,” he interrupts in a hurry. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

It borders on torture now. Anakin knows because he has been tortured. To know the name of Obi-Wan’s beloved would destroy him. All he wants to do is get away. He cannot stay in Obi-Wan’s arms when they belong to someone else. To steal comfort that doesn’t belong to him is worse than not having it at all.

His eyes brim with tears, and he lets them fall freely.

“Anakin, it’s not like that…”

“Just don’t.” He struggles against Obi-Wan’s hold, voice wet with tears, heedless of his injured shoulder. “I don’t want to hear it. Just let me get out of here—”

“Anakin!”

It’s the desperation in Obi-Wan’s voice that stops his motion. That and the fact that Anakin can barely move his limbs, muscles so relaxed they feel like jelly. The ache returns, deep in his bones, but none of it matters when his face is cupped in gentle hands and the most beautiful eyes are right in front of him.

Anakin is powerless when Obi-Wan’s attention is on him, so close yet so far away.

“Will you listen to me? Let me explain?”

Anakin sniffles, and then answers weakly, “…alright.”

Instead of answering, Obi-Wan takes his flesh hand, threading their fingers together. His motion is so tender, so intimate that it erases every last thought from Anakin’s mind.

“It must be one of the side effects of the drugs.” For some reason, Obi-Wan is sounding too amused for the grave situation they are in. “This will be very funny when you come out of it, dearest. Believe me, I want to enjoy it, but not at your expense when your head is messed up like this. Will you look at your hand? For me, just look at your hand.”

Their hands lay on top of the blankets, skin against skin. When Anakin looks down, there are two silver bands, side by side. One on Obi-Wan’s fourth finger, the other on Anakin’s.

“Huh,” he makes a confused sound. “I’m married too?”

“Against all odds, yes. Master Yoda lost the bet to Master Windu on the big day.”

Anakin blinks, brow furrowed.

“But to who?”

He can’t imagine overcoming the heartache of Obi-Wan devoting himself to someone else, but—

“Will you look at the other side of the rings?”

With that, Obi-Wan takes Anakin’s hand again, flipping over both of their palms to show the underside of the rings. There is a small inscription etched onto each of them. The one on Obi-Wan’s is the traditional Tatooine symbol for “rain”, the pattern often carved into Japor wood and gifted to one’s beloved. Rain is the most precious thing, after all. The inscription on Anakin’s band reads “jewel” in Stewjoni.

But how does he know that? When does he know Stewjoni words?

“Oh,” Anakin hums. He feels as if he’s on the verge of a great discovery, a warmth spreading through his chest like a promise from the past. A vow, maybe. “Oh, Obi-Wan! I see!”

“Really? What do you see?”

Anakin breaks into a big smile. “I don’t know! But I’m so happy!”

Obi-Wan’s laugh is like music to Anakin’s ear. Even though he thinks he’s the one being made fun of, he still loves that laugh.

“I’m glad you are happy,” Obi-Wan says, indulgently, “but what if… I did this?”

He takes Anakin’s flesh hand, and kisses him on the fourth finger, right above the silver band, lips incredibly soft. Anakin’s mouth falls open.

“Still happy?”

Anakin nods so hard that he feels dizzy.

“How about… this?”

Obi-Wan trails a few kisses along the back of Anakin’s hand, reaching the delicate skin at his wrist. He looks up through long lashes, eyes impossibly soft, and then—

And then, he kisses Anakin right on the mouth.

The kiss is chaste and light as a feather. It couldn’t have lasted for more than a second, but the world comes to a stop.

As soon as Obi-Wan breaks away, Anakin gapes again. He can only stare at the smug looks on Obi-Wan’s face. When he leans in, Anakin closes his mouth to kiss him, again, and again.

They draw out another kiss, breathing deep into it, the Force singing around them with how right it feels. Their lips meet in a rhythm so familiar, it’s like a choreographed dance. Anakin melts into the warmth of Obi-Wan’s presence, smiling when the soft beard scratches the corner of his mouth. They finally break apart, and now the world is spinning for an entirely different reason.

“Oh, my dearest.”

Anakin lets out a small gasp at the endearment. He is Obi-Wan’s—

“My beloved,” Obi-Wan murmurs, running a thumb on Anakin’s cheek, palm cradling his chin gently. “Don’t you see? There is no one else. I left the Order for you, so we could marry. I left because you are my joy, my hope, the jewel of my heart… who has forgotten all about our marriage after a few doses of painkillers. Tell me, dearest, what shall I do with you?”

All Anakin can do is stare. He stares as Obi-Wan helps him lean against the pillows and adjust his own position so they can cuddle comfortably. He stares as Obi-Wan peppers more kisses on his arm, his shoulder, hand. He stares as Obi-Wan tucks the stray curls behind his ear, with nothing but love on his face, as if the sight of Anakin brings him all the happiness he could ever ask for.

“We are married?” Anakin asks, feeling silly now but still needing the confirmation. “You… love me?”

Obi-Wan looks like his heart is breaking, just a little. “What can I do to convince you?”

Anakin perks up at that. “Kiss me again?”

“That I can do.” A smile, and Obi-Wan obliges.

They kiss until Anakin is dizzy with love, until his bones are humming with contentment. They kiss until The Force wraps around them tightly, reminding him of the familiar warmth from his memories. Of vows made while their hands intertwine, their hearts beating in tandem.

They kiss until another tear trails down Anakin’s cheek. It’s not nearly as precious as the rain drops on Tatooine, or the jewels of Stewjon, but his beloved kisses it away too.

[yearningandstillnotlearning]

𝚃𝚘 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐.

- B.E.

First request!!! Req by: @bilsluckyheart !! Thank you for your faith in me and i hope i didn’t disappoint <3

A/N: used one of my experiences and altered it some more!! Help!!

C/W: m*n mentioned, comphet implied, death mentioned (?), angst, hurt no comfort, no use of y/n, Billie referred to with her name instead of she once, hope i didn’t miss smt

Summary: You finally get a partner and as you said you didn’t care what they were like! You just wanted to not be alone. Is that what fulfils you? Is that what you expected to happen when you were finally “not alone?” Bet you didn’t expect to lose what you realised way too late was what you truly wanted there with you.

❀。 •*₊❀。 • *₊°。 ❀°· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ❀。 • *₊°。 ❀° ❀。 •

A man, a man supposedly being your boyfriend but you can’t seem to help that you see him as a best friend more than anything. Sex feels rather like a playtime-pass time than intimacy - what’s supposed to be dates instead is like going out with your dad’s friend instead of your lover - being with him feels more suffocating than it does to be utterly alone.

Sick worried about your sexuality and cravings, controlling to the core. You needn’t have cut her off, did you? You didn’t like her like that, right?

Or was it just you being in denial? Have you thought how obvious it is when others hear how you talk to her, your tone, your blabbering, clinging onto every little detail ever just for the sake of a never-ending conversation. How your eyes light up the entire milky way the moment she looks your way, gives you attention, answers your texts, you you you in her mind you wanted it to be you.

And he saw that as a threat, his very own misery being contagiously inflicted to you, all in plain sight.

So many excuses for how he is- but you cant deny it. You don’t dare deny it, and you know it too.

The car rides you’d wish would lead to her, the friends you’d go out with you wished would include her, the indirect questions of his old friends in a flick of hope to hear about her.

She was never to be talked of again.

He broke up with you, why are you sad? Body shaking with devastation, tears running like real-life waterfalls, screams of a broken heart hope. You had only hoped you like him, you had only hoped you could convince yourself you like men, the way they like you. The closet shut so quick for the sake of being with someone for once, anyone.

It doesn’t take long until you realise you’re better without him, you aren’t miserable yourself, you were forced to be but yourself. The episodes and constant crying is over, your body has no one to reject anymore, so as the months go by, why do you still feel crashed?

Mind replaying the thoughts you had while dating him, how often you’d think of Billie, wish for her upon every shooting star, hoping your words would reach her under the same night sky.

You weren’t in love with her though? Right?

The times she’d laugh at your stupid jokes and you’d only grow warmer, all from inside out. The way she laughed at your idiotic jokes, eyes shut closed and uncontrollable irregular panting laughs, you felt your heart open up and flutter like a lotus. You weren’t breathing anymore - you were blooming.

Or how she would always react to you with a smile, no she wasn’t always happy, but she felt that way whenever you were in the picture.

You knew she wasn’t always happy, especially when you tried to contact her about a month after your breakup, after the breakup of probably the most pathetic relationship ever.

Her hometown being your own isn’t helping, with a new year of studies crawling in and summer days shortening she’s come to visit family and friends and you cant help but imagine every other girl she interacted with was you.

Stolen glances while passing by the street, yours were full head turns, trying to drink up as much of her as you can in that luck-pathed moment, whereas hers almost looked through you. Short and cold, like broken icicles used as daggers.

The eyes that once bent and twinkled with such a welcoming warmth you now find them leaving you breathless. The hands that once opened up like wings, fingers empty of their shiny rings, -something she always did knowing how the sensation makes you cringe unpleasantly- knowing she’s gonna see you, eager to be held by you contentedly, palms facing you with a silent request to hold them — now you see fallen, the only thing about them looking at you being the big shiny intimidating rings peeking from a fist.

The mud is dirty, the water is not the best. All kinds of things found around the pond taking a sip or a dip. But a lotus flower grows again tomorrow even cleaner than before. Why can’t she see it?

You a year ago today is nothing compared to you right now, you know what you are and what you want. So why is she suddenly scared to get wet? Why is every person attracted to the pond but her?

Everyone but the one you want.

The one person to bloom the lotus within you, the one to plant the lotus seed inside you, to keep it from rotting all along. She gave it life and left it with you to die.

Or at least you tell that yourself to feel better, better about the fact that you left her without a word and hoped for the best.

You hadn’t realised just how much time had passed, or that time had passed at all. Now out of your mind and back to your body, looking right at the entrance of a park, you hadn’t moved an inch since you looked back and was met with a killer gaze. The evening sky turning to yet another dark night. Were the nights always this cold?

You lean against the random buildings fence, state of shock unbothered. Your head tilts up as the breeze kisses past your features, thats when you realise your body has betrayed you yet again, wet cold teary cheeks.

Blink,, blink,,, blink… and you shot your eyes up ahead, the stars in the dark blue of the sky dancing along the hue of the endless horizon above and beyond, and for a moment you saw her eyes again, for a moment you saw her staring at you the way she used to. For a final moment before you felt your heart rip itself apart.

...

..

You had no outlet for your love to her, you didn’t have her. What was there to do with a feeling so tender that sucker punches your stomach the moment it sees the owner of it whole? A feeling that fights against your held back words and actions, trying to get out in any way, ends up finding that the only way out, is through.

There was no room for it. If you clung onto it, it would only destroy you.

[witheringwidgetwrites]

Ok sorry for the confusing ask, I think I got it this time, (it’s different just in case)

obey me with short trans masc reader?

The brothers with some fluffy comfort and anxiety about telling them

Okay! So these are kinda hard to do like, "reactions" for, so I went w some general HCs! Hope that's cool! These are mostly Pre-transition as well! Levi genderfluid Hc ftw too.

These are fairly short, if you would like a more in-depth scenario, let me know, I would love to write one!

When you tell Lucifer, he doesn't give much of a reaction. You assume he doesn't care, maybe worse, he's judging you a little. He approaches you later to make sure it's okay he mentions it to his brothers. You're a little shocked but you give the okay, you see in his private text chat a message he had sent. 'MC is a boy. You will prefer to them as such from now on.' As your relationship grows closer, you small efforts from him. Your dead name is crossed out on old paperwork, and anything new always has your real name on it. When you grow even closer, you confess how nervous you were to tell him, he chuckles at you, smiling before grasping your hand, "my love, I adore you no matter what."

When you tell Mammon, he has a couple questions. He's a little confused, and kind of invasive, but he's got the spirit! "So I call you a boy right. Like, he should give me some of his money." You chuckle and nod. He messes up a few times at first but it's swift and you don't have to correct him, he does it himself. He doesn't make a huge deal out of it, but he makes a face when he catches himself. When you get together, he will loudly introduce you as his boyfriend. You're his pride and joy. Months later, you casually mention how nervous you were to tell him, and he makes a faux offended look, "I'm yer best man! How could ya be nervous to tell me anything? I like ya no matter what."

Telling Leviathan is a little nerve wracking. You're sitting down, playing games for a hours until you've worked up the nerves to say anything. "Can I tell you something Levi?" "Sure! What's up?" He instantly thinks you hate him. You tell him what's up, and a blush fills his cheeks. "Can I tell you something too?" You nod, smiling at him. "I think I'm genderfluid." With that, you both grow closer quickly. He's very accepting, you don't have to tell him much because he's already done all his own research, and had a few trans friends. Later in your relationship, you casually mention how nervous you were to come out to him, he hesitantly grabs your hand with both of his, and kisses it softly, "I like you for you, MC. Don't forget that, okay?" He averts his gaze, blush rushing to his cheeks.

Telling Satan is a little more anxiety inducing than you would have thought. But you had grown quite close, and it almost felt like lying to not tell him sooner. He puts his book down for you as you explain. He nods, asks, if that's all, and smiles at you. "Nothing could change how I feel about you MC." He's quick to change with no issues. You mention months later how nervous you had been, and he frowns a little, "I'm disappointed I made you so nervous, but I'm glad to have you now, as you are."

When you tell Asmodeus, he isn't suprised. "I had a feeling." He'd smile and say. He hugs you, asks if you need anything, or how he can support you. He has many questions. Some about the name, how you chose it, just personal but not super invasive questions, mostly friendly. It turns into a long talk about what your gender means for you, and what he can do to be supportive. After you both got together, months later you mention how you had been anxious to mention anything, and a soft smile graces his soft features. "MC, I love you to the moon and back, for who you are."

Beelzebub is a little nervous when you sit down with him while you're baking together. "Is everything okay, MC?" You explain things to him, voice quiet. Once you're done, a small smile crosses his face. "That's it?" You nod, he chuckles a little, "you had me nervous!" He pats you on the back, before asking if he can hug you. After a few months, you had both gotten together, and you had mentioned how anxious you were to bring it up to him. "Why would you be? Did I give you a reason to be nervous?" He seems troubled for a moment before you explain, and a smile graces his face before he grabs your hand. "I love you for you, MC. Exactly who you are."

Things have always been a little rocky with Belphegor. Because of the incident. But as you grow closer, you eventually tell him the news. He nods, "oh okay." He has no questions, he knows a little about it from Lilith, but that's about it. He is fairly quick to pull you back into his chest and lull you both to sleep. A couple months go by, you've started your relationship, and the topic comes up again. He asks a couple of questions, such as how you picked your name. You casually mention how nervous you had been when you told him, "really? I guess I'm not suprised, I am a little scary." He turns over in his spot to face you, "I love you for who you decide you are."

[soleilnomoon]

Hi again! Still absolutely adore your Kid fic from your last event 💜 Never got around to asking for a Sanji one, so here I am again😅 But seriously, congrats on over 550 followers!! Love seeing your blog grow, cause you’re really talented and deserve them all and legit can’t wait til you hit 1k+ 🥰

For the event order, may I please ask for a #1 with my boi Sanji, with anmitsu, konpeito, and keylime pie and with honey, please? 🥹 i hate this but need some sanji angst 😭

I also dunno if these three would work particularly well together for a prompt, so you can choose whatever! just really feeling angst and sanji rn and maybe comfort if you’d like 🥰

Thank you for all your works you’ve done so far 💜💜

hiiii omg haha i loved that fic fr (i'm obsessed w that man!!!) also ily for requesting sanji i don't write him nearly enough 🥰️ but thank you sm!! 😭 making me all soft and i am so so sorry this took forever, as u know i am so slow but!!! i had fun tormenting sanji w the angst ngl 💓💓💓💓 also those were great choices for the prompt, i wanted to write more but it would've been 8k words before i finished and who has time for that (i do, but listen... that's besides the point) ✨

2k words, fem reader (honestly gn too now that i think abt it), sfw (SHOCKING i know), 18+ mdni, a lil bit suggestive but nothing wild, angst angst angst city babey, fluff if you squint, also i gave u comfort bc u deserve it bb 💗(and sanji does too); feat. sanji being in denial forever and ever, mutual pining, fake unrequited love, reader is determined and sanji is a coward; also i made myself sad writing this but a good sad bc sanji deserves happiness and i'll fight oda if he doesn't get it i s2g... (if u see grammar mistakes/spelling errors... no u didn't 💗)

“loving each other began this way: threading / loneliness into loneliness / patiently, our hands trembling and precise.” — yehuda amichai

STEP 01:

what does it take to kill a soul? —

a question that’s posed unironically, without a hint of remorse or tact, the words precise and venomous, slicing through the thick veneer that he’s carefully crafted. he’s never been able to answer that question — not at six years old, not twelve or fifteen, and not at twenty-one. his siblings took pleasure in taunting him with seemingly philosophical questions, ones that clamped down onto his thoughts with heavy shackles.

even after he’s extracted himself from that life, he can’t scrub those memories from his mind — no matter how hard he tries. they sit, still raw and bloody, giving rise to unpleasant emotions that make his stomach churn from so many things left unsaid. he never set out to be a pirate, but piracy has given him the sort of freedom that he could only wish for as a child.

it’s with tender hands, with nimble yet graceful fingers, and with a fastidiousness that puts him in a category of his own, that he creates and creates and creates —

he’s told he’s an artist, which only pushes him to work harder, to be better. and when he asks himself why, he doesn’t have an answer. or, rather, the answer he does have only serves as a punishing reminder that he’ll never be good enough. no matter how many times his crew mates thank him — their emphatic, genuine praise a soft, warm breeze against his heart, gentle caresses that he commits to memory — despair still manages to infiltrate, a darkness choking out what little light he has left inside of him.

STEP 02:

how far are you willing to go to reach the truth? —

when you join the crew, he’s unnerved by your presence, which is wholly unlike him. usually, he’s able to put on his façade of the flirtatious cook, one that’s jovial and sociable, that lives to serve and please those around him. his first conversation with you ends in disaster; he spills the drink he tried to pour for you, despite your insistence that you are perfectly capable of pouring your own drink — and he knows it’s not out of malice, but it cuts into him all the same.

he tries again and again, bringing you little treats that you only agree to eating if he sits and eats with you; confusion eats away at his mind, and when he opens his mouth to decline, you pat the seat next to you and he acquiesces. he sits stiffly, at first, unsure of why he always feels on edge around you — an irritating need to impress you in a way he’s never wanted to for others grows stronger by the day.

you think it’s cute that he always seems flustered around you — that he stumbles over his words, refuses to hold eye contact with you for longer than thirty seconds — you also think it’s cute that the false bravado that he puts on for the world, diminishes immediately the second you come close to him. if he’s skittish, it’s because you always catch him staring at you; despite his quick reflexes, his reactions around you are slow but pure — childish, almost.

lately he’s clumsier and scatterbrained, nearly burning dinner when you decide to keep him company. you lean against the countertop, a teasing smile on your face — the same one that that caused him to bump his forehead against the cabinet door earlier — as you prattle on about a dream you had. he can barely keep up, his eyes drifting from the skillet to your face, gliding around the curve of your cheek, dipping lower in a slow descent along your neck.

he blinks repeatedly when he reaches your clavicle, stunned at his restraint; and it’s only when you call his name loudly that he realizes he’s left the heat on for too long.

“are you okay?” you ask when you see that he’s fussing over how best to save the dish, mouth moving as he quietly mutters to himself. he barely registers your voice, as an insidious one whispers harshly into his ears about his perpetual incompetence and lack of talent.

you can see that he’s retreated even further into his mind, a feat that also leaves you frustrated. you want to shake him but refrain and grab his hand instead. he snaps out of whatever stupor that held him captive just moments ago, lips parting as he sighs softly before glancing down at you.

“thank you.”

the words are quiet, but impactful, as he didn’t think he’d be able to get them out. you let go of his hand too soon, but he doesn’t say anything else, choosing to focus on cooking than embarrassing himself again in front of you.

you take his silence as a silent dismissal, but you don’t fight him on it — it’s bitter, that sort of rejection, and you swallow back your argument with great difficulty.

STEP 03:

what’s the difference between cowardice and self-preservation? —

frustration bubbles underneath his skin when he can’t find where he placed his lighter; he runs a hand through his hair and tugs on impulse, accidentally ripping a few strands from his scalp. they swirl and tumble onto the ground, pathetic in a way — just like me, but he never really says that out loud. he doesn’t hear your footsteps, although you did your best to remain as quiet as possible.

a cigarette sits in between his lips, and he has half a mind to toss it over the railing of the ship, but a warmth suddenly appears in front of him in the form of a flame. you found his lighter on the floor earlier and meant to give it to him, but every time you got closer, he found every excuse to leave. you don’t realize the impact you have on him — not really, anyway — because he’s genuinely surprised that you can’t hear the heavy beats of his heart that grow more intolerable the longer he hangs around you.

always afraid of being found out, he opts to keep his distance. it’s easier this way, he tells himself, better. but he doesn’t quite believe that; the evidence is plain as day when his tongue feels like its grown three sizes in the span of seconds, where his words get lost and forgotten. it’s all your fault, he reasons; you who insists on talking candidly with him, who insists on listening to him ramble about his dreams, who absolutely insists on stubbornly tearing down his walls, steadily chipping away without a care in the world. he looks at you as if you are the source of all his problems, but he also looks at you as if you’re the solution.

the intensity behind his stare makes your hands tremble slightly, it’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep yourself composed for this long. you light the end of his cigarette with ease, as if you’ve done this for him hundreds of times —and place the lighter into his pants pocket afterwards. if he wasn’t so used to you getting in his personal space all the time, he’d retreat immediately. the proximity is almost too much for him, but he doesn’t step back; you take that as a good sign and keep him company for a few minutes.

you don’t care for the smell of smoke, but on him it smells good. you almost tell him that, but instead bite down on your lip and keep your comment at bay, nerves getting the best of you as you nearly choke on the possibility that your feelings won’t be reciprocated.

another time, maybe. cheeks flushed, you turn your face to look elsewhere. although, you wonder if there ever will be another time. with him, you never know.

he’s still trying to figure you out and why he feels a different sort of calm around you; it’s alarming and new, drumming up an irrational fear within him. he doesn’t think he’s deserving of your attention or affection, and he’s convinced himself that you don’t harbor any romantic feelings for him. and why would you?

one by one, his thoughts pummel into him, acerbic and overwhelming. he exhales a sliver of smoke and puts the cigarette out. he gives you a quick, apologetic look before telling you goodnight, the smile on his face is melancholic and barely existent. you don’t dare say a word, keep your lips pressed together stubbornly; exasperated and dejected, you don’t know what’s worse — his inability to lower his guard around you for longer than ten minutes, or your inability to stop yourself from trying to carve pieces of yourself to give to him.

maybe if you helped him fill the gaping holes in his heart, he’d truly understand how you feel.

STEP 04:

if you had to do it all over again, would you do anything differently? —

sleep evades you after that night, and the night after that, and so forth; it gets so bad that you’re yawning in the middle of the day, falling asleep before you can have a cup of coffee or tea. this does not go unnoticed by the others, and after talking with nami, you feel less out of your element and finally can see the parts of sanji that he wants to keep hidden. her advice is simple: approach slowly and with intent; corner him and don’t let him escape.

you bide your time, full confident that you can find a moment to sit down with him and talk this all out. it doesn’t come easy, but franky mysteriously swaps sanji for the night’s watch — something that should strike you as odd, but it’s a small opening that you take without thinking as you hurriedly climb up to the crow’s nest with a renewed sort of energy.

even with his eyes closed, as he sits lazily on the bench with head tilted back against the wall, he knows it’s you.

“go back to bed,” he says firmly, refusing to look at you.

your stubbornness, unfortunately, wins out. “i’m staying.” at that he sits up, his attention completely on you as his eyes widen at your words. he wants to ask you why, but cowardice wins out — again. as his features soften, a flush crawls along his face, lightly painting his cheeks pink. he closes his eyes again, tries to steady his breathing as he counts backwards, only for his efforts to be obliterated with ease the moment you sit next to him.

as your thigh presses against his, you take his hand and on impulse you trace your fingertip along the lines on his palm. he watches you with a morbid fascination that scares him; but then you start to say things like, “you will live a very long life,” and “you are courageous, and you have a big heart.”

a small part of him wants to pull his hand away, so you won’t say anything else — but he remains put, so still that you almost think he’s stopped breathing. your voice is sweet and disarming, even when you carry on this charade of reading his palm. a belated realization hits him forcefully, making him blink several times; it dawns on him that you’ve always been so kind and gentle with him, even when you teased him. he’s spent all this time overthinking and hiding behind his past, that it never occurred to him that he could have simply let you in. you’ve never given him reason to believe that you’d betray or harm him intentionally.

he takes a deep breath, voice a little uneven, “i—”

you lean in close, adoration dripping onto your words as you interrupt him. “hey, have i told you?” the question glides along his skin, the words seeping into him as you continue, the lilt in your voice a honeyed, melodic spell. “you remind me of starlight and the mysteries of space.” your lips brush against his when you tell him that, and a warmth settles into the middle of his chest, makes it hard to focus. he doesn’t think when he curls his fingers around yours and doesn’t think when heleans down to kiss you — tender yet electrifying all the same.

the move disarms you in a way that doesn’t quite make sense to you, so you simply hum in approval and lean your head against his shoulder. a comfortable silence settles around you both, but you don’t mind that at all; it’s nice, not having to tip-toe around him anymore, and the demons that plagued him for so long don’t seem so intimidating with you by his side.

[gothkittyuseablekitten69]

Step by step and with details

What's the secret for a perfect blowjob ? I want to surprise my friend at his birthday with one as a birthday present, but I'm scared to do it wrong

Let’s try this again shall we. Wonderful question btw.

Some rules n things to know..

Don’t worry about being or doing it wrong luv. Any man who has a mouth around his cock is gonna be all over the place. Be confident..basically just go for it, be seductive, use eye contact n remember to use spit.. don’t keep spitting on it tho lol.. just enough to Lube his cock up a bit :33 Don’t dry mouth it .. it’ll feel like sandpaper n that’s not pleasurable.. You wanna make him feel good.. pull him in ..by using ur hands, mouth, lips, throat, eyes, words..n touch.

There’s really nothing to it, don’t overthink it. Just use your hands, mouth, tongue n throat. Let your mouth, tongue n lips do all the work but be sure to use your hands n your mouth ..just using your mouth is boring unless he’s using it ;3 but it really ..makes it more exciting n thrilling.

My step by step process n what to do :3

Break the touch barrier.. this could be sitting beside him.. for instance while you’re talking to him place  your hand on his knee or thigh fairly quickly don’t just leave it there. (use eye contact, sexy, needy, desperate eyes.)

(Gonna go in a little bit of detail with an experience I had with an old friend.)  down below ⬇️

We had smoked n talked it up for a bit. Got bored.. started flirting w him ..to my surprise he flirted back n one thing led to another. I had jokingly brought up how i would suck him off n that’s how it started.

Everyone does it differently..some people build that tension up by kissing or touching n others just get right into it. Don’t have to choke, gag or deep throat but it makes the experience more enjoyable for the both of you ..especially him :3 just do what makes you comfortable.

(How i went into it ;3)

The kissing turned to making out n making out led to touching ..rubbing n groping.. (this is where eye contact n being seductive is important.)

He was kissing my neck n while he was focused on that i put my full attention on him n started unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants.. i pull his already hard cock outta his boxes n spit on my hand just enough n i start jerking him off while keeping eye contact, kissing his neck ..kissing him ..talking to him n paying attention to his facial expressions while i have my hand around his cock to see what he likes best..what feels best to him.

Be sure to use your words.. talk to him before, during..afterwards even.. n be seductive when u do ..

Examples of this are down below ⬇️

~ “Does that feel good?.”

~ “You like that baby?”

~ “Such a good for boy for me..getting all brainless n shaky.. does that feel good baby.”

~ “You like that don’t you.”

~ “Are u gonna cum for me?”

~ “Just like that mhmm ..give it to me baby just like that.”

Here’s how i would do it :3

After making out for a while, I would kiss him then his neck n make my way to get on my knees below him.. help him slide his pants n boxers down just enough .. giving him the perfect view of me shoving him in my mouth while looking up at him all needy n desperate.. i would put my mouth around him n spit on it n start sucking him off sucking not only the neck but the tip as well as the sides of his shaft all while moaning.. telling him how big his cock n how pretty it is..n how much it just keeps growing :3 i would take him fully.. deeply taking every inch of him down my throat n lightly bobbing my head up n down as i start to deep throat his massive cock.. and if I’m lucky ☺️ he’ll even hold my hair like a gentleman while forcing himself deeper in my mouth.. etc (Use eye contact.)

I’ve said so much already but don’t be scared to do it wrong just be confident!! And be sure not to worry or overthink while doing it, you’ll do great! :3

Would luv to know how it goes..

[muzzleroars]

I have a. recommendation

it's an old(ish) song, but Antichlorobenzene (Owata-P) is. it has some gabriel vibes kicking around I think

(There's a video w english subtitles on youtube made by kanannon, or alternatively you can use the vocaloid lyrics wiki)

ooooughhh yes absolutely i can see it, especially in terms of gabriel's ongoing (and possibly eternal) crisis of faith!!!

the complexities hinted at in gabriel's character are incredibly interesting and his multiple facets being presented from multiple sources make him a far-reaching presence that exists way beyond the scope of v1's perspective (appropriate for a character with a vast history we have no connection with). however, one of the more contradictory ideas we see is his treatment of those in hell - through the accounts in lust and greed, as well as the terminal entries for minos and sisyphus, we find a gabriel that cannot be reasoned with, that carries out the will of heaven with cold efficiency. however, in the accounts of limbo and wrath, as well as the terminal entry for the idols, we instead find a gabriel that appears to be the only one in heaven to care for the sinners in hell. because of this, two possibilities exist as to why this might be - perhaps gabriel harbors sympathy for the repentant, he doesn't believe in a fundamental disdain for sinners but instead believes they should be judged on how much they may regret their actions in life. however, this means he has no pity for the unrepentant and so has takes no issue in executing a king as fair as minos because his justice is divine, not human. alternatively, gabriel judges sinners on their own merits and, if their sins are not so grave or they truly have changed, he offers them comfort despite knowing such aid isn't meant to be extended to them. in this case, he brings an end to the lust renaissance due to his adherence to orders and against his conscience, as god's will must be done regardless of what he may feel.

no matter the case, one truth then remains inherent to gabriel's character - he doesn't fully accept the eternal punishment of the damned. whether it be based on repentance or smaller transgressions, gabriel does not believe hell is right in its execution...but as we now know, this exact thought process is what got lucifer exiled from heaven. and gabriel must have seen what happened to lucifer before him, so i think he quickly shut down his own conscience to function and remain favored. he became exceptionally hardworking, he grew as a fierce foe to god's enemies and a kind soul to all the citizens of heaven in part to cover up his heretical beliefs in a sense. he did everything he could to be perfect because this is god, this is the creator, he cannot possibly know better than the one that made him, made heaven, made the universe itself. he knows to even question it is a sin and he desperately wants to prove to god, himself, and everyone around them that he is not like lucifer, that his weakness in his faith will never sway his actions. and so he grows merciless when working and becomes a shining example to all angels...but quietly, when left to his own accord and without orders, he will protect those in hell and perhaps offer them a little respite.

this pattern of behavior continues well into the council's rule - sitting now in place of god, gabriel follows their orders to the letter as he has always done. but they are not god. they didn't create him nor this world, they are merely spirits made like himself, as secondhand from their author as he is. and i think this distance is crucial, this crack in their authority is a seed planted in the back of his mind even as he slaughters minos and sisyphus and forces the sinners back to their punishments. and when he fails against v1, that doubt finally germinates - god's light has failed, his absolute supremacy, wielded by gabriel to the best of his ability, has failed against a man-made machine. initially his mind defaults to self-blame as it always has, that the fault lies in himself, but that cannot hold throughout the second encounter. he fails again, and if he fails again, if he fails using his divinely-tempered swords and his righteous fury, then god's majesty has failed. his failure means it was all never absolute and the council can fail just as he has. suddenly "good" and "evil" are much more obscure, when he knows there were righteous sinners and now knows there are evil saints...and so gabriel is left only to follow his own conscience, the one that has always whispered to him, directed his private actions, but was smothered by his faith. he's well aware he doesn't have the answers, but he believes too now that no one does, that perhaps there aren't answers. or, alternatively, that the answer is the world is fucked up because a fallible creator made it, mistake after mistake piling on top of each other, and all he can do is try to finally be a true moral actor in what's left of it.

[trickstarbrave]

Considering half nord Nerevar au where he grew up in Skyrim but the Nords found out abt his father and killed Sigurd (his nord dad) before taking Nerevar and his mother hostage (after what I imagine was Nivara keeping them on the run but unfortunately running w a 6 year old across a foreign country is tough and you will slip up

They make him work in occupied Resdayn bc they knew he’d go along with it to protect his mother. He grows up being treated as a weapon and insulted but eventually they believe Nerevar won’t go against them. Some soldiers even joke with him and are on more friendly terms bc they don’t see Nerevar as a threat (he is still clever and charismatic)

A younger (like young adult) Voryn is kidnapped and Nerevar sees this as an opportunity. The Nords goad him on to insult Voryn in chimeris but he instead asks Voryn to play along and act angry and Voryn sees what’s going on. This one is half chimer and clearly doesn’t want to hurt him like the others.

One way or another they pull the wool over their eyes. Maybe as an excuse Nerevar does well in a battle so he can ask for Voryn as a reward. That gives Voryn a much more comfortable place to sleep in Nerevar’s bedroll but they uhhhh have to be very convincing. So much do they might as well be fucking so they just do that. Voryn may or may not have fallen hard for this man and def is enjoying it.

He helps Voryn get back in contact with Kogoruhn so they can stage breaking Nerevar’s mother out of the prison she’s kept in and Nerevar and Voryn both escape the camp after confirming she’s safe. He’s finally free. And mannnnnn the Nords are mad they let Nerevar live after that

[willows-rambles]

Staaaar man perhaps for RM thoughts?

we're ignoring the fact that these asks are 4 months old because i wanna talk about them on main. this is gonna be an edited repost of a thing i wrote on my rp blog so yah. Once again I operate on the Arigaverse -w-b

Star is overlooked. That's not to say that he's forgotten, or left behind, or excluded from things. It's impossible to do that when his personality, voice, and colors are as loud as they are. No, he's overlooked because he is loud. Because to most, even his own comrades, loud is all he is.

This doesn't bother Star, though. He knows who he is; if the others don't see how perfect he is, they will in time. He is Wily's shining star, after all, his Splendid Noble Youth; a beacon to look to, a beacon to cast light on those lost, to take them under his wing and protect them.

A protector.

Sometimes he wonders why he's the only one with a proper shield; Wood Man's a darling, of course, but his "shield" is more offensive than defensive. His own is far more suited to being an indestructible bubble, so to speak.

These thoughts go as quickly as they come. He has more important things to do, after all; keep watch over the beautiful planet that is his charge, Earth, from his station up in orbit, and serve as the shining pinnacle of the Fifths. His linemates love him dearly, and he loves them too, of course. Why would he not? He has endless love to give, and endless love to bless everyone in the world with, even those of his dear comrades who are less inclined to be cordial towards him. That's okay. They're so very lucky to have him, even if they don't know it yet.

He doesn't hear the ridicule he and his line get from the other Wilybots or even their master himself for being soft, silly, and more than a little absentminded. Or he does, but he pays it absolutely no mind. Their words run off his armor like water off a swan's back.

It's okay; a star burns brightly no matter if anyone's watching or not. When the sky grows dark, though, he knows they'll look to him and take comfort in just how brilliantly he shines.

Star is a LOT to unpack in the Arigaverse, if I'm going to be entirely honest, in a way that I find incredibly fun. He's so fun! He's such a fun character. But a lot of what he's capable of is... It's hidden. Ariga hides a lot of Star's potential under his... well. everything.

To get the most obvious (external) points out of the way, Star's a narcissist with his head in the clouds. Where as Gemini's a narcissist in a more, like, casual sense I guess would be the best way to put it, Star is very much

✨✨ Look At Me! I'm Beautiful!! ✨✨

And this is, like, an overwhelming aspect of his personality. He's always like this, even when he's alone. He's someone who not only believes everyone should love him because he's beautiful, but he loves everyone because he's so beautiful. Isn't that wonderful? You're being graced with the attention and adoration of the most gorgeous Robot Master in existence, ahuhuhu~

He flirts, he flounces, he flusters. He is a walking canister of glitter and he will shower that shit on everyone.

But.

Beyond that, and even beyond his ditziness and cluelessness on the rare moment where he's not being flamboyant, is an aspect that I think is very overlooked by just. Fans in general, I guess.

The Star Crash is indestructible.

Like. I don't know how I can emphasize this enough.

The Star Crash is indestructible.

It only breaks if Star himself falters or loses concentration. It shielded not one, not two, but four robots from burning to an absolute crisp in the atmosphere. COMPLETELY.

That is fffffffffffffffffffffffucking insane.

And this is another point that I'd like to talk about, actually, because?? To point to the X era real quick: there are no Reploids built for space. None. Whatsoever. No, I don't count Lumine and the Jacob Elevator, Lumine was not built for space. There is not a SINGLE Reploid built with the intention of not just surviving, but functioning and thriving in space. Somehow, all of that was?? lost in the time period between the Classic and X eras. There are just three canon space-ready Robot Masters as well, those being Star Man, Astro Man, and Galaxy Man. I don't remember enough about Galaxy Man's stage to really say, but I know Astro isn't in space. He's in a planetarium. Star Man is the only one stated to actually fully be in space. The first AND most famous of the space Masters is Star Man, and I think that is for very, very good reason. That shit is SO hard to do. Dr. Light himself didn't make a Robot Master designed for space until four generations later, with Galaxy.

Do you know how much can go WRONG when making a craft intended for space? How much everything has to go EXACTLY RIGHT at the SAME TIME? HOW SMALL the probability of a purely perfect operation is? For a robot that can think and move independently on its own, that becomes ten times smaller, and ten times more important.

With that in mind, I don't blame Wily for being so exasperated with Star all the time ajfjskgkskfk. Star's one of his greatest creations, in my honest opinion. And he's just so -clenches fist- ditzy..!

But to me, Star Man reads as a well of untapped potential. But it's the kind of potential that, much like Star himself, needs witnesses to truly flourish and shine. He performs best in a group, where the Star Crash can maximize its use and he has others to focus on, like his brothers. His potential is so great and so overshadowed by his personality that even Wily forgot about it.

Star is someone who isn't really actively seeking appreciation, but who other people find a new respect for when they realize he is genuinely capable and powerful. Maybe not so much in terms of raw strength, but the ability to protect? That is something that a lot of the Wilybots are severely lacking, and it makes Star all the more invaluable to them.

[kimnjss]

how does bmb couple react to hyunki n sana having a pregnancy scare 🤥

hyunki can’t handle the crying. he hates seeing someone he loves and cares so much break down like this, but he doesn’t know what else to do. it’s been two months since sana’s last period and his confidence in the birth control in her arm has kept him from purchasing condoms for the last six months. he thought it would be fine, but now he wasn’t so sure.

last month, she had brought the issue up to him and he shrugged it off, known enough about woman to know that sometimes they missed their periods, so he didn’t worry too much. but now it was month too and still nothing, he didn’t know what to do. and seeing him panic had the fear growing in sana’s chest until she couldn’t hold it back anymore. “what are we supposed to do!? i can’t be a ballerina if i’m pregnant, hyunki!?” she speaks through sobs and he tries his best to console her, a soft hand rubbing her back. that only has her crying harder into his chest.

“we should talk to my mom, baby. she’ll know what to do.” hyunki has always felt like he could go to his parents for anything and that doesn’t stop here. he truly believed that no matter what he was going through, they’d always be there to help him through it - so talking to them is the best option right now. but sana is not so quick to agree. it takes hours of back and forth and convincing, along with some more tears before she’s finally onboard.

you’re sat downstairs in your office when hyunki is walking in, an arm tucking his girlfriend underneath his arm. a very sad looking girlfriend, who has obviously been crying. “what’s going on?” immediately putting what you had been doing on hold and standing to make your way over to them. “sana, hun. what’s wrong?” she’s back to sobbing as soon as you mention her name. so you’re turning your attention to your son. “we might’ve… uh?” he’s letting out a deep breath, hands running through his hair. “i promise, mom… we’ve been so careful, but… sana might be…” you’re putting the rest together despite the gaps in his sentence.

“okay, okay.” you try not to get upset, hold off on the lecturing for a different time. right now, you needed to focus on the issue at hand. he said might be, so they weren’t sure, right? “come here, sweetie.” sana, who has not stopped crying since they’ve entered the room is crashing into your arms - loud cries being muffled by your shoulder. “hyunki, go talk to your father. i’m gonna take sana to the store,” he has a feeling that he’s in trouble, but doesn’t exactly know when the other shoes gonna drop, so his feet drag as he leaves to go find his dad.

yoongi is in the studio, hyuna’s voice blaring through the speakers, her new obsession being singing and yoongi was jumping at the chance to turn his daughter into a star. he’s been working on helping her put a song out and from the sound of it, it’s almost finished. “hey, dad.” yoongi is turning, being met with the frown on his sons face. “what’s up?” he’s saying, lowering the music in the speakers. hyunki is moving to take a seat on the couch.

hyunki is sighing, hands rubbing over his face. “it’s sana…” instantly, yoongi is thinking that the couple has broken up and he’s shaping up to comfort his son. “she might be pregnant.” he’s finally getting the words out, shocking his father and it’s evident on his features. “what?” he’s at a loss of words, head spinning trying to wrap around how this could possibly happen. except he knows how and he can’t help but feel guilty, if he hadn’t been so blasé when hyunki first mentioned her being late, maybe they could’ve gotten ahead of this.

“where is she now?” like you, yoongi’s main focus is staying calm. eighteen years old was young and no doubt they were terrified, the last thing they needed was feeling like they were alone with it. “mom took her to get a pregnancy test, but i don’t know, man… it’s been two months.” yoongi is nodding, standing to take the seat beside his son. “it’ll be okay, don’t worry.” an arm wrapping around his shoulders, patting against his back. “we’ll get through it, let’s just wait for them to get back. it’ll be fine,” with the comfort of his father, hyunki is finally breaking down. hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

he was scared. and couldn’t help but feel like this was all his fault, whether or not the outcome was set it stone. this could change everything for them. and he was terrified. “i just don’t know what to do..” he’s mumbling, back shaking through his sobs. and yoongi is there through the whole thing, allowing him to cry until you and sana are coming back. and he waits with him the entire time in they’re bathroom, taking the tests and awaiting the results. no matter what he was going to be there for his kids, whether they were freaking out or celebrating.

thank god, tonight they were celebrating. all tests coming back negative and it’s a big relief. a big relief that comes with a serious talk from both you and yoongi, ground rules set and reenforced so a scare like this was never happening again.

[beforeiforgetyou]

Foolish Little Lover Boy

Oh, he’s writing again, that sad little boy. While his brothers play football and chase the girls on the playground, he’s collapsed in a corner, feverishly weaving fantasies and feeling into art that he could barely understand himself.

They pull his ears and take his notebooks for sport while he’s still mid-sentence. They rip out the pages and push him in the dirt, but when he gets back up, the boys and girls both are reading his stories out loud. Laughing at first, but then suddenly enamored. They pass the handwritten pages to their peers expressing surprise that such a strange boy could ever create something so captivating. Still, they trip him when he walks past their desks, but then ask to read the latest installment of a novel he’d never finish. 

Little Lover Boy, gifted with the talent of tongue but too shy to use it, so he scribbles away trying to make sense of the veneration and dejection at the same time. Who loves him? He’s fourteen-years old and too old for imaginary friends but he has one. He needs one. Someone to love him at the end of the day. It’s harmless, innocent, imagining arms to hold him when the kids lock him outside the bathroom and he pisses himself. Again. Someone to whisper sweet nothings to him when his mother mocks him for the smell that evening when he gets home. Someone to love him. Someone to love. To understand at the very least. 

Once he thought someone cared. An old man with weepy blue eyes and wrinkled hands. He laughs at his jokes while they play piano. He likes the piano. He writes his own songs. The old teacher tells him how beautiful and brilliant he is and for a moment this sad little boy believes him. Does someone finally see him? No. It was a just a trick again. Just like the playground bullies. But this time instead of hands pushing him down, they cover his body and instead of voices calling him names, this one is whispering lies. It isn’t love. He’s dirty now. Disgusting. No one will ever want you now, Lover Boy. 

Still, he keeps growing as even the strangest boys do. He keeps writing, but it’s not good enough. Nothing is ever finished. They call him “faggot” and throw food at him in the cafeteria, so he skips lunch and eats the candy bars from the vending machines behind the gymnasium. They’re making him fat,  but it doesn’t matter. At least they won’t find him here. He’ll eat peanut butter crackers and Zebra cakes under the blankets when he gets home so his mother won’t see and call him a pig. He creates. Alone here. He is the god of the characters and worlds in his mind. He’ll never admit it, but he’s always the hero in his stories. Always the winner. Always gets the girl and the trophy in the end. There are not stories really, they are wishes. 

One day they steal his notebook and they don’t give it back. He’ll never know what happened to it but he knows better than to ask. The red one. His favorite one. He knows they showed the girl he has a crush on the love letter he was never going to send. Now she looks at him with disgust whenever he tries to talk to her. It’s fine. He won’t write for them again. She wasn’t very pretty anyways.

He’s sixteen now, and he can’t turn to imaginary people for comfort anymore. Too old, too grown, too wise. He knows he’s alone and he’s prepared to face it. But the words aren’t enough anymore. His fingers can’t move fast enough to keep up with the onslaught on self-hatred and doubt that flood every waking moment of his consciousness. Poor, silly, boy. 

He finds solace in blood. Knives. Razors. A cliche. Will someone please stop him? Will someone please help him? Doesn’t he know that soon he’ll be 30 years old and still have to explain to strangers why his arms are covered in scars? Ugly, little, fat boy. He doesn’t think he’ll live that long. His mother laughs when she sees the cuts. His father looks the other way. He keeps writing. But it’s different now. Dark, sullen, angry. It isn’t fair but he’s too tired to keep asking why. 

A blonde haired girl loves him sometimes. He doesn’t know how to touch things without breaking them and sends her home to her parents with bruises on her arms and legs from where he held on too tight. They send her away from him, call him a monster. Vicious thing.  They’re right. He writes her love letters but doesn’t know where she is to send them to.  Alone again. His mother tells him he’s a genius and he’s better off without white trash like her anyways. Brilliant little sadist. No matter. He has new friends now. Intoxicating ones that come in every shape and form that money can buy. If only he had been this high when he was fourteen, he might have stood a chance.

He’s seventeen and he’s had enough. Gentle poet, little author where have you gone? His notebooks lie barren. He sleeps on the beach. He sleeps at the mall. In his friend’s backyard. One time he wake up with cockroaches crawling in his ears. His mother doesn’t look for him. One time his father tried to get him to come home, but his mother tells him to “leave it be.” She doesn’t care anymore. He’s not a prodigy anymore- just another runway, disappointing loser. She doesn’t want him. Need him. His sister will turn out better anyways. 

He sleeps in movie theaters and bus stops. He still goes to go school though. Brilliant little street rat. Straight A’s so the teachers don’t care that he hasn’t eaten properly or showered in weeks. They don’t care that he’s passed out on ecstasy and cocaine in the middle of math class because he still aces the final. He gets the second highest SAT score in the whole school. His English teacher tells him he writes like James Patterson, her favorite author. He doesn’t care. Words mean nothing now. 

Nineteen-years old, and now he’s a man. He’s learned that words mean nothing but all he has are words so he means nothing at all. The stories in his head are useless. The praise from the playground bullies and indifferent teachers was useless. So he doesn’t leave a note. There’s nothing left to say. He climbs to the top of the parking garage at his dorm room and looks out at nothing. Trees. Lamps. An empty road. The football stadium in the distance. This isn’t real. He isn’t real. It’ll all be over soon. Like he was never here. Was he ever here? He would have liked to finish just one book. Just one story. To leave something behind. But he’s too tired. Broken little lover boy. 

He falls three stories and land in a bush. No one sees or hears. He stands up and pulls the twigs out of his hair and brushes the dirt from his clothes. Matching scrapes on both his palms. The only evidence. Stupid thing. He goes back inside. He writes the note this time. It says “God help me, I can’t even die right!” And so he lives. 

Twenty-one years old. He can drink but he doesn’t like the taste of beer or liquor. Even if he did, he can’t afford it. He’s working three jobs. He sleeps on foam pad on the floor of a run down apartment. One night he wakes up and sees his roommate masturbating over him. He doesn’t say anything. What can he do? He doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He’s hungry. After work he crawls under the seat of his car to get enough change to buy the $2 meal at the Taco Bell across the street. It tastes like magic. When he doesn’t have enough change he eats rice and white bread. Sometimes he puts food coloring the rice so it looks different. So his weary brain thinks it’s getting fed something other than the bland, tasteless mush he exists off of. 

Sometimes his parents send him money. But they always want it back. They call him constantly, like debt collectors. When he fails to deliver, he has to go home. He will die there. A piece of him dies there. He doesn’t write a word then. 

Wake up Lover Boy. He’s twenty-two and his rich, white grandpa is dead. What will you do with that money? Buy a house? Start a business? Invest? No. Those things aren’t for him. He books a trip around the world. India, China, Australia, Japan. But he doesn’t get very far. That poor lost soul falls in love yet again in Denmark of all places! But not with a girl this time, no. He falls for the cobblestone streets, early morning pastries, and misty rivers of Copenhagen. He lives in a hostel and shares a room with eight other people for a month. He loves it. He wakes up and walks to the café and drinks the mild coffee and teas. He rides bikes like the locals. He takes trips around the river and pictures of cathedrals and statues that make him want to cry. In the evening, he sits in his bunk and watches the world below. He writes like never before. He’s free. For a while at least.

But something goes wrong (as it so often does) and now he’s twenty-four and in jail. Again. They think he might harm himself, so they take his clothes and put him in a padded cell. Maniac. The other prisoners laugh at his exposed penis for the next three days. He sings Disney songs in the dark because they’re the only ones he can think of. He’s not allowed to have a fork or toilet paper, so he eats on the floor like a dog and tries not to itch his shit covered ass. The isolation awakens imagination again and his friends return. They hold him all night. He’s not allowed to have a bed or a blanket and he sleeps naked on a mat on the dirt covered floor. His friends are there. They take him away. He sees himself from above. Pathetic. He won’t cry though. He doesn’t do that anymore. A real hard ass now, aren’t you Lover Boy? 

On the fourth day, they give him clothes and a bible. He rips out the pages of the bible and writes love letters in the margins. He writes small because he has so much to say but there isn’t much room to fit it in around the scriptures and psalms or whatever that nonsense is. It’s not interesting anyways and God doesn’t live in these prison walls. He writes a story about a horse and a cowboy. Another one about a girl and a balloon. He writes about how much he wishes they’d let him shower. Fat little criminal. 

He doesn’t speak much for two weeks when they let him out. He stares at the ceiling of the room he’s renting in a trailer park. He’s working two jobs and trying to finish school and it’s all that he can afford right now. He doesn’t know it yet but he’ll be evicted in two weeks and live in his car. He’ll call his mother and she’ll say, “ We just can’t keep helping you like this.” They won’t speak much for the next six years. In the meantime, he gives the letters he wrote in jail to his girl but she doesn’t read them. She’s angry because it was her birthday and he missed it. In four years, he marries her anyways. 

Hard ass nigga, but a million dollar smile. No one is better than you now, Lover Boy. He breaks hearts and hurts feelings with his callous demeanor. He thinks of his mother sometimes and how she’d tell him he was better than everyone else. He sees it now. Who are all these losers anyways? He hardly speaks. When he does, he lies. Truth is sacred and nothing about this world is revered enough for it anymore. He doesn’t build walls, no, this brilliant architect constructs forts and castles complete with moats and dragons. No one shall pass. No one shall know what lies inside. 

Love seeps through sometimes, or so it seems. He lets his wife in but even she can’t break down the final walls. No. That feat will come later and unexpectedly. From some brown-eyed vixen who will break his heart in ways he didn’t think possible. But until then, he persists. He builds. He grows. He heals. He softens. Like butter. He tries to write but everything is sad or angry. So he paints, draws. Sometimes words aren’t enough but these images are healing. Little Picasso. 

What is this peace? This love is safe, secure and comfortable. It’s strange and unfamiliar. He’s happy but this happiness is unfamiliar, scary, boring. He still craves the chaos. Where are his tormentors? Lost it seems, so he must become his own. Foolish little masochist. 

He wants to be a father. She wants to be mother. He imagines four boys, sons. His own. They look like him. Maybe they’ll be like him- sullen, melancholy authors. Or maybe they’ll be athletes and he’ll struggle to relate to him. Maybe they’ll be dancers, musicians, billionaires. He won’t care. He will love them fully. No matter what. At work they ask what he’d do if his son has gay. He doesn’t understand the question. He says, “I will love my gay son.” They don’t get it. It’s not parents job to judge or control where their child’s life goes. It’s a parents job to love them, all of them, always. He will be a better father than his was. His wife will be a better mother. 

But the universe has other plans. Your son is dead Lover Boy. Before he even took a breath. Your hope, your love, your future. Do you grieve him? Did you name him? Of course he did. He cannot speak his son’s name. He cannot write it. He can hardly think it. They should try again. Don’t give up. But it’s not that easy. You cannot just replace a life. 

Twenty-nine years old. So who are you now? Are you healed yet, you angry little man? He pretends. Money flows and money fixes everything. It reminds him of school. Grades were currency then. Now it’s dollar signs. No one cares if you’re okay so long as the bills are paid. He writes. But only for himself now. There’s nothing left to say to anyone else. But he’s soft and sweet now. He’s learned that words can also be spoken to change mood and get that he wants. He’s an artist that way. Gentle soul hiding his broken heart. He likes to sing now. What a weird guy. 

Failed fucking author. By choice that is. He didn’t want to study writing in college because he hated having to have his peers read and critique his works. They were all idiots anyways. No, now this little writer is a philosopher, or so he fancies himself one. Narcissist. He writes about God, the universe, other metaphysical bullshit that no one cares about. He cares. That’s all that matters anymore. He writes to understand. You aren’t fooling anyone, little lost boy. We can still see it. Your existential search for meaning is the same as when you were fourteen years old making yourself the hero in all those tall tales you used to write. It’s still just a wish. 

Thirty-years old. Look at him now! Not as ugly, not as fat, just as sick. Just as stupid. Still writing nothing for no one. Still longing for someone to come and save him. But oh, he’s not a little boy anymore. Just a sad little man. Still, the smartest one in the room. He knows how to save himself. He’s done it a million times now. His mother is long gone. The playground bullies have succumb to their own fates of poverty and early pregnancies. It’s hard to see it sometimes but he’s doing better now. Despite it. To spite it. Sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he likes what he sees. The scars. He likes them. A reminder, that nothing in permanent.

Stupid boy. Stupid man, I should say. Now you’re in love again but it isn’t like before. He doesn’t understand this love. Who is this girl? She’s just a girl but then why does she shake up his world so violently? What is this feeling? For a Lover Boy, you’re a terrible husband. Kissing girls you shouldn’t be touching. But he has to get closer. He has to know. A new kind of love. Something new, exciting, dangerous. He’s writing again, more than before, more than ever before. Trying to explain, to understand. More than friends, less than lovers. Be careful Lover Boy. You’re damning yourself all over again. He knows. He knows. But he doesn’t care. He craves this tragedy. 

Oh, you silly monster. Look at you now! Surrounded by all the things your fourteen-year-old self would have died for. Money, books, art, cars, clothes, women. Can’t he see he’s okay? Of course, he’s okay. His wife is gone but she’ll be back. His affairs are ending but he’s had his fun, learned his lesson, and refueled his passion for the melancholy narratives that have carried him thus far. Alone again. He weeps, he grieves. He writes. The past feels like distant memories now. They can’t touch him anymore. His mother doesn’t even know his name anymore! Oh yes, this little Lover Boy is still alive and he’s still growing. Isn’t that funny? Even he can’t stop time. 

Boastful little author. He’s supposed to be writing a book. A book about love. The philosophy of love. Why does he still love? Why haven’t you given up yet? It’s because of that night. When he fell three stories and it didn’t even matter. Did God save you for something better? No, he doesn’t care for all that religious nonsense. God is too busy for him anyway. It just wasn’t high enough.

It’s because this broken little man never really wanted to die. Just to be seen. Be heard. Because there are still wishes that may come true. Still words that way, one day, matter. So he’s writing again. Hopeful, wishful, wonderful things. There is still love in his heart. He still believes that one day, it will all be worth it. It will all be okay.  

[cursingtoji]

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐧 — 𝐀.𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐭

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after he's informed about Eren and Zeke 's plan, all Armin can think is how he wants to use the little time he has left to put a baby in you before it’s too late.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: canonverse, hurt/comfort, AOT Final Season spoilers (Eren and Zeke 's plan), f!reader, breeding, the word mommy is used (within the breeding context), creampie, semi-public sex. 2.1k words

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: this follows an order of events kinda different from the anime for fictional purposes.

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨: One for Myself — E.Jaeger || Main M.List || AOT M.List

Your leg shakes anxiously, heel tapping impatiently on the stone floor, your mind is racing thinking of Eren and everything that is happening above you while there’s nothing you can do being trapped in the underground prison with your fellow scouts.

How could everything change like that so fast? How could you end up in prison? How does Eren have a rebel faction?

The thing that pulls you out from drowning in your own mind is Armin’s hand on your knee, a silent plea for you to stop shaking your leg, but his gentle blue eyes also pleading you to not let dark thoughts overwhelm you.

Armin and you were thrown in his cell, some chairs, tables, beds and a sink in the small space.

Your friends are caged beside you, until some moments ago you were discussing, trying to remain close by leaning against the wall separating your cells, the only thing you could see was Jean and Connie’s arms hanging outside the bars.

At some point you all have grown tired of standing finding a place to sit and to get lost in thoughts, that was until steps were heard coming from the hallway, Onyankopon voice greeting everyone as you and Armin exchanged a concerned look standing up once again to find the man in front of your cells.

He proceeds to inform you of everything that is happening above you, he says he has managed to escape from Yelena’s watch, and he apologizes for everything before informing you of Eren and Zeke’s plan.

Euthanasia.

Your heart drops hearing that word.

Not having any kids? Ever? Remaining in this cursed island till every single person gets old and dies?

Somewhere along Onyankopon discourse you grow deaf, ears buzzing as you look at a spot on the wall in front of you.

Armin, the sweet composed guy beside you is different, he starts to shoot questions at Onyankopon, his muffled voice sounding desperate, trying to defend Eren.

Eren.

His best friend knew how much he wanted to have kids, take them to see the sea at an early age. Show them the world. Build a family.

Onyankopon leaves, you guess, after so much shouting everyone is quiet.

Armin calls your name noticing how you seem dizzy as he takes you to sit on the bed.

“Where’s Onyankopon?” you ask like you missed the last twenty minutes of conversation.

“Someone called him, he shouldn’t be here but he wanted to let us know about the Euthanasia plan.”

Your breath hitches at that word again.

“Are you okay? Do you need some water?” his hand touches your face noticing how cold you feel, you only manage to nod.

He’s quick to fill a glass of water from the sink and bring it back to you, which you gulp fast.

Jean's voice breaks the silence asking how the two of you are. You notice Armin is about to say something about your condition so you grip his shirt silently shaking your head.

Armin and you have been working side by side for so long now, both being good strategists, but more than that, both truly enjoying each other’s company. After so long fighting and planning together you gained a connection, he knows what you are thinking without you having to say it and vice versa.

He knows you don't want to worry your friends, they already have enough on their plate.

“W-We are fine” Armin shouts, “Probably needing some rest after all that information.”

“I agree, my head hurts,” Connie declares.

Everyone gets quiet again.

“Armin” you tug his sleeve so he sits down beside you, “Is that really happening?” you ask in a whisper.

Armin can see you are scared, more than him, in fact Armin has tons of doubts about that plan.

That doesn’t sound like Eren at all.

But he notices you probably haven’t heard a word from what he said some minutes ago, when he was trying to defend his friend.

The voice in Armins head is loud and scary. It says: what if you’re wrong? What if Eren actually goes on with that stupid plan?

What if you never have kids?

Now it’s you who gets concerned about him, worrying if your question triggered something in Armin’s mind, from the way his gaze is lost somewhere.

You gently take his hand guiding him to lay down on the small bed with you. Armin complies, laying on his side, face to face with you, finding a little peace in your eyes as you do in his.

“How much longer do you think we have?” he whispers.

“Until what?”

“Until Ere— Zeke” he corrects himself, “make it happen.”

“I don’t know, maybe in a few hours, days…” your mouth twists.

“My grandfather taught me so much, I can’t die without passing at least some of that knowledge forward” you bring a hand to his cheek, you have listened the way Armin talks about his grandfather from the times you told each other childhood stories, the way he misses him is evident, “I wanna be a grandfather too” he confesses shutting his eyes before he can spill any tears.

You close the space between you two to lace your arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

“A few hours… that’s enough right?” he murmurs with his face pressed on your neck.

“Armin?”

“We can do it in a few hours” he pulls away from your hold to look deeply into your eyes. You know what he’s talking about, but—

“I wanted to wait till this whole thing with Eren was over to ask you out” he confesses, making your heart race.

“You were going to ask me out?” you ask smiling.

“Yeah, take you to a picnic on top of the wall Maria, point at where I used to live in Shiganshina, kiss you at sunset” he smiles tenderly, such a beautiful sight among tragedy.

“I would love that,” you admit.

“I know I'm asking for too much here, but if this plan really happens I won’t be able to live knowing I had the chance of having a baby with you but haven’t tried” you squeeze your legs together at the realization he wanted to have a baby with you.

“What if it doesn’t work?” you ask still unsure about it.

“At least we would have tried.”

“I really want a family, Armin” you grip his shirt.

“If we make out of this, we can be a family” he takes your hips pulling you to him.

You let your imagination wander to a universe where you have a house in the rebuilt Shiganshina district, where Armin makes love to you in the morning, quietly to not wake up your kids sleeping in the rooms next to yours. He leaves to work on something he loves, taking your eldest child with him so they can learn it too, when he returns he has a surprise for his kids and you: a pie he bought on his way back, the only condition is that they all eat everything on their plates during dinner before they can have a slice. The kids sleep fast after having so much food in their bellies, that’s when he takes you to watch the stars with him outside, talking about what he learned about them from his grandfather as you look him with adoration, not being able to hold yourself from kissing him under the moonlight.

“Okay” you accept, making his eyes glow, “Let’s make a baby” you look around making sure there’s no guard passing by, everything is dead silent, “We gotta be quick okay?” you murmur, placing one leg between his.

Armin nods and takes your face on his hands, softly placing his lips on yours. You have wondered many times how kissing Armin would be, and although you wished your first kiss with him was under different circumstances, it still felt better than you expected, such passion and tenderness in just a kiss.

You rub your palm on his crotch pulling a gasp out of his lips.

“Sorry” you whisper, noticing you cough him off guard.

“It’s o-okay” his lip trembles as you lean in to take him in a more exploratory kiss, deepening it in a matter of seconds. Your own arousal starts to build, Armin removes your hand from his pants, taking your leg and putting it on his waist, so he could stimulate both of you by rubbing his bulge on your clothed core, both of you panting on each others puffy lips, trying to remain quiet. You reach down impatiently to undo his belt while he peppers kisses on your neck.

Intruding thoughts of someone walking by and seeing you getting nasty with your fellow scout is a possibility that makes your core aches in a mix of excitement and fear.

Armin gently rolls his hips against you, the roughness of his erection directly bucking against your clit.

“Let’s take them off” you suggest after some time struggling with Armin’s pants, he nods, getting up and helping you do the same.

Both of you standing, kicking off your shoes and attempting to quietly remove your belts.

As your pants fall onto floor, you are left in socks and the white button up that covers your underwear, Armin takes in your appearance, disheveled and uneven breathing.

He had thought of you in a position like that a couple of times, the first was when you two were assigned to do the cleaning one night, only the two of you scrubbing the floors, you had left to get a bucket of water, losing balance on your way back and spilling some on your white shirt.

Armin ran to help you not drop the bucket, he hadn't noticed immediately the way your shirt stuck on your torso, highlighting the shape of your body, you hadn't noticed either, only realizing how transparent your shirt had become when your partner for that evening assignment had turned into a blushing mess.

Now here you are, the reason for his many awaken nights and throbbing cock standing so pretty in front of him, he’s only sorry for not being able to see you fully naked.

In his despair, Armin doesn't wait for you to get back on bed, instead pressing you against the stone walls, taking your face in an intoxicating kiss, you comply letting him suck your tongue as you reach down to stroke his shaft, feeling the wet spot of his precum through the fabric of his boxers.

Armin doesn't think he can take any longer, he just wants to be inside you, so he lowers his underwear, taking one of your thighs to hook around his hips.

You help him by moving your underwear aside, hissing at the contact of the hot skin of his cock rubbing against your folds as he spreads your arousal on his length, surprised at how wet you have become in just a matter of minutes.

“All that because of me?” he whispers in your ear, “Wanna be a mommy that much?” his head pokes your entrance. You only nod, not thrusting yourself to respond with a decent sentence, instead biting your hand to prevent any loud sounds as he slowly split you open, burying himself until there's nothing left.

“You are so tight, fuck” he trails his hand down to squeezy your ass getting a muffled squeal from you, “Can’t wait to fill this tight pussy” his face burns, words making you arch your back, pressing your chest onto his.

If Armin had any restraining left if all went to hell when you moaned his name, fingers digging on his shoulders, he can not believe he's the one making you feel this good.

He bucks up, feeling your walls contract around him, he knows he can’t go fast, else everyone down the hall will hear the sounds of skin slapping, so he opts for hitting it hard, angling his hips to hit a spot that makes your eyes roll.

“Feels good, Armin” you cry his name, the hand not holding your thigh comes to your face caressing your cheek, thumb rubbing your bottom lip covered in spit.

When a particular deep thrust threatens to make you scream, Armin covers your mouth with his palm.

“I hope I can live to see you all round with my baby.” he places his forehead on yours, “Our baby” you find his deep blue eyes looking down at you, lost in pleasure too, but not forgetting your common goal.

It doesn’t take long till his thrusts become sloppy, you turn your head to take his fingers into your mouth, wetting them by with your tongue.

“Make me cum, Armin” you whisper, a string of saliva connecting you to his fingers until it breaks when you guide his hand down to your neglected clit.

“Yes, mommy” he kisses your cheek, circling your clit.

Your walls just feel too good, he wishes he could prolongate that feeling for hours. But unfortunately you don't have all that time, so he rubs you more urgently, taking your bottom lip in between his teeth, thrusting again and again as he explodes inside you, your walls clenching as you climax with him, hot cum filling your womb. Armin feels like your walls are trying to squeeze him dry, pussy hungry for every drop he has to give.

In his final moment of ecstasy he pulls out, using his fingers to push the cum that threatens to spill out back inside making you hiss, before he fixes your underwear to cover your pussy.

“Hold it in for me, will you?” he pats your cunt pecking your lips.

Your legs are shaking, he quickly fixes his boxers pulling his pants back on before taking you bridal style, placing your trembling body to the bed.

Carefully looking around making sure no one has seen him fuck a baby into you, he takes your pants helping you dress them back.

“I think we made it” you murmur gripping his hand as he sits on the bed, bending to kiss your knuckles.

Armin hopes you two succeeded in your possibly last chance to make a baby, but even if you don’t, he’s happy he’s got the chance to make love to you nevertheless.

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