#i will provide to you a simple definition from my understanding of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reveryfics · 3 days ago

Note

I know that you're not focusing so much in The Boys lately, but I had a request for a Billy Butcher/Male Reader. I understand if you don't want to do it right now, so you're free to do it whenever you want. My idea is that reader has healing powers but nobody knows because he decided not to tell anyone. He is a very gentle person, which makes sense due to the nature of his powers, and he works as a nurse or a veterinarian(?. One day, after a tough fight, one of The Boys is badly injured and the reader's consultation is the closest thing they can find. Reader tries not to use his powers, but is forced to do so in order to save one of The Boys life. And Billy is so conflicted about it, but deep inside he is grateful. Then one thing leads to another and the reader ends up being the healer of the group or something like that, and Billy tries to hate the reader, but he just can't, so he slowly begins to trust him and be protective over him.

Personal Nurse

Billy Butcher x Male Reader

Summary: Patching up Billy Butcher was your specialty; you'd done it more times than you could count. So when Hughie got hurt, you were the obvious, if not only, choice. The catch? Billy had no idea about your powers, or that you could have been healing him this whole time.

A/N: I'd definitely like to do more for The Boys, just haven't gotten around to it. The requests I do get for it are always smut, and while I'm aware it's a sexual show I don't enjoy just constantly doing smut especially when it's always Homelander. Anyway, I'm not incredibly happy with this so, I apologize if it's bad.

TW: Injury - Blood - Descriptive wounds - Brief argument - Supe reader - Nurse reader

From the moment you entered the world, doctors declared you "super abled." It wasn't a cape or the ability to fly; it was a touch, a simple brush of your hand, that could knit bones, close wounds, and banish sickness. Yet, this extraordinary gift came with a steep price. The few times you'd dared to use it as a child, driven by an innate desire to alleviate suffering, left you utterly depleted. Dizziness would warp your vision, nausea would churn your stomach, and the world would fade to black, leaving you on the precipice of unconsciousness. Your parents, loving and protective, recognized the peril this power posed to your own well-being. They made you promise to keep it a secret, a promise you had faithfully upheld, even now, years later, as an adult navigating the chaotic world of a trauma center nurse.

It was in the relentless, often brutal, environment of the emergency room that your more practical skills found their calling. The screech of ambulance sirens, the frantic cries of families, the sight of shattered bodies – these were your daily reality. And in this realm of life and death, you found solace in the tangible, in the precise application of sutures, the careful administration of medication, the calm assessment of vital signs. These were ways you could truly help, ways that didn't demand a piece of your very essence in return. You had sworn an oath as a healthcare provider, a vow to heal, and you did so with every fiber of your being, never once succumbing to the temptation to use the power that lay dormant within you, a power you had long since buried deep.

Then came Billy Butcher. You encountered him not in the sterile confines of the ER, but on a dimly lit street, late one night after a particularly grueling shift. Walking home, your mind still replaying the day's grim tableau, you were abruptly yanked from your thoughts by a gruff voice, thick with an Australian accent. A man, wild-eyed and reeking of stale beer, held a gun to your head, ranting about some perceived transgression, demanding your aid. Fear? No, not really. Annoyance, perhaps, at the sheer inconvenience of it all, but primarily, a professional resolve. You were a nurse. Someone needed help. It was that simple. You didn't hesitate, calmly assessing his injuries, patching him up with the same detached efficiency you applied to any patient.

That night was the beginning of a strange, unsettling ritual. Billy, it seemed, had an uncanny knack for finding trouble, and an even more uncanny knack for finding you. He'd materialize at your door at ungodly hours, battered and bruised, his usual swagger replaced by a strained grimace. And every time, you'd find yourself tending to him, the familiar motions of bandaging and disinfecting a testament to your professional duty, even if your personal boundaries felt increasingly blurred. You’d offer your couch, a tacit invitation for him to rest and recover, a space he invariably occupied until his wounds allowed him to vanish once more. This relationship, if you could even call it that, was anything but conventional, far from healthy. He received your unwavering medical attention, a service rendered without question. What you received in return was... less tangible. A crude, albeit oddly endearing, sexual joke about his hypothetical romantic interests, a testament to his peculiar brand of humor, was often the extent of your recompense. Yet, despite the lopsided dynamic, an unspoken understanding had formed between you. Billy, for all his gruffness and chaotic energy, had never pushed you further than you were willing to go. And in those quiet moments, when you were meticulously cleaning his cuts or setting a bone, you knew, with a certainty that transcended logic, that if the roles were ever reversed, he would be there for you, just as you were for him.

That unspoken pact, that strange bond, was precisely why the mention of Homelander and Vought sent a shiver of dread down your spine. Billy's vendetta, his reckless pursuit of revenge, felt like an escalating game of Russian roulette. Each time he appeared at your door, more gravely injured than the last, a cold knot tightened in your stomach. You were scared, truly scared, that one day he would arrive, his injuries beyond your nursing capabilities, beyond the practical limits of your medical knowledge. And in that terrifying moment, faced with the ultimate test, you knew, with a heartbreaking certainty, that you still wouldn't be able to bring yourself to use your healing powers, the very gift that could save him. The cost was simply too high.

The apartment was steeped in the quiet hum of a late night, the kind that follows a double shift in the ER. You were sprawled on your couch, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you, forming deep, purple bags beneath your eyes. The television flickered with the muted colors of some forgettable movie, its dialogue a distant murmur in your half-conscious state. The world outside felt a million miles away, a peaceful oblivion you desperately craved.

Then, a sound cut through the silence, sharp and insistent. Voices, barely audible at first, then rising in a frantic crescendo, punctuated by a series of heavy, guttural thuds against your apartment door.

Billy's voice, raw with an urgency you'd never heard before, sliced through the fog of your fatigue. Every nerve ending in your body screamed awake. You bolted upright, heart hammering against your ribs, and wrenched open the door.

The sight that greeted you sent a chill, cold and piercing, straight to your bones. Billy stood there, his face a mask of panic, his arm wrapped around someone who was alarmingly, impossibly, covered in blood. Behind him, a frantic-looking blonde woman hovered, her eyes wide with terror.

"Couch..." you choked out, the word barely a whisper, your mind already racing, your hands instinctively reaching to shove a precarious stack of medical textbooks off the couch and onto the side table, creating a makeshift space for the bleeding figure. Billy, his own eyes fixed on you, understood immediately, and moved to follow your silent command.

You frantically shoved your coffee table, a sturdy, dark wood piece you usually cherished, screeching across the worn rug. "Billy! The kit! Bathroom, now!" you barked, your voice surprisingly steady despite the surge of adrenaline. Your eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked to the blonde woman hovering anxiously behind Billy. Recognition hit you instantly. Starlight. One of The Seven. The irony wasn't lost on you – a supe, in your apartment, covered in blood.

Taking a deep, anchoring breath, you let the practiced calm of your professional demeanor settle over you. This was an ER, albeit a very cramped and personal one. You knelt beside the unconscious figure Billy was now gently lowering onto your rug. "What's his name?" you asked, your voice even, detached. "And what happened?"

"Hughie," Billy grunted, his face a grim mask as he carefully positioned the man. "Hughie Campbell. Got himself in a proper mess."

Hughie Campbell. The name resonated. Billy had rambled about him months ago, something about him joining Billy's crusade against A-Train. Now, here he was, a civilian caught in the dangerous crosscurrents of supe politics.

Billy returned, slinging your well-stocked medical kit onto the floor with a thud. "Anne, move!" he snapped, his eyes fixed on Hughie, a rare flicker of genuine concern softening his usual hardened gaze. Starlight, or Anne as Billy called her, flinched but quickly stepped back. You didn't even register her presence, your focus entirely on the man before you. Without a second thought, you practically tore Hughie's blood-soaked shirt from his body, the fabric ripping with a harsh sound.

What you saw beneath made your stomach clench. This wasn't a standard trauma case. This was something else entirely. Hughie's chest was a grotesque tableau of injury. A deep, jagged laceration, clearly caused by some immense force, ran diagonally from his left collarbone down towards his sternum, exposing not just muscle, but the glint of what looked like shattered rib fragments. The skin around it was not just bruised, but mottled with an unnerving, almost iridescent green-purple, indicating a massive, widespread contusion. Below that, a sickeningly concave depression marked where several ribs had clearly been broken and driven inward.

As if that weren't enough, his left arm lay at an unnatural angle, twisted back on itself at the elbow. A quick, agonizingly gentle palpation confirmed your worst fears: a compound fracture of both the radius and ulna, bone shards undoubtedly tearing through soft tissue and muscle. A dark, rapidly expanding hematoma bloomed on his temple, a terrifying sign of potential intracranial bleeding. His breathing was shallow, ragged, and punctuated by a wet, gurgling sound – a clear indication of pulmonary contusion, perhaps even a collapsed lung.

This was beyond sutures, beyond splints, beyond anything you could realistically do with the contents of your medical kit, or even a fully equipped ER without specialized surgical intervention. These were the kind of wounds that, even with the best medical care, offered grim prognoses. These were wounds that would require a team of surgeons, ventilators, and a miracle. And as you stared down at Hughie Campbell, bleeding out on your living room rug, the familiar, chilling truth settled over you: this was a job for your buried power, a power you had sworn never to use.

You met Billy’s gaze, your eyes locking in a silent, desperate understanding. He knew. He could see the stark, unvarnished truth in your expression, the truth you were about to voice.

"Billy," you began, your voice a strained whisper, "there's nothing I can physically do for him. Not like this. By the time EMS gets here, he'll be… he'll be gone."

Before you could finish, Billy’s hand shot out, roughly seizing the front of your scrub top. He hauled you up from where you were crouched over Hughie, his grip unyielding. "No!" he roared, his voice thick with a raw, desperate fear you’d rarely, if ever, heard from him. "You do something! Anything! I don't give a toss what it is, but he ain't dying! Not on my watch!"

You snapped back, the fear and frustration finally boiling over. "He wouldn't be in this situation if you'd just let things go for once, Billy!" Your voice cracked with the accusation, the years of suppressed worry finally erupting. You took a ragged breath, trying to rein in your own escalating panic. "I can patch you up, Billy. I can stitch your guts back in and set your damn bones. But I can't pull some miracle out of my ass and save him!"

Billy opened his mouth, a guttural sound starting to form, but no words came out. His shoulders sagged, and the fight drained from his eyes. His bloody hands, still clutching your shirt, slid up to your chest, pressing against you as he slumped forward, burying his head into your shoulder. The familiar scent of his stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey was suddenly overwhelmed by something else entirely – a salty dampness spreading through the fabric of your scrubs.

Billy Butcher was crying.

You stood there, rigid, as the tremors wracked his powerful frame. The leader of the Boys, the man who faced down supes without flinching, was broken. And all you could do was stand, frozen in place, while he wept against you.

Across the small living room, a soft, heart-wrenching sob broke the tense silence. Anne, Starlight, had moved to Hughie’s side. She knelt, her blonde hair falling around his bloodied face, and gently cupped his cold cheek. "Oh, Hughie," she whispered, her voice choked with tears. "I love you so much." Her words, soft and desperate, hung in the air, a stark counterpoint to Billy’s silent, shaking grief, and the undeniable truth of Hughie's fading life.

Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces, a sharp, ragged ache in your chest. Your breath hitched, caught in your throat. You could save him. You knew, with a horrifying certainty, that you possessed the power to knit Hughie's shattered body back together. But the cost... the terrifying, unknown cost. How much of you would it take to pull him back from the brink? Would it be enough to leave you a husk, or worse?

You grabbed Billy's shoulders, the rough fabric of his jacket digging into your fingers, and pushed him back just enough for his tear-streaked face to register yours. "You look pathetic," you mumbled, the words a raw, guttural whisper, your voice thick with an emotion you couldn't name. "Crying over someone like this." Before he could even begin to process your insult, before a retort could form on his lips, you were already dropping, falling to your knees beside Hughie once more.

You barely registered the shift in the air, the way Billy and Anne stared at you, their expressions a mix of disbelief and stark, heartbreaking hope. They must have thought you were crazy, or perhaps simply mocking them in their darkest hour. It didn't matter. You had a choice to make, and it was already made.

With trembling hands, you positioned yourself over Hughie's ravaged body. Your right palm settled gently over the gaping wound on his chest, hovering just above the mangled flesh and broken ribs. Your left hand rested lightly on his twisted, unnatural arm. A deep breath filled your lungs, then slowly, deliberately, you closed your eyes.

A warmth, faint at first, began to emanate from your hands. It was a strange, tingling sensation, like a thousand tiny needles pricking your skin, then merging into a low hum. It wasn't just in your hands; it started in your core, a radiant heat building in your solar plexus, spreading outwards like ripples in a pond. This was it. The familiar, terrifying draw.

You felt it then, the undeniable pull. It was as if something vital, something intrinsically you, was being siphoned away. A cold dread began to creep up your limbs, counteracting the warmth in your palms. The world outside your closed eyelids started to dim, fading at the edges. You heard a faint gasp from Anne, then a choked cry from Billy, but their voices sounded distant, as if filtered through water.

The warmth intensified, growing into a searing heat beneath your hands. You could feel Hughie’s body responding, a subtle vibration thrumming beneath your touch. Muscles, torn and shredded, began to knit together, microscopic fibers weaving themselves whole again. The grotesque mottling on his chest, the angry green-purple bruises, began to recede, fading like watercolors in the rain. The shattered fragments of his ribs, which moments ago had been a jagged mess, began to realign, calcifying, reforming into smooth, unbroken bone. You could almost feel the air rushing back into his collapsed lung as it reinflated, heard the wet gurgle subside into a steady, even breath.

But with every fiber that regenerated in Hughie, you felt a piece of yourself diminish. The dizziness came first, a gentle swaying that quickly intensified into a violent lurch, as if the room itself were spinning on an axis. Nausea churned in your stomach, a wave of sickness so profound it threatened to overwhelm you. Your head pounded, a relentless drumbeat that echoed the draining of your energy. The warmth in your hands became a burning, consuming fire, and simultaneously, your own body grew cold, a clammy sweat breaking out on your skin. It felt like your very essence, your life force, was being extracted, leaving behind only an empty shell.

You clenched your jaw, gritting your teeth against the rising tide of pain and depletion. You pushed harder, focusing every ounce of your will, every reserve of your being, into the task. The compound fracture in Hughie's arm, once a sickening angle of protruding bone, began to straighten, the skin smoothing over, the bones fusing with an audible pop that would have been horrifying if you weren't so deeply immersed in the process. The dark hematoma on his temple, the silent killer, visibly shrank, receding into healthy skin as the bleeding within his skull ceased and the damaged cells repaired themselves.

The world was dissolving now. Sounds faded completely, replaced by a deafening roar in your ears. Your vision, even behind closed lids, became a kaleidoscope of swirling colors, then black. Your limbs felt heavy, weighted down by invisible chains, and a profound, bone-deep fatigue settled over you. Your knees buckled, and you felt yourself swaying precariously, your hands still fixed on Hughie, a desperate conduit of life. The last thing you registered, before the darkness fully consumed you, was the feeling of Hughie’s skin beneath your hands growing warm, healthy, and whole.

Hughie was healed. You had done it. But the cost... the terrifying, absolute cost.

Billy was there in an instant, his arms closing around you just as your knees buckled. He caught you before you could hit the carpeted floor, his strength the only thing keeping you upright. You could barely register the sound of his voice, a frantic, shocked yell that somehow conveyed both utter concern and a furious bewilderment. "What the bloody hell was that?!" he bellowed, his grip tightening. All this time he'd known you, relied on you, and you'd never breathed a word about having powers, let alone one so incredibly, devastatingly useful. The world swam, dark edges pressing in, and then everything went black.

You weren't sure how long it had been. Minutes? Hours? The sensation of consciousness returning was jarring, a sudden, violent lurch. The second you registered the feeling of bile rising in your throat, you were heaving over the side of your bed, hot, acrid vomit splattering onto the carpet below. Your body convulsed, every muscle protesting, leaving you gasping for air, slick with sweat.

"You bloody idiot!" Billy’s voice, sharp and accusatory, cut through your initial confusion. Of course, he was yelling. "What in God's name did you think you were doing, pulling a stunt like that?!"

You weakly lifted your head, your vision blurry, and mustered just enough strength to flip him off. "Wouldn't have done it," you croaked, your voice raw and scratchy, "if Hughie didn't mean so much to you and Anne." The words were slurred, but the defiance in your gaze was clear.

Before you could even think about trying to push yourself up, Billy was moving. He deftly stepped around the growing puddle of vomit on your floor, his hand firm on your back as he helped you sit upright against the headboard. The room still spun, but the worst of the nausea had passed. You were both breathing heavily, the air thick with the smell of vomit and the unspoken questions hanging between you.

You simply stared at each other for a long moment, the silence punctuated only by your ragged breathing. His eyes, usually so guarded and cynical, were wide with an uncharacteristic vulnerability, an incredulous shock. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice rough, almost a whisper. "Why didn't you ever tell me you could do that?"

You didn't answer him, couldn't even formulate the words. Instead, your own question, more urgent, more pressing, spilled out. "How's Hughie?"

Billy’s shoulders sagged, a wave of relief washing over his features. "He's alive," he said, the words heavy with genuine wonder. "And well. Anne took him back to their place a few hours ago." He watched you, a strange mix of awe and anger still warring in his eyes. "Kept an eye on you while you were out cold."

A heavy silence hung between you, thick with the unsaid, the raw emotion of the last hour. Then, as if a dam had broken, Billy found his voice again, and it was laced with accusation. "So, you've just been sitting on this, then? All this time? What, you just get off on watching people suffer, do ya?"

Your own anger, fueled by exhaustion and the lingering sickness, flared. "Don't you dare," you hissed, pushing yourself further back against the headboard. "I promised my parents I wouldn't use them! You saw what it did to me, Billy! It could've probably killed me! And you want to talk about me getting off on watching people suffer?" Your voice rose, trembling with indignation. "Hughie wouldn't be in this bloody mess if you weren't dragging everyone into your stupid vendetta!"

Billy opened his mouth, no doubt ready with another scathing retort, but you cut him off. "And if you don't shut your trap," you growled, your stomach lurching again, "I swear to God, I'm going to vomit all over you and that stupid Hawaiian button-up."

He stopped, mid-sentence, his jaw clenching. He shot a disgusted glance at the puddle on your carpet, then down at his ridiculous floral shirt. A low grumble rumbled in his chest, and he finally backed down, though the lingering frustration in his eyes was palpable. He pushed himself off the edge of the bed and moved to sit beside you, careful to avoid the offending stain.

"Right," he muttered, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Look, I... I owe you, alright?" The admission seemed to pain him, but the gratitude was genuine. He paused, then turned to face you, a calculating gleam entering his eyes. "And seeing as you're so bleeding useful, I reckon it's about time you properly joined The Boys."

You slowly turned your head towards him, cocking an eyebrow, a weak smirk tugging at your lips despite your depleted state. "Oh really?" you drawled, the old, familiar banter a welcome return. "So, if you can promise me the best shag of my life—seeing as you're always making those charming jokes about me being the only bloke you'd ever 'fuck'—then that'll settle your debt, and maybe convince me to join your merry band of misfits."

Billy stared at you for a beat, his expression slowly transforming from shock to a wide, genuine grin. A rare, booming laugh erupted from him, filling your small bedroom. He turned his body fully towards you, propping himself up on one elbow, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. "You drive a hard bargain, sunshine," he said, the smirk returning to his face. "But a deal's a deal. You got it." He extended a hand, palm up. "Can't wait to have you on the team."

#billy butcher #billy butcher x male reader #billy butcher the boys #the boys billy butcher #the boys #dc the boys #the boys fanfic #dc fanfic #dc x male reader #fanfic #fanfiction #mlm #x male reader #xmalereader #requested

48 notes · View notes

aurorasulphur · 1 year ago

Text

Disclaimer: none of these answers are official, and may not work for your particular use case. If there is a specific feature that an unofficial app had that you don't know how to replicate on the AO3, let me know in the notes and we might can crowdsource a solution.

A lot of people used the Archive Reader app to access stories on Archive of Our Own, and have been upset that the app is now charging to read longer than an hour a day. AO3 (and its parent organization, the OTW) has made it extremely clear in recent days that this app is unofficial and that there *is* no official app. They encourage people to use the website.

However, there are MANY reasons you might want an app, and in a bunch of those cases, there are ways to do those things without having to provide your login information to a random person running an app. Here is a round-up of solutions to the most common reasons I've seen people give for wanting an app instead of the plain AO3 website.

These solutions are based on the following assumptions:

You know what Archive of Our Own is

You often or primarily access it through a mobile device running iOS or Android

You understand what a browser is

You understand what a browser bookmark is

You understand what a site skin is

Edits:

Edited to clarify that you must be logged in to use custom site skins

Edited to add more tips and tricks from the reblogs

Edited to add new entry about notifications/emails

Edited to add new entry about reading statistics and the tracking thereof

I need a widget on my phone's homescreen, not just a browser bookmark.

You can do this with any website, not just AO3! Instructions here: https://www.howtogeek.com/196087/how-to-add-websites-to-the-home-screen-on-any-smartphone-or-tablet/

I need Dark Mode.

AO3 has a default site skin for Dark Mode, it's just called Reversi. Find it here, or at the bottom of any page on the website. https://archiveofourown.org/skins/929/

If you'd like Dark Mode on your whole browser (and you're on Android), sorrelchestnut has advice here: https://www.tumblr.com/sorrelchestnut/737869282153775104/if-you-want-dark-mode-and-dont-want-to-mess

I need to be able to read stories when I don't have internet.

Every work on the AO3 has a download button, so you can click on that and download the story for offline reading in the ereader app of your choice. More info on how to do that is in the AO3 FAQs: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/downloading-fanworks?language_id=en#accesslater

I need to be able to change the text size of the website itself.

If you have an AO3 account (and you should!!) you can do this with a personalized site skin! There is a simple tutorial here: https://www.tumblr.com/ao3skin/667284237718798336/i-have-a-request-if-you-dont-mind-could-you

I need to be able to change the text size in downloaded stories.

My personal recommendation: Don't download in PDF format. All the other formats you can download in can scale the text size up and down, assuming you open the work in the correct app. For me, I download works in EPUB format and read them on the built-in Books app on my iPhone. I hear good things about Moon Reader on Android as well.

I need to be able to replace Y/N in fics with an actual name.

ElectricAlice has a bookmarklet for that here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34796935

I need to be able to save specific tags and not have to search them up every time.

If you have an AO3 account (which you definitely should) then you can favorite up to 20 tags which will appear on the landing page. The AO3 FAQ explains how that works: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/tags?language_id=en#favtag

I need to be able to save specific filters and be able to apply them to any tag.

Reisling's beautiful bookmarklet has you covered: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33825019

I need to be able to permanently hide certain tags.

The best option is adding this to your site skin. (Must be logged in.) Instructions here: https://www.tumblr.com/ao3css/719667033634160640/how-to-permanently-filter-out-certain-tags-on-ao3

I also hear things about the AO3 Enhancements extension (just for Android/desktop, sorry iOS folks): https://www.tumblr.com/emotionalsupportrats/686787582579851265/browser-extension-everyone-on-ao3-should-know

I need it to save my place on the page and not reload.

This is really mostly a browser error--Firefox on iOS does this to me A LOT. Your best bet is to download the work and read it in an ereader app. A lot of people also will make an ao3 bookmark and write in the notes section which part they were at, but that assumes you aren't falling asleep while reading. (Which is the main reason I have this issue, lol.) For more info on bookmarks, see the FAQ: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/bookmarks?language_id=en#whatisbookmark

I need it to keep track of which stories I've already read/opened/kudos'd.

If you have an account (which you should) then the "My History" page keeps track of every fic you've ever clicked on. No, it isn't searchable or sortable, but it does exist. For fics you've kudos'd, I have yet to find a solution for iOS. For desktop or Android, you can use this excellent userscript: https://greasyfork.org/en/scripts/5835-ao3-kudosed-and-seen-history

@the-sleepy-archivist and @inkandarsenic have a solution for iOS here to use userscripts: https://www.tumblr.com/the-sleepy-archivist/737895174683885568/this-is-a-great-guide-one-thing-i-can-help-with and https://www.tumblr.com/inkandarsenic/737827438571192320/the-user-scripts-will-also-work-on-ios-there-are

I need an app because the website's search is terrible.

(I genuinely don't understand this one but I have seen it multiple times so on the list it goes!!) The search bar at the top of the screen is a keyword search. If you'd rather search within a specific field (like title or tag) then you'll want to click on the word "search" at the top of the screen and select Work Search or Tag Search. To search users, use People Search. To search Bookmarks, use Bookmark Search. (If this is you, please tell me what the heck you mean by "search is bad" and how an app helped with this.)

I need to be able to sort stories by date posted/number of bookmarks/alphabetical/etc.

You can do this using the filters sidebar. Pick a tag you want to filter on (like a fandom, character, or relationship) and then click on the "Filters" button. The sidebar will pop out and you can sort and filter on a boggling array of specifics. A good filtering guide: https://www.tumblr.com/saurons-pr-department/718665516093472768/if-there-is-something-you-dont-want-to-see-in

I need to be able to mark stories to read later.

AO3 has this feature built in! If you have an account (which you should) there is a "Mark for Later" option on every work.

Edit: Thispersonishuman reminded me that History and Mark For Later can be disabled, so if you're not seeing the Mark for Later option, check your settings.

I need to be able to listen to stories using text-to-speech.

Microsoft Edge web browser has a built in text to speech function. Supposedly it works on both iOS and Android, but I have not personally tested that. iOS also has a native accessibility feature in settings for text to speech that will work on the Books app, so I assume Android has a similar functionality. A bunch of people in the reblogs have more in-depth Android recommendations here: https://www.tumblr.com/protect-namine/737957194510794752/seconding-voice-aloud-on-android-for-tts-my, https://www.tumblr.com/smallercommand/737884523093704704/i-use-voice-for-tts-on-android-its-got-some, and https://www.tumblr.com/doitninetimes/737869463749263360/for-text-to-speech-on-android-you-can-also-check

I need to have in-app notifications for updates/I can't ever find story updates in among the rest of my emails/checking my email stresses me out.

Set up a separate email address using a free service like gmail, and use that email address JUST for AO3. Then the only emails in that inbox will be your story updates. I use Apple's Mail application for all my inboxes, but it's very easy to use the Gmail app instead, and you could log in to JUST the ao3 email and set it to notify for every email.

(Also as a general PSA: don't use your work, school, or military email as your AO3 email. Just don't.)

I want statistics like how many hours I spent reading, how many words I read, what my most read tags were, stuff like that.

So we've finally hit something that isn't easy and that requires a hell of a lot of manual work. Short version: AO3 does not track this data because they don't want to. (Mostly due to privacy concerns.) The lack of this tracking is a feature, not a bug. You can crunch these numbers yourself, but it will take a hell of a lot more effort, and it's something I personally found is not worth the effort the couple of times I have tried to crunch those numbers. If you are willing to download your history to an actual computer (not a tablet or chromebook) using Calibre, you can get a rough idea of your most popular tags via their tag browser, but it won't play nice with typos synned to a Common Tag (Canonical Tag/filterable tag) like ao3 does. (If anyone has used an app that gave you stats on this, please let me know in reblogs/replies/via ask how that worked because I am very curious.)

I need an app because <other reason>.

The AO3 Unofficial Browser Tools FAQ might cover your use case: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/unofficial-browser-tools?language_id=en If not, give a shout and we'll see what other tumblr users suggest!

#ao3 #archive of our own #ao3 app #ao3 tips #if you want official answers please use the contact forms on the ao3 or otw websites #standard disclaimer that while i am an otw volunteer i do not speak for the organization #my opinions are my own and do not represent anyone else

3K notes · View notes

karlachismylife · 9 months ago

Text

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

581 notes · View notes

angelsndragons · 3 months ago

Text

how's it going, veilguard peeps? one of my favorite headcanons and theories is

the caretaker = felassan

and i'm gonna run down the (admittedly thin, heavy conjecture/inference) evidence we have supporting the theory.

spoilers ahead but first!

AnD, i hear you say, didn't Solas kill Felassan in The Masked Empire? Isn't that one of his great regrets?

fear not, fellow fans.

1. solas killed felassan In The Fade. that's kind of an important caveat. da2 established that mages killed in the fade become tranquil, they aren't outright killed. put a pin in this, we'll come back to it.

2. spirits, particularly ancient spirits, can fracture into different fragments upon death, some with their own personalities, experiences, and beliefs. we have falon'din and dirthamen, the two mythal fragments, solas' wisdom friend in dai, etc.

the point is that the ancient elves don't die easily and while felassan is probably not among the first generation of elves, he is still an ancient elf. we don't know if he was a spirit who gained a body or one of the first elves fully born in and of thedas. we do know that distinction matters very little, given that ghilan'nain was definitely of the later generation and yet she rose to become a god.

Okay, sure, AnD, but what does that have to do with Felassan and the Caretaker?

timeline:

felassan's notes are all over the crossroads and the lighthouse. not once does he mention the caretaker. even in the post-veil notes, the caretaker is not mentioned. the first time we Know that the caretaker has moved in to the crossroads and the lighthouse is from solas (we know it's from solas because of the paint):

This note has a smear of paint on one corner: Have they always been here? There are beings in the Crossroads unknown even to the wise, though the most ancient ones make any domain their own. Certainly, this Caretaker belongs here now. I wonder what we look like to them. Need is a scaffold, and the needs of the living ever rise and fall upon it. Hunger, thirst, sleep... imagine the constant cacophony to one sensitive to such things. Or am I too simple? Wants are fleeting; needs have deeper roots. Perhaps that's why I find this particular spirit's presence both comforting and disconcerting. The prospect that our heart's desire and our truest need could differ—or are even at odds—is hard to contemplate.

so sometime after he woke up in 9:39-9:40 dragon, solas made his way back to the lighthouse. he wonders whether the caretaker has always been in the lighthouse or if they are a more recent addition. whichever is the truth, solas immediately clocks them as ancient, comforting, and disconcerting.

now, as for when solas first encounters the caretaker, i'm going out on a limb to say that this encounter occurred after trespasser. we know solas carved his regrets out of himself via the paintings and statues to ensure he wasn't accidentally grabbed by his regret prison while moving the remaining gods. the office note states that he figured out his "perfect reparation" by studying the inquisitor's arm.

this is important because solas kills felassan in 9:40, leaving a gap of time where a fragment could reform and regain enough power to manifest once again.

so we've established a theoretical timeline in which felassan could have fragmented into the caretaker. now let's take a look at some links.

You are safe here, both those of flesh and those of Fade. Any who wish to help are welcome. The magic of the Lighthouse will provide for your needs, see to your comfort, and even help you understand different tongues, for those who escaped here from distant parts of the empire. Should you have any other needs, ask for the Slow Arrow, and I will help.

so i just want to highlight something here. felassan tasked himself with caring for the slaves and potential new rebels. he is explicitly linked over and over again with seeing to other people's well-being, with explicit concern for the innocent. it is his number 1 character trait outside of being solas' second. this man cares. he also specifically cares for solas, many of his codex entries include asides about solas' state of mind or words of comfort to his friend.

the caretaker tells rook that they "go where [they are] needed." felassan's notes on the vi'revas say "thus, we can travel wherever this rebellion needs us, with no fear of pursuit."

one of the caretaker's travel comments is "as needed," in response to rook's question if they're one spirit doing everything or multiple. aka the caretaker we know could be a fragment.

their first acts are to help rook navigate the crossroads, where felassan's notes are scattered all over the place. where elven spirits and fade spirits alike have come to take refuge from the gods, much like the ancient entry above. only this time, there is no solas and apparently no felassan. just a caretaker and a bunch of guardians. guardians which, according to bellara, are powered by spirits set to guard something. so like, fractured echoes or remnants of the original rebellion, is what i'm getting at. much like how the lighthouse is fractured, the veil broke the world and the fade, etc.

the caretaker holds dominion over the crossroads. they also say at the beginning that they do not have the power to help rook more due to the state of the crossroads. the spreading blight and weaponization of the wolf's regrets are leeching power from the place and the caretaker. the rune rook receives at the end of the game is called the salvation of felassan and its power is dictated by how much of the crossroads quest line the player completed.

however i would argue the strongest evidence that felassan fractured into the caretaker is thus: remember way back in the beginning of this monstrosity i said that felassan was murdered in the fade? remember how da2 establishes that mages killed in the fade become tranquil via feynriel? and remember how it's dwarves, innately tranquil because they are cut off from the titans, and tranquil mages who enchant objects in the previous titles?

remind me who's doing the enchanting in this game again?

that's a rhetorical question.

it's the caretaker.

yeah, just think about it for a second.

a spirit has been sundered from the fade enough that they can enchant items and even abilities.

felassan was an ancient elf murdered in the fade.

yeah.

i love this game.

#veilguard spoilers #veilguard meta #dragon age veilguard #datv #datv spoilers #felassan #my meta #datv meta #veilguard positive #seriously i love this game #this isn't airtight but i love the themes felassan=caretaker adds to the game #so it's my canon now #and bioware can't stop me #we are so back baby

213 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 10 months ago

Note

Im an ace simp unashamedly and i need to share this little detail of heartslabyul's birthday boy card that someone probably mentioned alr somewhere. In all the boys' groovy illustrations theres always someone else with them. Riddle has cater and trey, Trey has cater. Cater has ace and Deuce has someone in the corner (i cant tell who)

EXCEPT ACE???? BRO'S JUST STARING INTO THE CAMERA WITH THAT SILLY LITTLE BLUSH LIKE BRO YOU LOOKING AT ME???? WHAT ARE YOU TRYNNA TELL ME TWST????

cbjsvsjsjcks Where did all the Ace simps suddenly spawn from… I feel like I’ve been meeting a lot of them lately (not necessarily through this blog, but also in other discussion circles) 😂

Yes, the Birthday Boy series tends to generally showcase at least one other character in the Groovies. For Heartslabyul: Cater and Trey appear in Riddle’s, Trey appears in Cater’s, and I believe it’s Ace in Deuce’s.

That isn’t Trey because Trey wears gloves in his dorm uniform, and nor can it be Riddle because his dorm uniform looks entirely different than the standard one. That leaves us with Cater and Ace. By process of elimination and using context clues, it’s most likely Ace. Cater already appeared in two other Birthday Boy Groovies. Additionally, Deuce has a voice line where he says Ace gifted him a jack-in-the-box—and while the Groovy doesn’t depict that item, Deuce is reacting similarly shocked upon opening it. Ace has also explained (I think in a Halloween event or vignette??) that it is possible to pull off a simple trick of flashing lights and sounds using magic. He tends to use his skills for childish things like little pranks and sleights, and has the personality to be inclined towards those things too. All the circumstantial evidence points to Ace.

Anyway, I feel like Ace is one of those characters you commonly see getting shipped with Yuu because of how he is presented in official content (and especially the main story). Him and Malleus seem to be the Big Two on that regard. That’s what my observation has always been, at least.

It’s rare that TWST will put out these “looking directly at you” illustrations, and even when they do, it’s not always aimed at Yuu if you look at the context the vignettes provide. For example, the Jade Outdoor Wear Groovy has him looking back and offering a hand… but it’s not for Yuu, it’s for Cater; Floyd’s Beans Camo Groovy had him looking soft and cute… and that gaze is aimed at Epel while Floyd talks about how he wants to take on strong opponents. Ace’s Birthday Boy Groovy exists in defiance of that pattern!

I think it’s funny that his dynamic with Yuu can so easily feed into that trope of the BFF that’s crushing hard but is too afraid to fully commit, so he always frames advances/flirting/playful teasing as “just jokes” to test the waters. It almost feels like Ace was tailor-made for this 😂 It sets up a lot the potential for something as simple as a look seeming longing. I can definitely understand how someone might see that Groovy and think it’s romantic. I don’t think most people make that kind of expression while using the thumb to brush away crumbs and staring into the camera 💀 Bro would 100% catch you and then go, “I know, I know, I look so cool that you just can’t get enough of me. Well, today’s my special day so I’m feeling extra nice. Feel free to stare at me aaaaaall you like, Prefect.” And then maybe joke that you could have him all to yourself if you asked—

You Ace yumes out there must be thankful for this food www

592 notes · View notes

cosmicn3ptune · 11 months ago

Text

Yoriichi Tsugikuni NSFW Headcanons ♡

Genre: Smut / NSFW

CW: Praise kink, breeding kink, pregnancy

Yoriichi is a simple man with simple needs: to ensure that his beloved is living a satisfactory life.

He will always make sure to put your happiness and pleasure over his own, making him the ideal service top. No matter how aroused he is, Yoriichi is sure to make you orgasm first.

He was quite shy asking for sex at first because not only was he inexperienced, he didn't want to burden you.

Even after being together for a while Yoriichi still had trouble expressing his desire for you. His actions to get you in the mood were always so subtle to the point where it'd just be straight up confusing.

He'd sort of just stare at you up and down hoping that you'd get the hint and initiate something. Either that or he'd tower over you, which could get pretty intimidating considering his height.

It really isn't his fault, though! He's never done anything beyond innocent physical affection and kissing before meeting you.

Nonetheless, he learned very quick. It's no surprise as he was instantaneously talented in almost everything he tried since he was a child.

While anything that makes you feel good brings him joy, his favorite thing to do is to eat you out with your knees forced against your chest, his big hands holding your thighs back and apart.

Yoriichi desperately wants you to praise him, caress his hair and tell him how good he's doing. He's not the type to air out his kinks but it's painfully obvious he has a thing for praise.

He assumes that since he enjoys it, you should enjoy it too. Yoriichi may be quiet but he'll often compliment you, voice barely above a whisper as he gently kisses down your jaw.

Yoriichi is definitely a big tummy guy. He'll cuddle into your stomach like a pillow and pepper kisses down to your hips.

He's really quite vanilla (sorry guys) but he does have a thing for breeding.

He always knew he wanted a nice, big family with lot's of kids. Yoriichi is positive he can provide for one, as well. He understands it's his sworn duty to protect you and your children.

He'd never force you into it, but there's a certain way his eyes light up when you ask him to come in you that's just undeniably sweet.

That being said, his favorite position is a mating press where he can hold your hand and ensure that you will carry his children.

Sometimes Yoriichi can forget his strength and you'll wake up with bruises from where his fingers were held against you. He'll apologize profusely and make sure to kiss them better. He feels awful for hurting you even if it was on accident so you'll have to reassure him that it's okay.

On the flip side, he doesn't really care if you're rather rough with him. He's a powerful swordsman so nothing ever really hurts. In fact, he'll encourage you to pull on his hair and leave deep, purple lovebites all over his neck.

Sometimes he forgets they're there and just goes out into public with his hickeys on full display. It's not like he minds though, he enjoys the fact that others know his devotion to you.

Yoriichi's aftercare is seriously the best. He cuddles you and presses kisses to all the bruises he left, his hand cupping your cheek and lovingly looking into your eyes.

If you have trouble walking the next day, (which is likely) he'll eagerly assist you by either letting you lean onto him or just simply picking you up. He's strong enough to carry you everywhere without tiring.

If he does manage to get you pregnant, Yoriichi will spend every single day by your side attending to your needs. He hates having to leave you alone so he's never gone for long. He may look like a big, scary guy, but to you he's simply the love of your life.

Hey could you tell I really really really like Yoriichi? Anywho, work has seriously been punching me in the gut so I apologize for my slow updates. I hope you've all had a nice day and that you enjoy these headcanons! <3

599 notes · View notes

asterafroditis · 4 months ago

Note

Hello!

I’d like to request the octrio with an asexual reader. I’m not too picky, so whatever you see fit! Although preferably more on the romantic side please! (I don’t want reader to get rejected ghgjgk)

I get this may be a bit of an awkward ask, so please don’t feel pressured to do it! ❤️

𐔌 . ⋮ love beyond touch .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Azul, Jade, & Floyd x asexual gn! reader (separate)

𓏵 726 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff

I'm actually aroace-spec so this wasn't awkward at all! I hope this exactly caters to your request! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Azul would approach a relationship with careful consideration, analyzing every aspect like a well-prepared contract. When he realizes you’re asexual, his first instinct is to research—discreetly, of course. He’s not about to ask outright and risk looking ignorant. Instead, he gathers knowledge, ensuring he understands what it means and how to navigate your relationship in a way that makes you comfortable.

He might initially worry that he can’t provide what you need, but once you reassure him that your feelings for him aren’t contingent on anything physical, he exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He shifts his focus to what he does best: crafting moments of intimacy through words, gestures, and acts of service. Azul is a firm believer that affection can be expressed in a thousand different ways, and he’s eager to explore every single one.

Romance with Azul means private dinners in his VIP room, soft words whispered over candlelight, and tender reassurances when his insecurities creep in. He thrives on quality time, and the simple act of sharing drinks while discussing your day becomes a cherished ritual. He may not always say it outright, but his actions speak volumes—whether it’s remembering your favorite dessert or slipping a handwritten note into your books.

"There are… many ways to express devotion, wouldn’t you agree? Physicality isn’t the sole measure of affection. I would be a fool to let something so trivial stand in the way of what we have."

─────────────────────────

Jade approaches your relationship much like he tends to his terrariums—patiently, attentively, and with great care. When you reveal that you’re asexual, he listens with quiet intrigue, nodding along as he absorbs your words. Jade is nothing if not adaptable, and the concept of romance without a focus on physicality doesn’t faze him in the slightest.

If anything, he finds it fascinating—one more layer to peel back and study. He never makes you feel like a puzzle to be solved, though. Instead, he takes your preferences into account and seamlessly adjusts, treating your boundaries with the same respect and consideration he gives to everything else. Affection with Jade manifests in quiet but meaningful ways: the way he subtly leans closer when you speak, how he shields you from the rain without a word, the lingering touch of his fingers when he hands you something.

Jade enjoys the thrill of deep conversations, and if romance is to be built on something other than physicality, then he will ensure it is rich in emotional depth. He asks thought-provoking questions, weaving discussions that leave you contemplating long after the conversation ends. If you ever feel insecure about what you can or can’t offer, he tilts his head and chuckles, his mismatched eyes twinkling.

"My, my, such concerns are unnecessary. If anything, I find it quite refreshing. Love, after all, is not bound by a single definition. Shall we discover what ours looks like together?"

─────────────────────────

Floyd has never been one to care much for rules or expectations, so when you tell him you’re asexual, he blinks once, twice, and then shrugs. “Okay! So?” It’s not that he doesn’t understand—it’s just that, to him, it doesn’t change anything. He likes you. That’s it. Simple.

He doesn’t treat you any differently, nor does he make a big deal about it. If you ever express worries about whether he’ll lose interest, Floyd pouts and dramatically flops over you like a beached eel. “You really think I’m that shallow? Sheesh, shrimpy! That hurts my feelings!” He’s an affectionate person by nature, but he’s also flexible—literally and figuratively. If you’re comfortable with certain kinds of affection, he’s all for it. If not, he simply finds new ways to show his love.

He thrives on shared experiences and quality time. Late-night walks, arcade dates, reckless adventures—he wants to make memories with you, not just go through the motions of what people say romance should be. He’s unpredictable, but one thing remains constant: his unwavering devotion.

"D’aww, don’t stress ‘bout stuff like that, shrimpy. You’re mine, I’m yours—that’s all that matters, yeah? Hehehe, now c’mon, let’s go do somethin’ fun! I’m bored!"

243 notes · View notes

pedriache · 6 months ago

Text

Lando Norris Bf!Headcanons !

‘ obessed with your mind / waste all my time / all for you.’

Bf!Lando who, cannot seem to take anything serious (unless it’s absolutely necessary.) He is all giggles and smiles. He jokes all the time, but it’s mostly just so he can see a smile on your face. He will—and does, do everything to see your smile crack and the creases your eyes make.

Bf!Lando who, loves affection. It is most certainly his love language. He loves to cuddle and seeks out your hand in any setting. Flesh on flesh contact is what grounds him when he’s anxious. It’s very, very rare that he would ever pull away from you if you initiate contact. In fact, it makes his heart soar if you do something as simple as nudge his shoulder when walking. He longs for anything you are willing to give.

Bf!Lando who, teases you constantly. He has a string of nicknames for you that grows with every passing day. They aren’t mean, just small seemingly stupid things you do that he finds great amusement in.

“Can you hand me the extra blanket you fuzz-hog?” He’d quip after one night when you accidentally stole the blanket during the night. You’d turn to him with a glare, “fuzz what?” But, he’d shrug it off, motioning to the blanket with a teasing grin.

Bf!Lando who, nearly drops to his knees whenever you wear McLaren merch or, well, anything of his for that matter. His tee shirt you stole? He’s staring at you with a loose jaw. His beanie you also stole? He’s fixing it on your head before looking down at you with an adoring smile. His McLaren jacket? It’s yours. Forever. He’ll get a new one so you can match.

Bf!Lando who, definitely gets jealous. Not for insecurity, but because he knows you are beautiful. He knows other guys look at you. He doesn’t like it—but it also makes him feel a sense of pride. If he sees a man looking at you, he’ll smirk, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

Bf!Lando who, understands when you need silence. He is an obnoxious person, loud and bubbly, but he knows when it’s okay and when it is not. If you had a bad day, he is silent beside you, rubbing your shoulders to relieve some stress—any way you need help, he is ready to provide.

Bf!Lando who, finds it hard to open up at first, but eventually is surprisingly very emotionally available. He goes to therapy, and if he feels there is something you need to know—for example; he was struggling mentally, he will tell you. He knows the effects it has on relationships when someone gets too far into their own head. So, he will encourage openness and vulnerability. Because losing you is more terrifying than being vulnerable.

Bf!Lando who, said the first ‘I love you’. He said it on accident, trying to cover it up by making a joke after—but when your eyebrows raised and a bright smile overtook your lips, he stopped the jokes. He went serious, his cheeks flushed.

“I meant it, y’know. I do love you.”

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future lando posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @joaoflms @h4vertzz @sakashq @spidybaby

312 notes · View notes

aealzx · 7 months ago

Text

_______________________

Update Post

Prologue | AO3

Previous Next

_______________________

“Everything’s fine, Danny just wanted to join us for lunch,” Tim declared when he entered the dining room with Danny. It wasn’t the complete truth, but it was still better than telling them they had left Danny without enough water and he had collapsed trying to get it himself.

“Oh! You’re finally ready for something other than toast, huh?” Stephanie asked as everyone’s mood seemed to lift with that declaration.

“Y’yeah… It’d be nice to get back to eating anything I wanted,” Danny agreed, going along with the reason Tim had provided as Tim helped him get situated in an open chair next to Danielle, who gave him a thumbs up. Seeing, and smelling the food the others had made him realize he actually was a little hungry as well as thirsty.

“You’ll love Alfred’s cooking, trust me,” Tucker chimed in around his own lunch. It looked like they had some sort of creamy soup and small sandwiches.

“Pretty sure that’s what I’ve been having already,” Danny snickered.

“Yeah, but this is actual food,” Tucker corrected.

“Just don’t push yourself,” Jazz cautioned, not wanting Danny to make himself sick even though he hadn’t had any issues lately. It was a comment that helped Tim understand a little more why Danny was so bad at asking for help.

As soon as Danny had been brought to the table Alfred had left the dining room to fetch lunch for him as well, soon to return with another tray of food. Unlike the others though, the bowl was full of a mild tomato soup that was pleasantly warm. And that and a small plate of two slices of lightly buttered toast were placed in front of Danny along with a glass of water. It was a welcome change from the broth he’d been getting, and Danny couldn’t help smiling.

“Thank you,” Danny was sure to bid, looking up gratefully at Alfred.

“You’re welcome, Young Master,” Alfred responded, pleased to see their house charge feeling well enough to join them at the table.

“He still looks a bit like death warmed over,” Jason commented casually before putting a spoonful of soup in his mouth.

“That’s rich coming from the dead man walking,” Danielle returned just as easily.

“Morticians wish they could match my liveliness,” Jason retorted, raising a hand to frame his face for a moment.

“Guys, could we not do the dead jokes? You’re gonna make people hole up,” Stephanie chided, noting how others at the table were grimacing or otherwise looking rather sullen.

“Oh come on. You have three dead people at the table. It’s not that insensitive,” Danielle protested.

“Dani, I dont think it's a comfortable topic for everyone,” Jazz hushed, glancing towards Bruce, who’s expression was looking significantly distant.

Danny hadn’t commented in favor of blowing on the tomato soup enough that he could eat it, and then was distracted by the surprisingly gentle yet rich flavor from the simple food. It definitely made the trip to the dining room worth it, though Danielle’s comment made him end up looking around at the others in mild confusion. She obviously meant him and herself for two of the people, but who was the third? He realized it was rude after he was caught, but he couldn’t help looking towards the girl with ashen skin and black hair. Wait… who was that again?

“No, it’s not Raven. It’s me,” Jason snickered slightly, pointing to himself and grinning slightly.

“....You don’t look dead,” Danny admitted, subconsciously comparing Jason to the other ghosts he’d had to deal with over the years.

“Not anymore,” Jason clarified, sparing the others at the table, and inevitably himself, the trauma trip by keeping the explanation simple.

“He died before though. That’s why he has that weird vibe not like anyone else,” Danielle added, sounding rather proud for knowing that now. “Figured that one out finally.”

“Hn,” Danny hummed around some toast, figuring if he got the option to ask about more details he’d have to do it with a smaller crowd.

“It's good to see you up and about now though kid. How are you feeling?” someone with red hair that Danny also didn’t recognize decided to change the subject to.

“.... Okay,” Danny answered, squinting slightly trying to remember who this person was also. “Better than a few days ago at least.”

“Good, good.”

“This is Wally, and Raven,” Dick spoke up after noticing Danny getting increasingly confused trying to place names to the new faces. “They both were a big help with your recovery, and we figured since you were starting to feel better we could start trying to figure out how to get you guys back home. Both of them are familiar with interdimensional travel, and Wally is pretty knowledgeable about the mechanical side of things while Raven is more versed in the mystical.”

“Oh. Are you guys going to build another portal? I guess that makes sense,” Danny acknowledged, now understanding who the new faces were.

“Well, that depends,” Wally admitted, grimacing a little. “From the sounds of it, with talking to Raven and some others, it doesn’t sound like even attempting to open a portal to the Liminal Realm is a good idea.”

“She mentioned before that attempts usually end up with some sort of explosion or implosion,” Jazz recalled.

“But she was able to do it just fine, wasn’t she? That’s how she got the ectoplasm,” Tucker pointed out.

“That was only because Dani and you two were present. And because I closed the gateway before it could react,” Raven clarified, and Danny noticed her hand seemed to have a residual injury that made him frown. “The gateway was also only one way. I was able to accept the gift it was giving to Dani, but if I’d tried to send anything through it in return I’m sure it would have broken down.”

“And based on the research Barry and I did, there isn’t much for anyone in this dimension to go off of when it comes to the Liminal Realm. It’s only really known as the most fussy realm to deal with, and most people don’t bother,” Wally concluded, only a little upset about the matter. “Which is why we wanted to ask you about how your parents were able to make a portal that’s permanently open. Everyone else said you’d know the most about that topic.”

Danny inevitably grimaced a little at that fact, not feeling like he knew much about how his parents had made the portal to the Infinite Realm either. But if it would help them get back to his parents, then he could at least try to help. “They’re not the greatest at documenting their work, but I guess I did get curious enough to look into it a little some time ago. What do you want to know?”

“Do you have any idea how the portal was constructed?” Wally prompted.

“Trial and error?” Danny grimaced again, and backtracked when Wally looked unimpressed. “Look, my parents took notes, sure, but they weren’t organized and I’m not completely sure which ones were part of the final product. I won't be able to tell you exactly how to build one.”

“That’s fine, I wasn’t expecting you to have a blueprint memorized,” Wally chuckled, not sure if Danny was being vague on purpose, or just hadn’t worked with anyone before on constructing anything. “You can just tell us what you remember, and we can try to fill in the blanks and figure out if it’s a viable option. Jazz said it was a structure on the wall in your home basement?”

“Mm,” Danny nodded around a mouthful of soup. “It looks flat when it’s on, but it’s actually a tunnel about… maybe the length of this table?” he guessed, squinting slightly as he tried to remember. “I think they changed the size of it several times, the first prototype was only about this size,” he added, gesturing to a tabletop model size in front of him. “It’s about… 2 meters in diameter? The measurement isn’t exact- is this what you want to know?”

Both Wally and Raven were listening intently to Danny’s descriptions, and Wally blinked when Danny interrupted himself to clarify again if he was saying anything useful. “Yeah, it’s great. Anything you know about it will help, even if you think it’s not important.”

“Would it help if we tried to recreate what they can remember in a 3D space?” Tim spoke up suddenly, noting how Danny seemed to be struggling in explaining in words something he’d only dealt with in physical space.

“We can do that? I’m not exactly… a sculptor or whatever,” Danny asked, fumbling over his thoughts and words as he was once again starting to feel incredibly dumb.

“We’ll have to go to the basement, but the computer down there should allow you to draw a hologram of sorts based on what you remember. That way we can see what you’re thinking, more or less,” Tim explained, then inevitably glanced over Danny’s form briefly. “If you’re up for it of course. We don’t want to push-”

“No. It’s fine, I’ll do it,” Danny agreed quickly, not sure how to accept Danielle trying to reassure him by placing a hand on his arm for a moment. She knew her brother tended to get flustered in anything that resembled an academic setting, but wasn’t sure how to convince him he wasn’t as dumb as his school told him he was.

“Cool. We can head down there after lunch,” Tim nodded, returning to his own meal.

__________________

You ever have hair that's 100% def too short to get in your food when you're eating, but you still push it out of the way anyway? Yeah I'll admit this drawing was 100% self indulgent 'cause I remember seeing a similar drawing of a different chara before and just loving it XD I love when charas get drawn doing really subtle but oh so casually human things.

Anyway, tomato soup with bread is my favorite food ever, so I tend to default to that when charas get some notably "good food" or comfort food for once.

fast update because this is part of that bug chunk I had to split into 3 parts XD just had to get a drawing

___________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai,

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

#my art #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #phantom rogues #tomato soup #comfort food #the worst thing about posting these is all the tags #writing #long post #fanfic

252 notes · View notes

elfwreck · 1 year ago

Note

I have a friend who isn't anti-porn but it makes her sad that fanfic has a reputation for being porny and usually not very good. I'm fine with both those things and my views mostly align with that of AO3. I disagree with the idea that porn and badness are treated as equivalent, but for most people that's just how they think. But I was wondering if youve ever written something about this?

There is a lot of smut at AO3.

There is a lot of bad writing at AO3.

There's a lot of badly written smut at AO3.

...None of those are problems except for the people who think there is something wrong with those existing, or that there needs to be some external value that "balances" those that make those acceptable to exist as unwanted side-effects of "the good stuff."

The badly-written smut is also "the good stuff."

It's part of the reason AO3 exists. It's not intended to be an archive for "the high-quality fanfic that could be published if it weren't about characters that someone else wrote first"; it's an archive for "what fanfic writers want to write." That makes the terrible writing and the tacky porn and the badly-written tacky porn part of the reason the archive exists.

Tangent 1 (I'll connect these points later): Theodore Sturgeon said "90% of everything is crud." He was more-or-less referring to the science fiction field in the 50s, but it definitely extended to politics, business, and writing outside of science fiction.

...He was talking about published books in the 50s. Turns out, a lot more than 90% of writing is crud when there aren't any gatekeepers between it and the readers. But also:

Tangent 2, from the book "Art and Fear":

[A] ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: fifty pound of pots rated an “A”, forty pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

You don't get to "quality writing" without going through a lot of crappy writing.

That doesn't mean the crappy writing is garbage to be thrown out. If you make 50 pots or bowls or vases, and only one of them is The Good One... most of the rest are okay. Maybe not sale-quality good, but your-kitchen-table quality good. Maybe some aren't that good and are kids-toy-in-the-sandbox level good.

Bad writing has a purpose for the writer: they can use it as practice to get better. It has a purpose for the reader: It can serve as inspiration ("I can do better than that") or grammatical instruction ("that...does not work; why doesn't that work?") or just as entertainment ("eh, so it's missing a few commas; I can still understand it").

Smut and porn writing works the same way. It's of some value to the writer, and some to the readers.

It's not of value to everyone. That's what tags and filters are for, and why there's a summary and list of stats (like word counts)--so you can figure out if you're one of the readers for whom this piece of writing is useful or interesting.

But AO3, like any library, is not there to take the top 5% of Excellent Writing and provide it a showcase. It is absolutely for all 50 lbs of pots.

If your friend wants to read the good stuff, there are rec lists and collections to help her find it.

If she already manages that, and is just annoyed at how much of the not-good stuff (however she defines that) exists... she's picked the wrong battle. She's arguing with the ocean that it has too many kinds of fish and some are poisonous a lot of them are ugly.

#Anonymous #ao3

507 notes · View notes

decodedlvr · 2 years ago

Text

~ never did this before | virgin!Eddie Munson x virgin! Thick!Fem Reader \\ modern au

This story is based off the song Wet Dreamz by Jcole **recommend listening to it first to understand the story// can be perceived/read regardless if you are a poc; as I am mixed ♡ [descriptions of reader having tan skin and brown eyes; so it meets in the middle if you are a poc or not]

• Summary: after weeks of flirting and crushing on each other, you finally pop a serious question into your bestfriend Eddie’s head, and he has a hard time providing you with an honest answer // this is more like a rom com

• Warnings: MDNI; smut (not too explicitly) fluff, both kinda experienced? soft Eddie, cocky Eddie, sassy reader, brief mentions of smoking and drinking, he’s a little bit of a perv, masturbation, 69, protected piv, premature ejaculation, heavy petting, grinding, confessions, slight insecure thoughts? (both are 18+) word count :3.4k //sry 4 errors

Eddie’s Pov

Calculus. The last class of the day. My favorite class overall.

There she sat, giggling on her phone, showing me silly photos she took of her dog Skittle, the sun shining just right on her honey toned tanned skin, hair laying just as perfect as ever in that simple, claw clip. Curls and wavy bangs sectioned to shape her face, brown eyes that matched mine and oh those glossy lips..

I wanna kiss you so fucking bad baby.

Her outfit of the day, that new pink and black checkered shirt she got at the mall that I drove her to.

It’s so tight on you sweetheart, your tits look beautiful today.

White Reeboks as I have, but very much cleaner…

Those 100% perfectly stretchy, acid wash jeans you wear every week that fit your ass so fucking bad.. fuck don’t bend over.. don’t—

“Eddie? what’s wrong with you?”

Fuck— didn’t realize the moan that I slipped out when she dropped her phone, she cracked it..but all I could focus on were the back of her thighs when she bent over

“Sorry uh- I think I’m just sore from carrying those amps last night”, he says now rubbing his not sore bicep with a pout

Lie.

“Oh babe I’m sorry, come by later and I can rub it out for you” she replies

Why the fuck would you say that to me right now—

“Oh yeah? You’d just love to get your hands on me always huh sweetheart? ” leaning back in my seat, with a cocky smile

You blush and shove my arm playfully “you’re so stupid, you know what I meant”

——

She’s been like this for the past month, after Harringtons party. Smoking and drinking under that patio umbrella, away from everyone else. Laughing, holding on to each other for dear life. I tell her jokes, she ugly laughs. I love her laugh, it’s not fake it’s genuine like her.

We met at the drink table, both preferring whiskey over the red shit they put out.

We talked about our intrests, I was very suprised and impressed with how she carried herself. How she talked about herself. How she sat comfortably on my lap; as if we knew each other for forever.

Obviously her thick hips in that royal blue, tacky dress she wore caught my attention first

It takes a certain kinda person to make me laugh but she.. she was probably the most funniest and beautiful fucking girl I’ve never seen. A few beauty marks as she would call it, scattered down her neck and arms. Eyelashes so dark she could always pass on the mascara, the sweet charm and sass she had to her.. she was something different.

She was fresh to town and it was relief to meet someone new. Similar childhood experiences, divorced parents but her dad stopped reaching out to them. Her mom was just a bitch to her. Very narcissistic person but, she had her kind moments. She definitely wasn’t the worse mother I’ve ever heard of.

All of that lead to a heavy make out session in the bathroom.

Sitting at the edge of the toilet, her scratching the back of my head with those sharp coffin shaped nails, me squeezing the fat of her ass on my lap. Hell, I was surprised how into this she was.. considering I’ve only kissed two girls in my life.

Sure I’ve watched my fair share of porn, visited sex stores, took a few notes; even got a handy under the bleachers last year from Carol. She forgot to pay for the weed I gave her, she offered, why not.

“Oh yeah, what’s your name again?” I ask kissing down her neck

“Y/N, but you can call me anything you want right now” she whimpers at the feeling of me nipping her throat

-“fuck you’re a r-really good kisser”

“-could say the same about you sweetheart” feeling the roll of her heat over my already strained dick.

I wonder how many guys she’s done this with

“Sorry, I don’t usually do this but, there’s just something so sexy about you”—

Biggest fucking ego boot ever.

“Fuck baby, if you keep talkin to me like that I’m gonna bust”

“Awe, am I making you feel some typa way Eddie?” She smirks looking down at me

“You know you are”

—

Unfortunately that ended quicker than it started, Robin got too hungover and needed our space.

She told me her classes and we exchanged numbers.

After that we talked everyday on FaceTime after getting home from school. I show her a new guitar riff and she shows me the new necklaces or shirts she ordered.

Sometimes she’d forget she was on camera and changed out of her bra a few times.

Hey, couldn’t help but to look come on, I am just a man

I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve fucked myself to that imagine every morning.. and evening and night..

Slept on the phone together, hung out at lunch together.

I only ever seen her at lunch other than at the end of the day in Mrs. Wilson’s calculus class. Bringing us back to now

——

“Mr. Munson are you done chatting now?” Wilson knocks me out of my trance

“Sorry bout that, yes ma’am” giving her a thumbs up sitting back up straight as she rolls her eyes subtly.

You slide me note. Folded up, in blue highlighted letters

You ever have sex before? Circle Yes or No ♡

fuck—we never even discuss stuff like that! how haven’t we? Don’t embarrass yourself man

Course I have, why? what’s got you so curious? ;)

I watch her look away quickly, gulping when she covers the paper to respond back

Well.. you’re cute and shit & was wondering if you wanna come over friday..? My parents have been gone all week and..we can hang or do whatever.. ♡

Did she wanna fuck? I hope so —wait you’re a virgin idiot, wait is she? probably not

I’m already there babe ;)

I reply with an easy smile, hiding the fact I’m in a state of panic

Good.. and uh bring those handcuffs on your wall too.. ♡

No way she’s a virgin talking like that

She rushes outta the classroom at the bell, turning back with a wink

Holy shit I gotta talk to Harrington.

“-and that’s what I’m saying dude, just sweet talk her, treat her like a princess, rub her in all the right places”—

“Okay but what ARE those places? I know her like tits and shit.. and well under her panties but what does it feel like? Ya know putting in it? What if I cum too fast and she laughs or runs away and never talks to me again..”—

I’ve been pacing back in forth in Family Video, loud where all the customers could hear. Definitely loud enough for Robin to upchuck her lunch

“No Eddie- just, come back here— Rob? watch the front please?” Steve grabs me by the shoulder making a bee line to the stock room

Sitting on the empty table still trying to gather my thoughts of Steve’s advice. “Well?” I rush out

“Damn man let me sit down first” he scoffs pulling a chair over to me

“Alright, you wanna know what inside a vagina feels like right?”

“Jesus, can you just say pussy or some shit”

“Same thing” he glared

“Okay well it’s not really sexy to just say vagina-

-“god Eddie, do you wanna know or not?” I can tell I’m testing his patience, I shut my lips, nodding eagerly

“Okay, so It’s like this- well like wet and really, really warm, almost like hot bath around your dick or a tight hug”—

“Wow, a hot bath thanks for the analogy Steve, I’ll make sure to take one when I get home”

He deadpans at me. “You asked me and I’m telling you, it’s hard to really explain other than a tight, wet warm hug. Oh!” he snaps his finger”-and sometimes it’ll tighten around your cock when she’s about to cum and holy shit dude— you better hold your load because the first time I had sex, it lasted about 10 seconds” My eyes widen

“WHAT!?” I shout before him shushing me “King Steve was a minute man?”— I joke

“Hey I said at first, when you get used to having sex your stamina gets better and for me personally”— he leans in “I can last approximately 45 minutes and 27 seconds” he sits back proudly

Cocky bastard.

Shit.

How long will I last? Will jerking off more boost my stamina?

——

Since that afternoon I did as much research as a I could, making a DIY sponge fleshlight.

That was a fail, got carpet burn.

Even bought condoms from the corner store, didnt know what size i was so, i grabbed all 4 boxes

Practicing my stroke game, using my pillow as a hole.

Down. Glide. Up. Down. Guide up.

Ow, fuck, cramp, cramp

This shits hard. My back hurts.

Throwing away the 8th used condom of the day, tossing myself in my desk chair, forehead sweaty, wrists throbbing; hearing my phone go off

FaceTime from Crush🖤

“Ah, fuck”— grabbing a shirt, wiping off the excess sweat off my skin, putting my pants back on, setting the phone up on my night stand, grabbing the guitar quickly setting it on my lap— “Hey! Sweetheart, what’s up, what are you up to?”

“I could ask you the same thing why is your face so red?” She asks giggling, laying on her tummy, tits spilling out , kicking her socked feet from behind

“Just took a hot shower is all”

“But your hairs not wet?” you give me a suspicious look, “Oh yeah, I just tied it up..sooo still want me over tomorrow?”

“Hell yeah! I picked up cookie dough the edible kind because I know you like that anddddd”- she reaches over her phone to grab something—“I rented whole stab franchise for a throwback”- showing me her laptop screen

“Well, that sounds like a party to me”

“You got that right..” She replies, biting her lip as if I didn’t notice,- “Anywaysss, just calling to remind you, see you tomorrow im tired, goodnight dummy *mwah*

She always ends our calls with a kiss on screen

Fuck I’m hard again

“Can’t wait sweetheart, sweet dreams” ending the call, looking down at my bulge

Welp, gotta jerk off again

Friday. THE day I might lose my virginity to the sexiest girl in school. My best friend.

I wake up earlier than usual, do my morning ritual, a joint. My nerves making me shower twice.

Should I shave?

Would she care?

A little trim wouldn’t hurt

May or may have not nicked my balls. Not too bad, maybe she won’t notice. Finding my nicest pair of jet black jeans I own, I only wear ‘em for special occasions and a wife beater? Nah that’s too much right? A flannel would help. Yeah. Definitely.

Hey I look kinda good, checking myself out in the mirror

Alright, wallet, keys, condoms, I glance over at the cuffs on the wall. Can’t forget those, stuffing them in my back pocket

—

My palms are sweaty, fuck even my ass is sweating.. 3 cigarettes already in, on my way to her house; of course I have a bad fucking hair day today, so I just opted for a low bun.

Before I could even knock, you open the door my jaw already on the floor

“Hi dummy!” You jump giving me a hug, pulling me inside.

What the hell is she wearing

A transparent green knitted, cropped sweater

is that her nipple I see? Those goddamn Nike shorts are doing her a favor—“Someone’s excited to see me?” Kicking off my shoes

“I’m always excited to see you.. also nice hair”

and neck goddamn, what is hell is he wearing you think, already feeling horny from the sight of my neck being so exposed

those jeans are doing his fine ass a favor

fuck I’m wet already

“Come on, already got it all set up for us”

“Lead the way princess” following behind you

I need to bite those fuckin legs.

——

We always sit like this on movie nights. Me against your headboard, back against my chest. I don’t remember how it started but I love it.

“Didn’t David Arquette also play in Spree?”

I squint back at the tv, “Uh yeah yeah he did, he was Kurt’s dad I think”

She replies with a mouthful “omyeah”

My hands have been holding both sides of her hips the whole time, occasionally rubbing them with my thumbs; every time I do it your breath picks up

Something else is about to be up—

“Huh?”

“Did you even hear me? You’ve been zoning out a lot recently”, you say sitting crisscross

“Something on your mind Ed’s?”

Gulp

“No no just— “ sigh

“Yeah, you. You’ve been on my mind.”

She smiles looking down, cocking her head to the side

“Oh yeah? Been thinking about me have you?” She grins

“You have no idea. ”

My breath hitches when you straddle me

Fuck me

“Wanna tell me these thoughts you’ve been having?” she asks twirling a piece of my bang

Remember what Steve said, sweet talk her

“Why don’t I just show you pretty girl”

Her smirk instantly falls, cheeks crimson “shit.. okay”

Running my hand up your thighs firmly, wrapping my arm around your lower back, my free hand pulling your face closer into my lips. “Like that baby?”

Who the fuck are you she thinks

“Fuck, yeah kiss me again”, I stare blankly until my eyes turn to pure lust, pushing her down to her back climbing on top to ease my tongue back into her mouth, my hips grinding into yours, hearing you whimper…

You’d think that’d make me harder but it’s when you grind back into me that did it

“You’re so beautiful you know that baby?.. fuck been missing these lips for weeks..”

“Shit, me too, been needing you so close to my body recently it’s been killin me,” she whines, rubbing her hands down my chest

—“that’s why I asked you to come over, could tell you were feeling me too”

You’re right about that, I mumble sucking your neck,

I’ve practiced giving myself hickies on my arms freshmen year.

Eddie, score

“That tank top Eddie.. t-take off the flannel let me see you? Please?” You ask giving me doe eyes. I sit up eagerly throwing it about, she sits up on her elbows, throwing off her sweater

The goddamn groan I let out

Jesus Christ

You lie back down bashfully covering yourself

A whore being shy huh?

“Whattt? She asks feeling self conscious,

“You’re..fuck.. just let me get a closer look please?” I plead, you nod shyly

Squeezing your breasts hard in my palm, licking my lips, nipping them, kissing them, hearing you gasp “holy shit -

“What??”

I do it again, in combination with my tongue, She doesn’t stop me she moans, making me feel bolder, “ Lemme take these off?” My thumbs already ready to yank your shorts down

You don’t answer

“Hey, it’s just me you know you’re beautiful to me, right?”

“Yes..you can take em off” she whispers

Thinking it’d be hot to yank them down quick like those sex movies

I try it..

“Ow! Fuck what the hell?” She jerks

I didn’t know she had the goddamn drawstring tied. , “Ow..you pout rubbing your hip, “Shit I’m sorry! I’m sorry”

I’m already fucking up, “It’s okay.. it’s just tied” she says undoing them pulling them off herself, holding her hands in her lap

I lean down to kiss both hips as an apology, looking up at you slowly undoing your hands

Cute little hair she has

“Can I um..”

She looks down at me gaining back her confidence, “You wanna eat me don’t you?” My eyes widen, gripping her side, “Yesss.. really bad” but I don’t know how to —

“Can I see you too?” again with that lip bite

“Of course” okay.. here goes nothing whispering to myself , yanking my jeans and all down in one swift motion, staring at the spot on the ceiling

You scoff with the sour look, “Oh my god”

WHAT WHAT WHAT

“You’re packing Eddie”

“Oh..thank fuck, really? I wouldn’t say that but..” I sit back in front of her

“Can I touch it?” You ask still staring at my cock

-..But I wanna taste you.. what if we..you lay on me but backwards..? Like 69?” I recommend

She nods eagerly, nervously but very excited, “Okay.. just don’t look at my asshole.. there’s a spot on it that looks like I didn’t wipe but it’s not what you think! It’s a freckle..”, I chuckle, rubbing your cheek nodding

Laying down flat, you swing your legs over my face

Oh god fuck, “Such a pretty pussy” i mumble

Suck a pretty cock you think

You’re both horny as fuck, both licking on each other immediately —“Jesus fuck!” I shout, hearing and feeling you choke on my dick

“Y/n, y-you done this before?”

“Yeah—“

Damnit.

-“But it was with a guy at my old school, said I was the best head he ever had” , you say rubbing my balls

Hot.

Okay Eddie do what feels right

so that’s the clit? how cute

Bringing my lips around your nub, licking you, tasting you, “Oh god why do you taste so good, you smell so..sweet?”

“Was that a question?” You ask popping my dick outta your mouth

“No, no just the sweetest pussy I’ve never tasted”-

the only pussy I’ve ever tasted

I’ve never smelt anything like this, I think I’m addicted

Flicking my tongue a few time feeling you react in a high pitched moan, sucking and massaging it lightly, my eyes flutter spotting your ass hole winking at me

“Holy shit” she’s pretty everywhere

“What?”

“You have such a pretty ass” blurting out

“Eddie! I told you not to look!” She whines trying to climb off, “Shut up I do what I want”saying firmly, pulling you back down by your thighs; sticking my pointer finger in your cunt,

so that’s the squeeze Steve was talking about

“Ohmyg— fuckk yes please” she vibrates around me, a guttural moan purging from my throat, curling my finger like they said —

“Oh! Fuck yes keep doing that Eddie baby please”—

“I am, I am baby you just suck my dick”—

Holy shit who am I—

“-Eddie I think I’m gonna cum yep, I’m gonna cum..”—

“Wait really?”

“Yes!”

“Really?” Asking again “YES EDDIE SHUT UP AND KEEP GOING, FUCK”—

Thrusting faster, licking faster I feel your wetness roll down and down into my mouth instantly making me cum in yours

“Fuck baby like that, fuck did you..just swallow?—“ I ask but you proceed to keep sucking-“OKAY OKAY, stop, s-shit!”

Pleading trying to stop you from overstimulating me further, “Shit.. sweetheart, that dude was right, that was the best head I’ve ever got”

The only head I’ve ever got

She lays back down beside me with a large grin,” Was that your first time getting head? You came so fast for me”

Lie.

Not replying I get up, finding the condom in my Jean pocket, “What’re ya doing?” You ask with a questioned expression, “Condom?” I hold up “Oh, oh yeah yeah right duh”—

Fuck I forgot with which way it goes on— got it

Turning back to you, cock still hard, nudging your core

You give me a small smile, watching me hesitantly about to slip my tip in

“Wait! Wait!”-

“What? Sorry, I didn’t ask”—

“Eddie I need to tell you something..”

“Yeah?”

“I can tell you definitely know what you’re doing but I just.. be gentle because I’ve never done this before..”

never done this before, never done this before

I stare like a deer in headlights, the weight off my shoulders lifted. I laugh sarcastically to myself , “That’s, well.. I should probably tell you I’ve never done it either.. like ima”—

“Virgin too?”

“Yeah, surprise?” feeling embarrassed, “How did I not know that? We tell each other everything” shrugging, “Not sure, but I’m glad you told me before I stuck ya”

“Ew don’t say stuck me weirdo”

“Look, I don’t know what I’m doing at all, I had to ask Steve for advice.. I figured you would know more I mean since you wanted my handcuffs”-, you bite your lip, head shaking

“I said that because, I figured you’d know how to use em”

“There actually just for decoration sweetheart, looked kinda metal”, we laugh in awe with each other , “But here we are..” I say biting the skin on my lip—

“Yeah here we are” you look back up at me, hopeful, “Do you wanna stop?”

“No..do you wanna stop?”

“Nah, been hoping you’d be my first actually”, you blush at my statement pulling me down for a deep kiss , “Let’s do it..”

“..but what if I cum too fast? that would be humiliating”—

- “I understand how it works.. don’t feel bad if you do, I promise I won’t laugh Ed’s” she squeezes my hand lovingly

My heart is erect

I nod, looking over all of you again, spreading your thighs a little wider, “I’ll go slow”

Furrowing my brows in consentration, slipping my tip in, surprisingly not easy mother fuck—

“Holy fuck you’re so-

“Tight? I know I have a hard time fingering my self as is”

“Why would you tell me that at this very second,” I try not to laugh, holding my shit together, “that’s so hot by the way,” bottoming you out, we gasp in sync

“Oh god”-

“What?”

“Holy god”—

“What!?? You alright?” She asks , “I’m about to cum already”—

“I told you, it’s okay”

“I know but that’s so embarrassing”

You clench around me on purpose, suddenly your eyes widen, feeling a warmth from inside, while also hearing me grunt almost in pain above you

Silence.

“Im so sorry fuck,” pulling out, shocked at how full my condom is, “Did you cum?”, she scrunches her nose, “No silly”

“But you squeezed me?”

“Yeah but, I didn’t have an orgasm”

Fucking Steve

-“But Steve said when a girl cums she clenchs around us” explaining further—

“First off, I’m gonna need you to not take advice from Steve and second, I mean according to my girlfriends we do.. it’s like a few squeezes but apparently we really squeeze for a long time when we do cum? Maybe even shake? I’m not sure but I think I’d know when I felt it”

Well shit

He looks like a sad puppy this won’t do you think

“But hey, we can try again right? Don’t be embarrassed if anything it’s kinda hot”

“Really?”

“I mean yeah, I made you cum in under like 1 second, biggest ego boot ever” you lighten the mood, nudging my shoulder smiling at me, pulling me for another kiss, “Don’t ever tell anyone that” holding my forehead to yours

You smirk, holding your pinky up “I promise”, Interlocking mine, noticing your body shifted closer, staring at your lips, “Let me try again Sweetheart” your eyes also on mine, nodding, crawling back to you, chasing your touch, taking each others breath—

Was that a car door??

“Is someone here?”

“Honey we’re home!”

FUCK, not now!!

(again recommend you listen to Wet dreamz by Jcole; it’s a bop)

reblogs appreciated // this was fun. let me know your thoughts? I do realize the smut was kinda rushed? Should there be a part 2? Suggestions? Comments? Feel like I should have kept going for them to restart again but I dunno🤷🏽‍♀️

1K notes · View notes

smartgirrl · 9 months ago

Text

math study techniques

i’m going to break down some of the most effective ways to study math. this subject definitely can feel overwhelming, but with the right strategies, you can build confidence and success.

this is how i got consistent As on my tests!

mistakes are valuable

go over your mistakes and learn from them – don't move on without fully understanding why something went wrong.

keep an error log – reviewing common errors helps you avoid them in the future.

ngl, sometimes i get disappointed when i don't make mistakes cuz then i don't have a reference point for studying 😭

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · . ༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ✧˚ · . ˚ · .༉‧₊˚. ‘˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

use visual aids

in geometry or algebra, draw diagrams to visualize the problems.

i am a heavy visual learner so if I can, I will draw out every graph and shape.

here is a simple example of visual notes in math that i took a while ago

use graphing tools to understand functions or inequalities in a tangible way.

practice is key

math requires consistent practice – work through as many problems as you can, varying difficulty levels as you go.

don't rush – make sure you truly understand each problem before moving on.

time yourself during practice to build speed and accuracy for exams.

so important for testing! the tests i do best on i spend around 1-2 minutes per question, leaving me with almost an hour usually to review my work.

use online resources

platforms like Khan Academy or other math-focused sites can be super helpful for understanding difficult concepts.

personally i use resources like ChatGPT to give me extra problems that i can do before an exam

understand, don't memorize

break down formulas – know why and how formulas work to better apply them in different contexts.

if you're in more advanced math, try 'rediscovering' the formula

concepts over shortcuts – shortcuts can help, but deeper understanding will ensure long-term success.

ask for help when needed

study groups or tutors can provide new perspectives on tough problems.

don’t hesitate to ask your teacher for help if you’re stuck

trust me, teachers love questions. my teacher practically begs for them so don't be too afraid. spam office hours if you need to.

thank you for taking the time to read this. if you have any topics that you want me to cover, let me know!!

#studybrl #aesthetic #study motivation #it girl #studyspo #student life #study blog #studyblr #studying #academia #mathematics #study notes #study tips #study aesthetic #grrloriginal

276 notes · View notes

meracyn · 9 months ago

Text

Fairy Whispers ༄

a/n ; first ever fic ! apologies in advance if it isnt too good 😭 thank you for requesting anon <3 this fic is meant to be platonic, but read it either way you’d like + tomorrow ill probs post some shuichi content, n e ways i hope you enjoy !!

Fairy Tail.

The world where magic and adventure intertwine at every corner; where many are given the gift of bearing a sort of power, yet not everyone uses it to help and save others.

There’s corruption. Murder. Bloodshed caused by those consumed by the desire of gaining more power.

But of course, there are always ones with a good heart.

It was a sunny day today; and a day where everyone at the Fairy Tail guild could relax. Everyone was mostly off doing their own thing. Some drinking, reading quietly, chatting or hanging out with others.

It was supposed to be a chill day today, but definitely wasn’t for Lucy.

“Stop! Please, don’t hurt them!”

Lucy was sent on a mission — having to catch some robbers on a small village. It was pretty simple, so she took her time walking around, enjoying her alone time, or was, until she heard faint cries of distress. Following the sound, she came upon a scene that caught her off guard; it was a group of fairy poachers, trapping innocent fairies in nets, crushing or squeezing them in dirty bags. Lucy felt anger, and knew she had to act fast. Summoning her celestial spirits, she began to attack them, using her quick wit and power.

After sending them all flying off, Lucy quickly freed all the fairies, who hid or flew off as well, except for one. Stuck between a net, Lucy picked up the fairy out of the strings. The fairy, with sparkly wings and tear-filled eyes, looked up at Lucy, admiration, yet a hint of sadness mixing in her expression. “Thank you so much for saving me and my friends..” Slightly trembling, she continued. “I thought I was going to be their next experiment..”

Lucy smiled a little, lifting her finger to pat the fairy’s head. “It’s okay now, I’m here to protect you.” She said, hoping to provide her some comfort. However, as they both turned around, Lucy realized the amount of damage that was done. The poachers had destroyed the fairy’s home in the chaos, leaving her with no place to return to. “Where will I go to now?” the fairy whispered in worry.

Though dwelling in sadness, the fairy was admired by Lucy’s quickness to get involved and save her. “Thank you for saving me,” she said, voice slightly shaky. In a moment of thankfulness, she leaned in and gave Lucy a gentle kiss on the nose.

To their surprise, Lucy’s nose began to grow—two feet long, just like Pinocchio — Lucy was stunned — poked her nose, felt embarrassed and shocked. She did not expect that to happen by one small kiss. “Well, at least no one will see me like this! I hope...” she tried to joke, chuckling awkwardly.

The fairy gasped at the sight of Lucy, wondering how the kiss caused that strange effect. “Oh no..I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would happen, but I’m sure it will wear off in a day.. I’m so sorry..” She cried out, frantically flying around while apologizing profusely.

Lucy only chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “It’s fine! It isn’t your fault, I know you have good intentions. But I guess I can smell trouble from a mile away now!” she exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood. The fairy, though still blaming herself, ended up smiling a little at Lucy’s attempt to make her feel better about the situation.

As they walked together, the fairy got an idea. “What if your nose becomes my new home in the meantime?” Lucy looked at her with an expression that said ‘That is the most wild idea I’ve ever heard.’ At the same time, she did understand how the little creature must be feeling, – losing the only place you call home is devastating.

“Does that mean you’ll decorate my nose and cut some parts to resemble it as a house?” Lucy teased. The fairy let out a short giggle while nodding, going along with Lucy’s jokes. “Now that you said it, maybe I should.” The celestial wizard feigned a look of horror before the two burst into laughter. Lucy promised to help her find a new home, and to find her whenever she needed help in the future.

The rest of the day was spent with them both picking up flowers, grass and small sticks. Using her magic, the fairy transformed the objects into a cloud seat, a small bed, table and chairs, filled with laughter along the way. Despite Lucy’s strange nose, she wasn’t too worried about it – at least it wasn’t permanent. Although it did feel really weird, she never would’ve expected to feel her nose heavy. Is this how Pinocchio felt? The blonde wondered. “I’ll definitely never forget this day.” she chuckled.

As the sun began to set, Lucy decided to lay down on the grass, humming contently as the cool breeze brushed against her skin. This experience was definitely strange but ending up being a lot of fun in the end.

It was quiet for a while, before she spoke up. “Like I said, whenever you need help, come find me at fairy tail. I’m Lucy Heartfilia, and I promise to always protect you.” Turning her head slightly, Lucy raised her hand, holding her pinky finger out. The fairy smiled, giving a nod. “I’m Y/N, and I promise you will always have the protection of the fairies from now on.”

They linked pinkies, under the starry night sky.

242 notes · View notes

itwasrealtome · 9 months ago

Text

THIN ICE

Olivia Benson x fem! reader

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

ANGST | Olivia Benson x fem! detective reader | Masterlist

Summary : Detective Y/N Y/L/N, part of Olivia Benson’s Special Victims Unit, faces a life-threatening situation during a suspect’s arrest, chasing this one into an ultimate falls to his death. Injured but alive, Y/N finds herself in an hospital room, receiving stern words from Olivia about her reckless actions.

A/N : Hello my loves. I'm finally sharing this first Olivia X reader with you. I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think. There are a few people I can't identify in the taglist, I'm sorry.

Navigation :

Main Masterlist

Don’t miss any more OS/SERIES/FIC or info by being tagged

TikTok

•••

This afternoon, the streets seemed even more crowded than usual. The vehicles flooded the roads, coming from every corner and blocking the main way out.

Behind a queue of about ten of them, a police car came to a sudden halt. The alarm was on, and the blue and red flashing lights blinded anyone who looked in that direction.

But no one moved.

Not even the sound of a horn persuaded the citizens of New York to get out of the path.

Amanda’s grip on the wheel only tightened. She had never been able to understand the reason behind people’s insensitivity to this kind of thing. It was such an easy thing to understand. Besides, someone’s life often depended on it. Yet, there she was, turning furiously midway, her partner gasping in surprise, her shirt now stained with hot coffee.

— Dude, can’t you just warn before doing that kind of thing?

The blonde gave a brief glance to her passenger. She expected to find her glued to the door, her fingers clenched around the top handle, but she didn’t.

Y/N was desperately trying to absorb the contents of her cup on her worktop. The wipers provided with her order, finally finding their use.

While most people would have been annoyed about staining a piece of clothing, the young detective was not. She seemed much more upset about losing a few drops of her beverage. The former could still be replaced, but the latter was definitely needed.

— Sorry about your shirt.

— Yeah, well you owe me a coffee.

The driver’s smile only widened when she heard her partner muttering complaints. She knew her well enough to say that it had nothing to do with that slight accident. It was cute. Of course, it was. But Amanda could see through it. She knew it had nothing to do with the coffee. Sure, the days were long and their job involved finding stimulants to stay awake, but Y/N was never acting like that. Something was different. And who better to notice than someone who practically lived with her?

— Sure you’re okay?

— Rollins, it’s just a shirt. I think I can get over it.

Amanda gave her a knowing glance. She expected this kind of answer from the young officer. Everyone knew what kind of person she was.

Committed, she was always the first to arrive at the precinct and the last to leave. She was practically married to the job by now. And though Kat had trouble following orders, Y/N did not. She was the perfect partner. Amanda couldn’t remember a time when Y/N had lost control. But these days, everything seemed to fall apart.

It began with a couple of small comments, here and there, a bit too harsh coming from Y/N’s mouth. Next up, her silence during the team talk was a concerning factor for Amanda. If anyone always had something to add to the investigation, it was her. This ranged from a simple detail no one had noticed, to scientific or sociological facts. It was often complicated to keep the detective quiet, so her lack of involvement was bound to catch the eye. That and the fact the blonde had seen her leave the bunks two mornings in a row at the exact same time.

Sure, it was just the addition of minor details. But the older woman’s gut was not wrong, not about this. Something was wrong with her partner. And it had nothing to do with a simple lack of caffeine.

— Oh, don’t give me that kind of look.

— But you’re not telling me the truth, Y/N/N!

Y/N huffed quietly. At times in her life, she hated being around people whose job was to investigate. She cursed them all equally. She just couldn’t help herself the last few days. Her anger was aimed at a specific and unique person, but that person being in law enforcement themselves, it was almost overwhelming to go to work every day. Time seemed to run too slowly there. The only moments she enjoyed were those outside the building. The cold New York weather allowed her to clear her mind and take a deep breath. And she always had something to do, after all the city never slept.

—Like you don’t keep anything to yourself, huh?

Amanda faintly spluttered. Everyone knew she had had difficult times, but she wasn't the only one. And now that she was honest with herself, she knew she had made mistakes. One thing’s for sure, she did not want her partner to replicate these.

— I made some mistakes, most of them I don’t want you to repeat.

— I seriously doubt you did this one.

That was all she could get out of the young detective. Amanda knew it as she watched her turn toward the window. The mere reflection of her face gave her a glimpse of what she was really feeling inside, a sweet mixture of anger and bitterness. Whatever the problem was, it wasn't something they could fix with a drink. And this worried the blonde even more.

— Just promise me you won't do anything stupid.

These words captured the passenger's interest again. She arched an eyebrow at her partner, a smile forming at the corner of her lips. Knowing their duo’s dynamics, she had dozens of retorts on the tip of her tongue, all of them a little more mischievous than the last. Instead, she just shook her head gently. Amanda didn't have to know how upset she was about the whole thing. She didn’t deserve to worry so much. And Y/N certainly had no right to be such a burden to her partner.

— Like what? Jumping off a building? y/n chuckled at the blonde’s glare. Relax. I won’t do anything of that kind, I promise.

At that very moment, the young detective genuinely meant it. She had not gotten up with such an idea in mind. If jumping off a building was regarded as a very stupid gesture, she considered her routine more so.

It was in the way the precinct’s bunks were beginning to feel like home. And how she spent every second of her days with the badge on her waist. She had no idea when she had last stepped into her apartment for more than a shower. Her desk was overflowing with paperwork and books in which she always found a way to bury herself. It was much more than a way to distract herself. At all costs, she avoided raising her head, out of fear of meeting the gaze that froze her every time. The path she was on was, for that matter, significantly more dangerous than whatever stupid thing Amanda was thinking about.

But she could not say that to her.

To anyone, actually.

— Weren't we just called to make sure that this jerk wasn't prowling around the residence?

In any other context, Y/N would have felt like a fool. Her back nearly arched as she tried to make out what was going on in a street they weren't even close to yet. She may have lacked sleep and insight into her personal life, but her cop intuition never failed her.

— You'd be sure of that if you'd listened to a single word the captain said.

— Something’s wrong.

Amanda brought them to the next intersection before momentarily stopping the car. The sight over her partner’s shoulder sent a chill down her spine. Despite years of experience, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline every time. The crowd of cops down the street certainly wasn’t helping. They were everywhere. Mostly hidden behind their vehicles. But their vests did not go unnoticed and neither did their weapons pointed at a specific target.

— Crap, I hate when you’re right about this stuff.

— Hum…what was that you were saying about our captain again? y/n faced her friend with a teasing smile on her face. She couldn’t help herself. Always listen to what sh–

The sudden acceleration of the vehicle silenced Y/N. She felt grateful once again that her belt was keeping her safe. No day went by without her being in some kind of danger, but she never thought she’d have to worry about dying while Amanda was behind the wheel.

— Would you please stop doing that? cried the younger detective, her hands still clutching the top handle. And since when do you drive so badly? Damn it.

— Guess now you’ll stop driving like a maniac if I let you get behind the wheel.

The door swung shut before she could react. She stepped out of the car herself and walked over to Amanda. A vest was tossed in her face before she could even think about opening her mouth. But anyone who thought she would have given up so easily was wrong.

— I do not drive like a maniac.

Her friend gave her a knowing look as she closed the trunk. Now was definitely not the time to have this kind of conversation, but Amanda was glad her partner hadn’t lost everything that made her the person she was.

She was relentless, both in her work and in her personal life. To be defeated by a suspect in an interrogation room was a rare occurrence. Within the profession, many officers wondered about her career choice. They could imagine her leaving the field to terrify judges in a courtroom. Perhaps because they were themselves scared to death to face her. Seeking victory in a debate with a woman like Y/N was a waste of time. She knew when she was wrong, and would always acknowledge it. Nevertheless, she also knew when she was right. And in those moments, Amanda was the first to grab a bag of popcorn.

— That you do.

The detective’s hands found the velcro on the vest from memory as she was too busy glowering at her friend. The protection weighed on her shoulders. It was almost enough to give her a reason to fall apart. That, and the weight of life that was beginning to take its toll on her.

Slightly defeated, she stomped over to Amanda to catch up with her. She knew the other detective was right. Her anger was evident in the way she drove. Since then, she was assigned the role of co-pilot. It was okay. But she loathed being deprived of her usual distraction. It was starting to loop in her mind. She needed a way out.

— Detective Rollins and Y/L/N, Special Victims Unit.

Amanda shoved her badge in the man’s direction, half-expecting him to tell her to piss off. He dominated the scene with his large stature and a rank evident to all. The rookies were following his orders and keeping their mouths shut. Something that obviously wouldn't work with Olivia Benson-trained agents. He didn't seem to mind, guiding the two detectives as close as possible to the scene. But then, the mere idea of having to send men into the building made him raise his chin in an authoritative, disapproving manner.

— Our only witness is trapped in this building, Rollins began the fight, finger pointing accusingly. I don't care how, I want that man in custody.

If one of them had looked up for even half a second, instead of fighting over who had the biggest –which was obviously Y/N in this situation– they might have been able to stop the young detective in her tracks. Amanda had had enough of listening to the man's whining as he waved his rank in her face. And her colleague, the one she was supposed to look after, was tired of simply waiting.

As discreet as a mouse in the middle of the city, Y/N circled the building and quickly found a fire escape. It wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind when the impulse to walk into the building first came to her, but she couldn't really say she'd given it much thought. With a bit of imagination, and a little help from a trash container, she managed to pull herself up to the top. Now, maybe that was the beginning of a crazy idea. She could already imagine her partner and captain scolding her - if, and only if, she managed to get out of there alive and intact.

At the top of the stairs leading to the third floor, the detective stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of their suspect's agitated voice.

Thomas Patterson, 45, suspected of having violently abused his wife before killing her, and of abusing his stepdaughter - Johanne Morales. The man's profile was clear: a respectful-looking husband and father-in-law, loved by all, carefree, but once the door was closed he turned into a control freak with urges he simply couldn't escape. He clearly hadn't planned to kill his wife. The autopsy had revealed signs of haste and mistakes that a man like Patterson would never have made if he had prepared properly. But he had made mistakes. His blows had been too violent, Johanne had interrupted him, and he'd had to finish the job quickly - too quickly, in order to hide his crime.

Y/N had studied his profile carefully. That's what she did best, that and avoiding her captain. She knew he was restless, nervous, ready to do anything to cover up his actions. The final piece of the puzzle was to eliminate the only witness, the one who would go all the way to court to see him take the fall. She had an advantage over him. She was there, so close to the goal, and he was unaware of her presence. At least, that was until Amanda's voice came through the radio.

— Y/L/N, you've got two seconds to get your butt over here.

The young detective could have banged her own head against the wall. Boy, had she been stupid on that one. She clenched her jaw, the urge to bite her fist growing cumbersome as she prayed Thomas hadn't heard. But he definitely did.

A front door opened slowly, the creaking hinges betraying the building’s condition. The man was probably armed, the sound of the guard echoing in the empty corridor. Each of his steps shook the wooden floor and sent a current of adrenalin through Y/N's veins. He was getting closer. She could smell him and his perfume. Him and her fear.

As soon as he was close enough to round the corner of the stairwell, the young detective took this as her cue. She charged at the man, her hands reaching for the 9mm held firmly in his rough, bleeding hands. In a split second, the magazine slid out and collapsed on the floor. She sent it tumbling down a few steps with her boot, before landing a knee into the suspect’s parts. This only confused him for the briefest moment. He was on her again before she could even flinch. Her body hit the wall with a heavy thud, the vest shielding her body from the heavy impact. However, the man’s hands found her neck and tightened their grip, pulling her head violently forward and then pushing it back, slamming it against the concrete wall.

He repeated the motion twice more, the detective’s pleas of pain provoking a feeling he himself could not begin to describe. Y/N wasn’t done with him yet. He clearly wanted to lash out at a woman and had a nasty habit of underestimating them all. Only, today wasn’t his lucky day. He was forced into the apartment where he had deliberately tied up the young Johanne. It was his turn to bang into something. The dresser barely tilted behind him, but the vase crashed hard against the top of his skull. He felt the water run down his face, the smell of freshly bought flowers wafting through the air.

Back in a corner, Johanne tried desperately to struggle out of her bonds, her words puffed out by the duct tape over her mouth. She could only witness the struggle between her back-up and her assailant. Watching as Y/N unloaded all her pent-up anger on the man who had dared to cause so much harm. In one smooth motion, Thomas grabbed the detective’s gun, a triumphant glint in his eyes. Hope was soon lost, his chances of getting out of there alive and free close to zero. His opponent was relentless and had no intention of letting him slip away. His only option, he realized, a flash of light reflecting off the window, was to drag the detective with him in his fall.

Outside, Amanda was still arguing with the man in charge of operations. He hadn’t given up and neither had she. Only when, as the argument continued to escalate, gunshots were heard, followed by the shattering of a window pane, did they come to an agreement. The plan didn’t even have time to take shape before two bodies flew out of the building.

First, the blonde saw the man she recognized as their suspect crash hard to the ground, the collision knocking him down instantly. Then came a tremendous thump and the shrill sound of a car alarm. Straight ahead of her, on one of the patrol cars, had landed Y/N. The height of the fall meant that the roof of the vehicle had been crushed and some of the windows smashed. That wasn't what Amanda was most worried about. Her partner, the one who'd promised her she wouldn't do anything stupid – like jumping off the third floor of a building, was sprawled motionless on the broken glass, blood on the back of her skull.

— Oh my God, Y/N, in one stride, she was as close as she could get to her friend. Call an ambulance. Now!

For once, the man made himself useful, radio in hand, as he asked for help. He now stood with one, maybe two, even three victims to deal with if the detective didn't make it. He could already imagine the damage it would do to his career. Besides, he knew Captain Benson very well and had no desire to mess with her.

Needless was his worry. The more Amanda studied her friend, the more she realized how lucky she’s been. Y/N was simply stunned, staring at the New York sky with an uncharacteristic intensity. She began to laugh, full-throated, heartily. It was probably the adrenaline pumping again. Tears joined the party, leaving funny marks on her bloody cheeks. Suddenly, she remembered.

— Johanne. She's alive. Up there. Y/N looked up at Amanda expectantly. She needs help.

***

Captain Olivia Benson had seen enough in her career not to let anxiety get the better of her. She had been beaten, kidnapped, almost died and dragged through the mud in front of an entire courtroom. She had reached a point where facing certain types of suspects no longer made her lose her footing.

But someone was bound to make her lose it.

Briskly, almost to the point of knocking herself off her feet, she made her way through the corridors of a hospital she knew all too well. The distinctive clatter of her heels against the floor blended perfectly with the incessant beeping and distant hubbub of such a place. She wasn't there to see a victim, as she often was. Her hasty and agitated demeanor only aroused the suspicions of the medical staff who had crossed paths with her so many times. It wasn't just a professional matter.

It hadn't been for a long time.

When Olivia reached room 212, she didn't spare a moment's hesitation. One of her youngest detectives and latest recruit was sitting wisely on the edge of the bed, her legs wriggling in the air like a child's. A nurse was visibly busy behind her, dropping more and more glass flakes into her tray as she went. She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded tightly against her chest, eyes focused on the sight that made her stomach hurt in spite of herself.

She watched as Y/N's chest, covered in dried blood, continued to pulsate with every breath, as hematomas were already starting to spread across her face and torso, and as her plain face twisted in pain as soon as the nurse reached for another piece of glass. Just a few days ago, her first instinct would have been to rush to her protégé’s side and calm the agony she knew to be growing in her heart. But she'd vowed to keep her distance and stay in her current position: Captain Benson, unit chief.

All too quickly for the young detective's liking, the nurse finished her treatment and left the two law enforcement agents behind. Olivia had had the decency to wait until the door was closed before lashing out at her, which didn't stop Y/N from rolling her eyes. She'd already imagined this conversation - or rather, monologue - and knew she wouldn't come out of it unscathed. She'd probably lose her badge. No matter, she'd already lost her heart.

— Have you completely lost your mind? You could’ve been killed.

This was the cue for a lengthy sermon that she couldn't escape. The words left Olivia's mouth at a speed that seemed unbearable. She paced back and forth, her arms stretching out in waves of frustration and indignation, her cheeks rosy with emotion. She'd done some stupid things herself when she was just a rookie, but throwing herself off the third floor of a building had never been on the list.

— Are you done? y/n arched an eyebrow as Olivia finally paused. I saved a life today. While Amanda and that jerk were fighting over who had the biggest, which apparently I did.

— No, you refused to follow orders. Not only did you put yourself in danger, you put everyone's lives in danger. Heaven help us again that you were wearing your vest, otherwise it could have been a lot worse.

— I don't know why you care so much, you're just my boss!

Although these words were intended to hurt Olivia, it was Y/N who took the brunt of the blow. It was one thing to know that their relationship had been reduced to this, but it was quite another to admit it in person. The brunette was no longer entitled to worry so much, to ask her to watch out and send her a text as soon as she got home. Whatever had been was no more.

— Right, Olivia broke into an almost scoffing snort. Let me tell you, as your captain, that you won't be leaving the precinct for a long time.

— You’re benching me? Liv, you can’t do this!

— What you did was completely irresponsible. You don't want to follow orders, fine. But you're not leaving this desk without my permission.

The young detective had been holding her breath for a long time– far too long. She'd spent days avoiding conflict, lamenting in her corner, mourning the end of a story she'd thought would last forever. It wasn't just about what had just happened, it was something else, something more personal. She felt as if Olivia had no idea how to express her concern, as if her only option was to play the role of the big bad boss. But she was tired of hiding, of running away, of avoiding confrontation.

— Breaking my heart wasn't enough for you, uh? She rose from the bed, hastily putting on her jacket. If you want me to leave the squad, just say so.

For the first time, she faced her head-on. Head held high, eyebrows furrowed in frustration, ready to stand on tiptoe if that would help reach the brunette's height. She faced those brown pearls with all the courage she had left, her own eyes misty with tears she'd never let flow. This was it, so close yet so far, two souls who knew each other becoming strangers once again.

Olivia reached out with a last ounce of regret, brushing away a tear that had escaped down the young detective's cheek with the tip of her thumb. Her heart urged her to do more, to embrace this bruised woman, to bring her all the comfort she needed. She wanted to take Y/N home, wrap her in one of her shirts, tell her how much she loved her. In another life, where they were just two soul mates, where Olivia didn't have to worry about repercussions, whatever they might be. This was where she could find comfort.

— Go home. Take a few days. Get some rest. We'll talk about it when you get back.

The New Yorker had rarely seen a face shattered in a matter of seconds. Her words had urged Y/N to free herself from her hold, her head heavy and spinning from all the hassle and concussion she'd picked up from the blows. Her shoulder nudged her superior's as she walked by, a gesture of no little importance. She did not look back once to meet her former lover's gaze again.

Maybe she should have.

Maybe she would have seen the same love, the same tears, that Olivia saw in her eyes.

Maybe the ice wasn't so thin after all.

•••

Taglist: @electricboost @womenlovingwomen-imagines @hi-1-1-blog @emskisworld @enjoytheentireworld @arie109 @marvelandotheruniverseslover-adhd @philocalistwrites @wittygutsy @observeowl @ravennewlyn @tina-2005 @makkaroni221 @ssaaggwwaa @youdontknowwhotfiamm @mmmmokdok @hbkpop @micaluvssoccer @idk-whats-wrong-with-me-blog @nciscmjunkie @moonlightjxuregui @thefatobsession @12fluffybunny12 @scarletwitcher97 @thesamesweetie @idonothingallday @clozeliz @realgirlbossqueenslay @l4yne @rain-mikaelson @fanfiction-24824 @sammi1642 @inquisitive-nix @namelesscheshire @slasherthrillss @marvelwomenrule @irishavengersassemble @marvelwomenrule

#olivia benson x reader #law and order svu #oneshot #angst #amanda rollins x reader #olivia benson

319 notes · View notes