#of meeting in every new lifetime and falling for each other

[crybaby-bkg]

genuine question: do you guys believe in soulmates? I just finished a chapter of a fic where it talked about soulmates not being real and even tho it’s not the whole premise of the fic, it made me think, you know?

it just seems so outlandish to me that everyone has a soulmate, be it platonic or romantic, but that everyone has someone out there that’s meant for them. but at the same time, I do believe in it because I think about those moments when you meet someone, and it isn’t necessarily anything special, not some life changing moment on the spot. but it develops into something so deep and great that it physically makes you ache when you think about ever parting from them.

having a soulmate has always seemed like a “book/fiction only” concept to me, but there are moments and times where I witness or even experience and think that, there’s no way this person isn’t connected or tied to me in some higher way that I could possible imagine.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Hello! I’d love to read your vision of the LoD boys x MC in high school. (High school to adults, just high school, childhood. Anything!) Alllll the cliches appreciated, haha.

Coming-of-Age HC's with the LADS Guys

pairing: fem!reader x Zayne, fem!reader x Xavier, fem!reader x Rafayel

content: fluff, alternate universe (kinda)

Childhood with Zayne is filled with increasingly hot summers and snowy winters. It’s memories of an extroverted young girl dragging along her much more introverted best friend (well, Caleb’s friend first) to make popsicles under the blaze of the June sun and snowmen in the cold of January. In the same way snow melts with the coming of spring, you chip his shell away, making a friendship that’s stronger than any of your lifetimes.

Those years with Zayne are like a pleasant dream, soft and gentle, like his hand when he wipes away the tears from your cheeks whenever you fall or when he places a band-aid on one of the many injuries prone to an adventurous spirit.

Middle School with Zayne is when you first feel fragility in your friendship. You’re realizing you might be growing in different directions.

Zayne is intelligent, often getting attention for his grades and participating in scholars tournaments while you’re busy with your own hobbies and friends that come with them.

There’s hope your friendship will persevere each time you walk home together, each time he lets you share his umbrella on heavy rainy days, and each day he saves to spend with you.

High school with Zayne is confusing. Growing into adulthood is an exciting and nervous situation for anyone but even more-so when everyone but you seem to realize that you have feelings for your childhood friend.

Your grandma is constantly reminding you how smart and handsome Zayne has become. He’s going to study to be a doctor, you know! Maybe you should ask him to prom?

Caleb complains about how Zayne usually takes your side in arguments and does what you want all the time. He frequently teases you every time you sigh over the older boy. Isn’t getting a crush on your older brother’s friend too obvious?

They’re right though, and it’s awkward. What’s more awkward is the stolen kiss with Zayne in the new car his parents got him when he first got his license. You don’t talk about it even after he goes to college.

Meeting Zayne as an adult is nostalgic yet new as you learn about each other again. The trust you had in each other never truly left.

With each trinket, you realize he’s still the same Zayne, quiet and stern on the outside but with a patient and gentle center. However, his smart mouth still rears its head as frequently as it did back in high school.

You watch out for him more as an adult, because you see that he isn’t actually good at caring for himself despite all his intelligence. You make it so he can rely on you to get through the past days and future ones.

You try new things together. You adapt to how your views of the world differ so you can mold those differences together, creating one shared experience in the life you build with one another.

Childhood with Xavier is innocent. Being born on Philos is like being born in a fantasy book. Your world is sword training and ceremony rehearsals, your feet always chasing after the decorated knights and lightseekers before they board their spaceships. In your mind, the world is as limitless as the starry sky promised just beyond its surface.

Xavier is the same way. He says he likes sword training because it’s the only thing he’s good at. Truthfully, he loves that sword, carries it around with him everywhere like a third arm, and you love training with your new fellow student.

As you get older, things start to change for reasons you don’t really understand. The loss of innocence is slow, dragging out like the death of a star. It starts when silly days sword practicing becomes military drills. Then, Xavier’s ceremony rehearsals become real with each trial he has to overcome. It culminates when you find out that he will probably be betrothed one day against his will, which manifests into doubt that you would ever be on the list for a prince to marry.

Military Academy with Xavier offers a surprising amount of freedom as you discover yourself away from the watchful eyes of the royal family. It’s reintroducing him to your favorite snacks and music and sneaking out of the barracks to watch the stars and anything else he couldn’t do under the iron grip of his family.

There’s also many nights helping him study and focus so he can become the best version of himself because he still has rebellious tendencies after all these years.

These tendencies lead you to covering for him and also him talking you into one too many bad ideas. Ideas that leave you carrying one another home on stumbling legs after too many rounds with random wanderers or rounds with liquor way stronger than you know how to deal with.

It’s okay. You have each other to keep the other safe, so attached at the hip that Jeremiah always wonders where the other one is whenever he catches the two of you apart.

His light shines only for you. If you asked, he would give anything to make sure you’re happy: his time, his freedom, his life.

The jealousy and longing to be with you grates against the cage his title keeps around him whenever he sees someone else who has seen your light and fallen in love with you too. It’s written love letters, never signed, but left in your locker, the ones that smell like forget-me-nots and written in a prose that Xavier hopes you won’t recognize as his when he sees you fawning over the little notes.

Your looming graduation reignites the worries about your relationship. You have to come to terms with your respective role as a knight and Xavier as King. Xavier feels the same way.

Yet this part of your life quickly becomes filled with sweet nothings – promises to run away together, carried on his wishes to be with you for the rest of immortality, all wrapped in the little star charm carried on his sword. It makes you realize your feelings were requited all along.

Adulthood with Xavier fills like achieved dreams and nights you never want to end. It’s basking in the company of one another, adorned with kisses and released longing that couldn’t be given years prior.

It’s becoming more than just his guiding starlight but his entire galaxy, and he shows it with each kiss he gives you.

Childhood with Rafayel feels like you’re dreaming. Mermaids aren’t supposed to exist but there’s one right in front of you.

You learn so many things from him. He loves talking about almost anything from his culture to your culture. He loves art, the sunset, and music.

You bring him lots of things from land that you think he would like, spending long days at the beach trading items with him and showing him human toys. It becomes normal to strike out early every weekend to meet the Lemurian boy again and again.

He braids Lemurian ribbons and clips seashell accessories into your hair. He teaches you Lemurian lullabies and sayings. He often gets in trouble for accidentally gifting you family heirlooms without realizing the weight of said items. He just thought it was pretty. Even if he got in trouble, it was worth it to see you smile.

Your time together eventually develops into trying to think of ideas to explore further from the beach. You train to hold your breath a little longer with hopes of making it further into the sea than last time.

Your first kiss is because of the legend that Lemurian kisses can let one breathe underwater. It wasn’t really a big deal back then. However, the memory of it makes your face hot many years later when you think back on it.

The end of summer marks the slowdown of your free time together. It always ends with a pinky promise to spend your next free day with him.

Your 8th grade year with Rafayel is a collage of photos and videos filled with cawing seagulls, the serenade of his harmonica, and the first time your feet were able to touch the surface of the water. Rafayel always seems to want to show off his new powers as the next God of the Sea.

He’s still a child though, which means he is still insistent to sneak to school with you to see what human classes are like. He still talks too smartly to the other students, and you still have to talk him out of a fight with one of the other boys.

It’s an exhausting day but he seemed to have fun running around town with you, saving the day in the strip of pictures printed out from the photo booth and the memory of his first surface world sunset.

Your later teenage years offer even less time together but each time you visit him feels more meaningful than the last even though you can’t go further than the crackle of a bonfire at the edge of the beach. You’re happy with these late nights though because you love the boy from another world.

No matter how many years pass, he’ll always be the boy who gets shy and makes excuse after excuse to avoid singing for you despite being born a siren. He’s the boy who constantly complains about his classmates being idiots for saying you’re going to steal his blood and make him into oil and how they tease him for being friends with a human. He refuses to tell you that it’s more because of his crush on a human. Despite all that, he has no issue dropping hint after hint about how Lemurians can bond with others by giving one of their scales.

Years later, it still makes a lovely necklace to wear when he finally makes his choice to be on land, with you, his beloved bride.

[kenziesimsblog]

SIMS 3 HIGH SCHOOL STEROTYPE LEGACY

hi guys! I decided to make my very own legacy for sims 3! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

some traits are repeated because they fit!

GEN 1-EMO

you never really fit in when you lived in your small town so as soon as you became a young adult you moved to the bustling city where you began a new alternative band.

traits - over-emotional, loner, virtuous, shy, and night owl

lifetime wish-rock star

career- music

requirements

must fall in love with another emo. -must name kids after alternative band members / singers, albums or songs.

must have fun colored hair. -must have piercing (s)

dye hair at least 3 times during each life stage

must complete lifetime wish.

master guitar skill

start a band. -must be close to bandmates

perform every or most gig you get. -reach level 5 celeb status

GEN 2-POPULAR

you are the exact opposite of your parent but hey when you're the kid of a famous band member you're bound to be popular.

traits- diva, irresistible, social butterfly, party animal, and flirty

lifetime wish- super popular..

career-any

requirements must have 2 best friends. choose either being a mean popular or a nice one. throw tons of parties be in at least 3 relationships before finding the one. marry the nerdiest person. master the charisma skill. don't lose any friends. chat with friends at least once week have at least 1 boy and 1 girl

GEN 3-NERD

your parent always taught you to be yourself and to show how smart you are!

traits - genius, bookworm, socially awkward, eccentric, and loser

lifetime wish- perfect student

career- scientist requirements always have an "A" in school go to university. earn your degree with a perfect GPA. earn a scholarship. be a strict parent. if kid has lower than a yell at them meet your partner in university. make kids have daily chores. make kids have curfew of 7. master logic skill master inventor skill

GEN 4- THE CLASS CLOWN

your parent was super strict and you vowed to never be like them

traits good sense of humor, rebellious, easily impressed, inappropriate,and friendly.

lifetime wish- distinguished director.

career- director

requirements have a bad relationship with your parents. have a "D" in school. always pull pranks on school and home become a director for comedies (pretend) master street art skill have at least 1 girl steal partner from someone else

GEN 5- HORSE GIRL

horses, horses, horses that's all you talk about traits - equestrian, loves the outdoors, ambitious, athletic ,and lucky

lifetime wish- the jockey

career- none all your time is spent with horses

requirements have a horse as a child. must be female. have at least 2 horses ride them every day. marry a cowboy/cowgirl. enter racing. live in a farmhouse. master riding skill have 1 kid that you have a bad relationship with.

GEN 6-BULLY

your mom only paid attention to her horses and not you resulting in a bully

traits- evil, mean spirited , grumpy, brooding, and coward

lifetime wish- ceo of mega corporation

career - business requirements be hated by everyone. have one "friend" that is a sidekick. get pregnant or impregnate a one-night stand. have baby in your household. co parent with one night stand even though you hate it. marry one night stand at middle/end of adult life. have one more child/ or multiples before you reach elder status. at least perform two mean actions a day

GEN 7- GAMER

your parents didnt care what you did they spent to much time hating each other so what better way to distract your self then video games

traits- couch potato, computer whiz, heavy sleeper, night owl and loner

lifetime wish- blog artist

career - video game developer

requirements attend university to master nerd social group. drop out when maxed nerd group. marry college sweetheart. cheat on college sweetheart with person you met online. have one kid with college sweetheart.

have more with new partner play video games every day. run a blog about games. master logic skill

GEN 8- THEATER KID

you spent all of your childhood watching plays dreaming one day it would be you

traits- star quality, natural born performer , hopeless romantic , dramatic, and ambitious

lifetime wish- superstar actor.

career- actor

requirements name kids after real life actors woohoo 5 celebs. complete lifetime wish. get pregnant by 3 different celebs. have at least 3 kids have a bad reputation. ruin your reputation at least once. never get married. spoil your kids.

GEN 9- JOCK

you lived in a booming town with a big gym where you spent most of your time

traits- handy, athletic, vegetarian, green thumb, and daredevil

lifetime wish- become a superstar athlete.

career- athletic

requirements master lifetime wish. be a vegetarian. have a garden of healthy vegetables. workout everyday max gardening skill max handy skill max athletic skill meet partner at gym. have a big family (4 kids)

GEN 10-ARTSY

traits- artistic, avant garde, adventurous, perfectionist, virtuoso

lifetime wish-master of arts

career- self employed artist

requirements master guitar skill master painting skill travel to different countries for inspiration meet partner in another country. perform for tips. sell paintings. at least always have one animal in house house is very colorful. do photography on the side. master lifetime wish. go out with family every holiday.

be sure to tag me in posts if you decide to play!

[withacapitalp]

There You Are

Link to AO3

There’s certain things that are almost always the same. 

His name is usually Eddie. Sometimes short for Edward, sometimes short for Edith, sometimes short for absolutely nothing at all. Even when his name isn’t anything like it at all, he finds a way to get the nickname Eddie. It’s the only one that ever feels right. 

His name is usually Eddie, and Steve’s name is Steve. 

The names are the same, and so are the people around them. Dustin, Nancy, Will, El, all of them. New faces, new relationships, new struggles, but the core of a person doesn’t change. Wayne told him once a few times ago that when someone is family, they’ll always be home. You never forget home. 

Steve is Eddie’s home, so he spots the little things. The tiny details that lead him to Steve like the universe leaving crumbs for its favorite mouse. 

Steve ends up surrounded by the kids. He has great hair. Robin is always at his side, no matter what. 

But the most important thing is Eddie knows him. 

From the first time their eyes meet, a part of Eddie’s soul settles. It’s instinctual, learned, familiar. He’s found Steve in this lifetime, and now is the fun part. The falling back in love. The learning each other again. Smoking in the back of vans, or battling in trenches, or brushing hands in a crowded ballroom.

Steve has fallen in love with Eddie in a thousand lifetimes, and Eddie has loved him just as much in each one. 

And so when Eddie walks into his daughter Max's kindergarten class to pick her up and sees her skipping towards him holding hands with her teacher, he already knows. The teacher is a young man with soft black locks and honey eyes. He's giving Max all his attention, and when he smiles, his entire face lights up. 

Eddie knows, and so he says what he says every time he's finally found his way back to his home. 

"There you are," 

[tadpolesonalgae]

Pools of Sunlight

Cassian x reader

A/N: just a short piece, but I hope it gives some comfort :)

Word count: 753

Sunlight pushes through your lids, eyes scrunching as you pull yourself tighter beneath the blankets, curling closer to the bone-deep warmth of the duvet.

Shadow falls over you, and you manage to crack your eyes open drearily, sleep making your lids feel thick and heavy. Warm hazel is watching you quietly, the edges of his mouth softened, the morning light adding a honey-like quality to his eyes as he gazes at you. Your attention drifts up to where the shadow is mercifully coming from, his wing held slightly aloft in the air, shade from the sun.

Eyes return to bright but soft hazel, tan skin seemingly warmer with a morning flush, and you manage a sleepy smile, rolling closer. Thick, muscular arms wrap around your torso, dipping beneath your ribs as he shifts to his side, allowing you to press against the hot, bare skin of his chest.

Habitually, you’re pulling his scent deeper, memorising every new second with him, committing every moment to memory, precious time kept deep in the chambers of your mind for whenever cloudy days settle, or he’s taken away for longer than usual.

The pads of your fingers trace his skin, pulling over toughened scar tissue, a faint waxy sheen over the healed wound, and you press a kiss to its peak. His own broad palms begin to wander, one cupping the crown of your head, stroking your hair lethargically, thumb soothing over the notches of your spine further down.

“Morning,” he murmurs into the warm quiet, lips brushing over your skin with the hushed greeting. You hum pleasantly, nosing at his throat, settling deeper into the lines of his body like you might find a way to press entirely against him, so not a single part of you is detached. “Morning, Cass,” you mumble back, content to rest for a while more before making the journey out of bed. He must settle with your choice, as he makes no move to push back the covers, despite the sun already being up.

“What time is it?” You ask sleepily, a faint frown between your eyes.

“No idea,” he replies, inhaling softly, no doubt indulging in your own scent, one he tells you he would drink pure if he were able to liquefy it. Crisp and clean; soft and sweet.

“You have training this morning,” you manage to mumble, frown abating when his palm settles over your back, seemingly desiring contact as much as you do. “Az can manage for today,” he soothes, kissing the crown of your head. “Besides, I like to think I’m good company.”

A husky laugh tumbles from your lips, throat raspy from sleep, and you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Deep, swirling hazel, flecks of dusty greens making a circuit around the centre of his iris, held in by a ring of rich brown, like the piping liquid of freshly made tea. The laughter fades, and you regard each other quietly, mouths soft and alluring.

You meet in the middle, warm lips slanting against one another, sweet and tender as sunlight pools on the covers.

You pull away, palm splaying openly across his chest, the reassuring pulse of his heart echoing up fingertips and into your arms. “Taking the morning off?” You murmur hopefully, legs twining with his own. “If that’s what you’d like,” he replies, a faint trace of a chuckle in his deep, sleep-roughened voice. A smile tugs at your mouth, curling closer into him. “What about a day?” You ask, a tone of scandal entering your question.

He watches you for a little, before his features shift into a set of resignation, smiling faintly. “If that’s what you want.”

At his reply your frown, pulling away a little. “I want you to want to spend a day with me,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes, covering your mouth as you yawn. He laughs lowly, the noise melting across your breast bone like butter and syrup.

“I want to spend the day with you,” he chuckles, wing curving over you, pulling you into the space that’s opened up. “I want to spend a lifetime with you.”

You relent, softening back into his arms, pushing into his heat, melding with his form. “Any lifetime?” You ask, and you can practically hear as he rolls his eyes, fingers skating up your sides ticklishly, making you laugh and squirm, before coming to a rest on your bare skin.

“My lifetime,” he murmurs, laughter brightening his smile, eyes twinkling. “Our lifetimes.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

[wlntrsldler]

marvel masterlist

bucky barnes:

series

DOPPELGÄNGER: Bucky has only been in love once and it was before he was put in ice and way before he became the Winter Soldier. What happens when Bucky meets Y/N, the exact look alike of the girl he used to love? (Social Media AU) (WIP) DISCONTINUED

ROSES: Bucky tells Y/N he’s the Winter Soldier. The next day, he’s taken by the government and that’s the last Y/N sees of him... until they cross paths again. But what if Bucky doesn’t remember her? (COMPLETED)

TO BE SO LONELY: When Bucky and Y/N signed up for this online penpal system, they never expected to grow attached to the other person behind the screen. (COMPLETED)

FALLING: Bucky has been distant lately. Y/N doesn’t know why. (COMPLETED)

THE BREAKUP CHRONICLES: A collection of imagines that can be read independently or as a whole fic about Y/N and Bucky’s relationship post-breakup. DISCONTINUED

one shots

NOT MY TYPE AT ALL: Y/N isn’t Bucky’s type but honestly, he doesn’t care about that anymore. (Not My Type At All by Jacob Whitesides)

SLOW DANCING IN A BURNING ROOM: Y/N knew that Bucky had to leave someday but that didn’t mean that she was ready when the day came. (Slow Dancing In A Burning Room by John Mayer)

CLOSE TO YOU: Requested! Bucky loves Y/N, he didn’t mean to snap at her. (Close To You by Rihanna)

LAST KISS: 1940’s Bucky tells Y/N that he got his orders. (Last Kiss by Taylor Swift)

KISS ME SLOWLY: Bucky keeps running away from Y/N. He doesn’t want to get attached. (Kiss Me Slowly by Parachute)

FALLING LIKE THE STARS: Bucky and Y/N fall in love but he’s sent off to fight the war. (Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur)

HARD PLACE: Bucky and Y/N can’t stop fighting and it’s getting too much. (Hard Place by H.E.R)

F&MU**: Bucky and Y/N hate each other… but they can’t stop letting their anger out through sex. (F&MU by Kehlani) 18+!

MAY I ASK: Y/N and Bucky see each other for the first time since the breakup. Y/N confronts Bucky on why he ended things. (May I Ask by Luke Chiang)

I WILL BE FOUND:  Bucky finally found the place where he belongs when he met Y/N but at times, he wished that he could somehow take the life he used to have and magically fit it into the life he had now. (I Will Be Found by John Mayer)

10 AM: REQUESTED! Bucky is hopelessly in love with Y/N. He stops himself from saying anything to her because he’s afraid of getting hurt again, not knowing how much more he can take in his lifetime. (10AM by Keaton Henson)

FLAWLESS**: Bucky and Y/N are friends with benefits. They found a new thing to play with in the bedroom. The Winter Soldier. (Flawless by The Neighbourhood)

CHERIE: Bucky doesn’t understand why Y/N is always so happy. He never thought he would be one of the people who got entranced by her until he was. (Cherry by Harry Styles)

TEE SHIRT:  Bucky and Y/N walk into a music shop and she hears the song her and her ex used to love playing in the background. (Tee Shirt by Birdy)

I’M LONELY: lex’s writing challenge! enemies to lovers; “Will you wait for me?” (i’m lonely by luz)

LOUD: Every time Y/N is afraid, she plays her music too loudly but this time, Bucky is there to comfort her.

BUBBLES: Short Bucky imagine about bubbles.

DOCTOR ME UP: Y/N is Bucky’s doctor when he wakes up in Wakanda. 

WHITE DRESS: Bucky loves her, so so much, especially as she walks down the aisle in her white dress. 

SHAWARMAS: Bucky has a crush on Y/N, the cashier from the Shawarma place. 

NO CLUE: Y/N and Bucky hate each other. Nobody knows why. Whenever someone asks, the pair just say, “I have my reasons.” Some think that something happened between them when Bucky was in hiding. Some think that Bucky did something to Y/N when he was the Winter Soldier. Some think that there’s no actual reason- they simply hate each other.

RITUALS: You died on a mission and all Bucky has left is the voicemail you left him before you got on the Quinjet. 

FAMILIARITY: Love is a foreign concept to Bucky. 

peter parker:

JEALOUS: Where Peter tells Y/N that he’s Spiderman and things go down. (Jealous by Labrinth)

[neptunes-sol-angel]

Alright guys! I finally got that tingly feeling that I should do this kind of love reading. I still didn't want to make this a future spouse reading because I honestly overthink the concept, like "um divorces happen!" or some people just don't believe in marriage, but I thought I'd do something adorable and Christmas related. I hope that you guys enjoy!

Paid Readings | Patreon | Tip Jar

Pile One🎄

Their letter to Santa

Dear Santa, For so long I've been in the darkness, alone with the glass pieces of my heart, thinking that it's better this way for me to be on own. I don't believe in fairy tales anymore and my ability to imagine a world where I can be in love with someone and in that same way be loved back. My mind is splintered to where I flinch the minute someone to me gets close or when they mention a promise, that I without a doubt know they won't keep. Socially, I feel numb, meeting allegedly new people, seems to be a broken record in different physiques. If you could grant me any present in the world, would you change my definition of what I know to be love? Falling away from the stranger(s) that used to be who I knew from head to toe, has damaged my beliefs that I'm worthy of something more. And should you succeed in bringing my love, may they be my most divine contradiction in my life. My love will be someone new, yet possess familiarty in which I'll take pleasure in spending the rest of my lifetime finding all of the ways that we just understand each other. The sound of their voice and the words that they speak will be the fire that warms instead of scorching me. They'll be my rock that I won't have to tip toe around. Right now, I ask for their forgiveness for the person that I am right now, but for every tear that I currently shed to release the pain of my troubles in romance, builds my strength to be the person that really loves again, and the confidence to give my all despite my mistakes in giving it to the wrong people. Don't let my reserved aura fool you, deep down, I'm a hopeless romantic, that will work hard to find any and every single way to give you the world to prove the depth of my feelings for you. The same way that I'm learning my lessons, you are too, we both share that agony of why this has to hurt so much, but it's the bitter that goes along with the sweet to lead us to each other in the end.

Your Christmas Traditions:

Life with your partner could already be luxurious, meaning they gift you with presents on a regular basis that are both as an expression of love and desire to get the things that you want, so Christmas, traditionally, will feel like a normal day. What makes it stand out to you guys as a couple is how you guys seem to always unlock a new level of intimacy around this time of the year. For you or them, Christmas could make some not so good feelings resurface and put someone in a mood. Whatever that may trigger this, it usually leads to a peaceful resolution that doesn't just prolong the tension for another day. It's like getting to the root of the issue that'll eventually lead you and your partner to a place of comfort, understanding, and confirmation that this relationship isn't based on surface level things.

Pile Two 🎄

Their Letter to Santa:

Dear Santa, There's this ethereal figure in my dreams that I keep seeing. Without a doubt, I know that this is my person. And maybe it's not realistic to ask for you to make the time go faster for us to encounter each other in real life, but I really want answers, I'm craving to know this person. Their face alone, is enough to put me into hypnosis. Not knowing what their voice sounds like, ignites my obsession. I've never been a believer of the supernatural, or even a big fan of religion, but this sensation of the person of my dreams that makes me desire to stay asleep, has to be an indication that we're spiritually connected. I know this person doesn't say a word in both their presence of visions in day and night, but I have this clawing feeling that you're what home feels like. To the lover of my fantasies, I  know you spiritually, but emotionally, with you, I'll finally have someone that doesn't think my expression of feeling is a foreign language. I could talk to you for hours without getting bored and your nature in every capacity makes me feel that you're out of this world with a love that I'm determined to study and reciprocate. I'm already amazed by how gorgeous you are but indubitably I know I'll be stunned everytime I'm by your side watching you prove to me that magic on Earth is real. You're the breathing proof of it and I can't help but be adored by you and the way that you perceive making the most out of the challenges that you face and conquer.

Your Christmas Traditions:

You and your life partner BREATHE for Christmas. Valentine's day may be special but Christmas is the time that you guys will be all over each other. You guys could go all out this holiday, by buying and wearing matching pajamas, playing board games with each other, watching marathons of Christmas themed movies, maybe you guys have a specific drink like hot chocolate, egg nog, or cookies that you love to stock up on. You guys could also be the type to take a vacation around this time by renting out a cabin, or taking a trip to Disney World. This is normal for you guys and you aren't aware of this jubilant vibe that you have together but it makes others wanting to share the joy you have. Your public presence as a couple during Christmas is the type that will make a person want to use you guys as their mood board or inspiration to daydream about the love that that they'd kill to have. You guys are the power couple in terms of playfulness, affection, and how unique you guys embody your partnership. You could also experience people asking you for advice for how to liven up their own relationships. You guys are just that cute with each other.

Pile Three 🎄

Their Letter to Santa:

Dear Santa, I have a good feeling that the person that I will view as my everything is currently contemplating if there's something that they should change about themselves, but do me this favor homie and give my sweet firecracker this message. You. Yeah you. You know who you are. You are a boss! Walking royalty in this world that's meant to take up space, of course there are gonna be some jerks that want to dim your light, but the people who can't handle how bona-fide and wealthy your aura is, are people who are uncomfortable with the fact that they don't possess the tools to handle the blessing that you are. You were never asking for too much and don't let the grinch or scrooge convince you that you aren't enough. Believe me, I wish that fate would allow me to show up in your life right now, but you're meant to learn how precious your attributes you are. You're a damsel that can save yourself, who is meant to climb into power and achieve many things. I'm currently healing my tendencies of being codependent so that I don't distract you from your prosperity or project my insecurities onto you and make you think that it's you, it's not. Be patient, but don't get rid of how bold you are love or choose sides in how you're capable of being silly and someone with authority. Your strength isn't in your silence, but in your intelligence and maturity to express to others your feelings and what your needs are. You'll always be on top, even on days where you feel like you're at rock bottom. Keep pushing, things will make sense soon. You won't just find me in your happily ever after, you'll find your soul tribe too. And we will ALL match your energy. Trust me. Everything that you think is complicated about you is why we're grateful for you.

Your Christmas Traditions:

You and your life partner share a common tragedy and belief. You guys may have experienced toxicity in your family that inspires the both of you to do things differently with your own family. Christmas time is pivotal for you as a couple, because it influences you to reflect but also to take action on how well you guys do as a household. Your Christmas Traditions could be about trying your best to make sure that there's peace, openess, but most importantly your presence if guys have children together. You could go all out with making sure that they have the best presents, that they have the best indication that they're safe with you guys as parents, and that you make the most pleasant and fun memories that will symbolize how much that not just you and your life partner love each other but making sure that your children know how much they're loved by you.

[voltronisanobsession]

Late night thought ( listened to video games ldr)

Being star crossed lovers with Percy. Being soulmates throughout many lifetimes, fate will never let the two of you be together.

In every lifetime, one of you will bare the burden of knowing everything, from being destined soulmates, to all your past lives, to the terrible fate your relationship always succumbs to end. Reader happens to be the one carrying the weight in the current pjo universe timeline.

Knowing basically everything about him, you try so hard to not fall for Percy. Your heart breaks when you first meet him, Percy already stumbling over his words at the mere sight of you. The connection is strong between the two of you, but you want nothing more than to runaway.

You already know how this story will end. But you can’t help falling for him all over again, getting to know this new version of him, seeing the similarities from his past lives shining in him. Admiring his new traits that make your heart beat fast.

Spending more time with him, he falls for you just the same. He feels a pull to you, his body igniting with life whenever he was around you. Your wide smile, caring hands on his face, and sweet voice instantly offering him comfort.

He’s so comfortable being himself around you that it almost surprises him. You read him like an open book.

Everything is just easier with you. He feels like he’s known you his entire life.

I think the hardest part for you is whether to tell him or not. Keep him in the dark of your guys’ destiny, or ruin what beautiful relationship has blossomed in the time you’ve known each other.

Chiron might know what you two are, simply because he may have met you guys hundreds of years ago, in a different lifetime. He feels pity for you as you struggle to distance yourself from Percy.

Believing that leaving him will break what fate has in store for you, Percy can’t let go. You’re like his other half. You’ve been there for him through thick and thin and now you just want to leave?

He won’t let you go until you give him a good reason. He can’t let you go. Percy is in too deep to watch you walk away from what you guys have. What you won’t let happen.

And it’s at this where you let everything out. Pain and tears are released, watching with despair as Percy struggles to accept what you say.

“We can’t be together Percy! Everything, everything will always ruin us. It’s been written in the stars for thousands of years, we will always fail. Just for loving each other.”

Of course to make this more dramatic, Percy will definitely get a vision of some sort showing him your fates as star crossed lovers.

“That’s not- it can’t be true. That’s not FAIR! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how Percy. I didn’t know how.”

A lot of tears are shed that night. But just as much comfort is present. There’s no way to reverse your meeting, your fates are now permanently entwined. The only thing guys can do is hope to overcome your terrible fate.

Nights are filled with sweet whisperings. You guys would lay in silence, admiring each other as the stars shone bright in the dark sky. Each others soul in tune with the others emotions, walls are crumbled between the two of you.

Moments like these make up for all the pain and suffering that you both have went through. Gentle kisses on your face, Percy promises you’ll make it through anything, together. You caress his face, wearing a bittersweet smile.

But alas, nothing can change the fate of star crossed lovers. Stumbling across a monster during a quest, this is where the end begins.

Unlike anything he’s every seen, Percy can’t fight off the monster. No matter how many times he gets up, each time weaker than the last, the monster won’t die. It isn’t until it speaks that everything makes sense.

“A sacrifice must be made.”

A sick feeling is instantaneous between the two of you. Eyes wide in fear, you look to Percy. Despite the beating he took, he’s never looked as beautiful as he did now. You vowed to remember this moment of the boy in your next life.

Percy wanted to fight, he didn’t want to give up. He was angry, scared. He believed he could change your fates.

“Percy.”

“We have to try y/n! I can’t do this without you, please. I need you.”

“I love you. I loved you in the past, I love you right now, and I will always fall in love with you in the future. We’ll see each other again.”

He can’t stop you as you make your way to the monster. Fate works against him, keeping his body frozen and in place as he cries for you. Cries for your pasts. Cries for the emptiness he’ll have to endure once your gone.

It’s quick and swift, your death. You welcome it with bitterness, Percy’s crying breaking your resolve, but you have to continue. You’ll see your lover again.

Percy mourns everyday for you. He misses the soft whisperings you spoke that filled the dead of night in his cabin.

He mourns the life you both could’ve had if fate had not been so cruel to tear you apart every time. He’s forced to live a life without his other half once again.

He’ll miss the way you held his face, miss the way you made him laugh, miss the way you made him feel. He spends everyday living and remembering the memories of you.

Once the time comes, Percy welcomes death with open arms, reunited with you for a short moment until you’re both sent onto your new lives, starting the cycle all over again.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

9/9 Peace in a Lifetime of War

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

He didn't call, didn't text, didn't explain himself.

She wrote dozens of texts, mostly with one sentence, Where'd you go?, Could we talk this through?, I'm sorry, would you please come back, but never sent them.

But she was also being ripped apart by the feeling that this simply couldn't be happening. It couldn't end like this. There was something real here. There had to be.

Pride got in the way. He didn't deserve her begging after leaving her like that without even an explanation as to why. He cared about his job more than her, and she would no longer beg for leftovers. She would not be the girl he could come and fuck in the dark when he had the time for it.

Let's make this work.

That's the sentence she wrote the most, to reverse the last words she had said. A nervous voice inside her told her that she had driven him away. That Simon was somewhere out there thinking she didn't want him in her life. After all, she had shouted that he should go and do his job… Practically, get out of her life.

But how could a few words spoken in anger drive him away? How could he just cut her off after everything? Player or not, she had thought him a better man than this.

He still had the key. He hadn't left it on the table or mailed it to her. He might still walk through that door when she least expected it.

But days turned into weeks, and somewhere in her heart, she knew a decision had been made. Simon never half-assed anything. If he had left, he had left. End of fucking story.

After three weeks, she threw away the shower gel. It reminded her of the time she had come from the shower to a dark room filled with him. When she had teased him, and he had sent her to heaven, when they had confessed their love to each other. It stared at her from the bin until she went and took out the trash with not much else but that single men's shower gel bottle in it.

He had left one of his hoodies in her apartment, and she almost threw it into the bin too. Then she crawled inside it like a child who had lost her parents.

It smelled of him, and it was so big that half of her disappeared inside it, and she felt warm, and safe, and devastated. That hoodie and her bedroom walls twisted the knife by whispering the words Marry me, laced with an echo of his laughter. Every day she decided to throw it away and start a new life, and every night she curled inside it to cry herself to sleep.

Bolognese was ruined for her. Motörhead was ruined, bourbon was ruined; the smell of tobacco brought tears to her eyes. She walked past springtime tulips like they carried the plague itself. Even Dürer was ruined.

How could a heartless, cocky 21st-century soldier ruin the genius of a Renaissance master?

Luckily, she hadn't told anyone who she had been dating for months now. She had never asked Simon to meet her parents. She hadn't even told them she was seeing someone… Her mother had made a remark on how nice it was to see her happy when she was visiting on holidays, and she had told her she had gotten good grades this semester. In her heart, she had perhaps always known that things with Simon wouldn't last. It all seemed like a dream. A beautiful, heated, fucked up pipe dream.

It was like the very oxygen from her life was gone. She didn't have the will to masturbate; the toy she had only reminded her of the embarrassing incident where she had forgotten it on the bedside table, and he had seen it and made her blush with a laugh and a comment; "That's the competition?" Such a small, pink thing compared to Simon, and even that reminded her of him.

Her workplace was a smoking rubble after a war. The pole choreographies had the atmosphere of Swan Lake rather than anything sultry and sexy — she flicked the pole to spin mode more often, started to do leg hangs and suicide spins and unicorn splits and chose music with lyrics about betrayal and other heartbroken, forlorn wailing.

Her gaze swept the audience before she grabbed the pole. Just in case. There were hungry eyes, but none belonged to the man with a winter-over stare, sleeve tattoo, and voice burnt from scotch, smoking, and sleepless nights.

The room spun, and her heart hurt, and she wondered if Simon had found another sweet girl or if he was bleeding in the blur too. Perhaps he was taking his pleasure with the women on his team, no strings attached. Fucking those tough army girls who were everything she was not. Making them moan with slow, heavy torture.

She wanted him to hurt. And then again, she did not. She wanted him to be safe, and for the first time in her life, she prayed even though she had never believed in God.

That forgotten oversized hoodie was her temple, and she wasn't sure who she was even praying to before falling asleep inside that black cotton. But she asked for Simon to stay safe, to not do anything stupid. She even prayed for his happiness, but then the prayers turned more selfish, and she asked that he would come back to her.

Just come back to her.

Her prayers were answered sooner than she would've thought. It was a frightening invocation, because when she finally caught him as a black, massive shadow against the darkness of the club, it was clear that he was in an even worse shape than she was.

He was still big, still menacing, a powerhouse of a man, but she saw that he had lost weight, the shade under his eyes was even darker than when they had first met. He was looking at her dance like he was attending a funeral: there was no smile, no hunger, only suffering in his eyes that followed her from inside a black hood.

She wanted to jump from the stage in the middle of her show, climb onto his lap, cry all the tears still uncried, although she had done nothing but bawled every night since he had left. Sweat made the pole slick, and she closed her eyes as she spun, hoping to be somewhere else entirely so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes. But the lights were pointing at the stage, and her face must've been a pale mask of fear and longing, and the dance turned into the ending act of her own personal Swan Lake.

It had been almost a month, and he barged back into her life like he would barge through a door into a room full of prisoners. The game was on again, and he was the fucking worst, and the relief and longing turned into red, blazing rage.

How dare he show up here? Still without warning, without a single message, when he knew how much it meant to her. Especially after what had gone down.

When she was done, she didn't go to him; she left the stage before the applause had even died, rushed to get her things, and stormed out the back door, half fearing that she would bump into him. He wasn't there, but when she walked past the entrance to get home, there was a man smoking outside. She wouldn't shed a look his way but knew from the aura of darkness and hellfire and silent leadership that it was him. There was no sound of footsteps, but she knew he was walking behind her, could almost smell the smoke, could feel his stare on her back as she rushed down the street like she was being hunted by a ravager.

And hadn't he, in a way, promised to haunt her, dead or alive?

She cried the whole way home while being followed by his ghost – silent tears of anger and relief and sorrow, jaw trembling and hiccups tickling her throat.

When she reached her apartment, she opened the door as quickly as possible, then slammed it shut behind her.

Would he use the key and force himself in? Would he take the closed door as a sign not to trespass? She almost went to open it to let him know that this area was actually a No Man's Land, not a threshold to her personal space, much less a fortress he needed to conquer.

But he had decided to pursue her, and a clear-cut knock sent her heart up her throat.

She had a choice not to open that door. Return to her old life without this fuckery. He wouldn't use the key she had given him, he was gentleman enough not to. Or perhaps not a gentleman: he simply knew when he was not welcome and would be too proud to force a connection.

But the decision had really been made a long time ago. It was made when she asked for that drink, when she accepted his flowers, when he pushed inside her the first time. Perhaps even on the moment she first laid eyes on him.

So, without having a grain of rational thought behind it, her heart walked her to that door and opened it.

He was leaning on the frame with one hand, and the hooded head rose from a heavy hang. He looked defeated for a moment, and she realized she had taken a while to come to the door… But then he squared his shoulders and raised his chin, bounced away from the frame, and the tiniest little smile played on his lips.

A look of I win.

It was something so Simon that it burned her heart, and the love returned – as if it had ever gone anywhere – and she was so angry that she slapped him to wipe off that stupid look that told her he could drop her like a toy and then come back and pick her up again.

Her palm met his chin, and it hurt her too: to hear that slap and know he allowed it to happen.

He allowed her to slap him. Again.

He reduced her to someone who hit people, like this was some trailer park romance where physical abuse was ok.

It was his fault, not hers.

It was his fault. It was.

His head was turned to the side from the force of her palm, the eyebrows rose in muted surprise. Then he slowly turned to look at her, and couldn't hide his smile anymore. He fucking got off on this.

Which was why she slapped him again – only, this time he caught her hand and finally forced himself inside, like it was an invitation that she tried to hit him. Her other hand shot out, rather impassively, and he caught that, too.

"That's quite enough."

That gruff, dark voice was probably what she had missed the most. Or those big, brown eyes full of promise. Or all that muscle wrapping around her in a crushing hug, those lips that smashed against hers in a starved kiss.

The door slammed shut behind him as he devoured her. The moment his hands let go of hers and enveloped her into that secure embrace, she dissolved and let him crush her mouth, her ribs, her everything — her hands reached for the hood and tore it down, clutched his back, his jacket, threatening to tear the clothes apart from how much she had missed him.

Tears gathered up her throat, and her eyes burned and squeezed shut, she held the black fabric in her fists and pulled, trying to get closer even when there was not a breath of air between them. His scent brought back so many memories that she threatened to drown in the flood.

The kiss left them both breathless and huffing when he drew her against him. She felt like a hostage when he closed one heavy palm around her head and simply forced her cheek to meet his chest. He had never closed her in a hug quite like this — like he was afraid that she would disappear into thin air if he didn't hold on tightly enough.

"Sweetheart." It was a rumble in her hair, a deep vibration in the solid wall she was smashed against.

"Don't you dare," she whispered through tears, but her hands told a different story as she clung to him like a drowning person.

"Sarah…" He only squeezed her harder, so hard that she feared he would soon break bones. "Love. I'm sorry that it took so long."

Her fingers flexed, then wrapped around that jet-black cotton again. The tears disappeared in his shirt, and she was glad he always wore black; otherwise, the mascara would've made a visible mess.

He smelled so good. She inhaled him like a drug — even after the desertion, his scent meant safety and home to her.

"What the fuck happened?" She sniffed, trying not to wail like a child against that firm wall of chest. "I thought you only went for a smoke."

He stroked her hair so gently that the shirt was soon soaked from her tears.

"I thought it would be best if I left you in peace," he muttered, sounding almost guilty. Her hand twitched in the folds of the hood from the utter folly of it all. She thanked the heavens that he hadn't. She had never exactly found peace with him, but being without him was even worse.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she retorted.

"Yeah. I used to be a better man. But if ya think I'm cocky… Hah, you should've seen me back then. Feared nothing."

She had expected him to share a reason for leaving her like that, but she hadn't envisioned it to start with those words. The world was quaking again in her hallway, lit by a single, lone lamp.

"It didn't work. It got people killed. Even my brother's little kid." He was still talking to the crown of her head as if exposing the darkest of secrets, fearing that the walls were wired.

"I'm not really… alive, you know? Died with them about ten years ago."

From any other man's mouth, that trace of information, an explanation for his handicaps, would've felt melodramatic. When it came from Simon, it felt like a void was yawning before her.

"Swore that day I would never let it happen again."

How could she always forget that her judgment concerning Simon was flawed – no – distorted as hell? She knew he had lost everybody but didn't know how exactly. Of course there had been violence. She had never really understood just how important it was for him to protect people from getting too close.

I didn't mean for things to go this far suddenly stood for something completely different.

He wasn't playing or toying with her. He was being absolutely, vehemently, utterly serious.

Even… intimidated.

She felt even worse about not being there for him when he had been thin with his skin. She had made it all about her when he tried to share a deep fear.

"I tried to keep my hands off you as long as I could." He hummed, a sound of a distant, pleasant memory. "You were so… fuckin' graceful. Felt like you were dancing just for me."

The tears kept flowing, the world kept quaking.

"I was," she whispered. "Even when you weren't there."

"Thought you was just teasin' me. Seemed such a tough girl." He gave her one of those short laughs, a cynical scoff that said he wasn't easily caught off balance. "'N then you turned out to be sweet as a pie. So bloody sweet. Swept me right off my feet."

She pulled back a little and saw that his eyes were liquid too, the pale lashes fluttered over bloodshot, melted chocolate, but no tears came out. It was like he didn't quite know how to cry, like that skill had been tortured out of him, never to return.

"Nothing lasts. Especially if it's something good and pure." He ran a thumb over her cheek, catching a tear, like he was soothed by seeing someone crying the tears he could not. "Really wanted this to last."

Her lower lip trembled at that, and she had to fight back a whole bawl that threatened to erupt. He was stupidly eloquent when he wanted to. But he was also blind if he couldn't see that no one else but him had tried to end things this time. How could a man so mature and smart be so stupid?

"You're the one who walked out the door, Simon."

He blinked a few times. Yeah… He was that stupid, even if he was sharp and trained and brave. But it was also stupid of her to think there wouldn't be problems. He had built a wall, five-foot thick, since childhood. She had tried to penetrate it with a needle and had had a fit when it wouldn't budge.

"Look... You can't just come into my life and fuck around and fuck with my head — and fuck me… and then leave and say Darling, it's dangerous."

He huffed a laugh at her imitation of him. "You make me sound like a jerk."

"That's because you are."

A sigh. "Right."

She had expected him to return the quip, make some clever comeback, but their love had been on ice for weeks and weeks. Even if the warmth was there, and he was close, so close… Something was still wrong.

She pulled herself back to the solace of his chest. There were broken things inside, and she was a brittle vase herself, barely able to hold all the sorrow in.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"

"Comes with the job."

"I hate your job," she mumbled in his shirt, and he chuckled humourlessly.

"Me too."

"No you don't. You love it." She sent another accusation in the air, and the penalty was an open prison, a slackening muscle around her.

"Guilty as charged."

"Why are you here, Simon?"

There was a pause, one, two breaths…

"Can't fuckin' live without you."

He had no doubt tried, tried to veritably leave her from fear of setting her in danger. Only Simon could leave a woman for fear of losing them…

"Even if I only get scraps and slaps. Phone's full of look at me's but you never call."

Her eyes flared wide open, her lungs ceased working for a second. Five months flashed backward, then forward, their shared moments twisting and turning, words finding new meanings.

Scraps…

You never call.

Jesus Christ.

It was bitter, and it was true. She had guarded her heart like a prisoner of war during a time of peace. Sent him thirsty selfies like they were the only thing he wanted from her, refused to call in fear of losing some game.

He wasn't the only one who was proud and dramatic. She had had a whole month in her hands. She could've called him, sent him those texts. She could've made it known that she hadn't meant her last words as a command for him to get out. But she had done none of those things. Instead, she slammed the door in his face and slapped him when he finally came back with his tail between his legs.

It was never about his job. She could deal with that. It was about the game.

They were both boneheaded, proud little creatures, and she realized she was the one who had been playing, playing for far too long…

"You said you'd rather call me," she whimpered, voice barely even a whisper.

He pulled her away by the shoulders and took a quick scan. There was patronization and pity, and she wondered whether he would take the blame for her failings too. But the pain was more profound than that.

"Sarah. Do ya even like me?"

Of all the things said that night, said ever, that was probably what hurt her the most.

"Yes," was all she managed to say to the man who was, in truth, the love of her life.

"Alright. Then I don't see what the problem is."

He was being reasonable, but there seemed to be a whole other problem she had never acknowledged. Had never even known existed.

And it was a rare, rare thing, that he chose to break first.

"Sarah, bloody fucking-... It kills me to imagine you with someone else."

All in.

As if she could ever find a man like him. As if she could even see other men. They had ceased to exist five months ago.

Just say it.

"I don't want someone else," she said, knowing that games like these should be illegal. But she was not playing anymore. "I only want you. Remember?"

The wall cracked, crumbled a little, exposed some softness in those chocolate eyes.

"Now that's what I like to hear."

Annoying, lovable, cocky bastard. This time, it was her turn to pull him in for a kiss.

He let her take some of his clothes off but then seized the reins from her again by hauling her to the bedroom like a doll. Everything happened right according to a script: she was undressed, tossed on the bed, and he was climbing on top of her before she could even say his name.

He just wouldn't allow her to touch him. She had given him one and a half blowjobs, one handjob, and slapped him two times. They cuddled every now and then. That was basically it.

He was always on top, had fucked her against this and that wall, fucked her with his clothes on half the time. He initiated everything, made her feel good, and so, so subtly prevented her from touching him. Did he even know he was doing it, or was it subconscious?

This would have to change.

Past torture or not, it would change now.

"Simon," she placed a hand on his chest when he was already inserting himself inside her.

"Hm?"

"Can I be on top?"

Something akin to worry flickered in his eyes, but it was only a brief glitch that soon changed into an intrigued look.

"Why not," he tried to hide the remnants of his bafflement, then crashed to the bed beside her. She flicked the table light on as if making it clear that this was the dawn of a new era. He gave it a hasty side eye, then turned his attention back to her.

"Have you ever heard of Adam's first wife?" She asked when she climbed on top of him. God, but he was wide, even though men were supposed to have narrower hips. Simon was a man in his prime, threatening, even when lying under her in a seemingly vulnerable position.

"You givin' me a history lesson too?"

"She was banished from Eden because she wanted to be on top during sex." She tried to seek support from his chest, knowing it would be of minimal help. If he would get too enthusiastic, she might be bucked off.

"I won't be so cruel," he said with a soft smile as he ran hands over her thighs, then up to her waist, hesitantly. Simon never hesitated.

From what she understood, he was far from a footsoldier. The people he killed never even heard he was coming for them with a thick, ugly blade. Perhaps he preferred to fuck like that, too: stealthy and intimate, in the darkness, keep his victim in a sturdy embrace so he could feel how they bled to death.

That light was a threat. Her stare was piercing awareness: also, a threat.

And it was only now, from this position, that she finally caught the wounds. Fresh, ugly holes that should've probably been under bandage still.

"What's this?"

There were not one, but two cavities surrounded by discolored skin, bruised dark purple, virtually black — gunshot wounds that had barely missed his liver. Had the bullets reached the internals, they would've likely been the end of him.

"That's the reason why it took so long."

Shallow breathing was a stupid response from a body already feeling faint. But the next few breaths were just that: an attempt to sustain the flow of oxygen and allow reality to sink in.

The last time Simon had gotten hit was years and years ago: a bullet to the arm, not nearly as severe as an abdominal wound. She thought they used bullet vests at work. Unless he had chosen not to wear it. Her brain was a horrid thing, pushing a clinical sentence out of a psychology journal to her mind.

"The root cause of self-destructive behavior can stem from a mental health condition such as depression: overwhelming sadness and loss of interest."

She had drowned herself in self-pity in her cozy little apartment and taken revenge on a shower gel bottle while Simon had gotten himself wounded, nearly killed. Probably spent the last few weeks in a hospital after the operation in whatever medical facility he had been brought to from the field. Without telling her, stubborn and proud as he was. Lying there, with no visitors, thinking it was better to leave her alone…

She knew he had a death wish, but this… This crushed her soul.

"Soap said I should ask you to marry me instead of trying to prove something by killin' myself."

Shit…

More edgy, dark humour — but her insides shuddered.

The axis of melancholia turned and turned. She hadn't told anyone about them, but Simon had. So that someone could deliver the message if need be. Even the thought of a Scottish jarhead appearing at her door and telling her how Lieutenant Simon Riley had been killed in action made her eyes sting.

Soap was a clever man. Much more intelligent than the one between her thighs.

"What am I to do with you," she whispered while placing the lightest, faintest touch on the stretched skin around the injury. The muscles rippled underneath her fingertips, and a soft hiss drew her attention back to his face, but the discomfort was hidden from view before she could decide whether it was caused by her words or her touch.

"A few ideas come to mind," he spoke with his everlasting cheek, even when healing from both gunshot wounds and a broken heart. "Wanna hear?"

"How about you shut your mouth for a change," she offered, gently enough to make it clear that some things should be fixed with another kind of communication.

When she reached to guide him inside her, he was uncommonly solemn. The dry spell had ended at the door already, but that drowsy, flaming rust of a stare caused the cup to overflow. She was slippery as hell, but he was patient, mostly having a ball watching how she went through trial and error to get him in. The intimacy made her flustered, and that stern expression soon turned into a smug one as she fucked up guiding him in smoothly and with finesse.

And it was wishful thinking that Simon would keep his mouth shut.

"Ya need help with that?"

"Shush," she said, knowing it was futile, a laugh bubbling in her chest as she tried to sound convincing with the command. As if she could order someone like Simon around.

He broke again when the thick of him finally pushed in, slow and steady like a reverie.

"Always so fuckin' tight 'n wet for me…"

"You can't just shut it for one minute, can you," she breathed while gliding down the cock that spread her wide — and God, she had longed for that familiar invasion.

"Not with you, sweetheart."

She had barely even started when she saw how his throat worked, then felt him tighten the grip on her waist.

"Did ya have others while I was away?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

The muscles on his jaw tensed, then unwound with a sigh, the heavy-lidded eyes making him look like a man about to pass out.

"Neither did I. Seat's already taken."

The jesting, his laugh, their togetherness — she had missed it so much that it physically hurt.

But at the same time, it felt like they were meeting for the first time. This time with more than just their clothes off. Everything was…amplified, and not just because the lights were on. This was not a lazy Sunday morning fuck under the sheets.

She had been squashed against his chest, but she had never traced the muscles with the tips of her fingers, watched how his nipples grew hard at the contact. She had never quite seen how his jaw clenched, how his abs pulled taut just from a slow roll of her hips. Her hands looked tiny, dainty, when they swept over him – a man made weapon – all corded muscle and uneven skin, tone changing with the map of old and new scars, fresh scratches here and there, ill-healed burn marks and whatnot coating a skin that had seen more than just rough weather. He didn't treat his body like a living, breathing thing; it was simply a tool.

Her past boyfriends had been just that. Boys compared to him. It wasn't just his size, that he was older than her. It wasn't even the map of scars spread over muscles built to withstand and wage war. It was just something so inherently him, a maturity, ripe survival, toughness that came from another age entirely.

She tried to be worthy of him, make love to him in return for all the favors he had so generously given her.

He appeared to enjoy it with the most laid-back attitude she had yet seen on him. She had prepared for intensity, as always, a bit of devilry, but not for that daydreamy stare. That absorbed, blissful look could only be compared to someone easing down on a divan, waiting to be served wine and grapes like they were some Roman deity. Or, in his case, on a lush sofa, waiting for his girl to bring him a scotch after a long day. Maybe take his boots off, and his pants too, kneel and take him in a warm, wet mouth…

God, she was fantasizing about blowing Simon while riding him. But she'd be damned if she didn't serve him that back rub with a happy ending as soon as she had ridden him to the finish line.

"Should do this more often," he noted evenly, echoing her thoughts – and trying to grasp some sliver of control by telling her he liked this. Liked being served.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Can't complain."

And she realized now that she wasn't the one in charge, no. He was looking at her much in the same way as he did when she was up on that stage. Only, he was now both the stage and the pole… and the audience.

Fuck.

Every time she tried to get in control, he did that rear choke on her. Even this turned out to be another counter technique. He was simply enjoying her take her pleasure.

The notion didn't cause fires anymore, other than a flare of licking heat down to where they were joined. Her inner walls had decided that he was a keeper too, gripping him so violently that the tendons on his neck became visible. The callous of his hands traveled upwards to her ribs, and she caught a thought of how he could easily crush her if he wanted to — but he only proceeded to hug her waist with an iron grip to join in the show.

"Keep doin' that and there's gonna be a real mess," he said, voice thick, sending more heat trickle down her spine.

"Isn't that always the case with you?" She was on the brink of laughter now, because it felt stupid that it had taken her so long to enjoy this man to the full.

"Yeah… But you love it. Admit it." He wasn't bulldozing now. Just enticing, eyes glimmering from seeing her so evidently happy.

And she did admit it. She didn't hold back at all. She allowed him to see exactly how much she wanted and admired him, how good he made her feel.

The account started as a steaming, almost pissed-off checklist, a confession rather than a declaration of love. It contained pent-up love and hate, from how he fucked her in the dark to how he drove knives to a wall she didn't even own. But then it turned into a hymn. Nevermind ego; she wanted to stroke his heart and soul. He fucking deserved it.

She told him he was a good man, the best man she had ever known. How she had never loved anyone like this. How she was his, had been from the moment he came to that club. She even told him how big he was and how she had trouble concentrating in class because of it. That she had trouble focusing pretty much anywhere.

How she had cried herself to sleep in his sweatshirt every night after he had left… How she wanted him to never leave again — how she wanted to solve every argument they would have from now on with a hatefuck instead.

At first, he looked at her curiously, probably thinking she was joking. Then his expression turned to a choked-up stun.

“Sarah– Fuckin’ hell…"

Every secret thought from the past five months was laid out before them; every little thing she admired about him from body to soul.

It seemed to be a shock treatment, a little too much all at once, but he was true to his word and didn't complain.

"You're gonna make a grown man cry 'ere."

He didn't cry, but if there was still some invisible wall between them, every last brick was blown apart at this point.

The poker game was finally over, the whole table was cleared of cards and chips and bets.

"Do you even like me… Unbelievable, Simon," she said as a final notion. There was a soft smile, but it wasn't arrogant or vain in her eyes anymore. Just proud, pleased.

God, had she been stupid.

She descended to celebrate, to seal it all with a kiss. He welcomed her with fast allegiance: arms went around her as soon as her breasts pressed against his chest. It was all hunger, but ten times more tender than the starvation at the door. Slow, deliberate, and it went straight to her cunt, gripping him — and of course he responded with a groan, straight into her mouth.

His hips jerked up to meet her, and had she not been in the safe custody of freakishly strong arms, she would've fallen off her ride. And it was high time to investigate whether he had a vulnerable spot in his neck as well.

A sluggish, flat-tongued lick up the column of his throat and some open-mouthed, sloppy kisses sent him contracting from the middle, pushing in, balls deep. She risked a nib, even a soft bite, and eventually, went a bit feral on that neck. It was another jackpot for the both of them.

"I need-.. need you on your back," he had never stuttered like that, out of breath, trying to be polite with a raspy throat. But he wasn't really asking, and it wasn't really mannerly. It was actually a demand.

"Wanna fuck you hard," his voice was so low that it was almost a growl.

Yes. 

Yes. Yes, please.

And she knew just the trick that would ensure that he did.

"Hmh. Denied," she said to his neck, and waited for the punishment that was brief and thorough.

"The hell it is."

He rolled over and switched their roles without even pulling out, and just like that, her feeble attempts to be the rebellious first woman turned to dust. But she didn't really mourn the loss. Her Eden resided right here.

"You're such an asshole," she was laughing from mirth and love and the joy of being pressed under that safe weight again.

"Would like to fuck that too someday."

Oh my God..-

She wasn't a blushing lady from Victorian times, but this was a little unexpected, even from him.

"Bet you're even tighter down there… I might just pass out."

Her jaw must've fallen an inch or two, her eyes no doubt shot full of shimmering glee because nothing, absolutely nothing escaped him, and her face was now more than that of a stupefied goldfish.

"I suggest you close that pretty mouth before I-"

She cut him short by sinking nails in his skin — more precisely, his ass. He arched his back with the following thrust, even exposed his throat with a satisfied grunt.

"Lil' wildcat… I could do this all night." It was a pleased chuckle, and her heart hurt — she was constantly calling him annoying, an asshole, a jerk, and he told her she was beautiful, sweet, his girl, or a little wildcat in return…

"Would ya like that?"

She could only nod, time and again, and the sex turned messy, noisy and unhinged, weeks and weeks of frustration and longing dissipating with fucking that spread her thighs wide and made the whole bed wail. Her head hit the frame once or twice before he moved her with an annoyed grunt while she was having a laugh about it, but then she remembered he was injured and that this was a bad idea.

"Your wounds-" she tried to stutter amidst a pounding that had certainly been held back for longer than five months, not to talk of a few weeks.

"I'll live."

She was close, but so was he, and it seemed it was the most difficult decision he had ever made: to choose whether to slow down and grit his teeth or just give into the temptation and spill. A split second, and he chose the latter, and she must've been gawking: all that muscle towering over her went tense, the halved slant between his pecs sheened with sweat.

He came with a long groan and a head rolled back, the tension leaving him in shivers before his head fell back down, chin to the chest. The stare behind those heavy lids was unfocused, heady, drugged.

"Fuck, you're a glorious sight," he said while sweeping a hand over her sternum and closing the giant palm around her throat — nothing brutal or rough, just a little bit of fun that probably shouldn't have made her tighten around him as furiously as it did. It felt like she was one of his victims, held in place by one hand only, as his gaze dropped down to marvel at how his cock disappeared in her and came out all wet. The thrusts were erratic and desperate, the ending throes of ecstasy — must've been a glorious sight indeed.

He wouldn't even pause to enjoy the trip back to earth to the full. He left her, eyes both determined and drunk, cock still half hard, so abruptly that a sad little whimper fled her. But he wasn't gone for long, just settled next to her and gathered her in his arms, wracked with purpose.

She gasped when not one, but two fingers dipped inside, then drove deep to the knuckle.

"Fuck…"

"Will do."

It was a scant substitute for his cock, even with two thick fingers. But he was good, so damn good that it didn't matter.

He did everything right, perfect, precise. Made a mess of the cum that joined the wreckage, played with it, slathered it all over her until she was sticky and wet and the noise was well-nigh filthy.

But even more unbearable was the intimacy, the way her hand found him, the bunching muscles on the forearm, the thumb brushing her clit, his fingers curling in a loose fist while two of them curled inside her…

She wanted to participate, feel the fierce connection that had gained a whole new level. There was a sense of belonging, merging — did he feel it too?

Yeah, he definitely did.

Their gazes were locked, but the depth in his eyes wasn't hunger or will to dominate or even meant for fishing cues, it was pure surrender, actually, it was… love.

"Please," she whispered while he made love to her with both his hand and those eyes, not knowing why she even said that. But he had told her he loved it when she begged, so that's what she did. She would give him every fucking thing he wanted.

The sweltering bronze of his eyes broke a little, his brow gave a minimal tug.

"Simon - Please," the words were a mouthed prayer rather than an audible whisper, and she knew her own gaze was fractured because the warmth in his eyes only spread.

"I got ya," he crushed her in a devout hug while spreading her open, breathed into her ear, all joking gone. It was a solemn pledge, a guarantee.

"Promise I got ya."

This wasn't affection anymore; it was bonding.

She came with a strained whimper in his neck, curled into the hug with thighs trembling and hands grabbing whatever she could: a sheet, a tight muscle. He was an absolute genius for not moving, just stayed inside as her muscles sucked him in with a long, hungry pull that turned into a shudder that went through her whole body.

"Uh, fuh-…" She was cursing, sobbing, coming apart by the seams, and he took it all in, breathing high and wide from witnessing what he was doing to her.

It was a slow and tense shattering but turned messier after: into sloppy writhing and moaning, and he moved gracefully to ride it out with her. An absolute ace at what he did.

He might've said something, cheering her on with That's it or Fuckin' beautiful or something like that. She couldn't hear it, and it didn't really matter anyway. The looting was sweet, and he was the perfect fit, so fulfilling, still inside her after the waves had passed. They were breathing into each other, holding the space, sustaining the present moment just by being entangled together, all limbs and breath and sweat on sweat. When he ultimately pulled out, the hand joined the one wrapped around her, holding her like the most precious thing in the universe.

Her depression was gone, the man supporting her being a better cure for her condition than any kind of antidepressant ever invented by Western medical professionals could ever be. There was no fear, only a terrible will to live, a hunger for love and life.

It felt too lame a thing to say: I love you, in that kind of a moment. But something needed to be said. It wanted to come out like a wild thing from a cage.

"You brought me back to life," she whispered to the pulse on his neck, tasting both their salt, feeling like crying again, but this time for a different reason. "When we met. And every day after."

He was calm and still, frozen in time, but she could feel his heart thundering underneath that chest. Fast and overwhelmed.

"You're good at so much more than just killing people. I hope you know that."

The world could use another flood, but he chose to be the floodgate, chose to fight back mass destruction and death and darkness while looking like it. A hero, if there ever was one.

Simon didn't just take lives. He saved them.

"You saved my life, Simon." She stirred a little to look at him, wholly stripped of all his masks.

"There.. Finally shut you up."

He swallowed, and a steady hand brushed the nape of her neck, dissolving the tension if there still was any left.

"Yeah."

The soft silence covered them like a blanket until he bore even deeper.

"I'm glad you could finally join us."

And she realized he was talking about the Game. Their game. The poker game.

She had been a player while he had been here all along with palms facing upwards, with no cards at all. Just waiting for her to catch on.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"'Atta girl."

The kiss was gentle and slow. He grunted in her mouth, and when she withdrew to look at what was wrong, he opened and closed his jaw, then rubbed the side of his chin that had begun to swell a little.

"You hit hard for a historian."

Oh God.

She felt bad, but not bad enough to suppress a chortle.

"Remarkably hard for a woman. Almost dislocated a jaw," he continued when he saw she was laughing at the whole situation.

"I hope it swells real bad," she chuckled. He cast her a look that said So much for sweetness.

"You're ruthless."

"Do you need ice?"

"A kiss'll do."

She didn't deny him that kiss. She wasn't that ruthless. But after that soft peck, she turned to whisper in his ear.

"You deserved it."

He scoffed lightly, gave her a squeeze. It was the middle of the night, but it felt like the midsummer sun was shining.

"You deserve the best."

"And you're the best?" She asked, while they both already knew he was.

"I try to be."

That was probably the most humble thing she had ever heard him say, but then again, when had his arrogance ever been ego? He had always delivered. He was a soldier, but he was not a killer. He was a protector.

But if he would protect her by leaving her in peace, she would start a war of her own.

"Then don't leave me."

"Never."

Her heart skipped a beat, then fluttered flush against her ribs like an overjoyed bird.

"Is that a promise?"

She caught a smile, cocky, but only because he knew he was the best man for the job. He was best at what he did, and it had nothing to do with games.

"It's a vow."

[groundzerosgirlfriend]

Traits they would want in a partner:

Senku Ishigami

(This unedited so dont @ me)

Firstly. IF you ever manage to get into a relationship with the man known as Senku Ishigami you probably deserve some kind of award for having to deal with this man’s crazed scientist bullshit every day. He literally doesn’t change one bit, he's still the same Senku that’s blunt, mean, hates physical affection and mushy words. The reward for the least romantic boyfriend goes to *drumroll effect* SENKU!

Senku probably prefers someone that’s he known for a really long time I’m talking since he was at least in junior high but the further back the better and if you were in the science club with him back in high school fantastic. Meeting new people is one thing but actually having romantic feelings for them is a whole other ball game. It’s easier and less work when liking someone who already knows him inside out and vice versa instead of having to do the whole cliché ‘get to know each other’ façade over and over again.

Also, I feel like Senku has only had like maybe 2 crushes in his entire lifetime: one was some famous scientist he saw on tv talking at a press conference at the head of the table in a room full of men and the other one was in his first year of junior high when he was bested at a mathlete competition (in his defense he pulled the most brutal all-nighter the night before while working on some insane project and messed up the placement of a decimal point) by a girl who wore the chunkiest pair of glasses known to man. He quickly got over both as he had learned that realistic the possibility of this famous scientist (who was also married) falling in love with a prepubescent boy was damn near impossible (and illegal) and the girl he liked in school ended up coming out as a lesbian when she and another girl were caught kissing each other's cheek during break time.

Senku probably likes individuals that are independent and self-sufficient like Kohaku (girl boss!!) People that are clingy and to needy are not his forte’ and makes his face sneer or deadpan brutally. He doesn’t like physical affection or words of affirmation on most days he’s more of a quality time (slaving over more experiments with you doing physical labor) and gift giving (making you little trinkets from his science experiments). I mean it’s pretty obvious remember that one episode where Senku’s own dad was about to give a long emotional speech on the record but stopped because he knew Senku would ew at it. So if you’re somebody that thrives off of praise and attention then *opens the door* please see yourself out respectfully because this man is not going to give it to you. You'll be like a little dried up cactus begging for attention.

Senku likes cleanliness and organization. Senku himself is very clean and hygienic. People that are not are usually big turn off and and an even bigger *thumbs down* for him. He’s also organized despite how his experiments and projects seem to be all over the place they’re not. He knows exactly where everything is, the exact millimeter of, every beaker, of every pipette, of every pencil. It's called organized chaos. If one thing is moved without his consent or worse, his knowledge the entire room is thrown off and he has a hard time finding anything for the next 12 hours.

Personal opinion here but I feel like Senku has as dislike for bugs. Like sure. Bugs are cool to explore and on a scientific level sure but anything other than that he’s not really cheering for joy about it. I also feel like he despises getting sick, like literally any type of sickness whether it’s the common influenzas virus or even a slight stomach bug. He’s miserable and irritated and it takes a really long time to get better because although the scientist in him tells him he needs to rest the stubborn workaholic in him tells him he’ll be fine to do a few minutes of work (which ends up turning into hours-please make this man rest🙏🙏). So if you’re the type where you’re unhygienic to the point of constantly being sick or attracting like actual bugs then either you’re going to have pick up the slack on your hygiene or leave realll quick.

Senku also likes people that smart either intellectually or when they’re witty and have a sharp mouth. If they can understand and even better add in their own input when he’s going on and on about different types of minerals sharing his excitement when they make a scientific breakthrough in the stone world he thinks if he didn't believe marriage was a social construction he'd get down on one knee with some sparkly rock he *borrowed* from Chrome's rock collection. Now even if his partner isn’t all into the science *blah blah* cells *blah blah* quantum mechanics and Schrodinger's equation a partner who is sharp on his mouth will suffice jussst as well. It's makes him snicker the tiniest bit turning his head away so no one can see the grin covered on his mouth covered by his hands. People who are blunt and not softspoken are a *big thumbs* in Senku’s book why would someone who has something to say not say it? A waste of time in his head.

Senku likes a willingness to learn even if it's just about they like every now and again. He knows that science is a high broad topic that covers from up into the vacuum known as space or as to the deep as the aquatic volcanoes known in the deep blue ocean. And he knows about it all in that gorgeous brain of his. In Senku's mind everything thing revolves around science, walking-the physiology of cells to tissues, tissues to muscles and neurological brain activity to make voluntary commands, art- the primary colors created by the art starting from things like mud, bugs and fruits, oh chemicals- easy it all starts with the period table of elements starting from hydrogen all the way down to Ogganseon. Anything you like any hobby you enjoy has to involve some kind of science and if you ask some him some questions about how it works or at least how it originates he knows that somewhere in you have the curiosity of a scientist.

Likes athleticism....maybe? Honestly, I'm kind of unsure about this one because on one hand I can see him liking people that are athletic and physically fit not because he thinks that being skinny is better or anything like that but because he can definitely use you like a horse (do yall know like those short mini scenes between the episodes where Senku like dresses up as different jobs imagine him as a farmer with a straw hat on his head in overalls a piece of straw in his mouth and a riding crop in one hand whew😩😩😩) for a lot of physical labor don't worry he'll return your hard work with a treat of your choice but be prepared he will complain about your laziness and wanting to help 'humanity' but on the other hand I could see him liking people that get winded and red faced after walking up stairs or carrying a bucket of water just like he does (extra points if it's a guy like him) because if you're both low stamina and low endurance you can't tease him about his athletic abilities. So a tie maybe.

Lastly, LOVES a strong will and determination he knows that starting the stone world back to modern humanity from scratch is no easy feat hell even he has made a few mistakes while trying to figure himself out. But what he does know is that science is filled with trail and error (mostly error) and it takes a loooot of time before you actually get what you're looking for so if you're the type to give up easily after failing once or twice and turn your back to his goal of turning the world back into the modern society he once had then....I'm sorry to say it probably won't work out for you there's only so many motivational speeches this man can give before he gets annoyed and just lets you give up without any reassurance (don't worry he doesn't take it personal), besides he still has people like Chrome, Sukia, and Kohaku to help.

@instanthideoutsalad I know you said you wanted Soft Boyfriend Head cannons of Senku but I'm so uninspired with those at the moment so please accept my humble offering of this drabble I made🙏🙏🙏🙏. I swear I'll do it soon it soon. 😪😪

[thelarriefics]

SPRING FIC REC: Below you will find fics that take place in spring, have a springy feel, etc. 

📖 always you (i should have known) by @28goldens (60k)

“Oi, now we’re talking. Came running to ol’ Tomlinson for help, gotta say Harold,” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Harry watched as his eyes looked him over. “It's very out of character for you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t feel too special, you're my last choice,” Harry subconsciously crossed his arms as well, giving Louis his own look over.

“Oh, that's a lot of power, I’m your last resort!” He wagged his finger at him, letting out a cackle. “Alright, hit me with it.”

Harry’s lips pursed as he slowly started to regret the words about to spill out of his mouth, “I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

or the one where harry and louis cant stand each other and fake date to make someone jealous.

📖 (I'm Dreaming of a) One Night Inn by @lululawrence (54k)

When everything Louis had planned for his life falls through, and on his birthday no less, he's left with no other option but to regroup and start over again. The road of life isn't always straight and it certainly isn't always easy, but sometimes it's those twists and turns that find you your closest friends and—if you're really lucky—the love of your life.

Louis just happens to be very lucky.

A Holiday Inn AU.

📖 Blush by @dip-lou-in-honey (33k)

Harry is a young omega, presented at his first Royal ball, when he first meets Louis, the King. They're immediately infatuated with each other, but in the ancient hallways of the castle, whispers travel far and wide, and what they want is not what they're allowed to have.

📖 Tip Toe Through The Tulips by @peachbootylouis (27k)

Ever since moving to Manchester, it had just been Louis and his dog Clifford against the world though it had never felt like enough. It’s not until Clifford quite literally sniffs Harry out while on a walk that Louis realizes he’d been looking for someone like this flower child all along. A fluffy one shot filled with fur and flowers.

📖 To Begin Again by @chloehl10 (23k)

Harry’s ready to spend a fun Easter morning with his two children at the park, but it’s thrown into chaos when an over-excited dog and his owner come barrelling into their lives...

📖 Sakura Sunset by @mizzhydes (16k)

Harry and Louis have a tradition. Every spring they stand below hundreds of dazzling cherry blossom trees in Kew Garden, and year after year they come back to walk amongst the trees and experience that love over again.

This year everything changes. Louis is offered a once in a lifetime opportunity in Silicon Valley, California.

Only after Louis has left does Harry realise he made the biggest mistake of his life breaking up with Louis, and he has to live with the consequences of his actions.

Four years later, Harry discovers that Louis has returned to London, and in an effort to find the closure he desperately needs, he must tell Louis the truth behind their break up so he can move on with his life.

📖 The Prince and The YouTuber by @haztobegood (12k)

The Annual Rosendal Spring Gala hosted by the Royal Family is the most prestigious fundraiser in the country. When a problem with the honorary foundation arises, Crown Prince Louis Tomlinson must pick a new worthy foundation on short notice. He discovers the perfect replacement in an unlikely place, while watching his favorite YouTuber, Harrysparkles.

📖 Love You To Want Me by @rainbowsandlovehl (11k)

Niall coerces Louis into doing 'spring cleaning', which is basically cleaning their flat which leads to Louis finding the pair of braces he used to wear back in early Uni days. Harry, Niall's bandmate has a strange but visible reactions to the braces.

📖 Chubby Bunny by @littleroverlouis (2k)

Harry spends his Easter Sunday basking in the spring breeze while playing games with the smallest Tomlinsons, and a package of marshmallow Peeps.

Louis is stuck in a sweltering bunny costume for the enjoyment of all around him.

Harry offers him a chance to peel himself out of the costume and indulge in some of the fun.

📖 my lap is the best place for you to be by @bottomhaztoplou (1k)

Omegas, especially pregnant omegas, are expected to ride in their marriage partner's lap, usually on their knot, during carriage rides so as to minimise any jostling that may harm the pup.

Heavily pregnant in mid-April, Harry lifts his skirts and sinks down onto his waiting alpha, his body easily taking Louis inside himself.

[wonfilms]

loving lee know is addicting. it feels like something new entirely yet it feels so comfortably normal all at the same time, it’s like you’ve never known anything different. love just seemed to come naturally, every kiss and sweet confession whispered under your breath . he’s got you wrapped around his finger and all you can do it let him pull you along by your heartstrings. it’s as if his lips were moulded to fit only yours, his hands were made to hold just your own. 

everything he does drives you crazy, in all the best ways possible. i mean how can he not? he’s got you weak at the knees. his laugh makes butterflies jet through your abdomen, every smile sent in your direction makes the heat rise to your cheeks. he never fails to make your heart beat so hard against your ribcage that you feel almost dizzy. 

“i swear i’m going to marry you one day” you whisper with a smile into the crook of his neck as he lays mindlessly scrolling through his phone in your shared bed. the words fall out of your lips with no warning and you find yourself surprised by your bold statement.  his hand falters against his screen and you feel him tense up against your touch. your head swims, have you said the wrong thing? did you let your feelings get out of hand? 

you’re disrupted in your whirlwind of thoughts by the warmth of his hand holding your cheek turning you to look at him. you meet his gaze expecting anything but the tears that glistened in his eyes. 

“hey minho- i’m sor-” you say frantically as if it would reverse your words. you pull a confused expression as you hear a soft chuckle come out of his mouth.  you don’t get time to register the feeling of his lips against yours, he pulls you flush against his chest as he kisses you breathless. 

“what’re you apologising for,  pretty?“ he mutters softly, before pressing another loving kiss against your cheek, his kisses get messy as they move further down your body.  you’ve got your hand tangled in the soft locks of his hair as he buries his head between the crook of your neck, whispering sweet nothings against your skin. 

“can’t wait to marry you “ he sniffles before he leans up to touch his forehead against yours. your noses brush against each other and you swear you’ve never loved him more that you did now.

you want to treasure each moment you’ve had with him. you want to imprint every single inch of him into your memory, from waking up next to his sleeping form in a tangle of limbs to the feeling of his hot breath tickling your neck when he rests his head upon your shoulder, every little beauty mark that litters his back, the way he holds you tight at night, every lingering touch leaves a feeling like a drug that you bear can’t live without.

if you could make enough memories to last a lifetime then you will if it meant you can spend every minute you’ve got left by his side.

a/n : i love him.

[ghostxrose]

One Life After Another, Forevermore | Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five (final)

Summary ~ Your soul and his were tied together by the hands of the Goddess of Fate. It never mattered where you were or what you were, you would always find each other. Every lifetime destined to fall in love with each other and every lifetime destined to die before you could have everything that you wanted together. With every death you questioned; were you and him really eternal soulmates or were you just star-crossed lovers meant to be laughed at by the Goddess of Fate?

Tags/Warnings ~ Fem!Reader, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Emotional, Temporary Character Deaths, Depictions of Injuries, Potentially Triggering Content, No Use of Y/N, Hurts So Good (let me know if I should tag anything else <3)

If you tried hard enough, dug deep enough within your mind, you could still remember that very first life where you met him. You and him were brand new souls who had been freshly cast into some version of reality. The Goddess of Fate had just finished tying your soul to his when she sent you both to an Earthly plane to begin your eternal chase for each other.

Your first life hadn’t been easy and it seemed to set the premise for future lives to come. You had been born a wolf with beautiful dark fur and violet-colored eyes with cracks of piercing blue running through them, belonging to a fairly large pack. Unfortunately, and unlike the rest of the pack, you had been born weak. From the very start you were small, the runt of your littermates. Still, your mother cared for and loved you as she did with all of her pups.

As you grew, you tried to keep up with your siblings and the other pups of the pack. You tried to be strong, tried to be a good hunter, and tried to master the skills of your elders. But you lost every play fight with the other pups and you could barely successfully catch small game on your own. In the eyes of the pack, you were useless.

Your pack had been hunting one evening when you all crossed paths with another pack that had also been hunting. Growling, snarling, gnashing teeth, and howling filled the air as aggressive fighting broke out between the two packs. You fought as hard as you could but your weakness was your downfall. Your pack left you there alone and bleeding from multiple bite wounds as the chilly autumn night settled in.

That night when the moon was at its highest, he had found you at the base of a tree where you had dragged yourself. Disturbed by his sniffing and nudging nose, you startled from your slumber and weakly growled at him thinking he was a threat.

He growled back at you before going back to nudging you and licking at your wounds. You didn’t know that he was a lone wolf that had separated from his pack to try to search for his mate. You didn’t know that it was you who was his mate until somewhere in your brain, it just clicked.

You whined in pain when he nudged you a little harder in an effort to get you to stand up. You had barely been able to drag yourself to the spot where you laid, there was no way you could muster up the strength to get back up. There was more blood on the ground around and under you than there was in your body at this point. It was only a matter of time now.

Sensing that you weren't going to be getting up, he keened sadly and laid down next to you. He licked at your face as you absorbed the heat radiating off of his body. Your head rested on top of your front legs and your eyes looked up to meet crimson ones that almost seemed to glow in the moonlight.

Your breaths were coming out as short and shallow pants and your eyelids were becoming heavier with each passing second. Lowering his head to lick your face again, your mate let out a loud and heartbroken whine. A broken keening left you as you reciprocated his heartbreak and your eyes began to slowly shut.

Before your consciousness finally left your body, you heard your mate howl loudly into the night, the sound utterly heartbroken and full of misery.

A Little Author's Note Here ~ Hello Lovelies, my name is Shasta Rose! This is my first time posting one of my fics to Tumblr so please forgive me if this post is rough or un-aesthetic! I am completely open to tips and helpful criticisms if y'all have any! I do hope that you come to enjoy the story and just know that I appreciate you! <3

[lanitalay]

Cowboy like me

a/n: besties be warned this is my first time writing smut

azriel x reader one shot inspired by the Taylor Swift song

word count: 1.3k

warnings: smut!

Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon.

Azriel looked at her like he was looking in a mirror. He remembered how she laid on his bed, curled up on her side, snuggling with the thick covers. It had been lifetimes, centuries since they had seen each other. Last he heard she was in the Continent, living as a courtesan. She must have a fortune. With her devastating beauty, quick wits and disarming charm it was never difficult to discover interesting, compromising and incriminating information. That’s why she was one of his most trusted spies. 

He never thought he’d run into her in Adriata. She stood on the main balcony of the Summer Court palace, looking at the ocean. He admired how she could adapt to any environment. In Night Court black she was intimidating. In Summer blue she was dazzling. The wind made the flowy fabric of her dress hug her curves. Her hair was shorter now. Back when they knew each other it came down to her waist. Now, it did not touch her shoulders. He could recognize her anywhere, with any hair, any dress. He could recognize her in the dark, blindfolded.

He knew every inch of her skin. Every scar. Every freckle. 

His wings tighten as he makes his way over to her. She must be expecting him. There is no way she did not know he would be visiting on official business. “Summer suits you” his words reach her before he does. He takes the next few steps slowly as he comes to stand next to her.  “Must be the sun and salt air” he knows she won’t look at him yet. “Night also suits you” his hands are placed behind his back. “Maybe, in another life” she brings her hands to the railing of the balcony. Azriel can’t help but notice there is no ring or any marker that indicates she is in a relationship. It did not surprise him, they were similar in that way. Whatever intimate relationship they once shared had been strictly nocturnal and he was perfectly fine with that. It was only when she had given him her letter of resignation that he yearned for more time with her. The nights suddenly not enough. 

“Are you residing here permanently?” Her lips quirked up at that “permanent is not a word I would use to describe anything about me”. He could use that word to describe how she had a perpetual place in the back of his mind and, if he was being honest, his heart. 

“How long are you here for?” The question brings him out of his head “until tomorrow”. She hums. “You never told me why” he had been wondering ever since she had gone. “It was time for something new” now she turns her head to meet his gaze. “Was it something I did?” She looks away again “no”. “Then what was it?” She breathes, her chest rising from the action. “You know what it was”. He goes to ask again but before he can formulate the question she says “I have a meeting, see you around”. She walks away and into the palace, disappearing through a hallway. 

A knock wakes him up. He goes to open the door, already knowing who’s on the other side. “Sorry to wake you” she says and steps into the room. “It’s alright” she’s in a nightgown “why are you here?” He had never seen her look nervous “you know me better than anyone Az” she said gently and he had a feeling that was the voice she used to get men of power to fall to their knees “and…” she closes the space between them “I’ve missed you”. 

He forgoes the mask of indifference and grabs her face, meeting her lips in a searing kiss. Gods, he missed her. His whole body ached at the thought of her. A surprised sound escaped her as he bit her lower lip and slipped his tongue in her mouth. Her hands instinctively went to his hair, like they had done for years. She pulled him away from her and he could  have moaned at how her pupil had blown out and her lips had gone puffy “what?” His voice was desperate and she smiled “I just have a feeling that this is gonna be one of those things” and kissed him again. He wasted no time in lifting her hips up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he walked back to the bed. 

She fell back on the mattress and he swore he had never seen anything more beautiful. He crawled on top of her kissing and biting his way to her lips. He wanted to take his time with her, savor every inch of her skin, every moan and every movement. She had other plans and made it so she was now on top of him. His hardened cock smothered beneath her dripping heat. She removed her robe and nightgown in one motion. Her nipples peaked with arousal. Azriel growled and sat up to bring her right breast to his mouth, sucking and biting with his other hand he pinched and pulled at her left breast. Her head fell back, loving the sensations flooding her but needing more. She pulled him away and took her panties off and threw them at his face. Azriel caught it and breathed in the concentrated scent of her arousal. She got up from his lap and made to undress him. “Az I need you now” he flipped her so she was on her back and at his mercy. 

He pulled out his cock and gave it a few rough strokes. She was aching for him, her cunt fluttering around nothing. He took her in, legs bent and spread wide just for him. He ran a hand up her leg until it reached the apex of her thighs and without warning pushed in two thick fingers. He brought them to his mouth and tasted just how needy she was. “You wanna taste?” She nodded desperately and she moaned as he pumped his fingers a few times before bringing them to her mouth. She sucked and slurped up the liquid. When he took his fingers out she begged “Az, please” he loved seeing her plead for him. “You want my cock?” She nods “say it”. “I want your cock” he thinks he can see tears welling up in her eyes. 

Her pussy is throbbing, he brings his cock to her cunt and slides the tip from her sopping hole to her soaking clit, teasing. Her tears spill “Az, please fuck me”. With one slow, frustratingly slow stroke he sheathes himself inside her. She grabs his face and kisses him, she can taste herself on his tongue. His thrusts turn into pounding. The pace brutal. She moans when he bites her neck and thumbs at her clit. With trembling hands she runs her finger along the lines of his wings, like she knew would drive him crazy. He hisses and bites down harder. Her pussy is throbbing, her climax near. “Cum for me, baby. Be good for me” she has no control as a wave of pleasure crashes into her. She moans his name until it's just incoherent mumbles “where do you want me to finish?” She’s still spinning as she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him deeper “fill me up” he thrusts into her until he reaches his high, his cum coating her walls. Her legs are still wrapped around him as he bends down to meet her lips. 

“Stay with me” he says, arm draped around her waist keeping her back flush against his chest. She thinks for a moment. “I can stay with you if you promise me forever”. They don’t speak the rest of the night. They drift to sleep in each other's warmth and he knows that by morning she’ll be gone.

[oh-stars]

Distance

Love is missing each other.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1043 words | CW: N/A | Rating: T

--

He’s having fun, he is! He’s finally out of Hawkins and seeing places he never thought he’d get to see, meeting people from all walks of life, and experiencing it all with his best friend. What more could Steve ask for? 

Eddie being with him, for one.

Steve sighs as he leans against a nearby post, letting the misting rain fall around him as he smokes a cigarette. He switched to Eddie’s brand a few weeks ago, right before they left, to have some kind of reminder of his smell, his taste. Paired with the cologne he sprays on the few articles of clothes he stole from Eddie to pack away. 

He knows he’s being dramatic. Eddie’s home, not dead. He’s safe and sound back in Hawkins (which is what Robin would call an oxymoron – he knows this because every time she says it, he makes the same joke about how oxen can’t be morons if they can’t read) and staying with Wayne until he gets back. 

This is a once in a lifetime trip, probably the last time he’ll get so much one-on-one time with Robin before they grow up and have different lives. He’s getting to travel and explore before his life turns into… Well, whatever it’s destined to be. Steve’s still figuring that out. 

Robin, on the other hand, has her life mapped out down to the letter. She’s going to school in Portland in a few months, after she already deferred for a year, and then she’ll study anthropology and all of the languages she can shove into her genius brain. She’ll date around, travel a bit more on jobs, and then once she’s thirty something, she’ll settle down with the love of her life and Steve. He’s been informed several times that he’s included in all of her plans by default, but they both know that’s not going to happen. 

They’re on different paths, so there’s sure to be a bit of separation which will be the hardest thing Steve’s ever gone through. He’ll do it for her though, so she can live her life to the fullest. 

And Eddie will be waiting with open arms to catch him. 

Steve takes a long pull from the cigarette, holds, and then lets out the smoke through the corner of his lip. The man at the phone booth is still prattling on, waving his hands as he speaks in angry French to the person on the other line. He’s made like three calls since Steve’s been waiting, watching for his opportunity to pick up the phone. 

They only have a few more weeks, sixteen days to be exact, before they land back in Hawkins. Then it’s just a few days before they’re on the move again, this time packing all their shit and moving to the west coast. They’re making a whole road trip out of it, ending in Seattle to move into the new apartment. Only a week after that they move Robin into her dorm in Portland. 

He already feels like he’s fraying at the edges, even as the nicotine calms his nerves. 

The man at the phone booth slams the phone down onto the receiver with an expletive Steve does understand. He hasn’t picked up a lot of the languages they’ve been around, but he definitely knows the words you’re not supposed to. It’s like a gift. (It really is a gift, Steve thinks, considering he’s only cataloging the words and how to use them properly so he can report back to Eddie who loves this kind of thing. He’ll probably work it into a song or something.)

Steve pushes off the pole and takes another drag of his cigarette only for the man to yank the phone back into his hand and punch in more numbers. As he slips in the coins, Steve groans and runs a hand through his hair, flicking the ash off the cigarette with his other hand. It’s nearly burned to the butt; time is running out. The rain is getting harder too, not enough to duck for cover, but it’s starting to leave droplets on Steve’s skin, little spots darkening the fabric of his polo. 

It’s probably for the best, he thinks. They’re not supposed to call. It’s too expensive and too risky; what if Steve gets the times wrong and Eddie’s not home? So they agreed, no calls. 

But it’s a month and a half in and Steve’s at his wits end. He misses Eddie’s voice, misses the way he’d answer the phone when he knew it was Steve. Going from “Munsons,” in a brisk, direct tone to a drawled out, “Stevie! Hi baby,” that’s all deep tones and sugary words, it never fails to kick up the storm of butterflies in his stomach and set aflame his cheeks. 

He knows how the conversation would go too. They’ll talk about how much they’ve missed one another, then one of them will fill the other in on what they’ve missed before time runs out on the call. They can’t afford to make more than one call, can only talk for a few minutes at a time, five at most, and it’s never enough. 

Steve feels his eyes getting watery without his permission. He coughs, trying to force the tears out before he starts crying in earnest. Once his lungs aren’t burning, he takes another drag and closes his eyes, as if to pretend that he’s just taken Eddie’s cigarette out of his mouth and he’ll be taking it back by any means any second now. 

He doesn’t though because he’s not in Paris, he’s back in Hawkins. 

His watch beeps; the alarm he set before leaving the museum went off. He’s out of time. Steve told Robin he’d only be a few minutes, fifteen at most, then he’d be back to see the next exhibit. She’s so excited to show him the statues and he’s excited to see them because of her excitement. 

He just needed a minute. He just needed Eddie. 

Steve puts out the cigarette and shoves the cooling butt into an ashtray on a nearby bistro table. He shoves his hands into his pockets and makes his way back to the museum. 

It’s just a few more days. 

--

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 link

[pininghermit]

Not a request but more so idea throwing for pondering fun. Imagine like human reader throughout Adrian’s lifespan dies over and over again, but with each new life they slowly shift into a more vampiric form. Time and time again, the two keep finding each other and with every death and life brought, the two could finally live out the rest of their life’s together for as long as they wish

AN: Hmmm interesting. Here's a thought or two of mine (longer than I expected. Feel free to send more of these asks because I kinda like the concept of writing these quick pieces. Hopefully shorter for the future ones.). Also very much unedited but I am impulsive af so here we go.

Part 2

TW: Blood, death, gore, possessive Adrian...

Your first meeting with Adrian had been when you were on the brink of your death in that lifetime. Lying on the icy unforgiving ground your blood seeps through the snow covered earth. Painting everything red. It had been an unfortunate fate where you met the other half of your soul as you bled through you wounds.

And Adrian too realized that. He held onto you as warmth left your body. He could not let go for days and sat there talking to you. He spoke of himself, his life, his likes, his dislikes but none replied.

He never gets to find out your likes or dislikes, your name, your hobbies. The only memory of you that remains with him is your fading breath.

He mourns for a loss he could not fathom overcoming. It felt like a declaration of fate. Like another wound that would mar his heart and soul for eternity.

He wanders forests and dark woods yearning for any sign of relief. Looking for an end. It is then that he meets you again. Or rather you come falling in his arms.

Perched on a tree's sturdy branch you flinch at the barest crunch of the leaves under his feet. It is fall when Adrian meets you and the forest floor is full of decaying leaves.

Startled by the noise you lose balance and Adrian unknowingly catches you even before he, himself can gather what's happening.

Your arms wrap around him and your face buries in the crook of his neck. The warmth of your breath next to his heart brings Adrian back to life.

He does not need the alignment of stars or prophecies to know its you. The darker hue of your eyes or the longer length of your hair cannot stop Adrian from recognizing you. How can they when he's been looking for you all along? Nothing in the world could have hidden you from him.

World comes to life and Adrian sheds away the bleak cloak of mourning.

Dressed in thick leathers and armed with a formidable bow you turn out to be huntress in that lifetime.

Adrian builds a life with you. A small hut by the edge of the forest where you both speak your vows and exchange the plainest rings from the village smith.

A simple life full of joy, love and peace. Time spent full of smiles and embraces.

Adrian lets go of his castle, of all the riches to be with you. Living in the small hut Adrian assumes the role of gardening in the small plot of land by your house. He cooks, he mends, he does all waiting for you as you hunt.

It comes to an end abruptly. It happens on a normal afternoon when you leave for the hunt. Adrian kisses you goodbye as he prepares the kitchen for the evening but you do not return. Neither does Adrian once he leaves to look for you.

He does not find much of you other than a disfigured leg left in the quiet forest. The rest of you is gone with the pack of wolves that devoured you.

Adrian does not mourn. Rage fills him as he hunts your killers. He does not care for the laws of jungle that you believed in. He kills the entire pack with his bare hands.

It is the familiar despair that greets Adrian this time. It is rage. Had he not given up on the wealth you would not have to hunt. It was his fault for letting you venture into the forest alone. He should have been more careful.

So, Adrian gathers all his wealth and becomes the Lord Dracula as he awaits your return. He would not let harm come your way. Not even the barriers of age would dare to part you this time. Adrian would make sure of that. He would find a way.

He looks for you. He tries to follow the tug of his heart. He for you in the forests and valleys. But he does not find you there. Instead, he finds you in the plague ridden camps of the city.

Your face is covered by faded linen as your brows furrow in concentration while cleaning up a withering youth. Not even the thunder and unrelenting rain break your focus.

Adrian stands there, dressed in his finery. A stark contrast to your own simple dress. He does not move even when the rain completely soaks his velvet cloak.

That night Adrian steals you away from the god-forsaken camp. He does so, in the middle of the night when you fall asleep to the tiredness of the hectic day.

He takes you to his castle. Away from the wild and the world that seems to intent on your separation. He inches closer to bite the unmarred column of your neck. His fangs dripping with the venom that would bind you to him for eternity.

He holds you tight. Your limbs locked in his arms to avoid any movement. It would be painful but Adrian would make it quick. He smells the slight lingering fragrance of mint as he moves closer.

Closing his eyes Adrian feels his teeth sink into your skin. You struggle in his arms but Adrian holds tight. Your blood fills his mouth. It is sweeter than any nectar.

The Dhampir did not care for blood. Adrian did not need it to survive so, he had avoided suffering of others but your blood is unlike anything ever. All the suffering and pain from the ages leaves his body with your mere taste.

He is lost in the rich taste of your blood when he first feels it. A burning sensation. At first he dismisses as his own reaction to blood but it isn't him...

Adrian's eyes flinch open and what greets him is the decaying column of your neck. Your skin blackened and burned. Your eyes unfocused and your heart still.

He notices it then the slightly pointed tips of your ears. A half-elven healer.

Surrounded by riches and comforts found rare in world Adrian loses you for a third time.

He does not allow himself the comfort of grief. Not even a tear. Adrian condemns himself of a life where he forbids himself from even a dream of you.

Not even death or whatever end awaits him would be enough penance.

Wandering mountains, seas, ruins, Adrian exists. He would no longer allow himself the luxury of even looking for you. He would not allow the fates to align your path to his.

He never stays in a place longer than a day.

So, he does not resist when the blade of a sword nicks his neck as he walks the unlit roads of a remote village. He does not even flinch when his own blood flows onto the blade.

A small part of his being looks forward the pain that would ease the burden of his own exile.

Warm breeze of a summer's night flows through the valley that he finds himself in. The blade buries into his skin. His blood now blooming on the sleeves of his shirt.

And then it is gone. Adrian staggers at the loss of the weight of the blade on his shoulder. "Now that we've repaid past dues would you turn back and hug your lover who has traveled past decade looking for you," Adrian collapses on his knees as your voice fills the silent night.

He does not find the courage to turn back. Nor does he find the strength to run away as he should have done.

In this lifetime you meet him in the form of his regrets. As a reminder. You meet him as a reflection of himself. A Dhampir.

You hold him close as the night carries the scent of the coy blooms.

You come to him forever. For long enough for you to take away all the pain, the yearning, the self-hatred.