#this sounds really sappy and shallow but like. like.

[onewingedsparrow]

that feeling when you encounter a new blorbo and you just know. oh. you've gone and changed my life forever, haven't you.

[shleemies]

2015->2023

It gets better

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Now We Pay The Price | Pt. 3

Start with Pt. 1 HERE! ~ Jump back to previous Pt. 2 HERE!

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: In an effort to not spoil the ending, please assume that any of the warnings from any of the previous parts could apply

A/N: Well, I guess I lied completely, because I did in fact write the third part in like two days, after explicitly saying I was going to take a break before picking this series back up... But I felt bad about leaving us all hanging (myself included lol).

Thank you to everyone who has read this series! I have received so much more feedback than I was expecting, and it's become a much longer piece than I thought it would be. This really is the last part, though, so I want to take this opportunity to send all the love back at you! At the risk of sounding sappy, you guys are the best and I truly appreciate all of your support <3

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

The shallow rasp of your own breath seemed, somehow, too far away in the normally cramped, claustrophobic cell. As your eyes adjusted to the dark, you slowly began to accept the reality of the key in your hand. It was there; faintly visible in contours and outlines as your fingers tightened around it. The metal teeth pressing into your palm provided more proof, sharp.

But why?

Was this all some kind of test, you wondered? A cruel experiment, so Crane could watch how you'd react to a false chance at freedom? Or maybe a trap. An excuse for him to lock you away in some deeper corner of Arkham - or worse, send you off to Blackgate.

No. If he had wanted to do that, he would have taken the opportunity earlier, when he'd caught you trying to break out on your own. Although, on the other hand, maybe he hadn't quite realized that escape was what you had planned to do. 

There were a hundred possibilities racing through your head, and you tried your best to silence them. Crush them beneath the heel of your foot before they could derail you from what was important.

You stepped softly across the floor, then slid the key easily into the lock.

Click.

This was real.

Euphoria threatened to well up inside your lungs, nearly drowning you where you stood. Hand poised over the doorknob that suddenly seemed charged with electricity, you paused. Sparks jumped the short distance to your fingers; flowed through your body and down to the freezing cold floor, spreading out where the white tile touched your bare socks. 

Your hand clenched, swiftly turning the knob before you had a chance to consider more consequences. Did they really even matter in the face of the possibilities that had just been presented?

Your body felt heavy, cocooned in something. In the hallway, an uncovered lightbulb buzzed, mimicking the excitement that still jolted through you, despite the weight settling on your arms. Each wave pushed you forward, silently out into the hall. Through corridors that were empty and deserted, save for a few lamenting wails from the poor souls still locked up. You smiled. You weren't like them anymore.

You knew exactly where you were going. His office wasn't particularly close - Crane had always liked keeping his distance. And the closer you got, the more frantic you felt, the layers around you peeling away to uncover raw terror dwelling just below the surface. 

Each new step came with a pang of anxiety. If you were stopped now, it would be so much worse knowing just how close you had been.

But finally, the frosted glass window came into view. You paused for a moment more, listening. You had only ever been on this side of the door before, and the thought of what might lie beyond made you hesitate.

When you worked up the courage to let yourself in, you felt suddenly at home. Although you had never once been in Crane's office, there was a familiarity to things that felt just like him. Stacks of papers with hurried notes scrawled over the margins. An almost-empty mug with the dark remnants of some liquid now sludged at the bottom. You wrapped your fingers around the cup, and brought it up close to your face. The old, bitter smell of black coffee filled your next breath. 

As you set the mug back down, you noticed that he didn't have any pictures. Of course - why would he? Crane wasn't someone who had many people who he would deem worthy of remembering. 

You thought of what life could be like in a world where he'd placed a little framed photo of you on this desk, perched abruptly among the chaos of case reports and old receipts. The idea made you smile, even if it was only imaginary. It could be real, you told yourself. Maybe that was what mattered most.

As you traipsed through the scraps of a life that had told a very different story, one burning question took over your mind. Why wasn’t he here?

A small seed of disappointment planted itself, growing gnarled and ugly as it wrapped around you for support. A strangling vine that crept closer and closer to something more vital every second it went unchecked. Where was he? That was the whole reason you’d come.

You sat in his chair, swiveling idly as you tried to ignore the panicked feeling within you. You were certain that Crane was the one who had left the key. Who else would have? You wouldn't allow yourself to consider the possibility that it had been an accident. Some moment of foolish oversight by an orderly, or even one of the other doctors. No, it had to be him, and it had to be purposeful. Otherwise-

“I was wondering how long it would take you.” Suddenly, Crane's voice echoed out from the office door, left ajar in your haste. Your head snapped up to meet his gaze. “You weren't here as soon as I thought you’d be, actually.”

“I was asleep,” you explained.

“I know. You were out cold when I came in to check on you.”

A tense silence hovered between you, with so much more seemingly left unsaid.

“You gave me a key,” you prompted. “...Why?”

Crane sighed, and stepped into the room. It seemed like he wasn't going to answer, as he took his time closing the door behind him and leaning against the edge of his desk. You stood up, suddenly self conscious about letting yourself in. As he crossed his arms, you came to stand closer to him, trailing your fingers over the desk’s surface.

“Nothing I do seems to help you,” he said finally. “So I thought, paradoxically, what if I tried giving in to what you want for once?”

The silence hovered again, before he continued. 

“I don't know. I'm out of ideas.”

That wasn't exactly the answer you'd been hoping for, but… Even if his change of heart wasn't quite the one you'd imagined, it was still something.

“I'm glad that we're talking again,” you offered.

Crane’s shoulders slumped a bit as he looked at you, letting out a long breath.

“...I do care about you, you know,” he said suddenly. “Even if some things have changed… that still hasn't.”

You tried hard to speak around the lump in your throat; to answer him with all the words that were desperate to squeeze past and flood out of your mouth. Weeping, frenzied adoration, just like you had always felt for him. But instead, all that came out was a cry, choked off halfway out of your lips as you slapped a hand over your mouth. 

Crane looked at you, and reached back to offer a box of tissues. You accepted, suddenly realizing how wet your cheeks were.

You longed more than anything to fall into him. To give yourself over completely to the warm and familiar strength of his arms, the soft rise and fall of his chest. To lay your head on his shoulder again, just like each of you had done for the other so many times before.

“I didn't… think you still did,” you admitted, as much to yourself as to him.

Crane tried to keep his face neutral, but you saw the hint of regret as his eyes flicked away from you.

“I think, in the end, I was just too… demanding.” He stiffened, uncomfortable with his own clumsy admission. “Too selfish.”

“I would have given you everything, though.”

“You did. And it was too much.”

You wiped a tear and looked over at him, leaning restlessly against the desk. He was focused on scratching his thumbnail against the dark wood, still not meeting your eyes, and you reached out to tilt his chin up to face you.

“I’m still yours,” you told him. “Even when you don’t want me to be. I still am - always.”

He leaned in, to your slight surprise, pressing the tip of his nose to your cheek as his forehead rested against yours. You sat together like that for a moment, not daring to so much as breathe so that, maybe, the spell wouldn’t have to be broken.

“I wish I could go back and do things differently, sometimes,” he said quietly. “Stop myself from dragging you down with me.”

“Don’t say that.” Your hand came to rest atop his, stilling the anxious scrape of his fingers over the desk.  “Being with you makes me feel like I’m walking on air. Even now.”

“That’s not good for you, though,” Crane muttered. “I should have kept you more grounded.” “But who wants to live life on the ground?” you laughed lightly. “You never did.”

The feeling was more subtle than you remembered as your lips found each other. Not the same violent, frenzied spark as usual, but a slow warmth, spreading over your tongue and down into your chest. It took you by surprise, and you froze for a few seconds as you got used to the strange but familiar feeling of his mouth on yours.

Hesitant, you reached out to fold your arms around him. Searching for some trace of a life that had never been lived - one where two people were able to love in a way that didn’t destroy both of them. It wasn’t there yet, but you could almost imagine it.

“Do you think…” you began, as you pulled back just slightly, “that things could have been more like this?”

Your hands inched up to his shoulders, seeking out the stability that you had never managed to hold onto. The feel of him grabbing your waist, pulling you closer, made you feel like you might lose yourself for one fleeting moment. But, as the feeling relaxed and gave way to a more subdued, tender passion, you let yourself lean into his kiss.

Another tear fell, slowly working its way into the space that just barely existed between your cheek and his.

There was a bittersweet regret, at the thought of a mundane life. One that you and he would get to spend together, but that would have felt tamed and suppressed. Dampened. You felt something fall away from yourself. Maybe the echoes of your past, doomed but inevitable, all leading up to this moment. Now, it was finally here. There was too much history to let go of, but maybe, you wouldn't be so burdened by it now.

You pulled away again, and reached into the folds of your jumpsuit, quickly finding the key. As you pressed it firmly into his palm, Crane’s fingers wrapped around yours for a moment.

“Maybe things still can be like this,” you hummed, answering your own question. “Someday.”

With a sad smile, you let your eyes sweep over his face one more time.

“Walk me back to my room?” you asked.

Crane said nothing, but slid the key into his pocket and stood up. As he extended a hand to you, the sleeve of his jacket slid back.

“Wait. One more thing,” you said, searching the mess on his desk for a pen.

You found one, easily enough, and held his arm steady as you drew the same heart that he’d let you sketch onto his skin all those years ago. Two quick, swooping strokes of a pen that carried with them the weight of something undefined and nebulous, but that was starting to take shape.

“A promise,” you explained, setting the pen back down safely atop a stack of scattered papers. “And I always keep promises.”

As you walked, hand in hand with your wrist against his, the jumble of thoughts that ran through your head quieted for a moment. The fingers of your free hand trailed along the walls, and for the first time in a while, you could appreciate the solid, rough feel of the stone that brushed your fingertips. You stepped softly into your cell, Jonathan trailing behind you.

He watched from a distance as you slid under the covers, making yourself comfortable enough on the sparse mattress. And then, he stepped swiftly away from the door, to sit on the edge of your bed for a moment.

“Get some rest,” he said softly. “You look tired.”

Your hand snaked over to his, and he squeezed when your fingers wrapped over his wrist, pressing into fresh ink that smudged slightly from the heat of your touch. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Jonathan.”

As he left, you felt something replace the dark pit that had seemed to live deep in your chest for so long. A bright pin of light, still small, but definite. 

You smiled and closed your eyes as it overtook you.

Additional A/N: While this part did not have a specific song as inspiration like the other parts, I did listen to Sarah Cothran's cover of As The World Caves In on loop while writing most of it, so I'm including it here as kind of an "end credits" theme because sometimes I like to be a little extra lol. Thank you again for reading <3

[no1frogfan]

Tsukishima finds out you’re sick

Tsukishima finds out you’re sick. Word count: ~900

Fem reader

Notes: First story!

~~~~~~~~~~

Tsukishima is a little put out. Usually you message him during practice with something sappy like “miss you!” or “made your favorite dinner <3”. He always rolls his eyes, but you know he secretly loves getting them because the few times you got caught up with work and forgot, he was definitely sulky when he got back to the apartment. So when he goes to check his phone after practice and doesn’t see anything, he huffs, glowering at his empty notifications.

“—wasn’t it Tsukki?!”

No answer.

“…TSUKKI?!” Koganegawa yells.

“WHAT?!” Tsukishima yells back, glaring up from the screen.

Koganegawa looks taken aback. “…I just wanted to know if you saw all the great blocks I pulled off tonight…” he trails off seeing Tsukishima’s expression.

“What’s up with you?” Kyoutani mutters, glancing at Tsukishima from the corner of his eyes before pulling his sweaty jersey over his head.

Tsukishima turns to scowl at Kyoutani, rolling his eyes. “None of your business,” he grumbles, quickly setting down his phone. Looking back to Koganegawa, he concedes, “Yes Koganegawa, I saw. The timing of your blocks have improved a bit since our last match against them.”

Koganegawa’s face lights up at the rare compliment. “I’ll work even harder for next time!” He promises enthusiastically before running off toward the showers.

“HEY! Don’t run, you’ll slip!” Kyoutani yells after him, walking to the showers himself.

Tsukishima sighs, stuffing his phone in his bag before also heading to rinse off. He raises his head to see Kyoutani giving him a quizzical look. “What?” Tsukishima growls.

Kyoutani shakes his head and turns back around toward the showers.

Usually Tsukishima rushes to shower and get back to the apartment, but this time he drags his feet, moping as he rinses off and gets dressed again.

“What, not excited to see your girlfriend today?” Kyoutani teases gruffly.

Tsukishima scoffs, “At least I’ve got one.”

Tsukishima tries his best to walk nonchalantly out of the locker room. She’s probably just really busy today, he rationalizes. But you hadn’t missed a text in ages. You even told him you’d set an alarm so you wouldn’t forget. Stop being such a child. But he’s sulking as he reaches the front door. He takes a deep breath. Get it together you big baby, Kei tells himself before putting the key in the lock.

Kei walks in to the apartment and closes the door. Silence. He looks around, confused. You always welcome him home with a “Kei~ welcome back!” Sometimes a kiss too, if you aren’t in the middle of something. It made his heart swell each and every time knowing you were excited to see him again, no matter if he was gone for 10 hours or 10 minutes.

He hears a sound from the living room. Dropping his bag, he quickly strides into the apartment and sees you curled up underneath a blanket on the couch. Your breathing sounds shallow and a bit raspy. You cough. Tsukishima walks up, gently taking the phone dangling precariously from your left hand and placing it on the coffee table. You cough again. Kei frowns, putting his hand to your forehead. He pulls it back quickly. You’re burning up.

Tsukishima slowly picks you up off the couch, trying not to wake you.

You stir, half opening your eyes as you’re pressed against his chest. “Kei?” you mumble.

“This is what you get for refusing to take my jacket on Monday night,” he scolds. You squeeze his arm in response and he grimaces at how weak you are.

Tsukishima gently props you up on the bed and pulls the covers up around you. He walks out and returns within seconds with a glass of water and some medicine. “Here, take this and then go to sleep,” he murmurs. He sits down on the bed next to you and rubs your back tenderly while you take the medicine and gulp down some water. He helps you lay back down and tucks you in, kissing your sweaty forehead. He frowns and sighs to himself when he feels again how hot it is against his lips. He refills the cup of water and quietly sets it down on the nightstand next to you before turning off the lights.

“Love you,” Kei hears you whisper behind him. “Love you too, dummy” he responds, closing the bedroom door.

Heading back to the kitchen, Tsukishima puts away the ingredients you had taken out of the fridge in preparation for dinner and pulls out his phone to order himself something to eat. He rinses some rice and puts it on the stove to boil, remembering that you like to have plain okayu whenever you’re sick.

He plops down on the couch as he waits for the rice to boil and his dinner to arrive. “Guess I’m sleeping out here tonight,” Tsukishima sighs to himself, looking around for the extra blankets and pillows. His eyes land on your phone. He picks it up and unlocks it to email your boss that you won’t be able to go to the office tomorrow. He smiles when he sees the text you wrote before you fell asleep: guess what? you’re my favorite!!!

[mamamittens]

Assembly Required

As commissioned by @cebwrites, I loved working with ya boi again! It was quite fun writing so much yearning lol

Warnings: Yearning and mild miscommunication.

Functionally a sequel to From Scratch(+18)

Word Count: 5,496

Kirin couldn’t help the soft smile on his lips as he moved past Law, careful to brush his hand down the hunched arc of Law’s spine affectionately. His eyes lingering on the contrast between tan skin and the wrinkled lab coat that teased the delicate line of his throat. Kirin barely restrained a heartfelt sigh.

It was a little too easy to get lost in Law. Every time Kirin felt he was close to figuring out his favorite aspect of the sullen man his eyes or ears or nose or—his attention would be arrested to a new and fascinating feature. Last week as he was bullying Law to go to sleep, he got a little sappy and lost in the edge of Law’s jawline where prickly hairs scraped his fingertips. How the dark hairs that formed what was usually a neat goatee faded out into a scraggly mess after a three day bender in the lab.

Even the dark lines of his tattoos fascinated Kirin. He particularly liked the soft sound Law made when Kirin stroked a rough line on his chest where the ink refused to settle properly. The faintest ridge marking the line between clean skin and black ink. There were several spots of skin like it, but few were openly on display often or greeted Kirin with such a cute sound. Not that he’d complain about it—though Law certainly did. Ears red as he huffed and looked away from Kirin’s teasing smile.

Point being—Kirin was pretty madly in love with Law and deliriously happy about their life together at his point.

Law ran his experiments that Kirin could only just understand after several hours of explanation and Kirin made sure Law didn’t run themself into the ground. Or get to the point that standing up made them black out. It was harder than it seemed, often requiring a bit of… cajoling, but it was a labor of love Kirin indulged in nonetheless. Sometimes, if he caught Law in just the right mood, they’d bathe together.

Just bathing… usually. But the soft intimacy never failed to make his heart race.

Kirin enjoyed scrubbing shampoo into Law’s scalp, dark hair like liquid ink and silk between his fingers. Occasionally requiring a few rinses to clean whatever chemical mixture managed to tangle into their locks. Watching their eyes slide shut in contentment as they hummed. Heart a steady beat under wet skin as he washed off whatever unfortunate accident miraculously turned out to not be acidic from Law’s body.

There was a close call once with an exploding beaker than sent shards of glass across Law’s cheek and Kirin spent extra time cleaning the shallow wounds and pressing his lips over them in worry. Any higher and it would have gotten their eyes—though Law was safety conscious enough to not neglect safety glasses… but Kirin still worried. He couldn’t help fussing over Law.

His reckless, beautiful lover.

And in turn, despite Law’s clinical attitude, they returned the favor. Gentle fingertips driving the washcloth over the healed stitches where disparate body parts were now firmly fused. Care taken to his long hair and their roots, thumbs massaging into his temples and nape. Kirin nearly fell asleep several times, melting into Law’s arm as they washed his back. Not a single inch missed or cleaned with more pressure than necessary. Sometimes Kirin suspected he wasn’t as dirty as Law’s thorough care implied but he didn’t voice his suspicions. Just smiled and pressed a kiss to the nearest patch of damp skin.

It was in the little things, more than anything else really, that spoke of Law’s affection. They didn’t waste time on things that didn’t matter to him. And Kirin was hardly any different in that regard. It just so happened that Law mattered a whole lot to Kirin.

Listening to Law’s steady heart as he laid across the couch over him, Kirin couldn’t imagine these simple facts ever changing.

Forgive the naivete, Kirin was technically born not long ago. Fully developed and independently functioning but still. At that time, he couldn’t imagine anything changing how he felt.

One day, while Kirin and Law were lounging in the living room after breakfast, there was a flurry of knocking on the front door. Kirin was baffled, wondering if whoever was at the door had the wrong address. In his several months of living with Law, he’d never once heard of other people. Let alone had them visit.

Law grumbled, burying their face into Kirin’s hair before getting up. Gently forcing Kirin to move aside as he shuffled to the door. Huffing, Law seemed to gather himself before yanking the front door open.

Law didn’t seem surprised at whoever was there.

“What do you two want?” Law huffed but stepped aside, much to Kirin’s surprise.

Law’s expression was strange but familiar. Grumpy but fond. The exact look he gives Kirin when he pulls them from the lab to eat dinner.

The two were dressed casually in sweatshirts and baggy jeans, nearly identical with strange cartoons on the front. One, a redhead with shaggy hair tucked under a backwards baseball cap, and sunglasses. The other with a penguin themed cap that completely obscured their eyes and hair. They were grinning and stumbling over each other, completely at ease with how in each other’s space they were.

“Law! So you were finally out of your dungeon for once!” The redhead declared with a cheerful grin, turning to their companion with a chortle. “I told you we wouldn’t be left standing outside!”

The other laughed.

“Hey! It wasn’t impossible. We’ve stood out in the rain for almost an hour before—thought someone was going to call the cops on us!” They threw their arm over their companion’s shoulder and patted Law’s arm as they walked in properly. “You look better than I thought you would, bud! Take on a new experiment about hygiene lately, ahah~!” They laughed before pausing. Their expression turned to a shocked one and their companion followed their gaze. Right to Kirin.

Kirin smiled and gave a wave, unsure as to who exactly they were.

“Woah! Law! Who’s this?!?” The redhead demanded with a bright smile. So… a good reaction then. At least, Kirin assumed that was the case.

Law flushed, looking away as he closed the front door.

“This is Kirin. My lab partner… I… made him. Somehow.” Law muttered just loud enough to be heard.

…Lab partner? Well, Kirin supposed that wasn’t… inaccurate. But the term felt so distant and cold. Like they were just coworkers. As though they didn’t kiss each other good night and fall asleep to the other’s heart. He knew Law was awkward and likely felt put on the spot, but the words echoed in his head.

Was this how Law felt? Kirin felt a foreign chill run down his spine, startling him.

The two looked even more surprised.

“What! Holy shit!”

“No way, that’s so cool!” the two came over like puppies, tumbling over each other as they rushed to great him. It was cute and heartwarming but that persistent chill lingered in his heart. He felt alone in the room as they introduced each other.

“I’m Shachi! And this is my beau, Penguin!” The red head proclaimed, pausing to kiss their partner’s cheek.

Penguin laughed, nuzzling back as Kirin stood up. They seemed thrown by his height but still affable.

“Shachi and I grew up with Doctor Grumpy butt over there! So, like, how’s living?!” He asked excitedly.

Kirin paused at the odd question before shrugging.

“…I’m here?” The two cackled, nodding their heads.

“Ahah! I hear ya! I hear ya!” Shachi declared, slapping their thigh.

“Did you two come over here to menace me or was there an actual reason?” Law hissed, slumping onto the couch out of reach of Kirin. They laughed and tumbled into the space, hands locked together as they swayed against the couch cushions.

“We haven’t hung out in forever! You went and made a whole ass person and didn’t even send a text!” Penguin lamented, dramatically leaning against Shachi as he was playfully consoled. “And he has clearly been looking after you! Thanks for that by the way! Law gets stuck in his head really easily and petty, mortal things tends to fall to the wayside.” Penguin sassed.

“Yeah! Like showering and eating.” Shachi poked Law’s side with a grin. Law hissed, kicking at Shachi’s leg petulantly, like he was a moody teen at dinner.

“I can get by just fine.” Law hissed.

“Wait. You’re friends?” Kirin asked dumbly, setting aside the uncomfortable feeling of loneliness settling in his bones like a deep ache.

All three turned to him.

“Yeah!”

“Best friends!” Shachi and Penguin declared with identical, beaming smiles.

“No.” Law narrowed his eyes, shoving Shachi further from him as the redhead playfully leaned back.

“I didn’t know Law had friends…” Kirin mused thoughtfully. He knew it was possible. But given how moody Law was, he rather assumed that Law tended to chase people away until they got close enough that Law couldn’t resist holding onto them despite that. And in that case, Kirin had thought they would have shown up long before now.

Law liked having him around, after all… but maybe he didn’t know as much about Law as he thought.

The two guffawed as Law flushed, resorting to straight up shoving them off the couch with his foot.

“Don’t you have shit to do?!” Law grumbled as the two rolled on the floor in hysterics. Usually, if Law got this huffy, he’d clamber over and bury his face into Kirin’s shoulder or chest. Expecting Kirin to card his fingers through Law’s hair to sooth him or kiss his cheek. But Law made no move to leave the corner of the couch. Instead choosing to sink deeper into the cushions with a huff.

Like he was ashamed of being with Kirin.

Kirin kept smiling in amusement but the realization thundered painfully in his chest.

Had they not been on the same page? Had they ever been on the same page?

Kirin understood intrinsically that their relationship was unconventional to say the least. But it was cozy and warm until this very moment. They supported each other. But, without realizing it, was Kirin just ‘a lab partner with benefits’ for Law? Someone that he didn’t have to worry about weirding out or not understanding their dedication to experiments and science. The attraction wasn’t planned after all. And technically neither was his creation.

Maybe Law just got lonely and, while exhausted from lack of sleep, created someone to help them. Which Kirin did and so much more. But was it because Law wanted that? Or did he just have a moment of weakness. Brought on by stress and a lack of other—possibly more technically human interactions—and Kirin just so happened to be there.

Kirin… didn’t know what to do. He loved Law. He knew it. There was no other way to describe how often his heart fluttered or he found himself smiling when looking at Law at work. He felt so happy with Law… but did Law even want to be with him? Like Kirin wanted to be with Law?

Could Kirin handle being with Law if he didn’t feel the same?

The question haunted him as Shachi and Penguin goaded Law into a movie night with pizza delivery. The three interact chaotically with Law pushing them away but never far and not once touching Kirin. Not even a brush of hands as Kirin reached for a slice of pizza. The two were friendly with Kirin, eagerly talking about their childhoods with Law and their many shenanigans. Asking how Kirin liked things or if he had seen or tasted this and that.

They were open and friendly. Completely accepting him despite his unorthodox origins.

It made him want to cry. In his flustered, unprepared state of mind, he suddenly felt self-conscious. Of himself. Of his relationship up until now with Law. Though undeniably innocent and platonic, their interest in his person felt deeper than most of his intimate moments with Law in light of this new conflict. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to their relationship, but Kirin couldn’t help feeling that way. Shachi and Penguin were incredibly comfortable with each other and Kirin felt envious that he couldn’t do that with Law. At least not with guests over.

Were they something that needed to hide?

It made him feel twisted and ugly, somehow. His scars the two marveled over as proof of his unexpected origins burning like they hadn’t since he first awoke in the lab. Kirin struggled to not compare himself to the other two or inspect his own person for flaws. Unconsciously searching for reasons that Law would be so uncomfortable even touching when others could see.

Was it his skin? That mostly matched in tone across his body and bore odd scars from previous lifetimes. Things he’d never be able to explain or remember. Hands still bearing foreign callouses unlike the ones Law held under layers of rubber gloves.

His face? That once Law held so tenderly late at night in the lab before joining him in bed. Sharp and often smiling as a counter to Law’s unamused expression.

His eyes? A bright, burning yellow like candlelight that Law had ceased breathing when they first looked into them? Nothing like Law’s dark, steady gaze. Or the shaded and shielded eyes of his longtime friends that still somehow held a soft warmth to them.

Or maybe it was his long, white hair. That took ages to detangle and clean, though previously Law had never complained as it draped over the bed sheets or his bare back. It was certainly a far cry from the clipped black locks Law was partial to for it’s lack of needed maintenance.

It could even be his origin. The idea of loving an amalgamation of dead parts an uneasy prospect under the gaze of his peers. Even without the details his many scars told a grim story on their own. The idea of watching Law lie about where they came from made guilt curl in his guts. Even if Law had no issue with it himself, that level of scrutiny would eventually rankle.

What did they have to bond over aside from proximity and chemistry? It wasn’t like Kirin held life experiences that would reflect and refract from Law’s own life. Unique instances he could share with Law from when they weren’t together. Not like Shachi and Penguin or even Law and his friends.

Kirin just… didn’t know. Had no way of knowing and knew he’d cry if he tried asking at that moment. And he thought—reluctantly conceded—that he’d embarrassed Law enough for one afternoon.

By the end of the night, as the two left, Kirin resigned himself to the knowledge that he was likely a hopeless romantic. Realizing only now how badly he wanted to experience life with Law… and how increasingly likely it was that Kirin was alone in that feeling.

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—blame Law for his own feelings. It wasn’t like they ever really talked about the particulars of their relationship before. Expectations or ground rules. Names and their future together…

If Law only wanted a lab partner, that’s what he’d be.

It’s basically what they’d been this whole time and Kirin…

Kirin could learn to be happy with this. Just…

Just this.

--*--

There was a shift in the house after the unexpected visit from his old… acquaintances.

At first, Law wasn’t sure what to make of it. Typically, they tried not to think too much about the kind of chaos his friends brought with them. It was, after all, only a single afternoon. But the difference was stark.

Kirin had been avoiding him. Sort of. He still assisted in the lab and ensured Law was dragged out for food and rest, but the pampering they’d received before was gone. Law didn’t say anything at first. Accepting that it was meant to be a rare treat to have his hair washed and spend downtime relaxing on Kirin’s chest. Listening to his steady heartbeat with a fascination they privately compared to how they once beheld centuries old cathedrals that towered over them in his youth.

But Law actually wanted to know Kirin deeper than those old buildings with dust covered hymns and worn organs. If they didn’t fear undoing the miracle that created who Kirin was, they’d gently peel away the skin and bones to admire the complex system within. The arch of his ribs protecting sturdy lungs. Shielding a heart so delicately made but resilient enough to beat past the reaper’s blade. Law could inspect every sinew and artery and still crave to go deeper.

And Law suspects that Kirin would let him.

The image was macabre and more than a little deranged, but no less so than how dizzy Law felt when Kirin’s hands cupped his shoulders. Cradled his face in the midst of their passion like spun glass. Thumb pressing over Law’s jugular vein like he intended to set a rhythm to Law’s racing heart. Law craved the intimacy Kirin seemed to naturally revel in without shame. They wanted everything Kirin had and this sudden wall between them made his chest ache.

It took several hours and three medical books to realize they weren’t experiencing an early sign of a heart defect.

Law was just experiencing a loss he’d never felt before.

Kirin wasn’t gone. He was still there. But… distant now. In a way that made Law instinctively reach out when he passed by. Experiments forgotten the minute they registered Kirin’s thoughtful footsteps. The hint of Kirin’s unique scent or glimpse of his shadow.

Law had been called a mad scientist many times over the years but he’d never felt mad before now.

Law created a chemical mixture for an experiment only to derail the entire thing trying to recreate Kirin’s gold eyes for a chance to pretend they were holding another silent conversation together. Only to dump it out in a hurry when the real deal walked into the lab in mortification.

They changed clothes more often so Kirin’s scent on his clothes never faded from shared loads of laundry. Law even conducted a secret experiment to recreate it when Kirin began sleeping facing away from them. Kirin’s reactive flinch when Law curled around Kirin’s back constricting their throat.

Waking up to a cold bed where before Kirin would kiss them awake brought tears to his eyes.

They couldn’t sleep. Hours in bed spent staring at white hair braided into a low bun, back turned towards them. Law memorizing Kirin’s soft breaths and the occasional shudder from distressing dreams.

They wanted to know what was wrong. They needed to know what happened.

But Law didn’t know where to start. What to say—if there was even anything they could say.

There was a time they would have been thrilled to be left alone. Treated with a professional but dedicated gloved touch while they did important work.

Now Law just craved the sensation of feeling Kirin. Anywhere. Anything. Everywhere. Whatever they did, they were sorry, alright. And desperate.

It was late at night, staring yet again at the delicate curve of Kirin’s spine and wanting to taste it, when a horrible thought occurred to them.

Did Kirin ever want to be with them?

Law didn’t doubt Kirin wanted their… intimate affair. Strong enough to make any denial of affection more than clear, even at Law’s most stubborn. But after the initial sparks formed, how much of that enthusiasm was kept? Did Kirin grow tired of looking after his lover?

Did, perhaps, the glimpse into Law’s relationship with his oldest friends reveal a fatal flaw between them? Or perhaps Kirin wanted that goofy, attached love the two shared easily over many years. Law understood that… he’d been jealous himself on occasion of how easy the two made it look. Even knowing that wasn’t the case at all did little to help the dark, rotten feeling in his chest during particular times of the year.

Law felt cold and achingly alone in the bed next to Kirin. Hand reaching out without thought to curl around Kirin’s ribs and pull the other close.

They loved Kirin, strange as their relationship was. But loving them couldn’t be easy, if Kirin ever really did in the first place.

Law slipped out of bed, kissing Kirin’s temple as they pulled the blanket over his broad shoulders.

Had they trapped Kirin?

Law set up the coffee pot and sat at the kitchen table, feeling unpleasantly foul and wretched as his thoughts raced.

Law knew they weren’t thinking clearly when they made Kirin. Nothing to be done there, even if Law could recall those few fevered weeks. Decisions had clearly been made but to what end? Law didn’t know.

The sinking feeling that Law had made a critical error in Kirin’s creation only grew.

There was no way in hell they made Kirin to love them—wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to manufacture that in such a way that it would occur without Law’s deliberate action after the fact. Conditioning would take weeks and require steps even sleep-deprived Law would be unable to stand engaging in. And Law was aware of himself when Kirin awoke. So that was certainly not by design, at the very least.

It couldn’t have been to keep Law company—why make a sentient creature for that?! A dog would have sufficed, and a sufficiently intelligent one could even help fetch objects in the lab without a fuss. A dog would certainly listen to orders better than Kirin ever would if he believed it went against Law’s base needs. Or maybe a robot, though mechanical engineering wasn’t Law’s field of study, it would have to be easier than reanimating the dead!

In the end, there wasn’t much of a point in fretting over his motivations for creating Kirin. That ship had long since sailed.

The problem was if Law had trapped Kirin, knowingly or not, where Law was his only option. What did Kirin even do while Law was working alone? He’d never spoken on the subject.

Law’s train of thought broke when they heard the coffee maker beep. Getting up to pour a fresh cup and almost choking when he took a sip. Usually they let it cool a little, the old coffee maker borderline sadistic in it’s temperature output. But they’d forgotten, having gotten used to Kirin bringing a new mug every so often.

Selfishly, Law’s knee-jerk reaction is to reiterate how much they need Kirin now. How wrong it feels to sit in the kitchen alone instead of holding onto his lover in bed. Law couldn’t imagine going back to an empty house with experiments and half-finished studies only about a dozen people care about outside of Law themself.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? That’s just what Law wants. This whole thing started because of Law’s wants.

A single, aching thought breaks through his clouded mind.

What did Kirin want?

If Kirin had the choice, what kind of life would Kirin look for? It certainly couldn’t be waiting on Law hand and foot with barely a word of thanks. Law wasn’t that far up his own ass.

Maybe Kirin wanted to do his own experiments. Or maybe he didn’t want to do any of the STEM fields at all! For all Law knew, he wanted to—to!—grow a garden! Explore the world outside of their home.

Law sighed, eyes watering as they imagined it.

Kirin dressed appropriately for a nature hike, pondering a trail map. Long, white hair braided over his shoulder. He’d look breathtaking with wildflowers. Or paint on his hands. Basking in the sun or marveling at the chaotic world beyond the beakers and tile floors of the lab.

Law chuckled wetly.

Maybe Kirin would like to see the ocean. Dive into the deep and admire the diverse ecosystems found there.

Law daydreamed possible paths Kirin would want but they all had the same feeling.

Freedom. Kirin in all his loving, handsome beauty.

And Law nowhere in sight. Perhaps, if they were lucky, watching Kirin’s success from a distance. Out of the way.

Law realized after a moment they were crying into an empty cup. Tears watering down the dried dregs of coffee as the morning sun began to cast the horizon in soft pinks.

Law sniffed, getting up to shower away the lingering feeling of his pity party. Resolution beginning to thunder in his chest.

Law was clearly a shit lover, but they loved Kirin. And it was time they started acting like it.

Law had printed, organized, and nearly laminated reams of paper for Kirin by noon in his ill-used office they’d, frankly, forgotten about. Namely because it was where his ‘official business phone’ was and honestly, fuck those guys. Law hated talking to them to begin with. This was a much better use of the space to begin with.

Law thought they heard Kirin call out for him but chalked it up to sleep-deprivation until Kirin appeared in the doorway in confusion.

“You have an office?” Kirin asked faintly, holding two coffee mugs in his hands as he carefully stepped past piles of paper Law didn’t bother remembering the purpose for.

“Yes—not important! It’s pretty short notice, but I’ve gotten a good head start on things. Sorry about that, by the way, I was feeling… inspired this morning.” Law rambled, taking the cup of coffee and downing it in one go as Kirin watched with something approaching caution.

“…Yeah?” Kirin asked softly, taking a small sip from his own cup. “So… what is all this?” Kirin gestured to the desk with dozens of color coded folders.

“Careers! Well, mostly. Sort of. Its—look, they’re activities you can do. Red requires at least some sort of degree, blue some certifications, and green you could theoretically walk out right now and do today.”

Kirin looked completely baffled.

“…Are you asking me to get a job?” Kirin asked, looking over the many folders in bewilderment.

“Yes! No—No wait, no, not like that. It’s just—I was thinking—” Law tripped over his words and felt like a complete moron. Of course they were thinking! They never stop! What a stupid thing to say, but it was too late to take it back now! “You’re here! All the time! And you don’t have to be—you know that, right? You can… you can g-go?” Law asked with a soft voice, not looking up at Kirin, that familiar psychosomatic lump constricting his words.

“… you want me to leave?” Kirin asked in a tone Law had never heard before. Too soft and small and wounded. Law looked up in concern and his heart dropped.

Kirin’s face was flush, eyes wide and watery with unshed tears. Law’s chest thundered with self-loathing, realizing what his words sounded like too late.

“No!” Law nearly shouted, startling them both over the sound of yet another ream of paper spitting out from the printer. “Never… but you… if you want to…?” Law trailed off uncertainly.

Kirin’s face twisted in hurt and irritation.

“Just spit it out, Law. What are you getting at?” Kirin hissed, blinking as tears fell down his cheeks.

Law felt small behind his desk, they’d made a grave miscalculation.

“You’re here. Every day, every hour, and minute. All you’ve ever seen is my house and the lab. I don’t—I don’t know what you do in your free time. Never asked—I should have but I didn’t.” Law began. “You’re so… distant now and I realized how little you’ve seen. I spent years getting to where I am and this is… I wanted to let you do the same thing. Whatever it is, I’ll make it happen. Anything. I-I don’t care what it is as long as you’re happy with it—”

“Law.”

Law stopped, looking back up at Kirin as he sat down his coffee mug and leaned in close.

“Do you want me to leave?” Kirin asked softly and Law felt his hands move of their own accord, cradling Kirin’s cheeks and brushing away the tear tracks.

“No. I want you to live.” Law replied honestly, all thoughts freezing as they marveled in how perfectly Kirin’s jawline fit between his hands. Kirin’s hands pressed over Law’s.

“Then why do you think I want to leave?” Kirin asked, his words curling over Law’s trembling lips. A ghost of a kiss Law ached to resurrect.

“Why would you want to stay? You could have anything in the world… why would you want to stay with a grumpy, neglectful scientist?” Law questioned, ignoring the beeping of his overworked printer informing him that it was empty of paper again.

Kirin chuckled, smile ever closer to Law’s lips. His words low as his warm gaze cut into Law tenderly.

“Because I love them.” Law nearly collapsed forward into Kirin’s lips. Soft, warm pressure folding against his lips as the touch lingered. Half-thought words dying with every pass across silky, delicate skin.

Law didn’t understand. Didn’t know how they’d even begin to understand what could drive Kirin to say that. His voice a dying prayer as firm hands dragged him over the desk, knocking over files neither cared about.

When Kirin pulled away, Law swayed forward to chase his lips, words suddenly bursting forward like a dam had ruptured.

“I’m a doctor of science, Kirin. I spent years studying how people work on the inside. The complex firing of neurons and cycling of the cells. Every system of the body I’ve written and lead entire studies into. I don’t believe in miracles or fairy tales or fucking magic but…” Law kissed Kirin in a hard press, slipping over Kirin’s chin in his enthusiasm without breaking his gaze. “I’d have to be philosopher of god to understand how you came to be here right now. You give me pause, Kirin, after years of self-assured arrogance, I can’t help but wonder who I should thank on my knees—in prayer you filthy heathen!—for your presence. I love you, Kirin. I need you.”

Law closed his eyes and pressed his head against Kirin’s sternum, listening for the first time in weeks to that strong, steady beat.

“But I want you to be happy before anything else.” Law swore softly, breathlessly as his chest ached with want.

Kirin’s arms wrapped around their shoulders gently. Hand curling around the back of their neck. They shuddered at the soft touch, Kirin’s thumb pressing over the notch of his nape where neck met spine. Law felt Kirin lean down, lips brushing the tip of his ear.

“But what if all I want is you?” Law’s breath froze in his chest as they blinked away tears.

“You have me.” They answered instantly. “Always.”

“Always.” Kirin purred, squeezing Law closer still. “I love you, you silly ‘doctor of science’.”

Law relaxed into Kirin’s arms with a happy sigh.

“Still… seems an awful waste to not put your work to use. How does an aquarium visit sound to start with. As a date.” Kirin suggested.

Law laughed, face burning as they glanced down at the many spilled papers.

In hindsight, they could have saved a lot of paper and ink by just asking ahead of time.

“It’s a date.” Law confirmed, allowing Kirin to drag them to the living room for cuddles. Law’s arms draped over Kirin’s shoulders as he rested his head over Law’s chest. Confessing his own silly thoughts that rivaled Law’s own after Shachi and Penguin’s visit.

When Kirin had finished, laying boneless across Law’s body, Law realized something. Making a small noise, they pulled out his phone. Kirin whined at the slight movement, complaint curling into a purr when Law rubbed Kirin’s back in apology.

“What are you doing?” Kirin murmured, kissing over Law’s sternum lazily.

“Seeing about a double date.”

L: You two alive?

S: Boss!

P: Boss man!

P: You’re alive!

L: stfu

L: aquarium on main. Next week at three?

P: ?!?

S: !?!

S: You running public experiments now boss?

S: Didn’t know you could get permits for that so easily after last time…

L: Shut up!

L: It’s for a date.

L: A double date with Kirin.

P: !!! u owe me five bucks!!!

S: Babe, wrong gc

P: shit

L: …you two made a bet?

P: lol, yeah?

S: It was obvious, wasn’t it?

S: We figured you would confess eventually.

L: …

L: So are you coming or not?

S: Absolutely!

P: Tell Kirin we said hi!

S: And that we can’t wait to see him again, he’s a pretty cool dude!

“It’s officially a double date.” Law declared, finding Kirin’s gaze on them again. Soft smile curling over Law’s chest. Law ran his hand over Kirin’s bare back sweetly, leaning forward for a soft kiss. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Law.” Kirin replied against his lips.

[littlemissidontcare]

THIS. It is exactly why I think that Annabelle will never be endgame. She can never fulfill him in that way. Sebastian, in his heart of hearts, wants to create that life for his children that he never had. He strikes me as someone who wants the little family unit with a with the Upper East Side apartment and the walks with the stroller through Central Park. The whole thing. Annabones is too selfish and too shallow to give him a life built on love. I know I sound really sappy, but I don’t see her being the type of person who could love anyone more than she loves herself. /// YES!!! I think he’s like his partner and children to be stable, not moving around, not always traveling, a true place that he could come back home to. And the reason I believe that is because of how much he moved as a kid and how he’s talked about that effecting him. He’d want his children to have a more stable childhood than he did. Annabelle wouldn’t provide that, she loves travel and not being in one place for too long. She also loves her figure too much and wine too much to actually get pregnant. . He’d want his kids to be raised by their mother like he was. He’d want to have the whole family he didn’t have growing up.

Nothing about “Having a baby with AW” makes sense given his past and what’s he’s said before about having kids.

[h1myname1sv]

FIC UPDATE: we're inches apart (and even closer at heart) 3/7

AO3

ff.net

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: none Fandoms: MCU, Avengers, Black Widow, Daredevil, Hawkeye Relationships: Matt Murdock/Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova & Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova & Natasha Romanoff & Alexei Shostakov & Melina Vostokoff, Natasha Romanoff & Tony Stark, Avengers Team & Natasha Romanoff Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Matt Murdock, Yelena Belova, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff, Bucky Barnes, Foggy Nelson, Karen Page, Melina Vostokoff, Alexei Shostakov, Other Marvel Characters Additional Tags: Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov-centric, Natasha Romanov Feels, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Angst and Humor, Fluff and Humor, Banter, Dialogue Heavy, Weddings, Secret Relationship, Sappy Ending, Tony Stark Lives, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Family Shenanigans Wordcount: 19k Summary:

"This seems awfully fast, Natasha," Melina says with genuine concern. "You are still so young." Nat blinks. "We've been dating for six years," she says flatly. "Oh, I thought you just found a random guy on the street, thought he was cute, followed him home and decided to marry him," Yelena says. "Do you think I'm that shallow?" Nat asks, and she's about to laugh before she realizes that what Yelena said isn't entirely inaccurate. (Or: Turns out planning your wedding is pretty damn hard when most of your family doesn't know your husband to be even exists.)

Excerpt:

Tony groans. "You didn't propose to him? I believed in you!" Nat snorts. "Did you or Pepper propose?" "Happy did. Anyways, why didn't you?" Nat frowns. "I could've planned something if I hadn't been grieving him for five months prior." Silence, except for the sound of pancake batter sizzling. "Sorry. This announcement was meant to be happier." Bruce shrugs. "I'm really happy for you," he says, which means a lot considering he's known the longest. "Why did you suddenly decide to tell us now?" Pepper asks curiously, reaching down to wipe spit off of Morgan's chin. Morgan smiles happily up at her and clumsily claps her hands together. "I felt it was time," Nat says honestly. "I don't exactly like keeping secrets." "I repeat my earlier question," Sam says. "When do we get to meet this guy? I'm sure he's a pretty good person if you've decided to marry him, and the fact that he got you to agree is impressive in its own right." Nat laughs. "You guys will meet him when I say so. Maybe I'll surprise you one day." "Please invite us to the wedding," Tony begs. Nat mock glares at him for a few seconds. "I'll think about it," she says eventually, even though she's already made the decision to theoretically invite him to her theoretical wedding in her head.

[fromslumber]

starve without you on my lips (ao3) ritsu has a toy. izumi wants something different. warning: 18+ exclusive, pwp. please see ao3 tags for more details.

Izumi doesn't think he's ever been this pent-up in his whole freaking life.

Well — okay, that's probably an exaggeration. While he'll never admit it, Izumi spends most of his time stewing in a perpetual pent-up rage. And even if he didn't, it's not like this is the first time Ritsu's toyed with him like this. The little brat gets off on seeing him riled up and desperate, gets a kick out of bringing Izumi right to the edge before cruelly tugging him back from it.

Izumi knows this. He doesn't even necessarily hate it (again, something he never plans on admitting). That doesn't lessen the sheer frustration that comes with it, though.

This time around, Ritsu's weapon of choice is a toy. Some kind of dildo, specifically: black, slightly ribbed, and straight with two curved outcropping pieces that Izumi finds distantly reminiscent of a sword's hilt. It's nice, objectively speaking. The toy itself isn't really the issue — even if Izumi did just come back from Italy with the stupid, slightly sappy anticipation that it'd be Ritsu's dick pounding him into the mattress. 

The problem stems from, of course, how Ritsu is using it.

He is fucking into Izumi with it, thank God, but for too long now, he's been keeping to teasing and torturous movements, grinding the toy up into him all slow and never going quite as far as Izumi would like. And there is something to come from that — Izumi's nails still dig into Ritsu's skin through his thin T-shirt, and he still can't help moaning into his neck. It just isn't enough for how he currently burns; it absolutely isn't enough when he can feel Ritsu's own cock straining hard and heavy against the curve of his ass already.

Of course Ritsu must realize this, Izumi thinks, with as much spite as he can summon in his current haze. Ritsu always realizes.

Izumi squirms a little in Ritsu's lap, trying to get a better angle. He even reaches back behind him, blindly trying to take hold of Ritsu's wrist to maybe force the toy deeper that way. It gets him nowhere, as Ritsu's other hand grabs Izumi's wrist instead, then pulls it with him as the same arm is wound around Izumi's waist to tug him closer and stiller. Izumi's next moan is closer to a groan of aggravation.

"Asshole," he hisses.

But before he can voice his complaints any further — or even try to find the words to do so — the dildo is pushed and twisted deeper, just like he wants it to be. All of a sudden, Izumi feels the press of it, right against the spot that makes his eyes nearly cross and sends a rush of proper white-hot pleasure through his every vein. Whatever words he might have come up with, he chokes on. His toes curl, and his nails dig deeper into Ritsu's shoulders with a broken gasp.

"Fuck," he manages, rocking back onto the damn toy as much as he's able. The toy is moved again, falling just the slightest bit backward before being quickly thrust back into place. There. There. A hiccup-y gasp falls past Izumi's lips. "K-Kuma-kun, that's... Fuck."

Ritsu's chuckle, soft, breathy, comes right next to Izumi's ear. "Better?" he teases. Another quick thrust of the toy, then Ritsu's holding and twisting it deep again. "Right there's best, mm?"

"Y-Yeah." Izumi lets out a shuddering breath. "But, ugh, it's still..."

It's still not what he wants. 

"Not enough?" Ritsu asks. 

The toy is drawn back to the same shallow level as before — cruel, cruel, especially after Ritsu asking almost fools Izumi into thinking he'll finally be less of an asshole — though on the way there Ritsu seems to brush it against every tantalizingly sensitive spot possible. An embarrassing keening sound escapes Izumi's throat, and he tries again to work against Ritsu's hold enough to chase that too-brief electric touch. 

It might be shallow, and might not be what he wants, but — ah. Ah. When the toy catches there, when Izumi is already so so wound up and wanting... It can still be enough. Despite Ritsu's teasing. Despite what Izumi himself hopes for. Another choked gasp falls from Izumi's lips. His entire body tenses, tenses —

And then —

Nothing.

Ritsu brings the dildo to a stop at his very rim, its only movement an idle little twist; enough to remind Izumi it is still there, to still tease the stretch of his hole, but now truly and utterly devoid of any proper contact or friction. His hold on Izumi tightens again, too, keeping him from moving back toward the toy as before. Izumi almost sobs. 

"Kuma-kun," he tries to hiss instead. It probably comes out more like a whine. 

"Secchan," Ritsu sing-songs, pressing a kiss into Izumi's hair, "is sooo desperate."

"Yes," says Izumi. His patience already ran thin like, yesterday, and being so close to the edge has worn down his filter, besides. "Yes, yes, whatever, I'm desperate, I want it —"

I want you, Izumi thinks, fiercely enough for his head to spin with the force of it. Ritsu making a small, surprised noise is the only indication he manages to say the words aloud. 

"Really," hums Ritsu, as if he didn't already fucking know. He shifts, and in that same movement brings the dildo back in. Izumi chokes again. Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. "But you like this too, don't you?"

He isn't given a real chance to reply. If Izumi thought the press of the dildo stole his words before, well — this is all that and more. Ritsu drives it in deep, enough for that stupid outcropping hilt to come perfectly flush against Izumi's hole, enough that his every teased nerve feels electrified by it. 

And when Ritsu pulls it back, brings it home — it is with a brutal pace, with all the intensity and friction Izumi has needed. As if even Ritsu can't quite be bothered with teasing anymore.

There is a rumbling purr from Ritsu's chest, a shift of his hips. A reminder of Ritsu's own neglected hard-on; proof of the fact that Ritsu is drawing pleasure from this, too. A moment sooner, that might have only added to Izumi's annoyance. He likely would have seen it as just another reason to be pissed off that it isn't Ritsu inside him yet. 

But. Of course, Ritsu works his body so well, so skillfully, that he can't really mind. No, it is easy not to — easy to just sink into the satisfaction of it, canting back against the toy and Ritsu's warmth beneath him.

(The toy itself was never really the issue, after all.)

Another shuddering breath. Something cresting, cresting — Ritsu's hand freeing Izumi's wrist at last, slipping to grope indulgently at Izumi's ass instead. A hitch in Izumi's breathing. Ritsu's voice, again right at his ear, "You can touch, Secchan."

Izumi hardly registers the words before he obeys them.

Ritsu leans back as Izumi reaches down, sitting against the bed's headboard as if it is his throne. Provided with the space to look, Izumi's gaze catches on Ritsu's shirt, on the darker spot smeared by where Izumi's dick had been drooling between them. Ritsu's own eyes roam over Izumi in full, dark, appreciative. His tongue wets his smiling lips. The fire burning hot in Izumi's abdomen flares higher under his gaze. 

"That's it," Ritsu murmurs. Izumi's ass is given a firmer squeeze. "So pretty, Secchan... My perfect, pretty slut."

It doesn't take long, after that. Izumi's hand is trembling as it comes around his cock. His following strokes are sloppy and lack any real finesse. At this point, finesse isn't exactly something he needs, anyway. His entire body already feels wound so tight, keening for release between Ritsu's touch and the way the toy fucks into him and the way he's been aching for this since the moment his stupid plane landed. His hand is little more than the final push.

And push, it does. At that final messy stroke, at that final sinfully deliberate thrust of the toy, finally, finally — 

Izumi bites down around a cry. A curse, or Ritsu's name — even Izumi doesn't know. Pleasure rolls through him, coursing like a wave, and crashing, spilling, just the same. 

His chest heaves in the aftermath. There is static behind his eyes, in his veins. His grip on Ritsu's shoulder loosens; only in this does Izumi realize how tightly he had been holding him, just how deep his nails must have dug into him with his climax. 

Then, the world spins around him. His nails dig back into Ritsu anew.

"Kuma —" is all Izumi manages before his back is against the bed, breath stolen from his lungs. He tries to blink his vision into focus. Tries, in vain, to gather himself.

What Izumi does grasp: Ritsu drawing the toy out and away, setting it somewhere he can't see. Ritsu leaning overtop him, maneuvering him so Izumi's boneless leg is hooked around Ritsu's waist, tugging Izumi into place for his still-hard cock to slip over Izumi's well-stretched hole. The sly slant of Ritsu's lips. Ritsu's dark bangs falling into his eyes; the hungry glimmer they do nothing to hide.

A mystified, chiming laugh. Ritsu's absolutely perverted tease: "You're winking at me, Secchan." His thumb pressing against Izumi's asscheek, pulling it to spread him wider — supposedly to better show how Izumi's hole clenches around nothing. "Still not enough?"

What he doesn't:

Everything that comes after.

Ritsu sinks into him. Easy, thanks to the toy. Slick, thanks to a coating of lube that Izumi must have missed. Izumi's mouth parts, but nothing coherent can make it past the tight squeeze of his throat. No thought can be formed past the piercing presence of Ritsu's cock. His every sense is narrowed in on it, his entire being defined by how it fits into him — hot, hard, and demanding, all in ways that the toy could not be.

Ritsu grinds in slow, lazy and indulgent, taking his time in this as he has with everything else. Perhaps he savours the way Izumi feels around him, how he shudders beneath him. But with Izumi coming down from his orgasm and from God knows how long of teasing —

"That's," Izumi chokes. He jerks. This only has Ritsu holding him tighter, angling in more deliberately. Oh. Oh. "Kuma-kun, I... Fuck. Fuck."

"I know," Ritsu soothes. "I know. Just, mm... Stay with me a lil' longer, 'kay?"

A harder thrust, now. Distantly, despite himself, Izumi is aware of how his leg clasps tighter around Ritsu's waist in response. While it still borders on painful, even that is quick to melt into pleasure with how Ritsu plays him. Suddenly, it's not an awful thing: being unable to think of or feel anything beyond Ritsu's cock.

A hand smoothes over Izumi's jaw. Izumi leans into its touch.

"Besides," Ritsu says. Izumi's eyes are squeezed shut, incapable of anything else, but he still hears the smile in Ritsu's voice. "This is what you wanted, mm?"

Izumi can manage nothing more than a low noise of agreement.

The lazy roll of Ritsu's hips grows firmer, more precise. Sharper, then; Izumi turns his face further into Ritsu's palm, allows his increasingly debauched gasps to be swallowed by Ritsu's soft skin. Under every thrust, he feels rawer. Overstimulated. But there. There —

He bows up into Ritsu, trembling with every too pleasurable pulse. His hands grapple for purchase along Ritsu's back, at his sweat-damp shirt; no matter how hard he clutches at him, it doesn't feel like enough. 

Izumi doesn't know if he comes once or twice or a thousand times. All he knows is Ritsu. Ritsu, gripping him in turn. Ritsu, holding him down for each calculated snap of his hips. Ritsu, rearranging the world around him, rearranging the Izumi that exists within the world. Ritsu, and Ritsu, and Ritsu —

He thrusts a final time; Izumi's near-limp body is dragged onto his cock to take him. And there, he stays.

Some amount of time must pass. A beat, or maybe an eternity — Izumi can't say. He keeps his eyes closed, half his face pressed into Ritsu's hand. Ritsu shifts above him. The next thing Izumi feels is his tongue, of all fucking things, laving its way up Izumi's cheek and catching remnants of tears Izumi didn't even know he had shed.

He eases one eye open. Squints up at the content curl of Ritsu's lips.

"Gross," Izumi grumbles at him. Ritsu's smile quirks a little wider; they both know he doesn't fully mean it. 

"Sure," is all Ritsu says. His grip eases, touching as opposed to holding, sinking to fit against Izumi more naturally. His head dips, nudging Izumi's face towards his so their noses brush. "Missed you, too."

It is an easy admission. One that, another night, might be difficult for Izumi nonetheless — but now, his filter has long since been fucked away. So, as boneless as he feels, Izumi summons the strength to lift his chin. He catches Ritsu's fondly smiling lips with his own.

"Yeah," he murmurs, quiet, only for Ritsu to hear. "Missed you, too."

[8lah8lah]

was thinking about writing and if i want to Write and my consensus was no, but i'd like to do the words version of doodling when i get the urge to, and i reread the few things i Did write post-2018 and [FURBY ON FIRE AT LAPTOP IMAGE TO INDICATE BIG EMOTIONS] but also rereading those.... it's so fucking clear at points im like "actual poem writers use big fancy metaphors i have to really wrack my brain to get an idea of what they mean, and those people are famous, so if i try to do something like that it'll make this poem (idk if theyd actually be classified as that, thats just what i called them) better, right?" but that makes them confusing or reaching when i could just be more plain and honest with what im talking about or make No Fucking Sense Outright, like i'll say kissing or tasting something and its like................ not only do i hate reading this, we havent even kissed anyone so this is based in straight up literally fucking nothing other than "i see it used in fancy quotes sometimes so it makes it Deep if i say it right" my favorite metaphors i used in them were like. you know when you're venting abt smth and you... say smth non-literally to make it clearer how you're Feeling instead of just going "i'm sad" or whatever? like going "it feels like i'm freezing" when you could just be going 'i am getting bitterly desensitized to the shitty circumstances around me' IT'S FUNNER AND SOMETIMES MORE DESCRIPTIVE LOL. and my favorite parts of the things i wrote were when i was being As Literal As Fucking Possible without literally just plainly stating what happened outright so my consensus is yes i do think i want to write but i don't really plan to be a Writer, i don't like writing big fancy things to share with the world and i don't like writing extremely fucking verbose and hard to understand poetry either. that's the post :3 also i like the things i wrote post-2018 they hurt me emotionally

[andsheloved]

𝐣𝐢𝐠𝐬𝐚𝐰

pairing ~ sherlock holmes x f!reader

word count ~ 7k

summary ~ as you wonder what it would be like for him to return your affections, sherlock finally understands what he would sacrifice to fit within your world.

warnings ~ angst, sappy fluff, happy ending i promise, crying, friends to lovers, mentions of reader wearing a dress, mutual pining but they're idiots, sherlock is tall (reference to height difference), yearning.

a/n ~ yay!! sherlock is back on the blog!! this one was a request by my dear @donutloverxo , but i'd be lying if i said this wasn't also a bit of a birthday week present for myself hehe, i do hope you all enjoy this one!! i had a whole bunch of fun writing some pining so without further ado, enjoy!!

It began with a smile.

You hated how cliche the thought sounded, but it was true, it did.

Though, didn't it always?

You cursed yourself for falling so hard, so quickly, but even more so for allowing the concept of your affections to haunt you the way that it did. Every time you believed you were surely over it, over him, the man who seemed perpetually unavailable due to cases or traveling the world or other duties you quite understood, that was just the exact moment he would smile again.

His bright, shining, kind smile. It was the sort of smile that filled one with hope, false hope, you supposed. The kind of hope that made you believe that a man as indifferent as him could love, but beyond that, that a man like him could love you.

In a city filled with so much history, the kind that either made you want to plug your ears and squirm in your seat or the kind that made you take a bit more pride in humanity, you were often told of the ghosts that lurked around every corner. Ever since you were small you could remember the tales, the idea that shadows of the past would always find a way to return. Then, you had never particularly put much weight behind the notion, but now a days, you found yourself being absolutely haunted, though your ghost was more of the present kind.

And it's name was Sherlock Holmes.

You never intended to get so entangled with a man like him, did anyone really ever? You thought. With the exception of his brother and sister, you wondered if anyone truly ever meant to get caught in his general vicinity.

Caught, yes, that was the best way to put it, you'd maybe dare to even say trapped, doomed maybe, destined to continue the same disheartening, bleak cycle until he finally decided he had had his fill of you.

The both of you sat in chairs opposite of each other, your tormenting thoughts not allowing you to read a single word on the faded pages of the book you had thoughtlessly picked off of his bookshelves. You wondered at what point in your friendship you had stopped putting so much thought into your choice of novel when you would visit. You used to be friends, you thought, and though as harsh as it sounded, you missed the time when you two were nothing but companions, when afternoon visits were just that, visits. You found yourself almost longing for the times when you simply read and enjoyed each other's company, now though, you thought, sighing as you finally closed your book, placing it gently on your lap as you looked across to see him, now, it seemed you visited to pine.

You wondered what sort of thoughts were going through his head, if the strain on your relationship was even noticed by him, or if it was just you. There seemed to be no more friendship, at least through your eyes. The only thing lying in the shallow grave of kinship the two of you had developed over the years, was hopeless optimism.

Beyond all of yout typical conversation and occasional kind gestures, you couldn't help but resent yourself for even wandering into his path, because now, all that you felt with him, was possibility.

Every movement, every glance your way, it pained you even more, not because of what was, an enduring friendship, but because of what it wasn't.

"Finished already?" He muttered from behind his newspaper, and you instantly snapped your head up to face him.

You hummed, glancing down again at your book before smiling. He was looking at you fully now, a sly, strangely knowing half smile on his lips.

"If I knew you any better I'd say you've started getting bored of me." He smirked, folding his newspaper and placing it on the small table that sat beside him.

"Who says you know me that well?" You counter, despising how your confident tone wavered just in the slightest as you raised a teasing eyebrow at him. You discovered that as of late, your only way to communicate with him during those moments when your already fragile resolve threatened to turn to dust under the weight of his intoxicating gaze, was from behind a veil of friendly banter and sarcasm.

Because in truth, he did know you that well, and with every moment that passed while in the Holmes estate, surrounded by his knick knacks and books and that undeniable feeling of home that flooded you every time you entered his space, you feared that you'd end up blurting out something that could ruin everything you had built together.

"You'd do better than to challenge him to something like that," The sneering voice of Mycroft entered the room with the abruptness of a nearby mirror shattering, "Lest you want the entirety of your past, present, and quite possibly, your future exposed to the world."

You watched Sherlock's expression falter for a moment, a slight twitch in his jaw as he looked back at his brother.

There was a strange, undeniable tension that suddenly filled the room as the pair continued to glare at each other. A self assured smirk tugging at the corners of Mycroft's lips as Sherlock continued to scowl at him.

You quickly turned to the window, not even bothering to really look at the world outside, using it as more of an opportunity to escape the strange atmosphere that had befell the library.

"It's getting late," You smiled, placing your long forgotten reading material on the nearby coffee table as you stood, "Thank you for having me," You turned to Sherlock, your throat going just a tad drier as he stood to his full height. "As always." You finished, clearing your throat.

"It's my pleasure," He replied, that damned, kind smile flashing once again, "As always." He added.

You sighed, running your palms down the front of your dress as you began your way towards the exit, throwing a quick, thankful nod to Mycroft before Sherlock joined you on your way through the home.

"Until next time." He breathed, opening the door for you.

The spring breeze that suddenly flew through the entryway shocked you both, Sherlock's deep chuckle rumbling through him as you failed to stifle the amused gasp that escaped you.

It was strange to see him like this sometimes, you often forgot that such a world famous detective could be like this, his curls gently tousled by the wind as he gently runs a hand through it, doing his best to keep them under control to no avail against the persistent wind. A light smile on his lips as his head tilted back just a little when he laughed.

"You know, one of these days, you're going to get sick of me visiting you all the time." You suddenly quipped with a smirk, attempting to salvage the rest of your dignity before you entirely revealed yourself.

He raised a suspicious eyebrow at you, his head tilting slightly as he scanned your features. It was in moments like these when you realized that not even you were immune to his inquisitive stare.

"And just when I thought you truly knew me..." He mumbled, the corners of his lips turning into the shadow of a sly grin before retreating into something more genuine as he continued, "I could never tire of your visits."

There was a moment of silence between the both of you, the sort of lingering, spring-haze, romantic quiet in which a confession could surely debut, and so a quiet in which you found no solace in. Thus, you did nothing to prolong it, clearing your throat just as quickly as the silence had settled.

"Then I will be seeing you very soon." You turned, not daring to spend another moment staring into his eyes, in fear that if you waited a second longer, you may have just thrown yourself at him.

You threw a quick wave behind you without even turning to face him.

"I look forward to it!" You heard him call, and you couldn't help how your steps faltered at the sound of his voice behind you.

Sherlock was your friend, one of your closest in fact, and yet, now it seemed you couldn't even bare to spend another moment with him, the entirety of your visits spent torturing yourself with thoughts of what else could be instead of what you already had.

You two were an unlikely pair, with him being so critical and even cynical at times, it was a surprise he had so quickly taken to you in the way that he did when the both of you had first been introduced. During the time you had come to know him, Sherlock had taught you how to sift through the evidence and clues and opinions of others to only leave behind the absolute truths.

As you walked through the winding path that led out of the estate, you thought for a moment, knowing that in some strange, dismal way, maybe Sherlock would be proud of you for the absolute truth you had now just uncovered within yourself.

You were in love with Sherlock Holmes.

And that was exactly why your friendship had to end.

Sherlock wasn't a stupid man by any means, but for a man who had made his entire career by exploiting other people's weaknesses, it was a wonder that you had even made it this far in hiding your true feelings for the man.

You'd visit him today as one last time to enjoy yourself, you thought, before you ultimately robbed yourself of his company.

You took another glance up at the ivy covered stone that you had grown to love so much, the unkempt shrubbery adding a sense of character to the home that you so cherished.

Just as you were about to knock on the door, the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you had you turning on your heels instantly.

An immediate wave of relief washed over you when you saw him, even though you knew of the doomed fate that soon awaited your relationship, it seemed that you couldn't help the way your mind and body reacted to his presence.

"Sherlock," You smiled, "I hope I didn't come at a bad-"

"It's never a bad time," He quickly replied, a peaceful, at-ease smile etched onto his features as he spoke to you, "In fact, I believe that the only times that I would consider dreadful are the moments when you aren't gracing us with your company." He smirked, outstretching his hand to you. "I was hoping you could join me in the garden?"

You suddenly became unsure if the abrupt feeling of heat was due to the unobstructed rays of the noon sun, or his swift, quick witted suavity that always seemed to have you melting.

"Of course" You replied, quickly taking his arm and following his steps beside you as he led you around the grounds.

A peaceful calm settled between the two of you as you walked, the world only being filled with the pleasant chirping of the afternoon birds and the hushed sound of your footsteps the ground beneath you.

You looked at the man beside you, a mixture of melancholy as well as a ill-fated feeling of hope falling over you. He would never be yours, but it didn't hurt to pretend for just a moment, would it?

"You know, I have been meaning to ask you of something." Sherlock finally spoke, turning to you with a smile.

You only smiled in response, cheerfully waiting for him to continue as you absorbed the moment you found yourself in. You almost knew for certain that it wouldn't be the question you so longed to hear, but you would enjoy the brief flicker of hope while you could.

"I was wondering if you would..."

You watched as he trailed off, a sudden puzzling expression falling onto his face before it returned to the same, casual smile he had been wearing.

"...If you would assist me in the library? I've been meaning to better organize the books, though I can't seem to get the system quite right." He chuckled, turning from you to look around him once again.

You hummed, doing your best to hide your almost anticipated ache that materialized within you once he completed his question.

No matter the situation, whether it was government officials or bakery owners, he had always seemed to know just what to say, though now, the bleak realization that he would never say the right thing to you finally came to pass within you.

"The great Mr. Holmes needing my help in a library? I'll alert the press." You teased, cursing yourself for the slight tremble in your tone that even you hadn't noticed until the words left your lips.

"I would believe you, it's only that I know far too much about you for you to even dare." He smirked, squinting his eyes at you in mock challenge.

You hadn't at all been keeping track of how much time had passed, it felt as if every time you were with him, time became a foreign concept, passing you by before you could even count a second. All you did know, was that you had begun to remember passing the same twisted tree trunk a few too many times.

You sighed as you turned the familiar corner, the entrance of the large home beckoning you to enter, begging you to indulge yourself in it's comforts one final time.

Sherlock seemed to have the same idea, turning to you with furrowed brows when he noticed you had stopped, your arm falling from his.

"Are you not coming in-"

"I think I should be heading home," You feigned a gentle smile as you continued, "I didn't sleep much last night," You stammered, "But thank you as always, for having me."

You saw how he tilted his head, the shadow of a question already creeping onto his expression. His suspicion seemingly faded just as it came to him though, a timid smile replacing his concern almost instantly. "I'll see you soon then?"

What were you to even say? That you had already made the plan to never see him again? Or that you were too hopelessly in love with him to even spend a minute more alone with him?

You only nodded, not having the strength to lie to him so directly.

"I appreciate you." He suddenly blurted, and your eyes widened at his sudden exclamation. "Your company, I mean," He clarified, "I know I'm often not the most...Amiable... So thank you, for always joining me."

"Sherlock," You sighed, shaking your head, "I appreciate you for not yet getting tired of me."

He let out a soft, amused huff before replying, "I could never."

For once, you decided to spare yourself from any more pain, deciding to only smile before quickly turning to begin your journey home.

Sherlock was nothing if not logical, and now, you suddenly feared that some of his critical, almost pessimistic rationale had rubbed off on you. As you tramped through the dust covered path, you wondered if some feelings were meant to be felt, only to be let go.

Maybe feelings like this were never meant to be lingered on, that was why crimes of passion happened, wasn't it? Because someone, somewhere, decided to feel just a little too much.

Maybe feelings like this were only meant to be temporary things, or maybe, you thought, you had left your last sliver of sanity at the Holmes' doorstep.

Regardless if feelings like this were truly temporary, you knew you would have the initials of Sherlock Holmes perpetually etched into the memory of your heart.

Dear Friend,

I hope you are able to visit us in the coming week, the library is in desperate need of your expertise.

~

S.H

You knew he would question the fact that you had sent a letter to notify him of your lack of a visit this week, but you hoped he wouldn't think too much about it, you had always prided yourself on the fact that Sherlock could never quite seem to break you open they way you had so often seen him do to others.

You tried to recall a week that had gone by without you visiting him, and with a huff, quickly reminded yourself that this was precisely what you were supposed to not be doing.

You should have been excited, to finally have all the time in the world entirely to yourself. No worries of rushing off to read in someone else's home, or to assist anyone with whatever horrific crime that had landed at their doorstep that week.

Though as you glanced around your quiet living area, the only sound being the muted ticking of the clock, it took you less than a second to understand that whatever you did, you could most certainly not stay here. It was almost silent, much too quiet for your own liking, and though there were benefits to living alone, you couldn't help but think that your space needed some sort of life other than your own, more movement, more books, more...

Less thinking, you quickly decided, swiftly grabbing your gloves from the small table sitting beside your entryway before leaving with a frustrated huff.

You found that the park was not much different, but with the absence of quiet, you found the presence of people.

Which brought entirely new problems.

Like seeing.

It seemed that everywhere you turned, you found cheerful pairs wherever you looked.

And as it often did, with the looking, came the thinking.

Him in that brown vest and coat he always seemed to be sporting in the spring, always paired with that deep blue tie that always brought out his eyes. As much as he tried to keep his curls under control, they'd always manage to fly about every time even the gentlest of winds blew his way. Would he hold your hand? Or would he intertwine your arm with his to keep you closer?

A young boy called out across the park, holding out a single flower, outstretching it to any couple that happened to pass him by. He must have noticed you staring from the way he tipped his cap at you.

Would he buy you one? A part of you wondered if he would find such gestures cliche, but on the other hand, you could already hear his voice in your head, explaining the cultural significance and meaning of each of the blossoms. Maybe he'd even buy one for Enola, he's always adored her.

What would she think of you and him? You two wouldn't go without teasing at first, that was for certain. Though in the end, she probably wouldn't mind, you always enjoyed your time with her whenever you managed to catch her before she left for whatever adventure she had planned for herself that day.

You hummed, swallowing back the sudden lump that formed in your throat. Home, you decided, home would definitely be much better than this.

You hadn't made any more plans to step beyond your doorway this week, only dressing yourself to quickly grab the newspaper you had heard thump against your door this morning.

It was only by complete chance you had seen them, if it had been any other day, if the news hadn't been delivered this morning, you would have never even been aware of them.

But the news had been delivered today, and now you were very aware of them.

A dozen orange Tulips, wrapped neatly in burlap and brown paper, sitting on your doorstep.

You looked out into the street, searching both ways for any sign of any flower vendor or any distraught suitors that may have accidentally thrown their flowers onto your doorstep.

Flower vendor. You thought, a quiet 'hmm' escaping you as you thought of the possibility, swiftly grabbing the unexpected gift before shutting the door behind you.

Even as you told yourself, promised yourself that you wouldn't find yourself back at the park again, or at least not so soon, here you were, sat on the same bench as the day previous.

From this vantage point, you could see nearly everything, the carousel, the various walking trails, even your own apartment, but more importantly, the barking flower seller that sat right in the middle of everything.

You suddenly wished you had listened more to Sherlock's impromptu detective lessons he would often share with you, how did he always stay so discreet?

And just as you glanced his way again, the younger boy spotted you once again, quickly flashing a salesman-worth smile your way before tipping his cap once again.

His suavity was of no importance to you though, when you noticed just what type of flowers he was selling. Orange Tulips.

He'd be proud.

You raised a suspicious eyebrow as you scanned the park's crowd once again. Mistakes happen, you thought, things get delivered to incorrect addresses constantly, you were certain your situation was no different.

Dear Friend,

I am sorry to hear you are feeling ill, please do not hesitate to phone if you so need anything.

~

S.H

As much as you disdained lying to him, you determined that your small deception this week would be less painful than the truth.

You really only meant to check the temperature outside, quickly cracking your door open when you saw the flash of color peeking out from under the door.

Orange Tulips.

You bent down to swiftly grab them from your doorway, you stood, opening the door further to take a better look around the street. Though you couldn't bring yourself to truly care about searching for any suspects, the only thoughts managing to cross your mind being of the Tulips you now clutched to your chest.

Maybe it wasn't a mistake? What were the chances of the same flowers winding up on the same doorstep again?

You smiled, looking down at the bouquet. When was the last time someone had gotten you flowers? This was precisely what you needed to begin to move on, something new, someone new.

You turned your back to the street as you slipped back inside, still holding the tulips close to your chest as if they were the most precious thing in the world to you. You closed the door, sighing with a smile as you made your way into the kitchen, finding a small vase and filling it with water from your sink.

He'd probably know just what they were called, he'd probably know just where they were from as well, not just from some park vendor, but some specific garden just a little south of the London, all by looking at the leftover soil on their leaves.

You groaned as you sat the vase on your table, he truly was a ghost wasn't he? Following you around as if some archaic witch had cursed you, shackling him to you for the rest of your days. You supposed there were worse demons to manage.

Dear Friend,

Should we be expecting you for dinner this coming Friday? Ferndell Hall has grown incredibly dull without you.

~

S.H

You continued to read the letter over and over again until you felt you could recite the few words by memory.

It had been sent to you two weeks ago, and you had received no letter since, the only mail gracing your doorstep to be the orange tulips that never failed to appear every Tuesday now.

Possibility used to excite you, the idea of something new coming into your life used to fill you with joy, but now, the notion of something unfamiliar only filled you with a strange, dreary feeling.

It felt as if the sun filled the sky, though your mind could only focus on the scattering of clouds that would occasionally block it's shine. Whoever this unknown admirer was, you almost felt bad for accepting their gifts knowing that it was him you wished for them to be from.

It had been six weeks since you last saw him, a mere flash of time in the grand scheme of things, though you'd have to admit that the most arduous portion of your time alone was the time since he had sent his last letter.

You supposed you couldn't be upset with him, for it was you who had stopped writing him in the first place, believing it would be less agonizing to cease all communication rather than to continue lying to him.

Though now, it was painfully clear to you how wrong you had been. He had now given up on you, and in a solemn moment of clarity, you supposed that's what you had always wanted.

Wasn't it the natural progression of things anyway? Even the strongest of chain links eventually fall to rust and decay, ultimately separating from each other when their bonds become damaged enough.

Reasons, seasons, or lifetimes, you could recall the lesson being told to you early on in your childhood. You would always discover why someone had fallen into your life's path some way or another. This time was different though, you supposed Sherlock fell into your life for all three.

He was your only reason for staying in this god-forsaken city to begin with, and you supposed that now, he would be the reason you would never leave. The seasons you spent in the Holmes's estate were some of your most cherished memories, memories that, despite your situation, you would continue to hold on to regardless. And no matter how bitterly or abruptly your friendship had ended, you knew that he would remain with you for a lifetime.

You looked down, suddenly noticing the iron grip you had suddenly developed around the now slightly wilted tulip you had been holding.

You wondered where else in the world flowers like this would grow, surely there were other flower sellers in the world, surely there were other cities, right?

You hummed, your fingers now fidgeting with the few fallen petals that rested in your hand as you thought, certainly other towns grew orange Tulips?

You almost felt hysterical, pondering a question so pointless, knowing there was no use in even wondering. The thought killed you and calmed you all at once, for you knew right then, that no corner on Earth would relieve you of Sherlock Holmes.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, and you instantly turned to the window.

The harsh droplets of rain almost carpeted your window and you wondered how you had not noticed the building sound of the storm outside all this time.

You furrowed your brow, setting the damaged flower on the table before making your way to the door. You sighed, almost groaning to yourself at the thought of whatever salesman or tax collector that was awaiting to torment you.

You quickly wiped your suddenly dampened cheeks, quickly flashing a soft smile to ready yourself turn down whatever useless product that awaited you on the opposite side of your door.

You closed your eyes for a moment as you began to open the door, "Hello-"

"Why have you stopped seeing me?"

You could do nothing to stifle the hushed gasp that left you at the sound of his voice. You snapped your eyes open, his hair was absolutely dripping, a soggy newspaper in hand that he had no doubt been using to shield himself from the storm at some point along his journey.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?-" Your words came out more as a plea rather than a question.

"To ask you a question." He replied simply, his tone determined and unwavering as he spoke, "Why have you stopped coming to visit?"

"Sherlock, I- It's pouring, you shouldn't-" You stammered before he interrupted you once again.

"Please. I just-" He ran a hand through his sopping hair before making a sound akin to something crossed between a sigh and a groan, "I needed to see you."

You noticed how his chest rose and fell rapidly, how his knuckles turned a lighter shade as he gripped the drenched paper.

Even in all the time you spent away from him, attempting with all of your heart to begin to despise him as best you could for whatever reason you could concoct, you couldn't help the way your heart leapt at the site of him at your doorstep.

You furrowed your brow, your lips drawing into a thin line of concern before you stepped aside the doorway, "Come in." You quickly muttered.

His large frame stepped into your space almost instantly, and you abhorred the way your heart warmed at the sight of him in your space.

You closed the door behind him, turning to face him just as quickly. In just a few moments, he would leave, you thought, and you'd be alone again, though despite what you had tried to convince yourself of over the last few weeks, you couldn't deny the familiar feeling of comfort that washed over you at the sight of him.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your day, but I wished to speak with you immediately." He spoke firmly. "Is there a reason you've stopped seeing me- us." He suddenly corrected.

How could you ever explain what truly had happened between the two of you. The words sat the tip of your tonuge that you had been holding in your heart promised to relieve you of the ever growing weight you had been carrying, though you would sooner strangle yourself than allow them to slip with him still present.

"I've been busy." You spoke plainly, attempting to keep your tone as even as possible, even as the tightness in your throat slowly threatened to suffocate you. "I'm sorry."

"You could have-" He interrupted himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he began to pace, "Is there someone else?" He suddenly asked.

"Sherlock, I have no idea-"

"I thought you enjoyed my- our, company, I thought we were friends."

You sighed, your eyes darting back and forth as you watched him pace, the floorboards beginning to creak under the sudden stress. "We were, we are. I promise there's no reason-"

"Why have you stopped visiting then?" He almost spat, his face turning a lighter shade of red as he paused, now standing directly in front of you. "If nothing has happened, then why have you so seemingly abandoned us?"

If it were any one else standing in your foyer, you would have most likely cast them out already with his pacing and frantic tone, but as he stood before you now, a his dampened, stray curls plastered to his forehead, his breath becoming increasingly shallower as he spoke, you began to see the desperate little boy that Mycroft so often teased him of being.

"I know-" He swallowed, gathering himself before continuing, "That Mycroft isn't often the most welcoming, and I understand that even Enola can be a bit anarchic herself. Even I find myself to be a bit irritating at times, but please, I'm begging you, tell me what's happened."

You could only quietly whimper, finding yourself speechless, the beginnings of tears stinging the corners of your eyes offering him your wordless response.

There was a weighted pause that settled between the both of you, threatening to crush the both of you if it continued for any longer.

"Have you..." He took a deep, steadying breath, "Have you truly gotten tired of me?"

A muted gasp left you instantly at his question, and your response came as quickly as your initial reaction, "I could never." You offered him a melancholy, tearful smile. "I could never." You repeated, shaking your head as you tried to swallow back the barrage of tears that began to build within you.

You watched as his expression fell even more than it had before, his forlorn smile reflecting your own. "You know, I believed that the flowers might begin to apologize for whatever I had done to hurt you." He slowly began to saunter over to the table on which you had placed your withered flower from before. "I thought I would surprise you one day, visit you instead of you having to make the journey..." He gently plucked the Tulip from it's place, lifting it to his eye level before gently turning it between his thumb and forefinger, he smiled weakly as he continued to examine the flower.

Your voice was broken as you finally replied, your tone crumbling under the weight of his confession, causing your words to come out as shattered whispers as you held back tears, "Then why didn't you visit?" A sudden, unfamiliar anger flooded you at the thought, if he was so close, than why didn't he?

He finally put down the flower, his eyes quickly falling to you, "Because..." He straightened himself, clearing his throat before continuing, "You looked happy."

"What?" Your reply left you in an instant, almost much too quickly for your own liking, but it couldn't be helped.

"I could see you, just from that bench just across the way, you seemed to be just as lively with your flowers as you once were with me. And so I found myself content to watch."

"Sherlock, I never- Do you-" You stammered, and though your thoughts raced, you attempted to collect yourself, and taking a deep breath, you continued. "Do you think so little of me?"

His eyes immediately widened at your response, "I would never," He took a testing step closer to you, watching your expression to gauge his next movement. "I find that it is myself I think so little of."

You tilted your head at his puzzling confession, only watching his features carefully as you waited for him to go on.

He took another step closer to you, and even as your bodies stood with only inches separating them, you stood your ground.

"I apologize if I led you to believe it was someone else gifting you flowers, I understand now that to think that someone such as myself, could ever, deserve affections from someone like yourself. It was foolish of me, and I am sorry-"

"Sherlock, I-"

"Please," He begged, "I don't know if there has been someone else in my absence, and I don't believe I would ever like to know, I'm only asking you to tell me the truth of what happened between us."

In all your years of knowing him, you weren't sure if you had ever seen him like this. You had seen him at his limits, pushed to his very wits end during certain cases, but you had never seen him as the way he was now. His shoulders sagged, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes darted across every inch of you, no doubt trying to decipher your every movement to find an answer to his question.

You wondered for a moment, what did he see? You could find no reason to hide your feelings now, the walls you had put so much effort into constructing already began the slow process of decaying over the past few weeks, so you were almost certain you probably looked as lovesick as you did when you first realized your sudden passions for him.

Regardless, you figured there was no use in attempting to conceal yourself now.

Freedom, on whatever scale, seldom came for free, and if loosing him was the price you would pay for independence from your own feelings, you thought, than so be it.

"Sherlock," You breathed, "You have been... My closest friend-"

"Have." He quickly interjected, "Then what's changed." His tone was more frustrated now, determined to pull the truth from you no matter how long it would take him.

You groaned, hating the sudden interrogation tactic he had now adopted with you. You had no energy to argue against him though, you last fragment of strength dissolving into the unwieldy atmosphere around you as you finally allowed your tears to fall. "I'm sorry, I only- Friends grow apart, that's all." You feigned a weak smile, unable to look at him directly as you fidgeted with your hands. "That's all that happened." You whispered.

When you finally looked up at him, you noticed how his lips parted in a silent gasp, his eyes widening just a tad more than before, as if the very notion of the two of you growing apart had astonished him to his very core.

Or maybe he was expecting a different answer.

"You mean to tell me that that, is the truth?" He asked, and before you could even gather yourself to form a response, he continued. "That our friendship, everything that has come to pass between us, was only thrown away because of nothing?"

You despised how grim his explanation sounded, but if that was what he had to believe to finally leave you, you would accept it.

You could only manage to nod in response, knowing your voice would be too broken to reply in any sort of convincing manner.

"That all of your visits, all of that time, together," He emphasized, "Meant nothing to you? So little that it could be discarded so quickly?"

"Yes..." You muttered even as it pained you to even speak, the tightness in your throat only constricting you further as you attempted to thwart your sobs.

"I'm sorry, but I just cannot accept that." He stated, though you noticed how his voice had grown slightly less assured as it was before.

His sudden abruptness shocked you, almost as much as it seemed to shock himself, his face contorting into a wince at the sound of his own harsh tone.

"Not when-" He quickly softened his voice as he stared back at you, his eyes continuing to search your own for some sort of sign for him to stop, though you gave him none. His breaths became almost heaving, as if he were warming up for a sprint, "Not when I've just began to understand..." He trailed off, swallowing as his eyes dropped to the floor for a moment before returning to you. "That I love you."

Your heart faltered and you had to fight the overwhelming urge to pinch yourself. If Sherlock Holmes loved you in this reality, then you would be perfectly content from never waking again. It was only when he begun speaking again that you had realized you hadn't responded.

"I found that in your absence, that I am nothing short of miserable. You plague my mind in every waking moment, and yet, I find myself never having enough of you."

"Sherlock-"

"Please," He begged, "After living without your visits, your kindness, your smile, I understand now that nothing in this world could wound me in the way your leaving has. That," He chuckled lightly, "Is one fact I have never been more certain of."

You couldn't muffle the choked sob that escaped you, you shook your head, still standing before him in disbelief at his confession. In all that time you had spent concealing your own feelings, had you really not seen his?

"Tell me you've never felt the same and I will stop, even if you have found someone, if that is the truth of the matter, I will accept it. All I am asking is just a portion- a moment of your thoughts, and I'd be content." He sighed before he continued, "It would be a privilege, to have my heart broken by you."

His words both froze and freed you all at once. Sherlock always had the talent of uncovering truths, of seeing straight through people, and for all the time you had known him, it occasionally begun to feel as if he was only seeing through you, just as he did so often to others. Though as he stared at you now, you began to recognize the certain way his eyes fell to you. It was the same look he gave you when the two of you were both first made acquainted, the same light reflected in his eyes just as it did when the both of you found yourselves under that tree in the garden, laughing until both of your stomach's hurt. It was the same gaze you found paralyzed by whenever he would greet you, and the same glance he would throw your way every time you two parted.

In all those moments when you felt so invisible, when it felt as if he was only seeing through you, you realized now, he was seeing you.

He looked at you, with all of your insecurities, with all of your mistakes, with all of your flaws, and every time, regardless of the faults you found within yourself, he still chose to love.

"Sherlock," You finally managed to sputter through your tears, "I- I could never have found someone else." You smiled, "I love you." You reached for his hand mindlessly, as if some invisible string began pulling you to him. "I think I always have."

His long forgotten, sopping newspaper fell to the floor as he reached for you, his other hand suddenly finding itself resting on your lower back, slowly urging you closer to him.

You stared up at him, his face only inches from your own as his breath fanned across your cheek. You were close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, the feeling was intoxicating, you wondered how you were able to go so long without it.

You watched as his eyes switched quickly to your lips before he spoke again, his voice laden with a barely audible tremble. "May I?"

You discovered yourself once again at a loss for words, even as your body felt as light as a cloud, it felt as if your mouth had filled entirely with lead, and so your only reply was a slow nod, your chest meeting his with every heavy breath.

In the instant you gave your wordless confirmation, he was crashing into you, like a storm wave meeting a rocky shore it was always destined for. His arm pulled you snugly against him, not allowing you any room for movement as his lips molded into yours. His lips were warm and soft as they moved against yours, your hand gripping onto the lapel of his jacket to steady yourself. He held you with a tenderness that you never thought him capable of, as if he feared you would disappear into thin air if he gripped you too tightly. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, every curve and ridge interlocking until the two of you could almost be mistaken as one.

It was every farewell and every hello, every moment of longing and endless wondering, and every second of hope that you had once thought to be lost, poured into one enchanted gesture.

He was now yours, just as much as you were always his.

When he finally parted from you, the two of you found yourselves panting as you both attempted to regain your balance.

"I've been wanting to do that, for far too long" He spoke breathlessly as your eyelids finally fluttered open. He must have seen how your eyes quickly flickered to his swollen lips, his timid smile quickly growing into a endearingly wicked smirk before he continued. "And I believe I'm about to do it again."

ah!! i'm so excited to be posting full fics again!! i know it's been a minute, but honestly i feel like i'm in such a better place mentally now after Things, and i truly have you all to thank for that. over the past bit, i've received so many kind and motivating messages, the support that i received here was honestly overwhelming (in the best way) and was honestly my primary reason for continuing on and pushing through some days. so please take all of the sherlock hugs from me, you all deserve them more than you'll ever know :)

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always, always appreciated!!

want more sherlock? check out my masterlist!!

[yuichi-ro]

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a/n: istg gotta cleanse my palate of all these sappy thoughts 😤 cw: fem!Reader, kitty!Tachihara, hybrid/pet play, teasing, mommy kink, drooling, pillow humping, cum play, non con filming, pussy job, unedited word count: 1.2k ────────────────────

Your fingers grazed over the top of his head.

Red furry hair ruffled. Touch traced down to scratch his chin. Immediately setting Tachihara into a purring fit. Leaning in for more of your mindless touch. He nuzzled and pressed closer on the couch.

Finding his delicate, soft little ear between your fingers. At first it would twitch. But he never drew away. Between your thumb and forefinger, gingerly rubbing his ear while his purring grew louder.

Slack jawed with his amber eyes dilated and glossed over. It was a wonder more spit wasn't seeping out of the corners of his mouth as he purred loudly. Tachihara on his knees just right next to you. His cock twitching between his thighs as you mindlessly rubbed his ear.

Gentle circles on the fuzzy thing. Tugging and pressing your thumb into his warm ear every once in a while just for something different. Throughout the entire thing though you eyes stayed glued to the phone screen in your other hand. Not once looking up at the kitty was over heating himself.

Cock leaking between his legs like he couldn't stop. No part of Tachihara was really his own right now. Consumed by the teasing to his ear. Never ready to pull away as his chest vibrated with his purrs and his cock seeped onto the pillow under him.

What relief he did get wasn't from your inattentive rubbing. Instead when his muscles tensed just enough. To lead to his cock rubbing against the pillow. Tachihara found something to alleviate himself with.

Only the underside of his poor inflamed cock. Throbbing with each breath he took. As shallow and desperate as it sounded. He still stared down between his legs at the sight of his red tip seeping so much precum into the fabric. Just a little rut of his hips lead the kitty to realize the pleasure surging through him.

Precum that previously had soaked in. Now slick, wet and cold along the underside of his cock when he rutted. Tachihara found his mouth falling even further open. Tongue hung out with a dumb look cross his pretty face. Licking his lips profusely and still drooling like a dumb fucking animal in heat.

His hips moved on their own. Dragging himself across the surface of the pillow. Only to thrust forward and see more of his cock almost painfully be peeled out of his sheath. It was ok though. This was all he was going to be able to do just to get off. Because giving up your ear rubbing wasn't in the question.

Wrapped up in his primal pleasures. And only aware of your touch on his ear. Not once had the poor kitty noticed your attention shifted.

Not from your phone screen. But where the phone was pointed.

Framed perfectly on your camera. You continued to rub his ear as you filmed him. Rubbing his cock against the couch pillow. Fucking it in desperation as streaks of slimy clear precum soiled your things. Remaining utterly silent as he couldn't stop.

Just like it twitched before when he felt the sticky coolness of the pillow on the underside of his cock. Tachihara this time mewled when his cock twitched. Throbbing up towards his stomach as his hips stalled. Mouth utterly open like a panting whore now as he stopped entirely. Your camera capturing the moment perfectly.

First a little squirt. Runny and clear. Then came the ropes of cum emptying themselves from him. Purrs overshadowed by his moans now. Tachihara came with a mewling moan that shook his body. Cock pulled utterly from his sheath now as he doused the pillow and your thigh in cum. Globs of it not seeping into the already wet pillow and sticking to your pant legs. It wasn't until his high wore off. Did he realize what he'd just done.

And saw the camera pointed right at him.

Face bright with blush as red as his fur. Tachihara began stuttering, "M-Mommy I- I'm so sorry- I-"

"Did I tell you to stop?"

"What?"

You smiled from behind your phone screen, "Did I tell you to stop?"

At first he didn't understand. Still to swallowed up in his orgasmic bliss. Cock twitching and sensitive between his legs. But the second he realized you meant the motion. He was a good boy who went right back to it to avoid your wrath.

Dipping the tip of his cock in his own cum. Shuddering at the sensation on his aching member. He was so overwhelmed with just the air hitting him. That had he been alone he'd cleaned himself up and been on his way. But that isn't what you wanted.

Cock dragging in and fucking the cum around him into the pillow. Tachihara made a mess stirring up his mess. Handsfree like you liked. Cock coated in his cum now as it cooled and became potent to smell. Leaving him throbbing and aching so quickly after such a thing.

Then when you moved. He thought he was home free.

Very wrong.

Tachihara felt his chest tighten and his cock ache when you laid back on the couch. Spreading your legs, tugging away the fabric and showing your glistening cunt lips. Still, that phone still in your hand.

"C'mere kitty. You're cock isn't going down. Let mommy help."

Far superior to the pillow. He didn't care that you stopped rubbing his ear. Or that the camera was pointed on him. When you invited him to slip his cock between your slit. There wasn't anything else he wanted.

Messy with globs of cum still clinging to the sides of his cock. Tachihara began purring just as loud as before when he got between your legs. Wedged perfectly and looking down with big dopey amber eyes when his tip poked at your clit.

"Now you're shy?"

He quickly shook his head. Panicked you revoke the offer.

Tachihara slipped his cock between your cunt lips with a loud relieving sigh. You juices far better as lube than his cum. Along with your warmth in comparison to the cold pillow. And the way your clit kept brushing against the underside of his slit. Just one rut and he swore he could loose it.

It wasn't one thrust. But only a measly three before he did loose it.

Cum spent on the pillow. When he mewled and throbbed against your clit. All the reward your pussy got for being so invited with the streaks of nearly clear cum spraying across you. Tachihara panting and drooling on you while you framed him between your legs and your camera. Smiling as the poor thing came nothing but a watery pathetic load over your cunt.

"Aww. Kitty lost all his milk." You cooed as he looked up at you with a pout and his cock slipping back into his sheath. You reached down and rubbed his cum, or what little he gave you, into your clit before dipping the mixture into your clenching walls. Phone no longer capturing the moment but your smirk was punishment enough for him, "Maybe next time, you'll be better and let mommy have that milk before wasting it all on a pillow."

[storiesforallfandoms]

small world ~ corpse husband

word count: 2053

request?: yes!

“Can I get a Corpse x fem reader where reader an corpse are both streamers and they meet each other for the first time and realize they used to know each other as kids? I know Corpse has said that he didn’t have many friends when he was younger so maybe have it where reader was someone that was really nice to him? Sorry for the long request and thank you if you do it! 😊🖤”

description: he never would’ve thought that the new addition to their friend group would be someone from his past

pairing: corpse husband x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

“Hey Corpse,” Karl said. Corpse hummed in response, focused on the drawing he was doing for their Jackbox game. “(Y/N) is also from San Diego. Do you know her?”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Karl, San Diego is pretty big. We’re not bound to know one another. Besides, just because he lives here doesn’t mean he grew up here.”

“I did grow up in San Diego actually,” Corpse said. “I don’t think we would’ve known each other though. Even if we happened to be in the same area, I didn’t talk to many people and I dropped out in the seventh grade.”

“I was, regrettably, popular in school,” (Y/N) added.

“Regrettably?” Karl asked.

“Yeah. Looking back, I hated being popular. I hated it when I was popular even. My friends were mega jerks and made fun of everyone, even me sometimes. I would try and make them be nice but they just let the popularity go to their heads. I haven’t spoken to any of them since we graduated. There was this sort of outcast in middle school I used to have a crush on. I tried to be friends with him, but he preferred to keep to himself. I always wished I had been friends with him because I feel like I would’ve been so much happier. I never saw him again either. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

Something about her story triggered a memory in Corpse. The year before he dropped out, there was a girl in is class who was always nice to him and tried to talk to him. He brushed it off as another way he was being made fun of. When it kept up, though, he realized she was likely being genuine. He still kept his distance, but he found himself gaining some feelings for her as well. When he dropped out, he never heard from her again.

I wonder where she is now, Corpse thought to himself. Man, what was her name?

Corpse accidentally gasped, drawing the attention of everyone in the Discord call.

“You good Corpse?” George asked.

“Y-Yeah,” Corpse responded. “Just uh...just realized I fucked up my idea a bit. No big deal, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The game started prompting for everyone to show what they had created. Taking the opportunity of not having to speak, Corpse went to Google (Y/N)’s YouTube channel. She had come into the game as a friend of Karl’s and Corpse hadn’t heard of her channel, but now somethings were starting to click together.

The first thing that popped up with the top Google Image for (Y/N)’s channel name. It was a beautiful girl laying in a garden of flowers with a wide smile on her face. Corpse sucked in a breath as he realized that the girl in the picture looked familiar.

“Corpse,” came Karl’s voice, snapping Corpse out of his trance. “It’s your turn.”

“Sorry,” Corpse said. “I was distracted.”

The rest of the stream Corpse felt like he was in a daze. He continued to play the games and forced out laughs when he realized someone was making a joke. Every time (Y/N) spoke, he felt his heart flutter with excitement. He couldn’t believe that after all these years he had finally been reunited with her. And what was better was that she had actually admitted to having feelings for him too!

Don’t get too excited, he thought to himself. She said she used to have a crush on you. That was a very long time ago.

He tried not to seem too eager when the stream finally ended. He waited for someone else to leave the call first before he exited out of it himself. He waited another few minutes before messaging (Y/N) directly on Discord.

hey. it was fun playing with you tonight. weird request, but can we voice call maybe? just the two of us?

Corpse didn’t expect her to respond any time soon. It was late in San Diego, like nearly 3am late. Most people were going to bed by now. She had mentioned once during the stream that she was starting to get sleepy. He figured she’d see it in the morning and either call, or just ignore the message.

To his surprise, near seconds later, she was calling him.

“Hey stranger,” she said when he answered. “Long time, no speak. You must’ve missed my voice a lot, huh?”

Corpse chuckled. “Exactly, I really did.”

“Makes sense. I do have the best voice on the internet.” She laughed this time. It sounded like such a perfect sound. “For real though, is everything alright? Why did you want to call?”

How did he even tell her? Hey, so you know that outcast you liked? It was me! Surprise!

No, he couldn’t say that. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember, or maybe she wouldn’t believe him. He had to figure out some way to bring it up.

“I kind of wanted to talk more about your popular school days,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and teasing. “It’s not every day I meet a streamer who’s in my own area code. It would be nice to get to know someone who isn’t like a five hour drive away.”

“Oh!” She seemed excited by this response. Her excitement was almost contagious. “Okay, where should I start? The shitty friends or the shallow popularity?”

Corpse chuckled. “You pick.”

She talked for nearly an hour about her high school experiences with her popular friend group. Despite how much she despised being popular, (Y/N) still spoke with a light tone in her voice. She tried to bypass a lot of the more negative details and speak only of the good experiences she went though, which was nice to hear.

Corpse nearly jumped with excitement when she began to talk about middle school unprompted.

“It really was the last good years I had in school,” she admitted. “All my friends, the ones who went on to be super popular with me, they were nice then. Annoying, but all middle schoolers are. We didn’t care about popularity or social rankings. We were just...we were just kids. We didn’t even really know the difference between ‘losers’ and ‘popular’, which was why it was so easy for me to talk to that guy that I liked at the time. My friends weren’t mocking me for having feelings for an outcast.”

“You said you never saw that guy again,” Corpse said. “Do you know what happened to him?”

She sighed heavily. “No, I don’t. He just stopped showing up before we hit high school. I thought he moved, but I knew his mom and I saw her around everywhere. I don’t even remember his name anymore to look him up. Wherever he is, though, I hope he’s doing better. Even if they weren’t sucked completely into their popularity at the time, my friends and the other kids were still awful to him.”

“I feel that,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly the most liked kid in school. Before I dropped out I didn’t even have any friends.”

“That’s awful.”

“It wasn’t too bad. I’m not really a friendly person I don’t think. I’ve worked on it since that time, but the thought of trying to maintain a social relationship still gives me anxiety from time to time. There was one girl who tried to be friends with me the year before I dropped out though. She was nice.”

“What happened to her?”

Corpse smiled to himself. She would figure it out soon, he knew she would.

“I just didn’t hear from her after I dropped out,” he responded. “I guess that’s mainly my fault. I never reached out to her or anything, but I barley knew her name. Just her first time, and she never gave me a number or anything. I couldn’t look her up online. Maybe we just weren’t destined to be together.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you two were just right people, wrong time. Maybe you’ll cross paths again and finally have that opportunity to be friends with her again.”

“Maybe you’ll cross paths with that guy from your middle school, too.”

There was a prolonged silence. Corpse wondered if (Y/N) was starting to put the pieces together. He could barley even hear her breathe. The longer she went, the more worried he was becoming. He was about to say something when she finally spoke again.

“I made him a Valentine,” she said, her voice soft. “Special handmade one. He was the only one I gave it to. It had some really badly written, sappy poem in it. I watched him open it and...I really think he got emotional while reading it. Of course, he’d never tell anyone that.”

Corpse had gotten emotional over the Valentine (Y/N) had given him. It was the first real Valentine he had ever gotten. It wasn’t one of the generic ones that everyone gave out to every classmate so no one felt excluded. It was made from the heart, and that fact alone touched his. Like (Y/N) said, though, he didn’t let anyone know how emotional he had gotten. It would’ve just been more mental ammo for them to use to bully him.

He quickly got up from his chair, racing to his room where he had his box of memories shoved in his closet. It was little things from throughout his life that he kept in a shoebox. Whenever he felt particularly down or depressed, he would open the shoebox and look at all the things that made him smile.

At the very top of the box was (Y/N)’s Valentine.

He went back to his computer and took a picture of the Valentine using his phone.

“That sounds really nice,” he said as he went into the Discord app on his voice. “It must’ve meant a lot to him that you put so much time and effort into a handmade gift.”

“I don’t know if it did. I never got to ask him what his reaction was.”

“Oh, I’d bet anything he was happy.”

He sent the picture through Discord and waited for (Y/N) to open it. The silence between them felt deafening. The seconds felt like they had slowed to hours. He wondered what (Y/N)’s reaction would be. Maybe she’d be weirded out by the fact that Corpse kept the Valentine, or by the fact that Corpse was the middle school crush in general.

What if she’s upset that this is who I am now? he asked himself. What if her crush was just a middle school thing, and the moment you dropped out she moved on?

“I knew it.”

Corpse couldn’t help the smile on his face when he heard the slight excitement in (Y/N)’s voice.

“I knew it was you!” she continued. “Well, I didn’t know know, but when you asked me to call you I had a bit of a suspicion. I can’t believe it...it’s actually you!”

“It is me,” he confirmed. “And it’s you.”

“Small world we live in, huh?”

“Yeah, small world.” Do you still like me? Did you ever stop? Do you know that your kindness stuck with me for so long?

The silence returned. Corpse was starting to get sick of it, but he didn’t know how to fill the void between them. When he heard her yawn, he realized how late it had gotten. “I’ll let you go, you sound tired.”

“We just had this breakthrough and you’re asking me to sleep?!”

Corpse chuckled. “You have to sleep eventually, (Y/N). It’s like 3:30am, normal people sleep at this hour.”

“I am offended you would think I’m anywhere near normal.” She yawned again, cutting off her short lived rant. “But you’re right, I am tired. Listen...promise me you’ll answer when I call tomorrow. I...I’d really like to catch up. Maybe...to pick up where we left off.”

“Okay,” Corpse said, then realized that wasn’t really a response. “I promise. I’ll be waiting by the phone the moment I open my peepers.”

(Y/N) giggled. “I’ll be sure to call you the moment I open mine.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight Corpse underscore Husband.”

kind of a bad ending, but i wasn’t really sure where else to go with it as i wrote it. sorry! :(

[inkykeiji]

Many sad thoughts running through my head but I can imagine Dabi having trust issues as you and the other anon saying. Him being afraid of getting left behind. I feel like he would say “I didn’t mean to say I love you” at some point because that’s a type of vulnerable he doesn’t want to be but it’s just one of many thoughts

AHHHHHHHH anon anon why must u hurt me like this?????? pls my whole heart just broke at this and i uhhhhh wrote 1.7k words about it,,,

❅ cw: soft dabi, angst, rly sappy ❅

It seems to happen at the most random of times. It isn’t like the movies, isn’t ever after some profound incident or momentous occurrence shared between the two of you—no, it’s always right after the most mundane things; after he catches you brushing your teeth in a cute matching set of panties and a tank top, sticking out your tongue at him, mouth full of foamy white toothpaste; after he finds you curled up on the couch buried under a fluffy blanket, nothing more than a lump and a head as your eyes rapidly scan the pages of the book in front of you, entirely absorbed in whatever world it’s built for you; after he walks into the kitchen to see you by the sink washing a few dishes, hips swaying and head nodding as you hum along to whatever song is blasting through your headphones.

But God, does it hit him like a motherfucking bus every single time, punches him in the stomach without warning, knocks the breath straight out of him.

He’s usually good at keeping it to himself, usually able to swallow it back down when those three little words begin to creep up his throat, dancing on the back of his tongue and restricting his breathing.

But eventually, he messes up.

You had started it, right after you had finished sprinkling the pizza stone with some flour while he was rolling out the dough, wiping your powdery fingers down his t-shirt, then swiping a thumb across his cheekbone, leaving a streak of white flour painted in its path, a little mischievous smile on your face and glint in your eyes.

He retaliates immediately, grabbing a pinch of flour from the bag and flicking it right in your face.

“Dabi!” you gasp, but your shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as you wipe at your face, fingers only managing to leave more strokes of the substance instead of clearing it. Your hand dives into the bag, grasping a handful of flour, inhaling deeply—enough to expand your entire chest—before blowing air out of your mouth, casting tiny, thick explosions of white at him, speckling his shirt and dusting his inky hair.

“Oh, you little brat,”

And, fuck, you look so goddamn beautiful, giggles ringing out around the room, flour strewn in your messy, tousled hair, smears of it across your cheeks and neck, sprinkled on your clothes, eyes bright and breathing laboured with exhilaration as you daintily leap away from him.

They’re bubbling up in his chest, those three stupid little words, climbing up, up, up his throat to settle on his tongue, light and sweet, floating in his mouth like candy floss and melting on his tongue only to be resurrected by another one of your giggles, or playful yelps, or squeals of his name.

And he’s too preoccupied to remember to swallow them down, to chew and chomp on them until he’s crushed them into a thousand tiny pieces as he chases you around the kitchen while you throw clouds of flour at each other, too enraptured by the soft, cute, precious sounds he’s endlessly pulling from you, too hellbent on hearing more, a man possessed.

Because he hasn’t laughed like this in ages, isn’t sure he’s ever laughed like this in his entire life, and they just slip out, when he finally catches you, chest heaving a bit from the thrill of it all as large hands curl around your shoulders.

“God, I love you,”

They’re muttered softly, just a huff of breath, really, blanketed by his laughs and yours, and you nearly miss them.

Nearly.

And then, everything stops. Your laughs abruptly cut off, and he wishes he’d have missed the sharp intake of breath you inhale through your mouth, lips parted slightly, wide eyes staring at him as your body freezes up, going rigid in his grasp, feet fused to the floor.

He stops, too, lets go of you so quickly you’d think your skin burnt his palms through the thin material of your shirt, sapphire eyes growing wide—wider than you’ve ever seen them before—as his mind catches up with his mouth, stumbling a few steps back from you.

He wants to say something, anything, but his voice is caught in his chest, fading into pathetic squeaks of breath any time he tries to force a few words out. And it aches, heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage, breathing shallow—almost ceased completely—as he stares unblinking at you, sharp, tingling anxiety flooding his veins.

And you—well, you’re staring at him with this look in your eyes, something that he can’t decipher, and it makes his stomach lurch. It’s a look he’s never seen before, your eyes shining as you gaze at him, almost glittering as you stare at him, unmoving, unbreathing, unexplainable. Are you upset? Angry? Disgusted? Stunned? A combination of all four? None at all?

The fact that he can’t tell, that he doesn’t know, when he prides himself on being able to read others so insanely well, ignites flames of anger that alight his entire body, right to the tips of his fingers and his toes, blazing straight through the anxiety and simmering in his chest, eyes hardening as they glare back at you.

A beat passes, your ears ringing from the thick, tense silence draped over the room, and then he’s pushing past you roughly with a choked snarl that sounds a little like a mix between a sob and a growl, and storming out of the kitchen.

He’s cut off all communication entirely, has been ignoring you for a few days now, only leaving his bedroom out of absolute necessity and refusing to answer any of your countless texts that have been collecting on his lockscreen, refusing to even touch his phone. He doesn’t want to see what you have to say, desperately tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t scared of what your messages might reveal, isn’t terrified of that impending rejection he’s so sure is lurking on the horizon.

But there’s only so long he can keep avoiding you before you finally catch him in the kitchen, just past three in the morning, fixing himself a late-night snack.

“Oh, thank God,”

He whirls around at the sound of your voice, cobalt eyes gaping for a moment before narrowing into sharp slits an instant later.

“Dabi, listen—”

“No,” he growls, eyes flashing. “You listen, I don’t want to fucking talk about it, alright?”

Leaping in front of him, you block his path, prohibiting him from leaving the kitchen and speaking quickly. “Yeah? Well I do!”

“I don’t care,” he spits viciously, the ache throbbing deep in his chest—at the very core of his body—reminding him otherwise. “There’s nothing to talk about, anyway! It’s not like I meant them,”

And that—that gets you to stop, tripping a little over your own feet as you stumble back like he’s physically slapped you, a soft, hurt little whimper getting caught in the back of your throat as tears rapidly pool in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Wh-What?”

He glares down at you, molars grinding together as his nose twitches.

I didn’t mean to say I love you.

What a pathetic fucking sentence—it’s almost laughable, the corners of his lips quirking up in a sardonic little grin. Your breath hitches, and his shoulders tense at the sound.

‘You aren’t supposed to know I love you’ is much more accurate, his mind sneers at him. Coward. Fucking coward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, though his voice is beginning to quiver, trembling hands curling into tight fists in an effort to stop it, short nails biting into the flesh of his palm as the skin stretched taut over his knuckles turns bone white.

“Didn’t mean what?” you whisper, glistening tears finally spilling over and streaming down your cheeks, leaving gleaming trails of salt water behind them. “Say it, Dabi,”

He’s got his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head, knows if he opens them, if he looks at you, that he’ll break, shatter into a thousand pieces, split himself open at the very core of his body and bare his entire soul to you.

“Look at me,” you demand softly.

His jaw flexes once, slowly exhaling out his nose.

“Dabi, look at me,” a pause. “Please?”

“No.”

“W-Why?” the word escapes your lips in a little whine, broken up by your sniffles.

You know why.

But it’s those little half-sobs, the ones that keep catching painfully in your chest, that do it, interspersed with your soft whimpers as you plead with him—please, open your eyes, just look at me for a second, please!

Unable to stand it any longer, his lids finally rise, slowly revealing sparkling sapphire, glowering at you, his harsh gaze protected by a thin shield of water.

He hates this, hates not having control over his own fucking body, over his own fucking thoughts, hates the unfamiliarity of it all, of the unpleasant fluttering in his stomach and burning in his throat, swallowing thickly past the hard lump that’s formed, constricting his breathing.

Revolting, his inner voice snarls at him. You’re weak, letting some stupid little girl get to you like this, as if you even—

Your touch silences the voice, cutting it off midsentence, his whole body flinching at the soft, small hand resting so tenderly against the curve of his face, subconsciously nuzzling his cheek into your palm a second later, eyes slipping shut again.

“Dabi,” you begin, and something has changed. You no longer sound hurt, no longer sound wounded, your voice gentle and—

No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening to him right now. Panic grips his heart, puncturing it with its claws, sending blistering, sharp pain searing through his chest and slicing him open, raw and vulnerable.

“Please, don’t,” he whispers, words tumbling from his lips without his permission, voice frail, fragile, broken.

Don’t. He doesn’t want to hear them, doesn’t need to hear them, can’t bear to hear them—not if they’re false, fake, uttered out of misplaced pity and sympathy.

“I love you, too,”

A pathetic hiccup gets caught in his throat and he chokes on it, chest stuttering as he shakes his head, lids clenching tightly against the unfamiliar sting of tears, lips pressed together firmly to stifle the tiny distressed sounds that keep crawling up his throat, trying to escape.

There’s no way, she’s lying, how could she ever—

“Yes,” you whisper, thumb caressing his jaw. “I love you, too,”

[squidgamesmut]

ABC's of intimacy | Seong Gi-hun 🌶️

Seong Gi-hun Masterlist

General Masterlist

MINORS DNI!

A = Aftercare (How do they look after you after sex)

Gi-hun is a sap when it comes to aftercare. He’ll take his sweet fucking time by cleaning you up, making sure you’re comfortable, kissing your forehead. He spoils you rotten and is dotingly cuddly.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part.)

On you: He loves your thighs. He loves to grab onto them whilst fucking into you, or feeling them around his head when he’s eating you out.

On himself: He likes his own hair a lot because he knows how much you love playing with it during sex.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Gi-hun prefers to ask if he can cum inside, but sometimes he has no time to respond to his own body’s cue’s spilling inside regardless. He always profusely apologises right after, even if you tell him that it’s alright.

D = Dirty Secret (A secret they won’t tell)

He secretly really likes it when you tug at his hair. He will never admit it but it turns him on when you pull his thick dark locks whilst fucking and loved when you scrape your nails against his scalp.

E = Experience (Experienced, virgin, etc.)

Gi-hun has a daughter so he is far from a virgin, but that doesn’t mean that he had a lot of experience when meeting you. Once you two got intimate, he realised what sex could really be like if it was done with someone who was truly meant for him, and it was like a whole new world opened up for him.

G = Goofy (Are they serious or silly during intimacy?)

He’s extremely goofy sometimes, giggles at funny sounds like an idiot, but you love him for it and laugh with him. After all, without humour sex is just boring.

F = Favorite Position

He loves to take you missionary style so he can look into your eyes. Vanilla, true, but had you expected anything else from Gi-hun?

H = Hair (Are they well groomed, does the curtain match the drapes?)

Frankly, Gi-hun is quite unkempt. Surely, he washes himself every day and tries to keep as tidy as possible, it’s difficult for him to keep everything down there under control. Nothing wrong with some hair.

I = Intimacy (How romantic are they)

Gi-hun is your typical hopeless romantic and sometimes whispers overly sappy things into your ear whilst fucking, which just causes you to laugh at how adorable he is. You love it!

J = Jack Off (Masturbation)

It’s no secret that Gi-hun jerks it quite often when you’re not around. Whenever you send a selfie whilst you’re at work, it just gets him going. If you do catch him in the act, however, you’re always happy to help out…

K = Kinks

Gi-hun is into hair pulling, as mentioned before, but he doesn’t have any crazy kinks. He’s quite vanilla.

L = Location (Where to do it?)

If you would ask him, he’d fuck you anywhere, but if it were up to him, he would always want to do it in a comfortable bed. He loves seeing you sprawled out on top of the covers, all comfortable and soft.

M = Motivation (What turns them on?)

You only need to glance at him and get him going, or sending a naughty picture his way will already send him into overdrive. It’s not difficult to turn Gi-hun on, really.

N = No (What they absolutely wouldn’t do under any circumstance)

He’s not really into inflicting pain, wouldn’t even do it if you asked for it. Whenever you tell him to bite down on your neck, he refuses.

O = Oral (Giver or receiver, or both?)

Gi-hun loves both ways! He loves to taste you on his tongue and to feel you writhing underneath his able mouth and quick tongue, but receiving oral isn’t something he’s opposed to. You can drive him crazy quite easily whilst blowing him.

P = Pace

Honestly, he is quite tame at the start. Once he gets more riled up and the knot of orgasm starts tightening, he’ll quicken his pace, and eventually he’s a mess, thrusts varying from shallow to uneven depending on his current state of unravelling.

Q = Quickie (Are they down for it?)

He’s not necessarily opposed to it - if you’d tell him that you need him right here and now, he’s happy to oblige, but his preference goes to a quiet and secluded spot where he can take the time to pamper you with love.

R = Risk (Are they willing to do anything dangerous or risky?)

No, Gi-hun isn’t too risky of a guy. If you would request it of him, he would do some risky things, like light choking or even public sex, but those suggestions always come from your side. He’s thoroughly satisfied with just gentle, slow sex in your own bed.

S = Stamina (How long do they last?)

When your relationship just started out, he barely lasted due to how touch-starved he was. And could you blame him? He had barely any human contact for years due to his divorce and gambling addiction. Once you grew closer over the course of your relationship, Gi-hun managed to gain some more control over himself. He’s not always able to go for second rounds, but he tries to keep up with you.

T = Toy (Into experimenting?)

If you’d ask him, he’d assist in holding whatever toy against you. He’d also be down for you to try something on him if you suggested it, but he is not the type to come home with a bag full of sex toys, so to speak.

U = Unfair (Are they a tease?)

When in a playful mood, Gi-hun can be the worst tease. Especially when he’s performing oral. He can use that tongue in so many good ways, but also in ways that have you whimpering his name and begging for release.

V = Volume

It’s not a secret that Gi-hun is awfully vocal when it comes to sex. He’d be very loud, even if you are barely touching him. The sounds that leave him are like music to your ears, though. He’s very noisy and whiny, groans and grunts a lot, and he makes the loveliest sounds.

W = Wildcard (Any headcanon)

He loves watching his cum being spread all over your skin. It makes him feel immensely proud that he’s found such an amazing partner like yourself, and that you allow him to take you completely. Meeting you has certainly improved his confidence.

X = X-Ray (What are they hiding?)

Gi-hun’s cock is about average length and quite girthy. He’s uncut with quite a sizable head and has some prominent veins running down his length. Quite hairy around the testicles but not in a way that it’s unappetizing.

Y = Yearning (How high is their libido?)

When your relationship started he was practically insatiable. Every time you’d touch him he’d get an erection at once, but as it progressed, his libido started to match yours. You have sex about every two days.

Z = Zzz (How long will it take for them to fall asleep?)

Whenever he’s too tired for aftercare, he falls asleep within a minute after your climax. Snoring into your neck, snuggling into you, he wraps his whole body all over you so you can barely move. It’s not uncomfortable, though.

[chamerionwrites]

I was going to write a whole post but tbh I don’t have the spoons right now so I’m just doing bullet points

1. The ~universal female experience~ is NOT universal, because (ofc) women are an enormously broad category of people with an enormously broad variety of life experiences.

2. Misogyny is a very real thing that deserves to be discussed and confronted on both individual and structural levels.

3. However it is my personal experience that in a lot of spaces/situations where people are really invested in Celebrating Women, what they are actually celebrating is femininity.

4. There’s nothing wrong with femininity, it’s even true that femininity is stigmatized in certain contexts (and ofc it’s worth pointing out that liking romance novels or fruity drinks or the color pink or whatever arbitrary thing people have decided to invest with an absurd amount of Gender Identity doesn’t make someone shallow or silly or Bad At Science or whatever idiotic stereotype), but this can be pretty alienating for women who don’t perform femininity to whatever arbitrary standards are considered worthy of celebration in that space.

(4a. I have actually heard people go so far as to say that gnc or just nebulously “unfeminine” women have some sort of privilege because they Fail At Gender, which like...lmaoooooooo. LMFAO)

5. The upshot is that I am not-infrequently kind of politely bored and bewildered if not deeply uncomfortable in “women’s spaces,” especially ones that actively conceptualize and refer to themselves that way. And I say this as a basically cis (I think???), basically-gender-conforming, not-self-evidently-disabled-or-neurodivergent straight slim afab white woman.

(5a. I’m mostly speaking to my own experiences right now but WHEW the posts that could be written about that really irritating essentialist way of talking about ~the universal female experience~ in the context of race or disability or queerness etc etc.)

6. Sometimes this is a me problem! Competing access needs are a thing and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with celebrating femininity. However I also don’t think it’s too much to ask that you do it without straying into that really sappy romanticizing and universalizing language, or recognizing that some significant percentage of women are going to feel unwelcome in spaces that place extremely high social value on the ability and/or willingness to perform femininity and it’s not because they’re just suffering from internalized misogyny. (In the most egregious cases it’s always like...okay, congrats for finding a progressive-sounding way to say that people with two X chromosomes come out of the womb liking makeup and frilly pink dresses and anybody who disagrees is just in denial, I guess.)

7. I feel like more people need to recognize that misogyny is very damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don’t? A lot of women experience the kind that’s like “you enjoy [makeup/romance novels/pink frilly dresses/pumpkin spice coffee/whatever feminine or perceived-to-be-feminine interest], therefore you are a silly shallow sex object who should stay in the kitchen.” A lot of women also experience the kind that’s like “you aren’t sufficiently feminine in your [hobbies/preferences/appearance/mannerisms/etc], therefore you are a stupid unfuckable failure who should know your place (in the kitchen).” Being too feminine is socially punished and not being feminine enough is socially punished. Frequently both versions overlap in bizarre ways! This seems pretty obvious to me! But a lot of people seem to get really caught up in their own experiences and fail to recognize or sympathize with others.

8. TL;DR I consistently feel turfed out if not downright unwelcome in “women’s spaces” thanks to failing at gender in a variety of subtle and unsubtle ways. This does not make me any more of a full human being to sexist men. Sometimes it’s just a competing access needs thing, sometimes it’s because women are actively being cruel either intentionally or unintentionally, but regardless it’s. Distressing.

9. I’m sure this experience is not unique to me, in fact I’m willing to bet a lot of other people have also experienced this, but that does not make it any less distressing.

[littlemissidontcare]

I mean maybe but Seb strikes me as a traditional guy in that he’d want his partner to carry their child. Like have the little family unit he didn’t have growing up and being there, having a surrogate takes a little bit of that experience away. Idk just a thought.

THIS. It is exactly why I think that Annabelle will never be endgame. She can never fulfill him in that way. Sebastian, in his heart of hearts, wants to create that life for his children that he never had. He strikes me as someone who wants the little family unit with a with the Upper East Side apartment and the walks with the stroller through Central Park. The whole thing. Annabones is too selfish and too shallow to give him a life built on love. I know I sound really sappy, but I don’t see her being the type of person who could love anyone more than she loves herself.