#(also fair warning that while i think of myself as friendly i am on the slow side of befriending)

[random0lover]

Open Wounds and War Paint

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN!reader

Word Count: 1,614

Warnings: Angst/no comfort, SFW, reader death(?), proclamation of love, blood, emotional shit, reader gets called dove and love, reader calls Simon baby one time.

Things to know: Should be POC friendly! If you notice anything that makes you feel otherwise please let me know! I never want anyone to feel excluded with/in my work ♡, Also a warning to anyone that decides to follow me- if you do not have your age in your bio or a pinned post I will block you… just a fair warning.

Notes: This has been sitting in my drafts for like two months now and I’m having writer's block on the main piece I’m writing and I had motivation for this so here we are! I might write a second part to this and maybe two different types, one that continues that angst/no comfort and one that is a happy ending and fluffy. This isn’t my best work and honestly I don't know how to feel about it :/

Part 1 (You’re here!) Part 2

You’re laying with your head in Ghost’s lap just thinking about things. Letting your mind wander into some saddening thoughts.

“Ghost”

“Yeah love?”

“Sometimes I’m scared I’ll never find real love.”

He doesn’t say anything but you know he’s listening, he was always listening when you spoke.

“I know I have you and the rest of the team and that we all see each other as family and I absolutely adore that, I really do.”

You pause thinking about what you want to say.

“I want someone to love me. Not my body or who I am at work. I want them to be in love with my soul and I want to love their soul right back.”

This whole time you had been picking at a loose string on Ghost's cargo pants but finally risked looking up at him and for once he’s not looking at you instead he’s staring up at the ceiling.

You look away again.

“I want to be so comfortable with the love that we have that when we wake up in the morning my first thought isn’t about how if I look okay or if I looked like I was attacked by a pack of wild dogs,” you push air out of your nose in an attempt to laugh, “I want to make myself a cup of coffee and bring them a cup of tea exactly how they like it and there be a comfortable silence. I want to watch the sun rise with them and know that they love me as much as I love them.”

You look up to find him already staring down at you, his pupils dilated to the point of almost pushing the soft molten out completely.

His thumb drifts across your cheek gently memorizing every line from the ones around your eyes from how much you always laughed to the ones that settle between your eyebrows from the amount of time you’d stressed over everyone’s safety.

The moment is interrupted though with pain filled coughs wracking your body causing your head to jostle in his lap.

The hand that’s holding your tightens.

Once the coughing stops you wipe your loose hand across your mouth and find dark red liquid on it that almost looks black.

“Simon.”

He blinks hard.

This was the first time you had used his name during a mission.

You’d only start calling him that when you were both alone on base having early morning conversations while he drank his tea and you your coffee.

You reach a hand up and slide it underneath his mask to rest it on his cheek.

“Simon promise me you’ll find a love like that.”

His eyes search yours and all he can find is love and adoration. You had lost enough blood that you were starting to go numb, your body finally taking mercy on you in your final moments.

His hand reaches up to cover the one you still have under his mask and grips it tightly almost as if he’s trying to ground himself.

You two were not alone in the room but you had already said your goodbyes to everyone else leaving Simon for last. You were worried about what your death would bring for the team, not about the consequences of anyone’s actions but the emotional stability of everyone. They already had hard times dealing with when one of their own were taken but you had yet to see their reaction to anyone that they were close to dying but you’d always imagined that you would be there for them. You would be but they wouldn’t be able to see you, you promised that you would still watch over them in death just like you did in life. You’d become their guardian angel.

Ghost never showed any weakness, he wouldn’t allow himself to after what happened to his family but somehow you wiggled your way into the heart that he thought he had locked and thrown into the deepest darkest parts of the ocean. But Ghost wasn’t the one that was present in this situation, it was Simon.

Simon, the man who knew your exact coffee order, the one that knew how annoyed you’d get at the smallest things when you were tired but you’d never take it out on anyone, the one who knew your real past, the only one you had shown your real full self too.

He knew it was dangerous to fall in love with you. Not because of your work but because he knew if he let you in he’d never be able to let you go and he was fucking terrified of that. He didn’t know who he’d become when you died and even the rest of the team was worried about that. They’d never seen him become so vicious in the field before but once he found out that you’d been hurt, it’s like all he could see was red. He took 8 men all by himself with just a combat knife and his fists. He walked away covered in blood, none of it his.

He blinks again, focusing on you, finding you smiling softly at him.

“You think too much Simon.”

He ignores that.

“Dove,” He runs a hand-covered glove across your cheek.

You drum your fingers against his hand gently at the pet name giving a soft hum.

That was his name for you in the soft moments. He claimed that you were too good, too pure, too caring to be in this line of work.

“But I already found a love like that.”

You let out a choked laugh mixing with the sound of a sob at the same time.

“I know, baby.” Under different circumstances you would’ve never let that term of endearment slip out of your mouth but in this moment you didn’t care.

You can’t help but cough again making blood splatter onto his vest, you try to wipe it off but he just grips your hand and shakes his head gently.

“I got lucky enough to find the love I was always looking for but was too chicken shit to say anything about it.” You attempt to laugh again but it only comes out in a heavy wheeze and your eyesight is starting to go slightly blurry.

You’re starting to panic. You don’t want to die. No no no no. You weren’t ready.

Another sob leaves your chest and you can see the pain in Simon’s eyes, one tear comes out sliding down his cheek and under your hand that is starting to go slightly slack.

“Simon I’m not ready,” your words are becoming slurred, “I don’t want to leave you yet.”

For once Simon didn’t know what to say, he never expected to be in this situation. You weren’t supposed to be bleeding out on a random bed in a shitty safe house waiting for evac that most likely wouldn’t make it in time. He had promised himself he would die for you, die before you. No matter what, you were supposed to be the one to outlive him, make it out of the military life to maybe one day start a family or maybe open that little bakery where you also took in cats to help them find new homes. You were supposed to make it out alive, not him. Not ghost.

He leans down pressing his forehead to yours, “It’s okay love, you don’t have to stay for me. It’s okay to let go.”

You shake your head violently trying to keep yourself awake. Keep yourself away from the warm comfort your mind was offering up to you. To focus on the man that you love.

“But Simon.”

He shushes you gently and you can feel the tears running down his cheek and under your hand. It causes the makeup around his eyes to run slowly, cleaning away the black stains, washing Ghost away and letting more of Simon be revealed.

You didn’t want to do this to him. You had finally started to see Simon come alive and you didn’t want to rip that from him.

Urgently you blink your eyes even though it’s almost like you’re staring out a foggy window and can really only see his eyes now. But that’s all that mattered, you could read everything Simon was thinking and feeling just from his eyes alone.

Pain. Anger. Sorrow.

Love.

“Simon, I need you to live for me.”

He breathes deeply, “Love—“

“No, Simon I mean it,”

“Don’t let yourself fade away.” You take a deep breath.

“I need you to find that love again.”

For some reason you remember the conversation you had only hours ago, sitting on that rooftop. Before you knew you wouldn’t make it to the next morning. You had asked him what he wanted to do after the military and at first he just shook his head. He wasn’t supposed to make it out. This was his life and it was going to be his death. You knocked shoulders with him though, you knew what he was thinking and you always threatened to kill him yourself if he ever thought of dying in the field. You told him he wasn’t allowed to die, he had to help you find the perfect spot for your coffee shop and his pub.

“Oh, and that pub you talked about opening? You should really do it.”

You smile at him gently, your eyes starting to slide shut and you can see the panic in his eyes. You didn’t want him to panic, everything was going to be okay.

You tried to tell him that, saying the words in your mind but your lips didn’t move once.

Hi my lovelies, I hope you liked this little fic! Feedback is appreciated but not necessary. Anyways I hope you all have an amazing day <3

Requests are open! I can not promise when or if I will write them but I do prefer requests that are slightly more specific as I find them a little bit easier to write but it’s not required. Thanks for reading my darlings ♡

#random0lover my writing #angst/no comfort #cod angst #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #Simon ghost Riley x GN!reader #ghost x gn reader #cod x reader #cod x gn!reader #modern warfare ii x reader #modern warefare 2 #ghost angst #hurt/no comfort

[rainbowsky]

just thought of warning you, I stumbled upon your post about ybo and all on twitter so I think you might have a lot of toxicity coming your way. stay strong 💪🏼 and as always you are the most sane turtle imo.

Thanks for the heads up. 💛.

I've already been getting a fair amount of that, but it's to be expected. Toxic fan culture people are what they are. They'll behave in a predictable way. My inbox always fills up with hate whenever solos think they smell sadness/fear among turtles (or when solos have something to be salty about), regardless of whether I've posted about the issue or not.

They're wasting their time because I don't even read that shit, let alone respond to it. At times like this I always get someone to screen my inbox for me. I've been at this for a while, I know how to keep my life peaceful during times of controversy. 😅

A good reminder to people to be friendly in my inbox during times like this, because I give them full rein to block anyone who takes a negative tone or comes across as acting in bad faith (and if you think you are going to get away with sending anti messages in a friendly tone, I've warned them about that too).

Also, and this is very important: people should absolutely not be sharing my controversial posts on Twitter. In fact I prefer if they didn't share any of my posts on Twitter. Sharing turtle posts on Twitter makes the blogger a target for harassment, because there are antis there who scour turtle accounts for opportunities to stir up trouble.

There is a reason I am not on Twitter. I'd prefer if Twitter weren't brought to my doorstep here. If I wanted my posts on Twitter I would put them there myself.

#solos belong to moling su sect #it's in the air it's all around #twitter is a cesspool #thanks so much #ask

[prototypelq]

This is by no means hate, but putting that one post in the BG3 tag was an interesting choice. The tag is predominantly occupied by fans of the game and kinda comes off as a bit needlessly antagonistic? I just don't want people to be hurt and I also don't want you to end up receiving hate. Again sorry if my tone doesn't come through very well in this, this is just meant as a friendly heads up type thing. Hope you have a good day!

Hi, thanks for the message. No worries, your post doesn't come off as anything but a cautious message for me. And it's warranted.

Eh, I don't care about upsetting some toxic fans, they will be upset no matter what you do, and I think this is an issue worth highlighting. Obviously, a big fandom attracts...I can't phrase this any better - a bad crowd. And, well, while I am outside the fandom I can kind of not care about them most of the time, but the one comment about BG3 deserving the Best Narrative over Alan Wake 2 had me a bit foaming myself xD

I value arguemented opinions of all kinds, but fans like those are usually just rabid. Mostly for Astarion. Which, yeah, from what I've seen he had the most of the writer's an animators attention, so it's valid he is a fan-fave, however it does come at an expense of Almost Every Other Companion and you can't really remove or ignore that context now, can you. Thing is, again, not really my problem at the moment.

What is my problem is when the hype goes so out of hand it starts spreading out of it's fandom containment. If I see a person claiming 'BG3 is the best game ever', or 'RDR2 is the best game ever' or 'Witcher 3 is the best game ever' or any other popular title, I can and will confidently say in your face - No. It might be the best game TO YOU, and that's great! Everyone should have a favourite title!

But no game is perfect, so having a favourite doesn't mean you can barge everywhere screaming 'my game is so superior why didn't it get every single award i'll write death threats on twitter about it'. And those kinds of rabid fans usually are the type to do just that.

I would gladly listen to anyone discuss/write an essay about their favourite game, and it can absolutely be any of the titles I mentioned above, they are popular for a Reason, after all. At least, in these cases they are popular for a reason, that's not applicable to everything in my experience. But, when it comes to critics awards things are different, that should be a time for a more critical view. Which, to be fair, is extremely freaking hard to do, as being objective about anything is impossible, and being 'objective' about thing you're Emotional about is impossible by definition. That's why the end of the year awards are such a conflicting time and topic to discuss. Valuable critics opinion is also absolutely NOT to be expected from TGA as it's a hype train for the hype train and ads sake, but it's also a cool fun show, and we can enjoy what we get there.

tldr Alan Wake 2 absolutely deserved that Best Narrative Award, BG3 fans I am open to discussion about this. oh, and all rabid fangirls get immediately blocked, of course, I don't need you here or anywhere on the internet at all.

Anon, again, thanks for the warning, but I'll be fine) I also hope my reply doesn't come off as antagonistic to you in return. Have a great day yourself!

#i guess im feeling brave after taking on vergil xD #eh i think rabid fangirls need opposition in every fandom #its a loosing battle though and im aware of that #the game awards #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[cog-go-boom]

[INTRO POST]

sup y'all gamers alike - i'm FROSTBITE THE BAT and this is my blog!! thought i'd make one to spare some time n all LOL. you can ask me things, and i KNOW you want to !! (can't help but want to, considering my sheer amount of swag)

so ask away, i will happily answer. fair warning though: if you're annoying i will bite you, if you're mollymawk i will bite you, if you're graham i will bite you. brian DNI i know where you live

to the LESS INFORMED about who I AM lemme introduce myself real quick. SO, AGAIN, i'm FROSTBITE THE BAT but you my friends can call me the creature that haunts the corner of your eyes. I LOVE EXPLOSIVES. COG GO BOOM. COG GO BOOM. COG GO B

you may see me around sellbot hq. i chill there with cathal and spam usually - but to the cooler ones of you, you might've seen me on high roller's high roller. like the WHOLE ASS co-host. i'm cool like that. and to the LAST group of people who may recognize me - i'm the guy behind the desk at pace place. always working hard so deserving of a raise (wink wink nudge nudge pace please i want a raise) (playing flash games takes energy dude give me a raise i will explode)

[[OOC:]] Hi! This is the ask / RP blog for Frostbite The Bat, my TTCC sona! If you want to talk to me, and not the character, speak to me at my Toontown blog (@cathalbravecog) or my main, (@frostbite-the-bat).

Frostbite will reblog art from me and fanart from others, and other things they may like and want to reblog - so you may see some of that! This is not only an askblog for them - this is THEIR blog.

Also, Frostbite will not go out of their way to interact with somebody unless I know the person behind it personally. You always must interact with them first! This is because, as stated on my Toon blog, I don't go out of my way to interact with people first in general. So you won't see them initiating conversations with other ask/RP blogs.

While staying close to canon - Frostbite still has their own "canon" tied to my and my friend's lores and other silly things around our Toons. Other people's Toons and THEIR relationships with other Toons and the Cogs will be mentioned, so that's a heads-up in-case Frostbite ever mentions, for example, Mole's relationship with Graham and Flint.

ALSO!!! Toontown is kid friendly, however this blog is not! Frostbite WILL swear A LOT and crude-ish jokes are not completely off the table. And btw, yes, Frostbite IS a cog. They're not the most consistent with if they want to hide that on this blog or not.

Rules are a subject to change!

Sillyness is encouraged! But please try and be respectful, don't bring personal things and discourse into this - RP stuff is okay! Frost has beef with other characters, some that goes deeper than it seems. But also keep in mind Frostbite can be a rather rude character.

Frost will reply with just text, reaction images, doodles, re-used pieces of art, and brand new pieces of art from time to time! Please do not ask them things in hopes of getting your response drawn. It depends on what I think is funny to reply with and if I'm in the mood to draw.

If I don't answer your ask, please don't spam it to me again. I either ignored it for a good reason - or I am working on a more detailed response!

Again, be respectful and mindful of boundaries I or Frostbite may set. As long as I don't make a statement, though, feel free to annoy them a little bit, it's funny. If a line's crossed I'll let 'ya know!

NEW RULE!! After some thought, magic anons are no longer allowed! You can still give things and throw pianos at Frost, but changes for a certain amount of asks are not allowed anymore - for my own well-being since this is for fun, and having M!A's makes me want to draw for every ask received, even when not needed.

ART REFS!!!

Regular outfit

HR Show fit (Anytime this is used, I'll use the [HR Show Fit] tag!

#intro post #TAGS I'LL HOPEFULLY REMEMBER TO USE: #[answered asks] #[ooc] #[art reblog] #[fanart reblog] #[fanart] #[frostbite's reblogs] #Other tags will be general tags + character tags + my regular art tags and such. #Fanart reblog is for art NOT done by me of Frostbite or things related to them that they reblog! #Fanart is for things they may receive in the askbox! #TAGS ADDED AFTER I WROTE ALL THIS LOL: #[old reblogs] #[game screenshots] #[img] #[HR show fit]

[gotjacobian]

I watched BDG's breakfast sandwich video the other day. I think the sandwich he makes is perfectly serviceable, but I know in my heart that the one I make is 1) faster, 2) tastier, and 3) vegetarian friendly and therefore better. This is one of the few areas in which I permit myself arrogance. Here is how I make it - it takes ten minutes and you *can* add meat and hash browns or whatever to it if you really want. I just think it's a superior sandwich even without those things.

Ingredients: - Bread (Usually a halved Bolo roll because they have those here, or two slices of trader joe's soft sourdough. An english muffin or bagel or whatever would also work. Once I used portuguese sweet bread, which was a pain to toast but was very tasty.) - Butter - 1-2 eggs - Shredded cheese (I basically only get the mexican three-cheese blend) + Other omelette ingredients if you want - Mayonnaise - Minced jarred garlic, roasted garlic, or garlic powder - Half a tomato (I am a tomato liker and usually just chop and eat the other half) - Salt and pepper (and optionally, MSG) 1. Toast the bread. I use a toaster or convection oven, if you don't have one, melt enough butter to thinly coat the bottom of a pan on medium heat, and put the bread on while that's bubbling.

2. While the bread is toasting, beat the egg(s) in a bowl with a large pinch of salt and pepper (plus a smaller pinch of MSG if you have/want it). Heat half a tablespoon of butter in whatever pan you have over medium heat. Once it's melted, pour on the egg mixture.

2. While that's cooking, mix the sauce - about a tablespooon of equal parts mayonnaise and jarred garlic, or two cloves roast garlic, or however much garlic powder makes you happy.

3. Wait a minute or two for the bottom of the egg mixture to solidify. The top will still look liquid. Sprinkle a small handful of shredded cheese on the top. you can add other omelette filling-type ingredients too (herbs, spinach, sundried tomato, bell pepper, whatever). I do chopped parsley pretty regularly with good results.

4. When the cheese has melted, fold the omelette over the cheese. Waiting a minute, flip it, take it off the heat, and use your utensil to cut it in half.

5. Spread your sauce on both halves of your bread. Add half your omelette to each slice of bread. Slice the tomato, sprinkle salt on it, put it on top, eat it as either open or closed-face.

(Bonus: I put Lao Gan Ma on it too sometimes and my girlfriend gives me no end of shit for it. But it's really good, so if that's something you have give it a shot too. Just spread some on top of the egg when doing final assembly, it's great)

(Double bonus: There's a place here that makes toum [blended garlic and olive oil sauce] which I steal from university events they cater. Use that instead of the garlic mayonnaise thing if you can get it. You can futz with the sauce in all kinds of ways too - I have not personally tried mixing sriracha or chopped herbs or something with the mayonnaise instead of garlic, but whatever "___ aioli" your favorite hip restaurant is serving you, try mixing that thing with it and it'll probably be good)

In an ideal world, this only dirties one pan, one fork, one knife, and one bowl, which is acceptable to me. If you have pre-cooked or cured meat you want to add, you can add them straight to the omelette. Otherwise you can cook it separately and add it at the end, though I like it just fine without. I DID try putting microgreens on it once and that was a wreck, they wouldn't stay in the sandwich and tasted bad cooked, so fair warning there. Really do try the bolo roll if you can get them, I like them way better than english muffins.

#complaining #food #recipe #i made this today i should've taken pictures #i will try at some point if i remember

[kellanved-ammanas]

Sniper Pals & Ships: Demo - Vicious

[A/N] Content warning for a brief mention of animal abuse, specifically a pit bull. Also, said pit bull isn't vicious. This fills the prompt through mentioning that pit bulls are purported to be vicious but this one proves that idea wrong. It's mild, like I said, just a mention of it and not an actual depiction of the pit bull being abused, which is part of why I didn't tag it in the main tags, but I feel it is a enough to be worth a heads up for anyone who might need it.

~

Demo wasn’t usually the type of guy who’d steal someone’s dog straight out of their backyard. But the poor beast had been chained up without much shade other than a teeny-tiny doghouse. It had been late evening when he’d found her so it hadn’t been too hot at the time but they were in the damn desert, making that an extra cruel thing to do. So leaving her there hadn’t been an option.

And so now Demo had a dog. A pit bull, supposedly a vicious blood thirsty breed. ‘Vicious’ was the last word he’d use to describe her though as she lay politely at his feet. She’d spent the night at the foot his bed and had followed him into his workshop after he’d fed her off his own plate because what else was he supposed to feed her?

“What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with you?”

Her ears moved as she turned her head to look at him. He’d only had her for half a day and yet she already seemed content with him.

While Demo liked animals, he’d never been a ‘having a pet’ type of person. He could barely take care of himself, how the hell was he supposed to keep a whole living being that was completely dependent upon him alive too? And he worked with a lot of dangerous chemicals and literal explosives, things that would be very bad for any animal that got into them even for a few seconds. Or if she bumped him hard enough at the wrong moment or surprised him with a loud bark because she caught another animal’s scent, it could be kablooeyfor both of them.

Well… if Demo couldn’t take care of her, the only solution was to look for someone who could and wanted to. Lucky for him, he lived on a base with a bunch of animal lovers. One of whom had even told him a little while ago that they’d like a dog one day. A dog to go hunting and camping with but surely a pit bull could be trained for that, right?

~

Sniper answered the knock on his camper van door looking like he’d been awoken from a nap. Demo normally would’ve apologized for that but he’d made it clear during prior such incidents that he didn’t mind as sleeping in the middle of the day wasn’t something he should be doing too much anyway.

“Yo, you want a dog?” Demo said instead.

“Huh?”

“I found a dog.” He stepped back to gesture towards her. He’d found a piece of rope to tie to her collar to make sure she wouldn’t run off. She hadn’t tried to though. “But I ain’t exactly the best person to be in charge of taking care of her so I figured I’d ask you if you want her ‘cause you said that you’d like a dog one day. So here’s a dog if you want her.”

“Where’d you find her?”

“Someone’s yard. She was chained up to a tiny dog house. There were food bowls but they empty. So I couldn’t just leave her there. She’s been real friendly so far but… I don’t think I’m equipped to take care of her.”

“Well, I don’t exactly have room in the camper for a dog.”

“Damn, guess that’s fair point though.” Demo had been hoping Sniper would take her because he’d grown rather attached to her and since he hung out with Sniper fairly often, that would mean he’d still get to see her plenty too.

“Could ask Scout. He’s got a wiener dog back home he’s real proud of so he might be willing to take her on.”

Seems Demo wasn’t the only one subjected to the admittedly cute dog pictures Scout’s Ma had mailed to him. Not that that was the least bit surprising, it was Scout after all. “Yeah, he’s probably a good option.” He also went on runs and stuff that dogs were supposed to enjoy. … “Or I could just keep her myself.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow. “You could. If you want tips on caring for animals and stuff, just ask. I ain’t an expert or nothing but I had dogs growing up.”

It was tempting, she was adorable, friendly, and she seemed to like Demo. Perhaps as recognizance that he’d saved or because she was just friendly, maybe a little bit of both. But… “Nah. Maybe when I’m better at staying sober for longer, I can get a dog or some other kind of pet. Right now though, it’d be a bad idea.” It wasn’t just about what he wanted but about what would be best for any potential pet he might acquire. He just wasn’t at a place in his life currently where he could give the kind of care and attention a dog needed.

“Well, good on you for admitting that.”

Demo grunted an acknowledgment. “Well, guess I’ll go see if Scout wants her. See you around.”

#my writing #tf2 #team fortress 2 #demo #sniper #demosniper

[mallowstep]

this is like a super weird. question but do you have any tips wrt finding people to talk to about warrior cats stuff 🥲 i have no wc friends i swear

irl or online?

irl good fucking luck. my friends nod along for matthew's weekly hour-of-cat-talk, mostly.

online u just gotta talk to people. literally everyone i know hates starting conversations but like. wants to talk to people. ik i am slowly ascending into grumbly old man yelling at kids to get off his lawn, but i swear i'm actually a very chill person i am just also very tired.

i think i reblogged a post abt the difficulty of finding fandom friends earlier (which might b what inspired this), but like. i honestly got SUPER lucky that i've made wc friends. before this i had fandom friends n we shared experiences, but we weren't in the same fandoms at ALL. most of my friends r in other fandoms n talk about them w each other, i consume one (1) piece of media.

(altho i've felt like shit for a few days so i might FINALLY start watching killing eve.)

anyway, yeah. you just gotta talk to people. some safety/advice/etc. type tips that won't help you make friends but will help you make good ones:

personally i do not believe in giving out discord on a first date, so to speak. we will chat on tumblr dms until i feel like ur a real person. every step closer to ur inner circle of information, the more u risk.

try to make sure ur not getting attached to an anti. like. it sucks to find out that you are, and it's better for everyone if you do a quick search of their blog. if you guys don't know how to do that effectively lemme know and i'll give u a tutorial.

i can't give discord server joining advice bc i'm in one (1) discord server n it's a group chat basically. some of my friends have been burned in servers tho so just b careful.

usually one person can introduce u to others but it might b a slow process.

this is weirdly specific but i don't think the Fastest road to friendship is by making someone something. dgmw i love when people make me things n i love making things for my friends (even if i'm super slow about it sorry "bestow all grace upon my song" will one day be published), but i think it's just like. not the best way to establish a connection. i think this will make sense but i don't know how to explain it? i'm not saying like. u've ruined ur chances at friendship if you do that. i'm just saying i think u can Slow it Down.

reaching out is fucking hard but i was literally just like. i am so grateful to the people who have started a conversation w me? they are near and dear to my heart. if you feel weird abt starting a conversation that's valid but for like. reassurance. it's always hard but people (generally) want to talk.

also just. b direct. say "u seem cool i want to b ur friend. here's some of my thoughts on something we're both interested. [thoughts]." you don't have to be quite that direct but there's nothing like a message you don't really get the point of. maybe i'm just autistic but "i'm reaching out because you seem cool and i want to make friends" goes over MUCH better to me than almost anything else.

lastly: remember that they're still an internet stranger. it takes time to get to know people. my friends certainly know more about me than y'all know, but you can't like. drop shit on someone first conversation. be careful about how you open up. good people won't push you for more than you're comfortable with, etc.

best of luck anon!

#mine #ask #anon #if ur over 18 u can dm me #i mean if ur 16+ u can always talk #but uh i'm an Adult n while i have no problem Talking to high schoolers #i don't really want to Befriend them #if that makes sense #anyone else who's good for making new friends is welcome to reblog this btw #(also fair warning that while i think of myself as friendly i am on the slow side of befriending) #(like a feral cat you must be patient as i sniff you and circle u slowly)

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [four] // wanda maximoff

summary: taking Wanda to meet your parents wasn't the best decision in hindsight...

warning/s: none i don't think?

author's note: i’m not sure what to say other than sorry in advance oops

part one | part two | part three | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

The restaurant my parents chose wasn't too flashy but rather comforting and homely, with an Italian theme and matching cuisine. It was bustling with people, but it didn't take long for Wanda and I to find my parents sat at the back waiting for us.

"You gonna be okay?" I asked, glancing at her with a comforting squeeze of the hand.

"I've got you, haven't I?" she asked playfully, her accent thicker than usual as she spoke. And though she was joking, I knew there was truth to her words which sent the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy.

"You're cute," I said with adoration, appreciating how lovely her eyes looked in the dimly-lit restaurant. "Come on."

Hand in hand, we approached my parents' table and I had hopes that tonight would go well. My parents weren't exactly intimidating – at least anyone I'd ever known hadn't got that impression – but I still worried for Wanda. Unlike her, I couldn't read minds, so I couldn't tell if she was actually looking forward to tonight or if she was just doing it for me.

"Y/N, you're here!" my mum exclaimed with a grin when she spotted me.

"I am," I said with a nervous smile, before motioning to Wanda. "And so is Wanda, my girlfriend."

"Yes, Y/N mentioned you would be coming," my mum said with a friendly smile, looking to Wanda, before motioning to the table. "Please, sit, sit."

I squeezed Wanda's hand gently before pulling out a chair for her. She smiled at me appreciatively before I took a seat beside her, facing my parents.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Wanda," my dad said with a nod. "Y/N mentioned you plenty of times when we'd call to catch up with her."

"You, too," Wanda spoke politely. "Both of you. Y/N told me that you're travelling the world, is that right?"

I leaned on my hand and glanced at Wanda, who shot me a mischievous smile. Quirking a brow, I mentally applauded her. Getting my parents to talk about their travels was an easy way of bonding with them – they would tell every server and customer in this restaurant about their travelling if they could. She'd cracked them instantly.

I'm just that good, milashka (cutie).

Trying not to laugh as her words echoed in my mind because of her powers, I leaned back into my seat and listened in as my parents went into a ramble about their ongoing adventures. This was pretty much how the rest of the evening went, as the four of us dined on expensive wine and delicious pizza. They seemed to be getting along well, with Wanda asking all the right questions and giving them her picture-perfect smile that impressed all the elders. Heck, she was even impressing me.

Naively, I appreciated how well the evening was going until my parents decided to talk to Wanda about her career.

"So, Y/N mentioned you're one of those Revengers," my mum remembered as we ate.

"Avengers," I corrected her, mildly embarrassed.

Wanda chuckled, glancing at me, before nodding. "Yes, I am. For over a year now, I've been working with them."

"Them being Iron Man, Captain America, the Black Widow...?" my dad asked, looking up as if trying to remember the rest, further embarrassing me.

"Those are the ones," Wanda quipped with a nod.

My mum hummed in response as my dad nodded before leaning back in his seat and eyeing Wanda curiously.

"I can't imagine your job is the safest," he began. "You protect people from threats, right? Keep them safe."

Wanda seemed caught off guard, but recovered quickly. "It's got it's... dangers, yes. But I can handle myself. I've got powers and I know how to use them."

"You do," my dad agreed, before his eyes flickered to me briefly. "But Y/N doesn't. She's just a regular human."

I set my fork down on my plate and looked to him calmly. "Dad, what are you saying?"

"No, it's fine," Wanda said reassuringly, resting her hand on my leg under the table. I grabbed it and held it as she continued to speak to my father. "Y/N doesn't have powers, you are correct."

"And dating an Avenger, I can imagine, must put a huge target on her back," he said with concern, and my mum nodded in agreement. "How can we be certain that she is safe?"

"Dad!"

"Your father is right, Y/N," my mum said, giving me a look, before her expression softened as she looked to a startled Wanda. "We're not implying that you're incapable, Wanda. We can clearly see that you care about our daughter. And you're a lovely person. You're pretty much perfect."

Wanda swallowed hard. "But?"

My mother frowned. "But dating you is bound to put our Y/N in danger. She could get hurt just for being involved with you, with your friends. She doesn't have powers to protect herself. And I can't imagine you're around her all the time to keep her safe."

As angry as I was at my parents for saying this stuff – even if they were saying it out of love – memories of the incident flashed to mind. They were right, but it was a risk I'd accepted when dating Wanda. What good was it doing by bringing this up now?

Noticing Wanda's silence, I spoke up instead. "I appreciate your concern, guys, but I'm an adult. I understand the danger I may be put in by being with Wanda. But I love her and I know that she is here for me if anything were to ever happen."

"We know," my father said, giving me a small nod. "We just thought we'd share our opinion anyway. It's been weighing on us for a while is all."

I sighed quietly. I couldn't exactly fault them for that.

"Anyway, never mind that," my mum said, setting down her fork. "Now that we've got that out the way, let's order some dessert, yeah? Our treat."

Nodding, I let my parents get excited as they perused the dessert menus before them. Instead, I looked to the quiet brunette beside me and saw how lost in thought she was, eyes focused on the table and stuck in a daydream.

With the hand that was holding hers, I patted her hand with my thumb to earn her attention. She looked up suddenly, questioning gaze falling to me. I frowned and quirked a brow, wondering if she was okay. She forced a smile my way, squeezing my hand reassuringly, but I didn't believe her. I also couldn't question it right in front of my parents, so I decided to speak with her later.

Dessert went by quickly as Wanda, suddenly, wasn't very talkative. I didn't know if my parents noticed, but I sure did and I felt extremely guilty. If I had known of my parents' concerns, I never would have brought Wanda to meet them tonight.

After the evening came to a close and we all stepped out of the restaurant, I expected to be going home with my parents since we lived together, but they claimed they had more plans together tonight.

"Wow, you guys have more of a social life than we do," I joked when they told me to make my own way home.

Wanda barely smiled and I felt bad.

"We'll be back in a few hours," my mum promised, before pulling me in for a hug. "Tonight was fun. A great final night before we leave tomorrow."

I returned the hug and as I gave my dad one, I heard Wanda thanking my mum for the lovely evening halfheartedly. After saying our final goodbyes, Wanda led me to her car in silence, giving me time to try and put some jumbled thoughts together coherently.

As she had been for the past hour, Wanda was quiet on the drive back to my place. Whenever I would glance in her direction, she'd be chewing on her lip and focusing on driving, though the blank expression on her face made me think that maybe she was distracted. It didn't take a genius to know she was thinking about my parents' words and I suddenly felt guilty for putting that all on her.

"I'm sorry," I blurted halfway through the journey. "I'm sorry for what they said. It wasn't fair of them, I know that. They just... they meant well, Wanda, they really did." I tucked my hands under my thighs, wincing as their words echoed in my mind. "It doesn't change anything though, y'know? We're still us. We're still okay. I don't want you to feel like anything's changed because it hasn't."

I paused, swallowing hard, and glanced her way. She didn't even look my way, still in the same position as she was before I started to speak. Looking back to the road ahead, I let out a disappointed sigh, figuring she wasn't in a talking mood. I didn't blame her, but I hoped she would have understood what I meant.

The remainder of the drive was like this, Wanda deep in thought and me huddled under an imaginary blanket of guilt. When we finally reached my house, she turned the engine off and I waited for her to say something, literally anything. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel mindlessly and I figured she was out of words for tonight.

"I'll ring you in the morning," I mumbled quietly, opening the car door. "If you want to speak, that is."

Leaving her there, I grabbed my bag and headed to the front door, but stopped when I heard her get out the car, too. Waiting, I turned around and watched as she approached me, eyebrows knitted in thought.

"Please say something," I said with pleading eyes.

She licked her lips, biting her lower lip so hard I'm surprised she didn't draw blood. Finally, she released it and looked to me with apologetic eyes.

"Your parents were right," she said.

I blinked with confusion. "What?"

She nodded, looking down at her shoes momentarily. "They were right, what they said. My life puts you in danger."

"Yeah, I know," I agreed, crossing my arms. "I knew that when I got with you, but that doesn't change anything."

She gave a disbelieving smile. "Seriously? Y/N, that changes everything."

"No, it doesn't," I told her sternly, growing frustrated. "This is the stuff you sacrifice when you love someone."

She sighed, shaking her head and looking away. "You shouldn't have to."

"But I chose to," I said, clenching my jaw.

"Don't you remember what happened last time?" she asked, stepping forward and holding my hand. "The incident?"

"We said we wouldn't talk about that," I reminded her with a low voice.

"But you remember, right? When they took you and I wasn't there? They could've hurt you!"

"Shut up!" I told her, raising my voice. Pulling my hand away from hers and taking a step back, I continued, "Why are you saying that? You came! You helped me!"

"But what if they did something to you before I got there?" she snapped. "What if I hadn't got to you on time?"

The memories came spilling into my mind, escaping the locked box I kept them in. Tears burned the corner of my eyes as I tried to think about anything else.

"You remember how scared you were?" Wanda asked, frowning at me with exasperated eyes. "You couldn't be by yourself for weeks!"

"Why are you doing this?!" I yelled, clenching my fists. "Why are you trying to frighten me?!"

"Because you should be frightened!" she retorted, stepping closer to me. Her dark green eyes were swirling storms of rage as she added, "It could happen again!"

I shoved her away from me, pinching the bridge of my nose with annoyance. Tears slipped from my eyes at the terrifying memory of what happened, what could have gone wrong, but I ignored them as I swallowed down the lump in my throat. Why the hell was she acting like this? Making me so angry at her for no reason?

"It's not even just that," she continued, jaw tensed. "How many times do I get hurt because of work and you get worried?"

"That's because I care about you," I muttered through stinging eyes.

"This will always be my life," she said, a hint of regret in her words as she looked to me. "I can't change it."

"I'm not asking you to!"

"Exactly! You're not! Which means you'll suck it up and stay with me and will live your life in constant concern for my well-being. It's not right."

I opened my mouth to respond because what she was saying was entirely stupid. But my emotions got the better of me and no words came out. Instead, my bottom lip quivered as I sucked up a breath.

"I need time to think," she suddenly said, anger disappearing from her voice and being replaced with an astute calmness.

My gaze snapped her way and through blurry vision, I watched her step back with her hands on her hips.

"So you can what – think about breaking up with me?" I said bitterly, and despite my anger, I didn't expect her to look at me with a softened expression, meaning my words were correct.

"Maybe it's better that way, Y/N," she said gently, eyes meeting mine.

I squeezed my hands together and tried to breathe through the pent-up anger that she'd caused, but the longer she stared at me, waiting for a response, the more I wanted to explode.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I muttered, scrunching my eyebrows together.

She pressed her lips together, looking away, and it only pissed me off more.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Wanda?!" I yelled. "You're quitting on our relationship because, what, you think I'm in danger? Well, news flash, honey, the worst already happened and I'm still here!"

She barely flinched as she avoided my eyes.

"You're a fucking coward!" I said, pointing at her. "If you needed an excuse to end things, you could have just said so!"

Breathing out, I wiped my tears away shakily. I expected her to argue back, to realise she'd made a mistake and regretted her words, but as I waited, I knew she was certain of her decision.

"Fine," I settled, brimming with rage. "Fuck off, Wanda."

Still, nothing.

Turning on my heel, I stormed to my front door and went through my keys with difficulty, hands shaking with anger. I heard Wanda's car door shut from behind me but didn't bother turning around. I clearly didn't need to as I heard the tyres screech against the road and knew she was gone.

Kicking my door with frustration, I found the key and opened up before heading inside and slamming the door behind me. How dare she break up with me because of something that I chose off my own back! She just gave up like we meant nothing to her, not even bothering to talk things out with me! And selfishly, she left me feeling pissed and resenting her more than I ever thought I would.

"What a bitch!" I shouted into the empty house, throwing my keys to the side harshly.

When they clinked against glass, I looked up and saw the vase of flowers Wanda had given me before dinner.

"The first and fucking last," I said dryly, before grabbing ahold of it and throwing it against the wall without thinking.

The glass shattered on impact, leaving a mess of water, flowers and small shards on the wooden floor. I looked at it, the brokenness resembling how my heart felt. As the adrenaline of my actions and previous angry words wore off, all that was left was hurt and pain and oh God, Wanda was gone. She'd left me. She'd given up.

I sank to the floor, pulling my legs up to my chest, and hugged them tightly. Stifling my cries, I dug myself into my knees and felt a pain in my heart. Why didn't she fight for us? Did she not love me enough? Was I not enough?

—

"You ignored the memes I sent you, I thought you died."

As Natasha pushed right past me and into my house, I blinked with disbelief.

"Sure, come right in," I mumbled sarcastically, closing the front door.

Following after Natasha, I found her making herself at home in the living room, plonking herself on the couch and pulling her feet up comfortably.

"You could have sent an emoji or something," she continued, giving me a knowing look. "They were some good memes."

"Well, forgive me if I wasn't in the mood," I said sourly, joining her on the couch.

Her playful smile faded as she picked up on my words. "How are you doing, sweetie?"

I ran a hand through my hair and leaned my elbow on the back of the couch, getting comfortable. It had been two weeks since Wanda broke up with me and in those two weeks, I hadn't been doing particularly well. I guess you could say I was still in a slump. A horrible, tiresome, angry, sadness-filled slump.

"I'm fine."

She pursed her lips, looking like she wanted to argue, but thankfully, she didn't. I was glad – the last thing I wanted was to prove that I was okay when, really, all I wanted to do was curl in a ball and suffocate under my duvet.

"I'm sorry," she said, resting her hand on mine. "If it's any consolation, I think Wanda made a huge mistake."

"Ah, so she told you," I said with a nod of realisation. I hadn't told Natasha the specifics of why we broke up, but clearly Wanda did. I guess it made sense – they were teammates. If anything, I was surprised Natasha still wanted to speak to me, instead expecting her to side with her friend.

"She did," Natasha answered. "And I think she's an idiot, but that's not my business. I just came here to make sure you were okay."

"Really? I thought you wanted to show me the memes," I said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood with a small smile.

She chuckled, slapping my hand gently. "That, too... but seriously."

My smile faded as I looked down, my finger playing with my trousers distractedly. "I'm not okay, but I'll get there." I began to glare at my trousers, my anger for the witch returning. "I have to be. Because she doesn't want me anymore... fuck her."

"I'd rather not," Natasha mumbled.

Though my anger was present, making me tense like it had been the last few weeks, I couldn't help but smile at Natasha's words. Then laughter bubbled from my lips and for the first time since Wanda left, I felt momentarily happy.

"I'm glad we can still be friends," Natasha said, making me look to her with a smile. "I know that you and Wanda are over now... but I still like hanging out with you."

"Me, too," I said in agreement. "Thanks for coming to check in. You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did." She nodded before offering me a small, encouraging smile. "You're gonna be okay, y'know."

I wanted to believe her, but despite how pissed I was at Wanda, I still loved her. And I couldn't imagine stopping, though I knew I'd have to if I was to make it through this.

—

Getting over Wanda was a difficult process. Everything I felt was a mixture of resentment, exhaustion and misery because I missed her. I missed being able to call her when I saw somebody do something stupid in public; I missed kissing her when I hadn't seen her in a long time; I missed hearing her adorable accent first thing when I woke up after she spent the night; I missed her.

Two months followed the breakup and the only time I'd see her was when she'd dodge Anna's apartment upon knowing I was going to take care of her. I guess I was glad in that sense, as it meant I wouldn't have to deal with her awkwardly. But it also made me feel like shit because it meant she didn't care about me at all. Clearly our breakup wasn't affecting her like it did with me.

And it was definitely affecting me.

I was scrolling through Instagram one day when I saw a particular post on my feed from Natasha's account. Yeah, one of the Avengers had a private Instagram account. She gave me her username when she saw me on it one day and I remember being so confused to how she had it.

"I'm an Avenger, not a hermit," was her response, and from that day onwards, we followed each other.

So, I saw a post on her Instagram and it was some goofy photo of her, Tony, Bruce and Wanda. They were posing with exaggerated smiles as Natasha grinned up front; the caption said something about working long days, but I wasn't paying much attention as, naturally, my gaze fell to Wanda.

Just like everyone else, she had a playful, exaggerated smile on her lips like nothing kept her down, but what stood out was the sling around her arm and the cast underneath. It must have happened in a mission or something and it wasn't my business, but I couldn't help but worry. Was she okay? Was she looking after herself? I wanted to text Natasha and ask, but I stopped myself.

She'd broken up with me for this very reason. I wasn't agreeing with it, but for a second, I did see why she'd made her point. It still wasn't fair though. She didn't get to make that choice for me.

We weren't together anymore, I reminded myself. She broke up with me. It had been two months and I needed to let go. If she didn't care about me, why should I waste my time and energy caring about her?

Not letting it get to me anymore, I simply liked the post before continuing my scrolling. Though I knew that deep down, her face was imprinted in my mind and I still worried for her well-being.

—

The fourth month following our breakup was when I properly saw Wanda again, excluding the times she would duck out of Anna's apartment upon my arrival to care for her. It was also the first time since the breakup that Wanda made the effort to speak to me.

I was sat eating dinner on my day off when I got a call from the hospital nearby, interrupting my meal. The nurse was explaining how Anna had fallen over and hurt her back and was now in a hospital room. She was calling me because she thought I'd like to know since I was her registered nurse and carer. I was glad to get the call, immediately pulling my shoes and coat on and rushing over there to make sure she was okay. She didn't have anyone else apart from Wanda and I – it was no question I had to go.

Though, of course, I didn't really think about the fact that Wanda may be there until I saw her there. I also didn't consider the fact that I was wearing my pyjamas when I stepped in the lift and headed to Anna's floor. Too late now.

After asking the receptionist where Anna's room was, I found Wanda hanging around it outside the door. With only Anna on my mind, I approached her and tried to hide my panic. She spotted me instantly, stopping her pacing and looking to me with tired eyes and a frown on her face.

I didn't care that she looked worried, nor that she was holding up well since we last spoke in anger. I didn't care that she'd dyed her hair a reddish-brown colour, nor that she managed to pull off both that and the whole 'loungewear' look in a place surrounded by blinding white and blue. I didn't care that my heart ached when her green eyes found mine, nor that I missed seeing her so close and not in my dreams for once. I didn't care about any of it. Or, at least, I tried to tell myself that.

"What happened?" I cut straight to the point, stopping in front of her. "Is Anna okay?"

Wanda nodded instantly. "She's fine. She tripped over her dining room chair and hurt her back. The doctors just checked her out and said it's nothing too serious, but she won't be able to walk for a while."

I pressed my lips together, feeling the panic wear off at the sound of good news. Anna had always been more than just a patient to me and the last thing I wanted was to hear she'd hurt herself badly.

"Can I see her?" I asked Wanda, quirking a brow.

"Yeah, of course," Wanda said, before looking away awkwardly. "I was just waiting out here for you. The nurse said you were coming."

I chose to say nothing as I walked past her and into Anna's room, seeing the older woman laying on a hospital bed and staring at the ceiling. When she noticed my presence, she smiled at me and motioned for me to join her side.

"It's so good to see you, milaya (sweetie)," she said happily, as I stopped by her side, "but you didn't have to come! I'm not dying."

I heard Wanda enter the room behind me, but she took a seat on the chairs opposite the bed. Ignoring her, I smiled down at Anna and grabbed her hand.

"Don't say that," I told her gently. "Of course I'm here. You're my number one priority. I had to make sure you were okay!"

Anna waved her hand in typical Anna fashion. "I've suffered worse. I'm absolutely fine."

I knew it was best not to question her, so I didn't.

"I'm glad you're both here," she said, looking between Wanda and I, making me swallow awkwardly.

Since breaking up, I hadn't mentioned it to Anna, but she wasn't stupid and she'd clearly noticed that we weren't spending time together anymore. I didn't know if Wanda had told her, but if she had, Anna never mentioned anything. Like now, she simply looked between us both with a grateful smile, unaware of how awkward we felt.

Thankfully, the awkward silence was interrupted when a doctor walked in the room. After introducing herself, I asked if I could speak to her outside about Anna and she happily obliged. She told me about Anna's condition and how it would affect the way I cared for her, especially regarding her new medication, and I asked anything and everything to make sure she was truly okay. After being reassured that she was, I thanked the doctor and returned to Anna's room, only to find Wanda and Anna in a heated a argument.

I couldn't tell what had got them so fussy as they were bickering in Russian, sentences too fast for me to comprehend with my limited knowledge of the language. It got to a point where Anna began slapping Wanda on the arm, looking angrier than ever, so I stepped between them and pulled Wanda away.

"What the hell is going on here?" I interrupted, holding Anna's slapping hand down to the bed and raising a hand to keep Wanda at bay. I looked between them, seeing the frustration in both their expressions, and asked questioningly, "Well?"

Wanda said nothing, eyes avoiding mine as usual, so I looked down to Anna who was glancing between us before spouting off into another ramble in Russian, trying to grab Wanda so she could yell at her directly. To my annoyance, Wanda tried to push past me, yelling back, and I was unfortunately caught in the middle as I attempted to keep them from ripping each other's throats out.

Thankfully, their bickering came to a halt when an unknown voice called into the room: "What is going on in here?"

I looked to the door, following the mystery voice, and saw a young woman, maybe in her thirties, standing in the doorway and looking between the three of us with confusion. I had no idea who she was, though she seemed familiar. Judging from the confusion Wanda had, she didn't seem to know either.

"Sasha," Anna breathed out with surprise, and then I realised. That was Anna's granddaughter. "What are you doing here?"

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #elizabeth olsen #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #marvel #mcu #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

[marshmellowfluff221]

Levi is Soft?

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Summary: Just a collection of moments where the team catches their captain's soft side.

Warnings: N/A

-

Sunday

Training. That's all that was happening.

New orders for an escort mission had been given and set to take place sometime next week. Levi decided to ask for your help training his squad for this particular mission. You had a history of stealth related objectives and escorting people around.

The two of you had just sent the team to run another lap around the stables.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, turning and resting your forehead against Levi's shoulder. His hand came up to rest upon the top of your head, fingers carding through the strands of your hair.

"This is exhausting." You mutter, lifting your head to meet his eyes.

"You aren't doing anything." Levi reminds, the same stoic expression on his face. His lips, however, twitched up into a small smile. Your eyes bore into his, a loving smile across your lips. You brought your hands up to rest on his shoulder, using them as a cushion to rest your chin on.

"You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now." You admit. Levi shakes his head.

"Not now." He gently pokes at your cheek as he hears the heavy footsteps of the squad coming back around. You step away from him with another exaggerated sigh.

It was Armin who rounded the corner first. It was also Armin who noticed the smile Levi wore before it was wiped away in an instant. As they halted before you and Levi, Armin took note of the smile you wore. Was that blush on your cheeks?

Monday

Armin pressed his hands against Eren's feet as the boy did sit ups. His gaze was not on Eren, but on the two captains. He furrowed his brow as he noticed that Levi stood a step closer to you than anyone else. Maybe it was the angle he was at?

"Hey Eren..." Armin trailed off, looking at the boy in front of him.

"What?" Eren breathed out, obviously tired from the constant workout.

"You think Levi and Y/n are close?" The blonde asked as Eren sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he took a break. Eren glanced over to the two before turning back to Armin and shrugging.

"Dunno, your turn." Eren nodded and Armin sighed as he moved to begin his sit ups.

Unknown to them was the conversation you were having with Levi. To squad working out it seemed like your little chatter was about them, but it wasn't.

"Levi." You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. "I've told you that you need sleep."

"I do sleep." He mutters. Levi's foot nudges yours. "Don't cross your arms."

"Don't change the subject." You narrow your eyes, keeping them forward. "You only sleep when I'm in bed."

"That's sleeping." He adds a little force to his nudge. "I told you to uncross your arms."

"And I said don't change the subject." You spare a quick glance his way. Levi has his usual stoic expression. "Tonight I'm making sure you sleep."

Levi's eyes shift to you, giving you a once over before turning his gaze away. "I can't tell if you want to get in my pants or cuddle."

"I'll decide when we get there." You shrug, uncrossing your arms. "What's up with my arms, hm?"

"Brats like to stare at you." Levi mutters.

You hum in response, nodding. "So you're jealous."

"Not jealous."

"I recall you were so jealous that I spent the night training with your squad that you didn't sleep." You remind him, a small smirk on your lips.

"Shut up." Levi kicks your foot again before walking forward. "Everyone stop. Go run another lap for chit chatting."

A series of groans rang out, except from Armin and Eren. They both focus their gaze on you, who laughs and smiles at Levi's commands. They meet each other's eyes as a lightbulb flicks on.

Tuesday

"Mikasa." Eren whispered, nudging the girl with his elbow.

"What's wrong?" She asked, tilting her head towards the boy. It was hard to see him at the angle she was at. The whole squad had been tied to various poles around a circle. Their job was supposed to be to get out without tools. This exercise was simply in case of capture.

"Do you think Y/n and Levi are a little too friendly?" He asked, pulling at the ropes on his wrists as he leaned forward to look to Mikasa's reaction. She furrowed her brow, shaking her head.

"Why are you so worried about them? Focus Eren." She stated, turning her head away as she began moving her hands to escape the bindings.

"Heard my name over here." You exclaim from behind Eren, crouching down to be at his level. You grabbed onto the pole he was tied to as leverage. "Talking about me?"

"No! No- I just wanted to ask you for tips." Armin quickly spoke up. "I asked Eren to call you over."

You straightened up, glancing to Armin. Something was definitely up. With a nod you began explaining what to do in such a situation. After the explanation, you gave a pat on his head and walked over to meet Levi.

He uncrossed his arms as you neared, his fingers twitched at his sides as you stopped in front of him. Normally his hand would grab yours, his thumb running over the scars on your knuckles, but now he couldn't do such a thing. However, Levi had more self control than you.

"Hm, notice anything weird lately?" You asked, teetering on the balls of your feet. "With Armin or Eren?"

"No." Levi kept his answer short as he narrowed his eyes. "What did those brats do?"

"Nothing." You smiled, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder as you leaned in close to his ear. "But they do seem to suspect we're in a relationship."

"What makes you say that?" He responds through gritted teeth.

"Just a hunch." You sigh, letting go of Levi and turning to stand next to him. Armin had just undone the rope binding him. "Plus I heard him last night when he asked Eren if he had ever seen us together outside of training."

As a result Levi stared down Armin the rest of the day.

Wednesday

With a day of a surprise mission done, you and Levi had made your way to his office. He was going to do the necessary paperwork that had to be done. It wasn't too much since no one had been hurt or injured, but he still had to do it. You had followed him because you knew that if you didn't, he'd stay in that office until morning.

Levi plopped himself down at his desk chair, leaning back as he placed a hand over his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

"What?" You asked, shrugging off your coat and folding it in half before setting it on his desk. "Are you tired for once?"

"No." He huffed, removing the hand from his face as his eyes met yours. "But you are."

You nod, stepping up to Levi and taking a seat on his lap. His hands gently placed themselves on your waist. His grip tightened when you shifted against him to get comfortable.

"Good observation." You answered, cupping his face and tilting his head up to meet yours. "You know this paperwork won't run off right?"

"You need to be more careful." Levi blatantly said, changing the subject. Your brows furrowed. His fingers at your waist began to mindlessly play with the fabric of your shirt as he continued. "That titan threw you."

"Ah." One of your hands left his cheek as you gently booped his nose. "But I caught myself."

"You almost didn't."

"But I did- and if we're talking about being careful then you shouldn't have ran in and killed it so recklessly." You say, moving your hands to his shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

"Only to save you." Levi narrowed his eyes as he leaned forward to capture your lips with his. You smiled, pulling back to laugh lightly.

"If only those kids could see how adorable you are." You sigh, kissing him once more.

"Yeah, yeah." He huffs, his hands now resting on your thighs. "Get up, I have to do this paperwork."

With a sigh you slid off his lap and stood with a yawn. He poked the back of your thigh, gaining your attention.

"Go to bed, I'll be there when I finish."

"Something tells me that's a lie." You reply with a tilt of your head. He opens his mouth to speak, but pauses when he heard someone clear their throat. Your attention is brought to the door where Hange and Armin stand.

"Hi Hange, Armin." You give a small wave earning a wide smile from Hange. Hange urges Armin inside as they begin speaking about how Armin had some more information on the mission from the rest of the squad. While Levi and Armin began to converse, you couldn't help but notice Armin continuously glance your way.

Maybe he had heard something while walking to the door?

Thursday

Today of all days, you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Every little thing annoyed you.

Someone coughed while you were explaining how to do a defensive move? Fifty push ups.

A breeze blew your hair in front of your face after you had just put it up? Run a mile.

A bird interrupted your speech? They don't get to hear the rest.

It got to the point where you just stared down the entire squad as they held a plank. It wasn't until a hand placed itself upon your shoulder that you relaxed.

"Come with me." Levi's voice softened as he gave your shoulder a squeeze. He looked up at the squad and narrowed his eyes. "Run laps until we get back."

A series of groans erupted as Levi dragged you away. It wasn't until you were in the horse's stables that he stopped and turned to you.

"Hange is telling me you're working them to the bone." He begins. "But that's not the problem here. Armin ran off during one of their laps and told Hange you looked like you were about to rip their heads off. I thought you said you could handle this?"

"I am handling this." You retort.

"No you're pushing through. Bad day?" Levi asked, knowing he has had his fair share. With a silent nod, he pulls you against his chest. He wasn't the best at comforting and he didn't really know how to make you feel better with his words. This was enough for you, however.

"I'm sorr-"

"Don't apologize. This is a tough job. Those kids are brats, I get it if you want to throw one down. I suggest Eren." Levi mumbles.

You crack a smile, pushing back enough to look up at him.

"He's a good kid Levi." You reach up, your hand resting against his cheek. "Don't treat him so roughly."

You lean forward, closing the gap between you and pressing your lips against his. Levi's hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, as if that was possible. These moments kept both of you going through the day.

"Captain- oh my-" A familiar voice broke through the silence. You pulled back from Levi, looking to your right to see Jean standing in the entrance to the stables. Levi's eyes narrowed.

"What." He spat angrily. You discreetly pinched his side as you stepped away from Levi and made your way towards Jean.

"Hm? Get tired of running already? I was only gone- what like five minutes? Let's go kid." You slap a hand against Jean's shoulder, knocking him out of his shocked state.

That'd be a hard one to hide.

Friday

Today was tense.

That was an understatement. It was awkward and tense.

"Spit it out already." Levi sighs, staring down the troops before him. Armin glances over to Eren who then looks to Mikasa. Jean tenses up, his eyes on the floor.

"Are you guys dating?" Eren finally blurts out, much to everyone's surprise.

"Eren!" Mikasa grabs his arm. "You can't ask-"

"Yes we are. Any other questions?" Levi answers in a monotone voice. The entire squad remains silent as they take in what Levi had just said. As if on cue, you walk on up, unknowing of the conversation that had just occured.

"Hey guys, what's with that look?" You asked, taking your place next to Levi.

"They asked a stupid question and I gave an answer." Levi muttered, obviously annoyed.

You grew confused as Levi stepped forward and began ordering them around as usual.

Saturday

"So what was the question." You asked, your horse slowing to walk in time with Levi's.

"Eren asked if we were dating." He sighs.

"Oh!" You straighten up, glancing over your shoulder at the troops trailing behind. The day had finally come to set off on the escourt mission, since it would take a day or two to get there the squad left in the morning. "So...you lied to them didn't you?"

"No." Levi replies.

"No?" You repeat.

"No." He confirms.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Levi asks, glancing over at you.

"Yeah. Oh." You shrug. "I just thought you would've wanted to keep us a secret to avoid all the teasing or-"

"I could care less." Levi scoffs. "If you think I actually care about their opinions, you're wrong. It's not a secret that we're together."

"Levi I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said." You respond with a smile.

"So he is a big softy." Eren exclaimed. Levi's attention snapped to Eren as he narrowed his eyes. "Ah...nevermind."

#aot x reader #snk x reader #snk levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot

[cuttoothed]

For the second day of @jonmartinweek, mostly for the prompt "injury", though also a little bit "love confession" (by omission).

Set directly after episode 92. Content warnings for mild descriptions of Jon’s canonical injuries (blood, burns).

*

Things are...tense, when they go back down to the Archives. Actually, “tense” is probably an understatement, after finding out that Elias murdered not only Gertrude Robinson, but also the unknown man in Document Storage—who as it turned out was none other than Juergen bloody Leitner.

A lot to take on board, all in all.

Basira seems to have accepted her new employment status with eerie calm, and starts setting up at Sasha’s old desk (oh god, Sasha’s dead, has been for months), fetching notebooks and folders from the stationery cupboard and arranging pens and highlighters in a desk tidy. Daisy is nowhere to be seen—thankfully, Martin thinks, because she was even scarier than usual in Elias’ office. Melanie storms off into the stacks and there are sounds of shouting and things hitting the floor, which Martin is in no hurry to investigate. Tim sits at his desk with his feet propped up for about five minutes, then stands up and says: “Fuck this, I’m off to the pub.” He doesn’t invite anyone else to go with him, and Martin thinks their presence probably wouldn’t be welcome.

Jon arrives in about half an hour later, smelling of fresh cigarette smoke. Normally Martin would disapprove, but the way things are right now he’s tempted to take up a few bad habits himself. Jon looks...exhausted, defeated, his shoulders slumped wearily. His clothes are smudged with dirt, and there’s drying blood crusted around the injury on his neck; the bandages on his hand are starting to slip, revealing the angry, raw burns beneath.

Martin’s not sure he’s ever been so happy to see someone in his life.

Jon gives him a small, tired smile as he passes, then heads into his office and shuts the door. Martin knows that no sane person would try to go straight back to work looking like they’d just been through a war zone and still with an open wound; he is also aware that Jonathan Sims is the sort of person to do precisely that. He hesitates for a few moments, then makes a decision.

He fetches the first aid kit from the break room, and goes and knocks on Jon’s door. It’s a firm knock, a knock that he hopes says “I’m coming in whether you like it or not”, because it’s not beyond Jon to try to avoid them all for an extended period.

“Come in,” Jon calls, and even his voice sounds exhausted. When he sees Martin enter the room, his expression softens in a way that’s difficult to parse. Is he just relieved that it isn’t one of the others? Or is he actually pleased that it’s Martin?

It’s been two months since Jon went into hiding while suspected of murder, and the last time Martin saw him he had been quite sure Jon was planning to—to hurt himself, somehow. Before that, though, there had been a time when they were...well, close, in a way. Jon had let his guard down around Martin, in the midst of being so suspicious and afraid. He had trusted Martin, when he didn’t trust anyone else, had eaten lunch with him and talked about boring, ordinary things, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing just a little. He had even laughed, sometimes. It had been, despite everything, one of the happier times in Martin’s life, and if that’s not pathetic he doesn’t know what is.

“Hi, Jon,” he says.

“Martin,” says Jon, his tone soft. “It’s so—ahh, how are you?”

“How am I? You’re the one with a bloody great gash in your neck and looking like you put your hand in a fire.” Martin brandishes the first aid kit. “You really should go to the hospital, but I know it would be a waste of my time suggesting it.”

“Thank you for bringing that,” Jon says. “I appreciate it. You can just leave it on the desk.”

“Nope,” Martin tells him cheerily, setting the kit down and opening it. “I know you, Jon. If I leave it with you it’ll still be sitting here untouched tomorrow. Plus, I got my first aid certification when I was working in the library. It’s probably expired now, but I think it still counts.”

Jon looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he huffs a breath that might be a laugh, and nods in concession.

“All right then,” he says.

Martin snaps on a pair of disposable gloves and directs Jon to sit on the desk and undo the top two buttons on his shirt, so Martin can examine the wound on his neck. It’s shallow, fortunately, and the bleeding seems to have already stopped. Martin cleans away the crusted blood as gently as he can, though Jon still winces a few times.

“What happened?” Martin asks, as he smears on antibiotic cream.

“Daisy. She, ah, she decided that I was dangerous. Needed to be dealt with. Fortunately Basira was able to convince her otherwise.”

“Bloody hell,” Martin mutters. He’s not sure why he’s surprised; he’s always felt afraid around Daisy, like a rabbit being in the same room with a fox. But he just sort of assumed it was typical Martin fear of, well, everything. He never thought Daisy would actually hurt any of them. He applies a bandage carefully over the wound, and then turns his attention to Jon’s hand. Unwrapping the bandages reveals the red, blistered mess beneath, and Martin hisses in sympathy.

“Please tell me you went to the hospital for this.”

“I went to a walk-in clinic,” Jon says. “They cleaned it up, gave me some antibiotics and painkillers. They, uh, they did recommend I see my GP for follow up monitoring, and that I should get a referral to a physiotherapist, but, well, it’s been a busy few days.”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, exasperated, and Jon smiles a bit shakily.

“I know,” he says. “I will go to a GP, I promise. It’s just a bit tricky when you’re wanted for murder. Anyway, it seems to be healing rather well, all things considered.”

Martin considers whether to apply antibiotic cream, but the skin doesn’t seem to be broken, and he knows it’s best not to touch the area more than needed. Instead, he rewraps it with clean, dry bandages, being sure to keep them loose.

“How did this happen?” he asks, to distract himself from the fact that he is, technically, holding Jon’s hand. Jon gives a self-deprecating laugh.

“I, uh, I was trying to get information from a devotee of the Lightless Flame. This was her price.”

“The Lightless Flame? That cult—from the statements?”

“The same. As it turns out, a—a lot of things from the statements are real. Unpleasantly so.”

“I—yeah, I sort of figured that out when Tim and I got trapped in these weird corridors for days by that Michael...thing.”

Jon’s face blanches, his brows furrowing.

“You—god, Martin, I didn’t know. Are you—I mean, you’re okay, obviously, but— Have you seen Michael since?”

“No, and I hope I don’t.” Martin feels faintly nauseous at the memory. He doesn’t realize his hands are trembling slightly until the fingers of Jon’s hand, the unburned one, touch his wrist.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” he says. “When I realized a-about Sasha, about that thing, I hoped I could take care of it myself, spare you and Tim. I never wanted to drag you into all this.”

“I don’t think there’s much avoiding it,” Martin mutters miserably. “And you didn’t seem to mind dragging Melanie into it, while you were on the lam.”

“I shouldn’t have asked her for help either. It wasn’t fair to put any of you in the position of aiding a suspected murderer.”

“I never believed you did it,” Martin tells him fiercely. “It just would have been nice to know you were okay, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I—I wanted to contact you, but it seemed too risky. I knew the police would be watching you, since we’re friends. Or—or at least friendly.”

Everyone I’ve talked to says you and him were close. Martin had been ridiculously pleased by the accusation at the time, and he feels the same now, with Jon’s injured hand cradled in both of his. Jon trusts Martin with his wounds, his vulnerability. Jon wanted to contact him; Jon thinks they’re friends.

“I—” Martin starts to say, and he doesn’t know if his next words will be I missed you or I worry about you or some humiliating romantic confession blurted out and impossible to take back. He draws a deep breath, and instead says: “I’m glad you’re back, and that you’re okay. I don’t have that many friends, I can’t afford to lose one.”

He says it like a joke, and mercifully, Jon takes it as one, and gives a relieved laugh. Martin realizes he’s long since finished bandaging the burn and is now just sort of...holding Jon’s hand; he releases it, reluctantly, and Jon smiles, lifting his other hand to touch the bandage on his throat.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, hopping down from the desk. “I appreciate it, really.”

“As a token of your appreciation, you can go ahead and make a doctor’s appointment for that hand,” says Martin firmly, closing up the first aid kit.

“I will,” Jon says solemnly, and Martin believes him, but he’s also going to check in and remind him at the end of the day because Jon has a tendency to forget about trivial things like his own wellbeing. It’s just who he is, and Martin’s made his peace with it, like he’s made his peace with being utterly, hopelessly gone for Jonathan Sims.

“I was going to make some tea, if you fancy,” he says as he opens the door. “You look like you could use a cup.”

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Oh, and Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I’m back as well. I—” Jon hesitates a moment, then says: “I missed your tea.”

It’s not much of a declaration, but Martin understands what Jon means by it; for the two of them, it means a lot.

#the magnus archives #jonmartinweek2021 #tma #my fic #jonmartin #cw injury

[yesimwriting]

playing vices

“A/n a blurb bc ive been working on my novel and ive missed writing for Kirigan :))

--

I am a fool that has played into her vices enough to make them addictions. That must have been Kirigan's plan. He knows that I don't agree with his methods. He is also much too aware of the fact that I am beyond attached to him. He plays into that fact often, lulling me to him whenever he feels that my conscious is in danger of driving a wedge between us.

Which is why I have become accustomed to falling asleep while running my fingers along his skin as he whispers things much sweeter than anything he would say while fully awake.

But now it's late and he's not here. I sit up, kicking the comforter off of me slightly. It seems Aleksander has been more and more absent these days. When he's not with me, the odds that he's doing something that hurts people are high. His absence is also starting to make me feel like he's losing interest in me. It would make sense considering the fact that he looked twice at me in any capacity has never seemed logical.

Maybe that's why we've never indicated commitment to each other. I don't know what commitment would be with him. He seems to grand to be considered a 'boyfriend', but there's something more than friendly about how he holds onto me. I've never cared for labels until I started feeling displaced.

"You're still awake."

I press my lips together, trying to seem a little calmer. "Couldn't sleep."

"Troubling thoughts?" The question is more weighted than it should be. Everything with him is. 

“Has anyone ever called you dramatic?” 

His lips quirk upwards, hinting at a smile. Warmth pools in my stomach, the way it always does when he lets me see the slight glimmer of light that’s still in him. Sometimes I think he only shows me this softness when he feels that I may pull away. It may be rooted in manipulative intent, but I know that it’s real. 

“Only you would have the gall,” he says, voice low yet not dark. 

Kirigan’s easiness coaxes a smile from my lips. A small one, but I can feel the way the crack in my tension feeds his confidence. He takes pride in slipping past the walls I only try to create when cautious or irritated. Today I’m both but I need to pretend like I’m neither. The more resistance he senses, the more forward and effective his advances become. 

I keep my expression neutral. I’m sure Alina could get away with calling him that. I wish she was more unlikable. It would be easier to hide my irritation if I could blame that displaced feeling in my chest on two people. But of course Alina is wonderful, beautiful, and his equal.

Whatever. It’s not like we’re really anything. Every time I see him I wait for his betrayal. There’s nothing worth using me for, and somehow that makes me feel worse. He should have never looked at me twice let alone encourage whatever strange relationship we’ve created. 

My silence seems to displease him because he approaches my bedside easily in quick yet patient strides. Now that he’s close enough to touch I feel some of the ice I managed to solidify melt. 

Kirigan lifts a hand and places it on my knee easily. I stiffen instinctually, he runs his thumb over my skin to fight my resistance. “Who’s upset you?” 

I breathe, forcing myself to ease. “No one has.” I don’t have to meet his gaze to know he doesn’t believe me. That’s the core source of our attachment, we can read each other with less than a look. “I’m just getting a headache,” not a full lie, “I’ll feel better after some sleep.” He squeezes my knee slightly, a soft way of asking me for more. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.” 

His hand leaves my knee, fingertips barely grazing my thigh as he moves his hand to hold beneath my chin. I still as he turns my head so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be good company when what I want is your presence.” 

I press my lips together to avoid melting into the promising pools of warmth that make up his irises. He spent all day with Alina, took Zoya’s side in an argument I had with her earlier this week, and now he comes to me late at night. He seems to only want to acknowledge me when we’re alone, and it’s not like I want more than that. I just don’t know how long my heart will be able to teeter the line between nothing and something. I’m a fool for having let it go on this long. 

The only problem is that his steady stare is chasing away all of my rationality. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone more in the mood to offer their presence.” 

My curtness leaves something behind his expression dull, the hint of a smile that was growing on him has now vanished. I am met with a stoic disposition I have never had directed at me. 

“They’re not you,” he counters, voice edged by something I don’t understand. 

That’s the point. They’re not me--I’m average. I can’t offer power and my relationship experience is basic at best. I don’t want to have this argument, not when I’m basically fighting for him to let me go when that’s not what I want. 

I’m making it easier. If it hurts this much when I was only on the cusp of something, imagine the pain I’l feel if I let it continue. I turn my head away so that he’s no longer holding my chin. “Not a bad thing.” 

“To me it is.” He doesn’t hesitate, my chest swells. His thumb brushes against my cheek, soft and comforting. “I’m tired,” he says this like it’s a confession. His admission hangs in the air for a long moment, as heavy and weighted as my heart. “If you’re angry, wait until morning.” 

Something in my heart cracks. “I’m not angry.” My gaze drops, my thoughts struggling to come together. “I’ll be nicer to deal with in the morning.” 

“Y/n,” his tone twists from distant to warning, “the last time you asked me to leave was when you discovered something you didn’t like.” 

I almost wince at the way he’s worded it. When I found out what his real plans were, I told myself I had to leave. He skirted past all of my reservations and walls, twisting my doubt away through coddling whispers and shy brushes of fingers.

“This isn’t like that.” Not a lie. 

He exhales slowly, the sound dangerously sharp. “Then what is it?” 

“Why did you come here so late?” The question leaves me too sharply. I’m exposing too much but I can’t help it. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.” My voice is flat. “I’m sure Alina will be happy to fill me in.” I can’t bring myself to take in his reaction. “And if she can’t, I’m sure Zoya will be able to.” 

He’s silent for a long second. “Unwarranted jealousy doesn’t suit you.” 

His confidence sparks something angry within me.  “I am not jealous.” The most blatant lie of the night, but I don’t care. I turn my head to glare at him, “and don’t just tact on ‘unwarranted’ before something that’s true just because it’s easier for it not to be.” 

I watch his expression cautiously until the slightest tilt of his lips adds to my anger. He’s enjoying this or he did this intentionally or both. “Darling,” he hums, voice soft, “you are the only person that makes me feel peace.” 

My stomach flutters, the sensation threatening to break my weak resolve. “I am not particularly powerful,” I breathe, voice stiff, “or particularly...” How do I explain this all to him? “Anything.” He’s everything, and I am nothing but average. “I’m average at best, there’s no reason for you to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine--but don’t lie and pretend that that’s not true.” 

The sentence is barely out fo my mouth before I feel myself pulled towards him by the collar of my nightgown. His lips are on mine before I can question where this is going. I kiss him back too quickly, but any effort I expend is returned fervently.

He pushes me back slightly as quickly as he yanked me forward. He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask him to. I should demand an answer and shove him away from me or pull him back towards me. But I do nothing. I just stare at him as he stares at me. 

When the weight of the silence threatens to break something in me, I force myself to speak, “Kirigan--”

“Aleksander.” The name is soft and so fragile I worry it will shatter in the air before it can fully reach me. “You know there’s much I’m not ready to say, but that,” he exhales, the sound so sad I want to reach for him, “that is the one name I have not given to myself and I want you to have it.” Something conflicted crosses his features. “I would never give that to someone average.” 

Emotion swells in my chest, heavy yet not painful. “Aleksander.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to call to him or if I’m just trying to feel his name--his true name--on my lips. 

His eyes widen, something unbearable behind them. He moves the hand holding the collar of my nightgown to my cheek. I lean into the contact like a fool as his eyes flutter shut. “Say it again.” 

I don’t hesitate, “Aleksander.” I lift my hand, fingers hesitant to find their place on his cheek. “Aleksander.”

He sighs into both the contact and the name. “You’re the first thing I’ve allowed myself to want,” his eyes open, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze, “I should make you feel like it.”

Something about the way he says that is sad. “I think that if it’s fair to say you were a little distant, it’s just as fair to say that I was a little jealous.” 

Aleksander smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m tired,” he admits, “I’ll enjoy my victory in the morning.” 

I roll my eyes, but scoot over to give him a place by my side regardless. “I’m not sure you won, I think it was more of a draw.” 

He takes the space I offer quickly, never letting the contact between us disappear as he settles himself against my pillow. I let him pull me towards him. “This feels like a victory.” 

I try to ignore the warmth in my chest. “You’re lucky I’m tired enough to find that endearing.” 

I relax as his fingers trace shapes I’ll never know about onto my back. “I agree.” 

#shadow and bone #grisha #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #sab imagine #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova imagine #aleksander morovoza #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morovoza x reader #the darkling #the darkling imagine #the darkling x reader #the darkling x you

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

WELCOME BACK, AGENT ; PART 4 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.5k SUMMARY: You're back at your desk job at the TVA, suffering the consequences of your mistakes that led to your crash on Sakaar. However, Mobius has a better job for you than doing just paperwork. A/N: I feel like this one has more platonic mobius x reader than loki x reader lol but you know, this loki is meeting her for the first time again. please leave comments, criticism or love, whatever, I love to hear from you guys who are reading this. enjoy xo gif by @alligatorlokis from this gifset WARNINGS: Swearing. Paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The sweet musky smell almost lulls you to sleep as you skim through the case file of a Loki variant, pictures and text of monochrome glaring under the unforgiving fluorescent office lighting. It’s a harsh reminder of your mishap; a simple overlook during a mission that sent you crashing onto the wasteland of Sakaar. According to the reports as you stood on the pedestal, pleading your innocence to the judge, you were there for an estimated 600 years. Maybe more.

The thought of spending six centuries stranded on a planet sends a wave of pain through your skull—it’s overwhelming information but unsurprising. You do feel like you’ve spent 600 years on that God-forsaken planet.

Now, your once fugitive days have been replaced with the return of being trapped behind a desk and having to recount every event that took place during your time there. Word for word. You despise the TVA’s love of paperwork—it’s a fucking nightmare.

The collar of your shirt feels itchy against the back of your neck, bringing your nails to graze it furiously.

You decide to ignore Miss Minutes' cheery voice despite your agitation, your name rolling off her southern accent. It hints at her chagrin towards your disregarding nature.

"Are you even listenin' to me?"

Her voice lacks all sense of her once constant sunny disposition. You spare the projection a glance, watching her rubber-hose-like arms curve to her where you assume her hips would be. She looks at you with an expectant raised brow. You don’t say anything, keeping eye contact as you snatch an empty event report template, spinning in your swivel chair and away from the glowing tangerine clock.

With pursed lips, you swipe the scatter of mess away, revealing an orange typewriter that sits idly within the expense of your stacks of case files and your collection of vintage Earth cassettes. You hear Miss Minutes' sigh as she strides to the other end of your desk, perching on top of a dusty stack of pending paperwork.

“C’mon, it’s just a test,” the animated clock says. You spare her another look as you feed the report template into the roller forcefully. Bing! The return bar dings unceremoniously as it nearly startles Miss Minutes off the stack.

“That is exactly why I’m refusing to listen to you,” you mutter with annoyance, fingers already flying across the keyboard, punching letters onto the event summary section. The loud clickety-clack of the keys makes it impossible to hear over it. “I don’t get why I need to take a test when I clearly know everything I need to know.”

“Well, you were gone for a very long time and we just wanna test your memory on policies and procedures here at the TVA—”

“Then, why didn’t they come and get me earlier? From the moment I stepped foot on Sakaar, I did everything I could to create a Nexus event or even just a spike and you only came when? When I met Loki.”

Your eyes are now on her startled figure, clicks and clacks coming to an abrupt end. You’re upset over your arrest, the whole hoo-ha at the courtroom, and everything before that. Your behavior is nearly childish but understandable to those who express empathy. You feel like you were being used, prioritizing the capture of the Loki variant that has been causing a ruckus to the timeline. But, it is your job to protect the TVA and the sacred timeline. Although you feel that the TVA should be protecting its employees as well.

“Look, I am not taking that test and that’s my final word. Everyone knows I am capable of handling myself. Plus, I do have tons of paperwork to refresh my memory on policies and procedures if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The cartoon clock nods but with hesitation. However, you do make a fair point. Thus, with a swish and a blip, Miss Minutes disappears into thin air, and you’re left to your own devices once more.

Finally some goddamn peace.

As if the universe doesn’t loathe you enough, someone calls your name, approaching from behind you. A groan escapes from your lips, scowling at the glaring keys of the typewriter.

“What?” you spat. In a swift motion, you swivel in your seat and turn to look over your shoulder.

It’s Mobius, approaching you with sudden caution. You let your shoulder sag with relief, happy to see a familiar friendly face.

“Glad to see you’re back and still feisty.” Mobius hesitantly taps your shoulder, flashing you a small consoling smile. Your expression, however, remains unchanged. “Well, you guys did find me after all.” He spots the glimmer of melancholy in your eyes; they avert back to face the typewriter, hands resting on the keys. Mobius shoves his hand into the pockets of his brown slacks, shifting to lean against the edge of your desk. He knows to tread lightly around you after what happened. You’ve changed with wrinkles of age and crinkles of exhaustion. Sakaar must have not been kind to you.

Yet, you’re here, at your desk; alive and well.

“Hey, what’s got you all wound up?”

It’s a stupid question, really but it’s a question to show he still cares. You have every right to be upset. However, you have every right to be thankful. You would have been pruned. Desk cleared and cassettes discarded—it would be as if you never existed. Renslayer would have never given you any mercy after the act you pulled. Disobeying orders and recklessly throwing yourself into danger with the risk of bringing the whole TVA down. You’re impulsive on missions, but it’s your unrelenting determination that drives you to be one of the greatest analysts Mobius has ever seen.

You’re also a friend. A great one. And he isn’t planning on losing one.

“Please prune me, Mobius.”

Your statement comes off as intentionally sarcastic rather than truly meaningful.

“What? I always thought you adored paperwork.” Mobius hears you groan, burying your face in your hands, elbows propped up on the desk. “My back is already hurting, and I have a migraine just thinking about typing out reports of my time on Sakaar. I think it’s quite clear I adore paperwork.” Your muffled voice tinges sarcasm heavily.

Laughter erupts in his chest. He's glad that your sense of humor never changed. Then, the moment quickly passes and he senses a sudden change in the air. You turn up to look at him.

“What was my Nexus event?”

It’s abrupt, almost arbitrary but leads him to even more confusion. Mobius finds himself frowning. “You don’t know?”

You blink. “That’s the one thing they never told me.”

He shifts in his seat on the edge of your desk, blinking up to the ceiling in thought. “Well, from what I heard...it was because Loki willingly helped you. And it wasn’t for his own advantage.”

It’s your turn to frown. “Wouldn’t that be Loki's fault?”

“Apparently not. It was all you.”

You laugh in response; it comes out like a puff of air. “Well, then. That’s a first. I guess I can finally add manipulation to my list of skills. Plus, pick-pocketing weird cosmic fruits.”

Mobius laughs and taps your shoulder again.

“C’mon, take a walk with me. I’ve got a new case that I need your help with.” You shoot him a quizzical look, eyes catching sight of a thick case file in hand—must be important. “I thought I was supposed to be on desk duty.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to sit behind the desk the whole time,” he shoots back a clever answer with a raised eyebrow, beckoning you to accept his offer. Your laugh comes off as more of a snort. It’s the first one in a while. You stand on your feet, stretching your limbs as you shrug on your coat that was hung over the back of your chair.

“Plus, you’re under my supervision,” he says before turning on his heel, heading for the exit. You watch him raise a hand, his back to you, gesturing for you to follow as he pushes through the wooden door. You hum with amusement, trailing behind him.

-

The winding hallways feel hollow, mundane walls lacking any color of brightness the TVA tries to bring to the space when in all fairness, orange isn’t much of a fun color now that everywhere you look, there’s a tinge of tangerine somewhere. The posters that adorn the walls are your least favorite parts of the headquarters’ decorative choice. You pass one that says 'Always Watching' in big bold letters, ominously glaring at you. The words are far from comforting, almost inhumane—a jarring reminder of where you are and where you stand in the hierarchy of this bureaucratic organization.

Mobius clears his throat from beside you, pulling you out from your thoughts. In a weirdly discreet manner, he hands you the case file with an outstretched hand. You take it, eyeing him and his odd behavior, there’s an unexpected shift in the air.

Then, you glance down, reading the scrawled words on the file that reads: Variant L1130, Loki Laufeyson.

Your strides come to an abrupt end, whipping your head up to see Mobius’ sheepish smile. Your eyes are wide, and you’re shaking your head in utmost objection.

“No, no, no. No. Absolutely no—”

“C’mon, it’s just—”

“No, Mobius. Nuh-uh. I swear, if I have to deal with another Loki, I will prune myself. I literally will.”

You're shoving the file to him, as he attempts to suck it up to you like the optimistic idiot he is although he very well knows once you’ve made up your mind, you cannot be swayed. You’re stubborn, rebellious—it’s what makes you dangerous. Yet, the TVA are pessimists. It’s Mobius who truly recognizes your accompanying positive characteristics that make dealing with your spontaneous character worthwhile.

Then, coincidently emerging from the door of the locker room is Loki himself, dressed in a dress shirt, tie, and slacks—clothes and color schemes accustomed to the TVA’s dress code. Mobius can practically see the wires in your brain short-circuiting as soon as you lay eyes on the God. Your eye twitches and from that, he knows you’re about to go mayhem. It’s the mayhem that’s going to break out on him like a hurricane devouring everything and anything in its way.

“You hired him?! You hired a Loki?!”

Your voice is loud, startling Mobius and Loki as passersby stare at the commotion you’re causing. You find yourself hunching in response, shoulders sagging as if it’s supposed to help with averting the attention away from you. Still, your expression doesn’t falter, and you’re staring at Mobius like he’s nuts.

Your voice comes off as a whisper, tone still harsher than before. “Mobius, are you insane?—”

“Just, let me explain,” he cuts you off with a raised palm to you. You purse your lips, sparing a glance to Loki who seems amused by the looks of the conversation that’s turning to more of an argument because you’re directly questioning your colleague’s sanity in public. Nevertheless, you decide to hear him out.

You watch Mobius sigh at the sight of your raised brow. “We have a variant. A Loki variant that’s been killing our Minutemen and I believe it’s the same one that threw you to Sakaar. So, to hunt down a Loki, what better way than to source the help of another?”

Silence. You’re giving him that deafening silent treatment once more. You’re thinking, he can see the mechanics in your brain running like a steam engine. He observes the way your eyes flicker between him, the file, and Loki who attempts to hide his confusion of you and the whole situation.

You’re not his superior, not even close, but he’s hopeful for your approval of his plan.

You cross your arms, shifting in your stance. “Which Loki is this?” You gesture to Loki with a tilt of your head. Mobius heaves a sigh, a hand to his hip and the other waving in the air.

“He’s, uh, he’s from 2012—”

And you’re back to causing mayhem.

“2012?! Mobius! That’s the worst one yet!”

“Now, hang on just a minute—” Loki interrupts, voice tinged with bewilderment and resentment but with two sharp looks directed his way, he instantly shuts his mouth.

You and Mobius are now back to your whispered debate.

“Look, as much as I hate to admit it, the TVA’s survival all depends on catching this variant and that means our survival. He has potential for change, so much of it...You just have to trust me on this.”

Mobius makes an excellent point but you can't help but feel the queasiness rising from your stomach. It feels like bile. You begin to feel the weight of the case file in your grasp becoming heavier and heavier. It’s the thought of risky business, and you’re almost upset as to why Mobius thinks it’s such a brilliant idea to pull you into this case after the stunt you pulled.

“Care to explain why I'm involved in this? You do know I’m being scrutinized for every move I make, right?”

Following your question, he glances at Loki who seems to be growing impatient, eyes wandering around the hallway. He leans forward and lowers his voice though his pitch raises, like when he's excited about a breakthrough.

“Because I know you’re capable of getting Loki to trust you. It happened once, there’s a high chance it’ll happen again and that’s good enough for me.” He watches you blink once. Then, twice. He continues, “And you’re being scrutinized by me. So, does it really matter?”

You’re silent again but in deep thought and not out of spite. Your troubled eyes find Loki’s. He’s already staring at you and for a moment, you see an unknown glimmer in his eye, expression nearly vulnerable but in an instant, he seals it away from you and averts his gaze, busying himself with straightening his pecan brown tie. It’s a small sign that he must have heard what Mobius said to you quietly. Nothing more.

Your gaze returns to your colleague and you pull yourself together, heaving a deep sigh. “Fine, but I still think you’re insane.”

Mobius beams down at you in an almost proud manner. “Welcome back, agent.” And with a turn of a heel, he waves for Loki to follow as the three of you head down the hallway. Loki quickly catches up beside you, much to your dismay. “So, what’s your story?” he leans into you with a curious smirk. You keep your face forward, shoulder back, and chin up as you reply with a monotonous tone. “None of your business, daddy long legs.”

In your peripheral vision, you note how the God retracts in response to your reply, brows now furrowed as he glances down to his legs in an almost sheepish and innocent way.

You struggle to fight down a growing smirk.

Mobius looks over his shoulder for a moment and catches sight of you and Loki’s expression after your exchange.

It looks like the two of you would get along just fine.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki series #mobius x reader #mobius #ravonna renslayer

[tricksters-captain]

Benedict Bridgerton / Anthony Bridgerton Imagines - Best Man Wins Part 2

AN: Am I going to hurt myself with this fic? Yes.

(🎶🎶🎶) = Link to song

Overall Summary:  Entering a society you thought you had left behind, you find yourself in a tricky triangle with two gentleman you never thought you’d fall for.

PART ONE HERE

This Chapter: The courting starts...

Pairing(s): Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,752

Warnings: None

Dear readers, it was a surprise to see a face we’d long forgot about make her debut at last nights dashing ball at Danbury house. 

Miss (Y/n) (Y/l/n) shook the social season within the first night by making her first appearance in almost 11 years. Word is that Lady (Y/l/n) remarried Lord Winslow and this has sparked her only daughters debut into society. After spending the previous 11 years off the coast of Kent, doing whatever it is widows do, Lady Winslow met Lord Winslow after a foolish incident left Lady Winslow in a ditch. Fortunate for her Lord Winslow passed by in his carriage and swept the widow off her feet. 

However, Miss (Y/l/n)’s appearance wasn’t the only surprising event last night but the fact the young girl had secured the attention of not one but two Bridgerton Bachelors. Bear in mind that the youngest Bachelor, Colin Bridgerton, is currently off travelling Europe and so didn’t have the chance for his head to be turned by our fresh faced debutant. 

Will Miss (Y/l/n) receive the pleasure of a call from the two well sought after gentleman? We will only find out over the coming days, dear readers. 

“Mama?” You entered the breakfast room with Lady Whistledown’s paper in your hand. 

Your mother was sat at the head of the table with a bowl of fresh fruit and a pot of tea. 

Lord Winslow had been called out to his estate in the country for an emergency just as you had returned last night with your mother. He said he would only be gone a couple days but it had not even been 12 hours and your mother already looked lonely as ever. 

You were lucky that Lord Winslow was a kind man. He really did love your mother and your mother loved him. Your mother had never loved your father, that you knew for certain and so it was wonderful to see your mother so happy with Lord Winslow. 

You knew he didn’t particularly like you but he was a kind and fair man who had paid for all of your new clothes, shoes and settled you with a fair sum of a dowery. 

“Mama, have you seen this?” You handed her the paper. “Lady Whistledown has dedicated a whole page just to us. She’s gone from reminding everyone of father’s scandal to how you met Lord Winslow and reporting of my arrival at the ball last night.”

Your mother picked up the paper and started to read it. 

You sat beside her at the breakfast table and thanked the servants for bringing you over some hot oats. You sprinkled some fruit on top before pouring yourself an orange juice, all the while, your mother read. 

“Of course she should mention the Bridgerton men. If you could catch one of them then I'd never have to worry about funds ever again.” Your mother put the paper down and took another sip of her tea. 

“Mother, you have Lord Winslow who will always make sure you live comfortably. You don’t need me to go off and marry some Baron––”

“––But a viscount would be nice.” You mother quickly added. 

“The Viscount Bridgerton is very well known for being a rake. I doubt he’ll be proposing anytime soon to anyone. I’m sure he only danced with me last night because his mother probably asked as she did recognise me.” You dismissed your mothers high hopes. 

“Ah yes. Violet told me that she had invited you for tea. She invited me over, of course, but I’d rather not be too social this season with everyone asking questions about our situation before Lord Winslow.” 

Your mother hadn’t worked before she met Lord Winslow. You brought in any extra funds by being a lady’s companion and your mother budgeted as she could the small amount of money her brother in law had given you both after the death of his brother/your father. 

Your mother had never been the most friendly socialite of the ton even before your father’s death. More often than not she rejected invitations for tea or musicales and only showed up to the larger events the ton threw. 

Your mother wasn’t particular friendly to anyone except Lord Winslow. Even you had a strange relationship. 

Your mother was one of the eldest Mama’s amongst the girls your age. She had struggled to produce children for years and then eventually she stopped trying until one day on one anniversary she fell pregnant and it held. 

She had prayed for a son to give your father an heir but she was blessed with you instead. 

She had never been cruel or negligent but she never had that particular spark for maternal love. 

Your father loved gambling more than he loved anyone or anything so paternal love was something you lacked during your childhood. 

Nonetheless, you were glad your mother was happy now. 

“There’s gifts for you in the drawing room before I forget to tell you.” 

“Gifts?” You felt your heart flutter in excitement and before your mother could say anymore, you were already rushing to the drawing room. 

You opened the door to see the room full of flowers. 

Roses, hyacinths, camellias, carnations, peonies, sweet peas.... and more. 

“My goodness.” You barely breathed the words as your hand shot to your mouth in delight. 

“They’ve all come for you this morning, Miss.” Lottie, your lady’s maid, beamed at you. 

“There’s so many.” You whispered to her with a bright smile. 

“Lady Whistledown did name you the seasons incomparable, Miss!” Lottie reminded you. It was something you didn’t say aloud to your mother but Whistledown did write that after mentioning the Bridgerton brothers. 

“May I be left to myself, Lottie, so I can read the notes.” You asked her politely to which she replied with a smile and a servants nod. 

“I already told cook to prepare some biscuits but would you like anything else before I go?” Lottie asked. 

“Biscuits?” You furrowed your eyebrows at the maid. 

“For your callers.” Lottie blushed a little as she smiled at you.

“Callers! I’d forgotten! Oh Lottie, I need you to run upstairs and get my pearl earrings instead of these and I’d love some tea as well.” You had a sudden panic to want to look perfect. Lottie took the earrings you had taken out and bowed out of the room at your request. 

You started around the room, smiling at each cheesy note from different suitors. Some you had danced with last night but most you hadn’t even spoken to. 

You stopped when you spotted a beautiful bouquet of white roses with several pickings of wisteria. 

‘You used to love the flowers at the front of the horse in spring time. I had to include them to remind you. 

Yours, Benedict.’ 

You cradled the purple flower in your hand and breathed in the scent of the roses and wisteria. 

You had no idea Benedict knew of that. 

Lottie returned with your earrings and your tea. 

“That’s a lovely bunch, Miss.” Lottie commented as you stood beside Benedict’s bouquet. 

“Isn’t it?” You found yourself wishing to visit the house sooner than later but you knew you’d probably have callers and your trip would have to wait. 

Your mother soon retired to the drawing room to act as chaperone as she expected callers sooner than later. 

She scolded you for taking too long to read the notes on the flowers and soon you found yourself sat on the settee with a book of poetry and your embroidery beside you in case your mother looked up from her own stitch work. 

It wasn’t long until the first caller arrived. 

And then another. 

And another. 

Your whole morning was filled with short meetings of many suitors. More than you had expected. 

The flower collection grew as more suitors came with their own bouquets rather than deliveries. 

There was chocolates from Belgium and macaroons from France. 

Your mother seemed happy with some of the more wealthy men and slightly less welcoming with the less fortunate. Her side glances to you said more than words ever could. 

The morning all together was exhausting.... But no Bridgertons...

“Where are you off to?” Violet peered up from her cup of tea as she caught Anthony passing the door. 

“Is it really any of your business mother?” Anthony questioned as he took several steps back so he was in the doorway. A bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back.

“If it’s off to see Miss (Y/l/n), I’d hold off.” Violet’s eyes met her sons and he could sense a fraction of worry there. “Your brother just left to do the same thing.” 

“Benedict.” Anthony didn’t question whether it was Benedict but rather stated his name in a knowing voice. 

“Miss (Y/l/n) may be new to society but she isn’t some play doll for the men of the ton to use and set aside like her mother had been.” Violet couldn’t help but feel an anger grow inside of her. She had cared for the girl when she was at a young age and she felt a sudden protectiveness grow over her now. 

“I do not intend to corrupt her if that’s what you think, Mother.” Anthony said flatly. Slightly hurt that his mother had insinuated it. 

“Then what do you intend to do? Marry her?” Violet’s question lingered in the air as Anthony clenched his jaw. 

Anthony didn’t really know why he was going to call on the girl. Was he really. interested in courting her or did he just want to be near her for some reason?

“Good afternoon, Mother.” Anthony excused himself and left Bridgerton house.

He decided to walk so that he would miss Benedict by the time he’d arrive if he took the long route through the park. It was a sunny day after all. 

“Mr Bridgerton to see Miss (Y/l/n).” The butler, Killian, had announced. 

You rose from your seat and smiled politely as you watched Benedict enter behind him. 

“Miss (Y/l/n).” Benedict took hold of your fingers and brushed a light kiss on top. “You look lovely this morning.” 

“Thank you, Lord Bridgeton.” You greeted him back with a short curtsy. “I also must thank you for your bouquet!” You suddenly remember, walking over to them and lightly brushing your fingers under the wisteria. 

“Mothers tip if I’m being honest.” Benedict told you as he held his hands behind   his back. 

You looked up at the man with bright eyes that he couldn’t help but look back into. 

“Please tell Lady Bridgerton I will be round for tea as soon as possible.” You pushed down your excitement to remain as ladylike as you could. 

“I’m sure Daphne will be glad to see you looking so well too.” Benedict let his eyes drop down your dress momentarily. You caught him doing so and felt your cheeks go pink under his gaze. 

“I am looking forward to seeing my old playmate.” You spoke, hoping your voce wouldn't fail you and crack. 

“I was hoping, Miss (Y/l/n), if you would do me the honour in promenading with me tomorrow morning through Hyde park?” Benedict inquired with hopeful eyes. 

You looked back to your Mama who nodded in reply. 

“Yes, that would be very agreeable.” You couldn’t help but let your smile grow when Benedict’s lips spread into one of his lopsided grins.

“I am looking forward to it.” Benedict took hold of your hand and pressed it to his lips once again. 

However, this time, his lips lingered on the fabric of your glove. His eyes meeting yours as they did. 

You hadn’t noticed you’d stopped breathing until the man lowered your hand. 

“If you will excuse us, Mr Bridgerton but I have some business to take care of this afternoon so I’m afraid this call will have to come to a close until tomorrow.” Your mother stood and held her hand out towards the door. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Lady Winslow. Miss (Y/l/n).” Benedict bid himself adieu leaving you and your mother alone. 

“If anyone callers arrive then do not grant them access until I am back.” Your mother left the room, assumably to use the chamberpot with the amount of tea she’d been drinking that morning. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked down at Benedict’s flowers once more. 

You felt yourself yawn as you suddenly realised just how tired you were. 

“Being the most desired girl in the ton can be exhausting, can’t it, Miss (Y/l/n)?” A familiar voice startled you as someone entered without being announced. 

“Lord Bridgerton!” You clutched your chest as you caught your breath. 

“Miss (Y/l/n).” Anthony smirked. 

“How did you get in?” You asked, looking past him to where Killian should have been standing. 

“Your butler answered the door and then there was a crashing noice and he pointed me to this door and so here I am.” He explained, opening his arms to show himself. 

That’s when you noticed the bouquet. Not one. But two. 

“Here, there are for you and your mother.” Anthony offered you the bouquet as he watched you spot them. 

“We shouldn’t be here unchaperoned.” You suddenly felt panicked for some reason. 

“The door is open. I’m sure your mama won’t be long.” Anthony took a deeper step into the room and place the bouquets on the table. 

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” You examined them from a careful distance. 

“I believe I saw my brother leaving here from up the street.” Anthony told you as he placed his hands behind his back. 

“Ah.” You nodded, “Yes, he was here but moments ago.” 

Anthony cocked his eyebrow with an amused look on his face. 

“We were just talking about your mother and your sister. Your mother has invited me for tea and I told Benedict to tell your mother that I’ll be round to see her as soon as I can.” You found yourself rambling. 

“You are welcome in Bridgerton house any time.” Anthony extended the invitation as the Viscount. 

“Thank you.” You nodded politely. “So what has brought you to visit me today?”

It was a stupid question but anything to fill the silence.

“Well after tonight, I rather felt like seeing you again.” Anthony rocked on his heels as he spoke, scrunching his face as if he’d just thought of it. 

He was teasing you and you knew it. 

“Is that so?” You tilted your head up slightly with a smile. “It’s not often, I hear, that Anthony Bridgerton visits any lady of respectability after spending the night with her.” The words had come out before you could stop them and Anthony found himself laughing as you tried not to blush. 

“That is where you are wrong. I do not spend my nights with any respectable ladies.” Anthony knew you were playing a game. He would never had responded this way unless he wanted to push your buttons. 

“Ah yes. Opera singers, actresses and such, isn’t it? At least that’s what I hear from Whistledown nowadays.” You thought yourself cheeky. 

“So you believe everything Whistledown writes?” Anthony asked, stepping closer to you again. 

“Everything she has written so far has been correct.” You defended your answer. 

“From the look of this room, I fear she may be correct about one thing at least.”Anthony gestured to all the flowers. 

“And that is?” You followed his gesture. 

“That you are the seasons incomparable. Perhaps the incomparable of any season thus.” Anthony’s compliment made you catch your breath in your throat. 

“Ah! Mr Bridgerton. I hope I hadn't left you waiting too long.” Your mother interrupted at just the right time. 

“Unfortunately, Mrs Winslow, I must be off now. I only came by to give these to Miss (Y/l/n) and yourself.” Anthony picked up the bouquet and handed to your mother before allowing himself to approach you. 

Your eyes met his as he handed you the flowers. 

His finger touched your own as he passed the bouquet over and you broke eye contact to retreat slightly. Not that your mother had noticed. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Bridgerton.” You said quickly. 

“Good afternoon, Miss (y/l/n).” Anthony kissed your hand like he had before as has his brother. 

And then he left. 

(PART 3 HERE)

#benedict bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton x reader #Benedict Bridgerton imagines #Anthony Bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton x reader #Anthony Bridgerton imagines #Bridgerton imagines #Daphne Bridgerton #Colin Bridgerton #Jonathan bailey #luke thompson #imagines #series #reader insert

[queenxxxsupreme]

In the Lamplight (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: This has really no plot except I got upset because of what Arthur can say when he looks in a mirror and it makes me just wanna hug him and kiss the sad cowboah away. Also, I’m trying out Arthur calling his S/O pumpkin instead of the usual ‘darlin’. Here’s another Arthur Morgan fluff if you wanna take a look at it:)

Warnings: self image issues, Arthur having issues with himself as a person??? I don’t know the right way to word it, self conscious!Arthur Morgan, shy!Arthur Morgan I think?, sad but fluffy ending, very fluffy 

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Arthur has issues with himself, but you do your best to make sure he knows just exactly why you love him. 

**picture isn’t mine**

The light from the oil lamp flickered, casting ominous shadows across Arthur’s face. 

He stood in front of the mirror in just a pair of jeans, studying his features with a scowl etched into his face. He was in the process of changing when he caught sight of himself on the reflective surface. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t look, but he couldn’t help it. 

He could see more wrinkles by his eyes than he recalled from the last time he had looked into a mirror. For as long as he could remember, he had a few sunspots on his face. It came with years of working outside, of being out in the elements and exposed to the sun. 

Scars littered nearly every inch of his skin. Some were big and nasty looking, while others were small and barely visible. 

A hand on his side made him blink, pulling him from his trance-like state. 

You were peaking around his shoulder, peering up at him with your brows knit together. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Just fine, pumpkin.”

“Then why were you starin’ for so long?” You looked to the mirror, rubbing your hand up and down his side. 

“Just cause.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Why’d you get outta bed? Ya aren’t wearin’ any socks. Your feet are gonna get cold.”

“I called your name twice. You didn’t answer.” You kissed his bare shoulder. “Had me worried.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“M’thinkin’ about tomorrow, pumpkin. We gotta long trip ahead of us. Gotta make it to camp before sundown. Don’t wanna be travelin’ after nightfall.”

You nodded and moved to get into bed, pulling up your chemise so you could climb into the bed. 

“How many scars you reckon I get a year?” Arthur asked, unbuckling his belt and shucking off his pants. 

“Just depends on how many reckless and stupid decisions you make in a year.” You pulled the blankets up over your legs. 

He barked out a laugh, but it was short lived. 

You watched Arthur as he sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He let out a heavy breath, running a hand over his face. 

“You ever…. You ever think ‘bout anyone else?”

You drew your brows together, tilting your head to the side.

“What kind of question is that, Arthur?”

He sat back, rubbing his thigh as he locked his jaw for a moment. 

“At the saloon earlier…. That fella that was gettin’ chatty with you…. Who was he?”

You were quiet for a few moments, carefully reading Arthur’s body language. He was rigid and tense, and he sat on the opposite end of the bed from you. It was like he was trying to put space between you two.

You knew how insecure he was about himself, though he rarely vocalized it. He hated how he looked and he hated himself. It hurt you to know how poorly he felt about himself. 

“A rancher. Didn’t catch his name.” You answered, glancing down at your hands. You brushed your fingers over the top quilt, tracing the stitching to keep your hand occupied.

The man he was talking about was some stranger who had tried to get friendly with you at the saloon in town earlier in the evening when you and Arthur stopped in for drinks. Arthur stepped out for a moment and when he returned, there was a man, maybe ten years younger than him, in his seat. You didn’t flirt with him and Arthur knew this, but the voice in his head had been getting louder and louder all evening, demanding that he address the situation. 

“I wasn’t interested in findin’ out.”

“Why not?” Arthur didn’t look at you. He was too busy staring at the floor in front of him. 

“That’s a silly question. Because I have you.”

He cleared his throat, shifting in his spot. 

“Do I-I hold you back?”

“That’s another silly question. Where is this coming from?” You looked up at him. 

“I’m just…. I don’t know. Just thinkin’.”

“Well you better stop all that thinkin’. It’s not doin’ you a lick of good. You don’t hold me back from anything, Arthur.”

He said nothing, keeping his eyes on the floorboards in front of him. 

You wanted to lay down, to tell him that you both needed the sleep, but you knew he just needed time.

You stayed sitting against the headboard, eyes flickering around the room for a while. You didn’t want to fall asleep without him. 

“Be honest with me, pumpkin.” He murmured quietly, his eyes still avoiding yours. He messed with his fingers now, picking at his nails. “Tell me something that you don’t like about me.”

“Arthur-,”

“Don’t go telling me that nonsense ‘bout how you like everything about me. That’s horseshit.” He cut you off, but he never raised his voice. “Be honest with me.”

“You want me to be honest?”

He nodded, eyes closing as if he was  preparing himself to hear the worst. 

You pushed the quilts off of yourself and shifted around to sit on your knees. 

“Come here, Arthur.” You spoke his name softly, patting the space on the bed in front of you. 

He hesitated, blue eyes flickering from your hands to the bed, then up to you. 

He stood up and moved around the bed, coming to sit on the edge next to you. He was being stubborn and not facing you, so you climbed into his lap. 

Instinctually, his hands came up to hold on to your backside. 

You reached up to cup his jaw, fingertips brushing along his scruff. He leaned into your touch for just a moment. You wished he did it more often. 

You let your index and middle finger create an imaginary line along his jaw to his chin. From there, you went down the front of his neck. Your eyes followed your touch, admiring every little scar that tried to hide beneath his growing beard. 

He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath your fingers. You smiled a little. His eyes fluttered shut. 

“There is so much to you, Arthur Morgan.” You whispered. “So much to admire and to love about you.”

Your touch traveled down to his collarbone. You found a scar from a knife there. The skin was jagged and much more pale than the rest of him. 

You recalled hearing about how it was from one of the O’Driscolls. He’d run out of bullets and ended up in a knife fight with another man. Lenny recalled there being three O’Driscolls in all, but Arthur never went into detail about it. 

Arthur watched you, the way your eyes examined the scar carefully as if you’d never seen it before. He was just about to open up his mouth and ask you when you leaned forward to kiss it. 

Goosebumps broke out across his skin and a wave of heat rushed through him. 

He expected you to pull away, but you didn’t. You kissed the front of his neck and then nuzzled your nose against chin, gently coaxing him to tilt his head to the side. 

He was a little confused, but he followed your silent instructions, bearing his neck to you. He felt exposed and naked, more so than he did when you two were intimate. You were kissing his neck. Your hand was creeping up his chest, your featherlike touch trailing up along the opposite side of his neck that you were kissing. 

He let out a breathy gasp when your teeth scraped over his pulse. His hands tightened around his hips. 

“Hell are you tryin’ to do to me, Y/N?” He rasped.

“Just lovin’ up on you.” You teased lightly, doing your best to hide the smile on your lips. 

You pulled back, looking up at him. He held your gaze for maybe a split second before looking away. You caught his chin, holding him in your hands, and turned his head to you. 

“My least favorite thing about you, Arthur Morgan, has got to be the way you think so poorly about yourself. How…. how you think that after all we’ve been through, I’d leave you.” 

“‘Cause I know there’s men better suited for ya out there.” He mumbled, pulling your hand from his face. “I know I ain’t the greatest choice-,”

“You are for me, Arthur.” You cut him off. “You are the best choice for me.”

He shook his head, muttering a few incoherent words of disagreement under his breath. 

“Arthur Morgan, you stubborn man.” You sighed. “What makes you think you aren’t the best man suited for me?”

“‘Cause I look like an old sack of shit, goin’ round stealin’ and killin’ and…. And you- You’re just…. You’re fucking…. Can’t even find the words to fit you, pumpkin.” 

“I ain’t no show pony either, Arthur. I’ve done my fair share of sin. Shit, how the hell do you think me and Hosea met?”

He shook his head again. 

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.” You leaned forward to kiss his chin. “Even if you have your doubts about us.”

“I don’t doubt us.” His hand slipped around to the small of your back. With ease, he pulled you closer to him. “If I doubted us, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You doubt me. That I’m going to stay.”

“That’s ‘cause…. ‘Cause everyone always leaves eventually.” His eyes drifted down to your chest, finding a scar where your collarbones met. “No one ever stays. I always push ‘em away. Either with my overly charmin’ personality or the whole career criminal.” He tried to make a joke to lighten the mood but you didn’t laugh. Now wasn’t the time for jokes. “Just tryin’ to prepare myself for when you do leave, pumpkin.”

“The only way I am leavin’ you, Arthur Morgan, is when I die.” You took hold of his jaw with both hands, tilting his head up so he had no choice but to meet your eyes. “I’m here and I’m not goin’ nowhere.”

His blue eyes watched you carefully, gazing into your own as his hands on the small of your back tightened a little, drawing you closer.

“I happen to like your personality. You’re a kind man with a big heart, and a funny sense of humor that not everyone gets.” You leaned forward to kiss the space between his eyes. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into you, resting his forehead against your chin. This made talking a little difficult, but you made it work. “And I’ve got a record as long as yours, Mr. Morgan. I don’t think I can use your criminal history against you. Actually, I think mine might be longer than yours….”

His broad shoulders trembled a little as he chuckled. 

“I know you haven’t had good luck in the past, Arthur.” You gently pushed him away so that you could look at him. You wanted to be able to see his eyes. “And I know every time that Linton girl writes a letter to you, it reopens old wounds, but you are more than her. You are more than just the gang. You have a big heart. You’re a good man and she’s an absolute jackass for making you think otherwise.”

“But…. how do you know that?” He asked quietly. 

You brushed your fingers through his hair, letting out a soft breath. 

“Let’s get comfortable in bed.”

You climbed off of him and clambered across the bed to settle underneath the blankets. Arthur followed behind you, getting comfortable too. You scooted as close to him as possible, hooking your leg up over his hip and resting your head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around your back to hold you to him. You put your hand on his chest and began to trace shapes into his skin. 

“You don’t kill for fun, Arthur. You try to save as many people as you can when we do jobs. You go out of your way to help others when we’re out. You remember that mom who lost her son outside of Strawberry? You helped lead the search and even after everyone gave up, you kept looking for him. And you were the one to bring him home. Or how about how when we pass someone on the street who needs money, you give them enough for food? Arthur, you would give the clothes off of your back to a complete stranger in a blizzard to keep them warm if they needed it.”

“I guess so.” He muttered.

“You’re a stubborn man, Arthur.” You kissed his chest. “I guess it’s a good thing I get to spend the rest of our lives reminding you why you’re a good man.”

“The rest of our lives?” He repeated, looking down at you with raised brows. 

“Mhm.”

“Jesus.” He groaned, though you knew he was just teasing you. 

“Don’t worry, cowboy. With our lifestyle, we never know how long it’ll be. That’s the thrill of it all.” You smiled a little and closed your eyes.

Silence fell between you two for a little bit and just as you were about to fall asleep, you felt Arthur kiss the top of your head.

“Good night, pumpkin.”

“Night, Arthur.”

If you want to be on my taglist, just go here :)

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 fic #rdr2 fic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader fluff #arthur morgan fluff #queenxxxsupreme #oneshot #rdr2 oneshot

[get-shiggy-with-it]

#1 Victory Royale

✧ pairing: college student!spinner x student!afab!reader

✧ word count: 4.4k

✧ warnings: college au/no quirks, light angst, mostly soft/fluff, smut, could be hate fucking if you squint, afab reader but no pronouns, this is pretty tame, by like my standards, I wrote this at work, not really a warning, but it felt like you needed to know that

✧ summary: relationships suck and Spinner is starting to think maybe he does too

✧ ao3 mirror

✧ a/n: Hey y'all, welcome back to more college au bs from me. This is set in the same universe once again as all my other college pieces. A very sweet anon asked if we'd ever get to see more of Spinner, so here he is! Also with another cameo from shiggy's bitch (endearing) cause I can't help myself.

“Ughhhhhh….”

Spinner’s groaning echoed through the tiny apartment, the heavy sound of creaking couch cushions under his weight following.

“What?” his long-suffering roommate shouted out their bedroom door, rapidly shoving clothing and a toothbrush into an overnight bag.

“Uggghhhhhhh!”

He let out with another, louder dying animal wail. He’d been like this since they woke up—wallowing in some strange concoction of self pity and Red Bull on the kitchen floor when they walked in for water two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” they mumbled, tossing their bag to the floor and marching, more than a little disgruntled, into the hall. “What do you want?”

Spinner was sitting upside down on the couch now, feet up against the wall tapestry and cotton candy hair splayed out on the floor. He stared blankly as his friend came into view—arms crossed, frowning at him from the end of the hall—and opened his mouth once more, letting out another garbled grunt that had one of the neighbors pounding twice on the wall to shut his dramatic ass up.

“Dude seriously, are you gonna tell me who pissed in your cereal or are you just gonna scream until the guys next door kick a hole through our wall?”

They almost felt bad as he looked away, sniffing and letting himself slump farther off the sofa until he was sprawled completely on the hardwood and staring, glassy eyed, up at the ceiling.

When he finally spoke a full sentence, his gaze was locked on the water stain above him from a year ago when the upstairs neighbors flooded their apartment trying to make jungle juice in the bathtub.

“I don’t know, I’m just in my feels as the kids say,” he sounded so dejected—strange for someone who was perpetually energized to a frustrating degree—that their shoulders immediately slumped from a hardass square to a softer, more sympathetic angle

They padded over to join him on the floor.

“Care to elaborate, oh roomie of mine?”

There was a pause and Spinner tapped his nails against the hardwood idly before responding.

“I guess I’m just feeling, like, fucking I don’t know,” he sighed, knocking his head against the dusty boards, “left out I guess? That’s not quite right, but it’s just Magne mentioned last time she came to The League meeting that Jin was seeing somebody and it just got me all introspective and weird…”

“Hm,” his roommate hummed thoughtfully and studied the way the textured white ceiling gave way to the rings of brown water damage, like a dead and dying flower, “I thought you and Jin weren’t ever that serious?”

“We weren’t,” Spinner groaned again and rubbed his eyes. “We went on like, one date a year ago and I haven’t thought about it really at all since then. I’m not sure why hearing he’s got someone else now made me so fucking...jealous I guess.”

“I mean, maybe you just never really gave yourself the time to process it?” they asked and received only an annoyed huff and accompanying groan. “Sorry, should have asked if you were looking for advice or just wanting to rant. My bad.”

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s just…”

Spinner trailed off and they shifted as the hard floor bit at their back and made it ache. The muscles were sore already as it was, and Tomura blowing their fucking back a few times a week wasn’t really helping. They’d created some kind of perpetually horny monster, but something told them cracking a joke about it wasn’t really going to help the situation much. Thankfully, Spinner found his way to filling the silence a minute later.

“I don’t think it has anything specifically to do with Jin. Yeah I liked him, we’re still really good friends and I don’t feel like I need him to be more than that. It’s just that—and this is gonna make me sound like a massive asshole—but with you and your new fucking boyfie and now even Jin finding someone to date I just keep seeing reminders everywhere of how motherfucking isolated I am.”

“Oh,” they felt their face burn a bit, guilt frothing as they were forced to acknowledge the fact that in all the time they’ve spent holed up with Tomura, Spinner had been discarded like an old Steam game, bought impulsively on sale and never played again. “I’m sorry I haven’t been prioritizing you—”

“No, no, no shut the fuck with that,” he waved his hand to cut them off and pushed himself up on his palms. “I know I’m not being fair about it, and I really am happy for you guys, but idk man….I just feel like I’m never gonna find that you know?”

Beside him, his roommate remained sprawled out on the floor like a homicide tape outline and was just as deadly quiet.

“I just,” he continued, running an angry hand through his hair, “I know I could be such a good partner. Like I’m funny and I’m not a fucking creep, which is actually a plus to most people.”

He shot a side glance down and they rolled their eyes, sitting up and knocking his shoulder roughly till he toppled back to the dirty floor and they stood above him.

“Fuck off,” they chuckled.

His roommate watched as the laughter seemed to infect him like a bad cold, creeping down the back of his throat and shaking in his chest.

“No I’m serious, I would be such a fucking great boyfriend. I give goddamn top quality cuddles and I actually know how to do laundry, what more does one need truly?”

“Damn bro, you’ve known how to fold your own clothes this whole time?”

The giggling spread into the quiet space, rocking through both their shoulders and leaving the air feeling light—fresh like the first nights of Spring. When it finally petered out into friendly silence, they were both far lighter.

“I just like the way you fold my t-shirts, the sleeves don’t get those weird creases when you do it,” he muttered and stood, doing his best to fix the wild pink locks that stood on end from his fidgeting.

“Yeah I’m sure,” his roommate rolled their eyes and turned back down the hall.

When they left for the night to stay over with their boyfriend, Spinner tried not to acknowledge the way he subconsciously glared at their back as they walked out the door, skipping yet another League meeting to swap spit with that guy from their English class.

He tried even harder not to think of how their bed would be warm and their legs would have legs to tangle with, their chest have a chest to lay against, while he heated up instant noodles in the microwave and fell asleep alone on their living room couch.

Not to mention that tonight was the big tournament with that new group on campus. He was really banking on his bff (best fucking friend as they were always sure to clarify) and him teaming up to crush those assholes from The Commission or whatever they called themselves.

Fucking lame as shit name in his opinion.

In any case, he’d have to settle for Magne again, and she was such a loose cannon they were sure to get their asses handed to them. She was a great fucking tank, he’d be the first to admit, but strategy was not a strong point of hers and they desperately needed that tonight.

He could feel the sinking weight of failure rolling in the pit of his stomach already even as he dragged himself into his room to tug on an old pair of jeans.

It bothered him way more than it should, the idea of losing some gaming tournament that, by all means held little to no actual significance.

Spinner knew the stock he’d started placing in games was growing to an unhealthy degree.

He knew that.

But self awareness rarely did anything to alleviate the irrational fear of failing at one of the only remaining consistencies in his life.

It stung worse when the tournament kicked off and by the third round, Spinner was the only remaining League member in the brackets.

“Fucking shit…” he muttered to himself, the small basement room alight with the blue glow of the monitor and the sound of frantically smashing controllers.

Behind him on the couch—stolen long ago from the theater building—Magne held him by the shoulders as he grit his teeth and leaned into the movement of his avatar on screen.

“You got this babe,” she shouted, cheek pressed up to his ear. “Make ‘em eat shit for me!”

“I would if you stopped distracting me,” Spinner hissed back.

Really it wasn’t Magne’s aggressive and somewhat bloodthirsty style of encouragement that shook his focus so badly.

It was his opponent.

The fucking president of The Commission sat, thighs spread and pressed to his, resting your weight on your elbows and snarling beside him in the couch.

Your face was split in this heart stopping grin as you quite deftly dodged all his attempts to get a hit in and managed to land a few of your own in the process.

And you looked really hot doing it.

Which was definitely just a side effect of the punch he (didn’t) drink and the body heat fueled temperature of the room—sweaty skin against sweaty skin making his mind wander against his will.

The shifting in his seat was absolutely just to illogically make him move faster and had nothing to do with how tight his pants now seemed.

So much for not being a fucking creep.

Your teammates were gathered in a circle behind you, enraptured and exuding the kind of smug confidence that said quite clearly The League was fucked from the second they walked in.

Not even two minutes later your hands were thrown up, punching the air and your team piling over the back of the couch to drown you in a sea of celebratory limbs.

Spinner felt himself deflating even as he was toppled off the couch by your screaming members and The League collectively cursed in the background.

Truthfully he’d known the chances of winning were slim.

Ever since his roommate started getting busy with classes and clubs that ‘looked good on their resume,’ The League had gone downhill rapidly. It was a problem since long before that Shigaraki guy swooped in and stole them away, but Spinner couldn’t stop himself from lowkey holding that against him.

The League had consumed so much of his life in college, functioning as a haven where he was finally respected and belonged to an extent he’d never experienced before.

The stink of failure and loss, not of the game but the only space he’d ever really occupied without complaint, burned his face and made the room feel more suffocating than usual.

Magne looked as though she wanted to give him one of her signature—and admittedly very comforting—hugs, but the deadly look of disappointment on Spinner’s face must have made her think twice.

The rest of his team seemed to read this sudden downward shift in the room as they began to filter out, climbing the steps onto street level and away from the suddenly stuffy, uncomfortable meeting spot. Normally everyone would stay and finish off the drinks snuck past the janitorial staff, eating Doritos until well past midnight. This time they couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

He couldn’t really blame them.

The multimedia building was a strange place after hours. Once Spinner might have called it something rare and liminal, now it felt more like a prison.

He stood, packing up the consoles a bit more roughly than necessary when someone cleared their throat behind him.

He turned to see you, standing alone with hands on your hips and scowling like you were the one who just got their gaming reputation ruined.

“Dude what the fuck was that?”

Spinner bristled at the knife sharp point of your tone.

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “You seriously waited around to rub your win in my face?”

You rolled your eyes and took a step closer around the couch. “I’m not talking about the fucking game dumbass. Why the hell are you pouting like I stole your fucking candy or some shit? You ruined the vibes man.”

“If anyone was ruining the vibes, it was you and your cocky ass team.”

Spinner felt himself stepping closer too, pulled in by the celestial weight that accompanied any kindling argument.

“Me?” you pointed to your chest and scoffed, “Wow, I was really hoping you’d actually possess a bit of emotional maturity, but if this is how you get after a loss I’m not shocked your fucking club is bleeding members.”

At some point the two of you had gravitated close enough that he felt the puff of your last breath on his cheeks. Two comets, ready and willing to collide.

“I’m not being the asshole in this situation, you know that right?” Spinner glared down his nose at you, heart pounding in his ears. “Maybe you shouldn’t make fucking unfounded assumptions about people you don’t know.”

“So then why are your panties in a twist over a fucking game?” you retorted.

He was peripherally aware that your eyes had taken on the same laser focused quality as they had during the last round. Determined and locked onto him without sparing a glance to anything else.

It was this same undivided attention that he’d envied in you as you played, and as Spinner felt it trained on him, his pants once again felt uncomfortably restrictive.

“It’s not about the fucking game okay!?” his voice came out hoarse and far more petulant than he’s been aiming for.

Though he quickly felt the embarrassment give rise to a secondary heat as you both breathed each other’s air and searched the face across from you.

“Then what is it about?”

That strange, unexplainable, inexplicable rush of potential filled the small gap that remained between your bodies—the kind of tension Spinner was beginning to think he’d never feel again.

He’d kissed plenty of people. Almost more than he’d like to admit, or that they’d like to admit more accurately.

But when his flickering eyes found your hard stare still and unwavering from his, it felt incredibly natural to lean in and press his lips against your fading frown.

It was slow going, the few centimeters that separated you seemed like miles as he moved slowly, never breaking eye contact until his mouth was finally slotted over yours and you weren’t pushing him away.

There was still a bit of lingering confusion, as this was decidedly not what either of you appeared to be expecting from the prior conversation. That coupled with the fact that Spinner wasn’t entirely sure he remembered your first name made the feeling of your tongue prodding at the seam of his lips all the more startling.

When he gasped, you slid your hands up his chest and licked into his mouth. Tongue tangling between breaths, Spinner felt himself getting lost in the familiar and coveted taste of another mouth, another body, another hand that grasped, that desired, that wanted him.

***

Your knees dug into the cushions on either side of Spinner’s thighs as you bounced in his lap. He fought to keep his eyes open against the pleasure of his cock sinking into you over and over again, so he could watch the way your head was thrown back and your chest heaved with the exertion.

He dug his hands into your hips and let his head hit the back of the couch, feet planted on the floor to help his hips thrust up into you, earning him some of the prettiest, stifled moans he’d ever heard.

Truthfully, he had not expected to fuck you. He figured you might be down to just make out for a bit until the cleaning staff came and booted you from the building, but both your pants had quite quickly and naturally found their way to the floor.

Neither of you spoke much, which he was thankful for. That would have been far too complicated of a conversation, especially considering you really didn’t know each other all that well.

Spinner usually liked to do a bit of ‘getting to know you’ type activities before he hooked up with people, which he did with surprising frequency for somebody so starved for a long term thing. Sex just fucking felt good and it was this eagerness that was his downfall. Most people he’d fucked around with seemed to read the urge to get into their pants as a diminished interest or emotional attraction and Spinner ended up with more friends with benefits than actual friends...or benefits.

Regardless, it was fine by him that the only form of communication passing between you for now were scattered groans of pleasure and the wet slap of your ass against his thighs.

He’d nearly forgotten how fucking amazing pussy felt.

For no particular reason, Spinner had always found himself fooling around with bodies more similar to his own. Not that he had any real preference, though the lack of experience often made him a bit nervous in the whole ‘pleasing your partner’ department, despite many helpful lessons from his roommate.

That was all to say that Spinner was incredibly thankful you reached down to guide his hand that had clumsily begun rubbing circles on your clit. That is until you simply knocked it away and went back to riding his dick like a fucking champ.

Then he did speak.

“Wanna make you cum,” he mumbled and really did sound like he was pouting this time.

You peered down at him, slowing your pace so you sat flush in his lap, grinding his cock deep against your walls. Spinner keened as you clenched around him, pussy so deliciously warm he felt himself near to drowning in the feel of you.

“Mm fuck,” you panted, leaning in to steal a few more messy kisses from him before lifting up and enveloping him in the slick heat all over again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” he nipped at the column or your throat, careful not to leave any lasting marks just in case. “If I’m finishing, you’re fucking finishing.”

You pulled back and stared at him for a moment. He felt you purposefully tightening around him just so he would squirm under your curious gaze. After a moment you smirked and rolled your eyes again, taking his hand and guiding his fingers back to that little nub just above where his thick length was seated inside you.

Spinner was proud of his dick, it was hefty but not so long that it was a hassle to fit—just enough to reach all the important bits. He was sensitive as hell too most of the time, so just about any pressure felt amazing. But the best part of it was watching whoever he was fucking fall apart on his goddamn perfect cock.

So when you whispered, “Like this,” and showed him the rhythm and motion you liked, he pulled himself back from the brink to pay attention, speeding up until that look of cooled control slid right off your face.

“Ahh, yes fuck...” the words tumbled from you freely now. “Shit, yeah just like that—”

Spinner could get fucking drunk off the low groan that left you as he planted his feet more firmly and bucked his hips up. He must have hit something good by the way you choked and moaned boarding on too loud, though he had neither the heart nor self control to stop you.

“Feel good?” he grunted, picking up the pace and force he thrust into you, so that you had to loop your arms around his neck and hold tightly as he speared you on his cock.

“Fuck...yes..” you whimpered into his shoulder which did wonders for his ego.

Spinner kept up his rubbing frantic patterns on your clit and feeling the gradual constriction of your walls around him—the coil growing tight and ready to snap. He nudged your cheek with his until you pulled back a bit to face him.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, sucking your tongue into his mouth for a moment and tearing himself away so he could watch as you came undone around him.

You gave him a strange, soft look and pressed your forehead to his, eyes zoned in on only him.

The rest of the room, the whole fucking basement and campus melted away under that stare.

Your nipples peaked through your shirt, brushing against his as you were jostled into him by the movement of your hips. As you reached your peak, words devolved into increasingly breathy gasps. It took Spinner an incredible amount of concentration not to fucking paint your insides then and there.

Your pussy was so goddamn tight and warm and milking him just right, it was a fucking impressive feat to remain staunchly at the edge of his peak as your mouth fell open and your fingernails scratched at his back when you finally came—the telltale spasms around his cock and the near sobs coming from you more than enough indication.

He lost himself well and truly then.

Lost in the false sense of intimacy that came with being allowed to see you fall apart, this person he barely knew yet made him feel immensely important in that moment. Your breath and spit was in his mouth, the smell and feel of you soaking his length pushed him beyond the realm of conscious thought.

There was only a deep and burning need to be closer to you. So, so much closer.

His hands moved of their own accord, hooking under your thighs and flipping your bodies so your back hit the cushions and he hovered above you. The angle allowed him to slide deeper, pulling out and thrusting his hips in fast, hard strokes that hurtled him towards release.

Spinner couldn’t keep himself quite now either, panting and moaning and gasping unashamedly with his eyes screwed shut as you took his cock so unbelievably well.

It wasn’t until your hands, softer than he’d imagined, cupped his jaw and pulled him down to meet you that he was brought back down from whatever higher plane of existence his impending orgasm whisked him too.

Your lips weren’t nearly as frantic as the rocking of his thighs, the slap of his balls against your ass. The sweetness was an odd but welcome contrast.

“I’m gonna—fucking mm...” he tried so hard to get his tongue to form the words but he could feel himself slipping further as you started clamping around his length again.

“I know,” you breathed against his lips, faces pressed together and unmoving eyes steady on his own. “Ahh, inside if you want.”

He did want.

Oh fuck did he want nothing more in that moment to stay sunk in your warmth and pump you so full, but the last few remaining logical braincells reminded him that was not a great idea. Not without a more in-depth conversation neither of you was in a state to have.

“Shouldn’t...” he groaned and moved to pull out but your ankles locked around his ass and forced him back down.

“It’s okay,” you huffed and rocked into him, squeezing around the sensitive head of his dick just once, just right and that did him in.

It was something in the way you looked at him, so that he could feel nothing but secure—nothing but safe wrapped up in you. Something about the way you pressed him closer, in the movement of your thumb on his cheek.

It scratched some deep seated, lonely itch in Spinner.

Made it feel like this meant a hell of a lot more than it probably did.

In seconds he was blowing his fucking load right into you, milking himself in your heat until he was spent and overstimulated. You were kind enough to pull him to you, turning your bodies so you laid side by side on the coach, his softening cock slipping from you in a gush of release.

For a minute or so, neither of you spoke, just stared, long and comfortable at the stranger you’d just fucked on the gaming club couch.

Well.

Fucked wasn’t really the word he’d use at that point to describe what you’d just done, but anything more than that felt presumptuous.

You broke the silence as he nuzzled into your palm.

“You really needed that didn’t you?”

Spinner couldn’t help the familiar, infectious laugh that rattled in his chest. He liked the smile it earned him, far more genuine than any others you’d worn that night.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

You hummed, nodding in response. “Mm, me too.”

And somehow, for no real logical reason, Spinner knew you understood. That you felt the same isolation, the same starvation for love, for holding weight in someone else’s world.

That the games were just a placeholder, a way to fill the space, to get lost in other lives, in other stories where he did matter. Where his actions had foreseeable and measurable worth. That’s why it hurt to lose. Not for the glory, but for the destruction of the only remaining diversion from how empty his reality felt.

Even if it wasn’t really.

Even if there were friends and benefits and friends who offered both. His roommate could let him rest his head in their lap on movie nights or sleep in his bed on occasion when the heat went out and he got cold too quickly. But none of that quite filled the hole like you now, holding his face and knowing the struggle without him having to explain it.

Nothing like you pulling him in and kissing him too familiarly for someone he’d only known a day.

Magne used to say something about shit like this. Something like how people bond in train cars when there’s a rat eating a slice of pizza and you all watch it happen. Some weird camaraderie forged in the shared experience of life being a little fucking freaky a lot of the time.

That was how it felt when you slipped your leg between his and brushed your lips together again. Content to lay, half naked in the media building basement, making out with some guy you beat at Smash and fucked right after.

Reveling in the brief but meaningful feeling of mattering in some small, strange way to someone else.

Of holding weight.

Of being held.

#spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #spinner x y/n #spinner x you #college au #mha angst #student!reader

[flying-guinea-pig]

Not What He Seems (ch.1)

(Prefer to read this on AO3?)

(It’s happening folks. The big reveal, four years in the making.)

NotWhat He Seems: Chapter 1

Thomas' heart always beat a little faster when he summoned something, even after several years in this job. It was the thrill of calling a powerful being into this reality with only your wits and some chalk lines as protection.

Beëlzebob was an intermediate-level demon. He took the appearance of every cliché devil ever - hairy black goat legs, a ridiculously buff and gleaming red upper body, large curled horns. The works.

He was also not cooperating at all.

"You are... di̵s̢tra͢c̢te͜d," the demon whispered, his voice echoing back strangely from the corners of the summoning lab. The shadows seemed to thicken.

Thomas kept his face impassive. These were just some special effects, after all. His binding circle was perfect, he didn't need to worry.

"I have outlined our offer in this document. These are the terms you have previously discussed at length with my colleague," he said, reaching out slightly to hand Beëlzebob the carefully rolled up contract. "All should be in order."

The demon unrolled it and took his sweet time reading it through. He would make a good addition to the safe summons list, despite being a bit higher level than their usual choices. This old-fashioned approach, with the written contract and all - it would teach the students to be patient and give them time to focus on the details before shaking on anything.

"Yes," the demon said, dragging a black claw over the parchment. "These terms are acceptable. However, there is one issue."

"Is there?"

A horrible, fanged grin. "The contract must be written in your o̦̰͚w̮̮n̬͇̹̕ blood, mortal."

Maybe it was his experience with grandstanding demons, or Tyrone had been rubbing off on him, but Thomas was not impressed. "That wasn't in the agreement."

"You will rewrite it. Ḩè̲̙͙̩̤r̦e̹̦ ͏͕̥a̝̱̺͟n̘͔d ̛̦̱̲̖n̩͈̪o̰̻͓͓͢w̺͍͎̦.̪̣͇̩́"

"No, I don't think so," Thomas said, mildly. Seriously? All that work was just wasted? Typical. He was not going to use his own blood to write it, sheesh. With all those clauses and addendums the thing was way too long. Not to mention willingly given human blood had power - power that wasn't a part of this offer.

The shadows twisted - the candles flared. "You will, little mortal, or I will step over this boundary and write it myself, straight from your veins."

"This attitude is not convincing me you're a good fit for our list."

"You have summoned me and I will not leave without my deal!" Red-tinged smoke filled the circle, edging over the chalk lines and spreading into the room. It stank of sulphur and decay.

Thomas coughed. Dramatics aside, maybe it was time to get rid of Beëlzebob. Too bad, Hicks would be disappointed to cross off another name on the safe summons list… It had shrunk a lot in the past years. If this kept up their students would soon only get to summon the Organ Duck. If they couldn’t offer a proper practical education they might eventually run out of interested students as well, which was bad news for the survival of the demonology department.

"Whoa, did someone drop a rotten egg in here?"

Tyrone usually didn't barge in during summonings, especially when they were trying to get more demons for the safe summons list, but this time Thomas didn't mind. The open door let in some fresh air and that was very welcome at the moment.

Tyrone entered the room, waving away some of the smoke. "Hey, Hicks mentioned you wanted to have a talk?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Thomas said, distracted. The smoke was dissipating with record speed and Beëlzebob was visible again, staring at Tyrone in abject terror. "I'm a bit busy right now though."

"Do you need any help?" Tyrone offered. His smile was perfectly friendly.

Thomas glanced at Beëlzebob. "As a matter of fact, he was just leaving."

"Yes! Yes indeed," the demon hurried to say. "Just leaving. Right now. I’m going. Big misunderstanding, you know how it is, have to be somewhere else, goodbye now!"

“Thanks buddy," Tyrone said. "Very accommodating of you, leaving without a deal like that. I will remember this. Here, have a snack."

With a snap of his fingers a familiar deep-fried ball appeared, partly wrapped in a festive paper towel.

Beëlzebob caught it with a flinch and popped away without another sound.

“So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“Just a second, let me clean up first.” He frowned at Tyrone. “Speaking of cleaning up, what happened to your shirt?”

“What?” Tyrone glanced down at the brown stains on his usually so crisp white shirt, and made a face. “Aw man, seriously?”

“Do I want to know?”

“I bumped into Banerjee on my way here. He was carrying samples. And he didn’t even apologize, can you believe it?”

Banerjee was the Cryptozoology department’s newest hire, working on his doctorate involving – honestly, Thomas had no idea, he just knew it involved a lot of mud. He wasn’t aware of Tyrone’s true identity. The university staff tried to keep that one under wraps. Parents might object to their children coming to a university where Alcor the Dreambender was frequently hanging around.

“He owes me a new shirt.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You can literally make it brand new with a thought.”

“He doesn’t know that. It’s about the principle of the thing.”

Shaking his head, Thomas set to work. To his students it often came as a surprise that practical demonology involved a lot of cleaning up. The preparations were extensive, of course, but afterwards someone had to put away the candles and mop up the chalk, blood, and other assorted fluids the demons occasionally left behind. Beëlzebob in particular had left footprints of some kind of sulphurous ooze that he probably shouldn’t handle without gloves…

Safely removing summoning circles was an art, really. It’s not like you could just start scrubbing away with these things – the outer part was usually the binding circle, and you never knew if the demon was still hanging around, invisible, waiting for you to make a mistake. Not that he expected something to happen while Alcor the Dreambender was literally waiting at the door, but proper caution was a good habit to have.

“You know, I could clean this up for you with a snap of my fingers,” Tyrone mused, lounging against the wall while he waited. His shirt held no trace of the brown stains.

“Are you offering?”

“For free?”

Thomas snickered at the almost scandalous look on Tyrone’s face. Put down his cleaning supplies. He had planned to do this differently, but you know what? Now might be as good a time as ever. And it would be fun, wouldn’t it, to put Tyrone off-balance for a moment? “How about a deal then?”

Tyrone perked up.

“You get this room back to its cleaned-up, usable state,” said Thomas, and felt the smile break through on his face. “In return, you get to be my best man.”

To his credit, it didn’t take Tyrone long to realise. “Thomas! You finally popped the question then?”

“Yep. I said I was going to do it soon, this can’t be a surprise –“

“And she said yes?”

“We did talk about it beforehand, you know –“

“Congrats!”

“Thanks,” Thomas grinned. “So, what do you say? Fair warning though, being my best man comes with certain responsibilities. Making sure I’m on time at the wedding and such.”

Organising the stag night as well, technically. Though Thomas suspected Brad already had some thoughts in that direction.

“I’ve been someone’s best man before, I know how it goes,” Tyrone said. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Thomas.”

The room around them shifted, the magical arrays fading away and taking the trailing odour of brimstone with them.

Tyrone’s expression shifted too, as he let go of Thomas’ hand.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem upset?”

“I am happy for you,” Tyrone said. “It’s just… you’re getting old.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean – look at you! Getting married. Maybe kids and a house, soon.”

“I’m not buying a house on a teacher’s salary,” Thomas said. “The rest… who knows? We’ll see how it goes. Is that what’s upsetting you? That I’m growing up?”

Tyrone shrugged awkwardly. He seemed smaller somehow. “You’re going to be very busy with all that – that life stuff. It’s happening already. Everyone is so busy. Your dates with Elisha, Eddy’s got his new job, Brad’s mucking around in his dad’s company - when was the last time we all hung out, just for fun? Not because it was someone’s birthday or anything? It’s been ages since we had a game night.”

That… had been a while, true. “I guess that’s what happens when you get older. There are more demands on your time, you get to juggle more responsibilities.”

“I’m not getting older.”

“Right.” Thomas took a deep breath.  “Listen, so… we’re busy more often. And it’s not like in college, where we all could just hang out all the time. But you’re basically part of the family, Tyrone. Alcor. You’ll always have a place here. And I’m sure the rest of the gang would say the same.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Thomas said. And smiled, to lighten the mood. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“You’d just miss all the amazing deals I make with you.”

“Of course” Thomas said, glad Tyrone was now teasing instead of moping. “I’m clearly only using you for your clout as Alcor. You’ve made my life so much easier.”

Tyrone mimed a gasp. “Sarcasm, Thomas? Ouch.”

“Not entirely sarcasm,” Thomas admitted. “You do make my life easier, sometimes. When you feel like it. For instance, vanishing that sulphurous stuff Beëlzebob left behind, I was not looking forward to handling that. The smell lingered.”

Tyrone suddenly looked way too innocent. “Oh, I didn’t exactly vanish it.”

Oh Stars. “What did you do?”

“Might have put it somewhere. Like, oh, I dunno… Banerjee’s car.”

Thomas facepalmed. Serves him right for making a vague deal like that. “Is it at least safe?”

“Define ‘safe’.”

“Tyrone!”

“Don’t worry, Thomas, I promised not to deliberately harm the university’s students and faculty, remember? He’ll be fine.”

“All this for an accidental stain on your shirt, really?”

Tyrone folded his arms in front of him. “He didn’t apologize.”

Thomas shook his head, exasperated.

Demons. They really knew how to hold grudges.

--------------

The Mindscape was a vast, endless realm where the strong hunted the weak and territories were defined, invaded, and redefined. This was the place where demons lived, and they didn’t like each other any better than they liked humans. The collective noun for a group of demons, as they say, is ‘a carnage’. Teaming up was rare, and more often than not ended in the stronger one destroying the other as soon as their goal was met. That was just the natural order of things.

Even so, sometimes even they needed a neutral place to go. Somewhere deals could be made without worrying about being devoured. This place was the Midway Bar, run by a demon known only as the Bartender, and for the past six years it had attracted a group of regulars.

They took over the table in the corner. Sometimes the group lost a member, occasionally it gained one. They weren’t here to make deals. They were here to drown their misery and sneak away before a stronger demon took advantage of their intoxication to ambush them outside these walls.

Beëlzebob entered the Midway Bar. He went straight to the Bartender, who after a short conversation pointed in the direction of the gloomy table in the corner.

“Get lost,” Flaga the Eagle-winged said, at his approach.

The demon next to her, who mostly looked like a giant fungus with teeth, curled a green tendril around their glass. “Yeah. This is a private party.”

Beëlzebob paused. He was stronger than each of them, he knew. But this was no place for threats. “Apologies for the interruption. May I sit?”

That wasn’t how demons talked to each other, especially not to a bunch of low-levels like them. They shared a suspicious glance. The one across from Flaga, some kind of feathered crocodile hybrid, raised his empty glass meaningfully.

Of course. “Listening can parch the throat so,” Beëlzebob said. “Let me get those refilled for you, and then we̙̮'̥͉̘ll̟̮ ț̳̮a̪̩̗̥l̯̹̹k̰.”

#transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #thomas strange #fic: not what he seems #the midway bar #demons #I mean it's TAU so that's a given