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#but still i literally could not put it down
pochaccoups · 2 days
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achilles’ heel — choi seungcheol
pairing — choi seungcheol x fem!reader
summary — after a knee surgery, your boyfriend feels off about his body. you’re determined to show him just how much you love it.
wc — 3.1k
warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. smut, established relationship, light angst, fluff, body insecurity, body worship, petnames (baby, pretty girl), oral sex (m receiving), creampie
author’s note — hi i still think about when cheol said in a live that he wears big hoodies bc he’s insecure of his body and im still upset because i need him to know that he makes couprangs (ME) feel insane over his body that’s sooo big and strong ok enjoy
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Something is bothering Seungcheol.
You’ve been with your boyfriend long enough to reasonably suspect when there’s something on his mind, and while he’s gotten relatively good at putting on a front to his members, it’s a little harder for him to conceal his thoughts from you. You, who’s ever observant and aware of his habits. You, who, when Seungcheol is sick with something even if non-contagious, somehow coincidentally feel the same symptoms. You, who is practically empathetically connected with him.
It’s not hard to notice that he’s been distant, though. Ever since he’d been able to walk again after his surgery, he’s had a weird edge to him that was never there before, like a rescue dog with trust issues. 
By no means had he become neglectful to you. Not once had he stopped treating you like you were his entire world, but it was all in the way his hugs weren’t as tight as usual. He insisted he didn’t need help with things like showering or dressing anymore—which was fair since he could walk now, but when you’d asked if he wanted to join you in the shower, suddenly he was too tired. Once upon a time you couldn’t even finish the question before he was stripped naked and next to you. 
You don’t remember the last time you’d been intimate with him. The moment your lips would make their way to his neck after a soft makeout, he’d ease you away from him, gently confessing that he just wasn’t in the mood, that he was just too tired again. 
And that’s fine with you—you’d die before disrespecting the boundaries which are so crucial to your relationship. You did miss him though, and deep down, something in your heart had told you that, along with everything else, something was not right.
You’re curled into his side one night when you find the courage to confront him.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” 
Your suspicions are confirmed the moment his chest stiffens under your cheek. 
“I know… Why?” he asks, hesitant, as though he’s walking on eggshells.
“I feel like you’ve been acting, I don’t know, off. I’m worried about you, Cheollie,” you admit, poking your finger into his torso. 
Three of his breaths, full of contemplation, fill the air before he speaks again. 
“It’s my body,” he says. “I don’t like how much bigger I’ve gotten.”
You bolt upright, staring dead into his eyes with daggers in yours.
“That’s why you’ve been so squirmish?”
He nods his head, pouting absentmindedly, then continues. “I’ve just felt… gross.”
It takes everything in you not to smack him across the face. Your hands ball into fists, your face growing hot as rage bubbles and stirs beneath your skin. You climb on top of him, trapping his waist between your thighs as you sit upon him.
“Choi Seungcheol, you’re so stupid.” There’s an air of affection in your words, but you hope they’re stern enough to get through to him.
He groans as he hides his face in the fabric of his hoodie. “This is why I didn’t tell you.”
“Because you knew it was stupid? Cheol, you were in rehab recovering from surgery. You literally couldn’t walk for weeks. Besides, you’re acting like it’s a bad thing that you’ve gotten ‘bigger’,” you say, fingers wrapping around his wrists so you can pull his hands away from his face. “Do you know how feral you’ve been making me feel recently?”
“Feral?!” he says, eyes widening as he fails to stifle an adorable giggle.
“Your shoulders are so broad now and it drives me fucking crazy,” you say, falling into a fit of your own laughter because the sound of your boyfriend’s laugh is more contagious than any sickness. 
Lacing your fingers with his, your expression hardens. In the rich brown of his eyes, his insecurity finally rears itself to you—and you’re determined to destroy every last shred of it.
“Love everything about your body, Cheol. Love when you cuddle me and hug me with your big arms, makes me feel so safe,” you confess, your smile radiating warmth. Your fingers squeeze his ones.
“Love how you can carry me around, on your back, in your arms…” You let go of his hands to flatten your palms against his stomach, smoothing up his torso slowly. His own hands, eager to never be empty, find your hips, his fingers pinching softly at you through your leggings.
“Love your thick thighs, love sitting in your lap…” You’ve reached his chest now and Seungcheol is smirking — he’s well aware of your obsession with this part of him. 
“Love when you throw me around, manhandle me like a ragdoll, pin me down…” You’re grasping at his shoulders now, leaning forward until there’s hardly an inch between your faces.
“Love when you spank me…” 
It’s then that something in Seungcheol shifts. His pants grow tighter, his hips shifting underneath you as you straddle him. He likes to think he’s a man of self-control, even when it comes to your antics. But there are times where he abandons all discipline — right now, his head is cloudy because he hasn’t let you touch him in weeks.
“You’ve been depriving me of cock all this time because you’ve been eating too good?” you say, scoffing as you reach for the hem of Seungcheol’s hoodie to tug at it. You pause, glancing at him for approval. Still with a dash of hesitation he sits up, helping you shrug it over his head, exposing himself to you.
“Don’t get too bratty, I can keep depriving you,” he retorts, but it’s playful. 
It’s like your first time with him all over again. All you’d gotten over the past few weeks were glimpses of his bare skin, a peek as he came out of the shower or changed or when his shirt lifted up as he stretched. He’s always been a little modest, but never to this extent. 
The sight of his bare form knocks every last breath from your lungs. He’s always been beautiful—strong and dependable, now even more so. His body has always given you the urge to get on your knees and worship and pray to him like the Greeks did, now it feels as though you were born to do just that. 
Then there’s a pang of violence, too, because he hasn’t even changed that drastically. He’s a little softer in his tummy, his arms a little thicker, but that’s all, really. It’s definitely not something for him to have been hiding out of disgust. Of course, it’s not all too difficult to deduce why he felt it necessary to do it—he’s an idol. It’s his job to look picturesque and perfect and flawless. His mind is bound to become mean, to turn to cruel lies of not being good enough.
Your lips leave a trail along his skin, from his collarbones, to his chest, and down his abdomen. Your hope is that each kiss will help chase away Seungcheol’s every last insecurity. It’s naive of you, perhaps, because it will take a lot more than just this to unravel what he has convinced himself of. At the very least, it’s a start.
You paw at the band of his sweats, lips hovering below his belly button as you glance up at him.
“Can I take them off?”
A nervous pause. Then, “do it,” he says, sighing softly. 
And then you’re pulling them down his legs, down his thick, hard thighs—the ones made for you to sit on. 
His boxers come next, but not before you ask for his explicit permission again. More than ever, you’re utterly dedicated to his comfort. 
It’s instinct how your hand reaches for his cock, heavy as your fingers wrap around it and so thick that your fingertips don’t even touch. The sight of it which you’ve missed so much, pretty, pink, and veiny, has you drooling already, your teeth baring down on your bottom lip. You’re aching between your legs. 
You need him inside you or you might die.
Seungcheol’s eyes sparkle as he watches your lips leave wet kisses along his length, pecking along the veins as you make your way up, then spoiling his tip with sweet smooches and kitten licks in between.
“Missed you, Cheol,” you tell him, breathy and tender.
“I know,” he says, then you take his cock past your lips and he hisses as the warmth of your mouth greets him. 
He doesn’t realise how much he’s missed this, missed you, until his tip bumps the back of your throat and you’re choking around him despite not even having half of him in your mouth yet. His hand flies to grab a fistful of your hair, still managing to treat you gently as he pulls you back.
“Easy, pretty girl,” he pleads, the rasp in his voice instilling within you an urge to listen. His effect on you is trance-like, his honeyed voice irresistible. 
You blink up at him, batting your tear-brimmed lashes at him, knowing how it makes his heart swell. You take him slowly this time, one hand stroking at his base so that no inch of him is left untouched, and you swallow him little by little. 
Seungcheol lets out a low groan, a gorgeous sound that makes the world spin around you. It rushes straight to your core, burning through you, turning you hungrier, greedier.
You can’t help but slip one of your hands down between your thighs, sliding your fingers between your folds which you find practically dripping. Your fingertips dance over your clit, circling it softly before you dip two of your digits inside to feed the insatiable flame that burns in your core. 
“Fuck, baby,” Seungcheol groans, catching sight of the way your fingers pump in and out of your dripping hole. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
He doesn’t need to tell you—his cock twitches in your mouth as he speaks. 
The sheer size and thickness of your boyfriend’s length always proves challenging for you, but the heat emanating from deep within your core begs for you to spoil him—because his pleasure is equally yours—and has you burying him all the way down your throat in spite of the tears that spring to your eyes and the clench of your oesophagus around him. 
And the thing about Seungcheol is that his mere existence is enough to toss you out of your mind, to make you throw all morals out the window until you’re no better than a cat in heat.
He lets out a noise that’s part-laugh and part-moan as your nose nuzzles against the wiry hairs of his happy trail, never failing to be caught off guard by your eagerness even after years of being your lover. His hand settles on your cheek, at the corner of your lips that are stretched around his girth, his thumb drawing soft strokes on your skin.
“I said go easy,” he says, voice strained, but he chuckles amusedly through his words.
You bob your head back up, popping off of him briefly. Webs of glimmering spit connect your lips with his cock, and Seungcheol thinks you’ve never looked prettier. He can’t help but brush his thumb over your swollen lips while his eyes drink you in with a tender gleam. 
“Can’t help myself,” you reply, smiling coyly, then the next moment you’re back on him again, swirling your tongue around his tip.
You pull your fingers from your pussy momentarily to drag your nails along his thighs, so thick and heavy with muscle that you’re certain when you sink them into his skin he feels no more than a soft scratch. It helps when you swallow him whole again, helps keep your tears at bay just a little, helps the muscles of your throat relax so that you can bob your head up and down his length the way both you and him like it.
You don’t go too fast lest he pulls you away for ignoring his pleas, but there’s also no need for you to go too fast. Yes, you’ve missed him, missed having him like this, missed touching him, but right now that’s not what you’re concerned about. All that spurs you on is the want —the need—to make Seungcheol feel as desirable as he is to you. 
So you take him steadily, at a pace that’s enough to get him worked up and simultaneously lets your affection drip from every drag of your mouth along his length, lets you taste every inch of him and every drop of his salty precum. Your soft moans muffled by his cock merge with his ones, breathy and whiny, broken up by praises and light mewls of your name. 
One of your hands moves between your legs again, squelching as your fingers enter your throbbing cunt once more.
You refuse to break your eyes away from his, as though averting your gaze from him even for a second would mean he would vanish before you. It’s also Seungcheol’s Achilles’ heel—look into his eyes and he doesn’t stand a chance against you. 
You could predict the way curses start spilling from his lips and the way his cock starts to throb lightly in your mouth and the way his hips start to buck every time his tip reaches the back of your throat. When it comes to you, he’s weak and he will never hide it.
“Baby, I’m close,” he says, a near whisper. 
His confession prompts you to pull your mouth off of him and he whimpers, pouting shamelessly like a kicked puppy. Some alpha leader. 
“You’re really teasing me right now?” 
“Cheollie… You’ve been ignoring me for weeks and you think I’d just let you cum like that?” you say, but your voice is full of playfulness. You want to make up for the affection you haven’t been able to give him for so long, yet a part of you wants to get back at him a little. 
“I’ll remember this,” he grins.
“I know you will,” you tell him as you clamber up his legs until you’re straddling his waist, bending forward to press a chaste kiss to his mouth and pouting at him. “What if I want you to finish inside me though?”
“Then let me prep you first,” he insists, giant hands finding your hips and drawing circles with his thumbs. He’s about to flip you over onto your back, but you shake your head and press a hand to his chest to keep him still. 
“I’ve already prepped myself, Cheollie, you wanna taste?” 
Before he can bicker back, you push your soaked fingers between his lips and into his mouth, and he sucks them subconsciously, lapping up every last drop of your arousal with a moan.
When his mouth is free of your fingers, he smiles.
“I still wanna touch you,” he rasps, resolute.
You lean over him until your mouth is on his again, but this time your lips slide sloppily against one anothers’ from the mess of saliva and cum that drips from them. Your hands travel up his torso, palms smoothing over his bare flesh, but touching him is not enough. 
“I wanna take care of you, Seungcheol, so please just let me,” you whisper against his lips, grinding your hips over his cock where it lays against his abdomen. 
“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, sighing as your lips drop down to his neck and nip at his tender skin there. “But I’m eating you out for at least two hours next time.”
You perk back up to shoot him an unamused look, in spite of the fact that it’s really a win-win situation for you. You just hate that there’s no budging your boyfriend’s stubbornness. 
“I love you,” he says, lips curling into a ghost of a smirk.
And here is your Achilles heel, because you’re just a girl, after all. A girl not immune to her breathtaking lover’s sweet words, whose heart sways at his whispers of affection to her—to only her. 
Warmth floods your veins. The need to be one with him becomes urgent. 
Grasping onto Seungcheol’s broad shoulders, you sink down upon him, inch by inch until he’s bottomed out inside you and your moans of relief are perfectly in sync. He grips your hips so hard they’ll probably bruise, no doubt having become unused to how sweetly your warm walls envelop his cock like a hug. Meanwhile you’ve forgotten how his dick, in all its thickness, is capable of punching the air from your lungs.
Still, there’s no hesitation in the way you start to bounce your hips on him and it’s not long before the burning stretch fizzles into a glowing pleasure in the pit of your stomach. 
When you’re above him like this, you’re able to take in the sight of all of him. His biceps, bulky and thick, his shoulders, sturdy and broad. Every inch of him is so perfect that you wonder how he’s all yours. You hate to think about how he could have possibly felt disgusted by himself. If he wasn’t already yours in real life, he would be in your dreams, exactly as he is as he lays beneath you. 
It’s overwhelming. Feeling him again after so many weeks, the way his cock drives into you so deliciously, his sculpture-like body—you’re not sure what does it, probably a mixture of everything, but before you know it your pussy is clamping down on him and your entire body quivers with a wave of
“Fuck, I’m cumming too, baby, I’m right with you,” he utters, staring at you as if you descended straight from Heaven.
“No,” you say, and your hips halt their bouncing, yet your fingers are still toying with your clit as you recover from your orgasm. 
Seungcheol whines at the cruelty of it.
“Not until you agree this body is sexy,” you say, teasing, grinding your hips painfully slowly along his cock—certainly not enough to keep up any kind of stimulation.
He gives a pained, exasperated laugh, and thinks fuck, he’s in love with you. He’s not sure what he’s done, maybe saved a life or two in a past life, but even that seems like it’s not enough for him to deserve you. 
The way your walls squeeze down on his cock makes his head spin. If he doesn’t cum soon he thinks he might die.
“It is, okay? I love this body. Now please, please, keep going,” he blurts out, stroking his hands up and down your thighs sweetly, pouting up at you so irresistibly.
“Say it’s sexy.”
He whines again, painfully desperate. His voice breaks when he repeats your words; “my body is sexy.”
You smile like a little minx when you start to bounce up and down him again, even harder this time. Seungcheol moans, such a gorgeous sound, and before long he’s grasping at your waist and pulling you flush against him as his cock throbs and he fills you up with spurts of his warm seed.
As he comes back down with heavy breaths, you pepper his neck and jawline with saccharine kisses. 
“I love you,” you say, relishing in the weight and warmth of his strong arms wrapped around your nude body, in the feeling of his soft yet firm torso that’s one with your own. “You’re perfect to me.”
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azsazz · 1 day
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Hide (Part 2)
Eris x Rhysands!Sister Reader
Summary: Anon Req: Literally in love with every fic you write. I know your requests are closed but in the future, could you write something where Eris and the reader see each other and there’s a lot of tension and they’re secretly mates but no one knows? I’m curious to see how you’d end it!
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 1,428
[Part One]
Notes: Obsessing over this one.
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You swallow harshly at your brother’s question, eyes darting over to catalogue your mate. You try not to startle in your seat when a wall of harsh autumn winds slams between your bond. He’s only protecting you; you must remind yourself. There’s a fine tremble to your hands, so you clench them together in your lap. 
Azriel notes the move, your restlessness as Rhysand stares down your mate like these are his last moments on this plane of existence. You have no idea what Rhysand’s going to do to Eris, but with the thick darkness rolling from his shoulders and slowly filling the room, whatever it might be will not be good.
You cannot let that happen. 
“Rhysand—"
Your brother holds up a hand, his glare swinging towards you. The thin line of betrayal ringing his eyes makes your stomach roil. You hadn’t meant to break his trust and you never intended on keeping secrets from him, but with the courts on the edge of war…
“Do. Not. Speak.” Rhysand’s demand is a death knell of its own. When you were young, you remember how he’d always been the one to listen to any of your problems, even when they felt silly. He would always offer you a solution if you were looking for one, or a piece of cake if you only wanted to wallow in your feelings. 
The smell of burning wood answers his harsh words. 
Cassian shifts in his seat, eyeing Eris. He leans further back in his chair and places his hand on the table, the wicked curve of the short blade clutched firmly in his hand pointing directly at your mate.
Your bond flares, eyes going hard at the sight of the threat to your mate. You’re ready to jump out of your seat, scramble across the table to tackle the male, no matter how much you consider him family. You know all of Cassian’s weak spots, and your gaze is calculating as you decide which maneuver will draw him away from your mate.
The single look Eris sends you keeps you from reacting. 
Instead, you settle back in your seat, showing Eris your unfaltering trust for him. You will allow your mate to say his piece to your brother. You might be crossing your arms over your chest with a hard look all your own, but you will heed Eris’ silent ask of you.
Eris is a mask of nonchalance, and you wish he hadn’t blocked you from his feelings, but it’s better this way. He cannot have your reactions to your brother muddling his own feelings. It’s safer for the both of you to keep to yourself right now, no matter how much you hate the idea of being apart from him like this.
“I will ask you once more,” Rhysand’s voice is filled with smoke. “How long have you been putting your filthy fucking hands on my sister.”
Something flares in Eris’ russet eyes that makes you want to bite, to snarl at your brother for his cruelness. You gnaw the insides of your cheeks to keep from snapping. 
“Would hearing that answer please you, High Lord?” Eris snarks back. He sits easily in his seat as if this isn’t an interrogation at all, as if they’re all bantering over the weather and Rhysand isn’t looking at him like he’s about to unleash the beast within him that he keeps on a short chain. The only give to Eris’ temper are the burnt handprints on the armrests of the chair he’s lounging in. “To know that the fires of autumn light the stars of night?” 
You want to hiss at him for his words. You should’ve known better that Eris would do nothing but taunt your brother. He is nowhere near as powerful as Rhys, especially since he is still under the rule of his father, but his specialty is that mouth of his. 
You try not to think about how he uses that mouth when he’s with you, the yearning for him flooding your body so deeply you clench your thighs together. Another motion that Azriel tracks, cocking his head a little as he watches you with that unnervingly stoic face of his. You shoot him a pleading look but are unable to make out how he reads into your pleas not to hurt your mate.
Rhysand bares his teeth in warning. The flare of his nostrils and the stars winking out of his eyes tells you that he’s moments away from unleashing his wrath upon Eris.
“Two years,” you blurt and all gazes swing your way. You don’t look at anyone else except for Eris, your eyes soft and pleading. His eyes flicker back and forth between yours and his shoulders slump a little, cracking the steel trap blocking your bond to send down a cool rush of apology that you accept with a soft nod. “We’ve been mated for two years.” 
There’s a sharp exhale coming from your brother but you can’t look away from your mate. Two years since you offered him that dessert from your favorite bakery the one time you’d been able to sneak away from your brother and his friends to meet Eris at the portal where Night crossed into Autumn. 
Two years of fiery, passionate nights, hidden away in your own solace. Two years of a fresh breath of autumn, of copper hair and russet eyes and the warmest hands you’ve ever had the pleasure of touching. Two years of unyielding loyalty. Two years of too much time spent apart—
No more. You won’t have it. Rhysand can act as protective older brother as much as he wants but it isn’t going to stop you from being with Eris any longer.
Darkness of your own ekes out of you as you plant your hands on the smooth surface of the table and rise. You stare Rhysand down as the tendrils of black wind around his, Azriel, and Cassian’s wrists, pinning them to their spots. You are in no way matching Rhysand’s power, but he seems at a loss for words as you stand up for yourself, watching with those all too calculating feline eyes of his, allowing you your time.
Stalking around the table, you don’t break the High Lord’s gaze. You hold your chin high even if there’s a pinch of terror in your gut for this continued betrayal to your brother, to your court. But he has no idea what you’ve given up for this bond, how you’ve suffered being kept from your mate. 
One day, you hope Rhysand will understand. Will understand why you halt a step behind where your mate is still trapped to his chair. Why you place a hand on his shoulder, the feeling of him after so long filling your lungs to maximum capacity. You haven’t ben able to breathe fully since you’ve been away from each other. 
He’ll understand why it is that your actions look like you’re swearing fealty to another court, when you’ve already been a patron of autumn ever since you and Eris completed your mating bond. 
“What are you—“ Your brother breathes when he realizes the severity of what you’re doing.
“I will not be kept from my mate any longer.” Your words are loud and sure. You think you’ve done a good job at standing up to Rhysand, until his eyes flicker and the house shakes on its studs.
All of the air is sucked from the room at your words. The strip of skin you’re touching on Eris’ neck warms, but it does little to settle you. You’re not out of the clear yet.
Slowly, all too slowly, Rhysand leans back in his seat. The way he’s looking at you makes you shift in your spot, the disbelief and  in his eyes a bright streak before he snuffs it out, returning to the easy role of High Lord he’s practices meticulously for centuries. 
It hurts to see.
With a careless flick of his hand he breaks through your shadows with ease. All of the darkness in the room dissipates, ever faithful to their master. You only hold an ounce of power compared to him. 
The corner of his mouth curves, and if it’s a smirk or a snarl you don’t know, but neither is as harrowing as the words that slip past his lips. “I wonder which will get you killed faster—your loyalty or your love.” Rhysand stands, turning his back on you as he stalks towards the door. “Get out of my court.”
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Tagging those who commented if you don't want to be tagged on this just lmk <3 Some of you couldn't be tagged btw
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sunnyaelia · 3 days
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Recipe for Love
this is for the lovely anon who asked for it 💓 double upload today and I’ll probably upload the Leah fic as well later so the people that wanted to read it again don’t have to wait :)
the request was this:
hello! I have to say I love your writing and if it's okay to consider this request. R is new to the barca team coming from England, but she's reserved. sticking to Lucy or Keira, hardly talks and gets spooked when someone tries to interact with her. aitana tries her best to interact with r and r gets more closer to aitana and they end up dating. thank you!
light angst and then a whole lot of comfort 💓
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You’re as grateful as back then shortly before you stepped out into the Wembley Stadium for the Euros finale, that Lucy is the actual calmness in person and has no issue with you squeezing her hand until it’s blue. 
“No need to be nervous.” Keira appears next to you, giving you a gentle pat on your shoulder. “They’re all very nice.” 
You nod though you still feel like throwing up. Why didn’t you just stay with Arsenal? You could be walking into the familiar red changing rooms right now, talking with Leah and joking with Katie about her impressive resume of yellow cards surrounded by people you know.
Instead you were about to walk into Barcelonas changing room for the first time, not a single soul familiar apart from the two beside you right now. You’re not really willing to start walking but Lucy tugs you forward, making you follow her. 
When she opens the door of the changing room where everyone’s in already, you regret that you went with Lucy and Keira to your first team training, because of course Lucy yells up for everyone to pay attention and then introduces you. 
Countless pairs of eyes are on you in a split second and you’re quick to look down to the ground. One by one they come over to give you a short hug and introduce themselves - although you obviously know them all already. Either from past games or because you’ve been obsessed with googling and trying to find out as much about this team as possible as soon as you got the offer. 
You barely registrate who the various people talking to you are, too focused on trying to keep your breathing steady - until Aitana Bonmati herself steps in front of you. Unlike the others she doesn’t tower over you, merely maybe one centimetre taller. She gives you a sweet smile before introducing herself as if she wasn’t literally Aitana Bonmati. You try to shake your nervousness off and accept the hug she gives you, the older woman squeezing you once before she lets go, making place for the next person by going back to her cubby as she throws you another look over her shoulder. You hope it’s not because you seem rude, oblivious to the knowing glance Lucy and Keira exchange with a small smile. 
Once everyone has said hello, Alexia tells you where to put your stuff and thankfully it’s right in the middle of Lucy and Keira. It seems that they all planned to have you close to Lucy and Keira, wanting to make you feel more comfortable with your English teammates as you get adjusted. 
Well, that quickly comes back to bite them. You only do drills with someone else if you get told by Jona to do so, otherwise sticking with Lucy or Keira who thankfully don’t mind since you’re really good at the drills and make them work for it. 
You are also in general glued to either Keira and Lucy, preferring Keira on the pitch since she was the best training partner and was so difficult to take the ball from and choosing Lucy to sit next to during meals because she was always super involved and talkative so you didn’t have to say anything. 
Both Lucy and Keira were concerned with how much you avoided to interact with anyone else on the team, lost as to why since everyone was being very nice. Still, you looked like a deer in headlights every time someone other than those two spoke to you. 
Lucy had taught you a few words and phrases in Spanish and the team spoke English when they were around you to make it easier for you to involve yourself into the conversation, but you always just listened and nodded along. 
You weren’t being rude which is why Alexia hesitated to do anything about it, pretty certain that you’d feel like you’re getting criticised if she told you outright to please try and talk more to the others. 
Aitana was also unsure on how to handle this. She had been really excited when she saw the news that you’d be joining Barca, having had a crush on you since back then at the England v Spain Euros game where you had sent a cheeky nutmeg through her legs with no shame only to blush shyly later on when your teammates congratulated you on your absolute banger of a goal. She found you incredibly endearing and had been looking forward to spend time with you, showing you Barcelona and maybe getting you to agree on a date with her. Even attempting to get you to say more than one word to her was a challenge though - she knew you were just painfully shy and nervous and it had nothing to do with her. After all she had seen that you could be quite outgoing actually, having listened in with a small smile as you animatedly told Keira about one of your new interests who had shook her head with a chuckle. 
But still, Aitana was tired of not getting any chance to really talk to you, therefore deciding to do something about it. She knew that you’d be mortified if she called you out on it, so she was gentle but firm about it. First approaching Keira, knowing that she would be less likely to tease whereas Lucy would not let it go if she told her that she wanted to talk to you so badly. 
Keira did send her a knowing smile but agreed easily to give you a gentle push to pair up with Aitana on the pitch. 
You didn’t know anything about this and so you were floored when Aitana showed up right in front of you during training and asked you to pair up with her, Keira basically evaporating into thin air, leaving you to have to say yes. 
You were extremely nervous and Aitana could tell, leading you quite far away from the others who were training on the pitch and deciding to start slowly with some passes. Then it was just some dribbling exercises as she had seen how good you were at those but you barely tried, just passing the ball back to her, way too insecure about potentially embarrassing yourself in front of someone who literally won the Ballon d’Or. 
Aitana stayed patient, not wanting you to think she was getting mad and pretty certain that you would simply get bored of not doing anything soon anyway. And she was right, when she passed you the ball for the 100th time you really felt like a little dribbling wouldn’t hurt, tired of just standing there instead of doing what you love. 
So you two began actually doing the exercise together now and you couldn’t deny that it was fun - after a bit Aitana even tried to steal the ball which was evaded by you quickly dribbling it past her and she let out a laugh when her foot only hit air. You smiled when you heard the sound, the whistle from Jona telling you that it’s time for a break. 
You were intent on joining Lucy and Keira again but were stopped by Aitana wrapping an arm around you, gentle but firmly and leading you with her to the cooler with the water bottles. Both Lucy and Keira stayed pretty far away and watched with a smile as you interacted with Aitana who had no problem leading the majority of the conversation, happily asking question after question now that she finally had a chance to really talk to you.
She was still quite close, sometimes brushing her arm against yours or patting your shoulder at some of her words. 
Talking to her was fun and a lot easier than you thought, her English accent absolutely adorable and you were very thankful that she was willing to speak English instead of Spanish with you - her English definitely far better than your Spanish though it was still endearing to see how she sometimes stumbled over words or was unsure of how to say it in English so she just gave you the wildest descriptions. 
It also impressed you, seriously admiring how she had no problem putting herself out there and speaking a foreign language just to interact with you - the confidence something you were quite far away from.
In the second half of training you teamed up with her again, you barely getting a choice as she just grabbed you and led you away. It was fun again and this time you played seriously from the start, finally letting Aitana see just how good you were. No wonder Barcelona had put in offer after offer until Arsenal couldn’t say no anymore to that price.
Over the next weeks Aitana did not let up, now it was always her teaming up with you, making sure you were laughing and relaxed by the end of it but also testing your skills constantly, often leaving you a bit frustrated at how she seemingly had a magnet in her boots to lead the ball away from your feet. You had already agreed with the decision before but now you really understood just why she had received the Ballon D’or.
She ensured that it was just the two of you in the beginning but then dragged you into team conversations, making sure to involve you and always one arm around your shoulders to give you an anchor. She knew it was important that you interacted with the others before you completely missed that train and never build any kind of teammate relationship with them. 
And it worked - at the beginning you were still mostly silent but Aitana just asked countless questions directed at you specifically so you’d have to answer and give everyone a chance to get to know you. Over time you actually started to react to some of the teasing and got into hilarious discussions with Mapi about why dogs are superior to cats - Mapi of course vehemently disagreeing. In the end, you were the one to give in when she told you to come over to her house, pet Bagheera and then look into her eyes and tell her again that dogs are better. 
You had laughed but in the end agreed when she wouldn’t stop pestering you about visiting. Needless to say you were absolutely in awe of the black cat and agreed that dogs and cats were both incredibly great which Mapi could definitely get behind with. 
Aitana had been following the playful argument between you two and felt a sting at how you agreed to go to Mapis house but not hers. Granted, she hadn’t invited you so far so maybe she was being a bit unfair. 
Realising that now that you were building up genuine friendships with the team, she had to one up herself if she wanted to be the one who was closest to you, she invited you over for one of her self cooked meals and was absolutely thrilled when you didn’t even argue and seemed genuinely happy to come over. 
The evening was great, you were noticeably a bit nervous and Aitana didn’t have a cat that would calm you down but she had her smile which worked wonders for you, having gotten so used to the comfort she provided. 
The meal was absolutely perfect and you told Aitana that you would definitely need the recipe for that one so you could copy it.
She was a bit hesitant to give it to you though. 
“You don’t need the recipe, I will cook for you, sí?” You laughed, certain that she’d grow tired of you asking for this every second day pretty soon, deciding on teasing her a bit on her reluctance to share.
“Is it like a family recipe that you can’t hand out? Or do put some disgusting ingredients in it? Like three strands of hair and some toenails?”
You again had to laugh when Aitana grimaced at your words and acted like she was going to throw up. Having gotten quite comfortable with her now, you unabashedly poked her into her side, intent on annoying her a bit. 
It was a massive change to you a few weeks ago, you would have been mortified at the prospect of annoying her and would have never done it on purpose. Which was why Aitana accepted it with a happy grin, though with her being very ticklish she squealed when you started to tickle her, leaning over her to try and stop her from escaping. 
She was squirming underneath you, laughing loudly and when you asked her again why she didn’t want to give the receipt to you, she decided to take her chance and be honest. 
She was quick to roll over you and pin your hands down, settling herself on your stomach as if this was a normal thing to do between friends - granted, she was Spanish after all so maybe it really was normal for her. You swallowed hard as she looked down at you, a teasing smile on her lips. 
“You want to know why I don’t want to give you the recipe?”
You only nodded, unsure your voice would work with how intensively she was staring at you right now. 
“Well,” her thumb began tracing your wrist slightly from where she was still holding it down, causing goosebumps to quickly spread all over. 
“If I give it to you, then you won’t show up here anymore to let me cook for you. And I’d be terribly sad.”
Your eyes widened a bit. She had said it so seriously that you were quite sure she was being flirty but you didn’t trust your judgement right now since it was most certainly clouded by an extremely attractive and funny woman sitting right on top of you at the moment. 
“I’d still show up.” Your voice is slightly breathless, chest rising and falling a lot faster than usually and Aitanas satisfied smile tells you that she noticed. 
She leans down further, eyes locked onto yours. 
“Promise?” 
Her lips are dangerously close to yours right now, almost touching. 
“Yes.” 
In the next moment her lips are on yours, soft but demanding and quickly eliciting a very breathy moan from you at how good she was at it. She definitely knew what she was doing as she very gently slid her tongue into your mouth, carefully pushing it a bit against yours to test the waters. You wanted to pull her closer but couldn’t, still held down by her hands on your wrists which caused you to protest, trying to squirm yourself out from underneath her. 
She quickly separated, releasing your wrists and an apology ready on her lips as she thought for a moment that she had gone too far. She didn’t get a word out though because as soon as your hands were free you grabbed her and pulled her back in again, your hands wandering over her back to her shoulders and tangling in her hair as you pressed your lips to hers once more. Smiling into the kiss when she realised what you’d apparently been upset about, she involved her tongue into it again, her own hands being free to explore your body now which she quickly made use of. You could feel the way she traced along your waist, one hand dipping underneath and inching down towards your ass - though she stopped at your lower back, only a few fingers dangerously close to where you wanted them as she instead pressed herself more down onto you. She wanted to feel you closer, get a chance to freely explore the body she had more or less sneakily checked out countless times these past weeks.
She made sure to stay above your clothes though, not wanting to rush into this and content with just kissing you for now. Although she couldn’t deny the heat in her lower parts at some of your soft sighs while her tongue was caressing your mouth, the breathy moan that escaped you when she lightly bit down onto your lower lip was enough for her to wonder what other sounds she could get out of you. She found out soon enough when she did finally trail her hands over your ass and squeezed it, the mix of a gasp and moan from you was pure heaven as she couldn’t resist a teasing smile, storing this particular piece of information away for a later time when she’d get to have her way with you.
It was still important to her to do this right though, being very intent on actually dating you and not letting this be just a one time thing so it would have to wait and she’d give you some time to adjust to all of this. The last thing she wanted was to make you uncomfortable or scare you off because she was going too fast.
So, when you had to separate for a moment, both completely out of breath with swollen lips and a dopey smile on your face she gently reached out to caress one of your now slightly rosy cheeks. 
“I’ll give you the recipe if you go on a real date with me.” 
You chuckled and couldn’t resist pulling her into your arms, letting out a deep breath at the feeling of her strong arms tightening around you. 
“I think I’d actually prefer dating you and you just cook it for me every time I want.” She pulled away from you for a moment at that, a teasing smile on your face as she grinned at your words, one hand reaching out and her thumb softly tracing your now swollen and reddened lips. 
“Deal.” 
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cjayius · 3 days
Text
FEELS LIKE — NISHIMURA RIKI
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SYNOPSIS. the three times nishimura riki almost told his best friend he loved her, and the one time he actually did.
pairing. bestfriend!riki x f!reader wc. 0.66k tw. kissing , reader is kinda oblivious genre. fluff ( CATALOGUE )
the first time riki almost told you he loved you, you were in the school library. your chin was propped up in the palm of your hand as you exasperatedly stared down the physics problems before you.
a smile tugged at his lips when you furrowed your brows in frustration, groaning out for the tenth time that hour.
he shook his head at you, pulling your pencil from your tiny fingers. " you're doing it wrong. look, " he could have sworn he stopped breathing when you lifted your head to look at his book, quite literally invading his breathing space.
vanilla and coconut; that's what you smelt like. though it was a bit creepy to smell you, riki promised it wasn't on purpose.
" riks ? did you fall asleep ? " your fingers snapping in front of his eyes made him fall out of his daydreams. your hand brushed gently against his and he tightened his grip around the pencil. any tighter and he would have broken it.
the second time riki almost told you he loved you, he was watching you dance at prom with another boy. he felt a pang of hurt crash into him as he watched you giggle and smile at the boy's words. you only ever laughed like that with him.
" ni-ki, calm down or soon, the whole school's going to know you like her. " heeseung's hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him grounded as he clenched his jaw at the sight in front of him.
he ignored your calls as he turned and left without a second thought. he was going to go absolutely insane if he kept these feelings inside any longer.
the third time riki almost told you he loved you, the two of you were watching the sunrise after your graduation. he stared at you in awe; the sunlight striking your face and hair made you look ethereal.
you giggled at the way he was obviously admiring your beauty before turning back to the wonderful view. " i'll miss you when we go off to college, riks. a lot, i mean. "
riki, of course, had thought about it longer than anyone else.
but for now, he opted for wrapping a hand around your shoulder and pulling you close, trying his best to enjoy the moment. he would miss you the most. he would miss his bestfriend.
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three years apart had done nothing to the feelings riki had been secretly harboring. the distance had only made them stronger. now he was fresh out of college, and at the moment, watching you run towards him at a scary speed.
" riks ! " he had come to your house even before putting any of his things back; he had to see you. he chuckled as he felt your arms wrap around him, hugging you back without hesitation.
both of you had grown. riki was now taller than the eiffel tower, as you put it, and you had grown into your features. but you were both the same people.
he was the same riki that fell in love with you, and you were the same girl he fell in love with seven years ago.
now, he watched with a smile as you downed a bottle of soju, wiping your chin. the two of you decided to visit your spot, the place you always hung out at when you were still in school.
it was like deja vu, he thought to himself. yet again, he admired you as the wind blew your hair across your face, your face glowing in the evening light.
before he could even think about what he was saying, the words fell from his mouth. " i'm in love with you, yn. " he glanced at you, you paused your actions midway to look at him in shock. " you ... what ? "
no take backs now. mustering up all the courage he had, which was basically none right now, he delicately took your soft hand in his considerably rougher one.
" i love you. i have since freshman year when you hit me in the head with a ball and smiled at me like an idiot. yn, i- " he had never felt as much relief as he did right now, when you pulled him closer and pecked his lips lightly.
" you idiot, why have you never said anything ? all these years i felt like an idiot for falling in love with my best friend. " he breathed out a sigh, finally being able to embrace you, his head resting in the crook of your neck.
his only regret was not telling you he loved you those three times.
taglist : @so-lychee @bambisnc @mellowdyverse
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Text
♧14.05♧
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University Student Choi San x (F)Reader ft.Yuyu
Summary: Jealousy is but a natural trait, especially when your bro gettin' a bit too comfy with your butterfly.
Genre: Fluff
Rating: SFW
Warnings: None
Word Count: 943
Est. Read Time: 5 min
Networks: @cromernet @k-labels
Banner: @cafekitsune
A/N: I was supposed to upload Meow ch4 today, but it's still not done :( But here's a timestamp inspired by @edenesth
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Yunho sat across her, working silently, well naturally they were in the library, and had to finish this project because she was ever so kind enough to request him if they could finish this a bitter early, explaining how the due date was the same day as her boyfriend's birthday and she really wanted to spend the day with him and not do this project.
Naturally, he agreed, any friend of hers is a friend of his- that and she was literally talking about San, his roommate, so he'd seen the two together a couple of times, they'd even invite him for dinner sometimes, she was nice and San was happy- that's all that mattered to him.
An hour turned into two, then three, and the two were still compiling and researching. He'd glance at her, mumbling to herself, eying her notes, then looking back at his barely readable notes, then getting back into the rhythm.
It was all good until he began to feel something burn into him, like a piercing gaze that had him fixed in spot, sneakily glancing to see if it were her, he realised it wasn't, she was still mumbling to herself. Then who was it? He realised the chair next to her was now occupied, the person was sitting extremely close to her, San wouldn't have liked that, turning to sit up properly and ask the intruder in the fuzzy grey jacket to keep distance he locked eyes with a pair that was glaring at him- San?
Ever so slowly he saw the man raised his arm, reaching over to wrap it around his girlfriend's shoulders, startling her before giving her a sheepish smile for a second, only to glare back at Yunho when she went back to work, his arm still around her.
"You're an idiot." Is all Yunho said before glancing at her, knowing she couldn't hear them. She was too busy blasting whatever song she could find at this point.
"And she's taken -"
"And she's finishing her work early so she can spend time with you on your birthday," he smiled, resting his chin on his palm as he gave him a gentle smile, one that tried to neutralise the judgemental look in his eyes, "You know...for when you turn FIVE Sannie."
In an instant, the other man's expressions softened, morphing into a pout, trying to gain the elder one's forgiveness, though he earned only an eye roll in return, followed by a, "You and Seonghwa need to calm down." That's because of each man's significant other shared more than just a few classes with Yuyu- truth be told Yunho was their senior, but the two took advanced courses, so the real problem was that they were dating two idiots. With that, he got up, collecting his things and packing up.
She pulled off her headphones, glancing at San before looking up at Yunho, worried that he was upset she made him spend three hours of his only free day in the library, "I-I'm almost done, I can compile the work whenever you send it-" though he smiled at her, shaking his head, "No, you just finish it and send it to me, I'll compile it later tonight and then we can turn it in."
"Oh my gosh, thank you, Yuyu~" her little nickname had San tighten his hold on her, though she didn't notice, too concerned about getting free time to spend with her giant idiot.
"It's my pleasure." The golden boy smile at her, watching her put her headphones back on and getting back to work, only to turn and glare at San who was glaring back at him, though his glare faltered when Yunho raised an eyebrow, clearing his throat and averting his gaze for a split second, only to gasp when he saw how Yunho had flipped him off, mouthing, "Grow up."
He quickly turned to his butterfly. Did she see? Did she see how horrendous and demonic that man was? He was no innocent Yuyu, but a spawn sent down by Satan, himself. Though all he saw was her typing away with a greater determination, all so she could spend time with him. Sighing, he pulled her closer, encasing her in a side hug, ignoring how she was protesting and whispering, "Excuse me, Sir! I need to finish this! San, San move!"
And he did let her go, only after forcing her to wear his fluffy grey jacket, so everyone would know she was taken- he had class anyway, so he had only dropped by to check on her because she didn't respond to his text spams or picked up his calls- oh...he did come here only after Yunho had disclosed the location.
Huffing to himself, he pressed a chaste kiss on the top of her head, moving the headpiece to whisper in her ear about his class before covering it with the hood of the jacket.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked out of the library walking towards his class, thinking of what to get Yuyu as a thank you present for taking care of his girl in class, maybe dinner? Or a restraining order to keep him away from HIS girl. Chuckling to himself he walked into his class, Choi San, you comedian, no wonder she likes you, you're so funny.
"You at the back, is something funny?"
"No S- Yunho?"
"No, that's Sir Jeong to you, professor Kim sent me as a guest lecturer for this class, now why dont you give us a sumamry of what you all have done ....for the past whole semester."
"Shit"
He should really get that restraining order.
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Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @marsvillee @mlysalt @spooo00oky @the-kpop-simp
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calmcoldevening · 2 days
Note
Hi, I was wondering if you could do a Micheal Myers X Dr. Loomis’s daughter reader one shot? I thought it’d be an interesting read lol. If you’re not Interested or too busy that’s completely fine! I just haven’t seen any one else do this request. Honestly, I would request more, but I’m always too nervous to talk to people online and in person. Sorry for the unnecessary rambling! Thank you and have a lovely day or night ( depending on what time you see this lol )!
Michael Myers x reader, who is Dr. Loomis's daughter
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The boy with the eyes of the devil. Monster.
You didn’t fully understand what your father was talking about, after all, at that time you were only six years old, but you could say with confidence that this “something” made your father terribly nervous and even frightened him, although he would never admit it.
It was an ordinary early November morning. The weather was cloudy, all the streets were filled with milky fog. The damp air settled unpleasantly in my lungs with each new breath. You sat in the back seat of the car while your father put the key in the ignition. Your small hands nervously fiddled with the edge of your seat belt. Not to say that this was your first trip to your father’s place of work, no. On the contrary, you often went there with him, because sometimes there was no one to leave you with at home, almost all of your dad’s colleagues knew you. And yet today the atmosphere in the car was unpleasantly oppressive and dense, you could literally cut it with a knife. It seemed that your father was weighed down by some thoughts, but you did not dare to ask him about it.
The journey to the psychiatric hospital took quite a long time because your father decided to take a longer but safer route. He didn't want any accident to happen due to such thick fog.
When you arrived at the hospital, it was already around seven in the morning. You approached a tall building, which, despite its appearance and neat paths for walking with patients, inspired subconscious fear in you. Your father gently but firmly took your hand.It was quite dark outside, so when you walked inside, an unpleasant greenish light hit your eyes, creating a strangely tense atmosphere among the white walls of the hospital. Your father immediately went to some office. It was a small office, filled with various folders and documents. In the middle of the room, at a dark table, sat the man with whom your father was now talking. You didn’t pay much attention to their conversation, completely captivated by the small colorful fish in the aquarium. Your children's palms carefully pressed against the slightly cloudy glass, joyfully following with your eyes the colorful fish hiding among the tall corals.
Finally, your father called your name, causing you to reflexively turn your head in his direction. His voice was gentle and calm, but it still contained his characteristic sternness.
 “I need you to stay here for a while, okay? I have work in another office. Will you be a good girl for me?” Loomis asked with a small smile, patting your head. In response, you only nodded briefly.
You were always a smart and understanding child, so Loomis was not afraid to leave you alone. Although he knew that you liked to play by your own rules from time to time, the man really trusted you and your smart mind for a child. After all, you are your father's daughter.
 About fifteen minutes passed before you realized that you were tired of watching the office fish. What's the point of staring at them for a long time if all they do is swim back and forth and back? You definitely should have taken some toys from home. Finally, when boredom took over, you carefully left the office, hoping to find your father and proudly declare that you had nothing to do. Wandering along the corridor, you caught some nurse and asked where your dad was now. This kind soul, of course, didn’t know that she shouldn’t tell you about this, but everyone in this place knew you as a smart and calm child, so she told you the right office without any problems.
It was a particularly remote room at the end of the corridor. The dim green light barely reached here, and there were no windows in this part of the hospital. You quietly opened the right door, wincing slightly at the disgusting creak, and went inside. Inside there was another door with a small window to the right of it. You walked closer to the window, because of your short stature you could barely see what was happening on the other side of the glass. But you perfectly saw your father sitting with his back to you. A strange boy sat next to him. His blond hair was disheveled and looked somewhat dirty, and his empty dark eyes looked simultaneously into nothingness, but at the same time into your very soul. He looked no older than your age, although he was obviously larger than you in size. Your father was telling him something, but the boy did not react to his words at all, he just looked blankly out the window opposite. Did he look at you? Unknown.But it seemed to you that the moment you came into his field of vision, the boy’s head shifted slightly to the side.
This was the first time you saw this boy, a most strange but intriguing meeting. Michael Myers. That’s what your father called him, looking through the child’s personal file in your kitchen at home with a cup of coffee in his hands.
The next time you saw this boy was only about two weeks later. Your father purposefully brought you to Michael's room, hoping that perhaps you, as a child, could establish some kind of contact with this strange boy. Loomis gently squeezed your hand, looking down at you with a smile.
“This is a special boy. You should try playing with him, okay?” You nodded curtly in response. "That’s my girl."
Loomis led you into the same small room, not even suspecting that you had already been here once. Your own cunning caused a small, naive smile to bloom on your face. Loomis led you to Michael sitting on the bed and sat you on the chair next to him.
“I’ll be behind this door if anything happens to you, okay honey?” With these words, Loomis left the room.
You carefully sat down on the chair, folding your hands in your lap. The boy in front of you looked almost like a lifeless doll, so empty was the look in his dark eyes. He looked somewhere ahead and didn't even blink. You smiled slightly, deciding to use all your charm and friendliness.
“My name is Y/N. And what is your name?"
The boy didn't react. But you could have sworn you saw the focus of his eyes shift from the emptiness in front of him to you, seemingly appraising you. A pleasant burning sensation lit up in your heart when you realized that this boy was truly “special”, as your dad told you, and not some emotionless vegetable. It seems like that’s what doctors called such people, no? You weren't sure. But you really wanted to appear grown up and work like your dad in the future, so you wanted to start getting some knowledge about it right now.
“Your name is Michael, right?” you smiled your childish, somewhat toothless smile, “You don’t really like to talk, do you? I think yes. Then do you mind if I do the talking?” There was only silence in response. You giggled, “Silence is a sign of consent! So, I'm six. Probably you too? I haven’t been told much about you, to be honest.”
Now you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms over your chest and pouting your lips in a mock pout.
“This is so awkward. I want to grow up quickly so I won't be treated like a child anymore! Oh, you know, I really like to draw! I don't think you'll tell me what you like, after all, it's just me talking now, but next time let me bring sketchbooks and pencils? I think you'll enjoy drawing too! It's really interesting."
One moment there is darkness, and the next there is this gentle voice and a warm feeling of presence. Other... people radiated only coldness and anger towards him, but this pure soul was strangely kind and welcoming. He had already felt it once, when that unpleasant and stern man was in front of him, but then she was far away. Now she was right in front of him. A girl. She told him her name, and even tried to start some kind of cute, even somewhat stupid, childish conversation with him. There was absolutely no point in talking to this girl, but for some reason her presence was strangely comforting and almost pleasant. It was as if he was little again, at home. But now he knew that he did not have that warm, old home. Not after the voice in his head told him to kill his dirty sister, no. And yet now he wanted the presence of this girl, although he himself did not know why.
You have become a frequent visitor to this psychiatric hospital. You usually visited Michael once or twice a week, and Loomis very soon noticed the results. The boy really opened up to you. Even if it really couldn’t be seen with a simple glance, Samuel, as a psychiatrist, had long noticed the difference: the way Michael’s head tilted when he listened with interest to your stories, or the way he gave you certain unambiguous answers in his own way. It seemed that the two of you had your own language, understandable only to you two. Michael even smiled next to you (although it could hardly be called a smile, but the corners of his lips curled up slightly nervously when he saw you, although it only happened for a split second). For Loomis, this was indeed a definite discovery. The man noticed how the boy sat on his bed for a long time, waiting for you, and seemed to be calculating the time and day. The hospital did not tell him today’s date, because there was no particular need for this, but Michael independently realized that you usually come on Tuesday or Wednesday and always Friday. Surprisingly, his cold heart opened up to you.
At first, this really encouraged Loomis, because perhaps his patient was beginning to recover. But after two or three months he realized that he was mistaken. Michael's personality development only happened in exceptional moments when you were around. The rest of the time, he did not react in any way to the requests or words of the staff and doctors. Michael has become attached to you. No, rather, to some extent he became obsessed with you. Loomis saw that deadly metallic glint in Michael's dark eyes as the man walked back into the room, saying your time is up. Michael’s childish fists almost twitched, as if an obsessive desire to hurt the doctor arose in his mind, if only you would remain nearby.
As the years passed, the doctor realized that getting you into Myers' "treatment" was a bad idea. Now you are ten years old, and Loomis has reduced your meetings to twice a month. He noticed how this affected the boy.
Now Michael absolutely refused to make contact with any of the doctors, spending all his free time in his room, staring blankly at the ceiling. His wall near the bed was covered with your drawings, and on a small table in the corner of the room lay a half-empty pack of pencils and a new album. You brought it during your last visit, saying that you would draw it next time. Five weeks have passed since that time, and Michael still hasn’t dared to touch the ill-fated album. The cover with the cats was already fairly covered with dust, and the pencils were covered in red and black. Michael obediently waited for the next time, knowing that you would not deceive. It is so? You always came back, no matter how badly he behaved with doctors, right? He will wait as long as necessary, like a little faithful puppy.
The guy stopped counting the days, and the world around him turned into endless darkness. All these brainless doctors and orderlies, whose souls are each blacker than the other. Vile, dirty people with no compassion. He missed his little flower. A pure, cheerful creature who brings colors into his life, and with them light. Her soul was the only source of light in this endless dark pit. Why was it taken from him? They took away his source of warmth and light, his little sun. She will be back. She'll definitely be back. She's different. He knows.
---
It was an ordinary cloudy day at the Illinois State Mental Hospital. The sky was covered with a dense layer of gray clouds, threatening to burst into torrential rain, and fog covered everything around. The evening swayed the trees with thin tables with unprecedented force, carrying already fairly yellowed leaves for miles around in a simple dance.
You sighed nervously, looking at the fading nature outside the window. Finally, you turned your head in the direction of your father, who was enthusiastically giving you another lecture of instructions, completely not noticing that you were absolutely not interested in it.
"..dad. I’ve read his personal file three times already, I understand everything, okay?”
The man frowned, but exhaled in defeat, folding his hands behind his back. Even when he relaxed his face, a few wrinkles on his face remained, clearly indicating the man's age and the stress of his job.
“I know, I’m just worried about you.Are you sure you want to practice medicine with this particular patient? You know, there are several dozen more patients in your specialty, and less dangerous ones..."
“Dad,” you interrupt him with a frown, “You and I have already discussed this several times, haven’t we? Don't worry. After all, he is your patient, I know you will intervene if something goes wrong.”
Finally the man gave in. He nodded in agreement and briefly hugged you, patting you on the head like when you were a child. A short “ok” left his lips, and together you headed towards the ill-fated office.
The sound of a door opening. Michael didn't bother to turn his head towards the entering doctor. The guy knew that now again the meaningless dialogues on the part of the doctor and even more meaningless taking of pills would begin. He was healthy, the guy was sure of it. He had long ago become accustomed to the emptiness in his chest that had become painfully familiar to him and the noise of endless thoughts in his mind. And he didn't want to change that. It was as if, over such a long period of time, this state had become like a protective cocoon for him.
The room was filled with an unobtrusive sweetish aroma of some fruity perfume, from which Michael could barely restrain himself from wrinkled his nose. The heavy silence in the room was interrupted only by the steady tapping of women's heels. It had been a long time since he had been visited by a female doctor, something new.
"Hello, Michael."
These few words made the guy's heart clench unpleasantly. He stared in front of him, now fully feeling that long-forgotten feeling of warmth and light presence. That bright figure of white light appeared before my eyes again, like the purest angel on earth. A short sigh escaped from his chest, and his lips almost reflexively bent into a pitiful semblance of a smile. Still, he was really glad to see her. He knew she would return. He knew, even if that pathetic old man and his employees told Michael otherwise. He knew you were different.
"It's been a long time... I'm really sorry."
He remained silent, instead absorbing her every new word like a sponge thrown into the sea. Now he didn't care that she left, because she came back. The guy tried to remember everything: the aroma of her perfume, which now seemed so painfully sweet and pleasant, driving his entire pulsating mind crazy; the sound of her angelic voice is like a gentle cradle, lulling him in her tender embrace. He tried to remember everything. Now her fragile image filled his entire mind. He wanted to touch, touch, feel, show that she was his. Over the many years of being here, he realized that she was his, and he had to prove it to everyone. His light, his delicate flower, his sun.The guy was ready to fulfill all her instructions and requests, if only she would stay with him as long as possible. Stayed forever.
Now the girl came to him every day, and Michael could not imagine anything better. It was as if all his dreams had come true.
She was his personal nurse.
In the mornings she sometimes combed his hair. Usually it stuck out and was very messy and dirty, but now his curly hair looked clean and soft.
She brought him food, and sometimes Michael deliberately chose to pretend to be a brainless vegetable, if only she would feed him herself, gently bringing the spoon to his bitten lips.
Michael could have sworn that there was actually excitement and tenderness in her actions, as if she was worried and genuinely cared about him. And just thinking about it made his soul warm. Now he heard her voice every day, felt her gentle touches, felt her trepidation and care. But this was not enough. He wanted more. Michael felt a strange burning sensation when she talked to other people in the hospital, especially men. He began to feel an unpleasant itch, and images were scrolling through his head of how he could kill this vile guard and then pull her into his protective arms. Michael wanted her hands on his neck or in his hair, and his hands on her soft hips. He wanted her for himself and no one else.
---
That morning you came again to give Michael pills. You were the only one Michael allowed to give him his medicine. He would even drink poison from your hands. The main condition was that there should be no security either inside or outside.
You moved closer, gently lifting Michael's chin with your gentle fingers. He wrapped his arms around your hips, looking up at you, and obediently opened his mouth. You placed the colored tablet on his tongue, to which he quickly swallowed it, without water. The man’s hands gently roamed over your soft flesh, pressing you as close to him as possible. You gently massaged his tangled hair, lightly scratching his itchy skin from constant thoughts.
“Michael..” his name sounds like the sweetest honey on your tongue, the man is ready to listen to this for an eternity, “I’m sorry, but today is the last day of my practice.”
Michael raised his eyebrows slightly, snuggling into your gentle hand.He wanted you to explain what it was about and why you had such a sad expression on your face. The guy wanted answers, but you perfectly remembered your father’s request not to tell him about it. This could cause Michael to become aggressive. Still, you didn’t want to hurt him. So you just briefly hugged him by his strong shoulders and briefly kissed his forehead.
The next day you didn't come.
And every other day too.
Did he do something wrong? The evil doctors did not allow you to come to him again? Michael had many questions, and yet, the answer for him was the arrogant smiling face of Dr. Loomis.
---
It was Halloween evening. You have already distributed all your candy to the children in colorful costumes, who for a good few hours interrupted your peaceful existence with their constant knocking on the door. Now you were sitting relaxed on the sofa in the living room and watching your favorite horror movie, sipping sweet soda with pleasure. And so, at the next moment, when something terrible was about to happen in the film, you heard that ill-fated doorbell again. With an annoyed sigh, you stood up from the couch, setting the soda on the table, and headed towards the door. To your surprise, there was no one on the street. But as soon as you closed the door, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist. You tried to escape, hitting the stranger in the stomach with your elbows, to which you only received a muffled grunt. A strange metallic smell filled my nose. You turned around, feeling your heart beating wildly in fear in your chest. Your eyes met the emotionless eye-shaped cutouts on the latex mask. Is this some kind of joke? You wanted to scream, but were interrupted by the sharp sensation of someone else's lips on your neck. How did he manage to roll up the edge of his mask so quickly? You bit your lower lip in fear, pulling off the unfortunate mask with one sharp movement. Now a pair of sad dark eyes are staring at you.
“Michael?.. How you.. why are you here?”
The man just muttered something unintelligible, rubbing his nose against the skin of your neck.
Loomis worriedly dialed your phone number, putting the phone to his ear. His most dangerous and unstable patient has escaped. Possible options for his direction were his younger sister Laurie and... you.
“Y/N, baby, are you okay? I'm in the hospital now and Myers has escaped! If he headed towards you and something happened to you, I don’t know what I’ll do...” The doctor muttered nervously, wiping his own forehead, sweaty from stress, with his palm.
“No, it's okay, dad. I didn’t see him,” came the answer from the other side of the line. A steady, quiet snoring could be heard in the background.
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klmp11s · 13 hours
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Could I ask for a male reader that is shorter than the third years but still manages to dominate them(?) not sure the right phrasing but people typically assume the taller person is the more dominant partner
Nah short king is winning and big spoon 🥄 🏆
(Also I say short king but like malleus is so tall being six foot is short to him lmao)
The reader's height is 165 cm everywhere except for the Diasomnia part! (In the Malleus part the height is 180, in the Lilia part - 150 cm) (Some parts turned out longer than others, this was not on purpose🙏 ) (English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes)
Summary: Below third year reader but VERY dominant Characters: Trey Clover, Cater Diamond, Leona Kingscholar, Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge Warning: dominant male!reader, established relationship, ooc, teasing reader(?)
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Trey Clover
I don't think he cares at all about your height. You're taller than his dorm leader, so he doesn't see any problem
Your dominant side may make him laugh and he will tease you for it.
You can put your hand on his thigh and he will love it. OKAY you can squeeze his thigh and he'll just laugh quietly.
When you pull him on top of you in bed, he is sometimes afraid of accidentally hurting you, but as soon as you take off his glasses and maybe put them on yourself, he forgets about this fear.
He is 100% used to being in your hands and won’t say a word about him being a big spoon
Run your hands over his shoulders and he will melt
He doesn't mind if you bite him, I don't think he's the type to bite, but he might give you one hickey somewhere under your collar If he sees how you communicate with other people and how confident you are, he'll like it too
He likes your dominance both in private and when communicating with other people. You are looking from above, not them
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Cater Diamond
He's interested in your dominant side
He can lie on the bed, you just lie behind him and pull him to your chest. He definitely likes it
I also think that he may be putting you down for your short stature (loving)
He will also tease you for your dominance, but he won't say a word against it.
He likes that you are a big spoon and he just disappears in your hands
If you bite him, after some time you will see his new story in Magicam where your bites are clearly visible
He LOVES it very much
What if your dominance is also revealed in conversations with other people?
He will definitely be amused by how your confidence and charisma can put pressure on people you don’t like.
You are simply a master of doing what you need. He can respect that
He might be surprised by the way you talk to people a head taller than you as if they were the tiny ones of the two of you.
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Leona Kingscholar
I don't think he cared how tall you were.
He most likely began to notice your dominant side after you beat him at chess for the first time.
Like, you know, the victorious fire in the eyes, the smug face?? He liked this
At first it looked to him like a little kitten trying to look like a lion
You've started showing your dominant side in private a lot more often and oh my god he doesn't know how to react to it.
Like, yes, you're hot, but he's not at all used to having a person dominate him less.
The moment he takes you into his room for a nap and pulls you on top of him - the last thing he expected was for you to turn him over and become a big spoon
He LOVED it
Bite him and he will bite back. He can also lick your neck, but if you want to show your dominance in this way, you will have to try so that he does not respond in kind
You know the trend where the partner puts his hand in the back pocket of his partner's pants? Yeah, IT'S YOU and him
What if you show dominance in normal interactions with other people? He has the most contented face
Like, his tiny🤏  boyfriend is so confident and proud when interacting with people twice his size? Yes, that's HIS boyfriend
Cuddling with you is his favorite thing to do, he literally falls on top of you and makes you stroke his back/head.
He DEFINITELY said things like “do you even know who my boyfriend is?” “my boyfriend would have strangled you by now, you know?” he's literally bragging about how cool you are
He loves the impact you can have on other people.
He definitely likes everything about you and doesn't see a problem with how tall you are.
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Vil Schoenheit
Your height is one of the first things he noticed when he met you.
After some time, he noticed how ambitious and dominant you are with other people.
Two dominant people in a relationship? My God
When you started dating him, he realized that this behavior could be aimed at him too
It all 100% started after the moment when you sat him on your lap while he was applying makeup
(just try to say that you wouldn’t want this, I won’t believe you)
You surprised him very much, but I won’t say that he didn’t like it
He's definitely started to notice that you take the lead more often when communicating with someone.
Dynamics: "Evil Queen" and "Evil King" you are literally walking charisma and confidence, okay??
Reward for your behavior? You have lipstick all over your face and your gorgeous boyfriend just smiles back at you
He won't let you bite him. He is a MODEL, his skin should remain perfect, but in places where no one can see? "we'll see how you behave"
But he can bite you. Although, I think that bites will be very rare, most often it can be a hickey under the collar, but if he wants to demonstrate HIS dominance - expect that there will be no empty space on your neck
He definitely likes the way you behave with those above you. You lead the conversation and it looks amazing
“make me” “oh, are you serious?”
If you're pulling him in for a cuddle after a long day, I don't think he'll turn you down unless he's already finished his nightly skin care routine.
I'm not sure that his face will be in your neck, but I am 100% sure that sometimes you will press your chest against his back
A couple of times he tried to be a big spoon, but in the end he decided that lying on you was much more comfortable
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Rook Hunt
He really liked you when he first met you
Apparently he noticed your dominant side and liked it. You're so unusual, aren't you?
He became interested in you after seeing how you treated your friends.
Already when you were in a relationship with him, this behavior was directed at him and, well, HE LIKES it
Could he be sitting quietly at the table with you and your hand just falls on his thigh and stays there? This is good
He PRAITS your behavior. Is his short boyfriend dominating him? YES
He teases you about your behavior ALWAYS
You pull him by the hand towards your bed and simply fall back onto it while your hands are clasped together. Okay, the hot, gorgeous and eloquent Frenchman is now in your hands
He DEFINITELY enjoys these moments. Can he say the sweetest things to you while you run your fingers through his hair? More please
I also think he likes to listen to your heartbeat while he's in your arms.
He may bite you back, but I don't think it will bite you too much.
But you can leave your marks and bites on him and he will even be proud of them
Your character replaces your height and he clearly sees this, do you know what else he sees? The fact that you look fantastic when you can literally bring people to their knees with literally words 🙏🏃
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Idia Shroud
He is surprised, scared and excited
He didn't expect his short boyfriend to be LIKE THIS??
Once you started showing this behavior he had pink hair almost all the time ✋
You were in his room and he was telling you about the next anime that he was waiting for, and you just pull him towards you and start stroking his head, okay? He died
BITE HIM he will literally die from embarrassment but will never tell you to stop
He doesn’t understand where to put his hands, his head, should he continue talking?? His face is completely red and he just remains silent in your arms.
Have you ever seen scenes where between two people one just stares and breaks into a smile while the other person says something? Yes, you know what I mean
At one point he just stops talking and looks away from you.
You most likely even took him out for a walk if you know that you won’t meet someone
“Idia?“ “Yeah?" "look me in the eye while I'm talking." "???😶😳🤯😳 " Plus point if you turn his face towards you by the chin
Your behavior gives him very conflicting feelings,on the one hand he doesn’t know what to tell you, but on the other hand you are HOT
If he sees you interacting in this manner with your friends, he will die. Okay, yeah, he has an ambitious, dominant boyfriend, OKAY?
He CAN and WILL brag about you to his online friends, I swear
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Malleus Draconia
Your behavior makes him giggle and he likes it
Like even your average height seems tiny next to him, but you continue to behave like a big and proud dragon?
You make him fall in love with you again and again
If you bite him, he will giggle, I swear to you
Pull him towards you, hold him by the waist, kiss him in front of people - he will accept all this and it will make him happy
No one has ever treated him like this and he really likes your bravery.
He's definitely heard rumors that you're acting too casual around
Malleus Draconia himself and that's disrespectful, but the moment he approached these people they immediately closed their mouths and this topic was no longer raised
Showing your affection + dominance? YES PLEASE
A man is literally two meters, and you just take him and sit him on your lap? He likes it so much
If during a cuddle in bed you stroke his back and head, touching his horns, he may die happy
Please show your dominant side more often, he likes it so much
He also likes the way you interact with others, your ambition and leadership skills always come through, it's beautiful
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Lilia Vanrouge
Okay, honey, BUT YOU BOTH ARE TINY?? (/j)
Your dominant behavior makes him laugh and that suits him completely.
He loves to sit on you when you hold him in your arms
I think he used to know people who behaved the same way, so this is not new to him.
How do you communicate with other students? My God
He is sure that you could easily become the head of your dorm with such ambitions and leadership
You can so elegantly get someone to do what you want, and Lilia has no words but praise and a sense of pride
How do you confidently communicate with people above you? He thinks your confidence adds to your height
He definitely loves it when you run your hands through his hair when you hold him during cuddles.
He WILL bite you and he also doesn't mind if you do it The characters do not belong to me, they belong to their rightful owners, please do not edit, translate, repost my works on other platforms, also without my permission and @
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queer-n-here · 3 days
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UHM-UHM-
Yeah I have no shame to just not ask anonymously- anyways!
May I please request a 6'1 reader who is stoic, bold, also handsome as Dazai but ain't a womaniser, and is VERY quiet. With Dazai. He works at the ADA with him. He follows Dazai around like literally, he acts and opens up more to Dazai than he does with others, he literally doesn't care if Dazai was In the pm (they met at 14) or abt his crimes, he can read Dazai's emotions And can see through him, they R lovers, he is loyal asf to Dazai. He Also is rich asf and has better fashion tastes! Pls make both a oneshot or hc or ANYTHING ABT THEMMMMM
(I'm very desperate BC of a certain fantasy of mine)
Ah, I gotchu you bruv.
[ Also, let's do a little quiz. What country do y'all think I originate from? Like, based on my language and writing and just... Yeah.]
And yep, I'm double posting today!
Canonically, there are no mentions of Dazai's past before the Port Mafia, so I made stuff up. Hope you like it!
Contents: Uhh...a lot. I got... *winces* I got carried away.
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of death, suicide and violence, Dazai's life is sad and so are these hcs.
You and Dazai met when you two were 14 each. It was a chance encounter, really. Both of you were orphans, and both of you were ability users, even though Dazai knew more about his ability than you did yours.
Both of you currently had no one in the world. That was the key factor that brought you two together. Struggling to get by and find a place of your own in the world, you met.
Neither of you opened up at first, cautious and calloused as you both were. It just happened; it didn't happen one particular day, and before you two had realized, you'd become each other's sole support.
You turned fifteen, and three months later Dazai met Mori.
He told you about it later, describing in the sort of detail no one else would get to hear how he'd rescued the Port Mafia leader from an enemy gang, unintentionally impressing him and securing Dazai a place in the Mafia.
You didn't like it. The job was dangerous, and you didn't want Dazai's hands to get stained with blood. When you told him this, he laughed it off, and said that he could handle it. You dropped the matter.
He was wrong.
You watched as Dazai changed, despite his promises and assurances. He grew ruthless, cruel in a way that made you ache as you watched him, silent. He started hating everything, even himself, and sometimes you thought he hated you, too.
He had a beautiful heart, you knew. But Mori was destroying it.
You talked to Mori about it, too. You might not have anything on him, yes, he was richer and way more powerful, but you had your ability, and you were ready to fight to death. Before you could, however, Dazai intervened.
That was the first time you two fought. After that, you went to him and told him you wouldn't care if he didn't want you to. If he wanted to keep going down the path that he'd chosen, you wouldn't stop him.
Sometimes, you look back and wonder if there was something you could have done for him other than what you did. You still can't think of anything.
You opened up a small business after that, and it slowly grew to a scale larger than you had expected.
Then you two turned eighteen. Finally, you were able to register your enterprises under your own name, being a legal adult. You and Dazai got wasted that night, and you watched fondly as he tried and failed to put his coat on so you two could go and meet Ango and Odasaku.
They had probably begun then, your feelings for Dazai. You were only comfortable enough with him to actually talk, and not just say what was absolutely required and then shut up.
He knew you in a way no else did. No one else knew what it looked like when you smiled, or threw your head back and laughed freely. No one else knew what it was like when you cared, when you brought over Dazai's favorite refreshing drink every time you visited him in summer. Or when you helped him change his bandages, touch gentle and careful against his soft skin.
And you knew him the way no else did. No one else knew what it was like when he was genuine, when he'd look up at you with earnest eyes. No one else knew what it was like when he flushed slightly, the red of his skin always starting from the tips of his ears and descending to his cheeks. No one else knew what it was like when Dazai protected, when he offered to use his contacts in the Mafia to get rid of your competitors, even though you declined every time. He had enough blood on his hands without you pitching in.
Eight months after that, he left the Port Mafia. He came to your apartment crying that day. His face was ashen, his shirt was covered in blood and his lips were trembling. The tears that had been collecting in his eyes for who knows how long finally spilled when he saw you, and the only thing you could do for him in that situation was open your arms and let him cling onto you. He kept saying 'Oda's dead... He's dead...'
That night, Dazai changed. Thankfully for the better. That flame in his eyes was gone now, the one that made you worry if he would burn himself and the world.
Dazai slowly stopped hating after that. You and Ango were the only two he trusted, the only two he would be genuine with. He didn't close up in a way that hid his smile, or in a way that made him withdraw from people. Quiet the opposite. He pushed himself outward, adopting a cheery persona that joked around and bewitched everyone.
The only smiles that weren't created but slid across his face on their own were ones that he smiled with you, and Ango.
You couldn't help but feel slightly bittersweet. Dazai was out of that hellhole, that cursed gang that was making his heart black. But Odasaku was dead.
After that, as your twenties arrived, Dazai joined the Armed Detective Agency. You were happy, then.
You two celebrated at a lavish restaurant. Your business had grown to be Japan's No. 1, and the money that spilled in with it was something neither Dazai nor you had expected.
But your hopes for the ADA were too high. Sometimes, Dazai still wanted to leave. He said he wanted to kill himself, and even though he would always laugh it off, you couldn't help but notice that his eyes would always grow hollow when he spoke of it.
And so the only thing you could do was love him. You loved him and tried your best to let him know, buying him unnecessary gifts and putting him on top of your mental priority list. Even your staff knew you loved him; it was apparent and obvious.
Dazai was probably the only one that didn't notice it, that genius dumbass.
And so you tried harder. You had never been good with words, but you tried to be vocal about your feelings, telling him he was cute when you thought so, and saying that he looked good when he did.
Dazai still didn't notice. The day he found out was when you got drunk and blurted it out.
You still don't have a lot of memories from that night, and Dazai says that you passed out soon after confessing. He finds it funny now, even though he didn't back then.
Your confession made Dazai pull up a wall against you. This surprised you, hurt you, and you tried apologizing, tried to get him to just talk to you. You told him that it didn't matter if he didn't return your feelings.
Something was hurting Dazai, you could tell. But he just wouldn't talk to you, going so far as to changing his phone number without telling you.
So you showed up at his workplace. Kunukida knew you by sight; you often came to pick Dazai up from work. You two had a big fight, shouting in one hallway of the agency building, making such a ruckus that Ranpo and the others came over to watch.
It ended with Dazai turning around to leave, and you were planning to let him go. But then you saw a tear glisten at his cheek last moment, and hence gave chase.
You chased him down all the way from Yokohoma to Kawasaki, only stopping when Dazai collapsed in the middle of a street, his frame shaking with sobs as he started hyperventilating. You crouched down beside him and pulled him to your chest, rubbing his back and conducting his breathing, your voice soft as it told him to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale....
He fell asleep on your shoulder, in the middle of nowhere. You carried him back to your house, and tucked him into a warm bed. The next morning, he wouldn't meet your eye.
Usually, you would have let him; there was hardly anything that Dazai would do that you would disapprove of. But lately, you had been going against his wishes a lot, so you decided to do that one more time.
When he tried to leave, you pinned him to a wall and forced him to look at you. It wasn't difficult, Dazai had never really worked out, even as a part of the Port Mafia. His fighting style was more quick and clean moves than brute strength.
It worked well in your advantage as he tried to struggle against your hold and failed miserably, tears collecting in his eyes and threatening to fall.
It was alright after that. You asked Dazai why he tried to run away, and the only thing he said was that he got scared. He chose not to explain, and you chose not to push him.
"Dazai," You said. "If you want me to disappear from your life, I can do that." He looked up at you, eyes wide and blurred. "But there's one catch. You have to say it. Say it to my face, tell me to leave, and I swear on my own life, I'll vanish. You won't ever see me again." And then the tear that had been collecting in his eye all this time fell, sliding down his cheek and onto the collar of his shirt. His arms went limp in your hold, and he wobbled forwards. You caught him as he fell, and he sobbed into your shoulder again. His hands were clutching at your shirt as if for dear life, and even as you rubbed his back, more tears fell from his eyes. You held Dazai through his breakdown. The next time he spoke to you, he said the words, "I like you too much." It was a silent confession, almost muffled into your shoulder as the post-crying exhaustion overtook. You pulled him closer and pressed a kiss into his temple.
Now, everything is good. Dazai's job at the ADA does worry you sometimes, even if it's for the good, it's dangerous, but you know he loves his job, no matter how many jokes he makes about Fukuzawa's violation of the Labor Laws. And he loves you, that's all you've ever needed.
Being in a relationship with him is not always easy. He still speaks of dying, and the thought of him leaving you makes you panic. Sometimes, you still don't know what to do to make him feel better. But you manage to work through it.
You love Dazai, after all. You have ever since you two were kids.
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lovvecherrymotion · 2 days
Text
okay very brief munich gig report (mostly under the cut) i probably am forgetting 90% of stuff but let's goooo:
i got EE and i was there by 10 am? i was number 39 and i was pretty okay with this. i did end up getting a really good spot anyway
munich queue 💜💜 i mean, i've already made a post about meeting all of you, but it was truly lovely. i got so many gifts and bracelets! this fandom is full of talented, kind people
the soundcheck was ngvot (every single time i've been to a show i've heard ngvot at some point lol) and vem da greš, both of which i really enjoyed
I GOT TO GIVE NACE MY GIFTS!! like i don't even think he heard what i said BUT THEY'RE WITH THEM. FINALLY. i can be at peace now lol
i really enjoyed both Sector 5 and JC Stewart! they were both pretty good openers! i hadn't heard any of their music before, but i still had fun
WE STARTED WITH KATRINA WHICH I WAS SUPER HAPPY ABOUT
AND I GOT BELE SANJEEEEEE. and bojan said we nailed it the first time which had me like "duh, ofc, i'm here????" I WOULD NEVER FUCK UP MY BELOVED BELE SANJE
we got both Šta bih ja & Schlager. i really really really wanted Bluza so hopefully in london 🤞 i enjoy Schlager more that i've listened to it live lol (and jance were very cute during this song)
on the topic of jance, everyone was mentioning the nacekris was strong last night but as someone who was right in front of jance and barely got to see the others honestly it was kinda hard for me lmao i didn't get those vibes at all. i was so shocked opening tumblr hahahaha. jance were super sweet and smiley and 🥺💕 a solid 95% of what i captured was them and i can assure you they were both very soft and happy
no pijano :((( but he did help bojan at the start of EW and it was very sweet, i love them so much
bojan spit on me. better said, he spit on jan but i was, well, right in front of him, so i got it too lmfao
during the UM bojan was also right in front of me because a little girl got to sing with him (and even went on stage!!!!) and then a super sweet 15yo girl who had her birthday yesterday also got to sing UM - i was next to both of them so i saw bojan VERY WELL. he didn't actually go into the crowd this time
during novi val i made a finger heart at nace AND HE SMILED AND DID ONE BACK AT ME. i know it was for me because everyone got the half hearts lmfao (and then @flananjan told me you could see the heart in a story they posted on their insta and i almost died on the subway back to the hotel)
at some point (i can't remember before which song but i'll probably figure it out when i look at the photos) i put my portuguese flag on stage and jan picked it up 🥺🥺 he then asked me in the softest fucking voice "Portugal?" and i was able to say two entire words to him "yes, Portugal" AND I DIDN'T EVEN DIE ON THE SPOT. he then placed it down and like idk i just!!!! jan knows i exist and i'm portuguese BYE
and when i thought the night just couldn't... well, get any better, JAN GAVE ME HIS PICK. his hand was warm and like way softer than i expected??? this is now my most prized possession. i literally CANNOT believe jan peteh himself gave this to me
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the boys didn't come out at the end because they were tired, apparently??? but i was still very happy about all of this. i'm now way less stressed for london (because i won't be carrying around a bag full of stuff for them omgggg) and manifesting i get to meet them then 🙏
munich, thank you for having me 💜💜💜 i can't wait to come back
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scribbledghost · 2 days
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Omg I love mas muscled and I'm literally so in love with your fem Ghost ideas! I don't know if you seen (but I'm sure you probably have) those videos where it was just pouring outside with girls in heels and their partner would carry them to the car or over the curb to not ruin their shoes, but I literally can't stop thinking of this scenario with fem Ghost and was hoping you could write it. No worries though if you can't!
So, I haven't seen those videos, but I can picture it so so vividly in my mind and you are correct that Fem Simon 100% would do this. I don't care how much you weigh, she's built like a brick house and can lift just as much. She can (and will) carry you. Also, I know Simon isn't exactly a feminine name, but damned if I can't come up with anything else, so she's still Simon lmao.
It was supposed to be a simple date - just a nice dinner, and maybe getting your groceries for the week if Simon could convince you to let her tag along (the last time she did, she paid for your groceries while you were distracted, leading to some good-natured bickering and the teasing promise that she'd never be allowed to go shopping with you again). Yet, somehow, in the middle of dinner, you'd looked out the restaurant window and had made a remark that it looked rather dark on the horizon.
A half hour later, when you were both heading out the door, the heavens opened and the rain began to pour.
Suddenly, Simon's thankful that she chose the black button-up shirt instead of the white.
"Don't suppose you brought an umbrella?" you ask sheepishly.
"No, can't say I did," she replies.
The rain continues for several more minutes, showing no sign of letting up. Simon's truck is close enough to the door, it's simply a matter of you both getting up the nerve to sprint to it in the downpour.
Puddles begin to appear, and suddenly Simon wishes she would've worn some sort of blazer to put down on it for you to step over so your shoes don't get soaked. Like the men always did in those old-fashioned romance movies her mum used to watch.
Hell, she'd walk outside, lie face-down in the water, and let you tread on her back all the way to the truck if you asked her to. But that's a different matter.
The two of you wait a few more minutes for any sign of the rain letting up, but no sign of luck appears. And as much as Simon loves spending time simply being in your presence, she'd much rather do it in the comfort of your home or hers.
Then, suddenly, as she watches another couple sprint towards a nearby car, she gets an idea. She's quick to clue you in, as she'll need your aid.
"You want to what?" you ask through light laughter.
"Carry you," Simon repeats. "I'll carry you to the truck, you just need to open the door when I get there. Hands'll be full, y'know."
"Why on earth would you want to carry me?"
For a moment, she contemplates telling you the truth - that she likes holding you, likes taking care of you, and likes showing off her strength (purely because she knows you like her showing off) - but she reconsiders.
"Gotta keep your shoes from soaking through," she eventually says. "Y'said they're new, right? Be a shame to get 'em wet."
"Hm?" you say, then look down. "Oh, yeah, I hadn't thought of that... guess chivalry isn't dead after all, huh?"
"Chivalry ain't dead, love," Simon says with a crooked grin, "she's just a butch."
Then, without warning, she scoops you into her arms, one hooking beneath your knees and the other supporting your back. She'll have to tease you later about the little squeal you let out when she lifts you.
She wastes no time sprinting through the chilled rain and towards her truck, both of you laughing along the way. Once you get there, you open the passenger side door just long enough for her to sit you on the seat and retreat towards the driver side.
It was a valiant effort. Nevertheless, you're both soaked.
A moment of silence stretches between you two until Simon turns her head and catches your eye. Suddenly, laughter bubbles to the surface, filling the cab and her heart near to bursting.
You let her kiss you for the first time in that parking lot.
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0ctober-writes · 13 hours
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Hello, have a smut Matt X wife reader request. You are part of Nelson and Murdock and have your own office, there you have dirty thoughts, but this does not go unnoticed by Matt who really has to pull himself together not to storm into your office
Behind Closed Doors and Paper-Thin Walls
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Tags: Matt Murdock x Reader, Reader is thirsting hard, Foggy is an innocent bystander. Potential reference to switch!Matt and switch!Reader if you squint, Matt has a cock, Reader has a pussy; oral, p-in-v, bondage, and pegging/bottom!Matt fantasies. Part 2 potential if it's wanted. No use of Y/N. 2,761 words.
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The only thing that separated you and your husband, Matt Murdock, was a papery-thin wall and a cracked window.
You sat at a desk in the main room in the office, prepping Wednesday’s case file for Matt and Foggy. With every trial the law firm only got bigger and bigger, and they desperately needed help planning cases. In the other room, Foggy’s office, the duo were on the phone with some-such or another. It apparently wasn’t going well because you could hear Foggy slam close his desk drawer. You huffed yourself, not exactly in the mood to deal with two very grumpy men, no matter how professional they maintained.
Matt walked out of the office, hands running through his hair. He made a beeline to the coffee pot, hoping to drown his woes into a cheap brew. Of course, it had been emptied by the three of you in the morning, so he went to work looking for the ground beans.
“Sounds like you guys are dealing with a nightmare,” you said. You stood from the desk to help him find the coffee, fetching the bag from one of the top shelves. “Let me make your coffee so you can breathe for a minute.” You knew you didn’t have to do this, Matt was capable of making his own drink no matter his mood, but you wanted to alleviate his stress in any way you could. 
“You don’t have to do that, honey, I got it,” Matt objected, going to take the bag from you only for you to snatch it from his reach.
“I know, now go sit down. I love you,” you said, throwing out the old filter and putting a new one in the brewer.
Matt obeyed, quickly accepting a chance to be doted on. He sagged into one of the chairs by the entrance door, loosening his tie and leaning back with a sigh. You glanced over for just a second to check on him, but stopped all movement when you saw him. Disheveled hair from running his hands through it, loose tie, head leaned back… it was a position all too familiar to you. You coughed to keep yourself from whining, a blush rushing to your face and running down your neck.
You tried to keep your thoughts from trailing off the task, telling yourself that you were at work, Matt was in a bad mood, and Foggy is literally right there. Like playing tug-of-war with a team of oxen, you quickly fell down the horny rabbit hole. Your mind flashed with images of all the times the two of you had fucked at work–when you were still the newbie, after a date night that turned into a work night, the week before your wedding–there were definitely a dozen more examples, but those stood out to you the most. Your thighs squeezed together, suddenly so desperate to touch yourself. You hoped Matt would be too distracted to notice your sudden change in mood.
Matt didn’t notice at first, too caught up in his own whirlwind of thoughts, only none of them were anything like yours. It was only when the coffee pot beeped, alerting that it was finished, that the two of you were ripped from your trances. With shaky hands you filled a mug. Still oblivious, not paying attention to anything beyond how the hell he was gonna get his client to cooperate, he took the cup from your hands. It was when he felt the small tremors in your fingers that he perked up. 
At first he thought you were upset, considering that he’d let his bad mood rub off on you, but that possibility was almost instantly eliminated when he took in the rest of you. Your hands had been abnormally warm, your heartbeat stuttering and speeding up, and that smell he knew all too well. You were needy, for whatever reason, and he knew you were already wet.
You gulped, fiddling with your skirt. “Anything else I can do to make it easier?” You asked, trying your hardest to keep your tone appropriately concerned and not desperate. Matt’s eyebrows were furrowed together–god fucking damn it, he was so hot–like he was still frustrated from what happened earlier. No, little did you know, he was trying to figure out how you got so aroused in between the time he left Foggy’s office and now, unless he’d somehow missed it even earlier.
Matt hummed an indication of no, taking a drink of the coffee to ground himself for totally different reasons. “Thank you, I really appreciate this,” he said.
You bit your lip, deciding to lean down and give him a chaste kiss to his lips. Just a taste, that’s all you wanted, all you needed, you told yourself. He eagerly returned it, reaching up to rest his hand on the side of your neck to let you know he didn’t want you to pull away. He was trying his hardest to control himself, but you were so tempting, and you always knew all the right ways to destress him. 
An awkward cough echoed in the room and you jumped, pulling away from Matt despite a quiet huff from him. There Foggy stood, clearly still annoyed, but definitely not at you two. “Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but I heard the coffee. Matt, hands to yourself, buddy,” he said lightheartedly. He’d walked in on much worse in his three years of knowing you.
With a blush, you licked your lips, trying to savor the lingering taste of your husband. You glanced one last time at Matt before you walked back to your desk and pretended to get back to your work. He definitely knew.
“How you holding up, Fog?” You asked, flipping between the same two pages in the case file like that would exorcize your brain.
“You do not want to know, this guy is probably as big of a nightmare to work with as Castle. He’s not telling the truth about something, I just know it, and it’s making this a whole lot harder than it has to be!” Foggy freely ranted, pouring his coffee much closer to the top than was safe for your floors.
You tried to be sympathetic, you really did, but your will was not that strong and your cunt was soaking your panties. You thought back to last night, when Matt’s cock hitting the back of your throat satisfied every part of you. He was so thick, stretching your lips more than you ever thought you could handle before you met him, and the feeling of him throbbing against your tongue had you whining around his cock. When you finally had him cumming down your throat, it was your turn, Matt throwing you back on the bed so he could worship you between your legs until you couldn’t stand to cum anymore and then some.
“Okay, I know the first two pages aren’t that interesting,” Foggy teased. “If you’re bored you can do something else, you’re not bound to this case forever.”
God, he really should’ve said anything else, because now you were picturing tying Matt’s wrists together, riding him and taking care of him after a long day of bullshit. Leaving scratches down his chest, feeling his hand wrapping around your neck, and forcing his cock as deep as it can go inside of you... The warmth in between your legs exploded into tingles and your face got hotter with each passing fantasy.
Matt tried his hardest to keep himself together, focused entirely on tuning in to your body. He sensed every little reaction, could hear your thighs rubbing and squeezing together behind your desk. He wished Foggy was anywhere but here right now so he could touch you in all the ways you so desperately craved.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, guess I’m not all the way here right now,” you said, brushing off Foggy’s comment, “maybe I need some of that coffee for myself.”
“I got it!” Matt rushed, all too eager to serve you. Foggy rolled his eyes at how lovestruck Matt always seemed to be for you, but deep down he found the pair of you adorable. You were like the power duo, a classic Romeo and Juliet–minus the family feud, the weird age gap, and the suicide.
You slyly stared as Matt poured you a cup. Your eyes trailed up and down his body, taking your time when they landed on his ass. A shiver ran up your spine as you pictured him bent over for you, maybe over your very desk, presented and waiting for you to fill him up. It was a fantasy you’d discussed before, even planned to try out soon, because recently he’d been obsessed with the idea of you fucking him. Using one of your dildos, stretching him out, and filling him up in ways no one else ever had, touching him in ways he’d never let anyone else even think about. 
“Thanks, hon,” you said when Matt brought you your coffee. “I’m gonna go finish these up in my office, okay? Let me know if you guys need anything.” You were hoping with a little more privacy you could ease the ache a little bit. You pecked Matt on the cheek and entered your little sanctuary, adorned with a cat calendar and a couple dying succulents.
You closed the door and plopped the small stack of files on your desk. You sat in your rolly chair and leaned back with a sigh that was somewhere between relief and frustration. You pushed your lap all the way under the desk to ensure a little more modesty. You ran your fingers over the front of your skirt at first, letting the small tingles run their way through your body. There was no way Matt couldn’t hear you right now, but part of you was hoping that he was getting as riled up as you were. 
Meanwhile, Matt was trying his best to split his attention between you and Foggy, with you clearly dominating. Even with Foggy’s loud ranting and raving about the woes of their client, all he could hear was your shuddering breaths and the rustling of your skirt. The picture was almost crystal clear: you leaned back against your chair, skirt hiked up to your waist, and hand shoved down your panties. He could feel a warm flush of his own traveling lower and lower.
“You know what I mean?” Foggy finished, almost out of breath after his long winded soapbox. Matt quickly snapped out of his trance.
“Hm? Yeah, this guy’s a nightmare, Fog. Hey, why don’t you go on a walk to clear your head?” Matt suggested. He was hoping and praying to every Saint above that he would just leave the office already so he could get his hands on you.
“Maybe later. Let’s just get this done today, I’m sick of this case,” Foggy said.
Deep down, Matt was crying on the inside.
You were too, but for a totally different reason.
Your skirt was well up past your hips and your panties pulled down to stretch across your thighs. Your fingers are slowly stroking the length of your clit to really tease yourself. A shiver reverberates across your body and you let out a small moan. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as Matt’s fingers, but you’re still left melted against your chair.
Matt’s legs are crossed in a desperate attempt to hide his erection from his best friend. He gulps when he can hear a shaky whine slip past your lips. He has to grip the arm of his chair to keep himself grounded.
You’re not oblivious to the effect you’re having on Matt, though you can’t actually see or hear him. Instead you use your imagination. He’s probably fiddling with his tie, one of his nervous habits. His breathing is probably getting heavier, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and hard cock straining against his dress pants–you throw a hand over your mouth the stifle a moan. Your fingers start rubbing tight circles against your clit, sometimes dipping down to tease your hole every once and a while.
Matt felt like his skin was on fire at this point. How Foggy hadn’t noticed him dying in his chair was beyond him. He was barely able to grit out brief answers to whatever bullshit was being discussed. He could practically taste you from across the office.
You were using both hands at this point, one hand fingering your cunt and the other stroking your clit. You could feel the orgasm building up as your clit pulsed and throbbed from your touches. Flashes of Matt danced across your closed eyelids. Memories of him fucking you up against these very walls, his cock impossibly deep inside of you while you scratched at his back. Him dropping to his knees to tongue fuck your pussy from under your desk while you completed work. You teasing your poor husband as he begged you to finally let you cum after denying him for the third time. 
Your heart was pounding against your ribs and you could hardly catch your breath. Your fingers pounded against your spot relentlessly. You were surprised you could stay as quiet as you had been, yet Matt could still hear everything. Your labored breathing, your racing heart, the wet noises of your cunt. He was gripping his knee, so desperate for you, he could hardly stand it. He could tell you were close and that made it all the more painful. He should be the one driving you to the edge, not your hands.
It hit you suddenly, the first wave of your orgasm. The hand rubbing your clit flew up to cover your mouth once more while you fingerfucked yourself through each and every wave of euphoria. You whimpered Matt’s name under your breath as quietly as you could, knowing that it would rile him up even more. It worked, Matt’s cock leaked precum into his boxers.
Once the final wave passed, your muscles collapsed and you sagged against your chair. You pulled out your fingers and limply laid your hand against your thigh. You took deep breaths to ground yourself. You wished Matt was here to help you clean up.
Matt could hear that your breathing had slowed and the wet sounds of your fingers slipping in and out of you had ceased. He matched your slow, deep breaths to bring himself down as much as possible. His cock still painfully throbbed and the flush on his neck refused to go away.
The sound of your clothes rustling, then your office door opening, alerted Matt that you were going to the bathroom to clean up. He lamely excused himself from Foggy and rushed to meet you on your way there. When he stepped out into the main room, you stopped just at the bathroom door and waited for him. He made his way over to you and stood close, nearly right up against you.
“You know I heard that,” Matt breathed into your ear. You couldn’t resist shivering.
“I know, baby. I’m surprised you were able to keep yourself together,” you teased back.
“You know you’re paying for that when we get home, right?”
Your heart jumped at the implication. What did Matt have in store for you? Would you fuck you the minute the two of you passed the threshold, shoving you against a wall and taking what was his? Or would he take you to bed and tease you, going tortuously slow. Would he deny you, making you wait to cum the way you made him wait? Would he refuse to stop, making you cum over and over again until you were shaking and couldn’t cum anymore? Your cheeks burned bright red from all the possibilities.
While you were stuck in thought, Matt gently took the hand that had been inside of you. He raised it up to his lips and slowly took them in his mouth. His tongue swirled around each finger to catch any of your cum that he could. You whined without thinking, definitely too loud to be discreet. Matt slowly pulled your fingers out with a quiet ‘pop’ and dropped your hand back down.
“Just needed a taste, sweetheart,” Matt teased through his grin. “Go clean up and I’ll let Foggy know we’re going home early.”
“Fuck, okay Matt,” you replied. You rushed into the bathroom and all but slammed the door behind you, nervous and excited for whatever your consequences might be.
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sarnai4 · 3 days
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Opening Up
About opening up...Dagur kinda doesn't. (Spoilers ahead)
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This is something I've seen some fans talk about where they say Dagur would reveal personal information easily. I see where they're coming from with this. Looking at Dagur, I'd expect that too. He's outspoken, emotional, unrestrained, etc. He seems like someone who could randomly say, "I had a good cry today," and it wouldn't be anything surprising. HOWEVER, that changes for me when I look at the proof from the show. If Dagur was half as open about things as this would imply, then we wouldn't be forced to speculate so much about his past and the things that have happened to him. In another case of me spending too much time studying Dragons (probably. Still worth it), I tried to collect all the examples of Dagur sharing information. They have something in common. Each time, there's a specific reason. I'll go in chronological order.
In "Enemy of My Enemy," Dagur tells Hiccup how revenge can make you do things you didn't think you were capable. This was an interesting moment of really getting to see how the villain we saw Dagur be wasn't who he always was. It even shocked him how extreme his actions became. This has the potential to be some heavy stuff, but he didn't just outright say it for fun. He said it because he saw Hiccup going down that same path. This isn't, "I can't believe the things I've done and really need someone to talk to." It's, "I see you following in my footsteps and they led me in a terrible direction. I don't want that for you."
It takes Dagur F.O.R.E.V.E.R. to admit he didn't kill Oswald. Even as a good guy, he doesn't say it easily. In "Family on the Edge," he implies that something Heather said out of the sent her adrift, killed their dad, and tried to kill them list wasn't true, but he doesn't just say it. He writes it in the letter, admitting that and how he was worried that the other Berserkers wouldn't follow him otherwise. If he wanted to do it for emotional release reasons, he could've just said the first time or even told her way back when he thought they were on the same side. Rather than that, he puts it in a letter so that her final relative won't be quite as bad as she thinks he is.
In "Searching for Oswald...And Chicken," Dagur has two moments. First, he tells Heather how he's spent most of his life in varying stages of existential crisis. (Just wow for that. Wish we had heard more about it because that is quite the emotional load he nonchalantly dropped) Again, this clearly isn't to get something off his chest because it's not even something he brings up again. He just tells her so that she'll have proof he knows what is meaningless, hopefully getting her to stop throwing herself in harm's way to find Oswald. Later, he tells Hiccup he keeps anger, frustration, and rage to himself. This also isn't to share so much as to prove he can keep secrets and deserves to be trusted with the location of Vanaheim.
Then, we have "In Plain Sight." There, we find out he used to get bullied. He waited until as much of the last moment as possible to tell Fishlegs and Snotlout this. They had already flown from the Edge to Berserker Island and were literally walking down to meet Ansson. So, I don't think it's him wanting to share sensitive information. It's him knowing they're about to be there with the bully and since Ansson doesn't care about playing nice, it's going to be obvious that he used to bully him. This is just softening the blow a little by telling them first. Didn't really help, though, since they still laughed at him being called "Dainty." (Not cool even though I get how weird it would be to hear someone call him that)
Unless I'm mistaken, that's everything. I don't think there's another time when Dagur reveals something personal. Each of these had some deeper purpose. This is why I don't believe Dagur would start speaking about his past traumas without a prompt. Now, I'll say I do enjoy having him talk about this in stories and I support other writers who do. I just believe it takes a little nudge. He's not going to sit down next to someone and talk about his time in jail. He has literally never spoken about his time in jail in the entire show except the first RTTE episode to say that he spent 3 years thinking about Hiccup. So, it actually leaves a lot of room to be creative with what his past even has first, then what situation would get him to spill the beans.
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hiding-in-the-vault · 12 hours
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I would love to know more about the cave au. Why are the cave more dangerous now? Who's death Dream managed to get safety for bringing them back?
And because I'm a huge fantasy dwarves and fallen london fan : how did the architecture change? Is it safe to build underground or is everyone nomadic now? How is the food situation?
Long post oh boy!
The cave au is kinda like taking Dream's original mention of a "world altering event" and making it very literal. In minecraft terms, I'd describe it like the cave and cliff update installed overnight except on amplified mode. All of this is because there is so much imbalance™, that's the overworld is behaving erratically.
Most of the shifting already occurred underground by the time they noticed something was wrong. But things shifted a looott to the point where what they had explored had been altered or displaced, and what now expands below dwarfs their existing tunnels in comparison. So to answer the first question, it's essentially uncharted, for one. For two, the mobs are acting as unpredictable as the earth is, swarming the tunnels en masse. But more importantly, the longer theyre down there, the longer this goes on, the more the mobs get altered themselves. (which originally was so i can say hey more things glow now :) pretty!) But now, we're talking like massive spiders in every classic work of fantasy. I'm mulling over introducing new things here too, for flavor. (like those mods with the huge centipedes ughuhg) Maybe a warden or two gets displaced and starts wandering the tunnels, who knows! On that note, sculk is probably on the rise as well and they need to be careful about keeping it from getting too close.
As for who dies-- ngl, I haven't decided 100%. For what it's worth, this is only the First death, not the only one. I've been thinking one of the teens, as they seem most likely to wander too out from camp and get Got by something. First I thought Tubbo, but I don't really want Tommy to have to ask Dream to bring him back. (not like he'd do it alone- the entire group wants to avoid casualties) Then I thought Tommy, but discduo can't hog limbo forever, right, we've been there and seen that! My desire to not repeat things that already happened in canon vs whatever actually feels most likely, FIGHT!!
I haven't put too much thought into generated structures yet, like the dungeons or ancient cities, but I would like there to be some change there as well. It'd be coooool. (shaking your hand, i loove dwarven architecture) The walls of the caverns themselves often have a stretched feel about them. A looot of stalactite and stalagmites, on massive scales. I'd say it is safe enough to build, once they find a place that feels fitting- a cavern big enough for them but not too big that they'll have to share it. Water, nutrient rich dirt, existing vegetation preferred, etc etc. But even then, the caves do still shift on occasion. Basically earthquakes that will require them to do some repairs and plan structures around, but it's possible! They think, anyway :D
And finally food. They go in prepared the best they can. A lot of them has massive farms and lots of animals, ofc. They can't drag too many animals into the caves with them, but they prepared as much food as they could before going on, with intentions to start new farms once they settle down. Lots of potatoes, yay for Dream! And Some the underground lakes have a surprising about of fish in them. In all the uproar above ground, there was a lot of flooding, but many of those bodies of water pooled underground as well, taking the fish with them. This becomes a bit more reliable as time passes as well, as the fish adapt.
I'm kinda rolling with mobs very short life cycles and using that to explain why they change so much faster. Also Magic™
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wonder2realities · 1 day
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having trouble with manifesting physical results?
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when it comes to manifestation, i feel like everyone acts like theres a limit and usually that limit revolves around physical changes. "you cant lose weight unless you work out AND listen to subliminals, you have to put in the work!!!" — what if i were to tell you that you can manifest literally any physical change without even moving? you probably wouldnt believe me because of the idea that you need to "work" to earn something...and yet with all of the physical changes i've manifested, i havent "worked" for anything. how? here's a little list of the rules i stick by !
1. SHAMELESSNESS IS KEY!
i'm someone who gets embarrassed very easily, over the smallest things but when it comes to manifesting anything...you gotta be shameless. yes i am waking up with a BBL and a 2-inch waist, what about it. you can pull up to my house, with scientific evidence of how thats not possible but idc cuz its happening. infact, it ALREADY happened "but you look the same" idc it still happened. like literally, no matter what its happening and its happened and it will happen ; whether it be past future or present point is ITS THERE.
2. YOU ARE ENERGY, NOT YOUR BODY
this ones a bit hard to word out but essentially, your physical body doesnt make up what you are. meaning, you can view yourself as this ball of energy that can be stretched and pulled out and morphed into everything and anything.
so lets say you want a symmetrical face :
1. dont go overanalysing your face, just sit down & take it easy
2. think of how your symmetrical face that youve always had. i mean you could honestly be a model, your facial structure is amazing. and just allow yourself to sink into those thoughts, whether its through you repeating affirmations or through subliminals — let it all sink in that your face is symmetrical. having doubtful thoughts? let them fly past, dont cling onto them. just allow yourself to sink deeper into the fact that your face is perfectly symmetrical.
3. acknowledge it and live with it. dont go eyeing your mirror and reflection every 2 seconds, dont go panicking and repeating affirmations nonstop and stressing...just acknowledge it and go on with your day.
^ its that easy. you dont need to even see your physical body morphing into it, the point is that you are able to morph and change into whatever you wish because you are not limited to your physical body.
3. NO OVERCOMPLICATIONS
you dont need to do a 40 minute workout to make sure you get results, you dont need to drink 3L of water, you dont need to write down 500 affirmations, you dont need to do a 20step skincare routine if you want to make sure you get clear skin...if you want to do these things, do them as much as you wish to. do you have to? no.
when i was younger, i got a bad injury and because of that one of my cheekbones were larger than the other — through manifestation they look identical now. like as in, if i were to tell you the injury i got into and said "my cheekbone was larger and there was a huge line under it" youd think i was making it up (sidenote : i had to show someone my passport photo from when i was like 8 to prove that i had that injury 😭 CUZ THEY DIDNT BELIEVE ME.) and mind you, i didnt even have a routine - my routine was literally just playing cute subliminals , vibing to the music and then going to sleep. i promise you, you dont need to do any form of "work" to get what you desire.
4. GO WITH YOUR GUT
probably the most important thing i stick by, i always go with my gut. meaning, if i feel like i can listen to a 5 second subliminal and i got it - i leave it there. i dont force anything, i dont push myself into anything and i dont do anything that someone else does if it doesnt vibe well with me. (this also means if youre reading this and going "this doesnt really work with me" - thatll be better than you forcing yourself to follow these rules just because these have worked for me). you need to always remember that when it comes to manifesting things, your preference comes first. so, if you wanna run 5 miles and that helps you believe that you have gotten your desires - do it.
5. DONT LET OTHERS GET TO YOU
if youre minding your business and youre talking abt your desires and someone goes "erm...🤓👆🏽 thats...not possible" - instead of secondguessing yourself literally ignore them. the concept of whats possible and whats real all boils down to what you BELIEVE is possible/real. the only reason something could not be possible or not be real is you believe it isnt, or you letting someone else who doesnt believe in it take over your beliefs (obviously this specifically applies to manifestation and not things that are tied to disorders or any form of unhealthy thinking. dont take my words out of this context.)
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and thats all ! obviously i have other parts of my mindset that arent mentioned here that help me manifest faster and easier but it would take too long for me to get into everything </3 but consider these my 5 golden rules that will hopefully help anyone whos struggling with physical results.
rmbr that you are forever limitless & changing ★
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ptichiypepel · 1 day
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Modern!AU, Medical!AU, Hanahaki!AU in which reader throws up lilies and Steve is blissfully unaware. (12,7k)
Warnings: text may have unpleasant descriptions of diseas, talking about death and dying, angst, open final, unrequited love, ooc Nancy
Soundtrack: Dove Cameron - Bloodshot
Notes: Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's ability to feel disappear.
Interferons are a group of signaling proteins made and released by host cells in response to the presence of several viruses. In a typical scenario, a virus-infected cell will release interferons causing nearby cells to heighten their anti-viral defenses.
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Robin says that if you hadn’t been studying books like a swot at the age of eighteen, and hadn’t been obsessed with writing articles for scientific journals, then all this crap wouldn’t happend at all.
Well, the logic here is that you would have then done all sorts of wild things, that all teenagers do, and eventually calmed down. And since all of this did not happen, you are doing this now, at twenty-eight.
You may not agree with her about this, but your mouth is filled with flower petals, so you remain silent.
- You, fool, - the current Robin is not distinguished by empathy at all, because all the empathy that she was so proud of completely disappeared by the end of the internship. Healthy medical cynicism was formed by the third course, when future doctors began to drink regularly once a week. - What are you waiting for? You play with fire, I'm not gonna save your ass when it's too late.
You stretch your lips into a smile and put a cookie in your mouth, immediately coughing and covering your mouth with your hand.
You hoped that at least Robin would have some brain cells today and would bring normal food from home to duty.
You? You live alone and simply hate cooking, but Robin has a wife - and a bunch of other things. Brain, for example. Sometimes you envie her, but not very often.
Your night shifts rarely coincide, but if this happens, you certainly spend them together - fortunately, the surgical and microsurgical buildings are very close. One night in one building, the other in another, although personally Robin prefers hanging out in microsurgery with you. There are less problems here, because patients in the eye department need help at night much less often.
And now you both are sitting in your staff room, drinking tea and eating biscuits, and you start to curse, coughing and running out to return about five minutes later, examining some weird wet rag in your fingers.
When Robin realizes what it is, she feels sick to her stomach. They are already so big...
- They’re not daffodils, I’m betting my ass, - you say calmly and shake a wet flower in front of Robin's face. Well at least you washed it before showing. - These are some shitty rare lilies, I read about them. Pankratium or something like that.
- I hope it's not literally shitty? - Robin's still able to jock about it. Because - what else left?
- No. This one's from the mouth.
You put a flower on the table, and it gradually begins to dry out from the water and take on normal shape - sharp, long white petals gathered into a corolla, a thin and green stem, torn at the base.
And if earlier these were just seeds or individual parts of an inflorescence, now they are whole flowers, perhaps smaller than ordinary ones. But this, of course, is a matter of time.
When you first start coughing and notice some white petals in the sink, you want to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, - and you do.
At first you don't even understand where you could have become infected, but then, after analyzing it, you laugh louder, because only to you could happen such thing.
You know for sure that Billy, who has been in love with you for several years, had an operation - Robin told you about this as soon as she saw a quota for him in her colleague’s plans.
You felt immediate relief, even though you understood all the consequences - but it’s still better, than just dying ingloriously.
At least for ambitious Billy who wouldn't want to die from a disease caused by broken heart. Because Billy was too proud to let people know he has one in the first place.
Another thing is that you didn’t even suspect where a bouquet of flowers in a vase - withered hyacinths - appeared in your office one day from - at first you didn’t even pay attention, and when you did, it was too late.
They began to smell disgustingly sweet, and you went up to the table and for some reason touched them with your finger, immediately withdrawing your hand in disgust. Then you asked the nurse to throw them away, and a couple of weeks later you saw the first petal in the palm of your hand.
It was a funny greeting from Billy, with a deep meaning. And you, who had been in love for a long time and unrequitedly, but not with him, also began to vomit this rubbish and at first you didn't even tell anyone anything.
Either you didn’t take it seriously, or you couldn’t believe that fate had played such a cruel joke on you, but it doesn’t matter anymore - Rob found out about everything already when the petals turned into inflorescences, and your cough began to remind her of the need to do fluorography. That's what medical friends are for, to tell jokes about tuberculosis.
That's when you tell her - and even show, opening your hand with a heap of wet petals. For some reason, you never throw them away right away, carefully washing them of blood and examining them with true scientific interest, as if you were going to write a dissertation.
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You all meet in the first year of university, when you enter the same faculty of medicine and end up in the same group. You, Robin, Steve and Eddie for some time become a curse for the entire class and teachers, although you personally are more for the company than for joy - during these times, you really put an effort into your studies, write vigorously in all scientific journals and speak at every conference.
Everyone else of your friends wasn't bothered with studying, especially Steve who wanted to feel a free college life like they show in the movies. There begin parties in the dorm, absenteeism of classes and inevitable learning before the session - because well, you are doctors, you actually have to know how to treat people.
In the third course the teachers danced when Eddie decides to expel, because he understood that college is not for him and he wants to work as a mechanic in his ankle's garage.
Situation somehow immediately becomes calmer.
The rest of you rent an apartment not far from the university, saying goodbye to the dorm forever, and begin to live together: Steve after a big scandal with his parents funally starts to put an effort to his studies, but you, on the contrary, go crazy. You raise your head from your textbooks, look around and begin to realize how much you have missed.
For example, how incredibly smart and interesting it would be, in your fifth year at university, to fall head over heels for your fellow classmate, with whom you share a tiny two-room apartment and a can of cheap beer. 
"That would be fucking cool" you think and immediately begin to work in this direction, and soon enough you actually find yourself in love with Steve Harrington.
That’s why Robin says that if it weren’t for the textbooks, all this shit could have passed painlessly earlier and not destroy your life, but for you everything turns out differently, and you believe that you has the right for your own path. The path of the ninja. The path of the shinobi. The path of the stupid dumb ass idiot.
You are proud of your path and don't regret anything when boys in the university begin to look at you dreamily, and one of them, Billy, even confesses his love to you and gets sick with this viral crap, which was rare then - a couple of cases per hundred people. 
You fall in love with Steve, and you don't care that someone is vomiting flowers because of your disinterest.
You rightly believe that one cannot force a person to reciprocate feeling for someone to whom they cannot and/or does not want to do so. 
You joyfully rush through the soft clouds of inevitable friendzone, but fortunately, at first you have enough brains to do it in silence. Robin, of course, notices something, but Steve remains blissfully unaware that he has become the object of your sudden and growing love. Steve has other things to do - he finally finds a common language with his parents, also doctors in their thirtieth generation, he comes to his senses and dives headlong into science, discovering some - before unexplored - potential for this.
The three of you still lived together, sharing two rooms, and one day you realize that this is not a joke anymore.
You are madly in love with Steve, and now he’s with textbooks and different girls, you know. With one of them even for a very long time: Steve gets together with Nancy in his fifth year (ironically, at about the same time that you decide to fall in love with him) and remains for a long six years.
And at the moment when you and Robin are sitting in the microsurgery resident's office, working night shift, Steve is also with her - apparently on another vacation in Maldives or something like this. 
One can afford this if one's father is the head physician of one of the large hospitals - although it must be admitted, Steve never sought to enjoy such privileges. 
And his parents did not try to help him even while studying at the university. Later, however, his father did hired him to work, but not for his pretty eyes.
When the time comes to choose a specialization, Steve goes to oncology, Robin goes to surgery, and you - after long thinking decide on ophthalmology.
You confess everything to Steve right at the graduation, when it becomes clear that you will most likely either see each other less often or not see each other at all. At that graduation there was a lot of booze, easily accessible weed, a tiny apartment and a tinier balcony where you couldn’t even stand without touching your neighbor.
You are so drunk that you don't give a damn about anything.
You try to kiss him and he pushes you away. That's it.
You got terribly offended, of course, but you never stop loving him. Robs learns about this not even from you, but from Steve himself who, even when drunk, usually remembers everything down to the smallest detail - she finds out and advises you to stop being a fool. 
Laughter is laughter, but a few more years pass, and you begin to vomit daffodils, and it’s no longer funny.
- They’re not daffodils, you blind bitch, - you get angry and take another cookie. - This is a lily.
- Doesn't matter, - Robin rolls her eyes and tries not to show how much the situation worries her more and more. 
If a couple of years ago she considered your love for Steve to be a whim, now that you have inhaled Billy’s flowers and they have sprouted, it becomes clear that this is serious. The seeds simply wouldn't have sprouted out of whim.
– You need to take all the tests, x-rays and fluoroscopy. We need to do something about this. I don’t want to find a flowerbed instead of you one day.
You lean back in your chair and smile strangely. In the dim light of the nightly light of the resident's room the bruises under the eyes seem clearer, the lines of the cheekbones are sharper, - exactly an expressionist painting, especially since just five minutes ago you was fishing a full-fledged large flower out of your throat.
- You, Robs, should think about death easier with your job, - you say calmly. – In my operating room, you know, I have much less chance of encountering it. I can leave you without an eye, but in your room a person can end up being dead.
For some reason Robin shudders at this cynical calm. No, she really has a much simpler attitude towards death, because without this defensive reaction you won’t survive in this business: if you let all the pain and suffering pass through yourself, you can retire with a certificate from a psychiatric hospital. 
But now when she hears something like that from you - a closest friend, almost a sister even - in relation to your own life, it’s at least uncomfortable.
- Why don't you want to have a surgery? – Robin asks quietly once again, even if she knows what she will get in response. 
This is the game already - she asks this question over and over again, and you answers it every time in different ways.
- I’m just wondering how this will all end, - you chuckle, and Robin thinks that fucking daffodils have already sprouted in your brain. Oh sorry, lilies. - But, seriously, Robs. I just don't want it. So that later i will live like a hollow doll? Have you seen Billy? It's not even life. Besides, I always dreamed of dying beautifully, and could there be anything more beautiful than turning into a huge flowerbed?
This is the first time Robin hears this option. Such expression deserves applause. You should have became an actress. And if at the end of the performance no one gives you flowers, you can cough them up for yourself.
- Go through the examination so that you can at least understand the situation, - Robin makes one last attempt, but you are already looking at your phone and scrolling through the Instagram feed, not paying attention to her. - At least an x-ray.
- Did you masturbate recently? - you asks all of a sudden and Robin's confused.
- No?... - the answer sounds like an question.
- Then go fuck yourself, Robin.
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You wake up not from the alarm clock, but from an itch under your ribs that began to torment you in the evening. Having taken a couple of Suprastin pills, you went to bed and had vivid LSD dreams all night, only to collapse at five in the morning from painful scabies.
Lifting your T-shirt in front of the mirror, your discover a bright scarlet pulsating lump on the side of your stomach, just below your ribs, as if you had been stung by a Chernobyl hornet - it hurts and itches, and you simply hate this feeling.
And here you are thinking you just ate too much sweets the night before. You touch the abscess with the tip of your finger, and it itches even more - and as soon as you decides to scratch the skin with nails, the abscess bursts, flaring up with sharp pain, and pours blood onto your stomach along with disheveled white petals protruding from the wound.
- Fuck! - you yell, barely managing to pull off your white T-shirt and cover the wound with your palm. Blood still flows through your fingers, drops fall on the light carpet and laminate, you, groaning, go into the bathroom. - Fucking shit...
You carefully pull out the flower and throw it into the sink, deciding to deal with it later - right now you want to grab the phone and do something nasty. It’s simply impossible to deny yourself this, so you go to Steve’s Instagram and without greetings, in a very adult way, write to him in direct message a short “fucking son of a bitch.”
Of course, you don't receive an answer right away, but the main thing was to express the emotion: if it weren’t for Steve, you wouldn't be standing now in front of the mirror and wondering whether it was possible to cover the hole in your stomach with a band-aid or something else would come out of it again.
Lily, by the way, is gorgeous and neat - and much more larger than those that usually crawl out of the throat. You look at the bloody flower with morbid interest, wash it under the water and places it in a small vase next to the mirror in the bathroom. You still don't know why you do this, but sometimes you directly fight the desire to collect a bouquet for Steve and send it by mail. For this fucker to inhale and get sick. Although it’s unlikely that Steve is unrequitedly in love with someone.
- Listen, maybe I should write an article on this topic, - you say inspiredly, while Robin sits and fills some documents in her office. Your operating day ended, and you apparently came to eat Robin's lunch. - Everyone is romanticizing this shit. It’s like you’re coughing up petals, flowers appear in your ribs, in your lungs, on your wrists. So pretty and mysterious. But you, as a doctor, understand that seeds are distributed throughout the body, and in the intestines, for example, there is a very favorable environment for their germination.
- Babe, I’m not sure I want to know about this at all.
- But Robin! – you are indignant, rolling around the office on a chair and crossing your arms over your chest. – Little snotty girls dream of such beauty in their wet dreams, but no one tells them they will even shit flowers!
Robin puts down her pen and looks at you - and fights the urge to grab you by the scruff of the neck and drag you to the radiologist, then to the ENT specialist, and then to the psychotherapist. No, most likely, first of all, to the psychotherapist. You smile at all thirty-two, and only Robin could see the yearning frozen in your eyes.
- So you’re shitting daffodils, - she clarifies, just in case, - Like a princess.
- Lilies, - you nod. - Like a princess.
You refuse to take tests, because, according to you, you know perfectly well what is happening and at what stage you are.
For such a long period of time you are holding up amazingly well - at work, despite the fact that there are a lot of doctors around (even if they are all only ophthalmologists), no one suspects you are sick.
No one knows about this except Robin, who swears to be silent, and Eddie, and you threatened to squeeze out his eyes if he says a word. You are happy this way - you don't want an audience and a fuss around your condition.
And everything's fine, really. Sometimes thou the ribs hurt, as with neuralgia, and the eyeballs burst from pressure. Then you simply buy more painkillers, Baralgin in ampoules and vasodilating drops. Nothing to worry about... The end is perfectly clear.
A couple of weeks after that conversation, when Robin once again tries to convince you to take care of yourself, Steve, who has been missing for six months, appears and announces that he wants to gather their entire company and classmates. The assumption about the Maldives turns out to be incorrect, Steve tells Robin that he just returned from a scientific symposium in Germany and wants to share all sorts of news.
You are also invited, despite the fact that your correspondence continues to consist of a lonely “fucking son of a bitch” from which you concludes that Steve has forgotten about all the past awkwardness. Or he pretends to forget.
In the end after that graduation you saw each other enough times, and Steve acted normally. You work in the same hospital after all, so it is necessary to maintain adequate relationships - and apparently Steve succeeded in this better than you. In the end, it’s clear which one of you is calling names in the direct messages.
At first, you don't want to go, and Robin agrees, because this gathering definitely won’t make things better. Then you suddenly change your mind and get dress up for the party, despite the fact that Steve is gathering everyone at his house, which means Nancy will be there too.
- If he loved her, - you say with fake joyfulness, checking yourself in the mirror and straightening your black shirt, (because you can’t wear white, the stupid wound would show through. You cover it with a band-aid, it stings, and flowers still sometimes come out.), - He would have married her long ago. Axiom.
Outside you smoke two cigarettes in a row to calm down yourself, and Robin says it’s harmful in your case to smoke at all, but you burst into laughter, brightly, beautifully. It's funny indeed to advise not to smoke to a person who already has bushes instead of lungs. Or in what form do lilies usually bloom? In the bushes, right?
By the time you arrive, there are already a lot of people in the large, cozy apartment, and Steve meets you at the entrance - with a pack of cigarettes in his hand, because he was also apparently planning to go out to smoke. You meet his eyes, like in a shitty melodrama, and freeze.
And usually people say that the eyes of their beloved are pretty, bottomless, bright and all this shit, but you see them in different way. The position of the eyeball is correct, movements are full, free, eyelids are adjacent, eyelash growth is correct. The lacrimal apparatus is without any features, the conjunctiva is pale pink and clean.
- Hi, - Steve hugs you both and doesn’t notice with what morbid interest you are staring at him. - Come on in, guys, good to see you. Everyone is already here, we were waiting for you. Or you wanna smoke first?
You purses your lips and squeezes past Steve, and only God knows (and Robin, probably) how much effort it takes you not to look at Steve anymore and generally pretend that everything is fine.
Flowers react to their creator: throat tightens, and it becomes more difficult to breathe, head becomes heavy, and a grass taste rises up the throat, as if you were chewing hay half an hour ago, and now it wants back outside.
The company is just right, Nancy is beautiful and smiling, and for you the main goal of the evening become not to behave decently there, but at least not to suffocate, because as soon as Steve appears in sight, your body begins to prepare for mating dances.
- If you go throw up, don’t forget to clean up the flowers - Robin leans towards your ear and tugs on the leather necklace around your neck. - Or maybe don't. Who the hell knows, maybe if Steve will understand everything, you’ll at least talk about this?
An enraged look in response lets Robin know that you are not going to talk with Steve on this topic, although life has other plans this evening: during a general conversation Steve, hugging Nancy sitting next to him says, that he, as a part of a research group, began to develop non-surgical therapy for the flower virus.
Well, who would have thought.
You choke on your drink and look up at Steve for the first time this evening.
- Really? – The voice soaked with defiant causticity when you pretend to grin, while feeling as if you had swallowed a piece of ice. - How is it going?
Steve shines like a fucking garland, hugs his Nancy and really seems to think that he is busy with fucking important and useful work. No, maybe it really is important and useful, but you want to scream.
- We are at the initial stage, - Steve joyfully answers and spreads his hands wide, as if showing how ambitious the researchers’ plans are. It’s not like you, eye-healers, sitting there raking the specks out of people's eyes, or whatever you’re doing there. Oh, yes, you treat cataracts for old ladies. – It is necessary to understand what factors influence the fact that human interferon is not able to resist the virus. Animals do not get sick from it; experiments have shown this more than once. So there's a high chance of identifying antidotal substances sooner or later.
- Wow, cool, - you inertly clap you hands and get up, grabbing a pack of Marlboros. Why doesn’t such an apartment have a balcony, what a joke? - This is a very honorable thing. Keep me updated.
Steve seems to be saying something else, but you are no longer listening to him, going out onto the staircase, and Robin is generally surprised that you didn’t leave earlier. It was clear that your nerves were already on edge, and when the topic of the virus came up, that was it, the last straw and it became obvious that you couldn’t hold on any longer. But no, you even saved your face.
What a brave little girl.
Steve, however, after a minute goes after you, as if sensing something - or finally recognizing a liter of expressed poison in the sarcastic tone. You actually stand on the stairs and smoke, leaning on the railing, and look down at the opening between the floors, as if wondering if you can jump there. The problem is that you will most likely survive. Not an option. And it will be ugly too.
- What’s wrong with you? - Steve doesn’t put on a jacket, he goes out in just a T-shirt, striking a lighter. You hear his voice and grimace. - You sat there all evening like something got your panties in a twist.
You turn around and make an apologetic face innocently, mockingly, although you're shaking either from anger or from resentment (at Steve, at yourself, at the idiotic situation), and you try to hide your trembling hands in your pockets.
- And you're an expert on panties, right? - You hate yourself for this attitude, like a child in the kindergarten, but it’s difficult to control yourself because there is an increasing ache between your ribs, and it hurts so hard that you want to bend in half. You already got used to Ketorol, and the painkillers need to be changed. Fucking flowers, fucking painkillers, fucking Steve.
He opened his mouth to answer, but you finally bent over at the most inopportune moment, because you had been holding back all evening, you even persuaded Robin to give you baralgin in your vein so that there would be a block for at least a few hours - and now the block's over, and after it the attacks are always stronger. You cough exasperatedly, grabbing the railing, covering your mouth with your hand in horror, realizing that you can't stop flowers from coming out now.
Indeed the cough pushes another bloody flower into the palm of your hand, and you recoils from Steve rushing towards you - he turns pale, turns green (and he calls himself a doctor?), seeing the blood on your fingers, looks at you with genuine horror, while you are already quite indifferently walking towards the garbage can and throw away the flower.
You take paper napkins from your pocket and wipe your hands. All this in silence, without a single word, because what's the point of talking now anyway. And it’s unlikely that Steve, who recently started to explore this virus, won’t understand what happend. You don't have to be a researcher to understand what's going on here when a girl in front of you starts to cough a huge flower.
- Y/n, what the fuck is that? - you're amused because you have never heard such a tone from Steve. Scared, worried. - What the fuck is this? What the fuck is happening?
You even look at him with interest, wondering in what other variations you will hear this simple question. Steve's hands are shaking, like a heroin addict suffering from withdrawal symptoms, while he tries to shake one more cigarette out of his pack. Or an explanation of what's going on.
- Who is this, huh? – Steve whispers, while you send the bloody napkins after the flower into the garbage can. - Why don’t you...
− Who? – you don't know whether to laugh or cry, and therefore choose neutral and theatrically press your hands to your chest. Seriously, Steve is dumb even in this situation and can't put two and two together. – Are you serious, Steve? You should drink some glycine. Fish oil, or what other vitamins do we need to keep our head working? You need them, you want to invent a cure from this disease after all, yeah? As you already understood, I’m interested.
(You're not)
- Stop with this shit, - Steve clutches a cigarette in his teeth and, taking a step towards you grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you roughly, in order to somehow bring you to your senses. Although he's the one who needs to put himself together here - he is pale, eyes opened wide, his fingers are trembling, you feel it. - Fucking answer me!
And you are generally so happy all of a sudden that you look at Steve, bowing your head to the side like a bird, and don't feel shy anymore to openly glance over his face - there is slight stubble on his cheeks, his lips are bitten, chapped, his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes angry.
For you Steve is incredibly handsome, and this made it difficult to breathe even without flowers.
- Okay, since you insist so much, I’ll answer all of your questions, - you say and carefully disentangles yourself from his strong grip. - Who is it? You. Am I kidding? No. Has it started a long time ago? Yes. Why don't I have surgery? I don't want to. That's it. Can I go now, I have to get up early for work tomorrow?
Steve becomes numb, unable to utter a word, and you can be proud of yourself because you didn't start to cry and looked decent in this whole unfortunate situation.
- You’re joking, - Steve says helplessly.
You roll your eyes.
- Stop, I told you, I'm serious. And as you can see, all these years i haven’t said anything, and I wouldn’t have said anything further if I hadn’t gotten myself outed like an idiot today. Steve, let's not talk about this, shall we? Please.
You stop acting tough, like you don't care at all - you become serious, a little tired, you ask sincerely, and this completely drives Steve into a dead end. You go back to the flat to pick up your jacket, nod goodbye to all the friends and even Nancy, and then go down the stairs, waving to Steve.
He burns himself with the second cigarette in a row and swears under his breath.
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Steve can't sleep all night, and the next morning he immediately calls Robin, as soon as the acceptable time for this comes - he even doesn’t care that she is at work. He tries to bombard her with questions because he is sure that Robin knows everything - and he's right; he doesn’t hold back, he accuses and freaks out, like, what the hell, but Robs doesn’t appreciate his yelling.
- Don't, Steve - she says sternly, and this tone somehow makes Steve quiet. – I wouldn’t tell you anything, because I don’t have the right to do so. This is not my secret. And you know her as well as I do.  Once she has gotten something into her head, it is impossible to change her mind.  And yes, I’ve been fighting for six months now to get her to do surgery.
- Robin, let’s meet today, yeah? Fuck, I have to know everything, - Steve starts once again, and Robin has to agree. - I can’t do this, I can’t just leave it like that. I do care about her for fuck sake!
He tells Nancy some nonsense to get away from home for the whole day, because his chaotic thoughts are making his head swell. He meets Robin only at lunch, she promised to get out of the hospital, and Steve has a lot of time, which he spends sitting in a cafe and mindlessly studying your profile on Instagram. 
You post beautiful photos and selfies and Steve would never believe that this pretty girl, flawless on every photograph, covers up bruises under her eyes in the morning and picks flowers out of abscesses.
Steve has already written more than one article on this virus and doesn't romanticize it at all, and he can only wonder how do you manage to hide everything from everyone for such a long period of time? 
He opens the recent photo in your profile, you are looking at him, photographed against the background of a plain wall with lilies in hands. And Steve isn't sure you bought these flowers.
Conversation with Robin doesn’t make the situation better.
- Don't blame yourself, - says Robin, - It’s her decision, and it’s not your fault that this happened because of you. She didn’t blame herself at all while Billy walked around half-dead.
- But he had surgery, - Steve says quietly, and Robin nods. - What kind of... What kind of flowers are those anyway?
- Looks like daffodils. I don't know.
- Daffodils, - Steve smiles sadly, awkwardly, and this immediately makes Robin uncomfortable, as if she has inserted into someone else’s life without asking, even thou they both are her best friends. - It fits her.
And just like that, the puzzle comes together: strange behavior and name-calling in the Instagram direct message. This is you, and in general this explains a lot.
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Before the operating day you always go to bed early, because there can be two or ten operations, and even though most of them are trivial and quick, an attempt to screw up can cost someone an eye. On an operating day a clear head and a steady hand are especially needed, and you even allow yourself to take half of phenazepam in the evening in order to sleep better.
The fact that you will have to urgently call to work and ask to be replaced becomes clear in the very first second, when you, waking up in the middle of the night, can't open your eyes - a sharp pain radiates to your head, as if sharp blades had been shoved under the eyelids.
You growl through your teeth and roll out of bed, starting to rummage around in the bedside table - you have a bunch of different eye drops piled up there, and in order to even open your eyes normally and see what happened, you have to pour in a freezer. A quick examination in the mirror shows swollen eyelids, bright red sclera and bloody discharge - your fingers tremble when you pull back the lower eyelid and see several tiny white flowers there.
A perfect small copy. The anger takes over instantly and doesn't let go - you smash a vase in the bathroom and desperately scream.
You drip some useless antiviral to calm your soul, then add Broxinac. 
You even call your colleague and lie about viral conjunctivitis, after that you're running circles around the apartment and kicking chairs and armchairs. This is already a knife in the back. You wasn’t ready for such crap, even if you assumed that these fucking flowers would sooner or later come out of the eyes too.
To be honest you just hoped to die before this happened. You once again go to the bathroom, rake out tiny buds from under the eyelids, drip more anesthesia and go back to bed, turning off the phone. Today is your day off.
"And don’t fucking call me", you write to Steve on Instagram before falling asleep, and it’s not like Steve was gonna call.
When college ends and that graduation takes place, at which you, having interrupted Steve mid-sentence in a conversation on the balcony, lean forward and kiss him, freezing - Steve is so lost. It takes about ten seconds to realize what happened, and for all these ten seconds you study his lips with your own, and only then you recoil, pressing your palms to your chest.
Steve pushes you more out of confusion than out of anger; he doesn’t control his hands at all then - and it’s not like he’s very drunk. It’s you who usually gets wasted from one glass of wine, and Steve is more experienced, and he always remembers everything to the last detail.
You look at him helplessly and run out of the balcony and out of the apartment in general, before Steve can say a word.
Then you both try hard to pretend that nothing happened, and at some point Steve begins to think that it was just your incomprehensible joke. Now, when Steve remembers these white flowers, he belatedly realizes how stupid he was for thinking it was just a jock, he realizes his brain gave him a perfect excuse to not look any deeper into that event and most importantly he realizes you both needed to talk about it right after the kiss happend.
"Good job, Steve", he thinks gloomily and gives himself sarcastic applause. "Talking went well".
There were always a lot of people around Steve, and even if not all of them were friends, there were plenty of acquaintances. And they say, every friend is for something special - there is a friend to play football with them and watch the Champions League, there is a friend to go on a double date with the girls, there is a friend from whom you can copy homework when you didn't have time to do it. And you were a friend for soul, and Steve would be lying if he denied that you were his favorite friend.
You always lived in some kind of 4D world of your own, beautiful as unicorn's snot, complex and unusual, and therefore especially cool - and you were as cool as these unicorn's snot, which once upon a time helped Voldemort get back on his feet. You were helping Steve in the same way and sometimes didn’t even suspect it.
Steve could always come to you, lie down by your side and start whining about how he got rejected by yet another girl; you, without looking up from your textbook, were laughing and saying that the time would come, and some princess would definitely fall in love with him. Steve remembers that conversation now and grins - well, yes, you were right. The princess indeed fell in love with him.
Steve never hid the fact that he adores you from the tips of your fingers to your very fucked up jokes. Steve never had a problem admitting his admiration for anyone, and you were a perfect subject for this - Steve admired almost everything about you. Intelligence, thinking, an understanding of the world, puns that are stupid to the point of genius, the beaded handwriting, calligraphic, doesn't even look like a doctor’s handwriting at all.
Laughter, which Steve could listen to instead of a lullaby, and also bright soft eyes under long and fluffy eyelashes. Steve sincerely admired you and never considered it something more than a friendship. He laughed at your every phrase, waited with his mouth open for your stories and loved spending his free time with you. You were his favorite friend, and when it all ended like that, Steve felt empty.
No, he had already matured, and like a real big boy, he accepted the understanding that sometimes this happens - paths diverge, people come and go, but he didn't think, honestly didn’t think and was not ready, that you would leave his life just like that. You, whom he visited every damn evening before that fucking graduation, and lay next to you, talking non-stop about everything that was in his head and leaning towards the palm that stroked his hair.
You both were twenty-three, everything was so right and natural, and Steve never thought that it could be otherwise. Now you are twenty-eight, and he doesn’t know what he can do to fix anything.
To be honest, he is still ready to be the one to blame for everything, if only you would agree to accept his help.
You, as expected, don't answer his calls, although you appear online in almost all messengers - most likely, you either blocked him or simply ignore him, and Steve, after meeting his father in the main building, goes to microsurgery, deciding to wait until the end of the working day.
There's basically only an hour left, and Steve sits down on a bench along the alley, looking around furtively and lighting a cigarette - actually, he's not allowed to smoke here, but right now it's vital for him.
- Jonathan, hi, man, - he exhales a stream of smoke, waiting for Byers to pick up the phone. - Are you busy? I have to distract you. Tell me, are you working with those patients now? Regarding our research, I mean.
He met Byers back when they found themselves in a target research group for the development of non-surgical therapy, and immediately became friends. And if Steve doesn't deal with patients and operations, studying the theory, then Jonathan works directly with patients - judging by his reports, dozens of people with flowers in their bodies pass through his hands every month.
- Of course, Steve. Just had another surgery today. The woman with metastases. What's the question?
- Tell me, - Steve says slowly, – Are there any official mechanisms that force patients to undergo treatment?
Jonathan is silent for a long time, clearly seriously considering the question.
- No, dude. It’s the same as with any other disease, we can't force anyone to undergo treatment. You haven’t seen anyone with cancer or HIV being forced to do so, right? Many even refuse to do retroviral therapy. It’s the same here, - Byers rustles something in the background. - The only thing is that if it's teenagers, a psychologist can work with them and try to convince them. Why, you got a pubescent girl suffering from unrequited love?
Steve gloomily grimaces.
- A grown ass woman with a medical education.
- Oh, well, - Steve almost can see how Jonathan shrugs in surprise. - It seems like a choice, I'm afraid. The main thing is that if she will suddenly change her mind and want to undergo surgery, it will be very difficult in the last stages. Many doctors don't even agree to do it. But to fully understand the situation, I at least need to see the flowers.
Steve lowers his head, examining the cigarette pressed into the asphalt, and is silent for a long time, closing his eyes. There is very little time left before the end of the working day, and he needs to catch you before you see him and run away again.
- Well, hello, - Steve barely manages to grab you by the elbow as you rush down the alley and pull you towards himself so that you almost fall on top of him. You look angrily from under your brows and dark glasses. - Don't run away. Are you okay?
He notices that the sun is gone, it’s a gloomy autumn outside, it’s cold October, and dark glasses clearly seem unnecessary.
- Never been better, - you spit out and try to free yourself, but if Steve has grabbed onto something like a tick, then he can’t be torn off. - What do you want from me? I need to go home.
- And we’ll go, - Steve agrees and jingles his car keys. - Don’t worry.
Not paying attention to all the bickering, Steve puts you in the car, no longer even asks you to take off your glasses, because he understands that you're hiding something. You spend the entire way home in silence, and you generally turn away and look out the window, just not to look at him, who, on the contrary, does nothing but stare. You even snap and ask him to stop looking. It’s good that your eyes have gotten better today, although in between patients you ran to the toilet a couple of times to cry with flowers - you swore and watched as they, so tiny that they could be washed straight into the sink, stuck to the ceramics.
Steve follows you into the apartment without an invitation, although you silently try to push him out - in melodramas the characters make eye contact and freeze, but in reality you almost get into a fight just in case. Steve, having gotten angry, simply shoves you into the hallway and slams the door behind you both.
- Calm down, - he advises almost threateningly and points towards the bathroom. - Otherwise I’ll have to put you in the cold shower. Maybe you can at least make me some tea, idiot?
You look at him like a wolf and silently go to the kitchen, hit the button on the kettle, slam the cabinet doors, taking out tea and snacks. You loudly slam the refrigerator door, move chairs as if they were made of stone, put cups on the table, trying, as it feels, to break them. Steve trains breathing techniques and enters the kitchen already calm, catching you by the hand and forcing you to stop.
- Thank you, - he says softly, nodding at the cups with hot tea. It’s already October outside, it’s cold, and his fingers are numb. - Y/n, stop and listen to me. No, I said, listen, don’t try to interrupt me.
You immediately feel as if you are a teenage girl and you stand in front of the boy you like, looking at him with wide eyes, unable to say a word - only you are now standing in front of Steve, who has sat down on a chair and is holding your hands in his, not allowing you to escape. 
- I have a good friend who deals with these issues, - Steve begins and hurries to continue, because you are obviously starting to go furious. - Please, let’s just at least consider this option.
- Jesus, leave me alone, for God’s sake, -  you pull your hands away, but Steve catches them again, looking into your face - you are still so pretty. No, much more pretty than you were five years ago, your age incredibly suits you. Although Steve's not sure what is age and what is disease. - Shove your pity up your ass, Steve. I don't need it. And if you feel guilty, I will write in my will that you have nothing to do with it. I’ll write - "if you thought I was in love with Steve Harrington and it's all his fault, then no, I wasn't and it's not." Are you happy now?
Steve looks at you skeptically, and it is very clear what he thinks about this. You feel almost unbearable urge to slap him.
- You know what? Yeah, - Steve agrees unexpectedly easily. - This will be quite enough. The most important thing is that no one, God forbid, thinks that you were in love with me, otherwise everyone will think it's my fault you died. Be sure to write it, I beg you. I guess I can go now. I'm very glad you understood me.
And he gets up just like that, smiling and waving, only bowing is missing, and before you have time to react to his little show, Steve grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you like a kitten - he looks so angry, as if he could gnaw your throat with his teeth and not even choke. You involuntarily calm down and look helplessly, begin to cough meaningfully, because your breathing is short again, and your ribs begin to ache.
- Stop this fucked up shit, for fuck's sake, - Steve hisses, spitting out the words in your face in such way that you really want to run your palm over your skin and take them off. - Stop thinking I don’t give a fuck about you, that I don’t give a fuck about what's happening to you. Although I understand that it's so convenient. And so pleasant, right, fucking drama queen? Let me at least do something for you.
You smile, gesturing for Steve to move away, turn away and cough, bending over the sink - you immediately wash everything off, wipe your lips and drink a glass of water in one gulp to soothe your itchy throat. You wipe your hands for a long time, then look up at Steve - you finally took off your glasses, and he sees that your eyes were bloodshot and eyelids were swollen.
- What do you want? Or rather, what can you do?
- Something, - Steve answers and suddenly pulls you to him, hugs you, buries his nose in your hair, taking advantage of his height, and closes his eyes; you fall completely silent, feeling Steve pressing you tightly to himself, not giving you a single chance to escape. - Just at least don’t tell me to go away. I don’t care what you think about pity and about the fact that I feel guilty. I just miss you.
And you understand what Steve is talking about - you miss him, too, since the time that you didn't communicate normally, since the time Steve pushed you away on the balcony after a kiss, since the time you became strangers.
While Steve hugs you tightly and doesn’t let you go, the flowers don’t tear your chest from the inside so much.
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Robin unironically loves to come to microsurgery in her free time and sit in the corner of the examination room, watching you work.
In addition to the fact that patients of all ages - young and old (mostly male) sincerely consider you the most wonderful doctor in the world, you really do your job perfectly - despite the fact that you spent the last years of the university under the banner of a love-struck brain. Yes, even though you occupied both hemispheres of your brain with your love for Steve at that time, you, out of habit, didn't stop being a swot. It's just that Steve suddenly became one too.
Until the fourth year, to be honest, the words “symposium” and “Steve Harrington” simply couldn't be imagined in one sentence. Robin has suspicions that you played a significant role in Steve’s changes - you two literally spent all the time together at that time.
Robin squeezes past a line of patients jostling with plump cards with medical histories, and sits down on a tiny chair in the corner - you, standing in the pose of a thinker next to another granny, don’t even notice her.
- Sweetie, I can’t see the last line very well...
- Missis... - you look at the patient card, habitually adjusting the glasses on your nose. - Johnson, please! I've never seen the last line in my life. And I’m not even eighty-three yers old. Don't anger God!
- Doctor, I don’t sleep well at night, - complains another woman.
- I can offer you to work one shift at the hospital with me, - you write down the assignment on the card and hand it to her. - Go to the treatment room.
You are tired of explaining that in microsurgery you don't treat insomnia at all.
− Drip three times a day by the hour according to this scheme. What? What if you mess up the order? Well, I don't know. Perhaps then this will be the last time we see each other. Or rather the last time you see me.
- Yes, two weeks of injections! Yes, imagine, they are also made into the eyes. How? With a needle, obviously, what's so shocking?
- Yes, it might hurt. What did you want to hear from me? That it doesn't hurt? So that you will get disappointed in me later?
Robin, honestly, wouldn’t want to get to you for treatment, but loves to observe how you treat others - the sympathy and compassion in you is at the level zero, of course, and this attitude has the right to exist, because otherwise you will lose your mind.
Robin waits for the end of the reception time, doesn't refuse herself the pleasure of sitting in the procedure, while you make all the injections - confident and accurately, the hand won't flinch, even if the World War lll starts right now.
Robin gets chills when she watches all this: she's a surgeon, saw a lot of messed up things in her life, but eye operations - thank you, but no, thank you. Robin is capable of everything except contemplation of the process of ophthalmic operations.
The working hours end, and you both return to the examination room, because you complain about the bright light, and in there it is always dim. Today you came to work early, caught the boy from the diagnostics and asked to do an optical tomography for you - you had to pay for the his silence, and not only with a charming smile.
As you expected, the flower shoots caused retinal detachment.
You sit on a chair against the wall, lowering your shoulders, and throw back your head, resting the back of it against the wall - your throat moves heavily and unevenly under your skin. Now, in the dim light of the observation room, Robin sees how much you have changed in recent months.
The skin seems to have thinned, become completely grey, the veins are translucent, and they are so dark. The eyelashes cast almost sepulchral shadows on the cheekbones, and the sleeve of the pullover under the robe rode up, revealing a tightly bandaged wrist. Robin reaches out and takes it, examining - even through the dense layers of fabric the relief of the growing stems is visible.
- Rob, - you suddenly begin to speak, and Robin involuntarily leans forward to not lose a single quiet word. Probably, for once, you stop performing comedy on your improvised stage in a one-person theater.
- You love too, I know. You love Vicky. But I also know that this is a different love.
You don’t pull out your hand - the sprouts that are growing under the skin are tightly bandaged, and Robin isn't able to touch them. The more layers, the safer.
- I have different kind of love for him. You know, when I got a job here, one of the first patients I came across was a difficult one, a young girl. I didn’t cure her, it was a difficult case, but the situation somehow got better, under control. And she’s been coming to me to check her eyes for three years now — every single week. She's scared and at the slightest thing she comes straight to me for check up.
You smile, chuckle, and close your eyes.
- I’m not angry with her - it’s hard not to be afraid when you already have only one eye left. And then recently she started coming every other day, we treated her allergies. And she, apparently, is worried that she’s bothering me, and she apologized for this yesterday, and then she says so, fake cheerfully, “Doctor, I’m your cross, accept me as it is.”
Robin feels like she's about to cry. Every person has their own drama.
- And I accept it, - you say and smile - your throat, scratched from the inside, aches, and the words sound barely audible. - Just like I accept this love for Steve. I often get angry about this, I often think it would be better if I had never fallen in love, I often straight up hate him because I'm already so tired of being sick. I mean, I’m just really fucking tired of it, no bullshit. But I love this love because it makes me me.
You rub your tired, reddened eyes, reach for the shelf with medicines to drop more ophthalmoferon.
- I never thought I was capable of this. To feel like this, to love like this. That's what it's like. That's what Taylor Swift sang about. That's why they lost their minds and fought the wars.
What Taylor Swift sings about love is the last thing Robin thinks about when her friend is choking on the lilies.
- The good thing about the situation is that it gives you a choice, - you say, putting your hand on Robin’s shoulder, squeezing your fingers, encouraging. You support her as if it shouldn’t be the other way around. - And I chose. Chose to be myself.
And you don’t look unhappy at all now, except that same yearning is frozen in your eyes, but you have gotten used to that too. It is there fused with the iris with adhesions and vessels, it has made its way under the edges of the retina with green stems.
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- Steve, I understand that you’re nervous, but that won’t make me shit you a magical pill, - Jonathan is obviously annoyed, and Steve can hear it even over the phone. - Your screams don’t help much with our work, you know. You are a member of the group just like me, and you know no more no less, than me.
Steve sighs heavily and looks out of the window to check the road - you have a day off today, but you don't answer his calls, and this makes him nervous.
Nancy, of course, grimaced when Steve, instead of spending the day with her, got into the car and rushed to "some friend".
Her wording made Steve so pissed that he chose not to continue the conversation.
- Fuck, I’m sorry, dude, - he said reluctantly. - It’s just that I’m here with my family for a couple of months anyway, I won’t be able fly to Germany now, so I feel like I’m missing out on everything.
And it seems that the last thing he means by saying this is working on therapy.
- There are no other options now, - Jonathan repeats for the hundredth time, and Steve stops the car at your house. - Either surgery, or you know. No one has yet come up with a better interferon than reciprocity.
"And sometimes it seems there will be no other cure at all" - the words hang unspoken in the air.
You open the door after Steve ringed the bell three times, disheveled, sleepy and desperately yawning - and stare at pissed Steve as he squeezes into the apartment.
- I'm not even gonna ask what the fuck, y/n.
- I was sleeping, - you answer, and then your face lights up with understaning. - What, did you think I died? In your dreams!
Steve barely restrains himself from shaking you angerly by the shoulders, but to see you smiling like this means to forgive everything in the world, including Steve's fucked-up nerves. Since that evening, you see each other, if not every day, then often enough for Steve to understand what is happening to you, and even though his observations don’t exactly please him, the relationship between you becomes almost the same as before.
During these long and short meetings, you stubbornly don't say anything about your condition, although Steve has enough experience to understand for himself how serious everything is - you ignore all questions. And even now, having scared the crap out of Steve, you quite calmly go to prepare breakfast. Steve, sitting on a chair, watches you incessantly, and you eventually can't stand it.
- What, are you eating yourself alive now?
- I am, - agrees Steve, shrugging his shoulders, - Are you?
- I’m not, - you answer and, turning around, suddenly extend your hand to Steve, and when he takes it, you come closer and look seriously, as if cutting him open with your eyes. - Steve, no one is to blame for this. Everything is fair. I didn't want to fall in love with you, but i did it anyway. And you didn’t want to hurt me, but you did it anyway. It’s not your fault that I fell in love with you, and it’s not my fault that I don’t want to turn into a plant after the operation.
Fuck, what a pun.
- I regret I didn’t have enough brain to talk to you back then, - Steve freezes when you very carefully touch his eyelids, slightly faded light eyelashes, and the thin skin under his eyes with your fingertips. - Maybe something would have turned out differently.
- No, - you simply answer. - It wouldn’t have. I'm a fatalist, Steve. It is what it is. There is a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them. By the way, your eyelid is inflamed, might be the stye.
Steve is completely lost for a second, and then he laughs loudly, honestly, throwing his head back - as only he can; and you smile too, even if you don’t understand what he finds so funny.
- You’re still the same, - he says, laughing. - The most unexpected person on Earth.
Steve is fooling around as if you both are twenty-two again, you are not throwing up huge lilies, and you two are just skipping physical education to prepare for microbiology. No one kissed anyone, no one pushed anyone away, no one abandoned anyone; no one loved anyone...
Steve interferes you with doing breakfast, steals muffins from the refrigerator and smears himself with them, stuffing his mouth full and constantly getting in your way - you curse, drop the spatula, kick him out of the kitchen, to which you receive only laughter in response. And you can't help but smile, forgetting about everything that ultimately brought you two closer again. It’s just that Steve is here now, and you feel a little bit better.
Steve looks at you, catches every smile and every gesture - and thinks that since then, his feels towards you hasn't changed at all. This is the same honest admiration for you - from your smile to your fingertips - absolutely everything you say and do;
- I missed you so fucking much, - he whispers and doesn’t even understand why he’s pulling you closer to him, but he doesn’t even think about holding back. - Shhh, don’t twitch, I’m just sniffing the hair. It smells nice.
Yeah, like fucking lilies.
You let yourself go, allowing yourself to forget about everything - and reach out to Steve, without resisting your desires, emotions, your cross; the flowers inside open up, rustling with huge white petals, filling your chest - it feels like flower smell comes from your lips instead of breathing. And for once it doesn't hurt.
You talk about everything and nothing again, like before, drink tea and you, sitting on the window sill of the balcony, press your shoulder close to Steve, not because it’s cold, but because you want to.
Steve laughs at every joke you say, typically a doctor's ones. You laugh because he does, rest your forehead on his shoulder, and your shoulders shake with laughter.
Steve hugs them with one hand, squeezes his fingers on your waist.
- We can have sex, if you want? - Steve either goes all in or is a complete idiot.
You feel so good right now that you don’t even think about these words and motives, and there’s a smile in your eyes when you playfully bite your lip - you have nothing to lose. A biblical garden blooms inside you, and your mouth in the morning is not filled with oral sex, but with huge snow-white buds.
- Not now, - you laugh, throwing back your head and exposing your neck, and it should be kissed all over, bitten, licked along every veins, and Steve thinks he’s going crazy. - It will be the most fucked up moment in my life if flowers will come out of my pussy.
It’s like Steve is twenty-two again, and he is crazy about you – from your fingertips to the stupidest of jokes.
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When Steve has to fly away for two weeks, his insides clench with irrational panic, and he calms himself only by thinking that they have a trial radiotherapy test scheduled. He first demands, then asks and - in the end - begs you not to ignore his calls and messages, and in the end simply asks Robin to be in touch with him.
She is still trying to resist that it's your right not to answer if you don't want to, but Steve starts yelling. And when Steve yells, any arguments stop working.
However, you answer him every day, and Steve holds his breath every time he sends a message.
"How are you?"
In each such question there is more honesty than in the mile-long messages that Nancy demands from him. Steve grinds his teeth, aggressively typing answers for her, while he checks his WhatsApp every minute and doesn’t see himself from the outside when he gets another selfie from you from work - your crooked grin against the backdrop of some bloody post-operative rags. His face cracks with a smile so much that Jonathan pushes him on the shoulder - put yourself together, dude.
Only now, having found you in his life again, Steve realizes how much he missed you. And he can't believe that all this is happening to you two, this whole stupid fairy tale; and if you hadn’t covered your mouth with your palms in an attempt to hold back the flowers bursting out, risking suffocation, Steve would have laughed.
He would have laughed that this is not about you, that it’s not happening to both of you, that you’re kidding, there are no fucking daffodils.
- Lilies! - you bark into the phone when Steve, having mixed up time zones, calls you in the middle of the night. - Is it really that hard to remember?
As long as you answer him, everything is fine, and Steve tries not to think that one day you may not answer not because you try to piss him off by ignoring him.
After one of the working days, you come to Robin’s department and say you took a sick leave - and conceal the fact that you had an attack today right during the patient check up, and you barely managed to give an injection with trembling fingers, almost piercing the patient’s cornea. Robin understands everything without words, because you continually scratch your itchy wrists and wheeze with a hoarse throat. You can't put patients at risk.
But you take pen and paper and write your love story in the article “Pathological changes in the retina of the eye in the extreme stages of the flower virus.” And every now and then you begin to take an article to Robin for editing, because you are also a graphomaniac - if inspiration suddenly comes, you write non-stop, but are too lazy to re-read it.
You again plunge into science headlong, describing yourself from the reflection in the mirror and white sheets of paper with the results of ultrasound, biomicroscopy and optical tomography - there tiny green stems make their way through the tissue. You smile, looking at the studies, trying to understand the techniques of possible operations that you, of course, won't make on yourself. This takes up almost all of your free time, and you come to Robin with a heap of papers and a burning gaze, as if you weren't the one getting paler every day - and sleeping less and less, because you were choking with an annoying cough.
- Y/n, - Steve calls again in the middle of the night, but you are not sleeping. You smile, watching Steve almost poke his nose on the screen, trying to take a closer look at you. - Y/n, radiotherapy gives the first results on infected cells.
You don’t even listen to him - yes, of course, all of this is very important, but not for a person who already has more flowers in her body than blood, who almost has flowers instead of blood flowing through her veins. It's autumn outside, cold November, and you think this is the most suitable month to turn into a biblical garden in your bed.
- Steve, - you whisper, interrupting, don’t listen to Steve’s explanation. - Steve, will you come back soon?
He falls silent, looking at the screen strangely - as if he wants to reach out, to touch, but the fucking technology will not let do that soon, if ever. Steve would give any money in the world right now just to teleport to your room in one second. He chuckles silently, thinking what a fool he was for wasting so much time.
Although how would he have understood anything, if you hadn’t been taken away from him now, torn from his hands?
- Soon, - he answers quietly. - I'll be back soon.
- I'll be waiting.
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Steve fights with Nancy, when in the heat of the moment she shouts something about you and "his stupid friends" - Steve is shaking with anger, and it’s easier to just hastily grab his jacket and get out. He just had arrived and there was already a scandal - and especially on the topic of you, the mention of which makes Steve see red.
Steve doesn’t understand what is happening to him, but desperately doesn’t want to admit it's all because of guilt. Steve can't get enough of you, he wants to eat you, drink you, consume you until he faints, everything’s not enough for him, what has a fucking guilt to do with it?
It was always like this with you.
You are his favorite friend, and your condition is now more important than Nancy's tantrums.
On the threshold Steve silently grabs you in his arms, hugging you tightly, almost until your ribs crack – you wheeze and utter a strangled "Steve, let me go, I'm gonna throw up flowers on you”, flutters weakly and bury your nose into his neck, tickling it with light breath.
- Throw up, - Steve agrees, finally smiling as only he can: wide, infectious, sincere - this smile warms you to the point of burns. - From head to toe, I don't care.
Steve feels such relief seeing you again, even if he feels with his hands almost every protruding bone of your body - now, it seems, you can be broken with any careless gesture. Steve doesn’t explain anything, silently hands you a huge bouquet of multi-colored socks and sits down on an ottoman in the hallway, showing anticipation with all his appearance.
- Sorry, I decided not to buy flowers, you already have plenty of 'em. Now get dressed. Let's go for a walk.
Steve watches you pull on a huge sweater, pants torn at the knees, and spend a long time spinning in front of the mirror. Then you hide in the bathroom, swallow some pills and come out, almost up to your ears in a scarf. Steve distantly thinks that you are still somehow incredibly pretty - even with those dark shadows under your eyes.
Steve puts you in the car in the front seat, chats incessantly, doesn't explain where you are going - he only stops by for coffee for you two.
Steve himself doesn’t know where he’s going, just wants to get some distraction, out of town, to breathe in the fresh evening air, because you keep opening the window to take a deep breath. You are suffocating, even if you try not to show it, and your eyes itch, they itch so much, you want to take them out and insert new ones.
- I have a guitar there, in the trunk, - Steve says suddenly, when you drive a couple of miles from the city. - Come on. Like at the university?
- You still remember how to play? - you snort, looking at him funny.
- Muscle memory.
And Steve really still knows how to play. You leave the highway along the edge of some field that goes down to a small river. Steve takes out a guitar and a blanket for you from the trunk, and both of you sit down on a fallen tree.
Steve plays a very simple melody, and you finish your coffee and wrap yourself in a blanket like a caterpillar - just about to turn into a butterfly. You can finally breathe easier: either with help of the evening air away from the city, or with Steve very close to you, shoulder to shoulder.
At the university you all loved to spend the evenings before exams like this - with a guitar and cider; that time there were no white doctor's coats, operating gloves, fucking flowers and broken hearts. Robin is smart, Robin is a surgeon, she says there are no broken hearts, there can be all sorts of pathologies, defects and insufficiencies, but not cracks, and you must understand this - you are also a doctor after all.
- I’m an eye doctor, this is different, - you say out loud to your thoughts - completely by accident. - Microsurgeon. Which means I might have broken heart.
Steve looks up at you, never ceasing to pluck the strings with his fingers.
- Robin says so, - you explain. - Like, you can’t have a broken heart, it’s all nonsense, you are a doctor! And I assert there can’t be hearts in the eyes, because it’s fucking impossible. In the eyes only the sclera, cornea, iris and pupil are visible - and the limbus, if you look closely. But a broken heart is different.
Steve’s fingers, trembling, break from the string, and the sound turns out so thin, hysterical, it freezes in the air, like unspoken words. You argue as if not noticing him, as if you're generally alone in the world - a lone actress on stage, the amphitheater is empty. You say something, but Steve doesn’t hear you, all the sounds are in the background around him, ordinary and insignificant - the only important thing is that Steve focuses his gaze on you, on your slightly chapped lips, saying something and for the first time formalizes your thoughts into desire.
Steve reaches out to you over the guitar, his fingers slip again almost to the scratches, and he catches your lips with his own - an awkward, desperate kiss, as if miles separate you, and not just one old guitar. Your lips are dry, and your eyes are wide open - the guitar cracks somewhere under your elbow, the old wood breaks, and you both somehow awkwardly fall on top of it and each other.
And then Steve kisses you more slowly, more consciously, holding your chin with his fingers - it seems to you that every second stretches into eternity, and in each of these eternities you are ready to die, turning into a blooming garden.
Or into a flowerbed.
- Too bad the guitar got broken, - Steve's quiet voice is heard near your ear, and a smile can be discerned in this voice. - But that’s not the most important thing, is it?
You close your heavy eyelids, squeeze his fingers in yours, and this gesture contains everything: longing, stupid one-sided love, gratitude, reluctance to let go and reluctance to leave - for the first time ever and only for a second.
You will never regret your choice, because you chose to be yourself.
- The most important thing is that, - you whisper barely audible.
we are free.
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You love November, because in this month everything around freezes - the world itself, sounds disappear, as if in a vacuum, and everything around dies in order to be born again. No, it’s not like you believe in reincarnation and life after death, you are a doctor after all and this has long left an indelible imprint on your understanding of reality. But a broken heart won’t heal itself, and there can’t be hearts in the eyes, because that’s fucking impossible.
A broken heart is something else.
- Robin, we live in a world where people throw up flowers out of love, what realism are you talking about! - you shout, flapping your arms like wings, and this movement causes leaves to fall from a yellow oak branch. You shouldn't have gone out for lunch.
Every morning you wake up from lack of oxygen, hanging over the edge of the bed and coughing up huge white lilies. The irises against the background of bloodshot eyes seem a thousand times brighter and crazier, and tears no longer moisturize - they, too, now always contain tiny petals and seeds.
It’s November outside, every breath feels like a cut of the knife, and a better interferon than love has not yet been invented. And it would at least be fine - if any love.
And your love stands opposite you, wrapped in a stupid puffy jacket, and strokes your sunken cheeks, with his palms.
- Y/n, how are you?
- Bad, - you answer for the first time in all this time, and your lips barely obey. You cling to Steve’s hands with your fingers, stiff from the cold, hide your palms in his pockets and sighs quietly, holding back annoying cough.
– Did you see the crow? - you suddenly say, looking somewhere over his shoulder. – Crows are amazing. If I were a crow, I would also find some cool lighting fixtures on nine-story buildings and sit there like they do.
Steve thinks that in your head there is not just different world, but several universes exist and collide with each other, exploding and mixing, in order to eventually come up with bullshit about the crow.
Steve doesn't think when he pulls you towards him and kisses you, feeling the flowery taste of small smooth petals on his tongue as he catches them with his lips.
- Steve, - you whisper hoarsely, but no longer push him away. - Flowers.
Steve so doesn’t care that he just smiles strangely and strokes the thin skin under the lower eyelids, where the shadows are so big and dark that they like the night can cover entire cities.
- Y/n, - he says, and it’s already the end of November. - Just wait for me, okay?
And you will wait.
At least as long as you can.
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gabessquishytum · 6 hours
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Begging for more omega hob and alpha dream with the knot fucking
Just hob tying dream spread eagled and after stretching himself enough to comfortably be able to ride his knot, deciding to do so til dream cries. Maybe even after that.
Maybe he leaves dream tied up and with a couple vibrators in him and on his cock while hob snuggles into his side and naps. Just leave him sobbing from overstimulation and incapable of doing anything for relief.
(As long as it’s prenegotiated and dream is into it)
Oh I looooove this.
Dream has literally never been through anything like this before. All his previous partners were happy to be knotted, but they never... did anything more specific with his knot? He never even imagined that it could be more than a simple part of his genitals... but Hob treats it like his favourite toy! Even when sex ought to be "over" - Dream has cum, Hob has cum, its time to cool down and cuddle - Hob still wants to play. He wants to ride himself to a second orgasm. He's even managed to wiggle himself off Dream’s knot entirely (with a gallon of lube) so he can put it in his mouth instead. He's actually obsessed.
Dream is a helpless participant in Hob’s games. He enjoys the fact that he has no choice in what Hob chooses to do to him. It's like his knot isn't even really his - it belongs to Hob, and gets to decide whether he'll sit calmly on Dream’s lap until the knot deflates.... or if he'll try to wiggle a silicone knot toy into his hole alongside Dream’s real knot! He's insatiable and absolutely knot obsessed - isn't he lucky that Dream has a lovely big one for him to play with every day?
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