#kit writes

[boyfriendstevie]

heard you wanted thoughts about Steve or Robin…

i’m quite baked and i’m just thinking about modern Robin at a gay bar. she’s been flirting with you all night, wearing a snapback and a button down shirt and i might die a little if i continue to picture it.

oh my GODDDDDDD. please. i… am in love with her. she’s got the brightest smile and her eyes crinkle at the corner and she has the best laugh — at your terrible jokes, no less — and i am also unwell just thinking abt it.

you end up in the bathroom with her, up on the counter, her body between your thighs as she kisses you. you’ve managed to knock her hat off her head with your fingers in her hair, legs locking around her waist andddddd

#Can’t get this out of my head #I’m unwell #thank u for this nonnie #robin #robin buckley x reader #kit answers #kit writes #anon

[ktsumu]

retired apartment neighbour!john price who just misses protecting someone warnings: he's tampering with your stuff, implied home invasion, stalking

belatedly dedicated to @soumies who brainstormed this!!!

-

Your sink isn't working again.

Two months ago, it was a worn washer and something else the repair guy that your landlord sent told you. The last time, the drain wasn't up to fighting anymore.

This time? You don't know what the fuck it is.

Sometimes, you can fix it yourself— save some good money. Sometimes, something's obviously loose, because you remember that you tightened it well the time before. You make it right again and leave it, but then it just drips again. It makes you worry about the day you don't notice the sound and the wood starts to rot.

You've asked down the hallway a bit about whether their kitchens suck too, but they give you funny looks. You don't know why you've got the cursed unit, but it seems that everyone else is doing just fine.

Everyone but John, at least, because he worries about you.

John Price is half-neighbour, half-friend, half-stranger. That's too many halves, but he's big enough to fit them all.

The five months he's lived next to you, he's been nothing but kind. He's caring, funny when you're tired, helpful. You call him Price in passing, John when you need him for something; he answers dutifully to both.

(He's protective, too, frightens boys you bring back for yourself. You guess that nature came with the dog tags.)

He's kind, but you don't know him outside of when you need him, really. Neither of you seem to mind, though, since you're sure he's a busy man and he probably thinks you're too young to waste time on.

Now is one of those times that you need him.

The wrench in your cramping hand clatters against your kitchen floor, sweat beading at your hairline and under the neck of your shirt. It's the hottest night recorded in a decade and here you are; working on your fucked up sink instead of taking a cold shower.

Being too loud isn't a concern— your hallway is full of rabbits and your building manager lives below you; you hope he hears you groaning.

When you hear a knock, knowing who it's from, you start to care a little bit.

"Everything right?"

"I'm fine," you tell him, but it's wheezy. "Sorry for being loud."

Price simply opens your door, enters your home. It's barely ever locked when you're here, you aren't as careful as you used to be. Sometimes, if he's talking to you, he walks right in.

You never really say anything about it. You don't mean it as an invitation, but it comes out as one.

"It's that sink again?"

"How'd you know?"

Price is already in your space— looming over you, squatting to a kneel. One of his hands guides you away from the cabinet and you follow him without question.

He takes the wrench you gave up on. "S'always the sink with you, kid."

You see glimpses of history in Price. Like how he slides himself under your sink even though it's small, almost silent. Like how he grips your rusty wrench like a knife, backhanded, thumb closed over the handle's end.

His skin is covered in sweat, too, dewy under your kitchen light. It beads by his beard.

There's an ugly grind of metal versus metal, something tightening or being forced back into place. Price drops his thick arms again, lifting himself out from under your counter, and he hands you your tool back.

"How did you," you trail, "how did you know—?"

"Knew where to look, love." He laughs quickly when your face is blank. Price is taller than you remember when he stands, leaning on your kitchen island. "I've seen worse than some sink pipes, yeah?"

Of course he has.

It's why you mostly get him to fix things up in your place. Always knows what's wrong with your stupid apartment.

"Yeah, sorry."

Price doesn't leave when he helps you, either.

He waits, eyes trained on you when you get around your kitchen, getting the water jug and your tray of half-frozen ice cubes, asking if he wants some water. You think most people would kindly refuse, but Price always sticks around.

This time, though, he seems like he's gotten his fill, eyes lidded as he waves a hand when you go for the fridge. "M'good, love. Just call me when it goes again."

Your kitchen is uneasy. You know it isn't him, and it's probably you and the stress from the fact you can't sleep in the heat. The AC sounds like it's fighting in your window.

"How do you know it's gonna break again?" you ask. You know it sounds dumb, because you know your whole unit is a bit of garbage, but he's quiet. "Didn't you fix it well?"

John isn't looking at your eyes, he's looking at where your arms are crossed over your chest, hiding the sweat under your arms and collar. He's looking at your bare legs.

"I did," he assures you, always. "It's just a bad sink, lovie."

Just a bad sink, s'all it is.

"Yeah, it is, huh?" you ask, breathing a laugh at the stupidity of it all. At this rate, he'll be coming in to help you until you move out.

He steps toward you again, resting a heavy hand on the small of your back. You don't realize, don't even notice the fact he's nearly guided you out of your apartment until you're at the door.

Are you seeing him out, or is he seeing you?

John feels intimate when he's this close— head tilted, brows slightly raised, thumb tapping on your spine.

"Call me next time, alright?" he tells you, like you'd imagine he'd coo at a rescue. "I'm always around.”

You just nod. Something is pushing you closer and something is pushing him out.

"I will, promise."

"Have a good one then, kid. Take it easy tonight.”

"Thanks, John. I really, really appreciate you helping."

"Just what neighbours do, aye?"

He waits by the door as you close it, watching your smile just as you watch his, warm like a fire. Something makes your hand rest on the lock.

(You know you shouldn't need to, but you kneel in front of your sink when he leaves, knees pressed against the cold floor.)

Something itches in your stomach, not intuition but not ease either, nipping at the back of your brain. You almost feel stupid, using your phone flashlight to feel around the pipe that's never right, looking for something to tell you that you aren't acting crazy for doing this.

There's something you remember seeing earlier, right? Something obvious that you checked to see if it was the issue, or something you replaced last time, or something you paid for.

Your fingers feel nothing where there should be something— a piece is definitely gone, a washer or a nut, maybe old putty you remember cringing at.

It could be lost under the lip of the cabinets, maybe. Maybe that's where it is. It isn't him, surely. He wouldn't do that. There's nothing for him to do that for.

John Price has does done nothing but be kind to you— who are you to blame him for anything?

-

A missing handful of little metal pieces is dropped into a duffel, out of his fisted hand. It clatters against the rest of them.

#john price x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #price x reader #task force 141 x reader #141 x reader #tw stalking #tw obsessive behavior #kit writes #neighbour!price #cod

[legendaryrooftopscene]

This is part of the 500k Tankhun lore that lives in my noggin. He has a TBI. It’s from a concussion. Most of his family thinks it happened during his kidnapping. It didn’t. It happened after, when his world was fracturing into thousands of pieces even as the doctors stitched him up. The nightmares and memories got too loud and he just needed it to stop and they had stopped giving him the sedation medication too early (‘we have to keep your mind sharp. You can’t rely on a crutch like this, find a way to push through pain,’ his father had said as the nurse took away the pills) and he just needed it to stop so he stood up and walked over to the wall and slammed his head against it. The thoughts stopped. And when they came back, they were fractured into pieces too, just like the rest of him. They never really stitched themselves back together.

It’s part of the reason Kinn takes over for him. Tankhun is fairly sure that if his father let him attend therapy he could recover from his trauma. Probably not from his paranoia, but a good mafia boss should be paranoid. But Tankhun—always considered to be the smartest of his brothers—couldn’t hold onto details. Timelines were fuzzy. His words got mixed up. He had less control over his emotions. Reading got infinitely harder. A mafia boss could be many things, but sloppy was not one of them. Tankhun could no longer stay organized, and so he could no longer lead the family. So he shut himself into his suite of rooms, a place that he knew from muscle memory so he could never get lost in it, and pivoted his life. He developed his fashion sense and sewing skills. If he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d worn this shirt or those pants, he might as well make them all flashy and loud enough that no one noticed if they repeated two days in a row. He blamed any of his balance issues and fine motor skill failures on long flowing sleeves, dragging cape trains, and silky gloves. He watched series (easier than reading) and though each one captivated him fully, he struggled to recall the plot after finishing it. So he would watch them again and again. Even a few years later, when he’d learned tricks and ways around his memory problems, watching and re-watching series was a center point of his life, a way to stabilize himself and carry on. He carved a life out for himself until he could hardly remember what it was like Before. He was certain he had been happy Before. But he was also fairly happy now. It was impossible to say, in the foggy realm of his memory, if he was happier now or then. Probably best not to know, he thinks, and picks out another series to watch.

#kinnporsche #original #kit writes #tankhun my beloved… I’m thinking of you always #I have a soft spot for disabled characters who have to figure their own shit out and find a way to thrive in their own way #tw self harm #tankhun theerapanyakul #he’s still the smartest brother btw! he so so smart

[kit-williams]

Can you imagine yandere Perturabo and yandere Lion?

Yes I can! Trying my best to not let my Perty Bias get the better of me!

Yandere Perturabo might do better with a darling... might be able to stop that man from death spiraling via negative thoughts but that's a big might. Oh he's very particular about his darling (just as equally as Konrad might be now that I think about it) but the poor darling who takes a look at something he made and has that meme moment of "shut up I'm experiencing child like wonder" it then becomes priority number one to grab you. Which really shouldn't be hard... doesn't even have to get his sons to help depending on their station a simple order too but Perturabo is also mischievous (hasn't been in awhile but there are traces of his mischievous personality that he once had before he became really bitter) I can see him also just being some sort of secret admirer if he doesn't feel the need to snatch them up right away. To watch the smile blossom on their face whenever they get a gift or spying them showing it off with glee. He might start leaving hints on who the sudden admirer is... he rather you walk into the pretty little enclosure he's made verses having to throw you in... after all you wear those pretty delicately made iron bangles so nicely he'd hate to have to leash you up to make you stay.

Yandere Lion is as I have always said about him... he is a beast in the shape of a man where Russ is a man in the shape of a beast. Lion would see something or rather in this case someone who tickles something on the inside of him and he would feel that want. What people think he should have verses what he wants are very different... he doesn't want a wilting little thing under him... he wants his pretty little feline under him to also hiss and bite back as he mates... and breeds. Perhaps he figures a one and done might get it out of his system... scratch that itch verses letting it fester and become annoying. Oh but he'll find out you're like catnip and he can't keep you away... no one is telling him that he cannot bite... he cannot mark... no one but himself but those moans under him just only encourage it. Oh yes if he does go for trying you out to get the desire out of his system he will quickly find out that is rather impossible and you just have to accept your fate... Oh yes I still see this applying for both a young 30k Lion as well as a 40k Lion, who feels even less inclined to play the courtly games. But yes... don't worry too much about what's going on and where you're going let him just let you feel good and just worry about bearing him cubs.

(I really couldn't resist with the cat puns) ((I'm so sorry))

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon

#warhammer 40k #reply #answer #warhammer 30k #yandere primarchs #yandere #male yandere #primarchs #perturabo #yandere perturabo #lion el'jonson #yandere lion el'jonson #kit writes

[l1ttl3l0v3]

I'm having a Lisa, Signora, and Arlecchino brainrot. Could I request one or all of them as caregivers (seperately)?

Omg I am so sorry this took forever but here ya go ! (I only did Lisa and Signora cus I dont know much abt Arlecchino) Mommy/mama used in a SFW context, kink dni! caregiver!Lisa with little!gn!reader -Best cuddlebug EVER!!! -loves to scoop her lil one up and cuddle with them -Will absolutely call you "Sleepy one" when you're tired -Takes you out to good hunter -It doesn't matter your age range she WILL cradle you while you drink from a sippy/bottle -You call you mama/mommy and she wears that title like A GOD DANG MEDAL caregiver!Signora with little!gn!reader -Calls you things like "Little rascal" and "Mini me" -Will destroy anyone who gives yall a weird stare -Honestly tries to hide her line of work from you -Gives the best bear hugs -Despite her intimidating and rude personaliy and demeanor, she's so sweet with you -You're just her little one after all!

#im so cool round of a plause for me #genshin agere #genshin impact agere #sfw agere #kit writes #genshin fluff #la signora #signora x reader #lisa minci #this is so short

[justagalwhowrites]

I'm not sure y'all understand, when I say thank you for reading, I 110% mean that. Because I feel like you're doing me a personal favor reading the stuff I put out into the world so thank you for spending your time and energy with it. So thank you for reading ❤️

#fanfic #fanfic writer #kit writes

[is-there-an-echo-in-here]

Strength in Duty

Read below or read on Ao3

...

Grievous played his usual game with them and Obi-Wan was determined, this time, not to allow the separatist general to escape.

He believed that they took Grievous by surprise as much as he did them, dropping out of lightspeed in a heavy nebula that glitched the scanners and essentially blinded them to their surroundings. Their cruisers had practically bumped into one another as they made their opposite paths through the nebula. Grievous had launched an attack in an instant, aiming for their engine room, their data collection, anything that would decimate Obi-Wan and his legion or give his masters the upper hand in the battle.

Obi-Wan guarded the main data point, where they stored the outpost locations, the Jedi general’s missions, the clone ranking lists. His commander was stationed at the engine room and, if his urgent call over the communicator was anything to go by, Grievous was making his way there, cutting down clones as they made hasty, final reports into the comms, ending in screams and static.

Obi-Wan left his post—left it in the very capable hands of a clone unit he had commandeered, but left it all the same—in favour of joining his commander, in fear of losing him.

He heard the death screams of his men over the comms as he ran down the corridors, and wondered if he would be able to identify Cody’s if it came. It was not a pleasant thought. It was a fear of his, one that concerned him greatly, because Jedi should not be afraid of loss. Jedi could not grow so attached, so selfish in their affections, and to fear the death of a clone of all people was, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, doubly concerning. Clones died every day. They gave their lives for the republic, for their brothers, for the Jedi, and Obi-Wan convinced himself that, although their loss was tragic, it was also honourable.

He did not know why it was so hard to convince himself of that in regard to his commander.

A flash of movement down the corridor spurred his efforts, sprinting after Grievous as he made a break for the engine room. Blaster fire erupted through the hallway and Obi-Wan rounded the corner to see Grievous advance on the commander and his men. The separatist general deflected shot after shot. Clones yelled in pain. Obi-Wan leapt for Grievous’ back, parried by a swinging saber.

A clone had a grappling hook around the general’s left arms. He and Cody were straining to hold him. Grievous cast a defensive slash at Obi-Wan, forcing him back a step and using his moment of respite to wrench the line forward, flinging the clone towards him and sinking two lightsabers deep into his chest. The dying choke let out by the man fuelled Obi-Wan forward in a fit of anger. Cody, similarly, fired off a merciless round of blaster bolts, avoiding Obi-Wan’s erratic movements with an expert precision.

It was just the two of them left standing. Obi-Wan trusted him completely. He was able to sever one of Grievous’ arms at the joint, tearing a mangled scream from their foe. Cody buried three shots in him, maiming his wrist of another arm, setting burning holes in his chest, and provoking the general to lunge at him with a frightening malice.

Cody dodged, rolled beneath the swinging arm, blocking Grievous’ escape now, grazing his head with another, rapid shot. Obi-Wan held position at the entrance to the engine room. He tilted his head when Grievous groaned in frustration and cast a glare back at him.

“I will accept your surrender,” said Obi-Wan with a crooked smirk, “and you can avoid any further damage.”

Grievous growled, guttural and defeated, turned towards Cody again, and Obi-Wan’s heart thudded. One saber swung back at him. The other thrust forward at his commander. Obi-Wan managed to keep Cody in sight as he dodged the mad swing, relieved to see that his commander avoided his own attack, and promptly panicked to watch Grievous snatch a hand to the front of Cody’s chest plate.

He slammed Cody against the wall so hard that, for a moment of stunned fear, Obi-Wan thought he had killed him too. He ran to his commander as Grievous took off down the hallway in retreat. Cody was pushing his hands to the ground before he even got there, shoving his helmet off to spit blood from his mouth.

“Commander,” Obi-Wan gasped, moving to crouch by his side, but Cody was shoving himself to his feet with a determined growl and with blood on his lips and teeth.

“I’m good,” he rumbled, and kicked into a sprint after Grievous, leaving Obi-Wan to followed, slightly bewilderedly, behind.

Another man would have stayed down. Obi-Wan had expected him to stay down, in truth, and not rise again unless aided by a medic, if at all. So often now, Obi-Wan expected to lose him. Every time, Cody proved him wrong.

They chased the separatist general back down the corridors, keeping a ruthless pursuit under Cody’s lead.

“He’s going for the hangar!” Cody huffed, and kept the speed as he lifted his blaster, firing rapidly at Grievous’ back.

Blaster bolts were deflected back at them through swinging blades. Obi-Wan pushed forward to protect his commander, slashing his lightsaber out and he scarcely had to aim. The weapon knew. The force knew. This man was theirs to defend.

A bolt slammed into Grievous’ jointed leg, stumbling him through the hangar doors. Cody launched himself forward with a shocking speed, sliding and rolling in front of the general and lifting his blaster in threat. The force lashed out for him. Obi-Wan wrenched Grievous back a pace and those hollowed eyes turned on him. A ragged chuckle jolted his frame.

“Your other soldiers died easier, Kenobi.”

Cody twisted a grimace of a mirthless grin, showing off the blood staining his teeth.

“This one still cannot be called a challenge,” the separatist general wheezed, lunging towards Cody, sabers swinging.

Cody ducked and weaved beneath the slashing blades, flicking something small and dark from between his fingers. It attached itself to Grievous’ left side as Cody rolled under the back-handed swipe cast at him, blaster aiming as he was still moving, firing before he had come to a complete stop, and hitting the item with blunt precision.

It detonated loudly, a fireball gouging a messy crater and severing both of Grievous’ left arms. He shrieked in rage or pain. Obi-Wan leapt forward to block the frenzied attack aimed at his commander, though he was beginning to suspect that Cody did not need his help.

Blaster fire rained upon Grievous as lightsabers locked in battle. Cody was merciless in his assault. Obi-Wan gave the same courtesy. The enemy general yelled in wordless, groaning anger, slammed a hard attack to fling Obi-Wan’s weapon from his hand. He dropped to his remaining limbs, launching himself at the Jedi in a furious frenzy. Obi-Wan had scarcely enough time to reach blindly for his saber before Cody was in front of him, holding Grievous back with his bare hands, straining to hold his wielding hands at bay.

Fighting not to gape in shock at his commander’s suicidal bravado, Obi-Wan summoned his own weapon back to his hand, lunging forward when Grievous yelled and tossed Cody aside. He hit the ground somewhere to the side with a loud thump of armour, and Grievous slammed Obi-Wan back again, leaping up and shattering his way through the cockpit of a fighter.

Footsteps behind him had Obi-Wan casting his arm back, catching Cody at the chest as he moved to pursue, because it was no good. Cody had tested fate so many times already during this attack. Obi-Wan’s determination to capture Grievous had ebbed away over the course of the fight, coming so close to losing Cody with every assault of the separatist general. The gust of the ship leaving the hangar had Obi-Wan slumping back to sit on the floor, catching his breath and feeling his bruises.

“Sir?” said Cody, sinking to one knee beside him, concern bleeding through in his voice.

“We stopped him,” Obi-Wan said. “We won.”

Cody gave him a stiff nod. “Yes, sir.” He looked the Jedi over. “Are you hurt?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Someone will turn up soon anyway. We caused quite a commotion.”

Cody huffed, fell back to sit beside him. “I suppose so.”

They caught their breath there, together, on the ground.

There was blood on the floor. Obi-Wan looked over to where it led, over to where Cody had landed in Grievous’ final blow, following it back to Cody himself, who turned his head aside to spit firmly. His face was a mess of crimson. It was coming out of his nose now as well as his mouth.

“Are you okay?”

Cody smiled faintly, looked over at him. “Nothing serious, sir.” He glanced back at the entrance to the base, bringing his hand up to wipe at the blood dripping from his nose. “The rest of the men were not so fortunate.”

Obi-Wan lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, commander.”

The corner of Cody’s mouth twitched upwards briefly. “It’s what we do, general.”

Obi-Wan regarded the side of his face, the blood shining at the arch of his cheek, on the bridge of his nose, on the swell of his bruised lower lip. His face was a mess. His eyes and his heart were full of light and purpose that Obi-Wan both admired and feared. Cody was brimming with determination and courage and honour. Cody was prepared to die and, although Obi-Wan could not admit it, he was not prepared to lose his commander. He was not ready to be without that constant, comforting light that Cody provided simply by being.

“Something on your mind, general?”

Obi-Wan was staring, he realised belatedly, and cleared his throat as he averted his gaze. “You must forgive me, commander,” he said, explaining himself to Cody’s soft frown. “I believe I have been underestimating you.”

Cody’s lips curved gently at the corners. “They didn’t make me a commander because of my skill at paperwork, sir.”

“Indeed,” said Obi-Wan, taking the risk and wiping the blood from Cody’s jaw. The commander said nothing to challenge such intimacy. “Although, you are also good at paperwork.” He considered the events that had just unfolded, taking his time with his words. “Most people would have stayed down.”

Cody looked up at him. “I have my duty, sir.”

“And you do it well,” said Obi-Wan, “but you don’t have to address every sentence with ‘sir’ or with ‘general’… nor is it necessary for you to die for me.”

Cody’s eyes were very soft, very kind, and Obi-Wan was beginning to realise that it was his natural gaze, his inherent state. “I respectfully disagree, sir. With the latter more than the former.”

Obi-Wan looked him over, wiped at the bridge of Cody’s nose and a spark of pain narrowed the commander’s eyes. “Sometimes you give me the impression that you want to die.”

“I have no strong desire to die any time soon, sir,” said Cody, and his nose was red even beneath the blood, “but I am not so arrogant as to assume I will survive this war and, when I die, I will be glad to die for you.”

Concern worked Obi-Wan’s jaw. “Don’t,” he murmured softly.

Any embarrassment Obi-Wan may have felt for staring before was a distant memory now. Cody’s expression was soft and sympathetic. Cody always looked at him gently. Cody always looked at everyone gently.

He turned those same eyes on the squadron of men that breached the hangar, blasters raised for the threat, lowering instantly when Cody gestured a wave at them, and they rushed over. The medic among them came to Obi-Wan first. It had never sat quite right with the Jedi, that the men were trained to prioritise him over their own. Cody seemed not to mind, however, he cast that quiet smile at the men who knelt beside him to colloquially check his welfare.

“Not to worry, boys,” he murmured, clapping an anxious rookie on the shoulder. “Gave Grievous a good lick. Won’t be back too soon.”

“Chin up, sir,” the medic at Obi-Wan’s side ordered, fingers hooking beneath his jaw to tilt his head, flashing the scanner against his face and head.

“I’m alright,” Obi-Wan said, gestured a nod towards Cody. “The commander took a beating. I’d like you to look at him, please.”

“I understand, sir, but there is protocol to be followed—”

“I am overruling protocol at this time.” The medic lowered his scanner, shifted his jaw in conflict. “Please.”

The medic hummed, shrugged one shoulder as he looked to the screen built into his wrist bracer. “Your scans are clear anyway, general.”

He did as he was told, moving his attentions to Cody, instructing him to keep still as he passed the light of the scanner over his body, lingering at his chest. Obi-Wan watched his commander’s face, unchanged, watched the medic’s face, creased.

“Found some trouble, huh?” Cody uttered, huffed a strained breath of amusement.

“You’ve broken several ribs, commander. Your sternum is fractured.”

Cody hummed. “Up for a few injections then.”

He was remarkably calm, but, then, he always was. He got up by himself—though the medic held his arm and muttered concerns and the men around him frowned anxieties and twitched forward to aid him, waved off by a dismissive hand from their commander—and turned to Obi-Wan with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Coming, sir?”

Obi-Wan quirked a forced smile to match Cody’s own. “As you wish, commander.”

Cody held a hand to him, as if to help him to his feet. Obi-Wan took it to honour him, but put no pressure on his hand, his legs holding every scrap of weight as he rose to his feet. His commander surely noticed, but said nothing. He was good at holding his tongue. It was necessary, in his line of work. If the Kaminoans had not stressed their duty of obedience so strictly, Obi-Wan was sure that Cody would be far more vocal about a great many things.

His commander was a good soldier, however, and he released Obi-Wan’s hand, turning to allow the medic to lead them out of the hangar and down the hallways to the infirmary. There was an almost imperceivable limp to Cody’s step, an inconsistency so minor that Obi-Wan may not have noticed if he did not know his commander so completely. He did not mention it, wishing to save Cody this façade of strength he was putting up.

In the infirmary, a scant collection of medics took the needle right into the split of the bone, using their scans to angle precisely into the break and injecting a scarce amount of binding fluid to each side. It would encourage Cody’s ribs to knit back together, like magnets attracting and melting into one another. It was a painful process. Obi-Wan had received the injections himself more than once and the movement they encouraged from the bone could be agonising. Cody took it without complaint, even continuing to type up his report with one hand, the holopad laid on the mattress at his side.

Men would come in at intervals, relaying news of the ship’s condition or Grievous’ escape, or simply seeking the advice of their commander, and Cody spoke to them all even through the needle piercing his side. Obi-Wan watched him, in utter awe of this man and his strength. He tapped into a holopad of his own, accessing the medical records of his commander’s current state, a file still being updated. He mulled over it from his seat in the corner of the room.

“General,” a voice uttered, dragging him from his snooping, and he lifted his gaze to another medic. “Is there anything I can do for you? Were you injured at all?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” He shifted his jaw. “The commander is not.”

The medic’s brow pinched in soft confusion. “Sir?”

It was too personal, too transparent of his anxieties. Obi-Wan swallowed hard.

“How was he continuing like this?” he settled on asking.

The medic scarcely seemed to know what he was talking about. “We are soldiers, general. The commander, he was trained intensely, and he is greatly skilled.”

“His ribs were broken,” said Obi-Wan distantly.

“There is a reason he is our commander, sir. Our leaders are… brilliant and terrifying.”

Obi-Wan regarded the medic for a moment, tilting his head in interest, and turning his attention back to his commander. As he watched Cody take the injections with no word of complaint, type up his report with quick fingers, give straightforward orders and gentle advice to his men, ‘terrifying’ was not the word that came to mind. He had a great many thoughts regarding his commander, but that had never been one of them.

He supposed, if he were to ask Grievous, the separatist general may have newly inspired thoughts on the matter. Obi-Wan, certainly, had his own revelations today regarding his esteemed commander.

“There is a reason he is our commander,” Obi-Wan echoed, because Cody was his as much as he was his troopers’, because Cody was strength and courage and kindness, because Cody was light and life and Obi-Wan was in awe of him now more than ever. “He is brilliant.”

#obi-wan has a competence kink #i don't make the rules #commander cody is the most capable man I know #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi #the clone wars #ao3 #star wars #tcw #clone wars #codywan #writing #fanfiction #kit writes #been a while since I wrote anything

[louis-ii-reyes-strand]

thank you @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @thisbuildinghasfeelings @birdclowns @lemonlyman-dotcom@tarlosmalec @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses for the tags. I wouldn't have written anything today (again) without you 🖤🖤🖤 I plan to dive into your snippets very soon!!

Carlos pulled TK to a stop just before the steps leading up to the front porch. He’d never noticed how rickety they looked before, made a mental note to offer to fix them up when he had a free weekend. “Before we go in. If meeting everyone all at once is too much, we can leave right now.”

TK frowned. “It’s your birthday, babe. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He tried to move but Carlos’ increasingly tight grip on his hand stopped him again. He considered Carlos for a moment, then realisation dawned on his face and he stepped into Carlos’ space. 

As he used his free hand to cup Carlos’ cheek, TK said, “Are you okay with doing it like this?” 

“Yeah.” TK gave him a look that told him he wasn’t as convincing as he had been trying to be. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

“That’s–” 

“I want you to meet them, I want them to meet you and for them to know you’re the most important person in my life and that I love you.” Carlos pulled TK even closer so he could drop his forehead to TK’s and closed his eyes. He’d found over the past few weeks that it was easier to talk about his feelings when he couldn’t see how anyone else reacted to them. “But I don’t know that they’re not going to be horrible.”

“They’re all here,” TK reminded him gently.

Carlos shook his head, screwing his eyes shut. “I don’t know if they all know I’m bringing you.” 

The longer TK was silent, the more Carlos wanted to be sick. 

“We can leave right now. You don’t have to do this for me, Carlos. Not if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to," he said. Then on an exhale, "And that’s what makes it so hard.” 

TK took a step back from him. Carlos’ body sagged for a moment. 

“Look at me,” TK said softly. He waited until Carlos opened his eyes, then shifted slightly so he could catch Carlos’ gaze from where he had trained it on something over TK’s shoulder. “How many steps do you think it is to the door?” 

“What?” The absurdity of the question shocked a half-laugh out of him. 

“How many steps do you think it takes to get to the door?” 

Carlos tilted his head. There were three steps up to the porch and he had long legs. “Five, maybe?” 

“So we’ll start with five steps.” TK dropped his hand and took the five steps towards the door. He had to shuffle a little bit closer to be within knocking reach. Then he looked back to Carlos, holding his hands out in show, as if to say look how easy it is.

Seeing TK, brave TK, standing alone on the front porch of the Reyes family ranch house, it struck Carlos how incredible he was. He should’ve been more nervous than Carlos, he should be the one needing reassurance that Carlos’ family was going to love him, but he put it all aside because Carlos was struggling. 

It was so simple. 

Carlos bounded forward, only needing three steps to reach TK as his momentum carried him further.

“I love you so much. You’re incredible,” He said breathlessly, then didn’t give TK time to respond as he pulled him into a tender kiss. 

“Let’s go in,” he whispered as he broke away, smiling at the dazed look on TK’s face. 

TK nodded. Then shook his head. Then nodded again. “Let’s do it.” 

Carlos pushed the door open but was held back by TK not moving. 

“Should you not knock?” 

Carlos grimaced. “Tía Lucy would wring my neck. I don’t think my extended family ever knocked on our door when I was growing up.” 

TK seemed horrified by the thought.

open tag for anyone else wanting to do this because i've been offline all day and missed everything!!

#wip wednesday #fic: tangled roots #kit writes #this bit probably isn't going to make it into the final fic but i like it for the moment #Reyes family are a sitcom family #tia lucy walks in the front door and holds her pose while the studio audience applauds

[sparkysparklightning]

hey y'all remember this? and this? (aka the 'tratie instead of percabeth' HoO fix-it au I had thought up and posted abt?)

well I actually went and wrote the au! took me more than a year to plan at least a decent amount out (enough to actually publish the fic confidently), but here we are! mind you, tratie isn't the only major change from canon in this fic, this au is an excuse for me to try to rectify some big points of dissent in the canon HoO series, and I hope I will do it justice.

fr though this has been hanging around in my drafts, mocking me, until finally I decided to start 2024 off right

so at last, presenting to you guys: my heroes of olympus rewrite-fix-it-au!!

#heroes of olympus #sparkysparklightning #kit stuff #tratie #travis stoll #katie gardner #kit writes #hoo #rr crit #the demidudes

[noahtally-famous]

@totaldramararepairweek2023

trustin | 5k words | one shot | 2023 rarepair week; day 6: gossip/paparazzi

summary: It starts with a seemingly innocent interview whose intentions were far from innocent on the part of the interviewee (though only Trent knows that because nine times out of ten whatever his boyfriend does isn’t just innocent).

From there, things escalate in the craziest ways—not that either of them minds (too much). It’s funny to mess with the public when you’re in a secret relationship with a fellow band member.

It’s not like things will spiral out of control, right? Not when they’re being so careful…kind of.

originally I was gonna try my hand at art, and draw a scene involving these two getting snapshotted while out on a date, but I lost track of time and decided, in the end, to just make a one-shot lmao

hopefully, I portrayed everything as accurately as can be! I love writing justin and trent's dynamics friendship-wise, so I decided to take it a step forward and try the romance route for this prompt (plus when I saw it, I immediately thought of these two lmaoo)

#total drama #noahtally-famous #kit stuff #kit writes #tdi #td trent #td justin #trustin #total drama rarepair week

[boyfriendstevie]

sturdy

steve wants to test out the desk he just built for you | everyone say thank you @superblysubpar for encouraging me to write this hehe | 2.7k, f!reader, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv. don't do it kids. 18+ as always!! mdni!!

“Babe! C’mere!” Steve calls from the spare bedroom, echoing down the hall of your new apartment. 

You’re in the kitchen, starting to unpack a few boxes there, while Steve had been working on putting together your new desk. Obviously, you’re more than capable of putting your own desk together, but Steve had offered, and, well, sometimes you have to make the patriarchy work for you. Placing the half-unpacked box of silverware onto the counter, you shout back a reply and head through the maze of boxes to the bedroom, “I’m comin’! Give me a sec!”

When you reach the bedroom, Steve’s standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips as he looks at his handiwork. His back is to you, so he doesn’t notice when you come in, and you take a second to admire him. He’s quite the sight; wearing an old pair of gym shorts that are a bit too small for him, a well-worn shirt that might be yours — you’re not sure from this angle — and a baseball cap on backwards to keep his hair out of his face. He looks so good, and it hits you then, just how lucky you are. How lucky you are to be living with your ridiculously handsome boyfriend who offers to build things for you out of the kindness of his heart and looks ridiculously good while doing so. 

“Hon—“ the word dies on his lips as he turns around to find you standing in the doorway. A grin stretches across his face at the sight of you, making your heart flutter in your chest. “You starin’ at me, stalker?”

“So what if I was?” you ask, crossing the room so you can throw your arms over his shoulders, “I can’t admire my hot boyfriend?”

A strong arm wraps around your waist to pull you close. He hums in thought before shrugging, “I’ll allow it, I guess. If you give me a kiss.”

“Deal,” you murmur as you lean up on your toes to press your lips to his in a soft kiss. It’s short and sweet, but you don’t mind. “Thanks for building the desk, baby.”

“Anything for you, honey,” he hums quietly in reply, dipping down one more time for a quick peck on the lips. His hand rubs over the curve of your hip gently as he adds, “Hopefully it’s sturdy enough…”

“Steve, I’m sure it’s fine, as long as you followed the directions—“

“Maybe we could test it out?” he asks, giving you a cheeky grin, eyebrows raised in question. 

You snort a laugh, eyebrows furrowing together. You’re pretty sure you know what he’s getting at, but you ask anyway, “And how would we do that?”

His smile grows, looking a bit more mischievous as he turns you around and slowly begins walking you back towards the desk. You let him lead you, giggling with your hands on his shoulders, until you bump into the desk. He leans down to kiss you again, and just before your lips touch, he squeezes your hips and mutters, “Up, honey.”

It’s a messy kiss, your lips nearly missing Steve’s in the effort to get up onto the desk, even with him helping you up. You briefly wonder if this is safe — you have no doubt that Steve built the desk well, but you highly doubt that it’s made to support a whole human’s weight — but the thought quickly passes by when Steve takes your thighs into his hands and pulls you towards the edge of the desk for a proper kiss. 

Steve’s nose nudges into yours, poking at your cheek as he kisses you, lips slotting against yours. He kisses you as if he hasn’t kissed you in days, groaning into your mouth as you rock your hips forward, searching for his touch. You let out a whine when his teeth nip at your bottom lip, tongue quickly following suit to soothe the bite. 

“You know, I was— I was mostly kidding,” Steve pants when he pulls back between kisses, lips pink and wet as his tongue darts out. 

“I know,” you reply with a huff of a laugh, twisting your fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, “But you look so fucking hot, and you just built me a whole ass desk, and we fucking live together now, and— please just fuck me on the desk, baby.”

“Shit. Yeah, okay, I can do that,” he quickly agrees, not quiet believing his stupid line actually worked, and that you’re spurring him on as you wiggle your leggings down your hips and legs. The fabric gets stuck at your knees, and Steve springs into action, murmuring something about how it’s his job to undress you as he pulls at the fabric until he can drop it to the floor. 

His hands land on your thighs again, thumbs pressing to the soft flesh at the inside of your thighs as they push up towards your core, spreading your legs apart as he goes. There’s no mistaking the small damp spot in the center of your panties as you squirm under Steve’s gaze. Pressing the pads of his thumbs to the crease at the apex of your thighs, he finally looks back up to you and asks, “Can I taste you first?”

Your answer is a quiet, choked moan and a frantic nod, “Please.”

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice, sinking to his knees in front of the desk as he pulls you closer. It’s the perfect height for this; your burning core only inches from Steve’s hot mouth. He wastes no time in leaning forward, pressing the softest of kisses to the growing wetness there, nose nudging against your clit through your underwear. A low groan comes from deep in his chest, “Can I take these off?”

Before Steve can even finish his sentence you’re nodding again, lifting your hips off of the desk as best you can so he can pull the fabric from your body. As soon as your underwear is on the floor, he’s back on you, licking a broad stripe up your cunt that has you gasping in surprise at his eagerness, “Steve—“

“Mmm,” he hums as his tongue finds your clit, sending vibrations up your spine as he sucks softly and rolls the sensitive nub between his lips. 

It makes you keen, a high-pitched whine that might be embarrassing if you weren’t so blissed out. Your legs tremble as he kisses back down towards your dripping entrance, and your fingers twitch with the need to hold onto something. How Steve always makes you feel untethered so quickly, you’ll never know, but you remedy the problem easily, pushing his hat off of his head. It’s perfect timing on your part; your fingers rake through his soft hair just as his tongue dips inside of you, lapping at your slick. 

You pull at the strands a bit harder than you mean to and Steve moans against you. The sound isn’t quite loud enough for you to hear, but you can feel it. The sensation makes your legs close around Steve’s head, but an arm curls around one thigh before it can press against him. It doesn’t take much for Steve to push your leg back down and hold you open for him, despite how much you’re squirming. 

Steve pulls back after another sloppy kiss to your clit, lips shining with your slick and his own spit. He’s grinning, borderline smug as he nuzzles into the crease of your thigh again, nipping the delicate skin there, “Y’always taste so sweet, baby. Only fitting that my pretty girl has the prettiest pussy, huh?” 

You squirm again, this time in embarrassment, and huff a pathetic whine, “Steve, stop—“

“Well I can’t lie,” he all but giggles, pressing a kiss to your hipbone as his gaze drags up your body to meet your eyes, “Want me to keep going? Or d’ya want my cock?”

Both sound like great options, but you can see the outline of his hard cock in his slightly-too-small shorts, and you want him. Reaching down to brush some hair out of Steve’s face, you murmur, “You. Want you.”

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he smiles, sweeter this time, giving your thigh another kiss before he pulls himself up to stand. 

Your chest heaves as you reach for him, taking the fabric of his shirt into your grasp and yanking him closer for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his mouth, but you don’t really mind, especially as his hands roam up your sides, inching underneath your shirt to cup your breasts. He’s teasing again, thumbs barely brushing over your nipples. But two can play at that game, even while he’s kissing you so hard you can barely breathe, and you slip a hand between you, palming his hard cock over his shorts. 

“Okay, okay,” he pants after a moment of shaky breaths and wandering hands, “Can you— will you bend over for me? ‘S that alright?”

Instead of answering, you slide off of the desk and cup Steve’s face in your hands to give him a firm kiss. You make a show of turning around, leaning over your brand new desk until your forearms press to the wood grain. You hear a small groan from behind you as you push your hips backwards, ass pressing to Steve’s bulge, “Christ, sweetheart. How’d I get so goddamn lucky? Fuckin’ gorgeous, and all f’me.” 

Warm hands spread wide over your hips, the pad of Steve’s thumb rubbing a short line over one of the dimples in the small of your back. He gives your flesh an appreciative squeeze before his touch is gone. You huff a whine at the loss of warmth and you hear a quiet chuckle from behind you, “Relax, baby. Gimme a second.”

There’s a quiet rustle of clothing, and then Steve’s hands are back on you, pulling you back towards him. You’re about to complain, to ask him to do something, anything, when you finally feel the tip of his cock nudge against your entrance. Your breath catches as he pushes his hips forward, finally sinking into you slowly. He takes it easy, knowing that you’re plenty wet, but maybe not quite warmed up enough from just his mouth. 

He stops when the front of his thighs press against the backs of yours, fingertips dimpling your hips with how firmly he’s holding onto you. Like he’s worried you might slip away. You moan softly at the aching stretch of your cunt, dizzy with how full you feel of Steve, Steve, Steve. He’s all you want — all you can think about, “Oh f-fuuck… Stevie…”

You swear you can feel his thighs quivering against yours as he stills inside of you. You can hear the grit in his voice, picture the way his jaw is clenched, as he murmurs, “Okay?”

A shaky breath escapes your lips, and you nod emphatically, maybe a bit too quickly, voice a higher pitch than normal, “So good, baby. Move, please move, need y-yo—“

The words die on your lips as Steve draws his hips back slowly and then presses back in. Your head falls forward, mouth dropping open in pleasure with a whine. You feel hot everywhere; a warmth that starts in tummy and spreads slowly, creeping up your torso and chest, into your limbs, until it feels like your body is on fire in the best way. 

His hips roll in and out of your tight heat. It feels so good, and somehow, you still need more. Your forearms press further into the desk as you shift, pushing up on your toes to tilt your hips. You know that if you’re in just the right position, Steve will find the spot that makes you see stars. Desperate for the feeling, you shift again and hear a huff from behind you at the movement. 

Steve knows what you want, and pushes his arm underneath you, between your body and the desk. His hands press to the softness of your tummy and to the curve of your hips as he pulls you into a better position, angling your hips so he can reach even deeper. The new angle has you gasping with each thrust, a punched-out sound that you can’t help between whimpers of Steve’s name and expletives. Steve’s not fairing much better, and you can hear the low grunt he lets out every time his skin meets yours, “You’re so wet— fuck, sweetheart — y’hear that? Hear how wet you are f’me? Feel so good ‘round me, baby. So good for me.”

“Y-yes, yeah — ah, Steve! — all yours,” you babble in an attempt to answer him, though you’re too fucked out to be all that coherent. 

Seconds later, you get exactly what you’d been wanting when you’d shifted your hips; the head of Steve’s cock pressing to the spot inside of you that turns you to putty. The moment he finds it, your legs go weak, and Steve’s grasping onto you even tighter in an attempt to keep you somewhat upright. His arm curls across your midsection, and you feel his warmth against your back as he presses his chest to you. You can feel his breath, hot against the nape of your neck as he murmurs, “Right there, baby? That’s what you wanted, huh?” 

You clench around him, making the drag of his cock that much sweeter. The feeling pulls a deep moan out of Steve, sending shivers down your spine as he twitches inside of you. One of the hands on your waist pushes up under your shirt until he can press against your sternum, and then he’s pulling you almost upright. Your eyes meet his in the vanity mirror attached to the desk, and you moan at the sight; you look just as fucked out as you feel, and so does Steve. 

Lips on your neck, Steve hums, pleased, “There’s my girl. Look at yourself, honey, so so pretty on my cock, yeah?” 

“Stevie,” you whine his name, and he’s sure it’s the best sound he’s ever heard, “‘m close, ‘m so close.“ 

“Y’gonna cum on my cock for me, sweetheart? C’mon, honey, know ya can,” he says, his free hand snaking down your torso and your hips to find your clit. He circles it quickly, over and over, just how you like, and with his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, it doesn’t take long until you fall apart with a cry of his name. 

He’s not far behind you, hips never slowing their pace, even as he bends you back over the desk. Every wave of pleasure has your cunt clenching around him, and it pushes Steve over the edge, too, with whiny groans against your skin where his face is pressed. You can feel him spill deep inside of you and you shudder, eyes squeezing shut as your head falls forward, hitting the desk with a small thunk. 

Steve’s teeth sink into the smooth skin of your shoulder, quick and gentle, more of a nip, as he presses his chest to your back. Soft kisses soothe over the small bites, and then Steve’s pressing his nose into the crook of your neck, breath hot and heavy as he nuzzles there. You pant into your arms folded on the desk and melt into Steve’s touch as his hand rubs lovingly across your hip bones. 

“Y’alright, baby?” he asks, out of breath. 

“Mhm,” you murmur, post-orgasm haze still clouding your thoughts. 

“Good,” you can feel the curve of his lips against your spine, followed by a few soft kisses that trail down your back. He stops halfway down, hands settling onto your hips as he stands back up and slowly pulls out. 

You wince, still so sensitive, but let Steve pull you up and off of the desk, turning you around so your lips can meet his. He kisses you on the mouth, once, twice, and trails a kiss over to your cheek. Your fingers tangle into his hair and you let out a breathless laugh, “I think it’s sturdy enough.”

Steve huffs in amusement, “Thank god. Imagine if it broke while we were on it. And, good news, we just checked the office off of the ‘places we still need to fuck in the new apartment’ list.”

“If you bring me to the bathroom right now, we can check off another one.”

Eyes going wide, Steve grins, literally whisking you off of your feet as he says, “Deal.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x afab!reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington blurb #stevie #steve thots #kit writes

[ktsumu]

haikyuu!! wrapped 2023

-> happy wrapped! here’s what i think the haikyuu men’s spotify wrappeds look like this year, based off of vibes alone

characters include: sakusa, bokuto, atsumu, hinata, ushijima, kageyama, suna, aran, iwaizumi and kuroo.

SAKUSA AND BOKUTO:

ATSUMU AND HINATA:

USHIJIMA AND KAGEYAMA:

SUNA AND ARAN:

IWAIZUMI AND KUROO:

#in honour of my wrapped being bad #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #bokuto x reader #kuroo x reader #sakusa x reader #ushijima x reader #hinata x reader #kageyama x reader #atsumu x reader #suna x reader #aran x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hq headcanons #kit writes

[legendaryrooftopscene]

this post screamed VegasPete to me, so i wrote it

#2k words of pete giving vegas a bj in a night club. what more could you ask for. #original #kit writes #kinnporsche the series #vegaspete

[cbkeats]

⋆˙ Eddie Munson Headcannons!!!

summary: I love my dark, curly haired, nerd punks as much as the next idiot, but let me tell you exactly why; between sharing interests and personal space, here's a few things I think would come included with your Eddie Munson Boyfriend Pack™ :)

wc: 645 words, short n' sweet !

warnings/tags: sexual behavior implied but not explicit, gn!reader, fluff

⚘᠂ strong attempts on his part to clean / tidy up a bit before someone important to him comes over. things like gathering up any old dishes, bottles, or cans, emptying ashtrays and throwing dirty laundry into a more discreet spot to be dealt with later. maybe he makes his bed and makes sure all his drawers are closed, picks shit off the floors and makes sure whatever needs to be put back, is.

⚘᠂ it's a show that isn't actually all that necessary considering how long and how well he's been know, but it's sweet and welcome nonetheless.

⚘᠂ You’ll be carrying hair ties on your wrist if you don't already do so. Maybe you can even teach him how to take care of it lmao

⚘᠂ sitting on his lap (or vice versa?) for physical contact and also to provide a familiar weight that can keep him still. his fingers will still tap, and fiddle with things like the hem of your shirt or your own hands, but be careful because he will get handsy very quickly (it's the understimulated/bored ADHD needing instant gratification for me)

⚘᠂ sometimes you can sus out his more suggestive motivations by what rings are on which fingers (or more like which ones they're specifically Not on)

⚘᠂ it means enduring the sudden bursts of dancing and movement that possess him during the music he's listening to, fully jumping up and giving in, putting that hair to such good use

⚘᠂ mutually strong hugs!!!! hold him tight he'll hug you tighter! in good times it's more like a challenge or a joke; a "see how far we can get before someone injured their ribs" kind of thing, but in times of panic it can be grounding for both of you, a reminder that you're both still kickin’.

⚘᠂ He can’t rollerskate worth a shit. doesn't really matter because it's not his scene nor his music - but you can drag him into a rink anyway.

- (take it as you will: either u make him, and he manages to pick it up, or you circle around as he watches from the wall- all holding hands and smiles with sudden cocky bursts of competitiveness or showboating, and nervous near-falling when transitioning on and off of the rink

⚘᠂ but speaking of music: sitting in on his rehearsals, he might sound terrible, it's his house shows and small gigs that matter tho and you make yourself loud and known, biggest fan #1

⚘᠂ he's the type to crowd you randomly before backing up after surprising you to gauge ur reaction. it just doesn't occur to him to be conscious of it, but he'll continue his theatrics when he can tell you're caught up.

- he's the type to go for back hugs and resting his chin on your shoulder (whileee rocking back and forth just to be annoying)

⚘᠂ i wish so hard that lord of the rings came out at this time so i can say: please watch lord of the rings with him he would love it it would be great. but i can't, you can't - im gonna cry real

⚘᠂ him skipping school or leaving early or during lunch to go find you at work or at home (also didn't fully communicate)- leaving campus

⚘᠂ that handkerchief isn't in his pocket for no reason, babe. check the tapes, there's cuffs on his wall. he's been outcast he's a little fucked up is a little high-chasing and he's got his painful skin markings - he likes it! let's do it

⚘᠂ chances are he's never seen the ocean, the biggest body of water would have been a lake, but i think as someone who's lived on a coast their whole life i'd love to see him see it. he might now how to swim.. even if he doesn't, he'd have fun getting goofy on the beach, playing with the sand, throwing water, droplets off his curls

a/n: first post!! it's not my branding and a little bit short, but i wanted to start somewhere - big things are cooking up! hope you enjoy and your time is really appreciated!! written with the help of @somnichron ⋆˙⊹ .

#kit writes #eddie my beloved #eddie munson x reader #x gn!reader #x gender neutral reader #eddie munson headcanons #stranger things 4 x reader #x reader headcanons #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x male reader #eddie munson x male y/n

[l1ttl3l0v3]

Hi! Cg Tighnari with a age regressor ( 1-4) who is always very sleepy? Ty have a awesome day! :D

Ofc! It's gonna be short again due to my severe writers' block, sorry bout that anony </33 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -Will never force you to get out of bed unless you two have to go somewhere -Cuddles you and sings you to bed -Peppers your face with kisses -Def has Collei make you a little version of TCG deck (If you play) -Speaking of Collei, she probably loves doing crafts with you! -Tighnari will carry you around the Sumeru rain forest (I FORGOR THE NAME OF IT LOL) -even if you feel older on your age range, he'll carry you around -cuts you fruit and veggies in cute shapes -"C'mon little one, you can stay in bed and sleep aslong as you do not choke." AHHHH ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Im personally a very hyper little so this probably sucks, im sorry anony.

#genshin agere #genshin impact agere #sfw agere #tighnari #tighnari fluff #tighnari x y/n #tighnari comfort #im so cool round of a plause for me #kit writes

[kitjosten13]

Holy shit kits writing chapter 2 of his fic? Did hell freeze over?

#edgeoftonight #Thiam fic #kit writes #holy shit an update?