You Roll Over As Gently As You Can, Even Though You Want To Flop Angrily Against The Mattress. The Brief

I hate when I get excited to search a ‘character x reader’ and only find a dead fandom with a sprinkle of crumbs. LIKE HELLO? GET TO WORK.

viking bkg au and its yns birthday and he’s just trying to do something nice for her and he keeps getting interrupted by the villagers who keep handing her gifts, dancing for her, cooking for her, singing with full performances. while you’re clapping and saying your thanks bkgs like OK MY TURN and then you get swooped away by kids for them to perform a pantomime and then the old men show a piece of their garden they’ve dedicated to you and then the boys and girls of the village took part in painting this mural and bakugou’s like OKAY… MY GIFT IS BETTER THOUGH just so much cockblocking lol

DRAGON SHOUTO AU | DRABBLE SERIES MASTERLIST

tags/warnings: fantasy au, interspecies relationship, aged up characters, possessive behavior, fem pronoun + afab reader, some implied western fantasy au sexism (not from our mans tho), 18+ mdni!

prequel (0.3k)

As a child you come across what you think is a weird fat lizard the size of a cat, playing in the fields just outside of your village.

part i (0.5k)

Shouto comes into his majority, and with it, his full powers. You end up with something far trickier than a dragon on your hands.

part ii (1k)

Shouto has shifted into human form in order to achieve a very specific objective. (nsfw!)

drabbles will be posted under the tag #dragon shouto au

MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAAAA YOUR CHARACTER MODEL FINALLY STABILIZEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

HE LOOKS SO CUTTTTTTTTTTTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I don’t know how people think these two are like some kind of sex god.

Baby I’m looking at two virgin losers 😭

Bats

Here's some thoughts about Bruce Wayne, my husband btw

cw: Major fluff

Just imagine being the wife of Bruce Wayne. Not the playboy, or the billionaire, not the philanthropist, but Bruce Wayne. A man who had to grow up at the young age of eight, and later on becoming a young man who spent his time traveling the world. Learning all he could, fighting, languages, anything. A man who sacrifices everything for the ones he loves, hoping that he can protect them from the world that seems hellbent on taking away all the people he holds dear.

Bruce is a man of few words, but each word that leaves those beautiful lips of his has a purpose. Those quiet moments when its just the two of you, cuddled in one of the plush couches in the Wayne manor library. The moonlight flittering in from the tall windows, the crackling of the lit fireplace is the only other noise that accompanies your whispered words of love. Wrapped in his protective embrace, a body that spends nearly every night defending and protecting the innocents of Gotham is here hugging you and gently massaging your back.

You bring a level of solace that Bruce didn't think he would ever have. Given how he accepted the fact that being Batman meant that he could never really have that. Then you came in. It wasn't some massive firework show or falling from the sky. You just... walked in like you were meant to be here all along. The patience, understanding and unwavering love you showed him time and time again had Bruce wondering where you had been all this time. You were so...You.

Bruce is the husband and lover who lets you kiss his countless amount of scars that litter his body that has been sculpted to fight and endure anything that comes its way. A body that held strength in every fiber of muscle and yet he turns to putty within your loving hands. Mind, body and soul, wholly yours.

Bruce had no idea of what he was missing when you weren't in his life and now that he has you, there is nothing on this planet or universe that would ever take you from him.

Bruce is someone who will die for You, and any one of the people he loves.

girls are like “I want a boyfriend” but reject everyone because none of them are their comfort characters

ANYONE. find me a high quality ss of timeskip shinsou and MY LIFE is YOURS.

gryffindor class of ‘98!

content: childhood friends angst, hurt/comfort but like 90% hurt, romantically ambiguous relationship, matt holt centric

wc: ~1.8k

"I told myself, sometimes," Matt says, slowly, "that if I ever made my way back to you, I hoped that you'd have found someone else.”

The mattress creaks beneath you. His words hang still in the air — dappled by the thin starlight, tentative, solitary things, not quite themselves when out in the open. The Castle of Lions is unforgiving in its cold. Your skin prickles. Hands ache to grasp at the ghost of someone you’ve never really known before. 

“Do you still believe that?” You ask.

Matt’s eyes shift in a way that makes your heart jump, and you think that maybe it is the wrong thing to say. You amend, voice nearly inaudible through the inexplicable tightness of your throat: “Did you ever believe that?”

The silence eats you whole. It is dark inside the maw, your bodies resting gingerly on its tongue, so precarious that when you breathe it ricochets off of cavernous walls. Eventually: 

“No.”

There’s a resignation in his truth. Bereft and lonely and weightless. “No, I don’t.” His smile catches on the corner of your peripheries, aching. “Guess that makes me a horrible person, huh?”

“Of course not,” you answer automatically, although your head is still swimming. Your voice meekens into something raw. “I felt that way about you, too. You were my best friend.” 

He was, wasn’t he? You're struck with a sudden, vivid memory: winter, nine years ago. A soft shelter of mismatched blankets teetering overhead, cascading down like the walls of a heaven you thought you’d find forever in. Plush cushions. Giddy smiles. That feeling of invulnerability. You and him, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the warm air, flashlights pinned on planets, moons, stars, circumstellar discs, fragments of a world you swore you'd one day seize in your bare hands. You got your wish in the end, but if this is the cost–

“You were mine, too.” Matt says, just as your heart threatens to cave in. Then he shakes his head. Lets out a soft puff of air. “God, what am I saying? You’re still mine.” His elbow presses into your side. “Who else would’ve stuck with Pidge all the way through the Garrison?” 

You huff. “Hey. Put some respect on her name.” He chortles and your head slips against his shoulder. “Besides– she wasn’t the only reason I stayed. I kind of wanted a career, you know.” The levity of the moment cuts through the haunting, if only for a moment; a sudden burst of courage sparks in your veins. Lower, just a fraction: “And I wanted you back.” 

It shouldn’t be so hard to say. This is the Matt you loved – the one who used to hold your hand whenever the dark would close in on you, who taught you all the constellations as you saw them reflected in his eyes. Who was everything you could never find in all your textbooks and prizes and sleepless nights. You’d cried over him, curled up in a half-empty bed with an emptier heart, begging for an answer that only came once you’d finally been able to wrench your gaze away. Too late. Always too late. This never should’ve been something time could seize, but it is.

If you’d never left, would we have been fine? Questions, questions. All unasked. Am I still the me who could love you the way you deserved? 

Matt lingers at the boundary where your vision dissolves into the black, and you are dimly aware of the warmth of his palm enveloping yours, the quiet pulse of his blood. You think you could map out his veins in black ink blindfolded. You could model him from clay and electricity, angles and planes and geometric forms coalescing into the flickering image of your heart. You could drag your fingertips across the ravine seared hypertrophic into his cheek, chart each new valley and bound crossing the landscape of his skin, and would it be enough?

My best friend. You squeeze your eyes shut. 

You can lift a weight off your shoulders, but sometimes that does nothing more than remind you of how empty you are without it. Matt is here, and he’s alive, and he holds you with a tenderness that cleaves you open raw. What do you do now that he isn’t just a wish? Now that he isn’t the spectre you carried around like it was breathing before you drowned? You’d wanted him without thinking about having him, because the last time you got what you wanted you ended up fighting a war. 

(Scared. That’s what you are. That’s what you’ve always been. Scared of loving things — scared of losing things — how different are they, really?)

Matt’s palm closes over your own. 

“You know what I’d think of, whenever everything up here just got too…” A vague gesture. You track the movement greedily. “Too much?” He swivels towards you, eyes soft and devastating as twin nebulae. “I’d think of you. Of— of us. And Pidge, and Mom, of course— all of you, back on Earth. I promised myself that I wouldn’t give up until I said everything I needed to say to you. It kept me going.”

He exhales. “It was like breathing to me.” 

He's warm beside you, older, sharper features painted a mute silver by the rays trickling in through the window. It winds over him, wraps him up in a way that makes him look so fragile you worry that all it would take to whisk him away again is a single tug of the rope. 

“Well,” you offer him a sliver of a failing smile, “We’re here, now.”

We. Self-forgetting. An easy facade. Matt might be considering it.

“Yeah.” He mumbles, finally. “You are.”

It could be cruel, the way you look at him. It’s selfish to want when you yourself have nothing to give – and yet something tells you that to tear your gaze away would be to undo the seams of your very existence. What happens next? He could say a million things, each of which you are more undeserving of than the last. Maybe you could learn to pull him back into you again, natural as anything else that has ever existed. As if it’s the only thing that was ever really meant to happen between the two of you – no forsaken missions and no alien warships and no fabled weapons at the edge of the universe which landed you here to begin with. Just us, the dream murmurs. Wouldn’t that be nice? 

Maybe it would be. Maybe it would wreck you. Maybe you’d deserve it. 

Still, you look, and Matt’s hand falls from your own.

(It’s a pity that no amount of searching will ever yield the truth before you. You don’t know how many times Matt sat, surrounded by the Coalition’s chaos and the deafening silence of the stars, thinking to himself that maybe it all would’ve made sense if you were there. You picked things apart like no one he’d ever met before – plucked at the threads of fate until they sounded a tune you were satisfied with, unrelenting in your pursuit of something of your own. You with your quiet eyes and brittle edges you’d sometimes snap against the outside just to see if they would crumble. He would’ve given you every good thing in the world, if only he’d had the chance.

You’re sitting beside him now, sadder than maybe anything else he’s ever seen, and he thinks: his chance is here. But somehow, the good things are all out of reach.

So nothing comes. Ordinarily, the words would beat against the trapdoor of his throat, raining fists down on soft tissue in unceasing droves. I love you. You are the one part of me I never lost. I love you. You are everything to me; there’s nothing I’ve ever known more. I love you I love you I love you. He’d crafted all those beautiful words so clearly before. There’s nothing to show for it, now, but he remembers the thoughts and how they’d swarmed him in the unending night.

Matt wishes you could see into him.) 

Tentatively, your hand strays. It’s a cautious act – Matt is glassy-eyed in a way you’ve never seen; all you know is to handle it with care. Your pinky curls around his own before the warmth of him greets you, and when his fingers bloom over your palm you close your eyes and try not to think of the deeds they are nestled in. A doctor’s hands, Colleen once jested after you’d accidentally split the tip of your finger on a kitchen knife. Got to be careful with them. Would she still say it if she knew the things you’d done with a bayard lodged in your grip? If she knew how you’d let her only son drift like an hourglass run between your fingers? 

“You’re always slipping away from me.” You whisper, voice fed through a mirthless smile. 

Matt humours you again, and relief washes through you as the sheen over his gaze starts to thaw before your own. “I disappeared into space one time.” 

He knows that’s not what you meant. It’s a strange, liminal place that the two of you find yourselves stranded within — not quite friends, not quite lovers, but soulmates, definitely, maybe. The thought shatters you just a little. 

“Hey – look at me.” Calloused hands retreat from your own to fall on your shoulders. Your gaze flickers up, unsteady waves crashing against warm, fractured brown pools – the same, you think. Always the same. You know that ability to hold. “We’re gonna be okay. It’s still us, isn’t it?” The muted little glimmer of hope in his eyes is the heartrending kind. “It’s still us.” 

Matt holds you like his pleas perfuse your very being. People seem to do that a lot, these days. 

“Yeah.” You force the word past and taste salt in your mouth. “Of course it is.”

I don’t know how not to grieve you.

He has to know it. In the low light, you can see yourself swimming in his eyes, and you can only begin to conceive what stares back at him from your own. A returning prayer. Please see me, it goes. You have been searching for the right words for so very long, and your limbs are growing heavy. Please find a way to love me that I will understand. 

(Is there even such a thing?)

Steady arms engulf you. 

“We’ll be alright.” Matt murmurs into your skin, and you think that it is more for himself than it is for you. “I’ll make sure of it.”

I’m never letting you go. Not again.

You can only hope. 

end

notes: thank you so much for pulling through to the end! i will be honest, i don’t know how i feel about this one but my love for that boy transcends my lack of ability. matt holt you will always be famous