#too angry in the tags. But I’ve got Feelings about it and they are Real

[sleepywolverine]

🍦 on the tip of my tongue 🍦

Pairing: Worst Logan x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Length: 1.9K Tags: fluff, smut, suggestive eating of ice cream, reader really likes vanilla ice cream, bratty reader, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), fingering, cum eating, pet names, daddy kink, mentioned wade wilson, briefly shown oc i haven’t talked about yet

This fic is for @loganficsonly for @lareinedulune’s Wet Hot Logan Summer Ficathon. The prompt was “getting ice cream together” with Worst Logan. This was my first time writing anything for Logan as well as the first time I’ve written real smut or a reader insert fic since I wrote Living in the Night, so I hope ya’ll enjoy!

Read on AO3

Logan had moved in with you two months ago, much to Wade’s exaggerated agony, despite the fact that he’d only be a few blocks away. So now you and the Wolverine were living in ‘domestic bliss’, as Wade had put it. Unfortunately for you and your sanity, Logan’s idea of domestic bliss involved him still unable to stop drowning his sorrows in alcohol. This month, said sorrows included Wade visiting too often, other men hitting on you and the summer heat. 

Well, in New York, it was easy to find an ice cream truck. You were craving a nice, cool treat and Logan had barely moved from the couch all day, only to get a bottle of whiskey, use the bathroom or go to the building’s gym. It was 3 PM. You could only hope he’d listen to your nagging for once. 

But it seemed that you were asking for a bit too much. 

“You want to go out? In this heat?” Logan queried, raising an eyebrow.

“There’s always an ice cream truck a few blocks away at this time of day,” you insisted. “We can head down there, have our cones, and come back. My treat.”

He sighed heavily, getting up from the couch, a scowl on his face. “Fine, but we won’t stay out there more than 15 minutes, got it?” 

You couldn’t help but giggle a bit. Logan looked kinda cute in an angry kitty sort of way. The little tufts of hair that looked a bit like cat ears didn’t make it any better.

Logan rolled his eyes at you as he went to put his shoes on. “Don’t make me regret this,” he grumbled.

You followed him over, sitting down to put your shoes on as well. “Oh, I don’t think you will,” you smirked. 

Logan couldn’t keep himself from smiling with amusement for a moment at your smug smirk. When you caught him with the corners of his mouth turned up, he immediately went back to playing grumpy. “Whatever, princess. Let’s go.”

Yeah, you were pretty confident that this was just what Logan needed; to get out of the house, have something cold, and maybe you’d even get a ‘thank you’ for it.

86 degrees.

Your phone had said it was 86 degrees outside.

So why did it feel so much hotter? 

You could practically already feel sweat dripping down your skin and you and Logan hadn’t even been walking for a minute. Part of you desperately wanted to turn around and retreat to the air conditioned apartment, but your heart was now set on getting that ice cream. On having a nice time with the man you loved. 

You looked over at Logan. He was silent, hands in his jean pockets, scowling a bit still. “What?” he asked gruffly when he caught you staring.

“Just glad we’re doing this,” you responded.

Logan turned away from you again, though you caught him rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well… I still don’t like it. Way too hot out here.”

“We won’t be out here for long, I promise. Besides, we can’t just stay cooped up inside all summer.”

“I went to the gym today,” he argued.

“And that was inside.”

“So?” 

You shook your head, sighing heavily as the two of you stepped up to the ice cream truck, right at the corner, just like you knew it would be. Nearby, you noticed plenty of people leaning against the walls of buildings or sitting on benches enjoying their own frozen desserts. As you looked over the menu printed on the truck, you heard your boyfriend grumble once again. “This is ridiculous, standing around in this baking heat just for ice cream,” he complained.

The woman in the ice cream truck turned to the two of you. “Hello, I’m Inaya. What can I get you two?”

“Got anything with booze?” Logan asked.

“Logan!” you scolded.

“Fine. Just a plain chocolate cone, I guess.”

“I’ll get vanilla,” you told Inaya.

“All right, hold tight,” Inaya smiled at the two of you before starting to prepare your cones. 

“Vanilla?” Logan raised a judgmental eyebrow at your choice of flavor.

“What? It’s the best one!” you argued.

“It’s the most boring one.”

“I disagree,” you smirked.

“Of course you do.” He couldn’t keep himself from smirking back at you.

A moment later, Inaya returned to the window, a chocolate ice cream cone in one hand, a vanilla one in the other. “That’ll be six dollars,” she told you as she handed the cones to the two of you.

You took out your wallet, pulling out the dollar bills, coins for tax and a little extra as a tip, handing the money to Inaya. She smiled at the two of you. 

You and Logan walked over to a nearby tree, standing in the shade as the two of you began to enjoy your ice cream. Neither of you said anything for a while, just exchanging glances as you licked your treats. You could tell Logan was much happier than he was before, however. You didn’t think he’d admit it. 

“You got a bit of ice cream on the corner of your mouth,” he said suddenly.

He was right. You could feel it there. But then you got an idea. An idea you’d probably be punished for later. You smeared the cone against your face, shivering slightly at the cold sensation, getting some more ice cream right by your lip. It was starting to look like you had half of a white, sticky mustache. You smirked at Logan, and he just stared back, confused as to why you just did that.

And then you started licking it off very slowly, imagining that the cold mess on your mouth was something else. You glanced suggestively at Logan, who was starting to blush. He knew what you were doing, and he was giving you just the reaction you wanted out of him.

“Stop that,” he growled.

You didn’t. Once you’d licked off all the ice cream on your face, you went back to licking your cone, looking at Logan seductively as you did so. You were teasing him, and he damn well knew it. 

Meanwhile, Logan was trying desperately to stay focused on his own ice cream and not get riled up at your blatant teasing. Unfortunately for him, he was far too in love with you to let you get away with this.

“Brat,” he muttered.

He was only egging you on further. Logan’s fist clenched around his cone, cracking it slightly. He could feel himself getting hard in his jeans as you kept putting on this teasing little show for him.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he growled.

You winked back at him.

That did it. He couldn’t take it any longer. He grabbed you by the wrist and started dragging you back in the direction of the apartment building, his grip strong but not painfully so. There was an angry glint in hazel eyes, almost like a crackling flame.

“You really think you’re funny, dontcha princess?” he asked darkly. “Getting me hard in public. You’re gonna pay once we’re back in our apartment, baby.”

“And what about our ice cream?” You asked teasingly.

“You can have your damn ice cream later,” he snarled. He was dead set on punishing you for the stunt you just pulled. And your pussy was tingling at the thought of it.

You were on your knees in front of the couch where Logan had been relaxing only less than an hour before. Now, he was back on the couch, but this time, you were going down on him.

Your boyfriend couldn’t keep quiet as you sucked and licked at his thick cock. His fingers were tangled in your hair, yanking at it slightly, his eyes half-lidded.

“Oh, you little minx,” he growled. “You were thinking about this when you were licking that damn ice cream, weren’t ya?” 

You let out a soft whimper in response, muffled by his length in your mouth. You were so wet. You could feel it leaking through your panties. 

Logan tugged your hair harder for a moment, gazing down at you, his eyes dark with lust. The eye contact was tantalizing. You were itching to touch yourself, to give yourself some kind of stimulation where you needed it, but you could only hope that Logan would give it to you once he had his fill of your mouth. 

“That was not nice what you did out there,” he said, his voice deep and rough as he pulled you off of him, pushing you down onto the couch, already pulling your shorts off. “Teasing me like that, in public no less. You need to be taught a lesson.”

“Logan…” you groaned, feeling needy as ever.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he smirked, his hand dipping below your waistband, touching your pussy through your sopping wet panties.

“Need you,” you whimpered.

Logan’s smirk only grew wider at your needy tone. He yanked your shorts and panties down with one quick tug. “You have me,” he growled lowly before bucking up into you hard.

“Agh!! L-Logan!!” you cried out as he pounded into you over and over relentlessly.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “Always so tight.”

His thrusts showed no sign of slowing. You could feel tears building up in your eyes, but you didn’t want him to stop. You needed him like this too badly.

“Looooogan…!” you moaned.

Logan kept on fucking you, the room filled with the lewd sound of his balls making contact with your folds and your moaned cries.

“Yeah, keep moaning my name, baby. Good girl,” he praised, his voice breathy. 

“Daaaaady…” you moaned out instead, just to drive him even crazier.

Logan looked down at you, growling. “Daddy, huh?”

“You’re being a good girl for Daddy, ain’tcha?” he groaned.

“I am now.”

He let out a dark chuckle. “Couldn’t keep yourself from being a brat at the ice cream truck, though.”

“Seems like it… paid off…” you panted. You were getting close already. You knew it, and Logan could tell.

“You think so, eh?” he teased, bringing a thumb down to your clit and rubbing it roughly, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from your lips. “Not so bratty now.”

“I’m so close,” you whimpered. You were teetering on the edge of your climax, desperate to let go, hoping Logan would let you.

“Yeah? You gonna come for me, princess?” he asked gruffly, keeping up the relentless pace of his thumb on your clit and his cock. 

“M-may I come, Daddy?” you asked, hopeful. You didn’t think you could hold it in even if he told you to.

“Yeah, princess. Come for me,” he groaned, not stopping pleasuring you for a second.

With his permission, you went over the edge, clenching around him. That combined with your moans was enough to trigger Logan’s own orgasm. He thrust up into you one last time before coming hard inside you.

“Mmm… good girl,” he panted, pulling out of you. He then inserted two fingers into your full cunt, gathering his cum and bringing it to your lips. “Eat up, baby.”

You eagerly obliged, letting him feed you his cum, sucking and licking it off of his fingertips. This was what you were thinking about when you were teasing him with the ice cream anyway.

Once Logan was done feeding you his semen, he pulled you close to his chest, wrapping his arms around you as you snuggled on the couch.

“You know what?” he whispered to you.

“What?” you looked into his hazel eyes, now warm rather than full of lust and pent-up desire like they were before.

“I think that ice cream was a good idea after all,” he smirked.

You giggled teasingly. “What’d I tell you?” 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. C’mere, princess,” he said, pulling you into a sweet kiss.

[kalosian-woods]

Maybe... 8, 12, and 17 for the gang?

Techincally already did 12 for Ash (and on the same day too heh), but I'll see what I can do (beacuse I cannot separate the gang no matter what, you either take em all or leave them :3)

8. Unpopular opinion about them

Ash: He's not OP or aura-farming or totally awesome for spamming the use of Greninja, he's just a boy who had found a shortcut and did what all kids would do. I feel like a lot of people forget that he's a young guy and not like 20 or whatever he seems to be with the art style - and especially if you take in account all the Leagues and failures and goodbyes that have weighed on him before, it makes sense that he would grasp onto this very real boost of power, no matter the consequence. And yes, I do believe that the Bond Phenomenon does have a price. After all, with great power comes...

Bonnie: All her eps were absolute peak and anyone who hates them deserve to be sniped via Thousand Arrows. I honestly feel like people only notice her for her bond with Squishy, but that is just as valid of an observation with Tyrunt/Tyrantrum, Lapras and Flabebe. They're all amazing and deep and so soul-crushing and my heart struggles to understand how we went from maybe a handful of eps for the little guy (Max) in AG to such thoughtful eps that happen frequently with Bonnie. Just,,,, my girl was always winning and I don't understand the problem with it.

Serena: Her love for Ash fuels her independence rather than hinders it. I feel like a lot of people either tilt towards the romance meaning that it's going to be stiffling and restrictive for her or that she is meant to be bonded at the hip to him. But her love helped her get out of the home and kick-start her journey, got her to reflect in the Summer Camp and what she's going to do now (in the present), gives her the strength and courage to keep going strong with her team even when things seemed tough. She's the type of person to bloom when given a reason. And it just turns out her love for Ash was what her going.

Clemont: Don't want to be that person but... was it me or the Gym Battle was a lot less cooler than I expected it to be? Clem rarely interacted with Heliolisk (and don't get me started on the rest of his admittedly small and not so diverse Gym Team) and ngl that was the highlight of the ep for me. Love Luxray and Electric Terrain continues to be my favourite move, but it was the main sweeper of the battle, and don't get me started on Bunnelby. Bro. You had your time to shine with the Gym Takeback, why are you here for an official match?? It's not even about learning one (1) Electric move, it was just the fact that we overuse cliches and 'feel cool/good' moments instead of being rational about an important battle. If he could use Bunnelby, then he could also use Chespin and make this a Travel Team battle (very :/). Or he could use his /Gym/ Team for the Gym Battle and do something there. Ig this also has the problem of him barely using his Gym Team but that's something else.

12. Crack headcanon

Clemont: I'VE BEEN HAVING THIS HC FOR AGES I've always thought that all his physical strength is stored in his arms. Look, considering he can't run and he tires easily + his abiliy to make machines of various sizes while barely breaking a sweat + I can never forget ep3 where he was cranking that Bird Pokémon Attractor or whatever it was called at supersonic speeds. It makes sense in my heart. He can't carry as much because /legs/ but he can do a lot with his arms I'm just saying.

Serena: Very similar but totally different to above, can win all armwrestling contests. It's all that holding onto Rhyhorn's reins with a death grip that makes her that strong. Once she realised this she used it to win arguements with her mother (after a while even Grace couldn't beat her). Ash is very worried about everyone's upper body strength here but he also finds it very cool.

Bonnie: Has her own Roblox-adjacent account that she goes into while they're waiting in the Pokemon Centres and tries to catfish people there (it's not really catfishing if she has a real and true intention to get Clemont hitched, but the mods always ban her) (she's made 53 accounts so far) (yes, she does also get expensive customisation and smashes other people in PvP)

Ash: It’s an effect that has worsened thanks to the Bond Phenomenon, but he gets mistaken as a cryptid A Lot, especially when they’re travelling in forests. When people take a pic his eyes sometimes glows, sometimes he doesn't make any footsteps at all, and he can notice a traveller from far away (and then call out to them with his mouth full, making a terrifying sound). Ash insists it’s just bad lighting, learning some skills on his travels (Pokémon Watching anyone?) and just being observant (and stupid afterwards) respectfully, but the jury is still out on that one. Somehow even Greninja is concerned. Pikachu finds it hilarious.

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them

Ughhh my music taste is unfathomable to everyone but me, and sometimes it's either only the beat or the words that work. I usually blast out Idol (cover by Will Stetson, but I can also go for Trickle as well and also the OG vers. by Yoasobi and the orchestra versions as well) (basically I've got a wide range of variety here lol) for Serena, especially when dreaming about Showcases. That's Why I Gave Up On Music (cover by Rachie) also has got me in a vicegrip lately as I think about the early days of Serena's journey up to that first (failed) Showcase.

Funnily enough, I go for Fatal (this time only by Will Stetson and also this one (1) orchestra) for Ash because the wanting, the taking the vibes ;w; Also go with No Longer You from Epic the Musical for the whole Olympia prophecy thing and Dangerous from the same musical for the whole Greninja training in Snowbelle part (with some minor tinkling with the plot).

Mr Sunfish by YonKaGor is somehow a Chespin/Clemont fic for me?? Been also blasting Look At The Sky (phritz vip version) while doing ‘all roads lead to you’. Said it before and I’ll say it again, Sad Machine is so him + Clembot core, and with the crisis especially Goodbye To A World (both Porter Robinson, though I’ve heard some amazing orchestra versions) (yes I’m an orchestra person lol). There's also Hold Them Down (very dark, ik, but it is Crisis themed for me and more of Xerosic's point of view) + this particular part in Odysseus in Epic the Musical for the Crisis.

I don’t think I have any specific for Bonnie as of now, beyond one orchestra of Itte/Say It that I love a lot for one of the fic I’m getting up to. Honestly these ate more fic/arc-orientated rather than characters, BUT let it never be said that the Squishy song isn’t a banger. And also obviously the XY songs they’re all great <333

[alexsnerdycorner]

Animalistic (Logan X Reader smut)

Title: Animalistic

Word Count: 2079

Warning: Smut, slight exhibitionism (if you squint), kitchen sex, oral (f and m receiving), PIV sex, multiple orgasm (f)

Fandom: X-Men/X-Men Movies

Pairing: Logan X Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature, Explicit

Request: I need someone to write a Logan Howlett x reader where reader can communicate with animals and she finds out she can also hear logan’s thoughts (bc that man IS an animal lets be real) at first she doesn’t realize who’s /what’s thoughts she is hearing but gets closer with logan and realizes it’s him when he starts thinking about her

Tags: @grapejollyrancher @pinkiemme

Summary: You’re a mutant who can communicate with animals. Lately you thought you’ve been going crazy, getting images and feelings when there were no animals around. One night you wake from a weird nightmare and find Logan in the kitchen. You soon discover that the nightmare was Logan’s and that you’re not going crazy, but that you can communicate telepathically with him. Smut ensues.   

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. I’ve had lots to do with work and personal life. I also got sick five times since September. I also made it so the reader can see his thoughts more than hear them – you’ll see how it works out.

Work:

From a young age you could communicate with animals. You got feelings and flashes of images from them. You discovered it first with your friend’s dog. Whenever you were over there you felt happiness radiating off of him and glimpses into his mind. When the dog was hungry you would get images of kibble and feelings of hunger. You would always be the first to know when the dog needed to go outside and use the bathroom.

When you were a young adult your parents discovered your abilities and sent you to live at the Xavier institute. You loved it there. Mostly because it was quiet and there was very little animal activity. You studied there for a little while and then became an animal sciences teacher.

When a man named Logan and a girl named Rogue came to the institute things began to get more complicated. You would feel angry, agitated, or afraid for no apparent reason. You would get images – no memories that weren’t your own. You thought you were going crazy. You were too scared to even tell the Professor.

One night you woke after a terrible nightmare. Too afraid to go back to sleep, you trudged down to the kitchen and found Logan there.

“Hey, Y/N” He said, “What are you doing up? It’s almost midnight.”

“I could ask you the same thing, Logan” You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You suddenly felt parched as if you hadn’t drunk anything all day.

“Touche” Logan opened the fridge. He grabbed a soda out, opened it and chugged the contents. Your feelings of thirst were suddenly gone. Weird.

“I had a nightmare and I’m afraid to go back to sleep,” You finally admit to your friend.

Logan let out a mirthless laugh, “You and me both, bub. Wanna talk about it?”

“I…I don’t want to sound crazy,” you said. Pulling at the hem of your nightgown. Logan looked over at you with an unreadable expression. Flashes of male hands sensually roaming a female body went through your mind.

“You could never sound crazy,” Logan said.

“I don’t know about that,” you let go of your nightgown’s hem and crossed your arms across your chest. You looked away from Logan and felt a heat wash over you as you got glimpses of a man kissing a woman’s breasts.

“Try me,” he responded drawing you out of your visions.

“Okay, well, I was in this lab of sorts and my body was hooked up to these wires and tubes and stuff. And I was submerged in water or something and I was in pain. Lots and lots of pain. I looked over to a man, Stryder, I think, and get so angry at him I want to kill him, but I don’t. I don’t know why I don’t. But I pull all the tubes and wires and stuff off my body and start to run but then feel a sharp stinging pain and then I woke up,” You looked back up at Logan whose eyes were wide.

“Stryker. His name was Stryker,” Logan said quietly.

“Yes, how did you…” You trailed off.

“Because that’s my nightmare. My past,” he threw the bottle of soda away.

“What? How… Why?” You stuttered.

“I don’t know, Y/N.” Logan said, “Let’s go to the professor in the morning and see if he knows what is going on.”

“No! I’m not crazy. It was just a coincidence. Must be,” You shrugged.

“I never said you were,” Logan held out a hand to calm you. He licked his lips and you received flashes of a man undressing a woman with a similar nightgown to yours. You felt wetness pool in your panties.

Could it be? No, you thought. It can’t be him.

“Quick, logan, what are you thinking right now,” You spoke up.

“What? I don’t see – ” He began.

“Just tell me.” You interrupted.

“I…Y/N, I don’t see how this is relevant.” His face turned bright red.

“You’re thinking about me, aren’t you.”

“Well, I am talking to you.”

“But you’re thinking of me in a different way than just talking to me, aren’t you Logan? You’re thinking about fucking me, aren’t you.”

“What are you on about, Y/N?” Logan cleared his throat.

“I think I know why I had your nightmare. I can communicate with you like I can with animals, can’t I?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Logan denied it but you knew deep down that it was true.

“Stop lying, please. Ever since you and Rogue arrived several months ago, things have been different for me. I thought I was going crazy and just seeing and feeling things without an explanation.  But it’s been you this whole time, hasn’t it.” You said without taking a breath.

“I suspected a little after we first met. I could feel you in my mind.” Logan sighed, “But it was all just suspicions. I didn’t know for sure, not until just now when you told me about the nightmare.”

“So, what were you just thinking about, Logan?” You stepped towards him while maintaining eye contact.

“Princess, I think you know.” He cleared his throat.

“I do. But I want to hear you say it,” you closed the remaining gap so that he was inches away from you.

“I was thinking how damn fine you look in that fucking nightgown.” He purred, “And I was wondering how you would look without it.”

“Well, there is only one way to find out, isn’t there” you smirked and looked up at him through your heavy eyelids.

In a flash Logan’s mouth was on top of yours, kissing you hungrily.

“My room.” You said between kisses.

“No. Here.” Logan growled while his fingers grazed the hem of your nightgown and his mouth moved to your neck. You let out a moan and your hands roamed his chest over his white t-shirt.

“We’ll get caught, Logan,” you whined.

“If anyone is up past midnight, they deserve to catch a show.”

You would have cared more but the ache you felt for him was too strong. You nudged his lips up to yours and bit onto his bottom lip.

“Oh, look whose got the animalistic tendencies now.” Humor shone in his eyes.

You giggled and went back to kissing him. Logan ran his large hands up your thighs and hooked them onto your nightgown hem. He took the hem and lifted. You complied and he took the nightgown off your body and threw it to the floor. He then moved onto your soaked panties. WHen he saw the pool of wetness in them, he grinned. 

He took some time to look at your naked body. To soak your beauty in. When he had enough of the view he ran his rough hands over your soft breasts, toying with your nipples. He brought his lips down to your breasts and pressed a kiss between the two.

“Ya know, I’ve wanted to do this since I met ya, princess.”

You smirked at him and removed his shirt, “Really? Is there anything else you’ve been wanting to do?”

“Well, yeah, a couple of things, actually. Now that you ask.”

You put your hands on the buckle to his belt and pull it. It releases, “I see. Care to share with the class, Mr. Logan?”

He put his hands over yours and pulled his belt off, tossing it onto his shirt. He popped the button of his jeans and undid the zipper. Then the thought of you sucking a long thick cock came into your head. Logan smiled at you. You returned it and got on your knees. You pulled down his pants and boxers, allowed him to step out of them and then looked up at your daunting task. He was huge. While a little above average length, he was very girthy. Your hand couldn’t fit around him on its own if you tried. You lifted your lips to his cock and gently kissed the tip of it.

”Fuck,”  He let out a gruff moan, “y/n.”

The corners of your mouth turned upwards as you took him into your mouth. You moved your mouth forward and back while you found his eyes locked onto yours. His eyes worshiped you even from this position. Soon you felt his cock twitch in your mouth. Logan pulled back and he slipped out of your mouth. 

“Princess, if you keep it up, I won’t be able to fuck you the way I can smell you need it. Now get up here and kiss me.”

You obeyed. His cock was squished between the two of you. Logan pushed you back into the counter, lifted you up, and sat your bare ass on it. You yelped at the cold granite counter top. Logan stopped in his tracks and looked at you with concern. 

“I’m okay, just cold,” You reassured him.

“Well, let's fix that,” he smirked and knelt down on the floor in front of you. Logan steadied his rough calloused hands on your thighs and bent his head toward your core. You felt a warm wet tongue lick a strip up to your clit. You sighed in pleasure. He worked his tongue and lapped at your clit as he hummed against you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, Logan.”

You could feel the scruff of his trim beard tickle the insides of your thighs as he smiled. You ran your hands through his headband tugged gently. He inserted a finger into your pussy and you gasped, not ready for him to do that so quickly. He worked his mouth and his fingers in unison. You squirmed under his touch. Logan added a finger to your pussy and you swore, “fucking hell.”

“You good, princess?” he said into your pussy, making brief eye contact with you. 

“Yeah,” you said breathily, “keep going, Logan, please.”

You didn’t need to ask him twice. He dove back into your core and licked in circles at the bud of your clit. You moaned and tried to squeeze your legs together, but Logan’s head and other hand stopped you from getting too far. You could feel the knot in your core tightening and tightening, it was not that far off from bursting. 

“I’m close, Logan, Really close.”

“I want you to cum on my mouth, princess,” he said gruffly against your core before returning to his pleasurable assault on your clit. 

Your hips involuntarily bucked up and you cried out Logan’s name. Pure bliss radiated throughout your body. Logan returned to his standing position and brought his lips to yours. You could taste your sweet juices on his lips. 

“Are you ready to take my cock, y/n?” 

You nodded, unable to speak yet. That was all Logan needed for him to pull you to the edge of the counter, line himself up to your entrance, and push his way into your soaking core. He gave you a moment to adjust to his size before he started to buck his hips slowly. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He hit your g-spot once, twice, and three times. You moan his name loudly and scratch your nails down his back. In return he pulled your hair not too gently but not enough to really hurt you.

“y/n,” he growled, “do that again and I might just finish before we’re done” 

You drew him in deeper with your legs. He grunted. Your hands roamed his entire body. His one hand toyed with your boob while the other was a steady constant on your back. 

He shifted you to hit your g-spot again. And you shouted out in excitement. The knot in your sore was tangling again. 

“Logan, I’m close.” You whispered into his ear. 

“Me too, Princess.” He thrust into you to punctuate each word. 

He sped up slightly. The knot came undone and you came on his cock. His moves became erratic. And he was not too far after you to spill his seed inside of you. He stayed inside you for a moment as the two of you hung onto each other and panted. 

When you pulled apart he looked you in your eyes and spoke softly, “come to bed with me, maybe company will stave off the nightmares?”

You nodded, still unable to speak. Slowly, the two of you dressed and went up to his room.

You fell asleep in his arms and slept the night away without any more nightmares.

[thebumblebeesworld]

WHILE • AWAY

part ten • modern!au annie x smoke

summary: being apart from each other has caused smoke and annie to act uncharacteristically, hitting below the belt and behaving more possessive than necessary. but now that smoke is home, annie has a few bones to pick with him—she just doesn’t realize how far she went. smoke doesn’t realize that annie is willing to play the long game.

cw: smut!!, possessive!smoke, angry!smoke, use of the nword (i really don’t know how in-depth to be but yea-)

a/n: y’all. i’ve never written smut with a man—i feel like a prooo thoo :PP

part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part eleven.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The atmosphere in the house was chilling, wholly unlike the comfortable and warm home Annie had left just a few hours ago. The lights were out, and the faint scent of burning candles, Smoke's musky cologne, and the anger that emanated off of the intimidating man wafted from up the stairs.

She had done as he said: dropped their baby off by her brother-in law's before returning home to whatever she was in for. And she was sure that she was in for something bad. Stack wished her well before she departed his home, chuckling in that annoying brother way and mumbling something about those damn text messages.

She obviously meant everything she had said to Elijah, but if he had a problem with her honestly, then so be it.

Annie's breath shuttered as she attempted to put on a brave face. This is what she wanted. What she asked for. She wanted Elijah home and in an angry mood so that he could lay her ass out just how she deserved to be, but in the back of her mind, an emotion flickered.

Resentment.

Annie loved that Smoke was possessive. That he meant business 'bout her. That he would put his foot down whenever he saw fit. But it upset her how he had been moving while he was away on business. He had been treating her like any bitch off the street, calling her a whore and insinuating that she didn't take care of her daughter. And if there was one thing that Annie didn't play about it was her ability to be an upstanding woman and mother.

She prided herself on it just as much as he prided himself on being a good husband, father, and man, but he hadn't been good enough to her lately—not in the slightest. Not up to the high standards he had set himself.

Annie swallowed her nerves and anger, taking confident steps up to their bedroom where she expected to find the looming man.

And there he sat: in the big wingback chair in the corner of the room; boxers tight against his skin after the apparent shower he had just taken; body still glistening as water droplets ran across chestnut skin; durag tied neatly to protect his fresh waves; chest bare besides his dog tag and the mojo bag Annie made him wear whenever he was out of her presence.

He was for damn sure a sight to see, but so was she.

The moment Annie stepped into the room, Smoke's eyes were trained on her: how her body swung with an annoyed purpose; how the dress she wore clung to her wide hips and plump breasts; how her skin shined, even in the low candle light of the room; how her brows scrunched in irritation, trying so desperately to conceal the arousal his sight gave her.

They were a match made in heaven—or hell. Sinners who found their paradise in each other.

The anger that swirled around them was almost too much to bear, but this is what Annie wanted and what Smoke needed—a reason to fuck each other with nothing but love and disrespect and ownership.

"Since when you started beckonin' me to come home," Annie asked first, staring directly into his face, eyes unwavering and chin upturned. She stood in the middle of the room with a hand on her jutted-out hip.

"Since you started actin' like you ain't got no mothafuckin' sense," he barked, resting his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward. "You been real mouthy lately."

"Last time I checked you liked that 'bout me," her eyes narrowed dangerously, allowing her resentment to take over. "And who are you to be talkin' 'bout somebody actin' out? Don't think I forgot you callin' me outta my name, Elijah. I oughta cut yo' black ass." Annoyed with the way his eyes bore into her, causing her sturdy position to crumble just slightly as she enjoyed the way his muscles flexed in anger, Annie moved to the other side of the room. She busied herself with her own reflection in her vanity mirror, trying to forget how glorious Smoke felt inside her. Trying not to be the first one to cave.

She took deep breaths as she stood there, combing her fingers through her coils while taming her beating heart and putting on a solid face at the same time.

Smoke let out a stiff laugh behind her, disbelieving in the attitude that met him. His fingers fluttered as he envisioned all the delicious positions to come.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't like her like this: all mouthy and full of attitude.

He watched the way she fidgeted at the vanity, finding the view humorous in nature. Standing on hardy feet, Smoke bounded towards her. His gait was wide and his body was upright in that threatening confidence he moved through life with.

"I know you just actin' like this 'cause you missed me," Smoke breathed down her neck. He wrapped a rough hand around her waist, lining himself up against her back. A soft, heady gust of air escaped Annie's parted lips. She was finally in his arms again. Just as she wanted to be.

"I ain't miss you, nigga," she tutted, staring into the mirror and at his eyes. The mojo bag caught her attention, reminding her that no matter what, he was always hers. It made her more confident. Made her more sure of the fact that no matter how much she bended under him, he was still hers to control.

Turning around in his arms, Annie challenged him without words, pressing her body against his, making him feel every inch of her.

Elijah's heart pounded against his rib cage as he felt her chest rise and fall against his bare skin. The fabric of her dress scratched delightfully against him, causing his breath to get caught for just a split second. In nothing but boxers, he felt the intensity of her control. How she wielded it against home.

"What's wrong, baby," she questioned, sickly sweet. "Did you miss me?"

Annie ran her hand up his body, gliding soft fingers over abs, tracing the plushness of his chest, and landing firmly at the base of his neck. She squeezed just right, resulting in the quietly confident man to become putty in her hands.

"You been testin’ my patience, Elijah," she tsks, pushing his body back and towards their large four poster bed. His irises became cloudy as he let her guide him, fully giving into her and hanging onto every word. "I been tryin’ to give you the benefit of the doubt, baby, knowin' you ain't right when you ain't 'round me. But I think you got some makin' up to do, yes?"

Annie watched his eyes flutter as his legs hit the bed, causing him to fall flat on his back. Smoke nodded profusely, drunk off of the way Annie commanded him so easily and desperately wanting more of it. His lower body lit up with arousal.

She straddled him, thick thighs engulfing his needy frame. Elijah reached up, seeking to grab her ass and pull her further into him, but Annie slapped his palms away. She pressed his wrists into the bed. Leaned over him real cool.

Real daunting.

Real dominate.

Her lips lined up with his ear, placing delicate kisses there before whispering:

"I think you needa say sorry for all you’ve done."

Smoke gasped as the words swirled around in his head. Annie's scent engulfed him even further, dragging him under her spell.

"Come on, baby. Say I'm sorry, Annie." She kissed his hot skin, making his body shake underneath her tight hold. She was always perfect like this—though she was perfect always. Each kiss sent him further towards a predictable submission even though his mind fought so hard to stay present.

"Say I won't do it again," she cooed. He slipped further into her easy dominance, wanting nothing more than to be at her mercy. One kiss at a time, his body broke.

"Come on, Elijah,” she coaxed, almost getting him to utter a sweet, honest apology. But that was until she spoke again, voice coated in aggression and disrespect—a mix of words Smoke didn’t take too kindly to. “Say I'm sorry for bein' a li'l bitch.”

The older twin’s eyes snapped open. His once relaxed muscles flexed under her thick frame, tensing at that word she knew he hated to be called. It caused him to be thrown back into the present. For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was, what he was meant to be doing, and what Annie had done to wrong him. But now, he had a new thing to add to that ever-growing list. It seemed as if she just couldn’t stop pissing him off.

Smoke met her gaze, smothering the smug look she gave him. Her resolve showed cracks when she realized she’d gone too far.

“Smoke,” she attempted to speak, but the man was quicker than her. Before she could even get the full syllable out, Smoke had her body pressed firmly into the soft mattress. Titties hitting the comforter and ass against Smoke’s crotch as he leaned into her—Annie moaned at the paradox of a hard, aroused body and a soft, too comfortable bed. “I-I’m sorry, baby,” she cried, fisting the sheets in her shaky palms.

“Oh, you finna be sorry,” Smoke groaned, raking his eyes over her clothed body almost as if he could see through her dress.

He’d known Annie for so long—knew her body so well—that he basically could. His eyes lingered on spots where he knew her body held birthmarks and moles, where a small scar sat on her right leg from a gardening accident, where he last left harsh, sex-induced marks on her skin.

Under him, she was a mess of moans, and he hadn’t even touched her properly yet.

“You been real disrespectful, ma,” he reprimanded, bunching her dress up ever so slightly. Annie laid flat on her stomach, unmoving but full of defiant desire. She needed him exactly how she wanted—nothing more, nothing less. “I was gon’ give you the attention yo’ needy ass wanted, but you always gotta take shit too far.”

“If you gon’ fuck me just do it, nigga,” Annie rumbled the words out into the empty room, halting her man’s speech. The only sounds evident were the faint notes playing through their speakers. Annie recognized the playlist, and the memories of every time they listened to it while fucking only made her more uncomfortably aroused. “For a nigga who love bein’ quiet and movin’ in silence, you doin’ a lotta talkin’ when it come to handlin’ business.” Her tone was laced with condescension and challenge, hoping to pull him further into her orbit.

Smoke laughed, heady and threatening. He threw the last bit of bunched-up dress over her ass and hips, pulling Annie up to a kneeling position.

Now—with her face down and her ass up—Annie felt a sense of accomplishment. He was finna give her that act right, and she was gonna take it just how he liked it.

But what she didn’t anticipate were the thoughts swirling around Smoke’s head. He gaped at her body, her clothed pussy, wondering how to savor it and starve it at the same time. He had no more words left to give her. No warnings. No apologies. Just sweet orgasm after sweet orgasm.

His favorite pair of blue lace panties clung to her. His heart beat was something fierce as he grabbed ahold of her ass and brought her back to meet his face—pussy still clothed, dress still wrapped around her top half.

When his tongue met her, it was like a cool stream of water ran through her too warm body. It was like she was on fire before. Like her emotions had gone hog wild and taken over the sweet woman she was known to be.

She was different with him though. Just as Elijah had another personality in Smoke, she had another personality as well. One that spit words too hot to catch with an open palm. One that did everything to poke at Elijah, just to make Smoke jump out and fuck her up.

It was a game really—for the both of them.

Smoke ate her through the lace panties, practically devouring every bit of her.

“Smoke,” she moaned, reaching back to push his face even deeper between her quivering legs, but he wrapped a strong hold around her wrist. He placed both of her hands behind her back, right at the top of her defined arch. All the while, Smoke was eating her like his life depended on it. Like his little time in Chicago had made him forget her sweet taste. Like a little cloth wasn’t gon’ stop him from getting to work. Like her defiance and words of challenge had lit his whole body on fire.

Annie cried into the sheets below her, muttering soft pleas and yummy cries of yes. She’d poked the bear and had gotten what she wanted.

Nearing the edge, Annie’s body began to shake violently.

Her feet, still clad in a pair of too high heels, curled at the sensations he was giving her. Her hands remained in their place behind her back. Her jaw went slack as loud, dangerous moans spilled out of her.

She could never be embarrassed about getting like this for him. He was the only man that deserved to have her screaming. The only man that could know her body like this. Even though there was material between his lips and her clit, Smoke knew how to work her.

How to handle her.

Annie came with a loud groan. One that signaled how good she was feeling. One that signaled that the session was just beginning.

Smoke rose up from between her legs, watching her shaky limbs. He leaned over her, the chill of his dog tag sending a shock down her back. All the soft shit he usually gave her was going out the window. He didn’t have time for gentle encouragement and praises. She wanted to act like a whore, so he was gonna treat her like one.

“I’m gon’ give you this shit,” he began, throat coated in her sweetness, “and you gon’ take it. Just how I like.”

Annie nodded, mumbling into the pillow as she came down from her high. Her hands remained in place behind her back, and as much as her knees wanted to collapse, she didn’t let it happen.

“I need words, woman.”

“Ye-yes, Smoke,” she croaked, throat raw from her spiked volume earlier, “I’m gon’ take it right.”

At her affirmation, Smoke ripped her panties off, shredding them like they weren’t his favorite, like she didn’t look damn good in front of him.

He took off his own boxers soon after, stroking from end to tip as he watched the way she clenched around nothing. She was a sight that he longed to punish. Sometimes Smoke thought about tying her to their four poster bed—naked—and making her watch as he stroked his dick to the enticing sight of her. He thought about making her cum ten times in a row with that small pink vibrator they loved so much.

It would have to be something that he tried, but not now. Not when her pussy was just as needy as he was.

Sinking into her, Smoke didn’t waste no time. She said she could take it, so he was gon’ make her prove it.

He bottomed out quickly, hitting her cervix and making her cry out in a tasty mix of pleasure and pain. He leaned into her to see the way her eyes rolled back, rocking against her just to make her eyes flutter.

“You grippin’ me so good, mama” he praised despite himself, placing one hand over the fat of her ass and the other around her wrists for stability. He pulled out; Dick retreating from her warmth with just the tip still in, Annie let out a tearful moan, begging for him to put it back.

And he listened, just as he knew how.

Smoke snapped his hips violently, thrusting into Annie hard. Her breath caught, stalling her moans as he refused to slow down now that he had started.

“Smoke, b-baby,” she whimpered, hands trembling under his hold.

“That feel good, don’t it,” he questioned, breath labored as he drilled into her. The fluttering of her walls pulled him in and made his attempts more difficult. Paying attention to the recoil of her ass only added to that difficulty. Her body was mesmerizing, and he was proud that he was the only one who got to see her like this.

“Shit feel so good,” she slurred, mouth wide, drool coating her lips.

“Yea,” he nodded, speeding up his movements. “You drunk off this dick.”

“I am,” she whined as tears streaked her face. “I needed this so bad.”

Grabbing her neck, Smoke pulled Annie into him. Her back hit his chest while he slowed his pace, fucking her deeper and harder.

“You needed me,” Smoke repeated directly into her ear. Annie groaned, nodding her head and rocking back against him. She met each of his thrusts, grinding her hips down when they were flush against each other. “You startin’ arguments ‘bout stupid stuff when you just needed me up in yo’ shit.”

Annie gritted her teeth, trying to bite back the fiery words fighting to leap out of her throat.

“I was tellin’ yo’ stupid ass that, but you obviously can’t comprehend for shit,” she barked, fucking him back harder, meeting him thrust for thrust.

She had been telling him. It was slick comments here and there about how she needed to be up under him. How she missed his lovin’. But Smoke was being obtuse—whether accidentally or intentionally.

Smoke stalled his movements, gazing into the back of her head like she had four of them. He let her fuck him without his assistance, frustrated moans falling from her lips. But Smoke was still shocked by her continuous displays of disrespect.

He seethed with anger as Annie rode him, bringing herself closer and closer to her second orgasm of the night. As her body began to topple over in pleasure once again, Smoke sprung back into action.

Flipping Annie to lay flat on her back, Smoke grabbed her throat. Annie’s dress was loose around her body, bunched at the waist and damp from the erratic movements. Her heels were long gone now. Just as she was about to open her mouth in a slick protest, Smoke started fucking her harder than he had before. Her thighs were in his grasp, and her head was thrown back.

Annie choked—not from the hand at the base of her neck but from the sharp thrusts that were taking her breath away.

She clenched hard, orgasm nearing its peak, and Smoke saw every bit of evidence of it etched into her face. In this position, he could see the way her eyes were blown, how her brows knitted together, how her bottom lip quivered as she let out the prettiest of moans. This image of her fed his hunger and made being away so worth it. He always had this to come back to.

“You gon’ cum,” he asked, tone lifting at the end of his question, but Annie didn’t answer. She babbled and cursed and hurled insults at him like she wasn’t falling apart on his dick. Like she hadn’t begged for this. “I asked you a fuckin’ question, woman!”

“Fuck you, Smoke,” she threw back, forcefully conjuring up those three words as if they had been ruminating on her mind all week. And they had.

Smoke continued his pursuit, fully fed up with her attitude. Each slight movement of his hips brought her closer to breaking. The twitch of his dick inside her is what did it though, causing a river to rush through her body.

Annie’s back arched off the bed as her second orgasm wrecked her, but this time, Smoke didn’t stop for a second.

Pushing his palm into the bottom of her stomach, Smoke grinded into her. Sweat dripped from his body, his dog tag and mojo bag swung madly in the sex-filled air. His body felt light despite his angered face. He had missed her too much. Had missed being between her legs and having her wrapped around his dick. Now that he had her back in his presence, the feeling of her was almost too much to handle.

Almost.

Annie attempted to stop him before she was too far gone, but she wasn’t very committed to the idea herself. She wanted this. Needed this. Had practically begged him for it. And now she had it.

The hand on her abdomen forced her closer to another orgasm. She could feel him in her stomach. It was a tickling sensation—a purposeful greed that she loved to see him exhibit. As much as he belonged to her, she belonged to him. All of her.

“Elijah,” she moaned, pulling his upper body into her.

“That ain’t my fuckin’ name right now,” he reprimanded, smacking the side of her thigh. “What’s my fuckin’ name?”

His unbusy hand reached between her legs, finding her clit without issue. He toyed with her, teasing her just the way she liked.

“Smok—”

“Nah, baby,” he groaned, fucking with a renewed energy. “What’s my name?”

Annie didn’t answer right away, fighting the urge to give in, but as his fingers circled her clit with more control, she couldn’t help but supply him with that sweet name.

“Ple-please, daddy,” she cried, clawing at his back in an attempt to hold onto something—anything. Her thighs wrapped firmly around his waist to make him fuck her deeper.

“What you need, mama,” Smoke hummed, breathing uneven. “Let me give it to you.” Even in his dominance, he wanted Annie to have everything she desired. He’d spend his whole life meeting her needs because that’s the kind of man he was. He was exactly the type of man she deserved.

Gasping for air, Annie spoke, needy and subdued.

“I want you to cum in me,” she pleaded. She didn’t ask to cum herself. She didn’t ask for a change in pace or position. She asked him to cum. To give her his body.

Shuttering above her, Smoke rested his head against her shoulder, breathing into her neck as they were both overtaken by greed. He fucked her, remembering all the foul things she had to say over the phone. Remembering how she went out, titties out and wedding ring off. Remembering how she’d called him a bitch to his face while trying to dominate him—almost succeeding.

He wanted to punish her for all of it. Make her scream apologies until her throat hurt.

And as much as he wanted that, he needed to cum first. For him and for her.

Letting out a shaky breath, Smoke’s orgasm rippled through him, making him bury himself fully inside Annie’s walls.

“Fuck, mama,” he groaned, biting down on her shoulder as she clamped down hard around him, not allowing him to move even if he wanted. Annie felt that way he flooded her insides, making her own pleasure spike beautifully.

“This dick so fuckin’ good,” she praised, cumming just as hard as Smoke had.

Finally having a moment to breathe, the atmosphere of the room poured back into them. The room was quiet despite the raunchy playlist that still spun out of their speakers. The room was dark despite the candles on the bedside tables. The room was scented in sex and possession.

Annie and Smoke laid side by side, bodies spent but still clinging onto the last remnants of desire. Annie trailed her eyes over his naked body. She was still half-wearing a slutted out dress, and looking at her man made her feel far too overdressed.

She removed the article with fervor, allowing her body to breathe as the cold air of the room spread around her.

Smoke’s eyes were closed as he tried to recover from his climax. Annie had an amazing way to make his body feel out of control. Like he was floating through space.

Behind his closed eyelids, he could sense her movements. How she tossed her dress to the side. How she looked over him passionately. How she was sinking on her knees in a desperate bid to have him cum down her throat.

This was her normal. Annie always made sure she sucked his dick last. Whether she was doing it in an air of dominance or submission, she needed him just like this.

“Annie,” he moaned as she teased him slowly. She drug her tongue up the underside of his dick, tasting the sweet mix of both of their arousal on him. This was the best part: the sweet, sugary taste of his skin after a long night of fucking.

“You taste so good, Elijah,” she praised him, wrapping her lips around him. “You always taste so good for me.”

The normally reserved man shut his eyes tighter—if that was even possible. He was trying to fight that urge to give in. Annie wanted him trembling under her. The way her cheeks were hollowing out told him everything he needed to know, and if he were to open his eyes, he knew he would do whatever she told him to.

Annie’s eyes were too tempting. Too knowing. They held too much control.

Annie wanted to get back at him, and she knew this was the way to do so.

“Fu-fuck, woman,” he gritted his teeth, feeling the way she placed both of her palms on his bare thighs, sucking him off with no hesitation or assistance. The way she gripped his thighs and pierced his skin with her nails had him turning his face to the side. His eyes fluttered to catch just one glimpse of her. “You tryna kill me.”

“Nah, baby,” she groaned, taking a short break to speak into his ear. She stroked him slowly with her hands, pulling him further to give in. “I’m just lovin’ on you. I missed you so much.” She kissed his strong jawline and down his neck.

Annie left marks all over his chest, causing Smoke’s body to cave in.

“Look at me, Elijah,” she demanded, sitting back between his thighs once again. Just as his eyes peeled open, Annie was on him, deepthroating him like the pro she was.

And in that moment, Elijah felt like he had died and gone to heaven. Annie was too much and not enough all at once. The feeling of her throat around him and the view of her teary eyes and a messy face made his body erupt in shockwaves.

He was seconds away from his orgasm, not even attempting to hold back. He was letting himself enjoy every bit of her. Just as he needed.

But—Annie stopped.

“Wh-what the fuck are you doin’,” Smoke yelled her way as Annie walked toward the bathroom, hips swaying wildly. Her legs were shaky in that dangerous after-sex way, but she always knew how to push the pain down to not let Smoke know just how bad he had fucked her up. Tomorrow she’d be on bed rest, but tonight, she felt like trying him again.

“I’m goin’ for a bath, nigga,” she rolled her eyes. She laughed at the pout on his face and how anger rested between his eyes. “I might have missed you, Smokey, but you pissed me off real bad, baby. You gon’ have to win me back properly.”

And with that, Annie walked into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open.

Smoke laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling as the sound of bath water poured from the bathroom. He had a perfect view of Annie in the tub, but he couldn’t look at her. Not as he tried to quell the throbbing of his dick. Not as he contemplated what she meant by winning her back properly.

Smoke didn’t know what Annie was playing at. All he knew was that this was a game he was going to win.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: i haven’t done my taglist for this series at all, but i must do it for this chapterrr

@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @princesstar655 @captaincalypso2 @sleepysquishe @nuttyinternetprincess @lolimblack @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @d1spact @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona @thefutureemmywinner @thelifeoflagab @marley-444 @itstayleigh @shamansha @margepimpson @everlucivee @katezy2x @chknnwffls @juniooox @milkywaydoll @bbymuthaaa @zunibugsiren @strawberrylemonades-stuff @rkiiives @kitesatforestp @saralance03 @wildcardmelaninfreak @thevelvetwhispers @queenofklonnie22 @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @mayday39 @bl3ssyn @blue4everrsworld

[cece693]

Bet Pt. 2 (Klaus Mikaelson x M! Reader)

If you haven't read the first part, here's the link. But to catch up, basically male reader is confused about who Klaus really is—evil hybrid vs. sweet, caring man. However, when Klaus is willing to show you where the cure is, are you willing to leave whatever you have with Klaus behind?

tags: reader makes a choice, happy ending, Klaus is a sweet boy, the Salvatore brothers are pissed

You hadn’t stepped foot in the Mikaelson mansion since Klaus had revealed his feelings. Every time you tried, something stopped you. The weight of his confession—his unexpected vulnerability—left you feeling more confused than ever. You couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine, not when your mind was torn between the life you had before and the life Klaus was offering you.

It wasn’t him you were angry at. In fact, you couldn’t blame Klaus for being honest, for laying his cards on the table and letting you see a side of him that few others did. No, all your frustration, all the pent-up anger, was directed at yourself. Because if Klaus had made his offer before you truly got to know him—if he had mentioned the cure before you saw the man behind the hybrid—you wouldn’t have hesitated to take it. You would’ve agreed to anything just to be human again. But now things weren’t so simple.

If you chose the cure, you would be giving up everything. Your brothers, your friends, Klaus. And the thought of leaving him behind, of never knowing what could have been, filled you with a sense of dread you hadn’t expected. When you were with him, you felt more like yourself than you had in centuries. He made you feel alive in ways that weren’t tied to your vampiric instincts. He challenged you, but he also supported you. He saw you for who you were, not just the person you used to be or the vampire you had become. And that was terrifying yet exhilarating.

After another night of pacing and weighing your options, you knew you had to confront the reality of your choice. You needed to speak to your brothers, to make them understand where you stood. You found Damon and Stefan in the parlor, just as you had anticipated. They were both quiet, sipping on their bourbon, when you stepped inside. Damon glanced up first, his gaze sharpening as he saw the determined expression on your face.

“So, have you finally made up your mind?” Damon asked, raising an eyebrow.

You took a breath and nodded. “I have,” you said, and the words came out steadier than you felt. “I’m not taking the cure. I’ve decided to stay as I am.”

A flicker of relief passed over Stefan’s face, though Damon’s reaction was less encouraging. “Good,” Damon replied dryly, “glad you’ve come to your senses and aren’t throwing everything away for some idiotic human fantasy. I guess that means you’re done with the whole Klaus thing, too, right?”

“No. I’m staying a vampire, but I’m also choosing to be with Klaus.”

The room seemed to grow colder, the silence stretching taut as a bowstring. Stefan’s relief evaporated, his brow furrowing with concern. Damon’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as if you had just confessed to the most unforgivable sin.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Damon spat, standing up so quickly the couch scraped against the floor. “You’re really choosing that monster over your own family? Do you even hear yourself?”

“It’s not like that,” you argued, feeling a surge of defensiveness rising in your chest. “This isn’t about choosing him over you—it’s about choosing the life I want. I’m not going to keep living the way I have, pretending things are fine between us. We haven’t been a real family for a long time.”

“So you think the answer is running into the arms of a psychopath?” Damon shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Newsflash, little brother: Klaus doesn’t know how to love. He’s a manipulative bastard who will use you until there’s nothing left. He's incapable of it.”

A bitter laugh escaped you as you met his gaze head-on. “And who are you to lecture me about love, Damon?” you shot back, anger seeping into your tone. “The man who fell for Katherine—twice? Or maybe it’s Stefan, the one who has been tangled up in an endless cycle with Elena for years, pretending that it’s love instead of just addiction?”

Stefan recoiled at your words, and Damon’s jaw tightened. The room was thick with tension, the brothers struggling to form a response. "I'm not some pawn in his game, Damon. Nor does he have me under a spell. Klaus has been honest with me, more than you have! When was the last time any of us truly cared about each other without some kind of ulterior motive?”

Stefan stepped forward. “We’re not saying you can’t choose your own path,” he said softly, “but Klaus is dangerous. You can’t deny that. You know what he’s capable of.”

“And we aren’t?” you shot back, your gaze moving between your brothers. “Let’s not act like we’re saints. We’ve all done terrible things, and we’ve all hurt people. Just because we did it for reasons we thought were justified doesn’t make us any better than him.”

Damon clenched his jaw, his expression dark with frustration. “You’re going to regret this,” he warned, his tone low and threatening. “You’re choosing him over us, and when it all falls apart, don’t expect us to come running.”

The weight of his words hit you harder than you’d expected, but you refused to show it. “If that’s the way you see it,” you replied quietly, “then maybe we were never truly brothers to begin with.”

The walk to the Mikaelson mansion felt like shedding an old skin, leaving behind a life that no longer fit. When you arrived, Klaus was there waiting, as if he had sensed the moment you had made up your mind. His expression softened the instant he saw you, a mixture of hope and relief glimmering in his eyes.

“So, you’ve come to a decision?” he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability underneath.

You took a step closer, meeting his gaze with determination. “I have,” you said. “I’m staying.”

Klaus’s breath seemed to catch in his throat, his eyes darkening with an emotion that you had rarely seen before—something close to joy, but tempered by the shadow of all the years he had lived without it. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands with a tenderness that defied his reputation.

“Then you’ve made the right choice,” he murmured, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. “And I promise, you won’t ever regret it, love.”

[mostlyghoestly]

My summer love

Request: none Summary: Summer love by one direction, You are jordans summer love but could there be more?

Tag list :@seggskink

You’d think by now you’d be used to goodbyes.

At Godolkin, loss was just part of the scenery—like the towering buildings or the endless propaganda. People vanished, drifted, broke under pressure. But this—Jordan—wasn't supposed to be temporary. Not after everything.

The sky was bleeding gold and pink when you met them on the rooftop, the same place you'd spent so many nights that summer. It was supposed to be a place of comfort. Tonight, it felt like a place of endings.

Jordan was already there, leaning on the railing, looking every bit like a daydream in the fading light. They shifted into their masculine form when they heard your footsteps—a silent gesture, one that always felt like trust.

"Hey," they said, voice tight. Too even. Like they were bracing for something.

You didn’t speak right away. You just walked over, close enough to feel their warmth, but not quite touching. Not yet.

“I leave tomorrow,” you finally said.

“I know.”

Silence again. But this one was heavier. It held all the words you hadn’t said all summer.

You’d danced around it—whatever this was—wrapped up in sun-drenched afternoons and midnight confessions. It was messy and complicated and terrifyingly real. You weren’t ready for it to end.

But summer was over. And so, maybe, were you.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you whispered. “Say goodbye to you.”

Jordan turned to you, eyes dark and wide, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. “You think I do?”

And then, just like that, the walls cracked.

“You were supposed to be a fling,” Jordan said, voice trembling. “Something stupid and hot and easy. Not… whatever the hell this became.”

You swallowed, chest tight. “Then why did you let it become this?”

“Because I wanted it to!” they snapped, shifting into their feminine form mid-sentence like emotion pulled it out of them. “God, you don’t get it—I tried so hard not to feel this way about you. But you kept showing up. Kept being you. And I fell. Hard.”

Your breath hitched. “Then why does it feel like you’re already letting me go?”

Jordan stepped back like you’d slapped them. “Because I don’t know how to ask you to stay when you’ve already decided to leave.”

The pain in their voice gutted you. You hated this. Hated the clock running out. Hated that real life didn't pause for love.

“I’m not leaving because I want to,” you said, voice breaking. “I’m leaving because I have to.”

Jordan closed their eyes, breathing hard, fists clenched at their sides. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, you know. I act like I’ve got it together, like I’m unshakable. But I’ve never cared about someone like I care about you. And now I’m watching you walk away like it’s nothing.”

You closed the distance then, hands on their face, forcing them to look at you. “It’s not nothing. God, it’s everything.”

And for a second, neither of you breathed.

Then they kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, tear-streaked, angry at the world for giving you this kind of love with an expiration date. You kissed them like it would change something—stop time, make the moment infinite.

When you broke apart, you pressed your forehead to theirs, the way you always did when you didn’t have words.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whispered.

“Then let’s not let it,” Jordan murmured. “Let it change, sure. Let it shift. But don’t let it end.”

Your heart cracked open, not from pain this time—but from the softness in their voice.

“What does that even look like?” you asked.

“It looks like calls at 2 a.m. and stolen weekends. It looks like me showing up at your door during fall break. It looks like us—figuring it out.”

You smiled through your tears. “You really think we can?”

Jordan nodded, brushing your tears away with their thumb. “I think we’re stronger than a season.”

You laughed, small and raw and real. “God, I love you.”

Jordan’s breath caught. They grinned, that soft Jordan grin that made your world stop spinning. “Yeah?” they said, shifting into their masculine form again, holding you close. “Well, I’ve been in love with you since you beat my high score on Mario Kart.”

You laughed into his shoulder, arms wrapped around him like a lifeline. And for the first time that night, it didn’t feel like the end.

It felt like the start of something worth fighting for.

[taekooktimeline]

Hello 👋🏽

As always, if there’s anything I could’ve written better, please let me know. I won’t move these pieces to their respective spots in the 2024/2025 chapters for a few days to give people time to review and provide feedback. I’m super busy this week so please be patient if it takes me time to respond (I’m working 40 hours, applying at colleges and volunteering at the hospital for 12 hours).

I’m always in my head about my posts, hoping I’ve worded everything the best they can be worded, but I’m especially anxious for these posts. My head is not with social media at all. Usually, I will throw pieces together as news comes out and clean them up at a later date. With these new posts, I had to go back and remember what happened because I didn’t leave any notes with pictures and links.

Long story short, and not to get dark or political, but just to clarify why I’m inactive and my headspace isn’t great: not only am I still trying to figure out my medical mysteries a year later, I’m now dealing with my country completely collapsing into chaos and garbage, something I never thought I’d say since I’m in a Western (and what I thought was decently progressive) country. I had fears this would happen but it’s so much worse than I thought. Apparently, we’re going to let illegal and unconstitutional things happen and not use checks and balances. I’m embarrassed, angry and ashamed at the state of things. There’s a lot of real, daily stressors that I’m dealing with because I’m in a targeted group, which has led to some hard and fast decisions to apply for another college degree and pursue fallback options as my “just in case” plan B. I had planned to pursue Japanese college courses for fun and now that’s either on the back burner or going to be juggled with part time school around full time work. I’m conflicted on what to do and next steps with a lot of things. My family refuses to immigrate. I’m spending a lot of days tense, crying, stressed, and wondering what I should do. I’ve worked really hard to get to a good place in my life and the threat of it being taken away is very real. It sucks and it’s sad. I’ve been mourning about it all and bracing for worst case to happen. Things that seemed right and safe no longer feel that way. It’s hard to focus on social media and leisure activities when I’m battling constant, in real issues that must take precedence.

Also, this post isn’t meant to stir up political arguments so just know if you agree with what’s happening, I’m not going to respond. We can mutually block each other and move on. I’ve cut off family and friends who let this happen so I have no problem doing it with SM friends too. This post is meant to explain in more depth why I’m not active on SM, why I’d appreciate being left alone (not tagged in drama, which is never appreciated anyway), and why I’d really be grateful for feedback on these newer posts.

I’ll still update the timeline. I’m very much excited for Taekook to come back, I’ll always cheer them on and support them in all the ways I can. But I’m not going to be active on TW and IG for the foreseeable future. I’ve got one baby splice / video / edit thing (I’m not sure what to call it) that I’ve sat on for months so maybe I’ll find energy to post that soon as a just because, but otherwise, my accounts will stay locked up and inactive besides updating the timeline.

Take care, wishing you the best, thank you for reading 💜💚

[harleycommissions]

so let’s talk.

my payhip got deleted. now my kofi’s gone too.

i’m a gif maker. over the years, across multiple blogs, i’ve made around 125,000 gifs. only about 20,000 of those were paid content — that’s just 18%. meaning, the overwhelming majority of my content wasn’t paywalled. i keep all of these stats tracked in notion — if anyone wants to see them, feel free to message me off anon. i will not entertain anonymous hate.

people love to scream about how “gif makers are greedy” or “paid resources are classist,” but they ignore the actual numbers. ignore the fact that we’ve been doing the most, for the least.

i put in real hours. like when i giffed harris dickinson in baby girl — i finished that pack in under 24 hours. start to finish. no breaks, no sleep. non-stop giffing. and then i got called greedy for charging for it?

what’s greedy is expecting that kind of labor for free.

i always tried to keep things accessible and fair. i ran sales, stacked discounts, and constantly adjusted to people’s budgets when they asked. and let’s be clear — my payhip was deleted in the middle of a huge promo. not just any sale, but one i put together to help cover unexpected medical expenses for a family member. everything discounted. everything stackable. everything priced to make things easier for anyone who was interested. and still — gone. no warning. no explanation. just deleted.

i also went out of my way to give back. i’d add extra gifs to commissions, sometimes gift entire packs for free. i even offered deals: if someone let me resell a commissioned pack, they got 75 bonus gifs — and if they let me resell it at a discount, they got 150. i was always trying to meet people where they were.

i know i’m not the most liked gif maker in the rpc. i’m aware. but there are people who enjoy my work, who use my free packs, who buy my paid packs, who look forward to what i post — and that’s who i do it for.

i’m tired. and yeah, i am fucking angry at the community too. because let’s be honest — half of you don’t deserve to have access to gifs at all. you take and take and take, without even a like or a reblog. you whine when things aren’t handed to you, complain when something costs even a little, and throw tantrums when you have to click more than once to find a link. you treat gif makers like vending machines and then act shocked when we burn out, disappear, or — god forbid — charge for our time. so yeah, i’m angry. because we built this space, we fill the tags, and we keep things moving — and in return, we get disrespected, harassed, and erased. so whatever. i’ve said what i needed to say.

if you’re someone who’s still interested in my work — whether it’s existing packs or commissions — you can message me in ims. i’m going to rebuild a new payhip eventually, and probably a new kofi too, so just keep an eye out if that’s something you care about. for now, i’ll be focusing on commissions.

[bxtchycaprisun]

let it be me | a. anderson ONE-SHOT

summary: you’d been avoiding your best friend for weeks, and she was determined to figure out what was wrong. she never would have guessed your absence was due to your repressed romantic feelings, which she also happened to share.

notes: fem!reader, bsf!abby, softdom!abby, porn w/ a plot, mutual pining, friends to lovers, angst but in a fluffy way, SMUT, fingering (both receiving), pussy eating (r!receiving), thigh riding, dirty talk, lots of pet names, i think that’s it? 

a/n: i know this isn’t obstinate, but it’s wlw season and i’m WOMANLESS, so i needed to write some smut.

MDNI!!! sexual content. comment if you want to be added to my tag list

(named after the ray lamontagne song)

you and abby never fought.

attached at the hip from the start of elementary school, the two of you were never seen without each other. and as new friend groups came and left, you and abby always stayed inseparable.

you were so close that she’d even followed you out of state to your dream university after you’d graduated high school.

despite the feelings that emerged in your early teen years when abby had grown taller, and the impact of her various high school sports was clear on her toned arms, you never dared to express your changing perspective of her.

other than some consistent cuddling most friends would consider crossing a boundary, the lines of your friendship never thought to cross between platonic and romantic. you figured that if she were to ever return your feelings, she would have by now.

and even though you two were only friends, in a way, she was yours, and you were hers.

or at least, that’s how you saw it.

that was until you saw her out with angela, her chem partner who you’d heard her complain about dozens of times, a girl you thought she hated. and they were drinking coffee and eating pastries at the east campus cafe, you and abby’s cafe.

and though you knew your perception of your relationship was nothing but a fantasy, it almost felt like a betrayal to see her like that with someone else. but of course, you couldn’t actually be mad at her for it, nor would you explain what was making you so upset.

so you did the one thing you thought was logical, you avoided her.

knowing that she would see right through you from the beginning, and demand that you tell her what was wrong, you tried to be strategic about it.

but you couldn’t a thing past your best friend, the girl who knew you like the back to your hand.

and you had no idea what you were in for if you continued your fit.

…

it had been two weeks since you sent abby the text, and now, as she laid belly down on her crammed dorm bed, she was rereading it.

y/n: oh my god abs, i’ve got the worst week coming up everrr. hannah scheduled me like double the hours i’ve asked for and i’ve got two exams! fmlllll

abby: damn, i’m sorry bun. still room for me in that schedule of yours?

y/n: you know it abby. text you later, off to work

the conversation didn’t worry abby much initially. but looking back on it, she saw it in a different light.

you didn’t make time for her. and she was determined to know why.

abby sat up in her bed, furrowing her brows as she remembered the date. it was a wednesday.

she opened back up her texts, quickly typing out her message.

abby: what time you coming over tonight? it’s october, so we can officially make our movie nights halloween dedicated :)

she pursed her lips worriedly as she awaited your response. she had been shot down daily over the last couple of weeks, always given the same excuse. work, exams, stomach flu, etc.

abby knew something was up, she just needed one final confirmation.

y/n: shit, i totally forgot! i promised i’d take my coworkers closing shift since she opened for me. next wednesday i promise!

abby felt her heart sink, the situation becoming all too real and unavoidable. you were angry at her, and she didn’t have a clue why.

she scrambled out a message, quickly pressing send and biting the inside of her cheek as she watched the unchanging screen.

abby: are you mad at me? please tell me what i did, and i’ll fix it

she watches with a tight chest as the bubble of your response appears and disappears. and as ten minutes pass with no text back, she throws her phone down on the bed, groaning into her hands.

if it had been anyone else, she’d assume you were just busy at work. but this was you.

abby sprung up from the bed, throwing on a jacket and slipping her feet swiftly into her beat up sneakers. the sneakers you’d bought her for her 16th birthday.

she swung open the door, grabbing her things and moving swiftly down the stairs and out her dorm hall. she tucked her hands under her arms, pulling her hoodie over her head as she walked through the breezy fall air.

she rounded the familiar block and pushed into the entrance of your dorms.

and before she could think twice, she brought her fist up to your door, banging loudly with her other hand stuffed in her pocket.

“open the door!” she says sternly, already hearing your movement in the dorm.

you pull the door open with a displeased grunt, but as you recognize the rosy cheeked girl in front of you, your eyes widen.

“a-abby?” you stutter, staring up at her with a guilty expression.

she stares at you, taking in your loose sweats and braless tank. you weren’t at work, and you certainly weren’t getting ready.

after a long pause, the reality of the situation setting in, abby speaks up.

“you lied.” she murmurs, her voice low.

you cast your gaze down, stepping back to let her in silently. you knew you weren’t gonna get out of this one.

she shoves her way into your room, shutting the door loudly and pulling her hood off to look down at you disapprovingly.

“so,” she huffs, throwing her arms up and crossing them against her chest. “are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”

you sigh, pinching your temples. “nothings… nothings going on i just-” you begin before being cut off abruptly.

“nothings going on?” she repeats desperately, “y/n, you’ve avoided me for weeks!”

“i- i haven’t avoided you,” you reply breathlessly, stepping forward. “i’ve been really busy.”

“oh right, busy,” she scoffs, “just like how you’re so busy right now?”

you bow your head silently, avoiding her burning gaze. “i- i can explain..” you say slowly, although you sure as hell didn’t want to.

“great!” she snaps, “good, let’s hear it.” she shifts her weight back and forth on her legs, her figure now trembling with anger and desperation.

you look up at her with pleading eyes, trying to find away to avoid this conversation if you had any hope of keeping your friendship the same.

you were so disappointed with yourself you felt like you could cry. for years you’d stuffed your feelings down, terrified not just of rejection but of your own selfishness.

abby was the perfect friend, she was everything you could ask for and more, and yet your inconsiderate mind desired more. and when she didn’t give that to you, you pushed her away.

abby watched your expressions alter, staring at you with her mouth agape. “well?” she asks in a final, breathless plea.

when she doesn’t get a response, her mind jumps to the only conclusion she could think of.

“you’re… you’re seeing someone?” she whispers, her face falling.

your expression twists in confusion and frustration at her accusation, shaking your head fervently. “what? what are you talking about?”

“you are, aren’t you?” she presses on, taking a step forward.

you roll your eyes at the irony of her words. “no okay, i’m not seeing anyone,” you huff, the attitude clear in your voice. “you’re the one that’s seeing someone,” you murmur, back turned to your best friend. your eyes widen at your own words, cursing yourself for letting that slip.

you hear abby’s breath falter behind you. “what?” she asks, voice somewhat amused which annoyed the hell out of you. “did you say i’m seeing someone?”

despite knowing how childish you were being, you narrow your eyes, continuing on with your antics.

“well you are, aren’t you?” you say with a pout, tilting you chin up at her.

at this, abby laughs at you. “y/n… are you talking about angela?” she says with a smirk. “i’ve been trying to tell you about that, so much happened!” she exclaims and you nearly feel like breaking down then and there.

your expression drops, lips curling into a proper frown as you turn away from her once again. she stutters as she sees your change in demeanor.

“yeah right, i’d just love to hear all about angela,” you mutter, unable to meet her piercing blue eyes.

“no no.. it was bad, okay, it was really bad,” she chuckles, rushing over to grab your arms and turn you to face her. but as she takes in your distressed expression, abby’s mouth hangs open, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place in her mind.

“hey, hey, what is it?” she cooes, her voice softened as she brings her hand to cup the side of your face, stroking your cheek.

when you don’t respond once again, her back straightens, and she drops her hands from your skin, staring down at you in contemplation.

“you’re… you’re jealous,” she says quietly, her words laced with certainty.

you shake your head, stepping back from her with worry as she figured it out. “no, why the hell would i be jealous?” you heave, but abby doesn’t let you get away.

“because you like me,” she asserts once again, hands going for your wrists as she reaches out to you.

“hey, look at me, hey..” she brings her face close to yours, lowering to your height. your arms go limp in defeat as she holds you still, grabbing your chin gently to make you look at her.

as she studies your face, the way your eyes crease with uncertainty, she knows.

“you do..” she whispers.

the only thing you can do is drop your head in shame, praying silently that she would agree to just forget this conversation completely and return to your blissful friendship.

your murmur is nearly inaudible as a small “i’m sorry,” passes through your lips.

abby inhales sharply, taking your cheeks into your hands and lifting your head to face hers in a quick motion.

“oh sweet girl… don’t be sorry..” she breathes, brushing her thumb over your bottom lip.

she stares at you for a moment, chest heaving with her uneven breathes, contemplating the same action she’d been dreaming of for years. the action she never thought she’d get the opportunity of doing.

and just as your eyes meet hers, they flutter shut to the feeling of her lips pressing against yours.

you sigh against her, the tension easing from your muscles as she guides you gently against the door, running her hands desperately, yet hesitantly over your arms and shoulders.

the touch, the way her lips gently parted yours, her tongue rolling into your mouth with a soft hum, it was foreign, yet so painfully familiar.

this was abby. your abby. the girl who had been attached to your hip for a decade. the girl you had convinced yourself never to kiss and never confess to out of fear of ruining your perfect friendship.

and you couldn’t be happier as she did it for you.

you bring your arms around her broad shoulders, pulling her against you as your noses clashed together in a desperate kiss, her hands getting rougher and more curious, and so do yours. you tug her hoodie up over her head, touching her chilled skin from the cool fall air outside.

you feel her calloused palm reach below your shirt, grazing the soft skin on your belly, inching upward to your unclothed breast. you feel her hand suddenly stop, her mouth pulling away from yours.

“abby-” you call out her name in a slight moan, digging your fingers into her hair and tugging on her braid. you knew what she was thinking. you knew she thought she was rushing things, but you didn’t care. you’d waited so long.

“i know.. i know..” she nods, eyes nearly shut as she peers down at you, leaning in again to kiss you, slowing her rhythm and taking her time with you.

you whine into her mouth, brows furrowing as you grabbed her hand, trying to pull it towards your chest once again, and she chuckles against your lips.

“so needy,” she smiles, but with how shaky her voice is, she sounds almost hypocritical.

“neglected you for so long, huh?” she grins, kissing the corner of your mouth gently.

even though abby hadn’t had many relationships or sexual partners, mostly thanks to her hopeless pining towards you, she was undeniably more experienced than you.

you could feel the hesitance in her fingertips, the uncertainty in her eyes. knowing she didn’t want to rush you, you grab her cheek, pulling her lips away to speak.

“then don’t make me wait any longer,” you whisper, eyes looking up at her pleadingly as your thighs squeezed together, desperately trying to relieve the ache between your legs.

abby smiles, not missing a beat to crash her lips to yours once again, and this time her hand travels up your chest without hesitation. you whine as you feel her thumb brush over your nipple, and arch your back against the wall.

she dips her head down to your neck, peppering kisses along your throat, and sucking soft marks onto your skin. she groans as she hears your quiet moans, feeling like she could cum on the spot. she’d envisioned how you would sound so many times, but to actually hear it was so much better.

“you’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” she hums, large palms needing your tits as she pushes your legs apart with her knee, and slots her thigh in between them. “sound so fucking pretty”

your face is red and hot as you let out a quiet whimper in response, grabbing on to her toned stomach to pull her closer. as you feel the friction of her muscular thigh against your clothed cunt, you absentmindedly grind yourself against her.

“there you go, sweetheart,” abby praises you, hands leaving your tits to hold onto your hips. she gently guides you against her propped leg, and leaves small love bites below your ear as she whispers to you. “tell me if we’re going too fast, okay? you tell me.”

you shake your head, hips picking up their rhythm as you try to chase that sensation that slowly builds in your cunt. “not too fast, abs. i want more, please?”

normally, you would care about sounding too desperate, but since this was abby, you couldn’t hold back. even in this unfamiliar situation, you were comfortable with her. and even more importantly, you needed her so bad.

“you want more, huh baby?” she cooes, smiling ear to ear as she helps you keep up your pace. suddenly, her hands push your hips back off of her, and you whine in disappointment. before you can protest the loss of contact, she brings her hands to the hem of your tank top, pulling it off your chest in a swift motion.

her palms return to your waist, guiding you quickly against your small bed, her lips instantly connected with yours once again. she pushes you gently down, situating herself between your legs, and hooking a finger at the hem of your sweatpants.

the fabric is tugged down to your ankles in seconds, and she tosses the pants across the room with a shit eating grin. you can’t help but look up and giggle at her as she crawls on the bed to meet you, kissing up your stomach and on the fat of your chest.

“whatcha laughing about, pretty girl?” abby smirks as she sucks hickeys onto your skin. she tried her best to sound stern, but she couldn’t help but melt as she heard your laugh.

“nothing, this is just weird,” you can’t help but admit with blushed cheeks. “i just… never imagined we would be doing this..”

“oh?” abby says with faux surprise, “so you’re telling me… you didn’t imagine me doing this?” she asks mischievously as she takes on of your nipples into her mouth, sucking gently.

you’re breathing falters and you let out a small gasp, handing falling the the back of her head as she runs her tongue over your hardening nipple. “n-no i mean… i imagined it… just didn’t think we actually ever would.”

abby smiles against your skin, kissing her way down your stomach and settling between your thighs. “what would you imagine, bun?” she asks teasingly as she kisses just above your underwear. “would you picture me doing this to you? dream about my mouth on your cunt?”

with that statement, abby drops in between your legs, pressing her face against your panties and inhaling dirtily. she shakes her nose against your clothed pussy, nudging your clit deliciously. you cry out into your hand, instantly squirming from her touch.

you felt her start to kitten lick your clint through the fabric, causing you to let out an deep whine. you lift your head with hazy eyes, listening to her soft growls against you, which only made your stomach whir.

“abby pl-ease,” you say brokenly, desperately bucking your hips upward to chase the friction you needed, “stop teasing me…”

“m’not teasing…” she mumbles, her voice low as she runs her tongue flat against your underwear, applying pressure to your folds.

“a-ah, please!” you moan, feeling your cunt gush with more arousal.

“you are teasing me, you are-” you begin your protest when she suddenly yanks your panties down from your hips, and before you can process it, her hot mouth is licking a stripe from your hole to your clit.

you release a borderline pornographic moan at the sensation, eyes rolling to the back of your head. she doesn’t waist any time to start sucking at your clit with vigor, and alternating to lap up your juices.

you’re nearly shaking at this point, your chest heaving with every breath and hips twitching from every touch she gives you.

“fuck- i love the way you taste bun…” abby moans into your pussy, her hands keeping a bruising grip on your waist. “knew you’d taste good.. so fucking good…”

she already sounds pussy drunk as she flattens her tongue against your clit, helping you grind your hips against her mouth however you wanted. you continuously tried to close your legs around her head, completely overwhelmed by how good she was fucking you, but each time her palm would catch your leg, only pulling you further apart.

“gotta stop squirming, baby,” abby would growl as your thighs continued to tremble and your arms would thrash around aimlessly. you respond with an apologetic whine, already too cloudy minded to form words.

when you continue to move in her grip, she finally pushes your knees against your chest, keeping you firmly pinned with your cunt fully exposed for her.

“look at that…” abby cooes as she gives your pussy a small slap before dipping her mouth back down to your hole, lapping you up quickly.

“how many fingers you want, sweet girl?” she breaks away from your cunt to ask you breathlessly, before returning to suck at your clit.

you whimper from the added pressure of the position, head falling weakly against the pillow as you tried to clear your thoughts.

“ngh.. don’t know… o-one..?” you manage to muster, but you can’t already feel yourself tipping over the edge. anything abby gave you, you would take.

“hmm…” abby smiles against your pussy, keeping your legs pushed up with one hand while bringing the other down to slide through your folds.

you groan as you feel the tips of her fingers prodding at your hole, unconsciously pushing yourself against them. “we can do two…” she whisper as she slowly inserts her middle and ring finger into your pussy, hissing through her teeth as she feels you clench around her.

“relax baby… it’s only me,” she comforts you as she curls her fingers experimentally inside of you. you let out a soft cry, back arching against your mattress as she explores your insides.

abby watches your expression carefully, her tongue giving your clit small, stimulating licks as she searched for the spot that made you scream.

when she felt the spongy area deep in your core, and watched as you jolted against her fingers, panting out a moan, she knew she found it. she gave you one last lick, collecting the juices that leaked around her fingers on her tongue, she crawled up to your face with her fingers still deep inside of you.

her strokes were slow and gentle at first, teasing that spot with an almost unbearable pace. her eyes met yours and she positioned herself above you, but her pupils were darkened.

“i want to go harder,” she whispers, her voice low and full of lust. “can i do that, bun, can i go harder?”

you nod and quickly, grabbing onto her neck and pulling her lips against yours, moaning at the taste of yourself on her tongue. “please… so close..”

she didn’t need to hear another word before her pace turned from gentle to hammering. the air is punched out of you as she drills her fingers into your pussy, curling upward and hitting that spot with every thrust.

you were crying and moaning out her name, grabbing onto anything you could as she continued her rough assault on your hole. obscene squelches from your pussy fill the room, and your face blooms from embarrassment.

abby kisses you sweetly, in sharp contrast to the brutal pace of her fingers. you wrap your arms around her, hoping for a bit of her comfort to ground you in this moment. she immediately recognizes your need, bringing her forehead against yours as she fingered you.

“that feel good baby? yeah?” she whispers, her voice sultry as her palm rubs perfectly against your clit.

“m’gonna cum.. abby.. oh my god,” you cry out, fingernails digging into her back without even realizing. she clenched her teeth, the stinging pain only enhancing her desperation.

“that’s it sweet girl..” she mumbles, her pace unbreaking. “cum on my fucking fingers- let it out.”

without missing a beat, you feel your hearing practically go out, white hot pleasure coursing through your body as your orgasm crashes down on you. you shake, mouth open in a silent moan as you ride out your high, abby’s fingers never ceasing. your final sound comes out in a shattered moan, your eyes rolled back as you grind your hips into her fingers, feeling the best high of your life.

“good girl…” abby praises, her fingers slowing down even so slightly as she watches your expression.

“good. fucking. girl.” she finishes, her pace coming to a stop as she feels you tense up from the overstimulation.

you fall against the mattress, your face completely red from your post-orgasm, and your chest heaving with every breath. abby takes her fingers out of you, shoving them into her mouth and licking them clean.

you watch her in amazement as she lowers down to your face, pressing her lips against yours gingerly. you smile against her, pulling her closer by your shoulders until she practically falling on top of you.

“y/n,” abby giggles, trying to remain propped up from her elbows. “i’m gonna crush you!”

“don’t care,” you shake your head with a wide grin.

she smiles, kissing you again, but this time with a little bit more desperation. her tongue slips past your lips, massaging the inside of your mouth.

you tug on the waist band of her sweats, looking up at her with a pout. “take ‘em off,” you whine.

abby smirks at your plea, shaking her head. “so bossy,” she mumbles, pulling down her pants and tossing them aside. you instantly spring up on your knees, smashing your lips against hers.

abby flinches a bit, startled by how quickly your fingers find their way to the waistband of her boxers. you yank them down her muscular thighs, diving your much smaller fingers between her folds as you kiss her sweetly.

“woah- baby,” abby breathes, her voice almost failing her as she grabs onto your wrist. “what’re you doing?”

“returning the favor, silly,” you grumble against her lips, smiling as you feel just how wet she is. “i think i got you a little excited,” you giggle.

“no.” abby shakes her head firmly, “you’re not the one that gets to tease me.” she tries to sound stern, but the shake in her voice didn’t go unnoticed.

it wasn’t often that abby was on the receiving side. but staring down at you, with your eyes blown wide staring at her dripping cunt, she couldn’t help but grow just as desperate. she needed this too.

you palm her aching pussy, watching in awe as she bucked her hips against you, bringing her hands up to clutch the headboard. you hold your breath to surpress your own moans at the sight, wanting to only hear her soft sighs and the dirty sounds of her wetness.

“fuck… yeah like that,” abby groans, head falling back, and her knees trembling as she stays upright for you, not even realizing how she’s furthering spreading her thighs, and grinding into your palm.

she felt herself getting red the moment she realized she was already about to cum. but the pleasure was too consuming, and she was too pent up to feel any embarrassment.

the second you slipped your middle finger into her folds, your thumb instantly finding her clit, she toppled over the edge. she released a strained moan, instantly falling against you. she props herself up on the headboard to keep up her weight, and lets her head fall into your neck. she brings one hand down to cover yours, keeping your palm in place as she practically humps your fingers. she rides out her orgasm in shuddering breathes.

you watch her in shock and awe, remaining silent as she started to come down. she pulls your hand away, burying her face further into your neck with a deep sigh.

“did you just..” you begin, and she could practically hear your smile.

“yes..” she groans, rolling her face towards yours and pressing her lips at the base of your throat.

your grin widens as you stare up at the ceiling, stroking her back carefully. abby lifts her head, and secures her arms around your waist.

in a quick movement, you are rolled on top of her, your legs intertwined. she holds you tight to her chest, kissing the top of your head affectionately. you blush as you feel the stickiness between both your legs.

“we’re a mess,” you say softly, smiling up at her.

“leave it for now,” she whispers, fingers tracing shapes on your bare back. “wanna stay like this for a minute.”

you lay there in silence, listening to each others slowing breaths. and in that moment, you knew this was what it was supposed to be all along.

abby’s words come out in a content hum, her fingers affectionately pinching at the soft fat below your ass.

“sorry for making you wait so long, sweet girl.”

“you’re forgiven.”

[m0th-person]

sketch dump pt.2

(I didn’t want to mis-tag other drawings as sacredhyacinth when they’re not)

Marsh:

im playing around with Marsh’s concept again but still keeping his backstory. I’m thinking of giving him a beard as his time in prison would’ve made his hair grow (obviously) but the hair on his head isn’t the only parts of hair on his body that would’ve grown.

I’m thinking of arching the branches growing out of and around his head to look more symbolic or crown-like idk. For some reason I feel like he would use hallucinogens or be able to cause hallucinations. maybe it’s because I was drawing this while watching an outlast trials playthrough and have been sifting through old CIA MKULTRA files on the cia database (it got worse, apparently we were interested in biological warfare since 1941 (predating the CIA & MKNAOMI) when the f-ing WAR DEPARTMENT was still around (actually the War department secretary at the time looked into biological warfare stuff HIMSELF in 1942. The US War Department was the predecessor of DoD & the department also advised Wilson not to intervene in the Russian civil war just because of trade but we still did) Luckily it stopped during Nixon but there are allegations by China & Cuba), but if he were an enemy in a game I think he would make a player hallucinate. And I mean trippy-seeing stuff that isn’t real-fantasy-weird outlast- Easterman crashing out-skinnerman-type of hallucinating. Probably made a few descendants or patrons go through something similar to psychosis.

I don’t think him and Leima would get along AT ALL. Though their roles as ‘helpers’ (if you could even call marsh that) are kind of similar but they both go down very separate paths. He would probably insult Leima to her face or demean her or even claim she’s infertile (something he doesn’t know if it’s true nor cares) “oh you wanna have the little star prince’s babies??! You want little bundles of disaster flying around the temple?? Too bad youre infertile, servant!!” Marsh is insane, he genuinely is. He would probably trick someone into freeing him by spinning a sob story and then do whatever until someone in the temple found him and then remark “well maybe your prized descendants shouldn’t be so gullible..” before being put back in his cell

I think he would have a lot of charisma (just got Easterman ‘thought leaders’ flashbacks oh boy). I don’t think he acts like he’s high, he’s very antagonistic and angry right now since Kim’s gone but when Kim was around he was kinda the same but with a cultist or even cult leader mentality (ish) and devotion to her if you get my drift. He DEFINITELY was only be sent to the prisons and not killed because someone spared him. Instead of ‘oh god’ or ‘oh Cora’ he definitely says ‘oh Orion’

Sergeant Edmund Wallis Jr. :

for some reason I always like to put in his full name for stuff, like he’s reporting for duty or something. I think he would view Leima as more evidence that David is a watcher (he would probably accuse David of being polyamorous or cheating on whatever partner he has) . ALSO I FOUND SOME EARLY SKETCHES OF HIM! (the question he asks Dahlia is actually mentioned in one of his diary entries though Dahlia wasn’t alive in the late 1860s and is instead told to a random female descendant he meets in a bar)

Edmund has a very special man in his past, and that’s Norman! Norman died in the Crimean War and he’s written about in Edmund’s diary but his role in Edmund’s life is up for the reader to decide based off of the text available (and if I’m being honest, I couldn’t decide myself) (I’m still working on how to draw him)

I think Edmund’s very too the point with stuff, he doesn’t skirt around a topic, if he thinks something is horrible he won’t sugarcoat it and he’ll speak his mind. He’s blunt. It partially stems from his Methodist upbringing and reading the Bible as I can imagine him saying: “god said not to lie so I’m either not speaking at all or I’m speaking the truth.” I’ve discovered that Arthur Kinnaird from The English Game is what Edmund would look like 100% irl.

I have two designs for the watchers from the book of Enoch right now, those being Samyaza and Azazel. I haven’t sketched Azazel’s yet but it’s been sitting in my mind for months now. I already posted Samyaza’s. I think I’m going to make the different color scheme actually a part of their designs and not something wacky to emphasize that they aren’t human. In part of Edmund’s google doc (which I don’t know why I keep mentioning it when ITS NOT DONE) he tells the story of Azazel as a ghost story. If he were to mentor Loretta if Mira were not there for the day (kinda like a substitute teacher) he would probably accidentally jumpscare her by just being behind her randomly and then saying that training starts now. Or pulling her out of bed at 5 am and saying to wake up and then when she complains he spurs something about waking up at 5 am for drills and military training. He would probably mentor like a army drill sergeant (not on par with the marine drill sergeant but still scary)

(Also here’s a Mira & Edmund sketch ❤️💔)

I realized I turned both of my ocs into Organa horror stories. A guy that gets cursed by a woman he’s obsessively devoted to to eventually become a tree and a man who haunts Organa after being murdered and the killer is still unknown (it caused quite a political fiasco)

And here’s a 1860s Mira design, I loved doing the hair but I will admit that 1860s party gowns are some of the most complicated EVER to draw.

[scoobydoodean]

I was wondering if you, as a Dean fan have opinions about the different writers? Mostly because I see a lot of Dean fans really strongly dislike Dabb for some reason and I don’t really understand why. I’ve never seen a concrete explanation beyond “he can’t write Dean/doesn’t understand Dean/actively hates Dean” but with no examples as to what he does that’s so bad. And I see this in every shipping lane. I don’t have a strong opinion about him as a writer one way or the other.

I'm exploring this more as I rewatch the show (currently on season 6) so I'll speak mainly from that perspective on my most recent thoughts. I am not a big fan of Dabb or Loflin, but have tried to be fair about things so far when talking through each episode. I am a fan of "Alpha and Omega"—it's my favorite finale (it's also... a finale for a season Carver started as showrunner? So I don't know what the implications are there as far as storyboarding). Also points for having demon Dean stab a guy through in 10.02.

I'll focus on the negatives you asked about in this post, but in the links you'll find me moving the narrative this way and that toward much more charitable readings... I think. (I do have a tag #dabb disk horse which you can either peruse or blacklist at your leisure). What I can tell you is something almost always strikes me as a off about Dabb/Loflin episodes so far in this rewatch in terms of character work.

Dabb/Loflin's first ever episode was 4.06 "Yellow Fever". In the aftermath, Kripke felt the need to release a definitive interpretation of their episode to the public, stating, "Dean is not a dick... he's a hero." The whole episode toyed with, to an extent, the idea that all the victims of the MotW were bullies. You can take this other directions—for example, queer meta, or meta about Sam as the real bully. However, the story a lot of fandom latched onto was that "Dean is a jerk and deserves to be humiliated and punished for that" which obviously didn't make Dean fans watching live in season 4 happy—and this theme of Jerk!Dean continues into their next episode, "After School Special", where they once again parallel Dean with a bully literally nicknamed "Dirk the Jerk" by Sam, and throw what I think is transparent shade at Kripke's issued statement from before the Christmas break (post here)... or maybe they mean to throw shade at the Dean fans who got angry. In this episode, they also make illusions to Dean wanting to have sex with barely legal high school cheerleaders, which also did not ingratiate them to Deanfans at the time. I said on my last rewatch, "In After School Special, Dean seems more unlike himself than any episode ever in the history of Supernatural up to this point" (post explaining that here). I carry similar sentiments about portions of 5.06 "I Believe The Children Are Our Future". Yes—I am aware of performing Dean meta. I just... feel like they try a little too hard. It feels hamfisted—desperate. To the point it doesn't feel like Dean anymore sometimes. In 5.06, they also have Dean (guy who is generally very protective of kids) suggest to Jesse that he'd be good to have in a fight???? I can see how they got there, but again—it just feels... off. The last episode I rewatched that they authored, 6.04 "Weekend At Bobby's", also leaves a bad taste in my mouth—not in what it's trying to do with Bobby or what it's trying to do on a meta level—but once again, with dialogue from Dean that just makes me think "he would not fucking say that" (post here). I think looking at all of these, you can probably see deangirl ire toward Dabb has a long history. It's been around as long as he's been around, whether he deserves as much ire as he gets or not.

I haven't circled back yet on this rewatch, but Dabb and Loflin also penned season 7's "The Girl Next Door"... do I need to say anything specific? Maybe I'll just link my entire #amy tag. What narrative did they want you to get from that episode? Who the fuck knows. And that's often the problem:

When you watch various episodes I've mentioned, you can work around to a meta that tells you something different than you might at first think the page conveys—something hidden and maybe contradictory. The thing is... you could also... not do that? And that wouldn't be so bad, except that sometimes the two narratives you can most easily grasp completely contradict each other. "After School Special" can be an episode that points to Sam's envy of Dean and John deep down and foreshadows Sam becoming a bully, but on a meta level, it also just as easily says Sam becoming a bully is somehow Dean's fault, and Sam is some poor captive baby. Dean is a creep and a bully and a cheater but we should all coddle him because he saw his mom die when he was a child and he's sooo sad. "Yellow Fever" can be a queer meta story and might also foreshadow approaching Bully!Sam in 4.14, but it also very much does call Dean a jerk (should we take that seriously? should we not?) and implies Dean should be punished for the outcome of three decades of reality-bending torture. Even if it's a queer meta underneath... it's just as easily one about how closeted men should be humiliated for cowardice or how being closeted turns you into an asshole.

Jumping way ahead, I have to mention 15.10 "The Hero's Journey" just because. Yes, it is full of jokes and Garth goodness, but also tries to sell you the story that nothing about Sam and Dean is real, to a degree that feels like you are being flipped the bird for ever watching this show. And again—you can make meta that it's all a ruse! But is it? Or is Dabb actually just telling you to go fuck yourself? Like he totally wasn't when, after the SPN finale when fans were Not Happy™️, he tweeted a sign reading, "Don't feed the baboons"? Yet again—we play into the motif of the "hero" who isn't a hero at all but some pathetic loser who deserves to be publicly humiliated, bookended with Dabb's opening episode in his opening season. I'm not saying that's what it is on purpose—but I am saying you can make these arguments easily, and that leaves me consistently annoyed with Dabb for being fucking sloppy and leaving me to deal with some of the most insufferable meta imaginable that carries little support outside of episodes written by Dabb or the Dabb/Loflin writing team.... Yes—I am in fact saying that Dabb and Loflin's hamfisted episodes (regardless of their intentions) are largely responsible for some of the most insufferable, loathesome fandom metas about Sam and Dean's relationship around.

Look at 5.16 "Dark Side Of The Moon", and 7.08 "Time for A Wedding!" and 8.14 "Trial and Error", 11.17 "Red Meat", and 15.20 "Carry On". Along with 4.13, while they might or might not say something deeper or contradictory on a meta level, on a surface level, every single one of these episodes sows the narrative that Dean is needy and clingy and needs Sam more than Sam needs him—something I intensely disagree with for a multitude of reasons... but I'll just link this. Many of these episodes also follow a surface level narrative of "normal life obsessed Sam" (and here I'll link my entire #sam the hunter tag and #in which sam is not a helpless little waif with his hands cast over his eyes being carried along by the tides of the immutable sea). When I look at this episode list, I also don't find it at all difficult to believe that Dabb wanted Dean to die in the finale. There is nothing at all shocking about that. And yes—you can argue he's pointing to the opposite—that this fate should be subverted and that's what makes 15.20 the dark ending, but I think you can just as easily argue that yes it's a dark ending and yes Dabb has always dreamed of this ending. A "tragic" ending where Dean dies and Sam goes on to have a white picket fence... while also leaving you little hints along the way that maybe it's all a big ruse because how could he not? He never has to explain anything. Someone else will pick up the story and make it make sense. He's already fucked off to piss all over fans of Resident Evil.

That said, when I mention what I feel is off character work, I mainly mention Dabb/Loflin episodes from my recent rewatch, which suffer from the two of them being newer to the series (coming onto the writing team in season 4) and also leave questions about whether, perhaps, they had conflicting ideas about characterization. Was Dabb the one penning these lines? Was it Loflin? Was it both? Did they trade out who took the lead? I didn't really say anything negative about "Sam, Interrupted" or "Jump the Shark"... (though "Sam, Interrupted" also calls Dean "codependent") who wrote those? Is it possible that the messiness of the meta comes down to two writers at war? I have to imagine though, that they got along, or else they wouldn't have written together for four fucking years. If they didn't get along...? My mind always comes back to their first solo episodes, right after splitting up in season 8. Dabb's first solo episode is "Hunteri Heroici"—the only episode to lend any perspective to season 8 Sam's reasons for abandoning everyone—paralleling him checking out with Fred's catatonia, which Sam has to save Fred from. It is the only episode that lends Sam sympathy in the early part of the season. He follows it up with "Trial and Error"—where Sam promises to save Dean from suicidal thoughts. Loflin's first solo episode is what I would regard as the most scathing solo episode commentary on Sam in the entire series—"Citizen Fang". Then he writes again right after Dabb's "Trial and Error"—penning "Remember The Titans" where Sam tells Dean to get over the promise Sam so passionately made in Dabb's episode and face reality.

This is why we're exploring this rewatch.

DISCLAIMER: Now I just devolve into bitching because I'm writing at 3AM. Proceed at your own risk.

It seems like these days, everyone demands an explanation for disliking Dabb (something about some sort of destiel battle... I don't know what that flamewar is and I don't give a damn tbqh.) I guess I've just been wondering what's actually so great about him. Because it feels like people have overcorrected to basically acting like he's god's greatest gift to mankind. People point to how meta his episodes can be, but I think other writers easily best him on that front on multiple occasions (particularly enjoyed by me so far on this rewatch: 3.10 "Dream A Little Dream Of Me", 4.04 "Monster Movie", 4.12 "Criss Angel Is A Douchebag"), and without leaving their meaning so up in the air that you don't even know what the hell they were actually trying to tell you because there are two different completely incongruous narratives you could just as justifiably claim were the intended one. Some people may find that duality praise-worthy. I don't. I find it sloppy—and when I add in mediocre character work, I just land on the side of him being, at the very best, mid.

Add him in as showrunner, you have... at least two of my least favorite seasons (13 and 15). Add that he's a one-trick pony in terms of the Sam and Dean conflicts mentioned above that he continuously rehashes rather than come up with anything new or fresh, and the same conflicts between Dean and Cas being played out until they both die (shut UP I'm not talking about canon destiel as the alternative—I am literally just asking for more diverse conflicts). I can't say I understand what I''m supposed to find so impressive.

(Before anyone so much as breathes this near me, Berens also sucks and I am going to tear off your nose hairs if you start bringing him up as if disliking Dabb for some reason means wearing rose colored glasses about Berens. Berens can eat a whole cactus raw over "The Trap" alone.)

[mothandpidgeon]

The Outlaws (Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - Chapter 2

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: T (eventual E 18+ MDNI)

wc: 1.7k

summary: Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.

tags: old west au, enemies to lovers, grumpy Joel, handcuffed together, period/genre/canon typical violence, alcohol, morally grey characters, reader has backstory, no use of y/n

authors note: Posting this today in honor of act ii. Yeehaw. As always, thank you @ezrasbirdie for the beta and support in this (you really need to tell me to stfu about these two) and in life.

Joel once took Sarah to see PT Barnum’s Greatest Show on Earth. Each ticket cost him two quarters. She pulled him by the hand past the tents with Tom Thumb and the giantess, straight to the exhibition of wild animals. There were all sorts of exotic animals in the menagerie– giraffes, elephants, snakes. You remind him of the tiger. Beautiful and cunning. Fierce. Dangerous unless it’s kept under lock and key. 

Which is why he’s grateful he kept these old shackles in his saddle bag. 

You’re in a friendlier mood once camp is set up and a rabbit is roasted on a spit. He knows it’s a rouse, that you’re still spitting mad and hoping to slit his throat in the night. On that train, you were the demure damsel in need of a rescue. Soon as he put that cuff on your wrist, you turned into a fire breathing dragon. 

You can be as mad as you’d like. You’re no match for his strength or his revolver. 

They sit around the fire, Joel and Ellie propped against their saddles. It’s a cool evening, a steady breeze blows off the river. The stars paint the purple sky and the cave is illuminated with the orange glow of a fire. There’s plenty to celebrate. Though, even when they score a good amount of money, gold pieces, and get away without a scratch, Joel never feels much satisfaction. Despite his personal quandary, it would be a beautiful night, really, if Joel weren’t sitting there waiting for you to do something foolish. 

He can tell you’re meditating on some new escape plan, knows better than to look at you too long. A girl like you, pretty and with that sharp mouth, is the type that knows how to use her womanly wiles. You’re desperate enough to try just about anything and he’s not giving you the chance. 

You must think he’s stupid enough to fall for it too. He reluctantly passes you his flask and, after you drink, you wipe your wet lips with a seductive  finger. 

Ellie’s being a real chatterbox, recounting each moment of the robbery as if she’s writing her own nickel weekly and peppering you with questions. He’s not surprised she’s taken a liking to you. There aren’t too many of the female persuasion out here. Maybe she can see some of Tess in you. He doesn’t. Tess was always calm and controlled. And when she was angry, she never fucking spit at him. In fact, he resents you for making him think about Tess at all. 

“Ten thousand dollar bounty, huh?” Ellie asks you. “What’d you do?”

Joel’s seen more than a few people running from the law but none of them look like you. You’re no Annie Oakley. 

“My sweetheart was fooling around with my sister so I killed em both,” you say. 

“Really?” Ellie asks. 

“No,” you say. 

“What was it really?” she tries again. 

“Leave it,” Joel says. 

He’d be just as cagey about his past. Outlaws don’t live by any code but if they did, questions like that would be frowned upon. 

Ellie grumbles at him. 

“I’ve got ten on me too,” she tells you. 

“Your daddy must be proud,” you say, looking to Joel. 

They respond in unison— “He’s not my Pa,” and a “I ain’t her daddy.” 

You do a lousy job suppressing a smile. 

“So this is the infamous Miller gang? Ain’t much of a gang if you ask me,” you say. 

Joel grinds his molars. 

“We used to be a proper one. Most of ‘em are in prison now. And then we lost Tess to a bout with fever. And Tommy left,” Ellie recounts. 

“Who’s Tommy?” 

“Nobody,” Joel says same time as Ellie tells you, “His brother.”

You look Joel up and down. 

“That’s enough yakking for tonight,” he says. “I’m turning in. C’mon.” He pulls the chain. 

Ellie laughs. “I should warn you. He snores something awful.”

You scoff. “Is this some kind of ploy so you can wake up on top of me?” you protest. 

Joel’s patience is wearing thin. He’s got half a mind to turn you loose and let the wolves deal with you. 

“You can quit the belly aching, missy. I ain’t taking that thing off til you’re with the sheriff in Jackson.”

“You’ll wear him down eventually,” Ellie encourages. 

“Ellie, go to sleep,” Joel orders. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“What if I got to use the privy?” you ask. 

“Hope you like company,” Joel says. 

You huff. 

“You at least going to give me a blanket? Cold out here,” you say. 

Joel’s only got one in his bed roll, a beautiful Pawnee blanket he bought off a trader from Kansas woven with geometric patterns. He knows it would be gentlemanly to let you sleep with it but you’re no lady. 

He sighs as he hands it over. You wrap it around your shoulders with a self-satisfied look on your face. 

“Anything else I can do for you, missy?” he says with mock cordiality. 

“You can stop calling me missy,” you say. 

“G’night, missy,” he says. 

It’s not your best plan. But just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it won’t work. 

First step, you wait for Ellie and Joel to fall asleep. The girl takes a while. She’s got a dime novel with a cowboy on the cover that she flips through as the flames die down. You watch her through your cracked eyelids, pretending to have already drifted off yourself. 

It’s hard to tell if Joel’s out. He uses his saddle as a pillow and you’ve positioned yourself on the other side of it, your arm outstretched so you don’t have to be too close to him. 

He murmurs to himself. You strain to catch what he’s saying. At first, there are words you can understand. The name Sarah passes his lips. But then you hear him make a sound you can only describe as a whimper. 

It gives you pause. You’ve never been a nurturing type but it pulls at your heart strings, almost makes you want to put your arms around him. You imagine a hurt puppy inside that big, snarling dog of a man.

His sharp silhouette is highlighted in the amber glow of the campfire. It’s a shame he’s such a mean son of a bitch because he really is easy on the eyes. Then he rolls over. His unexpected motion nearly twists your connected arm out of its socket and you bite your tongue to keep from swearing. That bastard has you chained up like a dog. You do all you can to control your temper, swearing soundlessly. You can’t afford to wake him. 

You wait a long while, listening to him grunt and snore. Once you’re sure he’s good and asleep, you move. 

It’s a process. You begin by flexing your wrist. An innocent gesture that could be explained by sleepy twitches. He doesn’t stir. 

Eventually you feel bold enough to inch towards him, pulling the chain carefully along the ground. You crawl on your belly until you’re in front of him, then you dare to lift your hands up. 

The chain clinks against the buzz of the night insects and you swear it’s so loud you hear it echo off the mountains. You hold your breath, wide eyed, every muscle in your body taught. 

Joel doesn’t wake. He might be pretending but his chest still rises and falls slowly. Either he’s a hard sleeper or he’s deaf. Might be a little of both. You’re always tired after the rush of a big score. 

Ellie hasn’t woken up. Her eyes are closed, mouth hangs open. Down for the count.

You flex your fingers before you begin the next step, lick your lips and take a steadying breath. 

You’ve picked pockets before. Never tried it on a sleeping man, though. You keep your touch light, delicate, unbuttoning his waistcoat with one hand. It falls open for you and you can’t help but smile. 

The key to the handcuffs is tucked in the inner pocket. You saw him put it there. All you have to do is lift it out, unlock the cuff, and you’re a free woman. What you’re going to do after that, all alone in the middle of god only knows where, you’re not sure. But that’s not of material importance until you have that key. 

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip and you move slower than molasses in January, easing your first two fingers into the little pocket. Your fingertip connects with metal and your heart jumps. Pinching the ringed end, you hold on and pull. It’s awfully heavy. 

Because it’s not the key at all. You’ve fished a pocket watch out of Joel’s vest. Damn it. It’s a dainty little thing— fine gold with intricate scrollwork engraved on the back. The face is all busted up and it doesn’t seem to be ticking. Most importantly, though it’s not a key. You need that goddamn key if you want to get— 

The unmistakable click of a gun being cocked makes you freeze. Joel’s awake, dark eyes shining in anger. You’ve had guns pointed at you on a number of occasions but still it makes your blood run cold. 

“The hell are you doing?” he asks. 

“You’re dreaming,” you tell him. 

He doesn’t think that’s cute. The scowl on his face just deepens. 

“Alright,” you say, raising your hands in surrender.

You put the watch back in place and crawl back to your spot. 

“Gimme the damn blanket,” Joel growls. 

You toss it to him, cowed. But what did you expect? This had never been a very good plan.

Once you hear the hammer of Joel’s gun go back into place, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s quiet for a while as Joel gets under his blanket and you know he’s laying there waiting for you to fall asleep. 

You try to settle down, wrapping your arms around yourself. The night air bites at you now that you’ve lost your blanket privileges.

“Sarah a sweetheart of yours?” you ask him. 

His head snaps your way so fast you think his neck might break. 

“You was talking to her in your sleep,” you explain. 

“Say that name again and I’ll wring your neck,” he says. 

He sounded like he meant it before but you feel like he’s looking forward to putting a bullet in you. You shiver. You’re smart enough not to say another word. 

---

Chapter 3

I'd love to hear from you! Comments and reblogs appreciated. My asks are always open!

[eudaimonia83]

Everyone who was requesting Feral Elain, here you go. 😅 Don’t judge me too harshly on this, bc it’s an upcoming chapter of a long-form fic and hasn’t undergone any real editing. There are also some references that might be unclear, as this chapter is a ways down the line. But if you have read my fic The Gift (on AO3) you have most of the background info.

Basic details: Lucien has just escaped from being held prisoner under the Hewn City with his powers suppressed. He was jailed for allowing Elain to escape…which she has just discovered. And she is, naturally, deeply unhappy about this. 😈

Tag as requested: @lorcandidlucienwill @mr-agent-mulder

——————————

His wrists. What had happened to his wrists?

She stared numbly at the puckered, darkened skin that bracketed his hands, scabbing over as his healing finally began to return…his tender, beautiful hands that touched her with such gentleness, such affection…

“What is that?” She couldn’t keep a tremor out of her voice. Steady, steady. Be calm. She knew this feeling now; the sick coiling in her veins, around her heart, rustling through her brain.

He glanced down, tearing his eyes from her face with a physical wrench. “It’s only a scar. I’ve got plenty of them, remember?” He turned his hands over and squeezed hers, so gently, so kindly.

A scar. But from what…?

“What kind of scar?” Her voice only barely escaped past the lump in her throat; she could barely hear it over this singing, this thrumming in her blood. It was hot and deadly cold. The strength of anger, with the ice of…revenge. Leaves curled around her ears, tendrils winding through her hair.

He looked up at her again. “Please, Blossom. Don’t be angry with me. I tried to get away, to get back to you. But I couldn’t.”

He did not understand, how did he not understand? He thought she was angry with him…

She swallowed hard, then brought one of his hands up to her face and dragged her lips over his wrist, trying to mimic the gentleness he’d shown her that night, that sweet night that was both their first and last, before he’d sent her away and the long hand of darkness had reached out to grasp him and hold him…hold him…

The True Sight bubbled up inside her like a hot spring, filling her eyes and tearing her heart to pieces. Lucien, her Lucien, limp on the stone floor of a cell, drenched in a sticky, purulent substance. No light to see by. No warmth to envelop him. No comfort, from her or anyone else. Lost in the cold, and the dark. Why did he not summon his fire, that spirit that breathed inside him like coals, that had kept him alive and protected his kind heart through so much before this? She didn’t know if she said it aloud, but she screamed to that limp body on the floor, stay alive. Stay alive, no matter what occurs. Bring your flame to bear, and I will avenge you, I swear it…

But he just lay there, breaths shallow and broken, his hands…his wrists…bound to the wall…

She leapt up, the vision melting like smoke, only to see his wide eyes before her.

“They bound you?” Her voice did not sound like hers. What writhed underneath it?

He nodded, pushing himself up on the cot to a sitting position. “I knew they would. It was only a matter of how.”

“How, then?” She squeezed her fist at her side. The earth would fill their mouths and choke their cries, drag them into its depths and bind their very skeletons to the rocks that made its own bones…

He hung his head. “I was shackled, with Hybernian stone, I think. They put faebane on me too, before the chains. Not as I knew it, either — a sort of paste. Perhaps it concentrates its effects that way. I only recognized its scent.”

“So you couldn’t break out.” Or use his fire to stay warm.

“I was more valuable as their prisoner,” he said, his voice as hollow as a pebble skittering down into a well. “They did not want to kill me. If they did, they would have done it long ago, before even making me their emissary. They were more interested in what I could tell them. Or do for them. Or who I could bring them. They wanted you most of all.” He smiled. “I knew that. So it was worth it to have you escape somewhere I didn’t know, so no matter what they did to me, you were out of their reach.”

She nodded, slow and steady. Coiling like a fist within her, the grinding of the rocks that silted into soil and reached towards the sun with vines and leaves and trees.

Find them. Punish them.

She went to the window, where the sun had grown bright as they spoke. It spilled over her. She felt her skin tingle, the warmth of the sun stoking the fire inside her.

“It will heal,” he said, husky and sad. “It will scar, but it will heal eventually.”

She had to get out, before this white-hot anger striated with cold revenge burst out of her and harmed him, he who she so wished to protect it was like shielding her own heart. She turned back to him and knelt, swiftly, next to the cot. He wound his hand into her hair, cupping her cheek, her jaw. She felt the strands of her hair catch against the grit of the scab on his wrist. Her heart raced, stuttering with affection and sorrow and the dark pulse of vengeance.

“It will heal,” he repeated. “I will heal.”

“You can only heal if you’ve been hurt,” she murmured. “And that’s what I don’t want to happen any more.”

He smiled, and kissed her hairline, so softly that she ached with it, in the pit of her belly and the cleft beneath her ribs that held her heart, squeezing it between her lungs with each agonizing breath.

She helped him to lie back, tucking the sheepskin over him, and with a wave of her hand, leaves clustered over the window to filter the sunlight. It would be gentle, would carry the scent of jasmine to soothe him as he slept. As his skin knit back together.

Pay. They would pay, and pay again, and beg forgiveness.

She would make sure of it.

———————————

He had fallen asleep at last, heat beating out of him as the fever raged. He had spoken, fretful and miserable, in his sleep, wept with pleas of stop, take me, kill me instead and Tam, help me Tam, I can’t see, it hurts. She could do nothing but lay a cool cloth on his brow. She dared not touch him at those times; knew that if she did, she would be immersed in his fever dreams, or worse, steal his past from him with her imperfect visions of what had happened. Better to let him awaken, to ask him later and let him tell her himself. Her sister might not know the difference, would sweep in with daemati might and root around with dirty fingers in a mind that wasn’t her own, but she would not. She would be different.

Her sister.

Feyre was still here. As soon as it occurred to her, the truth of it squeezed her heart with cold tendrils.

She stood up, skirts whispering, and slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her so softly that the latch didn’t even click.

The hallway yawned into shadow ahead of her. It was twilight, just after the dinner hour, and she knew where Feyre would be: eating with Helion and the attachés, perhaps in the Solarium, or the conservatory. Her steps matched the pace of her heart as she sped along the white marble floor, gleaming with gold and rosy specks of quartz. She did not see the darkness. It was hard to appreciate it when her vision was red at the edges and star-bright with rage.

The long night is ending. They will wake from the dream and find it rebuilt.

Perhaps it was time for a wake-up call, then.

She felt the stones begin to tremble beneath her as she walked, a low rumble from deep in the earth. She cast her eyes down and saw the curls of vines swimming around her arms, tangling in eager threads, tiny leaves unfurling, stained black with the ash of her anger.

She heard the dinner conversation as a merry buzz before she even saw the spill of light onto the floor…and by that time, there was a dull roar in her ears, her arms were corded with thorns and leaves, and death was coming to all, to all who had failed him and starved him and imprisoned him. She was vengeance, and he was her mate, and they were going to pay.

She burst into the lamplight like the heat from an opened oven door. All the faces turned to her, smiles draining from their lips like waves receding on the beach.

There was barely a moment to register the screams that bounced off the walls before the table heaved and cracked as six inch thorns spiked through it from beneath. Half of it sagged down; the other half toppled with a deafening crash, and through the middle burst the vines, reaching up to seize the chandelier and twist, pulling it from the ceiling with a screech of metal and timber. The candles sputtered against the ruined food. Her eyes were on her sister, dressed in glimmering silver and blue, eyes wide with horror and…what was that, underneath the surprise? Could it be fear?

Good, Elain thought with satisfaction as she leapt over the rubble, her vines sweeping everything away into chaos, coming up behind her in massive gnarled hands scaled with bark and stippled with thorns. She regarded Feyre for a moment. As her sister’s eyes narrowed and went dark, and the daemati talons scratched at her mind, she swung one of her arms in a massive arc. The vines followed it in a deadly sweep, choking with the scent of petrichor and leaves. Feyre was thrown against the wall of the room in one movement, immobilized, her head dragged backward as the vines grasped her hair, her pale throat exposed, arms akimbo and sealed to the wall. Elain let out a wild cry and leapt forward, her fingers closing around her sister’s neck and squeezing with all her strength.

Feyre struggled in silence, her air cut off — but then went deadly still. Her face flushed scarlet. The vines had pushed thorns against both the arteries in her neck, had pierced the skin under her left breast. If she moved it would stab her. Elain hissed into her face, aware that she looked completely unhinged, “You bound him.”

Feyre shook her head, as much as she was able. Elain released her throat and slapped her with all her strength across the face. “You drenched him in faebane and bound him with stone, and what, you thought I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t strip the skin off your bones?” She matched word to deed, scoring her nails along Feyre’s arm.

Tears streamed from Feyre’s eyes and scratches bloomed across her cheek, carved there by the thorns that had turned Elain’s fingers into claws. “I didn’t,” she rasped. “I didn’t do that to him.”

A second slap cracked across her face and this time the outline of Elain’s hand remained, bright red. “Your demon mate, then. He would say the same, wouldn’t he, if he was here? I didn’t do it, I knew nothing of it. Bullshit.” The curse tasted sour in her mouth, and she spat into the tangle of vines that had immobilized the other dinner guests into helpless writhing heaps on the floor. Only Helion was still upright, wrestling against the grip of the leaves that had encircled his legs and arms. She let him be. Her quarrel was not with him. “The pair of you are the same, always the same. Using him —using us — for your own —“ the vines tightened around Feyre’s wrists and ankles and wrenched a scream from between her clenched teeth “—wretched—“ the thorn pushed against the bottom of her chin “—ends. There were others in that prison. How many more did you do this to, besides him? Besides my mate?” Red spots swam in her vision. She wanted to kill her. “You turned a blind eye.”

“You turned a blind eye to me…” gasped Feyre, then let out a groan of frustration as the thorn pushed harder against her chin, forcing her jaw closed.

“Talk about yourself for one more moment and you’ll never talk again,” Elain whispered into her sister’s ear. A tremor went through Feyre, and she was still. Elain savored the victory for a moment. It was terrifying, nauseating to be this angry…it made her feel like an animal. It was this part of being Fae that had called to her like a dark song, that coursed through her veins like electricity, like the storms she’d watched batter the Eastern Channel: but to a small part of her, caught in the swirl of adrenaline and anger, it felt right. To defend Lucien when he couldn’t defend himself. When he was sick and raving with fever, when her sister’s court had painted him with poison and thrown him in prison, to suffer in darkness.

Human Elain would not have done this.

But she was Human Elain no longer.

Why be a girl, when you could be a terror? the voice of the void whispered to her.

So she seized her sister‘s head in both her hands, and let the True Sight boil into them both, and felt Feyre scream and scream as she showed her everything she had ever feared.

Mother of mercy, how good it felt to punish.

[calliecwrites]

Shifter HRT, part 3 – Rebirthday

I had the appointment. I passed the test. I’ve got the little package that will change everything.

I hold it tight all the way home. Part of me is still angry at my contact for messing with me like that – and the rest is in something like stunned amazement that I actually have it.

Now I’m home. I open it up.

There are two kinds of pills. First there’s antihominidone. That’s the humanity blocker, the one that lets my body change and stops it trying to change back. People transitioning to lots of different species take this one.

Then there’s the other one, the one that does the hard work of actually changing me. ‘Shifterising hormone’, it says on the label – they don’t even have a scientific name for it. There’s a little instruction book with doses – one of each a day – but it doesn’t say a lot about side effects or timelines. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, going DIY – this isn’t stuff you’d get from a doctor, after all. Almost no one’s been through this before. It’s super experimental, and I’m the experiment. The whole process takes two to three years, but what to expect when is pretty vague.

This is when my anxiety kicks in. Experimental treatment? Becoming another species? What am I doing?

I take one of the hormone pills out. It’s a clear capsule full of liquid. I turn it over, and the liquid slowly drops from one end to the other. It’s thick and gooey, which makes sense, since I’m going to be gooey. It looks a bit like the fluid shifters are made of, but without the life of the real thing. How do they make this stuff? Do they distil it from their own bodies or something? It’s not made of dead shifters, is it? Geez, I hope it’s not made of dead shifters. —Nope, nope, not thinking that way. Lots of other things are gooey. It could be anything. It could be literal magic, for all I know.

They’re so secretive, since they don’t want anyone else figuring out how to make it. Maybe I should save some and smuggle it to the other groups who are trying to? No, who am I kidding, this is for me – I’m not wasting a single drop.

Stop. Focus.

Changing species is much bigger than changing gender, but somehow it doesn’t feel quite as scary as that did – because this time, I’ve been through something like this before. I’ve sat here, scared and desperate, staring at pills that might as well be magic, before. Looking back, it doesn’t feel like I ‘changed’ gender at all – I just stopped pretending to be something I wasn’t. Sounds easy. Sounds obvious. Hopefully, one day, I’ll look back and this will feel the same.

I trust myself so much more than I did back then. I was right the first time, and that makes me confident I’m right this time, too.

And my friends and family? We’ve been through the fire together once. The ones who would leave left then – that’s what I tell myself. But I don’t really know how anyone will react to this. That’s a problem for another day.

The first two pills are on the table in front of me. Here goes.

* * *

It’s done. I’ve taken it. I feel all tingly, though surely it can’t be having an effect already. I think that’s just the excitement and the fear and everything.

I call the day I started estrogen ‘Rebirthday’, because that’s how it felt. I never thought I’d have another day like that. Now I have one birthday and two rebirthdays. I am a shifter. Even through all my doubts and fears, I can truly say that now, for the first time. I want to laugh. I want to cry.

I am a shifter. I am me. I know the next few years will be hard, I know there will be pain, but I can’t wait.

This is what I am.

First | Previous | Next

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added):

@aiden-nevada @avery-victoria-winterlight @leahnardo-da-veggie @mint-and-authoress @sandyca5tle

@scrubbinn @therian-lesbian @wuwojiti

[littlespacereader]

haii!!!!! can u do a story wher tony stark is cg an peter parker is litle on patrol ??? wifs mentions of captan amewica and or doctort strang bein othr papa(s) ??

Such a cute idea! I love me a cute fic with little and caregiver teaming up to save the world but the Cg is just worried about their little the whole time! Of course I have CG Tony Stark and to change it up I made the other CG Doctor strange! I literally love his character so much! I also based the villain off the comic book character and not the MCU version of the character. Anyway! Please enjoy this fic!! Thank you for the request!

On Patrol🕷️⚡️

Caregiver! Tony Stark, Caregiver! Stephen Strange & Little! Peter Parker

Tags - fighting (combat), passing out, tickling, cuddles, medicines, magic

Nicknames - Pete, kid, little bundle of joy, sweet one, little one, little spider, Dadee for Tony, Papa for Strange

“Mission Alert, 22nd street and 8th avenue. Reports says the Electro is making his way to the city’s power grid. Police are asking for the Avenger’s assistance.” Jarvis echoed through the Tower.

“A mission!!” Peter jumped from his bed. He threw his spider stuffie and spit his pacifier out before running into the other room.

“Jarvis! Keep me updated on the mission! I’m getting changed now.”

“Sir, do you think you’re in the right headspace to be going on this mission?”

“Of course! I’m big now. I just needed a little break and now I’m good.”

He quickly threw on his suit, grabbed his web shooters before leaving his room. Not without one extra hug to his stuffie though! If Jarvis had real eyes, he’d be rolling them.

Peter started running down the hall, then thought the doors to the balcony. With one big jump he swung into the city.

Peter began to talk to Jarvis through his suit’s technology, “Tell Da-…Tell Mister Stark-“

“Tell me what?”

Peter looked to his right to see Tony flying beside him. “Hey! I was just telling Jarvis-“

“Where do you think you’re going Pete?”

“I’m going on the mission.” Peter said, a bit unsure of himself. “You see, I just got back from school so I was just relaxing watching this old show called Gillian’s Island when Jarvis said the mission alert and since everyone else is away on the mission in Australia I thought I would cover it.” Peter said as fast as lighting. Was it all completely true…no.

“Huh? Really?” Tony didn’t sound too convinced.

“Yeah! And now that you’re here we can do this together! On patrol! Come on!” he tried to swing faster but Ironman was much faster than Peter’s swinging. Tony stopped him, the two just stood in the air, Ironman hovering and Spider-Man holding onto one of his webs.

“I think maybe you should sit this one out kid. I’ll take care of it.”

“But I can do it! He’s my villain anyway! Trust me I’ll be-.”

There was a sudden rumble with lighting flying into the air. The two looked at one another.

Tony sighed, “We don’t have time to argue. Alright, come on kid. As long as you’re not feeling Little…” Peter could hear the slight sternness to his voice.

“Nope! All good. Alright let’s goooo!” And before Tony could him question more, Peter continued to swing away.

Tony just sighed and followed after him. While Peter swung, Tony flied beside him. They were heading towards downtown near Chelsea market and the Flatiron building.

As they made their way Peter noticed all the different buildings, a new toy store, the Harry Potter store, plus there was probably a new toy stand at Chelsea market.

“Da-…Mister Stark? After we take down Electro can we go to Chelsea market? I wanna see if they’ve got a new toy stand, because the last time I was there with you and Papa I saw-“

“Kid look out!”

Tony grabbed Peter before a lighting strike could hit him. He set him down on a rooftop near by.

“Peter answer me right now. Are you feeling big or Little?” Tony asked in his angry stern voice.

“I’m fine! I’ve got this!” He shook his head and completely avoid the question entirely. Again Peter pusher past and over to Electro who was not happy to see the duo.

“The spider brought backup? It won’t matter!”

Electro began throwing lighting bolts towards Spider-Man and Ironman but the two dodge them well.

“You remember what I taught you last week?”

“The above and below trick?” Peter happily replied.

“That’s the one. Alright kid, let’s do it.” Tony flew below Electro. While he was distracted with Tony, Peter swung above, grabbing his arms in his webs perfectly restraining him.

“We got him Mister Stark! We got-.”

There was just one problem…Electro’s hand were still filled with electricity. So he shot above him. The electricity traveled up the webs and onto Peter, electrocuting him.

Peter doesn’t really remember what happened after that. He heard his Dadee call after him, then he remembers falling, then everything went dark as he passed out. Though he thought he remembered something red wrapping around him.

~~~

When Peter started to wake up he felt wrapped in a blanket. No…wait a minute.

Peter’s eyes fluttered as he started to regain consciousness. He looked down to see his whole body was wrapped in not a blanket but a cape, specifically Doctor Stranger’s cloak.

Peter’s body ached and his head was pounding but he looked around for his Dadee and his Papa too.

He realized where he was. Safe and sound in Papa’s mansion in Downtown Manhattan, the Sanctum Sanctorum.

Peter sighed and sunk into the very comfy bed. He always loved going to Papa’s house. Everything was so cool and mysterious.

Plus he always has the softest beds imaginable. He couldn’t help but close his eyes and fall back to sleep. Expect cloak started to tickle him! Peter began to giggle and giggle, the cloak was relentless.

The cloak only ceased its tickle attack when the door to the bedroom opened up. Peter looked to see Uncle Wong enter with a tray in his hands.

“How are you feeling little one?”

“I’m fine! Really!” Peter began to sit up but his pounding headache had him sink right back down. “Actually my head hurts, badly.” He whined holding his head.

Wong hummed in response, “I thought so. That’s why I brought this for you.”

Wong sat the tray down on Peter’s lap. On it, were little bottles with different colored liquids inside. Peter looked at Wong confused.

“Don’t worry it’s all medicines to help you feel better.” Wong started looking through the different bottles for the right one.

He picked up one and opened it up, black smoke started to pour out of it before he quickly plugged it shut.

Peter’s eyes widened as he looked at Wong with sheer horror on his face. Wong laughed nervously, “Haha, that was the wrong one.”

“Wrong one?! What is that?!”

“Nothing you need to worry about. Let’s see here.” Wong looked through the bottles until, “Ah ha! Here it is!”

He held up a glass bottle with a blue liquid inside. Peter looked at Wong worried, “What is that?”

“It’s liquid advil. I will help you feel better soon.”

“No thank Uncle Wong I’m gonna see Papa instead.” Peter began sitting up with the help of the cloak.

“I’m telling you Peter this will help you. It’s good medicine. I’m 78% sure.”

“78% sure?! What about the other 22%?”

“Well, they’re a chance that this could turn you into a fish or cure your headache.”

“A FISH?!”

“It’s only a 22% chance! Nothing to worry about!”

Peter’s heart was in his throat. He stood up on unsteady feet but thanks to the cloak he didn’t fall. He looked at the cloak and then Wong.

“Mister cloak, take me to Papa please.”

“Peter wait-.”

The cloak lifted Peter in the air and flew him right out the door, ignoring Wong. The cloak flew through the mansion in search of Strange, all while Peter was giggling, but thankfully it didn’t need to look far.

Strange and Tony sat by the fireplace. A coffee table with tea cups sat between their big chairs.

“I should’ve checked with Jarvis the moment I caught up with him in New York. I just had a feeling he wasn’t as big as he was saying.”

“It isn’t your fault Tony. It’s hard to tell when Peter is truly regressed or somewhere in between. I’m just happy he wasn’t badly hurt.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m a good Caregiver or I’m becoming my old man.” Tony sighed.

“Tony, Peter idolizes you. There’s really very little you could say or do to make him hate you. Don’t beat yourself up, that’s my job.” Strange smirked.

Tony rolled his eyes, “How did you even find us?”

“I was heading to Chelsea Markey to pick up something for Peter. Last time we were there I saw him looking at a toy stand and-”

The cloak carrying Peter flew into the room, knocking over the coffee table with their tea cups. The cloak deposited Peter in Strange’s lap with one plop.

Peter giggled and waved to the cloak goodbye. “Thank you cloakie!” The cloak waved back before disappearing into the mansion.

“My little bundle of joy delivered into my lap.” Strange chuckled.

Peter reach forward and hugged Strange, who recuperated wrapping his arms around Peter. “Peter, sweet one, how are you feeling?”

“My head hurts.” Peter mumbled in the hug.

He lifted his head up but held onto Strange still, “Uncle Wong tried to poison me Papa!”

Strange raised an eye brow, “Did he now?”

“Yeah! He brought in this big tray of bottles! One of them he opened had black smoke coming out of it! And another could’ve turned me into a fish!!”

“A fish?!” Tony stood up and joined the two, “We can’t have that happen! What will we do if our little spider turned into a little fish?!” Tony said as dramatic as possible.

“No Dadee! Don’t wanna be a fish!”

“Don’t worry kiddo, you’re not going to be a fish. I’m sure Papa has some regular medicine for you around here somewhere.”

“Come on,” Strange said lifting Peter into his arms. “Let’s get you some medicine and then it’s back to bed for you.”

“Noooooo wanna play!”

“Listen to your Papa Pete, you need all the rest in the world after that shock. I’m sorry this happened to you. I should’ve seen it coming and helped you.”

“It’s okay! I’m okay! See?” Peter smiled.

Tony smiled back, “I can definitely see that. Nothing stops my little one.”

“How about a cozy resting day? Just the three of us? That way you can heal and you won’t be without your Papa and Dadee. We can watch whatever movie you want. How does that sound?” Strange offered.

Peter smiled at his two amazing Caregivers, “Yes!! Just one thing?”

“Yes?”

“Can we invite Uncle Wong too. But make him promise not to turn me into a fish…please.”

The two Caregivers laughed, “We’ll make him promise not to turn you into a fish.”

[fuimus-troes]

i got thrown into the hetalia fandom and i got sold spaus propaganda when browsing austrias tag. would you spare a crumb of spaus brainrot o' enlightend one ? Ꮚ⁠˘⁠ ⁠ꈊ⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠Ꮚ

omg hi and welcome to out little spaus nation, please take a seat and get comfortable bc once you get sold spaus propaganda there's no going back. you're here forever now, hope this helps!

- they snatched the arranged marriage and strangers to lovers trope and then fucking SPRINTED with it. good for them, good for them!

- antonio would conquer the world just to put it at roderish’s feet; roderich would then wash the blood off antonio’s hands. they are odysseus and penelope. i said what i said 

- antonio was roderich’s first love, first lover and first real heartbreak; first everything. no one could ever come close to that afterwards - antonio has engraved his name on roderich’s bones, one side of roderich’s bed is always left waiting for antonio, he haunts roderich’s dreams to this day

- the intensity of antonio’s feelings for roderich is close to religious. roderich was his crown, his atonement, his hometown to return to when everything seemed to be falling apart. he continued to wear his ring for years after the split; he only took it off after the war of austrian succession because roderich confronted him with “how dare you to fight me while wearing it; if you decided to be a traitor then at least go all the way with it” 

- he was being a hypocrite. he was wearing his ring from time to time, too. just not on the battlefield 

- they know everything about each other, but for the longest time they had to pretend like they didn’t. roderich knows that antonio has a habit of throwing and smashing things when he’s angry, that he’s possessive and his ego’s through the roof, and still loves him anyway. antonio knows that roderich is a hypocrite and a liar who wouldn't mind getting his hands dirty to stay in power even when it comes to his family, and still loves him anyway. a match made in heaven (or hell)

- they still found each other again anyways. once the dust settled, it just felt like the most right decision to make. there was nothing they could give to each other anymore, stripped of their power and spite, humbled by the passage of time. so now, as they lost everything they once had as the powerhouse of europe, nothing in the world has the power to tear them apart - because it’s a choice now, for once made out of love, and not politics 

- “i will fall in love with you over and over again; i don’t care how, where, or when; no matter how long it's been you’re mine; don’t tell me you’re not the same person; you’re always my husband and I’ve been waiting, waiting…”

- sonetos del amor oscuro by federico garcia lorca are THE spaus sonnets of all time. antonio probably cried when it was first published in 1984; by coincidence it was also around that time when he and roderich started to mend their relationships