#why is everything so rectangular here

[honey-pages]

The Hexstrap - Viktor x Reader

Description -

Viktor gifts you something special to use on him.

3.0k words

F/M. 18+. Smut. Pegging. Sub Viktor. Dom Reader. NSFW.

“I have something for you.” Viktor tells you, shyly, “though it’s not really a present.”

He hands you a long, black, silky rectangular box. He places it in your hands, and you find it to be quite heavy. You start to lift the lid.

“Not yet please.” His voice trails, “Maybe after tonight?”

“Sounds good to me,” You reply, although a little curious about what could be in the box.

He had planned a date for tonight at a cocktail bar in the city. They supposedly served the best experimental cocktails in Piltover. It was a new location for you and Viktor, and you wondered what kind of drink he would order. You had a few more hours before you were due to set out, giving you time to bathe and get ready.

Viktor kissed you passionately, a preview of what may happen tonight. You are already feeling worked up and excitable, you consider it may be a good idea to release some of your built-up lust before you go. Though what could be better than sitting in a classy bar, sipping a cocktail on the arm of one of Piltover's greatest scientists. With a promise of what usually happens after your dates, you begin to feel weak already.

“I need to prepare for later.” Viktor smiles, “You look outstanding. Jealousy is not my fashion, though I think everyone there will be watching you.”

“I’m not even dressed; this is just flattery.” You smirk, pulling him in closer. He kisses your forehead, and you tilt your head upwards to catch him on his lips. You kiss more deeply, sliding tongues over one another, until you realise you are standing in the hallway outside of your room.

“Do you want to come in?” You offer suggestively.

“Tempting me again?” He scoffs.

His tone makes you snort. “Tempting you? You come here looking like that, bringing me a present, and are expecting me to not offer you inside”

“I have been considering giving you that for some time. Your reaction is untested. Will you leave it here for us to come back to later?” He asks.

“Whatever you say - but you really don’t have to worry about my reaction Viktor.”

He looks relieved and slightly flushed. As you say your goodbyes until later, you watch him as he walks away. When he thinks you aren’t looking, he rearranges himself. It makes you proud to see him dishevelled. You turn back to your room, making a plan of action. You need to be getting showered, dressed and prepared. You look over your room and decide to give it a quick clean as you and Viktor planned to be returning here. What time will you be back? Will you be out all night with him? You weren’t sure. To think of Viktor in the outside world, let alone a cocktail bar, felt alien. It was rare he had the time. That’s why this was so special to you, Viktor had planned it.

You look over at the box and think over what he has said. He was so insistent; it must be something special. You pull the cocktail menu out of your bag- Viktor had passed it to you earlier.

You go through the motions of preparation. Your shower was hot and steamy, on exiting, the clothes you had laid out for yourself felt soft and warm on your skin. Everything felt so right. You quickly did a cleaning sweep of your room, picking up any rogue items and tidying away any clutter. It isn’t that Viktor would mind, it’s just a personal preference. You place the black box on your pillow and finding a clean towel, you place it next to it - it’s always good to have one on hand when you are alone with him. The thought gives you butterflies. You daydream about what will happen when you return.

There’s a knock at the door and you glance over at your clock. It is near enough time to leave. You open the door to Viktor and are completely swept away. He looks sharp, sophisticated.  A clean dark suit, burgundy undertones in his usual fashion, polished shoes and bouquet in his hands of red roses. He had matched exactly what you were wearing unintentionally, complementing each other perfectly.

“You look outstanding.” He hands you the roses. “You really are something (Y/N).”

You invite Viktor inside, finding out a vase for the roses, filling it and arranging them gently. He spots the towel next to the box.

“You opened it?” He asks, hurt.

“What? No, why do you think I opened it?”

“The towel.”

“I just thought we would need one later.”

He looks relieved. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse. I assumed with the towel- I’m a little on edge about what your reaction may be.”

“Viktor, whatever you show me will be fine.”

“I am not used to being vulnerable. I have never explored that side of me.”

You hold him tightly, reassuring him.

“We are going to have a great time tonight.” You look into his eyes, “We will drink and laugh and then, we will come back and open the box - and everything will be fine.”

He hugs you tighter.

The cocktail bar was a dark and smoky place, it hosted a cushioned seating area, central stage and booths lining the outside walls.

“I have a reservation.” Viktor states to the door staff.

You are led through the bar, alive and seductive with jazz music, to a small booth on one of the back walls. It is quieter there and looks as though it is usually reserved as a fancier seating arrangement.

Viktor prompts you to choose your preference in seat. You choose the left side, and he sits in the right. The chairs have high backs, enclosing you within the darkness of the booth. You pick up a menu from the table.

You ponder the choices for a second. Viktor doesn’t drink much, almost never. He looks confused but excited.

“I have never tried anything like this before.”

You decide on a drink.

“Had any thoughts while I’ve picked mine?” You ask. You place your foot against his under the table.

“Hex on the beach? I didn’t think Hextech had such reach.”

“I suppose you kind of have to pick that one Vik, it’s made for you.”

Viktor calls over the serving staff and politely puts through your order. You talk over Viktor’s work and your research, your leg trailing up his calf.

“You look so beautiful tonight, (Y/N).”

Your cheeks redden, “Well, I had to put some effort in, knowing I’d be on your arm.”

“Why is my arm such a great thing to be on?”

“…You are quite literally in the cocktail menu. Your arm is infamous Viktor.” You explain, he’s clueless as to how recognised he is for his great work. “But in my opinion, your arm is the second-best thing of yours to be on.”

His one foot is nudging yours in reciprocation, a hidden language under the table. It rides up and up. He slides forward in his chair to reach for your hand, holding it on the table. His knees are brushing yours, threatening to nudge open your thighs.

Your drinks arrive. The ‘Hex on the Beach’ is a slightly purple shade thanks to the blue curaçao mixing with the cranberry, somewhat different to the shade that the hex core actually is. Viktor notices the difference but says nothing. When he swirls the drink in his hand it shimmers like the light and sparks of the core. He takes a sip and is pleasantly surprised at its sweetness. Your drink tastes heavenly also and you take the time to swap and try each other’s to better inform your second drink. The drink portions are small but in artsy places like this they usually are.

You talk as you sip. As you progress through the drink you feel lighter and lighter, your body feeling a little unfamiliar. Viktor is surprisingly untouched by his first drink, but his second, the ‘Amarekko Sour’ feels more substantial. He feels like he has the sudden desire to confess his feelings for you, over and over. His knee, more adventurously, hikes higher, spreading your thighs apart slightly.

“I love you.” He spurts. This was not the first time you have heard this, but it is still a rare revelation which he does not usually confess.

“I love you too.” You reply. Your surroundings are woozy, but you focus in on Viktor’s face.

There is silence for a while. All of your thoughts have been vocalised and you are comfortable to just stare at each other in your tipsy daze.

“Beautiful. Beautiful.” He rests his head on one hand, his face in his palm. “I have always thought you were the most beautiful person I have ever set my eyes on.”

“Oh, Viktor you are so sweet.”

“No, I mean it. Really. You are everything to me. You mean the world.”

You order one more round of drinks and head off. The night feels alive. It’s not even that late, but you and Viktor are so unused to drinking that three was enough to have you sufficiently drunk and insatiably horny. On the way home, you stumbled along to multiple different dark corners, finding places to steal kisses and grope each other. You were like two drunk teenagers.

“I need you.” He murmurs every time there’s an alley.

“Come have me.”

You embrace, desperately kissing, touching and feeling, before moving on. The cocktail bar was only a short walk but with all the detours it took you much longer.

“I’m so hard for you, (Y/N), all the time. You don’t even realise. I need you.”

You giggle, “Viktor, I’m right here.”

“No, I need you.”

“Viktor.”

“Inside of me.”

You are a little confused.

“Inside you?” You ask. “Like sexually?”

He sobers up a bit and worries he has said the wrong thing.

“…yeah.”

You think for a moment.

“Viktor, I will give you anything you ever ask for”

He kisses you with double the passion, unleashing every bit of his love and affection at your acceptance of him. You manage to get back through the large building, foyer and hall to your room. At the door, he pins you, hands grabbing at you through your clothes, needy and desperate.

You almost fall through the door as you open it.

You stumble together to the bed, Viktor laying on his back, with you on top, messily kissing, and touching and undressing in such a rush to be rid of the restraints of your clothes. In the scramble for grip on the sheets, your fingers find the black box. You sit upward, straddling his hips. You hold the box in your hands and he watches you from beneath.

“Can I?” You ask

He nods.

You undo the silky bow keeping the lid fixed tight. Wiggling the lid side to side to loosen the friction, you pull upwards and remove it. Fixed in the soft settings of the box is a dildo and some sort of strap attachment.

“It’s for your hips” He suggests, folding up the straps to show you his work. “This fixes onto here, like this.”

He demonstrates the contraption, placing it together. Its beautifully crafted and its clear he has spent time on it.

“How long did this take you to make? “You asked. It is perfectly weighted, the curves smooth and built to feel good. You slot the contraption together.

“It was an ongoing project. I had to work undisturbed… It’s measured to me. The Hexstrap.”

You come off him and stand up, admiring the shape and length, it was familiar.

“I’ll get myself ready for you.” He states, getting up and walking to the bedroom.

You strip off your clothes. Slipping your legs into the straps, raising it up your thighs and fixing it to your waist. It felt odd having the extra weight and tilted balance. You admired the way it looked in the mirror in the corner of your room. It really was measured to him. You find out some lubricating oil from your dresser. You used it when things took a rougher turn with Viktor. Most of the time he liked to take things slow and steady, though sometimes he would allow himself to get harder and rougher.

He was always a caring partner though; he loved aftercare and foreplay rather than the mindless thrusting that came with the middle of the encounter. You had never really been in control sexually. So often when you intended to be dominant it would end in you being on the bottom. Viktor walked out of the bathroom naked. You admire him completely; his form and his body were perfect to you. When you looked at him you saw your loving partner, not just the parts that made him.

The oil had warming properties and helped sooth any friction caused by fast motion. You wanted him to be as comfortable as possible, especial considering the amount of trust it had taken him to open up about what he wanted. You tried to emulate the things he did to make you feel comfortable and safe.

“Come lay on the bed Vik.” He watches you intently.

“It looks so good - to see you with some of me.”

He’s hard. Instantly upon seeing you. It’s not that he didn’t feel that way before, it just feels so special to him right now. He was pushing the maximum of his body’s capabilities concerning blood flow, he could feel himself straining and needing a release.

He walked towards you, placing down the prepared towel, sitting himself in the middle of it.

“I have never done this before.” He admits.

Seeing him like this, naked and sheepish twisted something inside of you and you felt a strange urge to comfort him, look after him, be gentle and caring- but also to take him, have him, make him crave you.

“Neither have I.”

You thought back to how he handled you on your first time. He had reassured you, familiarising you with what was about to happen. He prepared you, warmed you up and teased you so that your worries about the experience were melting and replaced with need and want.

You pour some of the oil into your hands, warming it up between your fingers.

“Lay on your back.” You kiss him as he leans back, initially propping himself up on his elbows, then lowering them to be completely flat. You climb onto your hands and knees over him.

You lather the oil over his inner thighs, it feels warm against your hands. Viktor relaxes into it, sinking into the bed. You use it to coat his cock, swirling your hand around to cover the whole of him, sometimes gently swooping down to cup at him. His skin is shining under the oil and softening. You use your other hand to create similar movements over the hex strap, ensuring it will glide easily. Viktor is twitching with desire, his cock moving on its own in response to your touches. Almost like the Hexstrap is linked not only in resemblance but by touch.

He whimpers, “Please touch me.”

You increase your speed. “So good for me, Viktor, you are a natural.”

You tease your hand downwards to test his reaction to you getting closer to his entrance, he arches upwards.

“Eager, aren’t we?”

“Please, I’m scared ill- ill finish before you are even in.”

Viktor desperately thrusts into the air in an attempt to find friction. His moans and whimpers are explicit, his accent thick and heavy. You add more oil to your hands and place your fingers against him. He follows them with his hips.

“Ready?”

“Please”

You enter him and he cries out in pleasure. You take your other hand and clasp it around him, stroking him slowly in time with your fingers. You add another and he ruts pathetically. You take time stretching him and warming him up.

“I want the- “He struggles with his words, his hands snaking a clasping and unclasping in the bedsheets. “-the Hexstrap.”

“Say please Vik. I want to hear you.”

“Please (Y/N).”

He sounds so heavenly.

“You want your own creation inside of you Viktor, look at how desperate you’ve become.”

You line up the hexstrap and push inside. It fills him completely. It is strange to see how a complete replication of him slots in perfectly. His cock begins to drip prematurely. You take it with the rest of the oil, using it to stroke him faster and faster.

He is moaning loudly and without care, rushed expletives and begging and your name- all combines to a completely sinful sound.

“(Y/N), I’m going to- “He trails off, cut with his own shouts.

“You are going to finish all over yourself?”

Your words undo him, and on only the fourth thrust with the hexstrap he finishes, spurting in thick ropes over himself. You put a residually oiled hand over his mouth, smothering him. He writhes in his pleasure, legs shaking. Even through your hand, you hear your name over and over.

You wait for his cool down, watching as he slows his movement, chest heaving ceasing. You flood his forehead with kisses.

“You did so good for me Vik. You look glorious.”

He smiles. He’s an absolute mess. The bed is a mess. You are a mess, hands slick and sweaty skin.

“I need to finish you now” He panics, realising he hasn’t even touched you this evening.

“Viktor, I think you need to cool down first.”

“I don’t think I can fuck you (Y/N). I think you’ve finished me; I’m drained.”

He holds you tight and close, whispering words against your cheek. His looks into your eyes, then down your body to the hexstrap - still inside.

“Mine may be out of business” he jokes, “but I have a spare that I may be able to make use of.”

Tag List -

@veru-boom, @gubkkki

[lieslab]

I'd fall to pieces on the floor, if you weren't around

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Changbin X gn reader

Summary: You struggle with weight gain after taking a new medication.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.2K

Eating disorder resources

Trigger warning: Weight gain, self-image issues, and brief mention of skipping meals.

A/N: I'm glad I could finally push this request out. Requestee, I hope this helps. Changbin would not want anyone to skip their meals or think they're ugly. Our bodies are so important and do everything they can to keep us alive. That is so special and this fic really highlights that. Please take care of yourselves <3

_ _ _

It turns out there is a hell on earth. It’s the bright fluorescent lights of the dressing room. A long rectangular mirror that leaves no flaw untouched. You tried to avoid meeting your own gaze. Once again, you reached down and attempted to button the waist of your pants, but to no avail. 

You gritted your teeth, sucked in your stomach, and pulled at the waistband once more. Why weren’t more jeans fitted with elastic waists? Why did the sizing always feel wrong? Most importantly, this was your size, so why wasn’t it fitting? 

You weren’t overly enthused about going clothes shopping, but when it came to jeans, you knew you had to bite the bullet. You risked a lot buying them online, so you decided to check out the nearest department store. You made sure they had the brand you liked before you came and now you were here. 

Just outside the dressing room, Changbin leaned against a white wall. He didn’t know how long you planned on taking. In the meantime, he texted Han about a new movie he thought he’d be interested in seeing. Unaware of your distress, he texted as if nothing was wrong. 

“Stupid fucking jeans,” you mumbled to yourself. You grabbed the sides, jerking them back down your body. You squirmed, nearly tripped, but then they were off. 

You folded them, just like how they were folded when you picked them up, tossed them on the nearby bench, and stared at the other pairs you grabbed. You grabbed three different shades of colors. A light-wash, regular denim blue jeans, and a pair in black. If you couldn’t wear the size you grabbed, those wouldn’t fit, either. 

You stared at the unworn pile, trying to swallow the forming lump in your throat. If you couldn’t wear the brand of jeans you always wore, it only meant one thing; you gained weight. 

You feared it, you always had, but there was no more denying it. When your jeans didn’t fit properly back home, you blamed it on the dryer. You assume you must have pressed the wrong setting, causing the denim to shrink somehow. You should have known, but you wanted to deny it. 

Bodies are everything in this day and age. From the way you look, to the facial features you don’t get to pick, they make, or break you. You thought you were doing okay. When the doctor prescribed a new medication and weight gain was a side effect, you shrugged it off, assuming it wouldn’t happen to you.  

The four square walls felt a little tighter. Anxiety brewed in your gut and you blinked rapidly. A wave of warmth overcame you, but you ignored it. You grabbed your sweatpants and quickly slipped back into them. Wiping at your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath. 

A shirt still awaited you. You grabbed it because you liked the way it looked. Determined not to look at your reflection, you jerked your shirt over your head, and wiggled into the new one. Something was off instantly. It didn’t cover your stomach fully. You sucked in your stomach, but even then, it didn’t fit. 

Your teeth clamped into your bottom lip. Your eyes squeezed shut and you sucked in a deep breath. Part of your brain tried to say it was okay, but the other part screamed at you. You were pathetic. Ugly. Gross. 

Fat. 

You ripped the shirt off, as if it was on fire. It hit the side of the wall and slumped down inside out on the jeans you folded. Your arms crossed over your body and your head ducked down. Nobody could see you, your boyfriend waited for you outside, but you felt so alone. 

Insecurity always hung around and today it clamped onto your heart. Your worth shattered on the ceramic floor. The burn of hot tears came so fast, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you reached up and pressed your fingers against your eyes, trying to stop them. 

“Stop it,” you weakly whispered. “You’re fine. Just be normal. It’s not a big deal.” You pulled your hands away and fanned your face. Rapid blinks helped the forming tears dissolve. 

It took you a few moments to collect yourself. You jerked back to the mirror to check your eyes and that’s when you caught the stretch of your skin. Bright marks pulled your attention to them. You knew you were gaining stretch marks, but you had no idea it was this bad. You were hideous and you hated who you turned into.

You briefly made eye contact with yourself, enough to make sure your tears were gone, and then you steered yourself back to the bench. In your shirt, you felt so much more comfortable. You refolded the shirt, grabbed the jeans, and headed outside. 

At the sound of an opening door, Changbin pushed off the wall and grinned. “You’re back!” 

You nodded and forced yourself to smile. “Yeah, I’m back. I’m sorry I took so long.” 

“No worries, I’m texting Han. Did it go alright? Did they fit?” 

It was a harmless question, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell the truth. You nodded and reached out for his hand. “Yeah, let’s check out and head home.” 

“Already?” 

“Yeah, shopping makes me feel really tired. The lights are so bright and there’s so many people. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be. I mean, unless you have somewhere you want to go?” 

“Nah, I don’t think so.” His fingers curled around yours and he led you towards the cash registers. “Let’s head back home and find something to do there. I feel like a home day might be good for us. We’ve both been so busy lately.” 

He looked at you like you made the stars, but you didn’t notice. Too stuck in your head, you didn’t realize just how much he loved you. You walked to the counter and paid for the clothes, pretending that they really did fit. They would fit and you’d make them. 

Even if you had to skip a few meals, you’d get back to your size no matter what. 

~ ~ ~ 

Back at home, you took your bag of new clothes through the house and into your shared bedroom. Changbin giddily followed you, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. As you pulled open the bag to put them in the dresser, he snuck into the room and shut the door. You glanced over your shoulder when the door clicked. 

“Okay, I’m ready!” He jumped forward, springing onto the bed on his stomach. 

“For what?” 

“Your fashion show! Duh! What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t hype you up?” 

You froze and your face fell. You quickly jerked your head back to the dresser, but it was too late. He already saw the panic in your eyes. He pushed himself up, worried that something was wrong. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I-I just-” Your brain went into overdrive. “I’m just not feeling very fashionable today. I just tried them on back at the store and I don’t think I’m feeling jeans much anymore. I had the epiphany while I was trying them on.” 

He groaned and jerked himself onto his back. “But I was looking forward to the fashion show! I waited all that time and held up the dressing room wall for you.” 

“You know what I look like in jeans.” 

“But these are new jeans!” 

“I’m getting a headache.” 

He huffed and grumbled to himself. Like a toddler, he kicked his feet. “I can’t believe that-” 

A wave of anger swept through you. Usually, his antics didn’t bother you, but you were already so upset about the way your body looked. Disgusted and humiliated. Your words tumbled out so fast and you couldn’t stop them.

“I can’t try on the jeans for you because they don’t fit, Changbin! There! That’s why! Are you happy now? I don’t want to show you because they don’t button. I’ve gained weight, I’m fat, and ugly, and gross.” 

His head snapped over to you and his face fell. “They don’t fit?” 

You kept your back to him. You weakly shook your head and shut your eyes. “No.” 

“Baby, you didn’t have to buy them if they didn’t fit. We could have sized up and it wouldn’t have been a problem.” 

“Did you not hear the part where I said I’m fat and ugly?” You weakly laughed, trying not to cry, but your laugh cut out. A bottom lip trembled and you wiped at your eyes. 

Changbin quietly got up and snuck behind you. Strong warm arms wrapped around your waist. “You’re not fat and ugly.”

“I gained weight from my medicine.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“No, it’s n-not. What if you realize I’m ugly now? What if I try the next size and they don’t fit either?” 

His arms gently squeezed around your torso. “Take a deep breath, you’re spiraling.” 

“I have new stretch marks a-and I-” Your eyes squeezed shut, but it wasn’t enough to stop the salty tears from poking through. “I feel so ugly.” 

“I know you might feel ugly, but you’re not ugly. It’s okay to gain weight and it’s okay to lose weight.” His head gently fell against your shoulder. “What’s not okay is to call the love of my life ugly. You’re not ugly now and nothing will ever make you ugly in my eyes.” 

“But the stretch marks…” 

“What about them?” 

“They’re gross.” 

“Why? What makes them gross? Because the way I see them, your skin is stretching to protect you. It’s keeping you safe. You think I don’t have stretch marks?” 

“Huh?” 

He pulled away from you, reached up, and tugged the sleeve of his t-shirt all the way up. It took a few moments, but he finally found what he was looking for. “This right here,” he pointed to a faint mark. “This is one of my stretch marks. They formed after I started to gain muscle.” 

“But you're not fat,” you whispered. You spun around, so you could see. 

“You don’t have to be fat to have stretch marks. They form when you grow and you might think they’re ugly, but I don’t. My skin is stretching to accommodate me. That’s not ugly, there’s beauty in that.” 

Your eyes lingered on it and you sniffled again. He continued speaking. “There is nothing disgusting and evil about stretch marks. So many people have them. You shouldn’t hate yourself just because you have them.” 

“I don’t know how not to.” 

“You hate your body right now because people have told you that you should. I’m here to tell you that you should listen to me because I love you.” He let go of his sleeve and it fell. 

His hands reached up and gently cupped your cheeks. “The human body is amazing and wants to keep your organs safe. The skin is stretching to keep you safe. No matter how bright they might be right now, they’ll fade.”

“If you’re worried about gaining weight, you’ve kinda lucked out.” A soft smile quipped up on half his face. “You’ve got me and I’ll help you with it, if that’s what you wish.” 

“Are you going to make me drink your chicken breast protein shakes?” 

He laughed and shook his head. Black hair bobbed and your distress started to melt. “No. I won’t make you drink them, but if you ever want to try one, I-” 

“No thank you.” 

“That’s okay. You don’t have to do whatever you don’t want to do.” 

You nodded and your eyes met his. “Thank you for making me feel better.” 

“It’s an honor, a privilege, and always a delight. Do you know what you do to my heart? Ugh, I love you! You’re worried about being fat? Watch this!” 

“What are you– hey!” You shrieked as he dipped down and jerked you over his shoulder. You dangled with your hands towards the ground. “Where are we going?” 

“Out to have lunch because you’re not skipping your meals and I can hear your stomach growling. Hang on tight, spider-monkey.” 

“Did you just quote Edward Cullen?” 

He laughed, causing your body to vibrate. You rolled your eyes and dangled with defeat. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” 

“Let’s see if I glitter in the sunlight. If I’m a vampire, I’m turning you. I’m not being an immortal without you. Wait!” He paused and he raised an eyebrow. “If I was a vampire, does that mean Chan would be my enemy since he-” 

“Don’t start with the Chan is a wolf conspiracy.” 

“But he picked his pack and everything!” 

“No.” 

“It’s canon!” 

“Changbin!” 

“I need to call Han and get his opinion.” 

There was absolutely nothing you could do as you hung over his shoulder, besides sigh and hope he put you down sooner, much rather than later.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike @bokkiesluv @phinnyphinnegan

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Ko-fi

[buckybarnes82]

Can you write something about surprising bucky with a gift? Fluffy. 🍬

Sentimental gifts

A/N: Thank you for the request! Mostly fluffy but some injuries are mentioned. Arnicare gel helps with bruising and that’s also mentioned!

It had only been six months, but you were madly, desperately, and wholeheartedly in love with him. Six months and you felt closer to him than anyone else ever has. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, that time frame really didn’t seem like very long but when you’re dating someone whose entire life got stolen from them, time moves quicker than most would expect.

It didn’t take long at all for Bucky to slowly take ownership of an empty dresser drawer at your place, filling it with socks, T-shirts, his knife, and basically all the random things he kept in his many pant pockets. He also made sure to clear closet space at his place, though you rarely stayed there with him and the rest of the team. Bucky liked coming to your place for a bit of peace, and you knew that without question.

Bucky didn’t have to question much when it came to you, you told him how you were looking for something serious after twenty minutes in and he knew what he wanted in a partner, being up front about it during your first date. “I know what I want, and I want to explore that with you.” The words and memory of that night were etched into your memory. He wore a navy blue button-up that he was practically sweating bullets through, and you wore a blue dress that matched his eyes, it was fate or at least you liked to think of it that way.

Bucky was undoubtedly busy, he didn’t necessarily plan on working for Valentina. Now that he was roped into this, his time with you was limited, and it started to wear on him. He was growing increasingly nervous that the distance would make you question things, and that was something he couldn’t handle. The slump in his shoulders, bag under his eyes, and general grumpier-than-usual demeanor told you everything you needed to know, and you wanted to reassure him.

So here you were sitting on the hardwood in your apartment, in your pajamas with various scraps of colorful paper, stickers, glue dots and tons of photos of the two of you spread across the floor. Bucky never fully understood why you constantly took pictures of him, or wanted some together but he didn’t question it, mentally noting you were just a sentimental person.

You had bought a small rectangular scrapbook in his favorite color from your local craft store. Bucky often had to work late, so you’d work on it while he was away and you’d hide it under your bed from him otherwise.

You had been working your way through the months of your relationship, finally landing on month five and now six, you spread out the silly photos of the two of you, admiring how handsome Bucky looked even with a beard full of red pasta sauce. He insisted on taking you to a local Italian place for dinner last month that Alexei had recommended and it was actually one of your favorite dates.

You stood up to look for a marker when your phone vibrated, a silly picture of Bucky wearing a silky robe appeared on your screen.

“Hi, handsome!” You giggled excitedly which gave him a breath of relief as he heard your voice.

“Hi love” he loudly yawned into the phone, making you giggle again.

“Someone’s sleepy!” You tease affectionately, grabbing the marker and going back to your craft on the floor., notating your date with cute side comments and sticker hearts.

You heard the faint sound of motion in the background.

“Where are you? Are you in the van?”

“I miss you” Bucky hummed, you didn’t have to see him to know he was sitting in the back of the van with his eyes tightly shut, and a migraine brewing. You knew he hadn’t heard you ask him a question.

“I miss you too, Are you coming home tonight?”

Home was what you called your apartment, because to you both that’s what it was.

“Yeah, I need to sleep beside my girl” he mumbled and you heard an audible “awww” from Yelena and Ava in the background that you knew he hated every second of.

“How far away are you?” You pulled the phone back from your ear to check the time. You knew you’d have to hurry if you wanted to gift this to him tonight.

“I probably have another hour or so” he groaned, a layer of exhaustion prominent.

“I make it 45!” Alexei hollered from the front seat and normally Bucky would object but he’d do anything to be beside you right now.

You continued to glue pictures down, decorating and annotating as Bucky spoke.

“Tell Alexei I need you home in one piece! Speaking of that, any injuries?” You asked this often enough to be routine.

“Scratches, they’re handled. Bruise on my right arm, it’s not that bad. It’s fine.” He was lying and you knew that by his tone of voice but you let it slide for now.

“Hungry?”

“Starving” he sighed, rubbing his temples as he realized he hadn’t eaten since this morning.

“Burger?”

“Please, if it’s not too much trouble.” He sighed again, making your chest ache. He always felt like a burden to everyone around him, no matter how much you reassured he wasn’t.

“You’re my boyfriend, it’s never an inconvenience to me to feed you” you lightly chuckled knowing how he felt about that word.

“Yuck! Boyfriend sounds so juvenile” he snorted, the first real laugh you’d heard since the phone call started.

“Guess you’ll have to change that” you teased as you finished the scrapbook, flipping through the pages a final time before placing it on the coffee table, ready for Bucky when he got home.

“Oh, I fully intend to” he rasped back, his tone laced with seriousness.

He had bought the ring months ago, only waiting for your mom’s blessing which he planned on asking her for next month when she came to visit.

“I have a present for you when you get here” you giggled as you stood up to get ingredients out for dinner.

The sound of your giggle made him feel more alive, sitting up straight in the van to wake himself up.

“A present huh? More arnicare gel?” He teased knowing you had pretty much bought a Sam’s Club level amount of arnica gel for him.

“I knew the bruise was worse than you said” you clicked your tongue, taking out seasonings from the cabinet above you.

“My phone's going to die, I’ll be there in like twenty minutes. I love you.”

“I love you too bunny.” You started to cut the tomato for his burger, smiling over at the scrapbook he’d have waiting for him.

You had just gotten done plating his food, when the front door opened, and Bucky practically collapsed inside. You rushed over to him helping him walk over and sit down on the recliner in the living room.

“What do you need? Talk to me.” Your wide worried eyes traced his features, he was dirty, cut up, and exhausted but he was still gorgeous as ever to you.

“My girl” he hummed, reaching his arms out before he pulled you on top of him. He covered you in kisses making you giggle as you squirmed on top of him.

“Baby you need to drink some water, take your pain pill, eat and-“

He grabbed your chin, kissing you to momentarily quiet you, “You worry way too much” he mumbled between kisses.

“I love you, it’s my job to worry,” you said it so matter-of-factly his heart swelled hearing the words.

He looked over at the coffee table, seeing the scrapbook immediately. “Oh? What is this?” He pointed and you leaned over the chair to hand it to him.

“Your present” you sat up straighter, still on his lap as he looked at the cover, it had a picture of the two of you from your first date.

“You made this for me?” His eyes immediately stung, he’d blame it on being exhausted but you’d see through that instantly.

“Mhm!” You opened it for him, eager for him to see the work you put into it.

“Remember this? It was when we first started dating and we went to that baseball game and-“

“We got rained out! I was so worried you were going to get sick and never want to go on another date with me” he laughed, pointing at the selfie of you with fully drenched wet hair.

“And when I did inevitably get sick you came and brought me soup” You pointed to the next page that had a picture of the two of you in bed and Bucky smiled, he had assumed you’d forgotten all about that. He kissed your cheek before continuing to flip through pages.

“We both clearly worry too much” you admitted and he nodded nonchalantly.

“This is so sweet of you to do” he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to cover it with a cough.

“Bunny? Are you tearing up? Did I break Bucky Barnes?” You teased knowing that would make him chuckle out loud.

“I’m just crying because I’m starving. My stomach is touching my back.” he joked tickling your side lightly earning his favorite sound from you, another giggle.

“You know I love you and I’m never going anywhere right?” You held his eye contact for a moment before he nodded, leaning in for another kiss.

You made him feel safe, secure and loved and like the ring hidden in his closet should be on your finger right now.

[pennylanewrites]

teacher’s aide (levi ackerman)

warnings: m!masturbation, voyerism, alcohol, smoking, age gap (15 years), me pushing my smitten!levi agenda

levi ackerman was an esteemed and recognised sociology professor. stern, strict and to the point in all of his lectures. most of his classes kept quiet, trying to take notes while he talked fast and went through powerpoint slides like it was the morning paper.

you had been working hard for that teacher’s aide position for two years, when you finally got the acceptance email. it was no secret on campus that professor ackerman’s assistants worked closely to him and got accepted in prestigious firms right after college, with his recommendation of course.

it was also no secret that professor ackerman was incredibly good-looking. his veiny arms and broad shoulders made up for his short height and the way his raven hair fell over his rectangular seeing glasses was so…

“y/n.” his stern voice shook you out of your thoughts. crap. the whole auditorium was staring at you. “the papers.” was all he said before going back to his laptop. you looked down at your hands, realising you were holding the class’s tests for more than you should. you cleared your throat and went through the auditorium, leaving a stack of papers in front of each student. as you walked down, your eye caught his.

levi noticed everything. he noticed how today you were wearing lipgloss instead of your usual lipstick, he noticed the rip in your tights that went down the back of your leg, your new platform loafers and the beads of sweat on your forehead. levi ackerman was not the kind of man that would catch feelings for a student, but you were so…good.

yes, at first he thought you were very attractive, and maybe that’s why he always rejected your aide application. but he also got to know you better every time you replied to one of his questions. you were the only student brave enough to raise their hand, and he appreciated that. sooner than later, you stayed back every day after class to clean up the mess of loose papers and pens, and before he knew it he was smitten.

maybe it was the way you brushed against him to clean the board and shut the projector, a timid apology escaping your lips, or the way you weren’t afraid to challenge him in a theoretical conversation about archaic philosophy during class.

or maybe…shit, how long have i been staring? levi looked away and cleared his throat when he noticed you trying to contain your smile.

class was over and you were going through your usual routine, marking left over questionnaires from the last lecture as he went through tomorrow’s one.

“sir, i’m wondering about…” you rolled your chair across the auditorium’s stage, holding onto his desk to stop the chair, “this one.” you pointed at a question on the paper.

levi was not one to lose his temper, but he was finding it very hard to contain himself when your knee was touching his and your perfume could reach his brain through his nose.

“well, this-this one…” he trailed off, watched you push your hair off your neck, leaving the bare skin on sight for him. god, he could eat you right then and there.

levi had never been more thankful for his phone to ring in his life. the vice dean’s name flashed on the screen, and you leaned back to allow him to get the device.

“i have to go…meeting…come by my office tonight, okay?” he scrambled to get his things and ran off, leaving you in the empty auditorium.

you let your head fall on your pillow, groaning with despair. he hates me. he can’t even talk to me.

you had seen him earlier with petra, his old t.a who graduated last year. he was laughing, for fuck’s sake. he was laughing and buying her coffee in the campus coffee house, and they were sitting over a book and…

“ugh! what is she even doing here?” you threw your pillow on the floor, but it hit you back in the face.

“oh my god, shut up!” your roommate kept hitting you with the pillow, until you grabbed it. “enough, y/n, please.”

“mikasa, do you think they’re dating?” you sat up on the bed, looking at the girl across you. “be honest, i can take it.”

“i think you’re sick. there’s something seriously wrong with you.” she scrunched her nose up in disgust.

“he’s so…”

“old.”

“mature.”

“he’s mature because he’s old.” your roommate kindly reminded you of your age difference. “get over him, please. even if he liked you, he’s your teacher. i doubt he would put his job in danger.”

your eyes lit up, an excited smile covering your earlier gloom.

“you think he likes me?”

“that’s not what i said. where are you going?”

you only grinned before grabbing your bag and barging out of the dorm room. your shoes squeezed against the polished floors as you made your way to the teachers’ wing, and to the third door to your left, your favourite wooden door in the world.

with a sigh, you lifted your fist to knock, but something made you freeze. you looked around to make sure no one was in the corridor, before pushing your ear against the door.

shit, shit, shit, shit

he was moaning. fucking moaning, in his office, when he had specifically told you to visit him. you thought of the possibility of him having a girl in there, even petra, but no one else could be heard. everything right in your head was telling you to turn around and leave, but your hand was on the doorknob, and you were slowly twisting it.

just one look. one look and i’ll-

your eyes grew wide at the sight. a half empty bottle of bourbon sat next to an empty glass, a cigarette was slowly burning on the ashtray, the first two buttons of his white shirt were undone. god, you could clearly see his nipples through the fabric. the desk obscured your vision, but you could see his hand moving up and down, up and down, up-

“fu-fuuuck.” his voice strained, his head fell back and you were wet a creep.

you turned around and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. looking at your reflection on your phone, you made sure pervert wasn’t written across your forehead, and turned back around.

two soft knocks on the door. levi fixed his hair quickly, buttoned his shirt and put the cigarette out.

“come in.” you entered the room and he looked at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“long day?” you pointed at the bottle, smiling softly. he chuckled and motioned for you to sit down. “i can come back some other…” you trailed off when he took another glass out, filling it halfway and pushing it towards you.

you fidgeted with a ring on your finger, unsure of what to do.

“i shouldn’t…”

“i won’t tell if you won’t.” he filled his own glass and raised it to you, before taking a sip. you smiled softly, taking a sip of the drink. it burned coming down, just like his gray stare on you did.

“i have the tests marked. that question i was wondering about earlier,” you took the stack of papers out of your bag, leaving them in front of the man.

“yeah, i looked it up. it’s actually-”

“i figured it out.” you cut him off. he raised an eyebrow and put his glasses on, looking down at the marked paper, and the right answer which you had wrote down in red ink.

“you did.” he agreed and looked at you through strands of his raven hair. “good girl.”

you froze. you could feel your whole face turning an ugly shade of red. a million disgusting thoughts ran through your head as he walked around the desk to sit on the chair across from yours. his muscles flexed as he reached over the desk to get the ashtray and his drink. you took a big sip of the drink, trying to convince yourself the sexual tension was just in your head.

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck.

“what?” he shook you out of your thoughts. he knew you were staring at him.

“nothing. i’ve never seen you like this.” you admitted, still sipping your drink.

“like what?”

like you don’t have a stick up your ass.

“relaxed.” you opted for the nice comment.

“i’m far from relaxed, trust me.” you watched as he placed a cigarette between his wet lips, lighting it with a white lighter.

“those are bad luck.” you took the lighter in your hand, fidgeting with it.

“huh. maybe that’s why my life’s shit.” he chuckled, taking a drag of the cigarette.

“come on…” your eyes fell on a book on his desk.

masculine domination, pierre bourdieu. you grinned, taking it in your hands to inspect the front page.

“take it. it’s for my doctorate students, but i think you-”

“i’ve read it.” you closed it and put it back on the pile.

“of course you have. you’re a smart girl, you know?”

he was praising you. and he was filling your glass again. when did you even finish the first?

“are you trying to get me drunk, sir?”

“i think you’re capable of controlling yourself.”

“don’t be so sure.” you mumbled, staring at your feet.

“what was that?”

“nothing!” you shook it off with a smile, but he had heard you just fine.

god, you wanted him so bad. as the hours went by, and the bottle came to its’ end, you became more and more impatient. you were scared of what you would do honestly, if one more drop of alcohol entered your system. but, were you crazy to think he wanted this too? why would he pour you a drink, and ask you all these questions, and make you laugh with stupid jokes if he-

“what are you thinking about?” he shook you out of your thoughts. you showed him the clock on the wall.

“that i should get going. some teacher thought it would be a good idea to have an 8 am class.” you grinned. you reached your hand out to return him his lighter, but you dropped it instead.

“that’s one lousy teacher.” he chuckled, kneeling on the floor to get the lighter. you waited for him to get up, so you could too, but he wouldn’t move. still kneeling, he came closer to you, his hands hesitantly moving to rest on the sides of your thighs.

internally, you were screaming. but not a single breath came out of your mouth as you watched him. he sighed and finally locked eyes with you.

“i’m not crazy, am i?”

“wh-what?” your voice came out as a whisper. pathetic.

“to think there’s something, right? here. there’s something here and i-”

“sir-”

“don’t.” he squeezed your thighs and you swore your heart would jump out your chest sooner or later. he straightened his back and got up, pulling you with him. “don’t call me sir.”

you let him seat you on top of his desk, you let him spread your legs and stand between them. he pushed your hair behind your ear and inched closer. his breath against your neck made you shiver, and a soft kiss forced a small gasp out of your mouth.

your hands trembled as you placed them around his neck, and his breath staggered when you played with the strands of hair that fell on his undercut.

“please kiss me.” he swore his knees would give when he heard your voice, so soft, so sweet. you were as needy for him as he was for you.

his strong hands met your face, his silver ring cooled your burning cheek. you closed your eyes, and his lips finally met yours. it was careful at first, both of you scared the other would change their mind. but all it took was you pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt, and he lost his mind. his hands slipped down to your waist and you arched your back to get closer to him, if that was even possible. your mouth trailed to his jaw, leaving sloppy kisses all the way down his neck. a playful bite made him gasp. you chuckled.

“stop. you’ll drive me crazy.” he squeezed your hip.

“good.” you grinned and leaned in to kiss him again, but his hand in your hair held you back.

“you have to go…” he managed between soft kisses down your chest, at least as far as your shirt allowed, “or i won’t be able to stop.” he held your hands, and kissed them both, maintaining eye contact with you.

“then don’t stop.” you whined, but your grin turned into a frown when he pulled you off the desk and fixed your skirt. “levi-”

“save something for later, right?”

his promise of a later was enough. you left him to clean up and walked out the door with a sheepish smile and a whispered goodnight.

your phone buzzed on your way back to the dorms, and you stopped in your tracks when you saw the name on the screen.

professor ackerman: wear that green dress tomorrow.

you raised an eyebrow.

just the dress.

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 1/2

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, succubus magic, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added later.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Dubcon (if you squint), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read on AO3: Here

A/N: Remember the dead spider? I remember the dead spider. Anyways, the reception I've been getting on Starvin', Darlin' has me wanting to thank everyone with a one-shot. This got away from me so I went ahead and split it into two parts.

I've never written anything like this and it was significantly more difficult than a multi-chapter fic. I hope everything comes across the way its supposed to! And a huge thank you to my beta @imaginarydromedary for...you know... encouraging me to post this, despite everything.

From what you could tell, there wasn’t much to the apothecary. 

As you push open the dilapidated doors, your first thought is to search for supplies - anything that could help if things went south on your way to the goblin camp. 

Dried herbs hang from the rafters beneath a thin veil of cobwebs, filling your lungs with a pungent clash of scents. Empty bottles lined the shelves along the wall, caked in several months worth of dust. Large chunks of the building were missing where stone met splintered wood, some areas almost entirely overtaken by greenery.

You step over broken shards of pottery, scanning over the floor and countertops for something - anything that may be of use, but to your disappointment, it seems like the shop was entirely ransacked long before your arrival.

You sigh deeply, knowing you’ll likely never hear the end of this from your companions. It was your idea to search the village. You were the one who suggested taking out the goblin scouts, exerting everyones’ energy, and now you’re afraid you’ll have very little to show for it.

You catch a glint of gold, an object reflecting the sun's rays beneath a pile of rubble. You kneel down to brush away the surrounding debris, thankful for even the smallest promise of coin before your hands catch on… some sort of serrated edge?

You pull at it, and it easily comes loose. It's a thin, rectangular block, just barely larger than the length of your hand. You wipe away some of the dirt with your sleeve, revealing an intricately designed foil wrapping underneath.

As you speculate what this might be, you hear footsteps approaching from behind, light and familiar. You turn to face the elf with a smirk.

“You’re supposed to be the stealthy one.” You chide at him, playfully, “Or has my blood put a little skip in your step?”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been here the entire time, watching you fumble around in the dirt.” 

Crimson eyes study you, then the object you’re holding. He places his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side with a raised brow. “Is that what you’ve dragged us all the way here for?”

“First of all,” you waggle a finger at him, “You’re especially grumpy when you’re tired. I’ll have to make a note to prioritize your beauty rest. Second, I haven’t finished looking around, but check this out.”

You hand the bar to him as you stand. The cool skin of his fingers brush against your own, and you’re irritated with the way your heart skips at the brief contact. Why did the one man you found attractive in your camp have to be such a primadonna? And such a huge pain in the ass? 

Astarion’s eyes scan over the textured paper with suspicion, angling it towards the light to get a better look. The golden wrapping is stamped with an image of red lips On the back, letters twist and curve in a language you don't recognize, following a single circular pattern where they meet in the center. You’ve never seen anything like this, neither in your travels, nor within the city walls of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where did you find this?” 

You shrug, then point to the pile next to you. “It was buried right there.” 

He silently stares at the foil, mouth pursed, until your patience begins to wear thin.

“Well, can you read it or not?”

His nose scrunches. “Of course I can’t read it. It’s written in Infernal.”

That’s… odd. Why would an ordinary apothecary sell goods made by devils? Or, worse, for devils. Unless, of course, it was some sort of marketing trick, perhaps a play on the phrase ‘sinfully sweet’, or some other cringeworthy branding.

You take it back, turning it over in your hands before tearing at the corner of the wrapping. It's sectioned into dark, rich squares, and smells indisputably like chocolate.

“It looks like candy.”

“An excellent observation.” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, can we go? We’ve spent more than enough time here already.”

You roll your eyes and stuff it into your bag, setting off for camp, vampire in tow.

–

During dinner, you decide not to tell the others about what you found, knowing Astarion’s likely already forgotten the event. You set down your empty plate, thanking Gale for tonight’s meal. He smiles at you and bids you goodnight as you excuse yourself to your tent. 

You pick up your rucksack, thinking fondly of the dessert that awaits you inside. Having lived at the beck and call of your companions for weeks on end, you can’t help but smile at the idea of selfishly indulging in a small treat like this.

You tear open the rest of the wrapping and snap off one of the squares, immediately popping one into your mouth. It melts - buttery in texture, with a smokey, slightly bitter flavor. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten something so rich. Maybe weeks of the same rations have made you easier to impress, but this felt especially notable.

As you break off a second piece, a strange tingling sensation begins to spread across your lips - a pleasant buzzing that starts at your neck and spreads down through your chest. 

Strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You’ve heard of such inebriating chocolates, ones laced with alcohol or species of flowers that numb one’s senses for a short while. All harmless, of course, and you don’t have watch tonight. You may as well enjoy yourself. If worst comes to worst, Shadowheart is just outside with an assortment of spells and potions. Always better to ask for forgiveness.

It only takes you minutes to finish half the bar. You set the rest next to your bedroll for later and turn to blow out your candles, enjoying the lingering physical effects of the chocolate. Your skin feels flushed and delightfully warm as you settle down for the night.

When sleep finally takes you, it's dreamless, at first. Your consciousness sways, floating in an empty abyss, until colors begin to bleed onto the blank canvas of your mind.

A trickle of red morphs into the shape of familiar eyes, piercing you with their intensity..

Droplets of white spatter over a dark background, diffusing, blending into whisps. They curl and twist before settling into soft, coiffed fibers. 

Hair , you recognize immediately, his hair . His eyes.

Astarion. 

His image fully takes form, as if it had been waiting for you to make the connection before entirely revealing itself. 

He reaches out and seizes you, grabbing painfully at your hips as you crash into his body, hands exploring you - tight, possessive, squeezing at every inch of exposed skin before settling on the curve of your ass. He digs into your flesh with the blunt edge of his nails.

His lips press hot, wet kisses to your throat, mouthing just below the ear, before dragging his tongue along your nape and sucking, hard . You whine at the pressure, eliciting a grin from the elf, so characteristically pleased with the pathetic little noise he’s managed to pull from you.

“You thought sleeping would allow you to escape this - to escape me , unscathed?” He growls against your skin, his voice almost unrecognizable - as if it’s layered beneath a lighter, somehow more arrogant, feminine one.

“No, no, no. Wake up, darling. You’re in for a very long night.”

–

You startle awake, gasping - loud, labored breaths struggling to make use of the unbearably thin air. The edges of your tent bleed in and out of focus, spinning at a nauseating pace as you attempt to recollect yourself.

You wipe at the sweat collecting on your brow, the muscles of your arm heavy and aching, and find that your skin is absolutely drenched. 

Hot. Why is everything so hot? 

It's as if you're being cooked alive beneath your blankets, strangled beneath the furs. You throw them off; normally soft to the touch, the fibers now only worsen the prickling beneath your skin.

Could this be some sort of illness? A fever? 

No, this doesn’t make sense. Everything feels off. 

Fleeting thoughts of Astarion cross your mind - quick flashes of a sinful smile that was not his own.

It didn’t quite match the one you’d silently come to admire, and now that you think of it, the hunger in his gaze was much too intense for the reserved elf. 

His hands, his mouth, the way he touched you -

Your abdomen cramps, bringing your thoughts to a screeching halt.

A stabbing, visceral pain; a knife plunging into your organs. It overwhelms you, forces your body to curl into itself. You hold your pelvis, grunting, and grasp at your sheets. Tears sting the corner of your eyes.

This is - well, you have no idea what this is. 

You can’t think past the pounding in your head, the throbbing in your midsection. You're compulsively twisting, writhing, begging the gods for some sort of reprieve, but it's then when you make the most mortifying discovery of the night.

You’re soaked .

N ot just your smallclothes, which may have been understandable given your strange dreams, but through your damned pants. Not even the sheets were spared. 

“What  in the hells…?” 

You run your fingers over yourself, only intending to confirm the horrifying reality of your situation - that this is not, in fact, some sick, perverted nightmare, but the lightest touch sets off every nerve. 

You wail at the sensation: one massive wave of bliss giving way to several small jolts of pain. 

Pleasure to the point of agony.

The shock of the sudden orgasm courses from your sex through every limb, clenching and releasing pitiful, warm slick. It leaks freely out of you into your already thoroughly ruined underwear. 

Your heart pounds. You stay like that for what feels like a lifetime, toes curled, limbs twitching, waiting for your body to settle. 

After a minute or so, your breathing evens, and the thick haze surrounding your thoughts begins to lift just slightly, along with the suffocating heat. 

But something within you knows this isn’t the end - knows this isn’t enough . A desperation lurks beneath the surface that you can’t quite name. It screams at you. You need more.

‘Aw…’ A familiar, feminine voice prods at your mind. You quickly recognize her, the woman from your dreams who wore Astarion’s image.  

‘All alone, are we? Empty and needing to be filled? Doesn’t that hurt?’

It does. It aches unlike anything you’ve ever known. The lingering buzz of your orgasm just barely quells the worsening cramps, and they’re beginning to rear their ugly head again not minutes later.

You choke out a sob. “Wh- why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Sharp, wicked laughter fills your head, echoing off the walls of your skull. ‘I’m not doing anything, dear. Just enjoying the show.’ She hisses, ‘I told you, it’s going to be a very long night.’

You must be hallucinating. This fever - whatever this is, is simply cauterizing your senses, or possibly interacting with the tadpole? But the tadpole doesn’t speak, not like this. Never so clearly. Not with words.

Think, please. There has to be a reason this -

“Is everything alright?” Shadowheart raps on the canvas of your tent. “I heard a yelp. Are you hurt?”

Shit.

‘Ooh, this one might do!’  You feel an unwelcome… eagerness flood you.

No. No. Absolutely not.

You try not to panic. 

Under no circumstances should she or anyone else come in here.

The best strategy may be to ignore her - pretend you’re still sleeping. It seems like a good plan, but before you have a chance to follow through with it, another sharp contraction hits. This one is somehow even worse than the ones before. 

You pull your sheets up to your mouth to stifle your whine, but the half elf’s ears are sharper than most. “I’m coming in.”

She opens the flap to your tent and gasps when she sees you there - skin flushed pink, doubled over and covered in sweat. 

“Gods, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Her hand reaches out towards you. 

Without thinking, you swat it away with your own. Your skin tingles at the contact, and the essence of a smile crosses over the threshold into your mind. The intruder giggles with satisfaction.

“Don’t,” you plead, “Don’t touch me.”

She scans over you, taking in your humiliating state. Her face twists with concern. “I need to know if you’re feverish. Please. You look awful.” 

‘Well, I think you look delectable.’

You groan.

At this point, you know it’s no use fighting this thing on your own. You go back and forth on whether you want to tell her the whole truth, about the voice in your head and its influence on your body, but the idea mortifies you into silence. 

Regardless, a cleric is likely your best chance of fixing this literal mess, so you nod, close your eyes, and brace yourself.

Shadowheart’s palm meets your forehead. It’s somehow worse than you anticipated. Even the simple, chaste touch sends you reeling, as if her soft hands are caressing your entire body. Flashes of heat wash over you, burning your skin, threatening to pull you back under another wave of ecstasy. 

It’s too much. You try your hardest to suppress a moan, but the muffled sound manages to escape from between your tightened lips, pitiful and broken.

The disembodied voice squeals with delight.

She quickly retracts her hand, clearing her throat. “Apologies. I can confirm your temperature is… elevated, but the rest…” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You want to scream, cry - anything to release your frustration, but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to risk making any more unsavory noises.

“I believe I can give you some relief by treating the fever, but I’ll have to consult the others on the rest. This doesn’t look like any ordinary sickness.”

Consult the others? No. Gods, no. Nobody can know about this. Is she mad?

You intend to protest, beg her not to share this with anyone, tell her whatever death awaits you on the other side of this would be preferable, but she’s speaking an incantation before you have the chance.

A bright, green aura envelopes you, cooling your skin and ever so slightly easing the cramps. With the pain dulled, it's as though you can finally think again. 

You want to laugh. This situation is so utterly ridiculous that you’d find it hilarious, were it anyone else, but with the modicum of relief comes exhaustion - eyelids heavy, vision blurring with weariness.

“Get some rest. We’ll figure this out.” 

Her reassuring words are the last thing you hear before you’re overcome by darkness.

[reagent-leon]

Okay guys, I’m really sorry, but this is going to be another vent piece rather than a proper essay. Once again, I’m here to despair about the inconsistency in Coyle’s comic design. 

So, as we can see, Coyle's uniform is based on the New Mexico State Police uniform

This image in particular.

Everything is present and correct, except that Coyle's uniform has a mandarin collar rather than an open one. It really bugs me because while the image has been manipulated slightly, it just kinda looks like they stuck the standing collar on top of the uniform without trying to blend it? I mean look, you can even see the badge on the lapel has been copied over to the comic, even though they didn't use the open collar. What the fuck is that?

This is derivative and I've mentioned it before in another post, but I'm going to mention it again because it still pisses me off. They even left the SP on his Sam Browne belt. SP stands for State Police! The Blackwell Police Department is a municipal police agency! The Oklahoma equivalent of the NMSP is the Oklahoma Highway Patrol.

Coyle having a Russian shoulder patch and no Sergeant's chevrons? Lazy. And I mean that with my whole chest at this point, and imma tell you why I'm losing patience with this comic.

So, going back to the original image, above the rectangular name badge is a badge that I couldn't identify.

In an earlier post, I misidentified this pin as something similar to the badges below.

This style of badge appears to be connected to the Union, given its laurel theme. I admit, I was kind of surprised to learn that Oklahoma and what was known as Indian Territory at the time, were a part of the Union and not the Confederacy, however, the American Civil War isn't my area of expertise.

But on closer inspection... do you see what I see? The four thunderbolts? That badge is an EOD, an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Badge.

Now that as a concept is cool as fuck. Coyle being part of the bomb squad actually makes a lot of narrative sense. Coyle is implied to be very good with electrics (and possibly just DIY in general, given we hear him referencing power tools). By the time he's killed his third wife, the man is rigging full-on saw traps to get rid of his in-laws.

So if Coyle's got the brains and the will, what's the problem? Well, the thing is, EOD badges were originally created for the military in the 50s, and we have no evidence that Coyle served in the Korean War to have earned such a badge, nor would he have reason to display it on his police uniform. Those credits don't transfer.

There isn't any one set Law Enforcement EOD badge, and it differs from agency to agency, but for a small agency like the Blackwell Police Department to have their own designated bomb squad in the 1950s... while it's not impossible, it's a pretty big stretch. If Coyle had been part of the Oklahoma Highway Patrol, it would make more sense as it's a larger agency, but from my limited research, even the OHP didn't have a formal bomb squad until the 1970s.

So while it would be super cool if it were canon that Coyle is a bomb disposal expert... I just don't see enough historical evidence for it.

I would give Red Barrels actual physical money for them to remake Coyle and Phyllis' comics in the original comic styles, because this photomanipulation-collage type shit just isn't it.

Imagine if something happened to Coyle that made him unsuitable to be a prime asset, so they take him on as an engineer... hopefully not in the same sleep room as Noakes.

I hope this rant has been educational, or at least entertaining to watch me get heated over. Coyle could be such an interesting character, but I keep running face-first into walls of inconsistency 😔

[dollyzdaydreamz]

Arthur Morgan x Reader:

A Clearer View

Description: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Dutch's daughter Reader. Turns out, you’re not a terrible shot: you’re just blind. After Dutch chews you out for missing targets during a train heist, Arthur takes it upon himself to ‘fix’ the problem which brings a whole lot of unsolicited observations about Arthur Morgan. Warnings: guns, knives, humor, fluff, Dutch being stubborn, John being annoying (✿◕‿◕✿)

The first time you miss a shot in the middle of a train heist, you tell yourself it’s the high winds drafting over the area (it is elevated terrain, after all). The second time, you blame the gun. You haven’t cleaned it in a while (seeing as gun oil has been sold out lately). But by the third time, when your bullet strays wide and Dutch’s expression hardens as he turns to you amidst the gunfire, there’s no excuse to be made other than the fact that you simply cannot see from that far. Instead, you opt for pulling out your knife and taking down the gunmen from behind.

After the men have been cleared out, your father gathers everyone, giving each person instructions. Lenny, Arthur, and Micah are to search the train cars for valuables: money, jewelry, bonds. Even Bill has a task. As the group separates, you turn to your father.

“Well, what can I do?”

Dutch scoffs. “Well, exactly! What can you do?”

Ouch.

“If Arthur didn’t have you covered, you’d be dead!”

Your stomach knots as you lower your head.

He falters, his tone softening just slightly. “What is going on with you, Y/N?”

“I don’t know. I-”

“You don’t know?” His voice sharpens again, and suddenly, he’s right in front of you, eyes filled with something between disappointment and frustration. “Y/n, we don’t get to ‘not know’ in this life, do you understand?”

You swallow and nod.

He shakes his head, turning away. “Sort yourself out. Go back to camp and get some rest.”

As he stalks off, you exhale shakily, jaw clenching to keep the sting of frustration at bay.

Arthur leans against the crate he's just finished looting, arms crossed, watching, but unlike Dutch, his expression isn’t one of disappointment. After a few more days of watching you squint at distant things, tilting your head like a damn lost dog, he finally decides to do something.

A week later, he rides back into camp from Saint Denis as the sunsets over camp. You’re busy sitting at the little table outside your tent, cleaning your revolver, when a small bundle is tossed into your lap.

“Here.”

You catch it instinctively, looking down to see a rectangular box wrapped in blue velvet cloth. Frowning, you glance up. “What’s this?”

“Glasses.”

You blink. “Glasses?”

“Yeah. For seein" he clarifies, "y’know, that thing you ain’t been doin’ so well lately.”

You smile, about to thank him, but you falter when a warning finger meets your face “Now, I—I stole ‘em on that train, so don’t go thinkin’ I’m soft or nothin."

You huff a laugh but unwrap the bundle carefully. Inside, several pairs of frames sit nestled in their case, "That' why these are all marked with Sam's Spectacle Shop, Saint Denis?" you ask, feigning ignorance.

"Shut up." he huffs half-heartedly, sitting down beside you as you pick up the first pair and slide them on, only to immediately grimace at how the world bends strangely around you.

Arthur watches as you try another, then another, until finally-

You still.

Everything kind of sharpens. The blurred greens of the trees become distinct leaves, each serrated edge visible. The grass at your feet is no longer just a vague smear of green but individual blades, shifting with the evening wind. And when you turn your gaze to Arthur-

You hesitate.

For the first time, you notice things you hadn’t before. The speckle of green in his otherwise blue eyes, and the white strands in his hair underneath all the brown locks, something you find oddly charming. His face flushes slightly under the brim of his hat, clearly flustered at you studying him the way one might examine a painting in better light.

“You know, you’ve got some white hairs,” you blurt out, motioning to the side of his head.

Arthur furrows his brows at the uncalled-for observation before you begin to backtrack, realizing that might sound offensive.

“No, I mean-” you sputter. “It looks nice. Makes you look...uhm-mature, seasoned.” You gesture vaguely with a sarcastic grin.

He scoffs, reminded of the way Dutch sells him on some awfully thought-out, spur-of-the-moment plan, letting his body language do the work.

Arthur shakes his head, "Well, you sure are an odd girl," he says, getting up. But you catch a peak of that small smile tugging at his lips as he walks off, muttering something about those “Damned Van der Linde's."

Just as you’re about to head to your father’s tent, John, still recovering from his facial injuries, ambles over with Abigail.

“Well, ain’t this something? You look even more like a dork now,” he chuckles, pushing your glasses up further on your nose, a bit rougher than intended, making your head snap back. Abigail smacks his hand away, "John Marston, you rotten man! I think you look just fine, honey."

"Why thank you, Abigail," you say, shooting John a glare, "I can see a lot more clearly now."

Before John can utter another word, you speak up again, “And you’re uglier than I thought. Damn shame, really.”

John snorts out a laugh, “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” he hollers as he walks away with a giggling Abigail, waving you goodbye as they head towards their tent for the night.

You push open the lapels of your father’s tent with a mockingly stern expression, letting your framed eyes peruse the space. He’s busy looking over a map with Hosea, likely discussing a new lead. Dutch lifts his head, and for a fleeting moment, an almost imperceptible flash of guilt for scolding you earlier in the week crosses his face when he realizes it’s you.

“What’s this? Some new fashion trend?” he chuckles, motioning vaguely to your eyes.

“No,” you huff, taking a few steps closer. “Apparently, I’m not incapable of shooting-I’m just… somewhat blind.”

Dutch turns his head back to the map, unwilling to apologize just yet. “A damn shame.”

Hosea lifts his head up and flashes you a familiar, warm smile amidst the chill of the tent, "Those suit you! Where'd you buy them?" "I didn't, Arthur said he 'stole 'em for me'" you say with air quotes and Hosea chuckles,

"Terrible liar that brute is, their clearly brand new," he muses. You hand them over to him so he can inspect them more closely, before he gingerly puts them back on your face.

"I’m hoping you can get back to being one of our sharpest shooters.” he grins, nudging the revolver strapped to your waist,

“And I’m sure some people will regret doubting your abilities,” he adds, giving Dutch a pointed look to which he waves off with an inaudible murmur as he stares at the map.

“Ahh, come on, Father. I know that apology’s coming around eventually,” you say, giving him a rough pat on his hunched back. Beside him, you take notice to the oil lamp illuminating his makeshift library shelf.

“It better,” you hear Hosea say as you snatch one of the neatly organized books, knowing your father hates when you do that.

“Y/N!” Dutch finally yells, getting up from his seat, as you scurry out of his tent and back into your own with some new reading material to share with Mary-Beth.

The next morning, you and Arthur ride out after turning a bounty into the sheriffs office just for the heck of it, the sun casting long shadows over the valley. You glance at him sideways, noticing the faint freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, barely visible beneath all the dirt.

"You know… you have freckles," you mutter, getting a better look at them.

Arthur lets out a breath of laughter, leaning away from your pressing gaze. "Jesus. We doin’ this again?"

"I'm just sayin" you raise your hands in defense, "I never saw ‘em before."

A little sign marked in white paint comes into view a few meters ahead, and you realize that, without Arthur’s gift, you wouldn’t have been able to read it.

“First one to that sign wins!” you blurt out, not giving Arthur a chance to react before spurring your horse into a sprint.

“Wha—hey! Get back here, woman!” Arthur hollers before tugging his reins. “Shoulda left her blind,” he mutters.

But behind all his grumbling, he doesn’t seem to mind your new discoveries one bit.

dividers by @enchanthings-as on tumblr:) images found on pinterest but collaged by me

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Zombie + Restoration Hobbyist Reader Blurb

-

"Blink once if you can hear me."

It calls to them from the darkness - a voice melancholic yet strangely robotic in its application. It's familiar - like something they've heard in a dream. They can't move. Their arms feel as though they're pinned beneath boulders. Their legs feel weightless. The place in their mouth were their tongue sat felt dry and... exposed. Left with no other choice, their eyelids flicker upwards. The flesh over their right eye feels to be constructed of foreign tissue - metal scrapping over the weight in the socket where their eye once was. The image of the figure standing over them is fleeting, lips pulled thin in an expression of approval.

"Blink twice."

Their eyes flutter open for a second time - remaining there as two finger pry apart the lids of their still functioning eye.

"Good. It's fortunate that you are still able to hear. At the moment, my fixes are merely cosmetic so I'm afraid you won't be able to see out of that eye of yours for some time. If you are like other patients I've had the issue will work out on its own."

Their eye rolls idly in their head - struggling to make out any features of the person through the blazing lights overhead.

"You must have questions. Forgive me- I wasn't expecting you to wake up before I had time to work on your jaw. Please use this to communicate if you wish, you can ask me anything."

Function to their left hand returns - their wrist raw and lacking the binding weight shacking it in place. Restraints? Smooth plastic rolls beneath their fingertip as they flex the stiff joints of their digits. Their fingers trace out the rectangular shape of the keyboard's space bar. Gliding gracelessly over the keys, a hand helps stabilize their moments as they begin to type. A computer monitor awakens from its sleep as words pop up on its screen.

"Where am I?"

A common question. "You are in my workplace. I repair things from time to time to keep myself busy. I found you in a creek nearby during a stroll the other night. Thankfully, you hadn't been in there long or I would've had to replace more than the skin of your eye."

Their hand draws up to their eye, feeling the odd texture over their eye. It's felt.

"I hate to bring up any bad memories from the past, but I need to ask in order to provide you with the care you require. Do you remember anything from the day you died?"

Died?... That's... honestly not the most surprising thing about this ordeal. A stabbing pain blisters at the back of their mind as they try to remember. A boat. A shotgun. Laughter. Tears. Please, no. It's not funny just put it down. Please. please-

"Boating trip. They said if I tagged along I could finally be apart of their group. I thought I could trust them. They said they were my friends. They said"

Their body lurches forward - fighting against the bite of their bonds. It hurts. It hurts so much. Why are they still here? Garbble wails ricochet off the bedroom walls. In their time of misery, another memory rushes to the forefront of their mind. Their body convulsing on an operating table. The gentle hushes of another as they pet back their hair - drying blackened tears from the corners of their eyes. A compassionate hand from the world that had abandoned them when they needed someone most.

"Hold me."

"What?"

"I remember.. Arms around me. A voice calling out to me. Promising me everything would be okay. That was you - right? Hold me. I don't want to be alone. Please, don't let me be alone anymore."

The hobbyist removes the glove from their dominant hand, wiping the leathery flesh were thick, congealing tears pool. You pull your newest patient closer - mindful of their stitches as you rub small circles along their spine.

"You can stay here as long as you like. While I'm not the most social person, I can't turn away someone who needs my assistance."

Their sobs are reduced to small whimpers as they cling into you - dying your apron in various fluids as their arm locks around your midsection in a vice grip. You grab onto their other wrist, preventing them from wrestling it out of their chains leaving you with more work in the future if their skin were to tear.

"I know this is a lot for you, but please try not to damage yourself further."

Their arm drops from your waist - fingers flying over the keyboard on a flurry.

"What's your name?"

"My name?... You can just call me Y/n."

[sparklingblu]

Limerence (ft. ILLIT Minju)

I don't even know what to call this. Somewhat of a fluff but not really a fluff either. Something that just pops into my mind.

"So he asked 'Is it better to speak or die?' "

"That's the stupidest story I have ever heard"

Minju leaves no chance for you to savour that feeling that comes after quoting something particularly clever. Or she's just being a jerk as usual.

"You are just anti-romantic"

You protest though you know she will have thought of a retort before you finish.

"There's nothing romantic about this story"

"It's a love story for christ's sake"

"Where's the 'love' ?"

You slump back in your chair, defeated. Either she's too dumb to understand your point or you are just bad at telling stories. The latter's probably more likely.

The story's not an ordinary one in the first place. It involves a knight and a princess but it ends neither with a 'happily ever after' nor a bloodbath where they both rip their hearts out. There isn't even an ending.

'Is it better to speak or die?'

The last sentence on this paper of the dusty hard covered book which has turned yellow from the years it have endured. It's a mircale how it's still intact.

You mummur the question under your breath, trying to make sense of the words. But they are still nothing more than a jumbled mess in your mind.

The funny thing is, this is not your first time reading this story. You are actually too familiar with it. The setting, the characters, the way it almost seems to tell the secret you have carefully hidden; it doesn't make sense that you are still confused what this single question everything has lead up to mean. Still, you are here, no wiser than the first time you have read this tale.

In some time immemorial in an unknown kingdom lived a princess and a knight, each a good friend to another. Perhaps because of this closeness, the knight started to feel something more than companionship to the princess. Feelings that shouldn't exist given their scoial status. The princess knew it too though she ptetends to be oblivious. Nonetheless, the knight found himself unable to express his desires - torn between the fear of losing what he currently has and the turmoil of hiding himself. So one day, when he took his usual walk with the princess through the garden, he mustered up the courage to ask one single question.

"Is it better to speak or die?"

The End.

Anyone can guess at this point that the knight meant if it's better to put his feelings into words and sacrifice their friendship or die knowing that he will never have what he wants. You wish it's that simple.

You and Minju have been stuck in the same page for an hour now, still having no idea how to progress your assignment. The task was a paper on an in depth analysis on a tale of your choice. Now you regret not choosing 'The Tortoise & The Hare".

"Why do you choose this one anyway? There are like a million other better choices"

Minju says, gesturing at the endless shelves of books that surround you on all sides. Not millions but perhaps a thousand other choices you could have made in this rectangular bank of knowledge; the local library.

Somewhere distinct, you hear a bell chimes, signaling the arrival to the later hour of the night. You glance at your watch. It's already 9 pm. A cough reasonates from the counter near the entrance, emitted by none other than the librarian. The ghastly old woman seems to be signalling that we don't have much time left.

I don't have much time left.

Minju's translucent pupils are fixed on you, still waiting for your answer. You break out of the haze.

"Because it's.."

'Relatable'. The word is 'Relatable'. But she doesn't need to know that. Never.

"Interesting I guess"

You finish, not quite daring to meet her eyes. She might see the guilt of your dishonest words in them.

"Seriously? This is interesting? Next time you think something is interesting, feel free to ask my opinion"

"Not everyone have great taste"

You mean it to be a playful jab but her face distorts to something along the line of fury and hurt. And her lips part.

No. Please don't be mad.

Please.

"Jerk"

Her words put out the flames of fear threatening to rise in your chest. There. All good. She's not mad.

You let out a sigh of relief but quickly mask it as a half formed scoff. She can't know. So you waver her attention.

"Tell me then. What's your opinion on this story apart from it being hopelessly stupid"

Her lips stretch to a soft smile. You have put her back into her comfort zone.

"It's not about love like you think. It's about cowardice"

"Enlighten me"

She crosses her arms, the pose she always takes before her rosy lips spill out a waterfall of the most beautiful syllables. It also makes her look superior. The table, which is the only thing between you two seems like a brick wall now.

"The knight doesn't say 'I love you' or anything of that sort, does he? He's scared out of his wits so he decided to go for a safer alternative. That question. It literally says 'I'm a coward who can't even properly confess' "

Is she mocking you?

Probably not. She doesn't know. She will never know.

Still....

'Is it better to spek or die?'

A coward's attempt at love; complicated and imperfect. At least he has the courage to mutter those cowardly words.

"You are not wrong but can't it be that he's just scared of losing her?"

Yes. You are referring to yourself.

But she won't know.

"He already loses her after saying these words"

"You don't know that. You don't know what the pericess's answer was. She could have accepted him"

"You don't know that either"

Now she's fighting you with your own words.

"What would you have answered if you were the princess then?"

Is that an indirect confession? An attempt to ask her opinion without facing the shame that comes after rejection? You hope not.

"I don't know...I would probably ask him to speak in English"

"Not funny at all"

Your answer makes her raise her brows in disbelief as if saying - "I know I will never not be funny to you. You are too obsessed with me not to."

But that's impossible. She doesn't know.

Has she spoken these words aloud, you would happily agree with her. But that's just momentary courage. Your tongue would be tied to knots in a hearbeat if that ever happens.

That begs the question again.

'Is it better to speak or die?'

"Whatever" she says in exasperation. "I'm not lovey dovey enough for this"

"Seriously. Just tell me what you would have said"

There. You are pushing again, desperate for that answer even if it's not directed at you. You would cling to a tiny hope if it's ever a positive one.

"I don't know. Probably tell him to speak because I don't want anyone going suicidal mode because of me"

"He will still go suicidal if you reject him after he confess"

"Why are you asking me those? Were you in such a situation before?"

You surpress a chuckle that nearly slips your tongue.

What a fool you are Minju. You can't even spot the truth that's hidden in plain sight. The truth that has gone rusty and rotten because it has been locked up for so long. Still, it's not her fault.

You have hidden it so well.

She doesn't need to know.

"Yes"

You can't believe you say the word. It's as if someone has possessed you and put those words on your tongue.

"Poor you"

And just like that, it ends.

You have expected her to push you, given her curious nature. You want her to lend you the courage to say those words you have mummur countless times in your dreams. But she just leaves you hanging there like that. Cruel.

Can't blame her though.

She doesn't know.

Another cough pierces through the invisible viel that has seperated you two from the world outside.

9:25 pm.

5 minutes away until this tedious session of back and forth ends.

Why is it that you don't want it to end?

The papers in front of you are bare as they were an hour ago. The book still turned at the same page. The question that haunts you still lies there, imprinted in black.

'Is it better to speak or die?'

Neither. Because that's a stupid question just like Minju said. It's constructed to mess with your mind. You gotta stop dwelling on it.

"Anyway-"

Chimes

That sound. It can only mean one thing.

Minju pulls her phone out of her pocket, the glow of it illuminating her angelic feature as she turns it on. Not a moment sooner, her lips hold the prettiest of smiles.

And in all the wrong ways.

"Gotta go"

Her dismissal cuts through the tense air as she hurriedly put the papers back into her bag. Is she that desperate to get away from you?

"My boyfriend's waiting for me. We have a date tonight"

You are not angry. It would be wrong. Though it's only natural to envy the one who's living your fantasy. But the faults are not in our stars.

"Alright. Goodnight"

Minju's footsteps echo on the mahogany floor as she finally escapes the torturous session you have put her though, flying away to an embrace better than yours in every way.

But it's ok.

Because she doesn't know.

She gives a quick wave to the old librarian who does nothing to reciprocate the action. That hag doesn't know how lucky she is.

"Minju"

You call before the rest of her form disppears through these creaking doors. She turns on her heels, a stray strand of hair clinging like an unifinished piece of art to her forehead. The shadows cast by the moonlight does nothing to hide her.

"Yes?"

You breath.

And utter.

"Is it better to speak or die?"

___________________________________________

Took the famous question from the movie "Call me by your name". Though I alter the story. Thanks for reading this madness.

[natalievoncatte]

The palm-print panel was cool under Lena’s touch. She pressed her hand to the rectangular plate next to her front door and waited for the brief moment it needed to scan her skin. The door unlocked with a meaty thump and she pushed it open with her other hand, absently checking her phone as she stepped inside. As the system scanned her biometrics, it detected stress and dimmed the lights, automatically turned on the television to an abstract screen saver with cool tones, and began to play an arrangement for a violins to soothe her nerves.

She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot into the kitchen, where she skipped the countertop wine cellar and pulled out the half-empty box of Trader Joe’s vintage that she’d taken a liking to thanks to Kara. She pours herself half a tumbler full as a silent fuck you to her mother and took a swig, then walked out into her living room to sit down in the gloom for a few minutes and think.

Supergirl was sitting on her couch, head flopped back over the back so that her hair fanned out across the white leather. She sat splayed with her knees apart and legs out, arms resting on her thighs. Lena wasn’t sure if she was awake.

As she drew closer, she caught a small gasp. Supergirl had a black eye, and there were scrapes on her cheeks and the backs of her hands, the blood barely crusted. Both her hands and her face were bruised and she had a tiny split in her lip.

Lena placed the wine on the table, nerves jangling when the bottom rattled against the pale marble from the shaking of her hand. Her heart raced as she drew closer. Supergirl had taken off her cape and draped it over the couch. It was none the worse for wear but was covered in scorch marks.

Suoergirl’s broad chest heaved once and she let out a long, pained sigh.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Supergirl.”

She let out a little laugh, wincing. “Do we need be so formal?”

“I don’t have anything else to call you,” Lena said, coolly. “Mind if I ask why you’re in my apartment?”

“You don’t lock the balcony doors. You should.”

Lena sighed and folded her arms. “I said why, not how.”

Supergirl didn’t look at her.

“I just got the snot beaten out of me. Everything hurts.”

“I didn’t think that was possible.”

How was it possible? Curiosity tugged at her, but concern shot through it, making her fidget with her hands. Lena hated fidgeting. It made her look weak, and she could still remember the pain when Lillian cracked the ruler across her knuckles to break the habit.

“Can I have some wine?”

Lena swallowed hard.

“Sure,” she said.

She went to the kitchen and poured. When she returned to the living room, Supergirl was sitting up, hunched forward and leaning on he knees. Lena started a little at the sight. Sitting that way displayed the wide, muscular set of her shoulders and arms, especially her meaty biceps. Her back was a rare sight -she wore a cape, after all- and just as exquisitely muscled.

She was looking at her hands, at the damage to her muscles. Lena offered the glass and she took it. Her fingers were warm when they brushed against Lena’s, strangely soft.

Supergirl took a long pull of wine and smacked her lips, then winced.

“It’s times like this I wish I could get drunk.”

“You can’t?”

“Not on wine and not for very long.”

“Interesting.”

“So I have a problem,” Supergirl said. She was still looking at her hands.

“And that is?”

“I have to call off work tomorrow. These will heal, and I’ll look exactly the same. I don’t get scars anymore. But they’ll be visible for a day or so.”

“I see.”

“But I have to get brunch with someone, and they’ll be able to tell. Concealer won’t do much for this.” She touched her eye, wincing.

“Wait here,” said Lena.

She came back a moment later with some wash clothes soaked in cold water on a tray. Hands still shaking a little as she placed it on the table. Tenderly, she took one of the washcloths and dabbed the back of Supergirl’s hands, cleaning away the grime and dried blood from the abrasions.

Supergirl sighed. “That feels good. Thank you.”

“May I?” said Lena.

Supergirl hesitated, doubt flashing deep within the endless depths of her blue eyes, but she turned to Lena and tilted up her chin. With shaking fingers, Lena cupped Supergirl’s face gently and used a fresh cloth to clean and cool the cut on her lip. Supergirl closed her eyes and sighed.

Lena’s eyes wandered up, to the small mark above her eye.

“You don’t scar. Did you get that on Krypton?”

“Yes. I slipped and fell when I was a little girl. You should have seen me. I bled all over.”

“Must be nice, not getting hurt anymore. Not feeling pain.”

“I still feel it.”

Lena paused.

“I feel every bullet and blow and bomb blast just like anyone would,” said Supergirl. Just because it doesn’t harm me doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” said Supergirl.

She opened her eyes -eye- and looked at Lena reverently, one pretty blue eye glittering while the other remained bruised shut. She smiled a lopsided, honest smile, looked at Lena in a dreamy, almost adoring way that-

Wait.

“Oh my God,” Lena breathed.

“Hi,” said Kara.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Lena whispered. “Oh my God, what happened, how did this happen to you? You’re hurt!”

“I had a tough time with a very determined alien and had to worry about civilians,” said Kara. “It happens.”

Lena’s pulse raced and her breath quickened. Her gaze darted, searching and noticing every detail. She was so beautiful, and she was so Kara.

“Why now?” said Lena. “Why this time?”

“I don’t know.”

Lena bit her lip, and the tiny gesture had a noticeable impact on Kara. Her eyes widened and her gaze fell to Lena’s bottom lip, then flicked back up.

“So your brunch,” said Lena. “That was with me.”

“Yeah. I thought about cancelling but I can’t. I needed to see you now.”

Lena shifted closer on the couch, until they were hip to hip.

“Why?”

“Because I just got punched in the head by an alien with big stupid bone spurs coming out of his fist and I need to see you. I won, by the way. It was really cool. I ripped a fire hydrant out of the ground and hit him with it.”

Lena looked her up and down. Her jaw began to quiver.

“Oh God. Is it worse than it looks? Are you hurt worse than you look, Kara? Are you…”

Kara shook her head, then winced. “No. Not that bad, promise. I just…” she sighed. “I’m tired of going to lay on a sunbed and going back to my empty apartment and spend a sick day napping on the couch.”

Lena let out a slow breath. “So you came to see me.”

“Yuuup,” Kara said, slowly.

Lena shifted awkwardly in her seat. Kara slowly reached over with her now clean hand and curled her fingers around Lena’s chin.

“Lena?” she whispered. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

Kara turned and leaned into her, pressing the slightest, lightest kiss to Lena’s lips, not a quick peck but something slow and soft, warm and inviting.

“Ow,” Kara muttered.

“Kara,” Lena whispered.

“I have any idea. Since I can’t make brunch… how about breakfast?”

Lena leaned against her, gently draping her arms around her as they fell back into the soft cushions together.

“Okay.”

[pretty-blkgirl]

W.E.A.Y [Ch. 3]

-Masterlist-

It’s embarrassing.

Walking into a *very important* meeting late, having ten men watch you as you come in, and your manager greet you with relief.

“She’s here! We can get this meeting started”

“Where are the girls?” You ask, looking around the room. Your members weren’t there, for whatever reason. You notice the only person you really know is your manager, Moni, who nervously fiddled with the bottom of her blazer.

“The girls are rehearsing. This meeting is just for you and the guys”

“I feel outnumbered” You joke, walking over to the only empty chair that sat around the huge, rectangular table. Bang Chan sat across from you, and you could feel his disapproval washing over you.

You knew Chan had the most beef with you because you were always getting into it with his members. Those seven men were his family, and he was wildly overprotective of them.

But, though he didn’t like you, he could never bring himself to be disrespectful. So, he greeted you.

“Hi Y/n, thank you for coming” 

“No problem” You answer, awkwardly.

In all reality, you wanted to ask him why he was thanking you. You all were at your company, shouldn’t you be thanking him-

“I’d like to tell you that the kids and I are excited about this collab,” He said, his voice as monotone as ever, “The fans seem to be looking forward to it too”

“I thank you all for agreeing to even work on this album with me and the girls,” You say, not meeting his eyes, “We um, were big fans of your music, so we’re sure the album will be amazing”

Your manager smiled proudly. As much as you wanted to be snarky, you knew it wasn’t the time. It was early, there was a fraud detection on your bank account, and you just wanted to get the day over with.

“And we’re big fans too” Felix spoke up

“Can we talk about the incident that happened the other day?” Changbin asked, “I appreciate that we’re trying to be polite, but I don’t think it’s wise to ignore it”

You cleared your throat, your ears got hot, and you could feel everyone staring at you.

“What I said on stage wasn’t the most mature, my bad” You started

Moni claps her hands, smiling at you and looking over at the group, “Okay! So we’re good now?”

“But” You interrupt, holding a perfectly manicured hand up, “I only did that because Hyunjin tripped me”

“That was an accident” He nearly yelled, “I apologized as soon as it happened. And does that even matter? Didn’t you spill purple stuff all over Changbin?”

“Oh please, it was GRAPE JUICE. It’ll wash right out”

“No, it’s going to stain a WHITE suit” I.N defended 

Moni stands, the irritation evident on her face, “Okay, let’s all calm down”

“No!” You say, standing with her, “Maybe I wanted to get a tiny, itsy bit of juice on his suit. I didn’t mean for all of that to happen”

It’s Han’s turn to stand, “Why would you want to fuck up his suit in the first place? We had to be on the red carpet like 10 minutes before that”

You point at him, eyes narrowing, “Because YOU decided to start screaming outside my GOTDAMN dressing room”

“I was SINGING. So sorry I like to warm up my voice before shows”

“Why didn’t you sing in your dressing room?”

“Han smirks, “Oh my members were sleeping, didn’t wanna wake them”

You roll your eyes, and that seems to piss Han off because he walks around the table to stand right in front of you

“I only did that because you decided to be rude towards Felix.”

“I didn’t do anything to him!”

“You ignored him! He was trying to say hello and you ignored him, that wasn’t cool”

You didn’t have a comeback, because you knew he was right. So, you looked away and spotted a pink-faced Felix.

“Felix, I’m so sorry I didn’t greet you. It was immature, it was rude, and I shouldn’t have done it”

His blush deepened, but he accepted your apology with a gentle nod and polite smile. 

“Okay! I apologized, are we done now?”

“What did we do to you?” Lee Know questioned.

He and Seungmin had not said a word since everything started. They preferred to be quiet, people watched before they hopped in any situation.

“I mean, what started all of this? Really”

You knew what started it, but you didn’t want to say. Because in all honesty, it wasn’t them. It was the comparisons.

“Female Stray Kids”

“Wannabe Stray Kids”

You hated comparisons. It was petty, but when a radio host compared you all to the group in your face, live on air, you decided you never wanted to be associated with them again.

You started to resent them, then you all met backstage, and their manager made a joke about the comparisons.

They laughed, and your members laughed, you didn’t though. You always figured they looked down on you, so you made it up in your mind to hate them.

Childish? Yeah, maybe. But it had messed with your head so much to where you were doubting if you were Y/n or just a copy of an already successful group. 

To thrive in an industry, you have to be authentic. And they were the one thing standing in the way of that.

Did you want to tell them that? No. They’d probably laugh at you.

So you shrugged, crossed your arms, and sat back down.

“There’s some tension” Moni sighed, “But this album is happening. You all will be seeing a lot of each other for the foreseeable future. Might as well get used to it”

“And how are we supposed to get used to it?” Seungmin asked. Not in a rude way, as if he was confused.

Then a smirk appeared on your manager’s face, one that meant you wouldn’t like what she had up her sleeve. 

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

Taglist: @chuuyaobsessed @h0rnyp0t @prttyxbby @yukichan67 @hanniemylovelyquokka @xxeiraxx @loveforlee444 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @cunninglibrarian @holly-here @galaxy4489 @hyunmikim @yougottobekittenme @hyeon-yi @katsukis1wife @multi-fandom-nightmare @staybabblingbaby @kozumesphone @fuck-you-im-gae @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @champagneconfetti @juju-227592 @borahae-reads @reallychaoticwoo @hwangfrnd @fiest4plum @tsukiesimp @minniesverse @kpopnonous @estella-novella @fakeraccount @lezleeferguson-120

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Second Part to Sleepwalking Eddie

Eddie still had his doubts when it came to him sleepwalking. So, Steve did what anyone else would do in his situation. He bought a video camera. Of course, it was right after he bought it that the sleepwalking seemed to stop for a while. Was Eddie fucking with him or was it his kind of luck that this had happened?

Because of the whole sleepwalking naked incident, Steve made sure word got around for everyone to call first before coming over. Eddie had a tendency to take naps after he ate lunch, and it was one of those days. It was also the day when Dustin decided that Steve was just bullshitting them and popped in unannounced. Steve had groaned when he opened his front door to find a grinning Dustin.

"No! You can't come in," Steve hissed. "Eddie is napping."

"So? I promise not to wake him," Dustin said and made his way through the door. "Unless. . .is he really napping, or did you get so annoyed by his presence that you finally killed him? After everything we did to save him. Damn, Steve."

"No, you shithead. I did not kill your precious dungeon master," Steve said, rolling his eyes and closing the door. "I'm gonna call Hop and tell him you broke into my house, though . . . And I actually like having Eddie around, for your information."

"See, I told you that you two would be great friends," Dustin said with his back to him.

Steve rolled his eyes as he mouthed the words with Dustin. He knew he would say something like that. He followed Dustin into the living room and watched him as he flopped onto the couch, propping up his feet onto the coffee table.

"Hey! Feet off the table! God. Were you born in a barn?" Steve asked.

"Boy, wouldn't that just embarrass the hell out of you if that were true?" Dustin asked.

Suddenly, Eddie walked into the room, his eyes closed slightly as he wore nothing but his boxers and one sock.

"Shit," Steve cursed and grabbed Dustin before he went to greet him. "Don't wake him."

"Why?" Dustin asked with wide eyes. "Oh my God! He's cursed, isn't he?"

"What? No. No! Wayne told me you're not supposed to wake a sleepwalker," Steve said.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Eddie grabbed the blanket and wrapped it completely around Dustin. He pulled him to the couch and sat down. He laid Dustin down in his his arms and began to rock him.

"Steve? Steve?! What is he doing?" Dustin asked.

"I think he's rocking you to sleep, man," Steve replied.

"Baby sleepy, shh," Eddie mumbled.

"No, baby is NOT sleepy," Dustin said and then muttered, "Baby just had a nap. . . Steve! Don't just stand there! Do something!"

"Hold on!" Steve exclaimed and ran off.

When he came back, he had something black and rectangular in his arms.

"What is - Steve, is that - is that a GODDAMN camera?" Dustin asked.

"Eddie doesn't believe that he sleepwalks. I need proof," Steve said. "Can you just give it a few more minutes?"

"Fine," Dustin grumbled. "But you should know this is absolutely humiliating."

"You owe me. One, for showing up without calling and two, for walking in here like you own the place. All without an apology," Steve said.

"Don't use logic against me, Steve," Dustin replied. "Why does he have a country accent? Maybe this is his real accent, and he hides it."

"Maybe," Steve said as he adjusted the camera on his shoulder.

"Baby hungry?!" Eddie asked.

"Steve? STEVE?!"

"Shit!"

Steve stopped him before he could press Dustin against his chest.

"Baby's been fed, remember?" Steve asked Eddie.

"By bats?!" Eddie asked.

"Uh, yeah, he's been fed by bats," Steve replied. "He's also had a nap. Can I hold him?"

Eddie grumbled before pushing Dustin away from him and walking out of the room. Dustin unwrapped himself from the swaddle.

"Well, that was strange," Dustin said.

"Dustin, if you tell anyone about his sleepwalking or joke about us being your parents ever again, I'll show the tape to Max," Steve said.

"You wouldn't!"

"I would."

"Fine."

"Steve?! Why the fuck am I in the kitchen and why do I have partially eaten block of cheese in my hands? I'm lactose!" Eddie called. "And don't say I was sleepwalking again!"

"Magic! It was magic, okay?!" Steve yelled back, rolling his eyes.

"I fucking knew it!"

[boba-beom]

bff!beomgyu NSFW

okay but beomgyu as your best friend since birth, who’s literally experienced everything you have because you went thru it together.

the whole kindergarten, elementary, high school and a shit prom where both your dates bailed on you so you thought you guys were so dumb for not just going with each other in the first place. after all, that’s what best friends do.

and then when it came to college, you moved away and he went to your city’s college. you only came back for the holidays and every time you came home, beomgyu would have inches added to his height, his features fitting his face, his jaw defining, shoulders broader every time you hugged him.

and then you come back after not visiting for so long, excited to see everyone. especially beomgyu. you eye the expanse of his large family house, and as soon as you knock on their door, an unfamiliar face opens it, followed by what you assume is beomgyu’s voice calling from inside. “babe, who’s at the door?”

and they stutter, their face contorting with confusion because they didn’t know your name. and when you tell them, they relay it to beomgyu, who’s now running to meet you, opening the door wider and his supposedly significant other was standing aside before walking back inside as he pulls you in for a deep hug, his face tucked into the side of your neck and his arms not wanting to let go of you.

a part of you didn’t want to hug him back because he never told his partner about you? not even a small slip or mention? your arms froze, not wrapping around him until he speaks.

“I’m so happy you’re home. I’ve missed you.” is what he mumbles against your skin, and because of that, his lips also move against your skin. you’re fighting back a shaky sigh, feeling the hairs on your arms stand. you missed him too.

you arrived just in time for dinner with his family, your family and another family, not so familiar with them but you assume it’s the family of beomgyu’s partner.

you’re seated beside beomgyu; he had already pulled out your chair for you before you could even choose. but you notice he didn’t do that to his partner sitting opposite him. you were all towards the end of the table so it wouldn’t be too much for him to go around, but you shrug off the thought.

after eating plenty of good food you decide to catch up with beomgyu’s brother and the rest of the guests. but you were mostly listening to their conversations instead. maybe also because beomgyu’s hand was placed high up on your thigh, fingers drawing shapes, but you realise they may be letters since you used to do that to each other’s backs when you were younger.

you blankly stare at no one in particular, your brain and your senses working hard to spell out each letter and you feel an ‘F’ followed by a ‘U’ and his ‘CK’ was joint, finishing with a question mark at the end. you were far from listening to anyone when all you could hear was your pulse drumming in your ears.

not wanting to attract attention to yourself, but you slowly turn your head towards beomgyu, noticing everyones talking to each other so you were able to freely to beomgyu thanks to their grand, rectangular dining table.

“beomgyu, we can’t do that.” you sort of whisper to him, your face blank. you wrap your hand around his wrist, stopping him from caressing your thigh.

“why not?” he whines, and you’ve heard him whine so many times in your 22 years of living, but this one made you throb somewhere only recent thoughts of beomgyu have made you throb.

“your partner is literally sitting in front of you beomgyu-”

“wait, gabe? gabe isn’t my partner, we just hang out a lot since they’re kinda new here and you didn’t come home last holiday.”

you bite the inside of your cheeks, cursing yourself for mishearing when he called their name earlier. yet beomgyu’s hand is deliciously trailing back up your thigh and you don’t stop him, he stops himself instead.

“excuse us, I’m just going to help bring yn’s things to her room.” and you hear beomgyu’s mom joking about how you know your way around and not like you’d walk into his room.

but that’s exactly what you did. what the both of you did. he placed your bags down on the side of his window, pushing his hair back before tackling you onto the bed, wrestling each other just like you used to a long time ago. you’re both panting and he lies on the bed, defeated, with you technically straddling over his growing erection.

the weight of your body over his strained dick has his head rewiring, and flipping you over so you were under him—your legs still spread and he does an experimental grind. he brings his thumb to your bottom lip, tugging it down until you capture it in your mouth, the wet muscle of your tongue flat against the pad of his thumb.

“fuck yn, didn’t know you were dirty like that.” he sighs from the friction, but what he’s seeing right in front of him was what turned him on even more.

you moan around his thumb, sucking it like it was his dick but beomgyu couldn’t take it anymore. “oh nah, I want my cock in your mouth.” is what he says as he pulls his thumb out your mouth, smearing your excess saliva over your clothed nipple.

he lies down beside you, propping himself up on his elbow and waiting for you to lay on your stomach between his thighs, helping yourself and pull his pants and boxers down. grey ck’s, part of the set you gifted him the past christmas.

it was your second time touching his bulge, the first being an accident from when you had to sleep in the same tent while camping, and you rolled over to reach for your phone which you stupidly didn’t put aside and instead felt beomgyu’s morning wood while he was asleep, sleeping on his side and facing you.

“damn beomgyu, when d’you get so big?” your hushed voice had his eyes flutter shut while he concentrated on the feeling of your hand wrapped around the girth of his dick, your thumb sweeping painfully slow over the head and spreading the clear bead around.

“shit yn, you’re killing me right now.” he says through gritted teeth before taking over and holding his shaft, slapping his tip against your bottom lip like it was your own lipstick. “suck me good, and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll sleep good tonight.”

“god your mouth is so filthy gyu, the fuck.” both your eyes seem hazy when you look at each other, not breaking contact even when you begin sucking on his tip. using your soft lips to stimulate him and his lower abdomen is already twitching.

a series of ‘mmh’s and curses leave beomgyu’s lips, enticing you to take him in deeper until his head hits the back of your throat. you thank your college away from home experience that taught you this. having a couple of fuck buddies before, you’ve never thirsted over a dick than beomgyu’s.

“baby come here, ride me.” his hand cups your cheek, making you lean up as he leans forward to capture your sweet lips with a hint of saltiness. he leans over to reach into his bedside drawer, securing a condom packet between his index and middle finger until you lick along his neck.

“wan’ you to fuck me raw, baby.” is all you say between kisses and he drops the condom, not even caring to close the drawer. and he’s back to attack behind your ear and descending down your neck with slow and wet kisses, sucking and licking on the marked areas, eliciting loud moans when he touches your sweet spot. “make me yours.”

you couldn’t resist the empty feeling inside you, throbbing around nothing, so you align his tip at your entrance. your spit and his precum has him all slicked up and ready to be devoured by your cunny.

sinking down on him did wonders to you, your nails were digging through the thin material of his shirt over his shoulder and his were under your ass, gradually letting you engulf him until your hips were flush.

you didn’t wait a minute to adjust, thinking that if you fuck yourself on his dick then it’ll just feel better that way. his dick was reaching so deep inside you; the build up was coming quicker than you’d hoped. moaning his name had his dick jumping inside of you, kissing your cervix each time you sunk down on him. but as soon as he thrusts his his up, it’s game over for you.

“beomgyu, fuck up into me.” you whine and he assists in holding you up, desperately snapping his hips up into you and watching the way his dick disappears into your pretty pussy.

“ynnn, ugh. quit clenching like that or you’re gonna make me cum.” he throws his head back, chasing his high and fucking into you faster and deeper.

the pitch of your cries grows higher, until beomgyu's ramming his cock leaving you to silently sob, mouth agape and legs beginning to shake, your cunny clenching harder than before and beomgyu follows soon after. his cum spurting out in millisecond intervals inside you until you sit back onto the bed, beomgyu's hands still holding your thighs apart so he can see his load ooze out and drip onto his fresh sheets. he wipes the leaked out cum with his thumb and up to your hole, almost like he was playing around with it.

"beomgyu, you're such a perv– oh–" and he's shoving two fingers inside you, his attempt at keeping his load in his new cum dump <3

"I wanna fuck you in every room in this house. god, I love you yn."

"if you do, we better wrap up next time because I need to finish this degree before having a mini you running around."

[hysteria-things]

okay, but what if dolly has a pregnancy scare.

she will flip the fuck out and call matt up immediately.

sorry these seem rushed today i’m sick and am half asleep😭

(heart divider by @issysh3ll)

your periods have always been normal until one week it never came when it was supposed to. you and matt have been safe, but you practically sped to the drugstore and bought a test. yeah, you’re freaking out, but you try to take things slow when you follow the instructions on the rectangular box. there’s just no way.

after three minutes, your face completely drops when you read the word.

‘INCONCLUSIVE’

you leave your house not even a minute after that, showing up to matt’s unannounced with the pregnancy test in hand. you know evelyn is with valerie, so you barge into the front door. at first, you try to bottle up everything, but once you see matt in the kitchen cooking dinner, water trickles your eyes.

“jesus christ.” he scowls, jumping from the door slamming against the wall, pausing his mixing in a pot. he’s about to ask you why the hell you’re here, but his brows furrow when he notices the tears falling down your face. “princess? what’s going on?”

the explanation is hard to make out since you’re sobbing rather than letting out words, but the father in him understands everything you say. his eyes glance to the test and back to you a few times before he pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back to try and shush you. “shh, shh, that doesn’t mean anything.” he reassures. “it’s nothin’, i promise. you can’t go home this worked up, baby girl. you can stay here tonight. i got you.”

literally the next day, you wake up with your period. thank god.

[helliloveit]

Blood Bonded

@dethspllz u are free to kill me, i did everything but what you asked me for. I owe you that one, i’ll do it, OKAY? 😫 my brain didn’t connect blood and smut this time, it is so hard to write for me. Turning back to the fic, hell, this is authentic punisher field, i love my man wild out of the nature, craycray like he truly is. Tellmewhatchathink.

Frank Castle x reader

Warnings: +18, Violence, blood, murder, graphic descriptions, SA allusions (not mentioned), angst, soft!Frank, punisher stuff.

W.c: 1.2k

Summary: Life isn’t easy, even more so when you have an abusive boyfriend breathing down your neck. Everything took a drastic spin one night after your neighbor Pete found out.

You’re awaken by hard thumps rattling in the window’s glasses of your room. Before you can question the source of it, the first thing you notice is the absence of your partner…where is James? He must be here in bed with you —well, is not that you want to see him honestly, argued a lot before you came to bed.

Probably decided to go for a walk or to go away. After all, the discussion went pretty physical (as always) and you’ll made it decisively clear he would leave tomorrow.

Whatever his reason was, you needed to check. You stay paralyzed in your room that would have been plunged into absolute blackness if it wasn’t for the yellow streets lights entering in rectangular frames inside the desolate place.

Nothing felt like before anymore, James did take half your bubbly personality and with that, the smooth color of your skin…he was that type of person.

You feel incredibly ashamed of leaving the situation escalate this much. You must have break with him any of the repeated times he had the insolence to put up a show in front all your neighbors, including Pete. He is the one you are the most embarrassed with because he actually intervened; he always seemed to ignore whatever which wasn’t his work or the stuff what kept his face scrunched and injured all the time.

I mean, he wasn’t a complete stranger, he chats briefly with you as long as the dumb shit you called ‘boyfriend’ is not around. Usually things about your apartment, the electricity costs, water problems and most recently, your wellbeing:

—“Sweetheart, what is that?” The man raises your wrist from the lock you were intending to open. You didn’t expect him to get out of his flat in that precise moment, your heart was on the floor.

—“Shit.” You snap your hand away, regretting instantly.

—“God- i’m sorry Pete i wasn’t-”

—“It was him? Jacob? Jackson?” He tentatively asks. His face is calm but you know damn well that rumble, he’s not happy, of course, your wrist is inked with a deep purple bruise, green edges appending at its nasty look.

Shame washes you again, you’re not able to respond, disregarding him completely, closing the door behind you in a rush. Nothing couldn’t stop you from breaking down in one of those chairs next the dinning table. You did a great job hiding how miserable you were the whole year. Until that moment.

———————————————————————————

You manage to put your slippers on, your knees hurt, your soul sticks to your insides in order to not be absorbed by the absolute aversion you feel, totally betraying yourself cause why you should look for James??

You’re finally getting ready to raise from the bed and you hear one of those again, a dry thump that wasn’t loud, what scared you was the strength of it, made the floor vibrate beneath your feet.

Now isn’t only your boyfriend you need to know where he is but the source of that sound.

It was located in the kitchen.

Standing with that gray long-sleeved shirt you had seen him wear several times now sweat stained, his chest is puffing up and down rapidly, you notice regardless he’s turning his back at you, he’s stiff. He has fresh blood on his hands, the yellowish light bouncing on your kitchen wall to his forearms made them glisten red.

You know you should hide, call the police, make a bustle about it and maybe, maybe you’ll get to survive.

But it was-

—“Pete?” Your voice cuts the frigid atmosphere, he acknowledged you in the room with him now. Two bodies joining you both, calling a macabre scenario.

—“Shitshitshit” He rushes at your form, it feels like he’s back to life, glimmer reviving his eyes; covering the scene from your sight with the expansion of his chest.

—“You should be sleeping, love. I’m sorry for waking you up—I shouldn’t have, shit. I’ll deal with this, alright?” His hands hover near your arms. You catch the faint iron tang of them, and everything in his tone is erratic—unsteady.

Still, the decision forming in his eyes tells you he means it: he’s going to take care of it.

C’mon, you’re not silly, this didn’t catch you totally unaware. All those cut and bruises, the occasionally grunts reverberating from his loft, rusty hands shaking, knuckles dry and manhandled, it isn’t just some blue collar job. No.

You rise enough to see your dead partner, what is supposed to be his head in a pool of blood, the other guy unlike James his face is still recognizable… is one of his friends.

You see a knife staked in the midst of his throat. You don’t want to think about it —yet you ask.

It takes Frank two or three tries to gather the answer for you, stuttering, lost in his own mind he says:

—“They were stupid enough to talk about their plan in the hallway… i couldn’t-” he breathes deeply.

—“Couldn’t let that happen, y’know.” He’s incredibly touched by your apparent toughness, he’s pretty sure you understand completely what he means. You gaze up at him in determination.

—“I’ll hel-”

—“No.” He interferes severe.

—“What’ya gonn’ do is…” Intensifing his tone, Frank lowers his head, dark eyes boring into you, he wants you to apprehend what he is about to dictate you.

—“I’ll go away. You call the cops, tell them i was here, you tell them Frank Castle did this and they gonna believe you.”

You’re so confused, like who the fuck is Frank Castle…

Then you remember.

The news rambled nonstop about this new vigilante who was extremely dangerous, and his description fitted Pete perfectly, good six feet, ivory skin, brunette, brown deep set eyes. You’re not fazed.

—“Hey, you hear me? Sweetheart there’s not much time for me.” He searched for your pupils, stuck on some unrelated spot.

—“Yeah, yeah im here.” Quickly, your attention snaps back to him. In the darkness, you catch the way his brows are drawn together with a tender shake in them you hadn’t noticed before.

—“They’ll believe you and you’ll be okay.” His assuring tone calming you is almost ironic. You can’t help but feel guilty.

—“But what about you? You made this mess because of me and now you are on your own like that?” You rush to express, pressing your lips in a thin line of sadness when you realize his thumbs are tracing strokes over your neck. You don’t care if he’s staining you.

—“No, no, no—wait,” he pauses.

—“You’ll know about me soon enough, that’s for sure. But for now, you do what I told you; tell them everything you know, yeah? Don’t try to spin them around. That’s only gonna put you in a hard place.”

You nod, uneasy. And you don’t know what’s gotten into you but you kiss his stubbled cheek. His shoulder dropped just a little, he left a long peck on your forehead after that, you didn’t anticipate it.

Your heart sank when he was gone, took a jacket from his victim’s closet and dissipated behind your windowsill to the fire scape. The clank of the metal from his steps… his truck.

———————————————————————————

You’re seated in the back of an ambulance whilst two cops are asking you countless questions. Bathed in the cold breathe of the night you barely register the annoying rustle of the foil blanket as it lands on your back and slips down your bare legs. Your mind is elsewhere—on whether this new guy named Frank will truly be alright.

[tyheartsthragg]

Devoted

wc: 3946

chapter three of devoted, another late chap, im sorrrryyy !! finals are almost over

Humans ask too many questions, something he came to realize within the first five minutes of the interview. Was there truly a need to question his abilities? Was the sheer Viltrumite power that he demonstrated not enough? Or perhaps humans were simply incapable of using basic analytical skills. After all, was there any doubt that he, the Viltrum Emperor, was more than qualified for this pathetic little job?

“So, why should we hire you?” A voice interrupted his thoughts, causing Thragg to focus. Steve questioned as he kept his eyes glued to the glowing screen, his finger tapping at the glass, his glasses reflecting the screen. A list of questions. Thragg’s patience was growing thin, how much longer would he idle? He’d never been subjected to so many useless inquiries.

He answered honestly, not too vague, but also not too complex. “Because what I say goes, I say you hire me.” He responded bluntly, no longer caring for formality. It was clear Steve was uncomfortable, how he adjusted his collar every two seconds followed by a nervous swallow. Thragg used that to his advantage, knowing that the human wouldn’t want to displease him. 

“Well then, that sums up everything!” Steve sputtered out, already shutting the device off and pushing out of his seat frantically. Humans are so very easy to bend. “It will take a few business days to fully review your interview, maybe about a week to get it through my m-”

“No.” Thragg cuts off his nervous blabbering, standing from his seat and giving the man an icy glare from below. The viltrum refused to rest in that supposed ‘shelter’ for another minute–he needed money, and he needs it today. Getting out of that infested place as soon as possible is the only reason why he’s even considering getting a job. One more night there, and he might lose it. “You will hire me today.” He demands, staring down at the man who is gawking up at Thragg with dilated pupils. Steve’s adams apple bobbed, shoving his rectangular glasses back up as he hesitantly cleared his throat to speak.

“That would just be unethical and unfair to my other employees,sir…” Steve responds, words fumbling over each other as he spoke. Thragg wanted to scoff at the audacity. Unfair? This planet thrives on unfairness. “I can assure you that we will get back to you, but unfortunately with how busy we are, I can’t speed up the process.” 

An annoyed huff left Thragg, he could just use force on the elder until he eventually heeled, which wouldn’t take long. Yet–she’s here. Forcing himself in the right mind, “Now.” was the only word that left him, adding anything else might push him off the edge. Steve’s reluctance was clear, torn between his ‘ethics’ and his own fear of what would happen if a simple no left his lips. With an incoherent murmur the device lit up once again, the screen illuminating his wrinkles as he tapped aimlessly. An almost satisfactory smile creeped onto Thragg’s lips, why hadn’t he tried this with every other employer that denied him? It was too easy to fit in with these insects. Be arrogant, rude, spiteful, and they’ll yield to you despite the cruel circumstances.

“You are now an official employee, Thragg! It’s great to have you on the team. I’ll figure out your schedule in the next following days, since it was such a…quick decision.” He emphasized on the last words a bit too harshly, as if to prove a point. “Today does not have to be your first. It can easily be set for next-”

“Today.”

The elder blinks at him, silent for a pause before beginning to speak. “Today it is. It’s what… three o’clock? You’ll have to work till' close if that’s fine with you. I’m sure I have a few workers on the clock until tonight so let me check in with them. It's slow today, someone could squeeze in a quick guide for you. Give me a second.” He hurries off without letting Thragg get a word in, pushing open the large metal doors and disappearing behind them as they swing back and forth. A relieved sigh leaves the viltrumite—he wouldn’t have been ‘living’ in that dump if he knew it was this simple to get money.

Steve swallowed hard, nervously rushing to Y/N, who had been working on a customer’s order in the kitchen. His hands fidgeted nervously with the collar of his shirt as he began explaining their current predicament. Of course she wasn’t very happy about what she heard.

“What?! You hired him on the spot, how is that even remotely fair?” she exclaims, her fingers pressed to her temples as she glared at her manager. Not only is that large scum a weirdo, she also didn’t feel comfortable being under the same roof as him. If she voiced her concerns, her manager wouldn’t bat an ear to listen. She watches as his eyes narrowed into slits, a silent warning to watch her step. Shoulders slumping in defeat, she listened to his awful explanation.

“Where’s the harm in that? He seems like a good candidate, and I don’t want to hear your opinion on fairness.” He dismissed her concern with a shrug and a hand wave, “That’s not why I came in here, I came here to say you’re in charge of training him for a few days. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.” he murmured as he examined his watch, already turning around and walking toward the metallic doors without letting her respond. Asshole. First, that creep comes up to her and asks her to ‘breed with him’ as if that was a conversation starter, and now he’s her co-worker. He will be in her proximity every single day. A full review didn’t even happen and it took her about two full weeks to even get a second interview, for a barista job, by the way. Her mind reels with confusion and resentment for both these men. She can’t just quit her job simply because of him, but she also didn’t feel exactly comfortable with seeing him at her only place where could actually feel normal. She’s made friends here, bonds with her co-workers, no way she was throwing it all away because of him. He’d just win. Hopefully, maybe, he’ll realize what he said was out of pocket and won’t bring it up, or maybe he’ll realize how uneasy she is around him and he’d back off.

A sigh leaves her lips, steeling herself to get on with this. She crept toward the kitchen doors, peering through the circular window to see if the bulky man was still there. To her disappointment, he is. Part of her wished he had left.

Pushing open the doors, she walked into the dining room and approached him, hiding the grimace that threatened to crack onto her features. His head turned, dark brown eyes boring into her own with a flat face until his eyebrow perked up for a brief moment. Ignoring the uncomfortable, awkward interaction they had a week ago, she began to speak. “Welcome to the team…Thragg. My name is Y/N.” His name tasted like poison rolling off her tongue. He moves toward her, she takes a step back and he pauses in his tracks. His large frame towers over her, head cranking up to even meet his eyes. Even if she yearned to forget him–his strange way of speaking, his abnormal height, and the skin-tight uniform with the unknown symbol on that outfit he wore when they first interacted just stood out from the rest. “My manager informed me about you, congratulations on making the team. I’ll be your trainee for the day.” She attempted to force an enthusiastic demeanor, but her tense body language spoke volumes.

No response left him, just a simple nod. She’s not sure if he remembered her, yet again–what sane person goes around asking that question? At least, she was half-expecting an apology. Clearly he wanted to leave that in the past.

“This is the dining room, sometimes you would be serving people, but not occasionally. People just grab and go.” She stalks toward the front counter, his presence too noticeable to ignore. Behind the counter, she gestures a hand at the register with a small card reader beside it. “For today, you’ll be in here. Tomorrow, we can go over the kitchen and baking area. It’s pretty dead today, so it won’t be that hard.”

“What is that?” 

“What is what?” she responded, her eyes following to where he was pointing at.

“That contraption.” A look of genuine perplexity is on his face as he points at the black screen of the register. He doesn’t know what a register is? A snort leaves her, a smile doesn’t even crack 

A beat passes, and he looks down at her from the lack of response. He’s serious. This is getting concerning. “A register?” He nods to confirm, a part of her was still clinging onto the ‘joking’ part. “Well, uh… It holds cash,” she trails off and pulls open the cash drawer beneath the touchscreen, revealing the few dollar bills and rusted coins neatly tucked in each column. “when someone hands you cash, you shove it in here. And whenever they hand you extra, you pay them back by using this money.” He just nods. Silence stretches between the two, and to break it, he reaches for the cash inside. Instinct takes over, smacking his hand away gently but with an edge of firmness. Was he really trying…?

“What’re you doing…?” she questioned, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He’s not that dumb.

“Is this not for the employees?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his tone, hand still hovering over the columns. This guy never ceases to surprise her. 

“No. Have you ever had a cashier job, or went to the grocery store?” As the words left her lips, laughter began to slip from her. Never in her years has someone not known basic utility, especially an adult. She quickly straightens herself up once she realizes he’s dead silent. “This… money. It’s for the company and our customers when we receive too much of the total. Not for us. So no, you can’t take it.” She’s not going to tell him that it could one-hundred percent get him fired, that’d just be a blessing.

“That sounds ridiculous.” A light scoff leaves him, “It’s right there isn’t it? Why let the opportunity pass by when you can just take it.” His words sounded less like a question and more like a statement, determination etched into his sharp features.

“You’re really weird.” She laughs it off, but with how tense she was, it sounded like blatantly forced. She just didn’t want to hear more about his illogical thinking skills. “Anyway–” Her words are cut off from a soft chime at the entrance, catching her attention. “Oh, perfect. You can start with them, ask what they would like to order…” She reaches over to the tablet, tapping the screen until it flickers to life. Images of various drinks, coffees, and pastries appear on the display with the prices labeled below. The customers approach the counter, speaking in a foreign language to each other. Should’ve taught him sooner. Oh well.

She could just take their order and let him take mental notes, or leave him on his own.

“Excuse me?” A younger woman says, waving an impatient hand in front of Thragg’s face. He turned his head, the only other emotion edging into his features—irritation. A tick passed, he’s clearly lost in thought. y/n gawks at him, then quickly nudges his shoe with her own. She should leave, let him do the work, fail, then watch the manager fire him from afar. Yet for some reason, she stays.

Thragg turns his attention to where she nudged him, an eyebrow arched, and then another snap of the woman’s fingers in front of him stirred him back to reality. “May I take your order?” The disdain and annoyance evident in his tone, he didn’t even try to conceal it.

“A grande with oat milk, brown sugar, two pumps of vanilla, no ice, and cinnamon powder on top. It’s for Kat.” She orders, eyes glued to his as her friend whispers something into her ear, causing her to giggle. Maybe they’d write a complaint about him. Hopefully. “Got that?” Her sharp tone slices through the air, and Thragg didn’t respond nor react, too focused on the touchscreen in front of him. It’s like she was babysitting instead of teaching…

“Of course ma’am. Sorry, he’s new. It’ll be out in a few, Kat!’ y/n chimed in, forcing enthusiasm in her tone. The women left, muttering foreign words to each other as they strolled off to take a seat in the lounge. That could have gone a lot smoother and quicker, still… It was kind of funny. She returns her attention back to Thragg, who was staring directly at her with the same annoyed manner. “Here, I’ll do it.” She didn’t give him a chance to protest, already brushing past him to start up the order. She grabs a grande cup and a sharpie nearby, jotting down the customers name, and hurriedly moves to the bar. The bottle squirts out vanilla, sputtering a bit before eventually it enters, adding brown sugar along with oat milk, and then the hot, brewing coffee mixes in. She gives the plastic a firm shake, finger over the cover, and walks over toward the register. “Order for Kat!” she calls out as she reaches for a straw and new cover, placing them on top and sliding it toward the edge of the counter. The customer approaches and grabs the grande, card already held out as y/n puts the order in (because Thragg failed to do so…) she wants to blame him, but he was new so… The card approves, and the girl is already out the doors, bells ringing as the door closes slowly behind her.

Thragg has an unreadable expression, his dark-brown eyes remain on hers for a beat. She pays no mind, maybe he’s learning. “Here,” she murmurs, returning to his side and pressing onto the screen to brighten it. “When someone orders a coffee, they say the sizes. You might wanna ask our manager for notes or study online, because I don’t think you’ll get it all in a day.” her tone was gentle, almost too soft for the likes of him.

“Do not underestimate my knowledge.” he states, that new ‘soft-spot’ for him disintegrates.

“Oh-kay… Whatever. They say, ‘short, tall, grande, and venti.’” Grabbing four sized cups, she presents them on the counter in order. “Got it? So you press onto the coffee button on the screen,” She waits for him to act, and when he doesn’t react, she sighs heavily. “Press it.” she orders, signaling at the screen as she stacks the cups together.

For the first time, he didn’t protest, already pressing a finger to the screen. She’s about to guide him through, but he clicks ‘grande’ for the size, and begins to work through it himself, adding the items the woman from a few minutes ago ordered. He remembers all of it? “Well, yeah, that’s how you put in their orders and the total will sum out, and you’d tell them how much it’d cost.” she instructs, and his hands fall from the display. “I think I’ve gone over everything today. Whenever a customer comes in, let me know and I'll help you out.” Without waiting for his response, she darts into the kitchen, the lightweight doors swinging behind her.

Sprinting down the moist kitchen tiles, she makes her way past the ovens and sinks to where the manager’s office is. “Hello?” she calls out, knocking rapidly at the wooden door with her ear pressed against the surface. The door swings open, almost making her meet the floor before catching herself and straightening up. “Can we talk about him?” She's already pushing past her boss to enter the small room, a small ‘ugh’ in protest heard from him. Regardless, he slams the door shut behind her and collapses into his leather chair.

Meanwhile, at the front of the cafe, the hours seemed to blur as the day went on, the skies getting grayer with rain beginning to patter onto the windows. Little customers showed up today, it was a quiet, simple first day for Thragg. Well, he would say that, but his mind has been too occupied on the fact that y/n worked here. She’s a superhero, yet she has to work among other mortals? Superior beings deserve to be worshiped, respected–not worry about working. It was also a weird coincidence how they got together again, even though she didn’t seem too appreciative to be around him as she trained him.

“Hey man, you’re closin’ up with y/n for the night. Since we were already short-staffed for the day, hope you don’t mind!”  A co-worker called out, whose name he didn’t even bother learning, as he shuffled toward the door. He pauses at the door, glancing over his shoulder, “When you finish up, just lock the doors. Boss doesn’t expect much, just a sweep or something. Have a good night!” The door shut behind him with a soft chime announcing his departure. Thragg remained silent, the same classical music still humming gently with the sound of rain thumping against the windows. Deep in his own mind, he was still ‘interested’ in y/n, if one can call it that. He didn’t want to waste away his time by actually trying to fit in with society, he thought this would be simple. Of course, he could just find another fitting candidate and start from there.

“Here.” Her voice suddenly strikes through the silence, his head snapping toward her direction. No. He only had eyes for her—it was her personality that was truly luring. Perfect genes mixed with the perfect race, the children would be powerful, born to serve and spread the influence of his empire. Besides, he needed to get used to the barriers humans form to protect themselves, their… emotions. This was only the first out of many more opportunities.

“…Hellooo?” she trails off, returning him back to the present. He looks to what she’s holding out to him, a wooden rod with tendrils at its end. He takes the rod into his hand, a wet slap followed as it met the tiled floor. He takes the rod, gaze still fixed on her, thoughts sinking into his mind once more.

“Why do you work here?” He questioned, unsure of what to do with the item in his hand.

She just shrugs, “For money.” she says simply as she turns away, kneeling down and swinging open the cabinets beneath the counter. things fall as she rummages around, snatching a clear bottle with some cloth. she stands up and kicks the cabinet door closed, already squirting the strange yellow liquid onto the counter, wiping it down as she goes. “…Like everyone else.” she added, her voice soft enough that it was barely audible to his ears. 

“You are not like everyone else.” he paused, the realization hitting him dully. Perhaps she’s also hiding her identity from the public, why hide it though? Humans with abilities are praised on this planet—the amount of times he has seen Invincible on billboards, televisions, and newspapers was getting ridiculous. Each time he walked on the street, an Invincible page would be beneath his shoe. “Why do you conceal it? You would be awarded with far greater respect and praise.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” she responded, humming gently along with the cafe music as she wiped the grime off the counters.

His eyebrow arched in confusion, “A su-”

“Huh?” She cuts him off and moves away from the counter, approaching him this time. She attempts to take the mop from his hand, but he has an iron grip on it. She glared at him, and he let it go. He’s about to speak again, but her voice cuts in once again. “Don’t know how to use a mop too, I assume?” She changed the subject instantly, “It’s like this,” the rod begins to move in a pattern on the tiles, swiping back and forth, streaks of water painting the floor. Despite her demonstration, his eyes were still on her. She’s hiding her true self just like him, for whatever reason she was, it still just stirred more curiosity he had for this woman. 

She kept talking him through it as she showed him, and each time he tried to continue from where he left off, she cut him off or didn’t say anything. She couldn’t even get the word ‘Superhero’ out of his mouth because of it.

Y/n fumbles with the keys as she shoves them aggressively into the lock, the cool summer breeze wafts over them with the rain dripping against the umbrella she handed him. He holds it over his head, it amazes him how complex weather is here. She finally locks the door, an annoyed huff leaving her as she quickly rushes to get beside him to shelter herself. Wrapping her fingers around the rod, she looks over at him with an expectant expression. He doesn’t move. A silent ‘okay…’ left her as she began to walk, “Have a good night!” she called out, waving her hand without turning around.

“You did not answer my question.” Thragg begins to follow her, the rain soaks into his ragged clothing but pays no mind. “You are a defender, you save lives. Yet in return, you receive nothing. Superheroes do not conceal themselves, they expose their true identity to the world.” Finally he got those words out, and she just kept walking as the rain filled the silence.

“Well not everyone likes to be public about it.”

“Impossible. You humans insist on flaunting your greater aspects.”

She gives him an annoyed look, her feet picking up the pace as she strolled down the emptied sidewalk. “Why do you say it like that?”

“What?”

“Humans. As if you aren’t one yourself.”

“You and I are not. We are the planet’s defenders, that’s what we’re referred to.” The word ‘heroes’ tasted like poison rolling off his tongue, bitter and not very convincing. Yet, he had to make up some excuse. And if that meant choking down his own ego and grouping him with the other pathetic excuse of heroes on this planet, then so be it.

“You’re not making any sense.” she scoffed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a device. The screen illuminates her features as she taps on the screen a few times, before flicking her wrist and showing the bright device to him. He squints, adjusting to the light as his eyes scanned the screen. It was just circles with numbers inside of them. She sighed, taking in his confused expression and explains it to him (as always); “Your number. Do you have a phone or anything that I can reach you with?”

“No.”

“Great.” she shoved her phone back into her pocket, stopping dead in her tracks to stare at him, her eyes in narrowed slits it seemed like she was glaring. “That should probably be your first investment… but anyway, your next shift starts at ten in the morning tomorrow. I’ll print out your schedule, but in the meantime, have a goodnight.” With that, her feet rose off the pavement as she launched into the cloudy, dark skies, disappearing out of sight.