#*muttering expletives and words such as what the ever living fuck

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Canon James Potter on hearing his name is linked to two ships in ao3’s top 20 ships for 2023 (no 8 and no 18):

Canon James Potter on hearing the most popular of the two is him & Sirius’ Deater baby brother Reggie:

[beenbaanbuun]

after sex w/ yunho

wrote this while i should’ve been getting ready for work lmaoooo

——————————————————————————

yunho groaned from where he lay beside you. “up you get, little one,” he said, voice hoarse from where he’d been barking instructions at you for the past hour or so. you pout at him, really not wanting to leave his warm embrace and face the cold word that awaited outside your bed, “don’t give me that look.”

“what look?” you furrow your brows at him.

“that one right there,” he grumbles, “the one where you look like a homocidal chihuahua - all pouty lips and angry eyebrows and not a thought between them.”

he smirks as he you slap his chest. the sound reverberates around the room and it stings a little, but yunho can take a lot more than that. he’s pretty sure his back is bleeding in more than a few places from where you’d been clawing at it. maybe you were more like a chihuahua than he originally thought.

“i think,” you argue, “i think so much!”

he hums.

“you think too much,” his eyes land on your flaming eyes and he struggles to hold back a laugh. even when you’re trying to seem intimidating, he can’t help but find you adorable. you’re like a cute puppy that has a penchant for ankle biting - your expression of frustration only made you that much more sweet, “and nothing you think about is ever relevant. face it, pipsqueak, you’re a chronic overthinker; now get up, will you?”

he has you dead to rights there, shutting you up before you can even slip another word through your lips. instead you scrunch your face up and cross your arms in one last act of defiance. you don’t want to get up, and even though you know he’ll make you, you can at least make it difficult for him.

a small shove against your shoulder is immediately followed by another one, and if yunho’s tactic is annoying you into getting up, you’re afraid he might be successful. the first two pushes are nothing you can’t live with, but then he pushes you a third time, and then a forth, and then you let out an annoyed groan. clearly yunho wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

“why do i have to get up anyway?” you say as you roll a couple of inches away from him. of course, he just follows and continues his prior annoyance on you, “i’m comfy here in your arms, and you promised we could be ‘gross and shower in the morning’.”

“we can be gross and shower tomorrow,” he replies, “but you know well and good that we pee after sex in this household, missy. being gross and sweaty for a night is completely different to getting a UTI, don’t you think?”

you mutter some expletives under your breath, because fuck him for being right. always so smart, and always so smug about it too. you give him a single petty shove back before rolling to the edge of the bed and standing up. your limbs feel heavy, and you almost wish you could rewind a few seconds and beg yunho to carry you instead. he’d probably have done it, too, but it’s too late now. with you already standing next to the bed, achy limbs and all, he’d probably just shoo you away if you asked.

you go to walk away, managing to take a single step before he grabs you by the wrist. you turn to him, noticing the sly smile he wears, and cock a brow.

“what?” you ask.

“you know what.”

“yunho, they’re covering in my cum,” you groan, “that’s so gross.”

he scoffs.

“you’re covered in your cum too, but i don’t think you’re gross.”

again, you groan. you know exactly what he’s asking for, and you know he’s not going to give up until he gets it. with a sigh and a slow, disgruntled hand, you pick your abandoned panties off of the floor and throw them at him. they hit his chest with a slap, and he can’t help but giggle to himself as he lifts them to his face and takes a sniff.

“thanks, hot stuff,” his voice is muffled by the material, “now hurry up and pee so you can come back and cuddle.”

you sigh.

“fine, but you better not have a boner when i get back!”

[meraus]

Ghost has DID au

Takes place after events of cod:mw2(2022). Ghost knows he’s an alter and Simon doesn’t know he has an alter. Soap is at ghost’s place for reasons when he agitates ghost enough to pull off his mask and reveal Simon, who’s immediately hostile to this stranger that’s standing in his living room acting like they’re familiar. Soap thinks ghost is pulling his leg, but when he gets Simon to put the mask on and ghost comes back, he finds out just how real it is. Soap realizes ghost can’t possibly be cleared for duty, and ghost confirms soap is the first and only one to know.

Not a full fic, more a complete outline- lord know that will take so many more words and I’m not up for writing all of them. Written entirely in my notes app which doesn't recognize soap and ghost as names lol.

Ghost can suppress Simon for short amounts of time without the mask, but only if he’s prepared. So when one day they’re in the field facing hostiles and the mask comes off by accident, soap has to get to a severely freaked out Simon, in his experience a civilian dropped in an active war zone, before anyone notices. Or at least before Simon gets himself killed or ghost’s absence fucks the mission.

Where ghost grows fonder of soap, Simon starts seeing him as a bad omen. When Simon sees soap, shit has usually hit the fence and will only get worse, considering the quickest way to get ghost back seems to be to intimidate Simon into relinquishing control. This development of Simon wanting to avoid soap makes it significantly harder to bring ghost back in critical moments. Soap also struggles with the morality of letting it go on like this, enabling this set up ghost has created.

When he brings it up, suggesting ghost gets treatment, ghost immediately shoots it down. Simon also doesn’t want to hear it, he doesn’t even want to speak with soap. Trying to tell Simon what’s going on builds his anxiety and triggers ghost to take over. Enough repetition of soap forcing ghost back in causes him to become another trigger for Simon.

Soap doesn’t see Simon anymore, and doesn’t think he ever will again. Ghost doesn’t mind. He doesn’t want Simon there with soap, maybe doesn’t want Simon at all. He gets on fine, better even, when it’s just him. He likes what he’s got set up for himself and Simon compromises that. If the army ever finds out about Simon, everything he has will go away. And what does Simon even have for himself? He doesn’t have family, doesn’t have friends, doesn’t have a job or way to provide for himself. Hell, he doesn’t even know who he is or what he’s capable of. All Simon has is fear and memories of things best left forgotten.

So it works, right up until it stops working. Because the thing about soap is that he’s safe. He’s trustworthy, reliable, on his way to become a better man than ghost’s ever been or can hope to be. If soap is there, if the environment allows it- ghost can drop his guard. He thought it just meant being able to sleep on transport and the like, but soon finds out that sometimes what feels like sleep to him is just Simon being shoved back to the forefront.

The first time, they’re in a car with two other people. Soap hears ghost mutter an expletive, sounding taken aback. It puts the others on high alert immediately, and himself as well, but for a different reason. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, no imminent danger, ghost doesn’t sound like this usually, and when he snaps his head around to look at ghost, he can see the switch clear as day. Simon is occupying the body even with the mask on. Soap covers for Simon’s slip up and silently warns him to keep his mouth shut until they can figure this out.

Through these moments of unplanned control, Simon slowly starts learning about his other side. Ghost and Simon don’t blend together, it’s more like both of them are breaking each other down. It’s messy and more importantly, dangerous. Ghost decides he needs to cut soap off, for his own well-being. Simon decides he needs to keep soap close, to guide him through the unknown and fill in the blanks.

It’s a losing battle for ghost. He can’t very well cut clean ties with soap- they’re on the same team, always in the same places, always having to share information. And besides that, soap is… he’s soap. He’s who ghost would consider his closest friend and ally. He doesn’t want to cut soap off, even if he needs to. And considering soap isn’t planning on going anywhere, cutting him off would mean uprooting the life he’s built so far. The best course of action, ghost decides, would be to somehow kill Simon off forever.

Simon, however, isn’t eager to go. Not at all. Maybe once, when he had nothing and not a clue about the world he was living in, he was easy to keep down. Now, though, he feels he has a place in the world. People who admire and respect him, even if it’s not really him they’re looking up to. And maybe even if he doesn’t know entirely how to keep that, earn it for himself, it’s alright. He’s comforted by knowing he’s got a good friend in soap, helping him to find out.

Soap doesn’t want to help him there, though. He can’t risk it. Simon can’t do the things ghost can, even if he has the muscle memory, he doesn’t have the instinct or training. Simon is a liability in the field, and through him, so is ghost. Soap is more pressured than ever to tell their captain what’s going on and in doing so betray the trust of his best friend- both of him. Ghost switches to Simon during a mission and it gets people killed.

Soap comes to a breaking point and he confronts ghost. They have what would be a shouting match, if there wasn’t a need for discretion. Punches are thrown and threats are made. Ghost does things he wouldn’t normally do to preserve who he is, fully seeing the irony in it but not knowing another way to achieve his goal. Soap and ghost break apart, much to the dismay of Simon. Soap is avoiding him now, regardless of which him he is. He’ll only do what’s mission critical and leave it at that. Simon finds it’s much harder to be in ghost’s shoes when he’s not told where and how to walk. The only upside is that what’s wrong with ghost gets blamed on whatever’s going on between him and soap.

When it’s Simon’s turn to confront soap, he gets told if he can’t handle it, then do them all a favor and stop trying to be ghost. The stakes of his fight for dominance with ghost get laid out for him. Simon already knew, but he never truly realized, as he does what he’s always done when it becomes too much; he makes ghost deal with whatever is too difficult for him. Simon doesn’t want to do that anymore. He realizes if he wants to live, he needs help. He needs to destroy ghost. The prospect is frightening and thinking about it allows ghost easy access to slip back in, overhearing soap’s words meant for Simon. He realizes he’s done for if Simon gets control again, so he clings to consciousness, digging his nails in until they break.

Ghost is reckless. He’s purposely putting himself in danger, going out of his way to scare Simon into obedience. If it’s too much, he won’t come out. Maybe if he finds the absolute limit of what his psyche can handle, paralyzes his other with fear, Simon will never want to return. He’s aware that he has no way out. If he slips up, he dies. It’s just a question of where and how.

Soap can’t do it anymore. He curses ghost for letting him find out, putting this responsibility on him, putting him between a rock and a hard place. He informs the captain of ghost’s condition, even knowing he will also face consequences for keeping it hidden. When asked how long he knew, he answers ‘a while’. When Ghost gets dismissed, he is also asked how long soap knew. He says soap only just found out.

Life for ex-military personnel with a dismissal on grounds of a pre-existing condition is rough. Even more so when the years of combat are marking your skin like a neon sign reading ‘danger’. Ghost gets a few weeks of psychological help and no benefits. Price can’t do much for him there, it’s bureaucratic bullshit- a one size fits all solution that lets the army wash its hands clean of him and his problems. He’s saved up a nice sum, but not enough that it’ll let him go into early retirement. Not that he’s the type for retirement, anyway. He doesn’t know what to do with himself out here. Going home- if you can call it that- between mission is fine. He doesn’t have to stick it out long. It’s different now that he actually has to settle. He considers letting Simon figure it out.

Simon who got them into this fucking mess, never actually considering what his actions will do to them because he’s never had to deal with the consequences of them before. Simon, who’ll probably get so overwhelmed by it that he might finally decide it’s best to put ghost in charge, after all. Active war zones couldn’t cut it, but the realization that beyond that the only thing awaiting them is the monthly psychiatrist bill and endless jobs applications without response might do the trick. Even if the thought amuses him, even if he starts considering dying might be best after all, he still clings to control. It’s his own fault anyway, for showing soap, for not being able to keep it under control afterwards. Soap, he thinks, who he’s never going to see again.

But he’s wrong. There’s months of radio silence between them, and then suddenly soap is on his doorstep. He hadn’t texted or called, despite having ghost’s number, just shown up. Soap takes one good look at him and knows which him he is. Ghost looks back and for the first time in months he feels his control slipping. He’s about to tell him to get lost and slam the door in soap’s face, but before his mouth can form the words, soap asks him why ghost covered for him. Why didn’t he face consequences for helping ghost cover up his medical status?

Really, there’s only one answer. The same answer that has ghost step aside to let soap in. It’s because he’s not done right by soap, and soap didn’t deserve to get any shit for or from ghost.

They catch up. If it were an interrogation, ghost would be in the hot seat. He’s got more to tell and the majority of what soap’s been through can’t be told. In that afternoon they find a new foundation. It’s brittle and shaky, careful not to touch on the important pieces, the things that need to be said, because saying them wrong could have the whole thing collapse, but it’s something. Soap sticks around, coming back every time between deployments, and they have something.

Ghost finds a life again. It’s not satisfying, it’s not something he thinks he’ll ever gets used to, but it’s his and it’ll do. He picks up some dangerous jobs to keep Simon at bay, but it’s not enough. He’s comfortable, he’s got it figured out, and he’s terrified. He’s the alter. If Simon comes out again and settles in this cushy life, he loses it all again. He can’t let Simon take this from him. He actively works against his treatment, stopped going at all in the last few weeks. There’s things that are his that he’s desperate to keep. There’s soap on his doorstep every few months, smiling at him wide and calling his name.

And that’s the most pressing issue. He keeps slipping around soap. The time he wants to be in his body the most is the time he feels the least solid in it. He thinks Simon wants soap, too. Not like ghost does, though. He doesn’t crave him with an edge of desperation, ghost knows, because he hasn’t lost yet. If Simon wanted it bad enough, he could win the struggle.

He takes up sparring with soap. If his adrenaline is high and his body goes into combat mode, it’s easier to keep Simon down. He puts on his face mask and takes soap down to the gym he frequents. The employees greet him by his name, what they think is his nickname, just as everyone else does.

He knows soap will press the issue, yet he’s still not prepared for it when it happens. Soap asks him if he’s just going to continue like this, if he’s planning to never let Simon out again. Ghost is honest with him, to a degree. He tells soap he doesn’t want to give up what he has and that Simon will erase him and take it for himself. He says Simon doesn’t deserve it.

Soap reminds him he’s in the best place he’ll be to figure himself out. Maybe he won’t be erased, maybe he’ll be merged. There’s no way, he says, that ghost can just cease to exist. Soap doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Ghost knows he doesn’t, because he’s spend hours researching it. There’s too many unknowns, too many likely to happen worst-case scenarios. There’s a dread that seeps in when he thinks about not having his life for himself.

What then, soap asks, is so important that it can’t be shared? Ghost hesitates to answer. This is the part of their foundation that can’t be touched, for fear it’ll break. It’s the part they’re always stepping over, have been for years, even when all was right with them and soap didn’t know Simon.

Ghost is in love with soap. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to risk it. What they have is enough, it’s a lifeline he can’t afford to cut. Still, with the pressure on him, with soap in his face and trying so hard to do what he thinks is best for ghost, with the thought of ‘what if’ plaguing his mind, he confesses.

Soap physically, noticeably, backs down. He’d known, on some level, that ghost felt this way about him. He was different to ghost, special, it was obvious in how they interacted with each other. He’d caught ghost looking at him, not in an indecipherable way, but clear as day in a way he told himself must be his wishful thinking. Soap can pretend it’s not there, even when he looks at ghost that same way, even when ghost’s undivided attention makes his whole body tingle with excitement, a moment where he thinks if he reaches out then ghost will meet him halfway.

Even so, soap can’t reach out. He feels if he tries, ghost will live up to his name and soap’s fingers will go right through. Ghost isn’t a person, so much as a personality. How am I supposed to love you back, he asks ghost, when you’re like this? There’s no security- ghost can disappear at any time. It would be a constant state of dread, a form of torture where he thinks he’d much rather gets his teeth pulled. Soap wants to say yes so bad, he’s a risk-taker anyway, in his line of work he could die at any time, so why wouldn’t he just dive in head-first? But if he did, it’d be unfair to ghost- to Simon- either of them. Both of them. Ghost can’t progress if soap holds him back. Figure yourself out, he tells ghost, and then tell me again.

Soap deploys again. Ghost, like before, is unsure if he’ll see him again. He curses Simon, breaks the mirrors in his house, hates the face they reflect back at him. Ghost is at his lowest point, and Simon takes over.

Simon has no clue where he is, ghost had moved to a new place, more suitable for full time occupancy. He snoops around and discovers what ghost has been up to. He makes a new appointment at the psychiatrist.

The woman who greets him wears a friendly smile and says she’s glad to see ghost back. When Simon tells her she might have to wait a bit longer on that, actually, her smile turns from friendly to beaming.

I don’t actually know shit about dissociative identity disorder and the treatment so I’m not dipping my whole toe in for this part, consider everything I say on the topic to be absolute trash for realism BUT Simon makes progress. A fair amount, really. He does his best to settle into the life ghost set up, confronts the trauma that created ghost in the first place, and discovers trauma he wasn’t responsible for acquiring. He has memories now that don’t feel like his own. He flips back and forth between himself and ghost and the lines get blurred. The more he learns, the more he feels sorry for ghost. As well as a strange type of guilt. He viewed ghost as his adversary when he learned of him, but really he was a scapegoat. A crutch Simon has depended on for so long that even he feels it’s unfair to call himself the host. He still has trouble seeing ghost as a part of himself, but the more he dips into his psyche, the more familiar he becomes.

Ghost is a whole person, Simon realizes. That’s why it’s so difficult to work with him. He’s complex and intricate and it’s not just a detached caricature of what Simon as a child thought a tough guy should be. Every time he connects with things that are distinctly ghost, it’s overwhelming.

Ghost doesn’t fight him when he goes looking, Simon feels like he’s almost showing off. But that’s not entirely right, if there’s one thing that defines ghost it’s his need to remain unknown. Simon doesn’t know why ghost is letting him access all of it without push back, until he digs too deep. He touches on a memory that seems recent, it’s in his new place and soap is there. The words sound like gibberish and it’s not a clear picture. When he tries to focus on it, suddenly he’s shoved out. It’s not the easy pull he’s become used to, the feeling like reality shifts and everything becomes hazy. It’s like getting pushed off a cliff and landing on a rock.

The psychiatrist asks ghost what happened there. He’s not ready for that, ghost tells her, he’s missing the pieces that make it come together; he needs to earn it first. And ghost, surprisingly, helps him. Sometimes, it’s like he’s being fed pieces, things he didn’t go looking for just appear before him. Every time he gets that feeling, he sees soap. Simon realizes that’s the thing ghost really wants him to understand; why soap is important.

He’s noticed before that ghost has many memories he doesn’t really care for, victories and milestone anyone else would hold dear. What he's careful with is his memories of people. Simon has to be delicate when he encounters a person whose name he knows but never learned, but even then soap is a special case. Memories of gaz and price come flowing in seemingly randomly order, but almost everything soap-related is chronological. Like ghost is telling him it’s important to get this one exactly right, really understand.

They work at it for a year and some months, and Simon understands ghost now. He still can’t fully see ghost as himself, but he’s not a separate entity either. It’s like they’re opposite sides of the same coin; different on the surface level, but ultimate the same. They’re through with almost everything ghost deems important, and that means he can’t stretch for time any more. Simon has a good feeling he knows what this final memory of soap is, the one he touched on too soon and hasn’t been allowed near since.

He feels the hesitancy in his own mind to dig it up. He feels exactly what ghost is feeling when he recalls it. It hurts. It’s elation turning to horror turning to grief and a cocktail of other emotions swirling around in him. And it’s the missing piece of the puzzle. It’s why ghost wanted him to understand after fighting him for so long. It’s the turning point that allowed Simon control. They’ve been doing all of this because if they live, they want a future, and he’s in love with soap. Ghost, Simon, either and both, just him. He’s in love with soap. He wants a future with soap in it.

It’s been too long for him not to realize soap must've come back from deployment without going to see him. He’ll have to take the initiative. He opens his contact information and goes into the text window. He knows he can’t text this, but he’s afraid to call. Besides, who knows if soap can even call, or what time zone he’s in. Their last message exchanged was over two years ago. The anxiety is eating away at him. What if soap’s given up on him? What if he took too long? What if he’s not adequately recovered, and soap rejects him again?

It takes him another few days to send a message. A curt and demanding ‘let’s talk’. He send another text, this one reading ‘please’. He drops his head in his free hand and groans. He should’ve waited another few days and come up with something good.

Soap texts him back hours later, waking him up by the distinct ping of a new message. Blending with ghost unfortunately also meant taking over his annoying, paranoid, militant habits, like any unexpected noise stirring you awake. Soap texted him ‘now?’. Simon replies ‘what works for you’. His phone rings right after he sends it.

The conversation lasts over an hour. Simon bites through the anxiety of sharing his personal life when he doesn’t know where he stands with soap and tells him how the treatment has been, how it’s going, what life is like, everything he deems important for soap to know. What might convince soap to come around again. Soap seems unsure of how to talk to him, too. But soap is good with people, he’s a natural conversationalist and he’s got his charm to fall back on. It’s not as bad as Simon feared it might go. Soap says he’ll stop by next time, though he doesn’t say when next time is.

Simon thought next time would be when he talks to soap again, but turns out that comes a lot sooner. Soap texts him the next day. A few days after that, they’re on a call again. Soap laughs more freely and becomes less guarded with every exchange and soon he’s saying stuff like how nostalgic it is to have ghost in his ear. Asks Simon to say some military shit, anything really. He laughs loud and long when Simon says, ‘how do two oceans greet each other?’. He hadn’t even said the punchline.

Soap also tells him how gaz and price are fairing, as well as sparse updates on Alejandro and rodolfo, who he’s still in contact with. Simon’s glad to hear about them. When ghost still had control, he’d been in contact, though always short messages and nothing meaningful. When Simon took over, he didn’t know how to talk to them. He barely knew them, didn’t really know anything about them. He’s come to know them through the memories and it’s a bittersweet feeling to know he has had these people in reach and kept them at distance. Though, now that soap opened the gate way, he starts receiving more wake up texts.

Then one day his phone stays silent. He slept through the entire night. It immediately sets him on high alert. He texts soap, and thankfully rather quickly receives a response. ‘Busy. In a bit.’ It reads.

In a bit turns out to be five hours, when there’s a knock at his door and there stands soap, smiling at him, saying ‘my schedule’s all cleared up now, so if you’re not-‘.

Simon interrupts him to say what he’s been wanting to say all this time, what he hopes soap has been waiting to hear. ‘I love you.’

And soap says, ‘I love you, too.’

[jadedvibes]

Worth the Wait

Summary: You and Bucky have happily reunited after his wrongful arrest brought the two of you back into each other’s lives. Now the only battle you both have to face is getting ready for Christmas dinner with your parents.

Continuation/Christmas fic for your favorite couple from Yours. You’ll enjoy it more if you read that first!

Pairing: Beefy ex!Bucky x lawyer!reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, unprotected rough sex, oral(f), so much fluff, exes to lovers, swearing, insecure bucky for a sec, beefy!bucky being a flirty dork, and Christmas themes.

A/N: Wrote this up last night because I wanted you guys to have a little Christmas fluff. Please pardon any mistakes. 💚❤️🎄🌟

Word Count: 2.1k

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

The warm steam engulfed you as you stepped into the bathroom to join your boyfriend in the shower. As you quietly pulled open the shower door, you drank in the sight of Bucky’s broad muscular back, his perfect ass, and those thick muscular thighs. Talk about the ideal man. He was washing his hair and had yet to notice your presence. Hoping to surprise him like he always did with you, you tiptoed towards him before slowly wrapping your arms around his hard torso from behind, smiling as he groaned in acknowledgement.

“Did someone get lonely?” he asked playfully.

You slowly traced your fingers over his abs, up and down the rigid muscles. “No, just thought about how important it is to save water.” You kissed him in between his shoulder blades, and moved your hands down until you reached his unsurprisingly hard cock. All it took was the lightest touch and Bucky was ready for you, always.

Stroking him gently, you relished the way he instinctively thrust into your hand. “My, someone’s eager,” you teased before kissing his shoulder and stroking him more purposefully.

“You’re damn right.” Bucky grabbed the hand you had on his length and turned around placing it around his neck as he kissed you fervently. His aching cock rubbed against your slit as his tongue slipped between your soft lips. He felt goosebumps rise on his skin as you sucked on his tongue and tugged on his hair. Unable to wait a second longer, he spun you around and pushed you up against the cold tile wall so that your back faced his front.

He roughly parted your legs before teasingly sliding his cock through your slick. “Please, Buck,” you whimpered. He wanted to point out how you were the eager one now, but he really needed you. He could never deny you anyways — not that he’d ever want to.

He bent you over a bit and eased his way inside you, groaning as he bottomed out inside your tight wet heat. “Fucking perfect,” he mumbled to himself as you adjusted to his size and placed your hands on the wall to brace yourself. With a firm grip on your hips he slammed into you, thrusting rough and hard.

Normally, he liked to take his time and worship every inch of your body, but he knew the two of you had places to be today. Bucky knew what you needed and he made sure to hit all the right spots to get you there.

You mumbled expletives and moaned salaciously as your beefy man fucked you senseless. You clenched your eyes shut and tried to steady your breathing as the coil tightened in your belly. “Fuck B, I’m close—,” you said as you played with your clit.

“I know, can feel ya squeezing around me,” he muttered as he gripped your hips even more firmly with his large rough hands. Bucky pushed into you even harder somehow, sinking unbelievably deeper, and that was all it took. The coiled snapped as strong waves of pleasure overruled your body.

You cried out as your body shook, tightening around him as his thrusts became more shallow.

“One more, gorgeous, please,” he groaned as he reached around to swirl the pad of his thumb in circles over your clit, hard, and fast. Your body was his and he harshly picked up the pace when he felt you clench around him once more. “Such a good fucking girl, made for me,” he mumbled, and you’d be lying if you said his sweet dirty praises didn’t do something to you. You screamed out his name as you came so hard you heard a ringing in your ears.

Bucky held onto your hips as he shuddered through his own release, incapable of holding it together a moment longer. “Fuck—”

As you both came back to earth you finally stood up straight and Bucky took the opportunity to lean down and lazily pepper your neck with kisses. You giggled at his soft action, a stark contrast from his prior roughness. You felt grateful for the duality of his nature; he truly gave you everything you wanted in a man.

Turning around you met his deep blue gaze, and the two of you could not hide your bright smiles. You moved under the stream of water and washed yourself properly as Bucky watched. Unable to keep his hands to himself, he helped you and ended up on his knees for a bit until you begrudgingly reminded him that you really needed to get ready.

“To be continued then,” he said matter-of-factly as he kissed your inner thigh.

After you both got out and started to get ready, Bucky broke the companionable silence. “Baby, I didn’t wanna say it earlier, but I think you’re kinda bad at water conservation, I mean in the time that we spent in there —”

You playfully narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms as you waited for him to continue. Observing your sassy body language, he smiled coyly and decided against teasing you. “Um nevermind.”

You let out a laugh at his silliness. “You’re too much, B. How much time do we have left?”

He chuckled, finally dropping his faux shyness as he checked his phone. “We have a little over an hour, do you want me to run out and get the pies for us? I know a shop that’s still open.”

“Ooh yes, then I won’t have to rush. Could you grab a pecan and pumpkin, pretty please? I forgot about most stores being closed.”

“Sure thing, beautiful. I’ll be back in 20. Maybe then you can help me pick out a tie.”

“You’re not going to wear that henley?” you pointed at the red shirt he slipped on.

He shook his head, “It’s dinner with your parents, after eight years. How else will they know I grew up?”

“I think the scruffy beard, massive handsome body, and general slightly more mature demeanor will do it,” you said sarcastically.

Pausing to process your words, “You objectify me so much these days,” he said, averting his gaze.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. “I’ll stop commenting on your body if you want me to.”

“God, no. Please don’t stop. I was only making an observation,” he said with a goofy smile on his face.

Goodness, he’s in such a mood today.

Pinching the bridge of your nose in disbelief and holding back a smile, “Bucky, just go. I’ll pick something out for you while you’re gone.”

“Thanks, babe.” He beamed, quickly swooping in for a chaste kiss before heading out of his house.

┈┈┈┈┈・・

“What are you all nervous for? They know you well and practically consider you a son…” You peered at Bucky as he asked you about what flowers your mother hated.

He let you talk him down to a white button-down shirt and slacks, which he looked so good in. His large biceps and broad chest in that shirt made you want to call off everything you had to do until the end of the year so that you could spend all your time in bed with him. But alas, you had to do dinner with your parents tonight.

“I’m scared I got the wrong flowers, Y/N, and that your mom is going to judge me for that.”

God, he’s ridiculous and adorable.“Red and white carnations fit the holiday theme just fine, B. I love the arrangement you picked out.” Your phone started to buzz in your lap, “Wait one sec — “Hey mom, yeah my boyfriend and I are on our way.”

Bucky looked at you and smiled, he’d never tire of hearing you call him that. Although, he certainly had plans to upgrade that title in the new year.

“Yeah, we’ll be there soon. His name? Um, that can wait, it’ll be better if I just introduce you both in person.”

“Wait, she doesn’t know you’re dating me?!” Bucky loudly whispered.

“Shhh,” you lifted your index finger to your lips. — “No, not you mom, yes I’ve got the pies. Tell dad not to worry. Okay bye.”

You looked over at Bucky sheepishly, as he stopped at a red light. He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Baby, why haven’t you told your parents that we’re together?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. You know how much they always loved you… it’s not for any bad reason.”

He huffed out a breath, “You’re not embarrassed or anything right?” he asked softly.

Only then did you realize where his apprehension was coming from. It really had been eight years, and in that time Bucky thought you felt that he was unworthy of your love. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but you had only been together for three weeks now. He needed reassurance, and that was justified.

You reached out to intertwine your fingers with his. “I couldn’t be happier to call you mine. You are the love of my life, and the guy my parents secretly wish I would end up with. I genuinely just wanted to surprise them.”

A small smile graced his lips as he looked at the light turning green. Quietly, he pulled your hand toward his lips and kissed the back of yours contentedly. “You’re the love of my life too, sweetheart,” he whispered.

You grinned and continued, “I thought you’d be like a bonus Christmas present for them. All they know is that I’m bringing home a man I’m crazy about. But once they know it’s you, well I think it’ll make their year. My mom actually mentioned you last month.”

Bucky glanced at you with raised eyebrows, “What’d she say?”

“That she ran into your mom at the grocery store and that they chatted about us. She asked me if I wanted her to call Winnie to set up a coffee date for us.”

He let out a laugh, “Should’ve said yes.”

You shook your head, “The ultimate reunion — a coffee date orchestrated by our mothers, who’d probably be hiding somewhere watching it all go down.”

He parallel parked into a spot in front of your parents house then met your gaze. “I guess fate worked things out for us all on its own.”

“It sure did, no meddling mothers necessary. Just a meddling Steve more like it.”

Bucky chuckled as he reached out to caress your cheek. “Yeah, thank goodness for him, and you for putting so much work in on my case.”

You leaned into his touch and whispered, “I had a vested interest in the outcome. Couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

He closed the distance and pressed his lips to yours. His lips caressed yours slowly, intimately, as if time didn’t exist and nothing else mattered. You were his first kiss, and he had no doubt that you would be his last.

When the need for air finally became too much, he pulled back and whispered. “I love you, sweet girl.”

You lightly stroked your thumb along his scruffy jawline, “I love you too, B.”

┈┈┈┈┈・・

As your mother opened the door her eyes widened in shock as she saw you leaning into Bucky with one hand wrapped in his, and the other holding the pies.

“James?!” she exclaimed with abandon with the brightest smile on her face.

Bucky gave your mother his most charming smile and was about to give her the beautiful bouquet, “Hi Mrs.—”

Your dad hollered back, “She brought home another guy named James?!” You heard his heavy footsteps nearing the door.

“James Barnes?!” Your father gasped as he looked at the two of you with as much surprise as your mother. Then he looked down at her, as she looked up at him — after a moment of comprehension, their faces split into the widest smiles as they started to laugh.

You and Bucky looked at each other and began to laugh at their ridiculousness.

“I guess we got our Christmas miracle,” your mom finally said, beaming at you both.

“This is the best news, darling. We couldn’t be happier to see you two together. Now c’mon in, it’s cold outside!” he and your mother stepped aside to let you two in.

“Worth the wait right?” you whispered gleefully to Bucky as you got inside.

“Worth the wait, baby.” And when he said those words he didn’t just mean waiting to tell your parents about your relationship. While you were right, and that was priceless; he meant all of it.

The way life unfolded to bring you right back to each other, and how absolutely perfect it finally was to love and be loved by you.

It was all undoubtedly worth waiting for.

[theringers]

marked up - charles leclerc

summary: you meet him at a club & take him home, but it turns out you both like to be in charge

warnings: 18+ NSFW, lots & lots, read at ur own risk, rough sex

You were surrounded by the loud boom of the DJ and the sweaty bodies of your friends as you all danced together in the club. You had been vacationing in London and met up with a group of guys at the club.

You had taken a liking to one of them, stealing glances across the room and winking whenever he got the opportunity to.

He walked over to you and held out his hand. “I’m Charles,” he said. “Great to meet you.”

You introduced yourself to him and continued talking. You learned about what he does for a living and where he’s from and you shared the same information about yourself with him.

Later in the night, the club began to get packed with more people. You would think that the crowd would die down the later it got, but apparently it’s the opposite.

He leaned in and whispered in your ear. "What do you say we get out of here?"

You nodded, at a loss for words. You’re never at a loss from words after that much alcohol. He grabbed your hand and slowly led you towards the exit of the club, hoping to not cause a stir with your group.

You pass the bouncer and give him a wave as you leave and start to follow the streets of London. You never knew how beautiful this city could truly be. You were unsure in the moment of whether it was the alcohol in your system or the hand you were holding.

You could tell Charles had a bit to drink as well. You continued to hear him speak French under his breath here and there, even though he knew you didn't speak it. You giggled and looked at him which caught his attention. "What's so funny?" He smiled.

You shook your head slowly. "Nothing. You're cute, that's all." You directed your gaze back down to the sidewalk.

He muttered under his breath again, but this time it was definitely English. "I'm not gonna be cute in a couple minutes now," he said quietly, and laughed.

"What was that?" You asked, hoping to get him to repeat himself so you could acknowledge what he said. Instead, he just shook his head and kept walking.

The streets of London were still surprisingly packed at this hour. Friends wandered down streets and alleyways laughing like this was a regular night for them. This certainly felt like a regular night out for you, but you felt safer even despite your state of inebriation.

Charles looked just as in awe of the surroundings as you did. "Is this your first time in London?" He asked. His hand was still tangled with yours when he began to swing your arms back and forth like a child.

"Yes, actually. And it's living up to my expectations for sure." You smiled at him.

"I'm glad it is. I've been here a few times," he stopped and stumbled over his own feet, almost bringing you to the ground with him.

You broke out in laughter and clapped your hands together as he looked at you in shame. You almost felt bad until he began to laugh as well. Charles stood up, dusted himself off, grabbed your hand, and continued walking down the lit street.

He pointed forwards at a hotel entrance with his free hand and led you inside. The bright lights and white decor shocked your eyes before entering the elevator. He pressed the floor button as you descended up to his room. You weren’t sure what to say in this moment and you could only hope that the silence was comforting to him. You looked around the elevator, seeing things move around inside your eyes and trying to focus. Convincing yourself that you're sober is pretty difficult when you're not.

The door opened and you followed him through the carpeted halls. He grabbed a key out from his pocket and swiped it to open the door. "Home sweet home, baby." He gestured to the room as you walked in. As soon as the door closed, you felt a different energy from him. His eyes looked hungry as he looked your body up and down. You took a step backwards, against the door and did the same to him, finishing your glare at his face, focused on his lips.

"You are so sexy," he said, taking a step forward. His hand found your cheek before his lips crashed to yours.

You turned your head slightly, kissing him back. Your free hands went to his hair, pulling on his locks with need. He tasted incredible, even after a long night of drinking. You pulled his head away from your lips and down to your neck as he sucked on your skin. There was definitely going to be marks tomorrow.

His mouth lifted from yours and he spoke breathlessly. "Are you trying to get me to mark you up?"

You smirked. "Would it be the worst thing?"

He was just as devilish as you were. "Absolutely not." He made his way back to your neck. His hands trailed down your body, reaching the hem of your dress. His hand snaked under the hem and went to your backside. "You have an incredible ass," he said between kisses. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you felt that intense feeling growing in your abdomen. You pushed him back and took a few steps towards the bed before pushing him again onto the soft white comforter.

You straddled his lap. Your dress rolled up your legs and eventually rested around your waist leaving you bare. His hands found your ass again as you kissed him roughly. He pulled your body closer to him and you began to rock back and forth on his lap. "Shit, baby," he said between kisses. "I want you to ride me."

A smile formed across your face. "We don't always get what we want now do we?" You continued the motion on his lap, grinding harder and faster. You knew you were driving him crazy and it was getting to be too much for him to handle. He grabbed you and flipped you around so he was on top.

"I don't want you to think you're the one in control now, baby." He looked down at you with lust. You pulled him in for another kiss, but he resisted. He backed up off of the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt before tossing it to the side.

His lips found your legs as he began kissing up your body and crawling closer to you. His hand dipped into your underwear as he reached your inner thighs.

His fingers began tracing circles around your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. It had been months since anyone touched you like this. You tried to speak but the only thing that came out was a moan. His fingers lit your body up into flames.

"That's right," he said. A finger slowly found its way towards your entrance before slipping inside.

"Fuck," You moaned.

He followed suit. "I love to hear you moan for me baby." He entered another finger inside of you, hitting you in just the right spot. You rolled your eyes back, being shocked again when you felt his mouth on your clit.

You looked down to see his head buried between your thighs, going to work with intensity. "Jesus, Charles," You threw your head back again. He continued to work your body close while your legs wrapped around his back. You arched your back as you could feel something building inside of you. A moan escaped your lips followed by a few expletives.

His fingers worked inside of you and his tongue lapped around your core. He looked up at you, making eye contact while continuing all of these motions. He might be the hottest man you’ve ever seen in this moment.

He quickly sent you over the edge and you tried to recover before you pulled at him to get on the bed. Again, he resisted. "Baby, I'm in charge tonight." He flipped your body around so you were on your stomach. A sweet stinging sensation was felt on your ass as he grabbed your hips and pulled you up on all fours.

You heard the sound of foil ripping and he was soon inside of you. His pace was hard and rough and he felt so good inside of you.

Your arms felt like they were going to give out, so you leaned your head down on the bed as he pounded into you from behind. A low growl escaped his throat as you felt your head being tugged back up by your hair.

"Shit, you feel so good," he said with one hand gripping your ass and the other holding your hair in a makeshift pony tail.

"Fuck," You moaned, your body rocking back and forth before you began to feel that familiar feeling again. "Charles-" A hard smack on your ass stopped your speech but ultimately sent you over the edge.

He continued to work inside of you before his pace quickened and eventually slowed.

Your body fell onto the bed in exhaustion as he walked to the bathroom to clean up.

-

You woke up the next morning with an arm draped over your side. You turned behind you to see a peaceful Charles still asleep. You didn't want to wake him but your head was spinning. You tried to get out of his grip but he eventually started to stir awake. "Good morning beautiful," he said in a rugged morning voice.

You smiled at him as you pulled the covers up and walked towards the bathroom. You passed the full length mirror, noticing my naked body covered in purple and red marks. Your hair was a mess but somehow your makeup was still intact.  You looked towards Charles on the bed and saw him already staring at you with a smirk on his face. "Look at you," he said.

You shook your head and laughed. "I'm going to hop in the shower real quick."

He promptly jumped out of bed. "I'll join you if it's alright?" He asked.

You nodded to him and started the shower, the bathroom filling with steam. He walked into the bathroom behind you and got a closer look at your body. "I think seeing you marked up by me is getting me hard again."

You turned around and looked at him before dropping to your knees. "Well, why don't we do something about that."

[sicparvismorrigan]

Big Fun

Sam helps you feel better after you lose your temper.

Uncharted/Sam Drake/Post-U4

Viewpoint: 1st person gender-neutral reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: ~2.6k [complete]

Okay, outing myself a little here in the hopes that it’ll be a comfort to at least one other person. This happens…more often than I would like. I’m working on it.

This came about because of a discussion with @writingawaymylife thanks Aerin!

Read on Ao3

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, are you shitting me!”

You finally lose what little patience you had left and punch the wall. Underneath the cheap wallpaper it’s solid concrete and you instantly regret your feral outburst. There’s a millisecond of nothing before the pain comes rushing in, and then you’re bent double, clutching the wrist of your injured hand with the other and groaning.

You try and flex your fingers to check if they’re broken, but you can’t really tell. It’s too late. Your hand is numb within the minute. Shit, that’s really going to hurt in the morning.

You’re clumsy anyway, it’s the way it’s always been and the way it always will be. You know what you need to do, how you need to move, but your body won’t respond how you want it to. You’re always dropping plates and glasses, smashing them to bits. Usually when you’re already running late, and then you have to waste more time by scurrying around looking for a dustpan to get rid of the evidence.

You’re forever bumping into things, stubbing your toes and taking layers of skin off your shoulders and shins when you walk straight into doorframes. When you try and pour things you spill them more often than not. Yet more mess to clean up, yet more time wasted.

Your fingers just won’t work sometimes, often so badly it takes you multiple attempts to tie your shoes. And when it’s cold you’re practically useless. You just give up and tuck the laces into the shoes, feeling them rub through your socks, promising yourself to fix them once you’re back in the warm, everything will work out as long as you don’t trip over your own feet before you get there.

It’s the most frustrating thing in the world. Normally you can shrug it off, you’re used to it by now. But things had been going wrong all day, even without your clumsiness, and matters just came to a head.

You remember exactly what caused you to erupt into expletives and punch the wall. It had already been a frustrating day, work was a pain in the ass, as usual. All of the most awkward customers in the world had decided to descend upon you right before your break. By the time you got home you were in a pretty foul mood. Too wound up to relax, you decided to take a load of laundry downstairs to put in the washer.

You attempted to, anyway. After trying and failing 3 times to pick up the same damn sock from the floor of your room that your fingers just would not grasp, you’d given up and kicked it away under the bed in anger. Oh sure, couldn’t pick it up but you managed to land a furious kick the first time around.

Though you were trying your best to manoeuvre around the doorframe with the pile of clothes you still bumped off it with your shoulder, muttering ouch as the latch scraped your arm. Then you overcompensated by moving too much in the other direction and stubbed your toe on the corner of the door. Instant pain that made you see red.

The pile of clothes in your arms were promptly thrown on the floor in a fit of rage. That was when you punched the wall. And now you’re a sorry state, fingers throbbing and face red, trying not to scream.

Oh shit, you hear Sam moving around in his room down the hall. There’s no way he didn’t hear you. Well, this is embarrassing. There isn’t time to pick everything up and hightail it down the stairs before he catches you, not with your mangled claw out of action.

You hear his door creak open. You slowly turn around and stare guiltily at your roommate as he pokes his head around the doorframe.

“I heard…” He takes in the sight of the pile of laundry scattered on the floor and you holding up your tingling hand, still hopping from foot to foot. “Jeez, again?”

***

Sam is your friend Elena’s brother-in-law, or something like that. You aren’t clear on how exactly they’re related, but you knew her from college, long before she got married. She heard you were looking for a new roommate a few months back, and she got in touch, telling you she knew just the person.

You baulked initially when you got a phone call from her after sparse contact over the last few years. You were actually enjoying living by yourself again, though money was a bit tighter. Your last roommate was pleasant enough at first, however they soon turned out to be a nightmare, it was a relief to get rid of them. But you liked Elena a lot, and you did owe her one or two favours. For some reason she thought you and Sam would hit it off.

And much to your surprise, you did. You were a bit nervous of him to begin with, but Sam turned out to be so laid back he was almost horizontal. The perfect foil to your occasionally manic energy. Living with him was easy, there weren’t any awkward silences. If you were in the same room but didn’t feel like talking, he was fine with it.

Your apartment was pretty basic but he seemed happy there with you. He even made you dinner sometimes when you’d had a tough day and you’d just come in and flop face down on the sofa. Sam would wordlessly stand up and then half an hour later come back through to get you with the same phrase every time. “You gonna eat something, or what?”

Elena had reassured you he probably wouldn’t even be there a lot of the time. He just needed somewhere to touch base every few weeks, she turned out to be correct.

You didn’t even really know what Sam did. He didn’t appear to have a job, he was almost always home during the day and seemed to spend a lot of time on your Playstation (“our Playstation” according to Sam). But he came up with his half of the rent every month and then disappeared again for a few weeks. You didn’t ask, not your business. You’d started to find the house too quiet and empty when he wasn’t there and you were always waiting to hear the keys in the lock and his joking “Honey, I’m home!” whenever he came back.

After moving in it didn’t take him long to pick up on your quirks, or notice that you were more accident-prone than the average person. It had led to the only argument you’d ever had with him.

One time while making dinner you’d dropped a plate and cursed yourself as it cracked in half on the tiled floor. You’d stared daggers at him, daring him to say a word about it. You totally weren’t expecting what he did next.

He’d just looked at you dead in the eyes as he pushed another plate off the counter. Exactly like a cat would.

You blew up at him. “What in the hell did you do that for? Now there’s twice as many sharp bits to clear up!”

“It’s just a plate.” He had shrugged, leaning back on the counter.

“What’s your damn point?”

“That it really doesn’t matter, and that I don’t care that we’ve had to replace pretty much everything in this kitchen since I moved in.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Not everything. You owe me a plate now.”

“You know, maybe we should invest in plastic ones.”

“We are adults Sam! And it’s not good for the environment.”

“And the current… situation is not good for your bank account!”

“Just because you’re used to plastic cutlery.” Kind of a cheap shot, but you’re still mad. You’d gathered he’d done jail time, but you didn’t dare ask what for, or how long. You caught him saying weird things sometimes and eventually realised it was because his concept of time was a little warped. He kept referring to the 90’s like it was only last week, instead of nearly 20 years ago.

Sam just laughed at your plastic cutlery comment, not at all offended. “Yeah, and I like living here so much I’m willing to do that if it means you’ll stop beating yourself up.”

“I’ll think about it.” You grumbled. But you got some plastic cups and plates on your way home from work the next day. Sam was right, it was a lot better, though it made you feel like a kid again.

As you’d gotten more comfortable with Sam you’d given up trying to hide the fact you were a walking health hazard and didn’t stifle your curses anymore.

At first he seemed amused by your clumsiness, he even laughed the first few times you did something stupid. But he quickly realised how upsetting your lack of control over your own limbs was for you, because it happened so damn often. He stopped making fun as soon as he noticed you couldn’t laugh it off with him. It wasn’t a joke to you. From then on he’d been surprisingly nice, he always attempted to make you feel better when it got too much.

***

Even so, right now as you were having a stand-off with him in the hallway, you gritted your teeth and tried to keep your voice even. Stay calm, he’s just concerned. “Yes, again.”

“What did it ever do to you? Y’know, standing there, being all wall-like…stopping our house from collapsing?”

“I lost my temper again. Punched the damn thing.”

He shook his head. “I’ve told you, you’ve got to look after those hands.”

“But they’re so fuc-“ You stop and sigh when he raises an eyebrow. Calm. “Flipping useless. I’m useless.”

“Not true.” Sam steps out of his room and walks in your direction. On the way he kicks a rogue sock back onto the main pile of mess on the floor. “Take that, you scoundrel.”

“I just wish my brain worked normally.”

“Your brain is fine. Your music taste on the other hand.” Sam moved his hand up and down in an ‘ehhhhhh’ motion and shook his head. “No no.”

He’s kidding, of course he is. Damn his sense of humour. But you don’t feel like smiling just yet. It still fucking hurts. “I think I broke something this time.” You really thumped the wall. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve actually done damage.

“You want me to check?”

“Please.”

You hold out your hand for him and he carefully wiggles and stretches your fingers one by one, watching your face for any reaction. You wince once he gets to your thumb. Oh, that one hurts the worst.

“No, thumb on the inside? For real?” Sam looked at you in disbelief.

“Apparently so.”

“That’ll learn you. That’s like rule number one of punching anything.”

You sigh. “Anything broken?”

“No, we’re all good. But keep your thumb on the outside next time or you really will break it.”

“Surprisingly, I wasn’t really focusing on technique that much. Oh hey, you should check this one again.” You hold your middle finger aloft.

“Very funny.” But he smirks at you, knowing he’s helping you feel better.

“Come on, you do that one to me all the time.”

“Learning from the best, what can I say? Oh, shit…” Sam’s staring past you.

“What, what’s wrong?” You glance back in the direction he’s looking.

Sam moves to the wall, right where you just punched and looks at you in faux-panic. “I need a medic!”

“Really?” You watch in amazement as he starts to do something to the wall which looks an awful lot like the chest compressions from CPR. Wow, he’s very committed to this bit.

“We’re losing them!”

“Sam, there’s barely a scuff on the wallpaper. I definitely came off worse.”

“I need a crash cart stat!” He yells at nobody in particular.

“Jesus Christ. You’ve been watching too many daytime medical dramas.” You just shake your head, but the corners of your mouth are threatening to twitch upwards.

“Have not…Beeeeeeeeeep! Aw, we lost them. RIP.” He finally steps away from the wall and shrugs. “I tried.”

“You’re such a goofball.” At least you’re smiling now.

“Hey, it worked didn’t it? Frown upside down.” He squeezes your shoulder. “You really did a number on that wall though, huh? I heard it all the way down there. Hell, I felt it. Made the stuff on the shelves rattle.”

“Yeah, I’ve had a bad day. A really bad day. People are assholes.” You glance down at the pile of laundry still littering the floor. “I should pick this up.”

“Do you have to right now?”

“Well, yeah…I was on the way downstairs to wash it.”

“I’m not sure the structural integrity of our house could take it if you had another…incident on the way to the washer. That wall’s concrete but you’re gonna end up going clean through one of the others. Then you’ll lose our security deposit.”

“My security deposit.”

“Right, right, right. That doesn’t mean you can punch holes wherever you like.”

“You could fix it though if I did?”

“Yeah, I guess. Y’know, I’ve never really asked you about it before, but talk me through it, what goes on in your head right before you flip out?”

“I don’t know, I just…see red and it happens before I can stop it.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s nodding. Bizarrely, he doesn’t look too freaked out to you admitting you pretty much go into berserker mode over minor inconveniences. “I know you can’t do anything about having 2 left feet, but you can do something about letting it get to you.”

“What, count to 10 or something?” You ask, mocking. Like you haven’t heard that one before.

“Yeah, seriously.” You get the impression he’s talking from experience. “It works, don’t question it.”

Screw it, he’s being really nice. At least he understands it’s not because you’re an idiot, it’s because your brain isn’t wired like most peoples. And he was right about the plastic plates. “Alright. I’ll try.”

“And you come tell me if this thing pisses you off again, I’ll deal with it.” Sam shakes his fist at the wall. He really is an idiot sometimes. But he does make you laugh. He’s your idiot.

“Gotcha.” You give him a thumbs-up with both hands, wincing again, the movement hurts.

He gives you a sly look. “How about you flex those fingers, and we play a game awhile. Crash Bandicoot maybe?”

“Again? I’ve got loads to do….” You fidget anxiously. you know what he’s up to though. Trying to get you to chill out.

“Just for a little bit. Scared I’ll beat ya?”

“Pffft, not even close, but I’m at a disadvantage this time.” There’s still no way he can win.

“I resent that, I’m getting pretty good.”

“You just mash the buttons.” It’s a fact and he knows it.

“C’mon, c’mon. I gotta at least beat your high score before I have to leave again.”

“Okay, okay, fine. I’m in. Let’s go!” You nod in the direction of the stairs.

“Loser deals with that later on.” He points at the abandoned pile of laundry on the floor.

“Deal, don’t go easy on me.” You step around it and follow him to the sitting room. Even with a crippled hand you’re pretty sure you can thrash him. “Elena and I used to play this in college, wonder if she still has it…”

***

Thank you for reading!

Yeah…I am not just clumsy, I am more like ‘danger to myself and others’ levels of uncoordinated. But I can’t be the only one! Don’t worry, Sam’s got your back ;) Also the title is the song Big Fun from Heathers the Musical because once again it has invaded my life. The whole soundtrack has been on a loop for days now. I LOVE IT. Punch the wall and start a fight!

- Sam Drake and Elena Fisher belong to Naughty Dog/the Uncharted creative team and I (sadly) take no ownership of them.

- This work is not for profit though it belongs to me and I must be credited when copying or reposting elsewhere

- As mentioned before reader is intended to be gender-neutral so please interpret this fic however you like. This is my first x Reader fic published and first g/n reader viewpoint I’ve attempted so I hope I did okay. I myself identify as mostly female so that’s what I normally write because it’s easier for me to connect with. But this was fun.

[1997devil]

deals with the devil

pairing: mingyu x reader

w.c.: 2.8k

includes: incubus!mingyu, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, dirty talk & degradation, daddy kink, oral (fem receiving), fingering, creampie

a/n: this is me being self indulgent because that’s what got me 1k after all 🥵😛 i promise i’ll work on requests after this! i just needed to get this out of my system 🖤  also to clarify some things that may appear dubious, the drink the reader is holding is a potion by mingyu that he uses to lure her towards him! a lil fantastical touch i added to upkeep the demon theme lol

-

you mutter expletives under your breath when the dj hollers and shuffles to the next song on his shitty playlist of trashy holiday remixes. 

you’re only here because your friend had begged you to come along with her, pleading with such vigor she might as well had just dragged you by your wrist. she ditched you the second she set foot in the house, latching her arms around her boyfriend’s neck, the one throwing the party and the one who hired said dj. it really just reaffirmed how your best friend had a shitty taste.

when you entered what appeared to be a bar area someone had shoved a solo cup into your hand, the inside sloshing with a liquid you knew was strong, would blow your mind away from the scent that wafted from it, and would leave you with a killer hangover tomorrow morning. you didn’t dare take a sip from it, though you held onto it so that your hand wouldn’t look so lifeless, hanging by your body.

the shitty music didn’t pound against your still sober mind on whichever floor you were currently on, which you were thankful for. you wander through the house – perhaps the one thing your friend’s boyfriend was good for was the expansive mansion his family lived in – stumbling past locked bedrooms and powder rooms. people who were already trashed, no doubt from the same drink that remained in your cup, lingered about in the hallways. you gingerly stepped beside them, getting further away from where the party was mainly situated, not really having a concrete plan in mind or any sense of direction in what appeared to be a labyrinth standing as a house.

a bedroom you happen to pass by left its door ajar, and something called you from within to look in. it didn’t hurt to take a rest for a bit from the killer heels your friend shoved your feet into. you’d call a cab from there and you’d finally return home, within your safe space underneath your duvet.

there appeared to be no one, and you braced yourself to let yourself in fully. your heels sank into the carpeted floors as you slowly headed towards the bed. it was still clean and neatly made, and you wonder how no one has stepped foot in this bedroom amongst all the other ones you just passed by. you heave a sigh as you gently sat down on the plush bed. you hadn’t had a single bite or drink since night befell and painted the sky pitch black. the cup that’s in your hand still remains untouched, and you take a small sip, the alcohol burning like fire down your throat as you swallow.

something in the corner of your peripheral vision catches your attention, flickering, appearing transparent then returning to opaque in a moment you’d miss if you blink. it appears strange, fascinating, and you sense a stirring sensation throughout your body the more you rest your eyes on it. a voice that begins to resonate in your mind beckons you to come closer.

it feels like you lose all your senses as you face the man standing before you, and your brain eventually feels more muddled when you try to recall just where and you’d seen him before.

“had my eyes on you since you walked in,” the unnamed man hums, stepping closer to you, an arm circling around your waist. it presses you closer against him, letting out a soft gasp. your arms seem to move on their own accord, resting on his chest as he looks down on you. “wanted to taste you so bad,” he mutters, voice dropping to something lower than a whisper like you were the only one meant to hear him.

“w-who are you?” the lump that’s lodged in your throat since you swallowed whatever had been in that cup clears up just enough for you to brokenly rasp out words. you meet the man’s eyes, dark as midnight, glows and keeps your attention on him. you feel as if all your senses are heightened as he runs his warm hands on your body.

“call me mingyu, angel,” he smirks, a wanton intonation lacing his voice, “though you’ll call me many other things later.”

“l-like what?” you whimper when his head drops to your neck, gently sucking on your skin, fierce enough for you to feel but not enough to leave marks yet.

“are you gonna stay to find out?” his lips tickle at your ear, nibbling on your earlobe, placing a kiss to the skin right below it. it hits a spot you didn’t know felt good, a high pitched whine leaving your mouth. you nod frantically, and mingyu lets out a dark chuckle at how desperate he’s already gotten you.

it feels like mingyu controls all your movement, taking over your senses as he leads you around the bedroom and slams you to the door. his hand places itself firmly on your waist, and the other hand goes to circle your neck, almost like a priceless accessory that decorates the clean space of skin, like an empty canvas. it’s tight, hot, and you’d happily die like this, under his hands.

tears line and spring from your eyes, rivulets tracking your cheeks and dripping from your jaw. mingyu laughs, a snarky sound that is lined with fire and hell.

“haven’t touched you at all, pet,” he purrs, leaning closer to you, his tall figure towering over you. it is only fitting that the title of the king and ruler of the underworld is crowned to someone built like him. he commands attention, creates control in any space and room he enters, and right now he was playing with yours. “what’s making you so needy?”

he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ears, a contrast to just how rough he’d been with you before.

“you,” you whisper in response. the smirk that remains on his lips is taunting. “what about me? i haven’t done anything to you.”

he continues. “what would you like me to do with you, angel? would you like me to make you feel good?”

the affirming nod you give is all the permission he needs as he presses his lips to yours, licks on your bottom lip as you easily grant him access.

–

“you wanna know a secret, angel?’ mingyu teases, slow and relaxed, unlike you who’s the spitting image of desperation and need for him. he’s been teasing you for what feels like hours now, reducing you to putty in his hands, just begging with whatever energy you have left for him to fuck you already.

you nod, masking your sounds as the pillow underneath you swallows your whine. you feel mingyu’s hand return to your body, slowly tracing a path of its own on your thighs, inching closer to your wetness but not quite reaching it yet.

“i’ve known you since before tonight, darling,” he mutters as his legs bracket your legs, fingers carding through your hair. “i’ve seen and watched you, even when you thought no one could see you.”

his gentle touch on your locks turns into a searing grasp as he pulls you up by your hair, making you stand on your knees. your hands try to grasp at something, until it travels to behind you, pressing your back to his chest.

“even when you thought no one could hear you as moaned and whined until you made yourself cum.” he bites out directly against your ear, hot breath fanning on your skin until the hairs on the nape of your neck arose.

“so damn pretty when you got your fingers fucking yourself fast and hard, hm?” he continues, punctuating every few words with a wet kiss to your jawline. “or when you think that dumb little toy you have can make you come. it’s comical, darling, that you think anything can make you feel as good as i do. you’ll come to know it, angel.” his hand comes down to your ass, gentle for a start, though mingyu knows you’ll beg for him to go harder. you let out a little yelp at the contact, and mingyu just feels even more fired up as he sees the red mark deepen on your skin.

he pushes you back down onto the bed. “m-mingyu-ah, d-do it already, pl-please,” you brokenly mutter, and mingyu delights in the way your voice cracks at every other syllable.

“do what, angel?” your hands firmly grasp on the sheets as you feel his lips travel downwards, tracing down your spine and the small of your back. he moves back just a bit so he isn’t sitting atop your legs anymore, then holds you by your hips to pull you up. your knees are barely strong enough to hold you up, and mingyu scoffs at what you’ve become under his touch.

“this?”

he runs a finger on your sopping wetness, and you loudly keen at his touch, finally. you momentarily remember that you’re nowhere near your own bed, yet you continue to release loud noises, not caring if anyone can hear you from outside. 

his mouth falls onto your pussy next, accompanying the ministrations of his fingers weaving in and out of you while he sucks and licks until you’re shivering. the anticipation that finally erupted with him pleasuring you produces moans and groans that mingyu absolutely revels in.

“what do you want, angel?”

you keen loudly with your eyes shut, taking deep breaths to not come early even though it seems mingyu wouldn’t even mind.

“w-want you in me, gyu.”

you feel mingyu’s grin deepen as he eats you out. “good girl.”

he lifts his mouth from your wetness, though his fingers don’t pause. he adds another digit, your wetness coating them up to their knuckles, dripping down to your inner thighs as well. you whine, impatient, and mingyu calmly shushes you, his other hand traveling up your body to pinch and play with your nipples.

“need to prepare you first, angel. you need to be able to take all of me, right?” he quickens the pace of his fingers, three of them now fucking you. your response is cut off by a whine. his feels better than when you do it yourself, going in deeper than you ever would’ve reached yourself.

“look at you,” he mutters in disdain, “can barely even take my fingers. d’you think you can take my cock?”

“pl-please, no more teasing, f-fuck me already!” you snap at his teasing, though mingyu seems unbothered, barking a familiar mocking laugh as he slowly pulls his fingers out, sucking on them, letting your sweetness coat his tongue and whole mouth, savoring your taste. he smacks your ass once more for good measure.

“demanding. be fucking grateful i’ll let it slide,” he growls, running the head of his cock on your entrance, as he slowly pushes in. he chokes on his own moan as he can barely push in up to the head of his cock. you’re so tiny underneath him, barely even fitting his dick, yet your pleading drips out of your mouth so easily.

your impatience takes over as you fuck back on him, and mingyu groans at how more of your tight cunt is enveloping his cock, warm and feeling so good. a gasp leaves your lips at how big he is, and mingyu’s hands bracket your waist, seemingly trying to stop you from going further.

“angel, y-you’re too tight,” he choppily huffs, a light sheen of sweat perspiring on his skin.

it appears to be your last straw. “please, please, i need you! n-need your cock,” you gasp once more, “please, d-daddy!”

you don’t even seem to notice the name falling off of your lips, but it reinvigorates the fire within mingyu. all his composure, the control he’d worked so hard to maintain so he doesn’t just fuck and break you, ebbing out of him and traveling far.

“you asked for it.”

he finally fully pushes in, his cock fully inside of you, your ass pressing against his hips. you gently swivel your hips, easing the stretch when it feels like his dick is splitting you.

“sweetheart, you’re driving me insane. what a greedy ‘lil slut, huh?” he grinds up against you once, and your arms feel like they’re about to give out. “getting off on daddy’s cock like this.”

his hands leave your waist, traveling to your nipples, flicking and pinching down on them. your whole body feels like jelly, letting out what you think are the most pornographic moans you’ve ever heard in your life. all your senses have been overtaken by the demon hanging above you, reveling in all the energy he’s feeding off of your pleasure.

mingyu bends over to press his body against yours, then straightens back up, bringing you with him. his hand tangles into your hair, keeping you upright as he finally begins fucking you, building up a pace. the sounds of skin slapping against each other resound in the room that feels larger than life, like no one can bother you.

he feeds dirty praises to you, and every syllable he bites out is almost competing with the noises you make. he tells you he loves how dirty you are, how wet and warm your pussy is, how soft your breasts feel, how you’re such a whore who so easily breaks when daddy fucks her.

his words tether back and forth between praising and mocking you, telling you that you look so gorgeous like this, brokenly sobbing at the pleasure, wetness dripping onto the sheets.

“do you like it, angel?” it is an understatement, and you can only express it through your dirty whimpers. “i l-love it, daddy. love it so mmm-much, ah, daddy, m-mingyu, ah!” you hate how mingyu keeps his composure so well, a sharp contrast to you, ruined and wrecked beyond comprehension.

“fucking you stupid, hm?” mingyu taunts.

then, in a smooth stroke, he pulls out of you, and you gasp at the loss of contact. mingyu leaves no time for regret. he moves back, turning your body around, letting you rest on your back. his fingers wrap around your ankles, pushing your legs up until he’s got you practically bending in half. he enters you again, easily picking up the pace he set beforehand. the new position easily leads him to the spot that makes you see stars.

your jaw falls as he continues to prod at the spot, hitting it perfectly every time. “right there, baby?” you deliriously nod, head lolling to the side.

mingyu’s lips on yours are soft and gently prodding, overwhelming you with the different sensations he’s subjecting your body and mind to.

“f-fuck, break me, daddy!”

mingyu’s lips stretch into a devilish smile.

mingyu slams even harder into you, pushing you to your limits. you see red, hot, and you know you won’t last much longer. you whimper, trying to work your voice up to warn mingyu, though you fail. he reads through you, his pace unforgiving as his hand comes to play with your clit, and you howl at the surge of pleasure that throbs through your body.

mingyu tightly grabs onto your thigh, pressing it down to keep you in position. “where do you want me, angel?”

“mmm, inside. f-fill me up, yeah, feels s-so good,” you’re completely out of it, slurring your words, not registering anything but mingyu’s warm hands running on your body and wetness, completely enveloping you until you’re teetering off the edge, ready to let the winding coil in your stomach burst.

mingyu groans, long and drawn, and makes the tension in your boy snap. you come from him coming, feeling him fill you up with hot spunk and pushed in deeper from how he doesn’t stop thrusting. sparks and sensations overflood you until you’re left with a gaping mouth and dripping pussy, as mingyu finally pulls out.

he coos as he watches you clench around nothing, his come dripping out of you. he bends down, using his tongue to clean up whatever had spilled out of you, then fucking the remnants back in with his finger. the overstimulation makes you keen once more, and mingyu finally takes mercy on you.

his lips gleam in the dark light, coated with the liquids dripping from your wetness. he kisses you again, and you taste the way yours and his come mix together in your mouths. your eyes flutter shut, feeling as if you’re suspended in mid-air as mingyu transforms from the ruthless dominant earlier to something much more gentle, lazily clashing his tongue with yours and pressing his digits down on your thighs to soothe the strained muscles.

it takes a while until he separates from you, and you can barely keep your eyes open as he smirks at you.

–

(you wake up the next morning in your bed, a sated soreness plaguing your entire body so great you feel like such pain would’ve only erected if you had thrown yourself off of a cliff.

a sigil that would’ve been invisible to anyone else but you brandish itself on your right pinky finger.

a feeling sinks into you, one that tells you he’d return soon.)

[luxekook]

make you scream » ksj

» pairing: sully!seokjin x reader » genre: monsters inc. au, crack, smut » summary: there’s a monster in your closet, but you want him in your bed. » word count: 2.1k » warnings: 18+, cursing, bad jokes, teasing, TMG references, reader ties jin up, generally clueless seokjin, smut [oral (m receiving), mentions of sex and impregnation]

» request: @j-sope​ said: jin + mystery drink!

as part of the bangtanhq drinks and drabbles challenge

Ever since you moved into your new apartment, you’ve had a slight monster problem. And you aren’t talking the energy drink. You’re talking a living, breathing monster who creeps out of your closet in the wee hours of the morning in an attempt to scare you shitless.

At least, that’s your current theory of his intentions - mainly compiled from dark web searches and reddit threads. You aren’t sure what exactly his motive is with you, but you do know one thing - you don't want to scare him away. Whatever monster lab created him had royally fucked up, because your monster is really fucking hot.

You aren’t even sure if you can actually call him a monster given that he looks like a fucking god amongst men.

He’s been visiting you for three weeks now, and you have stopped acting frightened since week two. Your silence seems to be both baffling and vexing to your nightly visitor. Neither of you have spoken to the other. Hell, you aren’t even sure if he can speak. He’s only yelled and jumped out at you so far in an attempt to draw your screams.

But, tonight you plan to change things up and finally get some answers.

As the clock grows closer to 3am, you pretend to sleep, nervously awaiting your monster.

Finally, you hear the telltale creak of your closet door and the soft footfalls that always follow. Your heart thumps in your chest.

Before he can scare you, you hop out of bed, catching him off guard. Using his shock against him, you push him into your desk chair and quickly grab the jump rope you had set aside for this very purpose.

“Yah!” Your monster struggles as you tie him up, “Stop that! Get your hands off me!”

Ah, so he can speak. You secure the knots that tie him to the chair and step back to assess your work. Flicking on your bedside lamp, you check out your monster in all his glory.

He’s glaring up at you with a vicious pout that would be menacing if he wasn’t so fucking adorable. His hair is a mix of blue and purple with two small horns twisting up amidst the strands. His body is long and lean with shoulders that give you way too many dirty thoughts.

Finally, your eyes meet his. His brown eyes linger on yours for a moment before wandering up and down your own body, reminding you of your current outfit of just a long shirt and underwear.

“Well?” You place your hands on your hips, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Your monster scoffs and pulls at his restraints, “Untie me, human!”

“Puh-lease,” You roll your eyes, “You’ve been barging into my house in the dead of night for weeks, and you think you can order me around? No, sir. Not today.”

“Well, I wouldn't have to keep coming back if you would just scream for me,” He mumbles, hands clenched into fists, “I have a quota to meet, you know!”

“That sounds like a you problem,” You shrug, edging closer to him. He tenses at your approach. “Why don’t you like humans touching you, my little monster?”

“Little?!” He exclaims, “How dare you! I am Kim Seokjin, top Scarer at Monsters, Incorporated!”

You reach out to cup his cheek, “Aw, did I hit a nerve, Mr. Kim ‘I’m so scary’ Seokjin?” He glowers, refusing to answer.

“Going to have to shred your door now,” He mutters, looking defeated, “And get sanitized.”

You snap back, “Sanitized? Well, that’s just rude. And if you even think about destroying my closet door, just know that I will be sending you the bill.”

“I don’t know who this Bill is, but don’t send him to me,” Seokjin scrunches his nose, looking thoroughly displeased.

You laugh, shoulders shaking at his dead serious remark.

Your monster’s eyes widen as he stares up at your laughing form.

“What?” You ask, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen and still chuckling slightly.

“Can you do that again?” Seokjin asks again, looking at you with a peculiar yet hopeful gleam in his eye.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows, “Laugh?”

He nods, and you immediately get suspicious. “Why?”

“Because it apparently works the same way as screaming,” He shrugs, “I don’t make the rules.”

“So you do need my screams,” You smirk, “Interesting… Do these screams that you gather only come from fear?”

“Duh,” He rolls his eyes, “What other kind of screaming is there?”

You laugh again, ignoring how happy he looks that you did so. “There is one that comes to mind, monster boy.”

“Tell me!” He practically bounces in his seat, despite being tied up.

“Nah,” You shake your head, undoing his restraints, “I think that’s enough for one night. Out you go.”

“What?”

You pull him up from the seat and shove him towards your closet. He argues with you the whole way. Peering into your closet first, you pout when you don’t see anything out of the ordinary - that is, until Seokjin slips past you.

The back of your closet disappears before your eyes, and you see what looks like a warehouse with almost-human-but-not-quite individuals milling about.

Seokjin turns to leave, and you panic, your hand darts out to grab his wrist. You want to see him again.

“What is it, human?” Seokjin looks at you hesitantly.

“(Y/n). My name’s (y/n). And the other kind of screaming? It's not from fear; it’s from pleasure.”

His eyes practically pop out of his skull as your words sink in, “Pleasure—! But-but how?”

You push him out of your dimension.

The next evening, you don’t even feign sleep. This time, you wait up wearing nothing but a satin robe.

It seems that Seokjin also doesn’t follow his usual pattern as he storms into your room right on schedule. “(Y/n)! I demand you scream in pleasure for me!”

You choke on air, “That’s not how it works, Seokjin!”

“Well,” He crosses his arms, staring down at you from the foot of your bed, “Then tell me how it works.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” You sigh, shifting your legs so that your upper thigh peeks through the slit in your robe. Predictably, his eyes follow. “You’ll have to touch me, and I know you wouldn’t want to.”

You watch as he swallows hard, his eyes glued to your body, “I-I never said that.”

“Really?” You shift again. The tie of your robe loosens slightly. “I could have sworn you said ‘get your hands off me’ last night.”

He shakes his head emphatically, “No, that wasn’t me! That was, uh, Jim Seok-im!”

“Any relation?” You cock your head, entertaining his terrible effort to convince you.

“Nope, never met him,” Seokjin inches closer to you.

“Right,” You deadpan. “Well, don’t you all have sex over there in monster land?”

Seokjin gapes at you, “Yah! I am not making a child with you!”

“Good god, Jinnie,” You laugh, “Not all sex ends with pregnancy.”

“Ours does,” He scowls, looking thoroughly put out.

“So, let me get this straight,” You stand, walking the short distance over to him, “You monsters have monster sex with your monster cocks, and you don’t monster scream in monster pleasure?”

“Motion to ban you from saying the word ‘monster’ again,” He mumbles, still looking miffed.

“Motion denied, you monster.”

Seokjin pinches his nose in frustration, “Sex is purely for reproductive purposes. It’s a transaction. I don’t see how it can feel good.”

“What the monsterfucking fuck!” You just about blew a fuse. “What have you been doing? Just staring at your dick? Don’t you touch yourself? Have you never gone down on a girl monster? A boy monster? A gender-nonconforming monster?”

Seokjin slams a hand over your mouth, “Shut up, my human. Now, show me how to make you feel good so that I can collect your pleasure screams.”

Swatting his hand from your face, you shake your head, “I think I want to hear yours first.”

“I would like to see you try,” He laughs in an endearing squeaky way that makes you want to give him the suck of his life.

“Bet.” You sink to your knees, making quick work of his pants.

“Oh my sweet monster cock,” You breathe as you take in the sight before you. His cock is the biggest you’ve ever seen - thick and long with veins running down its smooth skin.

He’s hard already, and you shoot him a skeptical look. “What?” Seokjin shrugs, “It’s just my body acknowledging you as a potential mate. It’s happened before.”

Fury bubbles up inside you at the thought of him getting hard for anyone other than you. God, are you actually developing feelings for your monster? Pushing that thought aside, you vow to make him come so hard that all his (hypothetical) future orgasms will belong to the mere thought of you.

Without pause, you suck the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip.

“M-my human, what are you doing?” Seokjin yelps, his hand digging into your hair. He’s a natural, you think, choosing to ignore his question.

Your hands run up and down his thighs before winding their way around to squeeze his ass. The gasp that results is delicious and urges you to move faster.

You take more of him into your mouth, sucking harder, your cheeks hollow. His breath hitches, “O-oh, (y/n), keep doing that. Feels so good. How does it feel so good?”

Oh, your poor little monster boy has no idea how good it will get…

You take him all the way, your nose nudging his firm pelvis. Seokjin moans, and when you swallow around him, he lets out a series of what you can only assume are expletives in the monster world.

One hand still gripping his ass, you bring your other one forward to tease his balls in your palm. He shouts your name, and you feel him twitch inside your mouth.

You release him with a pop. “Will you come for me, Seokjin?” Your voice is raspy from the deep-throating, “Will you come in my mouth for me?”

“Y-yes,” He pants, “I need to release. Your mouth is the best thing I’ve ever felt, my human.”

Laughing softly, you grab his monster cock once more, “Oh, my little monster, you are sure in for a good time.”

Without further explanation, you suck him harder than you’ve ever done to anyone before. You want and need to have Seokjin unravel before you, to come down your throat. And it isn’t long before his moans grow louder and louder until he comes with a yowl that honestly rivals what yours had been like when your monster had scared you at first.

“My human,” Seokjin finally mumbles, as you pull your mouth away from him, “What was that?”

“A blowjob,” You shrug, getting to your feet, “Sometimes referred to as ‘giving that sloppy toppy’ or ‘putting that dick through a carwash’ or ‘showing them that 360 degree spin cycle’.”

He looks baffled, “I understood none of that, but can I give you one of these ‘blowjobs’ now?”

You laugh, “My greedy little monster, come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk.”

He pouts adorably, and you can’t help yourself from pressing your lips to his. A blush overtakes his cheeks and the tips of his ears, “My human, why did you do that?”

“You’re so cute, Jinnie,” You shrug, “I wanted to kiss you to show that I like you.”

He blinks, “You-you—?”

You shove him once again towards your closet, “Tomorrow, my handsome monster. Get ready, there are so many things I still have to show you.”

His eyes widen, “There’s even more!?”

“Oh, yes,” You flash him a wicked grin as you kick him out of your room, “I’m going to fucking rock your monster world, baby.”

Four Months Later...

“Hey, my pretty human,” Your monster whispers, his breath ghosting over your ear. Goosebumps rise across your skin.

“Hey, handsome,” You answer, your eyes shooting open to meet his.

“Yah!” Your monster stumbles back, “Would you quit doing that?” His pout only draws your attention to his plush lips.

“No,” You grin, sitting up in your bed. “Are you ever going to quit creeping around my room at night?”

“Never,” He continues to pout. “Besides, you love it.”

And you really do.

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[write-ur-wrongs]

I can’t thank you enough for you kindness and patience with this request! I was nervous to write a HoH reader, but I truly hope I’ve done them justice. Please let me know what you think :) 

Hi could I request a Geralt x hard of hearing (HoH) reader? Could be hcs or maybe reader is nervous that they'll be a burden for geralt & jaskier to travel with? Ty!

The sun was about to set as you reached your destination, and while your feet throbbed angrily, you were glad to have powered on earlier in the day. You weren’t afraid of the woods at night, but you weren’t willing to fight for free. If you were going to kill, you were going to collect.

As you entered the town, you took note of its state. Multiple villagers were milling around the alleys, chatting under lanterns and clearing out their market stalls for the day. You were happy to see that this village was busy; villages with plenty of children and elders often had plenty of jobs needing to be done.

Your optimism was quickly dampened though, when you saw that there were only three signs on the notice board. Letting your bag drop to your feet with a huff, you massaged your shoulder as you scanned the board for anything worthwhile.

“Oh, thank god!” you muttered, upon seeing the first ad. It was posted by the town healer who was looking for an extensive collection of herbs – a collection you already had in your pack. Plus, they lived just off the town square, so you could drop off the herbs on your way to the inn.

The next ad was from someone begging for an exorcism for their child, who had apparently become possessed by a devil. You skipped it quickly, screwing your face up in disgust. You weren’t about to try that again.

The final post was from a local farmer requesting assistance in dealing with a banshee – this caught your attention. You felt like you’d struck gold here; there was no creature better suited to your abilities – or as some might say, lack thereof.

You were a little bitter that half the post had been torn off, so you had no idea who you were looking for, only where to look; the pub.

You hated a lot of things and many places, but if there was one thing you really couldn’t stand, it was small enclosed areas where hoards of people went to get drunk and shout. Between the collective shouting and slurring, you could never make heads or tails of what anyone was saying.

Sighing through your nose, you tore the rest of the ad off the board, picked up your bag and made way for the healer’s house before seeking out the pub.

Fortunately, the healer was beyond grateful for your herbs, and paid you handsomely for them. Weighing your bag of coin roughly in your hand, you contemplated whether or not a visit to the pub would be worth it.

While the healer paid you really well, that was no guarantee of long-term comfort. In the last village, you ended up paying more for a room at the inn than you’d made slaying two of their local terrors. You knew ridding someone of a banshee would pay well, but gods, you hated pubs.

It seemed fate made the decision on your behalf, however, as the pub and the inn were in the same building – you’d have to go into the pub to get yourself a room for the night.

Well, fuck, you thought, hiking your bag up higher on your shoulder, readying yourself for the dull and disorienting drone that awaited you inside. Here goes nothing. 

It was loud; so loud in fact, that you could feel it. You looked around hoping that the person you were looking for would somehow make themselves known, but all you saw were groups of rowdy men shouting and shoving one-another around the crowded space.

But just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, you spotted a bard. And he was really putting it on for the crowd.

Rolling your eyes, you pulled your bag up closer to yourself, conscious of the limited space, and plowed on. Once at the bar, you took a moment to lean up against it and tried to get your bearings. You’ve been living with your condition for most of your life now, having lost the majority of your hearing after an accident, but you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the overwhelming buzz that surrounded you in loud spaces. There was no discernable sound per say, it was all just noise.

You were lost in your discomfort when you felt someone grab at your elbow. You whipped your head around and found yourself face to face with a drunk woman.

“’e’s been askin’ ya a question!” she shouted at you, nodding to the bartender.

“Oh,” you exclaim, “thank you.” You say, pulling your arm out of her grasp and turning to face the bar, and impatient bartender.

“As I’ve been sayin’, ’ow can I ‘elp ya?” he says, leaning towards you to be heard above the noise.

“I need a room,” you said, leaning in yourself, “and I need to find the person who posted this.” You slam the torn ad on the bar and slide it towards him.

“Up the stairs, first door ‘o the left,” he says, sliding you a key, “and no need to worry ‘bout that lass, ‘e’s taken care o’ it, yeah?” As he said this though, he turned his face away from you to gesture towards the man in question.

Unable to read his lips, you looked to where he pointed in frustration, but all you saw was an over-confident bard strut around like a fool. You scoffed and turned back to the bartender to ask him to repeat himself, but he’d already walked off to serve someone else.

Scoffing, you grabbed the key to your room off the bar and stalked off in the direction he had pointed. You really hated pubs.

Seeing a new face, the bard danced his way over to you and blocked your path, clearly trying to make an impression. You pushed past him, rolling your eyes and muttering expletives. Despite his quick recovery, you could tell your dismissiveness stung him by the way his eyes fell, but you had no patience for bards.

With the flamboyant man behind you, you took another look around the space, meaning to head upstairs to your room, but that’s when you spotted it. A wolf-head medallion, glimmering under the low light of the pub.

And the man wearing it? The White Wolf himself.

You knew this is who the bartender was referring to. There was definitely no one else in your line of sight who could handle a banshee and then settle into a pub like it was nothing.

And the most frustrating thing? He looked bored. Bored! This man just robbed you of your livelihood then settled into the local pub like it was nothing?

The whole ‘hero’ narrative that was used when referring to the White Wolf definitely made sense now that you saw him. He was broad and brooding. Like, exceptionally broad. And extraordinarily brooding. Like nothing could phase him; but Gods, you were going to try.

Another slew of expletives left your lips as you charged up to him. The man didn’t even look up when you arrived at his table. It took you slamming the add down on his table for him to put down the tankard and look at you.

“You stole my job”, you said, putting your bag down and sitting across from him.

“Excuse me?” he said, he said in a low, gravely tone, fixing you with his intense stare. You’d never met a witcher before and his eyes caught you off guard.

You tapped your fingers against the torn piece of paper on the table and said, “Maybe next time, take the whole add down so others don’t get their hopes up?” You pushed the paper towards him with emphasis as you punctuated the last word.

He quirked up a brow, leaned back into his seat, and smirked a little as he sized you up.

“Tearing down posts to prevent competition,” he said, “is that your move?”

You tilted your head at him with furrowed brows. While you were relieved to that he spoke slowly and deliberately, so you could read his lips with ease, his devil-may-care air was pissing you off.

“It’s common curtesy,” you said, “if you’re taking care of it. You take it down.”

“Hm.” He said, behind his pint, not that you could hear him. He took a sip of his ale with curious, raised brows. “And if you fail to take care of their problem?”

“Wouldn’t be the end of the world,” you said, crossing your arms. “Besides, I always follow-through.”

“Always, hm?”

“Yes, witcher, always. And would you like to know why that is?”

The corner of his mouth curled up into another smirk as he gestured you to continue.

“I only take jobs,” you tap the piece of paper between the two of, holding his gaze, “I know I can do.”

You saw something in his face change as he considered your words. Slowly, he set his drink down and leaned forward, connecting the dots.

“So, you’ve been the reason every town I’ve passed has had nothing to offer,” he said, “no monsters anywhere for weeks – or so it seemed. I was beginning to think the world had sorted itself out.”

As he spoke, you looked from his mouth to his eyes quickly, following every word. He noticed this but said nothing, and for that you were grateful.

“Now witcher, please,” you said, feeling bold, “don’t tell me you’ve gone your long life having never encountered competition in your line of work?”

“None like you.”

You sat together in silence for a few moments, a strange comfort settling in.

You weren’t used to having such quick banter. Normally you missed half of what people said and got too frustrated to ask them to repeat themselves. It was nice to be fully engaged in the conversation for once. It was such a small thing, but you found yourself fighting back a wave of sadness as you realized how much you missed these moments of connection.

“Well,” you said, breaking the spell and moving to get up, “just, um, take down the posts in the future, alright witcher?”

“Geralt.”

“Yes, Geralt,” you smile, “of Rivia, the White Wolf, the butcher of Blaviken.” You count the names off your fingers one by one as you get up from the table, making Geralt fight back a smile himself.

“Wait – what’s your name?” he says a little too late, you already had you back turned. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out towards you and caught your hand in his, letting go the instant you turned back, looking down on him curiously.

“Sorry – I, hm, what is your name?”

“Y/N” you state simply.

Geralt quirks up a brow, waiting for you to go on. When you didn’t, he cleared his throat.

“Y/N… of?”

“Of nowhere of importance,” you say, “it’s just Y/N.”

“Hm.” He nods at you in an unspoken understanding, holding your gaze as you took a few steps backwards and away from him.

Just as you turn to make your way towards the stairs, you find yourself face to face with the bard. He’s looking from you to Geralt with eyes wide in confusion and curiosity. You smile to yourself as you push past him to the stairs.

You’re about to unlock the door to your room when you feel the floor vibrate beneath your feet. Someone of substantial weight was running up the wooden stairs behind you.

You turn quickly, your hand finding the hilt of your sword. But you release your grip when you see it was Geralt. Behind him you saw the bard craning his neck to stare through the bannisters, now looking positively concerned.

You thought you heard Geralt say something while you were looking down at the troubadour. Quickly, you brought your gaze back to him, looking from his mouth to his eyes. He was looking at you expectantly, so he was probably waiting for a reply. Fuck.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to your ear with your free hand, “I can’t, I mean, I didn’t hear you.”

Something seemed to click in his mind, because he took a step closer to you before repeating himself.

“What if there was no competition?” he said, thankfully at the same tone as he spoke to you downstairs. Once you registered his words however, you squinted at him playfully.

“Are you threatening me, Geralt?”

“Hm,” he bit back a smirk and shook his head, “No, Y/N. Travel with us, we will split the coin, double our workloads.”

“Us?” you had never heard of the White Wolf travelling with a group. Thinking you might have heard him wrong, and tired of needing to reply on lip reading; you unlock your door and push your way in, nodding for Geralt to follow you.

“Sorry, I don’t think I heard you right.” You say, dropping your bag on the bed with a thud.

“I’m asking you to join me on my travels, we can work together and split the coin.”

You took in his words slowly, drinking them in. Down in the in the pub, you could see his words, at times, feel them; but hearing them? That was something you truly weren’t expecting. Geralt had what might be the deepest voice you’ve ever heard.

“You said, ‘us’, before,” you said, sitting on the chair in the corner and removing your boots, “isn’t that what you said?”

“Hm,” he hummed, you watched him closely. Oh, the things you missed when you couldn’t hear, you thought sullenly. “You’re right, I did. The bard, Jaskier, he’s with me.”

“The bard?!” you laughed, finding it impossible to picture the broad brooding man before you with the man you saw downstairs. “And you tolerate him?”

“Hm,” he laughed through his nose, “I’ve learned to tune him out.”

“Hm?” you repeat, teasingly, picking up on his verbal tick, “Is that so?”

He squints at you in mock contempt, and makes a scene of standing up from the edge of the bed where he’d settled.

“I take back my offer,” he states, turning his head so you could see him say as well as hear him, as he makes his way for the door.

“Geralt, wait,” you exclaim through what was left of your laughter, “you really want me to join you? Despite my…” you gesture vaguely to your ears.

The witcher stopped in his tracks and looks down at you meaningfully.

“Y/N,” he says, “you said it yourself, you and I are currently fighting for the same work, and you’ve proven yourself to be an extraordinary fighter – villages up and down the continent has benefitted from your work.”

He takes another step closer to you before finishing his thought.

“Despite your…” he mimics your previous gesture with a small smile.

“I really don’t want to be a burden to you,” you say, in a small voice, “or Jaskier, the bard, or anyone.”

“Impossible.” He states firmly, leaving no room for argument, but his eyes betrayed a gentleness.  

You had to admit it was an amazing offer. To no longer be alone. To be with someone who spoke to you with respect, not yelling at you or mocking you for your condition. Working within a team would also allow you a sense of security you haven’t known for, well, far too long.

Geralt must have sensed that you were nearing a decision because he placed his hand on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, eyes never leaving yours.

“I was planning on leaving this village tomorrow…” you start, “and if you’re certain –”

“– I am.”

“Well, then I guess we leave tomorrow.” You say, putting your hand over his, and returning the comfort he had given you.

“Perfect.” He says, gentle eyes holding yours for another moment before he cast them downward and pull his hand away.

Once he was well out of your room and you had made your way to bed, you finally began accepting the reality of what you had agreed to.

After years of living in the shadows, ashamed of who you where and what you couldn’t do. You’d be a part of a team. One that would value you and lean on you for support as much as you did them.

You settled into your bed and closed your eyes, letting the welcomed silence wash over you. You supposed you’d have to learn to tune out the bard too. At least you had an advantage.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 9

As promised, two chapters in one day! HBD to this trash rabbit. I just get thirstier with age.

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. DRUG USE IN THIS CHAPTER. Just generally an uncomfortable vibe, thread carefully.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Ooh, boy. This is a whole mess. Angst. [insert drugs owl meme]. Steve doesn't pass the vibe check yet again, stupid old man. Bruce + Tony be like: I CAN'T GET NO SLEEP CUZ OF Y'ALL.

My beta, whomst I love more than cake - @miscmarvelwritings . She's so beautiful though. And so smart. Wow.

The strobe lights pulsated to the rhythm of the music, bodies swaying, gyrating to the tune. The club was banging this time of night, people were living it up like there was no tomorrow. For me, in the VIP zone it was quieter, calmer, but no less exciting. The atmosphere here was distinctly different from the one on the main floor.

It was hard to wallow in misery even if it only took me an hour to stop resisting the gratuitous amounts of white powder on the silver platters. "It's better when you're there to watch them, they'll do it anyway but at least you can know that they're getting the good stuff!" My idiot father proudly announced, looking at me snorting a line through a rolled up hundred dollar bill.

Whiskey and vodka wasn't doing it for me. It made me feel low and Dad, being Dad, of course noticed it and immediately called a guy who knew a guy and suddenly all of his friends and their baby-faced companions had white under their noses. Cash flew like autumn leaves.

As I went out to the main dance floor to get a closer look at Billie Eilish in all of her edgy, beautiful self, the drug hit me like an avalanche. No trace of the grogginess or the mortification that had hitched a ride on me from Stark tower. I danced and sang and saw dad smiling at me in approval, his equally high and important friends all wearing identically predatory smirks. They were good at spotting the obvious - beauty, talent, money. I had no qualms about the fact that dad was off bragging about my close relationship with Tony. If my father was feeling particularly bold, he'd be telling them he knew and encouraged it all along, his buddies pretending to believe the white lie in turn.

I had exchanged my pants and sneakers in favour of a skirt and fishnets with high heels combo, a decidedly inappropriate attire for a daughter having a family night with her father but he insisted I dress trendy. I loved my dad, I really did, and I knew he meant well - I'd definitely be out of place amongst these TVscreen worthy people in my jeans and sneakers but...Tony was one of those people, and he had never ever said anything bad about the way I dress. Even when I obviously and purposely put on obscene clothing just to get a rise out of someone.Tony just smiled and played along.

Tony Stark was the heartless asshole here? Really, press? Really, haters?

"Standing there, killing time, can't commit to anything but a crime..." I sang along quietly as I hurried back to the VIP area. My dad was standing up and so were a couple of his buddies. "Where's ya goin'?" I asked, taking a seat.

"Be right back baby girl, if you find better company then go on without us," Dad winked, throwing a totally nasty glance at one of the girls. She was not much older than me but her body was stick thin and bolt-ons and Botox were her two best friends. She gave me a dirty look and I returned it, extending a waiting hand towards my dad. He chuckled, depositing a neatly rolled stack of hundreds into my palm.

"Dad, I want a new purse," I whined, just a tad. Just to see the girl's eyes go wide with acrid envy. Dutifully, another couple of stacks landed in my palm without any objections and the company retreated towards the back door.

I sighed.

Fiddled with the straw of my drink a bit, contemplating my options. I could always ditch this party and go somewhere more active, somewhere with better music and kinder people.

"Ay, baby girl, you wanna party with us?" A tall, handsome man from dad's previous company approached me. "We'll have some fun." He maintained a respectful distance but the intentions were clear.

"Nope," I popped the sound, not even sparing him a glance. A few lines of cocaine stared at me from the table beckoning with a better high, a stronger sense of euphoria, confidence and energy to dance, to sing, to be happy. I picked up one of the discarded banknotes, quickly rolling it by a sheer force of habit and cleaning up the tray. One line.

"Holy shit, is that..."

Two lines.

"The fuck?!" I recognised that voice. I have been hearing it every day in the labs, I've been hearing it in my dreams.

Tony was gaping at me, in front of me.

"Hey, Tony. Fancy seeing you here." Any other time, I'd be cringing at my lame greeting but I was feeling way too good to care about trivial things like being clever or being appropriate.

"I was looking...for you," He slowly said, putting a single finger on the tray with the last line of coke and pulling it out of my reach.

"That's funny," I snorted, hastily wiping at my nose to cover the tracks of my very bad, very immoral, very illegal activities.

"It's not, Princess, it's not funny at all," He frowned. "C'mon, we're leaving." And extended his hand. I decided to follow along - there was nothing for me to do at this club anyway, the music was lame and the people were stuck-up.

"I look like a prostitute, Tony, I'll take the back door," I attempted to pull him towards the aforementioned but he didn't budge, just stared straight ahead and towed me along like he was wearing one of his iron suits under the stylish jeans and tee get-up.

He stopped in front of the exit, giving me a critical once over. Wiped my face, again, brushed my hair back. Gave me his shades - I dutifully put them on, figuring the manic look in my eyes was anything but attractive right now. "Jesus Christ, Princess," He sounded desperate. "You're beautiful, don't you fucking worry."

And we made our exit, arm in arm, me trying not to stumble in my high heels, Tony being my rock, my solid foundation. In other words, I was hanging onto him for dear life trying not to fall over and give a reason for a sneaking paparazzi to make a scandalous headline.

"You're doing great, Princess," Tony helped me into his Tesla, slamming the door behind me and hurrying towards the driver's door. I managed to unclasp and kick off my shoes, curling up comfortably into the passenger's seat.

I watched the man as he started the engine and watched him wrestle with whatever personal demons that tormented him as he peeled off and raced into the Friday night city.

"What in the everlasting fuck..." He started, stopping abruptly mid-sentence. "How did you even get in there?"

"I came with dad. He literally ditched me to fuck some whore, like, twenty minutes before you showed up." I shrugged, eyeing the modified panel of the car. It was very obviously Tony's own design. I wondered if he could introduce me to Elon Musk someday.

"What the fuck? And correct me if I didn't hear you clearly," Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your father took it upon himself to drag you to a club, get you drunk, gave you cocaine and fucked off with some groupies?"

"Yah, that's about it. My dad is all about cocaine and whores, the more the better," I replied, leaning in to take a closer look at the car's panel. "Hey, could, like, introduce me to Elon Musk someday? That would be fuckin' awesome."

Tony went eerily quiet, I saw his knuckles on the steering wheel go white. Vague expletives were muttered under his breath. "I'm guessing you're good on sleep?" He finally asked through gritted teeth.

"Sleep? Don't know her," I laughed. "I wanna dance, Tony."

"Of course you do, Princess." His smile was tired and forced and full of pity. "You know, I don't think I'll be able to sleep now, either," He admitted, taking a sharp left. "How about we get some McDonald's and camp out in my lab?"

"Sure, whatever," Not like I had much choice in the matter. What I really craved was a good, long, hard fuck (by Tony himself preferably) but if science calls... I have no choice but to comply. "Get me two Big Macs," I demanded least he try to joke and get me a Happy Meal or some shit.

He did get me the food without any usual grumbling. I didn't like this Tony. Tired Tony, sad Tony, angry Tony. Wrong Tony.

"Huh?" He said and I realized I'd said the last part out loud.

"I don't like a sad Tony,” I said. "It's the wrong kind. Sassy, snarky and perpetually caffeinated Tony is the best Tony. The only proper kind, in fact." I stated with seriousness, shoes dangling from one hand and my McDonald's in the other. Man, I have been seeing more and more of this god-damned elevator recently.

"You're high as a kite, darling," He chuckled then, a real laugh.

"Who's high?" Bruce's voice came from the kitchen.

In a state of blind panic, I jumped behind Tony. "Not me."

Tony palmed his face.

Steve came over from the fridge, leaving the rummaging to Bucky. He took one look at me and suddenly I felt small, insignificant like an ant. I didn't like it much. "Holy hell, the fuck happened? Tony, explain." The Captain demanded, giving me the world's biggest stink eye.

"It's her piece of shit of a father, dragged her off to some night club and left her hanging with his buddies, fucking off god knows where. It's not her fault so lay the fuck off, Rogers, with your self-righteousness," Tony exploded all over Steve, the pent up frustration rearing it's ugly head.

I mustered enough courage to tiptoe around the dick measuring contest to sit at the counter. My appetite was gone and my burgers were turning colder and soggier with every passing second. Just like my life.

"Hey, Princess," Bruce's gentle voice halted my train of thought. He approached me carefully, ignoring the men behind me in favour of simply wrapping me up in a quiet, comfortable hug. "You feel alright? Want some water?"

"Nu-uh," I mumbled, unwilling to part ways with the warmth of this embrace.

"... Steve, I found her snorting miles of coke all by herself while an some jackass was waiting for her to be even more out of it. It's rare that I say this but I had literally zero words." Tony punctuated his words by tapping his fist against the wall multiple times.

Bruce tightened his hold on me, a sudden influx of strength accompanied by a quiet, low growl in his throat.

I felt the sudden need to clarify the situation. "Tony, chill. It takes me a lot more to be out of it, I'm fucking coherent and I'm talking sensibly. It's not my first rodeo."

Apparently I'd gone and said the wrong thing because all the men in the room were suddenly growling. I even totally forgot about Bucky who had the uncanny ability to exist in a room without making absolutely any sort of noise.

"The fuck do you even mean by that, Princess?" Tony screeched, probably already knowing that answer.

"From one rich kid to another, you should damn well fuckin' know," I spat, unwilling to admit my misery.

He sighed, audibly deflating behind me. I refused to listen to him, refused to be humiliated and exposed like that for my perfectly human desire to be happy. To not be a disappointment, to not be disappointed in everything and everyone. Bruce was nice and kind and warm and selfless but even he couldn't love me the way I wanted to be loved. Cherished, taken care of. All that mushy stuff. I was selfish, so I snuggled in closer to him, muting the world around me, replacing it with the smell and feel of him.

Cocaine made it a whole lot easier to imagine. Maybe that's why it was so addictive.

"Guys, calm down, you're stressing everyone out," Bruce rumbled quietly. I loved the way his deep voice seemed to reverb throughout his chest.

"Get me a cup of coffee, would you, Buckaroo?" Tony sighed again. I heard the sound of him slurping at his coffee. I heard Bucky's metal arm clunk against something equally metallic before the supersoldiers bid everyone good night and walked off.

Only then I removed my face from Bruce enough to take a good look at Tony. He was eyeing me, too.

"We have a caffeinated Tony," I said, softly. "Now we just need some science to have a happy Tony."

He smiled but it came out watery. He wanted to say something but choked on his words. "C'mere," He finally said, turning in his chair and opening his arms.

I unashamedly made grabby hands, the universal gesture for ‘I want, gimme’, and Bruce delightfully deposited me into Tony's waiting arms. It was like my birthday and Christmas came out all at once. Tony's embrace was warm, like Bruce's, but tinted with an unexpected familiarity. He smelled like motor oil and fancy cologne. It was heavenly.

"You keeping tabs on me, huh? Coffee, science and sass? That's your recipe for happiness?" The engineer asked me, a seriousness that didn't match the joking tone of the conversation at all.

"I think I got you figured out. Peter, too, is important for happiness. But in controlled amounts," I said, giving it a careful thought.

Tony chuckled, sounding a little bit shocked. "What about you?" He said after a brief moment of silence passed, interrupted only by Bruce's tea kettle coming to a slow boil.

"I don't think you need me for happiness," I said, meaning it. "But let's be honest, I'm a nice addition."

He stilled under me, briefly. Bruce cleared his throat.

"Brucie needs me, I think. He's lonely," I told Tony with a sudden influx of desire to be completely honest and 100% transparent. "And it makes me happy, because I need Bruce too. He's the best," I finished.

"Is that so?" Tony sounded vaguely tearful so I attempted to pull back to take a good look at his face. He didn't let me though, gently but firmly pressing my face back into his chest. "And me?"

"I do need you, Tones," I admitted without spilling any unnecessary details.

There was a child within me, small and scared and lonely, like Bruce. I hated her, hated being so soft and needy when everybody else obviously (and understandably) was busy with figuring out their own lives. I wished, desperately so, to just boom-boom-whoosh her away like Doctor Strange magicked away unwanted visitors.

Tony said nothing but his hands betrayed him. They shook and they held onto the skimpy see-through fabric of my top like he was a drowning man and I was his only floatie. For the moment, I closed my eyes and let myself believe he needed me, too.

"I'll catch a wink or two, wake me up if you need something," Bruce broke the silence, having finished off his tea. I didn't notice the time pass so quickly, too lost somewhere between here and there and Tony. In short, I was being lovesick all over the billionaire.

"Bwucie," I leaned backwards, pushing until Tony caved and let me rest my back against the counter, elbows on top of it, legs dangling freely on the sides of his legs. It put a lot of me on display. Tony had called me beautiful earlier so none of my usual habits of being appropriate around the man concerned me. He thought I was pretty!

"Princess," Banner came over to wrap me in a hug that was quite awkward, considering the fact I was sitting on Tony. It took some maneuvering to get it right.

"Night night," I said the usual and got a brief kiss on the cheek before Bruce shuffled off, yawning.

Tony was watching us with an unreadable expression. As soon as I turned my head to look at his face instead, something in him changed. His eyes grew big and round, the crease between his eyebrows disappeared. The corners of his mouth tilted up.

On a sudden impulse, I reached over to run my palm gently over the neatly trimmed line of his beard, following from his chin to his jawline, to his soft tousled hair. His eyelashes shook, fluttered, as the engineer leaned into my touch with the grace of a cat. "Kiss him, kiss him" my brain chanted. I knew I was a coward, I wouldn't do that. "Pretty," I said instead, the word coming out in a whisper.

He gulped, audibly. "Princess, you have no idea..." Shaking his head, as if he was surrounded by a swarm of mosquitoes, Tony briefly looked away. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"Nope," I agreed solemnly. "But at least it feels good. It feels right."

"God," He frowned, one of his hands coming to nervously card through his hair. "Nothing about this is right."

My face fell. Just like I thought, Tony wanted exactly nothing to do with a clueless little teenager. It stung and tears pooled in the corners of my eyes where I stubbornly refused to let them escape and make me into a crybaby. "Whatever you say, Tony." I was ready to agree with anything he said, really, if he would just keet holding me like that.

"Don't," He raised a palm. "Don't close yourself off like that."

Now I was genuinely confused. What exactly did he expect from me? I shrugged.

"You're clever, brilliant and beautiful, you can and should do so much better than all of this," He vaguely gestured towards me, towards himself, towards us and the whole damn city.

I contemplated my answer, briefly. "A lot of people tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing. Don't I get a say?" The bitterness had fought its way out and won. "I just want to be happy for a bit. All the usual bullshit."

He looked taken aback, really. Like he hadn't even considered the option. Typical.

Meanwhile, I continued my word vomit. "I want someone to give a damn about what I want and what makes me happier. Until then, I have no other choice but to take care of myself the best way I know how. Like everybody else does," The weight of his arm landed on my waist, pulling me close to his chest yet again. I didn't resist. No fight left in me. The tiredness seeped deep in my bones, chilly.

The sudden change of altitude startled me. The engineer had picked me up and started walking off towards the elevator, directing it to the lab. His personal lab. The tiles felt cold under my feet where he put me down to make his own beeline for the bar. I would've joined if not the drug in my system - the last thing I wanted was to land in a hospital yet again.

I took the moment to browse my social media, untag myself from all the unflattering pictures, post my usual shitpost. A tiny skirt, equally tiny top and fishnets - I felt out of place in his lab although I've worn more outrageous things previously. I was raw, torn open, bleeding my misery all over the room. That was not in my plan, but then again, when did ever life go as you planned it?

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[trentaafcsblog]

Addiction

Marcus Rashford

The sound of the door slamming behind you rings in your ears for a few seconds before you make your way towards the kitchen, the noise quickly being replaced with a headboard smacking against the wall and a girl’s high pitched moans. Rolling your eyes and tossing your handbag onto the bottom step, ready to be taken up to your room once you’d poured yourself a glass of water, not that you particularly wanted to go upstairs and be surrounded by screams and grunts, but it was something that you were used to now, and it didn’t really phase you anymore, well much, anyway.

You’d moved in with Marcus about six months ago, a breakup with your ex-boyfriend leaving you with nowhere to go other than your best friend’s house, and you knew at the time that it wasn’t ideal, but you were desperate, and a roof over your head was all that you needed, which is why you stayed. Except if you knew the situation you’d find yourself in now, you’d have turned back around and pleaded with your ex to try and make things work, because nothing would ever be as toxic as this.

This was now the sixth day in a row that you’d come home to another girl’s moans bouncing off the walls, mixing with Marcus’ groans of ‘you’re so tight’ and ‘you’re taking me so well’ - words he’d once used to describe you, but now they seemed to be describing every single other girl in Manchester too. Mumbling a quiet ‘shit’ under your breath when the water starts overflowing out of the top of the glass, running down your hand and soaking into the sleeve of your grey hoodie, well his grey hoodie, darkening the pale material and seeping through onto your skin. Kicking yourself for falling into a trance and imagining your body under his, comparing your moans to hers and wondering why on Earth she kept him ‘Marco’ when his name was clearly ‘Marcus’ - a sign that he didn’t even pay attention to the girls he was bringing home, just wanting somebody to fuck, not even caring if they knew his name or were gonna sell stories to the paper about how they’d shagged Marcus Rashford whilst his best friend lay on the bed in the room next door - a side to him that you almost hated more than the person he’d become since you moved in.

Nobody ever intends to fuck their best friend, even just once, or twice, or three times, or four, or an infinite number if your name’s Y/N. Nobody intends to fall into a love-hate relationship with their best friend either, but here you are, right in the midst of just that. The first time it happened, it was just one big mistake. Both of you were as drunk as anything, neither of you really knew what you were doing, and the whole thing only lasted about seventeen seconds and then that was it. But it was the beginning of something much more than just a ‘drunken one-off’, and it’s taken you until now to realise that. The second time was after he’d admitted that he liked you a little bit more than just a friend, stupidly falling for his charm and finding yourself laying beneath him, sharing hot, passionate kisses that you never thought you’d ever be exchanging with your best friend, but there you were, doing just that. The third time was when you’d sent him a series of drunken videos on a night out, confessing your dying love for him and begging him to come and pick you up from the club, which he did, and the two of you found yourselves in the back of his steamed up car down a random little side road. The fourth time was after you’d broken down about not getting a house you desperately wanted, crying in his arms whilst you listened to him tell you about how there’ll always be a place for you at his, and that you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, blah blah blah. And again, you fell for the loving side of his personality, allowing him to make love to you on the sofa in the living room whilst you tried not to sob about the offer being rejected on your dream home. But since then, it’s just been a rollercoaster of emotions, and sex seems to be the only way of the two of you ‘fixing’ your differences, not that fucking him actually does anything, it just creates more problems than it solves, but it’s a craving that only he seems to satisfy, and he’d say exactly the same about you.

Anyone would be pissed off if they lived with a Premier League footballer whose only goal in life seemed to be shagging as many girls as possible, and you happened to be that anyone. And that was the cause of pretty much every single one of your arguments, besides the ones where you’d found his dirty underwear on your bathroom floor or where he’d made a mess in the kitchen and hadn’t cleaned it up, and despite fighting over the same thing almost day in, day out, nothing had been done to fix it, other than his cock pounding into you whilst you moan about him being a dick. You’d lost track of the number of times that you’d screamed at him mid-blow job, the poor girl laying there with her mouth wrapped around his length and eyes wide whilst you yell at him for inviting someone else over. Pointing at her and watching her cheeks flush when you mention that she’s the third girl to come over today, and that there’s another three booked in after her too. Slamming the door behind you once you’d finished ranting, your blood boiling as you flop down onto your bed and listen to the two of them going at it like rabbits for the next couple of hours. Practically shoving her down the stairs once you hear his bedroom door unlock, lobbing her shoes in her direction along with her screwed up pink thong, one that happened to match yours which just wound you up even more, pushing her out of the front door before returning to your screaming psycho state, waving your arms around and hurling abuse at him, just as he does the same back to you. Launching forward to smack his chest when he says that he doesn’t see a problem with his behaviour, grabbing your hands in his before pinning you up against the wall. One hand wrapped tightly around your throat whilst the other unbuttons your jeans, effortlessly slipping into you just like he’d done all those times before, fucking your brains out whilst the two of you stand there in the middle of his hallway, resolving your argument with sex, like usual. Cumming all over your thighs before forcing you to lick it off his fingers, spitting profanities at him as you pull your jeans up and storm out of the front door, refusing to come home until he sends you one of his infamous apology texts, letting you know that he’s been an idiot, yet again, and that he promises to sort himself out and be more respectful to you. Your tummy going all funny at his words because you knew that he meant it this time, of course he did, hopping straight back into your car and racing home to thank him for understanding your point of view, more often than not letting him make it up to you by eating your pussy or gently fucking you whilst you moan his name. And today is no different.

You’re slipping the strap of your handbag over your wrist whilst being careful not to spill any of the water in your other hand. Slowly making your way up the stairs with both eyes glued to the glass, trying your best to stay focused on the fact that it could spill at any given moment, your way of trying to distract yourself from the unpleasant noise that grew with each step. Taking a deep breath when you pass the door to his room, a single droplet of water starting to trickle down the side of the glass, mirroring the tear that was making its way down the side of your face. Chewing on the inside of your cheek until you’re a few paces closer to your own bedroom, pushing the door open a little bit too forcefully as half of the contents of the glass erupts over the top, just like the tears in your eyes that are now starting to steam down your cheeks. Dropping your handbag on the end of your bed before placing the glass on your bedside table, flopping down onto the mattress and pulling your knees up to your chin as you start sobbing. Wondering if the screams of your frustration would drown out the screams of ‘I’m gonna cum’ in the room next door, but the louder you cry, the louder they moan - almost a little competition going on between the three of you, one that you’d unfortunately been part of one too many times before.

Laying there for what feels like forever as you listen to your best friend fuck the sixth girl this week, shaking your head and muttering expletives under your breath at the thought of him trying to make it up to you for, also, the sixth time this week. Kicking yourself for drinking that extra shot on that night out five months ago, wondering if you’d be in such a poisonous environment had you not come home with him in a drunken state, thinking about where you’d be if you’d try to resolve the issues with your ex, which were arguably more destructive to you than this, but Marcus was meant to be your best friend for fuck’s sake and you’d just fallen into a love-hate relationship with the man, one that was slowly becoming too much to handle, and one that you hated to admit was an addiction. You were addicted to the pain that your best friend caused you, and he was addicted to the way that you made him feel when you screamed at him one minute and quietly moaned his name the next. And as with all addictions, you couldn’t bare to be without him and his stupid ways, no matter how many times you’d told him that you were leaving or that you hated his guts.

The sound of his door unlocking is forcing you out of your own head, sitting bolt upright and wiping the tears away from your cheeks as you quickly jump up and stand in the doorway of your room. Watching the girl let out a toxic giggle before she’s leaning up to kiss him, bending down to pick her underwear up off the floor as she flashes you her ass, pussy and all, screwing your face up and pretending to gag just as Marcus clocks that you’re watching her.

“Fuck off” he’s spitting as the girl almost jumps out of her skin, thinking he’s talking to her as she fumbles around putting the rest of her clothes on, getting the shock of her life when she turns to head down the stairs and sees you scowling at her.

“Alright, my love?” you’re asking as she gives you a shy smile, “Do y’know you’re the sixth girl he’s had sex with this week? That’s right, the sixth girl, and there’s probably been more if I’m honest, I’m just not here all of the time, which to be fair, is a blessing in disguise” you’re finishing, watching her eyes go wide as she slowly nods her head, her focus flicking between you and Marcus who was now clenching his jaw as he stands there and stares at you with the most evil look on his face.

“Dunno what you’re looking at me like that for!” you’re laughing when you notice him glaring at you, “as they say, honesty is the best policy, and I think it’s important that your little fuck buddy knows that your cock’s been nestled in between the folds of half of Manchester’s population”.

“That’s not true” he’s saying defensively when the girl’s face screws up in disgust, “she’s just jealous that nobody wants her” he’s spitting as he points his finger at you.

“But you want me, you always do” you’re hissing before the girl excuses herself from possibly the world’s most awkward situation, both of you watching her as she skips down the stairs and sprints towards the front door, slamming it behind her before the hum of her car engine is the only reminder of who’d just been in your house.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to stick your nose into situations that don’t require your input whatsoever?” he’s screaming as he takes a step towards you.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you that you’re a selfish little boy who only cares about how many times he can get laid in a single week?” you’re saying with just as much annoyance in your tone.

“You fucking bitch” he’s growling before launching forward and grabbing your throat, pushing you up against your bedroom door before the two of you fall back through the entrance. Letting go for a split as he uses all of his force to push you onto the bed, your hands reaching up and grabbing his head, pulling him down before your tongue gets lost in his mouth, both of you fighting for dominance as he rips your clothes away from your body, forcing himself away from you for a moment as he takes in the sight before him - his best friend, the girl he’d been in this position with almost every single day, the feeling of hunger and desperation growing inside of him as he watches you bite your bottom lip and push your boobs together, and just like you, he knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, but as always, this was the only way to solve an argument, and it was one that you were both addicted to.

“Don’t just lay there, do something” he’s spitting as you quickly scramble onto all fours, sticking your ass up in the air so that he can get the best access to your pussy. Running his finger along your wet folds before reaching round to your mouth and making you suck your juices off his digits, whining at the sweet taste before you’re suddenly letting out a high pitched squeal. His cock slamming into you without any warning as you claw at the bed sheets, wondering how he could still be able to stretch you out considering you had sex pretty much every single day, groaning at the slight stinging sensation before you’re swivelling your hips to adjust to his size a bit better. One of his hands gripping at your throat and pulling your head back towards his so that you can feel his hot breath against your skin, the other leaving harsh slaps against your ass cheeks, accompanied by a string of ‘sluts’, ‘whores’ and ‘dirty girls’.

“Such a fucking slut, aren’t you, hey?” he’s growling in your ear whilst he pounds into you, noticing how your eyes roll back with each thrust, his cock brushing against your g-spot with each stroke as you try to your best to look back at him.

“Imagine fucking your best friend after yelling at him for sleeping with another girl” he’s saying, voice thick and coated with lust as he pulls his hand away from your ass and uses it to grab a handful of your hair instead. Clenching around him at the sudden contact, letting a little whimper escape your lips before he’s really giving you something to moan about. Digging his thumbs into the hollows of your hips before drilling into you at the most incredible pace, your boobs bouncing around and legs shaking with every thrust. Sensing your walls tightening around him as you near your high, driving you right to the edge before he’s pulling out and admiring the open hole that he’s left between your legs, smirking when he sees your face scrunch up in frustration, looking over your shoulder at him as your eyes lock with him - full of both anger and passion as he looks you up and down, a satisfied grin appearing on his face before he’s flipping you over and spreading your legs as wide as they go.

“Funny how you’ve gone all quiet now that you’re the girl I’m shagging” he’s growling, lowering his head until it’s level with your core. A ball of hot spit leaving his mouth and landing right on your clit as your fingers grip onto his curls, screaming at the intense pleasure that it brings before he’s running his tongue along your opening. Pushing two digits inside of you before curling them over your g-spot, his thumb frantically drawing figure of eights on your clit as you reach forward and grab his dick. Looking him straight in the eye as you start pumping your hand up and down his length, spitting on your fingers every now and then before returning them back to where they’re needed the most, acting as the perfect lube for your palm to slip along his skin. His digits drawing you close to your orgasm again as you start bucking your hips in time with his rhythm, focusing on the precum seeping out of his swollen head as you try to make yourself last even longer, not wanting to cum within the first minute of shagging your best friend, although he knew exactly how to give you what you want and you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t good at it.

Smirking to yourself when his balls start twitching beneath your fingers, gently stroking over them before the knot in your tummy is growing tighter and tighter. Your legs shaking and his whole cock throbbing before the two of you are reaching your highs in sync, a gush of juice leaving your pussy and splattering all over the bed sheets, followed by five spurts of cum shooting out of his dick, landing all over your hand and on your pussy as you wince at it trickling down your folds.

“Who’s the dirty one now?” he’s purring as he steps back to admire you sprawled out on the bed, drenched in his pearlescent seed with the outline of his hand still imprinted on your throat.

“Don’t you fucking dare” you’re hissing, pulling yourself up onto your elbows as he leans forward and gently smacks your pussy, wanting to cum all over again but you manage to hold yourself together. Muttering something inaudible under your breath as you grab your clothes and get yourself dressed as quickly as possible.

“Here she goes again, storming off after being a slag” he calls as you run down the stairs, yelling a ‘fuck off’ at him before heading out of the front door, wiping the remnants of his seed off your hand as you watch it seep into the material of your jeans, feeling sick at the thought of how many times you’d already seen the same sight this week. Opening your car door and slamming it as hard as possible, knowing that he’ll be watching you out of the window, just like he always does, holding your middle finger up to the glass as you reverse off the drive way and out of sight, an all too familiar occurrence as you guarantee yourself that you could make your way out of his town with your eyes shut, considering it’s a route you take almost every single day.

Finding yourself sat at the back of a tiny little cafe in the middle of nowhere, staring into your cold cup of tea that had been waiting for you to touch it for the last hour, almost certain that you see his face appear beneath the toffee coloured liquid as you force yourself to tear your eyes away. And it was like he was giving you a sign. A notification popping up on the screen of your phone just as you break away from his ‘face’, an unread message from him laying untouched on the lock screen under the name ‘my best friend’, except he was hardly that anymore. Reluctantly clicking on it but your heart starts to melt at the first line of his paragraph, a little smile creeping onto your face as you read his words, words that you knew were true this time, despite thinking the same on every other occasion as well, but today, they were definitely true, they had to be.

‘I’m so sorry for everything, I’m a dick and I promise that I’ll sort myself out, I can’t face losing you, you’re everything to me, and I’ll make sure I stop inviting girls over too, I’m just greedy and desperate but I promise I’ll stop being like that, I’ll change for the better, I mean it, please come home, it’s not the same without you here, I love you, let me make it up to you x’

You’re grabbing your handbag and coat and practically sprinting back to your car, his words leaving an imprint on your heart as you fumble with the car keys, desperate to get back home to him and let him apologise properly, just like he always did, but this time it was a proper apology, and one you knew he definitely meant. But really, it was no different to any other time, he was just fueling your addiction, and as with any obsession, you couldn’t tear yourself away from it, you needed it, no matter how bad it was for you, and only time would tell you that.

[lotusjwy]

okay so i dont know if u actually ship jc with anyone but the "I’m sick of being useless" is giving me strong Vibes so either you should choose a jc pairing or maybe do it for yunmeng bros? :D

anon, anonny, my friend. i ship almost every jiang cheng ship, so pls feel free to specify one next time if you want! but! i’ll still do this from yunmeng bro perspective, bc i haven’t written them in a hot minute. idk if i’d rly classify this as angst, at least in comparison to the last one i wrote, but i did my best! fun fact though, this is actually my second revision of it, the first one jiang cheng was being far too nice and i was like excuse me, who are you? 

The night hunt that had already started off on a wrong note, had only grown progressively worse as it went on. Wei Wuxian had turned up unexpectedly on Jiang Cheng’s doorstep, begging him to accompany him, Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling on a night hunt nearby. Jiang Cheng had agreed to go along, only because he hadn’t seen either his nephew or brother in quite some time, as other responsibilities had been getting the better of them all. However, very early into the night hunt, it was apparent that they were vastly unprepared for the fight, and had gotten overpowered quickly, their injuries growing worse with each blow. To make matters worse, none of them had signal flares on them, Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi having forgotten theirs yet again. Jiang Cheng was going to start strapping them onto the boys himself. 

Towards the climax of the fight, they all watched in horror as Jin Ling dropped to the ground, a deep gash on his chest blood gushing from the wound. Jiang Cheng quickly shot forward finishing off the last of the beasts, a final burst of energy rushing through him in his need to protect his nephew. 

After the fact, he lowered his sword, and turned back towards Jin Ling. He saw Wei Wuxian had Jin Ling cradled in his lap, as he pressed his outer robes onto Jin Ling’s wounds hoping to stop the bleeding, with Lan Jingyi kneeling beside the duo, transferring qi to his injured friend.

Jiang Cheng surveyed the situation that they were in, trying not to let his panic set in, knowing he had to take control, neither Lan Jingyi or Wei Wuxian being in positions to figure out what to do. They were all too injured to safely transfer Jin Ling back to Lotus Pier, and Wei Wuxian’s golden core wasn’t strong enough to last riding a sword whilst also helping to carry an injured man. “Lan Jingyi, go to Lotus Pier and request help immediately. Do not take no for an answer. Bring them here or tell them where we are, if you feel too weak to make the trip back. Go now, go quickly. And fucking stay safe, you idiot.”

After Jingyi had frantically left, Jiang Cheng dropped down next to the remaining two, grabbing his nephew’s wrist to continue transferring qi to him. “Come on, A-Ling, you dumbass, wake the fuck up. Please wake the fuck up.”

“I’m sorry.” If Jiang Cheng hadn’t been sitting right next to Wei Wuxian, he may not have heard him, for how faintly he spoke.

“What the fuck, Wei Wuxian? What kind of fucking game do you think this is?!” Jiang Cheng felt anger coursing through his veins, though he wasn’t sure if he was really mad at his brother or just at the situation at hand. “If I wasn’t trying to keep our fucking nephew alive, I’d strangle you where you sit. For fucks sake, what the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t meant to be so strong. There wasn’t meant to be so many of them.” Wei Wuxian’s voice continued to be soft, breaking any time he spoke above a whisper. His eyes never left Jin Ling’s face, not wanting to see the hatred he knew his brother’s face would be showing.

“Of all the fucking times for Lan Wangji to not be glued to your side. Where the fuck is he, then? I can’t believe he would leave you alone with two cultivators who are just barely adults, on a night hunt.” He continued to mutter expletives about Lan Wangji under his breath, cursing the man.

“I… It’s my fault. He wanted to come with us, but Zewu-jun needed Lan Zhan for something, so I told him that we’d be fine. That I’d come ask you for help.” He risked a glance at Jiang Cheng, only to realise that the other wasn’t even looking at him anymore, instead he was also looking at Jin Ling.

“You didn’t think that this night hunt required more than one qualified cultivator? You thought I could make up for the downfalls of both Lan Jingyi, A-Ling and you?” Jiang Cheng scoffed in disbelief, “I’m aware that this used to be your golden core, but there’s only so much I can do, Wei Wuxian.”

“I know, I’m sorry! I didn’t think. I- I thought I could handle it!” He exclaimed, desperation seeping into his voice.

“You thought you could handle it. When have you ever been able to just handle something? When has anything ever not blown up in your face?” Jiang Cheng couldn’t even count the amount of times Wei Wuxian had gotten them into countless situations where they should have died, yet had somehow lived to tell the tale.

“I get it! I fucked up! I always fucking fuck up!” His voice was growing more frustrated with each word he said, growing angry at himself, at the situation, at Jiang Cheng for making him feel worse than he was already feeling.

“Then why don’t you ever fucking think? Just once, I am begging you to think just once in your fucking life. When the lives of A-Ling and Lan Jingyi are also at stake, rather than just mine or yours! Do you understand that your decisions could have gotten them killed?” Jiang Cheng didn’t think he’d been this angry at Wei Wuxian since he defected with the Wen remnants to the Burial Mounds.

Finally, Wei Wuxian had had enough, almost jumping up before seeming to remember that he had Jin Ling laying across his lap. Instead, he let out a scream of frustration; one that startled even Jiang Cheng from his focus on Jin Ling, who hadn’t been expecting such a noise to come from his brother.  

“I’m sick of being useless, Jiang Cheng. I’ve become useless.” His voice full of the agony he was feeling, deep inside. This was his biggest insecurity since he had been brought back. That he’d never grow to the same level of cultivation, as he had before. “I’m sick of you or Lan Zhan, or any of the younger disciples having to protect me when we get rushed like this! I’m sick of being the liability of any night hunt because I’m not as strong as I used to be!”

“So, what? You didn’t let Lan Wangji come as a test to yourself?” There was disbelief in his words, as if he couldn’t fathom even Wei Wuxian being this idiotic.

“I- Fine. Yes. I really did think we could handle it, Jiang Cheng. I didn’t think it would be as bad as it was, I promise. I’d never risk shi-jie’s son, nor Jingyi, or A-Yuan or anyone.” Letting out a frustrated huff of breath, Wei Wuxian’s head hung low, not wanting to face the other in his moment of shame. “I just- All I wanted was to prove that this stupid fucking core could do something.”

Jiang Cheng shook his head, choosing to not respond to the other, wanting to focus his energies on his nephew, ensuring that the other was getting the qi he needed to heal. He didn’t spend all these years helping to raise Jin Ling, just for the boy to get taken down in front of him. There was also nothing he could say to Wei Wuxian while he was in this state, without making the situation worse for both of them.

Instead, the two sat in silence, waiting for their rescue to arrive. Thankfully, it seemed that Jingyi’s strength as a cultivator wasn’t an exaggeration, the boy making it back to them in record time, with Jiang Cheng’s second in command and first disciple following quickly behind him. Once Jiang Cheng ensured that his disciples had his nephew secured and would safely bring him to Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng turned to Wei Wuxian, who throughout the flurry of bodies being moved around had stayed kneeling on the ground.

“For fucks sake, if you had a problem in the past, you never used to fucking mope around. You used to pick yourself the fuck up and figure out a solution.” He reached out a hand to Wei Wuxian, pulling him up. “Strengthen your core, dumbass. I know Mo Xuanyu wasn’t strong, but he did have a golden core. Use it, strengthen it. Maybe you won’t ever be as strong as you used to be, but you can still fucking get stronger than you currently are.”

[tailorvizsla]

A Proper Mandalorian Courtship - Chapter 4

Title: Fire (Or Some Mando Slice of Life) Pairing: Paz x OFC, OFC x OMC, Paz x Reader Word Count: ~6800 Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Sort-of graphic description of an injury and its treatment.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 📚 My Master List 📚

Tag List: @hdlynn @princessbatears @ffiiggyy

If you want to be tagged, let me know! :) 

[flashback]

Paz returns to the karyai. Zephyr is with Norj in the nursery, safely shielded from the shit-show that is about to happen. Three minutes after his return, Armorer strides back into the room amidst pure silence. Mere seconds later, Zeli and Liam slink into the karyai, buckets firmly back in place. Neither even dares to look up as they come stand in front of the table where Armorer is standing. She stares at them for several moments. The silence drags on, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“You broke your Oath. Why?” Armorer asks, in a tone that some might regard as casual.

Paz knows better than that. Armorer is livid. She has probably gone from incandescent rage to calm and back several times. They take too long to respond, and she finally loses her temper.

“Why?” Armorer barks sharply at them.

“I have no explanation,” Zeli says, her voice wavering slightly.

“I have no explanation,” Liam says hoarsely.

Like a cold autumn breeze rasping leaves across the ground, whispers erupt through the crowd, and sends a wave of prickles down his flesh.

“The Tribe cannot come to a decision regarding your punishment,” Armorer says, her voice like ice. “Twelve votes for marriage, twelve votes for exile.”

The two of them exchange a look between themselves. He knows what they are thinking: there are twenty-eight adults in the Tribe; since the Alor usually abstains from these votes, the stalemate should have been broken.

“One individual abstained from the vote,” Armorer says, her tone calm and cold. “Thus, the decision falls to me.”

She withdraws her own dagger. Though beautifully ornate, it is honed to a lethal edge. It has taken many lives over the years. It is only fitting that it decides their final fate with the tribe. She does not hesitate to drive the blade under the tongs. Marriage. It shocks him to his core. Of all the people here, he thought she would vote for exile. She withdraws, her entire body tense. No one dares to argue, though he can hear angry mutterings.

“You will marry,” Armorer says flatly.

“What about – “ Zeli starts to say.

Zeli dares to look at him. Paz tightens his jaw, biting into the sides of his cheeks to avoid the caustic response. Here, right now, he feels no sorrow. Only anger. Pure unadulterated rage. While he simmers, Din growls. She quickly looks back down.

“What about Zephyr?” Liam finally asks.

How could a buir even hesitate to ask about their child’s wellbeing? Paz is beyond disgusted with Liam.

“What about Zephyr?” Armorer repeats, enunciating each word carefully. “Did you think to ask yourself that before you bared your face to Zeli?”

“Did Paz see our faces?” Liam asks.

“No,” he responds. “I did not look.”

“Then why take our helmets?” Zeli asks quietly. “I would have thought you would want us gone…”

Paz does not look at either of them.

“My Oath to this Tribe comes before anything else. If I had not acted – if I had walked away, pretending I had not seen what I saw, I would be complicit in this blatant disregard for the Oath we all swore,” Paz says, every word carefully modulated to remain as neutral as possible. “I did what I could to ensure the best possible outcome for Zephyr, which is more than I can say for either of you.”

More muttering, though it is a lot quieter than before. To drive the knife in deeper, he continues. He cannot help himself.

“Regardless of what has been done to me, I am no liar. I still have my honor and my integrity.”

This time, everyone remains silent.

“Do you wish to exchange vows?” Armorer asks, her voice silky soft.

“We…we will exchange them,” Liam says.

His voice is hoarse. Pained. Paz feels his lip curl in disgust. The two adulterers turn to one another. Quietly, they exchange their vows. With each word, Paz feels his stomach tighten to the point of pain. He wants to throw up, but he forces himself to witness their farce of a marriage.

This is not how it is meant to be. The riduurok – the marriage bond – is formed from love. To a Mandalorian, especially one as conservative as him, marriage is an oath of loyalty, fidelity, and unconditional support.

Marriage comes from a love that is formed from mutual admiration and acceptance; from whole-hearted, joyful surrender to ones’ other half. It comes from the type of respect that grows deep, strong roots. It culminates with two people joining their lives as one, from the moment the vows are spoken until the day they go marching far, far away.

Marriage is not the love that is formed from passion, lust, and deceit. When the heat leaves their hearts, and the nights grow cold, their roots will dry and weaken. They will not grow together and become one. There will only be rot stagnation until there is only distance and bitter resentment. He can only pray that Zephyr does not suffer further.

When they finish exchanging their vows, Armorer sighs and retrieves her dagger. One by one, the others follow suit. No one looks at them. Paz turns to exit. He will not be able to make them suffer the way he wants, but at least he can make them hurt a little. He can make them know how much he despises them for what they have done. Before he leaves, he pauses next to the newlyweds.

“My congratulations to the newlyweds. It is my greatest hope that the two of you will find peace and prosperity together,” he says calmly, coolly. “My gift to you.”

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws the ceremonial blade he had hoped to give her one day. Then he flicks it down onto the table, embedding the tip into the table before Zeli. She lets out a choked sob. Liam exhales and looks away.

“Paz,” Zeli starts to say.

“Please, ner vod,” Liam tries to say. “I am so sorry – “

“Do not ever address me by name again, demagolka,” he hisses at them, finally unable to keep his temper under control. “You are dead to me.”

He turns around before either of them can speak to them. From there, Paz heads back to his room. He hesitates at the door for just a moment. Then he exhales. The sooner he gets this done, the easier it will be. Entering, he finds Din already in the process of cleaning out Zeli’s property, tossing everything carelessly into a crate. He pokes through whatever Din has already packed to make sure nothing of his accidentally ends up in there. Paz unfolds another crate and starts going through the main room, listening as Din occasionally mutters an expletive or insult.

He finds several things that had once been at home with his – her second pair of boots, a bright pink sock, and a book. All of it goes straight into the crate. Piece by piece, he removes her from his life, each article erasing part of their eight years together. Like all other wounds, this pain will eventually heal, but he will not be the same as he was before. He can only hope that his new course in life will allow him to become a better man.

From here, he watches Din strip the bedding off the mattress. He balls it up and dumps it in the bottom of another crate. Paz turns away as Din flips the mattress over. Paz has never been one to get emotional about objects, but he cannot sleep there. He will replace it eventually, but it will do for now. A firm knock at the door makes his shoulders tense. He hadn’t the foresight to tell them to stay away, that their belongings would be left at their door.

Din is at the door before he can respond.

“What?” he asks.

A gloved hand pushes a basket into his arms.

“Take care of alor’ad,” Neten says. “He’s the only one…who can kick our asses the right way, you know?”

“Thanks,” Din says gruffly. “I’ll let him know.”

He shuts the door. Before Din can put the basket down, there is another knock. This time, it is more insistent. Din opens the door again.

“Hey, Reva - what the fuck – “

“Damn it, Djarin,” comes Revala’s voice. “Grab the other end, would you?”

“Let me put this down,” Din says indignantly.

Paz watches as Revala and Terys push a mattress into the room, brand new and still wrapped. He blinks a few times in utter confusion.

“Uhm…where did this come from?” Din asks, as he backs into the room, holding his end steady.

“Eh, Terys just had a spare one laying around,” Revala says briskly. “Thought the old man could use better support for his back.”

“Yeah, we got sick of hearing him bitch about it,” Terys says. “Every other fucking day. My back this, my back that.”

The other man drops a linen bag onto the couch.

“We’ll just help tidy up,” Terys says, going straight to the bedroom.

Paz watches in silence as the two of them swiftly push the old mattress toward the door.

“Don’t want to hear you bitching about your back, okay?” Revala asks, her voice choking up.

Suddenly, Paz realizes that Terys and Revala had been planning on moving in together. That they had bought the mattress for themselves. He did not even suspect they had been in a relationship, much less being at the point of moving in together. Sudden guilt wracks him.

“Yeah,” Paz says. “I won’t. How much – “

“If you even think about trying to pay me back, I will stab you in the kriffing balls,” Terys says flatly.

“You just want any excuse to touch his balls, don’t you?” Revala asks in a saucy tone.

“Oh, fuck off,” Terys snaps.

Paz holds both hands up in surrender. The two of them disappear, bickering between themselves. Paz helps Din set the bed up on the makeshift frame. It hangs over the edges a bit, but it will do until he can replace the frame. Din unpacks the sheets and snorts.

Paz stares at the monstrosity Din has lifted out of the bag. The sheets are a violent shade of pink with fluorescent green stripes. As if the eye-watering combination is not bad enough on its own, whoever had designed the pattern also included lines of tiny black taun-tauns running parallel to the stripes.

“Holy hell,” Din breathes. “That man has no taste.”

Paz hears the grin on Din’s face, and he can’t help himself. From losing two people he once loved all the way to his Tribe rallying behind him to support him through the clusterfuck his life has suddenly become…today has been a bizarre, surreal ride of emotions. He can only laugh. Hard. Din chortles a bit, though he is clearly worried about him.

“I’m keeping them,” Paz announces.

“You’re insane,” Din retorts.

“They’re great,” Paz shoots back as they get the bedding back in place. “They add…uh…character.”

Nothing in the bag matches. One pillowcase is fluorescent orange, while the other is black. The flat sheet looks like someone spilled a child’s watercolor palette onto a dirty tissue. It might have been bleached by accident at some point, but he cannot tell. At least the thick blanket is a relatively normal shade of brown, despite being made of cheap velour-like fabric.

“They certainly add something,” Din says, as they take a step back to survey the horror scene laid out in front of them, “But I’m not sure it can be called character.”

Paz nods, suddenly sober.

“Hey…thanks,” Paz says to Din.

Din responds by grabbing him by the chest plate and headbutting him hard enough to make his teeth rattle in his skull.

“If you need anything, send me a message,” Din says.

Cheekily, he reaches into the basket Neten had brought by. He grabs a beer and a handful of the snacks. Then, with a jaunty salute, Din leaves. After locking the door, Paz goes to the basket and takes out the alcohol. He pops the cap and takes a big swallow. He grimaces. Far too bitter, no flavor. He drinks it anyway.

Turning to the bottle is an unhealthy coping mechanism that has claimed a number of his brethren, but he has no plans to make it a habit. Tonight, he just wants to be numb.

[end flashback]

-

-

-

“My fayshe feels funny,” Paz says to Din, who sighs.

“Doctor Shen, Paz is starting to slur his words,” he calls out through the door.

No one responds.

Paz tilts his head to the doorway as Doctor Shen and Armorer argue in the main room. Well, it really is not an argument. The two of them are just repeating themselves over and over in different ways, trying to tell the other what needs to happen. Armorer says the bucket does not come off due to the Oath. Doctor Shen says that the bucket comes off. The two of them have been going around in circles for a while now, long enough such that the pain medications were starting to lose their edge. It is not until Doctor Shen brings up the fact that traumatic brain injury can render him completely useless to the Tribe that Armorer relents.

“Then we blindfold you,” Armorer says.

“How the fuck do you expect me to treat him with a blindfold on?” Doctor Shen asks in exasperation.

“That is the only way,” Armorer says.

“Can I use the deep tissue scanner?” Doctor Shen asks bluntly. “I technically won’t be looking at his face – just the bones and tissue underneath the skin.”

Armorer falters.

“Can you assure us that you will not know his identity?”

“Yes,” Doctor Shen stresses.

“Very well, do what you must to ensure Paz’s health and preserve his identity,” Armorer says.

“We are going to discuss this oath with the rest of the Tribe, Armorer,” Doctor Shen says flatly. “There must be an exclusion for medical professionals.”

“Doctor Shen – “

“Armorer,” Doctor Shen hisses through her teeth.

“I will leave you to your work, Doctor.”

Paz snickers as Armorer gracefully concedes defeat. It has been such a long time since he has last witnessed Armorer backing down from a fight. Then again, there is an unspoken rule – the chief medical officer outranks even the Alor when it involves someone’s health.

Coming into the room, Doctor Shen wheels the bed over to the deep tissue scanner. She positions the arm of the machine over his head. Then Din takes over, draping a sheet over everything to keep him from being seen. Once it is set to the deep scan mode, he removes his bucket. He grimaces as the bright light stabs straight through his pupils and into the back of his head.

“First of all, how many times have you gotten your nose broken?”

“Lost count,” he remarks.

“Fuck’s sakes. Hunters,” Doctor Shen hisses. “Stay still. You’re going to feel a bit of a tickling sensation in your teeth. I’m trying to set the bone fragments without causing further damage.”

Searing pain jolts down the side of his face. Paz gasps.

“Only a sadist would call that a tickle,” he groans.

“Din, jab this into his neck, right into the jugular.”

“What is it?” Din asks.

“Painkillers,” Doctor Shen says. “Now go do it before I take it back.”

“Aye, Doctor,” Din says. “I’m gonna stab you, okay?”

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Paz asks.

“Stop moving,” Doctor Shen growls.

Din laughs as he jabs him in the neck. After a few seconds, Paz feels his head swim.

“N-now that…that’s the good shit,” he slurs out. “C-can’t f-feel my face.”

“That particular cocktail contains a bacta infusion as well as anti-inflammatory drugs that are targeted specifically to brain tissue. There’s also a mild muscle relaxer in there for your neck muscles. So, hopefully, that’ll keep you still.”

Paz relaxes, nearly falling asleep as Doctor Shen works to reposition the bone fragments in his face through the equipment. Once his nose is put back together, she gives him another injection to stimulate the bone cells and help support the bacta infusion. She reaches under the blanket, wearing latex gloves.

“Alright, I have to do this part by touch, since I can’t look at your face,” she says. “Stay. Still. I don’t want this falling into your mouth or your eyes.”

With one hand resting on his cheek, Doctor Shen’s other hand disappears. Then it returns with a strip of quick-set stabilizing bandage. She quickly maneuvers it into place. It heats up uncomfortably as it dries.

“That will keep the bridge of your nose in the right shape,” she says. “You can wear the bucket, but please be careful putting it on and taking it off for the next few days.”

“Sure thing, doc,” he says.

Din returns to his side and slides his bucket under the sheets.

“Hey, you cleaned it out,” Paz says. “Thanks, ner vod.”

“Your neck is fine, no damage to any of the nerves, muscles, or vessels,” she says. “But those muscles are going to hurt if you agitate them again before the bacta can do its job. I don’t want you doing anything stupid, Vizla.”

“I won’t do anything stupid,” he insists.

“You’re a hunter,” she retorts sharply.

“Point taken,” Paz says. “Nothing more vigorous than light sparring, then?”

“No sparring at all,” she says. “You can lift weights and jog for the next week. No sparring until I’ve had a chance to check your muscles again.”

“Can I go shooting?”

“Handheld blasters only, nothing heavier than a child,” she says.

“Fine,” he says. “Light shooting.”

“Alright, I’m happy with where you are right now health-wise,” Doctor Shen starts to say.

“Does…does this mean I can leave today?” Paz asks as he carefully puts his bucket back on.

Then he reaches out blindly, trying to remove the sheet from his face. Doctor Shen takes the sheets away, tossing them at Din. The unspoken command is clear to them both. Din goes and puts the sheets into the bin to be washed and sterilized.

“Absolutely not,” Doctor Shen says in an exasperated tone. “You have a concussion, Paz. We take brain injuries seriously around here. Your ass is staying in that bed overnight. In the morning, I’ll decide if you can leave.”

“Doctor Shen, please,” Paz says. “I have something very important that I need to do.”

“No. Your only job right now is to heal.”

“Please? It’s extremely important,” Paz insists.

“What is so important that you want to risk further brain damage?”

“Well…I have a date,” Paz says. “So, surely, you understand – “

Her head shoots up.

“Oh, no,” Doctor Shen says. “You are staying in bed and you are cancelling your plans.”

“But – “

She turns around slowly. Paz swallows as the inky black visor of her helmet tilts down toward him.

“Alright, I’m cancelling my plans,” he says. “No problem at all.”

“Good,” she says, pacing closer to his bed, looming over him. “I would hate to have to pull rank on you.”

Paz grimaces to himself under the bucket. The last thing he wants to do is piss off Doctor Shen. He knows she will make him stay another night if he mouths off. So, wisely, he stays where he is, hoping to be put out of his misery soon.

Din sends a message, informing him that he will be getting him some clean clothes. Paz sighs and closes his eyes. Doctor Shen allowed him to wipe some of the blood off with wipes, but everything from the chin down is saturated in blood. Once she can confirm the bacta is working and that the pain medications have not caused any adverse reactions, she will let him have a proper shower.

-

-

-

When you see Din come out of medical, you approach.

“How is he?” you ask, trying to keep the worry from your voice.

“Concussed,” Din sighs. “Idiot broke his nose, but he’ll be fine once the bacta kicks in.”

You nod. A broken nose and concussion aren’t too bad.

“Does he need anything?” you ask.

“Nah, he’ll be – “

Din suddenly stops talking as he tilts his head. Then slowly, he turns his head to look at you. You wait, hoping there’s something you can do.

“You know what, I think he might need a clean set of clothes,” Din says, in an odd tone. “But I need to take care of some stuff. Can you grab him something to change into?”

You jump at the chance to help Paz.

“Absolutely,” you say. “Did Doctor Shen specify visiting hours, or - ?”

“He’s going to have a checkup in two hours,” Din says. “Take stuff to him then. He’ll appreciate whatever you bring him.”

“Okay,” you say. “I can handle that.”

Din nods. A few minutes later, a message from Din pops up in your HUD, containing Paz’s door code. Immediately, you return to your room and grab one of your larger storage bags. Chewing on your lower lip, you consider what he might need for an overnight stay in medical. Pajamas, clean clothes for tomorrow, and toiletries. A small smile crosses your face – he will need his snacks, too. Warmth spreads across your cheeks as you stride down the hallway toward the officer’s quarters.

Paz always enjoys eating whatever you cook, even when it means he sneaks something off behind your back. You have long since started making extra so he can have some as well. He is also considerate and polite, a far cry from some of the coarser company available in the Tribe. You decide that you will be as considerate with him as he is with you.

Once at his door, you type in the code and let yourself in. His room is huge, you think enviously to yourself, as you look around. He also seems to have half the armory stacked on tables and in bins around his room. Along wall, he has a large table with neatly organized tools and a few partially assembled blasters.

Turning toward the bedroom, you hesitate. This is his bedroom, his personal space. You almost feel like you are trespassing here. Taking a deep breath, you shake your head, and move forward. Din gave you his code. If he didn’t trust you, he would not have given you access to Paz’s private space. You step in and head toward the shelves opposite the end of the bed. There, you find his clothes. Tonight, he will need pajamas, so you grab one of the soft-looking flannel sets. For tomorrow, you grab a suit, a set of padding, and a cowl in matching dark grey.

In one of the boxes on the lower shelves, you find compression shirts, shorts, and socks. Those are also added to the bag. Finally, you find his shower caddy and grab it as well. Once you are finished there, you leave the bedroom, and come into the living space. Stopping by the couch, you pick up the book on the table and add it to your bag. From there, you make your way through the karyai and into the kitchen.

He will need something edible to keep his strength up. You’ve had hospital rations before and they are unpleasant, to say the least. No flavor, no spice, and certainly no heat. Doctor Shen says that the rations are bland to ensure the patient can rest and heal, but you think she secretly enjoys the torture.

In the bottom of one of the bins, you find your cake supplies. You check the time. One hour and fifty-two minutes before you can see him and drop off supplies. Plenty of time to make him a small cake and get him some snacks. Exactly two hours and a minor burn later, you finish your gift to Paz. One small tray of uj’ayali cake, made with your dwindling stock of spices, syrup, and wine. You wrap the entire thing in parchment paper and include a fork.

Then you go to the stasis unit in the corner and steal some of the cheeses, crackers, and a small container of pickles. There, something to tide him over. In one of the bins, you find some apples. You take two for him so Doctor Shen cannot complain about him eating too much cake.

You would not do this for anyone else. You love your Tribe, but Paz is special to you. Nervously, you stop that train of thought before it can even depart the station. Paz is your friend first and foremost.

Glancing around, you take in your mess. It is extensive. Well, that all can wait until later. Paz needs you more than anything needs to be cleaned up. You turn the lights off and make your way to medical, hefting the bag onto your shoulder. You wait patiently inside the main room, listening as Doctor Shen scolds Paz for something or another. When Doctor Shen steps outside of the private room, she does a blatant double-take.

“What can I do for you?” she asks.

“I’d like to see Paz,” you say. “Is it okay if I go in?”

Doctor Shen pokes her head into the private room.

“You okay with seeing more visitors, buckethead?”

“Depends,” comes Paz’s voice. “Who is it?”

“Shu’shika,” Doctor Shen says.

“Sure,” Paz says. “Send her in.”

You step in, noting that Doctor Shen is watching you, her head cocked to one side. As soon as you come into the room, she follows you to the doorway, carrying a tray of equipment. Paz is resting on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankle, and his boots on the floor.

“Hey,” you say, echoing his words from earlier.

“Hey,” he repeats. “So, uh, what brings you here? What is all this, anyway?”

“Din said he has some really important stuff to work on, so I volunteered to get you some supplies,” you say to him. Digging into the bag, you grab his book and hand it to him. “Din sent the code for your door, by the way, I didn’t like break in or anything.”

Paz’s head jerks up at your words.

“Din…sent you the code?”

“Yes,” you say. “He was in such a rush to go finish his work. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he says, in an odd sort of tone. “I am so glad I cleaned up last night.”

You laugh as you hang the bag onto one of the wall hooks.

“I also came to see if you’re okay,” you say quietly, “And to see if you’d like some company?”

He nods in response.

“You want to stay and keep this cranky idiot company?” Doctor Shen asks, as she goes to the deep tissue scanner in the corner.

Paz growls as you sit down next to him.

“Well, of course,” you say. “Why wouldn’t I come see Paz?”

“I don’t mind,” Paz says. His voice takes a mischievous tone. “You did say you didn’t want to speak to Lyras. So now you don’t have to talk to him.”

You laugh, relief filling you. Then you clear your throat a bit.

“I…I also wanted to give you this,” you say, holding the tray to him.

He takes the tray from you, still slightly warm from the oven. He unwraps it and stares down at your offering to him.

“Uhm…my buir always said to eat plenty of uj’ayali if I was injured,” you say.

Inexplicably, you feel yourself blushing cherry-red, the heat filling you all the way down to your bellybutton.

“Where the hell did you find uj’ayali?” Doctor Shen asks.

“I-I made it,” you stammer out.

Oh, gods above, why did I even come here?

“You made this for me?” Paz repeats, his tone so gentle that your breath catches in your throat.

You nod earnestly at Paz. Thankfully, he does not seem too weirded out by your forwardness. In fact, he might even sound a bit happy at it.

“You made… You made - ?” Doctor Shen asks.

You can feel her incredulous stare through her bucket.

“I have some of that wine that you like,” you admit softly. “I kept a few bottles…for a special occasion.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice sounding almost awed. “I really appreciate it, Shu’shika.”

“I’ll go finish something else,” Doctor Shen says, backing toward the door. “Uh…somewhere else.”

She shuts the door, leaving the two of you alone. As much as you appreciate the doctor, you are grateful that she has work to do. You have not had a lot of time with Paz in the past few weeks, so you would like to make the most of your visit with him today.

“Would you like to try some?” you ask. “I can wheel the privacy curtain over, if you’d like. We can…we can hang out. Since we can’t go shooting.”

Hopefully, he will not think that you are being clingy.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.”

You beam at him. You have no idea why Doctor Shen would say he is cranky.

-

-

-

Doctor Shen finishes putting her equipment into the autoclave just as Din carefully peers into the room, edging in as if expecting to be attacked. She looks up at him. He has to know about you and Paz. She goes to him.

“Did you know about Paz and Shu’shika?” she asks him in a low tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Are they - ?”

“Yeah,” Doctor Shen responds. “I’ll let her stay until I close down for the evening.”

Din nods just as they hear what seems to be a minor explosion down the hallway. Doctor Shen almost purses her lips as she hears Garan’s familiar bellowing. There is nothing new about this situation – some idiot hunter has rightfully earned their tongue-lashing from Garan. He takes nothing from anyone, especially not hunters.

“What’s all the noise down the hallway for?”

“I don’t know,” Din says. “Maybe someone left the water on again?”

They listen for a few moments, the occasional shout drifting back to them. She turns back to Din.

“Is Paz serious?” she asks.

Doctor Shen knows you well – after all, she has been caring for you for years now. Even as a child, you tagged along after her, pestering her endlessly with your questions and tendency to injure yourself. She was there when you put your bucket on at thirteen. She watched you grow up to become a skilled, competent, and hard-working member of the tribe. It is everything that she could have wanted for you.

“Dead serious,” Din responds. “He’s been thinking about this for a while. He went to Armorer two nights ago to talk to her about courtship.”

Doctor Shen feels relief fill her stomach. If there is a hunter she trusts, it is Paz. He is a good man and will not take advantage of you. Doctor Shen knows that you are an adult, but she still sometimes sees the little girl you used to be, complete with a busted lip and two scabby knees.

“Good,” Doctor Shen says to him. “Shu’shika might be a walking disaster, but she is our most precious disaster.”

Someone taking an interest in you was bound to happen eventually. She cannot help but to be overjoyed that it is a hunter of Paz’s caliber. Before Din can respond, they hear Garan shout your name.

“Where is she?” Garan roars. “If she’s not already dying, I’m going to kill her – “

Din grabs the surly mechanic by the chest plate and shoves him back out into the hallway.

“She’s busy,” Din says in his most menacing tone. “You will leave her alone.”

Undeterred, Garan shoves him back. This time, Din slams him up against the wall, pinning him in place with one arm against his chest plate and one finger pointed at his visor.

“I. Do. Not. Care,” Din hisses.

“This is the third time her carelessness has gotten something caught on fire,” Garan growls. “That little shit – “

“That little shit is busy,” Doctor Shen says from the doorway, her voice like ice. “Go back to the kitchen and take care of the mess. I’ll send her by later.”

Garan snarls but eventually concedes. Din grabs him by the shoulder and forcefully marches him away from medical. Doctor Shen goes to listen at the door. She hears only your combined laughter. Nodding to herself, she goes back to working on cleaning the equipment.

-

-

-

Din makes sure to keep Garan going forward to avoid letting him interfere. It is rare that you and Paz can spend more than a few minutes alone, so he wants to ensure that the two of you have as long as possible to talk and get to know each other a little better.

“Why the fuck are you even involved?” Garan asks moodily.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Din says. “Workshop, I assume?”

“Yes.”

He escorts Garan to the workshop, where they pick up the parts they will need to replace the melted circuitry and charred air vent. Din carries the bag without protest, even as Garan complains with every single step. In the karyai, they find Dezha and Armorer at the kitchen window, watching as Terys finishes putting the flames out. Jalyn is by the backmost kitchen vent, trying to waft the smell of burnt wine and sugar out with a tea cloth. Din knows better – Jalyn is just here to snoop like the shameless little gossipmonger he is. Regardless, Din shoves Garan into the kitchen and bodily blocks the doorway.

“What is the problem?” Armorer asks, looking between the two of them.

“Just making sure Garan fixes everything in time for dinner,” Din says.

“Apparently, poor wittle Shu’shika is so busy I can’t yell at her for her carelessness,” Garan snaps moodily in his direction as he starts unpacking the components onto the counter.

“Yes. She is busy,” Din confirms.

Terys puts the fire extinguisher into the cabinet. Then he looks across the counter. Din can see the wheels turning. A few seconds later, Terys looks up sharply, having come to the logical conclusion.

“Did she make her special uj with wine syrup?” Terys asks slowly.

“She didn’t clean up after herself,” Garan interrupts as he shoves a pile of dirty dishes over. “And she didn’t even leave any for us. Brat.”

“Yes,” Din confirms. “Just for him.”

Garan continues grumbling as Armorer and Dezha look at each other. They come to the same conclusion.

“I will help you tidy up,” Dezha cuts in smoothly. “We can overlook this minor mistake.”

“Again?” Garan asks, turning to Dezha. “This is the third time, Alor. This has got to stop. We can’t afford to keep replacing everything her kriffing hands touch.”

“I am aware of that,” Dezha says. “But we will overlook it this time. I’ll talk to her when she is finished.”

Din leads the cleanup effort by picking up the charred pot. He tosses it straight into the trash bin. He will have to buy a new pot before Hannah discovers one is missing. Din pauses. Then again…Hannah will overlook any mistake as long as she knows that Paz is trying to court you. Din wonders if he can enlist their cook’s help in ensuring the process is as smooth and painless as possible for the rest of the Tribe.

Armorer starts sweeping the powder from the fire extinguisher into a neat pile on the floor, while Dezha works on wiping the counters down. Jalyn just keeps fanning the acrid air toward the vent. Judging by the wide grin on his face, he seems to have caught on already, though Din cannot fathom why he is still here. At long last, Garan seems to realize that something isn’t quite right. In the middle of replacing the filter, he pauses, and looks around, slowly taking stock of his present company. Everyone is quickly working to put the kitchen back in order in time for dinner.

“Why are you all here?” Garan asks slowly.

“Good question,” Hannah says, as she puts her apron on. “Why the hell are you crowding into my kitchen, anyway? And why do I smell smoke?”

“It was a minor incident,” Armorer says, cutting Garan off. “We are rectifying the problem.”

“Minor?” Hannah asks, picking up the charred remains of her pot out of the trash. “Did Shu’shika set another pot on fire? Gods above, someone needs to have a serious talk with that girl.”

“That’s what I tried to do earlier,” Garan says, “But nooo, Din said she was too busy to get a proper tongue-lashing for her kriffing carelessness.”

Din looks at Hannah.

“Shu’shika is looking after Paz,” he says diplomatically.

Hannah blinks, turning to look at him.

“Shu’shika…and Paz?” she asks.

When Armorer nods, Garan drops his wrench onto the counter. It goes clattering onto the floor. Garan wordlessly stares at each of them in turn. The only sounds that can be heard are Jalyn’s snickers and the sound of the tea cloth he is flapping at the vent.

“You’re shitting me,” Garan says as he shakes his. “Oh, no. No, that is not happening. I absolutely forbid it.”

“And what authority would you have to interfere?” Armorer challenges immediately, coming forward a step, her hand falling to the hammer tucked into her belt.

Din cracks his knuckles threateningly, though he is certain that his muscle will not be needed here. Armorer is lethal with her hammer. Garan sinks down to a seated position on the counter and rests his face plate in his hands.

“We are not going to survive this,” Garan says in a defeated tone.

“That is an unfair over-exaggeration,” Armorer scolds. “They are good together, Garan.”

“Do we know when he intends to propose? He won’t make us – her wait too long, will he?” Hannah asks nonchalantly, as she starts sorting through the ingredients for dinner.

No one is fooled by her tone. Everyone knows where her mind is – the bonfire feast. Hell, Din has found himself thinking about what he will bring back to celebrate their marriage. He has already purchased a scope for Paz and set aside a small piece of bes’kar for you. Now, he needs to figure out what food he is bringing, but that can wait until later. He doesn’t expect the two of you to marry for at least six months, if not more.

“Paz managed to give himself a concussion before they could go on their first date,” Din says. “It isn’t happening for a few months at least.”

Hannah and Armorer both seem to sulk at his words.

“You know, it might not be so bad,” Terys says. “He’s a bit older, you know. He will look after her. Maybe get her trained up so she can actually start participating in hunts on the regular?”

“We can only hope,” Garan sighs dejectedly. “We can only hope.”

Jalyn puts the cloth down and picks up his cane. Carefully, he picks his way back to them. Din wonders what the little shit-stirrer is going to do next.

“Oooorr,” Jalyn says, somehow splitting a single-syllable word into three. “Imagine what it’s going to be like once he finally knocks her up. Can you imagine them having a few Vizla brats with his temperament and her propensity for accidental arson?”

Silence fills the kitchen. Garan lets out a low noise of distress. Armorer and Dezha exchange a look. Din thinks that any child that you and Paz name as your own will be perfect the way they are, even if they end up being prone to damaging their surroundings. Hell, under the right conditions, that could be a benefit in combat.

“Regardless of their unique personality traits,” Armorer says. “Anyone who interferes will be made to regret their actions most severely. Be sure to pass that along with your gossip, Jalyn.”

“Please, everyone here wants more children to look after,” Jalyn says dismissively. “If there was a way to get them married tonight, we would do it.”

Garan picks up the bottle of wine and checks it. There is a quarter of it left. Garan shrugs to himself and lifts the front of his bucket. He chugs the wine down straight from the bottle. He wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and lets out a rude belch.

“May the gods take mercy on us,” he says.

-

-

-

demagolka - someone who commits atrocities. Paz chooses this word because they risked hurting a child just so they could carry on an affair.

[flowercrown-bucky]

Trouble has never looked so good - But then again, it’s never been wearing a push-up bra before.

Fandom: 1970s!Loki Multi-Chapter

Pairing: Loki x ConArtist!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, drug references, later death, later smut, crime, loki and the reader are con artists..... It’s a wild one y’all, hold onto yo’ seats.

Word Count: 3084

[Something Wicked This Way Comes - Chapter One] 

Loki’s life on Asgard has become vapid; uninspiring. He’s got the taste for a little danger. 

During a trip to earth, he finds just the danger he’s looking for.

A partner in crime - in every imaginable sense. 

TAGLIST IS OPEN - EITHER COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED. 

LIFE on Asgard was unbearably normal.

It was fine. If anything, it was too fine.

There was only so much feasting and so many council meetings one could take, you know?

Loki had stalked off to his chambers, muttering to his brother that he needed time to focus his magic.

He didn't, of course. Odin's lecturing on diplomatic decorum had simply become mind numbingly dull and it seemed like the most suitable excuse.

Loki's chambers were in a prime position. It was, after all, the reason he had coerced his older brother into switching with him when they were both around three hundred years old. He was roughly a hundred yards from the palace kitchens, something that well suited his secret midnight-snacking habit, and about as far from the Allfather and Allmother's chambers as he could possibly be, something that well suited his secret midnight sneaking-out habit.

However, the thing he loved most about his chambers, was the proximity to the palace orchard. If he stepped through the doors onto the balcony, he could grip the railings and sort of kamikaze himself over, before dropping the two-or-so-feet distance between him and the floor, and it was this that had made him want to occupy this chamber so badly.

He'd loved the orchard ever since he was a little boy. It was his safe spot, somewhere he had gone to hide from the world, where nothing could harm him or make him feel anything he didn't want to. He liked to take a book with him, and read under the shade of the apple trees until someone came to retrieve him.

It was here he had considered retreating to when he remembered the girl kneeling between his legs.

She was, Loki believed, a princess of Vanaheim, visiting Asgard with her father. Sex was not something that particularly concerned him, but he had left the council hall feeling rather frustrated, and the remarkably attractive woman had practically thrown herself at him.

If a beautiful woman desired to fellate him, who was he to complain?

It was, however, doing nothing for him - so much so he had forgotten she was even there.

"You can stop now." He wasn't entirely gentle when he tugged her off him, opting to do so with the help of a handful of her hair, but ,hey, he was extremely frustrated and she had been no help in the easing of that frustration.

"I can-"

"Nope." He waved a hand dismissively at the woman, leaving her to gather her clothes and dignity from where they'd been discarded in the floor. Girls were far more his brother's thing.

The only satisfying sexual encounter he had ever had had been on Midgard, some ten years before. Her name was Elizabeth, and she wanted to be an actress. With a head of carefully constructed dark curls and unusual violet coloured eyes, she was positively electrifying. She'd liked Loki's regal manner, assumed he was important. He'd been looking for a way to unwind and had yet to find it in a bottle of whiskey. They had, you might say, used each other equally.

He wondered what she was doing now.

Midgard, however, didn't seem like too bad an idea.

The mortals, he thought, were funny. Their funny little ways, their funny little habits, their funny little emotions.

He rather liked that idea. Midgard it was to be, then.

--

Las Vegas, was perhaps, the worst place he had ever been. Crawling with perhaps the worst specimens humanity had to offer, and drowning in immorality, Vegas was perhaps the physical embodiment of iniquity. 

Perhaps the underbelly of the world, Vegas combined all aspects of bigotry - racism, misogyny, pride. Men traded their lives away to pay to warm the sheets of women condemned to a life of misery, destined to while their days away in some clandestine pact with dingy hotel rooms. 

Not Vegas, Loki thought to himself. 

New York, he was not particularly fond of either. It was much too cold and full of self importance. The people were, largely, cold and unpleasant, and the food was something he could never get behind. 

Europe he had not visited for a long while since. It had been stricken by an unpleasant pox last time he had visited, covering the suffering with boils as large as the palm as his hand. He’d begrudgingly lent his healing skills to the ailing people. After all, he really didn’t like the smell of rotting flesh. 

 He wasn’t altogether pleased with the likenesses the people later formed in the name of worship.

In all honesty, they made him look rather greasy and weaselly.

—

Montecarlo, Loki thought, might be a little more interesting than he'd initially thought. Possibly, his favourite place he'd visited on Midgard.

It was like a hive of temptation, the culmination of human greed. Nowhere on earth quite said luxury like a city dressed to the nines, and Loki loved it.

It was far better than his previous visits, wherein he had found the planet stricken by various bouts of violence and deadly plagues. 

1973, with its penchant for sex, drugs and rock'n'roll was far more to his taste.

He had, in the short time he'd been in the city, become very well acquainted with the calibrate of person who liked to visit. Men with enough class to never let an expletive pass their lips within company, but perfectly happy to snort narcotics off the seats of public toilets using a ten dollar bill that was on its fourth use.

Women loyal enough to remain on the arm of one gentleman for the whole of an evening but not opposed to a quick fuck in a back alley from a tall dark stranger with a mysterious smile.

Sex was not something Loki was particularly concerned with, but he did enjoy the sense of power he got from looking directly into the eyes of a man whose wife he had made come undone not ten minutes earlier.

Humans, he noted, were no different to the savage tribes of Muspelheim. They just hid it better, under expensive clothes and university degrees and layers of makeup.

This was not something he necessarily was bothered by. He was having far too good a time for that.

Casinos, he had taken a real liking to. Money was another thing that held no meaning for him, but cheating pompous assholes out of what they believed was rightfully theirs?

That, he could get behind, and it seemed he was not alone in that.

He had been watching you all evening, as you worked your way around the room.

You were dressed to kill, and the man you'd turned your attentions to looked like he would gladly die if it would please you.

One hand stroking his *ahem* ego, and the other stealing his wallet.

You were perfect.

Mischief was on his agenda, and you looked like a wonderful accomplice.

He'd approached you quietly, a gentle hand on your shoulder, his lips by your ear.

"Well, hello." He'd murmured, as you turned to face him. "Who might you be?"

You'd practically preened at the sudden attention, clearly very pleased with the idea of a second conquest of the evening.

"Darling, I'm your worst nightmare." You bit your red painted lip, your eyes trailing the length of him. Your glance was cold, calculating - pretty much everything Loki appreciated in a woman. 

For a moment, he wondered if you were to kill him, how you would carry out the act. He felt almost as if he would appreciate it. 

You looked like a poisoner, he decided. Less messy, less loose ends to take care of. 

“And what, exactly, does my worst nightmare take to drink?” He could feel the smug grin growing on his face. “I am well acquainted with the torment of the unconscious mind.” 

You were taken aback, that much he could see from your face. For someone so experienced with hustling card games, you did not have much of a poker face. 

His smile grew. Unsettling people was one of his very favourite things.

“Champagne.” You still gnawed at your lip, but the reasoning, he could tell, had changed - if he didn’t know better, he’d think you were quite literally biting back a smile. 

“A lady after my own heart.” He replied. “You have good taste.” 

 “Only the best.” You lifted your glass towards him. 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

-- 

The course of the evening made abundant to Loki exactly how you operated. You were fairly certain you had him in the palm of your hand, that much he could tell - and it was certainly amusing to play along with it. 

You played your role well, and that was something he admired. You allowed him to lead the conversation, showering his ego with praise and affirmation. You fiddled with your hair as you spoke, twisting it around your index finger before draping it over your clavicle, trailing towards your ample bosom. 

You occasionally - intentionally - licked at your lip as you spoke, your tongue coyly tracing your plump bottom lip, tilting your head to the side as if to show how truly intrigued you were by what he was saying, exposing a good deal of neck in the process. 

It truly was a shame, he thought, that mortal men were unable to see the brains, the intellect, behind the beauty - or more specifically, the bust. 

Midgardian men were truly unable to see exactly what they possessed, but on Asgard, you would’ve been celebrated, treasured even, for the power of your mind. 

It was a great pity, Loki thought, and rather unfortunate for their wallets. 

You’d kept him on his toes since you’d first spoken. You were keeping him on his toes now. 

He watched you as you spoke to the woman next to you. You were so careful, every movement deliberate, purposeful. 

You played your part well. In a knee-length blue dress, you largely left the curves of your body to the imagination. The imagination, however, was aided by how the material clung to your hips and your more than ample bosom. Almost every male eye in the room was on you. 

You made your way back over to where he lent on the bar. You seemed to enjoy toying with him. As to why, he could not fathom. 

You waved a bottle of champagne in his face, before topping up his own glass. 

“Consider the favour...” You flashed a smile at him that was utterly to die for. “Repaid.” 

He ran a hand through his long hair, catching your gaze. 

If he was an ordinary man, he would be truly fucked. 

“So, tell me.” His voice came out as something closer to a purr than anything else. “How does a woman such as yourself turn to petty crime?” If it were possible to display every element of the spectrum of human emotion in one simultaneous instant, Loki was sure it would look very similar to how your face currently looked. 

Almost as quickly as it had come over you, it was gone. The mask returned and you flashed him a coy grin. 

“What gave me away?” Your left eyebrow quirked. 

“I’m perceptive.” He smiled. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m better.” 

“What are you, a cop?” Your voice was calm, level. It was almost completely impossible to detect the emotions behind it. 

“Please.” He scoffed. “I have a proposal for you.” 

Your arm dropped to your side. Your face remained unchanged, but the mischief, the slight twinkle in your eye, was gone. 

“Meet me outside the toilets in five minutes.” Your voice was hoarse. You turned away from him with a swish of apple-scented hair, taking a step away from him. 

He reached out, catching your wrist. You stumbled slightly, grabbing at the bar to steady yourself. 

“I’m not interested in sex, if that’s what you think.” His voice dropped. 

“Then what do you want?” You spun to face him. 

“If you show me, I’ll show you.” He grinned at you. 

“Show me, what, exactly?” You asked, intrigued. 

“Everything.” He whispered. His hand came up to your face, taking your chin gently inbetween his forefinger and thumb. He turned your head gently from side to side, before tilting it back. You watched with curious eyes, but allowed him to rest his hand on your forehead. 

He closed his eyes slowly, his consciousness seeping through his body, penetrating your mind. 

--

It was an odd place, your mind. He’d never been in any other quite like it. There had always been a lot going on, in people’s minds. They were.. furnished. Most appeared as a place, at least - a childhood home, a favourite place - but yours was remarkably empty. 

Enormous black units surrounded him, rows upon rows of boxes reaching as far as his eyes could see. The only other thing present within your mind was a chair, upon which you sat. 

It was tall and as black as the shelves. The back faced him, your legs slung either side of it, your elbow resting on the top. Your chin rested on your fist, and you watched him as he adjusted to your surroundings, one eyebrow bemusedly quirked. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” You smiled. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t get a lot of visitors, you know, inside my head.” 

Loki laughed. 

“Your mind is intriguing, little one.” He walked towards one of the units to get a closer look, lifting a hand to open one. It didn’t budge. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” You teased.  

“Just the pretty ones.” He tugged again, a little harder. “What’s in these boxes?“

“My deepest secrets.” You replied curtly. “How do you do this, anyway? You don’t get many people who can waltz into your mind uninvited around here.” 

“I told you, you show me, and I’ll show you.” He left the boxes, walking over to where you sat. He circled you a few times, looking around for anything else within your mind. “I am not of this world.” 

“No shit.” You grumbled. 

“Ladies first.” He grinned. “I want to know how you do it. Then you will get your answers.” 

“Then get out of my head.” You replied. “The only person in here to scam is you, and it’s not quite the same when someone knows you’re going to rob them.” 

“Very well.” Loki snapped his fingers. 

You opened your eyes with a gasp as he lifted his hand from your forehead. 

“Never do that again.” You warned. 

He chuckled, lifting his hand to support his head, looking at you expectantly. 

“I’m waiting.” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Where shall we start?” 

--

You leant across the table towards Loki. 

“That one.” You tilted your head towards the left. 

He lifted his head, looking up for the man you’d singled out. The ginger in the double breasted suit? The lanky blonde with the knock knees? The man bun? 

No. 

He knew the one. 

“Clammy hands.” He mused. “Look at the discoloration on the front of his trousers. The pigment has been lost from repeatedly wiping his hands on them. He has sweaty hands.” 

“Can I keep you?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Why him?” He asked. “How do you choose?” 

“I don’t.” You replied. “They sort of... reveal themselves. They look at me. Stare at me. All I have to do is look back.” 

“And from there?” 

“The art of robbing someone just comes down to sleight of hand. Same as hustling a card game.” You glanced over at the man. “I used to do magic tricks with cards and make people’s car keys disappear as a kid. I picked it up from there.” 

“Impressive.” He leaned back in his seat. “Why do you do it?” 

“This world has not been kind to me.” You sighed. “Besides, life is so much more interesting with a little chaos.” 

He chuckled, placing both of his elbows on the table, hands clasped together in front of his face. 

“Do you fuck all of them?” He raised one eyebrow. 

“Just the pretty ones.” Your face cracked into a wide smile. 

He stared at you for a second. This beautiful, conniving woman in front of him, the poison that resided in your mind, the deadliness that lay in your hands. 

In all honesty, it excited him. 

You’d intrigued him since he’d very first laid eyes on you, and every moment since, that  intrigue had grown. Who were you really? What were you? 

For the first time that evening, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know your name. 

He got the feeling that if he asked, you wouldn’t tell him the truth. You weren’t that stupid. 

You were hiding from something, he was fairly sure. Being in hiding was something he was all too familiar, and if there was anything he had learned in his five thousand years of life, it was how to spot when someone was on the run. 

“I believe you are exactly what I’ve been looking for, little criminal.” He murmured. 

“And what, pray tell, would that be?” You pursed your red painted lips. 

“A partner in crime.” He replied. “A fellow mischief maker, if you will.” 

“You could be a serial killer.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“So could you.” He said curtly. “I entered your mind and you’ve just explained how you con and rob people, but yet, here we both still are.” 

You blinked, shifting so you were leaning on your left side. Your expression was thoughtful - you were considering his suggestion. 

“And what exactly do I get out of this deal?” You asked. 

“You saw what I did earlier.” He leaned forwards on his forearms. “I will open your mind to things you cannot currently even begin to comprehend.” 

“Okay. I’ll bite.” You lifted your drink to your lips, taking a sip. “I accept your offer.” 

“I must tell you.” He warned. “You will be playing with fire.”  You set your glass down on the table, before leaning back in your seat. You turned your head to the left briefly, tossing your hair over one shoulder. You crossed one leg over the other as you turned back to face him. Your eyes found his, a gaze that truly seemed to be looking into his soul, and you smiled. 

“Luckily for you, I like to watch things burn.” 

TAGLIST: @possessedjoker​ @amour-delicate

[syubology]

Writing Dialogue

I know someone’s gonna hate me for this, but dialogue is actually hands down the easiest part of writing for me. I used to struggle a lot with it, then one day something clicked and now my scenes are quite literally built on the dialogue - my rough drafts look like screenplays lmao. So, I might be the worst person to attempt to give tips on this particular subject, but I will do my best!

🌙

Unique Voices:

Every character should have their own voice. It might sound impossible at first, but here are some factors to consider when designing a speech pattern:

Upbringing. This is where it all begins, really. The way we speak can certainly change over time, but a lot of habits are gonna be established earlier on in life. So, who raised your character? How did their parents/siblings speak? Who were their friends, and how could their speech patterns have had an influence on your character? Where did your character grow up? Is the area known for a specific dialect or strong accent?

Age and era. Not only should you consider your character’s age, but also the era in which they’re living. If you’re in your thirties and you’re writing about a teenager in 2020, your character is not going to speak exactly the same way you spoke when you were a teenager. If you’re 20 and writing about a 20-year-old in 1920, they’re not going to speak exactly as you speak now. Do your research!

Who are they speaking to? Regardless of whether or not they live in a society where there is a very strict hierarchy between social classes or age groups, your character is still likely to adjust their speech depending on who they’re speaking to. Boss, teachers, parents, siblings, lovers - your character will probably have a slightly different way of speaking to all of these people.

Multi-lingual. Was your character raised with more than one language? Is the language your character usually speaks their first language? Are they entirely fluent? What might trigger them to slip into their first language - anger, excitement, meeting a certain person, praying, counting? Do they often forget or confuse certain words in one language or another? You can have a lot of fun with multi-lingual characters, but if you weren’t raised with more than one language yourself, I’d do some research before writing a bilingual character!

Slang. Again, if you’re writing a character who belongs to a different era/age-group/nationality to you, do a little research. You’ll want to avoid using stereotypical slang and speech patterns - for example, not a single fucking Irish person has ever seriously said “top o’ the mornin’ to ye”. Each person usually has a specific set of slang terms and expletives they favour.

I’m not a linguist, these are just some of the things I consider when deciding how a character might speak. Not all voices are 100% unique, so don’t stress yourself out too much. The way we speak is the sum of hundreds of different influences, many of which we share with others. The idea is just to keep these factors in mind and implement small changes here and there to make sure your characters’ voices stand out from each other.

Break it up!

No to big chunks of solid dialogue - it’s boring. Even if your character is going off on a long monologue, you should break it up with motion and description. Imagine you’re watching a play and the actor just stands there, stock still, emotionless, reciting these lines - no one wants to see that and no one wants to read it either, my fren. Below is the best example I could find in my recent writing of a monologue broken up with motion and description:

Only one character speaks for this whole thing, but even if it was a conversation, I’d weave those other details in through it in much the same way. As much as you can, try to drop in subtle reminders of the character’s surroundings and feelings and the reactions of whoever they’re speaking to. This keeps the reader in the scene.

Rehearse:

You might feel like a crazy person muttering random lines of dialogue under your breath, but saying things aloud can help you figure out if it sounds nice and natural or stilted and weird. We can’t all be Oscar-winners, I know, but for best results, you should try to channel your character and their emotions when you do it. Personally, when I’m in bed before I fall asleep, I play scenes through in my head like a film and that’s my kinda way of ‘rehearsing’ them.

Listen:

A lot of people have trouble actually constructing dialogue. You sit down to write and it’s like you’ve never had a conversation before in your goddamn life, I know the feeling. The first thing you need to do is stop putting so much pressure on yourself. Just like you can’t force conversation in real life without it getting awkward, I think it’s the same in writing. Relax, step back from the keyboard, shut your eyes and try to imagine the scene as if you’re watching a film - what are they saying? 

If that fails, watch a film or an episode of something, listen to the actors. Read a novel and focus on the dialogue, how it’s constructed. When you’re out and about, listen to conversations going on around you, take notes of anything you find funny or interesting, anything that inspires a bit of dialogue for your story. Listening in this way is also a good exercise for studying other people’s speech patterns - think about how they’re unique and what the way they speak can tell you about them.

Practice:

I think this will be a point in most of my posts because it’s just so vital when it comes to all aspects of writing. Dialogue isn’t just a skill, it’s an entire group of skills. Within it, there’s humorous dialogue, flirtatious dialogue, arguments, etc. - the list goes on. They’re all a little different and present unique challenges, and you will be better at some aspects of dialogue than you are at others, so don’t get stuck in an I suck at dialogue rut, that’s not sexy at all.

Here’s a diverse list of dialogue prompts. To practice and challenge yourself, you could try building a conversation around each one or just a few. To start with, you could try writing only the lines of dialogue; when you feel more confident, start weaving in tone, setting, motion, etc.

✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧*

For me, the dialogue is the first thing I get. Before a scene has even begun to really take form, I have all these snippets of dialogue in my head, but then I often struggle with filling the gaps to make it a readable scene, you know? Every writer has different strengths. Dialogue may seem tricky at first, but you’ve been having conversations you whole life, pal, you know how to do it. The real trouble lies in finding your characters’ voices and figuring out how they’d interact with each other - once you’ve done that, the dialogue will come much easier for the rest of your story.

Sorry for the long gap between posts this time! I have a lot going on right now, but I love writing for this blog, it makes me feel like I know things, so thank you for all your support so far! Especially those who sent in asks - keep ’em coming! If I don’t reply, it’s because I plan to make a post on the topic, so don’t worry, I’m not ignoring anyone.

Thanks for reading, frens, I hope you’re all having a good day <3

[djarinispunk]

Chapter Three - Familiar Face

"Murphy"

You couldn't hide the shock on your face when you turned to see Javier, your jaw was practically hanging on the floor. If Javier was shocked to see you, he didn't show it. His face was stoic as ever and he practically looked straight past you as he approached you and Steve. If you weren't so in shock maybe you'd feel a little hurt.

"What the hell happened?" Javier asked, looking over the newly ravaged Club Oracle, what a coincidence that only mere weeks ago he was sitting in there.

"We’re thinking its one of Escobar's mules, took him out before things could get too heavy" Steve replied, gesturing to one of the body bags you'd failed to see upon your exit, your body shivered at the thought of who was inside.

"Won’t that put a target on our backs?" Javier asked, he had his back firmly to you, blocking you out.

Asshole.

"What a bigger one than we've got already?" Steve replied, before turning to gesture to you, he introduced you to Javier, telling him your name as if he hadn't been moaning it upon your last visit.

You shook Javier's hand as he told you his name. Looked like he was choosing to feign ignorance over behaving like a normal adult.

"She pretty much operated the whole thing, told her she should be working for us" Steve joked, nudging your shoulder, you just laughed.

"In that case, thanks for making our job easier" Javier added, you sent him a look, narrowing your eyes, enjoying the way he squirmed under your gaze.

"My pleasure" you nodded.

"One more time" Steve began, looking at you with kind eyes, "Are you sure you don't need a medic?"

You smiled, grateful for his hospitality, "I'm good, thank you Agent Murphy"

"Please, just call me Steve" he matched your smile, you watched from the corner of your eye as Javier seemed to roll his eyes.

Was he jealous?

You decided to play with him a little, running your hands along Steve's bicep as you spoke in a hushed tone, "I hate to ask but I'd really appreciate a ride home, I don't think I'm good to drive"

You watched as Javier's jaw clenched. God, men were so predictable.

Before Steve could get a word out, you watched Javier step in.

"Murphy I got this, you've got enough to do here" Javier put his arm around you, you tried to ward off the heat his touch brought.

Steve seemed slightly suspicious, you didn't blame him, Javier wasn't really sly in the way he was attached to your hip.

"Okay, and I'll see you at the station?" Steve began to walk away.

"Bright and early" Javier smiled, his grip on your arm intensifying.

"Bye Steve" you waved, your tone growing weak, suddenly you didn't feel so powerful.

As soon as Steve turned around, Javier had whipped you around to face him. His brow furrowed as he looked down at you. You gulped, trying to ignore the fire it kindled between your legs.

"Enjoy flirting with a married man huh?" Javier tone was so stern and do condescending, you hated that it affected you so much.

You cringed at the knowledge that Steve was married but chose to go a more childish route in replying, "Do I know you?"

"Very funny" he narrowed his eyes, to which you mirrored the movements. To any passers-by it would've just looked like the tow of you were engaged in a very heated staring contest.

"Hmm" he took your silence as a cue to continue "I'm gonna ignore this new attitude you got and give you a ride, okay?"

"Sure, gilipollas" you shrugged, muttering the last bit as you headed towards his car.

You heard his footsteps come to a halt, and turned to face him, he did not look impressed, "What did you say?"

And with the sweetest voice you could muster, you smiled, "Nothing!"

The tension in the car was palpable, you felt strangled by the silence that consumed you both. The most you'd said was your address and that was ten minutes ago. You scanned Javier's profile, it was criminal how beautiful he was doing even the most mundane things like driving. You huffed and turned to face the roads one more.

He picked upon your sigh, "Problem?"

"No problem here, officer" you practically purred the words.

"Still got a stick up your ass?" he said, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Why did you pretend to not know me in front of Agent Murphy?" you asked, choosing to ignore his previous remark.

He sighed before glancing over to you, "It wasn't personal, I'd just rather my colleague not have the opportunity to tease me about who I sleep with"

"Slept with" you corrected, now it was his turn to roll his eyes.

"But, I guess that's understandable" you began, noting his silence, "I just thought you were ashamed or something" you turned your attention to your cuticles, not meaning to sound so vulnerable.

He looked over to you again, taking your hand and placing his lips gently against them. You fought the urge to blush under his honeyed eyes.

"Never would I be ashamed, hermosa" his tone was low and sultry.

"What's taking so long anyways I only live like a mile away" you wondered, not sure how to respond to Javier's honesty.

"We're not going to your house"

You furrowed your brows, "What?"

"I'm taking you to my place" he was confident in his voice, like his words were common knowledge.

"Do I have any say in this?" you asked, eyebrows raised as he just chuckled at you.

"You gonna say no?" he turned to you as he smirked.

Safe to say you stayed quiet for the rest of the car ride. Arriving at Javier's apartment the second time around was far less rushed than the first. You had the chance to look around and assess his living quarters. You could tell Javier was a minimal kind of guy, only requiring the basics.

The one thing you did pick up on was the the record players nestled in the corner of his living room. You wandered over as Javier fixed you both a drink, scanning the crate of vinyl sitting next to it.

"Mind if I choose something" you held a record up to show Javier, he took a break from pouring as he looked over the breakfast nook.

"Be my guest"

You took the vinyl out of the sleeve and soon the sultry tones of Donnie and Joe Emerson were rattling through the room.

You took a seat on Javier's couch, smiling when he joined and handed you a mixed drink.

"Trying to get me drunk Mr..." you pulled a face realising you didn't even know the guys last name, yet you'd been to his house twice already.

"Peña, Mr Peña. And to answer your question, no, I want you to be in the right state of mind for what I'm going to do to you" he purred as his lustful eyes sized you up.

After downing a reasonable amount of your drink, you seemed to gain a little confidence. You set the glass on the coffee table and turned to straddle Javier's hips.

"Is that so? What if I want to take charge?" you spoke, laying soft kisses on his neck, feeling his pulse quicken underneath you.

"You're getting awful bossy, querida"

"Oh yeah? And you're being awful loud Mr Peña" you felt a surge of energy as you head a slight groan from Javier upon hearing you call him such a powerful title.

You continued your path of kisses, heading south and unbuttoning his work uniform as you did so. Javier's hand nestled into your hair as you began to undo the latches on his belt. Javier's thighs tenses as you shimmied him out of his jeans, already you could see his member straining against the fabric of his boxers.

You kissed the strong muscle of Javier's thighs, purposefully avoiding where he was most sensitive. You enjoyed the power as you felt him try to pull you closer to where he wanted you.

"Come on baby" you almost didn't recognise his breathy voice, "You're killing me here"

Deciding you'd had enough of torturing him, you released his cock from the confines of his boxers, not missing the quiet moan that left Javier, only spurring you on more.

You licked a stripe up the underside of Javier's hard cock, before taking him in your mouth completely. You weren't used to someone of his size so you let yourself adjust to the intrusion. When you were more comfortable you hollowed out your cheeks and began to bob up and down, Javier's moans fuelling you as you took him deeper.

"Fuck, just like that" his grip in your hair tightened as he bucked his hips into your mouth, causing you to gag slightly, "Fuck yes, choke on it"

His words ignited your own arousal, wanting nothing more than to reach down and satisfy yourself, but no, you wouldn't, this was about him.

You continued your ministrations on his cock, you could feel his breath quicken with every bob of your head. Knowing his orgasm was fast approaching, you took him dee and let yourself gag around him. Javier let out a deep moan followed by a string of expletives.

Suddenly, he pulled your head off of him and brought you up to reach his height, the sudden movement startled you but soon you were calmed by the feel of his warm lips against yours.

In between kisses he spoke into your mouth, "I want to finish with you" followed by more kisses, "Want to feel you come around me"

His words were met with a groan, this time by you. Javier wasted no time ridding you of your work uniform and settled you in a sitting position, easing into you with a slow thrust.

You both shared a moan as he began a steady pace as fucked up into you. Being on top was a whole other experience than the last time you had sex, he felt so much deeper in you and because of this, you struggled to meet his thrusts.

You soon started to match his hips, letting out wanton moans as you felt him speed up his motions.

"Fuck Javier" you managed to moan out between kisses.

"Talk to me baby, how does he feel" he took to planting wet kisses against you kisses as you lay your head back, basking in the unrivalled pleasure.

"It feels so good. Fuck, I can feel you in my fucking stomach" you whined, feeling your orgasm fast approaching as he hit your g-spot repeatedly.

"I- fuck - I am baby, you feel so fucking good" Javier's thrusts were growing sloppier, he to was close.

"Don't come yet baby, wait for Daddy" the name caught you off guard — your eyes widening slightly but you were quickly overridden with lust, letting out a moan as you snaked a hand down to stimulate your clit.

"Fuck, okay, come now baby. Come on my cock"

And that you did, almost painful in how intense you shook as you rode through your orgasm. You barely even heard Javier's moans as heat seared your body.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing and sweaty kisses, Javier pulled out and you settled against his chest, smiling to yourself as you heard the record come to a halt and flip over.