#I thought it’d at least be easy to find someone to fuck ??

[dutybcrne]

From a very young age, Kaeya held such a fondness for handholding. Whether it was his father clinging tightly to him to make sure he didn’t get lost, Adelinde’s gentle, grounding hand closed over his to comfort him whenever his nerves got the better of him, Crepus’s rough-palmed, firm yet comforting grip as he brought him back home, or, as it was most often of all, Diluc’s warm, yet at times uncomfortably tight hold as he dragged him anywhere, everywhere, determined to always keep Kaeya close and eagerly show him all there was to see, Kaeya treasured the gesture greatly.

Of course, being as shy as he was, initiating it himself was always the harder part. So much so, he would tend to hold pinkies, rather than outright take a person’s hand in his own. Eventually, it would become his most common way to go about the gesture of affection.

[sadisticyouko]

how are u guys going on dates and getting laid, I literally keep getting ghosted & left on read 🙃

[marcsburnerphone]

wish I wasn't so hurt

Captain John price x f!reader

Summary:being johns’ wife has been full of security and safety and you never thought he’d be the one to taint that.

Warnings: angst,(hurt/comfort, 141 task force loves you, price is full of guilt, reader is struggling to process her feelings

Part two!! Find part one here - Part 1

—----------

The cafe was quiet and warm when you entered, a few couples here and there were tucked away in booths chatting mindlessly. There was a dull ache spread throughout your chest and head from crying, ordering your coffee You couldn't help but notice the look of sympathy that sat on the barista's face.

You found a booth somewhere in the corner and dug your phone out of your purse and powered it on after having shut it off to stop the continuous buzzing it’d been doing in the car. To say the least it almost overheated and you couldn’t get to the silence button fast enough.

4 missed calls.

2 voicemails.

“I’m sorry.” 

“I’m so sorry, please forgive me.” 

“I have lost my mind, I know.” 

“Where are you my love?”

“Please just talk to me, or text either please.”

“I know I was wrong, it wasn’t my intention.” 

“Fuck em.” This one was from Simon and it made you giggle. 

A part of you wanted to message john and let him know you're okay to ease his mind, yet you didn’t instead you tucked your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. Maybe being this upset wasn't reasonable but the way he dismissed you with such harsh words intending to scare you, it was hard to get past.

Had you pushed too far? If you would have just left this could've been avoided, the anger that was spreading in your heart, the trouble of processing how to feel or move forward from this. To be fair John had never done anything to scare you or make you feel unsafe after all these years, even when he came home with blood still on his boots his eyes and voice were nothing but tender and loving. This is where you found trouble, how could he have changed so fast? How had he been so cold?

—--------

Back on base he was suffering, his heart ached with shame and remorse. How could he speak to you in such a way? Often he fell victim to his anger but this time so did you. He checked his phone continuously since you left here and it’d become clear to him you'd stopped somewhere before going home. He just wished he knew where.

The bowl of food hadn't been picked up from where your shaking hands had left it, the thought itself made him nauseous. He was fearful for the first time in a long while, for someone with so much control the thought of you leaving had him ready to crumble to the floor and maybe that's what he deserves.

The Men that were usually rowdy and causing commotion had fallen silent in his presence as he went for a cup of tea in the common area.

Price didn’t understand the blessing he held in the palm of his hands, to find someone as loving and caring as you was a once in a lifetime thing especially with the career he possessed. Bloody hands that get to go home to welcoming warm ones, a soldiers’ wish.  

—------------

You sat around trying to pinpoint where the confusion in how to feel was but hopelessly gave up and decided it was time to head home. The chilly air outside made you shiver on the way to your car. The drive home was draining, music filled the silence followed by the wisp of the heater. You'd sleep in the yard to avoid anything john if you weren't so scared of the dark. 

 As your car arrived on the familiar gravely ground to your home, a deep sigh escaped you. Clutching your keys you headed to the door and jumped at the voice that came through the camera thing. 

“Love please I’m sorry, where were you? I was worried?” The frantic yet somewhat calm voice of your husband came through. You thought of replying, yet you didn’t.

You walked inside, locking the door behind you and reset the alarm system. Your feet carried you mindlessly upstairs and to your bed, sleep came easy yet painfully that night but nevertheless any sleep was good sleep.

—-----------

John had never experienced your complete silence and couldn't take it. He decided he'd leave base early in the morning in hopes to resolve this with you, he wasn't even cleared to leave base but he couldn't really 100% be here if the idea of you hurting on your own was weighing on his mind.

—------------

Back at home was exactly that, you were wrong, any sleep wasn’t good sleep, the bed that you’ve slept in many nights without John had somehow felt emptier. Your head was pounding from a lack of sleep and crying, you waited for the ibuprofen you'd taken to kick in and just laid silently in bed . After a while you became lost in thought and missed the sound of tires on gravel but the slam of the door snapped you out of it. 

Like a child you acted like you were sleeping instead of running out of bed into his arms like you normally would. His heavy boots climbed the stairs into your bedroom, you were sure he noticed your breathing pattern was one of an awake person but couldn’t find a reason to care.

“Darling.” He whispers and you feel the dent of his weight crease on the bed.

“I don’t want to see you right now John.” But you had wanted to see him, you were just scared this time you’d see him differently.

“Please, my love, talk to me.” It was a plea as his hand went to your thigh rubbing small circles into your soft skin.

“No.” Tears began to well in your eyes again, thankfully you chose to lay facing the window. 

At that he raised from where he was sitting and rounded the bed kneeling beside your head, it broke his heart to see your puffy eyes and fresh tears streaking your beautiful face. His hand raised to caress your face and you stubbornly pulled away.

Instead of that he placed his forehead on yours not minding the way his rickety knees would ache tomorrow. 

“You scared me.” You whispered, voice quivering with emotion. 

“I know, I’m so sorry. I’d never hurt you willingly a day in my life. I just- I don’t know what came over me.” He kissed your forehead and then the tears that he was causing. 

“No you don’t understand John.” You flipped your body the other way, suddenly feeling overwhelmed in his presence.

He wasn’t going to leave you too hurt although you wished he would. There was just enough room on the bed for him to lay beside you. He formed his body to yours holding you firmly.

 At this you sobbed, the weight of your cries was devastating, as his body shook with yours he pulled you tighter to him. 

“Your my wife and my equal I was beyond wrong I- I’m ashamed of my behavior you didn’t deserve that nor it will never happen again I promise i’ll never be the man that makes you hurt please forgive me.” he whispered into your hair soothing your erratic breathing back to somewhat stable.

“John.” you said between hiccups.

“Yes my darling.” he didn't like when you called him by his name but at least you were speaking to him.

“Im tired.” he was fucking hurting inside.

“Then sleep.” he nuzzled his nose deeper into the scent of your shampoo, you just nodded your head and let your eyes close, exhaustion showed no mercy as you immediately fell into a deep slumber.

------------

the love on part 1 was amazing thankyou all from the bottom of my heart.

feedback and reposts are deeply appreciated;)

There will be a part 3;)

[screamforyani]

in the end, you’ll never escape

warnings: noncon, implied stalking

wc. 1.7k

a/n’s: pls stop putting drew’s photos through remini hell i can’t live like this anymore guys. also hi ik i died over here 👀

miles upon miles away from kildare, you were contentedly far from home. months ago, the distance wouldn’t have been as tempting. the outer banks and the life you’d made there were the only things you’d ever known. but when your home began to feel less and less like a safe haven, you were more keen to be anywhere else.

it wasn’t easy leaving behind your friends, god knew you missed them every fucking minute of every day, but you knew it was a good call. no danger could reach you here. to you, and to everyone involved, it was for the better.

well, except to maybe one person.

you could hear a familiar jingle rupture the air even all the way upstairs. your brows furrowed. you weren’t expecting any guests, and you knew that your parents couldn’t have been either, because they wouldn’t be back for hours.

there was a knock. not at the door, but at your heart. after so many months outside of the outer banks, it might’ve been ridiculous to still feel uneasy about being home by yourself, but the fear never quite ceased; it quietened. but those whispers could be loud if they so pleased.

calm down, you thought to yourself. would rafe bother to knock at the door?

but you knew that he would. as belligerent as you knew him to be in nature, rafe would always play nice to begin with. if needed, he would escalate things, and he was not afraid of taking things up another degree to get what he wanted. 

you knew it, because you had dealt with it firsthand. you had been underneath him while rafe stood atop, wielding his golden shovel as he tossed dirt upon your grave. metaphorically speaking, at least. rafe hadn’t literally tried to bury you alive, but you wouldn’t put it past him. 

you couldn’t put anything past him.

your heart thudded as you took your sweet time to pass the stairs, but it felt like you could only breathe after you took another step. you peaked through the windows, and blew out a breath of relief when the guy standing out there wasn’t your worst nightmare.

you unlocked the front door, pulling it open. 

“delivery for…” the man said your name.

that was odd, considering you weren’t expecting a delivery either, but you cloaked your shock and accepted the box he handed you graciously, shutting the door behind yourself and locking it.

the second you were alone again, you raced to the kitchen to grab a knife. you needed to know what was in the box or it’d kill you. curiosity getting the better of you, you cut it open, pulling the gift out of the cardboard it had come to you in.

it was a sweater you’d been eyeing, an expensive one. sure, you were a kook by kildare standards, though in spite of all that you’d been through, your parents still hadn’t forgiven your past pogue-esque shenanigans and wanted you to work to be let off.

plus it wasn’t like you had a job. you guessed all your rambling combined with your suffering made them slacken, and your heart filled with warmth, happy to clear the tension between you and your parents even if only a little.

to be fair, you’d clearly been through… something, but they couldn’t piece it together, other than the fact that someone had been intimidating you, though that was only because it was glaringly obvious.

you couldn’t tell them. you wouldn’t even know how to start. and they wouldn’t understand, so you’d rather them be upset with you. sometimes it was just easier.

the doorbell rang again maybe an hour later, the sound startling you out of your own head. you paced downstairs, less hesitant than before. it was ridiculous to think that rafe would find you or be desperate enough to go after you when it would be easier to pick another girl on the island to break.

imagine your shock when you opened the front door and there he was. the devil himself.

every inch of you was frozen over, stiff. every muscle, every bone. “rafe?”

rafe chuckled. if you hadn’t known any better, you’d say he looked happy to see you, but there was always something darker. in your shock, you spluttered, “what are you doing here?”

“i can’t come visit my favorite girl?” rafe asked, pretending to be saddened, and oblivious.

your eyes flickered and you felt moisture instinctively gather at your lashes, though at least for now, you held it back. 

he looked a little different. his blue eyes still knew how to pierce the very heart of you, but his hair was significantly shorter. though in spite of your blurring vision (the side effect of tears or the lightheadedness, you couldn’t tell the difference), your whole body knew it was rafe and it paralyzed with total fear.

still, you tried to level your breathing. “you’re not supposed to be here.”

rafe didn’t seem to care, stepping closer and leaning into your ear to mutter, “we’ve done a lot of things we weren’t supposed to. haven’t we, baby?”

you recoiled, immediately drawing back. “if you don’t leave, i’ll tell my parents…”

“your parents?” rafe repeated, that familiar sly, shit-eating grin curled onto his lips. “your parents, they love me. what will they do? invite me over for dinner? fuck, baby, you really know how to strike fear into my heart.”

“i told them what you did!”

it was a lie, and you knew it. more importantly, rafe knew it. why would you bother? your parents failing to understand you aside, it would’ve only done more damage. your parents would forever loathe the camerons and you were perfectly content not being a blip on ward cameron’s radar. 

his son was already a handful.

rafe shook his head, pressing his lips together. “nah, no you didn’t. you wanna know how i know?”

your pulse quickened when he stepped closer again, already a foot inside of your house. this time, his lips brushed your ear, heightening the uneasy sensation that got louder with every thud of your breath. 

you were trapped in his arms, with nowhere to flee. something as simple as the slightest of touches between you and rafe sent a shiver down your spine. “because you’re too afraid. you’d rather keep the peace than let them in. now isn’t that right, babe?”

your eyes stung as you glanced up at him. you were always beneath him, never on top. “please, rafe. go home,” you begged.

rafe’s true anger finally started to peek through as he said none too kindly, “no. did you really think i was gonna just let you leave me? now we can really be together. no stupid pogues to get in our way.”

you cried out in shock when rafe got a hold of you, yanking you by the arm into your own house and shutting the door before dragging you upstairs. you had no idea how he knew where your bedroom was and you were too afraid to ask.

“rafe, stop,” you shouted. “rafe, you’re hurting me!”

rafe’s grip didn’t slacken until he pushed you into your room, and hissed, “you hurt me. you think i wanted to be on that island without you? you were the only thing that made shit feel worth it...”

you swallowed, lips trembling. 

“and then you just left. vanished. no goodbye, no nothing. you wanna know how that made me feel? like shit! like killing somebody,” rafe said, approaching you.

rafe had that look in his eye, that familiar, unpredictable glint he always got when he was up to no good. you tried to get away from him, tried to do anything to keep him at arm’s length, but he was quicker and reached for you again.

at this point, your heart was thumping in your ears and the tears were pouring down your face so hard, you could barely see. all you could hear was thunder. “rafe, please. i’m begging you. don’t do this.”

“don’t do what? don’t make you pay for what you did to me?” rafe asked, shoving you onto your bed. “nah. i’m gonna hurt you just like you hurt me.”

your eyes winced close as rafe started to rip the clothes from your body, but you didn’t fight back. it would only make it worse.

it hurt to breathe, inhale after exhale. your chest was taut with pain and terror and perhaps still shock, in disbelief that your measures to protect yourself had failed. but it was rafe. and whatever rafe wanted, he got. every fucking time without fail.

the irony was killing you. right now, you would’ve been a thousand times safer on the island than you were right now in a foreign place where you knew nobody and nobody knew you. though you knew that as long as rafe was breathing, you were never truly safe.

“that’s right, baby. don’t fight it,” rafe whispered, teasing his cock between your folds. the discomfort on your face was conspicuous, but you did nothing to make it stop. “i love that about you, you know. you don’t put up a fight. to you… it’s not worth it.”

rafe’s cock slammed into you, pushing in and out. he groaned, remembering everything he loved about your pussy. you gripped him, tight and vice-like, and the sounds that came from the very back of his throat were low and deep. 

“it’s always worth it to me, though. if you want something enough, you’ve gotta just take it. and all those people that don’t want you to have it? just watch them cry,” he added, not even looking at your face anymore. 

his eyes were between your legs, mesmerized as he tirelessly watched himself disappear inside of you again and again, as if he was under some kind of trance.

“cry me a fucking river,” rafe said, his other hand groping every part of your body it could touch. “you’ll get over it.”

your eyes narrowed, and you were overcome with the urge to smack him across the face, but you resisted. the last time you’d done it, in a situation way too similar to this one, he hadn’t hesitated to slap you back even harder. he was right; you didn’t think it was worth it.

to delay the inevitable was to prolong your own suffering. and in the end, you’d never escape.

[ugh-yoongi]

For your Yoongi drabbles - reader has a crush and talks about “him” constantly, but Yoongi doesn’t know it’s him until someone else spills readers secret.

this was so cute, thank you for requesting! sorry for the giant meme, but it is literally the exact vibe of this so i had to use it.

loose lips

pairing: yoongi x f. reader genre: friends to lovers, miscommunication (??), fluff warnings: swearing, drinking, namjoon namjooning, unedited rating: e for everyone! there's nothing bad in here wordcount: 1k

it's bee's birthday! send me yoongi requests and/or fic recs!

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

He’s meticulous and prone to overwork and also lazy and uninspired. He’s chronically over-caffeinated and always half-asleep. He’s the first to blow off plans and the first to pout when he no longer gets invited. He’s brusque and a bit of a bastard but also pleased to be fussed over and taken care of. The kind of person who needs to be wrangled into physical affection, because he just can’t seem to verbalize his desire for it.

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but he is not, under any circumstances, prone to gossip.

Jung Hoseok, on the other hand, has no such hangups.

Which presents Yoongi with an interesting dilemma. He has to piss, but he has to pass the kitchen to get to the bathroom. And Yoongi is a lot of things and not one of them is prone to gossiping or eavesdropping, but it’s hard to push aside the intrigue of you and Hoseok speaking in hushed whispers in his own kitchen, heads pressed together like conjoined twins.

It looks like a whole lot of conspiring is going on. He refuses to pout.

“You seriously haven’t told him yet?” Hoseok says, and Yoongi can just make it out, but he’s known Hoseok long enough to register the exasperation in his voice. God knows he’s been on the receiving end of it more often than not.

You groan. Probably shoot Hoseok an exasperated look of your own that Yoongi isn’t privy to. “It’s not that easy.”

“It absolutely is that easy. How hard is it to say—”

“Can you shut up?” you whisper-shriek. “You are so annoying—”

“—Hey, I have feelings for you. Would you wanna grab coffee?”

Yoongi is pouting before he even realizes his face has contorted. Sure, he can be jealous. Someone will always be a better musician, have more money, live in a nicer apartment and drive a nicer car and wear nicer clothes. Now, though… someone out there can have you, and that thought tastes sour in his mouth.

It’d been Jimin’s idea to come to Itaewon.

At least they’re at the bar with the good whisky, because Yoongi will max out his credit cards to escape the hell in which he’s found himself. It’d been bad enough with Hoseok, but now he has to deal with it from Taehyung and Jimin, too.

Do you think she’ll ever tell him? This is getting painful.

I don’t know. Hey, are you going to eat the rest of your fries?

Are you fucking serious? Of course I am, I bought them for me—

It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, because everyone seems to be in on a secret he isn’t, but he looks across the bar and finds it hard to care. There you are, laughing wildly as Hoseok twirls you around on the dancefloor. All the lights in this place combined can’t outshine you—not on your worst day, but especially not when you’re like this.

So. Yoongi’s pouting again, plush bottom lip jutting out far enough to brush against his glass of whisky. He’d finally given up and splurged on something top shelf. Figured it’d get him to where he needs to go faster than anything else, because Yoongi is a lot of things and a dancer isn’t one of them, so he’s doomed to spend the night at this table, sandwiched between Taehyung and Jimin.

Listening to them drone on and on about the guy you’re interested in.

He wonders what he’s like. How the two of you met. He pointedly does not think about whether or not this guy’s a dancer, a musician, if he can always afford top-shelf whisky. He wonders if you’re gonna make Yoongi meet him. If he’s gonna have to play nice and pretend to think this guy is cool and interesting. He can pretend, he thinks.

If it’s important to you, Yoongi can do anything.

Namjoon will know what to do, because Namjoon never actually knows what to do about anything and still somehow always arrives at the correct answer.

“Why am I here, hyung?”

Yoongi clears his throat. Spears another piece of beef and puts it on Namjoon’s plate like a peace offering. Orders another round of beers even though he hasn’t touched his first. “Uh,” comes his eloquent response. “Well—”

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon mutters, face-planting onto the table. “This is worse than I thought.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but if he’s worse than Namjoon thought, he’s in deep shit.

“Um—”

Namjoon picks his head up. Studies Yoongi for a minute, clearly looking for something, before he pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “It’s you, hyung. She’s hung up on you. And I shouldn’t even be telling you this, because we all just assumed both of you would eventually remove your heads from your asses and get it together, but fuck, this is painful. I can’t do this anymore, you know? I’m not your feelings friend. Jimin is your feelings friend, but he said you just sulked the entire night at the bar—”

“I didn’t sulk,” Yoongi argues, but the words are spoken around a pout.

All he receives in return is A Look. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

Yoongi is a lot of things.

Today, he’s a coward, which is new.

He’s not usually a coward, it’s just… he knows how to be jealous and how to sulk and pout and not get what he wants. Those things are easy. But he has no idea how to deal with the bomb Namjoon had dropped on him. He’s not even sure it’s the truth. What if Namjoon was just fucking with him to get him to stop sulking? That’s absolutely something Namjoon would do because he’s done it before.

He sighs. Stops to catch his breath because you live on the sixth floor in a building with no working elevator and he doesn’t work out, so he’s really going to be pissed if Namjoon lied.

“Yoongi? What’re you doing here?”

His heart really does stop this time, because there you are, fresh-faced and smiling and a little confused, and Yoongi knows his face is splotchy and red and that his hairline is sweaty. “Yeah, hi,” he says, and it comes out like an immensely displeased grunt. Doesn’t sound at all like he’s happy to see you, and—oh. Yeah. He can understand now why you might’ve been hesitant to say something.

“Sorry, I just—these steps, you know?”

“Yeah, they said the elevator’s finally getting fixed next week.”

“Thank fuck.”

Your brows knit together. “You planning on coming by more often?”

Yoongi is a lot of things, but right now he’s impatient. So he closes the distance between you in record time and says, “Yeah. Listen, Namjoon told me this guy you and Hobi have been talking about is actually me—”

“That duplicitous snake—”

“—and I’ve kind of been losing my mind over it, because I feel the same way, so if it’s true I’d really like to kiss you, but I’m not entirely sure Namjoon wasn’t just fucking with me—”

“Oh, like that time he told you he’d seen your rejection letter from SNU just so you’d stop stressing over whether or not you got in and that you’d be even more excited once you did, in fact, get in?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Namjoon is a bastard. You should kiss me, though.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

As he presses his lips to yours—soft, soft, soft—more than anything else, he’s happy.

[fxrmuladaydreams]

Heyyy this is my first time sending an ask on here so sorry if it’s wrong lol!

For Logan weekend could you do number 2&3 from the smut prompts?

You could write literally anything about Logan and I’d print it out and put it on my wall ✨

send me logan blurb requests (sfw & nsfw) for logan weekend

warnings: !! CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI !! semi-public sex, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v

2 : putting a hand over their mouth to be quiet

3 : overstimulating them til they’re begging

The muscles in Logan’s jaw had to be sore by now. He’d had it locked in a scowl, staring at you from the other side of the garage for at least ten minutes now.

Oscar had come by to visit, bringing Lando with him, who seemed to want to shoot his shot for you. He’d been flirting with you while Oscar had been talking to Logan. He laid it on thick, stretching, flexing the muscles in his arms, even blatantly looking you up and down.

“I told him to leave her alone.” Oscar says once he realizes Logan hasn’t been listening to a word he’s said.

“It’s fine.” Logan says through gritted teeth.

You and Logan had both decided to keep your relationship a secret, as to not draw even more attention to him during his first year in Formula One. You were a close friend of Logan’s while he was in F2 and became friends with Oscar too, so that’s what everyone else saw you as. Of course Oscar knew of your relationship, he was the one that pushed the two of you to get together.

Since only the three of you had been clued in on your relationship, you had to pretend you were single, which meant you had to endure Lando’s endless flirting, all while Logan had to watch with his arms crossed over his chest.

The jealousy that stirred in his chest only grew throughout the day. Lando kept making excuses to come back to the Williams area, just so he could spend more time with you.

You were happy to escape to Logan’s driver’s room at the end of the day, closing the door with a sigh. Finally, you could rest somewhere Lando wouldn’t be able to find you.

Logan was still reeling though, his shoulders tense as he tugged his race suit to hang off his hips.

“Are you okay baby?” You ask, softly massaging his shoulders.

He doesn’t answer, instead pinning you to the wall with his body. He gives you a searing kiss as his hands roam freely. He leaves kisses down your neck and collarbone, leaving splotches of purple in his wake.

He ends up on his knees with your skirt pushed up and one of your legs over his shoulder. He eats you out like you’re his last meal, making you fall apart on his tongue. You whine when he doesn’t stop, slurping up your release he takes your clit between his lips and throws you over the edge again.

Next he uses his fingers, hurriedly thrusting them in and out of you. You try to hold in your moans, afraid someone on the other side of the thin walls will hear you, but you can’t hide the wet squelching sounds coming from your cunt.

He licks the cum off his fingers once he’s brought you to your third orgasm. He stands up, and guides you to stand in front of his full size mirror.

You’re on shaky legs, losing your balance completely when Logan fully thrusts into you. You catch yourself with your hands on the wall, staring at Logan in your reflection. He’s got a look of determination on his face as he pounds into you.

It all feels like it’s too much, like you’re drowning in Logan.

“Please, please, please Logan.” You whimper. You don’t even know what you’re begging for.

He pushes his hand over your mouth, pulling your body back against his as he thrusts up into you.

“You have to be quiet. You don’t want anyone else to hear you, do you?” He taunts you.

You clench around him at the thought of it. You never locked the door, it’d be so easy for someone to walk in and see Logan fucking you into oblivion.

“Oh, is that what you want?” He coos. “You want someone to walk in? How about Lando? We can show Lando what you look like when you fall apart on my cock.”

His words send you over the edge, a cry of Logan’s name is muffled from his hand.

He’s quick to follow, releasing his cum deep inside you. He pulls himself out, then straightens your skirt.

“I’m keeping these.” He says as he picks up the panties he’d tossed away. “And you are going to spend the rest of the day with me dripping down your thighs.” He smirks.

[dizscreams]

Hey could I request Sam x fem reader where reader was friends with Tara and the twins, then starts dating Sam in secret. They attend a party and a guy is too flirty and weird towards reader so protective Sam swoops in

YESS PROTECTIVE SAM <33

Secret Love — Sam Carpenter ★

PAIRING: Sam x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you and Sam are in a secret relationship. when someone gets too touchy and flirty at a party Sam steps in

WARNINGS: none!

You were at a frat party with Tara, Chad, Mindy, Anika, Ethan, and Sam. Sam is your girlfriend of almost a year now. After all you went through in Woodsboro together you guys got closer and it was easy since you already knew Tara and the twins beforehand.

She thought it’d be best to have your relationship be a secret because she wasn’t ready for anything public after Richie and you understood. It sucked not being able to just kiss her at public events like this but you both always managed. Small touches, hand holding so you both won’t get “lost”, Sam always whispering stuff in your ear. Mindy and Anika had their suspicions but along with everyone, ruled it out as you two just being best friends.

You and Tara were shocked she actually came to this party, Anika and Chad were pretty excited though. They loved dragging everyone to shit like this. Sam told you she came because she wanted to keep an eye on you but you liked to think it was because she missed you. Which was probably the case.

You had separated from the group temporarily to get a drink from the kitchen, you figured you could at least have a little fun tonight. You were stressed enough with exams coming up so this was the least you could do to get your mood up. Without realizing it you had bumped into a guy and spilt your drink.

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“You wanna watch where you’re fucking going?”

The guy was clearly drunk but you rolled your eyes, not really caring for his attitude. “I said sorry.” You tried walking away but he grabbed your arm pulling you back in front of him. “Let go of me.” You struggled to get out of his grasp since this guy was clearly stronger than you, he was basically towering over you. “Cmon sweetheart, you owe me. This is a nice shirt.”

“I dont owe you shit!” You yelled, hopefully getting someone’s attention but you think the music was too loud. He chuckled, “Lets go.”, and tried dragging you away before he got pushed into the counter, causing him to let go. “Get the fuck away from her.” You recognized the voice to be Sam’s and quickly went over to her. “Thank god, come on let’s go, Sam.”

“One second.” She said while going towards the guy who was muttering swears as he tried standing up straight. “Sam, don’t do anything stup-“

You tried telling her, but she had already gotten her taser and tased him in the balls. Everyone around you guys shouted “ooo” and “holy shit!”

“Okay, now we can go!” She grabbed your hand and you both quickly made your way out of the kitchen while giggling and went to look for your friends. You went to find Mindy and Anika while Sam tried finding Ethan, Tara, and Chad.

You found Anika and Mindy on the couch talking. “Cmon, Min we gotta go Sam tased someone.”

“What? Why?”

“This guy was being weird to me so she helped me out.”

Mindy gave Anika a look and a slight smirk before grabbing her hand and getting up, “Alright.”

Tara, Chad, Ethan, and Sam caught up with you guys and you all walked back to the apartments. Sam let everyone walk ahead of you guys before she gave you a quick peck on the lips.

“I told you the taser would come in handy.” You scoffed and shook your head while she laughed and went to catch up with the others. She was your little knight in shining armor. :)

IM TRYING MY BESTTT TO CATCH UP ON REQUESTS IM SORRY EVERYONEE </3

[suntoru]

𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍

synopsis: you find a gigantic stuffed bear at your desk for valentine’s day! how does your genshin best friend react when it’s not from them?

a/n: hi everyone, this is my special valentines day post ( ＾◡＾)っ ♡ i hope you like it, it’d my second time writing for genshin 😋

warnings: a bit of swearing, fluff, crack, semi-angst

bnha version

diluc would be the cutest bby <333 he pouts slightly because that was his plan, he wanted to be the one to surprise you :( slightly salty n gets jealous of the bear, buys a bigger, cuter one in hope you’ll replace it. he gets urges to snatch it out of your hands, but he just can’t because you look so cute snuggling with it and he doesn’t wanna make you sad.

“…you got a valentines gift? …good for you.”

kaeya pretends to be happy for you, but in reality, he gets self-depreciating thoughts. was it really that easy to make you blush? what if you’ll leave his side one day? is he really going to lose you to some rando who doesn’t even have the courage to give a gift to you theirselves? his insecurities start to rise, but he’s quick to cover it up through his fake teasing and grits his teeth into a smile.

“ah, y/n, you got a gift! and i thought i was going to be the one receiving the most presents.”

childe is another salty man baby >:((( how dare someone try and steal his crush best friend? subtly insults the bear all day 😞 when he sees you protect the bear and call it cute, he literally growls at the bear 💀 first, it’s stealing all of your attention and hugs, now he gets in trouble because of it? because he’s petty, later at night he’ll swipe it and replace it with an identical one. don’t worry, you’ll never know, the only difference is that instead of the bright red bow around it’s neck, it now has an orangey ginger one <3

“pfttt, y/n, that’s the ugliest bear i’ve ever seen! whoever gave you that put in no effort at all!”

kazuha understands the feelings of your secret admirer. after all, how can he keep such a beauty to himself? your smile, your laugh, and your flustered gaze are all memories etched into his brain. he’s dedicated hundreds of haikus and poems to you, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling his heart slightly pang when you get all excited and happy, asking him who he thought it was. if he did the same thing, would you act the same way?

“someone left a present for you? …i see, how thoughtful.”

venti barters you for it. he thinks if he begs nicely and gives you a fair trade, you’ll let him take the bear and dispose of it! he begs you all day, following you around the school for hours. but when you refuse his offer multiple times, he’ll whine and cling onto you. it’s not fair! he swears he’s seen the exact same bear at dollarama for 4 bucks, so why won’t you trade it for his new ps5? you meanie >:(

“y/nnnn, stop being so mean! what else could you possibly want?”

scaramouche rips the cutely wrapped gigantic stuffie from your hands and marches out the classroom despite your protests >:( when he returns to the classroom, he comes back empty handed. he smirks in victory, thinking he’s won, but when he sees the shocked and sad look on your face, he realizes he fucked up. you ignore him for the rest of the day until you find him waiting at your locker with the biggest stuffed bear you’ve ever seen.

“listen idiot, the only reason i got you this was so you’d stop bothering me.”

xiao is… silent. but on the inside, he feels his heart twist. why is he feeling this? while yes, you were his best friend, he didn’t expect to get so attached. but now… you’re tugging on his heartstrings. while he doesn’t say anything, you’ve learned how to read him like an open book, or at least you think you do. when he feels you tap on his shoulder, knocking him out of his thoughts, you extend the bear to him. this is why he was frowning, right? it’s okay, you’ll just share it with him <3

“what? …i don’t want to hold the bear. in fact, keep it as far away from me as possible.”

[fandomwritingbit]

Battered & bruised

nightclub owner/William Afton x (fem)reader

synop: You've struggled getting employment because of your shady past, but the tides finally turn in your favour when a club owner called Henry gives you a job. And you're ready to work your arse off, not only in your security role but also with the other owner, William.

warning: swearing, violence. (reader is described as small)

A/n: Hello! This was my first ever au for William, so the ideas are genuinely 5 or 6 years old but the writing is today's lol. This is gonna be a series because I think the slow burn will work best this way.

A bloke called Henry Emily had given you a job. A security gig. Without an interview, without discussion of your role and without an induction. Just bam. He’d taken one look at you - then looked you up and down again for his own personal enjoyment - then listened to your whole speech about ‘wanting a chance to work hard’ and just gone: okay.

No CV. No experience. Nada. And that was exactly what you were looking for. Rent was due and to be honest you were in great need of some money. Plus it was hard for you to find work, especially given your... history. 

He’s hired you because you’re brazen and easy on the eyes, it’s all a bit sleazy really, you’d thought so at the time too. But at least sleazy men are easy to manage.

He’d grinned at you. “Yeah alright, we’ll give you a try. You seem like a nice girl. Uh why don’t you rock up on Friday and we’ll show you the ropes?” 

“Yeah that’s great, thank you so much.” You smiled at him, offering your hand for him to shake it. God if this fella had looked into you this would never have happened, he’s a sucker in that respect. But you wouldn’t make him regret it. You were after nothing but a regular income and it’d been fucking hard to find acceptance, to jeopardise it would be a fool’s errand.

His use of the word 'we' hadn't crossed your mind, you assumed he was the owner, after all you asked for the owner and he was brought to you. But maybe that’s some just desserts for not applying properly. 

~ 

On that Friday, you arrived early, really using all that punctuality shit that had been drilled into you since secondary school. But a little prickle of anxiety settled in when you didn’t see any cars in the car park. You were only 10 minutes early; your start time at 20:00 ready for doors to open an hour later. But How will you get in if no one is there, for fuck’s sake? Your thoughts manifested in your head tilting the whole way back, a hefty sigh accompanying it.

Doubting yourself all the way, you go to the front doors and mercifully, they are unlocked and you walk into the nightclub you’d now call your home from home.

The lights were on, so someone must be there. Yet no one came to meet you at the door, even though you said hello fairly loudly. You smirked to yourself, walking inside uninvited and musing at how some cleaner was probably going to tell you off. They must be hidden away and now you’d have to tiptoe around trying to find them. Not too bad though, at least you can have a look around.

Moving further inside, you walk down a grey corridor with garish black and white dado rail the whole way down. It was peculiar décor to say the least, though obviously, it would look completely different with people inside. 

Your footsteps were foreign in the quiet building, but you tried to keep a bit of confidence as you began your exploration. It took a while to find your way around - a few doors opened to cupboards stuffed with mops and loo roll, spilling out while you tried to shove all the shite back in. Surprisingly, you’d found a kind of lounge area, a few grey and red sofas, some big arse speakers lining the walls: a lot of money in that room, you thought. A past impulse echoing through you.

Eventually, you make your way to the ‘main area’, if you like. The part with the huge floor for people to dance, a small stage before it, with old looking lights and stuff, maybe you’d get to see a few local bands perform during your tenure, could be nice. You walk over to it, the back of the stage pitch black, so dark you couldn't tell if it was a curtain or not and stood on your tippy-toes like an idiot trying to decide. 

Rustling from behind you, makes you turn to see a brightly coloured poster flitting to the floor after clearly having fallen from a board on the wall. You’ll pick it up, but before moving to do so you glance back to the stage offhandedly; the sight of a huge figure standing in the middle makes the skin leave your bones.

You can’t even help yourself, raising your hands almost immediately, “What the fuck are you doing, mate? You scared the shit out of me!” The figure moved further forward so that you could see him, it wasn’t Henry. This man was overly tall and slender with dark greying hair. Your anger quickly subsides at the expression on his face and you chuckle, the shock catching up to you. “Jesus...” 

The man standing on the stage looked... fuming, to say the least. His brows narrowed and jaw stuck forward. He looked so pissed that you panicked for a minute, ready to backtrack a fair bit. But that feeling didn’t last long, the figure stepped down off the stage and walked towards you. As he stood in front of you, you found yourself stepping backwards, tilting your head to meet the eyes of this ridiculously tall and broad bloke. 

“I scared you?” The man spoke slowly, voice deep and raspy. He wasn’t shouting, he didn’t need to. “What the Hell do you think you’re doing in my club?”  

Well. Oh. Dear. It appears that you’d just been rather rude to someone important. Who’s first impression of you as an employee was now you effing and jeffing at him. Shit.

“Look... I’m sorry, mate. You scared me is all.” You speak quickly, trying to claw back a semblance of civility. Searching his face for some emotion other than boredom/anger, but nope there was nothing.

You think you see a flicker of amusement cross his face but it doesn't last two seconds. “I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh uh, I’m y/n.” You look at him for a look of recognition but he appeared none the wiser. “Mr Emily hired me... told me to come in today.” 

You notice the pinch between his brows got more severe and you pick up on the hostility between this fella and your boss. He looked at you blankly, making no effort to fill increasingly brutal silence. You’re just about regretting ever being born, thinking about walking out and knocking on doors ‘til you find another idiot willing to hire you. But to your surprise a demeaning smirk appears on the man’s face as he looks down at you, and you breathe out slightly. 

“Henry hired you?” He scoffs, moving his hand up and down in front of you to illustrate your height, “To do what? Sit on a pot of gold?” You get the feeling that he was trying to annoy you, make you want to storm out or some shit but you can only smirk at that terrible joke. 

“Security, innit.” You say shortly, smiling back because... yeah you weren’t exactly the typical bouncer. “Uh who are you then?” You ask, half a shrug awkward on your shoulders.

He did not look best pleased by that question and folded his arms, eyes daggers at you. “Henry hasn’t told you shit, has he?” A scoff of a laugh came from this bloke but it looked coated in resentment. 

“No, made me look a fuc.... mug.” You mumble.

“We’re co-owners, for some fucking reason.” He looked you up and down but not in the way that his counterpart had, if anything, it looked like he was sizing you up. And after a moment he just said, “William.” With a curt gesture to himself.

Once such an introduction had been made, he continued to complain, pissed that Henry hadn’t even told you what to do or where to get your uniform. You were thrusted upon him like a shitty diagnosis and he was left to sort you out? Always sorting out Henry’s shit he was.  

And he did sort you out, giving you orders to your responsibilities, going into a store room to get you a uniform, a room you weren’t allowed to enter because of asbestos in the walls. A really comforting thing to hear on your first day, though you'd come to learn that that summed up the whole of this shitty club. 

The whole thing was falling apart, left in this William's hands to sort out. And he was clearly working hard, but it was like trying to piss a fire out.

 ~

You’d thought that the frosty reception from William could have been just because you were new, that he’d probably warm up to you as you got a few weeks under your belt. Well, that wasn’t the case.

From the first day it became abundantly clear that he was just as snippy and unreceptive with everyone else. Be it ignorance, arrogance or plain uninterest, no one really knew, but he went about his role and gave you shit if you dared to overstep into his path. Which was enough motivation for you to put some graft in with the bastard. Fuck’s sake, everyone else was getting on well with you, from security to bar staff, Henry was damn-near obsessed! You’d get him on side, by hook or by fucking crook.

It started with a simple ‘good afternoon’ spoken loudly at him through his office door, letting him know your presence in the building, which was nearly always much earlier than everyone else. Then a smile any time you encountered him, not a suck-up kind of sweet smile but the kind that had raised eyebrows, self-deprecating and the like. 

Yet it still felt like he bloody hated you. Not even a passionate hate, like you’d done something to genuinely offend him or run him over on the way there. A bored kind of vague dislike that he held for everyone else.

That won’t stand though. And you’re determined to fix it.

~

You’d come to learn over your short tenure there that Friday nights were fucking brutal. It seemed fuckers from all over would crawl out of the gutter to get pissed with their mates here. Course, it was good for business but as an employee not an owner you got all the hassle and none of the tassel. You were on duty in the main area and stood a post near the back corridors, watching for any odd behaviour and making sure everyone was as happy as you can be in a crumbling nightclub.

You find yourself clock-watching about half-way in and cross your fingers that the night will go mercifully quickly. Your counting of the minutes ‘til you could clock off is interrupted by a youngish lass coming up to you. Instantly your eyebrows are high, the person on the door dropped the ball on this one, this lass barely looked 18. 

“Hey, do you uh work here?” The girl asks, looking over her shoulder for a second, before returning to you. You almost want to roll your eyes, of course you fucking work there, no one would do patrol for fun, would they? Carry a radio around for the craic of it? But her wide eyes make you bite your tongue and assess the situation more levelly. 

“Yeah, is everything alright?” You smile wryly, hoping it comes across encouragingly, but your tiredness might have prevented that. 

“I uh... there’s this guy, he won’t leave me and my friends alone.” She rubs her arm, “You know, just being real creepy...” You nod, what a joy and sadly not an uncommon one. 

“Where are your friends?” You ask, looking at the young lass in front of you in increasing doubt that she should be here. 

She looked over her shoulder, “Over there, in the red.” she said, and you spotted the two girls she meant instantly, and nod, able to pick out the guy she was talking about who was hanging around these girls much too closely. “We’re uh...” she looked down, shame flickering on her face. “We’re minors, please don’t be mad at me, I just... we don’t want to be harassed.” 

You smile, remembering your similar youth, musing that fake IDs must be fairly fucking hard to find nowadays. And decided to take pity on the lass, it wasn’t nice to turf them out when the problem hadn't been their doing at all and to be frank, it’s above your pay grade, isn’t it? “I’m not going to throw you out, don’t worry... though you shouldn’t be here if you’re not 18.” 

You sigh, “I’ll get him to leave but promise me you’ll stick together with your mates, ay?” She nods and thanks you extensively before you wish her well and go to fulfil your promise. Silently noting to tell Ste the doorman that he needs to get a pissing eye test.

The problem man was a heavy-set guy with a beard and a clearly designer shirt. A complete stereotype that you knew already, would be trouble. You take a breath before going over, mentally doing the sign of the cross over yourself, not that you thought it would do anything, it was more for your own comedic enjoyment, but if a higher power should see it, that’d be nice. 

“Excuse me, sir.” You say, loud enough for the people around him to slowly start drifting away. As if sensing the unfolding scene the man looks at you with pre-emptive annoyance. 

“Yeah?” He says as rudely as you expected.

You sigh, trying to remain as diplomatic as possible. “Your behaviour towards the young girls here is untoward and we won’t tolerate that here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” 

'Ask’ is the customer service way of telling him to get the fuck out and his reaction suggests that he knew that. 

“Leave? I ain’t done nothing.” The question was asked loudly, trying to alert people around as to the perceived ridiculousness of what you were saying. Though the double negative hinted at him having done something, to say the least.

“That’s not what I’ve been told. Please leave, sir.” You repeat yourself, more authoritarian this time, your tone firm and leaning towards annoyance. It was embarrassing having to do this, but you knew that it was worth it to keep the girl you’d spoken to safe. The look on her face was enough to make you despise this man. 

“And what if I say no?” He stepped forward after he spoke, squaring up to you, trying his hand at the old intimidation game. And despite his height over you, you keep rooted, looking at him with daggers.  

“Sir. You’re embarrassing yourself.” You scoff, shaking your head. By this point that second-hand shame had caused the others nearby to either watch intently or move away. “A grown man having to be told to leave young lasses alone, for fuck sake.” Stepping forward yourself, you make your disgust visible. It had the opposite effect than intended and the man before you bubbled with rage. 

“What the fuck did you say to me, you little bitch?” 

“Stop being pathetic-” Your words of disbelief and amounting hatred were cut short when the huge bloke grabbed your arm bruisingly, wrenching you towards him. His larger stature allows him to manipulate your frame fairly easily.

William had a nose for trouble and as he stalked out from his office he caught sight of people leaving the main room. He shakes his head already annoyed at whatever he was to discover. Of all the things that he could have seen, an accident, injury etc... he didn't expect a man to be manhandling one of his employees. Least of all you. You who always smiled at him, even though it got nothing in return. You who shouted ‘afternoon!’ at him through his office door, often making him slosh coffee in surprise. You, who talked to him and engaged with him, unbothered by his reputation or generally unpleasant demeanour. How fucking dare someone put their hands on you. 

“Stupid fucking slag.” The man spat, it landed on your skin. 

“Get. The. Fuck. Off. Me.” You manage, your teeth clenched as you clasped at straws to try and de-escalate this borderline assault, hoping he’d realise how far out of proportion he’d blown this. He didn’t. Instead, your words were petrol on a fire and the sharp ringing of a slap could be heard over the music. 

It was so harsh and crisp, for a moment you were dazed. The attack launches you into the difficult decision of fight or flight. It wasn’t the heat of the print on your face that made you react, however; it was the piggish sneer on his fucking face. 

Punching him hard, square in the nose, you feel the old familiar sensation of pain blooming through your hand. From the point of contact it fizzled like static down your knuckles and up your arm, though it barely hurt over the adrenaline coursing through your system. 

Your attack didn't deter him though, his grip on your arm not faltering even as the other rose to his face in shock. Taking your window of opportunity you strike him again, blood now pouring down his face, it provokes him to yank your arm straight, the grip blue pain on your flesh.

Powerless to do much else, you had to take his revenge, a punch that made you vision flicker, landing hard below your eye. Then another. You were reeling, your standing knocked with the strikes, it hurt but you burned with indignation that you were unable to hit this fucker again.

Straining to get away from the assault of raining blows, you grab his hair, pulling hard, the sensation of it lifting under your grip apparent in his grunt. It was then with a fist full of this cunt's hair that his grip on you failed. You look through blurred eyes to see your boss taking hold of him, pulling him by the shoulder into a balled fist.

The man wasn't going down easy, even though Afton got a strong hit on him, the man retaliated, striking back and you see the impact on your boss and his slight stumble, but it motivated him to take it to a new level. 

He grabbed the man's head, pulling his stance in half, doubled over and raised his knee repeatedly into his face. Not stopping until he was satisfied, then shoving the larger man to the floor, and kicking him hard in the stomach and teeth, to the point where the attackers' whimpers were beginning to subside. You watched pretty horrified whilst other staff tried to herd patrons away.

Yanking the man up by his collar hissed something inaudible for you to his ear, before punching him again, letting him fall back down.

He was pulled outside by William, the bouncers too shocked to intervene and you just followed the display stupidly. You had no idea this man was capable of such... violence. Cause that was no fight, it was violence.

Afton left the man flicking in and about of consciousness on the curb outside, spitting on him when he mumbled a lisped "fuck you" in his direction.

You were watching in awe, when all of a sudden he turned to you, his face bloody and a hesitation for pain in his jaw.

"Are you alright?" He questions.

You blink. "Yeah..."

"You're bleeding?" He points out as though you were much stupider than you are.

"I'm banged up, but alright." You say quickly, searching his eyes for any acknowledgement of what had just happened. You had a nagging feeling that he was about to shout at you, ask what the fuck that was about. Hell maybe even sack you for the beating he just took.

"Nowhere near as bad as you are." You follow up. And that was putting it lightly, it looked like his nose was broken and his jaw must hurt in some way for how he slowly shuffled it, waiting to find where the pain was.

He scoffs at you, instantly regretting it as blood begins trickling over his lip, you wince alongside him as he wipes it on the back of his hand. With a grunt he turns his back and heads back inside.

Taken aback at his nonchalance, you struggle to get the words out. "Where's the first aid?" You call after him, your question stopping him in his tracks.

“There’s one in my office if you need it.” He replies from over his shoulder, continuing to walk away. You throw a shrug and slightly surprised sigh in the direction of his retreating form, before hurrying to catch up with him. You’d laugh if your head wasn't fucking banging. 

Finally managing to reach him, you force your frame next to him on the corridor, walking side by side towards the back. 

“I don’t know if I need it... you need stitches or something though, mat- William.” 

“Says who?” His response is typically gruff and at this point you’re more than used to it. 

Managing a smirk through the high-pitched pain behind your eyes, you don't let his uncaring attitude deter you. “The cut above your brow. Practically screaming it.”

Letting you follow him, he pauses briefly. To be honest, the strike to the brow had wiped itself from his memory, which was not at all a good sign, but the second you pointed it out he became very aware of the crispening blood hindering any movement of his face. Fucking stitches? And what, you were gonna do that, were you? Just what he needed, a headache on top of the one he already had.

“Seriously, this is my fault. Let me help you out, least I can do.” 

“I’m fine, just need a drink... maybe a co-codamol.” He said not another word to you but made no effort to get you away from him and so you followed, half uncertain like a lost dog, all the way to his office at the back. 

The way he moved it was hard to keep up with him, his huge height gave him a stride and a half. But you get there finally, and he doesn't bother to hold his office door open for you, letting it nearly hit you as it swung closed. 

You survive and slip inside the office, just in time to see him slap the first aid kit on a table at the far side of the room. You go over to it and open it up, delighted to see that what once was a bottle of antiseptic was now half a thing of Dettol with a sewing kit beside it. Not a medical one, just your standard hotel one, with different coloured pieces of thread and a blunt looking needle. 

“I see why you said no to the stitches.” You grin, watching the man sit down heavily at the table. He attempted to rub the space between his eyebrows but had to abandon the gesture as it interfered with his injuries.  

“I told you.” He mumbles.

“Yeah well... Dettol will do something I guess.” You sit as well and start pouring the disinfectant on a cotton pad that you hope hadn’t been used before. 

Just as you move to dab it over the hardened gash, he pulls away suddenly, a pissed off look about him that you should have probably been intimidated by, but your reaction time is fucked by your headache.. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He speaks through his teeth, not at all happy with the sudden movement.

“Sorting out your split brow. I have said it a fair few times now, you’re starting to worry me.” You wait for him to start going in on you, shouting or whatever the fuck he’d normally do to anyone trying to be nice. But he doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you, the annoyed expression unmoving.

Over the past month or so he’d become quite used to your... demeanour. You didn’t offer any tact towards him, or just keep your head down like others. You took the opposite route, always had something to fucking say, some comment to make. It had grated on him, but he didn’t mind it really, though you weren’t going to get special treatment just because you don't know when to shut your damn mouth. 

“So...” You prompt, shaking the cotton bud in front of him.

He didn’t dignify you with a response, just a swift nod.

“This is gonna sting, just don’t move so I don’t get it in your eye.” You warn whilst getting closer, it was quite unnerving to be this close to him, god’s sake you could hear him breathing.

As you pressed the fabric against his cut, he didn’t flinch like you would have expected, just remained reticent and staring forward. Though he let himself glance at you, noting how far you had to lean to reach him. God you were small, much too small to have been wailed on by a massive fuck like that. Being honest, he was surprised you were still standing. 

He surprises himself by breaking the silence. “... Dettol doesn’t sting... better than antiseptic.” 

A smirk finds itself on your face, “Had a lot of experience then?” That isn’t shocking news, there was something practised about the way he took down that man.

A small sound leaves him and you almost stop your action. This man can laugh? Could have fooled you. “You could say that. Don’t often get the shit beaten out of me though.” 

Disbelief washes over you. “The shit beaten outta you?” You scoff. “You’re fine.” You blink a little. This was the textbook definition of ‘you should see the other guy’. Seriously, he couldn’t walk and was barely conscious. This cunt? Pretty much fine, minus a few scratches. 

Once you’re done with disinfectant you rifle through the box looking for something better than the sewing kit. A plaster probably wouldn’t cut it, in an ideal world he should probably be in A&E. But eventually you get your hands on a pack of steri strips and right now they look better than gold. “Here, I don’t even have to mutilate you with the needle.” You grin and it earns a small lip twitch from your would-be pin cushion. 

As you lean forward with the strips in hand, he doesn’t flinch from you even though it hurts to fuck when you push the cut closed to seal it. He notices as you're patching him up that your hand is covered in blood, it could be the bloke's at first glance but your knuckles look bust and there's a stiffness to your movement. 

You finish up with the gash and step back a bit, smirking, it’s a fine job you’ve done there. 

“Thanks.” He offers, just as plainly as you’ve come to expect. It makes you halt a second though, his pronunciation was off, so maybe he wasn’t as fine as you initially thought. Leaning forward, you go to investigate but he pulls himself from your grip. 

“Leave it, it's fine...” It started sharp, but softened a bit as he caught sight of your arm. Holy shit. That was a number alright. Clearly already bruised from that dickhead’s hold, there were three distinct scratches down the length of your forearm where the man had evidently tried to hold on to you as he’d yanked him away, that explains the stiffness. 

Looking at him you try to figure out what isn't right and eventually you settle on: "I think your nose is broken."

He reaches up himself, feeling along the bridge of his nose, the scowl on his face telling. "It isn’t." He concludes, briefly thinking ‘somehow’. With that, you start putting the medical stuff back in the box, just ignoring his curtness. You'd done your bit and patched him up, clearly your kindness was too much for him, so off you fucking pop, sheesh.

You hardly even get the equipment back in the box before Afton reaches forward and slides everything out of your grasp. Instinctively your brows raise, unsure of why he did that. “Are we not done?” You ask, uncertainly, maybe this is the part where he bollocks you. 

“Sit down. Your arm needs sorting.” His words aren’t a suggestion. You look down to see what he’s talking about and wince at the sight; how hadn’t you noticed the scratches? They look awful, not that deep but plain ugly and sore now you come to think of it. 

“Shit.” You say in your observation, slowly sitting whilst still watching your arm. So wrapped up in this new discovery that you jump when he reaches forward to grab your wrist, his big hands wrap all the way around it easily, man, this is a scary bloke. He pulls your arm slowly in front of him, not gently but certainly more understanding than you would have expected. 

“I don’t even know how he done that.” You fill the silence, thinking aloud. 

“Rings.” He answers, with a but too much knowledge, “Must have a fair bit of your arm stuck under them.” You almost laugh, but the visual is too grim and likely accurate. Looking up at him you see clear amusement on his face. 

The Dettol is again brought out and when he dabs it too your scratches a cold pain reaches all the way up your arm, making you suck in through your teeth. He glances up at you and all you can say is. “You’re a fucking liar. That stings like hell.” 

The man in front of you grins then, a starling crooked smirk that almost makes him look like a different bloke. It’s a handsome expression that’s made slightly menacing by a missing tooth after his canine above two silver ones. You think to yourself that this man has taken a lot of fucking beatings.

Through his grin, William says, “It’s not that bad.” 

“Yeah alright, tough guy.” You dismiss him, trying to ignore that ache in your arm that makes you want to grind your teeth. 

He looks back down to his task and the unusual expression remains on his face somewhat involuntarily. You notice and soon you’re smiling too, unable to help it, maybe the whole shitshow was catching up to you now, fisticuffs with a man well outside your weight class, only to be ‘rescued’ by your stoic, unnerving boss; and to top off the day of the unexpected, you made the fucker smile. Quite the day.

“So you can smile then?” You ask coyly, it’s a little victory that shows you’re successful chipping away at his frosty exterior, he’ll be a mate eventually. 

He looks up at you quickly, his eyes narrow in that scrutinising way everyone who works here is accustomed to. But where an icy glare would usually have been a cocky, “Must be the head injury.” was. 

~

You’re patched up pretty quickly, the cleaning of the wound taking half as much time as the debate about whether or not you need a bandage. You said it would be fine. He argues it’s necessity. And despite your assurance you’re now standing at his office door with a bandage tightly wrapped around your arm. You notice that the second the door was opened you could hear the dull thud of music, escaping the club and plaguing the managers too; good, you think. 

He follows you out of the room, the two of you must look like a right pair, both beaten to shit. Looking in the reflection of the window to the office confirms as much, you’ve a nasty bruise under your eye, and a swelling that would probably make it difficult to open your eye in the morning. You’ve been in this situation before. As has he. 

There in the narrow hallway you look up at him, feeling confronted by the height difference, now so obvious when you’re both standing. “Thank you for that.” You give him a genuine expression, really meaning it, even though your arm hurts more now than it did before. 

“I only returned the favour.” He answers, pausing for a moment whilst he checks his watch. “You should go home. Obviously you’ll be paid for the whole shift.” He adds the last part as if he thought you’d object, there must have been something about your face that said you might. 

“Yeah, okay.” You smile a little, before you remember that he’s well more banged up than you, his shirt is covered in the blood to prove it, if you get leave surely he should as well. “Are you going-” You begin to ask, but the door to the club opens and a man bursting through it cuts you off. 

“What the fuck?!” Henry’s voice was bordering on hysterical, cutting shrill above the buzz of music and you don’t have to look to see eye rolling of your other boss. “William, tell me why the hell I’ve got 14 missed calls and a voicemail saying all shit has hit the fan?!” You stand awkwardly as Henry comes up to the both of you, there’s daggers in his eyes that are reserved purely for Afton. 

“Easy, you’re a bit late with all this cavalry shit.” William snaps, his head is throbbing too much to deal with the headache that is his co-worker. “There was an incident, some silly fucker got violent. He’s been sorted.” You try not to grin at that, ‘sorted’, that’s one way to put it. 

“So have you, by the looks of it. I swear to God, William, if this bites me in the arse, you’ll look worse than that.” Everyone standing there knows that that’s an empty threat, not that Henry wasn't capable of it, but rather that William towers over him. That seems to resonate with the instigator when he locks eyes with William’s uncaring and hard expression, so Henry moves on. 

“Are you alright, darling?” He asks his voice now sugary, all his attention is on you, as well as a hand on your shoulder. 

“Yeah. Just a few scrapes, I’ll live.” You keep all traces of amusement from your face, even as he begins to walk you out of the club in the direction of the car he thought you had, talking to you like you're a kid the whole way.

[currently-tired]

guys, i have been so insane about convergent evolution lately. (my ‘Lanyon takes Henry’s theory of duality a bit too seriously….’ tgs au)

wild. foaming at the mouth.

They meet! But they don’t know it’s each other! They fuck, and don’t know it’s each other!!! A relationship forms slowly... but they’re still torn over the person they loved, and continue to love so deeply. (They don’t know!!!!!)

Imagine this;

Hyde sees an oddly familiar, but incredibly handsome man. (He’s so damn familiar, for some strange reason, but they can’t remember where they saw him from…)

He glosses over that profound familiarity and goes over to proposition him.

(They’ve seen so many people in both bodies. Rich and poor. It’d be unusual if they didn’t recognize at least one someone in a room…)

Lanyon is trying to drown out thoughts of Jekyll in his other body. Hopefully while drunk, and roughly fucking his thoughts away.

The face of the man in front of them is familiar to him, yes, despite never meeting them before... (How unusual, for a person who is unique in appearance.)

To sate his curiosity, he lets the man flirt with him. Lets him drape himself over him, rest a hand suggestively on his thigh, and whisper in his ear.

Lanyon sees hints of Jekyll in that man. The Scottish accent [dulled by years in London, but still prevalent], and the fiery passion in his eyes.

Other smaller things. The way he sat down, leg crossed over leg. Something about his smile. The way he tilted his head…

That unshakeable confidence in his posture, even as he begged Lanyon to do filthy things to him.

(The features that were different, such as sharp claws and teeth, an insane glint to their eyes, and a high and raspy, almost shrieking voice, more of an exciting draw, then a downfall.)

Why not? He seemed so eager anyway…

It’d just be a one night stand. They’d never see each other again.

He’d never be faced with that man who was oh so much like Henry ever again.

So why the hell not?

…

[…They saw each other again, and again.]

They both bump into each other at the bar again. Stare at each other awkwardly, before drawing closer and closer, towards each other... (It’s still two strangers fucking. Nothing else. Nothing more, they assure themselves…)

Both happen to visit Blackfog on the same day. Happen to visit the same stall. A conversation is struck up and they rant about chemicals and alchemy (A relatively new interest of Lanyon’s, developed entirely by his interest in developing the potion, and a longstanding obsession of Jekyll’s), before ducking into an empty alleyway…

Time and time again, they find each other. Spend time with each other.

They become fast friends. They enjoyed each others company, the easy, effortless friendship, with a familiar dynamic that they slot into. (…Almost as if they had already known each other.)

And so, eventually they both begin to deliberately seek each other out.

Regular meetings at the bar, same table every single time.

Hyde shows him how to scale a building. Which foot-holes are too small, how to angle his foot, and which windowsills would support weight.

Snarky, and witty jokes, and friendly conversations are exchanged. (And for Hyde’s part, crude jokes, that always had a hint of intelligence underneath them; a glimpse of another side of the person Lanyon had initially only considered to be a hedonist...)

Lanyon showed them a cynical view of the world. Bitter, and dry, but when motivated or interested, passionate and opinionated.

And Hyde showed him his world. The joy and passion he had for everything in life. All the stupid shit they did, with absolutely no fear of pain or death

(If only they were like this full time! They’d grouse to themself. How nice would life be for them if Henry Jekyll wasn’t so damn numb, and sad!-)

As time goes on, they grow closer, and closer…

Hyde turns down invitation after invitation from perfectly handsome people because ‘Oh, he said he be here in… Ten minutes, sorry.” (Words said completely unapologetically, as they tucked away their watch.)

Lanyon drops a gala, because Hyde wanted to go to the park and catch rats for a rat census, and requested his help. (And if the two of them stayed just a little longer than intended, doing things they probably shouldn’t of, who cared?)

A one night stand evolves into some sort of shaky, undefined relationship.

Hyde starts to bring the man he doesn’t know is Lanyon chocolates and flowers. Other little presents and gifts. (He loved wine. And Jekyll’s own cellar would not miss a fine vintage…)

They start actively craving attention and love from him. (Something they had sworn against, after their heart break tore them apart…)

Jekyll ends up sitting in their office doing paperwork, bored or tired or angry, and imagining what HE would do if he was there. (Sometimes Lanyon, with his biting snarky comments, and sometimes that intense man, with a tease on his lips that always made his heart race…)

At a gala alone, wishing he had someone by his side. (But which someone..?)

Then he stuff the thought away in the corner of his mind, in favor of joining a conversation he prayed was interesting enough to draw this thoughts away completely…

Lanyon starts to look forward to the evenings. He strokes their hair tenderly, runs a hand up their naked spine. (No longer just rough touches, that they begged him for…

Soft fleeting things, that they never requested, but always accepted happily. Sometimes even with a purr.)

Alchemical books carried around all night, taken out of Lanyon’s bag and shoved forcefully into their arms, before he ran off back home for the night.

Their face, surprised at first, and then joyful and pleased when they saw what it was, burned into Lanyon’s retinas, and memory…

(Wait… Since when did seeing Edward happy make Lanyon so happy?..)

Both, a second away from whispering a certain four letter word, before choking it back…

Then, they both realize it’s gone too far. It’s no longer just a one night stand!-

(But none of them want it to stop…)

And Lanyon has to admit to himself that he’s falling for someone again, even through those thick walls he put up. And he also has to admit that their similarities to Jekyll are not the only reason he’s pursuing them. (…Or are they? Was Eddy just a replacement for Jekyll? They were so similar. But so different at the same time.

Which was it?-)

Hyde has to consider that their policy of being completely emotionally detached relationships is being challenged.

(Just one more time. There’s no emotions. Just good sex. I don’t care about him. He doesn’t care about me. It can’t be that bad! I would never let it get that bad!-)

Other times, they scream at the top of their lungs, and break things. How dare their heart betray them like this!-

HOW DARE IT MAKE THEM LOVE AGAIN!-

As Jekyll they sigh, and wonder if it is unfair. A betrayal, to love two people at once. (Both to themself, and to them…)

Could he truly devote himself to one now? Which?!-

(They did not have an answer for himself…)

Both shake, and lie awake at night, wondering, pondering. (Should I break it off? Should it keep going?

…How did I let this happen?)

But they’re both in far too deep to quit without broken hearts and pain…

And they don’t want to anyway.

[earthry]

Just a Little Puddle | Copia x Reader

Content / Warnings: cardinal copia x transmasc reader, established relationship, stuffed animals, big brother primo giving good advice, sfw, 3k words, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Author’s Note: thank you to @dantesunbreaker for commissioning me once again!

commission info

Overworked and stressed, Copia finds himself saying things he regrets. Though you avoid him for the rest of the day, you end up learning from Primo that being Papa is not easy and that perhaps it's your turn to teach Copia that he don't have to do things alone.

“You are upset.” It’s spoken like a fact, not a question which means Primo can clearly tell what kind of mood you seem to be in. You put down the bags of potting soil as you grimace at him.

“Is it that obvious?” You sound a little petulant, a little sheepish that you seem to be so see through. The papa chuckles however and shakes his head.

“No, I would not say it is obvious, my child. Simply that you have been helping this old man since sunrise and it is almost sunset, no? Don’t get me wrong, it is very nice help, but I have also noticed anytime your amore comes by you suddenly– what’s the expression? Vanish into thin air?”

Ah. Well. That would explain it, yes. He can tell from your silence that he is correct in his assumption and he lets out a little sigh before waving you over to walk to a nearby bench in the garden. “Let’s take a short break and talk, si? You do not need to talk about it, but perhaps it may help to.”

He takes a seat and motions for you to do the same. At first you hesitate, but eventually you cave and sit down next to him. Your entire day has been a sea of complicated emotions and you’re just too tired to keep fighting with them at this point.

“A lover’s spat, perhaps?” Again you grimace at how on the spot Primo is– and he sympathetically pats your shoulder. 

“Kind of? I… I don’t know if it’s a spat exactly. I feel like it’d be easier if it were just some argument, you know?” And boy did you wish for it to be nothing more than a simple argument. You wish for it to be the kind of argument that simmers down after a while– and after a few hours of sulking alone you both forget what you were fighting about in the first place and fall back together like the missing pieces of a puzzle finding home. You just wish.

You’re never that lucky though. At least it feels like you’re never that lucky. Things just always seem to end in a battle no matter how good you thought you had it. One second you’re in paradise and the next the love of your life tells you that he doesn’t know if you’re worth it. 

Copia hadn’t been this angry the time you accidentally spilled wine on his white cardinal suit or the time you accidentally threw away his entire sermon notes. Perhaps it was because he’s Papa now…?

You feel a pang in your heart at that, like your heartstrings are all tangled up and knotted inside your chest. He’d been a little more uptight lately, especially since becoming Papa. Maybe now that he’s someone now, he doesn’t need or want you anymore. 

Fuck, you wish you had brought Malakai with you. He’d know what to think, or he’d at the very least judge you with his little eyes as if they were telling you to not worry and that everything would be okay. He was just wise like that.

At least the garden was in full bloom this time of year, flowerbeds teeming with colorful blossoms as the sun rose high into the sky. 

As the thoughts come rolling, they burst from the seams like cotton, coming out as words of frustration and fear as Primo listens silently with a comforting hand on your shoulder.

It was a stupid mistake, an accident. You hadn’t meant to knock over your coffee but Copia just wouldn’t listen. He’d held the wet and stained documents in his hand and raised his voice and you had felt your hackles rise at that. You hated when people yelled, when people raised their voices in anger and Copia knew that. 

“He said a lot of hurtful things,” you tell the papa listening beside you, “He said he didn’t know what he was doing, and he didn’t know what he’s doing with me. That he doubts our relationship.”

Primo takes a considerable amount of time in thought before he rubs his chin and fixes you with a wise look, “Did he say that? That he doubts your relationship?” He asks kindly. There’s no judging tone or disbelief. Just an honest question that makes you deflate and shake your head.

“Well… no, he didn’t. But it was implied I think.”

“You think?” He replies, and you purse your lips.

“Well, he said that he doesn’t know what he’s doing with me!” You feel like you’re bursting with emotion just remembering his words from this morning.

“Shh, my child. It is okay.” He gently gives your shoulder a squeeze, “Maybe give it some thought and take a step back, si? Your feelings are valid, your hurt is valid– but coming from experience, I think perhaps the one he is frustrated with is not you.”

“Then with who?”

“With himself, my dear.” His eyes are filled with glimmers of understanding and you find yourself pausing to digest those words. All other thoughts came to a stop and swirled around those two simple words. With himself.

“With… himself?” There’s uncertainty and question in your voice as you echo Primo’s words back to him. You look at him, begging with only glances to help you understand.

“Yes, with himself. Being Papa… is not easy.” He grimaces a little, “It’s no small responsibility, little one, especially with the Ministry in one ear and I imagine with Sister Imperator in the other. I remember I would often feel like Atlas holding up the world– when I passed the papacy to my brother it was like an enormous weight was lifted from my shoulders. So, it is my understanding that perhaps when he tells you that he doesn’t know what he’s doing and what he’s doing with you, it is in the idealization that perhaps he feels as if he is letting down everyone around him. Especially you.”

“Oh.” You fall silent. That would make sense; you know that Copia has always been a people pleaser, and has always wanted to impress those around him. Show them what he can do, prove that he’s worth it, that he can do it and more. Everything seems to fall into place a little more now.

Primo was probably right– Copia was probably just stressed. Fights and arguments are natural– and while this is new and he had said something very hurtful, it was something fixable with communication and effort. Perhaps you had been a little harsh too, another opposing force at his back while he struggled. There was no one in the right, no one in the wrong here.

You stand up with this realization with a sudden urgency to find your boyfriend. “I need to talk to him. Sorry, I–” Primo holds his hand up to stop you with an understanding smile. 

“It is alright, my dear. Go find your papa and give him some love, si?” 

With a determined nod, you take off to begin your search. 

—

Finding Copia is proving to be difficult. He is not in his usual places like you’d expected, so you resign yourself to going to dinner and retiring for the night– hoping he would return that evening so the two of you could talk.

Dinner was a quick and simple affair and soon you were headed back to your shared room. When you returned, you noticed Copia’s shoes by the door, meaning he was inside. You swallowed, suddenly a little nervous. Still, you pushed forwards. 

“Tesoro?” Your words are tentative as you look around the room to see Copia sprawled on the floor beside the bed, his back against the mattress as his shape is covered under a blanket. At the sound of your voice, the blanket shifts and he sits up and you can see he looks red-faced and distraught. He’s a sad mess, sniffling again before looking at you with pleading bloodshot eyes and a fresh wave of tears spilling down his cheeks. You can tell he’s been crying for a while at this point, it seems, his papal paint runny and blotchy. 

You feel guilt ebbing at your heart and you’re at his side in an instant. Sliding onto the ground beside your papa, you pull him into your lap, wrapping your arms around him tight, as if you could hold him all together. “Shhh… shh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here.” Your words wash over him like a blanket, warm and genuine, a comfort as you press a soft kiss to his temple. He’s tense at first, but once you pull him in he immediately melts against you, clinging tight. Once again you feel guilty, this time a sharp prick stabbing your chest. You had left Copia alone for so long, lamenting and selfishly worried about yourself when he had been the one who really needed someone there for him.

He seems to want nothing more than to just cry into you and have your reassurance and presence until all is okay again and as soon as he finds his voice, he’s babbling apologies and pleas for you to stay.

“Mi dispiace, amore mio– mi dispiace. Per favore– don’t go.” He's needy, trying to burrow his head into your shoulder until everything else fades away. Until it’s just you and him. You hold him just a little tighter. “It was me, it was all me– I was wrong, tesoro. Per favore, per favore–”

“Shh– hey, I’m not going anywhere.” You cut him off and press a kiss to his temple and he tremors in your arms. “You can let it out, I’m here. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” You promise, humming gentle noises of reassurance. A muffled sob escapes from your shoulder as you soothe him. 

It’s like he's a completely different Copia than the one at the Ministry, right now. When he’s there, he’s not allowed to show weakness. His mother doesn’t allow it. He has to be perfect. Perfect for her, perfect for the ministry. 

(Because otherwise, what would it all have been for?)

And he’s been trying so hard recently, trying to please everyone around him, trying to please his mother. So much so he’s accidentally hurt his boyfriend– the most important person to him. How could he?

It's just been so hard lately. Ever since he had stepped up from being a cardinal to a papa, the pressure and guilt always seemed to hang heavy over his head. Of course it hasn’t all been negative— there’s a little more confidence in his step and he’s definitely grown a little more of a backbone in the ministry, putting forth his ideas and thoughts. They meant just as much as anyone else’s, if not more. 

Still, he’s always been sensitive, especially behind closed doors. Always yearning for support, for a guiding hand. Needing the reassurance that he wasn’t a mistake. You knew some of his struggles, some of his insecurities and you feel like you should have known how heavy the burden he carried was– the weight he crumbled under, you should have known how hard he tries to please.

You know a little about his childhood. He doesn’t speak of it often but sometimes, when it’s just you and him in the dark with his head against your chest or yours against his, hands intertwined so tightly you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins— he’ll talk.

He was such a lonely child, with little family or friends. His mother was rarely around either, too obsessed with his father and the ministry. When he grew older, she finally seemed to pay more attention but only with the highest expectations. He was her magnum opus after all. 

You rock him in your arms; gentle waves kissing the shore with open arms. Comforting him with low whispers of love and praise. You tell him how good he is, how you know he’s been working hard. You tell him how much you love him, how proud you are of him. You wipe his tears away with your thumb and press a soft kiss to his tear-stained cheeks.

When it feels like he’s calmed down enough, you tentatively speak. It’s a question that you feel like you already know the answer to, “Did you mean what you said this morning?” 

He shakes his head frantically, quick to also vocally beg his case. 

“No, no– I didn’t mean those words at all, I was an idiot, it was all me. I didn’t mean it the way it came out, I was wrong.” He clings to you even tighter. Seemingly overwhelmed, he makes little noises, unable to continue putting in words how he feels. Despite the situation, you find it cute when he struggles like this, when he makes little adorable unintelligible noises as he tries to pull the correct things to say from his brain. 

“Shhh, you don’t have to say anything, it’s okay. I know.” Your voice is like a balm to his hurts, to the little voice in the back of his head that nags at him constantly that he isn’t enough. He falls silent and his entire body relaxes against your chest. Though little shivers and sniffles still run through him, he’s mostly gone quiet in your arms. Letting you put him back together. “I know you didn’t mean it this morning– I know you were stressed. Yes they hurt,” He lets out a wounded noise that you soothe, “But I know you’re having a hard time right now, aren’t you?”

There’s a few moments of quiet before he silently nods and you reward him with a kiss, lips brushing against his temple and forehead. “I’m also sorry for storming off and not communicating better. Perhaps we will both work on that, hm? I will try to be more understanding in the future. All I ask is that you don’t shut me out, that you lean on me when you need to. You’re not alone, okay? You’re not alone anymore.”  

Your hands begin to rub little comforting circles against his back as he nods against you. It doesn’t take much longer for him to sink into you completely and suddenly, Copia is a puddle in your arms.

You chuckle lightly, unable to resist giving him another kiss to his temple. “You’re just a little puddle in my arms, huh?” You tease, “A cute little Copia puddle.” 

Copia's face brightens a little, though his cheeks tint a little red, and he lets out a soft laugh of his own, face still buried against your chest, and you feel the worry in your chest loosen at the sound. He doesn’t deny it though, especially as he burrows even deeper into your arms. He really is just a puddle in your arms, relaxed and content to soak up your affection.

“Mm… my little puddle.” He lets out a little snort and you can’t resist the teasing. “All mine, mm?” You pepper his face with kisses. 

"All yours." Copia replies, though words are muffled from lying against you and you know he’s a little embarrassed but content too. Relieved. He’s not used to the positive attention, the love you try to shower him in. Even so, he soaks it up like a sponge because it’s all he’s ever wanted. 

You continue to rub his back soothingly, your rocking slowing until you settle with him against the pillows. You feel his heartbeat even out and the sniffles subside almost completely. “Feeling better, tesoro?” You ask gently.

He nods against your chest, eyes closed and contented with your arms around him. “Thank you for not leaving, topolino.” He murmurs quietly. He knows he’s not alone anymore, and it makes all the difference in the world. He had been so afraid of losing you after he’d said those hurtful words to you, unsure of what he’d ever do if you walked out on him. 

“Oh tesoro– I would never leave just because we had one fight. It takes a lot more to scare me off, you know? And besides,” You lean over to pluck Malakai from the sheets, where he’d been keeping an keen eye out for trouble and had been watching quietly, “I’m sure Malakai would miss you terribly.” 

That provokes a smile from Copia and he gingerly takes Malakai from your hands and gives the goat plush a good cuddle. “He is a very good comforter and protector.” Malakai definitely agrees with a little twinkle in his eye, happy to help. You return his smile with a hum of agreement and lean in to give Malakai’s cheek a little kiss. Copia follows suit and gives him a kiss on the other cheek and Malakai is very pleased with this new development. You can tell from the twinkle in his eye.

In a little bit, you’ll get up to run a hot bath where you’ll sit together as you gently help him remove his ruined makeup. He’ll be so soft and pliant in your arms as you wash his hair for him, peppering his face in kisses that he can’t escape. You’ll be ready to help him out of the tub with a big fluffy towel and once you’re both in comfortable pajamas, pull him into bed where he’ll settle into your arms once more. And when the lights have gone out and the room is filled with only soft breaths, you’ll gently ask if he wants to talk about what he’s stressed about.. 

Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. Regardless, he knows it’ll never change anything between the two of you. You’ll tell him you love him, and he’ll whisper the words back so quietly it’s almost inaudible. You’ll tell him that you can’t hear him and he’ll make his little noises from where his head is tucked against the crook of your neck and you’ll laugh. You’ll look at Malakai who’s squeezed between the two of you and tell him out loud how Copia’s once again become a soggy little puddle– to which Copia will huff but you’ll feel the upward curve of his lips tickle against your skin as he smiles.

[blainesebastian]

coffee cart girl (pt5)

words: 3,418 ship: austin x female reader summary: you’re the coffee runner on the set of Elvis. Coffee deliveries run pretty easy, until Austin accidently spills coffee on you. notes: thank you so much for all the support! previous parts are under this tag, this part was inspired by this gifset  warnings: none tag list: under the cut! sorry if your username does not link up on the post if you requested to be put on the tag list (it’s getting hefty! :)), unsure how I could fix that. please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed. 

Despite everything changing, things stay the same—which is actually pretty comforting. You keep showing up on set, day-in-day-out, serve coffee, come back home and then wake up to do it all over again. You have to admit that you feel slightly lighter working your coffee deliveries and know it has everything to do with this relationship you’re building with Austin. Keeping things under wrap for right now feels like the best idea, just between the two of you, which is exactly what you both need right now. With Austin constantly working on Elvis, you have no interest in being in any sort of spotlight—at least not yet. Your script work is getting better but you’re still figuring out the steps that you’ll need to move forward, to get yourself out there—be noticed.

The last thing you want is for someone to assume you haven’t gotten somewhere by talent alone but because of who you know, or in this case, who you’re seeing.

Austin has always seemed like a very private guy anyways, he’s not very active on social media—he likes to keep his personal life exactly that, personal. It leaves you with this intimate bubble forms over you both, time to get to know one another and develop on shared feelings. It may not look like normal dating, and it might seem like sneaking around sometimes, but that doesn’t bother you.

In the end—what you have with Austin is no one’s business.

Except, you do want to tell Jillian.

Getting on set Thursday, you make a direct route to one of the makeup trailers that she works in. Climbing inside and closing the door, you make sure you’re alone with her before spilling the beans. You tell her everything, from start to finish, all the details you feel like are necessary to get you both on the same page.

It doesn’t take much—Jillian already thought that Austin liked you, so the conclusion jumping is a short distance once she has all the information.

Jillian’s face somehow looks like an emoji, a permanent heightened emotion that is hearteyes and shocked all at the same time. Her jaw may also be taking up a residence on the floor, she hasn’t closed her mouth since you began talking.

“I fucking knew it.” She laughs, “I’m so good at sensing chemistry—like, I should probably quit my job here and become a relationship guru,” You roll your eyes even though you’re smiling, “Or a tarot card reader.”

“You can’t tell anyone Jillian, I mean it.” You say after a moment, taking a step closer to your friend. “Austin and I don’t want our business out there.”

“Austin and I,” She repeats with a dreamy laugh, “Our,” She shakes her head, curls tied up in clip today, which is probably a good thing seeing as how she seems to be vibrating at a high frequency. “Does that feel weird to say—like, you’re dating a celebrity.”

You let out a slow breath, your stomach fluttering in a slightly nervous way that it does sometimes. It’d be obtuse not to acknowledge the elephant in the room that Austin is, in fact, a celebrity, that he is different than someone you met at a coffee shop or a bar. You two are very unique in that sense and are on distinct paths for your futures. But at the same time you find it important to remind yourself that Austin is human, he’s a regular guy that has normal emotions, needs and desires. You’re on the same page, you’re working together on this.

But that doesn’t mean that sometimes this whole thing doesn’t blow your mind because it does. It’s as if you’re worried you might wake up from a dream or something, harsh reality ready to grab you by the throat.

“Jillian,” You repeat, holding her gaze so you know she’s actually listening.

Jillian sighs, head tossed back towards the ceiling, “I hear you, promise. I won’t say a word to anyone.” And you do believe her otherwise you wouldn’t have said anything in the first place. Jillian might be a little eccentric but she’s trustworthy. “Are you going to go out on dates…or?”

You pause a moment, considering that…you actually hadn’t thought about it. So much of your interactions kinda stem on being on set together, you spend time between shoots, when you bring coffee or Austin lets you know when he’s taking food breaks but…

Eventually Elvis will come to an end and then what? There’s award shows and interviews and a very public eye. You’re pretty sure that even now if you two were to go out, someone would notice and put it out into the world—a fan, a pap, a gossip tabloid, too many different outcomes. One of the great things about set is that you can have privacy here.

“We’re figuring it out.” And it sounds like such a lame excuse right now but to be honest you don’t want to admit that it hasn’t crossed your mind.

Jillian just smiles before nodding, the door to the trailer opening up before any more questions can be asked. You’re secretly kind of thanking whoever’s listening for that—if your friend thinks you need to be a bit more planned about your future with Austin, she doesn’t comment.

Right now you think a day-to-day approach is best…but maybe a little bit more of a strategy wouldn’t hurt either.

--

The day is as busy as it always is, filled with running around on last minute rotations and add-ons mixed with your regular orders. Sal actually seems like she’s in a decent mood for once, which is always a nice surprise. You take your afternoon lull at the typical picnic bench, getting some serious editing done on your script as you slowly sip on a coffee. Second readthrough is done, now all that’s left is reading it outloud to catch any last mistakes before…letting a second pair of eyes actually look at it.

Speaking of—

You frown, picking up the clipboard nearby that had your morning and afternoon orders on it. Just as you thought, you don’t see Austin’s name anywhere. Time had been runnin’ so smoothly, you barely noticed that he hadn’t placed any coffee orders. Normally, you might not think that was odd but…after ending up on the same page, it’s usually a nice stolen few moments to see one another through a busy day.

You chew on your lower lip—it’s probably just a hectic day for him but there’s also a small pit in your stomach that is slowly beginning to feel like a black hole for whatever reason. You put the script in your bag and decide to stretch your legs, dropping your things off where you usually keep them and take a long stroll around set.

In a not surprising turn of events, you end up outside Austin’s trailer. Glancing around for a moment, you take a sip of coffee and make your way up the steps—at the very least you can pretend you have a last-minute caffeine fix for him, should anyone ask. You knock on the door and wait, taking a step back to make room for the door to open.

It takes a few moments but when it finally does, you pause, unsure of what to say.

Despite still getting to know him, it’s very plain to see that he’s upset. He must be in-between scenes because he’s in his own clothes, jeans, a black shirt, his hair scrubbed free of gel from what looks like his hands going through it. His face is slightly pink, eyes red-rimmed and wet and it somehow makes the color seem even more blue. He works his jaw a moment, swallowing, seemingly trying to get ahold of himself.

You’re kinda dumbfounded because…you’ve obviously never seen him like this before.

Blinking, you realize that you should say something. “Hi,” You pause, taking a breath, “Do you—you want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. His voice is twinged with emotion, slightly deeper than usual as he opens the door so you can walk over the threshold, “You can come in.”

You hesitate for a moment before wandering inside, the door closing behind you. Austin moves to lean against the kitchenette counter and you stand in front of him, putting your cup of coffee down near the sink. You give him a few moments to collect himself, watching as he runs a hand over his forehead, swallowing, the muscles in his jaw flexing again. Your gaze flutters over the rings he has on today, both gold, one on his middle finger while the other rests on his pinky.

Did something happen? You’re trying not to bombard him with questions…so you do the only thing you think you can in that moment, remembering how his hand had smoothed its way down your back during that migraine. One hand moves to settle along his arm, squeezing, while the other gently rests along his neck. Your fingers graze the bottom of his jawline, his pulse quick and skin warm where you’re touching. You feel, rather than see him, take a short breath in.

Whatever’s got him worked up, it’s at least good to know that he’s letting himself feel it rather than keep it buried underneath his ribcage. Some people are so concerned about strong emotions, never allowing themselves to give into them, feeling like they have to keep them hidden or tucked away. Austin’s not only allowing himself to feel, but he’s also letting you see him like this.

Neither of you say anything for a while, just stand there together, soaking one another in. You rub along his arm, sometimes your other hand moving to cup his cheek, stroking along his cheekbone. He sniffles, running one of his own hands underneath his eyes before letting out a slow breath,

“Sometimes it’s uh, it’s hard for me to take a step back from what I’m doin’.”

You nod and honestly, a lot of details aren’t necessary. You're sure the emotional toll is sometimes brutal, how hard it must be to separate his feelings out between what's reality and what's the film. You know that Austin gives absolutely everything to his work—it's obvious in the way he carries himself, how he speaks about his roles, in interviews you've seen and even in conversations you've shared with him.

He doesn’t need to explain himself.

It’s a bit crushing to see him like this—you wish you knew what to say. “Can I do anything?”

Austin shakes his head, giving you a small smile. Removing the hand that you have along his cheek, he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, “You’re doin’ it.”

You smile back, your stomach doing that ridiculous fluttering thing it sometimes does because of him. “I was wonderin’ why your coffee orders were missing from my clipboard.”

“Just been kinda nauseous all day,” Austin admits, running a hand through his hair, “Stomach’s in a knot.”

You’ve heard rumors that way before filming started Baz had organized for studio producers, crew, and the like to heckle Austin while he played some of his first Elvis songs. This wasn’t done without a purpose—much of Elvis’s first performances as an artist were similar. Regardless, you can’t imagine what it’d be like to experience something like that, especially if you’re already nervous about embodying such a role.

You wonder if today was something similar in the studio…or maybe it’s just a bad day. Not all of them can be perfect, even if Austin shows up ready to work as hard as he possibly can.

Taking a small breath in, you step back from him—you don’t have much time left on your own break before you’ll have to start taking late-night coffee orders. You’re sure he wants to spend a bit more on his own before he’s called to hair and makeup or wardrobe.

“I’ll see you later?” You offer, leaving it open just in case he wants to take the rest of the day to himself. You wouldn’t blame him, sometimes time alone is the best way to bounce back.

But Austin reaches for your wrist as you move to leave, squeezing gently, “I’ll find you.”

Giving him one last smile, you grab your cup of coffee and head out of his trailer.

--

Shooting stretches until two AM, which is not at all surprising. You end up leaving set around midnight, making a convenience run to grab a few things before making your way back to your favorite picnic bench outside the food tent. It’s a skeleton crew and luckily no one seems to bother to ask you why you’re still hanging out, walking past you with either a goodnight or no words at all.

Looking up as you hear footsteps approach, you smile when you see Austin, sliding off the table you’re sitting on to meet him halfway. He’s in his own set of clothes again but his hair is still styled to look like Elvis—the most important part, he looks a lot better than when you saw him this afternoon. Shoulders not as heavy looking, his eyes brighter,

“Hi,” Austin smiles down at you, “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

“I know,” You laugh lightly, “What a coincidence.” Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you walk with him towards his trailer. You don’t pass many people, which is comforting, before you finally make it to the destination. Austin heads up the steps first, opening the door for you to walk in.

Switching on the lights, the door closes behind you and you pause as you see that way back in the trailer…is in fact a bed. So it is true that some stars have legit places to sleep on set if they wish for late nights, naps between scenes. Though you’re not sure how that’d go—you always feel like such a zombie waking up from a nap. Can’t imagine that’s a good thing going from scene to scene.

So much for that being refreshing.

“Is that comfortable?” You ask, motioning to the bed as you put your bag down on the coffee table.

Austin looks up and in the direction of what you’re referring to, “Kinda, it has its moments when you’re really tired.”

“You gonna sleep there tonight?”

He purses his lips in thought, toeing his boots off near the couch. “Probably.”

And that…is totally not something to be thinking about right now. You shake your head as if to get rid of the imagery before clearing your throat, “I got you somethin’.”

He raises his eyebrows as you pass over the bag from the convenience store,

“Just my go-to’s when I’m feeling poorly.”

You smile, chewing on your lower lip as he pulls out a few essentials: a plastic container of Oreo’s, Ginger Ale, and mint tea.

“They didn’t have peanut butter.” Then quickly to clarify, “For the Oreo’s, I mean.”

Austin laughs softly, nodding, running his hand over the pack before smiling up at you. He reaches out to tug you close, placing a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “Thank you.”

You feel warmed from the inside out, blooming in your chest and sprouting outward. It’s not much and you’re not sure if his stomach is still upset but…you just wanted to be able to offer something to help. Sometimes a well-placed gesture is all you need.

Opening the pack of Oreo’s, he sets the bag on the coffee table to take a cookie out. Biting into it, he says, “I’ve never had Oreo’s with peanut butter before.”

You raise your eyebrows in mock outrage, “This is just unacceptable—don’t tell me you’re a cookies and milk kinda guy.”

He smiles a little guiltily—it’s cute. “You gonna take the cookies back if I say yes?”

You crinkle your nose, grabbing an Oreo for yourself. “Just please tell me you’re not a dunker.”

Austin shakes his head and well, good, at least you can work with that. Snagging a seat on the couch, you take your shoes off, crossing your legs up on the cushions. As you both eat through another sleeve of cookies, your mind wanders to this morning when you were talking with Jillian about…everything. The future, or at least what might happen when the filming of Elvis ends. You glance up at Austin, on the couch with you, one long leg folded up under himself, the other resting on the ground. His fingers hold one cookie while the other runs them along his lower lip, as if he’s in thought.

He touches his face a lot, you realize, especially when he seems to be considering something. After the emotive day he’s had, you’re not sure it’s the right time to really talk through what’s on your mind. There will be time for that.

Austin looks over at you as he takes an Oreo apart, which makes you scrunch your face a bit because you know he’s going straight for the icing. “How’s your script comin’?”

You take a soft breath into your chest, debating the words behind your teeth for a long few moments before, “Maybe end of the week you can look at it? If you’re not too busy.” No pressure, you can have Jillian read it over if he can’t.

“I’m not too busy for you.” Austin replies and he says it in such a way that has you believing it. Though, it’s a double-edged sword, you’re not quite sure how you’re going to handle him reading your script and…what if he thinks it’s absolutely awful? It’s just one opinion, sure, but you have to admit that it means a bit to you.

You shake out the nerves best you can and nod, determined, he’ll get that script by the end of the week.

Then you’ll go from there.

You stay on the couch for a while eating Oreos, easy conversation passing between the two of you. It kind of amazes you how simple it is that you can just…talk about anything. There’s topics that range from the serious (where do you see yourself in five years, who’s your biggest influence, book you could read over and over again) to the dramatic (zombie apocalypse—how fucked are you, favorite bird that you think has the biggest personality, drunk food go-to).

Another hour of time passes and it was already late to begin with, another yawn slipping past your lips,

“I think you should crash here,” Austin says, “That’s like your fifth one.”

You blink at the offer because no…while you know it’s late and he’s not wrong about you yawning a lot, the day catching up with you, you couldn’t possibly sleep here, right? On a few counts.

No…people would notice, wouldn’t they? While you like to think you blend into the background pretty easily, tomorrow would be the day for people to notice you coming out of Austin’s trailer, or in the same clothes you wore today. Way too risky, right?

And yet, for whatever reason that’s not what comes out of your mouth, “I think I got an extra pair of jeans in my car but—”

“I can grab you somethin’ from wardrobe.”

You raise your eyebrows, a scoff sneaking out. Oh really? “This couch is—”

“Let me worry about the couch, you’re takin’ the bed.”

Now you do laugh, “What you got an answer for everythin’?”

He grins, “Maybe.”

This is such a bad idea—the couch was comfortable enough to nap on when you had a migraine but getting a full night’s rest? Not even to mention, “Your legs are far too long for this thing.”

Now he’s amused, his eyes dancing warmly as he leans into your personal space. Your stomach flutters, gaze flickering down to his lips when he speaks, “You checkin’ me out Y/N?”

“You’re incorrigible.” You shake your head, gently poking at his chest.

Austin hums, “I’ve been told that’s my best quality.”

You don’t kiss him even though you really want to, a smile tugging the corners of your mouth—you realize within those few moments how much you like him, how your feelings for him are becoming more and more defined the longer you two figure this thing out together. At the same time, it’s a dangerous thing—you’re really falling for him.

You just hope it’s not too fast.

--

Once again, thanks so much for reading! I think I worked out that this series will be 10 parts total :)

Tag list:  @pearlparty, @theinvisiblecapricorn, @kittenlittle24, @andrewgarfields-girlfriend, @mirandastuckinthe80s, @nonsensical-nonce, @softlispoken, @dudinhahoff, @peterparke-r, @lottiee03, @little-diable, @therealwriter17, @bob-the-tomato, @bcofl0ve, @domaniquessidehoe, @matsbarzals, @rosequartzluvr, @callthedarknessdown, @laperceval, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @starry-night-20, @ahoyyharrington, @obsessedunicorn24, @lulu-recs, @queenotaku23, @embobemm, @milaa24, @medleyj, @myownparadise96, @butlersluvbot, @girlokwhatever, @pinkle-monade0103, @vintagebitc, @xcallmetaniax, @adoreyouusugar, @karamelcoveredolicity, @thisisntmeok, @kvcssghbjbcd, @mamaspresley, @jazmin2211

[thebahwrites]

Based on @beezelarts ‘Hangman may be mildly Dyslexic’ hc poll and @reiverreturns ‘Hangman is a dyslexic menace so that’s where the callsign comes from’ hc

TRYST TRUCK TRUST

“I ain’t stupid.” 

It takes Javy a moment to understand what the blond boy is saying, as they’re sitting across from each other in the boy’s bedroom. He honestly hadn’t thought much when the indication of tutoring a Seresin kid came along — it was good money, he wasn’t so sure if it’d be easy but at the very least, worth the shot. 

“Sorry?” He asks with a slow blink, staring back at Jake. High School Football Team Captain Quarterback Texan All American Boy Extraordinaire Jake Seresin, in all of his blond golden boy glory, green eyed and sitting there in his F-18 Hornet Schematics t-shirt with thick rimmed black glasses that looked a little like he was one of those stereotypical popular kids trying to look the part of a nerd cosplay.

Not like it bothered Javy, he’d been on the team just two years ago, too. The two of them weren’t so removed from each other’s timelines, Jake just happened to be a  Sophomore where Javy had just graduated. 

“I ain’t stupid.” Jake repeats himself and frustration is almost palpable in the words; they’ve been there for an hour already while Javy was going over the guy’s assignments and grades to try and see what exactly he’d been struggling with. It was all a mismatched collection of A pluses, C minuses and F’s that honestly made no sense for a guy with all the money in the world. 

“Yeah, I hear you.” Javy confirms with a nod before Jake repeats himself, he can see the mixed feelings bubbling under the boy’s surface. Picking up on his assignments, then carding through the other subject’s folders; math and science and physics, Seresin was killing it but apparently not where reading was concerned. “I don’t think you are.” There’s an inkling to him that makes Javy think the blond might have heard he was stupid at least a few good times, enough to internalize it. 

“Okay, good.” Jake’s answer is closed off, cagey, giving off the energy of someone who’s trying so hard to save face while also self-doubting like mad. Now, Javy had come here to teach a rich brat he assumed was just fucking around during classes and leave; he wasn’t expecting to find a guy who was genuinely trying and failing. 

“...do me a favor and read this passage for me.” He points out at one of the reading assignments reports, handing it over to the guy, Jake nods. And then he takes precisely five minutes (Javy checks on his watch) until he clears his throat. “Out loud, please.”

Green eyes stare back, blinking in quick succession before he spots a tinge on pink at the tips of the boy’s ears, obviously ashamed even though he tries not to look startled. “Oh, right, sorry.” Noted, clear instructions. 

It takes another minute for Jake to pick up and read the passage, hesitantly.  “I love your daughter fondly, dearly, disin– disin– disinterd– fuck!” It’s almost like watching someone repeatedly run into a wall they can’t walk past and Javy feels bad, so he reaches forward to cover the passage, eyes keeping on Jake’s face, checking for changes.

“Disinterestedly.” He offers, calmly, trying not to sound patronizing and somehow wary the guy would simply throw a tantrum or something if he did so. 

“Disinterestedly.” Jake repeats, half annoyed, eyebrow lifted in a mild challenge as if inviting Javy to mock him back. Instead, Javy gives the blond boy a long, puzzled look, letting the gears inside his own brain turn before he speaks again. 

“I’m not–”

“Stupid, I know, I seriously don’t think you are.” Javy almost rushes to say because he can see the way Jake is chewing the inside of his own mouth. “So...trust me to help you?”

Jake stares back. Javy stares back.

“Yeah, alright.”

[asirensrage]

The Choice

Title: The Choice Fandom: MCU Rating: M Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Word count: 1891 Warnings: serial killer!Steve, choking, violence, use of a knife, threats, swearing, implied kidnapping, dark fic! (don't worry, the cat lives)

Summary: Based on the scary story prompts from @darkpromptsyouneveraskedfor. Prompts include: 11) "You're so pretty when you sleep, so peaceful." and 18) 'After a horror marathon, you check under the bed only to find out that you should've looked sooner.'

Horror prompts masterlist

Notes: This is a dark fic. It's violent. There's no redemption in this. The reader is not described in size and/or looks (but does mention wearing a bra). I don't usually write reader fics but this is how this one turned out.

Heed the warnings.

You don’t usually get scared. Well, not that scared. You’ve seen horror movies before and watching alone has never bothered you. Until this one because you can’t stop thinking about the way the man lived in their attic for years, just watching them. Maybe because you live alone now. 

Maybe you should get a dog. To go with your cat, Hershey. Something to add to the company and help warn you if anyone was hiding in your walls. Could they sense that? They had to. Though if a dog started barking at the wall, you might consider a ghost before thinking someone was actually in there. Either way, people were generally more afraid of dogs than they were of cats. It’d at least make you feel better.

With a mental note to check out the shelters, and your bank account, in the morning, you go through the process of brushing your teeth. You keep your back to the mirror if only to keep your mind from conjuring up images of something being there when you look at your reflection.

You don’t look back as you leave the bathroom, turning to enter your bedroom. You shimmy out of the sweatpants you’re wearing, letting them fall to the floor. You’re not wearing a bra, comfort being the prime goal when marathoning movies and the tank top you have on is one you sleep in. Easy to just crawl into bed, turn off the light and pass out while praying you didn’t manage to give yourself nightmares. 

At least, until you notice your cat at the edge of your bed, staring underneath it.

“What’s up? Lose something?” You ask softly. It’s not unusual for him to bat something under the bed or couch and then demand you rescue it. He didn’t move though, even as you reached down and stroked the fur on his back. “Or you just out to freak me out?” It wouldn’t be the first time. 

You sigh and kneel on the floor, grabbing your phone and turning on the flashlight before you look under the bed for the wayward toy. Eyes stare back at you. 

“Holy shit!” You recoil fast, dropping the phone and scrambling away. That wasn’t real. That wasn’t– All thought stops as a hand emerges from the darkness under your bed and grips the side of it. It uses the leverage to slide out. You stare in horror as the form becomes clear. It’s a man. A giant man considering how tall he is when he finally starts to stand. How did he even fit…before you even finish the thought, you run. 

You head straight for the door. It’s not far. Your apartment isn’t that large and while that used to be a good thing, now it just means less space to move, to have between you and whoever was under your bed. Still, it’s yours and you know it like the back of your hand. 

The door does not budge. It doesn’t matter that you unlocked it, and you tugged, over and over, it does not move. You look behind you and he’s standing there, in the doorway of your room, just watching. Fuck that. 

“It won’t work,” his voice sounds. 

You mentally calculate your chances and try it anyway. You head towards him and turn quickly, right before he can reach you. You slam the bathroom door behind you. You don’t have a lot of time and the apartment is terrible enough that there’s no real window you can use. Instead, you do the only thing you can. He’s breaking down the door. It cracks with every thump as he calls you by name. 

You use your elbow and break the mirror. 

There’s a moment of silence as though he realizes what you’re doing. You grab a washcloth and wrap it around the end of one of the shards and move closer to the door, waiting. Your heart is in your throat and you pray to whatever gods there are that he hasn’t hurt Hershey. That would be devastating. 

The door breaks, his hand punching its way through. You slice. Horror movies have taught you enough to aim properly. The glass digs into your hand but it doesn’t matter. You shove it down harder until it slices across the inside of his arm. There’s a reason people aim there when they commit suicide. You have to at least try. 

The arm retreats, the man swearing. 

You don’t have a lot of time. You yank open the door, using the moment that he’s trying to control the bleeding, to shove him back. He barely moves but you manage to slide past him, using the chance to stab him in the leg as well. You don’t stop though. 

You crash into the side table that is in the way. It’s not completely in the middle of the hallway but it’s enough that you hit it. “Fuck!”

You look back just to see if he’s still there. He is; walking slowly toward you like he’s Michael Myers. You take the stupid side table and throw it at him before running for the windows.

They won't budge. Your hands slip, slick with blood from where the glass dug in. That doesn’t stop you from trying but you can’t get a proper grip. Fine. You never liked them anyway. You grab the nearest heavy item, a lamp of all things, and try to use it to break the glass. It shatters instead. 

Movement out of the corner of your eye sends you jumping aside. He’s close enough to touch and you throw yourself over the couch to get some space. You scramble to get up but the man lands from his own jump. Before you can move, he’s on you, one hand wrapped around your throat. You kick at him, trying to get space. 

“Enough,” he snaps. He tightens his grip and your vision spots. He looks vaguely familiar this close. Like you’ve seen him before. “I’m going to give you a choice. Same choice everyone gets.” You struggle harder, kicking out and trying to catch him in the side. The pressure on your throat increases and you claw at the hand, at his face, anything to get some air because you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe! Oh god. Your sight goes black first and you can still feel him on you, pressing down until it fades. 

You wake up coughing. His grip loose and you gulp at the air given, trying to breathe as your lungs burn and your throat hurts. Your head swims as you try to focus. You need to get out. You grab at the wrist of the hand that rests on your skin. 

 He doesn’t move though, still kneeling over you. His weight keeps you in place. 

“You ready to hear it?” His hand stays pressed against your throat. “You get to pick who dies, sweetheart. You or someone close to you. And don’t lie, doll, because I’ll know. Just like I know that you're so pretty when you sleep, so peaceful.”

“Oh god,” you moan. How long had he been watching you? How long had he been under your bed? You try to dig your nails into his hand, his joints, your neck, anything that will get the pressure to ease. It doesn’t. He tightens his grip and in moments, your vision spots again and tears leak from your eyes. You’re going to die here. 

He relaxes his grip just enough to let you breathe. “Choose.”

“Fuck you!” You snap through your tears. You can’t stop crying. Not when it hurts. Not when you know this is it.  

He grins and for a moment, he looks young. He looks like Captain America. How fucked up is that? You turn your head, determined not to play this game. Despite the hand on your throat, his other arm is holding him up as he leans over you. It doesn’t take much for you to move, just enough to sink your teeth into his skin. 

“Shit!” He yanks his arm back but you try to dig in harder. The human jaw can exert a fair amount of pressure and the mouth was dirty as anything. If you were lucky at all, you’d at least give him rabies or something. Not that you had rabies but sepsis works just as well. 

The hand on your throat tightens and he lifts you by your neck up just enough to slam your head back into the floor. You let go, dazed. You don’t know when you blacked out, or for how long, but you wake with a rasping cough, arms pinned now under his knees. You cannot move. 

“Choose,” he demands again. “You or someone close to you. A friend. Sibling. Parent…” 

“No,” you choke out, blinded by the tears rolling down your temples into your hair.

He reaches for something at his leg and through your blurred vision, you can make out a knife. “Everyone chooses. One way or another.”

“Fuck you!”

The blade of the knife is cold as it presses against your cheek. “Do you want to know who chose you?” he asks. He leans down, nose nearly touching yours. For a moment, you think he’s about to kiss you. You hope not. You hope he just kills you quickly and doesn’t press for anything else. “It was your coworker. You know the one. You told her that her boyfriend hit on you at the Christmas party. She called you a liar. Said you deserved to die more than she did.”

You remembered that. Miranda snapped at you, said you must have hit on him and tried to turn the tables when he rejected you. As if you’d waste your time with that asshole. What a– the world fades again.

“-bitch,” you croak out, upon waking up. 

“You pick her?”

“No!” You shake your head, as much as you can with him still holding you by the throat. 

“Pick someone,” he demands.

“Fuck you!” 

“You choose or I kill you,” he says. The blade presses harder against your cheek. “You can exchange your life for theirs. Pick.”

You muster up any courage you have left and spit at him. “Screw you, asshole! Kill me and get it over with!” 

He pulls back, his weight heavier as he straddles you. “You really mean that, don’t you?” He looks surprised before he grins again. “You want me to kill you. What if I say you can pick anyone? Doesn’t matter if they’re close to you.”

“Fuck you.” 

He laughs at that before he drops the knife. You stare at him, confused as he lets go of your throat. “Everyone always picks someone else. Always.” He stares down at you, looking almost awed. “Not you though.”

He grabs something else, pulling it from a pocket and you think you hear him mutter that he didn’t think he’d ever get to use it. He leans forward again, out of the range of your teeth and cracks the small container he has in one hand. Smoke releases and he holds it against your nose. You struggled harder, trying to get out. 

“Shhh,” the hand that was on your throat moves, pushing back your hair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Relax, I’ll be with you ‘til the end of the line.”

Your vision goes black.

taglist: @raith-way @chrissymunson @zeleniafic @jvstjewels @veetlegeuse  @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse 

[astromechs]

hi, this show went off the air 22 years ago but i can't get it out of my head, so here we are; also on ao3!

Logan says it's no one's fault. That they've had their struggles they've faced together and alone, mostly alone over the past year, and there are bigger things. He even smiles just before she turns on her heel, tells her to keep her pager handy and that he'll see her around, kisses her on the top of her head before he lets her go; she manages an agreement and a smile back, and keeps it there, tears held back, until she's well out of sight, because for all that she's put him through, she feels like she owes him at least that much.

But Max knows the truth; anything her hands touch will always wither and die.

There are things even a cure can't fix.

She twists the throttle, motorcycle roaring to life under the metal touching her fingers, but it won’t last. Gas is harder than ever to come by these days, so if she were to even give into an impulse to pass Terminal City and keep riding, she wouldn’t make it far. It’s essential trips only now, for that practical reason, for a thousand other reasons that have everything to do with the people, her people, inside, who she has a responsibility to protect.

To keep alive.

(That won’t last either, though, will it? Because anything her hands touch will always wither and die. They’ll be cold like Tinga, too late having long since happened before she could manage to get anywhere, or they’ll be like Ben, life and warmth fading right under her fingertips because of her own efforts, but regardless, it will always end the same, no matter a cure or a fight.

There’s no defense against a curse entrenched even more deeply than DNA.)

Buildings rush by her that she doesn’t really see; tires squeal against pavement through twists and turns of a route followed more by habit and muscle memory rather than her active attention. Wind whips hair around her face and stings tears in her eyes at its impact; she blinks them away, furiously, keeps her head held up rather than ducked, and by the time she powers the motorcycle down and leaves it behind, there isn’t a single lingering trace of them on her face.

Her steps are quiet as she passes groups of children sleeping while adults keep watch and heads huddled together to, undoubtedly, formulate some kind of strategy, but apart from a few nodded acknowledgments, she doesn’t divert her focus from the only mission that’s on her mind: getting to the roof.

It’s colder here than it’d been on the streets, and even with a jacket, Max is forced to curl into herself to keep warm; she sits with her knees tucked to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, not bothering to look up to a night sky that’s covered only with clouds. Not bothering to direct her attention to anything at all, really, at least until —

Footsteps in her periphery, faint at first, but growing louder by the second as they draw closer to her.

They manage to plod in a way that gets under her skin, so she wouldn’t need a visual confirmation of an identity to know exactly who they belong to. But she wouldn’t even need that to know; there’s only one person she knows who consistently manages to find her at the moments she least wants to be found.

She grinds her teeth together as Alec’s form comes into view.

Go away, is the immediate thought that sputters out before it reaches her mouth, choking on the fumes of its own petulance. What the hell are you doing here? Is the next attempt, something that, over the months, has become familiar and easy while she hadn’t even known it was happening, but she lets that die, too, because she can’t let herself settle into that kind of complacency. That’s a mistake she’s made too many times.

In the end, with her knees still tucked to her chest, she turns her head and tips up her chin enough to meet Alec’s gaze. Asks, “How’d you find me?”

Even to her own ears, her voice is as worn as the rest of her. For someone who barely needs to sleep, she’s so fucking exhausted.

The line of Alec’s mouth is thin and contemplative, and his eyes are much the same as they search her, assessing; she can practically see the gears that are turning in his mind, because they’re the ones often turning in hers. You can take the X5 out of Manticore, burn the whole place to the ground, but….

She drops her eyes to her feet, something hard and sticky lumping in her throat.

“I can see in the dark, too, you know. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, Maxie.” Without waiting for an invitation, he steps through most of the distance that remains between them, lowering himself down to sit next to her. Their arms are just short of actually brushing, but even so, the warmth from him radiates to her, seeping under her skin to the point that she almost forgets there’s a chill.

It could be a comfort, one she could lean into, but she doesn’t, instead swallowing hard to remain unmoving. Still, she doesn’t lean away from it, either.

That may be the worst part.

The wind cuts around them, and for a time (she doesn’t know how long), that’s all that breaks up the silence. At least until Alec, being Alec, can’t help but find some way to step into it; of course he can’t. “Figured you’d be up here brooding when no one heard from you for a while.”

Before she can find the will to stop it, there’s a tug at the corners of her mouth, somehow flickering to life over the death she carries, turning the chill in the air and what sits in her into practically a memory.

Though she follows the script of what has become their back and forth, rolling her eyes and scrunching her face, the objection she ends up voicing is half-hearted at best. “I’m not brooding.”

She feels, more than sees, Alec lift a shoulder in a shrug; she hears, more than sees, a smile creeping in for him, too, however small. “Speak for yourself.”

And when she feels an arm wrap around her, feels a hand rest on top of hers shortly after that, she relaxes rather than stiffens, leans into it rather than away; she doesn’t have the energy to do anything else, not when she’s so fucking exhausted. She exhales a long breath and closes her eyes, resting her head against a heartbeat that’s steady in a mess of a world that’s anything but.

It’s not a comfort, and she won’t delude herself into thinking that it is, but maybe, even if just for a moment, it would be nice for something to live in her touch for once.

[sketchfanda]

A Little Moxxie Love:Barbie girl,not a Barbie World

God himself only knows how bad things got and what went down between Blitzo and his sister Barbie Wire for her to hate the imp so much that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him in her life. Christ on a stick she could only hope that shitshow at that Summer camp was the last that she'd ever see of that emotional trainwreck but somehow she had a feeling her luck would be that shitty. The very idea was enough to drive her to drink and that was just exactly what she did, chugging down some of the strongest stuff they had in whatever dive or watering hole she could find to kill her brain cells. Okay so what she got a hangover out of it, it’d be fucking worth it if you asked her!!

At least that was what she tells herself at the time but the splitting headache and blurry vision she had the next morning was a very different story. Her brain feeling like someone was banging a wrecking ball against it as the crawling of a roach sounded way too loud, she opened her eyes to find an unfamiliar ceiling of what was no doubt some cheap ratty speak easy motel. Her body numb and sore all over which could only be signs that she had gotten laid and pretty damn well, Christ on a stick she could smell and feel the stickiness. Wincing as she sat up, vision clearing and adjusting while taking in a mental survey of the damage to the room.

Barbie:”Daaaaaamn when I get drunk, I get drunk…”*Fishing around for her phone as she found it on the floor, she checked the time to find but noticed something peculiar. Apparently her notifications claimed her photo gallery was loaded enough to a point her phone’s memory was almost full.*”How in the fuck? It wasn’t even anywhere 50% last night…….”*Sweet Anti-Christ she hoped she hadn't done anything stupid and fucked up like her brother had, but it was hard to top the guy who stole Verosika Mayday's credit cards after boning her, ditching her then maxing said cards out on horse riding lessons. Seriously, what was up with him and the horses?*

Deciding to chance it and hope there wasn't anything too cringe or incriminating, she unlocked her phone and started with the photos first in order oldest and most recent. Feeling her eyes widen and her jaw drop in absolute shock to find herself in what were very borderline compromising, NSFW type positions and poses. Nudes, lewd selfies and the like all ranging from very sloppy, open air tongue kisses between herself and all too familiar face. That damn little crossdressing pipsqueak underling of her brother's who was undercover trying to bust up her little summer camp smuggling operation!!

Now that she thought about it, apparently something happened not long after she made her escape from Blitzo and his clingy bullshit that went viral involving him and Mill-something, christ what were their names? It still escaped her but each and every picture she examined brought back hazy liquor fuelled moments of the past night in a hazy yet vivid lucidty. Making out with him as he felt up her tits and ass, oh especially her tight bubbly crimson red ass, the phantom sensations of swift stinging slaps making those cheeks clap, the feel of his breath she hugged and held his face in between her perky tits.....Sweet unholy whore of Babylon was she getting wet right now?!! Looking down at her crotch to find not only was that the case but what in all the 9 circles, how much jizz was that?

On further reflection at how sticky she was all over and especially between her legs but also the trashed state of her motel room, Barbie began to wonder not how far she went with..Moxxie, yeah that was the little dude's name, but just how the fuck did get this way? Deciding her memory refresh had to take the plunge down the night before rabbit hole as she began to examine the videos and suffice to say, if she found her body getting treacherously turned on before? Any and all sense of shame went out the window as her morbid curiosity took the helm, tapping play on the first one. Her face soon blushing so badly that it was making her natural skintone look pale as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped further as the audio kicked in.

The Videos all varied in terms of length ranging from a handful of seconds to minutes but all the same as each one kicked in after the other, it came back to Barbie like the rush of pain from taking a mountain goat headbutt to the cooch. Witnessing herself giving Moxxie a blowjob, her eyes glowing with lust as she bobbed her head on what could only be called the biggest cock she'd ever seen!! One that she saw herself choking on in the video as the imp grasped her curved horns and gave her an intense powerful facefucking. Only just occurring to the rehabbed ex circus girl that if she and Moxxie had their hands occupied here...then who the fuck in all the 7 sins was holding the camera?!

A query of course that briefly became forgotten as the video of her blowjob in what could only be considered a corner of whatever watering hole she'd been in last night transitioned into a video of her in what seemed to be the back seat of a very large car, a limo perhaps even? All she could tell was that she was sitting back moaning like a pornstar as Moxxie was eating her out and goddamn if he didn't seem to have quite the gifted tongue. Especially with how her video self was holding onto his horns for dear life as if not wanting him to pry off away from her slit. But then what followed was what had likely lead to her waking up here and now.

There was no mistaking the motel room even in its current undemolished state as it began with her and Moxxie making out in drunken passion as they stripped each naked. Whoever their camera-man or woman even going by the voice(s?) cheering them on as the sequence of videos indicated the passing of time and the progress of the demolition of the room. A dent in the wall as Moxxie pinned her up against it and jackhammered into her like some kind of sex machine, the couch knocked and flipped over as she was bent over it to be taken doggy style before pinned in a mating press with her legs spread up in the air. And of course the absolute declining state of the mattress and bedsheets as she and the secret stud went through a veritable kama sutra of positions.

Each and every video filled in the gaps as her haze cleared with clarity and her body tingled with the phantom sensations of pleasure. The final video playing showing her sleeping, curled in a cozy foetal postion, cum oozing from her overflowing snatch and crimson red skin glistening with sweat. All the while the cutely sleeping little possum was being carried away by some hellhound girl who was cradling him gently so as to not disturb him as the camera turned to show an imp girl who shot her a wink and a smile. Barbie of course managing to recognise her as Moxxie's dam wife who kept her attention as she left her a message.

Millie:"If you ever wanna know how good it is when you're sober, left you a note. Just give us a call and I'm sure we can arrange something..."*Millie of course punctuated this remark with a little kiss blown at the camera. The video finishing leaving barbie to reflect on this media gallery filled with evidence of what had to be the best fuck of her life that she just barely would've remembered. her pussy gushing as it hit her that after that night? No other guy would be able to even come close to that!!*

Barbie of course tried to debate the pros and cons of this as she mulled Millie's words over, finding the aforementioned note pinned on the nightstand by a knife. On the one hand this risked the chance of running into her emotional headcase fuck-up of a brother buuuuuuut it meant getting herself another dose of Moxxie love. It took a few minutes that felt like an eternity before Barbie decided "Fuck it...." and reached for the note. If anything least becoming a moxxie sex addict would be better than the booze and drugs sending her back to fuckdamn rehab, that was for sure!!