#THROWING RED MEAT TO THE FAR RIGHT

[msclaritea]

Daily News Recap from Natalie at Life After A Cult: Scientology Protests

This group has shown unequivocally how non-violent and non-performative protesting can be extremely effective. The Progressives are LYING through their teeth, in their defense of troublemakers on college campuses right now. The whole idea has been to radicalize kids here, just as was done in South America. Acting on Socialist Marxist principles (proverbially elite-funded, for decades) necessitates becoming a criminal. If none of the chaos agents are held accountable for their actions, the entire Leftist ecosystem will just keep getting more dangerous, virtually becoming the twin to Far Right and sticking Americans in the middle of their forever revolutions.

Get a clue. Don't fall for this bullshit. I want Israeli influence out of my country too. This isn't how you do it. They're just handing the Right more ammunition. The absolute fucking privilege.

[stervrucht]

“Rough night?”

Steve jumps for the second time in far too short of a timeframe. He gasps in surprise and clutches at his chest. He didn’t hear any guests enter.

“Fu– I mean, you startled me.” Steve manages to sputter. Cursing in front of guests is definitely not appreciated.

Steve takes a deep breath before looking up, and when he does he is face to face with a guy roughly his age. 

Except this guy is nothing like Steve at all. All long hair, leather, and tattoos. His eyes do not leave Steve as he puts down a guitar case. It is littered with stickers, but one stands out in particular: ‘Corroded Coffin’.

Steve makes a mental note.

“Welcome to the Indianapolis Sweetwater Hotel. How can I assist you tonight?” The words are familiar on Steve’s tongue — he has said this exact line a hundred times before.

“Edward Munson, I booked for three nights.” The guy leans on his arm against the desk, leans close while he watches Steve’s hands move with a smile playing on his lips.

Steve opens the register. His hands feel clumsy under Munson’s close watch as he flips to the current date. 

“Mr. Munson, I have you right here. One moment.” 

Steve turns around to gather the key and he feels the guy’s eyes burn into his back. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, almost like static.

“There you go,” Steve says as he puts the key on the desk and gently pushes it in Munson’s direction. Before he can pull his hand away, however, Munson grabs him by the wrist. It’s so forceful it pulls Steve forward and they now are face to face — so close he can feel Munson’s breath on his lips. 

Munson looks at him, eyes so dark they are nearly black, so intense it’s like they're cutting straight through him. Munson’s eyes dart downward to Steve’s lips, then to his chest — his name tag — lingering there for a second. 

“Steve,” he says, dragging his name like he’s tasting it.

And then he looks up again, holds Steve’s gaze for another second before letting go of his wrist. He grabs the key off the desk, throws it, and catches it overhand with a practiced ease. 

“You workin’ tomorrow?” Munson asks, studying him like a predator.

Steve is still a little dazed by what just happened. Assaulted, he thinks, but his boss would probably not take it seriously. “Eh, yeah, I am.”

“Good.” Munson smiles at him, toothy. Dangerous. Steve feels like a piece of meat under his gaze. “Enjoy the night.” 

With a careless wave, Munson leaves for the elevators and Steve realizes he forwent a lot of his duties just now. It doesn’t matter, apparently, because Munson seems to know his way around. Perhaps he is a regular — or maybe all hotels are quite the same.

Steve’s wrist is red where Munson held it and there are two indentations where he dug his nails into Steve’s flesh. He rubs at it, looking back at his crossword puzzle.

'9. Creature of the night.'

Vampire, Steve writes down.

---

Chapter one is out now! ● Part 1 ● AO3 ●

If you liked this, please consider dropping by AO3 ♡

[were-changing-cake-vaults]

Gem would like to pretend that things are normal around Magic Mountain.

Or, well, that everyone else is normal, and she’s keeping all the weirdness to herself. She’s the one who decided to go a little creepy this season, after all, and as far as she can tell, she’s the only one smelling the rot coming from the river. All her neighbors should be fine, and have only commented that her boat burns a lot of coal fumes that sort of reek. It’s definitely not rot, and things are normal for them, and they are decidedly abnormal for her.

Which is fine! Gem wants her friends safe! Sure, she’s been hearing weird gurgling noises from the flooded caves that line the beaches, but she’s probably just hallucinating. Or maybe Scar is smacking salmon heads on note blocks again, despite living on the other side of the mountain. And sure, Impulse died and came back completely washed of color, but that’s just a demise thing. It’s just the creepy she dragged along with her- Joel’s totally fine, and that’s enough evidence for her.

Well, it would be if not for the fact that the salmon she’s been getting from fishing are starting to look…strange, all sharp-finned and much slimier than normal. And the cod, too, have far too many gills, like gashes down their sides. Grian pulls up a fish one afternoon and Gem swears it’s got six eyes, but Grian only remarks them as “weird patterning” and shoves it right into the furnace for cooking.

He’s been eating a lot of fish, recently, straight from this very river, the one that smells of rot. Caught them all himself. He’s also been fishing a lot- Gem doesn’t know the last time he worked on his base. He keeps trying to dredge up a book. She asks him one day why he keeps going if he’s already got a ton of books from the water, and he sounds haggard when he replies:

“The book, Gem. I’m not looking for a book. I’m looking for the book. It’ll give me all the answers I need. I haven’t found it yet, but the ocean will provide for me. I know it’s the next one.”

Something in the way he looks at her makes her gut twist. His eyes are empty, glossed over, and she knows the joke is that he looks like a cod, but it’s- he’s different, now, washed out and shiny skin, little to no meat on his bones, bags like pits under his soulless eyes. Something about the way he phrased that—the ocean will provide for me—makes her spine recoil back, feet dragged backwards towards her boat. A fear-stricken laugh bubbles up Gem throat as she tries to remember the last time he wasn’t fishing. When was the last time he slept?

Come to think of it, when was the last time she slept? Isn’t there a warning for those who stay up too late?

And when she tells him it’s an addiction, Grian just laughs it off, throws his rod into the sea, and pats the seat next to him. And then there she is, fishing alongside him, like she was always doing. She was planning to do this, yes. More and more of Magic Mountain arrives, plus Etho, who brings along a disc to put them in the mood. It’s a swan song.

The ocean sings back. It gives her an image of a great tall lighthouse, cherished by watery angels, who dance around it. It gives her the size, the colors, the materials to recreate it in verse. She smiles. It tells them all to knock another hermit off the list of survivors. She grins.

Before turning to join the group on their quest, Gem looks into the water one last time. Staring back is a well-kept woman with long, shiny red hair.

There is a book in her hand.

[holyparadisenightmare]

It had only been a few days since your partner left for their business trip, but you were already going stir crazy. You were spending the whole day tempering your ravenous, insatiable libido. Every inch of you boiled. Toys refused to satisfy.

Climbing into the shower, it was hard not to be turned on just looking at yourself. Your erect nipples, idle playthings for your horny mind. Minutes in and all that work cleaning yourself would be undone. So you'd rinse and repeat.

In your room you found your partner's favourite set of lingerie: a matching set of black, lacey panties and a bra. It had only been a few days since you last wore them, but you could already feel yourself spill out more than usual. What were once large, but perky tits were now heavy hanging breasts that sat snug, snugger than usual, in that delicate fabric.

Nights turned to days as you roamed your house alone. But it wasn't long before your concerns were vindicated. Your breasts had gotten larger. In fact, they continued to grow. Veins pushed their way to the surface as the skin around your tits stretched thinner.

But it wasn't the only thing growing.

You honestly thought it was just bloat. Anxious that a few days of unaccompanied eating and wanking had you gaining weight, your belly surged forward from where you were used to. But after two weeks and the bloat refusing to pass, you knew more was going on.

Throwing on a sports bra, you tried to hide your growing tits and belly. A grey, oversized tracksuit followed over and with a pair of sunglasses the look was complete as you venture out into the world to find some clarity.

You arrived at a pharmacy. The woman at the counter greeted you as you walked in. You smiled politely but bit your lip as you saw her. She was short, a little shorter than you, chunky with a black bob. Thick in all the right ways.

Terrified, you tried to hide your arrousal and your belly.

You smiled back and asked "Can i get a pregnancy test?" your words fell away as your mumble through the last of your sentence.

"I'm sorry, i didn't quite catch that." She said with a smile that said 'i heard you but I want to make you say it out loud.'

Your face was bright red. The woman behind the counter carelessly looking you over like a piece of meat. "A pregnancy test. I need one." You conceed, pointing past her to the display behind the counter.

"Oh, I'm sorry miss." She snarked, reaching back to grab one, "I didn't think someone so far along would needs that."

Your face and pussy burnt. "H-how dare you!" You half moan at her, looking around to see if anyone had heard. You were both alone.

But before you could break into a full tyrade, you looked down at yourself for the first time since you stepped into the store. You had grown since the drive here. And you were huge. The sweat shirt did nothing to hide your size, the front pulled taught by the size of your growing belly.

You cried, "Oh my god!" Before running... well, waddling to the bathroom. You tripped and stumbled as you adjusted to your new centre of gravity. You locked the door behind you and peeled back your slowly shrinking sweat shirt.

You looked full term. 9 months pregnant. Your belly button had popped. Your ass had widened, and your belly grew so naturally from your plump form you wondered how you had ever looked without it.

As you raised your shirt to reveal yourself your hand brushed against your breasts. Its swollen flesh threatened to spill out and over your tight sports bra. You carefully pulled the bra up and over, careful not to put too much pressure on your very sore breasts. Regardless, each nipple slowly trickled beads of milk down your body.

Your pussy craved satisfaction. It ate at you, filling your mind with fog. You were one part petrified, but 9 parts severely turned on. And what little scared you onlu turnes you on more. What if someone caught you?

With a hand you slid up and squeezes one of your engorged breasts. Milk splattered across the mirror. You moaned as you watched your reflection play with herself.

But a knock at the door brought you crashing back to earth. "Ma'am?" The clerk called from behind the door.

"Y-yeah?" Your voice hinted at the pleasure you're so desperate to return to.

"I hate to bother you. But that stall is for paying customers only. And, like I said. I dont think you need this test."

"I can't come out right now." You said back.

"Do you need help?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

You hesitsted for a moment.

"Can you get some oil, some napkins and a clean shirt? I'll pay for them!"

You could hear her voice catch at the strangle request. "O-Okay?"

Eventually she returned. You unlocked the door a crack and let her pass the items through. But in the corner of your eye, in the reflection of the window, you see her face looking back. She saw you, tits, belly and all. Her face turned bright red as she slams the backroom door shut.

Flustered your deslerately scramble to clean yourself up. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You hurridly cry.

Her voice turned into a long and uncertain "uuuhhhhh" as she tried to find the words to describe how she's feeling. "The ummm. The bathroom is kinda gross. Did yo-did you want to use the staff room?" She finally utters. "Its just me here. Perfectly safe."

You sigh. Tired, hungry and heavy, and in desperste need of being milked, you agree. Slipping the white shirt she gave you on, you couldn't deny it left little to the imagination.

Quickly you open the door and slip awkwardly through the pharmacy. Your belly and tits swinging as you do. The wet stains around your nipples getting larger, revealing your dark areolas underneath. After what felt like an eternity of exposure you cross the threshold and slip into the backroom of the store. The clerk quickly closing in behind.

She pulls up a large office chair and gestures you to sit down. You happil oblige, resting your monsterous belly on your lap and your leaking breasts on your belly. The sigh of relief came involentarily as you thank her.

Her smile turned from carring to ceniving as she locks the door behind her. "Now we're alone, I need you to take that top off."

"E-excuse m-me?"

The pharmacist drops down to her knees and begins kissing your enormous belly. "Big girl, you're going nowhere like this. I heard the noises you made. And i know you think i'm cute. Come on." She says, lifting your struggling shirt and sweezing oil into her hands. "Be a good girl for me."

You couldn't help but yelp at her touch, but something about her stern stare made you melt. Between your partner being gone and your sudden pregnancy, you were keen for something certain. Your body relaxed as she went.

She lifted your shirt off completely and exposed your collosal breasts. Rounded, swolen with milk, yet so large they flopped to either side of your mamoth belly. Pinned beneath it, stuck in this chair, the pharmacist had her way with you.

She dragged a tongue up your belly, around your breasts, lapping up stray milk. She sent shivered down your spine. Thrulls of pleasure followed too as she latched onto your swolen nipple. She sucked. Your nipples, raw and wanting, felt a wash of instant relief as you felt your warm milk release from its prison.

Your stray hand reached low, past your belly, in search of your pussy. You were dripping wet. You dove deep into yourself to lube up your finger and began rubbing your clit. You moaned as the gorgeous woman sucked away at your breasts, still rubbing lotion on your belly.

You quickly fell into the pit of pleasure. Your pace was steady and you begged her to keep going. With your other hand you took hold of your spare and swollen tit and squeezed. A yelp jumped from your lips. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your sprayed milk across the back room.

It wasn't long before the pleasure built to a breaking point. You tried to hunch forward but your belly got in the way. You let go of your tit and gripped the desk beside you as hard as you could as you reach climax.

For the first time in weeks you finally felt satisfied. Panting and sweating you look over at your new friend with a greatful smile. She returns the feeling.

But as you stand to leave your legs give out. Not just regular jelly legs, you look down and realise you've only gotten larger. Your belly stretches out to your knees, and your breasts fall down by your side. You can see them swelling with fresh milk. Your thighs have grown and your fat ass is stuck in the chair.

You look up helplessly at the pharmacist as she kneels down between your legs and vanished behind your belly.

[mochatune]

Solivan brugmansia x reader who’s obsessed with him back hcs

—-

- he first spotted you in the library, something about you brought a sense of deja vu.

- you had spotted him too of course but for different reasons. He was in your spot.

- he knew it was. He had sat there on purpose. After multiple days seeing you, goading himself to speak to you, he found the courage to throw himself as a roadblock so you too would notice him.

- he certainly caught your attention. Cheeks puffed and stomping towards him.

- he wasn’t going to be a suck up and give you back “your spot” as far as he was concerned no ones name was plastered on that seat plus this was his chance to have a proper conversation with you.

- you had briefly considered your options to hopefully persuade him out of the seat, something like coffee crosses your mind. After all there was a cafe right there, but since he wants to be so difficult he doesn’t deserve your money or any more of your time.

- having a moment of courage you stomped up to him and plopped yourself on his lap. You swear the energy in the room became rigged, frozen even.

- it’d been about a minute since he’s moved, he’s been dead still since you sat down; You can’t read your book like this.

- “hey can you relax? You’re making me uncomfortable, I don’t bite.” You added the last part with a subtle smile

- now that he’s actually breathing, you ease yourself into his lap. He doesn’t have much meat on his bones but you’re comfortable regardless.

- feeling his arms rest where your elbows lie on the curvatures of the chair, he’s slightly looking over your shoulder. Looks like he forgot about his own book trailing the pages with you.

- despite your blazing moment of boldness you had felt an anxiety creep in, the way his breath reverberated off the back of your neck made you sweat with pressure. You wished you had gotten a better look at him, only seeing his dark tinted nails and pale hands as you glance down from your book onto the arm rests.

- with the boldness wearing off you decide to focus your attention onto the time. To your luck it’s about time to travel to your next class.

- you get off his lap slowly while giving an apologetic smile for your past behaviour towards his personal space. In the process scanning his features, despite the quick glance he was actually very good looking.

- He had hoped that moment would last forever.

- on your way to class you just couldn’t stop thinking about him, two parts of your brain arguing about wether you wanted to see him again. A new hallway crush at the very least. You too were stuck on his mind.

- lo and behold he’s in your art class, fuck.

- your heart was going to implode as you snuck glances at him accidentally hooking gazes with him. His ears tinted red as the gaze was averted mutually while you probably looked like a strawberry.

- you zoned out the teachers instructions with your own overbearing thoughts, he kept sneaking his way into your consciousness. Him and his dumb cute face.

- he had insisted on drawing you, probably for the better considering anytime you look his way you get jittery. Patiently leaned forward in a 3/4th view.

- you try to act casual, you really do but you just cant maintain eye contact. Looking at him for just a second before you shift your gaze to the wall behind him. Seems to be the same case for him as he occasionally hides his red face behind his sketch pad, must be spring allergies.

- by the end of class he claims he’s only halfway done despite it looking beautiful. You exchange pleasantries before speed walking out. Sol.. Sol you liked that name testing it out a few more times as you walked away.

- tailing behind you he grabs you by the wrist, you feel like a schoolgirl the way he’s approaching you and the worst part is you’re enjoying it. You had just hoped he didn’t hear you.

- upon request you gave him your number for “school related activities” yeah right. At least you’re in the clear. Maybe this means you have a chance with him, fake it till you make it right?

- he stays stuck on your mind all the way home as you hunker on your bed looking at the piles of laundry you’ve been putting off. No matter what else you focus on it comes back to the thought of him.

- you practically pray for another moment of confidence as you hover over his newly added contact. Sighing as you throw your phone next to you.

- ding!

- you practically jump to your phone hoping for sol instead it’s just the group chat you’re in. Despite it not being him at least someone bothered contacting you.

- a Halloween party? ‘Sounds fun’ you text the group chat as you copy the photo and send it to sol. Maybe he’ll go if you invite him.

—-

“A Halloween party? Hosted by the school?”

“Yeah!”

“I'm not quite into parties…”

“Oh…”

- You knew it wasn’t appropriate to grow this attached but you still felt your heart drop.

“Oh! Well, that's alright! Just asking, that's all :)”

- Promptly putting your phone face down next to you saddened.

- ding!

“Wait”

“if you're coming, then I'm coming as well”

“Really?!”

“Really”

- feeling your heart suddenly come burst out

“Do you plan on dressing up?”

“Idk… do you?”

“I mean, it's a costume party, so why not?”

“I'll try to think of something then.”

(The text convo was copy pasted from EchikoHoshisuki on Ao3)

——

- this excited you more then you could ever know, jumping out of bed to go and find a costume and perfect your makeup so it looks bomb for the party.

- you stood awake until 2am thinking about that guy, just what the hell was wrong with you. You wished he’d text you back.

- he couldn’t stop thinking about you, his soulmate as he pleasured himself. He’d hope to have a day like that with you a million more times.

- you finally fall asleep with him still plaguing your mind.

- Saturday is quick to pass as you spend it inside practically rotting in bed, you do have to do laundry before it gets too dark though.

- it’s about 5pm when you head out with your dirty clothing in a janky old cart, the local laundromat is placed conveniently across the street. You roll the dirty wheels over the unpaved side walk, each bump making the cart and the clothing wobble slightly.

- you hang around with a book as you wait for the wash cycle to finish, seemingly unaware of your surroundings.

- after flirting with the idea of reading, two pages later you look up and give the room a swipe. The wash cycle on your machine still has 15 minutes left on it.

- maybe it’d just be better to daydream about the person you’re trying to distract yourself from, seems like it’s a good time waster. You decide to do just that for the remainder of your wash cycle.

- you swear you just saw a lock of green hair

- you must be going crazy, you’re thinking about him so much that it’s like he’s really there.

- you feel a tap on your shoulder.

- Oh he really is there. You make eye contact with his orange hues, feeling a warmth creep up your neck and onto your cheeks.

- fuck

- why does simple eye contact turn you into a mess with this guy.

- deciding to not be a square you perk up and ask him dumb ass small talk questions. You know the; “the weathers nice, huh?”, “how are you?”, “excited for tomorrow?”.

- You knew you were excited for tomorrow. School events didn’t typically get you excited but knowing he would be there made it worth it.

- despite the obvious lack of originality in these conversations starters it was still pleasant speaking with him. Hell, even just staring at him was enough for you. Maybe just thinking about him was good enough to hold you over. For now anyway.

- you wanted to talk more, you really did. Glancing over to your machine you see the wash cycle had just ended. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and kiss him as you bid your goodbyes. He did too. But instead you opted for a wave and a smile, as did he.

- upon coming home and hanging your laundry out on a rack you still thought about him, you were going back to that laundromat the exact same time next week just to talk to him outside of school.

- he lived half an hour away from that laundromat. He had caught a glimpse of you one day while out in your area. No particular reason why he was there.

- he couldn’t stop thinking about you either, deciding to go with his own dirty laundry on the day he saw you. He was so lucky you were there.

- I love him

- I love her

- you force yourself to go to sleep that night. The excitement of tomorrow seeping in.

- you have about an hour before you need to head out, deciding on a simple mummy look. You were told very short notice, this was really all you could pull together. You figure if the makeup looks bomb then no one will pay attention to the lack of originality.

- throwing the look together with white eye contacts to really get that corpse look, you twirl in the mirror and head out. Toilet paper already tearing at your feet.

- upon arrival you see your friend group crowded at the entrance all sporting their unique styles. Brittney was dressed in a gyaru style, typical but it was cute. Jess sporting a simple cat ear headband and a tail, looks like it was short notice for her as well. Lastly, Crowe who seems to have put the most effort in was dressed as a knight in shining armor. Literally.

- you talked to them for a respectable amount of time. They were nice and they looked great your mind was just elsewhere.

- you had to find him, he’s like 80% of the reason you didn’t bail out of the plan. Sure, you went for your friends too but him coming was what really sold the deal. Otherwise you would have found an absurd excuse to stay home and scroll Instagram for hours.

- you inched your way out of the conversation, it seemed Crowe wanted you to stay and chat more as he immediately asked where you were going as you slowly but surely walked away.

- you caught a glimpse of sol just then, he was covered head to toe in toilet paper?

- god you guys accidentally matched, you could only hope he wouldn’t think you’re some crazy stalker.

- despite enjoying the chat you had to go talk to him, you just had to. You reassured Crowe you’d all talk later as you ran off into Sol’s direction.

- slowing your pace as you see the love of your life

- ahem

- Sol. As you see Sol wrapped in toilet paper just as you were. Awkward.

- he looks your way, himself blushing at the realisation you both were matching. Another reason for him to believe you both were destined to be together.

- he had to have you. Tonight.

- he could not and would not wait any long he decided as he looked at you. Thank god for the toilet paper covering over half his face, he’s redder than a tomato.

- as you finally approach him you both talk as he whisks you away somewhere more private.

- he lures you away from the crowds, to tell the truth you were grateful. You didn’t even want to come to this stupid party.

- it was weird when he had you follow him into a dark creepy alleyway but it wasn’t creepy as long as he was there by your side.

- you both stood there, awkwardly, as he stood at a distance ahead of you. He was acting strange but the red flags didn’t bother you so long as it was him.

- though it was even weirder when he lunged at you and stuck a wet cloth in your face. It made you woozy as your vision went black.

- you awake tied to a chair, you can barely piece together what happened last night. Only bits and pieces coming to you, you have a killer headache too. Maybe you could chalk it up to drinking too much if you weren’t strapped down to a cheap ass chair.

- it was actually pretty sturdy as you tried breaking your way out of it. You can only let out a defeated sigh hoping someone will come and save you, you scream but it seems that no one can hear you.

- except him.

- Upon hearing footsteps you’re pretty nervous, opting to stay as quite as possible.

- it’s him, thank god. You feel yourself immediately sink into the wood of the chair and your breath flow becomes less forced.

- he enters the basement with what looks like a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of water. He looks cute in his inside clothes.

- he doesn’t seem to be in a rush to untie you, which is weird. If he wanted you to come home with him you would have.

- he’s still, just staring at you. You can’t maintain eye contact for too long before you blush and avert gazes again. curse your nerves.

- you’re not sure what to say, honestly you’re just happy it’s him and not some creep.

- it’s a relief when he walks up to you with that tray of food, you’re honestly kind of hungry. Maybe he’ll untie you if you comply.

- “you know, you don’t have to tie me up to make me stay by your side.. heh” you offer a nervous chuckle hoping to lighten up the mood. Biting your lip to quell your anxiety.

- he perks up at this, stopping his movements with the silverware as it sloppily clangs onto the edge of the porcelain bowl.

- his face is covered, not even just covered. Drenched in a red hue, sweat runs down his forehead as he hurriedly wipes it away with his sleeve.

- that reaction gave you knots of your own, even after holding you captive you still somehow can’t get enough of him.

- he fidgets with the silverware, opting for the silence as he feeds you. It shouldn’t have made you hot and bothered but it did.

- the way he’d dab at the food that clung to the corners of your lips with his fingers gave you a visceral reaction. You briefly considered licking him honestly.

- must resist the urges. God you really were desperate.

- somewhere down the line he unties you, it doesn’t even take a fully day to get his trust. It didn’t even take you a full day to warm up to him.

- if he wants you here so be it.

- maybe you weren’t as crazy about him as he was to you but you must have had a screw or two loose to enjoy the attention he was giving you.

- you’d miss him when he ran off to school wishing he just wouldn’t bother at all. Days he’d leave you alone in the house were torture.

- you missed him all the time.

- sometimes you’d think about tying him down so he couldn’t leave you.

- you two really are just two peas in a pod

—-

Look i know these barely count as head canons considering they’re supposed to be vague but I honest to god just really hate writing one shots.

This one really took the wind out of me, I do not usually dedicate this much time to an hc but there is NOTHING for this guy online. Possibly due to the game only being a demo right now.

Anyways, I hope the longevity of this isn’t bothersome, I’ve only seen a small handful of readable fics for this guy and wanted to separate myself from the masses. I heavily utilized EchikoHoshisuki’s fic on Ao3 as inspiration for my own, I’m hoping by mentioning their name they’ll add another chapter soon 😅 Maybe expect something for broken colors or yours game next.

And yesss, I know there are still unanswered asks in my inbox. I just have commitment issues but I love y’all and I promise at some point in my life they will be answered.

[livelaughlovesubs]

okay my dude, have you seen the recent hsr leaks about mr. reca??2?2?2?2?1!#+@( I am so down bad for that man you wouldn't understand........ anyways, I'd like to ask for prompt 28 (fitting them with a collar) with him :3333

- anon

I saw!!! But I don’t have a single clue what his personality is like! I’d guess a fun but sly character? Welp, let’s see how this goes (I have no ideas help)

Dom!Actor!reader x sub!Reca - reader is GN

Warning: collaring, teasing, fwb…?

Anniversary event

“Oh come y/n, for old time’s sake, do it for me, alright?” You clicked your tongue, not even looking at the individual who was talking to you, back facing to them with your arms crossed, “I won’t do it, I told you already.” A moment of silence, before they sighed and closed the distance between you two, “why won’t you take that role?”

“Mr. Reca, will you please respect my choices?” Suddenly you turned around and raised your voice, seeing him lean against the couch in the middle of the room, wearing a fading smile. “I need you for that role, there’s no one else who can take it.” He repeated once again, then continued with, “and I won’t leave until I’ve convinced you, or, if you gave me a reason for your decision.” You slammed one hand onto the makeup table in front of you, putting the other against your forehead. “If I gave you a reason, you’ll have hope, and keep trying.”

The male kept quite, he couldn’t argue with that one, “if it because of the writing? Or the personality of the character?” You shook your head, “no, none of that. Don’t bother me any further, Reca, don’t let our friendship go to waste because of some measly dispute.” He scoffed, grinning widely, throwing his head back in a defeated stance, “I’ve already got sponsors and began the preparations, I can’t go back now. Y/n, help me out, I don’t want to end up as minced meat.”

You chuckled, answering his plead with a sarcastic smile, “it’s your own fault. Don’t worry, I can introduce you to some actors.” Reca looked down to his feet, taking a deep breath, exhaling, before staring you in the eyes, “no, I still want you, and I won’t have it any other way.” After debating for so long, you thought he’d finally crave in, though it seems you underestimated his resolve. “Reca, i-” “yea yea, you don’t want to, got it. So, what can I do to convince you?”

Your eyes widened at that, it took you a while to compose yourself, “wow, your resolve is admirable, but I don’t think I’ll fold.” The brunette stepped away from the couch, getting closer to you, mumbling, “don’t be shy now~ you can request whatever you want. A deal, of some kind, what do you think?” It’d be a lie to say you weren’t intrigued, just how far could you push his buttons, you wondered. “Whatever?” You repeated his words in a questioning tone.

“Whatever.”

“Do your movies mean more to you than your life?” You joked, shaking your head in disbelieve. “Let’s see what I can make you do.” His eyes lit up, his usual cheerfulness returned, “so you agree? Haha! You have my gratitude, y/n! Aeons, lemme kiss you.” Out of nowhere he hugged you and kissed you on the cheeks, both sides, before taking a few steps back. You on the other hand froze, blinking a few times, remembering his eccentric tendencies, then gagging out a, “don’t thank me- it’s a mutual deal.”

“Right, that reminds me, got any idea what you want?” Reca smirked again, he was in a usually good mood now. “I’ll just have you as my pet.” You eventually said, then you specified your statement, “ah, and I’ll only cooperate as long as you are my pet.” When you looked over at him again, his mouth hung agape, red eyes shrunk a little while he stood there like a statue. “…you are joking.” He asked carefully. “I’m not.”

An awkward silence broke out once more, luckily he broke the ice after a few seconds, though it was done with a condescending comment, “Right, you were an eccentric like that.” A breathy laugh escape you, “hah, says who?” You two kept eye contact for a while, then he gave up and hide his face in his hand, groaning, “urghhhhhhh.” A faint blush covered his ears, and probably his cheeks as well.

“So?” You questioned, wondering if that was too much for him. “What? Of course i agree.” Reca frowned, an embarrassed scorn on his face, why were you so nonchalant about all of this? After getting his consent, you couldn’t help but sigh, “You really are a slave to your production.” He grinned again, winking at you, “Aren’t we all slaves to our desires?”

You thought about it, opening the drawer of the furniture behind you, taking something out before taking a few steps closer to the rather tall male in front of you. “Yea, you are right, it’s a part of being human I guess.” Then you wrapped the leather around his neck, pulling gently, tightening it. When you were done, you raised his chin, teasing him with a hint of irony, “don’t take it off, it’s a gift from me, your master.” His breathing hitched, but he didn’t back down, feeling the weight of the situation finally catching up to him.

“I’m sure the movie will turn out great, all thanks to you.” He then stated, rubbing the collar around his neck, feeling a weird sense of comfort inside him. You nodded, “of course it will, I don’t tolerate failures.” Reca laughed softly, then whispered meekly, “right. For that, I’ll be a good pet in return, master.”

[eiightysixbaby]

eddie’s handcuffed to his bed frame, brows knit together as he whines for you. the tip of his cock is red and leaking and pleading, seeking attention as it twitches where it barely rests on his lower abdomen. he’s begging you to suck his cock, whimpering when you just barely glide your tongue over his slit, fingers squeezing the meat of his ass before just barely teasing his hole.

“baby - fuck,” he whines, throwing his head back. “please, pleasepleaseplease.”

“please what, eds?” you hum, knowing exactly what he wants but getting too much of a thrill from teasing him to stop just yet.

“need you to suck my cock, please baby please,” he groans, every word sounding strained, like he can’t possibly take another second of waiting.

the veins in his neck are protruding, his jaw clenched in desperation. you almost feel bad for him, but he just looks so pretty like this you can’t help but tease him. his chest rises and falls, his arms tugging weakly on the cuffs.

“please - fuck,” he curses when the tip of your index finger prods at his tight hole, not breaching it but applying enough pressure to make him needier. “can’t fuckin’ take it anymore, baby.”

“no?” you taunt, sticking your tongue out and licking a flat stripe all the way up his shaft.

he lurches forward, a long and low whine leaving his lips. his bangs are beginning to stick to his forehead with a thin layer of sweat, his chest heaving as you get him more and more wound up. sticky pre-cum drips from his swollen head, whines escaping his mouth incessantly as your tongue licks at his balls.

“want me to make you cum, sweet boy?” you ask, batting your lashes up at him innocently.

“yes, god, fuck yes. need to cum for you baby,” he groans.

“do you think you deserve to cum?” you continue, tongue kitten licking his tip so gently he can barely feel it.

“fuuuuck - yes baby, I’ve been so good, been so patient,” he insists, a deep crease formed between his brows where they furrow together. his eyes are glassy as they look at you, and you know you’ve got him so drunk on you already.

“mmm,” you hum, fingers trailing up his thighs featherlight before you finally take him into your mouth.

eddie moans obscenely loud as your lips engulf him, your index finger slipping inside him at the exact same time your mouth takes his cock. your tongue swipes over the salty pre-cum that had escaped his weeping tip, lapping it up eagerly. you bob your head, taking him as far into your throat as you can before pulling back off.

“babybabybaby,” eddie whines, bucking his hips up slightly.

your free hand forces him back down onto the mattress, keeping him right where you want him. you curl your finger tentatively inside of him, gauging his reaction and liking it when he curses under his breath. you continue the motion, your middle finger pressing into his ass as well, pulling moans from him again and again as you continue to blow him. you let your tongue drag over every vein and ridge, savoring every bit of him as you hum contentedly around his thick shaft. you can see the sheen of sweat coating eddie’s chest, can see the way his eyes roll back in his head as you work him towards release. you can feel the way he clenches around your fingers, his cock twitching in your mouth, pitiful cries coming from the beautiful boy splayed on the bed for you.

he’s so worked up, so strung out it doesn’t take him long at all before he’s cumming down your throat. your finger pumps in and out of him as warm ropes of his release fill your mouth, dribbling onto your chin a little when you pull off of him. it’s too much for you to swallow all of it, the briny taste lingering in the back of your throat as you move up to kiss him. his tongue parts your lips, licking around your mouth and tasting himself, a pleased little sound coming from deep in his throat.

you situate yourself on top of him, sinking down onto his sensitive cock without much of a warning. he’s whimpering and writhing, hissing when you start to bounce on him.

“what, baby? too sensitive?” you coo, stroking his face with your fingers patronizingly. eddie nods, his eyes pinching shut. “oh, but do you really want me to stop? or are you gonna let me fuck myself on your cock like a good boy?” you ask, leaning down to press kisses along his jawline and his cheek.

a low growl escapes his throat at your words, his hips bucking up involuntarily as you rock yours against him. it’s all the answer you need to keep going, using him like your toy until you unravel around him.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Astray far away, towards the lands of the enemy.

Adar x reader | SMUT🔞

When orcs cross your lands you choose survival. After that you choose selfish desire which makes for a nice turn of events.

WC: 2.2k

Part one of the Lets make Adar a dad fic

Waldreg was a rat, always had been.

But nowadays, with evil lurking he was making quite the points to assure survival. 

After Bronwyn gave her speech about fighting and Waldreg had countered it with bowing down for survival you had followed him out of the gates of Ostirith, and during the night, bowed down before your enemy.

Before you, Waldreg made a speech of loyalty but was ignored by the orcs' leader.

Ignored until he had called him Sauron. 

You watched Waldreg be grabbed by the throat and thrown to the ground, still offering loyalty to whoever the man before you all might be.

Again he was ignored, as the man took Rowan who stood right before you and was dragged to face the crowd, forced to kneel as the orc leader tossed a dagger at Waldreg's chest. Finally speaking.

"Only blood can bind." 

Before your eyes, in the torch lit town you watched as Waldreg did as instructed, and killed your friend to pledge his loyalty.

Next thing you knew you were following along with orders, listening to Adar give his speech to the Uruks he called his childen. Abd then trying to hide from your now enemies, praying the Uruks recognised you as their ally.

Only the Uruks weren't the biggest of your worries as another troop came in on horseback to aid the oposing forces.

So you hid with the remainder of the troop that managed to escape. You hid in the woods until the ground shook and fire rained from the sky and by the time the enemy fled you were back with Adar and the others and the start of building a new home was done.

The Southlands were no longer, from now on you were citizens of Mordor.

Scouts were sent off and remaining troops arrived with all belongings, ready to build.

But first it was time for celebration.

Uruks howled and feasted on fallen soldiers, even offering you some meat but you politely declined. 

Instead you found the other humans, all getting drunk off whatever survived the onslaught. So you moved on from them too, not feeling like drinking after all that happened. Your last stop was somewhere off at the edge of the town's remains where you stared at the smouldering ashes and low dancing flames on the edge of dying out.

That too didn't bring your mind peace and quiet, so you moved on again. Wandering around until you almost ran into someone after turning a corner. 

"Not of the celebrating kind, child?" Adar himself stood before you, two mugs in hand. He offered one to you as he went to sit on some fallen support beams.

"I'm not really one for getting drunk or feasting on my enemies' flesh, no." You joined his side and sat down. "Don't take me wrong, I am glad your Uruks have a home now." Your words ended with a smile, buried behind the drink. It was bad how you wanted to stare at the man for as long as you could. You had wanted it since you first watched him throw Wardreg and had Rowan killed. No one should look that good doing all of that.

"You know your eyes speak enough. No need to hide, I can read you." His gloved hand raised to lower your mug.

"This is good, what is it?" You tried your best to change the topic of conversation with a genuine question.

"A simple Uruk made red wine the last group brought in. Is it that different from what you served here?" He gestured to the tavern that you sat behind and looked at you with a curious look. 

"It's so nice and warm." It brought you comfort so you sipped away at it, the nerves of everything happening today finally leaving you. "So strange, it's so much nicer than ours." 

This time it was Adar changing the topic again. "Shall we go join the others? Surely you'd warm up to my children quicker that way." His offer was a kind one, filled with elven charm he still possesed even after becoming what he was now. 

"I think I prefer the less chaotic energy here, in all honesty. Being able to talk and drink wine, it's nice." 

And it was nice, even Adar agreed. Now that he and his children had a home there was no need for endless planning and strategizing to keep him busy anymore. 

"I admit, you are right. Having a quiet conversation just for the pleasure of it is something I have not done in a long while." He watched you place your mug down, impressed with how quickly you had downed the wine for a mere mortal who claimed not caring about getting drunk. 

You placed the mug down and thanked the wine for silencing the voice in your head as you sat straight up and murmured something. Adar didn't catch what it was, and questioned you about it.

"I said," With a swift move you flung your leg over his lap and straddled him. "There is probably other things that you have not done for pleasure in a very long time." 

Adar followed your quick movements with ease, hus gloved hand ending on your hip. Metal digging into your skin to steady you as his other hand came up to rest at your jaw.

Your actions intrigued him. "You assume right." His gloved hand sqeezed a bit harder, making you squirm in his lap as the sharp edges pressed deeper against your bones. "Now, what did you have in mind now that you have sat yourself so selfishly onto my lap?" He wasn't actively moving you off him so you took your chances to move along, inching closer to his face and pressing a swift peck to his jawline before nuzzling his neck. 

You only got a confused grunt in response, which had you decide to think more as an Uruk, and bite down on his flesh and grind your hips against his. It earned you a low growl and a sharp pull of your hair that disconnected your lips from his throat. 

"You wish to be rough, little mortal?" His gaze changed into an amused grin, taking your hip and shoulder in hand as he manouvered you onto your back, legs still over his as he moved himself atop of you. 

His legs on either side of the fallen structure with your hips pulled up against his, a sharp metal hand pressing into the soft plump of your cheeks prying open your jaw to push a finger past your lips. 

His ungloved hand went to find the ends of your garment and tear it off your lower half, exposing you to the night air while you struggled to move against the iron grasp on your jaw and the metal digging into your tongue.

"How good of you, to wet your master's fingers for him.." His lips barely an inch from your ear, returning the act of biting down on your earlobe with a soft growl and licking the sensitive flesh. 

You mewled as his gloved hand left your face, sharp fingertips dragging down over your clothed torso as he sat back up, untill it reached bare skin. You gasped as he continued south, two fingers moving just off your centre, pulling a soft plea from you. "P.. please, no.."

 He watched in amusement as he pressed the flats of his fingers against your mound, just the leather of his glove on your skin. He drank in the fear that mixed with your arousal, adding to his own fire and exposing you further, leaving your body bare to see for anyone who'd wander past.

You could feel his hard length press against you as he rutted his hips against you, his hands toying with your chest making you moan out in pleasure. 

He groaned in return, moving to undo his trousers and free his cock, wetting it with your slick. 

"It's been long since I have felt this warmth." He breathed out, postitioning his tip at your entrance. You whined with every inch of his length stretching you open, wrapping your legs around his waist as best as you could. The sounds of the Uruks ans men partying drowned out more with each roll of Adar's hips, forcing a moaned breath out of you each time. 

He stilled as he bottomed out, hips slotted with yours in a near perfect matter. Leaning forward on his hands his hair framed his face, lust blown eyes staring deep into yours. There was a slight pant in his breath. "I will keep you." His gloved hand moved to your chest, metal fingers toying with your nipple making you whine out. "Y.. yes Lord Father.." Pain and pleasure mixed in the best way. "You are mine to seek pleasure with howevever I wish." 

Your hands moves to clas at his thighs in an attempt to make him move. "My body belongs to you, Lord Father." 

Your words spurred him on and with a hand on your hip he started moving, cock leaving you almost fully before thrusting back in and setting a steady pace. 

Cries of pleasure filled the ashen air, groans and pleased grunts joining the choir behind the tavern. "L..lord Father.. Adar.." Your voice was barely abouve a whisper. " your hand found his hair, fingers scratching his scalp. "Plant your seed.. Use me to continue your bloodline." 

His thrusts became more harsh, forcing a gasp from you each time his hips came in contact with yours. "Would you.. truly give up your body.. like that?" He panted between breaths, he hadn't bred in Ages, not feeling the need to produce more offspring. The concept of having a family of his own beside his Uruk children was foreign to him. 

"Please.." You pulled him in closer with your heels pressed into his back, moaning as his cock hit just right inside you.

"Make me a mother." 

Adar's hips stilled entirely as he looked down on you, a grin spread wide on his faceas he lifted his gloved hand and brought a fingertip down below your chest hard enough to break skin. You could not see what he did, only feel the carving of flesh obscured by the plump of your breast.

He did not speak, nor try to show you. Instead resumed his rough pace as if nothing had happened.

"You will bear my children, yes? For as long as I please. Until your body is no longer fit to carry offspring." His raspy voice was right at your ear, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin on your neck as he bred you. 

"Ahh..Adar.. hah.." Your moans increased the closer you got to the edge. They were music to Adar's ears.

Not like the animalistic howls and roars of thr Uruks he had gotten so accustomed to. No, your sounds were addicting. 

Your hand found his ungloved one, guiding it between your legs to press two fingers down on your clit, silently begging him to pull you over the edge. On contact you cried out, pleading over and over until the coil snapped and you came, walls clamping down on his cock in extacy.

With no chance to catch your breath your cries turned into begging for rest, a moment to come down but instead Adar kept playing with your clit, fucking into you at the perfect angle that hit every right spot inside of you. The display amused him, filing it all away for if he ever found himself alone and in need of relief.

Before you he panted, chest heaving and mouth hanging open. His tongue rolled out past his smiling lips, a string of drool lowering and disconnecting from the tip of his tongue, dripping down right above your core. His already slick fingers gathered it and spread it all over where his cock disappeared into your folds. 

It reminded you that you weren't producing a child with an elf. You were being bred by an Uruk. 

Adar's growls and sighs got more frequent along with his thrusts becoming less rythmic. He was as close as you were again.

His hinistrations continued, fingers dancing over your sensitive bundle of nerves as his cock stroked thr spot that had you see stars from the inside. 

You threw your head back with one last gut wrenching moan, squeezing your walls around his cock once more and pulling him over the edge with you. With a low growled moan he spilled deep within your womb, stilling to catch his breath.

As he tucked himself back into his trousers he watched your close to unconsious form, eyes closed and breaths evening out.

In your current state you could no longer register the Uruks that had gathered because of the noise, watching their Adar who mated with one of the new women. 

He was unsure how long they had been there or how much they saw, but from the howls and cheers he figured they had seen enough. 

With a glare in their direction, Adar sent away his children and covered your bare skin to the best of his abilities. You needed a new set of clothes. 

With you wrapped in his arms he set off to find a place for you to sleep while he sent others on a hunt for clothes. 

[runa-falls]

Hello Pornstar!Steven was so fucking good???

Thinking about Pornstar!Steven begging for your tongue just one time, promising he can last, and absolutely writhing under you when you finally press it flat against his cock, rolling it against his tip in a way that has his back arching in thirty seconds tops. He’s a mess, because of course he is, splayed out on the leather couch with his slacks around his thighs, one leg hanging off, one hand gripping the back of the couch for leverage, as if that will help him still the very obvious tells his body is giving you the closer he gets to cumming. His curls are unruly, more than a little tousled from all but throwing his head back into the plump pillows, lips glossy and a bit swollen from the way he’d been biting them in a pathetic attempt to keep quiet—hair and makeup was going to have your head when he finally stumbles onto set.

Thinking about all the things you’ve had to learn about Pornstar!Steven to properly do your job. You had been shyly informed by him when you first met that pain wasn’t really his thing—but you had learned, as did he, that it was a glaring exception when it came to hickies. Obviously you don’t get to leave them too often(it would probably ruin viewer immersion if he had a dozen bruises littered across his chest when his co-star finally got him out of his priest-wear), the first time had been a complete accident, if your being honest. He’d come in a bit pent up already, mouth slotting against yours desperately almost as soon as he stepped in the room—so you focused your attention on his thighs when you finally got settled, just close enough to where he really wanted your mouth, but far enough that there wouldn’t be any mishaps. When his mouth wasn’t busy, Steven always had a tendency to ramble, telling you how good you were making him feel, pleading for more, whatever he could get out of you… He really had no business sounding that good, looking that good. His hips had twitched up, a whine falling from his pretty lips—and you had bit down a little harder on the meat of his inner thigh than you intended to. You had realized your mistake a beat too late, lathed your tongue over the place to soothe the mark and pulled back to apologize, but were met with Steven’s dazed look instead. His pupils were blown, set on the red mark that was surely going to bruise, voice absolutely wrecked when he finally muttered, “Do that again, please- Please, darling? One more-”

You couldn’t, of course, but that didn’t stop him from begging for it the next time your mouth was on his neck. Or the time after that. It was a miracle you could refuse him anything, the entire crew had fallen victim to those big brown eyes one time or other, you were no exception.

Overall, obsessed with it❤️ thank you so much for that

FIRST OF ALL -- WHAT HAVE I DONE TO BE GRACED BY THIS??? 🫠 i freaking love my readers !

i saw this last night, but wanted to read through it carefully in the morning to get the full experience. this response is much longer than i intended [1.2k], but the ask was just too good not to analyze !!

cw: explicit smut (18+) (what did you expect lmao), dacryphilia, marking, and no-contact orgasm bc steven is needy and all that

let's talk:

"[he's] splayed out on the leather couch with his slacks around his thighs, one leg hanging off, one hand gripping the back of the couch for leverage" -- girl i can SEE it now oh my lordddd.

you're so right, steven is the type of guy to literally melt under you as you take him apart, piece by piece, letting you do whatever you want, too weak to even protest. he always attempts to hold his own as first, wanting to seem calm and collected, but as soon as you touch him, his whole facade dissipates.

"lips glossy and a bit swollen from the way he’d been biting them in a pathetic attempt to keep quiet" SCREAMING ?????

that's another thing, steven cannot keep quiet if it would save his life. at first you thought he was just a little more enthusiastic than his brothers, but he literally can't keep down those high pitched whines and moans when you're going down on him. Especially when you're going down on him.

it's adorable watching him try though. he often has to harshly grip onto a pillow or the couch, something tangible, to keep him grounded. keep him from grabbing onto you and potentially hurting you (though he's aware you wouldn't mind hehehe).

at home he can be loud. he can lose himself in you, blindly canting his hips as hot tears spill from his reddened eyes from how overwhelming perfect you fit around him.

he loves to nestle right into the crook of your neck while he's draped over you, panting broken words and hushed pleads right against your heat slicked skin. then he sobs, literally sobs, when he finishes in you, unable to fully comprehend the intensity of being with you. it's a feeling he had never known before meeting you, and he's addicted to it.

now, he makes several (shy) advances, even before shoots, craving your touch and that feeling of completely letting go in the comfort and security you provide. even with how boneless and exhaustingly serene he feels afterwards, he begs for it in the dressing room as you prep him.

you can only say "when we get home, baby."

but then he looks up at you with those pleading eyes glistening with adoration and need.

dammit, you almost give in. and you want to give in so bad, but luckily steven is a responsible sex-worker and nods understandingly.

"promise?"

"promise."

"You had been shyly informed by him when you first met that pain wasn’t really his thing—but you had learned, as did he, that it was a glaring exception when it came to hickies." ehehehe

first of all, him shyly saying: "um, i-i dunno if i could handle the whole...scratches and bites* thing." after waking up and seeing the marks you left on his brothers' chest and backs, is so cute 🥰 he really is just a wittle baby.

and you having to say "don't worry honey, i'll only do what you want." in return, bc i know those words would make him DIE inside (happily ofc).

*cross promo hehehe

AND THEN THE HICKIES AHHH

"you had bit down a little harder on the meat of his inner thigh than you intended to…His pupils were blown, set on the red mark that was surely going to bruise, voice absolutely wrecked when he finally muttered, “Do that again, please- Please, darling? One more-”

this is how you found out that hickies were not allowed when fluffing him:

the first time it happened was in one of your earlier sessions with him. you were still trying to figure out exactly what his limits and needs were (you were also going extra slow with steven as to not overwhelm him).

you're both still fully dressed, starting off with sweet kisses and cuddles -- it's safe, gentle, and slow -- your usual routine. you're straddling him as he modestly holds your hips to keep you close. he's throughly enjoying the kisses and you swear he'd spend the whole 20 minutes -- the whole day -- just making out with you if he could.

you break the kiss, ignoring his whine and attempts to recapture your lips, and move to his neck, dotting pecks and kitten licks on his sensitive skin, he practically vibrates under you, purring like a cat at your attention. at your hot mouth against his hot skin.

you've had an inkling that steven has something of an oral fixation, at least with you. even when you're simply hanging out, he stares hungrily at your mouth, half lidded eyes glazing over with obscene thoughts, thoughts he'd probably never voice.

to have your lips wrapped around his thumb, tongue laving against the pad of his finger, makes his knees weak. to have you engulfing his cock in your hot mouth, unbothered as he hits the back of your throat, ruins him. and you've seen it. that's why blowjobs are also on the blacklist.

well, pecks turn into kisses which eventually turn into light nips and suckling, but then you couldn't get enough. as your work on his throat intensifies so does the sounds he makes sighs to whimpers to shaky groans and desperate pleas overrun with voice cracks.

you can feel the faint outline of his clothed erection under you, throbbing and twitching whenever you suck him particularly harshly. so maybe he does like pain.

though you knew he had a call time soon, you kept going, completely going against professionalism, too fascinated by the immediate response you garnered from him. he flails helplessly under you, hips bucking against yours as you continue to paint his skin in red and purple blotches. you wish you could drink in those sounds, how intensely he needs you right now.

you're lost in your own world, tasting the sweetness of his skin, and don't even notice how his whole body suddenly stiffens against you until you hear that familiar cry.

your mouth tingles as you lean back from him, lips parted in shock. he looks equally as shocked, but infinitely more wrecked.

did he just...

"i-i...s-sorry. i didn't mean to! i just, couldn't help it." steven rambles, face flushed in embarrassment. his lips are plump and red, eyes glassy, a product of his attempts to hold back. he didn't even stand a chance. he couldn't even warn you.

he looks down dejectedly between your bodies and you follow his line of sight. a dark pool stains his jeans, illustrating just how much he enjoyed it despite his humiliation.

his neck is covered.

you could draw constellations on his neck with how many hickies you left on his skin. you smoothed your finger over one of the larger bruises and he shivers against your hold. you meet his eyes, sad and ashamed. god, he's so pretty.

"let's get out of here."

"wait what about the--"

"just...come home with me steven."

"o-ok."

-----

none of this was proof read bc i wrote it in a hurry!

thank you SO much for sending these wonderful ideas in nonnie <3

p.s if you're a writer pls send me ur blog so i (and the rest of my followers) can devour your content

[iamadequate1717]

Stede in Season 1

After seeing some rather awful bad faith takes flying around after 2x7, I'm throwing out a beginning defense of Stede Bonnet (loml). It seems insulting Ed's fish is the worst thing that anyone has ever seen, and it really seems to be a continuation of anti-Stede sentiments within the fandom and viewing him as a prop for Ed (and sometimes Izzy) rather than his own character. Fanon Stede is ever patient, ever kind, ever devoted to his partner, and I'm seeing a lot of shock that Stede is a flawed, imperfect person with his own needs, that he says things in the heat of the moment, that people are seeing a less interesting character than what DJenks and friends have created. Stede's a fucking lunatic and I like it.

I'm going to break this into a few posts as I ramble on to the end of 2x7. I have big thoughts on the ending, but I need to lead up to it! I am going to try to be as brief as I can up to the lead up, but I'm not happy with certain parts of the fandom right now (it's just a spat, love you all).

(If you haven't seen the "I hate Stede!" and "I'm so mad at Stede!" posts after 2x7, I am so, so jealous of how you have curated your social media experience.)

Part 1: Season 1

I'm going to note first that this is really a more rambly companion piece of this:

In time budgeting, most of Stede's character introduction and motivations are built into 1x1 through 1x3, but you all know it is a common refrain of these episodes: "Just wait for episode 4!" (OK for newbies, but huge side eye from me with people who have watched multiple times.) Episode 4 is when Act 2 of 3 of Season 1 begins. The foundations of the story have been laid, the cast has been fully assembled, and we enter the rising action (i.e., the meat) of the story in 1x4. It is not that Blackbeard alone improved everything: it was the story structure itself that shifted.

Preferring Act 2 (ep 4 to mid ep 8) and saying Act 1 was bad and "boring" is a disservice to the story and really robs yourself of the payoff action in Act 3 of Season 1 (and now Season 2), in particular with regards to Stede's character. It's a TV show, so you don't have to like all parts or watch it equally, but if you're going to criticize Stede and what he does, you can't ignore the part of the story that tells you the why of everything.

For example, we see people saying Prince Ricky is "exactly how Stede used to be!". Episode 3 disagrees.

Ricky is some Evil Star Trek Mirror Universe version of Stede, and they have fundamental differences in their view of piracy, which feeds into the action of the tail end of Season 2: Stede wants to be part of the piracy world, but Ricky thinks he's above it. The few hours in 2x7 that Stede spends enjoying being cool in the Republic of Pirates is overall sweet (sliding past the murder, lol), not a relationship red flag or Stede being a dick. If you tried to join a group and they finally embraced you, how would you initially act? Being excited for a few hours does not mean Stede has made a forever commitment to piracy and not Ed.

But, I digress. To me, Episode 2 (along with 6, 9, and 10) is far and away the peak of Season 1. We see the crew bonding (and those unique interactions are missing in Season 2's truncated runtime), and we get a deeper look into Stede's head: his initial naivety toward violence, his insecurities, his unique captaincy style and problem solving. If I look at just his insecurities, Badminton's Ghost is Stede talking to himself (like Hornigold was vocalizing Ed's feelings in 2x3). Stede is harsh with himself about his abilities and maturity, and we even see that he took Badminton's petty body shaming in 1x1 to heart.

(Oh, I have thoughts on Stede finally being told he's pretty and then instantly dumped!)

But he continues to degrade himself.

"You're a child with a toy" Stede says to himself. Compare this to Ned Low calling him a "bumbling amateur" in 2x6. Real people voicing these thoughts (like Chauncey in 1x9) messes Stede up.

The local therapist clearly lays out the motivation behind 1x9&10, and Stede still continues with the negative self talk.

And then we get the best mantra!

Yes, baby! You can only be as good as you can be, and you deserve the world.

Stede does not banish his guilt that is haunting him, but Ed comes in at Episode 4, and any more serious feelings is all about Ed.

(Second GIF is a joke. I know it's important to Ed's character. Plz, don't be mad.)

Ed is the deuteragonist, and the story now needs to spend time establishing Ed's character and motivations. This doesn't make Stede's go away, but if you only watch Episode 4 and on, that's what it looks like. There are brief moments of Stede's vulnerability and guilt from then, but not much.

(Side note from a Midwesterner: I've spent too much time finding out if "grain tower" is colloquial for "grain silo" somewhere, and I still don't know.)

Ed and Stede just met here. Ed isn't absorbing much of Stede's comments (Stede also feels trapped, Stede has family guilt, etc), but it goes the other way, too, doesn't it? Stede is recovering from his gut-stab, they're still in a life-or-death situation, and Stede is still feeling his guilt (and just saw more guilt ghost hallucinations). Registering and internalizing what Ed is saying doesn't take priority.

And they enter their cute early relationship phase: They have fun together! They can easily talk to one another! Stede easily forgives Ed wanting to kill him!

Again: in between all the cute and fun, all the heavy stuff is about Ed. Stede deals with the aristocrats who mocks Ed. Stede is gentle with Ed's red fabric. Stede listens to Ed's past without judgment. Stede openly accepts Ed as a friend. We don't see Ed engaging with Stede in a reciprocal manner.

(I was so delighted when Stede called some of this out in 2x4.)

Stede is a few steps behind in their relationship: He doesn't know it's a romance. He doesn't know he was flirting with Ed. He's not immediately understanding what the Act of Grace was to Ed (hubby commitment!) as he's having his Nigel guilt, family guilt, and being seconds away from death swamping him all at once.

In the academy, Ed isn't even listening to Stede. He's moved onto his domestic marriage role while Stede is dealing with his demons.

With 2x7, I see people saying, "Ed was very clear in wanting to leave piracy!" If he was speaking to someone fully engaged with him, I would agree. (That also doesn't make Stede having a few hours' fun the worst thing ever.)

(Aside of what I see below: In Season 2, I see overwhelming praise of Ed and Izzy's performances and very little on Stede. This is not to disparage TW or CO, but Ed and Izzy are more in-your-face and obvious with what is going on internally in their scenes and they are nailing the drama scenes. However, Stede becomes quieter, shutting down into himself, when having high feelings, and RD's acting is very subtle and very beautiful in these moments.)

In The (First) Kiss scene, Ed is clear! He just wants to be Ed, and Ed is happy just being with Stede.

But look what Ed walked in on:

Ed is saying things, but Stede is trying to process big feelings of his own at the same time. Stede is there self soothing, still thinking about what Ed ignored him about in the bunks. "How are you handling things so well?" means Stede isn't handling it well. Ed is excited, but he (and apparently some of the audience!) is brushing off all of what Stede is saying while expecting Stede to take to heart everything that Ed is saying. (I mean, the beginning of S2 shows why Ed is so excited for this life change, but it is frustrating!)

If you only feel bad for Ed at the end of 1x9, please try to imagine Stede's perspective: suppose you have low self worth and are consumed with guilt about people you've hurt and then are seconds away from death twice, are you going to be thinking clearly and prioritizing (and recognizing) the feelings of a guy you've known for a few weeks and didn't know you were dating?

Stede has drawn inward this whole conversation. His answers turn monosyllabic, and his body language turns more and more panicy as the heavy reality of everything sets in.

Stede enjoyed The Kiss, but was this the appropriate time for him? (Like Ed enjoyed The Sex, but was that the appropriate time for him?) They aren't in sync yet, but that doesn't make one party's feelings more valid than the other's or one party evil for being a bit ahead.

With 2x7, I don't know why people thought Stede should be a mind reader and be able to quickly piece together a few statements Ed made while Stede was mentally drowning.

I think it should be noted that as of the end of 2x7, Stede is the only crew member who hasn't had mental reflection and/or therapy in Season 2. He realized Mary, Alma, and Louis didn't need him and he was in love with Ed in 1x10, but the voice calling him a child with a toy, an idiot, weak, and ugly is still there.

Continued in Part 2! (Still to come...)

[celestialprincesse]

Casserole 🏜🥘

Fleetwood Mac hums low on the radio as you dance around the kitchen, curtains blowing softly against the windows let in to allow the evening breeze to cool the house in the hope of a good nights sleep tonight. The clatter of pots and pans is music enough, the sound of cicadas and birds settling in for the evening melting away as you focus on the large hunk of meat your large cleaver currently works to methodically debone. Lassie sits patiently at your feet waiting for any meat scraps that may fall from the counter, her head settled between her paws as you sing softly along to the quiet crackle of the music, slicing meticulously away, occasionally throwing a piece of fat down to the collie for her patience, and a show of your appreciation for her quiet company.

You swung by the auto shop on the way home, asked Dean what he knows about this new guy in town, found out he lives not too far from your place, confirmed Marlene's gossip that he's retired military. British SAS guy supposedly, and like Marlene, Dean also said you'd like him, and despite how much you'd love to deny it, they're both probably right, seeing as they've known you since you were in diapers and baby boots.

The pot on the stove bubbles along slowly, the smell of hot stock and vegetables permeating the kitchen as you allow yourself to get lost in your thoughts, from everything to bringing in the horses for the night to car parts you need to fix up the beat mustang which currently sits dormant in your garage. You've been far too busy to tinker with it, let alone to go out and buy parts that are tough to find for a car of that age.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

When you stand on the porch of the man you don't even know, you suddenly realise how bad of an idea this really is, how maybe you shouldn't have let Marlene talk you into this. There's a reason you never got back out there. It's too late to back out now seeing as you've already knocked on the door, and that heavy footfalls can already be heard approaching it. A gruff voice breaks you from your internal panic with a rumbly "Can I help you?"

You have to strain your neck to look up at him, eyes inadvertently widening as you clutch tighter to the handles of the casserole dish, looking at the man before you like a rabbit caught in a snare. You think he's smirking, although it's hard to tell with the balaclava he sports, odd considering he's in his own home, although maybe he heard your truck pull up along the gravel driveway

"I bought casserole." You mumble, sounding far less committal than you'd wish to, than you normally would. You practically shove the heavy pot into his chest, as though trying to prove yourself, which makes him chuff in amusement, looking down at you and the cast iron pot you clutch onto like a lifeline.

"Casserole." He repeats in an amused tone, looking attentively down at the pot with a raised eyebrow, reaching slowly out to the pot you grip, moving carefully as though trying not to startle you, a smirk pulling under the worn cotton of his black balaclava. "Famous Southern hospitality, huh?" The man before you muses, and your tummy flutters - you haven't felt this way in a long time, makes you so nervous you could puke, or squeal like a lovesick teenage girl.

"Only polite to welcome new folks into town. We don't get so many of them." You squeak, flushing red with embarrassment, albeit your shoulders drop in relief when he takes the weight of the casserole dish from you, lifting the lid and taking a sniff, eyes crinkling at the corners when his lips pull into an appreciative smile. He seems to freeze in thought for a moment before holding open the front door in a wordless invitation for you to enter.

His house is notably quiet, pretty empty too, which is understandable considering he's only been in town for a couple weeks, although it still feels odd compared the the homey atmosphere of your place, but then again, you've lived in it for most of your adult life, reliant on the quiet safety of a town which you know like the back of your hand, finding protection in nosy neighbours and the unchanging inhabitants of this place.

The man, who's name you still haven't caught, leads you into his rudimentary kitchen, placing the pot on the stove and clicking on the gas. "Never told me your name." You play at nonchalance, leaning your hip against the counter, crossing your arms against your chest whilst you stare - ogle - his back, and the wall of muscle that pulls under the fabric of his shirt.

"Simon." He grunts, turning back to you with an intrigued sort of look before he reaches into a half empty cabinet, withdrawing two glasses and a bottle of bourbon.

"You drink?"

[frozenjokes]

Another Much Needed Follow Up About Love and Aromanticism, Where It’s Time We Cleared Things Up. Oh, And Mumbo Is Here Too.

this fic can be read on its own as a one shot, but I would recommend reading this first, as the context provides a little more insight on why the characters are reacting the way they do to each other

Over the course of a couple weeks very little changed. Mumbo spent the majority of his time planted in one place, anchored somewhat in the shallows so he could lift his head and listen to what the humans were doing on the days they came around. As much as it pained Mumbo to be so still so much of the time, it was a necessary evil if he ever wanted to heal, and he very much did. It didn’t matter how little he moved his tail at this point, anything he did would only result in his condition worsening.

If it wasn’t for Scar, he would have left a while ago. The humans didn’t come every day anymore, but they came often enough, and they certainly noticed Mumbo’s lack of activity. Grian tended towards keeping his distance, which didn’t bother Mumbo at all, but Scar really went out of his way to be there; sitting close (a gesture Mumbo was beginning to mind less), bringing him human trinkets to look at and play with (always exciting), but most importantly Scar brought food, and a lot of it at that; Mumbo wouldn’t have been able to stay without it. He often wondered where Scar got the many bags of fish he brought; it wasn’t all very fresh, so it was probably supplied from a human stockpile, but regardless, Mumbo was grateful. He wasn’t often in the best of moods and didn’t speak very much despite the fact he was sure Scar would have been ecstatic to talk with him, but he hoped regardless that Scar knew how deeply grateful he was.

Today, Scar and Grian were sitting on the shore together, shoulder to shoulder as they bent over one of their human activities. The first time Mumbo saw them drawing together, he had asked to see (saying ‘What’ over and over again seemed to have gained several different meanings over the weeks), but Scar had showed him that the paper they wrote on got ruined in the water, ripping easily, so it wasn’t something Mumbo could learn about personally. That was okay though, he was content to watch.

“Okay,” Scar began tapping the writing utensil (‘pencil’) to his lips, “Do we have anything to revise about the list this week? I don’t think very much new has happened.”

“Read it again, will you?”

“It’s right here in front of your face, do I really have to?”

“We’ve been over this Scar, I’m conditionally illiterate. Like right now, you got me up early and I’m tired and the words are so far away and I don’t want to. Also your handwriting is atrocious.”

“I’m tired too! It’s not my fault my fish guy needed me to show up at 6 AM.”

“You have a car, Scar. And a license.”

“Oh hey! Look at this cool list!” Scar directed Grian’s attention back to the paper, Grian only rolling his eyes before letting Scar continue. “Well, I won’t go into detail on my notes about what he eats because that’ll just bore you, but to put it simply, basically everything that’s got meat on it. Fish, shellfish, red meat, chicken, mostly just fish is what I’ve been giving him though, since I’m assuming that's what makes up most of his diet. Want to make sure he gets all the proper nutrients, you understand, you understand.”

“Uh huh.”

“As for ‘Likes,’ we’ve got fish, human stuff, Scar, Grian-”

“Scar first?” Grian cut his friend off with a raised eyebrow. Scar blinked several times before answering.

“What?”

“Scar, Grian. You put your name before mine.”

“Well this list wasn’t meant to be in order, but if it was, my name would absolutely go before yours.”

“What! No it wouldn’t. He likes us equally. Mumbo and I have a mutual understanding that we do not want to be anywhere near each other most of the time. We respect each other. From a distance.”

Scar smirked, throwing Mumbo an amused look as if he understood anything that was going on. “You know if you wanted to you could also bring him gifts and stuff. Nothing is stopping you. You could even bring him his fish if you wanted to, he wouldn’t know the difference. I wouldn’t care. There’s really nothing to be afraid of, especially now when he’s so docile like this.”

“I’m not afraid of Mumbo.”

“No?”

“If anything, he’s afraid of me, Scar. I got him in that net, I’ve gotten close to killing him a couple times- he knows it, Scar, he knows. He knows what’ll happen if he steps out of line, that’s what. I told him. I told him all about it.”

“Did you now,” Scar chuckled, nudging Grian playfully, “Well in that case, I’m definitely sure he likes me more. And I’m sure you’re perfectly content with being feared, but if you ever change your mind, I’d be happy to help.”

Grian huffed, “I won’t. Continue though.”

Scar lingered for a moment, a gentle fondness etched on his features before turning back to the paper, reading, “Well, he plays around with those vines and roots and things sometimes, he clearly is very curious, he likes to learn, and I think he likes birds, but he might just be staring at them because he wants to eat them. I put bugs in our ‘Neutral’ category since every time I try to give him a bug he just eats it, but I can’t tell if he just eats bugs or if he’s scared of them or something.”

“I highly doubt Mumbo is afraid of bugs. I doubt he cares.”

“Well, you never know! In ‘Dislikes’ we’ve got nets, sleeping bags, being touched, fighting- actually this isn't super related, but I really want to set up a Good and Bad system with him. A thumbs up thumbs down kind of situation. I was thinking about it all last night- we aren’t very good at communicating what we like or don’t like, and this feels like a good solution, but I’m not exactly sure how to tell him clearly what I’m trying to do. How would he know thumbs up means ‘good.’ And vice versa? Maybe bad would be easier to start with, but at the same time he kinda seems like a bite first ask questions later kinda guy.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. Definitely start with thumbs up. With any luck he’ll understand that thumbs down is the opposite and you can go from there. I think you could probably associate the gesture with things Mumbo likes. The tape measure, fish- he knows smiling is a positive thing even if he doesn’t smile himself, and he knows what ‘yes’ means as well. With enough of that, I think he’ll grasp the meaning pretty quick.”

“I think so too,” Scar paused for a moment, thoughtful, “You know, this doesn’t just have to be a me effort. You could come and speak to him as well. He would know you’re putting in the effort if you wanted him to like you more.”

“He likes me plenty!” Grian switched from relaxed to exasperated on a dime, throwing up his hands as Scar laughed. “He likes me, Scar.”

“I know he likes you. But I also know he doesn’t have the full picture. He doesn’t know how much time you spend brainstorming how to teach him things, or how to relieve his stress, or worrying when he’s not feeling well. I just want him to know you aren’t as distant as he probably thinks, especially if it bothers you. If you wanted to get a little closer and help me with the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ gestures, that’d be a start.”

Grian was silent for a long time, brows creased tight above his eyes. “Maybe,” he said finally, almost quietly, “But not today. I’m too tired.”

“Yeah, me too,” Scar sighed, content, letting his head fall to rest on top of Grian’s, who squeaked, jumping so hard he accidentally jabbed at Scar’s chin with his shoulder. It must not have hurt though, because Scar didn’t seem to mind at all, unmoving. Slowly, Grian untensed, his head falling gently on Scar’s shoulder. Mumbo had a somewhat ridiculous pang of longing despite still holding a strong aversion to any human touch at all. They just looked so relaxed- anyone would wonder what it was like to be human. Though, while Scar closed his eyes, Grian didn’t quite look satisfied, something like conflict sitting across his features. He sat like that for a while, eyes moving, but not quite looking at anything at all, apparent restlessness building. Then he stopped. Closed his eyes. Opened them.

“Scar, are you aromantic or are you just fucking with me? Because I outright refuse to believe anyone is actually this clueless.”

Scar opened his eyes. Silence. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh???” It was safe to say the two of them did not look relaxed anymore, Grian jerking away, “Scar, what does ‘uh oh’ mean. You can not just say ‘uh oh’ and nothing else.” Mumbo’s fins raised at the tone of his voice, but Mumbo cringed back when Grian whipped around to face him with an aggressive point. “No. You stay. Scar, I need you to say more right now.”

“I-Sleeping, I mean, we weren’t sleeping yet- but resting like- not friends? Not normal? Bdubs- I am going to strangle that man!”

“So you’re aromantic?” The words leapt off Grian’s tongue like an accusation, but he relaxed almost immediately after, sighing into his hands, “You’re aromantic. Okay. Good. Okay.”

“I- I mean I don’t love labels. I don’t really know, I don’t know much of anything at all, really. I’m sorry, Grian, I didn’t- did no one tell you I have a horrible track record for these things? Did you want me to ask you out? I still can.”

“Goodness, Scar, no! You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, you’ve just been sending incredibly mixed signals and I needed to know what was going on with you before my head exploded and my brains went all over the place and poor Mumbo would have to witness that and we don’t want that, do we? We don’t want that. This is fine, though, we just need to work out some boundaries.”

“What if I did want to though? To ask you out?”

Grian stared. Scar stared back.

“You do not want to.”

“I’ll have you know, I like you plenty a lot! I like you all sorts of ways, and if you also like me, then that’s cool! I’ll tell ya, when I had my little politics phase, my campaign manager was this great guy, Bdubs, we’re still friends, too, have you met him? Anyway, he’s a pretty touchy guy as well and he convinced me all sorts of things were totally normal friend stuff. Oh, we had this great cushy chair in our office and it was only really meant for one person, but sometimes we’d both be so tired and just squeeze into it and it wasn’t any sort of comfortable at all, but in a way it kinda was. Like inside. You know?”

“Scar, do you actually want to ask me out or are you just saying that because you think that’s what I wanted.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not what I asked.”

“Well, Grian, it really doesn’t matter to me either way!” Scar gave Grian a big smile, like these words were the ones that would definitively solve their dispute, but the expression started to drop when Grian looked mortified. “Is..” Scar started, unsure now, “Something wrong?”

Mumbo had never seen such a wide range of emotions cross Grian’s face before his head dropped onto his knees with a soft thunk. “No. It’s fine.”

Scar stared for a long while, a gentle churning of thought moving behind his eyes. He relaxed, scooching to give Grian a little space before smiling again, the expression soft. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Sure, Scar.” Grian’s voice was muffled between his knees, and given his face was covered, Mumbo had no idea how he was feeling.

“So there was this one time in high school where I was good friends with this girl, and she was awesome, just the best, and we hung out like constantly, and y’know how people get sometimes all pushy asking about dating and stuff, but you also know high schoolers who can’t communicate if their life was on the line. So all my friends are like dude, you guys are literally dating, aren’t you? And I say no! I insist we’re not every time, I insist! Yes, we went out together often and we talked for hours and her family had some money troubles so a lot of the time I offered to pay, you know, normal stuff, it was normal, I promise, but one day I get this call, right? From one of her friends! And this girl just starts ripping into me, like, seriously! She’s telling me all this stuff I had no idea about- telling me my friend is so confused, that she doesn’t feel pretty around me, that I’m always trying to avoid intimacy- that I refused to kiss her! And I was like what, whoa there! No one has ever tried to kiss me! Why are we talking about kissing people? She thought we were dating, Grian.”

“I got that.”

“And then she dumped me! My first breakup, and I didn’t even know! I was kinda bummed, too, I had always kinda wanted to kiss someone, but I thought they’d tell me first! Y’know, that they wanted to. I would have been so ready! The worst part is I think my guy friends were trying to tell me we were dating, not just teasing me. They also thought it was funny though, so. Who knows.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know, right! And this other time in college there was this other girl- we had mutual friends and stuff and we were at a party and just absolutely wasted and she grabbed me by the collar and she said ‘SCAR,’ she yelled in my face, she said ‘I’ve been FLIRTING with you for WEEKS and YOU’VE been flirting BACK. ARE YOU GAY?’ And I said, drunk, ‘A little bit!’ And then we danced all night. It was awesome. She was so cool. That kinda stuff happened a lot in college, actually. Guys are a bit more direct, which I appreciate. I’m a little stupid, I need the extra help sometimes.”

Grian tensed where he was sitting, quiet for a short pause before speaking, “You’re not stupid, Scar.”

“I mean. A little bit.”

“No. You’re not stupid.”

Scar was silent for a long while, staring despite Grian’s head still being buried in his knees. “I don’t know about that.”

Grian lifted his head, shaking it ‘no.’ He blinked a couple times before shaking his head again, a little more forcefully. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have done that, I should’ve just talked to you like an adult and told you how I was feeling. Sometimes you’re just really confusing, and that’s not your fault, you just.. go about the world in a different way. And it’s not a bad way either, it’s not wrong. If people can’t communicate exactly how they’re feeling to you, that’s a them issue. You’re not stupid. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

“I didn’t mean to lead you on. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, Scar. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I really thought we had some sort of understanding- and I did mean it when I said we could give this a shot. I like dating, Grian, I always have a lot of fun! I can be- I know I can be- I have trouble sometimes, I just ruin good things-”

“Scar, stop, please. I don’t want anything you don’t want. Period.”

Scar didn’t seem to know what to do with that, staring uselessly at his own hands before looking back up. “I want it, Grian,” he stressed, his arms trembling, but Grian only stared, lips gently parted.

They both looked.. So sad. Mumbo longed to help, to sing, to do something, but he was stuck outside of their world.

Grian extended his arms. “C’mere, buddy.”

Scar collapsed into them, shaking as he did. Grian didn’t move, rubbing slow circles on Scar’s back while he cried. There was a certain focus behind Grian’s eyes, a certain calm as he held his friend close, and Mumbo.. well, it was clear Grian didn’t need Mumbo’s help. So that was the power of human touch.

He’d have to learn it one day.

[junkdrawerfics]

Sweet Interruptions

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw X Reader

Summary: Rooster meets you, the owner of a local bakery, by chance encounter during a night out on the town with the Daggers. And by chance, I mean he's a little tipsy, you're closed, and Payback really needed those croissants.

Word Count: 3261

Warnings: No, besides me trying to write flirting with no experience. No beta.

Part 2

----

The first day Rooster stumbles into your bakery, it is mostly an accident.

After one too many rounds at the Hard Deck, the Daggers decide it was a good idea to walk the town, explore since they didn’t have the chance last time. As they pass by your shop, a cute little corner bakery, adorned with soft yellows and greens, plants lining the shelves inside, (a ‘closed’ sign on the door), Payback decides he just can’t resist the stuffed croissants left in the showcase.

It’s quite shocking to have a grown man burst through your doors when you’re cleaning up.

You freeze, eyes wide, towel in hand as you were wiping down the counter. The man, dressed in a Navy uniform, stumbles towards your showcase and another man comes through your doors, chasing after him.

“Rooster! Rooster, look at these, they look so good,” the first man practically shouts.

You make eye contact with the second man, who’s tall and has the most silly, but somehow attractive mustache you’ve ever seen on a man. A blush rises to your cheeks when he glances you over and you can’t help but look away, heart leaping into your throat from how intensely his hazel eyes burn into you.

A smirk pulls at Rooster’s lips when you look down and fidget with the towel in your hands. You’re cute. Really cute. You’re wearing a cottagey little apron, with flour splashed on your cheeks, making your blush even more apparent. If he weren’t just a little tipsy, he would apologize and drag Payback out of there right away. But he is, and he’s getting better at this whole taking action thing.

“Sorry for the interruption, sweetheart-” Your face goes even darker, which makes his smirk pull a little wider, “-my friend just-”

“Rooster, we have to get some!” The first man grabs onto him, and the tall man, Rooster, laughs. It’s one of those full chest laughs, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes crinkle with amusement.

“She’s closed, man!”

“But-”

“He can have them,” you squeak softly, finally finding your voice.

Rooster glances at you, brow perking. You sound just as flustered as you look, but your voice is like a chime of bells to his ears. It suits you, he thinks warmly.

“I was um, I was going to throw them out anyway.” You duck your head and shuffle to the case, too aware of his eyes on you. You keep yourself busy by grabbing a bag and filling it with what’s left of your meat and cheese croissants, offering them quickly to the men.

“You’re too good to us, sweetheart.”

His fingers brush your skin as he gently takes the bag from you, and you take in a sharp breath, pulling away. Your heart is beating fast. Is it supposed to beat that fast? You look up at him again, only to see that his pleased smirk is back, and now your heart’s stopped. This can’t be healthy for you.

“The name’s Bradley, by the way,” he hums, and waits.

You nod, just staring at him with wide eyes, until his features curve with amusement and his eyes do that crinkle thing again. Your brow furrows, confusion twisting in your chest, before you realize what he’s waiting for.

“Oh! I’m (Y/n), my name’s (Y/n)!” You rush out and cringe, feeling silly and geez, you must be as red as a tomato. Especially with how his lips settle into a soft smile, one that is far too fond for a stranger.

“(Y/n), huh?” He lets your name roll off his lips, as if tasting it, and you can’t help but like the way it sounds, which doesn’t help with the whole blush situation. “That’s a beautiful name, but I think I still like sweetheart.”

“Well, that, that’s um, that’s okay, I guess,” you stutter, wishing for nothing more than to just disappear into the back because is he flirting with you? It sure feels like he’s flirting with you. And you have no clue how to respond.

Rooster, Bradley you correct yourself, laughs again, and begins dragging his friend back towards the door. You peek up at him, just one last time, and he dares to pause to send you a wink and there goes your heart again!

“Night, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You give him a tiny wave, not knowing what else to do. The little bell over the door chimes as he joins his friends back outside. They all jump into chatter, and you watch curiously as the man grins and says something that makes the whole group whistle and holler. All eyes shift towards you, and this time you do skitter into the back. You press your back to the wall, blood roaring in your ears as the sound of their cheering fades away. It’s only when it’s completely quiet again that you release the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

And that’s when his words fully register.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

You cover your face, a ridiculously big smile pulling at your lips. You shouldn’t feel so excited. He might not even show up, considering he was definitely a little drunk, but what if he does? You hope he does. You really hope he does. Your heart might give up, but that’s okay. Maybe he could resuscitate you.

You slap your cheeks, laughing embarrassedly at your own thoughts. It’s like you’re in high school again! He’s just a guy. A very handsome Navy guy with a stupidly charming attitude and gorgeous eyes…oh boy.

---

The second time Bradley comes into your bakery, it’s exactly the next day, just like he said.

The door chimes as you duck down to fill the case with your fresh-baked coffee cake, so you don’t see the customer when you offer your normal greeting, “Hello! Welcome to Flying Delights, how can I help y-”

All your words escape you when you stand back up and find Bradley standing on the other side of the case, looking so put together, and charming, and smiling right at you. 

“Morning, sweetheart.” His voice is soft, with just enough of a rough edge to give away how early it is.

“I um, I didn’t actually uh, think you’d come,” you stutter, brushing your already flour coated hands on your apron. His eyes flicker down, and you blush, feeling just a little silly in the frilly apron. “They seemed like a good, good idea, for the um, the aesthetics,” you try to explain, but blush when he just smiles amusedly, “You didn’t need to know that.”

“I definitely think they were a good idea,” he hums, and you really wish you could cover your face to hide from the way his eyes trail back up to meet yours, “Though you’d look just as cute without it.”

“What can I get you?” You squeak, setting your gaze stubbornly on the showcase, as if that will stop your face from going up in flames.

Rooster chuckles softly, the spark of something fond starting in his chest as he watches you shuffle your feet, face positively red. He hasn’t had this much fun flirting with someone, ever. And you’re just as cute as he thought you were the night before, all doe eyes and a little short, especially compared to him. He could probably bench press you if he wanted, the idea of which makes his smile go even wider.

“I’ll take a dozen of those stuffed pastries,” he finally concedes, just when it looks like you’re about to dart into the back if he didn’t, “Payback raved about them all night, so I figured they must be amazing.”

“Payback?” You glance at him curiously, quickly going to the pastries when you find him still looking at you, his hazel eyes just a little squinted with mirth in a way that makes him look so young and so kis- Nope!

“That’s my friend who I pulled out of here last night, his call sign.”

Oh, that makes sense. They’re aviators. You’ve had a few of them come through here, though usually they disappear after a while. The thought makes you pause as you grab the fourth pastry, something heavy settling in your chest. Bradley will probably only be here for a little while too.

“Your um, your call name is Rooster?” You wager a soft guess, remembering the man calling him that several times the night before.

“You remember.” Something warm flushes through Bradley’s chest.

“Why Rooster?” 

You have never felt this driven to ask so many questions, but the curiosity over this man is consuming you. Maybe it’s the Hawaiin shirt, or the mustache, or how he seems to be placing his undivided attention on you, but you want to know more, even if it means you’ll get a fever from how warm you feel.

“Kind of an ode to my old man,” Bradley explains, voice going soft, and you stop to look at him, not shying away from the contact this time as you feel like you’ve hit on something very important. “His call sign was Goose, I thought I’d kind of carry it on.”

“That’s really sweet.”

Bradley smiles, though it’s notably sadder than the ones you’ve seen before. Before you can stop yourself, in a moment of bravery, you reach over the counter to touch his hand. Rooster looks down, heart squeezing when he notices just how small your hands look compared to his. He quickly adds it to the list of things he already likes about you.

“Anyways,” he coughs and practically shrugs off the weight that suddenly came over him, not wanting to drown the mood. “I hope these pastries are as good as Payback made them sound. I need a reason other than thinking you're adorable to keep coming by. I’ll find one regardless, but this would be a good one.”

And you’re blushing again. 

“Well, I uh, I really hope you like them,” you mumble and hold the box out to him.

Bradley brushes your hand as he takes the box, just like the night before, and you know it can’t be an accident. This time, his touch leaves behind little tingles on your fingertips and you curl them shut, hoping to hold on to the feeling.

“How much do I owe you, sweetheart?”

“Nothing if-” You take a deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage in your bones. “-if you promise to come back tomorrow and, and try my beignets. They’re um, they’re my favorites.”

Rooster’s eyes widen in surprise before settling into happy crescents, his smile soft, “You have a deal, (Y/n).”

Your heart races. “Yah?”

“I promise on my wings, sweetheart.”

“Then I guess, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Bradley.”

You offer him the most hesitant but breathtaking smile he’s ever seen before swiftly disappearing into the back. Bradley stays standing at the counter with the stupidest smile on his face as he looks down at the box in his hands. Distractedly popping his aviators on, he practically struts out of the bakery, carrying the box like a trophy. This trip was definitely a victory after all.

You watch him go from around the corner, face practically glowing.

You’re really, really looking forward to tomorrow now.

----

And he keeps his promise.

For the next week, you see Bradley practically every day, sometimes more than that. Every morning he comes in and orders a surplus of whatever you recommend, with a heaping load of flirting that leaves your head spinning the rest of the day. Sometimes he even comes in later in the evening, when things have slowed down, and you spend a couple minutes between customers sitting at a table, sipping coffee and sharing stories and laughing. He has this incredible ability to make you laugh and make each day feel like something new, like everything you’ve been looking for your whole life.

And now, Rooster shows up every morning with  boundless amounts of pastries for the Daggers, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“So, do we get to meet this new little girlfriend of yours?” Hangman quips one day as he plucks a glazed donut from the box Rooster drops at the front of the class.

“Nope.” Rooster smiles smugly to himself. He likes the sound of that, them calling you his girlfriend.

“Oh come on! I just want to give my compliments to the chef.”

“You are never meeting her, Bagman,” he huffs with a laugh and slumps into his seat, “I don’t want any of you scaring her away.”

“Didn’t know you had a thing for the timid ones, Rooster,” Phoenix hums, though her focus is more on which donut she wants.

“She’s not timid, just…easily flustered.” He grins, remembering all the shades of red your face turns when he tries to flirt with you. Recently, you’ve even gotten him back a few times, though you can hardly get it out without turning into a flustered mess anyway. 

“I vote we go to this place and meet her without Rooster,” Fanboy calls, earning a scowl from the aviator, “Come on, we gotta make sure you’re good enough for her, cause I have my doubts.”

“Yah?” Rooster leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest with an amused glint in his eyes, “What makes you say that?”

“Well, if her baking is all a reflection of her, she is waaaay out of your league, man.”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and Bradley honestly can’t argue, though he does think to give Fanboy a painful ribbing later. He knows you’re too good for him. He knows it with every fiber of his being when you smile at him. And yet, you save those smiles just for him.

“You guys are not allowed to meet her without me there,” he says finitely, shaking his head as Maverick comes marching into the room.

Safe to say, the Daggers hardly listen to anyone, given the opportunity.

----

They last a week before the curiosity becomes too much.

“Ummm, can I, can I help you?” You peer nervously over the case at the small group of uniform-dressed airmen and woman now standing in your bakery. You recognize them as Rooster’s friends, or the people he was with that night at least.

“You’re the baker, right?” One of the men, a taller guy with blond hair and a sketchy smile, asks.

“I, I guess?” You pat at your apron, not sure what to say or what to do.

“We just wanted to come meet the girl Rooster hasn’t stopped talking about,” the woman says and elbows the man in the side when he opens his mouth again. “Make sure he’s treating you right.”

“Oh.” Your cheeks go warm. “Um, Bradley, he, he talks about me?”

The one man you recognize, Payback, gives you a toothy grin, “It’s hard to get him to talk about anything else.”

“Oh.” You want to knock your head against the wall, unable to think of anything else to say. It’s like your brain has just stopped processing, leaving you to just flounder with this new information.

Rooster talks about you. He thinks about you outside of your playful encounters here in the safety of your bakery. A swarm of butterflies unleashes in your chest, your heart getting lost among them. That has to mean something, right?

“He was right, you get pretty flustered,” the short man comments, “And I was right too, you are way out of his league.”

“Huh?” You look at them, wide-eyed, face as dark as the cherry tarts you were stocking.

“There’s no way Bradshaw pulls someone like her,” the tall man chuckles.

“That’s not nice,” you frown, suddenly feeling the need to defend the man, especially since he’s not here, “Bradley’s been nothing but kind to me. He’s so sweet, and he’s funny, and han-handsome, and, and I really really like him!”

You freeze, covering your mouth. Looking up at the group, you find all of them smiling at you, all happy despite how mortified you feel. You just said that. You just said that in front of all of Bradley’s friends. Oh no. It’s not like you said love, but it feels like you might as well have. Now they’re going to tell him and he’ll think you’re crazy and then you won’t see him again. 

The door bell chimes.

“You guys never listen to me, do you?”

It’s like the red sea parting, the way the group all step aside to reveal Bradley standing at the door. Your eyes meet and you’re stuck. He’s not wearing his usual. Not the Hawaiian shirt. Not his uniform. Instead, Rooster is dressed in slacks and a dull, dark blue button-up, the sleeves rolled just high enough to show off his arms, which are crossed over his chest. He looks…hot. And you’re so happy you are still covering your mouth, because you’re pretty sure you’re drooling just a little bit.

“Looking spiffy there, Bradshaw,” the blond grins, unphased, “Dressed to impress?”

“Yup, but not for you,” Rooster drawls before tilting his chin at you, “I’m here for her."

“Well, we know when we’re unwanted,” Fanboy chuffs, and the group makes their way out around Rooster.

“Apparently you don’t,” Rooster calls after them, but the smile on his lips takes any bite out of his tone.

Once they’re gone, the aviator turns back to you. He saunters up to the counter, hands slipping into his pockets when he stops right across from you. You’re still staring. You can’t stop staring. And he notices, if the smirk on his face tells you anything.

“So, you really really like me, huh?”

For once, your pallor goes absolutely stark as all the blood drains from your face. He heard.

“Um, well, I just uh-” Not a single coherent thought passes from your lips, and with each passing moment, his smirk grows wider and wider.

“Hey, don’t worry, sweetheart-” He reaches over, thumb softly brushing your cheek and you immediately fall quiet. “I really really like you too.”

Oh, you’re going to melt. You’re going to melt right here, whether it be from his words, or his touch, or the warmth brimming in his eyes. All of it has your heart racing against your ribs, so loud he can probably hear it.

“So um, why, why are you here, tonight?” You ask in all but a whisper.

“Well, before those idiots showed up, I was going to ask you out on a date,” he hums.

“And now?” You perk up, hopeful and scared all at once.

“Now, I still want to take you out, but I think I want to kiss you first.”

There’s no fixing what that does to your heart, that’s for sure.

Rooster glances around, making sure there’s no one in the bakery before a mischievous glint takes over his eyes. You watch, brow furrowing as he props his hands on the counter, and suddenly, in a blink, the man is sliding over the counter and standing right next to you. So close, you can feel the warmth coming off his body. So close you can feel his warm breath on your face.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” He asks, fingers gently slipping around your waist as he leans down, nose practically touching yours. “Can I kiss you?”

It takes a second, but when you find your voice, you gasp out a soft, “Yes.”

And he does. His lips meet yours and he’s smiling and you’re smiling and it’s perfect.

---

Part 2

[stareiiez]

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 --- four

simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.

content : dark?? ghost. fingering. orgasming. voyeurism. modern settings. mentions of stalking. gore. death. gun violence. graphic descriptions of gore. torture. obsession. drinking. sex. female genitals. unhealthy attachments. violence. blood. implied death. blood. smut in later chapters. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult cis female reader. MDNI. 3.8k words. proof read to the best of my tired eyes.

note: another late night update <3 if you're triggered by death/ torture pls don't read! if you do, don't say i didnt warn you! as always, reblogs, comments, and notes are loved and appreciated!!!!

To say soundproofing a basement was a blessing for Simon was a blessing is a severe understatement. Without it, the patrons who were upstairs drinking and being merry in crude ways would be able to hear the gut-wrenching screams and manly grunts over the pain-filled noises that were caused by several weapons of torture and destruction. His favorite had been the cheese grater. A little corny, sure, but god did it do the job to make a man piss himself like a little bitch when it was dragged up the valley of his tender throat. The meaty thwack of blunt force meeting wet skin echoes in the darkened basement. Musty air and traces of liquor tingle upon a twice-broken nose. Bloody knuckles wreak havoc upon the blistered and fileted skin of poor Graves. It's been like this for nearly an hour, the need for releasing pent-up steam and broiling over anger made Simon pull out the big guns and turn the pretty boy into nothing but a bloody sack of crying meat.

Graves was unrecognizable. Both of his once beautiful blue eyes, that you stared at so dreamy-like, were swollen shut. Puffy and purple turning with threats of black eyes and bloodshot irises. Cigarette burns, stab wounds, cuts, and barely forming bruises were littering the bare upper body of the poor suffering sap Simon was torturing half to death. Kidnapping and planned manslaughter were not in his plans tonight, far from it. His plans were innocent. He wanted to watch you and your nightly routine, memorize your little rituals before bed. He wanted to see what you would look like when you were dreaming so peacefully under his watchful eyes that would be at your bedside. He wanted to know what your sheets smelled like, felt like under his rough palms, and get the first touch of pure warmth that radiated off your little body while it was oblivious to his touch.

Now Graves just had to come over on the night Simon planned to. How unfortunate. Truly. If he was any better mate he would apologize for every scream and plea that tumbled out of that broken jaw that once purred into your ear in front of Simon's eyes. It didn't have to be like this, but he had a point to make. He tells himself this when his broad back turns, grabbing at an already stained towel painted red with thick ruby ichor. You were his girl. His pretty baby should be fingered by him and him only. This was only an example for every other son of a bitch you decided that was better to fuck than Simon Riley himself.

"She never even told me she had a boyfriend." cried Graves when he was still pure and fresh-skinned. His eyes flicked down to the dull butcher knife that Simon had been tossing up and down lazily; brown eyes watching the frustration and unease that crept on the other man's face underneath the bleached bone mask of his. "Wouldn't even have thought to touch her, unless she wanted it, and she did want it." Wrong set of words. Yikes.

Rusted metal meets the muscle of Graves' right thigh in one effortless swing of Simon, buried to the hilt. Dark cherry starts to bubble around the plastic handle. Strong metal and even stronger cries of the pretty boy. His head throws back with a growl and a colorful string of curses. Not a very Southern gentlemanly thing of him to do. Very different from the southern hospitality Graves was giving you before Simon got his hands on him. Overly whitened teeth bare out between a grimace and snarl given to the brit. All bark and very little bite. Cute. He'd have fun with this. He always had fun with this type of work, it's why his group always gave him the nitty gritty bloody work. Their hands would be a little cleaner than his, and he could enjoy watching even the toughest get unnerved when they caught the sick glint in Simon's eyes when he brought out new ' toys ' to try out.

Now Graves was on the receiving end of that sick look. Emotionless eyes but smiling lips that peeled a bit too wide under the suffocating balaclava that covered his head and mouth. Bottomless dark pools of his irises reflected the mess of carved-away fatty tissue and the sharp ends of broken bones stretching past the elasticity of human skin. A dead man's masterpiece. Picasso eat your fucking heart out.

The saving grace was the end of a smoking barrel that pressed to Grave's forehead. Hot iron and metal singed away at damp baby hairs and smoothed away the wrinkles of distraught so cruelly. Simon was growing bored of this torture now, he was wasting too much time here messing with a man who had one foot in the grave and the other trying to wedge itself in the doorway of life. He had to make a call and see if his pretty girl was distraught enough for a comforting hand or two to reel her into the snare of his adoration.

"Have we learned our lesson for the evenin' then, mate?" Simon's dark timber of a voice growled into the stale air. The end of his gun prodded at glistening skin for an answer almost immediately. He doesn't have all night.

Grave's jaws couldn't click together enough to help form the bleeding nub of a tongue to form a coherent enough answer to please him. That tongue was cut off with a clean swipe of Simon's blade when Graves still had his energy and was making threats about getting out of there and getting his men to show the Brit how torture worked; then maybe he'd celebrate by fucking 'his' girl all in memorium for his tries. Shame that tongue had to go, he preferred the curses and slew of half-baked 'go to hell's ' Graves let bolster out in the first thirty minutes down here.

He'll settle for a silent answer then. Broken bones popped socket arms and kneecaps would just have to be an affirmative' yes sir ' to Simon. If Dead men can't come crawling back out of their half-dug graves to come to eat some pussy; then mangled ruined bodies of desperate mutts of men can fuck to save their fading souls from descending into the depths of hell.

Thumb cocking back the hammer of his sidearm, pointer finger pressing a little bit too eagerly. The kickback of gunpowder and fire didn't make Simon miss the satisfying spray of pink brain matter, hot blood, and tiny pieces of flying skull shrapnel painting the grungey floor behind Graves.

A mess of gory artistry the man behind the painting would just have to miss being cleaned up and taken out back to be thrown away in a dumpster where all other trash goes to rot away in a marked landfill. The gun of his was tossed next to Grave's bound cooling corpse. He'll get an earful about doing this during working hours of the bar, but he would be damned if he didn't get to release his demons onto Graves before it was too late and his anger chilled to a icy tundra in his chest.

Another cup of coffee, perhaps your fourth of the night cools in your palms again. The caffeine does little to soothe the growing migraine that pounds behind your eye sockets with every microsecond your patience wanes into threads. Angry hornets fester inside your skull, and a jack rabbit's heart inside your chest. Your night is taking years off your life, you can feel it with every monotonous droning of the same questions one of the cops repeats every ten minutes or so. It feels like you're getting nowhere, running on a hamster wheel that'll lead to nowhere and you getting winded in the process. The police make you feel stupid. The moment two cop cars arrived at your residence to investigate the lack of evidence they found from your supposed potential serial killer. They condescended and ridiculed every detail you gave them till your face ran blue and the air in your lungs was nearly gone.

The bloody handprint that was smeared on the greenhouse's wall was already washed away; more than likely absorbed into the greedy grass like a man sucking down water after being in the desert for months. Other than the scratched ' S ' on your porch step there was little to believe you and your cracked-out story. They thought you called just for attention, just to waste gas that was paid for too high taxes. It's been like this for two hours now, repetitive questions and police pulling only yours and Graves' prints off your things and his abandoned truck that was sitting in your drive. Their idiotic conclusion? He was simply lost in the ever-expansive woods. Lost among the shrubbery and shadows, a victim to the unusually cruel predatory gazes of wildlife that watched his every move; ready to strike him down and feast like royalty till their bellies almost popped.

"What did the sheriff make the call on for tonight?"

The cop, who had been interrogating you, turned to address another policeman who was examining your small living room with boredom written all over his young features.

Before the way too young-looking man could answer, an older British voice called out "Why don't you ask 'im yourself, deputy?" The smell of strong cigar smoke suddenly started to assault your senses.

An older gentleman, with ashy brown hair and a thick jungle of facial hair, strode into your home. One of his hands supported the straps of his bulletproof vest, the other held the burning cigar that stunk up the small interior of your home in a matter of seconds. A plume of smoke exhaled out of his nostrils when his beady eyes swept over your kitchenette till they landed on your inquisitive expression. He pressed his cigar to his full lips for another inhale as if he had all the time in the world to stink up your home and trigger your body to sneeze at such an offending smell. "Sorry, sir. " The deputy uttered apologetically, eyes dropping low in embarrassment he was intimidated by such a commanding presence of his superior.

With another exhale of thick grey smoke that makes your nose wrinkle the sheriff approaches you. His right hand extended out for you to shake while he introduced himself to you as if his last name wasn't sewn so neatly into the black fabric of his uniform. "Officer, or sheriff John Price. I don't think we've met." His glove was rough against your skin, but his grasp was gentle while he shook your hand. His free hand plucked the cigar from his lips, teeth leaving bite marks over the damp end he had been sucking on. " Boys couldn't find anything here, miss except for disturbed gravel and prints from the wet grass out back. We can't pull anything significant off those marks, unfortunately. Could have just been a bad attempt of some break-in just to scare a young woman and her guy friend."

Your eyebrows creased, hand slipping out his light hold quickly. Angry hornets in your skull turned into a full-on battalion of those large Asian wasps that had excellent memory. They were banging around against hard bone, buzzing so loud and pissed that they threatened to burst out of your ears and sting every single cop here. Especially Price, they'd sting him right on his stupid gruff face. "But whoever was here, didn't steal anything they just left --"

"The flower behind, yes. The lads at the lab will run it to see if there's any DNA on the stem or even petals. Any clothing fibers or hair strands will be alerted to us right away, but there's nothing we can do. You know how rowdy teens these days are, they'd do anything to scare the grown adults into a heart attack for fun." Price quipped, finishing your sentence.

Your eyes rolled, frustration growing rampant like a disease over your face. An infection that Sherriff Price wasn't so susceptible to being a victim of. One bushy brow rose at your childish irritation from the denial he and his men had rubbed into your face time and time again. "Rowdy teens just don't make a grown-ass man disappear without a trace. Rowdy teens aren't capable of breaking cleanly into my home and not stealing anything of value." Your voice raised, brows pitching up and causing frown lines to crack along your smooth features.

"And rowdy teens don't scare the fuck out of me and make me want to look over my shoulder from now on after tonight. There's someone out there who is taunting me, and I want him or she or them to leave me alone." You're standing by this point. Chair kicked out behind you, your hands slammed down onto your table. Hot black caffeine spills over the dark marble of your dining room table. You're glaring daggers into the older man's eyes and he gobbles it all up without even a reaction to your worked-up outburst. He's not afraid of little girls screaming and trying to embarrass him, he's dealt with all of this before. Not this scenario, but high and haughty women who thought they were number one.

Price blinks, takes a step back silently, and turns his head to address another policeman loitering around; unsure what to do. "Have one of the guys do a stake out for twenty-four hours around her home, if anything is outta place you call me right away." Then he turns his gaze back to you, smiles that forced smile one makes when they're uncomfortable. Eyes crinkled with a lack of warmth that only manages to irk you further than comfort you. Temporary support does little to quell the ball of a bundle of nerves that is your nervous system right now.

"Have a good night, miss." Price dismisses himself. That awful cigar of his shoved back into his mouth and steps back out the front door. His men follow that were lingering inside your space, all except for the deputy that had been interrogating you. That's supposed to be your rough and rugged surveillance system for the next twenty-four hours until you can justify scraping enough money aside to get your surveillance just for this place.

Price exhales a continuous cloud of smokey grey into the night air. His head tipped back enough to trace out a few major constellations in the sky with curiosity, all while the other two cop cars that were parked out front drove off nonchalantly.

Bright teeth, stained slightly yellow from tobacco clamp further into the cigar's end while he fishes out of his many pockets a cell phone. Pretty outdated, the screen is cracked and the little processor moves at a snail's pace. A real piece of shit technology that holds a few private numbers that aren't saved under any typical name.

His gloved thumb jams against the screen a few times on one of those particular contacts and he holds the cell to his ear whilst unlocking the driver's side of his car and climbing inside. Cigar stamped out into the ever-growing ashes of his ashtray, he taps his fingers against the steering wheel in wait. The line rings once, twice, and on the third ring the call is picked up and a deeper British voice answers in a grunt of a ' hello ' to Price.

"You've got one hell of a firecracker there, Riley." Price cracks out, tone joking. "You've worked the little bird up into a tizzy, she seemed ready to jump 'cross the table for me."

The other voice only gives out a scoff, a monotone 'really?' . Price can only picture the hint of a cruel smile curling on the ends of Simon's lips now. "Boys' are none the wiser, I'll tell 'em it was just a bad prank gone wrong. The station will be none the wiser. Poor blokes." He chuffs. The engine of his car starts, and he reverses out of the drive. The silhouettes of his deputy and you awkwardly standing in your living room window bring another good-humored huff out of his ash-riddled lungs. "Don't make me bury your girl under missing person reports if you're too rough with 'er." Price mutters low over the line. Simon only scoffs on the receiving end, like he'd never hurt his precious girl. He'd be damned if you were taken from him by his own hands.

"Jus' keep an eye on her when I can't. " His voice rumbles like thunder in Price's ear, then hangs up the call with a sullen click.

Price sighs, tossing the backup cell in his passenger seat. His dark eyes focus on the lonely road back into the city. His radio in the car is buzzing with life of officer chatter, but he's not paying much attention. He's got to figure out how to stuff this darker piece of work underneath a rug without leaving wrinkles of his involvement behind. The old man was never one for the double life. A charming foreigner passed for a white-collared American who was there for the people at every righteous beck and call of his name. Then a grimy soldier for the kind of men that worked on setting the bastards that cops or other forces of power were too busy or pussy to end the right way; with a bullet in the head and their name smeared in blood as a warning for other bastards to behave or else.

A kind of work he did far before the ' never do no wrong' persona of his was adopted onto him. Now juggling both for one of his boys? Someone that he even dared to be considered as close as family to him? What had he gotten himself into, all for the sake of some weird iteration of what Simon called infatuation and obsession for a pretty little thing he only saw for one night and wouldn't stop planning on when to see her next. Price wanted to call him crazy when Simon opened his mouth and asked if he could do him a favor. Lie. Lie and cover his white English ass as much as he could just till Simon could convince his new obsession to think about him in the same way he thought about her. Convincing was putting it lightly, but Price didn't second guess or even ask. He knew what it was like when the parasitic love bug decided to rear its ugly head and bite you clear on the ass when it wanted to. Back when he was a younger man, back in his prime he had a sweetie. Soft and curvy, supple and sweet under his lips and to his heart. A fond memory he likes to include when he thinks about family from time to time. Something of his past he's left behind for a new rendition of a family that was strong men, sweat, blood, near-death experiences, and bonding over strong liquor after their work.

Anything for them, he supposes while he turns the car towards the station for the biggest sack of shit he could regurgitate out of his aging vocal cords and lets it spill in sticky white lies to doe-eyed men and women who wouldn't think twice to clean record Sheriff John Price.

"If you need anything, here's a walkie. Can't give out personal cells to citizens, but I'll be in range for us to talk." Deputy Dipshit tells you when the loud slam of car doors and the starting of engines signal the squad's retreat along with the Sheriff's.

You frown down at the cold chunk of plastic that was pressed into your smooth palm by the male. You feel immature even to be using this thing. But you don't argue, or say how stupid it is not just to use cell phones for this one dire situation. You accept the stupid walkie with little dignity that was now washed away by telling the police what exactly you and Graves were doing before he was attacked and taken away.

The walkie is tossed onto your neatly made mattress, weariness makes your eyes droop and your hands rub at your face. At least you're alone now, your crappy watchdog is settled inside his vehicle, protected by his sidearm and tazer. Your feet blindly patter against the dark cherry oak of your bedroom floor a ragged breath of exhaustion leaks out of your lungs like a deflating balloon. You pray to whatever gods or goddesses up there in the cosmos, watching over every single little thing with sadistic eyes, that they are protecting Graves. You could never stomach the fact that somehow you managed to get him killed for even touching you or being in your presence. You're not that special or even have that much power to illicit someone to commit manslaughter just because they were jealous or overprotective.

That's something from a fucked up dark romance novel that has mentally ill women squirting over the tall morally grey character that would do anything for their love interest.

Your phone screen buzzes from your bedside table, the obnoxious vibrations and chirpy ringtone of ' Kim Possibles ' phone ringtone blares into the short-lived silence and the even shorter prayer you were making for a man you barely even knew.

" Give me a break!" you groan out between clenched teeth that temporarily bore in a snarl to your lit-up screen. You shouldn't act like that, what if it was your friends reaching out to check in on you? They knew Graves was coming over to visit you and to ' catch up ' in more ways than one, maybe this was them poking their noses into your business and wondering how good Graves managed to fuck you silly five ways from Sunday. If only.

Another deflated-like balloon sigh and you snatch up your phone to see who texted you. Yet as much as you would kill for the spam of messages that would spew from Izzy and Veronica about how well-endowed and lickable Graves was in all his glory, it was far from their girlish text messages. An unknown number glared up at you. The notification on your locked phone screen, which was a picture of you and your childhood dog in your old home smiling at the camera, showed that the random number had texted you.

"Guess the police actually can text you, who knew." You mumbled under your breath, your tone still acidic on your tongue while you unlocked your phone and tapped on your message app to open the chat and read the text without even hesitating to check over the number thoroughly.

"Hello there, pretty girl." the text read.

[everythingwasalreadypicked]

Cw: mentioned attempted execution, unhealthy relationships, branding and mentioned someone's arm getting cut off

Jason Grace is fifteen when he didn’t mean to join Saturn.

Well, Kronos too, apparently. Because Octavian was right, have always been right about the Greeks' existence and Jason have been lied to for months.

Jason Grace is fifteen, dating Saturn's general of all people and didn’t mean to betray his camp.

It was an accident, a photo that was not supposed to be found.

Everything from being called to the Principia and his arrest to almost getting executed and finding himself on Othrys has been a blur.

He doesn't remember shooting lightning at his preator like Alabaster have said he did.

He doesn't remember ever agreeing to swear fealty to Saturn.

Jason Grace is fifteen, with twelve lines of service and the symbol of the camp and father he let down on his arm, and a newly burnt scythe covering his back.

Funny, he thinks, as he sobs and writhes on the floor of Saturn's throne room while the son of Hecate murmurs sweet nothings with victory on his tongue.

His other brand never hurt this much.

Saturn's demigods greet him with barely hidden apprehension and hands on their weapons when his boyfriend sweeps him from wing to wing, showing off Jason to everyone they come across.

The black walls are ever shifting like a maze, closing on its residents, air filled with plant participles and glittering monster dust, threatening to choke out everyone daring to go against the Titan.

"Does it hurt?" Alabaster hums on the first day after Jason fully decorates his room near the general's.

He can only nod, leaning into the hand slathering nectar onto his back. It's warm, far far too warm and yet freezing cold at the same time.

"It's okay," His boyfriend wraps himself around Jason, pulling him into a hug and throwing them onto the bed, "I got you."

He already feels suffocated.

"I pity you," Ethan Nakamura says once, "I wouldn't wish having Alabaster's full attention on my worst enemy."

"Why?" Jason asks, the hamburger with the strangely red and sunny meat forgotten.

"Because," the lieutenant moves to greet his witch friend across the cafeteria, always so matter of fact, "I know him better than you'll ever do."

Jason doesn't think Ethan likes him very much. The feeling is mutual.

Though, at least he can trust him to be the perhaps only one in this damn palace to not follow Saturn's orders blindly.

Jason is fifteen when he learns of Perseus Jackson's existence and Satu–Kronos's plans for the other boy's 16th.

It will not matter if his old camp sieges Othrys and topples the throne, not when Saturn's forces will be attacking the defenseless Olympus.

The loyal soldier inside himself screams, begging him to do his duty and protect his gods, be their weapon. He needs to warn someone.

Reyna would understand. They have been friends. Once. Hopefully will be again after all of this is over.

Ironically, it was Alabaster who had taught him about Iris messages. The messenger of the gods and their children, he have explained with his tell-tale melodic tongue, we use her sister, Arke, the banished one.

Jason is no traitor. He has no need for the Titans's messenger.

Ethan catches him before Jason can even explain himself properly to Reyna. In hindsight, he should count himself lucky that Ethan loves Alabaster too much to snitch on Jason to Kronos.

That doesn't stop him from telling Alabaster. Jason would rather face the Titans's wrath than face the fury of his now ex-boyfriend's and the betrayal in his eyes.

Jason Grace is fifteen, with a scythe branded on his back.

There are no lines of service, gone with the half of his right arm.

Thalia Grace is eternally a day shy from sixteen when she sees her baby brother again for the first time in years.

Just across the battlefield, shooting white hot lightning at campers with the rage of a constantly prodded and provoked animal, a strophalos necklace hanging off his throat like a collar.

Ta Jason au (art art dialogue ficlet phoenix's-ficlets)

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Glimmering Dreams (Ruggie x GN!Reader)

“So, are you going to tell me where you got these from, or…?”

“Nope!” At the look of your concerned expression, Ruggie let out a giggle. “Alright, alright, if you’re going to pout like that: I got them from a store in town.”

“They look expensive,” you said as you examined the devices. You glanced up at the hyena and raised an eyebrow, “Where’d you get the money for these?” 

“Leona,” Ruggie simply replied. 

“With his permission, I hope.”

“You think he cares?” His ears flattened against his head at the look you sent his way. “Hey, hey! I got his permission, alright? Again though, it’s not like he cared - all he cared about was getting that meat sub he wanted.” 

You glanced over your shoulder to look at the lion prince, who still laid across his lounge chair a small distance away. The fact he was currently nibbling on that meat sub meant Ruggie was telling the truth. You were sure he wouldn’t lie to you…still didn’t hurt to check though. Satisfied with his explanation, you looked over the long handle that connected to the metal detector Ruggie had lended you. “How do you turn this thing on?”

“Uh…” Ruggie fiddled around with his own for a moment before a red light clicked on at the detector’s base. “Ah, there we go!” He held out his hand to you, “Trade me.” 

You switched out your metal detector for his, then watched him turn the other on. “That knob on the handle lets you adjust the sensitivity,” he said. “It’s on a sort of middle ground right now - feel free to turn it up or down whenever you want. Just not too much,” he pointed up at his ears, “don’t want to make me go deaf, do you?”

“Do I?” Ruggie looked unamused at your tease, so you chuckled and backed off. “I won’t, I won’t.”

With that, the two of you went your separate ways. You didn’t stray too far from the other, just in case either of you found something of value. Since Ruggie provided the metal detectors, you planned to split the earnings from any goodies you might find. Would he do the same with his? Probably not, which is why you prayed to whoever might be listening on high that you’d find something. While Crowley did provide funds for you and Grim, any extra would be a blessing. Since, you know, Grim ate you out of house and home on a regular basis. 

Just then, your metal detector squeaked. You stopped dead in your tracks and scanned it over the sand below. When it squeaked again on a particular spot, you dropped to your knees. Before you could figure out where to put your metal detector, you heard footsteps approach from behind. “Find something,” Ruggie asked, his sandal clad feet appearing next to you as he spoke. 

“I think so.” You handed him your detector before you took out the little shovel that stuck halfway out of your shorts pocket. Carefully you dug into the sand, eyes searching for the metallic object underneath. A small ‘aha!’ left your lips as you came upon the object, which glistened in the sunlight. You plucked it up with your fingers - and were sorely disappointed. It was just a bottle cap to a soda long discarded. “Damn…” you cursed under your breath. 

Ruggie let out a small laugh. “Eh, it happens. Not too surprising to find something like that around here, y’know?” His brows furrowed in confusion as you pocketed the small piece of metal along with your shovel. “What’re you taking it for? It isn’t worth anything.” 

“I know,” you said as you stood and took back your metal detector, “but I need to throw it away later. I don’t want the beach to get even more polluted.” 

Ruggie stared at you for a few seconds, the look in his eyes unreadable - then he snickered with a grin. “Look at you, being a goody two shoes. You’d fit right in with those Royal Sword sissies, shyeheehee~” 

You let out a ‘tch’ as you kicked a small bit of sand in his direction. “Shut up. It’s a good thing to do; besides, we’ve got three merman here to worry about. You think they’d like us leaving trash in their home?” 

You had a point. Even so, Ruggie only gave a small shrug before he trudged back to where he’d been before. You watched him go for a few seconds before you started back down your own path on the beach. 

***

Screeeee!

If you were a beastman, your ears would have perked up at the shrill sound. Ruggie must have turned his detector up a notch, a high one - that hurt! You heard Ruggie let out his own grunt of pain; you turned your head just in time to see him drop his metal detector and cover his big ears. It didn’t go far though, since it kept on screaming where it lay. You quickly ran over to it and picked it up, releasing Ruggie from the torture. All beastman around you glared in your direction, some more irritated than others, a few borderline angry. You gave a nervous, apologetic smile and a ‘sorry!’ before you focused back on Ruggie. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, hand placed on his shoulder. 

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” Ruggie shook his head, then scratched behind his left ear. His face was still in a mild grimace as he continued. “Are my ears bleeding?” 

“No,” you chuckled. You couldn’t help but smirk as you remembered his previous warning. “And who was the one who said to not turn it up too high?” 

“Shush,” Ruggie grumbled. He patted the sand under his palms, “Where was it again? When it squealed?” 

“Um,” you pointed down at the spot in front of him, “there, I think.” 

Ruggie took out his small metal trowel and began to dig. As the seconds passed, you wondered if you’d been mistaken, as nothing came up. Then, just as you were about to suggest the spot next to the shallow hole he’d dug, something glinted from beneath the sand. Ruggie’s ears perked up as he eyed the object; like you had before, he delicately lifted it out with his fingers. It was round in shape and looked to be a little rusty. When Ruggie brushed the sand off with his thumb, both your eyes widened at the color: gold!

“Is it real?” you asked, now knelt next to the hyena for a better look. 

“Hm…” Ruggie squinted as he brought the coin close to his face, scrutinizing every detail as he flipped it over and over. He then brought the coin to his mouth and bit down on it; sure enough, it didn’t bend. Ruggie’s grin spread wide as his eyes practically sparkled at the confirmation. “Yep, sure is!” 

“Holy shit!” you exclaimed. “That’s awesome!” You leaned close to get a better look at the little prize. “It looks old - how old do you think it is?” 

“Dunno.” Ruggie tucked the coin into the breast pocket of his open shirt as he stood, with you quickly following. “Maybe a hundred years or so?” 

“Wow! It must be worth a lot then!” 

“Could be,” Ruggie picked up your metal detectors off the ground and handed you yours, “c’mon, let’s go. I know a guy who’ll pay good madol for something like this.”

You followed after Ruggie as he began to walk back up the beach. For the time being, you turned your metal detectors off. “I hope I find something similar later,” you said. “There’s bound to be more around…hopefully.” 

“If not in the sand, they could be underwater,” Ruggie suggested. “I can see if I can get my hands on some goggles and snorkels, if you wanna look close to shore.”

“Really? I’d love to!” You waved to Ace and Deuce as the two of you passed them by. “I think it’d be fun.” 

“Yeah.” Your footsteps clumped against the wooden walkway that led away from the beach as you headed back to the resort. “Who knows, maybe after we split this prize, we might find more.”

“Split the prize?” You stopped in your tracks as you looked Ruggie in the eye. “You found it, Ruggie. I thought you’d be taking it for yourself?”

“I usually would,” Ruggie smiled, “but you helped me find it. If you hadn’t pointed out the spot, I could have easily missed it.” He let out a small giggle, “And, I mean, if you hadn’t moved the detector away, I’d probably be deaf right now. You saved my bacon!” He nudged your foot with his, “Splitting the goods will settle my debt.” 

“You don’t owe me anything, Ruggie,” you assured. “I know you would have done the same.” Well, you at least hoped he would have. 

Ruggie shrugged his shoulders, “Still sharing the cash with you. We’ll split it fifty-fifty.” He shot you a teasing grin as he looked you in the eye. “But don’t get too cocky - might not be so generous next time.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, implications be damned. “Fair enough.” You pulled a smirk of your own as the two of you continued your walk. “It goes both ways though. If I find something, I might just keep it to myself~” 

“Hey, who got the metal detectors again?” Ruggie teased. “I’ve been oh-so generous to let you use one!~”

You groaned as you whined, “Stooop! You sound like Crowley!” 

“Whatever do you mean?” Ruggie mocked the headmage as he impersonated his voice to the best of his ability. “Is he not the Seven’s gift to students? He’s soooo kind!” 

“Stop!” You laughed and slapped his arm. “You’re horrible!” 

Your banter went on and on and on, all the way to your destination. It turned out the coin you two found was over three hundred years old; it was apparently the old currency once used in the Queendom of Roses. You and Ruggie got quite the payout from a certain octopus that practically fangirled over the small little piece of metal. How to celebrate your little added wealth? Simple: burgers, fries, and milkshakes - the biggest available at the beach!