#TRYING TO MAKE MY CAPTION SOUND NORMAL

[havockingboo]

My observation from reading the rp asks from these blogs……they’re so damn goofy (with a pinch of angst)

@officialpapyrus @sansofficial @gasterofficial

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (2/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The first breakfast together is a good idea to get to know each other better. And to make the first arrangements. And to cheer each other up.

Warnings: google translated French, mention of "nice guys"

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: part two my loves! please tell me if you liked it!

Back when you went to school, you always woke up to the cooing of the pigeons that lived in the tree outside your childhood bedroom. They announced the new day, which was filled with learning, friends and fun. True, the time of your graduation had been incredibly exhausting, but in all the summers that followed, you woke up in the morning to the same sound and nostalgia felt like an old friend.

But now it's mid December. There are no birds outside whose chirping might wake you in the morning. And yet you've been lying awake in your bed for an hour.

All night you've been thinking. Charles apparently didn't try to break into the bedroom to kill you. You haven't heard any strange noises all night. But deep sleep was still out of the question with a complete stranger sleeping on the couch one room over. He did seem nice last night - after you had talked things out halfway - but the "nice guys" are also the worst in the end. 

After all, you had to experience that firsthand. 

Hands clasped behind your head, you stare at the white ceiling of your room. Your cell phone is lying next to your pillow. Some time ago, you lost it somewhere in your bedspread, and when you had to shake it out, the phone flew into the nearest wall. Since then it has its permanent place near your head.

A quick glance at it tells you that Charles will theoretically be asleep for just under two more hours - if you can believe him. Normally, you'd be getting ready for work right now and eating breakfast. Maybe you'd fry up some fried eggs or make some yogurt with berries. And then you'd go to work in peace.

Frustrated, you put your forearms over your face.

Right after you woke up, you googled for new job openings, but except for a new dog-sitter job posting, there doesn't seem to be anything new. Nothing at all. If the job were advertised with a reasonable salary that would allow you to continue financing your life in Monaco, you'd think twice about applying.

Finding a job that suits you, is fun, and pays a good salary is incredibly difficult. Almost impossible. When you were younger, you once saw a picture of a triangle on the internet. One corner said "friends," the second said "good grades," and the third said "sleep." The caption read "You can only choose two." That's exactly how job hunting feels.

You wouldn't tell Charles about it. Your unemployment, like his affairs, is private. If he asks, you'll simply say you're off because the company requires its employees to take vacation days in December. Doesn't sound convincing, but at least it doesn't completely suck.

Oh God, hopefully he won't ask.

As your stomach speaks up with an almost embarrassingly loud bubbling sound, you can no longer suppress your hunger. You slip out of bed and change from your sleep outfit - a big shirt and comfy sports shorts - into a pair of jeans and a comfy sweater before quietly turning the key in the door lock.

The rest of the apartment is silent. You sneak into the bathroom on your socks to brush your teeth and quickly comb your hair. As you slip on your shoes at the front door, you glance toward the couch to make sure you weren't dreaming last night.

The fact that a stranger is suddenly standing in your apartment, claiming that it is his apartment, sounds very far-fetched. And that he then spontaneously starts cooking sounds even more implausible. 

But you didn't imagine it. Charles is lying with his back turned to you between the pillows, the blanket tangled between his legs. He seems to be sound asleep, because when you open the apartment door, he doesn't move a bit. 

After taking a good look at the dog-sitting job this morning - two cute dachshunds, Hubert and Guenther - you had drawn up a chart of the things your new roommate and you would need to discuss.

Cleaning the apartment, for example. Since you'd still be staying in the bedroom, you'd obviously keep the room clean. Maybe you could also clear out a drawer in the dresser for Charles to put some of his things in, so he doesn't have to live out of a suitcase. But it's definitely too early for that. After all, you've only known each other since yesterday.

Although the morning has just begun, the sun is shining pleasantly warm as you walk to the nearest bakery. Having breakfast together definitely can't hurt if you plan to get to know each other better so that your shared apartment can function well. As long as Charles doesn't kill you and gets a little involved as far as organization goes, you'll be fine. Last night he already said that there are some things that need to be discussed today. And as long as the organization and in the end also the execution is not only dependent on you, the ship will probably not sink. 

Marie, the incredibly nice saleswoman who gives you a small, free piece of cake every Saturday, bags you two pain au chocolat and two croissants before you pay and she wishes you a nice day. While you don't know what Charles likes to eat for breakfast - if he eats breakfast at all - you're certainly not barking up the wrong tree with the pastries. Besides, breakfast isn't just about getting to know each other better and getting some structure, but you'd also like to apologize. For being willing to hit him over the head with the newspaper.

You quietly enter the apartment, only to find that Charles is already awake despite the time - 8:13 a.m. He's sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as you close the door behind you. His brown hair is sticking up from his head, and he wearily runs a hand through his strands before looking at you.

"Bonjour." His voice seems to have dropped an octave since last night, and it's rougher than yesterday, too, which is probably due to waking up. His gaze moves from your face to the bags in your hand. "Petit déjeuner?" Breakfast. You nod. "Pour nous deux?" For both of us? Again, you nod. Charles closes his eyes briefly before rising from the couch. "Give me a moment. Be right back."

While he's in the bathroom, you put two plates on the dining room table and add everything that could be used for a good breakfast. You quickly rinse the dishes Charles put in the sink yesterday and put them away. 

When your new roommate rejoins you, he looks more awake. He sits down across from you at the table and reaches for a bag. As he grabs a croissant, he looks briefly surprised, but you're too distracted by the pillow print on his cheek to notice. 

"How did you sleep?" he asks as you take a bite of your pain au chocolat. 

You swallow. What are you supposed to answer him? That you slept fitfully all night, afraid he might be a murderer after all? Would be a great topic of conversation to start the day. 

"I don't know," you answer neutrally. Charles tilts his head. "I mean, it was kind of weird knowing that someone completely foreign was sleeping just one room over."

"I'll bet." His smile is faint, but genuine. Little dimples bore into his cheeks. "Maybe we should make sure we're not particularly strangers to each other then. After all, we'll be living here together for quite some time. And I'd hate to be responsible for you not getting a decent night's sleep."

"It's okay," you answer him. "I haven't slept properly in ages."

"I'm always told that a good night's sleep is important. That's why mine is sacred to me." He rubs his free hand over the dark stubble on his chin. "Besides, it's not healthy not to sleep soundly. From that point of view, it's worth a try to me. And I'd hate to be responsible for your poor sleep. 

Most of all, you'd like to tell him that while his presence unsettled you last night, he's not the reason you can't rest, or sleep through the night. That he's not responsible for you falling asleep late and waking up early. But you don't. Because it's none of his business.

"While we're on the subject -" you put your pain au chocolat on the plate in front of you, "why are you up already? Did I wake you up? I swear I was trying to be really quiet, but -"

"I got a call," he says curtly. "Until you were standing in the doorway, I didn't even know you were gone. So, everything's cool." The smile is gone from his face. Apparently, his caller is just as popular as the one you pushed away last night. Or maybe he's just tired.

Since it's none of your business, you try to distract him. "So, Charles. How about it? What else is in you besides being able to cook? What do I need to know about you?"

Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc turned twenty-five in October, born and raised in Monaco. He has two brothers, one of whom is older than him and the other younger. He speaks English, French and Italian and does a lot of sports. He likes to eat pasta, but his nutritionist - who the heck has a nutritionist? Someone who can afford to have a second home in Monaco, of course - always advises him against it. 

He also travels a lot for work reasons. On his cell phone he has a lot of photos that he has taken in different countries and to be honest, you are already a little envious. Except for your home country and Monaco, you've never been anywhere else. What would you give to be able to travel so much? A dream that will probably remain denied to you, if your bank balance is to be trusted.

Some of the photos, he confesses, were taken by Joris - your Joris. You knew Joris was also a photographer by trade, and judging from the pictures, he's incredibly good at what he does. Apparently, the two of them travel together more often. Either the two are best friends or Joris is Charles' personal photographer. Or both. 

He won't tell you exactly what the Monegasque does for a living, though. "Something with cars," is his answer, and since you have relatively little idea about it, it's quite enough for you. He tells you a lot about himself, and you secretly hope that the information he gets from you will be enough for him, and that he will please not ask about your job.

But there you are mistaken.

"So what do you do for a living?"

The pastries are eaten so you crumple up the bags and throw them in the trash can. You stand up, and as you turn your back on Charles, your face contorts briefly. "I'm a photographer."

You hear Charles rise from his chair as well, stacking the plates. You barely noticeably flinch as he suddenly stands next to you. "And who do you work for?" He places the plates in the empty sink, grabs the sponge and detergent, and begins washing the dishes.

"For a small magazine, nothing wild," you reply curtly, drying the clean plate Charles holds out to you with his foam soaked fingers. It clanks as you put it in the cupboard with the others. 

"For that one?" He points with a nod to the magazine lying on the small coffee table. Of course, it's the one you threatened him with yesterday. A wide grin spreads across his face as you roll your eyes. 

"Sorry," you apologize, but are secretly glad for the opportunity to change the subject. "What would you do if someone strange suddenly showed up at your apartment?"

"I'd probably threaten to call the police." You don't know how that's possible, but his grin gets even wider and his dimples even deeper.

You have to grin. "Ah, so we're joking about that now? That I was standing there all scared, armed only with a magazine?"

Charles' gaze is amused, but gentle. The green in his eyes sparkles as he looks at you. "Just wrapped in a towel, not to mention. But I'm sure you would have kicked my ass."

Charles stows his bedding in the hall closet while you wipe down the table to clean up the last remnants of your first breakfast together. After fluffing the couch cushions, he sits down and pulls his laptop from his backpack. Stretching out his legs, he gestures for you to join him. 

"So," he begins as you sit down at the other end of the couch. You pull your knees to your chest as he waits for you to get comfortable. There are only a few inches between your feet. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I've been thinking about all the things that come up when you have a roommate." He looks up from his laptop for a moment. "Well, actually, I was just Googling."

You're pleasantly surprised that he actually thought about it. And apparently, not just a bit. He's even created an Excel spreadsheet, with weekly plans, tasks, and a financial overview, as far as grocery shopping goes. He included every little detail in his lists. 

Very dedicated, the young man in front of you. 

"We're summarizing." Charles stretches out his arms and folds his hands behind his head. You've spent an hour talking everything out, going over several possibilities, and finally you've come to a common denominator.

"Since you live in the bedroom, it's also your job to keep the room clean." That was the easiest point. "And that's why it's up to me to clean the living room. The bathroom gets cleaned weekly, on a rotating basis. Since you just cleaned it recently, it's my turn next week."

You come to an agreement that you will buy groceries from the money in the joint household fund - a small cookie jar where you actually stored sewing supplies - and he will cook instead. Since you're more of a frozen pizza kind of person and his nutritionist sends him a weekly meal plan, Charles also wants to put more money into the household fund. The fact that you benefit from both the meal plan and his generosity doesn't seem to bother him.

"That settles the organizational stuff," he finishes, setting his laptop aside. "But we should establish other rules. For the interpersonal stuff."

You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow. "Interpersonal?"

"Yup." He stretches again, and his white shirt slides up a little so you can see a strip of skin from his belly. You quickly look away. "Communication and stuff. So if something's bothering you, please tell me." Charles crosses his arms in front of his chest, his shirt straining over his biceps. "I don't feel like having to ask five times to get you to finally come clean. My patience is definitely too thin for that."

Understandable. Your patience is not quite that thin, but when someone doesn't speak up and then acts passive-aggressively, that's a no-go for you, too. 

"Open communication. Got it." You cross your arms in front of your chest as well. "But then please give me a heads up if you're bringing someone home with you. I don't want to come home at some point and be left in just a towel again. And if you do bring girls, I'll stay the night somewhere else." With his looks, you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have at least five women wrapped around his little finger. Maybe you're crossing a line with the request, but if this whole thing is going to work out, it should be cleared up.

The smile that just now had a firm place on his face disappears. "Don't worry. It's not going to happen."

Apparently you have crossed a line, or rather hit a sore spot. All of a sudden Charles seems tense, the relaxed atmosphere seems to be lost and you would love to take it all back and apologize, but your roommate is faster.

"I don't think we need to talk about privacy. Everyone has their own stuff to deal with. If someone wants to talk about it voluntarily, that's fine, but no one is being pressured into anything here." You nod silently. "And I think honesty is important. I experience so much dishonesty in my job and it makes life so much more difficult and stressful. Just be honest with me, no matter what, and I promise I'll be honest with you, too. No matter what it's about."

The topic of unemployment pops into your head, but disappears again as Charles scoots closer to you on the couch and sits up straight. "We'll work it out. As long as you promise not to murder me in my sleep. After all, I don't have the option of locking myself in a room." His smile has returned to his face. It's faint, but at least it's there. 

"You caught that?" you ask, biting your lower lip.

"Like I said, the walls aren't very thick. But I don't blame you." He winks at you. "But I hope I'm not a complete stranger to you now."

He's actually not. True, you haven't talked about much personal stuff yet, but that's sure to come with time. Or maybe it won't. Sharing an apartment doesn't necessarily mean you'll become best friends. And that would be fine, too.

"I'll think twice about locking the door tonight," you quip, and his smile widens. It's so infectious that you follow suit.

"All right. I think we can work this out. I haven't drawn up a roommate agreement now, but we're both adults. We'll stick to the agreements and if one of us thinks of anything else, we'll talk it over and work it out." He holds out his hand for you to shake. "Deal?"

You hold out your hand as well, but before you can shake his, the cell phone in your pocket rings. You pull it out and when you see who's calling you, your smile vanishes in a millisecond.

Why is he calling you? Hasn't he humiliated you enough? Embarrassed you? Made you the joke of your - former - friend group? What does he want from you now?

You press the call away and, frustrated, toss the cell phone between you on the couch and rub your hands over your face. You don't notice that Charles has caught on to the situation until he speaks up.

"Are you busy now?" As you look at him, he's still smiling, but a little softer. His smile doesn't reach his ears now, but the green in his eyes gleams nonetheless. 

You exhale loudly. You're out of a job. What could you possibly be up to? "No. Why?"

Charles gets up from the couch. "Then let's do something. I know a really good lookout point. You can see all of Monaco from there."

Whether he actually feels like doing something with you, or is suggesting it out of pity, you don't know. But maybe Charles deserves a little benefit of the doubt. And you definitely don't feel like sitting around on the couch waiting for anything to happen.

"Come on, Y/N," he tries to coax you out of your shell.

"Are you going to take me to a secluded place to kill me? Or are you really going to show me a nice lookout point?" You stand up so that you are facing each other. You have to tilt your head back a little to look him in the eyes.

Charles looks down at you. "Do you really think I'd kill you now, after we've spent ages discussing our shared apartment? Wouldn't that be wasted energy?" He rolls his eyes playfully. "Give yourself a break."

"Fine," you reply to him. You raise your hand and point your index finger at him. "But if that lookout isn't the most beautiful I've ever seen, I may kill you."

Charles laughs. He almost closes his eyes at that. The sound is so heartfelt you have to grin.

"Deal."

next part

[heavenlyhischier]

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬 - 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

word count: 7.6k (i got very carried away im sorry)

summary: after months of feeling like you've lost quinn, he ends up losing you. will the two of you find your back to each other?

warnings: angst, self-destructive tendancies, drinking, cursing, MINORS DNI - 18+ content below the cut, shower sex, fingering, oral (fem recieving), unprotected sex (use protection guys), teeny bit of a praise kink, brief breath play, please let me know if you see any mistakes. i finished this at 2 am and my vision was a little blurry at that point

note: this is part of my follower celebration! i'm so glad i finally wrote about the future captian of the vancouver canucks please guys im begging you.

Two years ago, you had met Quinn Hughes through a mutual friend, and he’s been a part of your life ever since. In the beginning, the two of you took things slow, wanting to truly get to know each other before getting into a relationship. Quinn wanted to make sure that his intense schedule that involved him being gone for long periods of time wasn’t going to overwhelm you, or make you feel alone. You wanted to make sure that, after all you had gone through, Quinn was going to remain a man of his word and make your relationship work despite the many odds that came with his job. And he did, at first.

For the first year and a half that you were with Quinn, he was texting, calling, facetiming as often as he could when he was gone. If he wasn’t doing something that related to his commitment to the hockey team, he was talking to you in some way. He would send you pictures of the places he would visit with short captions of how he wished you were there with him, and you would always smile at them and tell him that you would be, one day. Though, a few months ago, those texts started to become less frequent, and when you did get them, they sounded forced, almost like they had been rehearsed.

For a while, you tried to reason with yourself. Telling yourself that he was just getting busier, and the stress was getting to him. You tried to understand just how demanding and exhausting his job must be, so you brushed off his deteriorating communication. Instead, you tried to hold onto the hope that when he was finally back home, things were going to go back to normal. Quinn was going to walk back through the door to your shared apartment and hold you until you fell asleep. Then, that stopped happening too.

The first time you realized that Quinn was truly pulling away from you was when he didn’t come straight home after a seven day roadie. He hadn’t even told you that he was close to home yet. You only found out because Natalie had posted a snapchat story of JT holding Owen, and you were immediately dialing your boyfriend's phone number. Your heart sank when it only rang three times before cutting to his bland voicemail message.

You remember spending the rest of that night crying into your pillow, thoughts of what you could have done to make him distance himself from you clouding your brain. You knew that hockey players had an abysmal reputation, but you have never lumped Quinn into that group of men. You’ve always thought the world of him, considering yourself lucky to have the luxury of being loved by him. This had you questioning everything you thought you knew about him. When he came home later that night, he gave you a half-assed apology and explanation followed by a string of kisses that had you melting back into him.

Though even that started to dwindle, and eventually it stopped all together. When Quinn was home in Vancouver, he rarely made the effort to spend time with you, and when he did, it was almost like he wasn’t there. His face would always be buried in his phone, or he’d be playing video games with his friends and you’d simply be sitting next to him on the couch. Quinn had stopped trying to plan dates, and honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone on one with him. You could barely remember the last time the two of you had shared a kiss that was more than the obligatory chaste peck on the lips before bed. 

You tried to reassure yourself and ignore the aching in your chest, but the way he put as much distance as he possibly could between the two of you, the less you were able to do that. Eventually, you’d decided that enough was enough, and if it felt like you weren’t in a relationship, then you weren’t going to be in one. No matter how badly it hurt. 

The thought of breaking up with Quinn made you feel like someone was holding your head under water. The panic settling into your chest as you realized that you couldn’t breathe; your lungs burning the longer you went without any air. No matter how hard you tried to break the surface and gasp for air, your head was only shoved deeper and deeper into the water until you realized that the only escape was leaving him. Leaving the man you were still in love with was the only way for you to be able to breathe again. 

When he finally came home that night, he didn’t even notice you sitting at the table, his head shoved in his phone as he walked through the door. “Quinn,” Your quiet voice bounced off the walls of your home. His head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise that you were still awake at this hour, but you continued, “We need to talk.”

“Okay,” He drew out, brows knitting together in confusion as he slipped his phone into his pocket, “What’s this about?”

His eyes darted throughout the apartment, and you watched as his shoulders fell when he realized that stuff was missing from all over. Your stuff. With Quinn avoiding your home like it was, or rather you were, the plague, it gave you enough time to gather everything you’d brought over with you, and temporarily move it into a friend's apartment until you could find your own. Despite the multiple breaks you had to take because you kept breaking down, you managed to do it all in one day.

“I think you know what it’s about,” You chewed at your bottom lip, blinking rapidly to keep yourself from crying.

“Baby, I-,” He tried as he reached over the table to grab your hand, but you quickly cut him off. The chair scraped against the floor as you abruptly stood, shoving his outstretched hand away from you.

“Don’t call me that,” You spat, vision blurring from the tears, “You can’t call me that anymore.”

“What are you trying to say,” He asked, his voice breaking, and that made you angry.

How dare he act like he was hurt when all he’s been doing is hurting you? He put you in this position. He pushed you away, made you feel like he didn’t want you anymore. He did this, and he doesn’t get to act like he’s the one that’s hurting.

“I’m saying that we’re done, Quinn. I’m breaking up with you,” You asserted through the salty streams falling down your cheeks. Though the words tasted bitter as they came out, you felt a slight, very very slight, sense of relief wash over you as you said the words out loud.

Your words hung over his head as you fell into an uncomfortable silence, eyes staying trained on him as you waited for a response. He stood at the table with his palms pressed against the wood, head down as he let out a shaky breath followed by a weak question.

“What do you mean ‘Why’,” You scoffed, shooting daggers into the top of his head, “Quinn, you’ve barely said a full sentence to me in the last week. You don’t talk to me when you’re gone anymore. Hell, half the time I don’t even know you guys are back unless someone posts about it. I just- It just feels like you don’t want this anymore, and that’s okay, but what you’ve been doing isn’t.”

“No,” He breathed out, his voice small and broken as he shook his head, “No, it’s not and I’m sorry. I don’t- Fuck, Y/N, I don’t know what to say right now. I lo-“

“Please don’t,” You interrupted, tearing your gaze away from him as you choked on your own cries, “Please stop, Quinn. I can’t do it anymore. I love you so much, but it’s gotten to a point that the person I fell in love with is gone even though he’s right in front of me.”

A part of you did want him to beg you to stay, to beg you to give him another chance because he will change. He will change as long as it means he got to have you, and he couldn’t live without you. But the more logical part of you was holding the spear, and it was telling you that you were doing the best thing for you. That leaving Quinn, while it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, it was the right decision for you.

“I’ve already got all of my stuff moved out,” Your voice cut through the thick silence, “You’re not home much so it made it pretty easy.”

You couldn’t help but throw the jab in there, but it was only to cover the thinly veiled agony that was truly going on in your heart and bleeding into the rest of your body. You didn’t want Quinn to know that saying goodbye to him was like death by a thousand cuts, and so you masked the pain the only way you knew how. With anger.

“I wish you and your team the best in the rest of the season, I really do. But I think it would be better for both of us if we don’t talk after this.”

Not waiting for his response, you made a slight show to toss the key to what was now his apartment onto the table in front of him, the gentle ding of the metal hitting the wood echoing through the empty room, before walking out of the door. You’d barely made it into the elevator by the time your feelings washed over you an aggressive wave that came seemingly out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. You were thankful that the ride down to the bottom was quick and no one else joined you, and that the main lobby was only occupied by the security guard who’s more than likely seen his fair share of crying women.

That night, you went to your friend's apartment and broke down into a mess of screams, tears, and pain. She held you as you cried, held your hair as you threw up, held your hand through the shower curtain because you didn’t want to be alone. She stood by you in your most desperate time of need, and she made it her own personal goal to maim the hockey player should she ever see him again.

Quinn didn’t text or call you, but you knew that he wasn’t doing the greatest for the first few weeks after your breakup. Petey and Brock had both called to check on you once they had figured out what had their teammate in the state he was in. They asked how you were doing, and not-so-subtly mentioned that Quinn wasn’t any better off than you were. Though, they quickly learned to not mention him unless they wanted to listen to you call them obscene words before ending the call and ignoring them for a few days. You knew their intentions were good, but you didn’t want to hear about how “awful” Quinn was.

If he had acted like he cared about you half as much as his friends were telling you he did, maybe you would have made the effort to ask about him. If he loved you half as much as they said he did, but he didn’t. And he’s made that clear to you. Of course you know you told him that you thought it best if the two of you didn’t talk anymore, but you had secretly hoped he wouldn’t listen. That he would be calling you and texting you, begging you to come back. Telling you how in love he was with you, but it was complete and utter radio silence.

Eventually, you were able to pick yourself back up enough to find your own apartment. Leila had insisted that you staying with her was never going to be a problem, but you knew you couldn’t stay there forever. You needed to try and move on from him, even though you weren’t quite ready to let go of him yet. You needed to try and find yourself again, and you couldn’t do that sleeping in the guest bed of your best friend and her boyfriend's apartment.

Leila’s worried eyes were practically carved into your skull at this point, but you didn’t blame her. She’s had to pick you up, physically and emotionally, more times than she had anticipated when you initially turned up at her door with puffy cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Though she should have realized how deeply hurt you were the fourth time she held you after you had woken up thinking that your breakup was a nightmare, only to realize that it was reality that haunted your dreams.

No matter how hard you tried to forget about Quinn Hughes, the city you lived in was as riddled with memories and reminders of what once was. He was on every street you walked, in every store window you passed by. He was everywhere, and it made you feel like there was a shard of glass piercing your heart, unrelenting and unmoving. You wanted nothing more than to forget about the man who had torn your heart in two, and you were willing to do anything to do that.

The bar air that clung to your body was sticky with alcohol and sweat, but you didn’t seem to mind as you moved your hips to the beat of whatever terrible remix they were playing. The unnamed man behind you had his hands planted firmly on your waist, but you didn’t pay him any mind as you let yourself dance. The alcohol swimming through your veins aiding your ability to forget about all of the hurt you had yet to heal from.

For the last three months, you often found yourself in some sort of bar or club to drink your pain away. It was cliche, but you hadn’t stumbled upon any other outlet that allowed you to forget about the constant ache in your chest. Leila had tried to guide you towards less self-destructive ways of healing, but you didn’t listen to her. This way was guaranteed to ease your heartbreak, at least for the night and that was all you needed.

“I’m Wren,” The man yelled into your ear, an off-putting smirk slapped on his less than desirable features.

Your mouth dropped open, the blood pounding in your ears covering the music entirely. It was too close. His name was too similar, and it made the one thing you were trying to forget flood itself into your head. Images of Quinn and memories of the way his voice sounded pushed their way to the forefront mind, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe.

Without another word, you pushed the man away from you and scrambled towards the exit of the bar. Your vision turned bleary and clouded, from the tears or the alcohol, you weren’t sure. Ignoring the worried calls from strangers you shoved past, you rushed out into the crisp Vancouver air.

You stumbled over into the mostly empty alleyway, clutching at your chest as your back came in contact with the brick wall. You were aware of the many lingering eyes on you, but the feeling that was consuming you made their attention appear miniscule and irrelevant. All you could think about was Quinn and how he never even fought to be with you. How he gave you up so easily.

Leila’s boyfriend had seen you run out of the bar, and immediately darted towards the bathroom so he could grab her. With the help of a few random women, he was able to get her attention much faster, and she was rushing out of the bar and leaving him to close their tab. Leila heard you before she saw you, and that alone made her chest burn for you.

“Honey,” She delicately approached you, her voice calm and collected, “What happened?”

The words were on the tip of your tongue, but nothing was coming out but strangled breaths and mangled cries. Despite having seen you in this position more times than she could count, it broke Leila’s heart all the same. She maneuvered your body so that she could pull you into her lap, ignoring the fact that she was sitting on the ground in a dirty alley. She began rubbing soothing circles on your back and instructed you to try and follow her breathing pattern.

Once you were able to catch your breath, you let out an almost incoherent, “Why didn’t he come back?”

Leila was able to calm you down enough to get you back to your apartment nearly an hour later. She kept insisting that you just come home with her, but you already felt guilty enough for intruding so much on her personal life. You knew she didn’t mind, but you did, so you managed to convince her that you would be okay by yourself, and that you would call her if you needed her. Though, she wasn’t the person you ended up calling.

“You have reached the voicemail box of Quinn Hughes. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“I hate you, Quinn,” You started, your voice already raspy from the moments prior, “I hate you so much for making me believe that you ever loved me back the way that I loved you. I thought we were forever, you know. That’s what you told me. That we would get married and have our own family, but we saw how that turned out. It was never going to be me, was it?

“I just wished you would have had the balls to tell me that you fell out of love with me, if you ever did in the first place, or found someone else or whatever the fuck happened. It would have made it a hell of a lot easier knowing that I, or you, did something to make you not stop loving me. It’s just- The worst fucking part about all of this is, is that I’m still so in love with you that it physically hurts me to be without you, but that doesn’t matter does it?

“Fuck. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I guess I'm just trying to give myself closure so that I can really move on from you. I don’t know that I’ll ever stop loving you, but I’m going to try.”

Hanging up the phone, you threw it onto your couch and let out a gut wrenching sob that ripped through the stillness of your apartment. You fell to your knees and let everything you had been bottling up for the last three months bleed out of you. The world spun around you, your lungs burning as you gasped for air. Your fingers grasped at anything they could possibly wrap themselves around in an attempt to keep yourself steady.

You felt as if you were back to square one, and you hated that all it took was some man having a name that too closely resembled his. It was stupid, you thought, blatantly pathetic how easily you were thrown back into the fire you had done your best to crawl out of. You had almost healed all of the cuts Quinn’s treatment of you had left in your heart, but now they were gaping open once again.

Minutes passed by, or maybe hours you weren’t sure, and you had fallen into a limp ball on the floor of your living room. You had no energy to move from the spot as silent tears escaped their previous confinement. You stared lifelessly at the ceiling above you, mind too tired to fight off the dangerous thoughts floating about inside your head. It was only when sleep finally graced you that you were able to escape the pain of what-ifs.

The following morning, you were rudely awoken by someone aggressively and relentlessly knocking on your door. The sound ricocheted across the nearly empty walls of your apartment, and worsened the already excruciating pounding in your head. Pushing your tired body off the floor, you let out a quiet groan as nausea rippled from your core.

You passed by a mirror that Leila insisted you hang, and you outwardly cringed at your appearance. Your face swollen from last night's breakdown, and your makeup was smudged all across your face. Needless to say, your unwarranted guest was not going to get a presentable version of you.

Not bothering to check the peephole, you pulled the door open and time froze all around you. Quinn stood there with his hands in his pockets, head covered by the hood of his blue Canucks hoodie. His face was decorated with overgrown facial hair and deep set bags had found places underneath his eyes. Truly, he looked awful, but the sight of him in front of you made the already growing ball of nausea burst.

Quinn watched as your eyes simultaneously widened and hardened with an undetectable emotion, but he’s sure he could guess what it was. When he had woken up that morning, the last thing he’d expected to see was a missed call from you, let alone a voicemail. He’d listened to it a dozen times before calling Petey, asking him what he should do.

After a lecture that closely resembled the one he had already gotten from his teammate months prior that was followed by words of encouragement, he set off to your apartment. He only knew your address because Brock had accidentally let it slip when they passed by it one night. Truthfully, Quinn was expecting you to not answer the door or to slam it shut in his face when you saw him. That he was prepared for, but what he did not prepare himself for was you darting to the bathroom.

He stood in the hallway, conflicting emotions battling with each other as the sound of you retching reached his ears. He wanted to follow after you and comfort you like he’d done many times before, but he also didn’t want to make you even more uncomfortable than you undoubtedly were already. He opted to step inside and wait for you in the living room, preparing himself for whatever you were going to throw at him.

You were heaving into the toilet, panic running through every nerve in your body as you tried to focus on breathing rather than throwing up. The last person you had expected to show up at your door was here now, and you left him standing in the hallway. A million thoughts ran through your mind as you flushed the toilet, pushing yourself up off the floor for the second time in the last fifteen minutes.

Why was Quinn here? How was he here? You never gave him your address. Though a brief reminder that Brock knew where you lived was enough to answer that question for you, but nothing you could come up with answered why. You remember leaving him a voicemail in your drunken meltdown, but you couldn’t wrap your head around just what had gotten him to seek you out.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for far too long, and you wondered if Quinn was still here. You’d heard the door shut, but you couldn’t figure out if the footsteps that followed were inside your apartment or in the hallway. After quickly brushing your teeth and convincing yourself that he had left, you stepped back into the living room and were proven wrong. He had settled into the spot on the couch that he chose every time if he could; closest to the kitchen. His leg was anxiously bouncing up and down, and he was biting at his fingernails. 

“What are you doing here,” You called out, nails digging into the palm of your hand as a way to keep yourself grounded.

The sound of your voice had Quinn’s head turning on a swivel before he was standing and taking a few steps towards you, but he stopped when you stepped backwards. He swallowed thickly, knowing that he was already treading through very dangerous waters by showing up at your apartment unannounced, and he didn’t want to do anything to further worsen that.

He instantly registered the tortured look in your eyes because it was the same one he’s been sporting since you left. Quinn knows he’s to blame for the downfall of your relationship. He should have fought harder. He should have fought, period, but he had his own reason for letting you go.

“You called me last night,” He started.

“I was drunk,” You firmly stated, heart beating loudly in your chest, “It didn’t mean anything.” You were lying, and he knew that, too. Quinn could always tell when you were lying.

“It meant something to me,” He rushed out, “Hearing your voice- Hearing you say that you thought I never loved you ripped me to pieces. I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please listen to my explanation? I know it won’t repair the damage I’ve done, but please. I was too scared before, but I’m not now.”

He rasped your name out like it was something sacred, like it held the entire world within its syllables. His eyes were glassy and filled with unshed tears as they bore into your own. He could tell that your heart and brain were at war with each other by the way you kept taking sharp breaths, and your eyes kept flitting away from him. 

“I don’t know, Quinn. I’m trying to move on, and hearing you out will only undo all of the work I’ve put into doing that,” You tried, turning away from him but still staying in the living room.

“I know, baby,” The nickname tumbled out before he could stop it, sending a jab to your chest, “I know, but please. I will leave you alone after, if that’s what you really want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

You weighed your options in your head before letting out a hesitant, “Okay. I’ll listen, but if I want you to leave after, you’ll go?”

Your heart had won this battle, but you’re relying on your brain to save it later if need be. The sound of his approaching footsteps made the breath catch in your throat, but the feeling of his hand sliding into your own sent a jolt of electricity through your entire body. Your head snapped to his own, your eyes full of anxiety and familiarity.

He gently pulled you over to the couch, dropping your hand so that you could sit as far away from as you wanted. The air was crawling with nerves from both parties, but the lack of anger radiating off of you brought him some sort of comfort as he gathered his thoughts. Though, in your defense, you could never be angry at Quinn, no matter how badly he hurt you.

“I know that no apology can fix the hurt I’ve caused you, but I am sorry. I am so sorry for pulling away from you instead of talking to you. I never fell out of love with you, ever. Not then, and not now. Do you want to know the best thing that’s ever happened to me? It isn't hockey. It isn’t money. It’s you, and that terrified me. I was so scared that I was going to screw everything up.”

You opened your mouth to interrupt him, but he cast you a stern glare and shook his head before continuing, “I never let that bother me until I overheard you talking to Leila about marriage and children, and I got scared. I started questioning if I was good enough for you. If I was even good for you. I’m gone so much with the team, and I’ve already missed so many of your accomplishments because I was on the road.

“I started thinking about us having kids. How many appointments would I miss? What if I missed the birth? What if I missed the baby’s first steps? I couldn’t imagine putting you through all of that by yourself, so I started pulling away. Was it a good idea? Absolutely not, but it made sense to me. I thought I was going to save you from heartbreak in the future, but all I did was cause it now instead.

“I didn’t call after you left because I thought I did the right thing. I thought I was doing what was best for you, but then I heard your voice this morning and I knew I had to fix it, if you’d let me. I couldn’t let you think that I never loved you, because I do. I love you so much, and I will do anything to prove that to you, should you give me the chance.”

You sat there in silence, digesting the words that had just been said to you as you let out quiet sobs. For nearly the last year, you had believed that Quinn didn’t love you, and now he was saying the exact opposite. He was begging for another chance, and that was what you had wanted, right? It still was, but the damage that was done wasn’t going to be easily fixable. You would have to start back at the beginning, and you’re not sure if Quinn was willing to do that.

“Baby,” He whispered, your silence lighting his skin on fire with nerves, “I don’t know what’s going through your head, but I want you to know that I meant what I said. I will do whatever it takes to fix this mess I created. Anything.”

The gears were turning in your head, trying to conjure any sort of coherent thought to tell him that you wanted this, but you were scared. You’d put so much faith and trust into Quinn, and he tore all of that down out of fear. What if he did that again?

“I want to,” You whispered, “I do, but what if you do it again? I can’t go through it all over, Quinn. I felt like I was going to die without you, and I can’t go through losing you all over again if you get scared.”

You felt his weight lift off the sofa, and before you realized what was going on, he was wedging himself in between your legs in front of you. He cupped both of your cheeks in his hands so you were looking at him, and you swear you blacked out for a second. Just because Quinn had hurt you, doesn’t mean the effect he had on you went away.

“You won’t lose me ever again, okay? My heart belongs to you. My heart beats for you. I promise to love you for the rest of my life, even if you don’t love me for the rest of yours.”

His hands were still on your cheeks as you gulped down the lump in your throat, his pleading eyes darting all across your face. Lucky for you, your heart and your brain had linked together as you let out an almost silent, “Kiss me, please.”

And he did. Quinn’s lips were on yours in an instant, hands dropping down so he could pull you into his chest. The kiss was full of desperation and months of lost time as the two of you clung to each other. He was holding your hips so tightly that you’re fairly certain they were going to bruise, but you didn’t mind. You were pulling him into you just as desperately, afraid that he was somehow going to disappear from right in front of you.

He briefly pulled away so that he could sit on the couch, pulling you into his lap not long after. He quickly reattached his lips to yours, and he kissed you with so much fervor that it had your head spinning. You could feel some of your sadness melting away, being replaced by passion and desire for the man underneath you. Almost as if a switch had flipped within you. You shifted your hips on his lap, and a throaty moan escaped his swollen lips as he slightly threw his head back.

“Be careful with that,” He let out a breathy laugh, “You know what that does to me.”

There was a teasing glint in your eye as you spoke, “I know.”

“Fuck me,” He groaned, subtly moving your hips against him.

“If you insist,” You drew out, leaning down to ghost your lips over his neck.

He threw his head back against the couch and screwed his eyes shut as your warm breath fanned across his neck. Your eyes flicked up to his face, and you couldn’t help but let a mischievous smirk form before dragging your tongue across the expanse of his neck. He let out a string of profanities as you latched your mouth onto the spot you knew would send him spiraling, but you quickly pulled away and hopped off of him.

“I need to take a shower,” You announced, a teasing tone to your voice, “I’m still gross from the bar.”

Quinn’s eyes snapped open, watching as you began to walk away. Only when he heard you ask if you were going to join did he jump off the couch and scramble after you. He shed his clothes as he followed you to the bathroom, leaving a trail of fabric in his wake. By the time he had reached your bathroom, you’d already turned the shower on and rid yourself of your own clothes.

“I do not deserve you,” He mumbled as his eyes raked over your naked body. 

He’d already memorized every dip and curve of you, but he always treated it as if he was seeing all of you for the first time. Your body captivated him in all of the best ways, and it left Quinn breathless every time you graced him with it. He considered it a privilege to be able to bear witness to the Goddess of a woman in front of him, and he worshiped it like it was.

Despite all that has happened between the two of you, you still felt comfortable enough to share this part of you with Quinn. Unlike the guys who had seen you naked before, none of them treated it the way he did. He never made you feel insecure, and he always made every other part of you feel just as loved as your body. He admired your character, and even your flaws, all the same.

“You gonna stand there or are you going to join me,” You teased as you stepped into the shower. 

The water enveloped you like a welcomed hug, and you let out a sigh of relief as the stickiness from last night was washed away. You were facing towards the shower, eyes closed and head tilted back. You heard the curtain rings slide against the rod before you felt Quinn’s chest pressed against your back. You wiggled against his hardened length, and he took your teasing as a green light.

His fingers trailed up along your hip, across your waist before dancing over your breast. He made a point to slightly lift his touch so he just barely grazed your nipple, and you let out a whine when he did. His hand briefly paused when he reached your collarbone as if he was going to change his mind, but he carefully wrapped his fingers around your neck and leaned down to brush his lips against your ear.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” He whispered before dipping his head down and attaching his lips to your neck.

While one hand tilted your neck to give him better access, his free hand trailed down your stomach and towards your center. The knot in your stomach grew the closer he got, but he was taking his time with you. Relishing in the moment he never thought he would have again.

“Quinn,” You whimpered, “Please.”

“Please what, baby? I need you to use your words for me,” He briefly broke his contact with your neck.

“I need you to touch me, please,” You were begging him, needing him to give you the release that no other man has before.

“Good girl.”

He slid one finger into you, an almost pornagraphic moan echoing off the tiles of your bathroom. You threw your head back against his shoulder, gripping at the slick shower wall for any sort of support before your knees buckled from under you. He carefully moved his digit inside of you, stretching your walls so he could add another.

“Jesus, baby. You’re so tight,” He groaned into your ear.

“‘S because no one’s touched me- Oh fuck,” You cried out as he inserted another finger, “No one’s touched me since the last time you did.”

Quinn knew he shouldn’t be as turned on by that as he was, but he couldn’t help it. Knowing that you didn’t let another man have you the way that he did only made him harder, and he didn’t think that was possible.

You were writhing against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, your moans filling his ears like they were his favorite song. He moved his thumb to press against your clit, and it was then that Quinn had to use his own strength to keep you standing. He worked his fingers against you, and he’s gotten you to the finish line enough times to know that you were already just about there, so he didn’t stop.

“Oh my god,” You cried out as his thumb rubbed circles and his fingers curled inside of you, “I’m almost the-Fuck.”

“I know, pretty girl. I know,” He murmured, keeping his pace steady.

Your legs are shaking and your vision becomes spotty as the knot inside you comes undone. He captures your lips with his own as you come all over his fingers, kissing you with the same amount of passion he’d had before everything happened. He was still supporting you with the hand that was previously on your neck, but you slowly regained the strength to support yourself as you came down from your high.

“You okay,” He asked, turning you around so that the water was no longer hitting your front.

“More than okay,” You gave him a sloppy smile, still slightly dazed from your orgasm.

“Good, because that was only the beginning,” He smirked, switching places with you so he could back you into the corner of your shower.

You watched as he turned and shifted the shower head so that it was spraying against the two of you as much. You pulled your brows together in confusion as you questioned him, “What about you?”

“What about me,” He feigned confusion as he slowly fell to his knees.

“You know what,” You quietly spoke, eyes wide in anticipation as his hands gripped your thighs.

“I’m getting all I need, baby. Don’t worry,” He glanced up at you, eyes sparkling with pleasure.

His fingers trailed against your thighs that were wet with a mix of water and your own juices. Goosebumps rose in wake of his touch, sending a shiver throughout your entire body. You kept glancing down at him with your lip pulled between your teeth, your heart still rapidly beating from your orgasm only minutes ago.

Quinn spread your legs with his hands before placing feathered kisses on the inside of your thighs, eliciting a few breathless moans from you. He stopped when he got against your aching core, his breath hitting it as he spared you one more glance.

With a swift movement, he was lifting your leg over his shoulder and then he was diving into you like it was his last meal. His facial hair was tickling your inner thighs, but all it did was add to the sensation flowing through your body. His hands were gripping at your legs to not only keep you steady, but to give him something to hold on to.

He was devouring you in a way that made it seem like he was enjoying it more than you were, but you highly doubted that to be true. His tongue worked against as he led you to yet another orgasm, mouth sucking and swirling in all of the right places. You tugged on his hair as you felt the familiar fire burning in your stomach, your head hitting against the tile wall.

Your second orgasm ripped through your body, rendering you temporarily blind yet again. He carefully placed your leg back beneath you, placing open mouth kisses against your stomach as he stood leaving behind a mixture of his saliva and your cum against your skin. He attacked your lips with his own in a dizzying kiss, his hands cupping and squeezing at your breasts.

“I’ve missed you so much,” He mumbled against your lips as he placed his forehead on yours.

“I missed you too. So much, Quinn,” Your eyes became misty with tears, but you tried to push them back.

“I’m not trying to ruin the moment or anything, but thank you for giving me a second chance. I definitely don’t deserve one, but I will keep my promise and do whatever it takes to win you back.”

You pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips before saying, “Well, you can start by properly fucking me.”

The softness in Quinn’s eyes darkened to something full of desire and lust, but he still managed to keep the look of pure admiration and love. His hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you into his chest and meeting your lips with a hungry kiss. You could feel him pressed against your thigh, and it made the already wet pool between your legs worsen.

“Need you to hold on to me baby. Wanna look at you,” He instructed as he pulled away, gesturing for you to wrap your arms around his neck, “Good girl.”

Quinn rubbed himself between your folds, teasing your entrance and watching your face twist in desire and want. Slowly, he pushed himself inside of you and let out a mangled moan as your walls clenched around him. He paused and let you readjust to his size, doing his best to remain still and not roughly jerk his hips back.

“Move,” You whimpered, bucking your hips forward for any sort of friction, “Please move.”

With your pleading, Quinn was pulling himself nearly all the way out and slamming back in at a pace he knew you both liked. His thrusts were hard and deep, filling you in just the right way to leave you gasping for more. He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it on his hips to allow himself a better angle, and you swear you blacked out for a second. You were grateful for the strength he has from hockey or you’re certain you’d both be on the floor by now.

Your loud moans mixed with his own, surely filling the entirety of your apartment with the sound. A part of you hoped your neighbors couldn't hear, but a bigger part of you didn’t care. You finally had him back, and the both of you were making up for lost time. His hips snapped against your own as he brought his free hand back up to your neck, squeezing at the sides with the pressure he knew wouldn't hurt you.

You were clenching around him, sending him into a fit of blinding, white hot ecstasy. No matter times Quinn had imagined you when he fucked his own hand, it was absolutely nothing compared the real thing. Watching as your eyes screwed shut and his name fell from your lips in desperate whines was a sight he would never get tired of.

“Oh my god, Quinn,” You shakily cried out, your eyes rolling backwards and the top of your head hitting against the shower wall as he thrusted into you, “Jesus, fuck.”

“Such a pretty girl,” He praised as his hand dove between your bodies, his fingers coming to rub at the bundle of nerves, “You look so pretty wrapped around me, you know that? Fuck, you feel so good.”

You were gripping at his back as he split you open, your vision coming in and out as he rubbed at your overstimulated clit and repeatedly slammed into you. Your name was tumbling from his lips in grunts, only tightening the coil in your stomach as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. You could feel the heat swirling inside you as he rammed himself into you, and you knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

“Quinn, I’m going to- I’m gonna,” You stuttered as he worked himself deeper, harder.

“I know, baby. Let go,” He whispered your name like it was holy and just, “Come all over my cock, pretty girl.”

His words sent you flying over the edge, your third orgasm of the night sending you into a fit of unmistakable pleasure. Waves of contractions washed over your body as Quinn fucked you through your orgasm, his own crashing over him not too far after. His thrusts became sloppy and slow as he came inside of you, his head burying itself into the crook of your neck as he let out stifled moans against the skin.

You’re not sure how long you clung to each other with him still inside you, sounds of your heavy breathing replacing the previous moans that were probably still echoing somewhere in your apartment. However, what felt like hours but was probably not even five minutes later, Quinn pulled himself out of you, guiding your still shaking leg back down and keeping your body upright.

“Time to get cleaned up, yeah,” He teased, his thumb and forefinger coming up to grab your chin.

“Good thing we’re already in the shower,” You bantered back, eyelids slowly drooping courteous of the man in front of you. 

You lazily pulled Quinn back into your hold, meeting his lips for yet another searing kiss. Yet this time, there was no desperation. There was no hunger. There was only love, and hope. Hope that, despite the damage that has been caused, the two of you will return to the best version of yourselves and let yourselves be happy without worry or fear.

again, please let me know if you see any mistakes. and let me know what you think! xoxox

[insuke69]

Imagining Hobie being so fucking clingy when you’re gone on a vacation or something:(((

★ Headcannons with Hobie x Latinx reader <;33

☆ Warnings: fluff, ‘implied’ smut (yes, they fuck in a memory), explicit words.

__________________

——————

You’re off visiting family, away from Hobie just for a short visit since it’s a younger cousins fifteenth birthday.

You aren’t close with her but she adores you like an older sibling so why not? Two weeks isn’t that long anyway since you also would like to catch up with the very little non-toxic Hispanic family you have.

The flight is smooth besides the fact that it was over two hours of no service, songs on repeat in your headphones, and the book you’re so happy you remembered to pack.

______

You forget the time difference between Hobie in Camden and you over here, for you it’s midday and for him it’s the middle of the night and he seems so.. desperate.

His texts are slow and it’s obviously being done by his singular non dominant hand.

“Hi can you pls send a pic”

“2 me”

“Please??”

On your end, it’s almost so clear that he wants to see you like the good adorable partner he is, already missing you. You send him an innocent picture where you’re holding your phone at an angle above you and smile up at it through your lashes.

Meanwhile Hobie..

Hobie always would have an arm around you, or holding your hand, or his lips on any part of skin he could access on you.

He was alone on his houseboat, laying on only his side of the bed even if the usually warm and used spot beside him was empty and void of his lover.

He didn’t like the idea of porn, even if he was ‘living the dream’ of most men where his partner wasn’t around to stop him, he still hated it. It was fake and unrealistic with plastic or disgustingly young looking actors, so he settled for closing his eyes and thinking of the one who’s truely his.

Remembering how pretty the little whines were as they escaped your lips when he slowly eased himself into your tight warm hole..

And before he knew it; he was palming his erecting and fumbling his phone to text you.

His breath shudders slightly at the sight of you and he began imagining how your adoring hand would look around his length, his own fist trying to imitate his imagination tightly.

How your lips would wrap around the head of his weeping cock, how your cheeks would hollow out and make it all disappear, those cute gag sounds and tears that threaten your eyes when your nose reaches the small trimmed bush at the base of his member.

You fully expect a normal response from Hobie in a way. Anything ranging from “You look nice td” to something dirty, hence why you’re positioned in a way where nobody around you could see your phone screen.

Instead, a voice message pops up and a part of you wants to hesitate in checking what it is because you know that Hobie doesn’t really send voice messages unless his hands are really busy.

You play it against your ear quietly and your heart bangs against your chest at how needy his voice is, his gulps and whimpers and you can only imagine how beautiful he looks right now.

“Oh my fuckin’.. you’re so good lookin’ for me, I need ya so bad righ’ now.” You can hear his heavy breaths in the message and slight rhythmic sound, fap fap fap fap.

It immediately makes your heat grow warm between your legs and you adjust yourself in your seat with your thighs together tightly as an attempt to ease this, knowing that you’re at a nice fancy restaurant for your cousins ‘birthweek’.

You decide to excuse yourself to the bathroom and be a little more generous with Hobie, locking yourself into a stall and sending him a better picture where you’re topless and your chest and abdomen in perfect sight, pointer finger and middle finger holding a nipple between them.

“Here’s your damn meal <3” you captioned it before sending, putting your shirt back on as you awaited his response.

It was a video this time, angled so you could see his pretty dick being desperately fucked in his ringed left hand.

his eyebrows are knitted together and his mouth is dropping the cutest curses and whimpers before he cums, his seed spurting out onto his abdomen and hand before his lips move to utter a whisper.

"I need ya so bad, can't wait 'till you're back, love."

[octuscle]

im a skinny nerd who was also a wimp and super shy. one afternoon i was walking across the college campus when a pair of big burly hands grabbed me , punched me in the gut.When i came to ,i was tied up in a chair in the male locker room with my mouth coved with duct tape , and was surrounded by the hairiest, most manly, most self-centered, most muscled guys on campus : The college football team. the football team was wearing gray tank tops with a crimson design & crimson basketball shorts . They told me that each fall they capture a college freshman nerd take him to the locker room & the jocks take that geek & they make that geek into one of their own. that this year i was that nerd & that soon i will no longer a nerd& that i was going to become a jock . first they untied me from that chair & they move me to a bench & they tied my legs to a bar below the bench and my hands two the pegs above. then they started cutting up & taking off my red star trek t-shirt & my jeans & and threw away mine "geeky" white briefs, then made me on a jock strap and Striped Red boxers. They were so uncomfortable! i saw a gym bag in a corner with other pairs of boxers& jockstraps& clothes such as gym shorts, tank top, sweats,  and a table right in front of me on that table was a football uniform, The helmet, cleats, jersey, and gear .they shoe me the jersey with my last name. i watch as they start to put me in my football uniformed which cause to change me from a nerd into a jock .first the jocks put jock deodorant which change my hair less nerdy armpits into hairy jock armpits .i have hairy armpits now the jock said Relax "Hairy pits are perfectly normal on a football jock, like you are going to be. How else did you think your going to stink like a football player after a big game with your hairless, girly armpits!". With a grimace on my face; i didn't want to stink like a jock! They reeked, and i never had to worry about body odor before, at all!.next they put shaving cream on my face which cause my face to grow a brown beard .i was  furious i was being pinned down by the football jocks while my face sprouted a thick beard, as the shaving cream did its job. i had my arms pinned above me , exposing my freshly grown armpit bushes. "Well hairy pits and a scruffy face are only the first of many steps!" the team caption announced, while playfully tugging on my new clump of pit hair. "But for the rest of the changes, we need something to kick start the process; some jock sweat!". they cover me in jock sweat the jocks very strong and pungent body odor they absolutely reeked .i realized with a strong feeling of embarrassment, that my new thick tufts of armpit hair produced the same body odor as them now. .They put in a huge green mouthguard  which change my high nerdy voice to a deep jock voice. The huge green mouthguard was already wet with spittle. i wasn't ready for it, having never worn one before. With each gag and as i swallowed the spit, he started to feel a lump start to grow in my strained neck as the start of an Adam's apple began to protrude and swell up, ending the boyish arc of my throat. "Mmmf" i said as i struggled, trying to twist out of grip without luck. i stopped fighting and the jocks just let me sit there clenching his teeth and getting used to the feel of the device collecting spit in his mouth. Finally they let me take it my voice lurched upward, cracked, and then suddenly dropped almost two octaves . "WHOA" i said grabbing my throat, the whoa coming out even a bit lower if possible. "NO GUYS. HOW AM I GONNA HAVE TO SPEAK LIKE... THIS?" Sounds good on ya, bro the jocks said .next they a put bright orange protective cup, several sizes too big for me which caused my small nerd dick into a huge jock dick was at least 8 inches soft; i could not even begin to guess how long it was hard. .i dont want to be a jock but am I destined to be swallowed whole by the football persona my  new football bros seek to impose upon me?

Bruh, stop resisting. You are already one of us. As soon as I grab you by your jockstrap, you get a hard-on. As soon as one of us grabs his own jockstrap, you get a hard-on. Accept it. You are a bro.

The next level is my favorite level. The "dressing." The sleeveless t-shirt has never been washed. And everyone on the team has worked out in it at least once. Next time you will soak it with your bro sweat. We'll slowly pull it over your head. Forget it, you can't hold your breath that long. You have to breathe in the stench of the shirt. Already at the second breath your disgust turns into lust. Your head fills with memories of how you led your friends in kindergarten and bullied the weaklings. You've been playing football since you were 10 years old. Since you were 16, the gym has been your second home. You haven't done homework in two years. Therefore you have your nerds, who are allowed to stick their face into your hairy, dump armpits from time to time. Or to wash your pickup truck. They can then claim that they are doing it for a friend. Of course, you would never even have eye contact with one of these losers in public.

The tank top fits. Your arms are bursting with muscle. Your neck is almost wider than your head. And your cheap shitty haircut has turned into an honest buzzcut cut by yourself with a long hair cutter. Okay, it's been a few days. But what are you? An effeminate model? Men don't give a shit about their hair.

Fuck, why are you lying here on the weight bench without your sweatshorts. Must have happened while fucking. You pull up your shorts and put on your size 14 training shoes over your dirty sweaty socks. In the process, you let loose a mighty protein fart. Damn, that was a good one. And it was urgent. One of the lads on defense laughs and says that no one farts like the former nerds.

Nobody calls you a former nerd. You press your broh on the weight bench. "Who's a nerd here?" you ask. He stares at you lustfully. "Me, sir!" "Good boy," you reply, snotting in his face. "Bruhs, Pete and I will be right behind you on the football field, we have some business to do here," you say. The others understand and leave. No one here doubts your alpha position.

Pictures of you are going viral now. This one I found @stargazerguy

[kit-williams]

Cuckoo Anon More comedic than fluff but astartes learning/forming their own social media circles.

Some are obvious, Techmarines, Iron Hands, Iron Warriors, Imperial Fists. They all Build Stuff, Unbuild Stuff, Repair Stuff, Make Stuff that Should Not Function yet it does.

Like a completely wooden bolter that cooks meatballs you then Shoot to top your spaghetti.

Emperors Children, and to a lesser extent Blood Angels, have foot holds in make up and art videos.

Humans have to be careful when following the routines cause some of their face care involves chemical peels that can Literally take off your face.

But possibly more harrowing...is for humans who made the mistake of giving their Astartes a personal phone and teaching them about Memes.

Suddenly they see memes popping up about things they don't even half understand, but other space marines get a kick out of. "Fearsome Xenos cited in the city today!" And its a picture of a dog wearing an alien costume. Cute...till the next pic is your space wolf running away with the dog in his arms captioned "Fear Not! I have neutralized the Xenos threat!"

Then there's the passive aggressive ones like. "My face when my battle brothers overcharges his bolter for the Fifth Time." And "If you try to charge that tank again, I'm Not healing you!" From apothecary marines.

But almost nothing compares to "That feeling when your human has to 'Go to Work' and 'Provide a good living for us.' Rather than stay at the sparring arena and watch me deliver the wrath of Khorne!"

"I watch you everytime I have a day off you spoiled Spoiled Man!"

But there are also legitimately sweet things like marines asking eachother for advice.

"My humans vitals appear normal, but they have stayed in their bed for longer than usual. Should I be concerned?"

"They might just be more tired than usual, and beauty sleep is important after all."

"Have they eaten anything this morning? Not eating could be a sign of depression!! Make sure they drink water too!"

"Have you tried presenting them a freshly obtained  skull? Humans typically respond to that."

"Skulls are too easy. Present them something made from Skin. That will show your concern."

"By the throne do anything but those last two. Please."

"Spoil sport."

"Oh perhaps this will help!"

"...how will this short video help?"

"My human enjoys them and states they help them, Feel Better on bad days."

Well it was worth a shot. With incredible gentleness for such a huge being the Astarte treds into his human's sleeping quarters. They're still bundled in their blankets, but notice his approach.

"Oh, its you." Their voice sounds so much smaller than it should be. They shift to face him, but don't move otherwise.

"Mmhm," He places the food and water he'd also grabbed on their bedside.

"O-oh buddy! You didn't have to do this for me..." They reach for the water. "But I appreciate it." They say taking a drink.

"Mm." The Astarte nods, drinking water was good, But his human would also need calories. He gestured to the plate.

His human glanced the same, and he physically saw their posture deflate a bit. Was the food not to their liking?

"I'm sorry buddy...I'm just not feeling hungry right now." They say, their voice dwindling again.

Not eating, not speaking as normal, and a slumped posture; perhaps it was a Bad Day for his human.

But his battle brother from legions other had given him the cure for such things. He pulled out his messages, and the video in question.

"Hmm, what's up buddy?"

The space marine sat beside his human, and held the communication device to them.

A video played of a small kitten on a kitchen floor mewing loudly, a tender voice came from off screen. 'Do you want some breakfast? Can you say please.'

'FUCK!'

"PFFT! WHA-a COUGH COUGH!?" Well that got a reaction. His human was now sputtering water at the unexpected profanity edited over the original video.

The Astarte frantically patted his human on the back through their coughing fit but even then they still continued to laugh. 

"It just! And outta nowhere too. That was so Ough!t Ouff POUGkEt! Oh Lord I'm dying!"

Dying!?!? You weren't meant to die, you were supposed to be cured!?

Luckily his human caught onto his panic before he could vault through the wall to the nearest hospital.

"No! No! Figure of speech, it's Just a figure of speech. Not dying." They assured, now back in control of their voice.

The Astarte was still clearly a bit shaken. This wasn't territory he was used to traversing.

His human sighed, then took his hands in theirs. "I'm not dying any faster than normal..." They assured, rubbing over his knuckles tenderly. "And hopefully not for a loooong time."

Their was a pause, before the Astarte gently and silently enfolded his human into an embrace.

"...I'm sorry I made you worry, it's just a feeling sad kinda day...most people get them from time to time. Just a part of life." His human shrugs, his hold tightened just slightly. Their words were true, but he disliked having an adversary he couldn't punch.

"But hey, you wanna know something?"

The Astarte pulled back to look his human in the eye, curious of their words.

"Even my worst days are a lot better than they used to be, cause now all my days have You." With that, his human leaned forward once again, this time bringing their foreheads to touch.

The Astarte felt his heart warm in turn. He may not be able to Cure his human, but he would always be there. And if they could bring precious glimmers into even the worst moments of the other's existence, what more could be asked for?

"Well...I guess we better start the day."

(AAAAAAAAAH THIS WAS MEANT TO BE FUNNY WHY DID I END UP WRITING HURT COMFORT AHHHHHHHHHHH)

So like I've been staring at this one for awhile and it's like perfect as is.

Just really this is what would happen. But also they would have their own closed network (intranet) where they also probably post memes as well as questions about humans. Like "Why does my human want me to bathe so often" or "why does my human not like the skull alter in the living room?"

ALSO SORRY FOR FORGETTING TO TAG

@egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts

[lowkeycasanova]

Down bad

*This played out better in my head*

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

It started with him sending you the picture of the frog holding a cheez-it in your instagram dms.

He was trying to get your attention. Didn't work, but he expected that. Over the next weeks that would come, he would message you more. You didn't see those either.

vinniehacker: won't budge huh? fine

He had even taken a screenshot of the messages he sent and posted them on his story because he thought it was funny.

**

After that, he said in a stream, "I would let Y/N Y/L/N have my children." That comment alone resulted in fans making edits of the two of you.

Next, Jett caught him staking your tik tok profile. He noticed it when he realized the same song was playing on repeat and Vinnie had a grin that he was trying so hard so to show.

Then, Jett and Eamon had got on twitter to try to get your attention on Vinnie's behalf to help him out. They were really just joking but they'd be lying if they said they hadn't hope that you'd see the mentions.

Finally, the most recent thing occurred on tik tok. He was doing the trend to this sound. The video starts with a selfie that he took with the text on top saying, "I wonder if pretty eyes would suit me."

Then it goes to a montage of photos of you, with the text then changing to, "I hope they do."

**

You got so many notifications throughout the day, so you normally didn't keep up with them unless they were from friends and family. Until today. You were laying in bed, about to get up to get ready for work when you opened tik tok. People were relentless in tagging you in some video, so you clicked on it to see what the hype was all about.

It was Vinnie's video that he posted. Your eyes widened to see that he used your pictures to do this trend. After the video was on repeat four times, a soft smile appeared on your face as you clicked "duet".

It was simple, really. You looked into the camera, interested to see what was going to happen, then your eyes widened at the sight of your own pictures. Trying to recreate your expression that you just had in real life a few moments before.

All you put for the caption was his username and posted it.

Within a half hour, it already garnered so much attention. Some of the comments were:

The duo we never knew we needed

I can't handle this

no way y/n saw this

Since when do they know each other?

someone check on vinnie, make sure he's okay

Later that day was when he saw it. He put a hand over his mouth as he gasped. You duetting his video proved that you were aware that he existed and that was enough for him, honestly. It's funny how the tik tok algorithm works. He couldn't get over the fact that when you smiled in the video, it was because of him.

He was such a fan boy.

But it didn't stop there. The high he felt increased as he saw a notification from you in his messages.

yourtiktok: hey! how are you? I just wanted to say that I thought your video was so sweet and I appreciate it.

He couldn't move.

He clicked on the username to make sure that it was in fact you and not a bot. It was real alright.

Vinnie was actually getting ready to stream when all of this was happening but now that was just gonna have to wait. He even tried to seem nonchalant in his message back.

vhackerr: oh hey, im doing well. And im glad that you liked it haha

yourtiktok: I've actually have known about you for a while now. you seem pretty dope

vhackerr: i bet i've known who you are for longer but it aint a competition

yourtiktok: i see

He proceeded to send you a meme in response but once he sent it, he instantly regretted it because maybe you wouldn't understand his humor and think he was weird.

And when you didn't respond fast like you had been doing, he felt like he messed up.

vhackerr: nvm i retract that

vhackerr: if u see dis

yourtiktok: why? it was funny

He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

vhackerr: ig i enjoy embarrassing myself

yourtiktok: you and me both

yourtiktok: oh and hey, you in LA rn?

vhackerr: ye

yourtiktok: same here, maybe we can hang out before I leave for chicago in a week and a half

vhackerr: im down, but i be in the house most of the time. but did i go outside today? yes

yourtiktok: i love a good homebody tbh

vhackerr: well then, lemme check my schedule and i'll lyk

yourtiktok: deal

Vinnie knew that people would get a kick out of knowing that you and him were talking. He was about to take a screenshot of the convo but decided against it because he respected your privacy too much to just throw away these personal dms to social media.

He'd been waiting for something like this ever since he became a fan of yours. And he wasn't about to risk letting it crumble for nobody.

[melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx]

Last review! I’m so sad to see it end but from what I’m hearing, it ended beautifully.

Danny didn’t have chance from the beginning. He got a silent mother; abusive stepfather, abusive alters, and a lawyer with an addiction, I see why he thought suicide was his only way out, even without knowing about Stan’s addiction—Candy was the icing on the cake.

Ray’s boss annoys me. “Good girl”??? Such misogyny! And it hasn’t gotten better either, men still act this way.

Tom did his big one with this role. Like does Stan believe Rya finally when he heard Jack speak? Jack is the evil within this whole entire time. He made Danny leave for London to look even more guilty. If he left at all. Jack is horrible. I don’t even know how his alter was created.

Also, I love how the closed captions say normal voice when he’s speaking with an American accent when we all know Tom’s normal voice is British 🤣

Never heard Jason’s American voice ever, that’s amazing! And how Tom’s American accent changes to match Jason’s is SO FUCKING AMAZING! You hear the struggle of trying to keep his British accent at bay while trying to sound like Danny but it’s not Danny’s voice, which is much lighter in tone.

Now Jack came out lol and had the other lawyer looking at him crazy lol. I’m so glad Danny broke free so that Adam/Danny could finally speak. And I hope the alters finally see how destructive Jack is.

Danny finally coming to terms with Adam not being his actual brother but another alter (it’s funny how alters don’t age when you do, like what if you’re in your 60s but you have an alter in their 20s and they try do a backflip? That’d fuck you up)

Adam came before Marlin entered into their lives. Imagine all the abuse he had to deal with before that in order to create Adam? That’s sad. And the fact that Adam let marlin do whatever just so that candy wouldn’t be alone is heartbreaking. She put all her hurt and emotions onto Danny, allowed him to see her that way, and that made Danny/Adam decide to put up with whatever abuse he had to to keep her happy

And now the other lawyer is crying. I understand it’s her job but she pissed me off. I’m glad Danny won. And Danny being in shock—the emotions from just his eyes alone?? Unbelievable.

This new wig don’t look bad, I just wish they filmed it different so they could allow him to cut his hair cause I know he was over it at that point.

Love how Rya became the mother figure he needed. Candy knew that his biological father had been molesting him but because memories don’t develop until after four (sometimes early but the brain is so traumatized, it’ll black out anything, trust me—half my childhood is gone and I don’t remember anything) that’s when he created Adam and she let him believe that Adam was real and off with their biological dad like some parent trap shit—what parent willingly separates twins?! Seriously!

I’m so happy Danny didn’t forgive her. She the victim and the villain; instead trying to make the situation better again, she just stayed and allowed it to continue. I truly thought she was gonna say his father had DID, not that he was a pervert. And I just don’t understand how she couldn’t leave again if she did it the first time.

Tom’s cold icy stare is both sexy and heartbreaking, he gives tortured artist. Emmy looks like Mila Kunis to me. (Sorry it’s the ADHD)

So now that fusion therapy is working (a better outcome than the person this was based on) does this mean that Danny’s bisexual 👀 (do not come for me, it was an intrusive thought!)

Love the paintings are exactly the one from the intro; I wonder what debt Danny’s talking about. We’ll never know; the show’s over and it’s an anthology 🙃. It was beautifully written and so well taken care of. I’m sad that Tom can’t express that anymore cause of the strike but hopefully he sees how much this show means to us

Never mind I think I know what the debt is:

Danny has to now fuse Adam. His inner child that he has to protect, or be a guardian Angel for.

This show has made me appreciate those who struggle with mental health (like myself) and those who never stop helping them. And it also made me appreciate the cast’s acting, especially Tom’s; this shit was difficult and hard and I’m sure he will never do another difficult role again and I hope he never has to.

[burins]

headcanon meme: Steph? or Talia.

oh THANK you. (has self-control voice) i'll do both! i haven't read batgirl 2000 or the talia stuff with lexcorp (which i hear is the real good talia stuff) so we're going fast and loose.

Steph:

Headcanon A:  realistic

Steph fought desperately hard for Bruce's approval, but she never really liked Bruce. "Like" is not the emotion you feel towards the man you're killing yourself to get the occasional pleased grunt from. Now that she's older and is learning how to wear the Bat without being the Bat, and remembering what she knew back when she was making her own costume– how to be a hero in her own right– she wonders why the others are still so hung up on this guy. And then he'll nod his head her way, or make a little surprised hum when she does something well, and the rush of vindictive satisfaction reminds her that she may be older but she's not immune, not yet.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

meme queen. has a curated folder of tiktoks specifically for bullying purposes. her chat history with tim is mostly sending him increasingly wet-looking cats captioned "this u?"

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

Babs is a good mentor. As far as being controlling and secretive, though, she could give Bruce a run for his money. Cass is not a great sounding board for talking about this, because she thinks Bruce's shit is normal. Steph thinks about trying to talk to some of her school friends about anything she does in costume and gives it up as a bad job. Even if she described it as a movie plot, or a book she was reading, it's all too unbelievable.

It's okay. She's good at working alone, at feeling alone, even if the whole point of having a mentor was that she wouldn't have to patch herself up anymore. At least sometimes she gets to fight with Cass, though.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

Steph thinks Dinah is soooooo cool and pretty and amazing. She desperately wants Dinah to train her, and unfortunately, whenever Dinah is around Steph devolves into complete and wretched incompetence, so she never actually makes it past a few sparring sessions in the Clocktower.

Talia:

Headcanon A:  realistic

Talia is good. She's good at what she does. She always has been. She keeps her networks clean, her informants precise, her operatives surgical. The only thing she's ever failed to do is kill her father. Give it time.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Likes to cook in the way rich people often like to cook, which is that about once every six months, when the mood strikes her, she will descend upon the kitchen of whatever house she's staying in, leave her bracelets in a jumble in a bowl, and wreak absolute havoc making something stupidly elaborate. The food is delicious! She doesn't believe in doing things poorly. She has never once washed a dish. (She and Bruce are two peas in a pod in this regard.)

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

She misses Damian. She misses Jason. She misses Bruce. She misses everyone she has ever sent away to keep them safe from her father's claws. She knows better than to think she is ever getting out, but it's a comfort to know that they did.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

[I don't want all of these to revolve around Talia as mother but also I primarily know her from my Damian read so with that caveat:]

Talia was never particularly interested in being a mother when she was younger. She doesn't think her father was ever particularly interested in being a father; or if he was, that was several hundred years ago, and she came along too late to benefit. She always assumed she'd have children if she needed to, and someone else would handle it.

And then she has a son. Someone else could have handled it, but she thinks about playing chess with her father, his back disappearing down all those empty hallways, the sword in her hand never quite fast enough to catch his eye. Bruce's son deserves better. She doesn't want her son to grow to resent her. And she's never been one to shy from getting her hands dirty. She raises Damian herself; she teaches him everything he ought to know; she makes him strong enough to survive, and then the part she has never quite managed herself: strong enough to leave.

The one thing she didn't think to account for is that Damian grows to resent her anyway.

(send me characters!)

[use-your-telescope]

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 8: You're Just Business

Summary: Loki confronts Theo about her avoidance of the other Avengers.

Author's Notes: Fun story/trivia about this song: In an interview with the Grammy Museum, it was revealed that some of the phrases in this first verse resulted from producer Tony Berg’s mishearing of Jon Foreman’s original lyrics: “You come ‘round like a prison ship” was misheard as “pirate ship”, and “You got a fist for a lower lip” was misheard as “fish.”  Ultimately, the band decided to record the song with the mondegreens as the song’s final lyrics. I like to think that Theo was aware of this little tidbit and it led to part of why she chose this particular song.

Side note, would anyone be interested if I shared more of these goofy little trivia bits/non-spoiler reasons that certain songs appear at certain times (and maybe even captions that Theo might have posted with the covers)? I’d share them on tumblr as a little “behind the scenes” sort of thing. 

I’m posting this a day early because tomorrow is the last day of helping my parents move, which also means saying farewell to the house I grew up in; I’m sure I’ll be all up in my feelings and distracted, so rather than risk missing my (self-imposed) deadline, I’m doing something wild and posting early.

If you enjoy, please reblog!! I'm a lil' blog and reblogs really help me out <3

Content Warnings: None?

Word Count: 5,314

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: I need you (to be wrong) - Switchfoot

You come 'round like a pirate ship You're just business You got a fish for a lower lip You're just business You're the parentless, nightmare kid You're just business You don't answer for any of this You're just business

The end of onboarding meant the return of lazy days off.

Other than the sound of a sleety-drizzle outside, it was probably quiet enough in the tower to hear a pin drop. Any reprieve from commotion could best be described as blissful, and not needing to peer around every corner so Theo didn’t run into the Avengers brought a different kind of relief. 

In a normal day, Natasha and Steve were always the first to emerge, since they liked early morning training sessions. With how they timed their workouts, Theo typically had to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn just to have 30 minutes to get into the kitchen, make herself a cup of coffee, and then slink back to her corner of the tower or get the hell out, which meant going down to the hospital to get ready for work.

Then again, when Theo got back to her suite at night and heard the commotion and the raucous laughter echoing from down the hall, something painful twisted in Theo’s chest, making her miss her life before the Avengers. It didn’t help that ever since she visited Mémère, Theo caught herself weighing whether it was worth trying to make friends with anyone while she was here.

She hadn’t planned on staying with the group after her favor was done, so on the one hand she didn’t want to grow attached, then ditch them. On the other hand, now that she couldn’t see her other friends, life had become little more than work, which was a lonely way to live. And though she loathed to admit it, Loki’s visits and Julie’s perspective on the Avengers made Theo wonder if her trepidation was truly warranted.

Then again, the Avengers didn’t know the full extent of her history or her powers. Given the reactions from people who knew her sob story, she didn’t anticipate they’d like her very much if they learned the truth. That meant every social interaction felt like it required Theo to put on a show; every word, every action was a calculated risk. She’d been doing it for so long that it felt like second nature, but it didn’t mean she liked it.  

However, none of her concerns around socializing mattered, at least for the time being. According to the side discussions before the most recent debrief,  all of the Avengers had plans for the weekend which took them away from New York, so she had the entire tower to herself. Wanda and Vision snuck out on a weekend getaway to Maine, Tony and Bruce were presenting at some science conference in Switzerland (and Peter tagged along), the super soldiers agreed to help with an event for the US military down in DC, Natasha and Yelena decided to visit Clint and his family out at their farm, Shuri happened to be in Oakland, and Thor had gone to New Asgard for something. Theo assumed that Loki had gone with him, since he was also an Asgardian prince and all. 

Regardless, Theo’s agenda for the day consisted of one thing: reading. A mountain of SHIELD reports loomed on Theo’s desk ever since she started, consisting of both recent and past missions that would hopefully provide the context she needed to offer her expertise on the shadow creatures. Even if she would have rather been marathoning Queer Eye or visiting Mémère, a rainy Saturday morning without anyone around seemed like just as good of a time as any to check the reports of her never-ending list of things to do. 

But even before she dug into the stack of reports, she needed coffee.

Theo padded through the halls of the tower, relishing the echo of her footsteps and the lack of chatter filling the air. Upon entering the kitchen, Theo decided that rather than work her way through the reports in her suite, she’d indulge in a change of scenery and set up shop at the kitchen island.

After starting the coffee, Theo brought out her laptop and the pile of reports, scattering them across the breakfast bar for easy review. She placed her headphones over her ears, cranked up her music, and became so absorbed in reading about the fallout of Ultron and the Sokovia Accords that she forgot about the coffee brewing… 

… She also failed to observe that she wasn’t the only one home. 

A coffee mug appeared next to her out of seemingly thin air, to which Theo yelped and practically flew out of her seat.

“What the – “ she tore her headphones off and whirled around to find Loki standing there, holding his own cup of coffee. “Jesus, Loki, creep around much?”

“I was in no way creeping. Your decision to wear headphones impeded your ability to hear me.” Loki’s tone remained cool and unaffected as he took a sip of his own coffee, leaning back against the counter. “Perhaps you might demonstrate some gratitude toward me; after all, I prepared your coffee for you.” 

“In my defense, I also didn’t realize I wasn’t the only one home – I thought you went back to New Asgard with Thor.” Theo protested, trying to ignore the searing heat that rose on her cheeks. She palmed the mug of coffee in one hand, glancing briefly at the swirls of steam rising from the ceramic cup.

“I’ve no reason to be in New Asgard at present.” He shrugged, before narrowing his eyes at Theo. “If you believed you were alone, why not use Stark’s audio system to listen to your music? It is not as if you would cause a disruption.” 

“It’s a habit,” Theo shrugged casually, allowing her focus to travel to her new teammate. Unlike Theo, whose heart still pounded in her chest from the surprise, Loki's casual posture and amused expression left him looking cool as a cucumber, because of course he would. “Besides, high quality headphones have better sound quality than any stereo system Tony Stark could build – it’s easier to hear the nuance and little details in the recordings.” 

Loki cocked a skeptical brow at her before sauntering over to the refrigerator. As he bent down to rummage through the contents, Theo took advantage of the opportunity to drink in the full sight of Loki in the mornings. 

Loki’s Saturday morning attire was more relaxed than she had ever seen from him. Black joggers slung low on his hips and followed the line of his slim form, while a gray t-shirt clung to his torso and hinted at the toned muscle beneath. He pulled his black curls back into a loose bun, but left one strand hanging down to frame his face, highlighting a jawline that cut like glass. 

For all the jokes Julie made, she wasn’t kidding about Loki’s attractiveness. But that was like saying the sky was blue - no one would question that a god was objectively attractive.

In comparison, he probably thought Theo looked a bit sloppy in her oversized sweatshirt and yoga pants, her own hair tossed up in what looked less like a bun and more like a rat’s nest…

Channeling her inner gremlin, as Max would say.

Loki turned around and caught Theo studying him. 

“Are you enjoying the view?” He smirked.

“I’ve never seen you in anything remotely casual before,” Theo said, mirroring his expression. “Looks good on you.”

Loki hummed, something devilish twitching on his lips to match the glint in his eye. “I should hope so.” 

Theo rolled her eyes. Of the many traits Loki held, humility did not seem to be high on the list. Then again, Theo knew that if she was that attractive, she wouldn’t be humble about it, so it wasn’t like she could hold that against him.

Instead of feeding Loki’s ego, Theo returned her attention to the Sokovia report. She knew herself well enough to know if she didn’t make substantial progress on the reports that day, she would never catch up.

However, Loki either did not get the hint that Theo wanted to be left to work or he chose to ignore it, positioning himself across the island from Theo. With each passing moment, Theo felt his burning stare intensify.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll hit you over the head with a chair.” Theo threatened, not even glancing up from her work.

“Darling, such a temper from you this morning.” Loki practically purred. “I would have expected gratitude - after all, I prepared your morning coffee for you.” 

Theo rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the hint of a smile that quirked up. Of course the prince would make a big deal out of a small gesture. “Well, thank you for the coffee, your highness, now will you leave me alone to work?”

“How are you settling in?”

Ugh. 

He couldn’t have been that dense, right? He must have known Theo did not want to talk to him at that moment. No one became a renowned diplomat if they couldn’t understand basic social cues. 

“Fine,” Theo drawled, “Better if you leave me to read in peace.”

“You never choose to spend time in the common areas like this. Why today?”

A loaded question, delivered with a deceptively light tone, had Theo’s hair standing on the back of her neck. 

No, he wasn’t clueless or dense - Loki wanted something; information, probably.

Something unsettling lurched in Theo’s stomach.

“Because I thought I was going to be alone?” Irritation colored Theo’s response; she gritted her teeth, debating if she should try to divert the conversation or just piss him off so he’d leave her alone.

Her morals leaned towards the former, but her temper leaned towards the latter.

For the moment, she held her tongue.

“Perhaps this will surprise you, but you are allowed to venture into the common areas while others are around to spend your leisure time and… Do whatever it is that you are doing,” Loki casually gestured to the stack of papers scattered between them. “As you previously stated, you are not a princess to be locked away in a tower.”

“Currently, I’m reading reports,” Theo muttered, “And you’re proving to me exactly why I don’t do this in common areas – because you’re distracting me.” 

It took a significant amount of willpower not to slam her computer closed and retreat to her suite; after all, the heavily redacted report about Budapest that was next on her list looked like an enticing read.

“See, that brings me to my next question: why, when you have a beautiful Saturday morning to relax, are you spending your time reading reports and paperwork?” A playful, lighthearted tone graced Loki’s question, but Theo’s patience wore dangerously thin. “If you wish for quality reading material, you only need to ask. I’ve plenty of recommendations.”

“Okay, since apparently you refuse to get the hint, I’m just going to be blunt: I am trying to work. I don’t want to talk right now. Quite frankly, your impromptu interrogation is pissing me off. So for the love of all that is holy, can you leave me alone?” Theo huffed, outright glowering at Loki. 

“You may not be interested in speaking, but I’m certainly interested in answers to my question.” Loki arched a brow at Theo, sipping his coffee as if he could wait all day for a response.

“Because the world isn’t going to save itself and I have a lot of background knowledge to catch up on if I don’t want to fuck up one of these missions and get a bunch of people killed.” Theo’s frustration made its open debut, but amidst her ire she failed to hide the undercurrent of anxiety in her answer. 

Before Theo even finished, Loki’s demeanor shifted from taunting to serious - he must have recognized that he struck a nerve. 

Shit. 

She let her guard down and he latched onto it instantly… Careless mistakes like that could get her killed.

“Are you aware that it is not a requirement to memorize every piece of SHIELD’s history?” Loki leaned in so he could look at Theo over her laptop, face shifting to something unreadable before he continued. “Generally speaking, we have only enough knowledge to complete the individual mission. You need not push yourself to learn everything so that you might recall it at a moment’s notice.”

It wasn’t about knowing everything - it was about assessing the risks. Theo needed to know the history in order to understand the potential risks. If she was in an emergency department, she knew the environment. She knew the variables. She had control over her situation.

But in the field? Knowing anything was a laughable thought.

“It’s not about memorizing, it’s about learning what I got myself into,” Theo flatly replied, hoping to make up for her slip. “I know Fury is fond of leaving out important details in favor of creating a narrative, so I want to make sure I know what he hasn’t told me before I’m sent out into the line of fire.”

“And you believe reports are the way to learn such information?” Skepticism dripped from Loki’s question. 

“I didn’t say I liked it, but this,” Theo gestured to the mess of documents around her, refusing to let her nerves show once more, “is better than letting Fury trot me around like a prize horse or his little puppet.”

It was a half-truth; he didn’t need to know all the details, but perhaps she could spin it to take some of the pressure off.

“I do not believe you’re giving yourself enough credit.” Loki stepped around the island so he stood next to Theo, then shut her laptop so she would look him in the eye. He certainly accomplished the goal, but earned a frustrated groan from Theo in the process. “You’re an immensely sharp and powerful sorcerer – I can feel the magic pouring off you. You easily handle extreme physical duress during training, you effortlessly adapt to any social situation, and it has not escaped my attention that you’re extremely well-studied in a variety of areas.”

Sure, Loki saw Theo spar with Steve, and obviously they’d hung out a few times; they spoke at the party from the first night, and showed up to the soccer game and the bar show…  But a handful of interactions wouldn’t have been enough to draw those conclusions, right?  

Maybe it was a bluff, or an attempt at wooing her with his famed silver tongue so she would give him the information he wanted. 

It wouldn’t be the first time someone lied to her in hopes of gaining her trust. 

“First of all, I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or creeped out that you’ve been watching me so closely,” Theo retorted with a scowl. “Second of all, what’s your point?”

“If you are concerned about your ability to defend yourself on a mission, you need not fret.” Loki sounded cocky, almost arrogant – how would he know what they were up against? “You realize you are not the only one responsible for your safety in the field?”

“You really think that the others, who look at me like I’m a terror, give a shit about my safety?” “They do not believe you are a terror.” 

“Cool, tell that to my grandma when she has to deal with my dead body,” Theo muttered. She attempted to snatch her laptop from Loki, but he held firm.

Loki may have been nicknamed a silvertongue, but the only thing his tongue had done was piss Theo off. 

Enough was enough.

“ I don’t have time for this shit.” With a flick of her wrist, a swirl of shimmering runes encompassed the reports and her laptop, teleporting them back to her quarters. Theo snatched her coffee mug, then offered a final wave and a bratty sneer before transporting herself to her suite.

In the solitude of her suite, Theo let out a sigh.

So much for a peaceful Saturday morning.

I got a body, but I lost my mind I'm just business Placeholder with a bottom line I'm just business Please don't take this personally It's just business

Standing in the kitchen, Loki gaped at the empty seat before him and replayed the events which led to his current predicament.

In some ways, he could have foreseen such an outcome. Initial interactions with Theo had been far more successful than Loki anticipated, to the degree that he almost believed Theo might actually wish to befriend him. Thus, it was inevitable that he would ruin his progress in a truly spectacular manner.

In his defense, walking into the kitchen and finding Theo there had not been something he anticipated. The circumstances practically begged for Loki to engage; when else would he see Theo anywhere besides her workplace or mandatory Avengers engagements? 

Yet, after a handful of occasions spent casually making each other’s acquaintance, Loki expected something with a bit more banter, or at least something more lighthearted. Instead, she met his questions with barbed remarks and vicious glares, culminating in another disappearing act.

The Theo that Loki encountered in the kitchen was vastly different from the Theo he first met, or the one that he spent time with in the research library; that Theo seemed confident and self-assured, sharp-witted and formidable regardless of the circumstances. But when caught off-guard, she became aggressive and downright irascible, to the extent that Loki questioned whether or not it was the same woman who he’d spoken to before.

However, deep within Loki’s chest, something uncomfortable twisted. He recognized the behavior, mostly because he had once acted in such a manner;  if he was entirely honest with himself, he knew exactly what motivated such behavior:

Protecting oneself at all costs.

Seeing Theo in such a state brought to mind his mother’s gardens in Asgard. When flowers were cut and taken from the gardens, they eventually wilted and withered, unable to adapt to their new surroundings. Roses, one of his mother’s favorite flowers, eventually developed thorns all along the stem, which made cutting the blooms a much more challenging task; a defense mechanism that evolved over the course of millennia. 

Like the thorns that protected the roses, Theo’s hostility served as a defense mechanism, an instinct developed to protect herself from something which previously scarred her, something which might have caused her to wither and wilt until nothing more than a shadow of her former self.

In Theo’s behavior, Loki saw himself. There was once a time where he had been so guarded that the other Avengers called him a cactus because of his prickly, sullen demeanor. Though the moniker had become a relic, the instinct remained firmly ingrained upon Loki’s psyche.

Theo was by no means a cactus, but she certainly had some thorns. 

Loki sighed, smoothing calloused fingers over his hair. Ideally, he could remedy the situation with minimal lingering damage to the delicate kinship he struck with Theo; yet the manner in which he could achieve such a feat eluded him.

If he approached too soon, she would only recoil, particularly if she felt cornered. If he waited too long to speak to her, she might suspect his intentions stemmed from less than savory desires - exploitation or a means to an end.

After much dithering, Loki settled upon a plan: if he did not see Theo around lunch, he would knock on her door. If she failed to respond, he would try again at dinner time.

If he still had not heard anything, he would send her a message through his mobile, leaving the onus upon Theo - if she wished to interact she could, however he would not push further.

Any and all confidence Loki held in the plan dwindled when noon came and went with no sign of the silver shadow. Despite the aura of magic radiating from within, Loki’s knocks were met with silence, only dampening his spirits further.

To be on the receiving end of rejection brought a certain discomfort which Loki had not outright encountered in quite some time, and it remained at least as unpleasant as he remembered (if not moreso). Midgardians never outright rejected him - first, they feared him, but over time some came to lust after him. As for the Asgardians, they knew better than to disrespect a crown prince, even if his lineage brought disgrace upon the throne. The more he dwelled on the matter, the clearer it became that he could not remember the last time someone outright turned away from him in such a blatant manner.

Without any sign of Theo in the afternoon, or around the time when the others typically took their evening meal, Loki braced himself for the worst and made the trek down the corridor.

As he approached, the faint sound of music could be heard from inside Theo’s quarters, which combined with her aura confirmed she was present. After pausing for a moment to gather himself, Loki rapped his knuckles upon the door.

Much to his surprise, the music stopped. Footsteps grew louder as Theo approached the door. The noise ceased for a beat, then the lock clicked, and the door swung wide.

Theo stood before him, arms crossed and brows drawn tight as she scrutinized Loki.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or annoyed by your stubbornness.” Theo skipped any formal greeting, leaning against the doorframe as she gave him a once-over. “Then again, I’m the one that answered the door, so maybe your strategy is effective, or I’m a glutton for punishment. Either way, are you here to continue badgering me about work, or is there something else you want?” 

Loki drew in a deep breath. 

“It seems I struck a nerve,” he observed. “For that, I apologize.”

“Is that all?” Theo eyed Loki warily, as if she knew other matters remained on his conscience.

Loki sighed; it seemed as good of a time as any to address what Midgardians often referred to as ‘the elephant in the room.’

“I noticed you’ve not yet made the acquaintance of the others.”

“I socialize with the other hospital staff,” Theo countered.

Loki scoffed. “I am referring to the other Avengers.”

“I know.” Theo answered as if she had no intention of continuing the conversation. Loki raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question; she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Look, I’m sure they’re fine, but I’m not really interested.”

“Dare I inquire as to why?”

“For one thing, the only reason they’re pretending to be interested in me is because Fury gave them the mission of convincing me to stay on as an Avenger.” Theo cocked an eyebrow at Loki as she slouched further into the doorframe. “So it’s not like they’re really trying to be my friend. And besides, most of them were more than quick to jump to conclusions about who, or what kind of person, I was.”

“If that is so, then why have you not shunned my company?” Loki challenged. “How do you know I am not making your acquaintance to win over the director?”

“I don’t,” she admitted, “but you don’t seem like the type of person to crave Nick Fury’s adoration, or like you’d let him make you his bitch. I suppose I could be wrong, though.” 

“Such rousing praise,” Loki drawled. “Truly, the utmost of faith you place upon me—“

“Okay, fine - you really want to know why I’m willing to talk to you?” Theo interrupted, silencing Loki in the process, “Because in that first meeting, you didn’t automatically assume I was the villain.” 

Something painful twisted in Loki’s stomach. Nowhere in the list of potential responses that Loki developed prior to asking the question was Theo’s answer, yet what she described was an experience he knew all too well. The memory of Barton’s initial reaction to Loki’s presence remained painfully vivid to the Asgardian, which only diminished Loki’s confidence in his argument. 

Still, Theo’s perceptions of the situation were not entirely true. “I was not the only Avenger who made no assumptions about your morality—” 

“Not out loud,” Theo agreed, “But you were the only one who didn’t look at me like I was some kind of terror. You actually looked at me as a person.”

If anyone could empathize with Theo’s experience, it would be Loki. Joining the Avengers, a group who he didn’t truly know or trust, and who didn’t know or trust him… For quite some time, Loki believed wholeheartedly that he made a terrible mistake. 

Months passed from when he first relented to Thor’s pleas to become an Avenger to when Loki partook in a movie night, and that only happened because Thor physically dragged Loki from his quarters. He lost count of the number of times he turned Maximoff down before finally relenting to her constant requests to spend time together. 

In the end, it took over a year for Loki to feel remotely comfortable simply existing in the common areas during the day, going on missions without his brother, or speaking to anyone that was not Thor. Even after so long, he still questioned whether the others valued his contributions to the team, or if they simply tolerated his presence.

“I will admit, the others are not always the most… open-minded, shall we say. Not in the beginning, at least.” Loki chose his words carefully, recognizing the delicate nature of the situation at hand. “However, I truly believe they have moved past the false assumptions, and I would highly recommend you use the opportunity to demonstrate that you are not the terror they assumed you to be.”

“And how do you know that they even want to get to know me?” Theo pressed, piercing blue eyes scrutinizing Loki’s every move.

“Because I was once in a similar position.” The answer slipped out before Loki could stop it. He carefully schooled the surprise from his features; meanwhile, Theo made no effort to hide her skepticism.

“I understand that you may not fully trust me yet – I’m the trickster god, I have a history of manipulating people. Quite frankly, it would be in your best interest not to trust me. But!” Loki admitted, then continued before Theo could get a word in edgewise: “You remind me quite a bit of myself, when I first became an Avenger. I believed the others assumed the worst in me. I held no trust in the others, and in turn they placed no trust in me. It remained as such for quite some time – too long, in hindsight. 

“The change in my relationship with my colleagues came when I finally relented to my brother and Maximoff’s incessant attempts to force me to socialize with the others. If it were not them, I would still remain hidden away in my quarters at all hours. 

“Honestly, at the time I desired nothing more than to kill them in a spectacular manner for their belligerent pestering and sickening optimism. But between you and I, it helped me far beyond simply becoming a part of the Avengers – it helped me move on from the past that used to define me.”

To be so genuinely forthcoming was a bold decision. Had it been anyone else, he would not have dared to reveal such information, particularly someone so new. However, Theo had a knack for drawing the unexpected from Loki, even if it often caught him by surprise. Additionally, the mystery surrounding Theo piqued his curiosity, which only grew with the reluctance to socialize with the others. 

Without taking a risk, there would be no reward.

Theo narrowed her eyes at the God of Mischief, chewing the inside of her cheek as she mulled over his words.

“I remind you of… you?” Distrust clung to every word, only amplified by the doubt written across her expression in big, bold letters.

“Well, yes,” Loki replied coyly. “but you are far more charming and engaging. When I first arrived, I was simply full of spite.” He chuckled, earning a hesitant smile at Theo as a faint hint of pink rose on her cheeks from his compliment. “Had there been no consequence, Stark would have gleefully made a spectacle of launching me off the top of the tower.”

Theo’s shoulders bounced as she chuckled at Loki’s remarks. A sense of relief washed over Loki - perhaps he hadn’t made a mess of things after all.

“The winter soldier, the scarlet witch, myself - at one point or another, we were enemies of various factions of the Avengers. Romanoff is a former black widow, as is Belova. If we can be accepted into the Avengers, I’ve no doubt that you can as well.” Loki assured her, his confidence building with every passing moment. “However, you must be willing to engage.”

Before Theo could roll her eyes and offer a snarky dismissal, Loki held up a finger to silence her.

“At least humor Maximoff once,” he bargained. “I’ve listened to her prattle on endlessly about her excitement at your addition to the Avengers ever since she learned the news, and if I have to endure any more of her moping because you’ve rejected her invitations to socialize, I very well might lose my mind.”

After far too long of a pause, Theo finally answered.

“Okay, fine. I will stop turning down the invites to hang out and I’ll try to ‘play nice’ with the others,” she relented, sounding none too pleased as she straightened up. “For the record, I never agreed to any of this. I am here reluctantly, at best.”

“Yes yes, the reluctant Avenger - you’re not the first one. I wrote the book on it.” Loki ribbed, earning a real laugh from Theo. “Now come, it is far too beautiful of a day to spend it reading such dreary reports. Why not spend your time on something you might enjoy?”

“You know it’s raining outside, right?” Theo pointed to a window behind her, where an onslaught of water undoubtedly pounded against the glass.

“Of course I do;” Loki lightly scoffed. “That’s why it is such a beautiful day - it is perfect for settling in with some literature and forgetting about the tomfoolery the rest of this dreadful realm subjects us to.”

Theo didn’t argue with him, but she continued to peer at him rather suspiciously. 

“You have worked non-stop ever since you started here. What is the phrase that you mortals love? All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy? I fear you might become dreadfully dull if you keep this up.”

“Good thing my name isn’t Jack.” Theo winked, her quick-wit making its blessed return. 

“All work and no play makes for a rather wretched existence.” Loki amended his statement, smirking at Theo. “What you ought to do is put those reports away, find a novel that you actually enjoy, and join me in the sitting room to indulge in some reading. We might even listen to some of your music over the speakers, since you seem to be averse to silence yet easily startled when you wear your headphones.”

“I don’t know, this Budapest report looks like a great mystery to crack.” Theo shrugged, though her tone no longer held any trace of the tension or animosity that had previously dominated her replies.

Loki rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t bite back a smile. 

“Okay,” Theo finally agreed, “let me put this stuff away, and then I’ll come join you.”

As she joined him in the corridor, Loki concluded that one thing was certain: he much preferred Theo’s banter to her thorns. 

I need you to be wrong  (All along wе both were wrong) I need you to be wrong  (All along wе both were wrong)

[silversweetpea]

Fresco Feelings

word count:2792

summary: It seems silly to make a birthday present for someone that you never met, its less silly to give someone that loved them something to remember them by.

warnings: Peter talks about May and is a little sad but that’s about the worst of it.

authors note: I love the idea of secret messages in public and i’m also constantly obsessed with the secret language of flowers. Both of these have combined into a problem which I could only solve by way of writing a quiet little gift giving fic for pete. Can be read as romantic or platonic because I'm still not sure exactly how old Pete is in Canon and I'm not comfy writing explicitly romantic stories for him when I'm an adult and he's a minor 😅 

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿

“You hoping a spray a day will keep the doctor away?” Unexpected voices should startle you, but it’s hard to be scared of the one good guy swinging around your city. You pause in your detail work of the mural of Doctor Strange to look over your shoulder at Spiderman.

“Worth a shot, right? What’s up webs?” The vigilante sits on the lid of the dumpster behind you, legs swinging slightly where they hang over the edge. He looks casual but given how cold out it is you’re sure the guy is freezing his ass off through that thin costume of his. 

“Nothing much, it’s slow tonight.” You already know that, there’s a police scanner in your pocket that you use to keep up to date on how close you are to getting caught. Something bought from pure practicality and which had no relation to the colorful man behind you and trying to figure out if he was being safe in the city. 

“So are you going to arrest me then?” It wouldn’t be hard. Your hands and jeans are covered in the exact same shades as the cans rolling about your feet. The smell of spray paint lingered in your clothes like perfume and while you hadn’t signed the artwork you’d have a hard time keeping a straight face if they asked you what you thought about it.

Hell, this wasn’t even the first time he had caught you. You had lost count of how many times the hero had dropped down from the sky to critic your line art or help you come up with a better punchline to attach to it. This wasn’t one of your funniest pieces, more for the kids that passed the area on the way to school than to make a statement. 

“Nah, it’s not that slow. Not to mention that last time I tried to help with bringing in a case of vandalism I accidentally stepped into some family drama and it just wasn’t worth the hassle.” There’s a wince in his words, a scrunch of his face and shoulders that you can see from the corner of your eye as you pick up painting again. 

“So what you’re telling me is I have free reign over my alleys?”

“Don’t push it, like I said, it’s been slow.” His laugh is a nice sound even if its quieter than normal. In fact, the longer you listen to him and the more you speak to him the clearer it becomes that something is off. Maybe its just the cold of the dumpster?

“Okay, I think that’s about it for Strange.” The mural is painted in messy strokes and colorful blocks, the wizard sitting in one chair reading a newspaper with a towel wrapped about his head and a hand reaching through a portal which connects just next to him to a Starbucks cup on a counter. No need for a caption, too dangerous to sign your name when you poke fun at heroes so much. The cans are easy to gather and throw into your backpack and the whole while Spiderman sits quietly and watches you. 

You can see your breathe in the air as you turn to face him again and its unsettling to see how still he is. The vigilante’s eyes are hidden from the suit he wore but his posture is rigid and focused entirely on the mural you had just finished. He doesn’t move until you cough and tilt your head ever so slightly towards the exit in an unspoken question and even then Spiderman’s steps are quiet when they join yours in walking down the street.

“Do you know him?” The vigilante jumps just a bit at the unexpected question, an endearing sort of move. It takes him another minute to realize what you’re asking and by the time he speaks again, voice shaky from some emotion you can’t puzzle out with your brain so cold, you’ve reached the last location for the night. 

Well, in honest the Strange mural was supposed to be the only mural for the night but you’d been eyeing this side of a building for a while and Spiderman didn’t seem to want to be alone. You didn’t want to be alone either. 

“I used to.” The only noise other than his voice is the shaking of a can of paint. You’re far enough from the main streets that traffic is distant and everyone in the apartment buildings down the street are full of citizens either sleeping or pretending to so they don’t draw attention to themselves. “He seems strict but he means well.”

“Well he can mean well far away from me. Those portals of his freak me out.” You see the mask move, just a ghost of an expression beneath it but combined with the quiet exhale of breath its nice to pretend that he’s smiling. 

“You freak me out.” The comment holds no weight when he holds the can you hand him while you grab the next. Time passes slowly, like syrup dripping from a bottle. The blue is a shade brighter than you’d like, but with the red its still recognizable.

“So what’s really going on Webs?” He jumps again. It’s not as endearing this time but whatever trance he had fallen into is broken enough for him to hand you the red again. “I know I’m a delight to be around and all but if you sit any longer I’m going to be forced to ask you to help with this color blocking.”

“It’s my aunt’s birthday today.” Spiderman’s voice is small and there’s a morose tone about it that makes you uncomfortable. It wouldn’t if he were daredevil or hawkeye even but to hear your friendly neighborhood hero - because fuck the cops he was more of a hero than they were - sets your nerves on edge. 

Still, you don’t look at him, just keep pushing forwards with your art like you’ve always done.

“Oh, that’s great how old is she?” The silence is enough of an answer in and of itself. Spiderman stands just a touch too still next to you and the careful casualty of your companionship slips away when you’re not looking. His breath is quiet in the night but his sigh is not. The puddle at his feet ripples when the vigilante shifts, just enough movement for you to nod in assurance that you understood.

The silence ends up winding its way around the two of you like an affectionate cat may your ankles. The gentle hush of wind scraping over cement could be mistaken for a half hearted purr as Spiderman watches you pick up a can of green paint and begin to work again. 

“Do you want to talk about her?” He makes a bit of a startled noise, but doesn’t jump. Progress is progress you suppose. “I mean, I never met her so anything you wanted to share would be news to me.”

“I don’t know.” It never gets easier to see a hero casual, watch him turn his back to the wall you’re working on and lean against it like he’d just slipped out for a cigarette. It’s your turn to hum then, pausing in your work long enough to look where he’s curled his shoulders in, tucked his head down to his chest. 

The man feels cold when you rest your hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to webs, but if you wanted to reminisce on something happy I’d love to know about her. You could talk about her favorite flowers or your inside jokes. Talk about that annoying quirk of hers that you hated but miss now that she’s gone.” The words are soft as silk when you drape them on his shoulders. “I won’t push if you really don’t want to talk about it, but if you want someone to listen I’m in no hurry.”

Spiderman swallows hard, looks up at the sky, and speaks.

“She loved yellow Hibiscus flowers.” His voice sounds younger then it ever has. It’s easy to forget sometimes that he’s not much older than you are, that he just started showing up in the city a few years ago. 

“Really?” If the man doesn’t like your hand on his shoulder he’s made no move to voice his displeasure. The streetlights catch on the two of you and the cans of paint but not enough for you to make out an expression through the fabric with which to help direct your response. The careful curiosity seems the right choice though given he starts to speak again.

“Yeah, always tried to grow them on the windowsill of our apartment but a week into their lives they would start to wilt.” When he moves to crouch down you follow and your hand seems glued to the fabric for the amount of effort it takes you to pull it back to yourself. 

“Did it ever occur to you guys that the flowers might be wilting because they’re tropical plants and we’re in new york?” Somewhere in the distance a dog barks and it almost covers the noise of amusement that Spiderman lets out. 

“No I usually just blamed it on her cooking.” A picture starts to take shape as he speaks with fondness. One filled with warmth and color that fostered his sense of humor and likely his sense of right and wrong at the same time. “The landlord threatened to remove our fire alarms if she set them off one more time.”

“But I’ll bet she was funny, right?” You don’t say that she had to have been because she was related to the web head, that might be too personal. If there was one thing that Spiderman had made clear in his visits and talks with you it was that as friendly as he was he didn’t do personal very well. 

“She certainly thought she was.” The fragility is back and you’re sure that if you could see his face you would find a far off look in his eyes.

“Well so do you and your humor is hit or miss so-”

“Hey!” you’re rewarded for your humor with a gentle knocking of his shoulder against yours and an almost normal tone again. It had seemed right at the time to ask about his aunt but now grief had started to slip its way between your ribs. If not grief for her, than grief on Spiderman’s behalf. Grief at family lost, love unexpressed. You knew something about that last one in particular. 

You stand up first. It’s hard to sit with the pressure creeping in on your heart. The vigilante remains crouched at your feet as you go back to spraying colors onto the wall. light blues and yellows that look nothing short of flat compared to the shaded blobs of green. 

“What are you painting?” His voice isn’t as warm as usual but it’s better than when he made his doctor strange joke. 

“You’ll see.”

“I hate when you say that.” This time he rises and moves to stand behind you. If he had the urge to he could rest his head on your shoulder and watch you work you can feel his presence so close. You try not to think about what gloved hands would feel like on your hip or wrapped around your waist as you worked.

“Oh come on, I stand by my artwork.” There’s a crack in your voice as you try to focus on shaping the colors into something more recognizable. If the hero catches it he thankfully does not mention it.

“I know you do, you repainted the same Steve Rogers joke five times.” Spiderman’s teasing is enough to break the fluster that had taken hold of you. When you look over your shoulder at him, can in hand, you’re certain that he’s smiling back at you.

“I would have stopped at three if they hadn’t put it in the papers.” He laughs again and it sounds even better than before, smaller than usual but no less kind. He hadn’t followed you as you worked until a few pieces after that but apparently the hero had found an equal amount of amusement in the comparison of Rodgers to some sort of turtle. 

“I’ll let the bugle know next time I see them.” You turn back to your work and finally begin to do the outlining on the center of the piece. It used to make you nervous to start adding final touching with an audience but it was hard to sit still with webs so close to you. 

“Oh yeah that’ll go over well.” You murmur, “spider-menance consorts with local vandal. God he hates you.”

“Don’t remind me.” The man groans and then he does drop his head to rest on your shoulder, hiding his face in the material of your hoodie as his hands rest on your upper arms. It’s nothing more than a dramatic overreaction to thinking about the bugle, you know that logically. Your heart, however, does not and has ceased to beat at all at the sudden contact.

“Hey can I ask you a question?” You speak near instantly, desperate to distract him from the point of contact he was making with you and he way that even through the material of his mask and your hoodie you could feel the slope of his nose, could start to imagine what he may look like.

“Uhm, yeah?” the hero raises his head enough to rest just his chin on your shoulder, hands still loose on your upper arms. There’s a hesitance in his voice that makes you worried he’s going to pull away. 

“What?”

“Are you sleeping with that photographer that keeps taking your photo?” There’s a sputtering of noise that escapes him and when he does step back it’s clearly in shock. You miss his touch, but you take some sliver of delusional comfort in the idea that he felt comfortable to rest on you in the first place.

“That Peter something, he takes all the photos of you for the bugle? The internet is convinced you two are sleeping together since he’s the only one that can get you in any half decent shots.” It’s not the question most people would ask but it seems to have been the right choice again. You’d love to ask what he does for a living or to hear more about his aunt but it’s good to hear him laugh and stumble over his words like this was any other night.

“You have one of those?” There’s no glance over your shoulder but you’re certain that he does that familiar headshake that lets you know you’ve amused him but he doesn’t want you to know that. For someone with a mask, he’s always seemed like an open book. 

“No, no.” Not to mention that it means you can stop figuring out if you need to contact the photographer to try and weasle information out of him. There are so many landmines in conversation you don't realize are there until you've already stepped on them. “I mean don’t get me wrong I have nothing against the guy he’s just not my type. I only let him take photos because he always catches my good side.”

“Okay that’s it, I’m leaving.” The bulk of the painting is done enough for the hero to know that he’s made his way onto the wall again, but you’ve avoided doing the detail work on his surroundings. The same parts of you that feel deflated at his exit also take comfort in knowing that he’ll be surprised tomorrow when he sees the finished work. 

“Stay safe out there, okay?” Is all you can manage. You like to think that he hears the unspoken I care about you. I’m sorry for your loss. I hope you know that I’m here for you.

“Safe is my middle name,” His footsteps are slow as he moves down the street. “Make sure you head home soon, okay? If you get sick they might take the opportunity to paint over Steve again.”

“They wouldn’t dare.” His laugh disappears into the night far slower than he does. Long after the red and blue figure has slipped into the dark of night you can still hear it in your head, rich and real as it settles in you.

You hear it again in your head when the photos of your newest mural begin to circulate online. Including a particularly well shot photo by Peter Parker and an opening sentence by a writer you don’t care about aside from the fact that they misspell the scientific names for the hibiscus flowers and forget me nots that you so carefully detailed in the night. 

[hirocimacruiser]

Part of an article where Kazuyoshi Hoshino (former racecar driver for Nissan and founder of Impul) drives and rates some cars from the opposition. This section he is evaluating the Tommi Makinen EVO VI and the Subaru Impreza WRX STI version VI.

Section 2

"I wanted to ride it once!" First test drive

In the Heisei era's game description of the Lancer Evo VS Impreza battle

Japan's fastest man makes a decision!

Even though I lost my voice due to the intense power,

dissatisfied with handling.

The famous Heisei game, Lan Evo vs Impreza, is a standard showdown plan even for the best cars. After repeated wins and losses, the current models of both cars eventually became the current final models.

The models prepared this time are the GSR Evolution VI Tommy Makinen Edition for the Lan Evo and the WRX STi Version V Limited for the Impreza.

Hajime Hoshino will judge this showdown.

Righteousness. I have never driven either car before, so this will be my first drive. The actors are ready!

Kazuyoshi Hoshino said, "Well, I've always wanted to try these two cars," and let the two big monster 4WDs run to their heart's content. Let's reproduce the impression immediately after the test drive.

■ LANEVO

(I got out of the car and was at a loss for words for a while). This is amazing....... To put it bluntly, this power is not normal. This is no ordinary car. Power!

Too much! And the steering is weird. The power steering is too effective and there is no response, and I can't grasp the feeling at all. I hate it because the steering always has the same weight no matter what the situation. Feeling like an old American car.

PIC CAPTION

A thorough test drive on two cars that "I wanted to ride once"!

I can't grasp the feeling of grip. The engine is abnormal. If you tell me to praise you, I will praise you, but this is beyond praise. I wonder if they are boosting up. I can't believe it's the power of a commercial car.

The clutch also seems to be a racing specification (equipped with twin plates for the test vehicle), and the sound of the differential is also worrisome. If you wear a helmet and run hard on the circuit, you won't notice that, but if you're on a public road, you'll notice it.

Like a 4-wheel drive, there is a sense of security when turning the power on and off, and the front-to-rear balance is good, but the steering doesn't give you a good grip.

That's why I ran with suspicion. Whether the grip is still there or is gone, I was fumbling around and couldn't figure out the limit, but I just kept running like I had power!

It would be nice to say that the style is rough like running on a dirt road, but it doesn't feel urban. It's a bit too rugged for my taste.

■ Impreza

Suspension is Lan Evo

This one is more like a juggling horse

It's pretty mild.

I feel enough power.

It gets a little dull from 3500 to 4000 rpm, but there is a lot more than that and it turns around 8000 rpm.

Rather than waiting for a 9000 rpm engine like a Honda to reach the top, this engine

3000~7000 like

Use about 4000 rpm

It's easier on public roads. However, although the response is good and the sound when it revs up is also good, I don't really like the sound of misfiring at low and medium speeds.

I think the suspension should be a little stiffer on both bumps and rebounds so that the car doesn't roll over. The Lancer is harder and has better athletic performance.

The Impreza is a little too soft and becomes unstable when attacking hard. But I don't want to make it too hard, so if possible, it might be interesting to make the rebound side a little stronger. The driver's control center differential feels very different depending on how you adjust it. If you put it in the front (differential lock), the front torque will be stronger and the steering will feel more responsive. Conversely, the rearmost (differential free)

If you do it, the response of the handle will be Get out, under

Sorry but power over

be. You can change that beautifully just by adjusting the dial.

So if you're afraid of running out of power on a slippery road, you can bring it forward, and the weight of the steering wheel will change dramatically, but it's all free like FF or FR. You can. This is the first time. Interesting.

■ Judgment

If it's a time attack, the Lancer would be a few tenths faster. But the Impreza's control differential and horizontally-opposed engine are quite tasteful. Which one is better? Impreza is more interesting. In terms of speed, if the suspension could be made a little harder, I think it would be on par with the Lancer, but the Lancer's suspension is better.

The Impreza is my favorite conclusion.

PIC CAPTIONS

Hard suspension Lancer Evo and mild suspension Impreza. 4WD monster sports boasting unbeatable speed!

Although they have the same 2-liter turbo and 280 horsepower, they are the super units of Lancer Evo and Impreza, each with their own characteristics. Demonstrate power that surprises even the fastest man in Japan!

[princessasmosprincess]

Charmed, I'm Sure

Chapter 16

Summary: No human has ever avoided Asmodeus's charm. Except for you.

Pairing: Asmodeus x GN Reader/MC

Genre: Drama, angst, a little fluff

Warnings: Nonsexual nudity mentioned

***

Asmo needed to calm down. Lucifer would handle everything. It would be fine.

He threw the bloody handkerchief on the vanity, giving it one more glance before turning his back to it.

He caught his reflection in the mirrored wall of his bedroom. His teary face was beautiful. He flashed a peace sign at himself. Wouldn’t this be a sight for his fans? It would probably do numbers on Devilgram. All he needed was the perfect caption. What was that old quote from that dead author? Tears are diamonds? Pearls? Whatever, he could always ask Satan later. He reached for his D.D.D. to take a selfie when his eyes landed again on the handkerchief in the reflection of the mirror. His heart clenched at the red splotches on the pale pink fabric.

None of this was his fault, it couldn't possibly be. You fainting after he charmed you was just a coincidence. And the blood was just…

He couldn't rationalize that part away. But it still didn't make sense. Asmo was trying very hard to charm you so he’d invoked more of his power than was normally needed to charm an individual, but he’d never caused a person to bleed. A symptom like that was more like an effect of… A curse.

Asmo felt dizzy.

Those witches and their curse last night. They’d said it was for the demon who wronged him but Asmo had been too drunk to remember the details. Could they have cursed you as well? Were they jealous of you for being so close to him? That was hardly his or your faults. And even drunk, Asmo wouldn't allow the witches to do something like that to an innocent human. Would he?

No, stop!

Asmo practically ran to his private bathroom, throwing on the tub’s faucet as high as it would go. The bathtub couldn't fill fast enough, he was feeling a little envious of Levi’s control over water. The third born could conjure enormous amounts of water at the perfect temperature in seconds. Asmo dumped in two heaping scoops of floral bath salts, turning the water pink and shimmery. The room began to fill with the heady scent of jasmine and roses carried on the water’s steam.

Asmo stripped from his clothes and splashed cold water on his face to clear the drying tear tracks. His bangs hung damp and limp over his forehead. His hands shook as he gripped the edge of the counter. This was not because of him. It couldn't be.

A knock at the bedroom door caused him to freeze.

“Asmodeus?” It was Solomon, sounding muffled through the door.

Asmo schooled his voice into stability. “Yes?”

“I was just checking on you, are you alright?”

“Yes, I am.” he hoped he sounded aloof. “Why wouldn't I be?”

Solomon paused. “Lucifer and Barbatos were concerned. They said you were shaken up about what happened with MC. I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“Oh. That.” Asmo gave a little laugh although his eyes didn’t show it. “I mean it was a bit of a shock but I’m fine now.” He picked up his clothes and threw them in the hamper in his closet.

Solomon tried the door handle, finding it locked. “Can I come in?”

“That won’t be necessary. I was just getting in the bath.”

There was another pause. Asmo bit his lip. He could never pass up an opportunity for someone to see his perfect body totally nude. Solomon would see right through him. He braced for the response.

“Ok…” said Solomon. “Well if you want to talk, you can always call me on my D.D.D., I guess.” He started to walk away.

“Wait!” Asmo went all the way up to the door but did not open it.

“Yes?” said Solomon.

“Tell me–” Asmo swallowed. “Is MC ok?” He wrapped his arms around himself as he waited for the answer.

“They’re conscious now.” He answered. “Lucifer is trying to get to the bottom of things but it seems like they’ll be alright.”

That was good. Better than good. But he had to know more.

“Was it a curse?” Asmo’s voice shook on the word.

“I don't think so.” Said Solomon. “Not a curse, and not a hex either, if you were wondering.”

Asmo frowned. “But not a human ailment, or you would still be there with them.”

Solomon was silent for a moment, as if he was pondering his answer. “That’s correct. Whatever is wrong with MC is out of my depth,” He said humbly. “But the important thing is that they’re going to be ok.”

Asmo breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you.” His words were almost like a prayer, as much as words said by a demon could be.

As Solomon walked away, Asmo fought the urge to collapse on his bed.

Instead, he made his way back to the bathroom. The tub was finally full, the billowing white steam reminding him of mornings in the Celestial Realm from so long ago, he turned off the faucet.

He tried to ignore the muffled sound of Lucifer and Lord Diavolo who chose at that moment to have their heated conversation in the hall right outside of Asmo’s room. Barbatos’ cool, refined tone joined theirs. The three of them walked away, their voices fading into the distance.

With a deep cleansing breath, Asmo set his D.D.D. on a towel at the side of the tub, and slipped into the warm water.

His D.D.D. vibrated.

It was a text from Lucifer in the brothers’ group chat. Asmo tentatively opened the message.

Lucifer: I would like to inform you all that MC is ok; it seems they used Hell Poison honey in their tea this morning, accidentally poisoned themself. Barbatos has administered an antidote and they will make a full recovery. I trust none of you will disturb them as they rest, however long it takes.

Asmo stared at the message for a long time.

“Poisoned, huh.”

So it hadn't been because of him. Asmo wanted to sink under the perfumed water and never come back up again.

At least now he could rest. All that worrying had been exhausting. Asmo leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the warmth and the scent of flowers take him.

…

Asmo woke hours later from a dreamless sleep. His stomach was growling. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and based on the position of the moon in the sky, it was well past dinnertime.

He got out of the tub and quickly toweled himself off. He pinned his bangs back with a couple bobby pins and made his way to the closet. Asmo chose a pair of pink silk pajamas, they were comfy but still beautiful. He rarely got use out of them since he preferred to sleep au naturale.

Stepping into his soft pink slippers, Asmo made his way into the hall and down the stairs. It was an unusually quiet night. He rounded the corner of the hall leading to the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks at the scene before him.

Three of his brothers sat on the floor, huddled next to your bedroom door. They were sleeping. Beel was in the middle with Levi and Mammon leaning on either side of him, each snoring in their own unique way. A portable gaming device dangled from Levi's hand, the cheerful music from the pause screen playing on a loop.

He glanced at the door. Maybe he should check on you, just in case. He reached for the doorknob.

Soft footsteps descended the back staircase, Asmo turned toward them, pulling his hand back as if the doorknob had burned him.

Satan carried a few blankets in his arms. “It seems MC kicked the three of them out of their room hours ago. I tried to get them to go to bed or even sleep in the common room but they refused.” He whispered. “Did you eat yet?”

“No, I was just about to when I came upon this ridiculous scene.” Asmo rolled his eyes, hoping his body language didn't give him away, he'd already embarrassed himself enough over you today. He took a blanket from Satan and spread it over Mammon. He removed Mammon’s sunglasses, which were hanging crookedly on his face and slipped them into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “This is a pathetic way for demon lords to behave.”

Satan raised an eyebrow, spreading a blanket across Beel’s lap. “Since when do you care how demon lords behave? I remember you’ve complained over your duties as the Avatar of Lust quite regularly.” Some days Asmo’s laziness could rival Belphie’s if he felt a task didn't benefit him enough to put in the effort.

“It’s– it’s not like that.” Asmo crossed his arms, looking away. “I just don't get why they’re so hung up on this human.”

Satan switched off Levi's gaming device after making sure his progress was saved, setting it down on the floor next to him. “It seems they’ve grown quite fond of MC in the short time they’ve been here. And they’re not the only ones.” Satan took a long look at Asmo.

This time Asmo stared him down. “What are you saying?”

Satan’s face broke into a catlike smirk. He shrugged. “Lord Diavolo and Solomon and Barbatos, not to mention the angels. And even Lucifer was worried about them.”

“And what do you think about them?” Asmo asked, trying to deflect Satan’s observation.

“What do I think about them?” Satan repeated. “I think they’re a decent enough person. And their mere presence disrupts Lucifer’s life, I’m quite pleased about that.”

A very Satan answer.

Asmo’s stomach growled loudly. “Is there anything left of dinner or did Beel get to it first?”

Satan suppressed a laugh. “I left some soup for you on the stove but you’ll have to heat it up.”

After ensuring his older brothers were properly tucked in, Satan went back to his room, leaving Asmo in the dark hall.

Not wasting another moment, Asmo opened your bedroom door and entered quietly.

You were asleep, as expected. Your chest rose and fell evenly, and you snored lightly. Asmo could hear soft, lilting classical music playing from a record. A large, expensive looking bouquet of flowers with a card indicating it was from Lord Diavolo sat on the table behind your bed. Underneath it was a smaller scraggly bouquet made from flowers found in the House of Lamentation’s garden. Judging from the gaudy color choices and clumsy execution, Asmo would guess the tiny bouquet was arranged by Mammon. Next to the bouquets were a few textbooks and carefully copied class notes in Satan’s handwriting. Single serving prepackaged snacks and cakes littered the rest of the table.

Asmo tentatively approached your bed. You were sleeping so peacefully. No doubt assisted by the medicinal tea Barbatos had left on your bedside table. You’d finished almost the entire pot, by now it had long gone cold. A note in Solomon’s handwriting detailed which magical remedies could be mixed with Human World pain relievers, underneath that was a recipe for miso soup. Asmo tore up the recipe and threw it in the wastebasket at the corner of your room. No good could come of making one of Solomon’s recipes, no matter how well-intended.

His stomach growled again, very loudly this time. Asmo froze, expecting you to wake.

But you didn't, you just snuggled even more under the Ruri-chan blanket that had been lovingly draped over you and continued sleeping. That tea was quite effective.

Asmo took the empty teapot with him as he exited your room.

In the kitchen, he turned on the burner underneath the cold soup pot. It would take a few minutes to heat up to an edible temperature so Asmo made himself busy.

He fetched a kettle and filled it with water to boil, setting it on the stove over a burner. Asmo pulled out the canister of medicinal tea Barbatos had left on the counter. He inhaled the herbal, floral scent of the leaves and closed his eyes. He detected several restorative herbs that were effective in healing demons, so surely they would help a human like you. With this and some rest you would get better, he was sure.

He dumped out the spent leaves and replaced them just as the kettle began to boil. Once the freshly boiled water was in the teapot, it would take several minutes to steep the tea.

Asmo dished himself a bowl of soup and pulled up a stool to the counter so he could eat while he waited.

The silence in the house was so deafening. Most nights at this hour Mammon was fighting with Levi, and Beel could often be found rummaging through the kitchen to look for one more thing to eat. Now the three of them kept their sleepy vigil outside your room. When had they all become so focused on you?

It couldn't be their pacts. None of the brothers had ever become so dedicated to a pact owner. The closest was Asmo with Solomon but even then it had never gone to quite this extent. What was so different now?

Asmo couldn't figure it out.

He finished his soup and washed his bowl before picking up the teapot and bringing it to your room. He set it back in its place on your bedside table.

You hadn't moved at all in the time he’d been gone. That was somewhat comforting, it meant you were sleeping soundly. Or at least that’s what he hoped.

Asmo really studied your face this time, something he’d avoided before, afraid it would remind him of what had happened just that afternoon.

Dark circles ringed your eyes. Your complexion, while still ashen, was no longer the disturbing gray color it had been at RAD. The pale moonlight shone through the window, lighting your face.

Asmo clenched his fists. No one had taken the time to do your skincare for you.

He looked to your private bathroom door. Surely you had some sort of skincare routine in place. But there was no way it was anywhere near as good as what he had. Asmo used only the best on his skin.

Suppressing a sigh, Asmo skipped out of your room. He had to do everything around here, didn’t he?

He gathered a small basket of products. Just some micellar water, toner, eye cream, moisturizer, and a lip mask. Minimalism wasn't usually his thing but it would do for now.

He found himself humming as he returned to your room. Silently shushing himself, he entered again and sat slowly on your bed. Now that he'd seen their effect at work, between the medicinal tea and the record, he was sure you wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. He could always use one of Belphie’s sleep spells if you started to stir. It wouldn't be as powerful being cast by Asmo but it would be enough to keep you sleeping if need be.

Asmo washed his hands in your private bathroom and then got to work. He slipped a pink bunny ear headband over your head to push your hair out of your face. He then swiped the micellar water across your skin with a cotton pad. Cleansing was one of the most important steps in a skincare routine. Next he applied the toner and dabbed the eye cream under your eyes, hoping it would alleviate your dark circles. Once he pressed the moisturizer into your skin with his palms, it was time for the lip mask.

He applied the pale pink gel with his ring finger, running it gently across your bottom lip first and then up until it caught on your Cupid's bow. He kept his hand there a moment, taking in the delicate shape and the charming curves. Your lips were so soft, so warm, so unmistakably human. Beautiful.

Asmo withdrew his hand.

Humans were such fascinating and frustrating creatures.

He wiped the remainder of the lip mask off on a cotton pad, still feeling the ghost of your lips on his fingers.

He glanced at you one last time as he shut the door behind him.

***

Cross-posted on AO3

[oceanlix]

Day 24: Sangyeon + Phone sex

Pairing: Sangyeon x female reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 1703

Warnings: Masturbation (male and female), dirty talk, teasing, phone sex, brief mention of daddy kink, slight degradation, praise

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

“Girl, are you sure you wanna post that?” Your friend peeks over your shoulder, shaking her head at the photo of you sitting between Sunwoo and Eric that you’re currently editing for Instagram.

“Yeah, what do you mean?” you giggle to yourself. Truth be told, you know exactly what she means. Posting this will only get Sangyeon’s attention in the worst way, but you’re prepared for that outcome. In fact, you want it to happen.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she sighs, heading back to her mirror to finish putting on her makeup. With another chuckle, you click on the post button and start the waiting game.

—-

It isn’t until several hours later when you’re doing body shots with Juyeon that you finally hear back from Sangyeon.

“Damn, your phone sure rings a lot!” Haknyeon yells, passing it to you. You raise your eyebrows, but you walk off to a little corner with less people in it. Unlocking your phone, your mouth goes dry when you open your texts and see the photos he’s sent. He’s sprawled out beside the pool, the sunset glow casting an unreal light across his toned chest and body. Every muscle looking like it was sculpted by God himself, totally bared before you. You almost don’t see the caption: Heard from a little birdie you’ve forgotten about me.

“Fuck,” you curse to yourself, biting down on your lip. Immediately you head off in search of an empty bedroom, anywhere that you can strip down and get off to these glorious images.

Sangyeon being away has taken its toll on you, but not being an official couple meant your libido never really had to suffer. With hot guys like Sunwoo, Eric and Juyeon to keep you entertained, you didn’t have time to feel sad and mopey. Orgasms tended to fix that, for obvious reasons. But you hadn’t even gotten a normal text from Sangyeon in weeks, which is what inspired you to lash out. You hadn’t sent nearly as racy a picture as he just had, but you knew how to stoke his jealousy and you used it to your advantage. Besides, if a simple little picture of you sitting on Eric’s lap while Sunwoo draped his arm around you got you these kind of results, you’d be tempted to try this again.

As you find an unoccupied bedroom and lock yourself in, your phone starts to ring. Sangyeon’s caller ID photo overtakes the screen, making you let out a small whimper as you rush to answer the phone.

“How’s my baby?” he asks, a knowing lilt to his voice. You moan a little as you toss yourself onto the bed, wriggling out of your skirt as fast as you can.

“Those pictures are so unfair,” you complain, sliding your hand into your underwear and sighing. You’re soaked, just like you expected. If Sangyeon was here, he’d be mocking you for how desperate you are.

He chuckles and you hear the rustling of fabric over the phone before the sound of a cap opening. You know it’s lube; he likes his cock to be wet and messy. “Really? That’s rich, coming from you,” he replies.

You push two fingers into yourself, massaging your own walls. Sangyeon’s fingers are longer, so it’s not nearly as satisfying. But it’ll have to do for now. “Oh please, at least I had clothes on,” you argue, but your voice is breathy as you continue to touch yourself.

Sangyeon hisses as he starts stroking his cock. At least, you’re assuming by the sound of the squelching lube that you hear. “You know every time you wear that dress I want to rip it off of you,” he growls. It’s true; that’s why you’d chosen it.

“How’s your hand?” you tease, holding back your own moan. “Don’t you wish you were here instead, stuffing my pussy full of cock?”

“You know I do, baby,” he tells you with a sigh. You can hear his strokes getting faster, which makes you rock your hips against your hand.

“When you get back, you better set aside a whole day for me,” you warn him.

“Oh yeah?” He sounds amused, even though he’s more than a little breathless. You know he’s imagining it now, all the ways he’s going to ruin your pussy when he gets back home. “What do you have planned?”

“Well first,” you sigh, shifting the angle of your fingers and sucking in a breath. “I’m going to suck you off in the living room. We won’t even make it to the couch, I’ll just do it right against the front door. I’ve missed the feeling of your big cock down my throat, choking me.”

Sangyeon groans loudly on the other end of the phone, making you smile. “Love it when you choke on my cock, baby,” he gushes.

You giggle. It’s so easy to get him wrapped around your finger, though you’re the same way with him, so you can’t really talk. “And then I’ll take you over to the couch, where I’m gonna ride you so hard the neighbors will put in a noise complaint.”

“Oh my god,” Sangyeon says under his breath. “You’re unreal.”

“Oh trust me, I’m very real,” you laugh, crooking your fingers up against your spot. Like before, it’s not the same as having your man’s fingers stroking your walls. Sangyeon can reach places inside of you that you can’t even dream of. “My fingers aren’t long enough for this,” you complain, frowning.

“Aw, baby can’t reach, can she?” His voice is mocking, but it drives you crazy. You love when he gets a little mean; you rub your thighs together for more friction. Your walls convulse around your fingers and you whimper, imagining Sangyeon’s fingers are in place of your own. “Don’t worry, I’ll be home before you know it and then I’ll take such good care of you.”

“I’m not done with telling you my plans yet,” you interrupt, now rubbing circles on your clit to chase your high.

“Yeah? Go on ahead,” he urges you. He’s getting breathless again, imagining his hand is your warm cunt gripping his dick.

“When we finally get to the bedroom, you’ll fuck me doggy style.” You bite your lip and moan as your fingers finally touch the spot you’ve been trying to reach for the past few minutes, your hips bucking wildly. “You’ll spank me so hard that my face gets an imprint from pressing into the sheets.”

“Keep talking, baby,” he begs, the sound of his strokes speeding up on the other end of the phone. Sangyeon must be close, you realize. “Tell me more.”

“I‘ll scream your name so loud the neighbors won’t be able to look you in the eyes for weeks.” You bite your lip as your toes curl in pleasure. You want to keep painting a picture for your man, but it’s getting harder to focus with your orgasm so close. “Baby, come home soon so you can fuck me for real,” you beg, breaking character.

“Shh,” Sangyeon soothes you. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Let me hear what you sound like when you’re desperate for me.”

You let go at his words, squirting all over your hand and your bedsheets. This is your best orgasm in weeks, not that you’re going to complain about the ones given to you by your boy toys. There’s something special about Sangyeon talking you through this one though, which you decide to unpack at a later time.

Once you’ve caught your breath, you grip the phone in your hand and moan breathily into the speaker. “Are you gonna cum for me now, daddy?” you ask, knowing the nickname will help get him there even faster.

“Fuck, I love it when you call me that, baby,” Sangyeon growls. “Wish I was there with you, I’d cum all over that pretty face of yours and show you you’re mine. Forget all those other little boys you’ve been playing with, I’m the real deal.”

You giggle, biting down on your finger. “Okay,” you agree, stroking your fingers along your inner thigh. The idea of Sangyeon fucking you in front of your other hookups comes into your mind, and it’s turning you on all over again. “Show me I’m yours, daddy.”

Sangyeon moans into the phone, stroking himself a few more times before you hear him shout suddenly. He must have cum, judging from his heavy breathing.

“You’re so good to me,” he says after a moment. You’re still stroking your inner thighs, mindlessly spreading your cum around as you listen to him talk. “Such a good little slut, getting yourself off for me over the phone.”

You smile, pleased that your plan worked exactly as you wanted it to. You’d rather have him here with you, touching all your sensitive spots himself, but you’ll take a win where you can get one.

“Now how about you come outside and meet me, little one?”

You raise your eyebrows, sitting upright on the bed. “Outside?” you ask skeptically.

Sangyeon chuckles. “I’m here to collect you,” he says. You hear the honk of his car horn on the phone before you hear it coming from outside of the house. Quickly, you stand up and go to the window, only to see his yellow sports car down on the street.

“You’re home?!” you practically shout. You grab your skirt and pull it on as fast as you can, shoving your feet into your shoes. You don’t even hear his answer as you hurry down the stairs, rushing past Sunwoo who tries to reel you in for a dance. Your mind is only on one man right now.

When you open the door, Sangyeon leans over the console to greet you. You press your lips to his immediately, cupping his face in your hands as you kneel in your seat. “God, I missed you,” you moan against his lips. You’re getting wet again just from the hot and heavy kiss, but you don’t think he minds, not when he palms your ass and groans into your mouth.

“I missed you too, baby,” he laughs, slapping your ass gently. “Let’s go home and fuck for real.”

[guiltyidealist]

"Dog Nightmares" best friend stimboard

x x x x x x x x x Banner

Speculation (spoilers!) + uncanny imagery below

TLDR: I think the Wegman thing is on Emily's side.

I don't think this thing is evil or necessarily ill-meant, even. I just think about

the timeline

growing up and moving on just as a concept

"was she just forgetful? ... or was she in trouble?"

how her drawings/pictures of Bailey seem "corrupted" but she seems unaware

how calm she is when she encounters the entity in the stairhole despite its goddamn horrific appearance

how unfazed she is by getting a Wegman birthday card from her friend despite everything, and how delighted she is by getting a Wegman movie from said friend

her fixation with the tapes altogether

the captions in the creator's own AMV of the series ("Do you think I did it?")

the creator's choice of clips relative to the lyrics in the AMV

the ending sequence of "My New Best Friend" when the Wegman thing is speaking to her via the tapes... "Be honest, do you think that the dog is still out there?"...

those final flickering shots we see of the thing toward the end of that scene... its expression... its gestures in those shots (as seen in my chosen center image)...

... and then Emily seeming to understand or realize something and drop her photo in shock

Something about this thing having malice toward Emily doesn't add up. It's actually starting to read like an "old toy/imaginary friend not wanting to be forgotten but also caring for the person and trying to reach out" narrative.

I wonder if the Wegman thing's involvement in the disappearance of Bailey and/or Emily's friend is a red herring and the thing is actually trying to warn her.

Think about this. All the "bait" clips? What if the Wegman thing is showing that to warn her that something else is trying to lure her? Why would it show her the bait clips if IT was baiting HER? It wouldn't want to monologue its own ~evil plan~ to her like that right? Same deal with the "I thought I heard a sound" / "over here... over here..." clips.

Also. the Wegman thing wouldn't need to kill her dog or steal her friend to "lure" her somewhere. It already has her trust-- that's established by her calm reception of it in her househole, calling it her best friend, and continued fixation on the thing as a whole. It would just have to ask her to go somewhere with it, no kidnapping required (well... except for her LMAO)

The posters of Bailey disappearing, the evident "corruption" of the drawings and photos of him, the "Be honest, do you think that the dog is still out there?" line? Clearly the Wegman thing is trying to get her to let go of Bailey, stop holding onto the hope that he's still out there. What if it's trying to discourage and scare her into giving up the search -- even if he IS still alive -- so that she isn't lured by whatever's really baiting her?

Like. She is NOT afraid of this thing, not remotely unsettled even after all this time and all this shit. In other analog horror series like TMC, Gemini, & Backrooms; the characters are dead afraid of the supernatural entities and occurrences because. no shit?? So Emily's total lack of apprehension about this dogman thing is baffling and even off-putting. Literally in the video "1/04/2009" she's just like "look at this weird quirk that happened in the tape! :D" and the glitch is goddamn nightmare fuel for any normal person

She clearly understands her social world through a sort of animal lens -- evidenced by her paper cutouts of various animal heads pasted over the faces of people in the scrapbook -- so I can kind ? of see where she's coming from? But no amount of being a furry is gonna make a child completely unfazed when they see THIS inside the walls of their house (walls which -- may I remind you -- they are ALREADY established to be TERRIFIED OF).

and again-- please look at the expression on this thing. Whenever we see it, there's this... deep anguish in its face. The thing is utterly forlorn. Hell, it almost looks like it's crying in the very first video:

And the fact that those sunken eyes almost make the face look like a mask on a human... and with her understanding of the world around her as animals...

hell what if she just perceives this otherwise-nebulous-form-having entity to look like a dog because she understands things as animals... or even because she was already so interested in the Wegman d... or just because it communicates with her via the W...? *unintelligible muttering*

man I dunno. All I'm saying is there's no way this thing is malevolent. It's protecting her. I think it is her friend.

[clearlyclairesblog]

Okay I have something that's probably not going to make it to AO3 so I'll post it here because it's short but sweet and I really like it?

I'VE GOT THE MOVES, A LESTAPPEN STORY.

The both of them wake at the exact same time, each to their own phone ringing.

Max reaches for it sooner than Charles, so he's the first one to hear his agent screaming in his ears.

"I-we what? Who d- Lando? Christ."

At the other side of the bed the same conversation is being held in a mix of English and Italian.

"No we didn't want to co- Cazzo (shit). Non ci credo (I can't believe it). What do we do now?"

They hang up and sigh. The simmetry of their gestures would make them laugh in any other circumstance but they're just too upset to bother.

They look at each other, trying to read the other's mind.

"I'm sorry."

Max is the first one to speak. He knows this is going to affect Charles way more than himself.

"I shouldn't have invited you to that stupid party."

Charles doesn't say a word. The expression on his face is hard to read. He looks as if he wants to speak, but each time his lips part they soon find each other again and no sound comes out.

Max's phone rings once again, breaking the silence.

" It's - uhm, it's Lando. He probably wants to apologize. What do I do?"

"Put him on speaker. I want to hear what he has to say."

His tone is cold and Max doesn't like it one bit. He does as asked.

"Lando. Just so you know, you're on speaker mate, Charles is here listening as well."

"Guys fuck. I'm sorry. Like, really sorry. I didn't mean to post that picture. Shit I wish I never took that at all. Charles I'm - fuck, I don't know what to say. I'll delete it stat."

"Don't. Leave it there."

Max looks at Charles with a frown of confusion on his face.

"Everyone saw that already so what's the point."

"Charles I really am sorry. I wish I d-"

"Yes Lando, you said that already. You wish you hadn't posted that. Still, you did."

"Lando, mate, we appreciate your apologies. Don't do anything. We'll call you back."

With that, Max hangs up and crosses the bed to reach for his boyfriend.

"Hey. Talk to me. Let's analyze the situation together, yes?"

"What's to analyze, Max? Lando outed us. Not that I didn't want to but, shit, I wanted to at least tell my family first?"

"I know schatje, I know. But we can either face it or let it destroy us and I don't honestly want it to affect us more than it should."

"Ferrari is going to hate me."

"Well, I'm sure Marko is somewhere having a heart attack right now. I'm dating a man and that man is Charles Leclerc? Oh he's probably dead by now."

That puts a little smile on Charles' lips.

"How are you so calm about this?"

"I'm not. But I am worried about you more than I am angry about this whole thing."

"I want to see the picture. Did you see it?"

Max shakes his head as he grabs his phone and opens instagram.

"It's on Lando.jpg right?"

"I hope. It's normally just Carlos that ends up on his main."

Charles is hugging Max from behind, his head resting on Max's left shoulder to look at the phone.

The first pic on the post is one of Charles alone, dancing to the music. There's a caption, too. <<He got moves ya know.>>

Typical Lando, really.

Max is scrolling the other pictures but what really captures Charles' attention is the comment section.

-Daniel.jpg: Omg. I'd never top this thread, that's for sure.

-Estebanocon: I didn't know but I'm happy.

-georgerussell63: Should have posted me and @ alex_albon but alright.

"Well, at least we look cute?"

Charles kisses him on the head.

"Of course we do, it's us."

"What th- did you known people actually gave us a ship name?"

"A ship name? Like.. Like, Ferragnez?"

"No idea who they are but I guess, yeah."

"Man, if you're going to publicly be my boyfriend you have to learn more about Italy"

Max chuckles at that. It never ceases to amaze him how Charles fused himself with Italy, Italians and all things related.

"I stopped eating pineapple on Pizza, I think that's a start. Anyway, there's plenty of comments about us where they call us Lestappen."

Charles reflects on it for a second.

"Lestappen?"

"Yep."

"I don't like it."

"I do."

"Of course you do, it's your surname basically."

"Someone's jealous."

"I'm not je-shit Max, look at this."

f1: we knew it from the Austrian podium 👀

"Is that admin for real?"

"To be fair we did almost forget we were not alone on that podium."

"Schat, you won. I couldn't care less about what others would think. Like I don't right now. I love you and you love me, so fuck everyone else."

"We still need to fix this, tho. Deleting it won't do it, we just need to face it properly."

"You want to schedule an interview or something?"

"They will probably make us do one anyway. But like, we should address it."

"Give me the phone."

Max pulls the phone from Charles' hands and starts to type.

"There you go"

maxverstappen1: you should see the other moves he got.

"Max!"

"What? It's true. You got the best moves in bed, babe"

charles_leclerc: I know I got the moves. Thanks for letting everyone know. @ maxverstappen1

pierregasly: @ yukitsunoda0511 you owe me 20 bucks.