#YOU THUNK THOUGHTS ARE SO INTERESTING TO ME

[ademotorcycle]

also sorry to send two asks in a row but do you ever consider the moral dilemma ricks have if they genuienly develop feelings like (prepare for a ramble i am SO sorry)

"i fell in love with myself, from another universe" THATS GOTTA POSE AT LEAST SOME MENTAL INSTABILITY. how would you feel if the most beautiful person youve ever met (personality wise at least) was a slightly different version of yourself, or if you were cloned and suddenly you developed feelings??? how would that even work??? imagine the judgement too bro that would be insane

AUTOSEXUALITY???? does it even matter if your partner looks ridiculously similar to you or not??? i think part of the reason why opposites attract a lot of the time is because genetic diversity gives an evolutionary advantage but in a scenario when thats completely thrown out the window how does that work? would prime and c137 rick have the same genetics??? Hefhv.dnbabmvvjdk

i think too much my thinking has thonked its last thunk

DUDE WGAT NO WAY YOU FUCKING HIT ME WITH A CRISIS AFTER MY DAY COSPALYING @ SCHOOL 😭😭/lh (<= written when I first red that)

I THINK ITS PART OF THE APPEAL like Ricks find the world around them so futile and disgusting they resort to settle with the only people who share the same hyper specific views of the world as them. In my opinion, it’s where most of Prickcests conflicts comes from, Prime likes C137 for his brains and his ability to solve problems in a way that’s different enough for him to not have considered it but can’t possibly understand why he cares so much about anything else than their relationship and it’s kind of the same for C137, he’s extremely smart and autistic so being understood and feeling seen is kind of his grail. Prime gives him just that plus the thrill of being a little bit fucked up in the head.

But we’re talking about general rick4rick relationship not… Their frustrating particular case lol although I can’t help but mention them since Prime (in the garage talk) explained so well the perks of only being around other version of himself. As a Rick the things you love and hate the most are yourself, it makes up for such interesting conflict because trying to ignore someone’s toxic traits is impossible and trying to mold them into the idealized version of them you got in your head is straight up manipulative. The vicious circle of stubbornness and love and hope and escapism leading to rick4rick relationship always violently falling apart is so fascinating to me and you completely understood one of the key elements for why it’s this way…

THANK YOU cinna, thank you for sending this ask it literally rearranged some of my atoms, shook my whole world and bursted a door open in the back of my mind

[ciy0]

i just thunk a thought so please bare with me

I’m thinking about how Mingyu is definitely the type of guy that’s drawn to someone who’s severely lacking love or might’ve been hurt deeply in past. He doesn’t do it consciously, but he just starts to notice you. How sometimes you have this far away look in your eyes, or how you keep your head down when talking to others or god forbid he overhears you demeaning yourself disguised in jest. He so full of love I see him gravitating towards someone who’s cup it’s damn near on empty but trying their best to save every last drop and he just wants to pour everything thing he has into it and then some; till it’s overflowing.

He doesn’t even realize his initial interest blossoming into a full blown crush. He wants to be the shoulder you cry on, he wants to carry any burdens you have, he wants to see that smile that reaches your eyes be directed at him. He just wants you bursting at the seams from happiness but he’s a little selfish in the fact that he wants it to be by his hand.

He notices the little things and big things about you that may go unnoticed by others and finds himself worrying over you and rooting for you even before you both have a proper conversation. Wondering if you ate, if you had a good day today, if you enjoyed the new episode of that anime he overheard you liked (he started watching it too), if you slept well even though the most you’ve both uttered to each other was a simple pleasantry in passing and a bow.

His mind reels when you kindly pick up things people accidentally dropped or that one time you helped clean up the coffee he’d spilt on the floor without a word. Or even that time when you offered a staff member your umbrella on a rainy day saying you had two, just for him to see you drenched in the rain a couple blocks away as his driver took him home (once recovered from the shock he shot out of the car running back to where he saw you last but you were long gone). His heart clenched painfully when he heard the reason he hadn’t seen you around the week after that was because you had come down with a nasty cold. You give and give without ever expecting anything in return; without thinking you deserve anything in return. But who’s giving to you?

He finds his gaze wondering off in your direction during social gatherings. His own features softly morphing into a for-longing smile as he sees you enjoy yourself with your group of friends, hearing that rare burst of genuine laughter at whatever you guys were joking about. He cursed his cowardice, not being able to approach confidently like how he’d imagine in his head so many times. He had some mutual friends maybe that’d be a good place to start—

He was startled out of his reverie as Seungwan pointed out his goofy expression teasing “What’s got you so distracted lover boy?” Mingyu ops to just huff a smile in into his drink as he bashfully looked away.

You, it was you who had him like this

[ddejavvu]

you join the team and hangman gets real shy with you and everyone is like

:O what have you done :O

and you're like

idk

and hes just like heart eyes

bc i LIVE for hangman being whipped and all nervous around his crushy wushy

MY LOVE MY LIGHT MY SAVING GRACE THANK YOU FOR THIS

--

Reassignment is a struggle. It's temporary, or, it's meant to be, but if things go well with your new team, you may be a permanent fixture. So you're a little nervous stepping onto the tarmac, all things considered.

You'd only managed to meet one person from your new squadron so far, a good-natured, kind man named Jake. He had seen you wandering along the hallway, directing you to Admiral Simpson's office when you'd explained your predicament. You don't spot him on the tarmac now, but you're not sure how many people are on the team.

There's a dark-haired woman that you can see, and she notices you, too. You aren't sure whether they've been shown pictures of you, but your last name is patched into your uniform and the helmet under your arm is branded with your callsign. A flash of recognition shows in her eyes, and she starts towards you.

"You're Y/N Y/L/N?" She quirks a brow, and you nod, smiling kindly.

"Nice to meet you," She grins, a brilliant expression on her pretty face, "I'm Natasha. Callsign Phoenix."

"Phoenix," You gush, "I like that. I'm supposed to join you for a hop today?"

"Yeah, we heard about that!" A man steps up beside you, cocky smirk on his face as he holds out a hand, "I'm Coyote. You're supposed to fly with Hangman, right?"

It wasn't ideal, being stuck in someone's backseat. You're used to flying, but this squadron wasn't in need of a new pilot, and you've been trained for both seats.

"Oh god," A man beside you groans, mustache a burnt red, "That's unfortunate. I'm, uh, Rooster. By the way."

You cock your head to the side, shaking his hand, "Rooster. What's wrong with that?"

"He's... difficult." A shorter man pipes up from your left, sticking his hand out, "Fanboy. He's just arrogant, that's all. He thinks he's the best, so it's hard to work with him if he feels like you're working against him. Hopefully he doesn't give you too much of a hard time."

Your heart sinks a little at the prospect of being paired with someone who didn't take kindly to partnership. You're resilient, sure, but there's only so much you can tolerate.

"Don't look now," Phoenix mumbles, leaning in close so no one can hear, "But he's coming out now. Just stand your ground, we can handle him if it gets too much."

You nod near-imperceptibly, waiting until you can hear the thunk of his boots on the asphalt before you spare him a glance. To your delight, the sweet, smiling face of Jake greets you, his cheeks already dusted a rosy hue.

"Y/N," He greets, southern drawl as sweet as sugar, "You're part of my squadron?"

"Your squadron," Rooster scoffs disapprovingly.

""You two know each other?" A tall man inquires, dark skin and pretty eyes, "I thought this was your first time here, Y/N."

"It is," You nod, exchanging a friendly smile with the man and glancing down at his name tag: Fitch, "But I ran into Jake yesterday in the hallway. He helped me to Admiral Simpson's office."

"Oh he did?" Fitch cocks his head to the side, a shit-eating grin thrown at Hangman, "Oh, that's so nice of you, Jake."

"I'm so glad you think that, Payback," Jake sneers, grin more menacing than any glare could be, "Now if you'll excuse us, Y/N and I should get comfortable with our new ride."

Jake crosses the rest of the tarmac until he's beside you, his hand coming to press against the small of your back just as it had yesterday. He's developing a habit of leading you around, and you reach his plane shortly, both of your names stamped on the side.

"I've never flown two-seater before," Jake admits, brushing a hand over his printed callsign, "This'll be interesting."

"Oh, why now?" You frown, fitting your helmet over your head, "What changed?"

"Uh," Hangman's eyes widen, and you think you've asked the wrong question. He answers, though, it's just sheepish.

"Admiral Simpson thinks it would be best if I had someone else with me in the air," He starts, choosing his words carefully, "Because he has observed some, uh- daring maneuvers from me. And he thinks that I might benefit from having someone else's safety to consider."

"You're too reckless," You realize, and you can't help but giggle, "So I'm your babysitter?"

"Let's not call it that!" Jake laughs, blush intensified, "Let's call it partners. Deal?"

"Deal," You grin, eyes twinkling similar to his own, "Partners."

"What the fuck?" Fanboy spits, watching from afar as Jake helps you into the jet, letting you grab his hand and brace your weight on his arm, "Did he get possessed, or something?"

"She hasn't slapped him yet," Rooster ponders, "He must be keeping himself in check."

"Is that Y/N?" Natasha turns where she hears Bob's voice nearing behind her, nodding with a growing smirk on her face.

"Yeah, that's her. And that's Hangman."

She points to Jake, who's leaning into your seat, concern evident on his face as he helps you adjust the position of your harness.

Bob's face falls, scrunching into a frown, "He's... helping her?"

"This is gonna get interesting, boys," Phoenix grins, eyes narrowed at Jake who's still grinning sweetly at you, "Hangman's got a crush."

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 49

Part 1 Part 48

Eddie swings his guitar off, invigorated. There’s nothing like a good band practice to set his blood blazing. He bounces on his toes in Gareth’s cold garage, letting his friend’s excited chatter wash over him as he places his sweetheart delicately back in her case. Just like old times. Unlike old times, there’s an ache in his ribs where Steve’s carved out a home for himself.

It’s weird to be so far away from Steve. Even when they’re doing their own thing, it’s usually in the same room. Or at least the same building. Thursday nights, Steve studies in the library while Eddie leads Hellfire a few hallways away. Eddie’d had Steve write down his schedule so he would always know where to find him.

Eddie just wants to be supportive. Nancy had called it “dangerously co-dependent,” and Jeff had called it, “the honeymoon phase.” But, they don’t get it. Neither of them had held Steve’s lifeless hand in their hands. Neither of them had seen his smile after Hopper had breathed life back into him.

As if sensing the subject of his thoughts, Gareth asks, “where is Steve, anyway?” When Eddie looks up, he looks sly and teasing. Eddie braces for impact. “You two have a lover’s quarrel?”

Eddie groans, dropping dramatically to the cold cement floor. His head makes a hollow thunk when it connects, but Eddie doesn’t get up. If there’s one thing Eddie is, it’s commited to the bit.

“My fair maiden is off wooing another,” Eddie says, putting his hand to his forehead in a dramatic swoon. “Which one of you big, strong boys will support me through this terrible heartbreak?” He wiggles his eyebrows, really driving the innuendo home with a shimmy of his hips.

Doug holds up his hand. He’s either volunteering to have gay sex like a true queer ally, or he wasn’t listening and is done with Eddie’s shit. Eitehr way, he feels his heart warm. In Bumfuck, Indiana, he’d somehow managed to snag a couple friends who hadn’t even hatecrimed him after he’d tried to kiss poor Jeff while high out of his mind. The aftermath hadn’t even gone past good-natured teasing for a minor crush on a best friend that Eddie pretended not to have. Eddie could just cry about it.

Jeff comes over to kick Eddie lightly in the ribs, scoffing. “So, he’s hanging out with Nancy.”

Eddie latches onto Jeff’s ankle, trying to pull him down. But he plants his feet, bends his knees and weathers the storm. Eddie hugs his calf, smooshing his face into the top of Jeff’s dirty sneaker, looking up at him with wide eyes and put-upon sadness.

“He’s with Nancy,” he confirms, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout.

Gareth collapses on the couch, still tossing his drumsticks around. Eddie watches them spin hypnotically. “You’re joking, but he’s totally going to get back with his ex.”

“Nah,” Doug says, sitting down next to Gareth and tossing him a bag of salt and vinegar chips that Gareth immediately digs into noisily. “Steve’s way too hung up on Eddie.”

Gareth sputters, choking on his mouthful of chips. Eddie can feel the heat of his blush blooming across his cheekbones. He drops Jeff’s ankle to press his heated cheek against the cool cement, hoping no one notices.

“Straight-boy Steve Harrington?” Gareth asks, chips spewing grossly out of his mouth and onto the couch. “No way in hell is he interested in that.” At the last word, he points rudely Eddie’s way, not looking away from Doug.

“Hey!” Eddie cries. No one listens to him.

Jeff walks over to them, wiping Gareth’s masticated chips off the couch and then wiping his hand off on Gareth’s jeans before sitting down. His friends are so fucking weird. “I don’t know man. He does seem sort of obsessed with Eddie.” Jeff says.

“They just like bonded during like, whatever!” Gareth waves his hand, seemingly trying to encapsulate the entirity of whatever capital T Thing had happened to make Eddie and Steve inseperable and leave Steve looking like he got mauled by a bear that somehow gave him scurvy.

“And that explains how Steve’s always touching Eddie and like looking at his lips, how?” Jeff demands.

“He is not!” Eddie says, heart lurching somewhere within him.

Gareth’s mouth flaps open, clearly trying to think of something to say but coming up empty. “Well, whatever!” he says. “That doesn’t mean he’s not going to get back together with Nancy the Priss Wheeler!”

Eddie speaks without thinking, his unfurling anger at Nancy’s everything surpassing his brain to mouth filter entirely. “He’s not getting back together with her,” he grumbles. “He forgot they were even dating.”

Everyone whips their eyes toward Eddie’s prone form, finally acknowledging his existance. They all look varying levels of shocked, except Gareth who is smiling maniacally. It’d taken the kid about thirty seconds to pick up Eddie’s venhement dislike of Wheeler and hold a grudge on his behalf, reson be damned.

“Are you serious?” Doug asks. When Eddie nods, he continues. “What a freak.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Jeff says, slumping into the couch in defeat. “Boy came back from his little impromptou vacation fucking weird.”

Eddie’s not so sure that’s true. Steve came back from the Upside-Down weird and traumatized, sure. But the more layers of skin Eddie peels back, the more he’s convinced that Steve was a freak masquerading as a jock all along.

“A diamond in the rough,” Eddie says, everyone else nodding along like that made any fucking sense at all. A bunch of sheep following the flock. Just as it should be.

Part 50

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show

[ramblingoak]

Ok @blacktie-whitenoise I went with Papa Copia and choice #1! But first we have to get through some phone sex oh noooo...

Ring Ring

Papa Emeritus IV x Female Reader ~ Your work day is interrupted by a phone call from Copia

Warnings: phone sex, fingering, cunnilingus, p in v sex, nsfw, 18+ only, mdni, 2400 words

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

“Cardinal Alero’s office, how can I help you?”

“Do you have any idea how badly I want to fuck you right now?”  You froze at the sound of Copia’s voice.  It was dark and low, his breathing ragged.  The only time his voice got like this was when—  “Well, dolcezza?  Do you?”

With a quick glance over at Alero you cleared your throat before you answered. 

“Uh, I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I’ve been thinking about burying myself inside of you all day.”

Fucking hell.  

“Oh?  That’s too bad.”

“Si, it has made the day very interesting.  Long.  Hard.  If you understand me.”

“Yes!  Yes I understand.”

Very faintly you heard the sound of his belt clinking and the rustling of fabric.  Copia let out a loud groan and you could only guess he had taken himself in hand.  You spun your chair away from Alero’s desk so your back was to him.  It was doubtful the Cardinal had heard Copia, but you knew Copia was only going to get louder.  

He never was very good at keeping quiet. 

“I wonder what that old bastard would do if I were to come in there right now, oh cazzo, and bend you over your desk.”

You snuck another glance at Alero over your shoulder, freezing when you saw him watching you.  

“I, uh, don’t think he’d like that.”   Alero raised his eyebrow and you gave him a quick smile before spinning away.  “Can I call you back?”

“No.”  Copia’s chair creaked as he exhaled into the phone.  “I wouldn’t do that anyway, dolcezza.  I’d have to get you wet first.”

“Don’t worry Papa, that won’t be a problem.”  You squirmed in your seat, your body starting to respond to Copia’s words.  Vaguely you heard your name but you thought it was just Copia saying it under his breath.  “How about I bring you those files right now?”  

“Wet already?  What a naughty thing you are.  Are you having dirty thoughts about your Papa?”

“Yes, of course I am you idi—“

“Is that Papa?”  You yelped at the sound of Alero’s voice, jerking your head around to see him standing behind you.  When you nodded he reached out a hand and snapped his fingers.  “Give me the phone.”

“Do not give him the phone.  Tell him to fuck off.”

A somewhat delirious laugh left you and you covered the receiver with your hand. 

“Cardinal, Papa says not to worry.  He knows you’re busy.”  Copia snorted and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing as well.  “He appreciates your hard work.”

“The only thing that’s hard right now is my dick.”

Alero frowned down at you and you could tell he was debating if he should insist on the phone or just take the compliment and sit back down.  Thankfully he seemed to choose the latter, a smug smile on his face as he turned to go back to his chair.  You slipped your hand off the receiver and turned away from him once more.

“What else can I help you with Papa?”

“Tell me dolcezza, are you wearing underwear?”

“No, Papa.”

“Mmm, so you’re just sitting there, bare for your Papa?”  You hummed into the phone, spreading your legs a bit unconsciously.  “If I was there right now I’d slip my hand under your skirt, then push two fingers right into your needy cunt.  Because that’s what you are right now, eh dolcezza?  Needy for me?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Molto bene.  Soon I'd be able to fit a third inside of you and watch as you made a mess of my gloves.”  You thunked your head against the back of your chair, immediately sitting up again when you remembered you weren’t alone.  Copia let out a strangled moan and you winced, hoping Alero hadn’t heard it.  “Would you clean them for me?  If I shoved them into your mouth?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Brava ragazza.  You’d do anything I asked of you, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything, Papa.”

“Bene.  Then come here so I can fuck you.”

Copia hung up the phone and for a few seconds you just sat there staring at it.  When it started beeping you scrambled to get it back in its cradle while looking for something on your desk you could use as an excuse to go see Copia.  Alero cleared his throat and when you looked over at him he was scowling.

“What’s the problem?”

“I uh, need to bring some paperwork over to Papa.”

“Why can’t he send a ghoul to come get it?”

Goddammit Alero.

“I'm not sure.”  You grabbed a random stack of paper and hastily stood up.  “He needed them right away.”

“Fine, but don’t dawdle.  There’s still a lot of work to do.”

You nodded, biting down on your lip savagely before you retorted with ‘yes, your work’.  With quick steps you left the office and did your best not to run towards Copia’s.  At the end of the hallway you turned right but immediately had to stop as you ran into someone.

“Shit!”  Copia’s hands grabbed at your elbows to help keep you upright.  “What took so long?”

“I had to come up with an excuse for Alero!”  You slapped the papers onto Copia’s chest and pushed past him.  “Now hurry up.”

Copia chuckled as he quickly followed you, coming up to your side and grabbing your hand.  You knew if you looked at him he’d have that stupid, dopey smile on his face and you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself from kissing him in the hallway if you saw it.  As you both rounded the last corner before his office you froze at the sight of Sister Imperator and Nihil waiting right outside his door.  Copia cursed under his breath and wrapped an arm around your waist, quickly tugging you back around the corner.

“Now what, Papa?”  Copia muttered something in Italian before starting to usher you across the hall towards a closet.  He ripped it open, gently pushing you inside before following and kicking the door shut.  You both stood there in the dark for a moment until you heard Copia make a small noise when he found the light switch.  As the room came into view in the dim light you sighed.  “You always take me to the nicest places.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s a closet.”

Copia rolled his eyes and started walking your way, you started to back up playfully but there really wasn’t anywhere to go.  Your butt hit a desk that was shoved up against the wall and Copia grabbed your waist, grunting as he lifted you up to sit on the edge.  He placed his hands on your knees, squeezing them as he grinned at you.

“Are you still wet for me, dolcezza?”

“Right now I’m mostly dusty.”

He started to respond but instead he had to turn his head away to sneeze.  You slapped your hand over your mouth to cover your laughter, trying to look innocent when he whipped his head back to glare at you.

“Sorry, Papa.”

“Uh, mi dispiace, this is not how I planned the afternoon to go.”

“Oh Copia, it’s ok.”  You reached up and brushed some of his graying hair off his forehead before cupping his cheek.  “This is still better than dealing with Alero.”

Copia laughed, leaning in to give you a lingering kiss on your mouth.  He nipped at your lips when he pulled away before resting his forehead against yours.

“Let’s see if we can get back on track, eh?”  He kissed you again and then dropped to his knees with a grunt.  His hands squeezed your calves briefly before they began to move up to your thighs.  The leather of his gloves was warm against your skin as he started to push your skirt up towards your waist.  He lowered his head to the inside of your knee, mouthing at the sensitive skin there for a moment before he looked towards your cunt and took a deep breath.  “It smells like you’re still wet for me, dolcezza.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, you just pulled your skirt up all the way to expose yourself.  His eyes darkened when you spread your legs and he was able to see your folds glistening even in the dim light.  Copia grabbed the bottom of your thighs and lifted your legs up so they hooked over his shoulders.  His hands moved down to grip your ass, holding you in place as he pressed his face against your cunt.  He took another deep breath, growling when you wriggled a bit.

“Copia, please.”

His tongue sliding between your lips was his only answer.  Slow laps across your cunt over and over again.  You placed your hand in his hair and held on as he continued to lap up your juices.  His moans were getting louder so you tugged his hair to try and get him to quiet down.  In retaliation he covered your cunt with his mouth, sucking hard and causing you to cry out.  You both froze, meeting each other’s eyes as you waited to see if anyone had heard you.

“Hush now, do you want the whole abbey to hear you?”

“How about you make me?” 

Copia nipped at the inside of your thigh and you barely held in your gasp.  Before you could snap at him he pulled your legs off his shoulders and stood up, leaning in to take your mouth in a hungry kiss.  You moaned as you tasted yourself, grabbing onto his vest to keep him in place.  He pulled you closer to the edge of the desk so he could grind his cock against you.  It was straining against the ties of his pants and you quickly dropped your hands down to start undoing them.

“Si, cazzo.  I need to be inside of you.”  While you struggled with the ties he pressed his fingers against your entrance, both of you groaning when two of them slid right in.  Copia bit his lip and rested his head against yours.  “I knew it.”

You finally got his pants undone and shoved down far enough to free his cock right when he started prodding a third finger at your entrance.  

“Now Copia, now please now.”  

He pulled his fingers out of you, swiping them quickly up and down his cock before he pressed forward.  You dropped your head onto his shoulder as he started pushing in.  As your body stretched around him you bit at his shirt to try to keep quiet.  He was relentless, not even pausing until he was all the way inside.  The material of his pants was rough against your thighs as he began to move his hips in a small circle.

“So wet, so tight for your Papa.”  You didn’t bother trying to respond, you knew if you opened your mouth no words would come out.  When he slid a hand into your hair and gently pulled your head back you couldn’t help but whimper.  “Let me see you.”

You both panted into each other's mouths as he let you get used to his cock.  He moved his hand out of your hair, stroking a thumb across your cheek before pressing a soft kiss onto your mouth.  You hummed against his lips, then took a deep breath as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Help me stay quiet.”

“Anything, dolcezza.”

Your mouths connected again in a clash of lips and teeth right as he pulled out and thrust back into your cunt.  His thrusts were hard and fast, neither one of you having the patience for anything else.  You nipped and sucked at each other’s mouth, Copia thrusting his tongue in time with his hips.  The slick sounds of both filled the air of the small room and even though your moans were muffled you knew that anyone walking by would be able to hear you both.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

The edge was coming quickly, your orgasm ready to tear through you as Copia angled his thrusts so his cock brushed against that sweet spot inside of you.  With the way his movements were becoming more frantic you knew he was close as well.  He broke away from your mouth and you forced your eyes open so you could look into his mismatched ones.  

“Are you close, dolcezza?”  His voice was wrecked and his makeup an absolute mess.  You tried to speak but all you could do was whimper and clutch at his shoulders.  “Are you going to come on my cock?”

You managed a nod, your mouth opening in a silent scream when he brought a hand to your cunt and started rubbing his thumb around your clit.  That was the end for you, he kissed you again right as your orgasm ripped through your body, muffling both of your moans as he came as well.  He continued to thrust as his cock kicked and emptied inside of you before finally stilling, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close.  After a moment you finally found the energy to speak and lifted your head off his shoulder.

“I don’t want to go back.”  

Copia opened his mouth to respond but he immediately scrunched his face up, turning away right before a sneezing fit overtook him.  He stumbled back a few steps, pulling out of you quickly and making you gasp.  You looked around for something he could wipe his nose with, finally seeing a roll of paper towels on a shelf nearby.  With a wince you hopped off the table, grabbing a few towels and shoving them his way while you took a few to clean yourself up.  When you finished you turned to check on Copia, smiling when you found him staring at you and pouting.

“I wanted to do that.”  You mimicked his pout, laughing as he reached for you and yanked you close.  “That’s my favorite part.”

“Ugh Copia, you’re so weird.”

“But yet here you are, enjoying the finest closet our church has to offer.”  He leaned down to give you a quick kiss, before pulling away to look at you with a raised eyebrow.  “You can’t go back to work like this.”

“Definitely not.”

“No, you should come to my quarters instead.  I need your help with something else.”

“Anything, Papa.”  He grinned at you, that infectious smile of his sending a thrill through you like it always did.  You reached up to smooth some of his hair back as you returned his smile.  “Anything.”

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

my masterlist

my ao3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 44

Joyous Walpurgisnacht: Part II

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Please share your screams in my ask or a reblog!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Laufeyson returns with a second drink. You still have your first, nursing it as you find your head spinning with the activity all around. As more guests stream through, raucous as they meet others they know, the stage hums and the speakers crackle to life. 

Bragi begins his set, a brief tidings for the event before he strums into a tune. You wiggle your foot to the beat, peering over at the full band behind the lead. It's all so big and bright.

You turn back, reaching for your glass, as Laufeyson draws from his own. He watches you over the brim, eyes traveling down your body, focusing on the movement of your foot. You still it and uncross your legs, setting your soles flat.

He puts his drink down, half-finished. You sit back and fold your hands in your lap, peering around evasively. He probably saw you slouching or was annoyed by your fidgeting. You blow out between your lips as the party blooms around you.

Voices thrum in ripples beneath the steady rhythms of the stage, hollers go up now and then, piquing your interest as you look over to see a group cluster. They stand around smaller tables framed by two chairs each. You can barely see those sitting at them moving small pieces around the board.

“Hnefatafl!” The cry goes up as Thor stands and the pieces scatter on the table before him. You quickly look away as his head pops up above his audience.

“An old game,” Laufeyson explains, “rather dry for an event like this.”

You raise your brows curiously. You’re almost tempted to ask him more but think better of it. He hardly seems interested. Distant thunks bring another roar from a crowd further down. You twist in your chair to see across the field large round boards set up. A man with blond hair hurls an axe towards the wood, embedding it. You flinch and face the table again.

“Chaos,” Laufeyson mutters.

“Yes,” you agree, your toe tapping on the grass until you stop it again.

You sink into a silence which exists only between you and him. The furor of the party crackles around you, circling you in a whirlwind. There in the eye of the storm, there is no sound. It is deafeningly hollow.

“Ahem,” the clearing of a throat and tap on your shoulder brings you around. Laufeyson looks over your head, fixing his posture as you face Odin, “hiding in the corner?”

“Not exactly, father,” Laufeyson says, once more taking up his drink.

“There is much to enjoy. Your mother’s put in so much effort, I’d for her to see you glowering like this,” Odin reproaches.

“I do not glower,” his son snips.

“Mm, yes, well, you are more than welcome to wallow alone,” Odin replies flippantly, “but you needn’t cast a cloud over others…” he shifts to face you, opening a hand to you, “might I be so humbled as to request a dance from the lovely lady?”

You look up at him and your mouth falls open, “dance? I don’t know… how.”

“Well, then it is a good thing I must take it slow,” Odin insists, “it isn’t so hard to learn.”

Laufeyson sighs and drains the last of his whiskey. He stands abruptly, “I need to top up.”

Odin eyes him tensely but doesn’t remark. He looks back to you, “you don’t need to sit in his shadow all night. One dance, fair maiden of Walpurgisnacht, I see you can barely contain yourself.”

You look down as his gaze falls to your foot, once more wiggling. You still it and accept his hand. You hope Laufeyson isn’t too upset. It is only his father after all, he can’t be too put out.

“Thank you,” you stand and let him lead you away.

Odin brings you amid the other dancers, on a flat white floor laid out over the grass. He guides you to face him and helps you place your hands before he hooks an arm around you. He’s gentle but firm in leading you, counting with the rhythm between directing you how to move your feet.

“That’s it, dear, you’re a natural,” he praises as you let the music guide you, “and a beauty. That dress is very becoming, though it pales on you. You look immaculate…” he continues to sway with you, “my son is a fool not to say it himself.”

“Odin,” you look past him sheepishly.

“It is the truth. You are glowing and he is playing the troll, secreting you away from the light,” he tuts and shakes his head.

“It isn’t my party,” you utter.

“You belong here,” he insists, “don’t you think otherwise.”

“I am the house manager–” you rebuff.

“You aren’t,” he says, “my son didn’t get his senselessness from me. No, that is bred of mistrust. Fear, truly.”

“Odin, it’s true–”

“If he says it, it cannot be,” he counters, “when he looks at you, he is not looking at a house manager. He will claim I do not know him but he is my son. I see through him, it is only a pity he looks in the mirror and cannot do the same.”

You stare at the button of his vest. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to. You’re too afraid to think it could ever be true. Yet how can you tell him the truth? That would be humiliating. You are only half-right, your son wants more of me but only to sate his worst urges. It isn’t sentiment, it is convenience.

“Pardon,” a voice has you tripping over your own feet but Odin keeps you balanced, turning you as another figure stands close, “father, may I… take over?”

“Ah, but we are having such fun,” Odin taunts and twists you away from Laufeyson again.

“Yes, it seems so,” Laufeyson says thickly, “perhaps the next song…”

“Oh, don’t be so mopey,” Odin stops you as he chuckles, “I was only trying to pep you up, yes? It’s a party.” Odin raises your hand and kisses it gently, “thank you, dear, for humouring an old man.”

He stands straight and lets you go. He faces his son but you cannot see his expression, only the way Laufeyson’s eyes gleam back dangerously. Odin departs and Laufeyson’s attention flits onto you. He takes a step forward, once more looking you up and down.

The music ebbs and a new song begins. The soft plucking begins, then the reedy tone of a flute. Mr. Laufeyson offers his hand and you accept it, awkwardly coming closer as he sweeps his arm around you, his hand stretched over your lower back. He looks down to place his feet with yours before he begins. He is lithe and graceful, you feel otherwise.

“This is your song,” he says as the melody comes clearer.

You tweak an ear as you follow it, then lyrics begin.

“Moon River, wider than a mile…” 

Your heart pulses in recognition. You smile towards the stage. You didn’t expect him to truly do it but it’s wonderful.

“I like it,” Laufeyson says, “it is very… whimsical.”

You turn your head straight, focusing on your footwork, careful not to trod his feet, “it is.”

He’s silent as you feel his gaze upon you, bearing down. He must be annoyed by how you follow his lead, uncertain in your body. How pathetic; never had a birthday cake, never had a dance. You look up and gulp shakily.

You almost stop dead in your heels as you see something less than agitated in his expression. He is fixated on you without a trace of chagrin. His hand shifts on your back, his other on your hip as you hold his shoulder and his upper arm. He is handsome in the dimming approach of the evening.

“When I said before that you look nice,” he begins, “I was remiss. You look… beyond anything I could ever put into words. You are magnificent, pet.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you stutter, “well, you look very handsome as well.”

“I am not looking for compliments,” he dismisses, “and I think I owe you more than that.”

You don’t know what to say. Is it an apology? You don’t know entirely what he means. He’s had three glasses of whiskey, just like that night, and in the morning, he was just the same as before. You won’t count on the kindness he finds at the bottom of a bottle.

A sudden flash makes you squeak. You look over as Yvonne smiles over the large lens. You give a nervous giggle and brace Laufeyson tighter. He sweeps you away from the camera.

“Tomorrow, we will talk,” he avows, “but we can enjoy tonight. It is Walpurgisnacht and it is a new beginning.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He winces and exhales, “can I be Loki for tonight?”

“Loki,” you echo, “yes.”

As the song ends, the heat speckling in your skin licks to flames. You don’t know if it’s being so close or his constant gaze or the thought of tomorrow and whatever you might talk about. You’re sweating and you're uncomfortable and you need a breath.

“Excuse me, um, I need the bathroom,” you gently pull away. 

He reluctantly lets you go, his hand lingering on your hip as he points, “there, in the tents, I believe mother had facilities put up.”

“Thanks,” you offer a weak grin and step away from his grasp.

“I’ll be here,” he promises as you go.

You try not to hurry. You don’t want him to see how desperate you are to be away. It isn’t him, it’s you. This is all too much for you. It isn’t you. You’re not one of these people but they treat you like one. You’re just a poor girl born of cigarette ash.

You find your way to the tent housing the stalls. You take your time and try to collect yourself. Your nerves are tingling in your fingertips and where he held you; just along your lower back and your hip. It’s that urge that worries you, the one that made you think of resting your head on his shoulder.

You emerge and use the outdoor sinks set up in front of the stalls. You dry off and measure your breaths. You can do this. You go back down towards the fervour and as the night sets in, the large lights come to life and light the crowd.

You search the clusters of bodies. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? As you inch along the threshold, a shadow shifts to your right. You glance over but the figure disappears. You shake off the eerie sensation creeping down your spine and march forward into the tide of people.

You weave around bodies and tables, dizzy from the flurry all around you. You stagger as you’re nearly stampeded by a rowdy group of guests and you spin around to face a table in the far corner. There you find a scene that makes your heart plummet into your stomach.

You can’t stop yourself as you near the pair. Laufeyson, Loki, sits in a chair, two drinks on the table; his whiskey and another bright purple concoction. But beside him is Sif. She leans forward, her wrist clutched in his grasp as she whispers through the curve in her delicate lips. He stares back at her, eyes fiery, jaw locked.

“Loki, we had something good…” you hear her slither as you get closer. Her blue eyes dance over to you and her lips curl, “I still love you.”

She looks at him again and smashes her lips into his. He winces and turns his head, his gaze finding you as you stop, paralysed as you watch helplessly. You blink and swallow, wetting your lips as you bring your hand up to your sickened stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You turn and race away on clacking heels. You don’t look back as you elbow through bodies, running without direction, without escape. You just need to be away from it. All of it.

You find the pathway into the garden, plunging into the brush as your heels wobble with each step. You stumble and grunt in frustration. You stop and bend to unbuckle the shoes, tossing them away before you hurry on.

You find the stone gazebo, lit only by moonlight, and throw yourself inside. You land on a stone bench and hang your head in the frame of an arched window. You deflate as you hunch over, trembling so much it hurts.

You won’t cry. Why would you do that? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Mr. Laufeyson only said you looked magnificent then turned around to kiss his ex-wife. And why wouldn’t she? She’s much more than you’ll ever be. She fits neatly into their puzzle.

“Ah, little maid,” the gazebo darkens as the moonlight disappears as if a clouds passed over the nocturnal guardian, “what is the matter?”

You sit up and shudder as Thor’s burly silhouette limns in silver. You brace the edge of the bench and stand.

“N-nothing, I was only… having a break, I should head back–”

“It is peaceful out here,” he says, unmoving as you gesture around him. He fills the entire doorway.

“Yeah, but er, I should–”

“How do you like Walpurgisnacht? Are you having fun?” He asks, propping and elbow against the stone.

“Sure, I guess.”

“And did you play any games?” he sneers.

You falter and lean back on one heel. You have a bad feeling. You wring your hands as the air breezes in, a shiver rattling you.

“No…”

“That is too bad. This is a day of fun! Games are fun, aren’t they?”

“Please, Thor, I have to get back–”

“Let’s play a game,” he ignores your protest and steps into the gazebo, “I know a special game.”

“Thor,” you croak as you glance towards the windows. You see the lights above the trees and hear the muted noise of the partygoers and Bragi’s tunes. You look back to him as he takes another step towards you.

“You can be the mouse…” he says, “and I shall be the cat.”

“No, please, I don’t want–”

“You best be nimble, mouse. for the cat is hungry,” he growls as he looms closer, “and ready to pounce!”

He lunges and you jump back. Your shoulder hits the wall and you cry out. You turn and feel around, nearly falling through the opposite doorway as your feet slip over the stone steps. You stumble at the bottom, slipping in the grass as twigs and stones poke into your bare soles.

You hear him behind you, laughing as he makes a steady but easy pursuit. You sprint across the small field towards the row of brush, skirt catching on bramble as you dive into the wilderness. You don’t know where you’re going, you just need to get away.

Your feet slip on moss as dirty sticks to your skin. You puff as you pump your arms, glancing back over your shoulder frantically. He isn’t running, but he is coming. You can hear him laughing.

You swerve around, towards the noise of the party. You just need to get back there. You need to find a path. You don’t know where you are, the further you go, the more lost you are. The noises fade further and further. Oh god, wrong way!

Suddenly, your toe hits something hard and you nosedive forward. You don’t have time to get your hands up as your face crunches into a thick trunk and you collapse to the ground. You roll over as you taste iron on your tongue. Ow.

You sit up and touch your throbbing nose. As you plant your feet to stand, you hear a rustle and suddenly, you’re pushed flat to your back. Thor snickers as he holds you down by your shoulders, straddling you beneath him as he huffs.

“Ah, I’ve caught you, mouse,” he taunts as you squirm and whimper, “now the cat must feast.”

[skirter01]

DP x DC Pilot/Engineer Danny AU

I saw this idea somewhere, but I cannot for the life of me find out who came up with it, so apologies, but if someone knows, do what you need to. But basically, it was Danny working in the aerospace department for Wayne enterprises, getting close with the Waynes etc. I dunno. But I thought about it today and *throws this at you*. It’s got my own spin to it, but yeah. 

---

Tim hadn’t slept in days, Bruce could tell and the sight was unnerving. So instead of scolding his second youngest, as he normally would, he decided on a... less hypocritical approach. It was probably the safest option, because Tim looked just about ready to throw himself at a wall, or the next available person.

“What are–"

Tim startled, and shot from his desk chair in a flurry of paper and limbs. Bruce heard the shink of metal as Tim drew the batarang from some hidden place on his person, and his sons careless, sleep deprived throw was the only reason Bruce still had his right eye.

The clipped thunk of the weapon sinking into the wall behind him had Bruce arching a brow at his son. Tim was a damn good shot, not the best in the family (Jason held that title, unfortunately), but he was skilled enough not to miss a target as big as himself. That spoke volumes of how exhausted his son had to be.

“B?” Tim questioned, stumbling backwards to lean against the desk as he rubbed at his blood shot eyes. “Don’t do that Jesus.” He groaned. “I was in the middle of something.”

“My apologies”, Bruce frowned at his son. “Clearly it had all your attention.”

“It did.” Tim grumbled snippily, reaching down to pick up some of the papers he’d disturbed. “What was it you wanted again?”

“Just checking in. Alfred was concerned. You missed dinner last night, and I didn’t see you for breakfast this morning.” Bruce hastily took note of the multitude of empty coffee cups that littered the room, stained brown by the liquid residue.

“I ate.” Tim stated, then, as if on que, his stomach let out a loud keening groan. His son flushed, and wrapped his arms defensively around the offending body part. “Er...okay maybe I missed one meal.” It rumbled again, this time even more convincingly. Tim snarled at it, clearly angered by the betrayal. “Maybe two then.”

“I can see that.” Bruce chuckled, “What are you working on? Need a fresh set of eyes?”

“No.”

Bruce glanced first at the pile of papers on the desk, and then the multitude of tabs open on Tim’s browser.

His son made a face like he’d just eaten a lemon. “You’ve got better things to do.”

Bruce smiled inwardly. Like most of the manors inhabitants, (himself included), Tim hated asking for help. It was a trait that Bruce shared with all his children, as unfortunate as it was, but Tim was by far the worst. Especially, when it came down to a case.

The boy was independent incarnate. Hell, he’d singlehandedly discovered Bruce’s alter ego with nothing but a camera and a brain. It made even more sense when you considered just who he had as elder siblings. A detective and a crime lord. As much as Bruce hated it, he knew that Tim tried his absolute hardest to match up with Dick and Jason.

But Bruce liked the way Tim worked, his brain was interesting.

“I assure you, I don’t.” He replied, moving over the desk to take a peek at what exactly his elusive son was working on.

Daniel Fenton: Employee Profile, NASA

Monthly Progress Report: Daniel Fenton

FENTON, Daniel: Casper High, Report Card

Birth Certificate: Daniel James Fenton

“What, exactly are you doing?” Bruce frowned, “Tim, I thought I warned you about accessing peoples private information without a plausible reason.”

Tim sighed and drooped into his chair, “I know how this looks, but I promise I do actually have a good reason.” 

“Mhmm. Get explaining.” 

His son leant over the table to pick up a headshot of one Daniel Fenton. “This is Wayne Enterprises newest employee, Daniel Fenton, or Danny as he introduced himself.” 

Tim cleared his throat, “About six months ago, I sent out a letter to NASA on your behalf – after we lost Jeremiah, the head engineer from the aerospace division – enquiring if they had any employee’s they would be able to loan out to us until I could organise a replacement. This is the guy they sent. I’ve got a problem with him.” 

Bruce grabbed at the page, stealing it from his sons grip (It was quickly replaced by a cold cup of coffee from the dresser). 

The man pictured was young, probably around Jason’s age (early twenties at the most) with shaggy raven hair, styled into a neat undercut, and bright blue eyes. A sly, lopsided grin was spread out across his face – a typical troublemaker smile if he’d ever seen one – that reminded him eerily of Dick, and a black NASA lanyard was drooped around his neck, hiding under the collar of his navy dress shirt.

He looked up at Tim, and then back down at the photo and then back at Tim. “Is your problem that you’ve got a crush on the guy?” 

Tim choked on his coffee, spluttering on the dark liquid and whacking his chest to relieve the pain. The coughing fit didn’t last long, but Tim’s face had gone completely red (with embarrassment or pain was debatable) and he was heaving in heavy gulps of air. 

“What?” He wheezed in disbelief, face scrunched up. “You did not just say that.” 

Bruce crossed his arms, offended. “It was an honest question. He’s a well-presented young man, and you are...single, are you not?”

Tim just stared at him, uncharacteristically lost for words for once before he slapped a hand aggressively into his forehead. “No! God no, B, that’s not how bisexuality works.” He rushed, slowly getting his breath back, “Actually, well it sorts of is- wait, no, my point is that I do not have a crush on him. Fuck, ok. Yikes.”

“My apologies then.” Bruce admonished, trying and failing to hide the smile at his sons flustered words. “I didn’t mean to assume.”

Tim glowered at him. “Stop that. I’m interested in someone else, you know this.”

“Just get on with it.” Bruce smirked, gesturing to the cluttered desk. “What’s your problem with him?”

Tim huffed, “I don’t actually know, there’s so many problems, I really can’t narrow it down but he’s suspicious, I dunno...” He mumbled, picking up the progress reports Bruce had spotted earlier and running an eye over them, “He’s a model employee and I mean that seriously. The guys a genius as an engineer, knows his stuff better than most, and the guys working in the department practically worship him as a supervisor. I can see why NASA only loaned him, because seriously, there were conditions they gave. He’s a serious asset.”

“I still don’t see your point Tim.”

“I’m getting there!” His son hissed, pinching his nose as if to quell an oncoming headache. “Sorry, coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.” He apologised, “Anyway, point is, he’s too good. At, like, everything. He’s an engineer, and a pilot, and he’s been involved in practically every community project we’ve done and-and... ugh. I can’t figure it out, but there’s something about him. The way he does things, the way he acts, it’s all just...wrong.”

He gestured aggressively to the desk where he’d been working, “I’ve been trying to dig up some stuff on him, anything really, to try and figure out what it is, but so far I’ve found nothing. The dudes a total ghost! There’s nothing on him. It’s frustrating as all hell.” Tim slumped down into the chair, arms crossed and glaring at the papers. Defeated.

Bruce took a moment to process the information. Originally, he’d laughed it off, thinking Tim was generally attracted to the guy – that he could understand. But seeing how worked up his son was about it... there had to truly be something wrong.

Sure, Tim was a known workaholic, it was just how he operated, but he didn’t just obsess over random people and cases without reason.

“What do you mean by wrong?” He inquired, leaning up against the desk.

Tim waved his hands in frustration, “I don’t know! Everything! His presence, the way he does things, his stellar record. It just– I’ve had this feeling, ever since I first met him in the office that day. It’s not a good feeling but I can’t figure out what it is. I feel like there’s something I’m missing, something I’ve overlooked. It’s just strange, there’s something off about him.”

Bruce took a good look at Tim’s face then, noting the worry lines starting to crease into his forehead and the bruises beneath his eyes. This was obviously something he needed help with, and although he may not have asked for it explicitly...well, Tim’s problem with this Daniel Fenton, also just become Bruce’s problem, or alternatively Batman’s, if it came to that.

The teenager planted his face into his hands, and Bruce put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I get it.” He started, “I know the feeling, I’ve had it – still get it actually. Some people rub you the wrong way. You aren’t wrong to trust your instincts, it’s the first thing I taught you, right?”

Tim nodded into his hands, rubbing them down his face and pulling the skin unattractively downwards, showcasing the extent of his eye-bags as they contrasted against his pale skin. He really needed Tim to go outdoors for a little.

“You’re working tomorrow, right? In the office?” He questioned his sleep deprived son.

“Yeah. What about it?”

Bruce squeezed his shoulder. “Well, I was thinking I’d drop by. I heard the aerospace division was due for an inspection.”

Tim side eyed him from where he was cradling his head in his hands. “It was inspected last month.” He stated dully.

Bruce rolled his eyes at his sons bad humour, “Then I suppose it’s about time for another.”

Tim groaned and shrugged his hand off, “They’re going to hate me. So, so much.”

“Maybe.” Bruce chuckled, making his way to the door, “But that comes with the territory. See you at 10:00am.”

“Yeah. Whatever”

“Oh, and Tim,” He stopped himself just before he left the room. “Get some sleep, please. Alfred’s lost enough hair already.” He swung the door closed, although, not without hearing Tim’s last comment.

“Yeah! Raising you!”

What lovely, considerate children he had.

[mrs-illyrian-baby]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 2

Cosmic Political Game | Loki x Reader

Loki and Thor arrive at the Avengers compound and Loki gets his first look at the mortal that has everyone so confused.

Chapter Warnings: False/medical imprisonment, masturbation, language, reader shapeshifting so some descriptions of hair and eyes but not skin colour.

Series Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

Thor and Loki arrived in the dead of night when only a single flood light was left illuminating the empty lawn that sprawled between the buildings of the Avenger’s compound. The two gods left a large, circular, burnt patch of grass when they landed, marking their dramatic entrance back into the lives of the Avengers and leaving a smouldering pattern in their wake.

Safe inside the private penthouse, Wanda took the lead explaining the vivid and detailed dreams they had all been experiencing since your arrival. Thor had laughed heartily, slapping the small witch on the back and sending her flying forwards with the force. But Loki was intrigued, a slow smirk appeared on his face as he sat to the side of the vast living room, toying with sparks of magic between his fingers and thinking of the beings he’d met that could wield such powers.

“You’re frightened of your own lusts. Typical, petty mortals. They are but dreams,” the gold spark flashed green, lighting up his face and swirling in the dim light of the early dawn. Loki’s leather trousers creaked against the contrasting white of the expensive couches that lined the living space.

“She controls these dreams, what else can she control? What else can she make us think?” Steve rushed out. Loki was impressed. He had never seen the Captain this flustered or confused. Whatever power the little mortal possessed it was surely powerful if it could render the normally clear headed Captain a garbled mess.

“So what do you want of me?” He asked, long legs resting on the coffee table with a soft thunk of his boots.

“We need to know what she is. Is it magic, mutation or something else?” Bruce cleaned his glasses, yawning as he let his eyes drift to the clock above the faux mantle piece. “I’ve run out of ideas, but she can shape shift, change her appearance sometimes, like you,” he looked over at Loki “but we’ve yet to see her pose a material threat…which is somehow worse. That we could deal with. But it’s the-” he trailed off, waving his hand in a circle.

“Not knowing.” Natasha interjected and Bruce nodded at her in agreement.

Loki went quiet, thinking, the magic he had been playing with dying in his hands from sparks to embers to nothing. Shape shifting was, really, simple magic, something his mother had taught him as a young boy. It would seem especially extraordinary to such mortals, but it was also something that, though simple, took a great deal of practice and instruction to perfect. Wherever she had learnt this trick, it must have been somewhere equally magical.

“She can shape shift. Interesting. Can I see her?” Loki bent forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and surveying the Avengers, the golden twinkles that had danced between his fingers now dancing behind his eyes.

“Tomorrow” Steve said, decisively, “I think we should all enjoy some peaceful sleep while we can and then, tomorrow, you can meet her”

“Ahh, she isn’t here, is she?” Loki asked, trying hard not to sound too eager.

“No, we’ve separated her. We thought it would be safer.” Tony tried to explain.

“You’ve imprisoned her?” He scoffed, “frightened children, scared of anything you don’t understand,” Loki stood and walked off, “I have no time for this.”

Loki waited until everyone was asleep before exploring the compound properly. The layout was in clear blocks, with apartments lining up with the offices and laboratories below. Knowing they wouldn’t have let her leave for the secondary building on the campus, one where junior agents and scientists may be living, he deduced she must be somewhere in the medical bays. It didn’t take Loki long to find the secure room in the medical wing, mostly because, once he got close enough, there were hundreds of signs telling people to stay away.

The room itself was dark, but he could see a figure inside through the two way mirror, wearing what looked like a big white t-shirt dress, but it had marks on it, measurements.

The mortals had said she could shapeshift, so it was unclear whether this was her true form, as he watched her hair fade through a spectrum of white, grey and black, curling tight and then falling around her shoulders with each intake of breath while she slept. Like the tide ebbing and flowing along the shore, she seemed to change from one moment to the next, whenever he found a fixed spot, a hair length, a beauty mark, the tone of her skin against the bedding, even her height, it appeared to change again, imperceptibly at first and then it was shocking he had ever held the previous image of her in his mind.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass and closed his eyes thinking.

Images flooded his thoughts, she was awake in them, smiling, dancing, singing, her hair bright red, then black. She was looking at him and smiling, not smirking or smug, a warm smile. Her white shift morphing into green, gold, black and back again. A gown, a cape, a corset, nothing and back again. He saw others, women and men he had known before and felt their hands, lips, kisses and sweat in his skin. Then he felt her hand, sensed her magic as it touched his own.

He woke with a start just before dawn, the taste of her, of you, of something lost to the passage of time, on his tongue.

The Captain was right to be worried. If you had projected this on him from the other side of the glass without even seeing him, what wonders had you conjured up for the innocent Avengers? If he was right, then your powers had grown immeasurably since you’d last seen each other, but The Captain and the bossy one had suggested you couldn’t explain your powers at all.

This was powerful magic, it thrummed in his bones and called to his own sedir. He had sensed it only once before, a long time ago on Asgard, although it was definitely not Asgardian. Nor was it Midgardian sorcery either.

He smiled, it would be like an Asgardian to play such games with mortals, but equally, perhaps you truly didn’t know your strength. Either way this was going to be an awful lot of fun, Loki thought, flicking his hand to straighten his sleep roughened clothes.

He watched as you woke, blinking, using the blanket to wipe sweat from your eyes. You looked around, through the mirror and straight into his eyes, unseeing, and then turned away. Your hands worked under the thin sheet, disappearing from his direct sight, although he could see the tell tale creep of your fingers as they inched lower.

Behind the glass, you gasped and Loki took a step forward, as close as he dared, watching as you moaned and moved, sighing along with you as you panted out your release. As you moved your hand back above the hospital sheets, your hair shimmered again, blushed pink and fushia.

The sun was starting to lift and the curtains parted on the small glass window, looking out over the surrounding woods. Your arms lifted too, yawning, eyes closed and light flooded the room, your hands touched your hair, assessing the changes in texture, length and colour before dropping back to your sides. The light vanished, back to the ethereal glow of sunrise.

Drumming his fingers he watched you move around the room, you didn’t seem to have any other clothes. But you splashed your face and brushed your teeth, watching the sun rise.

Inside the room you felt hot and itchy still. You had had a vivid dream, not of the people in the compound. Now there was someone new. He was tall, hair dark around his shoulders, lithe but muscular. You had felt him in your dreams, his slender fingers dancing on your forehead and cooling your skin. The tang of metal on your tongue. In the dream he held you, his hands tantalising but not enough to satisfy. In an attempt to rid yourself of this feeling your own fingers had danced beneath the large nightgown you’d been forced to wear, but even as you woke, the feeling lingered.

Washing your face and brushing your teeth did nothing to distract you from the sensation. Instead you climbed back onto the bed, pushed the sheets down and lay back. In vain you tried to picture the man again and as you did your fingertips dipped below the elastic of your underwear. He had dark hair, her hair, in return, darkened, smoothing out the curls into gentle flicks. He wore dark clothing. His fingers were slender, elegant, you felt a nudge against that secret spot inside of yourself and pulled back shocked. Your hands looked different, the usually small palms were wider and the fingers were longer too. You pushed back inside, pressing and grinding into your palm until you felt your legs tighten, toes curling and cried out.

Hopefully that would satisfy you for now. Standing, you examined your ruffled hair in the mirror, admiring the mirror shine of the now dark locks. You were starting to enjoy the changes in your appearance, it was fun, at least, to see yourself with a different body, a different slope to your nose, a tint to your eyes and various textures of hair.

You turned from the small mirror to the larger one next to the door and approached slowly, eyeing the length of your white shift to assess her new height, much taller, at least 4 inches. Stopping in front of the mirror you made your eyes wide, gold flecks alongside dark pupils. They’d go back to grey soon but, for a moment, you enjoyed this ethereal look.

On the other side of the mirror Loki watched, inches away, as you slowly took on subtle characteristics until, suddenly, he could see his dark hair, his blue grey eyes, you even looked taller. He took a step away from the glass. The changes were simple enough, if you knew how, but how had you done it when, surely you, couldn’t see him. He was breathless. The Captain was right, this was no mortal being, this was powerful magic, old magic.

A door along the corridor banged and you both jumped, Loki looked around hastily for an excuse to be here, rifling some papers. When he looked back you were sat on the bed again, cross legged, hair a pale red, eyes the same grey as the morning light beginning to burn through the curtains of your hospital room and his heart clenched. He’d been locked up before, misunderstood and mislabeled as something so much worse than he was. Used and cast aside as a pawn in some cosmic political game.

Loki’s jaw tightened as he made his decision.

He would help you, he would get you out of this prison, he would teach you to control your magic. But he would not give you back to the Avengers.

<< Part 1

Part 3 >>

[writingcrustacean]

Kinda Cute

Pairings: Ace x Reader, Zoro x Reader

Content: Fluff. Gender neutral reader in mind.

Note: Am I making my first post- as in, first ever Tumblr post- a total shit shot? Yes, yes I am. Did I edit or review these at all? No, no I did not. But that's fiiiiiine. I haven't written much of anything in years, okay? It's just, these two boys just have me in a chokehold, and I love them. I promise I'm actually good at this shit, it's just 2:30 am and, again, haven't written in ages. So if it's bad and you read this, that's on you. Not me. Deal? Deal.

Zoro;

“Kinda cute.”

Those words were on repeat in his head, bouncing from wall to wall, echoing and silencing any other thought that could have existed. He had just woken up from one of many naps when you said those words to him the first time. His eye met yours, confirming that it was indeed meant for him. A slight upwards tilt to your lips and a sparkle in your eyes.

Fuck.

A rapid, onset blush kissed his tanned skin as he found himself unable to look away. You were quick to take it in, your smirk growing. You were teasing him, had to be.

It had been days since you first spoke those words to him, and you found every chance to repeat them- any chance to see his blush, truly. Your infatuation growing day by day, blush by blush. It was unfair, really. You were so smooth with your flirtations, so comfortable with turning Zoro into a stuttering mess. Normally so composed and in control, two words were enough to break him. He almost had enough of it, enough of the torture. But he couldn't deny it- he loved your attention. Secretly craved it, secretly wanted more. So much more. And he was about ready to go for it. If you could so easily make your interest known, so could he. Easy.

Right?

“I- d’you?” His face was hot, so hot. His mind was going blank, looking into your gaze.

You took a step closer, brows knitted together. The back of your hand gently met his forehead, an attempt at checking his temperature. “Ya okay, Zoro? Your fac-”

You were unceremoniously cut off as the swordsman slammed his lips against yours, his eye scrunched close. You could have giggled, would have, if he hadn't pulled you so close. And the electricity that shot through your body had both mind and body going numb. Your stiff shoulders and rigid posture caught his attention, a flicker of uncertainty and panic surging through his core. Fuck, he fucked up. Misread your teasing as flirting, thought you were dropping signals you weren't. He felt so stupid.

Slowly, you raised your hands. One on the side of his face, the other on his shoulder. His roughness met with a softness he hadn't expected, both blushes intensifying. 

Ace;

The squeal slipped past your lips, loud laughter shortly following. Soft, warm fingers left feather touches along your sides. Up and down, up and down. His touch taunted you, tickled you.

Minutes ago you were sleeping so peacefully, relaxed and warm in the arms of your lover. And at first, you barely noticed his touches, softly caressing any inch of skin he had access to. But then his hands ran along your sides, snapping into reality at that ever familiar sensation. The chuckle from behind you confirmed it was on purpose. You would have turned to look at him until he did it again. And again. You quickly decided rolling away was the better option, meeting the floor with a rather solid “thunk” as you let out a loud huff. “Ace!” You whined up at him, pout ever evident in the tone of your voice- a failed attempt at hiding your amusement.

His freckles, black eyes and hair were soon hovering over the edge of the bed. His wild grin lit up his face as he drank in your appearance. Lips in a pout, eyes wide and glistening. “Heh, kinda cute.”

You exaggerated your eye roll, yet your lips began to curl into a grin at the compliment. As much as you hated admitting it, you wouldn't mind being woken up like that any day of the week. So long as it was him, with his warm smile and loving gaze. Unfortunately for you, he knew that. Knew just what effect he had on you and how hard it was for you to be mad at him.

[phonydiaries]

I am begging politely for something with number 20 from your one word prompt list?? Maybe something fluffy to save me from the angst of whatever bloodbrown has asked for? (Luv you bloodbrown)

Hope you are doing well <3

I am SO excited that not one but two people asked for 20 because I was so so hoping for an excuse to extrapolate on my promise headcanon from this post so here it is! Thank you so much for the ask <3 megafluff ahead!

Promise Me - P x Reader

It was well known that sunny days were not so easy to come by in Krat, a city most commonly overtaken with a stark and looming gloominess. So on a rare sunny day, eager to take advantage of the warmth which so often eluded you at the hotel, you practically dragged P to the kitchen in search of decent picnic-ing supplies. There, you loaded up your pack with sandwiches and fruit and a bottle of some sparkling something-or-other. Pino of course couldn’t really partake in the food, but it was more the aesthetic of the picnic that really mattered, and he had seemed interested in the whole ordeal besides. 

Along with all the goodies, you stuffed a carefully folded blanket and a hardcover book into the pack. Lately you’d spent a great deal of time wandering the library with your trusted puppet, and he’d taken quite the liking to simply lazing about as you read to him in hushed tones, often with his head settled comfortably in your lap, listening intently. 

Now, as you headed for the shimmering daylight of the courtyard you realized one very important piece of the picnic was missing; P himself. You huffed, sure that the damn puppet had wandered off again, as he so loved to do. It was not the first time he’d silently slipped away from you, either distracted or whisked away or otherwise lost in his own thoughts, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

For the better part of the next hour, you were relegated to the rather painstaking and exhaustive task of lapping the hotel in search of the lost puppet. At one point you even entailed the help of the other hotel’s guests, but neither Sophia nor Eugenie could offer any better guess at where he might’ve disappeared to. Finally, tired, rumpled, and out of breath from your efforts, you stalk back to the courtyard, your head hanging low in anticipation of a far less rewarding picnic alone. 

As you round the path, digging around aimlessly in your bag, you come to an abrupt halt. The picnic pack falls to the ground with a light thunk and the puppet crouched in front of you glances up. He grins in blissful ignorance of the tremendous effort you’d just expended in search of him. He motions for you to come closer and points to a blue butterfly which emerges, glistening, from its cocoon, buried away in the branches of a rosebush. He’s seemingly enamored by the unfurling of the insects iridescent wings, and offers a finger of his legion hand to it gently. 

Lovely, just lovely. You think.

I’ve lost him to a butterfly.

Exasperated, you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Yes, it’s very beautiful P, don’t get me wrong, but your habit of running off like this is frankly…” you pause, wondering how to put it delicately. “Just. The worst.” 

P’s shoulders sink and he looks almost hurt by this, though you can tell that even he can’t deny his tendency to explore precariously and without warning. It had landed you in loads of trouble at the worst of times, namely active combat, but this was neither here nor there. 

“You know what, I ought to make you promise to knock it off.” P opens his mouth, about to speak before you press a finger to his lips. “No no- a regular old promise won’t do either. Pinky swear it.” You say, offering your finger to him. He only stares blankly at it for a moment, then tips his head quizzically at you. This must be a new concept to him, you realize, and a creeping mischievousness takes root in your mind. With faux bewilderment, you gawk at him. “Your father never told you about pinky promises?” 

Pinocchio shakes his head fervently, now obviously eager to gain this oh-so-coveted knowledge. You take both his hands in yours and speak sotto-voce, as if the matter were of great importance. “It’s an ancient human tradition, a vow of the utmost seriousness. It’s a promise so great that once spoken aloud it would bond the two of us forever!” 

P leans in, enamored, and gestures between the two of you with curiosity. He seems, if anything, eager to engage in the grand ritual you’ve made this silly little thing out to be. You turn away with a saddened look. 

“Though I don’t suppose you’d be interested in such a thing. After all, it’s quite the big responsibility-” But P is already tugging you by the hand and nodding vigorously. You can’t help smiling at his enthusiasm; he is after all, nothing if not incorrigible. 

Swiftly, you situate yourself in the grass across from P. 

“Now,” you start, taking the puppet’s wrist in your hand and turning it over as if in careful examination. “This is a very serious business. I mean it.” P’s chin juts forward and he looks up at you, his head tilted in rapt attention. He looks like such a little boy, you think, sitting criss-crossed in the grass, hanging on your every word. 

“Once the oath is taken we can never ever break our promise. Ever. Are you sure you’re ready for that, P? To pledge your fealty right here, right now?” You ask, punctuating each grave word with a squeeze to his hand. P’s brows knit together in unbearable sincerity as he offers you a lone dutiful nod. 

You exhale deeply, giving P one last solemn look. “Well then. I warned you.” 

You hold your own hand out, elbow resting on your knee, your pinky finger extended in P’s direction. He watches you and with precision copies your posturing. He takes a moment though, to deliberate between his legion and human halves, before propping the fleshy arm upon his knee just the same as you. 

You straighten up a bit and clear your throat, speaking in a manner uncharacteristically clear and commanding. 

“By the power vested in this hand, I, and Pinocchio too of course-” You say, gesturing towards the boy. You assume, being a puppet of few words, he won’t mind you speaking for him. “Swear to always stand by each other's side, ever valiant.” 

P’s gaze is locked with yours as you speak, hanging on your every word. He is painfully earnest, and in a moment of overwhelming fondness for the poor puppet you add, perhaps getting a bit carried away with the whole thing “And.. and to always protect one another, never allowing harm to befall their most trusted friend.” 

You expect some surprise or even protest at this added condition, but instead Pinocchio settles the palm of his legion arm calmly over his heart, leaning ever closer with all the conviction in the world. 

And with that your finger brushes his, and you find much to your surprise, that you’ve begun to believe in your own dumb joke. Somehow, as your tiny fingers lock together, you feel the tremendous weight of this promise in the depths of your heart. You wonder if somehow by mistake you made magic here, in the soft green grass with a puppet much too naive and trusting and eager for his own good. You decide if there truly was an unbreakable contract forged between the two of you this day, you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all. 

When you glance at Pino, you find his eyes squeezed shut, his pinky finger wound tight around yours as if bracing himself. 

“Your oath is sealed.” You say, and watch P’s eyes open one at a time, uncertain. “Bonded for life. How does it feel?” 

P blinks a couple times in consideration, and allows his fingers to thread neatly through yours. With his other hand, he leans in close and presses it firmly but with the utmost care against your chest, and although you know logically he’s only a puppet, you swear you feel warmth radiating from his touch. He presses his forehead tenderly against yours, so close that you feel the breath of his words dance along the surface of your skin. 

“Safe.” He says simply. 

And although the circumstances are silly, you can’t imagine a truer word.

[fadingdaggerr]

beckon me back

pairing: brienne of tarth x gn!reader

summary: brienne comes home to winterfell after a much too long assignment

warnings: fluff, brief soft smut, arya being a menace and a cockblock, reader is a northerner (but no house stated, just that they follow the old gods)

note: sorry i’ve been away. i’ve had a lot going on in my personal life and my mental health has been horrible. hope this makes up for the absence :) also title is from animal by troye sivan

sleeping alone should not be this difficult, truly. you’d spent years alone, sleeping and traveling alike. she changed everything the first night she accidentally fell asleep on your bed one night. you had grown all to used to the warm body that wrapped around yours in the late hours, the one that snuck into your room after everyone went to bed just so she could hold you.

the cold stone of the windowsill froze your arms and hands, skin now cool to the touch. every night for the last two months, you’d been sat in this very spot, watching and waiting for her return. you’d watched rain fall from the clouds, watched as more snow gathered on the yards of winterfell, watched until your eyes burned with sleep and arms froze with the northern air. any day now.

—

a harsh push against your shoulder wakes you, another makes you open your eyes with annoyance written on your face. when your eyes finally focus, arya stark is in your face, all dressed and ready.

“get up, sloth. time to break our fasts and train,” she says as she gets off the bed.

you groan as you rise from the mattress, “you’re the one who trains, stark. i just patch up your unsuspecting victims.”

a bearskin cloak is launched on top of you head, “get dressed and get down to the dining hall. my orders, as the sister of the lady of winterfell.”

“i hate you,” you grumble as tie your trousers and tuck in the linen top.

“next thing i throw at you will be a brick. five minutes,” arya responds with a laugh as she leaves your quarters.

you checked your appearance in the mirror, everything matched, brown bearskin, brown trousers, brown boots. the only thing different was the blue tunic with grey strings, a shirt from the wardrobe at the foot of the bed. her shirt. the thought made a smile cross your face.

the descent to the dining hall felt lonely, you’d grown used to the arm looped with yours, but at least you wouldn’t be lonely at the end. the hall was boisterous with laughter and the sound of dishes clacking. you made your way through, grabbing a plate and stabbing sausages from the large dishes, as well as fruit and a thick slice of bread. you move to sit next to arya, who slides across fruit spread for you.

you half-listen to arya talk to the others at the table, training and whatever else they liked to discuss most of the day. you poked at the apple and pear slices on your plate, hardly interested in anything at all it seemed. your thoughts were broken by the horns blowing, and a call of ‘riders incoming!’

before anyone can say anything to you, you’re bolting out of the dining hall. the stone under your boots becomes snow as you head towards the gates as fast as lightning. by the time you reach the gates, they’re hardly open, but you can hear the horses whinnying from the other side. the guards laugh lightly watching you bounced on the balls on your feet waiting for her to step through the gates, to finally be home with you. the gates fully open and you’re nearly vibrating with excitement.

a black mare walked through the gates, a brown mare behind. the knight atop the first looked around as she entered the gates, blue eyes scanning each face until they find yours. she’s quick to dismount the mare, stroking her mane in thanks, before passing the lead off to a stableboy. the second her hands are free, you run towards her.

you collide into her chest with a hard thunk and a hard exhale from her lungs. her arms hold you tightly as your face moves to take residence in her neck, arms linked around her neck. she takes the opportunity to lift you off the ground slightly, walking you away from the gates and out of the way of the horses.

“i missed you,” you mumble into her skin as she sets your feet back on the ground, but you don’t let go from your hold.

“i missed you more,” she says in return, with a soft kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek. “come with me to greet lady sansa? i’m sure she’ll let me have the day to settle in once i’ve given report.”

all you want is to have her all to yourself, but what the lady of winterfell says, goes. you walk with brienne, arm-in-arm, happy, no longer lonely. you stand off to the side as sansa welcomes brienne home, a gentle hug shared between two friends. podrick comes to stand next to you, and you link your arms and rest your head on his shoulder while he speaks to only you.

“she’ll try to hide it, but she’s got a pretty large scrape down her side from a fall,” you grip his arm tighter as a question, “we got ambushed by a small group of raiders. thought they could overpower us, only win of the night for them was pushing her into a fallen tree.”

“what was their fate?” you ask, anger towards the men evident in your tone.

“cut down shortly after she got back up.”

“good,” you say with a bitter smile, your eyes glued to brienne as she spoke to sansa.

brienne bows and turns away from sansa, making her away over to you and pod. you untangle your arm from your friend’s, only to have brienne’s arm wrap around your waist underneath your cloak. her fingers play with the material of the shirt you’re wearing, a smile stretches across her face.

—

the large oak door shuts behind you. immediately you’re pressed against it with brienne’s lips moving against yours with a hurry. her hands firm on your hips, yours on the back on her neck, fingers tangled in her short hair. you push yourself off the wall, backing brienne towards the bed. the back of her knees hit the bed, causing her body to fall onto the bed and take you with her. your hands find the bottom of her tunic, pulling it up until you reveal the entirety of her abdomen.

“darling, wait-” she rushes to pull her top down.

“pod didn’t say they were this bad…” your fingers hovered over the injury, not wanting to put more pressure on the reddening skin.

“it’s not, i swear. it’s healing that’s why it looks- you already know that,” she says with a huff.

“i do,” you say through a laugh, “just like i know you would’ve tried to hide this as long as possible.” you get off the bed, with only a groan from brienne in refusal. grabbing your kit, you find a salve and bandages to coat her cuts. you rounded the bed and manhandled brienne until she was sat up to make it easier to check her wounds.

her skin is so soft, it should be a crime in itself to hurt someone so beautiful, you think to yourself. you pull her tunic off of her, exposing her chest and abdomen to you. fingers trace the collection of freckles across her skin, the scars from years of battle, following her story before tending to her. you lightly apply the salve with barely-there pressure. your focus stays on her skin, not noticing how brienne is in an awe of her own just looking at you.

soft eyes watching how gentle you are with her, not once did she think it possible that she would be so adored. the excited way you had taken her arm, how you kissed the bandages you placed on her. and don’t get her started on the sheer joy she felt when she saw you waiting for her, especially after sansa had said all you do is wait for her when she’s away.

as you pulled away from her abdomen, her hands rose to hold you face. you nearly melted at that peaceful gaze in her eyes, the rosiness that painted her cheeks from your affections. your head moved forewords, pressing your lips to her forehead, between her eyes, the top of her nose, until you pressed your lips to hers, soft and sweet.

“all done,” another kiss, “nothing strenuous for a week,” another, “one. week. do you hear me brienne?”

she smiles, knowing she’s guilty of not listening and causing herself more pain, “whatever shall i do then for a whole week, sweet healer of mine?”

“i have a couple ideas,” you say as you lean into her, watching as she licks her lips in anticipation.

“really?” she says thickly. “and what are they?”

you move to speak directly into her ear, your lips just barely grazing the shell as you whisper, “rest and read a book.”

brienne grabs you and twists so that you’re underneath her, splayed across the mattress. your arms immediately fling to her neck, laughing loudly at the action. she presses a long, sound kiss to your lips, nudging your nose with hers as she pulls away.

“i love you,” you say, breathless from laughter and her lips. one hand moves to her hair, the other traces shapes along her bare back.

“i love you,” her face hides in your neck. she presses soft pecks along your neck where her lips can reach.

you continue your ministrations as you speak, “never leave me for that long again. two months without you was torture.”

brienne laughs lightly, “it felt the same for me, my love. but i had to remind myself, quite often, that it was my duty and that running off to you would only cost of more than we’d gain.”

“aye, my name’s brienne of tarth and i like honor more than a rather skilled tongue on m-” you’re stopped by a hand over your lips, brienne’s face never leaving your neck.

“didn’t you say i had to rest?” she says, face warming already.

“i didn’t say i had to,” you say as your arms wrap around her shoulder, a leg around her hips. “you could just,” you twist and switch your positions, now straddling her hips with her eyes staring up at you, “lay back.”

your lips crash to hers, but waste no time to start nipping at her neck and licking over her skin. when your mouth finds her breasts, you feel her hands grip at your back. a swirl of your tongue makes nails dig into your skin through your shirt, a suck of her skin makes a groan rise from her throat. your hands ignore the expanse of her stomach, not wanting to touch her still sensitive wounds.

your lips find sanctuary with hers as your free hand unties her pants. her teeth nip and pull at your lips, making you moan into her mouth. i love you’s said with every kiss, bite, touch. you hand moves into her pants, not bothering to remove them, needing to feel her. she’s so warm, so wet, for you. your fingers trace along her folds, gathering her arousal before bringing your hand to your mouth. your eyes roll back with a moan at the taste of her, and brienne swears she sees every god at the sight of you.

finding yourself back between her legs, your middle finger enters her slowly as you watch her face. another enters after a few pumps, making brienne moan deeply. her hands force your lips down to hers, to which go gladly accept. everything about her is perfect to you, and for something as perfect as her to be missing from you, it was painful. but not as painful as the hard knocking on your door was at this second.

“WE NEED A HEALER OUT HERE!” arya screamed through the door.

your hand slowly pulled away from brienne as you groaned loudly before telling back, “BREAK MY DOOR AND I’LL KICK YOUR ASS, GIRL!”

“FIVE MINUTES!” she replies before you hear her footsteps disappear.

“go,” brienne says through a laugh, “before she injures more people, especially you.”

you kiss her gently before rising, “i’m sorry. i’ll be quick as a fox, i promise.”

she catches your hand before bringing to her lips, “quick as a fox.”

—

wrapping a bandage around rickon’s arm, you speak to arya, “you could’ve gotten literally anyone else to do this.”

she shakes her head, “rickon doesn’t like anyone else.”

you look at rickon with a smile, “that true, little lord? i’m your favorite?”

his curly hair bounces as he nods, “yeah. especially because you’re married to a knight.”

you feel your cheek warm as you laugh at his comment, “we’re not married, sweet lord,” you tie the bandage so it stays secure, “i’m not sure the gods would allow us. but we love each other regardless, i assure you.”

you rise from your crouch in front of rickon before scanning around for others who may need you. seeing none, you shove the medicine kit into arya’s arms.

“if anyone needs help, use some common sense. i’m going back to my quarters and barring the door. bother us again before the sun rises tomorrow, and i’ll drop you down a well. good evening, m’lady, m’lord.”

—

sun shining through the window hits your eyes, waking you from a deep and peaceful slumber. knuckles dug into your eyes as you rubbed them harshly, desperate to get rid of the brightness. you blinked a few times before looking at your stomach, finally processing the weight on top of you.

a quietly sleeping brienne, head resting on your lower abdomen, one hand flailed off to the side as the other held your thigh. you smile at the view, you had missed waking up like this. with her.

after allowing yourself to admire her for a while, you brushed your fingers through her hair, scratching her scalp as a means to gently wake her. her only sign of waking is a loud exhale and a soft kiss to your skin.

“the sun is rising, we must join it, lovely,” you say with a yawn. brienne’s head rises, lowering for a moment to kiss lower than she had before, then climbing up and taking purchase in your neck.

your hands push her head back so you can look at her. sleepy blue eyes looking back, adoration swimming in pools of sodalite. she drops her head to kiss you, lips lazy and soft. when she shifts her thigh between yours, you pull back.

“brienne…” she kisses you softly, then let’s you speak again, “we should be getting ready.” this time you seal your sentence with a kiss to her lips.

“i know, but you’re comfortable. i quite missed my personal pillow,” she says with a smile, one that has your heart stuttering.

you laugh at her words, “and i missed my personal blanket, but we still must rise,” her huffed breath makes you laugh more, “usually the roles are reversed here. don’t you want to break your fast and enjoy your day? surely you don’t want to lay here all day.”

“i’d be fine laying here all day with you,” her words make your heart ache, “but you won’t let that happen, will you?”

her eyes and voice were swaying you, the little patterns her fingers traces were silently begging you to stay. you sigh and answer with, “if the lady sansa gives us leave for the day, i will gladly stay here with you until the sun rises on the morrow,” she smiles, “but you must eat, you haven’t since you returned.”

“yes, i have. you don’t recall?”

you burst with laughter, “not what i meant and you know it, absolute menace.”

you’re lost in your own mind staring at brienne as she catches up with friends around the room. a pea flies across the table and pelts against your cheek, you look up to see arya. she slides down to you, holding her cup to her face to hide her mouth as she spoke.

“did she even give you a break? you looked like she gave you purpose with her hands,” she jests.

“good morning to you too, lady arya. it is a lovely morning, i agree,” you say with sarcasm dripping in your voice.

“so she really did you in, i see. but seriously, you seem happier with her around. i’m happy for you,” she says before getting an orange seed to the face.

“you’re so weird,” you knocked her shoulder, “but you’re right, she makes me happy,” you smile as you watch brienne laughs loudly. her gaze lands on yours, eyes crinkling with her big smile.

i love you, your eyes scream to her.

i love you, hers yell back.

again sorry for being ia. i’ll work on being a bit more active :) as usual, feedback is appreciated love u big time <3

[captain-mj]

does selkie!soap know that ghost is a changeling? if not can we have him figure it out?

Yes! I absolutely fucking can! Continuation from this post

1

Soap looked at his husband, watching him carefully. Ghost had eaten twelve pancakes. Not eggos. Eggos would be reasonable. Twelve, full sized pancakes. 

To be fair, Ghost had been the one cooking them, so it wasn’t that noticeable to anyone else. They all had large appetites. Big men, big muscles, bit metabolisms. 

But Soap was watching Ghost make more for himself and he was clearly trying to make it seem like he hadn’t eaten that much. It was odd. 

His husband. What a funny phrase to be able to use now. Anyway. His husband was odd. 

He poured more syrup on his pancakes, he made chocolate chip for Soap, blueberry for Gaz, strawberry for Price and from the looks of it, plain for himself. Ghost ate in the kitchen, probably to keep them from seeing his face. It wasn’t unusual, but Soap couldn’t help but wonder how often Ghost was using it to hide his odd eating habits. 

2

The next was simpler. Ghost’s gloves had torn. His hands looked normal but very pale. 

“Guess you don’t get out in the sunlight much, huh LT?”

“Not really.” Ghost rubbed his hands together gently. 

Soap tossed him again and turned away, only to hear it thunk against the floor. He looked backed to see Ghost just staring at it. 

“I’ll stick to knives.”

“There’s a lot of people. I’d feel better if you have a gun.”

“Do you have one with a grip?”

“What? No.” Soap stared at him for a minute and Ghost relented. He picked the gun up and followed him. 

It wasn’t until later that he finally got to put the gun down and Soap saw them. Everywhere the metal had touched his hands were burns. Severe ones. In parts, especially where he’d have it pressed hard to his palm, the skin had started to bubble and crack. 

Ghost noticed him staring and dropped the gun. “Ironic. A sniper who can’t actually touch it. S’why I wear the gloves...” 

“Ah...” Soap thought of the steel and therefore the iron in the gun. His whole not human theory was starting to make much more sense. 

3

It was such an odd topic to bring up, but they were on it and Soap was determined to use it. 

“Yeah, personally I grew up Roman Catholic. Got the baptism and everything.” According to his dad, who had laughed about it, his mom had begged him not to, worried it would kill Soap or make him human. According to his mom, his dad had jumped at the idea that baptism might make him human. It did neither of course. “What about you, LT?”

“My mom was Protestant, but I never was baptized. She stopped taking us before I was old enough to do it.”

“Why?”

Ghost paused, glancing around. No one was really focusing on them so he shrugged. Soap had noticed that although the bond effected him in the usual ways, the world revolving more around Ghost, him always being aware of Ghost, feeling Ghost’s presence around him at all times, yada, yada, it had also affected Ghost, which was interesting. It made him a little more open with Soap. Just Soap. If that sent a thrill through him, no one needed to know. 

“My mom took me and Tommy every Sunday. My dad occasionally tagged along. One day, one of the patrons caught me stealing an extra piece of the communion bread. This lady made it fresh and it was fucking great. They told my dad and he hit me with a bible so hard it knocked me to the ground. Right in front of everyone. My mom stopped taking us to church after that.” Ghost told it all to him quietly. “I had liked going, even though I didn’t believe in it. Always felt insincere, but it made my mom happy.” 

“Oh.” Soap stared. “How old were you?”

“I think I was seven.” Ghost hummed and looked away. “Never got baptized. Probably good thing. They always heated the holy water up.” 

Soap prepared himself for the joke of “boiling the hell out of it” but after a moment he realized Ghost was sincere. 

The holy water burned him. 

Soap suddenly had a vague idea of what he was. 

4

Soap had a heavy suspicion at this point. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Ghost was, so he decided to do a little experiment to see. 

Before he left that morning, he turned his shirt inside out and then slipped his hoodie over it. The only exception being creatures that had to notice. 

Ghost stared at him for a moment before he simply turned away and ignored him. Soap tried to get his attention and Ghost just wrinkled his nose and turned away from him. 

Gaz gave them an odd look and Soap just smiled awkwardly before stepping away. He fixed his clothing and tried once again to strike up a conversation. 

Immediately, Ghost actually talked to him. It was his usual rather quiet amount but it was definitely there.

“Why did you ignore me?”

“What are you talking about MacTavish?”

“Right now. You ignored me.”

“You weren’t talking to me a minute ago. You need to go to the medics?” Ghost seemed genuinely concerned. 

“Nah, probably just dehydrated. I’ll go grab a drink.” He smiled at him and stepped away. 

Gaz looked at him. “I think Ghost is going a tad crazy.”

“Nah, think he’s fucking with me.” Soap covered for him. 

Gaz didn’t look like he believed him but he dropped it. 

5

“Johnny, why are we on a secluded beach in the middle of the fucking night?” Ghost had followed him though. In his civvies, the soft hoodie and sweatpants clinging to all the right places. His mom didn’t warn him how bad marriage would feel at first. Or more, how bad one sided marriage would feel. He wanted to attack Ghost. Throw himself at him and claim his husband in every way he could. 

“Simon. I need to talk to you about something.” Ghost turned towards him. Soap vaguely put the face he remembered from Los Almas over the ski mask. He was glad Ghost went with this instead of the plastic mask and balaclava. That day, the kohl makeup had run all the way down Ghost’s face, covering his cheeks and his nose. His hair was shaggy and curled oddly, sticking up all over the place. It had been shoved down as if to cover his ears and it felt in his eyes. Despite clearly being cut into a buzzcut recently, it looked like it hadn’t worked too well. Soap had wondered at the time if it had been unfinished and he had to rush it. 

Now that he knew he was a changeling, it made more sense. Their hair tended to grow unnaturally fast and choppy. 

“What do need to talk about Johnny?” Ghost seemed worried. He glanced at the coat around Soap’s shoulders. 

“I... I know you’re not human.” Soap decided to start there. 

There was a beat of silence. 

Then Ghost laughed. There was a slightly bitter edge to it. “Oh, fuck off, Soap. You know, out of everyone, I never expected that shit from you.” He started to turn away from him.

“I’m not either.” Soap thought he was playing coy. It made sense, Soap would never admit it so easily and this Ghost. King of not saying shit about himself. 

“MacTavish,” Ghost looked at him, “you may be experiencing psychosis. Sometimes men on the battlefield...” Soap stared at him, hearing him like he was muffled through more than just his mask. 

Did Ghost... not know? 

There was no way Ghost didn’t. He hid away all his oddities. Been so careful. There was no way he didn’t at least expect it.

“Have you ever heard of a selkie?” Soap interrupted. 

“The seals that turn into humans. Yeah, I guess.”

“I need you to understand I’m not... I’m...” Soap sighed. “Just. I need you to trust me for a just a minute, okay?”

Ghost stared at him for a long while before nodding slightly. “Okay.” 

Soap slowly slipped his coat off and then started to undress. He kept his eyes downcast, but he could feel Ghost’s eyes on him. Scanning over him with growing alarm. 

Soap wrapped his coat around him before he shucked off his underwear. 

“Johnny.” Ghost said softly and there was something there that Soap needed a lot more time to unpack.

“Trust me.” Soap said softly. “Just... could you turn around for a minute?”

“You’re willing to undress in front of me but not do... whatever you���re about to do?” Ghost sounded... amused. It made butterflies in his stomach. 

“It’s unpleasant.” Soap said softly. Ghost finally turned around him. 

His coat fused with his skin and the transformation was... unpleasant to look at it. His fur laced with him and he sorta fell to the ground, luckily able to muffle himself so it didn’t startle Ghost. 

There he was. A harbor seal. He barked and Ghost turned around slowly, staring at him. 

Ghost continued to stare. And continued. And stared. 

Soap slowly rolled over to his expose his stomach. He couldn’t exactly talk, but his dogtags, which he had clearly been wearing, were around his neck now. 

Ghost slowly moved closer, touching the chain and reading the name. He didn’t move, staying crouched over him. 

Soap could see the ring of gold around his pupils again. 

“Oh.” Ghost said softly. 

The transformation back was much easier and faster. His snout seemed to wrinkle before splitting and he poked his head out, shaking his head. It looked like he had just had the coat over his face, but Ghost knew better. 

“Take your mask off.” Soap muttered against him, the coat splitting down his chest to go back to a more coat like shape. His bare chest was out but he was smart enough to cover his lower half. 

Ghost stared at him even longer and Soap knew for a fact he hadn’t blinked the entire time. He reached up and pulled Ghost’s mask off for him. 

There was Simon. 

Oh. 

Oh God he’s incredibly hot. 

Simon hadn’t put the make up on so Soap was treated to his freckles. They were... He sat up and grabbed Simon’s face who didn’t seem that surprised by it honestly. 

They sparkled. They weren’t like a human’s at all. One, they were mostly shaped like stars instead of just dots and fleck. Two, they were a stunning gold color that reflected the moonlight. 

Soap reached up and ran his hands through Ghost’s hair. It was just like before, spiky and uneven despite clearly being freshly trimmed. His ears were pointed like an elf, too severe to look normal.

“When the body modifications came out, I just blamed it on that...”

“Do you... know?” Soap spoke gently to him but he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His husband was right here.

“No. I don’t... know. I didn’t even know there were other things like me. Thought I was just... wrong.”

“I think you may be a changeling.” Soap admitted. “I may have... tested it. A couple of times, trying to see if I could figure it out.”

Ghost glared at him and he went to take his mask back, but Soap stopped him. “Johnny... Please.”

“Simon.” Soap said softly, pulling him a little closer and Ghost finally slid to his knees instead of crouching. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Simon looked at him and suddenly stiffened. “When I took your coat.” 

“It’s okay. You didn’t... You didn’t purposely do anything.” Soap reassured.

“But I did do something.” 

Soap sighed. “This isn’t... the conversation I wanted to have tonight... What do you know about selkies?”

“Take their coat and you can control them. That’s it.”

“Pretty accurate. It’s a little more than just control though. When someone holds my coat, there’s an instinct under my skin. A desperation to please is the best way I can put it. It’s a survival tactic to keep from being punished according to my mom. You do what you can to keep your master happy so they don’t strike out at you.” 

“Have you...” Simon was touching him now. Holding his face and putting his arm around him. “Been...”

“Twice. Once when I was 12 for two months and once when I was 17 until I turned 19. The first one was by a kid my age and it wasn’t... nothing happened. People usually get concerned.” Johnny smiled at him. 

“And the other one?”

Johnny shook his head. “Another day. Please.”

“Another day.” Simon promised. “But what did I do?”

“You gave it back. The way you did it... You pick it back in my hands. You didn’t let me grab it.”

“Is that bad?” 

“We’re married. Kinda. It’s not legally binding, of course. It can be ignored. Even broken.” Soap mumbled the last parts. It hurt. He’d like to blame it on his coat. That it was making him a little crazy. But he knew it wasn’t just that. The idea of being rejected by Ghost was... He cared a lot for Ghost and it had nothing to do with being not quite human. 

Ghost was staring again. “Since the hospital. That was weeks ago.” 

“Yeah. I suppose it was. Look, I can tell you how to break it.” Soap felt Ghost’s mouth on his and the arm pulled him closer, right against his broad chest. 

“I haven’t been a very good husband to you.” Ghost joked, but there was a layer of stress underneath it. 

Soap shrugged. “I haven’t been a very good bride.” He leaned in closer. 

“Would you... like to be?”

“If you’d have me.”

Ghost huffed. “I’d be an idiot not to.” 

“Good. Although, you are going to have to court me. My mom is not very impressed with you right now.” Soap got up.

“You talked about me to your mom?” Ghost was scrambling to get up and follow him.

“Of course. Had to tell her some Brit married me. She was worried.” He flashed him a smile and tossed him his mask. 

“How the fuck do I court you?” Ghost tugged it on and followed him. He gathered up Soap’s clothes, watching him twirl around barefoot on the beach. 

“Figure it out.”

“Can I have your mom’s number?”

“Why the fuck do you need that??”

“To ask her how! Also I want your mom to like me.” 

[jmdbjk]

Yep, its time for...

The Weekly Bangtan Report. It will be a short one.

Hobi and Hope on the Streets (HOTS)!!!

So there are these QR codes showing up all over Seoul:

One enterprising investigator Army visited one of the locations and was told by the cafe owner that yep, they were contacted and told a pop-up event would happen this month!

And I keep forgetting, we're not only getting a mini album of songs but we're getting a documentary series at the end of the month!

Hobi looks so happy in this and I can't wait to watch!

Ok, moving on...

For a minute there, SimInvest had us going, am I right?

The tease was "V's bestest friend who's name begins with a "J" will be joining him." This was their website:

Cue the solos, mantis and anyone else being stupid... and it ends up being Jackie Chan!

Not Jimin, not Jungkook. Sorry Vmin-ers and cultists.

But can I tell you I fell off the couch laughing my ass off?

WHO WOULDA THUNK THAT JACKIE CHAN IS TAE'S BESTIE????

Not I.

I know, they are probably besties only for this promotion but whatever. It's funny as shit.

I had always thought Tae's deal with this investment company was an interesting choice for him. This company's target market would skew to older males who have money to invest. It is also based in Indonesia. With Tae involved, he might attract a younger demographic as well as female clientele.

When I first learned of this partnership it made me strongly believe he is creating an awareness in this demographic for the purpose of already being a familiar name when he returns from MS and starts doing TV drama acting gigs. That's my best guess. I dont' know though, the fact it is based in Indonesia ... anyway.

Next up: Jungkookie! makes a brief appearance in The Kid Laroi's documentary... which of course probably means The Kid will be in JK's documentary along with everyone else JK's worked with since 2022 or 2023.

And Namjoon actually being in the military band has been more or less confirmed by him because of the pic he posted on his Instagram stories of he and his fellow soldiers. He tagged them and if you look at their accounts, they are indeed involved in the military band. I need Joon to explain to us what other music instruments he can play.

In other news, Lee Soo Man, former CEO of SM Entertainment has stated he will or has sold his remaining SM stock to Hybe giving Hybe an over 12.5% stake in SM Entertainment. That reality K-drama is ongoing.

All that other total motherfuckery going on at the former bird app can just die and go to hell including that bogus top 100 kpop artists ranking from Billoboard.

I will leave you with this closing thought:

[sizzlingsheepcheesecake]

https://www.tumblr.com/fruitybashir/749278878824103936/wait-so-is-the-dick-sucking-stool-for-bojan-to?source=share

if you’re still looking for inspo for a new fanfiction ☺️ its kind of a ridiculous prompt and i get why you wouldn’t wanna write it. but as you can see on @fruitybashir s account a lot of people want it, me included haha

im struggling with finding a proper plot for this prompt tho. i’d just say something along the lines of bojan is trying to suck kris’ dick or the other way around, but bojan is too short for either. they both end up laughing about it and then go to their bed instead to do the deed. some time after kris and bojan are at their studio and kris discovers a stool standing somewhere. he makes a joke to bojan how this would solve their little blowjob dilemma and mocks him for his height (typical kris). this joke ends up becoming reality and they fuck in the studio (again) because they’re too horny to keep it in their pants as always.

Omg I did see @fruitybashir talking about this haha it is a hilarious idea!!

I have like 4 WIPs I should be focusing on... so naturally my mind is now latching onto this idea and thoughts are being thunked... I am very tempted 😂 like they could "demonstrate" fully dressed how the might do it and talk eachother through it and it starts as a joke but then where did their clothes go??? Fuck it I just might do something with this if people are interested and Sophie isn't going to, and if no-one has already said they will...

[shuniverse]

don’t talk ,, b.c

🧷 requested by anon !! hope I did ur ask justice 🫶 also, requested tag for @mimussyy !!

🎐 family issues and angst ;; lots of cursing/swearing ;; hurt/comfort ;;

;;

“baby you should really try talking to em again.”

he refers to your family, with whom you haven’t spoken to in ages.

your mother, especially.

as a child, and as an adolescent, your mother was never someone you turned to.

always shunning you, turning you away when you need help with something, any sort of guidance.

but when she did give you attention? it was always to degrade you, tell you you’re clothes, hair, interests, the things you wished to pursue in life, that they were all stupid and ridiculous, that they would never get anywhere in life.

you didn’t think of them again until you saw a post your mother made of your parents on a trip with your siblings. it had filled you with a sense of jealousy and sadness, which your ever so observant boyfriend noticed.

“chris.. you know how they treated me. they made me not wanna LIVE. I can’t exactly forgive all they did.”

“baby girl, I know they’re bad, but maybe they’ve matured now, maybe now that they see how successful you are, maybe they’ll understand, and want to rekindle the relationship.”

you sigh, looking up at your boyfriend from where he’s standing next to you on your barstool. “channie, I don’t think that’s such a good idea..”

he pouts slightly, resting his chin on your shoulder. “c’mon baby, please? for me? and hey, I’ll be here if it goes south, alright?”

you lean your head on his, and he plants a kiss on your cheek.

“alright,” you start, much to your internal protest, “I’ll do it.”

;;

much to your surprise, you find yourself in your car on your way to your parents home.

you groan to yourself. that handsome guy you call your boyfriend is sure as hell lucky you love him.

stopping in a parking spot close to his house, you throw your head back against the headrest with a thunk.

I’m really doing this.

jesus, chan. you’re one pretty guy. lucky for you.

you huff, undo your seatbelt, grab your bag and keys, and get out of the car, and walk the longer-than-you-thought distance to the front door.

with what feels like sloth speed, you move your finger to the doorbell.

you wait, until finally, after what feels like ages, your father opens the door.

he gives a small smile.

you give a nervous smile in return, and a small wave. “hey dad.”

“hey, kid. long time no see.”

he opens the door wider, to let you in.

you chuckle. “yeah, been a while, hasn’t it?”

your father gives a short laugh, and you stop as you see your mother in the kitchen, seeming to make good. she hasn’t noticed you yet, as if she ever wanted to.

but you set your past aside for the time being, and walk to the kitchen island.

you take a deep breath, and speak to the woman who made your life feel like hell for 17 years for the first time in three years.

“hey, mom.”

she halts her hand chopping on the board, and turns to look at you, her eyes widening.

“oh.. hey, hun.”

you share a stare at each other for what feels like eternity, before your father snaps you out of your state.

“hey, uh, we got snacks ready. you want some snacks kiddo?”

you nod, looking at your father with a small smile.

you sit together on the couch, making small talk and watching tv while munching on some snacks.

until, you feel the mood ruin.

your mother steps into the room, holding bowls of pasta.

macaroni to be specific.

fuck. that’s your favorite.

she hands you a bowl with a tight lipped smile, and hands a bowl to your father with an accompanied kiss to his head.

she sits in between the two of you to eat her own noodles.

it’s awkward silence now, neither one of you knowing what to say.

until your mother opens her mouth.

“so, uh, how are you, hun?”

you turn to look at her. “I’m fine, mom.”

“how, uh.. has your life been? what do you do?”

“well, I have a boyfriend and we’ve been together for four years, I’m working in the art industry and making good money, and-“

“art? see, I told you that wouldn’t get anywhere.”

god. not even a minute in?

“it’s getting me places, mom, and I said I’m making good money, my boyfriend makes good money too and he’s actually the leader of a band-“

she cuts you off with a laugh. “a band? huh, never knew you went for downgrades.”

this only fueled your anger. you couldn’t help but raise your voice. “mom, he’s anything but a downgrade. he takes care of me, he’s super sweet and probably the most handsome and caring guy I’ve ever known.”

she scoffs. “I bet it’s just so he can fuck you, that’s all guys want. especially from sluts.”

your eyes widen. “what the fuck did you call me?”

your dad looks at you wearily. “kid..”

“no!” you practically yell, and swivel your attention back to your mother. “god you are such a bitch. you were NEVER there for me, you always degraded my shit, you NEVER made me feel welcome in my own fucking home. I never felt like I could talk to you, but you expected so much from me. why? so you could use me as a slave? as someone to lean your troubles on? that I never fucking wanted? I knew coming here was a bad idea. you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut about me can you?”

she gawps at you, before standing up and huffing. “I don’t see what the problem is. we both know you’ll end up coming back in the end, you’ve always needed me, you’ve never been one to cut people off.”

“like you know! you were never fucking there for me! y’know what? fuck you. fuck you and your bullshit words when we know full well that I’m more successful than you, that I don’t fucking need you. I’m so done with this, im so done with YOU.”

“you don’t mean that.”

“yes, I fucking do. fuck you mom. dad?”

he looks at you, not knowing what to say.

“I advise divorcing her before it’s too late.”

and with that, you give your mom one final look, before stomping towards the front door, grabbing your shit and getting ready to leave, before you feel a hand grip your arm, you turn your head.

it’s your mother.

“if you leave, you’re never coming back.”

“good. have a nice life, bitch.”

you release your arm from her grip, and walk out the front door, and slam it shut, walking to your car and immediately pulling out and driving home.

on the way there, your rage turns to stress, and tears start slowly streaming down your face.

as soon as you pull into the parking lot of your apartment, you trudge up your stairs and barge through the door, making your boyfriend flinch from his spot on the couch.

“oh hey love what’s-“ as soon as he sees you with tears falling down your face, he gives a sympathetic smile and stands up, opening his arms. “c’mere princess.”

you rush into his arms, practically jumping on him, and he sits down, holding you in his arms as you sob into his neck.

he sighs sadly, kissing your neck as your body wracks itself with sobs and cries.

he runs his fingers through your hair, and finally, after what feels like forever, you lift your head up, and sniffle.

chan gives you a sad smile, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “baby.. what happened?”

you pout, holding onto his forearm as you recall what happened. he listens to your words intently, leaving kisses on your hand as he watches you with kind eyes.

he sighs once more. “my love, I’m so sorry.. I shouldn’t have made you go see them.”

you shake your head. “it’s ok, it’s not like you knew my own mother would call me a slut.”

he gives a sad pout. “why would she even call you that?”

“well, I told her about you and how great you are, and she basically said I was only with you for sex, especially sluts, gesturing towards me.”

“aw, baby I bet she’s just jealous you have better and more sex than she does.”

you giggle. “yea, bet she’s mad you’re hot and dick me down like she’s never felt.”

he shakes his head, gently rubbing your waist. “you’re silly, baby girl.”

you kiss his forehead. “so are you, channie.”

he gently cups your face, and you lean forward as he catches your lips in a gentle kiss, and you lovingly sigh, wrapping your arms around him.

he pulls away after a bit. “my pretty baby.”

you giggle again, kissing his nose. “can we take a shower, channie? I’m tired.”

he kisses your shoulder. “of course, baby girl.”

he stands up, holding you as he walks to the bathroom.

you sigh against his shoulder.

he may be a lucky guy, but you’re even luckier.

;; 🫶

AHHH THIS TOOK ME SO LONG AGDHHDHE

hope you enjoyed!

[fandomfluffandfuck]

TELL ME ABOUT THE SHOES!!!

related to this

Okay, okay, okay, first, I have to mention that every day I drive home from college, I drive past two different sex shops and one strip club and one of these sex shops has an LED sign that advertises a bunch of different spicy stuff, and the other day they had one word up--

Shoes

And upon reading that, I was hit over the back of the head with the first shoe-related thought I have that relates to fandom:

You always want what you can't have

Bucky mentioning in Captain America: Civil War how Steve used to wear newspapers in his shoes speaks to me about the depression, how he must've had beat up, worn out, hand-me-down shoes with newspapers stuffed in them to make them fit better, to make them warmer in the winter, to try and at least make them feel like there weren't holes in the bottoms of them. Steve drawing here and there throughout the Captain America movies--drawing himself as a dancing monkey, sketching buildings--makes me think of his artistic eye. An artistic eye that we see beyond drawing, with his comments about Stark Tower being big and ugly, plus, similarly with, according to Steve, the ugly brown van they use to save the world. Both Bucky's comment of the way things used to be and Steve's appreciation for aesthetic makes me imagine that Steve could gravitate toward shoes. Pretty, slim "women's shoes," as well as generally shiny, bulky "men's shoes."

The first time he notices shoes is early, when he watches his Ma slip into her Sunday best heels. Her stockings might be laddered and torn because she doesn't have enough pairs to have a special Sunday pair--she needs to use all the ones she has when she's nursing, dealing with all sorts of untold grossities at work, often throwing them out--but this pair of shoes look brand new. She takes good care of them, so much so that Steve's not allowed to touch them. Her Sunday best heels are hardly scuffed or creased because she never wears them to work or anything, just to church. They're pretty and special, and on the way, she's always careful, not stepping in puddles, on cracks, or anything.

The way his Ma treats her Sunday best shoes makes Steve investigate during church, more interested in eyeing all the other special shoes than listening to the preaching that Sunday, peering over the open Bible his Ma holds out in front of him. He's cataloging all the differences between the men's and women's shoes. Both kinds are shiny, but women's shoes are especially so. Angular and polished and bright, often with tiny details that men's shoes don't get the luxury of having--tiny buckles, little bows, patterns pressed into or cut out of the leather, etc. Women's shoes are so delicate, clicking across the floor while men's land much heavier, more of a clunk. A thunk even.

As soon as he's drawing, his interest translates there, too. It's the shine, reflective and glinting, every crease exemplified; the angles, shapely and precise; the colors, usually more muted but occasionally very bright and attention grabbing, either way, they're always saturated. It's fascinating to draw shoes. The lines are so clean that it's easy to make a mistake. And it's so challenging to capture the way the positioning of the shoes changes the shape of the whole thing! But that's what makes it interesting. Every angle holds new details. Steve discovers quickly that he can tell stories through shoes, too... where the creases are and how many there are, scuffs, rough leather, loose threads, color bright and bold or not, the angle he draws the shoes from, too--looking down at them from where he stands, lying on his belly and sketching straight on, detailing the bottoms--there are endless possibilities.

But, as Steve gets older and the more it sits in his head, the more it becomes something deeper until it's something beyond a passive, special interest. Beyond somewhere where his eyes always go when he meets someone new--glancing at their footwear just to see. It becomes something of desire.

Desired because of how forbidden it is. Women's shoes are for girls. Steve isn't a girl. He can't have them. He wasn't allowed to touch them. He's still not allowed to touch them.

There is a desire for men's shoes, too, but he knows men's shoes. He appreciates the sound of a big, tall man walking down an alleyway by the hidden bars around their run-down cold water walk-up with the swaggering thunk thunk thunk of their boots on the street. He does like that. Something about it makes shivers crawl up his crooked spine. But, he knows them. Bucky wears work boots. They live in a heap next to their front door. Plus, Steve has his own shoes. Men's shoes are familiar.

Steve buries his desire for men's shoes deeper, for whatever reason. It has nothing to do with internalized homophobia, no, why do you ask?

Women's shoes, though...

They're forbidden and unknown. The closest Steve's gotten to fancy, truly bright, and angular ladies' shoes (outside of staring at them through shop windows) was when Bucky brought home a blonde dame--Steve never got her name, she just came and left once--with a rich Daddy. Her shoes were kicked off by the door when Steve got home, sitting fallen over next to Bucky's heavy boots. Steve's heart pounded unevenly in his thin chest, just seeing them together. Darting between the shoes. The contrast.

(That dame must've been short, too, like Steve. Her shoes were so little, especially next to Bucky's. By the looks of it, they might even fit Steve. Maybe. He wouldn't dare touch them, though, not even to straight them in the way he grumbles but organizes Bucky's footwear.)

The second time Steve really comes close to the off-limit territory of women's shoes is after the serum, dragging through the USO Tour with all the chorus girls. Their glittery, flashy, short, and bright uniforms. Meant to attract, so can Steve be blamed? Because suddenly, it seems like Steve can't go ten feet without tripping over one of the girls' pairs of shiny, bright, tall heels.

Once, just once, one of the gals leaves her heels behind. She's going back home, her service done with, so...

With his heart pounding strongly in his broad chest, practically echoing through it, he swears, Steve grabs them. Hastily stuffing them under his trench coat and wisking them back to his private tent--the luxury of being a technical captain.

Alone and in private, Steve knows just looking at them, understanding space strangely well these days, that they're too small for his feet. Even if they weren't too small, Steve is sure he couldn't bear to try them on. Not here. What would he do anyway? He's never thought past getting his hands on ladies' shoes. He couldn't walk with them on. Could he? No. He would be scared of someone hearing the click click click. And he couldn't... he doesn't have anyone to... show?

So, what would be the point?

There isn't one. And Steve doesn't even try to put them on. Instead, he sets one of the pair of the heels in his lap. Cradling it, the shoe is a lot lighter than he expected it to be. The material is much thinner than he thought even though he's drawn shoes a ton. He's studied them. And he studies them again now, up-close and personal, just... looking.

He just holds it.

Without realizing it, he starts to subconsciously stroke the shiny, patriotic-colored leather. It's so smooth. It's cold to start, but quickly, it isn't anymore, warming up to him. The heel isn't as sharp on the edges as he would've thought, but it's not too soft, either.

He's more familiar, having it in his hold, but they're still exciting. Fascinating. Interesting. No matter how often he sneaks away to hold one or both of the stolen shoes in his hands, they're still so different.

They're special.

Steve loses the pair when he walks to Austria. He's not sure what happened to them, and he's afraid to ask. Did someone find them? If they did, what did they think? At worst, they probably just thought Steve spent the night with one of the chorus gals, right? They wouldn't know about... about what Steve did? (And what did he do? He just held them!?) He can't stop thinking about them, though. His hands are so calloused these days, and all his shirts are grimy and coming apart at the seams, holes everywhere, and wouldn't it just be nice to touch something smooth?

Bucky sees through him and asks him what he's missing, but he falls before Steve can say it out loud. So, the secret dies with him.

Steve doesn't let himself think about something so soft and delicate when he wakes up. He can't stomach it.

Eventually

Bucky is back.

Steve has Bucky back.

And they're both trying to heal.

Healing takes many shapes... including, apparently, the shape of a sleek, biege box with a looping, white font delivered to their front door, which contains rich, red, and shimmering tissue paper, fragile and weightless, and a pair of matching, shiny black heels with blood red bottoms.

Steve doesn't even want to know what they cost Bucky. He vaguely grasps the pop culture knowledge to understand how infamous heels like these are, how expensive they are, and he's not dumb enough to miss all the details, thoughtfulness, and exorbitant materials. Shockingly, they have money now, existing somewhere, acrewing in a bank account that feels like it belongs to someone else entirely, and between the two of them, Steve is the one who doesn't know what to do with it. Bucky knows.

Bucky knows.

Bucky bought him a pair of heels, not so bright, save for the bottoms, but still delicate and shiny and alluring. The shoes feel more like Bucky's style than Steve's and... Steve likes that. He likes that Bucky chose them, he likes that he wants to see him in them, and he likes that they're here.

Steve's almost afraid to put the shoes on, his thumbs rubbing back and forth across the smooth, perfect surface. He's not even sure if he wants to put them on or not. He's only ever drawn or held shoes like these. He's not put them on. Does he want to cross that line? Is that even a line? After all the things he's done, is this even daring?

What if it's not special? What if it's not as good as he wants it to be? Does he want it to be good? What's good?

Should he put them on?

Steve's head is so full of questions that he can't do anything but stand there, a contemplative statue; Steve's supposed to be brave and daring, but there are moments where even he's allowed to hesitate.

Right?

Bucky isn't so hesitant. He knows his best guy is going to look killer in those heels, and he knows whatever Steve has built this up to be in his head... it'll be fine. He just has to let go and do it.

With some convincing and a few charming grins, Steve puts the red bottomed heels on and...

It's good.

It's better than he imagined.

While he's wearing them--falling apart at the seams and succumbing weakly to the fever raging through him--Bucky fucks him hard. Deep and good. Leaving Steve unable to hold back the ah, ah, ahs that pour out from inside him and causing him to put bruises, dents really, in Bucky's back with how tight his legs are wrapped around his stocky waist. He can't. Bucky's dick hits his prostate again and again. Oh, god. It's making him so weak--his dick always does. It forces Steve's brains to melt out of his ears, struck stupid with his lips falling open, bright red and wet.

With another hammering, ah, ah, ah, dick carving so deep in him, sparking and hot, desire courses through Steve so strongly that his toes curl until the soles of his feet cramp. As his toes curl, it forces the shiny heels to slip off of his feet just as he crashes through his orgasm. His moans pitching higher--shattering suddenly, shaking apart with the pleasure coursing through him.

Bucky is merciful enough to fuck him through his orgasm, leaving him a whimpering, shaking mess, all too docile and sweet, but he doesn't say merciful. He's awful. Terrible. Evil because he's slowing his hips to a filthy, deep grind. It's slow enough to have Steve's gasping, his body electric and white-hot, making him go haywire and stay achingly hard. He doesn't do anything about it, though. He doesn't reach to jack him off or touch him or do anything but--

Bucky spares one hand to grab the shoe from where it landed haphazardly on their ruffled bed before sliding it back onto Steve's foot after using his strength to uncurl his leg from around his waist, straightening his leg so the back of his knee is at Bucky's shoulder, all so he can put the stray heel back onto him.

He's so flexible.

The position makes Bucky's cock get in deeper.

AH!

Fuck, Bucky is treating him like he's delicate and cute, kissing the thick curves of his muscles and making sure nothing is out of place as he worships him, fucking him like he isn't soft or delicate or nothing. It's like he's being fucking out to make sure Steve's heated draw to heels is even worse after this!

Also, secondly, I keep thinking about:

You wear your devotion on your sleeve

By the time Steve gets to the front and gets to Bucky, pulling him from the jaws of Hell, dangling above its throat, on the cusp of being swallowed, Steve is fucking sick of...

Everything?

He's sick of being in a body that doesn't fit. Chronic illnesses first. A lifetime of rasping lungs and fatigue that follows him like a shadow, always growing taller and longer with the ever slowing dip of the sun in the sky. Then. This. Whatever this is. A body that attracts attention, eyes always dragging over his form, never leaving him alone when before no one would ever even glance his way. He was invisible and agonized; now, he's in the spotlight and burning up.

Something in him yearns to be small again.

The only refuge he finds for that is at Bucky's feet.

He finds the feeling of being small yet respected, taking up no space at all but still being seen and heard, at Bucky's feet while he's shining his boots. He knows how much appearance matters to Bucky. His hair is always done just so, even in the middle of the rain and wind and wilderness. He's always freshly shaven, no matter if there's running water nearby or not. And his boots are always shining, never mud caked like all the others.

So, when Bucky ended up with bruises shading his ribs, barely able to sit up, let alone bend over or breathe as good as he should be able to...

It's only natural that Steve offers to shine his boots for inspection for him.

At first, honestly, it's terrible. He's holding Bucky's leg as delicately as he possibly can, scared to even slightly squeeze him too hard and leave more bruises or, god forbid, break his bones, but Bucky won't have it. Bucky tugs on his hair, shaking his head to get the point across, making sure he's looking up at him before he assures him he won't hurt him. He can't. He needn't hold him so delicately, and, c'mon, if his boots are gonna be clean, he needs to put some more muscle behind it. A smile cracks across his face, and, suddenly, it's all good.

It's great.

It's so fucking nice to be staring up at his familiar face and be small and--

How does Bucky convince him to wrap himself around his leg and grind against his newly polished boots until he's messing them up, so he has to lick them clean again? 😮‍💨😮‍💨

(I wanted this to be longer, but I don't have the time right now, ughh)