#and then at the end of the week they’re like ‘oh what was if you needed to do

[the-californicationist]

For send an author a gif

Alternatively/additionally

😘

oh duck. im so sorry. this is... unhinged. 😅

MDNI

Keychain

“C’mon, babes. These blokes were cute. Val knows them. Said they’re nice… enough,” your best friend, Poppy, made a teasing face, sticking out her tongue at you before getting serious, “How long’s it been?”

You sighed, picking at your chipped nail polish, 

“...six…”

“Six weeks!?” Poppy panicked in earnest.

“...months.”

“Six months. Are you —” she snatched your hand and dragged you to your feet, “Enough. Dry spell over.”

You found yourself arm in arm with Poppy, dodging raindrops and puddles on your way to her coworker’s flat, screaming and laughing so hard your lungs hurt, soaking in the cold downpour. There was a big party happening at her place that night. A key party. It was something she had picked up at uni. Everyone’s keys went into a bowl, and whomever’s keys you ended up with was who you went home with. 

You followed Poppy into the alley, hiding under the awning as she buzzed up. 

A crackled voice came through the grimey box,

“Yeah?”

“It’s Pops! Let us in, you slag!”

Giddy screaming came through on the speaker and you heard the door click. Up you went, trodding four flights of stairs, panting and dripping at the top. The front door was wide open and music thumped out of it. A few guests were out in the stairwell, propping the door open to a small balcony, smoking and drinking, crushing their bodies together and swaying to the beat. 

“Pops!” A pretty ginger girl with a teensy tiny triangle top under a fishnet shirt came bounding through the foyer, “Come in! Come in. Name’s Val, nice to meet ya. Give us your keys, Pops. And you, too, new girl. Look at that top!”

She pretended to grab at your breasts which, you had to admit, did look pretty killer tonight. You’d worn a black leather bra top with silver glitter all over it, and you felt like some sort of rock star. A black leather miniskirt completed the ensemble. You couldn’t stomach the heels, so you opted for your combat boots. Val looked like she was about to spill out of that tiny top, but she made it look good.

You handed over your keys, watching your little glittery Bulbasaur keychain bounce around her finger as she twirled them in circles. 

“Which bowl for you?”

“Huh?” You didn’t understand.

She pointed to each one, presenting them to you like she was hosting a game show,

“This one for if you like blokes, this one for if you like birds,” she gave Poppy a wink and tossed her keys in that bowl,  “...and this one for if you don’t care what’s going on downstairs!”

“Oh, um,” you pointed to the last one, “Don’t care either way, really.”

“Perf! Okay, let’s see what you’re drinkin’!”

You followed them through the packed flat and into the kitchen. Liquor and beer bottles littered the countertop, and the only cups left in the cabinet were coffee mugs. You watched Val pull two down and pour some sort of blue drink into each one. She handed them to you with a bright smile, 

“Better go mingle! Never know who might grab your key.”

You smiled, tight-lipped, wondering if you had just made a huge mistake or if you really would be going home with someone nice tonight. 

Either way, you mingled, chatting with a few people, trying to hear them over the noise of the music. But, even in your rock star get-up, you weren’t really the partier that Poppy was. You peeked around the apartment for an escape. The bathroom was locked and, from the sound of it, a couple wasn’t patient enough to wait on their keys to get their night started. 

You checked the next door and found the cloakroom. It was a bedroom slash office, and it was blissfully dark and quiet. You shut the door behind you, sighing with relief and then —

“Havin’ fun, yet?”

A deep, rumbling voice found you in the dark, and you froze. He was sitting in the window sill, smoking a cigar, and he put his hands up in mock-surrender,

“It’s alright, love. Just needed a bit of peace.”

“Yeah,” you said, regaining your composure and straightening your skirt nervously, “No, it’s okay. Sorry, I’ll just… go.”

“Can’t leave without your key,” he laughed, holding up your house key. Your sparkling Bulbasaur glinted in the low light from the window. 

“You… how did you?” You stepped toward him, retrieving your key from his outstretched palm. 

Now that you were closer to him, you get a better look at the man with your key. He was tall. Tall enough to dwarf you even while he was seated in the window. He had a full beard, shaved down the chin like a ship captain, or a pirate, and his eyes were the palest blue you’d ever seen. It was almost supernatural to look into them and be met with his icy stare. 

He was sharp, too. You could tell that he had a quick wit, and an even more capable body. Huge, sculpted muscles pressed through his white tee shirt, tightening the thighs of his jeans. A veritable giant of a man. But when he smiled, just as he was doing now, you felt safe despite his stature. He seemed like he meant you no harm. 

“How do you have my keys?” You asked again, watching as the white smoke billowed and curled out of his full lips, carried away by the night wind. 

“Saw you come in. Couldn’t have some other arsehole picking you first, could I?”

“First?” You stood closer to him still, staring up at him as he rose from his seat, towering over you with his body, darkening the room in shadow.

“Aye,” his hand went to your chin, raising it up as if to have a better look at you, “Bit greedy, me.”

You thought he might kiss you, but just before he leaned close enough for your lips to touch, he took another drag from his cigar, letting you smell the tobacco and licorice scent on his breath, the lingering notes of whiskey not far behind. 

“And you thought you could be greedy with me, is that right?” You whispered, unsure of why you were speaking so low, but he matched your register in his reply, purring his words at you and making your belly twist in on itself,

“I let myself hope so…” You watched as something that seemed like doubt flashed through his gaze, and a primal piece of you hated that.

“Good thing you snagged them, then,” you reassured him, letting your hands roam across his belly, circling around him and testing the waters, “Be a shame if someone else got to me first. Some… arsehole.”

“Careful, love,” he warned you, “You’re too pretty to be teasin’ a poor bloke in that fuckin’ outfit. Does things to us.”

You dragged your hand up his thigh, knowing exactly what things he was mentioning but playing dumb anyway,

“Oh? What… things?”

Quick as a snake’s strike, he snatched your wrist in his free hand and held you steady. It surprised you, and you froze from the shock of his strong grip. Then, your whole body lit up as he slowly moved your palm over to his zipper, behind which was pressed the hardest, fattest cock you’d ever felt in your life. 

“These things.”

He flicked the end of the cigar clean out of the window and grabbed you around the jaw, bringing his face down to yours to kiss you. He was smoke and fire and whiskey and sugar and something musky that could only come from a human’s tongue. His beard scruffled your skin, tickling your lip as you kissed him back. 

He pulled away, his eyes hooded from the pleasure of your kiss, and said,

“I’m John, and I am at your fuckin’ service, pretty girl.”

“Take your shirt off, John,” you nibbled on the bottom of his lip and smiled as sweetly as you could manage.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiled back, wolfishly, and peeled his shirt off revealing his immense chest, covered in dense, soft hair. 

You kissed him again, letting your hands touch him wherever you wanted to. You felt his soft nipples harden under your touch, and you stroked the smooth skin of his ribs, tattooed with some sort of skull and shield. In the midst of your lust-filled tour of his torso, he tossed you on the bed, piled high with coats and scarves, shoving them out of the way in a knotted, tangled mess. 

He kissed his way down your body, stopping when he came to the swell of your breasts, chuckling and looking up at you. 

You were already breathing heavy, a little annoyed he’d paused in the middle of something good. 

“What?” You asked.

“You can’t be serious with these. Look,” he twisted a thick finger under the top of your bra’s cup and shoved it down, revealing your nipple as it popped free from its enclosure.

He fixed his mouth over it and began to suck. Then, he popped his lips off of you before sucking hard again, making you whine from the sensation. 

“Fuckin’ perfect. Saw you and these gorgeous tits…” 

Suck. Lick. Suck. 

“...across the whole bloody room…”

Suck. Suck. Suuuuuuuck. 

“...and I had to taste you…”

Suck. Bite. Kiss.

“…had to fuckin’ know.”

You let your fingers peel through his hair, messing up his gel, scratching his scalp, listening to him moan as he groped your breasts, hungry like a rabid dog. 

“And,” you breathed deeply, trying to compose yourself, aiming to tease him further, “Are they what you hoped for?”

He grinned, dropping one hand to unbuckle his belt. Then, you felt his steely length loll and roll against the inside of your thigh. You couldn’t help but gasp, feeling his fleshy head drool across your skin. John looked down at you then, and returned your question with one of his own,

“What do you think, love?”

With an audacity you were not expecting, he slapped his rod against you, making little popping noises on your skin, opening some sort of feral door deep within your psyche. 

“And then —” John put both of his hands underneath your hips and flipped you over, making you lay on your belly, surprising you with his incredible strength, “I saw this fuckin’ arse. Mmm.”

He raked your skirt up your legs and grabbed two huge handfuls of your cheeks, squeezing them so tightly it almost hurt. Then, he looped his thick forearm under your hips and lifted you up, making you present yourself to him lewdly. 

“Tha’s it, pretty girl. Lemme see you…” He sighed raggedly, “Oh, fuck. Look at these.”

You felt his finger slide between the gusset of your panties and your aching hole, rubbing you up and down, pretending to admire your lace thong.

“These knickers, and this perfect fuckin’ hole.”

All you could do was hang there, draped over his forearm while he bent his head to plant his mouth against your center, doing a lazy job of moving your underwear out of the way, preferring instead to just eat you through them. You felt the warm prod of his tongue as he pushed it against the fabric, writhing it skillfully to get to your insides, licking in long strokes to work your taste into his mouth. 

Your bra was still askew, letting your nipples rub against someone’s faux fur coat, and when you heard the clinking of metal sounds, you peeked over your shoulder to see John fisting his cock while he devoured you. His efforts were messy, and he drooled along your skin, not caring how much of you smeared all over his face. 

“Mmf—”

You let out a whimper, unable to hold back, feeling the pressure of your pleasure mount as he focused on your rim, laving it in deep, circular strokes, bringing you right up to the brink and guiding you back down, torturing you right on the edge of bliss. 

“Yeah? ‘S tha’ good, love?” He teased, releasing his cock to peel the thong off of you and shove his tongue deep into your hole. 

“Ungh! Fuck, fuck, fuh—”

Your whole body tensed, leaving nothing to the imagination about the orgasm he had just wrenched from you. 

“Good girl, that’s it. That’s it.” John talked you through it, speaking with his mouth full, licking you endlessly. 

Then, he flipped you back over, prowling over your body like a beast, grinding his hips into you, asking wordlessly for permission. He kissed you again, letting you taste what he had done and you sighed into his mouth, eager for more. 

You were soft for him, but you still wanted to push him. So, while he was looking down at you, pondering whether or not you’d let him go all the way, you stuck your tongue out, licking him from the bottom of his chin, over his plush lips, and up the tip of his nose.

He smiled and sat back, lazily playing with your breasts, trying to make damn sure you knew what you wanted.

“You want more, love? We can stop when you’ve had enough of me.”

You didn’t answer him. Instead you let your knees fall open, pushing your skirt up over your belly, revealing yourself fully to him. Then, you reached between your legs, past your aching hole and found the silky body of his cock. He shivered at your touch, and his hips rolled involuntarily as you began to stroke him, moving your hand back and forth, rocking your hips to add to the effect. 

“Got any protection, John?”

He dug his hands into his pocket frantically and pulled out a condom. Breaking the corner with his teeth, you watched him roll the thin layer over his dick, still eager and willing to serve you. Even though he was in the position of power, the expression on his face made you feel like you held the flog. 

“Fuck me,” he lamented, sitting back on his heels and gently playing at your soft, pliant hole reverently, “You’re the most beautiful fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen — ungh… or felt.”

The moment his fingers touched the inside of your body, his expression changed. It was as if a new part of his mind had woken up and taken over. He was fully in your thrall. You were sure that if you had asked him to leap out of the window, he might comply. 

“C’mon,” you smiled, pulling him closer to you, kissing him softly and then as deeply as you could, breaking away to whisper, “Let me feel you.”  

He reached between your bodies and you felt the wet lick of the lubed condom tip as it teased your hole. Then, the dense, hot pressure of his cockhead. 

“Oh! You’re big,” you breathed. 

John stopped,

“You alright, love?”

You nodded, canting your hips, searching for more of his girth to drag into your waiting core. 

“Tell me,” John commanded, rocking forward a bit more, testing the waters.

“Yes, I need — god, please — I need more. Please.”

“Shh, shh. Here,” he pressed forward again, stretching you out, making your eyes widen from the new sensation, “Here I am. Here…”

He was kissing your neck and breasts, leaving little red marks behind from his strong suckling, licking and nipping at your flesh. You could barely feel it. All your body could concentrate on was the seemingly unending supply of hot, heavy dick he had at his disposal. He just kept moving forward, inch after inch. You thought, at one point, there could be none left, only to have him press just that much deeper. 

By the time his base grinded down against your pubic bone, you had tears in your eyes, and you imagined that you should be able to feel him in your throat. 

You sighed together, and he regained his balance, planting his arms beside you, elbows on each side of your face, covering you protectively. 

“...so damn big. Holy fuck,” you gasped, whispering to him. 

He nuzzled your cheek, a little sweet for how insanely lurid his sex had been, 

“You ready, love?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

He began the long journey back out, and then his thrusting began in earnest. He was a slow fuck, but his girth made every pass a challenge. And he always made sure to bottom out. You could tell that was when he felt the most pleasure. So, you chased him with it. His cock would reach its peak in you, making your skin burn and your eyes roll back in your head, and just as he tried to escape, you would twist your hips to follow him down, making it feel as if you were locked together, unable to pull away from your warm muscles. 

A few of those thrusts and he was breathing hard, fucking you harder, picking up his pace. Then, you opened yourself up for him, spreading your legs to allow his big body easier access to yours.

“Oh, fuckin’ hell. That’s good. You are so fuckin’ good. So good,” he praised you mindlessly, just saying words that floated through his mind. You knew it wouldn’t be much longer until he would go past the point of no return. So, you ran your hands over his body again, exploring him like you had been when you found him, swirling your fingers over his ribs and plucking softly at his nipples, kissing his neck, not caring if you left a hickey. 

He was grunting and calling for you with every thrust now, his head buried in the crook of your neck, ready to spill himself for you. 

Each strong thrust of his cock was shaking your bones, making your body want to come, twisting your muscles inside of you as a warning of what you were about to release. 

His eyes lit up, finding yours, 

“You gonna come for me, love?”

“Yeah,” you keened, pressing your forehead to his cheekbone, begging him for aid when there was nothing that could save you from being tossed into the deep end. 

“Come for me. Fuck! There! Right there, hngh —”

You saw sparks at the edge of your vision, and your whole body arched against him, reeling with wave after wave of glittering joy. His face was twisted in a snarl, and he stopped breathing, coming with you in your shared ecstasy, his cock pulsing within you through his orgasm. 

Then, he gasped, a smile painted on his face, half in soporific joy and half in disbelief. 

“Fuck…” he said, gently untangling himself from you, letting his fat dick slide out of your wet, well-used hole.

You’d never felt so empty in your whole life, and you cried out from the loss. He heard you, wrapping you up in his arms and keeping you beside him, letting you both catch your breath. 

After a while, long enough for the bass-heavy song to change, he slid out of bed and put himself back together. Just when you thought he would be on his merry way, he took your hand in his and kissed you with more affection than you ever expected. He told you,

“C’mon, love. Grab your keys. I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Oh?” You smiled, pressing your keychain back into his open palm, “You want more?”

“Told you I was greedy.”

[spiteless-xo]

╰┈➤ long distance. ⋙ Jean has been travelling a lot for his new job and it's taking a toll on both of you. One late night, when you're feeling lonely, he surprises you with a phone call.

ft. jean/reader wc. 5k cw. explicit content - minors do not interact, fem!reader, smut, phone sex, vaginal fingering, sex toys, masturbation, fantasizing (oral sex, vaginal sex), dirty talk, pet names (baby, sweetheart), name-calling (slut), established relationship, second person POV

Jean’s been gone for a week, now. This is the longest the two of you have ever been apart since you moved in with each other—it’s weird, but you’re adapting.

He took the promotion because of the sizable raise, saying that it would help secure a future for the two of you. And it was the way he had said it that had convinced you. The hours were longer and he needed to go out of town several times a year for meetings, but it was all for the future—Our future, he had said.

But tonight is the seventh night you’ll be going to sleep alone. The seventh night you’ll have to curl up under the covers to try to keep yourself warm. The seventh night you won’t have the comforting weight of Jean on the bed beside you, the soft sounds of his breathing helping lull you asleep.

You would never complain to him, of course. You already know how much it pains him to sacrifice so much time with you—and to know that his absence leaves such an empty hole in your chest? You’re certain he would give it all up to come back home to you.

So instead, you bite your tongue and put on another episode of your favourite show. You curl yourself up a little tighter in the sheets and try to let the soft sounds from your laptop help you drift to sleep.

But that doesn’t work, because suddenly a familiar buzzing sounds from the nightstand and you scramble out of your nest to lunge for the phone.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hi, Jean,” you coo, breaking out into a wide grin at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. “What are you doing?”

“I just got back to the hotel,” he sighs heavily. As he speaks, you can hear the rustling of clothes on the other end of the line—shrugging off his suit jacket, maybe loosening his tie. “Meetings all day today and after work, some of the other managers took me out for drinks.”

“That sounds fun. Did they get you drunk?”

“A lil,” he admits, chuckling. “I figured, why not? It’s covered by the company.”

“Sounds fun,” you say, trying to be supportive. You wonder about the group that took Jean out—other managers, he said. When you think of the management at Jean’s firm, they’re all stuffy, boring, older men. Definitely not the type who’d be interested in going out for drinks on a weekday after work. Does that mean there are younger people at the office Jean’s visiting?

“Did you make any friends?” you pry, feeling guilty from how your heart clenches with jealousy.

“Yeah, there’s a cool group out at this office—I’m having a blast.”

That’s not the answer you were hoping for. “Oh, I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“Yeah,” he says with an easy, relaxed sigh. “I wish you were here though.”

You crinkle your nose—it’s like he can tell how annoyed you’re getting. “Oh, yeah? There aren’t any other cute girls at that office?”

“The only cute girl I know is the one I left back home.”

“Gross,” you say, but your cheeks are getting hot and you have to force a pout to tame your smile. “I miss you, Jean.”

“I miss you, too, baby,” he sighs. “Did I call too late? Are you going to bed?”

“Soon. I was just going to stay up for another episode.”

“Good,” he says and the raggedness of his breath has you squirming on the bed. “I was thinking about you a lot today.” He gasps—a soft, airy sound that sends jolts of electricity shooting down your spine—is he…? “I was thinking about the night before I left.”

“Oh?” you prompt and he chuckles. “What about it?”

“I miss you a lot,” he repeats, speaking with a heavy exhale. “Can we… try something? I really want—I want you, right now.”

“Sure,” you hum, and you can already feel warmth blooming across your skin.

“What are you wearing?”

“Um…” his question catches you off guard. I look down at your pyjamas: one of Jean’s old T-shirts and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. It’s not exactly the sexiest thing in your closet, so you scramble for an answer. “I’m wearing… lingerie.”

“Really?” Even over the phone, you can hear Jean’s eyebrows raising in surprise. “No, you’re not,” he realizes with a scoff.

“No, I’m not,” you agree with a giggle and Jean huffs. “Sorry—next question.”

“N-next ques—no, that’s not how this works,” he groans, audibly frustrated. “You have to like, be sexy. Like, say something that’ll turn me on.”

“Jean, I’ve never done this before,” you admit.

“It’s ok,” he says, his voice low and soft. “I’ll walk you through it—just try to get comfortable.”

You let your eyes slip closed and try to imagine that you’re lying in bed with Jean instead of talking to him over the phone. He called when he got back to the hotel, so he’s probably still dressed in his work clothes.

You love his work clothes. Tight-fitting, dark slacks that hug the muscles of his thighs. Crisp, white dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up around his elbows, exposing his strong, veiny forearms.

You picture him laying back against the pillows of the hotel bed, his legs sprawled out in front of him and his thick cock straining against his slacks. He’s probably already palming at it, you think, based on the soft grunts he keeps making over the phone.

How long has he been worked up like this? Did he duck out of dinner with his coworkers because he was throbbing against his leg? Was he already flipping through old photos on his phone as he waited in the elevator?

The thought makes you burn with arousal and you press your thighs together to quell the ache, swallowing thickly.

“You comfy?” he asks and you nod.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Where are you right now?”

“Lying in bed.” You brush the palm of your free hand against the sheets, smoothing them out.

“Are you cold?”

“Not anymore.”

“No? Getting hot thinking about me?” The raspy growl of his voice has you squirming. “Me too. I was thinking about how much fun we had before I left,” he continues, “Do you remember?”

Your hand starts to make its way down your stomach. “Can you remind me?”

You can hear the way Jean’s mouth splits into a smile. “You were laying on your back in bed—just like you are now—and I had my hands on your thighs, spreading your legs open for me.” Jean releases a shaky breath and you can hear the rustling of the sheets on his bed through the phone. “You were already so wet—soaking through your pretty, little panties and I hadn’t even touched you yet. Just kissing your stomach, your hips, your thighs—you were squirming so much for me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, your mind replaying that night as Jean describes it. You remember looking down at him between your thighs, his broad shoulders keeping your legs open as he mouthed at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His darkened eyes were focused on your face, watching your reaction as he brushed his stubble against your skin.

You remember how desperate you felt for him—how badly you wanted him to hook your underwear out of the way so he could lower his mouth down onto you. You remember begging him to touch you.

“Jean,” you whine, hand slipping between your thighs. You’re just as worked up as you were that night—and he’s not even here to see it.

He groans and you can hear the familiar clink! of the metal of his belt. Your mouth starts to water in anticipation, listening closely for the dull zip of his pants as he frees himself with another ragged breath. You use your fingertips to ghost shapes around your clit through your shorts—you can feel it throbbing and aching to be touched.

“So wet and needy,” he grunts. “Fuck, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to touch you or taste you. I just knew I wanted to feel you cum. Needed to hear your pretty moans—the way you say my name so breathy and cute when you’re getting close—fuck, baby, I needed it.”

“Jean,”

“Fuck, sweetheart—just like that.”

You rest your phone on your chest, thumbing the speakerphone button to free both hands as you hook your thumbs into your shorts. You drag them down and off of your legs before spreading yourself open. Keeping your eyes closed, you pretend it’s Jean’s big, rough hands touching you instead of your own—grabbing at your thighs, your breasts, your throat—before slipping between your legs to rub at your clit through the thin cotton of your underwear.

Just like before—you’re already soaking through your panties. You squeeze your breast tightly in your opposite hand and your breath catches from the action—it’s almost like he’s here with you.

“I’m really wet,” you murmur, feeling your body temperature rise in arousal. As your fingers slip lower, you can feel the silky wetness soaking the cotton of your underwear. “Jean, I’m making a mess.”

“Yeah?” he asks, smiling. “Are you touching yourself?”

You hum in response, not daring yourself to speak against as you desperately try to hold back your whines from your own soft touch.

Jean swallows loudly and you can hear him grunt over the phone. “Yeah, me too.”

After his confession, you can clearly hear the soft schlick of his palm around his cock and you allow yourself to audibly whimper. “I wish you were here,” you confess, sliding your hand underneath the waistband of your panties.

“Me too,” he grunts. “I really wanna touch you—feel how wet you get for me, even when I’m all the way over here.”

You can hear him grunting louder and it’s so fucking hot that you find yourself slipping a finger inside, shuddering from the feeling of your pussy squeezing around it. “Jean, I need you.”

“I need you, too,” he sighs, and you can hear his palm moving faster along his cock. “I wish you could see how—fuck—how fucking hard I am right now,” he groans, voice growing deeper and breathier.

You hear the distinct sound of Jean slapping his cock against his stomach and your mind is flooded with lewd thoughts. You can visualize it so clearly—thick and heavy in his hand, probably already leaking precum from the tip. You imagine Jean’s hand wrapped around his cock, gently pumping up and down along the length and squeezing the head until another bead spills out.

You slip another finger inside of yourself, whining at the feeling—not quite as thick as Jean’s fingers, so you miss the satisfying ache of your body stretching around him. “I want you,” you gasp, pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “I can hear you—fuck I can hear you touching yourself. You sound so fucking wet.” He groans so deeply, it rattles straight through to your core, and you can hear his hand working along his cock again. “Are you using your fingers?”

“Yeah.”

“Go grab a toy. Which one do you want?”

“You.”

He laughs, “I know, baby—but I’m not there.”

You whine pathetically, biting your lip as you tease yourself. You pump your fingers languidly into your body, curling the tips of your fingers and struggling to find that place that Jean always finds so easily. Rolling your head to the side, you look over at your bedside drawer and think about what you have inside.

Vibrators, dildos, handcuffs, blindfolds—a wide assortment of different toys that the two of you have collected throughout your relationship. Jean always loves to tease you with a toy before giving you his cock—something smaller and thinner than he is, making you beg to be filled. 

You slip your fingers out from between your lips but keep running them up and down over your slit. You slide up to swirl across your clit, but never give yourself the pressure you need. It’s difficult to think when you’re turned on like this—all you want is Jean, Jean, Jean.

“I want you to use your vibrator,” he says. “The Rabbit.”

You roll to the side, slipping off your bottoms with one hand while the other reaches over to slide open your bedside drawer. You find the Rabbit quickly, it’s all its bright purple glory. Despite its size, it’s still smaller than Jean—not quite as thick or as long—but the length vibrates and there’s a small external vibrator for your clit. This is one of your favourites.

You set the toy on your stomach, reaching again into the drawer to find a small bottle of lube. You pop the lid open as you say, “I’m going to put lube on it,” and squirt some onto your palm before working it along the length.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “wouldn’t wanna hurt that pretty pussy.”

Jean slaps his cock against his stomach again and you can easily picture the way his precum strings from his abs to his tip. The head of his cock is probably red and swollen, aching for release as Jean grips himself hard around the base. You imagine his hand creeping down to grab his balls, tugging them down between his legs until the skin on his cock pulls taught, lifting it from his stomach before slapping back down.

The sounds make your mouth water. You love the salty taste of Jean’s cock and you love the look on his face when you lick a stripe up the underside of his dick. Jean has always been such a giver in the bedroom, but he never says no when you ask to worship his cock with your throat.

It took a long time to learn how to relax your throat enough to take his full length, and you still remember how proud he looked that day. Your mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, nose pressed into the ashy brown curls as you blinked back tears—he looked down at you with dark, flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes. His hand pressed against the back of your head to hold you down as you coughed around him—tightening your throat around his cock.

The memory has you breathing hard as your hand moves up and down along the shaft of the vibrator, aching for the warmth of Jean’s dick against your palm. You work quickly, desperate to be filled, and then turn it onto the lowest setting.

“Hey, wait a second,” Jean tuts, and you click it back off. “I didn’t say you could turn it on, yet.”

“Ok,” you shudder, lowering the toy between your thighs. You rest the cool silicone against your skin, moving the head of the toy around the lips of your cunt.

“Tell me how you feel,” he says, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“I need it,” you insist. Your fingers wrap tightly around the base of the toy as you move to press it against your entrance, whimpering in desire before pulling back again, and moving it up to swirl against your clit. “I feel so empty, Jean.”

“Yeah, baby, I know,” he groans. You hear him spitting loudly before returning his hand to his cock, each movement louder—wetter. “Now, put it inside.”

You hum in excitement before spreading your thighs open. You plant your feet on the mattress and sit up on your forearm while your free hand maneuvers the toy into place. Teasing yourself for a moment, you run the end of the toy between your folds before lining it up to your entrance. Even with the added lube, there’s some resistance when you try to push it in—gasping loudly from the feeling of it slipping inside of you.

“Work it in, baby,” he coos, jerking his cock loudly. “I know how tight that pussy is—take your time.”

You try to respond but you’re only able to whimper, tugging your lip between your teeth as you start to move the toy. You push it deeper and deeper with every pump—relishing in the stretch compared to your small fingers—until each movement has your fist bumping against your slick folds.

You whine, working the toy a little faster and—God— you’re so worked up right now, it’s loud. Tilting your head down to watch, you can already see the messy white ring coating the base of the toy. You pull it out to the tip, seeing it shiny and slick with your arousal, before pushing it back in with a loud, wet squelch.

“I can hear you,” he groans. “I can hear your pussy taking that cock—such a good girl for me, getting all stretched out.”

You can imagine his fist working along his length, pumping up and down on his cock in time with his ragged breaths. He’s probably twisting his wrist every time he gets to the head, smearing the spilled precum and spit around the sensitive tip of his cock before stroking back down to the base. The thought has you clenching down on the toy and you moan out from the feeling.

The toy is stiff and unforgiving, so when your pussy clamps around it, it almost hurts from how tightly you squeeze it. “Jean,” you gasp, needy. “Fuck, I want you so bad—I want your cock.”

He lets out a shuddered breath and you can hear him slowing the pace of his hand on his cock. “I know, I know,” he says, “but I’m not there right now, so why don’t you turn that toy on for me and let me talk you through it, ok?”

You hum in approval before shifting your grip on the toy and pressing the On button.

You jolt from the feeling of the vibration of the shaft inside you. It rumbles right against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside your cunt that has you squeezing down on the toy. “Shit,” you whimper, fucking yourself through the stimulation. You bump the end of the silicone cock into that spot with every pump of your arm, brushing the external arm of the toy against your clit each time.

“Feel good?” he coos and you moan in response. “Turn it up for me, I can’t hear.”

You press the button a second time, legs trembling as the intensity of the vibrations increases. You’re rocking your hips on the mattress in time with your arm, digging your heels into the bed as you fuck yourself against the toy and you feel the heat in your gut start to grow.

“That’s it,” he says. “That’s my girl—getting yourself all worked up for me—getting that pussy nice and wet for my cock.”

It’s hard to be quiet with the intensity of the vibrations. You’re whimpering and twitching and squelching around the toy as you chase your high. It feels good—so good—and for a moment, you forget you’re alone when you hear Jean’s husky voice through the speaker.

“That’s my good little slut, fucking yourself to the sound of my voice. Wishing that tiny, little toy was my big, fat cock—I know you need it, baby. Wanna get stretched out so bad, I can hear it in your voice.”

Each word comes out thick and coated in lust. You can feel sweat rolling down your back from how frantically your hips move against the toy as Jean’s voice burns straight down to your core. You try to push it deeper and deeper inside of you, desperate to mimic the length of Jean’s cock and how it always makes you feel like you’re about to burst—but the silicone toy is a poor imitation of the real thing.

“Can’t wait to fuck that pretty, little pussy when I get home—miss how tight she fucking squeezes me—how messy she gets,” he grunts. “Wanna fuck you stupid, baby—feel you cumming on my cock until the only word you know is my fucking name.”

“Jean—Jean!” you gasp, legs trembling. “Oh—fuck, Jean!”

“Yeah, just like that,” he groans. You hear the dull thud! of Jean’s head falling back against the wall and another long, ragged breath. “Sounds so fucking hot. All whiny and desperate… turn the Rabbit on for me, baby. Give that clit some attention.”

Your head is so hazy with arousal, that you can barely feel your hand as you fumble with the toy between your legs. When you press the button, you arch hard off the mattress with an unrestrained cry of pleasure. The external arm of the toy vibrates against your clit and inner labia in a way that has your knees falling shut—overwhelmed from the stimulation in and around your messy cunt.

“Shit, Jean!” you gasp and your hand falls from between your thighs as your back collapses into the mattress. With your thighs pressed together, you keep the toy held tight against your g-spot and your clit as your hands fist at the sheets. Your teeth are chattering from how close you are to unraveling completely—it’s so much, so much—but your hips won’t stop rocking to chase your high.

Jean moans loudly and you can hear the sound of his hand pumping along his cock so clearly, it’s like he’s in the room with you. “Yeah? Yeah?” he goads as you whimper and moan.

“Bet you’re squeezing it so fucking tight, huh? I can hear the fucking mess you’re making and you haven’t even cum yet,” he grunts. “Fuck, I wanna taste you, baby. Clean up the mess that pretty pussy is making while you fuck yourself—lick your clit while you’ve got a cock stuffed inside of you.”

His moans turn into breathless panting as his fist works along his cock. It almost sounds like he’s here, fucking you—his face buried in your neck as he grunts against your skin. Hips snapping into your thighs as he fills you again and again while you babble out his name like his good little slut.

“I’m so fucking horny for you,” he groans, each word coming out in a puff of air. “You’re driving me crazy—fuck—I need you so fucking bad.”

“Jean, I’m gonna cum—” you whimper. It’s barrelling toward you so quickly that your legs are shaking, your body tense and sweaty as the heat in your gut builds and builds into a tightness in your chest. Your pussy is squeezing so hard around the toy that it twitches between your thighs.

“Yeah? Give it to me, baby—come on,” he grunts. “Fuck yourself on my cock, I wanna feel you cum on me—need it so fucking bad, I can’t—”

The smell of Jean’s cologne on his shirt has your head swimming. You can practically feel the weight of his body against yours and the stretch of his cock inside your pussy as he fucks you. You can feel each hot, ragged breath as he breathes against your neck, lips ghosting across your skin as he plants his forearms into the mattress on either side of your head.

You can feel the rough brush of his stubble against your cheek when he moves his lips to your ears, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard,” he groans, the heat of his breath fanning across your skin.

Your thighs ache from how tightly you squeeze around his hips, pulling him flush against your body as your muscles begin to tense. The rough push of his cock against your g-spot has you gasping out his name, clawing at his back and burying your face into his chest as you cum around his cock.

Your pussy pulses around his length when he pushes into you—as deep as he possibly can—you can feel the swell of his cock as he cums, spilling heat into your gut as he groans into your ear. Each spurt of cum is punctuated by a low grunt, breathing hard through his orgasm until he collapses against you with a heavy sigh.

The overstimulation of the vibrator inside of you jolts you quickly out of your fantasies, and you have to reach between your thighs to slip it out while you’re still trying to calm your body from shaking. You take big gulps of air as your heart pounds in your chest, you can feel wetness on your cheek and chin from watery eyes and your gasping, open mouth.

When the haze in your mind starts to clear up, you reach out to turn off your toy before chucking it on the bed somewhere beside you. You’ll have to remember to clean that in the morning—tonight, you’re too tired to move.

“You still there?” he asks, his voice weak and airy. He’s still breathing hard, too.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Your phone buzzes on your chest and you reach out to find a text message from Jean. Curious, you flick open your messages to see a photo that takes your breath away.

His cock is lying across his stomach, still thick and red from his arousal. Decorated across his abs are thick, white spurts of cum, pooling into the grooves of his stomach. His hand is still wrapped around his shaft and you can see the sheen of cum across his knuckles in the photo. He must’ve taken his pants off in a hurry—he’s only pushed them down to his mid-thigh. You can see how this hug around the thick muscles of his legs as his legs sprawl open on the bd.

“Holy shit, Jean,” you gasp, running your fingers gently across the screen, wishing you could be there to clean the mess off of him.

“See what you do to me?” he laughs.

You send him a few pictures in return, the first one being of your discarded purple vibrator. The shaft of the toy is slick and shiny with streaks of white from the thicker pools of your arousal. The second photo is one of your face.

You push Jean’s shirt up around your armpits to expose your breasts and then bite your lip for the camera. You can still see the post-orgasm haze in your eyes and the drool on your chin. You know when Jean’s received the pictures because he groans over the phone.

“Fuck, baby,” he says with a ragged sigh. “Are you trying to get me hard again?”

You giggle, “Yeah, maybe.”

“I miss you so much.”

You frown. Rolling over to your side, you curl up in the blankets with the phone resting on the pillow beside your face. Jean always gets soft after sex—always wants to hold you and kiss you and remind you how much he loves you—not being able to see you right now must be killing him.

“I miss you too, Jean,” you say with a sigh. “Just one more week before you come home, right?”

“Yeah… yeah.” You can hear how dejected he is from the tone of his voice. He shuffles around on the other end of the phone, probably getting up to clean himself off, but each movement sounds heavy and laboured. “I don’t know if I wanna do this job anymore. I hate being away from you like this. I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day today, I just wanted to see you and hold you and… fuck, I just want to be with my girl again.”

“I know, baby.” You lay your hand across the bed—where Jean would be lying if he were here with you—and sigh at the emptiness. “Maybe next time I can go with you.”

“Yeah? You’d want that?” he asks, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his voice level, but there’s a jolt of excitement in his tone now.

“Sure, why not?” you say, smiling. “I could take some time off work and we could go check out the city together.”

“But you’d just be sitting around at the hotel while I was out.”

“I don’t mind,” you say. “But if I got bored, I could just go out for a walk or something. Do some shopping, maybe.”

You can hear Jean smiling when he speaks next. “I’d really like it if you came with me next time. As long as you don’t mind! I just—”

“I don’t mind, Jean,” you say, this time more sternly.

“Ok, yeah. Cool. That’s awesome,” he says, chattering with excitement. “Maybe I can introduce you to the team at this office, they’re all really cool, too. We could go out for lunch or even drinks together or something. There’s this one guy here, Connie, and he’s a fucking hoot—you’re gonna love him!”

You smile as Jean rattles off about the people he’s met and the things he’s done while he’s been away—things that he’s so excited to share with you, too. But it’s getting late and after your orgasm, you can feel the weight of sleep pulling your eyes closed. Despite your best efforts to stay awake, you find yourself yawning during Jean’s story.

“Oh, shit. It’s late, huh?” he says. “I’ll let you get to bed. We can talk again tomorrow.”

You don’t have it in you to protest, even though you’re happy to fall asleep to the sound of Jean’s voice. “Ok, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Jean. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he smiles. 

Fighting against your sleepiness, you manage to call out to him before he hangs up. “Hey wait, Jean?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Can we do that again sometime?”

He laughs. “The phone sex?”

“Yeah. I liked it.”

“Sure, we can do whatever you want.”

You smile, reaching out for your phone to bring it closer to your face. Your voice turns heavy with sleep, breathy as you try to stay awake just long enough to say goodbye. “And next time, can we do it over FaceTime?”

Jean sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, we can definitely do that.”

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

Six: Cuts Like a Knife

Bucky is determined to find you when he and Steve begin making headway in the search across the Pacific. Meanwhile, after days of peace lead to your shelter finally being finished, your truce is broken when Loki insults you for the final time.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Loki is a bastard again, very brief descriptions of blood/injury

MASTERLIST

“Oh, fuck it,” you muttered under your breath ruefully, staring at the littered chaos that was your camp on the beach. 

Loki had been right about the storm only being a squall. It was just after sunrise when you emerged from the cavern to the typical pink-and-orange sky. You insisted that you could make the swim back without Loki’s voluntary discomfort, and you did. A part of you was still convinced that he had turned into a dolphin more for your impression than your overall well being. 

Whether the rain runoff had moved everything when it made the sand wet, or if the tides just came in that much higher due to the swell, the camp was destroyed regardless. Three of the bamboo beams Loki had placed around the thick palm trunk were washed away, and the rest were either uprooted entirely or askew. The completed floor panel was, thankfully salvageable, but the frame of the second was also gone for good. None of the clay pots Loki had made were in sight. 

“I don't think it’s that bad. Look, the parachute made it!” Loki pointed to the sopping, limp white fabric spread out like a net some yards away. 

“Ugh, that’s going to take a week to dry,” you moaned. 

Loki shrugged. “We could be rescued by then.”

“I hope so.”

You looked at Loki in silence, trading looks of tense worry. “I guess we rebuild before another storm comes?” you suggested weakly. “Maybe we reinforce the support beams or choose a trunk further into the forest this time?”

He smiled back. “As you wish.” 

A rogue tropical swell had moved across the sector Steve and Bucky were searching, forcing them to land in New Zealand to refuel after a day’s fruitless effort. As they waited at the hangar under Stark’s company’s control, Bucky was asking everyone in the vicinity if they’d received any signs of life in the area. No one had, of course. 

Steve was having a hard time reining in his friend. “Buck, don’t you think if they did hear something they’d say so?”

“She’s out there with that…that predator,” he muttered frantically under his breath. 

“Loki is a lot of things, but I don't think he’s that, not anymore.”

“He’s UNSUPERVISED!” Bucky snapped. “He can be whatever he wants now, including a killer, a rapist, a--”

“--Bucky, you’ll trigger The Soldier!” Steve warned. “You know you’re still vulnerable!” 

Bucky looked at his confidante and took a deep breath out. Steve was right: his deprogramming was never finished, because even in Wakanda the technology wasn’t complete enough. The team there did what they could, but by the end, Bucky became a sort of proto-Hulk. His madness was now only triggered under stress, which could be both a blessing and a curse. 

“It doesn’t hurt that the world is now on the hunt for him,” Steve reminded Bucky, patting his shoulder firmly in manly comfort. “They’ll be found.”

“But will she be found ALIVE?” Bucky added.

 Steve nodded with a reassuring smile that unrolled gracefully across his chiseled face. “Absolutely, if we have any say in it.” 

A man in beige khakis tapped the Cap on his shoulder. “Team Stark has checked in. They’re refueling in Manila, no signs.”

“Shit,” Bucky exclaimed. 

“Ahem?” 

A second, much smaller man stepped out from behind the first, dressed identically and holding a small clipboard. Everyone looked at him curiously. “What is it, Mr. Smithers?” asked the larger soldier. 

“We…we just got a call from a small Coast Guard station in the Marshall Islands,” said the nervous boy. They reported a Mayday signal four days ago before being dropped at about 11:30pm. It may have been them.”

“WHERE?” asked Bucky at a shout. 

“About a thousand-or-so miles off this coast, probably due north.” 

“And why didn’t they scan that area already?” asked Steve, keeping a hand on his friend’s shoulder to quell his anger. 

The larger man interjected to answer Steve before Mr. Smithers could. “It’s not an easy area to scout once you leave Micronesia. Some islands out there are too small to spot, others are in prime typhoon paths, the winds and currents can be too strong to stay on course.”

“This region has the most isolated islands on Earth. Planes can’t get to some of them without extra fuel onboard,” Mr. Smithers added. “It’s very possible no wreckage will be found.”

“I’m not looking for the goddamn wreckage, I’m looking for her,” Bucky grunted aggressively. 

“Buck,” Steve said authoritatively. “It’s fine. This is our first lead, we’re already ahead of the others.” He turned to Mr. Smithers, who was now all but cowering behind the taller man. ”Can we get exact coordinates?”

“Probably,” said the unnamed taller man. “We can go through the log, and if we find it, you can be airbourne again within the hour.”

“Excellent, thank you!” said Steve, slowly bringing Bucky away, encouraging deep, calming breaths. “We’re gonna find them, Buck. I promise.”

“He’s such a piece of shit,” Bucky replied, Loki’s smarmy face in the back of his mind. “The things he could be doing to her right now if they’re even alive!”

Steve shook his head with a frown. “She’s tough as nails, she’s always been able to keep Loki at arm’s length. You have nothing to worry about.”

He wasn’t going to admit it to anyone, but Bucky was fully prepared to take Loki out if he got wind of the Asgardian putting a single finger on you. He looked up into the air, his nerves not yet settled, but at least he was breathing normally and at a lesser risk of becoming The Soldier. 

When I find you, Y/N, I’m gonna get down on one knee in front of everyone, I swear! No more keeping it a secret. 

“You really have nothing to fret over,” Steve assured him, “Even if they’re walking on some warm deserted beach, Y/N has never entertained feelings for him. Hell. she has never enjoyed being around Loki!”

 You’d never admit it (even to yourself), but for the first time in your life, you were enjoying being around Loki. 

Aside from the parachute and surviving floor panel, everything else was useless or missing. You suggested spending a few hours scouting further down the beach. After all, you were beginning to wear a footpath through the trees, but neither you nor your companion had bothered looking on the western or southern sides of the island for more opportunities for shelter. 

There was still an awkwardness to your cordiality, but for now it would have to do. Your strategy for keeping things to small talk that anyone could relate to was working out well. The pair of you walked along the beach for much of the afternoon as the sand dried under your feet, sharing the occasional laugh or witty remark as you talked about the little things too keep you both calm and amicable.

“Top three fears,” Loki suggested as a prompt. “And keep it to the physical. I don't want to ruin this lovely afternoon by talking philosophy.’ 

You twisted your lip in thought before replying with, “Spiders, clowns, and Pauly Shore movies.” 

His reaction was a standard ‘hmm.’ 

“Hmm? You aren’t even going to ask for more?” you teased. “There is a VERY specific reason for why I’m afraid of Pauly Shore that I’m sure you would just die to mock.” 

“The more time I spend with you, the more I learn to be satisfied with what you give me,” Loki sighed. “I suppose that’s not a bad thing.” 

“No? Must mean I’m boring to you.”

The God strode a step ahead of you, turned around, and began walking backwards with remarkable grace, so that he could face you while he spoke. “It means you don’t waste anyone’s time. As someone who once had to spend seven hours listening to his father kiss the rear of the King of Vanaheim while standing knee-deep in a mound of snow, I can certainly appreciate that.”

You followed Loki down the beach, your feet tracing his step at an even pace, while continuing to expand on this newfound pattern of stability. Eventually, you came upon a dry dune that was piled higher up on the beach, just in front of two large palms bending out toward the shore. If the mound of sand weren’t bone-dry, you could’ve almost burrowed into it and created a hobbit-hole for yourself in the cool shade. 

“This piece of real estate comes with a guard wall,” you suggested lightly. “Still in the shade, but looks a bit more protected from the elements.” You turned to Loki with a genuine smile. “What do you say?”

Loki wanted to say how good it felt that you were asking for his input, but he only matched your grin. “Let’s begin anew, then, shall we?” 

The passing storm temporarily brought the humidity down in the morning, but by late afternoon the moisture in the air had built back up. Loki started by re-forming a few clay pots in order to replenish your drinking water while you started ripping vines off the trees again. Loki cut more bamboo, and with a quiet, cordial working environment that put you both at ease, you were able to make substantial progress by nightfall. 

Once the sun set, you went to make a bed in the sand as you had the previous few nights, but as you settled, Loki set his green fire ablaze and looked in your direction. “All the way over there?” he faked a whine. 

“You…you want me to sit with you?” you asked him with disbelief. 

“Well, don't then, if it pleases you,” he said, suddenly grouchy, turning his back to you. 

It took a moment for your sore, overworked body to get up again once you settled down a bit in the dune, but once you did, you re-positioned yourself at Loki’s side as he used a stick to prod at the emerald coals. 

Apparently, you both were talked out, as you merely sat next to the fire in silence for a long while. You caught glimpses of his face, and he did of you. You’d been noticing his physical appearance a bit more since he began walking around in front of you wearing an improvised kilt, but something about the gentle green fireglow casting shadows across his face turned him into a work of art. It was as if the scars of his past, the arrogance of his present, and the worries of his future were highlighted in his glistening eyes. His hair was now crusted with the salt of the sea, yet it did nothing to hinder the graceful way it fell over his shoulders. 

You’d always held a secret fondness for long-haired men. It made being around the Avengers a little more pleasurable. 

Every time you caught him eyeing you, you felt exposed. You wondered if he was beginning to long for carnal company, perhaps one of his pretty little reporters or those models he encountered at public events. I’d never fit the bill, you thought sadly. Maybe I should put these ideas out of my head and not even entertain them. 

Loki’s chin turned to the sky. He whistled a phrase from some old song with casual skill. “We haven’t seen a single plane fly overhead since we’ve landed here, have we?”

“I haven’t seen one,” you said. “It gets so quiet at night I would’ve heard one.” 

“If a green fire at night doesn’t attract an airplane, nothing will,” said Loki. 

“We can’t give up,” you insisted, “We’ll finish the shelter. This spot is better. Once we do, we can make a beacon to light at night.” 

Loki was quiet for a moment. You saw a row of pearls unroll across his face when he grinned after a second. “You never give up on anything. You’re so much like my brother.” 

“I’m sorry?” you asked.

Loki licked his lip and took a swig of boiled water from a clay bowl. “It’s arguably your best trait,” he said nonchalantly, “Your persistence. It’s not something you see amongst the human race every day.” 

“How do you know that?” you asked, your voice raising. “You never bothered to get to know me or how persistent I am.”

“You never noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

Loki shifted a little closer to you, until your thighs were touching. “Noticed how I was always in the room with you whenever you argued your way through some PR issue, or whenever you stood up to some shouting reporter on my behalf, as begrudgingly as you did so.” 

“I always knew you were around!” you said defensively, not wanting to sound ignorant. “It was my job to have you around.”

The god shook his head. “But you never noticed that I was watching you. I was always watching you fight those battles. Your strength…it has a way of commanding the attention of a room, whether or not you’re aware of it. There’s something attractive about it.”

Your heart began to speed up as you looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but a genuine compliment in them. “I…that’s so kind of you. I never really thought anyone noticed me, especially because I was always standing next to you.”

Loki dismissed you with a hand wave. “When you aren’t squawking like a chicken hawk, anyway.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “I guess I do it because I feel like it's the only way to get you to listen.” 

He leaned in. “Well, maybe if you ever asked me to listen, I would have. I don't recall you ever assuming everything but the worst of me.”

You looked away, embarrassed. “I…ugh…” 

The heat of shame crawled into your face. Loki was right. For all of his insults, taunts, and harassments, you never checked in on him with sincerity. You always assumed he was out to make your day worse. His harassment was not justified, but it wasn’t as if you took active steps to solve the rift that divided your personalities. 

Loki tapped your cheek, drawing your face back to meet his. He was practically leaning over you now. “If you admit it, perhaps I’d be willing to start over with you. Here and now.” 

“Admit to what?”

“That you’ve always had it in for me, and that you’ve been wrong,” Loki requested. 

You jerked your head away from him. “I’ve been the wrong one?”

Loki gritted his teeth. “Yes--”

“--when you’re the one who pranked me the day we met and every single day after?! You’re the one who always teased me without prompting! How is this my fault when you never gave me a break! You….oh, you!”

The peaceful spell was over as anger flooded your mind again. Loki’s sweet words from minutes ago were eclipsed by the new animosity he instigated. You got up and went back to the dune, furiously kicking at the sand until you were tired enough to lie down and let exhaustion take you away. 

You slept poorly. The following morning, you were up before the sun, managing to put together an entire floorboard by the time Loki woke up. Your mind raced between Loki’s stubborn idea that the rift between you was purely your fault, and the fact that even as you yelled at him last night, his words pricked at your heart. Part of his accusations were true: you never asked him how he was feeling, or perhaps why he acted out. If only you had…

No, Loki was wrong. You were his PR assistant, not his therapist. It was never on you to cater to his heart, only to make sure the surface of him was appropriate for when the UN was looking. In that aspect, you never once failed at your job. 

Did Loki ever want there to be more between you? Did he ever want to tell you what was on his mind? How could you tell, when every other time you saw him he was shoving his tongue down some blonde’s throat? 

Were you…jealous? Was that it?

No, you told yourself, you’ve never wanted that from Loki. His arrogance is such a turnoff! 

How could Loki gaslight you so, when he wasn’t even around? That bastard’s powers! Maybe planting the seed of jealousy or guilt in your mind was part of another mind game of his. 

You were tying up the frame of your next floor piece, hoping Loki would wake up soon to cut more bamboo, when he snuck up behind you, holding a coconut shell and digging slowly at the meat with a fingernail, plucking a chunk and gently laying it in his mouth before addressing you. “How long have you been up?” 

“Hours, and I need more bamboo,” you said coldly. 

That was the only exchange you had for most of the day. 

While it was much less comfortable to work around him that day, the renewed animosity between you meant you both could focus on your tasks. Your shelter advanced even more than it had before. All of the support poles were firmly in the ground, and three out of the four floorboard panels were finished. Loki configured everything as a sort of bridge between the two leaning palms, the parachute would hang above.

“We’ll be able to finish by this time tomorrow,” Loki said, bringing two more bamboo stalks out from the jungle, one in each fist.

You were silent, his words from yesterday still buzzing like a mosquito in your ear. You were just finishing the third panel, and Loki’s sticks were the last ones you needed to complete them. You quietly reached out for one, but he withdrew them and stepped back. 

“You’re being especially frigid today,” he said with suspicion. “Did something I said last night stick with you?”

“You mean nothing to me, Loki, now give me those!” 

“Not until you admit that I am, in fact, right!” Loki insisted. 

“For fuck’s sake Loki, sometimes I wish--”

“--wish for what?” he challenged. You grabbed onto one of the stalks and began pulling back on it. Loki’s Asgardian strength would eventually win out, but you put all of your body weight into your struggle regardless. 

Suddenly, every ounce of what you’d been suppressing for the past year and a half came exploding from every cell of your body all at once in one impressive shockwave. 

“--LOKI, I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!” 

You both flew backwards. Somebody had given, but you weren’t quite sure if it were you or him. All you did know was while you fell onto soft sand, Loki had stumbled back into the forest and fallen over a stone. He shouted, stumbling to his feet. 

“NORNS!” he hissed in pain, his hand flying down to his shins. Your eyes flew to the blossoming spot of blood that grew along his ankle. 

“It’s just a cut,” you mumbled. “If you’re going to whine about it, I’ll be over by the fire so I don't have to hear it.” 

High and Mighty Loki of Asgard is upset over a scrape! 

Leaving the bamboo at his feet as Loki winced and examined his wound, you turned your back to him. You could hear him mutter a single word under his breath as you walked away. 

“Bitch.” 

You’d heard many terrible, malignant words come from Loki’s mouth. For some reason, this was the first one that stung. 

TAGLIST: @anukulee @jiyascepter @wolfsmom1 @cakesandtom @holdmytesseract @simplyholl @lokisgoodgirl @mjsthrillernp @meowmeow-motherfucker @foxherder @letstalkaboutshtuffff @ladymischief11 @libby-bibby @javagirl328 @crimson25 @lcolumbia1988 @gruftiela @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @loz-3 @kikster606 @muddyorbsblr @sheris532 @lokischambermaid @kneelingformyloki

@soulpiercing @goddessgirl43 @canigetanap @theoneandonlythorn @forleiasake @eleniblue @knight-of-the-doctor @goblingirlsarah @clusterfuck-meup @mischief2sarawr @cabingrlandrandomcrap @kats72 @glitchquake @zippythewondersquirrel @ameliariddle @alexakeyloveloki @lovingchoices14 @lokidokieokie @littlegodslut

@casifer391 @free-llama-arcade @alucardsdaddyissues @pest-ill-ence @elviswifesworld @mynameiskelly @xxinvisiblexx @luphelia @hyunsuksswife

[carmenized-onions]

The Other Shoe | Consultation

logline; old wounds tend not to heal, if you don't let them. but, there is hot chocolate, and love. so perhaps that's enough.

[!!!] series history, this is the seventh; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Finally got Hozier on here. Don't know how that took me so long.

portion; 3.1k

possible allergies; two absolutely garbage mental states of people who are NOT over Mikey or the way they've been treated. Bunch of self-loathin, the whole lot.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (no pronouns!)

Took me a minute, new jobs goin' well though!! This one took a lot of stewing, lmao. Lot of staring and thinking. We'll talk after, but SO many alterations were made lmao.

It has been three weeks since you met Carmen in a freezer.

Six days since you were at his apartment. Ish.

Roughly forty-three weeks since the worst day of your life. Doesn’t feel like it.

In five days, you’ll have the second— Well, maybe third or fourth, worst day of your life.

But today is Monday, and you don’t know what’s coming yet.

It’s just after one in the morning, and you wake up to a phone call. Carmy. Yes, do not disturb was on. Yes, you’d set him on priority access— Which most people would find very cute and intimate, and it is— But he’s not the only one. It’s not a limited feature for people you want to kiss. There’s Syd, Richie, …Mikey…

Cause when is the right time to delete a dead friend’s contact info? It’s not right now. You know it’s not right now. And it probably won’t be tomorrow, either.

Phone call. You’re getting a phone call.

“Carm?”

“…”

You stir a little, bit, when there’s no reply, brain dehazing. “Carmy? Everything okay?”

You hear the beep of the phone call being ended. No way he butt-dialed you, right? You’re awake. You’re so awake. This feels all too familiar, and that's not a good thing. You immediately open your phone to text him, by the time you get to his contact, he’s already texted you. Actively texting you, in a rapid, manic succession.

‘fuck’

‘sorry’

‘you were supposed to be asleep’

Hm.

‘talking to a person hard right now?’

‘yes’

‘you’re so smart.’

‘easier to talk to robot you.’

‘wowwww’

It’s hard to write funny, right now. It’s hard to act like yourself, right now. You’re not sure how you’re doing it.

‘not what I meant’

‘I know. You’re you.’

‘you wanna send a voice message maybe?’

‘it’s fine. I’ll text.’

You give him time, you expect a paragraph since he’s taking so long, but instead you get,

‘can’t.’

‘carmen.’

‘I like you so much.’ Oh be still your stupid heart.

‘feeling is mutual.’

‘I can’t make my problems the only reason I talk to you’

Is that true? Fuck, that's kind of true, isn't it? But there's the puzzles! And there's been phone calls!

‘You talk to me for other reasons’

‘yeah. But it’s mostly problems’

‘with me.’

‘eh. Not really. Walk-in was you, toilet was Mikey, Nat had a baby, I’d consider the oven a shared problem of you and Syd’

‘oven was my fault’

He types for even longer this time. It’s hard not to interrupt him. When you start to type, he sends.

‘can I come over?’

‘I know it’s late’

‘I’ll come pick you up.’

‘no’

‘I’ll walk. I’ll be there in 20.’

‘it’s not a problem to pick you up.’ It's a problem if he doesn't let you pick him up.

‘I know.’

‘promise I just wanna walk. Get air.’

God, why are your fucking hands shaking he just wants to walk. He just wants to walk. Why can’t you bring yourself to believe people when they say that anymore?

Everything’s normal. It’s been a good six days for Carm, you know that it’s been a good six days. Everything's normal. You’ve kept a puzzle streak every morning, you’ve called him some nights, he’s called you some nights. He’s had a good week. He told you so. Everything's normal. You’ve vaguely flirted in that extremely sexual yet completely nonsensical way new situationships do, via text. People don’t do that when they’re on the brink of death, right? Everything's normal. Stop playing with your pendant. Relax. Put a shirt on. Stop being so fucking paranoid. Stop typing—!

‘can you do me a favour’

‘anything’

‘can you turn your location on for me’

‘not to be invasive. You can turn it off when you get here, I—’

Before you can even finish typing your explanation, let alone send it, he sends his location, trackable. He’s already walking.

‘be there in 18.’

You watch, with bated breath, his little contact photo bubble marching across Chicago to you. You make yourself mildly presentable and make hot chocolate on the stove—Gotta use milk, for Carmen— For when he comes to you, out of the cold. Because he’s going to come to you. He’s gonna be here. He’s gonna be here. You know that because you’ve been keeping your phone screen open and only look away to ensure you don’t pour milk on your stovetop and to blink.

He's here in eighteen minutes. You think if you had a stop watch going on, it’d be down to the millisecond. You open the door for him, before he can even knock. You watched his bubble walk up to your door. No point in waiting. You need to see him.

He’s breathing heavy. Held tight in his fist is a bundle of flowers— Importantly, not a bouquet, a bundle of flowers—Like, roots still on a few, visibly yanked out of the ground. Though seemingly from different gardens, since there's quite a variety. He looks at you, then down at the flowers, then back to you.

“I— I stole these.”

“Had a feeling.” You wave your hand for him to come inside, he does. “Are you okay?”

His steps falter, he seems downtrodden. You take the flowers, and then take his hand. He hesitates to speak, but he’s really trying to say fucking something. You squeeze his hand, it seems to help.

“I—” He swallows the spit caught in his throat. “I didn’t know— I— No. No, I did know— I knew the one place I had to come was, here. Had to go somewhere.”

You nod, you look over him. Silently doing a wellness check. You’re panicked. You’re so panicked. But he can’t know that. This is about him. You’re the one that takes care of people. He’s clean. He smells like Old Spice and you. He’s a little cold from the walk, he didn’t wear a jacket, but he’s warming up fast. He looks tired but not exhausted, which, for Carmy, is kind of as good as you’re going to get. He didn’t have the energy for a phone call, but he had the energy to come over and talk to your face; his social battery is wonky, but that’ll fix with time here. Is he hungry? That’s hard to tell on looks alone.

“You wanna talk about it, Bear?”

He nods, head down. Can’t look at you. You gently pull at his hand for him to follow you into the kitchen. “Made hot chocolate. You a marshmallow or whipped cream guy?”

His eyes are glassy, and his mood itself doesn’t change, but he does swiftly lift his head up to look at you with an incredulous, curious half smile. “You don’t do both?”

“I find it gets a lil’ busy. But I like the tiny marshmallows that come with the mix with whipped cream—”

“You gotta do actual cocoa.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t like my hot chocolate to actually be rich. I want sweet.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

“Good thing I’m a repairman, then.” You deadpan. He does actually seem to glow a little bit, at that. You repeat, hand full of flowers resting on your hip. “So both?”

“Both.”

He calms you down so easily, even when really, he was the oncoming stress— Or rather, your perceptions. He clears static for you, without effort. You nod, letting go of his hand— Slowly, withdrawing, like a silent promise that you will be back. You grab a paper towel and wrap the flowers in them, setting them down on the counter. You’ll plant them later. Honestly, kind of a better gift for you and your green thumb than a bouquet would be.

You turn to your oven to stir the pot of hot chocolate— Can’t have any fuckin’ clumps for Mr Michelin over here. Speaking of Michelin, he sidles up behind you and puts his head on your shoulder, hands hovering as if he’s going to hug your waist but simply cannot bring himself to.

He mumbles into your shoulder. “I lit my oven on fire.”

Ah. The oven was his fault. That's what he meant. When you pause and try to turn, that’s when he hugs you, holding you in place. “Please don’t look ‘t me.”

You take a deep breath, and continue to stir the pot. “Okay. I’m listening, not looking.”

“I did— I did it in my sleep. Not the first time. I think, I think they’re night terrors? But I don’t, don’t scream or nothin’— I don’t say shit actually. I don’t think.”

God, he’s insecure, even now, about how crazy you’ll think he is. Like telling your therapist everything that’s wrong with you except for the stuff that they might hospitalize you for. God, does he treat you like a fucking therapist? He’s awful. He’s awful for you. He’s awful for anyone. It doesn’t matter that you’re different— The common denominator is him. He’s a fucking piece of shit—

“I wake up screaming sometimes.” You reply, so softly. You feel his short nails dig into your sides just slightly for a second as he remembers where he is. He’s over your shoulder. No one’s over his. “Happens to the worst of us.”

You grab two mugs from the cupboard— Reaching with the arm he’s not leaning on. “Did you put it out or should I be calling my former C-F-D crew?”

“I put it out.” He notes your mugs. They’re mismatching. One is definitely handmade with messy floral patterns, the other a tourist trap Chicago mug.  They’re perfect. “I—I was cooking something, in my sleep— And then— Then the fire starts.”

You ladle the hot chocolate into the mugs— Usually you’d just pour it straight but you don’t want Carmen to watch you inevitably spill half of it on your counters. You nod, “Do you dream that you’re cooking?”

“K-Kinda? I’m not cooking, I’m the Head, the expediter— And, and my Exec is over my fucking shoulder and he’s— Just in my head.” He swallows, thinking of how to explain without explaining. “And then I wake up, and there’s a fire, and I watch it grow, and I think about what it would mean if I just let it, and how I’d want it to.”

“And then you put it out?”

“And then I put it out.”

“Do you wish you didn’t?”

“I don’t know. And it’s fucking with me. ‘Cause— ‘Cause things are really good right now.” You tense under him, and he knows it’s because you don’t believe him. “They are, they really really are. Sug bein’ away is… not easy, but, it’s, it’s okay—”

“Carm.” Your tone is so accusatory.

“It’s the same nightmare it used to be.” He doesn’t hesitate to correct as soon as you question it. He cannot lie to you. For one, you see right through him. For two, it’s you. You’d rather know he’s insane. For some reason. “It’s been hard. I— I know fuck all, about business, and, and we can’t afford to hire a fuckin’ replacement right now because we owe so much fucking money or the whole thing caves— But it’s— It’s been good.”

You grab a handful of mini marshmallows, splitting them between the two mugs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods into your shoulder. “Everyone is… happy, right now. It’s not always fuckin’ breezy but— Everyone’s, everyone’s okay. And I have somethin’ I can actually be proud of, right now. And I have— I — You’re around. N’ that, that has been good. For everyone.”

You hum. Heart full, at that. You awkwardly shift to your fridge, waddling like a penguin instead of turning, as not to disturb Carmen, he chuckles against your shoulder. “You can tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to.” You hug his arm to you. This makes him squeeze just a little tighter. You pull out a half-empty can of Reddi-Wip, shaking it violently, as instructed. “Say when.”

You hover the can over the tourist mug, he shakes his head. “Other one.”

He wants the handmade one. Your fingerprints are grooved into the handle. You ignore how insane this makes you feel, and spray whipped cream into the handmade mug. You’re waiting for him to say when.

It’s getting to a concerningly tall pile, at this point. You feel him swallow. He finally says the quiet thought out loud.

“I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even in my sleep, I know it’s coming.”

You nod, you stop spraying. You think on it for a beat. You opt to be honest. “I am, too.” You nod. “I am, too.”

“What’d’you think it’s gonna be?”

You feel your neck flare red and hot, guilty. Horrifically guilty. Lifesaver. You spray whipped cream into your own mug. You don’t really want both whipped cream and marshmallows, but it’s a good way to disguise how shaky your hands are. You take a deep breath.

“Think you’re gonna realize I’m not as good as you think I am.”

He kind of, tugs at you, pulling you closer to him, as if to rebuke thee. “You’re very good, Tony.”

You just hum in reply, once again, the pile of whip cream grows— It sputters, and basically nothing is coming out, but you can’t bring yourself to move, so it continues to struggle. He lets you do this, for a moment, before softly, questioningly speaking your name.

You just hum, again. Everything’s fine. Everything’s normal. This isn’t even about you, this is about him. “I’m good.”

“You are.” He declares, like it’s law. He grabs the empty can from you hand and puts it on the counter, then turns you around to face him. You keep your head down, there’s every chance you throw up and die if you— “Look at me.”

“I know—” He does not give you the chance to excuse yourself, he grabs your chin, softly, but still, forces you to look at him.

“You’re very good.” Too much eye contact. Too close. Too sincere. Too much— “Too good, too good for anyone.”

Too good for him. You, of course, don’t think that. But that’s exactly why you’re too good. “I’m not gonna change my mind ‘bout that.”

“…Hope so.”

Carmen can see it, now. The way your jaw clenches, how you’re looking past him, not at him. The way you mirror how he imagines he looked in the walk-in, to you. He decides to take a page out of your book, and hugs you close. “Know so.”

Your chin hooks over his shoulder. You stare down the hall of your apartment, brain somewhere else. He stares over your shoulder at the hot chocolates, whipped cream slowly melting and overflowing onto the counters.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, and you can’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of it.

“I—It’s not—This about you, not me—”

“It’s both. It can be both.” The shared burden.

You sigh, putting your arms around his shoulders. “…I’ll talk about it eventually, I promise. Just not… Ready—Right now.” You’re not ready to risk him no longer liking you. You need a little more time to be selfishly avoidant. “Eventually, though.”

He nods. He gets it. He does it.

“How do you think the other shoe’s gonna drop? If it does?”

This was the exact question he didn’t want, but you answered it, kind of, and that means he has to answer it, kind of. He relaxes his hold on you. “Think you’re gonna see me when I’m— When I’m not me— When I’m— I’m like, like my fuckin’ family.”

When he’s angry. When he yells. When he’s mean. When his crises don’t take the form of hibernation. When he’s frightening.

“Think once you realize, you’ll leave, and it’ll all leave with you.”

When he said that everyone’s happy at The Bear, he knows it’s because you’re back in the atmosphere. You bring a lightness that he never could, that he always envied in his brother. He honestly needs to break something at The Bear to get you to come in soon, because it’s been two weeks since you made everyone coffee, and your presence is only finally starting to wain in power. He really needs to start paying himself so you can get on bar.

“I don’t love being yelled at, certainly.”

You know what acting like his family means. Mikey used to do it. When things got bad. And while you got better and better at being understanding, still never managed to keep yourself from tearing up. “But it’s nothing that would make me leave. Nothing that’s not worth it.”

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. His bad side, his anger, his violence, his teeth, the parts of his functionality that he hates, you consider worth dealing with, for the sake of the rest of him.

It reminds him, of a question that’s been on his mind for a while now. His chin digs into your shoulder, a little bit. He swallows.

“Do you really not think taking care of people is a lot of work?”

You frown, thinking about it. It is a lot of work. It’s exhausting work, rotten work, to take care of people.

“It is a lot of work.” You tilt your head, kiss his clothed shoulder. “But it’s just pure instinct, to do. “I care therefore I care, or somethin’.”

“What a poet.”

“Fuck off.”

You both laugh; then comfortable silence. He’s the first to break it. “You’re good.”

“We’re both good.” You pull back to look at him. Nothing has truly been resolved, and yet he looks more at peace. Thank, God. You’re doing a good job. You’re not failing again. “You wanna go drink these barely warm hot chocolates in my bed and pass out?”

“Please.”

Carmen never turns off his location, and he never will. He doesn't ask why you want it. He takes advantage of the whipped cream on your nose and the severe lack of napkins in your bedroom when he can. He replaces the Cubs jersey wearing bear in your arms, that night. He hopes he will forever, he's pretty sure he won't.

In five days, this Friday will be the worst Friday of your lives.

But neither of you know that yet. The painting is still not finished, he hasn’t yelled at anyone around you yet, Carmen still doesn’t know about the necklace you’ve tucked under your shirt every day for the past year.

The other shoe still hangs in the air; but not in your bed.

You pray it’s fall will not wake the bear.

FUCK bro.

It was tough writing in a way that was coherently incoherent. Like, neither of these two want to talk about their problems, so they are vague, but I know what the fuck is going on-- And hopefully you kindddaaa get what's going on?? There's still a little mystery I'm holding on for myself, hehehe. I'm very curious if anyone has theories by now tbh. What's this hidden part of Tony's life!!! They're usually so open!!! So what's this shit!!!

I cut out like a WHOLE 300 words of them doin' a smooch because it just made no fuckin' sense. They're both in emotional hell, couldn't force it, even if I wanted it. But there was the cuddlin' and nose kissin' in bed. So I think that's a good caveat.

But the most insane part of this chapter for me, and you'll see later, THIS chapter and the next,,,,, 3 chapters? Were all gonna be ONE. I know. Nuts. I was essentially gonna format it like all snippets of this one week, because as we know, Fridays gonna be the worst friday! But I realized like a quarter way through writing this one, that it simply couldn't just be a snippet. It needed to breath as it's own full thing. As did the next 3 chaps. I think they'll be a lot more digestable this way and also it won't force me to hole away for a fuckin month writing it without giving you a single morsel of content.

Anyways, tell me what the fuck you THOUGHT!! I'm excited to hear thoughts, hopefully all good ones~~~

[vodika-vibes]

Would it be too much of a cliche to ask for a monster au with Commander Wolffe being a werewolf, and him finding out a monster hunter took his human s/o to lure him into a trap.

Sins Of The Father

Summary: You are the daughter of the nation's most well known, and least well respected, monster hunter. When you and your twin brother were children, the pair of you, and your mother, were attacked by a werewolf who wanted revenge on your father. Your mother died in the attack, your brother was turned, and you survived unscathed. Your father threw your brother in a cage, buried your mother, and you were left on your own…until you ran away from home at 18 and vowed to never return. And then you met Wolffe, a werewolf, and fell in love with him. And then your father found out.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2265

Warnings: Mentions of torture

Prompt: Monster AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So I don't think I followed the prompt to the letter, but I had an idea and I ran with it. I hope you like it!

“Are you listening?” You lift your gaze from your heavily bandaged hands, to stare at your father, your lips turned down into a dark scowl. “Don’t you look at me like that, I am your father, and you will respect me.”

“Or what?” You bite out, “You’ll break my hands…oh, wait-”

He roughly grabs your chin, roughly enough that you can feel the bruises forming on your already badly bruised skin, though you just grind your teeth and glare at him. 

Your father gives in first, throwing you against the concrete wall behind you and turning away from you, “As if it’s not bad enough that you’re whoring yourself out to a wolf-”

“He’s a man, you’re just a bigot.” You bite out as you painfully rub your jaw.

“Shut up!” He rounds on you, “You…you’ve whored yourself to a wolf. Your brother is a wolf. Your mother would be ashamed-”

You surge to your feet, “My brother, your son, was only attacked because of you! We were punished because of your actions-” You cry out in pain as his fist slams into your cheek.

You glare up at him, and he glares right back at you. “I should slit your throat.”

“You won’t do it,” You counter, “You’re a coward. You always have been. You always will be.”

He strikes you again, and again, before he’s ripped off by his second, a timid looking man. “Sir, you can’t kill her. She’s bait, remember?”

Your father heaves for breath, “Right…right…” He turns his back on you, “Girl, take care of the cubs. Mattio…get her out of my sight.”

“Yes sir.” Mattio hoists you to your feet, and drags you out of the small cell that has been your room for the last week, and to the large building that houses the werewolf kids. “I’ll come and bring you back to your cell at the end of the day.” He says, without meeting your gaze.

You glare at him, and rip your arm out of his grasp, “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.” Is all you say as you walk over to the large door and wait for him to open it.

Mattio sighs, and unlocks the door, allowing you into the large house. And then he shuts the door behind you with a final sounding click. 

The Cub House is home to over three dozen children between the ages of 6 and 12. All of them are werewolves. Many were plucked from their pack, some, though, were handed over to the Hunters when their parents learned that they had been turned.

Odds are, the second any of these children showed any violent tendencies when they’re transformed, they’ll be executed for being monsters. And it’ll be applauded.

Your lips twist with disgust, of course they’re going to lash out. Even young werewolves need space to run and to roam, keeping them caged won’t do anything but make the wolf angry. It is why so many packs live so far away from civilization. 

There’s the sound of light footsteps, and you lift your gaze from the dirty floor to the darkened edges of the room. Golden eyes, identical in color, though so different in every other way, peer at you from behind crates and beds.

You smile and slowly, painfully, sit down on the floor, “Hello little ones,” You greet, as you wait for them to come to you. A little girl, with vibrant red hair, crawls out from under a bed and she trots over to you.

Her sharp eyes take in your heavily bandaged hands and arms, and the dark bruises covering every inch of your exposed skin, and she frowns, “You’re not like us.” It’s not a question, so you tilt your head and wait for her to continue, “Yet…they hurt you anyway. Why?”

The little girl leans in and sniffs at you, and you immediately peg her as a pack born werewolf. That is a very specific action that you’ve never seen from people who were adopted into a pack later in life.

“You smell like an Alpha.” The little girl says, “But not my packs Alpha, but you’re not like us.” Her eyes narrow suspiciously. 

“I’m not,” You agree, “I am, however, the life partner of one of the Fett Alphas.”

The suspicion clears from her gaze, “Oh, you’re a mate.”

You allow her to believe that, although you and Wolffe haven’t quite gotten to the point in your relationship yet. Well, Wolffe hasn’t, at least. You’ve been there for months now, though.

The little girl sits in front of you, and the other children emerge from the shadows, some of them pressing against your sides for comfort, “Why are they hurting you if you’re not a wolf, like us?” A little boy asks as he lightly traces a burn on your arm, and then holds out his arm to show an identical burn.

“I’m bait.” You explain, and you don’t have to say anymore, as the children nod in understanding. 

“You smell like the wolf in the lower levels,” One of the oldest boys says.

You start, honestly surprised, “My brother’s still alive?” You blurt, “Stars, I thought that father would have killed him ages ago-” You take a deep breath, if you had known that he was still alive, you would have returned for him ages ago.

“It’s not your fault,” The little girl sitting in front of you says as she lightly pets your knee, “The Hunter keeps him isolated, there’s no need for such guilt.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” You murmur quietly, as your eyes close. You nurse the guilt for a moment longer, and then you exhale and shove the guilt to the side to focus on the children in your care, “This is the story of the Mother and her most beloved children-” You start in a sing song voice, it’s a story you learned from the pack, and now you’ll share it with these children.

All you can do now is hope that someone will come for you, though you also hope that it won’t be Wolffe.

The last thing you want is for him to be in danger because of you.

“Calm down, vod.” Comet says quietly as he folds his arms across his chest while watching his older brother pace, impatiently, from one side of the room to the other. “We’re moving as fast as we can.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Wolffe bites out, his mismatched eyes landing on the ribbon clutched in his hands. His partner, his mate, always wears a ribbon in her hair. Always. It allows him to find her, even in a crowd of people.

Several days ago, he came to pick her up for their date, and saw that her front door had been kicked in, and her braid, ribbon included, laid in the middle of the living room.

Her home was also trashed, clothes ripped to shreds, furniture destroyed, paintings slashed-

Whoever broke into her home, whoever took her, hated her. And made sure that everyone knew it.

Wolffe grinds his teeth, and then whips his attention from the ribbon in his hand to his brother, “Tell me you found something?”

Comet sighs and shakes his head. “The boys have gone through the entire house, Wolffe. And they haven’t found anything.” He taps his arm for a moment, “Are you sure that she doesn’t have any enemies?”

“She-” Wolffe pauses, and his gaze drops to the ribbon. An old conversation, had several weeks after they started dating, comes to the forefront of his mind.

“My dad is a terrible person,” She says, her voice soft as she lightly traces his fingers with one of her own.

“He can’t be that bad,” Wolffe counters, his gaze locked on her face, “He sired you, didn’t he?”

She smiles at him, his fingers gliding across the palm of his hand, and over his wrist, “My father is a werewolf hunter, one of the less well respected ones.” She admits, “When I was a child, mother took my twin brother and I to the market, and we were attacked by an Alpha who had lost their mate to my father.”

Wolffe exhales sharply, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No. It wasn’t. But mother still died, and my brother was turned…and I survived unscathed. I never saw my brother again after that day.” Her voice is soft and wistful, “I miss him.”

“What happened after?”

“I grew to hate him, and he grew to hate me in turn. No one was unhappy when I left.” She smiles tiredly, “I took my maternal grandmother’s maiden name as my own, and have tried to put it behind me.”

Wolffe’s hand comes out to cup her cheek, “If it’s in the past, then you needn’t tell me.”

She hums softly, and presses her hand over his, “If something happens to me, Wolffe, I need you to know that it was my father who did it.” Her thumb, soft and warm, brushes against the back of his hand, “He’ll never forgive me for dating you. Never.”

Wolffe’s gaze is serious as he leans in so his lips are hovering just over hers, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you-”

Wolffe is pulled from his memory at the feeling of Comet’s hand on his forearm, “Vod?”

“Her father,” Wolffe says, “He’s a hunter. You need to look into her father.”

Comet pauses, and then he smirks, “I can work with that.” He agrees, “You have a name?”

Wolffe smirks at him, “Of course I do.”

It’s the break that the pack has been waiting for. Once Wolffe gives his brothers a name, they get a location of the hunting camp. It’s not terribly close to Fett territory, which is reassuring, but it is a lot bigger than anyone was anticipating. 

Wolffe keeps his gaze locked on the camp, his jaw clenched and his hands curling and uncurling into tight fists. He can smell her. Her scent is strong. Too strong. The kind of strong that only comes with pain and suffering.

She’s probably still alive though.

He can hear his brothers bickering behind him, Cody and Fox’s packs are here as well, but it sounds like they have a basic plan in place. “I’m going to get her.” Wolffe says, interrupting his twin, “She’s suffering and in pain and I’m going to get here.”

“That’s why we’re here, vod.” Fox says, “But we need to be smart about this.”

“You be smart about it. I’m going. Now.”

Cody and Fox share a look, and then nod. “Fine. Go, we’ll be on your heels.”

The actual infiltration is a haze. Wolffe doesn’t remember how he managed to navigate the camp and make it to the small building where his mate is being kept without getting caught, and in the end it doesn’t matter. Because he climbs in the window and she’s there.

“Cyare,” Wolffe goes to say something else, I love you. I missed you. Are you hurt? How can I help? But he says none of them. Instead he walks over to her, and cups her face between his gentle hands, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her hands come up to press against his cheeks, but Wolffe carefully catches her wrists to look at her shaking hands. Her fingers are bent awkwardly, and there are bruises peeking out from under the dirty bandages.

“Cyare?”

“Broken,” She whispers, “He…father was…he’s not happy about you.”

“I’m so sorry, I should have protected you-”

“I’m the one who refused to move in with you,” she rasps out, “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s his fault.”

She pauses and then nods once, accepting his words as a truth, and then she shifts to her knees, “Wolffe, there’s a small house not far from here where there are children being held and-”

“Shh, shh.” He bumps his forehead against hers, “It’s okay. Cody and Fox are here with me. They’ll take care of it.”

“My brother is here.” She says, “He’s here and he’s alive and you can’t leave him, Wolffe. You can’t-”

“Never. I would never. You’re my mate, which makes him family.”

She blinks at him, and there are tears in her eyes, “I am?”

“This isn’t exactly how I planned on asking you,” Wolffe admits, “I was going to take you out on the full moon so you could be there for my transformation and…” He sighs, “I had a plan, cyare.” He clicks his tongue, “Another crime to lay at your father’s feet.”

She watches him for a moment, and then lightly grips his shoulders, “Wolffe, I want to go home, please?”

“Of course, cyare. Let’s get you to the medic. And then I’m going to rip your father to shreds.”

He expects her to argue against it, for her to ask him not to, to offer mercy. But something icy slides through her gaze and she nods once. “Good.”

And Wolffe has never been more in love with her than in that moment as he leans in and kisses her gently enough to not hurt her, and then he pulls back to help her to her feet.

He knows that it’s going to be a bloody night. But he already has his mate’s permission for what’s about to happen. He’ll make sure that the massacre will be clean and quick, so he can get her home, so he can wrap himself around her and tend to her hurts to the best of his ability.

But for now, he has a battle to prepare for…and a mate to escort.

[stratocumulusperlucidus]

WIP REC

I love love love reading WIPs, the anticipation, the excitement of getting the notification for a new chapter, even sometimes the cliffhangers... So here are some of the lovely fics I'm currently reading!

Oh and if you read these, please consider taking a minute to leave a comment, let the author know you appreciate their work 💖

This Is More of a Comment Than a Question by @caterpills

Rating: Mature | Chapters: 3/10

Three weeks before Henry Fox's tour for his fourth, highly anticipated, awards-bait novel A Brief War in December begins, his publicist Janella breaks her foot on a bunny slope at Windham. Alex can't be mad at her, even though he kind of is. Saying it out loud would be like kicking her when she was down, and she already went down a literal mountain in the worst way possible. Now crammed in Rafael Luna's corner office, Janella is shooting Alex extremely apologetic looks while slumped on her crutches, wearing a bright orange cast. The conversation about who is going to be joining Henry Fox on his multi-city trek across the U.S. is also going downhill. Alex is feeling the same sort of free fall while standing still. Because out of all the publicists available in their tiny underfunded department, the only one left to escort their company's best-selling author is regrettably him. The problem is, well, Alex absolutely hates Henry Fox.

Or: Alex is the publicist for Mountchristen Publishers, and is stuck on a two-week tour with their best-selling, but frustrating, author Henry Fox.

Her Royal Highness by @tailsbeth-writes

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 5/?

'Shaan, can you please put an appointment in my diary?' 'Certainly sir, what is it for?' 'A reminder to kill Alex for getting me into this mess.' Shaan tried to hold back a smirk as he stepped back, tapping away on his tablet. 'Personally I think the blue glitter really brings out your eyes, sir.' This terrible idea had started like most of Alex’s did, a seedling planted by the most chaotic of the chaos demons; Nora.

or How Prince Henry ended up as a guest judge on RuPaul's Drag Race UK.

the full spectrum of human emotion by @firenati0n

Rating: Mature | Chapters: 3/6

Alex grips his hand tighter. They’re going to need to have a long, hard conversation in the next five minutes, or else Alex is going to combust right here in Pez’s fancy office. Explode for all of Midtown Manhattan to see. Here lies what remains of Alex, for all the world to witness—taken out by a rogue marriage proposal from his evil boss-turned-fiancé.

Or: Working under editor Henry Fox-Mountchristen was only supposed to be Step One in Alex’s plan of achieving his big dreams—but when his boss winds up facing an even bigger problem, potential deportation, Alex finds he isn’t just a beleaguered assistant anymore. He’s the solution.

It’s fine. They only have to fool his friends, his family, the United States Government…and themselves.

Life Is Not A Movie (But We Can Have The Fairytale) by @lfg1986-2

Rating: Explicit | Chapters: 3/?

Three years after the smashing success of the first Red, White and Royal Blue film, Nicholas and Taylor are preparing to return to their roles as Henry and Alex to film the sequel. After a late night of catching up with each other and reestablishing their close bond just before rehearsals begin, they wake up to find themselves in a crazy twist of fate, where fiction blends with reality and the lines between fictional characters and the actors who portray them become irrevocably blurred.

Or

What happens when Taylor is transported into the movie universe and comes face to face with Prince Henry, while Nick wakes up to find Alex Claremont-Diaz in his living room in the place of his friend and costar? Both pairs must work together to figure out how to get themselves back where they belong, and along the way they discover some things about themselves and each other that has the potential to alter their relationships forever.

take me back to San Francisco by headabovethewater / @getmehighonmagic

Rating: Explicit | Chapters: 2/8

“You don’t look like you’re having a very good time,” a soft voice suddenly startles him from his thoughts. Henry’s entire body jerks and he spills some of his drink down the front of his shirt.

“Oh, bloody-” He leans over to put his drink on the table and starts wiping at his shirt. “No, I’m- It’s not that, it’s-” He glances fleetingly at the stranger and then down at his shirt again, before his brain finally registers that oh, glasses, dark curls, white smile, exposed chest. Henry’s head snaps back up and his lips part in astonishment. Handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it. Him.

“Hi,” the man says, then chuckles. He hands Henry a napkin and gestures towards one of the other chairs at the table. “Would you mind?”

or, Henry and Alex meet on vacation in San Francisco and an instant spark between them has both of them unable to let the other go. With only two weeks to spend together and the knowledge that it can't last beyond that, it's just a massive, insurmountable recipe for disaster.

Or is it?

Unattended / Unsent mails by amnesia_on_ice / @amnesiaa-on-ice

Rating: General Audiences | Chapters: 4/?

Alex is a Singer Songwriter, henry is his arch nemesis Actor but also secretively writer. There is a long running feud between Henry and Alex. Now they are meeting for the first time in person in a vanity after party and the stan twitter have lots to digest of the meeting.

The story of Unattended/ unsent mails.

the drag of your lips by rizcriz

Rating: Mature | Chapter 2/3

Alex isn’t sure how he got here.

Here being pressed into the couch, his roommate straddling his lap and warm against every point they’re touching, soft lips moving against his own in the most sensual, leisurely pattern that Alex’s fingers instinctively flex where they’re clinging into his lower back. He’s hard in his pants, straining towards Henry, but there’s no desperate hands grasping, no drive to take this any further.

Or, Alex just really wants to make out with someone. Henry helpfully volunteers.

Foxden Park by myheartalive / @myheartalivewrites

Rating: Explicit | Chapters: 4/9

“Yes, Alex, what a terrible destiny,” Nora says. “To be hosted for a week by all these charming rich people, who have bent over backwards to accommodate us, including sending their own carriage into town to fetch us. How very dare we drag you into their nefarious scheme.”

—

Invited to a week-long house party at the Duke of Windsor’s country residence, Alex Claremont-Diaz does not expect to find anything to enjoy about his time there. What he does find is Lord Henry, the duke’s younger brother—and a boatload of things to learn about himself.

Seven days in the country in a duke's house. What could possibly happen?

[marvel-ous-m]

Time Will Tell

WC: 3260 | Rating: Teen and Up | Tags: Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, The Unrelenting Anxiety of Gift-Giving | AO3 Link

Summary: It's Eddie's 21st Birthday, and Steve's not sure what gift he should get him, what would show the man how much he loves him, how glad he is that they've been able to share the last six months together. That indecisiveness is made worse by the fact he's known since he was six: people are never honest about whether or not they actually appreciate the gift they've been given- and Steve can't stand the idea of Eddie not liking the gift but pretending for Steve's sake. Steve ends up choosing a gift that he knows Eddie won't like in an effort to save everyone pain. That decision sparks a much-needed conversation, and helps Steve understand that his parent's relationship really isn't the blueprint.

Fic Below the Cut!

“-An emerald, I mean, really, could that man at least try to act like he knows me?” 

Steve’s eyebrows knit together in confusion at his mother’s exclamation, and he tilted his head. His eyes remained trained on his feet, wrapped in small leather loafers that hung off the side of his parent’s bed. “But Mama, I thought you said you loved it earlier? That it was pretty?” 

His mother gave a great, put-upon sigh and turned to face where Steve was seated on the bed. “You’ll understand when you’re older, baby.” Her arms stretched awkwardly around her neck while she spoke, her hands struggling with the clasp of the necklace Steve’s father had presented to her that morning, a gift for her birthday. 

Steve huffed in annoyance and crossed his arms. “But wanna und’stand now.” 

“You’re a big boy now, Steven. You’re six, enunciate your words, and don’t whine.” Her reprimand came stern, and was juxtaposed by the soft “Aha!” moments later, when the clasp of the necklace finally closed. She turned back towards the vanity and rested her precisely manicured hands over the pendant, a gleaming emerald wrapped in gold, then smiled sadly at herself in the mirror. 

“Gifts are rarely about what you actually want, Steven. More often than not, they’re about the monetary value, or meeting a need, or subtly showing the recipient that you have the upper hand. They’re… strategic. I needed a new piece of jewelry for the party tonight, your father delivered- even though the gem he gave me clashes with my eyes, and my skin tone is more complemented by platinum than gold. He gave me this necklace because it makes him look good. It would’ve been nice if he put thought into it- but, well, it would be rude not to be grateful.”

“But… Mama, couldn’t Daddy do both? Get you something you need, and make it something you like?” 

His mother’s smile wavered and her eyes softened from where they were now gazing at Steve through his reflection in the vanity mirror. “He could, yes, but it’s like you said- I told him I loved it. As far as your father is concerned, he’s done exactly that- gotten me something I like and need. I’m not going to tell him otherwise. Does that make sense?”

No. In Steve’s six-year-old brain, it really, really didn’t. “I guess so.”

His mother nodded at him from the mirror, then began to put on her earrings. “Good. Now, do you remember what to say when one of your father’s coworkers asks you what you want to be when you grow up?” 

This was something that Steve could understand, a response his mother had been teaching him for the last few weeks. Steve beamed. “I want to be an attorney like my Daddy!” 

“Good job, baby. Now, go and brush your teeth- we’ll be leaving in a few minutes. It’s your first time joining us at dinner, I want to make sure you’re absolutely perfect.”

“Okay Mama!” Steve scooted off the edge of the bed and toddled towards his parent’s bedroom door, being careful to walk with flat feet so he wouldn’t crease the leather of his loafers, just how his Mama taught him.

“Oh, and Stevie? Don’t tell your father how I feel about the necklace, okay? That’s a just for us conversation.” 

Steve nodded, familiar with the concept of keeping certain conversations he had with his mother or father a secret from the other. “Alright, Mama.” 

Eddie didn’t like his gift, and Steve knew that. Had prepared for that exact outcome, in fact.

He wasn’t sure what would be good enough to get Eddie for his birthday. They’d been dating for almost six months already, had been flirting around each other for even longer, and Steve was at a loss. 

What do you get for the person who you fought hell with? For the person who beat the odds and lived despite everything, for the person you’ve seen at their lowest- the person who saw you at your lowest? What item could possibly express how much Steve adores Eddie, could say how happy he is that Eddie even made it to his 21st birthday after everything that happened? What could serve as a physical testament to the truth of all of their ‘I love you’s and all of the ‘I’m so glad you’re here’s?  

Steve got Eddie a watch. 

It was the backup gift of the backup gift of the backup gift. A decision made entirely out of cowardice, his mother’s words ringing in his ear. 

He had wanted to get Eddie a new battle vest initially- then decided against it, because he was worried it would serve as too much of a reminder of what had happened last Spring. 

He’d thought about a guitar case next, an idea that sprung up when he was walking by the music shop downtown. He literally face-palmed moments later, gaining a strange look from a passerby, when he realized that Eddie’s guitar had been left in the Upside Down, that he still didn’t have a new electric guitar, and he already had a case for his acoustic. 

Naturally, a new guitar came to mind as a gift idea next, but he nixed that immediately too. The whole reason Eddie hadn’t bought a new guitar yet was because he was very particular about the instrument- and Steve had no idea about all of the different things to consider in guitar buying, so he’d probably just fuck it up. He considered some other stuff, too- new materials to play D&D, concert tickets- but his mind just kept screaming at him, telling him that he didn’t know Eddie well enough to give him any of those gifts.

Really, all he could think about was how badly he would fuck up giving Eddie any meaningful gift- how he’d probably never know if Eddie didn’t like it, because people always pretended that they liked a gift even if they didn’t, so it was basically impossible to tell whether something was actually appreciated. 

At the end of the day, it was just easier to abide by the words his mother told him at six and get something that would look nice. Steve wouldn’t be putting his emotions on the line by getting a risky gift, something that Eddie would either love more than anything or absolutely despise. 

It was a gift that didn’t match Eddie’s personality at all, and Steve knew that. Eddie was always running late to things, but that’s just how he was. It was endearing, a trait that was lovable, not something to be fixed by having a watch on his wrist. 

Steve had, in fact, only realized the negative connotation of the gift after he’d decided to buy it, but it was too late to decide on something else, so he tried to ignore the way his stomach hurt throughout the process of purchasing the thing, and hoped for the best. 

Eddie didn’t care about showings of wealth either, so it was pretty pointless for Steve to get him such a nice watch. It wasn’t, like, a Rolex, but he had to save up a bit to buy it. It was made up of dark gray metal with a black leather band, a decision that was made out of Steve trying his best to at least make the gift something that wouldn’t clash with Eddie’s usual attire. 

He put a bow on the box it came in and added it to the pile of gifts at Eddie’s birthday party. He tried to stop himself from looking at Eddie when he was going through the process of opening presents, ignored the way his hackles rose when Eddie opened up the watch and gave a tight smile, then a forced-out “Thanks” to Steve, and moved on to opening the next gift wordlessly. 

Every other gift elicited a dramatic response from Eddie- a drawing from Will, new dice and minifigures from the kids, a mixtape from Robin, some sci-fi books from Nancy, homemade brownies (yes, *those* brownies) from Jon and Argyle- 

And Steve got Eddie a watch. 

The rest of the guests to Eddie’s birthday party slowly filtered out of the trailer after all the presents were opened, that having been the close of the party’s festivities. Steve stuck around, cleaning up the trash and dirty dishes strewn around the surrounding area. 

Steve and Eddie danced around each other wordlessly- Steve cleaning up while Eddie moved the various gifts from the living room to his bedroom. When all of the leftover paper plates, napkins, and cups were thrown away, and Steve couldn’t find any other dishes to wash in the kitchen, he returned to the living room. 

Eddie was seated on the couch by that point, and the watch- in its box, the lid propped open to display the thing- was resting on the coffee table in front of him. “Are you mad at me, Steve? Because, if you are, we could’ve just- I don’t know, talked, instead of you embarrassing me in front of all of our friends on my birthday.” 

Steve felt the familiar burn of tears and ducked his head so that Eddie wouldn’t see how his words had affected him.

Eddie wasn’t following the script. 

The script which said, no matter what, just pretend to like the present so you don’t appear ungrateful. The script that Steve had been raised on, the script that taught him how to play his part. The script that had motivated him to get the gift in the first place. 

“I didn’t mean to be late to Party movie night last week, or to our date three weeks ago, it’s just hard for me to realize what time it is when I’m stuck in my head about something. I didn’t realize that it was bothering you so much- you could’ve told me, y’know? I just feel like shit now, and I’m not even angry- not at you, I’m mad at myself and I’m upset that you didn’t just tell me, and-” 

“-I’m sorry.” Steve’s apology came whispered, barely audible due to his head still hanging, staring down at his feet. 

His feet, which were wrapped in white, scuffed tennis shoes. 

A far cry from the loafers he’d worn at six. 

Steve wrapped his arms around himself and focused on taking measured breaths. 

He was so clearly detached from the life of his parents, from the unhealthy ideology that stemmed from having too much money and being in a practical relationship rather than one that was built on love. 

His relationship with Eddie couldn’t be more different, yet he’d slipped back into that familiar, thinly-veiled selfishness the second he felt anxiety over getting Eddie the wrong thing. Eddie had always been honest with him, so how could Steve ever think that he’d pull the same passive-aggressive misrepresentation of love that his mother so often portrayed to his father?

“Steve?” 

It seemed Eddie had crossed the room while Steve had been distracted by his own thoughts, seeing as the man was now cupping Steve’s jaw with his hand, a concerned look in his eyes. “Where’d you go, sweetheart?” 

“S-sorry. I’m sorry, I just- I don’t think I’m good at it.” Steve’s words came quicker than his thoughts, and his breath hitched as he spoke due to his steady crying.

“Good at what, Stevie?”

“Gifts.”

Eddie hummed under his breath, his thumb gently swiping against Steve’s cheekbone in an effort to wipe away his tears. “Care to expand on that, baby? Because the Stevie I know just gave Robin a weekend trip to Chicago for her birthday a month ago, and it made her cry so hard she almost threw up.”

“It’s different.”

“What’s different?”

“We-we’re together, and- shit, Eds, I had a ton of ideas of things I thought you’d like, but I just kept thinking I’d get it wrong, but you wouldn’t- look, you love me too, right?” 

Eddie huffed out a soft breath of confusion, and his other hand moved to rest on the small of Steve’s back, pulling him into a hug. “Of course I love you, I tell you everyday”

“Yeah, I know.” Steve’s voice was near pleading, wobbling with renewed emotion while fresh tears slipped down his cheeks. “So even if I got you the wrong thing, I’d never know that, and then I’d just keep fucking up, and next thing you know, we’d resent each other and disguise that hatred in things that are supposed to be displays of love, like gifts, and we’d end up like my parents, and I can’t do that to you, you never deserve to feel that way-” 

“Hold on- sorry to cut you off, sweetheart, but I feel like I got a little lost there. C’mon, let’s sit.” Eddie wrapped his hand around Steve’s and tugged him towards the couch, then gently shoved Steve onto a cushion and curled up next to him, keeping their hands linked. “Okay, I have three questions. One, why do you think you’d get me the ‘wrong thing’; two, why wouldn’t you know if I didn’t like something; and three, if I love you so much- which you know I do, why do you think we’d end up like your parents?” 

Steve sniffed, scrubbing his eyes with the palm of his free hand to try and wipe the tears away. “It’s- okay, so, I wanted to get you a new vest, right? But that would just be a reminder of what happened back in the Upside Down, and then I wanted to get you a guitar case, but that wouldn’t work for obvious reasons- then I thought of a new guitar, but I’d definitely fuck that up because I don’t know the first thing about guitars. I thought about some other stuff, like for D&D or whatever, but I didn’t think that would be enough- and I just kept psyching myself out, right? Because my whole childhood, my dad got my mom these gifts, but they weren’t things she actually wanted, and all I could think about is how I could accidentally do that for you. 

“My mom, she always told him how happy she was, then would turn around and tell me or her friends how much she hated the thing and- I couldn’t stomach the idea of that happening, of not knowing that I upset you, so I just- I defaulted to something that would look nice, right? A strategic gift, rather than something special. I honestly didn’t even think about you being late to things until after I decided to buy it, and then I hated that I’d made that decision, because I don’t think you being late to stuff is something that needs to change, I actually kinda love it about you because it means that you were so wrapped up in something else, something you love. 

“Anyways- I just went through with it, bought the thing because I didn’t know what else to do, because knowing that you wouldn’t like it honestly made it easier than getting my hopes up about you liking something and then always questioning whether you actually liked it because people never really say what they think, but then you just came out and said what you thought about the frankly shit gift I got you, and I can’t believe it took that to make me realize how fuckin’ stupid I was being by just falling back into the toxic shit my parents taught me growing up. I’m so sorry, Eds. You didn’t deserve that. We’re obviously not going to end up like my parents, stuck together and hating each other- but sometimes, when I navigate us, I can’t help but go back to them, because they were my blueprint. Does that make sense?” 

Eddie’s hold on his hand hadn’t waned throughout Steve’s rambling explanation, and only grew tighter, more supportive, at the close of Steve’s question. “Yeah, sweetheart, that makes sense. I hate that you found yourself going down that line of thinking, but I understand that that’s where you’d go if your parents created that atmosphere for you.” 

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, Steve’s attention having turned towards the rings on Eddie’s hand that was tangled with his own, while Eddie used his other hand to gently card through Steve’s hair. Steve’s tears had slowed throughout his expounding and had become the occasional sniffle, joined by a shuddering breath. 

Eddie eventually broke their silence, his voice soft and his tone careful. “For what it’s worth, I can tell you put a lot of thought into it. Even if it’s not really something I was hoping for, you chose a gift that would go with my outfits, chose my favorite colors. I can tell how much it mattered to you to get something I’d like, even if you defaulted to making it something that you knew wouldn’t mean, y’know, the world to me.” 

Steve huffed, shifting so that he could burrow his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck. “You don’t have to try and make it not shitty, Eds, I know it sucks. I knew that going in.” 

“I’m being honest, I still appreciate the good intentions behind it.” 

“I’m sorry that it made you feel so shitty- sorry that now you have to deal with all this on top of it, on your fucking birthday-” 

“Stevie, baby, it’s okay. Being with you- that alone means the world to me. You could’ve gotten me nothing and I would’ve been grateful to be with you, because in my opinion, you are the greatest gift I’ve ever received. As for working through childhood shit on my birthday, that’s not, like, a chore for me. I’m happy to be here, to talk about these things with you, because I love you, and that’s part of our love. Okay?”

Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, and Steve melted underneath him, letting out a soft sigh. “Yeah, okay.” 

Steve shifted closer and kissed the dip of Eddie’s shoulder, then wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist to pull the man closer. “I still wanna do something to apologize, something to celebrate you rather than make us fight.”

“You didn’t make us fight, baby. I was just confused. We talked, we figured stuff out, we’re holding each other, everything is good. You don’t have to make it up to me, because there’s nothing to make up.” 

Steve hummed against Eddie’s neck, his hand moving up to brush through his curls. “I don’t have to, but I still want to. Maybe not tonight, because I kinda think we should just cuddle and eat leftover cake and watch a movie, but tomorrow I wanna take you out, just drive for a few hours, we can find a place to grab some food together. After that, maybe we can come back here, hold each other a while. We can do that thing you like so much with your belt and my hands…” Steve trailed off, his tone lilting into something flirtatious. 

Eddie gave a giddy chuckle in response, flicking Steve’s bicep playfully. “Yeah, alright loverboy. As long as you’re feeling up for it, and not doing it because you feel like you have to do it- I think that I would love that.” 

“Then consider it done.” Steve sat back slightly to press a kiss to Eddie’s lips, then returned to his spot against Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Sounds like an outstanding gift. I’ll be counting down the seconds ‘til then, sweetheart.” 

[midnightanxietytm]

Careless Indulgence (NSFW)

MINORS DNI

a/n: Rejoice! Narilamb be upon ye! This time it's actually the smut i mentioned.

Summary: The first time a dream like this comes, he ignores it, shoves it to the back of his mind and does his chores like normal, insults the Lamb like normal, in fact, he barely thinks about them at all.

Gods don’t dream.

But Narinder isn’t a god anymore, so his subconscious is free to generate any ethereal scenario it desires to fill the hours of nothingness that is sleep.

This one, though, is most unusual.

He’s in the temple, a sermon just ended and The Lamb is stepping down from the lectern with a spring on their step and a smile, and walking over to him. “For someone who claims to hate hearing me talk, you pay a lot of attention to my sermons.” They giggle, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders.

It was true, he paid attention to every sermon, and devotion poured out of him, unwillingly so, but it still did. “Do not flatter yourself,” He said, “You made attendance mandatory, unless stated otherwise, I’m forced to be here…” And the Lamb giggles again, now hugging him by the shoulders. His hands slithered under their fleece and settled on their hips.

That’s how he knew he was dreaming; if it was real, he would never allow himself to do such a thing. In his dreams, he relishes the feeling of the soft wool beneath his paw. “Hm? You want my permission to skip the sermons? If it’s what you want I can give you.” They rest their head on his shoulder, one of their hands caresses his face oh-so sweetly.

Narinder rolls his eyes. “You’d just find another way to pester me.”

Their breath is hot against his neck, Oh I hate them, Narinder thinks, and holds their face softly before pressing their mouths together. The dream melts together along with the hot feeling in his body.

He’s in the altar, Lamb laid on the lectern, moaning his name like a prayer.

They’re in the forest, He’s laid on the grass , the Lamb, riding him with eyes rolled back and mouth hanging open with gasps.

They’re in the main grounds, a bonfire is lit and the Lamb’s mouth is closed around him and he pants, clawing at the wool on his head.

The first time a dream like this comes, he ignores it, shoves it to the back of his mind and does his chores like normal, insults the Lamb like normal, in fact, he barely thinks about them at all.

The second one is admittedly unexpected, but he still manages to deal with his hard-on and move on with his day.

After almost a week having dreams like those, he can’t take it anymore.

By now, every place in the cult grounds has been lewd up by his mind, and every mildly suggestive thing the Lamb says or does has already featured in a degenerated scenario in his dreams; The temple, the farm, the forest, behind the temple, the kitchens, both of their shelters, against the statue the Lamb had erected in his likeness — a personal favorite of his—, against the Lamb’s own statue, during rituals, in the table after a feast…

At some point, Narinder is sure the Lamb doesn’t even need to read his thoughts to see the debauchery of his late-night fantasies, because of that he’s been avoiding the Lamb like they were a plague.

But they still manage to find him, like a little predator stalking prey. 

They corner him after two messily days of avoidance, pulling him back after the sermon and promptly closing the temple doors. “Nari, I thought we were past this stage already.” They say, their voice echoes.

“You thought wrong, Lamb, as you often do.” It’s no use lying, so he chooses to dodge the question entirely.

His usurper, though, doesn't plan on letting him escape that easily; they march towards him with drive, and Narinder tries to pretend he remained unaffected by leaning back against the column behind him. “You're hiding something, I can see it, Nari.” They say, hands on their hips and head tilting, making the bell around their neck jingle softly.

Narinder wonders if it would jingle when he shoves the usurper onto their back and—.

“There!” The lamb exclaims suddenly. “You stopped your own train of thought! What was that? Are you thinking about murdering me again? Are you dissenting? You don't look like you're dissenting!” They ramble endlessly.

Oh, to hell with it! Narinder thinks. They will just read my mind anyways. And before the Lamb can predict his next action, Narinder pounces.

He takes them by the face, with both hands, and smacks their lips together. The lamb lets out a surprised gasp, then promptly melts in his hands, so he lets go of their face in favor of their hips, then reverses their positions to pin the Lamb against the column.

He’s quick to add his teeth into the mix, he bites the Lamb’s lips until he feels the metallic taste of blood, then he licks it, and It's all a mess from there.

The damned Lamb moans into his mouth, matching his energy and his every action. Soon, Narinder is holding them up by the thighs, their legs wrapped around him as they both bite, lick and moan against eachother's mouth.

  Disrobing is not easy, but they manage to do a quick job of it, and Narinder lays the Lamb on their back on top of his own discarded clothes almost tenderly, before biting into their shoulder with force only to feel their blood on his tongue and to hear the pathetic bleat they let out. “You wanted to know what I was hiding?” He asks, rhetorically, because he shoves a finger inside the Lamb and knows that they won't answer through their moans. “This is it. I've been wanting to fuck you, dreaming about it.” He shoves a second finger, moving his hand in a slow rhythm only to hear the Lamb finally gasp some air, just to moan out again.

“Narinder!” They call in-between their moans. “Wait- more, please more” They are almost incoherent, Narinder smiles, his hand moving faster as was requested.

“It's so much better in a godly body, isn't it? It's like divinity enhances it.” He taunts, then kisses the already fading bite mark he had left. “Let me fuck you, my Lamb?” He whispers sweetly. “You wanted my crown? Fine, I’ll show you all it can do for you.”

The Lamb nods with fervor, the bell on their neck chimes. Narinder removes his fingers from their quivering hole and holds their legs open before shoving himself into them with a slow but fluid movement.

The Lamb’s body greedily takes in the new sensation, their back arches off the ground and they let out a divine, long and pleasured moan.

Nothing was better than this, nothing could possibly rival the union of their bodies, no nectar or ambrosia would ever be more innebriating than the taste of each other. Their ecstasy mixes, they begin to move against each other in a heated frenzy.

Their moans fill the temple, sounding holier than the prayers, their rhythm dictated by the chime of the Lamb’s bell and the sound of their hips meeting with each thrust.

Lamb thinks they will become addicted to this; the mutual devotion this carnal act brings them, the feeling of being so full, the sound of Narinder's heavy breathing and raspy moans.

This is true divinity, this raw and passionate and carnal desire is so utterly mortal that it circles right back into godhood.

Both chase their highs with desperation, bodies rutting against each other.

And when they reach it, it's devastating, both gasp for air like it's their first time breathing in centuries. Their bodies finally still against each other as they come back to themselves.

Silence hangs in the air for a few moments, then the cheeky Lamb opens their mouth; “You’ve been dreaming about this?” They tease. 

Narinder rolls his eyes and fights the smile that insists on crawling up to his lips; “Shut up!” They only hum in response, hugging him by the shoulders and making him lay down by their side.

“I’m glad I could fulfill your desires, then…” They smile up at him and lay a soft kiss on his lips, Narinder stays silent, purring contently despite his expressionless face.

If I told yall this is the second smut I've ever written in my life, would yall believe me? Cuz I'm quite proud of it. Hope you guys like it too

[shmothman]

Defying Fate

Pairing: Casper/Reader Rating: Teen and up audiences Words: 991 Read on AO3

Summary: Finally, you and Casper are together in person, tangled together with your feelings laid bare. Still, there are some things that he needs to ask.

With your head resting on Casper’s bare chest and his fingers smoothing over your hair, you don’t think you’ve ever felt quite so happy, so in love. You’ve been making good use of the past hour or so since he showed up at your door in person, and you practically feel like you’re walking on air.

You can’t believe he’s real.

You can’t believe any of this is real.

But you’re so, so glad that it is.

He calls your name softly, his voice like heaven, and you hum a questioning tone back as you’re pulled from your thoughts, loath to move from your comfortable spot against his chest.

“I…” he starts, and you immediately hear that he sounds nervous, so you look up at him, eyes brimming with all the feelings swirling in your heart. “I am certainly not complaining, but… I… I need to know…”

Your brows draw together in confusion as he seems to gather his thoughts. “Know what?”

He meets your eyes, and his gaze is… sad. Remorseful. “How… how are you okay with this?”

You blink. “What, having sex with you?”

His cheeks flush that pretty pink you adore so much. “N-not that,” he rushes to say, before growing serious once more. “I mean… with being with me. After I have spent the last several years trying to kill you. Doesn’t… does that not bother you? You act as if it’s nothing.”

Oh. That’s what’s on his mind.

You settle back into his arms, laying your head next to his so that your noses almost touch. His gaze is so open and honest, it almost makes your heart hurt. “Well,” you say quietly, “no harm, no foul, I guess?”

He exhales through his nose in something that’s almost like an amused little laugh. “You are so… cavalier about things, Sunshine. Is that truly all you think of it?”

For a grim reaper, Casper sure does wear his heart on his sleeve. Not that you’ve met any other reapers yet—maybe they’re all like this. 

You bring your hand to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and watching the way his eyes flutter closed. How do you love him so much when you’ve only known he exists for a week?

“I… don’t know, honestly. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it. All I know is how I feel about you.” 

He blinks his eyes open, and the look on his face is so very hopeful. Like he needs to hear you tell him that it doesn’t matter to you, that it doesn’t change how you feel about him.

“It’s like… by the time that I realized you’re, y’know, actually the grim reaper and everything, I already felt like I had known you for ages, and that was only after like, two days. And then I get this massive revelation that every weird thing that’s happened to me, everything that people say is crazy but is just my everyday experience, that’s all you? That’s all the doing of this pretty boy on my computer screen?”

He pouts slightly at being called a pretty boy, but you continue.

“But, I mean, I’ve never taken my constant near death experiences seriously. You’ve been watching, right? Have you ever seen me react in any way that isn’t just… a shrug?”

“I suppose not,” he says. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been the one trying to end your life.”

“You said it yourself, Casper. If it wasn’t you, it would be another reaper. Normally ‘I was just doing my job’ would be a terrible excuse, but given that we’re in the realm of like, fate and magic and the balance of nature type shit, I can’t fault you too much here.” You grin. “I just happened to get lucky, and they assigned me to the one reaper who would fall head over heels for me the minute he decided to break protocol and talk to me.”

He’s blushing again, and you think he’s about to protest the idea that he fell for you that quickly, but instead, he leans in to touch his forehead to yours and says, “any reaper would have fallen for you. I’m the one who got lucky.”

Your heart flutters happily in your chest, and you sound rather breathless as you say, “okay, maybe we’re both lucky,” and you lean in to press your lips to his.

You feel him melt beneath your kiss, as he has every time so far, like he’s turned to liquid: quicksilver at your touch, shimmering and cold. If he says that you’re like sunshine, then you say he’s the moon: something beautiful and bright in the darkness, the light by which you find your way home.

As you pull back slightly, there’s a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Or,” you say, “maybe it’s just fate.”

He’s been made breathless by your kiss, but he still smiles back. “Perhaps,” he replies into the scant space between you. “Though, I’m growing fond of the idea that this is in defiance of fate itself. That we are making our own destiny.”

You hum, as if thinking deeply. “Well, clearly we both love breaking the rules, especially for each other.” With a sudden grin, you shift, rolling yourself atop him and watching those pretty red eyes go wide. “Whaddya say we defy fate all night?”

That vivid blush crawls up to his ears, then down his neck to splash across his bare chest. Unable to summon words, he simply nods.

You waggle your eyebrows, only just getting started with your terrible jokes. “Wait, wait, I got another one: how’s this for destiny?” 

He rolls his eyes with a huff that doesn’t mask his clear affection, and opens his mouth—probably to call you annoying or something, but he doesn’t get that far, because you’re already kissing him again.

And that’s something he won’t defy.

[new-revenant]

Ghost-ish for the WIP ask game

oh this one is pretty interesting looking back on it. The title is based on the sone “God-ish,” and I named it and all the chapter titles that way because I was listening to Trickle, a cover artist, quite a lot. Still do now, although he unfortunately took the God-ish cover down :(. Anyways, here are some snippets of the fic! It’s about the Fentons going to Gotham, stuff happens.

Here’s the funniest part of Chapter 1, To Prepare and to Go to Gotham City(only chapter not based on a song):

“But-but what about Batman?” Jazz stammered. Everyone looked at her quizzically. “You know, I don’t think he’ll like some random ghost hunters shooting bazookas-“ she side eyed Sam, who was currently giving Tucker a Fenton Bazooka, “-in, or near Gotham City, don’t you think? We could end up wanted by the Justice League!”

“You’re right Jazzy-pants,” Jack put his hand on her shoulder, “So get your goggles everyone, we’re going vigilante!” Everyone now looked at Jack, absolutely bewildered.

“Jack, how did you come to the conclusion tha-Danny!” Maddie tried to reason with Jack while Danny rushed out of the vehicle. Sam put on a spare pair of goggles that was just lying around as she and Tucker followed him.

“YOU PICKED THE WORST PEOPLE TO MESS WITH GHOST FU-“ Danny yelled, rushing to the front of the GAV, facing the ghost before tripping on his cloak and falling onto his face.

Part of Chapter 3, Trickle Down, Ghost Town(I didn’t write chapter 2 lol):

“Jason, why are trying to put five people into a dumpster?” Tim sighed. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, cackled.

“Oh, they’re all from rival gangs that hate each other, and I’m thinking that if I put their unconscious bodies in a locked dumpster they’ll all blame each other’s gangs and start a gang war,” Jason explained, putting in the third body inside the dumpster.

Tim groaned, “And then you’ll swoop in and defeat them all, right? This is the most…creative idea you’ve had so far, I’ll give you that.”

“Yep, but I’ll only take out their leaders, so you don’t have worry about a thing,” Jason patted Tim’s head before setting out to chain up the dumpster.

“You know what? I highly doubt that. At least you haven’t killed anyone yet.”

“I haven’t killed anyone that you know of,” Jason joked as he finished putting on an absurd amount of locks on the chains, then kicked the dumpster and clasped his hands, “Anyways, I’m going to go raid a storage area that I’m pretty sure some of the Joker’s goons are in, you coming?”

“You already know that I’m going along with you, whether you like it or not.”

“Thanks for being my babysitter for what, the third time this week?”

“Well it’s less than last week!” Tim laughed and punched Jason in the arm, “Now let’s go beat up some goons!”

And the only stuff I wrote for Chapter 5:

“So, er uh, Danny, right? What made you think I was a Ghost?” It was a simple question, really. Jason thought-if just for a moment-that he would get a simple answer.

To his credit, the answer was simple. It simply led to many more questions.

“Well, I can sense ghosts, and I sensed you,” Danny said with a steady tone, kicking his feet from the chair that was just a bit too tall for him.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Hiii! Could you imagine one where the reader finds out she's pregnant during one of Spencer's missions and when he comes home she has a crisis and ends up feeling ill and Spencer doesn't know how to help and the reader doesn't know how to tell him she's pregnant. (Both are already married)

i took this opportunity to set my pregnant!reader series into the future cause i already planned for them to have another child. request is tweaked justttt a little.

“my dear sweet penny, can you hit me with a bus? i want this misery to end.” you’ve been hit with the worst stomach bug or flu or just something that’s been lasting since spencer went on his case, five days ago.

your mom took your daughter for the day when you realized you weren’t getting out of bed anytime soon and you called in your reinforcement of one penelope garcia. the case ended yesterday but the team had to stay an extra day due to weather in their state, so penelope has been keeping you company for the past two days. it was nice to have an adult conversation instead of bluey and the same princess movies.

“okay, if you’re pleading for death that means it’s time to head over to a hospital. i don’t want spencer to hypothetically bite my head off if something happens to you.” her bright blonde hair was your shining sun in your darkened bedroom. and her jewelry were loud gongs with each step she took. “i hate to sound like a bitch but can you like, be the opposite of yourself today?” moaning and groaning as you tried pushing off the tossed sheets.

“yeah, you need a doctor. cause and i quote ‘penny if i even say to change yourself i’ve been abducted and that’s an alien.’ hopefully they can give you good drugs.”

at the hospital they took some blood, made you pee and just did a bunch of other check ups when it was shown you were sick with anything. so after an hour or so your doctor renters the sterile room with his clipboard and a poker face. “well, you’re not sick, but you are pregnant. we’ll get an ultrasound in here to check on the fetus.” talk talk talk and then he left again, leaving you and penelope open mouthed shocked.

“holy shit,” breathing out as your hand rubbed over your still small belly. “i told spencer i couldn’t keep my hands to myself.” telling that to the ceiling.

“oh, i’ll have another godchild! i’m so happy to live vicariously through you.” penelope stood at your side and smiled down at you. you turned your head towards her, “you know when they’re older, you’ll be our go-to babysitter then. so just be prepared for that.”

with the ultrasound done they confirmed you were almost done with your first trimester and that left you a bit shocked. you were three months pregnant but didn’t know, now you understand how some of those other ladies feel. but you were excited for another, but then you were done, seriously.

you tried calling spencer after leaving but his phone when to voicemail, but you didn’t think anything of it. probably feel asleep or out doing something with his team. so when you arrived to your mom’s place you were a bit surprised to see your husband holding your daughter and swinging her around.

“you’re back!” penny the first to speak and move further into the home. spencer and anna both turned their heads and smiled at the bright lady. “auntie penny!” your annabeth squealed with an arm out.

she happily took her from spencer’s hold and moved her away so you could talk with spencer. his puppy eyes and downturn mouth made your heart soar, oh how he’s gonna get you into so much trouble.

“you feeling better? your mom said it’s been a week.” pulling you into his hold, cheek pressed into his chest as his palms rubbed over your shoulder blades and spine. you sighed, “yeah, penny took me to the doctor. turns out i wasn’t sick… i was- i am pregnant.”

spencer’s hands stopped and leaned back, “what?” his brows raised into his curling locks. “how far along?” “three months…” biting into your bottom lip as you watched him go through his mental calendar. you both knew your period was irregular, that’s why you didn’t think anything of it.

“so it must’ve been sometime after annie’s fourth birthday,” spencer came to the conclusion. leaned in to peck your forehead, “are you okay with another?” always making sure you were okay with the decision.

you smiled up at him with a twinkle in your eyes, “absolutely.”

[danieyells]

Rui mizuki’s lines from Tokyo debunker if you haven’t yet PLEASE I will love you for all eternity

They’re edging me with the rui crumbs every chapter I can’t take it anymore

One flirty reaper coming right up!! And by right up i mean almost a week after you asked hhahaha

BUT YEAH WE DO GET A LITTLE OF HIM HERE AND THERE i wonder why he pops up so much. Especially for someone who allegedly tries not to be around other people much due to his deadly touch? Kinda sus--

also this is the first time i've posted all of someone's lines! not that i don't always end up posting 95% of them anyway, but for some reason some of Rui's were ordered weird(they're normally not entirely in order but they're usually sectioned properly, but for some reason one of his affinity chats was way in the wrong place) and I ended up closely paying attention to which one i was looking at and before i knew it i posted all of them lmao. . . .

You've Got Mail:

"Huh? Did you know you've got unread messages? Oh, that's why you've been leaving me on delivered! Ahaha!"

no that's just because my adhd makes me hyperfocus on things and it refuses to allow me to attempt to allot attention or energy to things it deems me not having enough attention span or energy or time for and i'm sorry--

Default:

"Aw c'mon Ed, again? Why does he always leave his socks on the floor... It's actually exhausting picking up after him all the time..."

lazy sloppy vampire lol

"You look kind of tired {PC}, you doing okay? Why don't you stop by the bar later? I can be your shoulder to cry on."

"Hey! You on break now? If you're super nice and you're gonna come chill with me now, put your hands up!"

"{PC}...were you just checking me out? Hey, it's all good, don't be embarrassed!"

"Oof, Ed popped out of nowhere so I accidentally touched him and he died again. Now I have to carry him all the way back to the dorm..."

i love the face he makes when he says this lmao like he is so tired of Ed's carelessness!

ignore that he's in the casino i always have my background set there since i usually have taiga as my hs

Affinity 1:

"{PC}! Did you come here to see me first thing? No way! You just made my day!"

Affinity 2:

"Aw c'mon, Ed, what are you doing sleeping out here? Didn't you just take a nap, old man? You're gonna catch a cold!"

Affinity 3:

"Oh hey, it's {PC}! Can't believe I ran into you here, so random! Guess we've gotta go on a date now, huh? It's like, written in the stars!"

i love flirty characters like rui lolol just. there's always More Going On there. and Rui starts off with More right off the bat.

Affinity 4:

"I can touch the plants as long as I have gloves on! I mean yeah, I'm pretty sure the same goes for people, but don't you think it'd be scary to test it out?"

Affinity 5:

"Come swing by the bar later! I'd rather watch a pretty face like yours while I work instead of a bunch of drunk guys."

Affinity 6:

"What? Ed was praising my good looks? I mean he's right, right? People always tell me my face is my only redeeming feature!"

but rui works so hard!? who's saying that!!

Affinity 7:

"Oh sorry, I don't do the whole class thing! You go, I'm all good here!"

Affinity 8:

"Ouch! Aw man, that rose thorn just scratched my arm... Wait, nooo! My rose bushes are wilting!!"

it's so easy for him to accidentally kill anything lmaoooo

Affinity 9:

"Are you out here by yourself, {PC}? Isn't that like not super dangerous? ...Wait, did that make sense? Whatever, let me walk you back!"

Affinity 10:

"Sorry! A drunk customer broke a glass, so I'm cleaning it up! Everyone's a little pent-up lately, I guess."

Affinity 11:

"Watering plants in the AM is such a mood lift, right? Whoa, everything's blooming like crazy out here! Better get my pruning shears."

it's a testament to how well he takes care of these plants that they grow super well in permanently-night Obscuary, i think. 8'D

Affinity 12:

"Huh? Look, you've got loose threads on your uniform. Give it to me, I'll fix it for you!"

Affinity 13:

"Hey, {PC}, did you eat yet? My door's always open! You can just stay the night after!"

damn already inviting you to stay over at affinity 13--just don't share the bed, you'll wake up super dead

Affinity 14:

"(yawn) Wow, I am dead tired... but I've gotta take a shower, make breakfast, and do the laundry before those two sleepyheads get up."

it takes a real man to be a single mother. . . .

Affinity 15:

"Oh hey, what's your poison? Wait, I mean, morning! Man, I tried to take my friend's drink order when we were hanging out yesterday too, occupational hazard I guess."

Affinity 16:

"A mission? I'm good, thanks though! Oh hey, you should invite Lyca! He'd totally be into that!"

Lyca also probably needs them to pass the grade lol

Affinity 17:

"No way, look at the time! Wish I could keep listening to you talk... Wanna stay over?"

Affinity 18:

"Oh man, I'm sorry! I'm closing early, I've got plans with a friend tonight. It'd be awesome if you could come by tomorrow!"

Affinity 19:

"Congrats on making it through another day, {PC}! I seriously admire you for working so hard. You're not doing this all for me, are you?"

Affinity 20:

"Morning! Whoa, you wanna help me with the housework, {PC}? It's all good, thanks though! The thought's more than enough for me."

c'mon, refusing help at affinity 20? let the pc be your little helper at least!

Affinity 21:

"Obscuary looks like it'd be full of downers, but it's actually pretty lively in there, right? Not gonna lie, I def prefer it that way."

Affinity 22:

"Lyca's an open book, but the flip side is he says the darndest things... I feel like watching him is bad for my heart..."

he talks so much about his teammates, he really is such a mom. . . .

Affinity 23:

"My eyes are red? Huh, that's weird... Oh yeah, I was cutting onions just now when I was preparing the appetizers for the bar!"

. . .idk this is pretty high affinity. . .you were crying about something weren't you rui. . .or romeo paid you in weed and you were getting tweaked up in the back of the bar

Affinity 24:

"Oh, don't worry about me, I always sleep late! I'm down to chat till you drift off to dreamland."

Affinity 25(max):

"Sometimes I wish I could've met you as a regular guy. I guess you wouldn't have given me the time of day if I had though, ahaha."

is it just me or. . .does it feel like he gets a little more distant as his affinity gets higher? like after affinity 17 it feels like he gets a little less flirty and a little more at arms length. . .like he knows his feelings are getting so strong that he might not be able to resist touching you, but he's too scared to do it even with the gloves on. . .so he tries to keep you a little further away. . .and then he admits it, he wishes he could be with you like a normal person, but if he were just some flirt in the street none of this would have ever happened. Poor Rui, he's cursed to be beloved but unable to give love how he wants in return.

Spring:

"Oh man, so nice... The weather's like perfect this time of year, right? Wish we could just chill like this forever."

"Man, you wouldn't even know it was spring with how bleak it is in Obscuary! Aren't there any cuter anomalous plants out there?"

"I feel like Ed's getting more senile every day... Maybe I should confiscate his tablet."

"So, what do you think of my spring-inspired cocktail? Almost as cute as you, right? I'm gonna add it to the menu!"

Summer:

"C'mon! It's summer, how can the sun never rise in Obscuary!? I wanna get a tan!"

"It's not summer if you don't hit the beach! I used to go all the time back when I surfed. And then I'd pick up girls on my way home... Just kidding, I promise!"

why 'just kidding' lolol you're not together! this relationship is not monogamous even if you were!

"Ta-da! I've got sparklers! Fireworks are fun and all, but there's something special about holding a light that only sparkles for a hot moment."

"It's so hot out, I bet the bar's gonna be a ghost town... Guess I'll send Harurin and Romi a PR message!"

reaching out to the local population of alcoholic ghouls to remind them to give him business lol

Autumn:

"There's so many dead leaves this time of year, it's a nightmare keeping on top of them! But you can use them to make a fire and roast stuff. Gotta look on the brights!"

"Hey {PC}, when are you free? I have a date idea for us—a romantic walk to admire the fall leaves! I'll pack us a lunch!"

"Oh damn! You look so cute all bundled up like that, {PC}! We've gotta take a selfie together!"

direct contrast to romeo who sees you in winterwear and calls you a fat slug kekw

"That piano anomaly makes the soundtrack for the bar! The song picks really tug at the heartstrings, right?"

Winter:

"You're a little late today, huh? If you can't get up in the cold, I could be your alarm!"

just gotta be really loud since he'd be too afraid to touch you awake, since he actually wants you to y'know wake up--

"Oh man, how is Lyca so full of energy when it's this cold? You should take him to Frostheim and see if he runs around in the snow like a puppy."

rui pointing at lyca: that dog is my son please take care of him

"Nothing like winter to make you miss the warmth of human touch... Oh, I'm good! Just getting to talk like this is all I need!"

BBY WE ARE ALL BUNDLED UP. YOU CAN HUG YOU'VE BOTH PROBABLY GOT ON AT LEAST TWO LAYERS JUST DON'T TOUCH FACES.

"Here, this Rui-original hot cocktail will warm you up! I'll blow on it for you, free of charge!"

is this the next step after gamer bathwater. host club host breath.

His birthday:

"Yeah, it's my birthday today! Oh damn, you're gonna celebrate it with me!? No way, I'm like, super touched right now!!"

Your birthday:

"{PC}... Happy birthday!! C'mon, birthday girl, sit down and chill out! This is your day, you should take it easy!"

New Years:

"Happy New Year! Want to start the year off on a high and come on a shrine date with me?"

Valentine's Day:

"Oh damn, are these for me? My heart! Is this your way of professing your love to me? Do I have a shot here?"

White Day:

"Ta-da! Happy White Day! This is for you! What's inside? You've gotta open it and find out!"

April Fool's Day:

"Guess what!? I finally broke my curse! Let's hold hands... just kidding! April Fools!"

this feels more like a joke on him than on you. . .a mean one at that lol

Halloween:

"Happy happy happy Halloween!! Trick or treat! Obviously I'm picking trick, ahaha!"

Christmas:

"Merry Christmas, {PC}! Oh man, I must be like, super blessed to get to spend it with you!"

Idle:

"Hey, hey, hey! We finally get to spend some time together, it's illegal to take your eyes off me!"

"{PC}? You seem kind of busy, guess I'll take this chance to get some work done…"

Absent:

"{PC}, you're back! I was worried you'd forgotten about me!!"

he's so flirty and clingy, but also he can't be clingy because he's scared you'll die if he touches you, even if he's wearing gloves. . .also surely your curse would cancel out his? Then again I'm sure a reaper i stronger than any other [living] anomaly out there. . . .

but. yeah. rui's a darling haha he just. he's another one of the 'i just wanna be a regular person, i wanna go back to normal' characters whose desire to just be a guy makes him special in a more fantastical world. i'm really looking forward to seeing the Obscuary chapter--probably like a month away, right? 'u'

[fear-no-mort]

i cant get over the whole time in the real world rick just sat there watching over morty and when he woke up finally rick sounded SO happy the way he just yelled his name excitedly the second he woke up,,,

[chibi-scone]

It’s been said before and the fact that I’m an Izzy simp aside like having a character who survives the most certain death shit ever (shooting himself in the head at point blank) and literally being nicknamed by another character “indestructible” and then become a symbol of protection for a whole group of people die from a fucking bullet to the side that was established in universe to have no vital organs in order to “atone for his sins” or however you wanna spin it and have him say he wants to go after (see point one) literally trying to kill himself in the show that is literally about growth and betterment of the self in a cruel world that wants you dead and where the main (and mostly queer) characters survive the most batshit insane injuries is like COSMICALLY stupid writing like I don’t even understand how you get there and the fact that it’s supposed to be a kind/ happy/meaningful ending is beyond me

[miodiodavinci]

there’s a more correct way of saying it though

[queer-ragnelle]

Look. I’m flattered when people ask for a link to read my WIP book. But like. I’d rather you just say “Good job!” but fantasy/historical fiction/arthurian isn’t your cup of tea from the get go, than ghost me or make up some bullshit about the Google Doc not working.

At best, I think people are more concerned with societal courtesy than being genuine (which would be less offensive, don’t pretend you’re gonna read it, especially when you fucking asked for it).

At worst, I think some (not all, but certainly a few) of these people were unprepared for the interracial queer romance I wrote at the forefront of an ensemble-riddled plot. They didn’t know how to say the book didn’t interest them without coming off like an asshole or making themselves sound stupid. (How they missed these very obvious themes is beyond me, but based on some Things Said, I suspect this is why. But I digress.)

So instead of honesty to avoid sounding stupidly assholish, these people sounded stupidly assholish by lying about the inability to open the document and refusing my suggested solutions. Just ghost me before asking for a link instead next time. Blocked.