#anyways I just wanted to talk about true crime stuff

[underthestringlights]

When you're trying to share some fun fact knowledge about some true crime thing you learned to your mom but she just keeps going on about her ex boyfriend [Who said he could see himself committing a mass shooting just cuz] that she was in love with and lowkey hasn't gotten over despite that she's been married to your father for almost 25 years

[kitorin]

sweet dreams.

in which, nanami kento finally goes on a long overdue vacation

contents. nanami kento x gn!reader, 2.965k words, fluff but then heavy angst (mcd and hurt no comfort), mentions of murder (true crime stuff) but no detail of it, reader is a coward and really can't handle horror (sorry that's just me projecting)

"What did you do?"

Guilt makes your lips purse, tongue swiping over them out of habit. You didn't want to call him, to interrupt him during the night shift he ever so loathes, contributing to the things he has to do.

But with demons lurking in the dark and the sense of impending doom beginning to latch onto you, it felt necessary, especially when fear decided to be quite clingy.

"I got scared."

A tired sigh comes from the phone. "How many times do I have to tell you not to watch anything disturbing at night?"

"This documentary got really interesting. I wanted to know what happened next..." Explicit content was fine, with Kento there to cling onto and his never-ending reassurance. Your husband watched these intense shows and documentaries without so much of a flinch, unfazed by quite literally everything displayed on the screen.

You, on the other hand, was a completely different case.

The slightest raise in volume managed to steal a scream from you, and jump scares had you flinching just a bit too hard. The mere build up and suspense of the music had your heart racing, even if nothing happened and it served as a little trick.

"I'm so sorry Ken, I'll hang up so you can focus on work." You're an adult, you shouldn't be so cowardly towards a mere genre of entertainment, and you should know better not to consume it.

Your thumb reaches for the red button, and your emotions hold you back, while rationality argues not to.

"No. Neither of us are going to be hanging up."

One part of you celebrates quietly, while another insists. "But you're working. Overtime nonetheless, and I know you hate those shifts. It's best to get everything done as soon as possible and get out of there."

His voice is raspy, garnished by a sultry tone. "Love, I belong to you, not my job. I do appreciate your thoughts, but you're more important than a mere paycheck."

Fuck. There it is, his eloquent, smooth way with words.

"Still. I can wait." That was a lie, though one you were willing to utter if it meant he'd prioritise his job. "Besides, what about that higher up you mentioned? The irritating one that's childish and overtalkative?"

Kento chuckles. "He's here, but he takes his job seriously and is highly capable. I'm on break anyways. Talk to me. If you can."

"I read about the Sapporo murder case. I still feel like the culprits from the case is going to sneak up on me. Or one of the zombies from Happiness." You adored the show and its cast, but god forbid you sit through another one of its jump scares.

"That's fine, it's normal. The point of this type of media is so scare. A lot of effort is put into making sure they elicit emotion." You cling onto every word he speaks, the world around you still there, only a bit blurry now. "Breathe in through your nose for four second, pause for two. Then breathe out through your mout for another eight."

Have you brushed your teeth?"

Kento hums as a response when you answer yes.

"Where are you right now?"

"In bed, but I need to clean up and turn off some lights before I sleep."

"Ignore it. I'll do it when I'm home."

"Are you sure?" There was no point in asking that, not when you'd rather not move away from the security of the doona. "You're going to be exhausted by the time you're home."

"Doesn't matter to me." Genuine indifference to the matter displays itself in Kento's tone. "I took a nap earlier, had a coffee or two as well. I'm going to be alright—" Something in the background echoes, though you could barely decipher what you were hearing, the furious tone of the voice concerned you.

"Who was that...? Is your boss mad at you? Wait but it doesn't make sense for a boss to give you a nickname—"

For a moment or two, Kento remained silent. "No, just an enthusiastic intern. He's talkative and sometimes loud but he's a good kid."

Your former worry dissipates, so quick that it almost seemed like it was never there in the first place. "Nanamin, was it?"

He sighs, the two of you know damn well that you'll refuse to forget that one.

"It's cute! Nanamin. I like how it sounds."

Voice softening, he replies with a chuckle. "I feel like you'd get along well."

"You should invite him over then. He must adore you if he's calling out to you that much."

"If that's true then I'd say the feeling is quite mutual." All you have is his voice, yet you can say without a doubt that he's beaming, a subtlety only you'll ever know— one of the many which compose the love between the two of you.

"Keep working." You whisper as a yawn claws out of your throat.

"Are you sure? Are you okay now?"

You nod, though he can't see it. "I am. Just listening to you helps a lot."

"I'm glad."

"Do your best at work, okay? And make sure you stay safe on the way home?" You hold back a grin, even though you're alone in your shared bedroom. "I have a surprise for you when you get home."

Kento piques with curiosity. "Really?"

"Yup, I think you'll love it." You stare at your bedside table, where tickets to Malaysia were stored. "I hope you do, at least."

"If it's coming from you of course I'll love it sweetheart." It's miraculous really, how you've been together for so long yet you have to suppress the urge to squeal over his sweet words. "My boss is going to start making me work again, good night darling. Sweet dreams, love."

You fall asleep with ease that night, this time with welcomed thoughts of spending time with Kento on the shore of Kuantan, running around whilst cherishing the cold, salty water licking at your ankles; rather than the intrusive thoughts from earlier.

"You could've kept talking to them. I wouldn't've told anyone even if it took a lot of time."

Fushiguro Megumi is examining the sharpness of his blade when he reassures his teacher Nanami Kento, not looking up from his weapon, seated by the railing of the bridge.

"I appreciate that, but it'd be wrong of you." He moves his shoulders in circles, loosening his tie to wrap it around his knuckles. "I can teach you other methods."

"Pardon?"

Nanami crouches in front of Megumi. "Your breathing changed when I told them how to." The student doesn't respond. "It varies from person to person, I've tested out a lot."

Megumi still doesn't answer, averting his gaze towards the weapon that he held down.

"Fushiguro - kun. Are you scared?"

The younger finally speaks once more. "... I guess." Hesitation presents itself in his words, barely stable and his reluctance to maintain eye contact. "I won't let that stop me from completing my tasks—"

"It's okay. You're merely sixteen, you're not even old enough to drink, nor get your driver's licence."

Megumi returns to silence.

"Look at me." And so Megumi does. "To be a child is not a sin. I'm perfectly fine with withdrawing you from this operation if it's too much."

"Wouldn't that get you in trouble?"

Indeed he would. He'd tolerate plenty of discipline and anger from the higher ups. But Nanami Kento knows too well what it's like to risk you and your peers for a 'greater good', at nonetheless a ridiculously young age too—an age where you're supposed to go to regular school and be regular, stupid kids figuring themselves out; not witnessing the death of the ones dear to your heart with the sight of their corpses forever imprinted into your mind, nor have the stench of blood memorised meticulously instead of historical dates or mathematical formulas.

If it were up to him, he'd prohibit such exploitation of children. None should be performing such tasks, even if born with an advantageous cursed technique.

If the higher ups adopted the same philosophy as him, Haibara would be alive and well, and Nanami wouldn't feel his stomach lurch whenever he sees a bowl of rice, nor flinch whenever he hears the mention of Geto Suguru. 

'I don't mind if it means you'll be at ease. Gojo can protect me, and if I'm unable to extract you from this operation then I'll handle everything."

Megumi takes a deep breath. "I shouldn't run away. I'll do my best. I have Tsumiki I need to return to. We should go find Itadori now."

“If you say so then, but it’s still my duty to protect you.” With a final, strong tug he tightens his tie around his knuckles. “I can't guarantee any results, not in this instable world and career. What I can promise, is that I will protect you with my life."

A determined nod from Megumi is all he needs.

Quick and efficient; that's the plan. Shibuya was already a mess, and all he wanted was the security of your arms within the four walls he calls 'home'.

"Thank you for having us."

Megumi, the one with the messy, black hair speaks coldly, though very politely, his manners were courteous and so was Yuuji. They'd come to your door and introduced themselves as interns at Kento's company. Now, they were seated in your living room, on your couch.

"Don't mention it, Ken's always been fond of the interns." You already miss him, he must've stayed overnight at the company again. "Are you okay with first names?"

Both nod.

You smile. "So, Yuuji, Megumi, what have you come here for?"

Yuuji speaks first. "It's about Nanamin, I mean Nanami—"

Without malicious attempt you cut him off. "Nanamin is fine, I overheard you calling him that last night. He was fond of it, it was quite cute after all." You chuckle to yourself at it. 

The boy swallows, appearing apprehensive. He sounded so enthusiastic last night, perhaps he was the type who needed to warm up towards people first.

"Well, um."

You don't say anything, giving him time to respond comfortably.

"Nanami sensei passed away last night." Megumi finishes what Yuuji couldn't.

Your heart drops.

Temptation to make an accusation of a prank attempts to claw out of your throat, but with how their expressions scream nausea and discomfort, it'd be rude to do so.

That explained why he never kept his promise of finishing up on chores, knowing Kento he would’ve done everything to make sure he made it home to do as he said he would. 

"What happened?" It doesn't feel right— and it isn't at all, but you have to figure out the truth, even if this all doesn't seem real.

"There was a fire." Yuuji whispers, barely loud enough and coherent with the tremble of his voice. "And he didn't make it out in time."

You remain silent, so does Megumi. Yuuji bites his lip, suppressing what seemed to be a sob.

"I see."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If only—" It drowns out in his bawling. "It was my fault. He—"

He completely lacked incoherency now, hiccuping as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"He helped us first." Megumi once again continues Yuuji's words. "But they recovered his body, we brought you his ashes."

He pulls out a package from his shoulder bag, wrapping it to reveal a pale blue funerary urn. Megumi places it onto the table.

"I'm sorry. If I had been capable of protecting myself he wouldn't've died saving me."

Your gaze meets Megumi’s, you're too afraid to properly acknowledge the urn, where your boyfriend was supposedly resting.

Silence permeates the air, Yuuji bites his sleeve to suppress his crying and Megumi breathes shakily.

"Don't apologise. You have no reason to. Neither of you." You've barely known the two, but the way Yuuji was sobbing broke your heart, and how both seemed to genuinely believe they caused Kento's passing. "It's not your fault. I don't think it is, and he would agree with him. He made the choice to help you, because he cared deeply for both of you. You can cry freely, I won't stop you." You muster a smile, hoping it'll be comforting in some sort of way. They're only kids, they can't be blaming themselves for the death of another they didn't cause.

Yuuji's teeth release the sleeve of his hoodie, hiccuping out what sounded like a thank you. You push a tissue box towards him, to which he accepts the offer.

"You idiot…” Megumi sniffles a bit.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine.” You pat him on the back, rubbing it too. You give him your phone, opening a new contact. “I’d like to invite you two to the funeral, can I have your contact details? In the meantime I’ll make some tea.”

You earn a nod, and are quick to retreat into the kitchen, hand holding your mouth shut as you slowly cry, pleading for Yuuji and Megumi to be unable to hear. 

"Kento! We're here, at Kuantan!"

After a long flight and travel, you finally arrived at your destination, you had dropped your luggage off at the accommodation, the urn Megumi had given you was held up against your chest.

I've always wanted to go to Kuantan, in Malaysia. One day I'd like to build a house on a secluded beach and live there. Of course with you, if you were okay with it.

You take off your sandals, tossing them away as you approach the shoreline, the coolness of the water catching you off guard. You continue walking, until it reaches halfway up your calves.

Off goes the lid of the urn, and you toss the ashes into the beach, watching the waves swallow Kento whole. It's not long before the urn is empty, you've never had to scatter someone's ashes, yet it felt like something was missing.

In all honesty, you have no idea if Kento wanted to be cremated, you've never touched on the subject of death, probably because the two of you were so young.

But something tells you this is the right decision. Kuantan's beautiful, and he wanted to go when work and money permitted him to do so. He'd loved to read a book under the shade of that large tree over there, and would've wanted to try fishing at the rock ledge nearby. It was just the two of you here, even better.

Fuck.

As you watch him swim into the ocean, you notice the tears threatening to spill. You don't bother trying to avoid it, not that you would've been able to.

"It's not fair!" You yell, out into the ocean. You don't blame Yuuji, or Megumi, or anyone, but you're still livid. "I miss you, I miss you so much that it gets hard to breathe."

The ring box feels heavy in your pocket.

"If you had to leave this world early you could've done it later." Your cry becomes a sob. "Just one month, then I could've fucking proposed. I don't need a honeymoon or marriage, I just want your fucking answer."

In an ideal world, you'd like to think that he would've accepted without hesitation, but that fantasy doesn't compare to the pain of remaining oblivious to his answer forever.

"Who's going to comfort me now? Who am I going to spend the rest of my life with? Who am I going to cook dinner with? What about Yuuji and Megumi? They had to finish their internships without you. Do you know how hard Yuuji cried when he came to tell me you passed away?"

By no means are you mad at Kento, you could never. But anger that slowly accumulated in your heart for the past few months, and had erupted. The empty coldness of your bed stings, and the amount of cutlery required being halved overwhelms you with misery. You can’t even laugh at his high school photos anymore, the amusement from his ridiculous haircut can’t triumph over the fact that he had passed away a mere ten years later. 

You’d much rather store it all away, each and every possession and photo of the man. The sight of his favourite mug serves as a harsh reminder that morning coffee with him will never happen. Listening to old voice mails seemed reassuring and almost lulled you to sleep, until you had to come to terms that he was truly gone once more. 

But at least sound can be captured.

What about his scent? Eventually his clothes would lose their scent, they probably were already on that course, even with your refusal to wash them. Touch can’t be preserved, you can cling onto the memory of your skin against his for as long as you want, but you’ll never truly experience it again.

“Goodbye Kento!” Despite your miserable state you pull yourself together just enough so you can see him off with a smile. “I love you, so so much. More than anything in the world, I always will! Thank you, for being there. Th-thank you for loving me.”

You've lost the energy to yell, throat now hoarse. You venture deeper into the shore, not caring about your clothes getting wet, as your face gets soaked with your own tears.

Who's fault is it? Was it the culprit of the fire (if there was one)? Or perhaps yours, for not proposing earlier. Maybe then he would've been safe and sound in Kuantan, after taking leave. Perchance it was the heavens deciding they’d rather just not authorise him to spend the rest of his name.

Whoever it was, it doesn't matter. Nothing could bring back the warmth of Nanami Kento. 

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins, @pokkomi, @chigirizzz

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[deancaspinefest]

Another Kind of Memory

Author: FriendofCarlotta | Artist: Aggiedoll

Posting on Wednesday March 20

Since a traumatic incident six years ago, Castiel Novak’s face has been disfigured by a scar. He’s resigned himself to being someone people can barely stand to look at, let alone love. Except his heart doesn’t seem to have gotten the message. When Dean Winchester takes over the convenience store down the street from Castiel’s bookshop, Castiel falls helplessly in love with his new neighbor. To make matters worse, Castiel’s sister Anna is also interested in Dean. Believing that Dean could never love him, Castiel decides to help Anna win his heart instead.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

“Hey,” Dean says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Just… wanted to say hi.”

“Oh. Hi,” Castiel says, one hand fluttering nervously down his face and across his hair in an attempt to ensure he’s looking presentable. The tips of his fingers catch on the ugly, jagged ridge of his scar, and he remembers that “presentable” stopped being an option six years ago. He clears his throat and arranges his face in the polite mask of a consummate customer service professional. “Anything I can help you find?”

“Um.” Dean looks uncertain now, as though it’s a question he wasn’t expecting — despite the fact that it’s easily the most predictable question one could be asked in a bookshop. “I don’t know. I was just gonna browse, I guess.”

This is the point in a customer interaction where Castiel would usually withdraw, because “I’m just browsing” is universal bookstore code for “leave me the fuck alone.” But Dean doesn’t give any sign of wanting to walk away. Instead, he simply hovers in front of Castiel’s armchair, eyes gliding aimlessly (and somewhat helplessly) across the shelves to his right.

“What sort of things do you like to read?” Castiel finds himself asking, because it’s impossible not to take pity on a grown man who is capable of looking so bashfully lost.

“Anything,” Dean says. One of his hands flies to the back of his neck, rubbing at it. There’s something terribly endearing about the gesture — perhaps the fact that it makes him look like a boy who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Belatedly, it occurs to Castiel that it’s his turn to speak. His prolonged silence appears to have made Dean nervous, because he’s speaking again, a little too quickly to be altogether natural. “I know that sounds stupid. Like those people who say they like all kinds of music — which I don’t, by the way, just to be clear. Big classic rock fan. Zeppelin, the Stones. Metallica too, which I guess is classic rock these days and fuck, that’s kind of depressing. But, yeah. Anyway. Pretty much anything. Love Vonnegut and Kerouac, but I’ve read just about all their stuff. I’ll read sci-fi, horror, mysteries… actually, I guess I should say I read all kinds of fiction. Non-fiction kinda puts me right to sleep. My brother, Sammy, he’s a big fan though. Crazy about true crime for some reason.” Dean blows out a heavy breath. He abruptly seems to realize he’s scratching at his neck and lowers his arm back down, fingers twitching as if unsure what to do with themselves now. “You probably didn’t need to know all that, huh?”

“No, this is helpful,” Castiel says, getting up. “I’ll show you the layout of the store so you can see which shelves you might be most interested in.”

Somehow, Dean’s shyness makes him feel more at ease. When he first laid eyes on Dean, he thought someone as handsome as Dean must be a smooth and confident conversationalist. But he doesn’t seem to be, and somehow, that makes it easier for Castiel to hold up his own end of the conversation.

Or maybe it’s just that Dean doesn’t know how to talk to someone like Castiel. He wouldn’t be the first one.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Wednesday March 20)

[dandelionpixels]

the doctor (9/10/11) + reader

(platonic/familial)

ask: Doctor x daughter reader? Where reader already knows most of what's going to happen because she's from 11 and Rivers time but through timey wimey stuff ends up traveling with 9 and rose and eventually 10? This might be too specific but the way I have it in my head is she ended up being a partner in crime with Jack and so the first time they meet she's with him and the doctor is like “Who are you?!” and she's all “Spoilers!........ I've always wanted to say that!”

You’ve been running since you were born. A breathing enigma, that’s what they called you. There’s no point in explaining how, or even why. It’s really no fun to have an answer anyway.

Honestly the only thing that’s important is that, much like River, you’re living your life in the wrong order, jumping around without rhyme or reason. You don’t mind, it keeps things exciting. It’d been a while of traveling with Eleven and the Ponds, so you figured you were due for another temporal displacement. But you just didn’t think it’d be so far back.

You’d always found Jack interesting, no matter how much each Doctor warned you to be careful. And he’s always out there, no matter the time period, which works perfectly for you. So you track him down again, preparing an introduction, knowing he certainly hasn’t met you yet.

It ends up being unnecessary, since when you find him, he’s too busy dodging laser-fire to listen to your story. In fact, he immediately promises to pay you handsomely if you pretend to be a hostage. And he seems pleasantly surprised when you take little-to-no convincing, ruffling your hair and dashing across the bridge with you, gun to your back. By the time you guys make it across the border safely, he’s offering a partnership, grin plastered on his face. With a matching smile, you agree, excited to continue your streak of befriending Jack in any time.

This arrangement leads you to run into the Doctor, as traveling with Jack always seems to do.

Meeting Nine

The first time you properly see Nine, your mouth fully drops open.

You’d known him through pictures, shared memories, stories, but never in person. He’s real, and new, and standing right in front of you. Jack offers him a mock salute, glancing back to see you still standing in silence. Before you can stop yourself, your mouth starts to form a sentence, the first thing you could think of to say.

“Your ears are proper huge!”

Rose has to grab his arm to keep him from lunging towards you, planting her feet to yank him back. He stumbles slightly but lets her keep him in place, angrily fixing his coat collar, “And who would you be then?”

Jack chuckles, arms crossed while he lets you talk. A giddy grin spreads across your face, eyes lighting up with genuine excitement as you shoot him a playful wink, “Can’t say! Spoilers!”

You try and fail to stifle your smile, looking between the others, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Nine just throws his arms up in the air, “Great, wonderful, fantastic. Spoilers, what is that supposed to mean?”

After thinking about it more, he pivots his body to direct the question towards Jack. Resting his hands on his hips, he taps his foot impatiently, and you can’t help but think he looks like a disgruntled mother.

Jack shrugs, “She’s my partner.”

Over Nine’s shoulder, you see Rose make a gagging expression. You shake your head frantically, “Not- no- just partners! No- erm- skadoodling.”

This time it’s Jack turn to gag, as he mouths ‘skadoodle?’ to you. You shrug, and Jack rolls his eyes, “It’s true. Just partners, none of- what she said.” He pauses before continuing, “Despite my best efforts.”

Shoving him him pointedly, you look back towards Nine’s irritated expression, “I’m a friend of the Doctors, and that’s all I can say. Jack can swear that I’m not a spy, or whatever.”

You shoot a sharp look in Jack’s direction and he makes a cross over his heart, “Hope to die.”

Nine groans, “Can nothing ever be easy with me? Does everything have to be so convoluted.”

Rose rolls her eyes, “Tell me about it.”

She looks towards you, recognizing something in your eyes. The same thing she sees in the Doctor’s. Shake shakes it off, just excited about the prospect of having another girl in the Tardis to talk too. Before Nine can cut in, she steps forward, “Jack’s word is good enough for me! We’re about to see the emerald fields, do you wanna come?”

Your face splits into a bright smile, “Do I? I have like three hats from the gift shop!”

Before Nine’s dumbfounded face can come up with more questions, you grab Jack’s hand and pull him inside the Tardis. Looking back as he runs inside, Jack grins towards Nine, “Sorry Doc, looks like the ladies are making the calls!”

Nine follows the both of you inside, dragging Rose behind him and pointing accusatory at you, “Now I’m not sure what kind of small-ear agenda you’re spouting, but I won’t have it in my Tardis. And keep your odd amount of space-time trivia to yourself!”

You nod, giving him a mock salute and giggling as he pinches the bridge of his nose with a soft groan.

Misc. Traveling With Nine

- It’s a lot of him insisting you don’t know something, and you insisting that you do. It typically ends up with Rose and Jack placing money on it. Which Nine shortly banned because they kept only betting on you.

- You keep intentionally hitting buttons on the console and then pretending to be surprised when they work. It cracks Rose up and makes Nine crazy when you ‘bump into’ the landing stabilizers every time they touch down somewhere.

- Rose almost falls to the floor laughing when Jack makes a joke about you and Nine kissing and you make such a disgusted face that Nine almost looks like his feelings were hurt.

- Sometimes you and Jack disappear for a couple days to do something on your own, and every time you come back, Nine pretends like he wasn’t worried. Rose always rolls her eyes behind him, letting you know he’s bluffing. He spends most of the time you’re gone pacing around and complaining about you not calling to let him know you’d be gone.

- Whenever you get a chance to say spoilers, you take it. Nine always find it unreliably infuriating but he eventually stops pressing you for more information.

- He leaves the Tardis one day in ’normal clothes’ to try and go undercover somewhere. When he comes back, you and Rose are taking turns wearing his coat and doing arguably awful impressions of him. Jack is sitting in the chair, grabbing his stomach as he guffaws loudly.

It feels like you’re just getting comfortable when Nine’s time comes to an end, and the regeneration process begins.

You and Rose huddle together, covering each other’s eyes while the glowing light fills the Tardis. You can’t help the tears running down your cheek, even though you already knew this would happen. It doesn’t stop the feelings.

Both of you wait in Jackie’s room as he sleeps, and you can’t properly explain to them why you’re not as worried as everyone else.

When he slowly but surely gets back into the swing of things, you can feel yourself filling with new excitement. It’s another Doctor, whom you’ve never met. Like an second family reunion where only ones of you knows that you’re family.

Misc. Traveling With Ten

- There’s more emotional moments with him, where you almost get hurt and he goes a little crazy trying to make sure you’re safe. It gets to the point where you have to pull him aside, promising that you can handle yourself. He insists he knows that, but it doesn’t stop him from putting himself between you and danger at every opportunity.

- On the rooftop of some scummy restaurant in future Montana, he admits that he trusts you implicitly. He says he can’t understand why, but you feel close to his soul in a way he doesn’t understand. It makes your heart pang to not be able to tell him that you feel the same way.

- You’re there for him when Rose leaves, to sit with him in the silence, and to scream into the canyons on deserted planets. You’re there for Donna, then Martha, then Donna again. You get along with all of them and it always makes you sad to know how things pan out, but you try to just enjoy your time with them.

- There’s somehow even more running than before, and it feels like he’s always grabbing your hand to pull you towards various adventures.

- The both of you get really competitive, always racing to outdo each other’s dramatic conclusion, and forgetting there’s other people around.

- He makes a huge deal out of your birthday, despite them being more a suggestion for Timelords. He takes you to Paris (367 years in the future) for breakfast, back in time for a front-row concert from your favorite musician, and then to 8 different planets for a multiple course dinner and desert.

When you both run into River in the library, you can’t help but let out a soft gasp. River locks eyes with you and in an instant, you know she knows you. Running into her arms, she just laughs and spins you slightly, thanking the universe for aligning you guys so perfectly.

Ten almost genuinely stomps his feet, infuriated, “You have got to be kidding me! How do you two know each other?”

You shoot a playful smile to River, and the both of you turn to face him at the same time, exclaiming a chastising, “Spoilers!”

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 7 thoughts

hmm. hmm. that is the sound if me pondering what i just watched.

(i understand that this episode was an analysis into mulder's self-destructive behaviors when faced with overwhelming grief, but. that does not mean i enjoyed vampire hookup time)

well. we shall start from the top!

i read that it was an episode about vampires which i thought was a weird narrative choice because. hello. scully still gone??? but then i remembered that i too ignored the main quest in skyrim to hunt some vampires and that i had no place to judge

(granted, my main quest wasn't finding scully though. might have given that a bit more priority than saving the whole world. because she IS my whole world)

we open with a guy that looks like joe biden meeting with an attractive young woman. they're making out in a hot tub and we just know someone is gonna get slurped upon. and woe, it be upon us! double vampire attack.

back in DC, mulder gets his old office back! it's covered in plastic. he takes some of it off. he adjusts his calendar from may to november, so we see how much time he and scully had been assigned to other tasks, which also has me wondering how she managed to get a new house that quick.

(also, this calendar is... scantily clad women posing next to tools such as hammers and saws. was this allowed? was this acceptable? was it normal? were the 90's a lawless wasteland and mulder an irreparable freak?)

well. scully is an x file now, and he puts her glasses and id into an evidence bag and closes the filing cabinet which was sooooo evil. but he can't bring himself to put her necklace away. oh man. oh he's gotta have it in case he finds her. he has to hold her close. i'm Fine this is Fine.

so. he goes out to california to deal with the joe biden looking fellow being murdered. and he is not wanted on the crime scene. we know this because someone greets him by saying "nobody called the bureau" and he says "well, they should have" and lifts up the tape to let himself in. because one thing about him is that he's gonna let himself into a place he isn't wanted.

he sees the writing of a bible verse in blood on the wall and says something about their grasp of biblical knowledge being "feeble and literal" and i was like okayyy need to have a theological discussion with him

he then scares the other guy who originally wanted to kick him out by reciting a LARGE amount of facts related to similar cases and it's very much giving photographic memory. got me thinking, have we ever seen this man forget something? (directions don't count. they're confusing. but everything else sticks in that man's brain)

he just needs one thing: a phone book. which he uses to call a blood bank and ask about a new guy. who must be the vampire who did this!

so he rolls up to the blood bank and i'm over here struggling because i do Not Do Blood, and i knew at this point this was gonna be a tough watch, but i didn't anticipate the non-blood related reasons why this would be true

anyway he's sniffing around the blood bank and he hears some slurping and wouldn't you know, this dude is tearing into a bag of the red stuff like it's a capri sun. somehow he gets him into custody, where the dude refuses to talk because the lights are on, and mulder comes in with a lamp he put a red filter over, because he was prepared for vampire interrogation.

the vampire is going on about how what he did isn't murder because it's not like animals hunting prey is murder which is. not the greatest approach in terms of legal defense. mulder tells the guard that the guy is delusional and it's best to play along, and he believed this to be true... until he, quite literally, burned to a crisp in the sunlight. and died.

he's talking to the coroner and rattling off a bunch of vampire facts and says he didn't believe in vampires which is so funny to me because like. why is that where you draw the line, my friend. not at bigfoot and definitely not at aliens. but man. vampires are just too out there for spooky mulder. until now!

the coroner has a very funny line: "you are really upsetting me... on several levels" which seems to be the general effect fox mulder has on people. and also because i felt the same way about his dumbass actions during this episode.

coroner finds a stamp on the dead body's hand, which seems to come from a nightclub. so naturally our fbi agent ends up there.

you often see posts saying that "(insert character here) should be at the club". i fear that this is not the case for fox mulder, but it's possible that it's his suit and tie that are throwing me off. he just doesn't seem like he belongs there. i ask myself, where should he be instead? perhaps some sort of star wars convention would suit him better. a book signing with some author he likes. idk, an interior decorating festival. not here.

i shall use my verbatim words to walk you through the next scene:

"pause. he's talking to a woman who was looking into a compact without a mirror. so. vampire suspect. and now why are they getting so close together. and getting a drink. okay now they're leaving to a new spot together? AFTER she admits to vampirism"

(here she did some stuff that required me to look away from my screen due to my Weak Constitution. but also it would have felt necessary to look away anyway because it was getting... charged)

she tries to get him to... suck on her finger... but he won't do it because aids. which is fair. i think that's a smart move, actually. it's just that getting flirty with a vampire he knows was involved with a ton of killings was such a stupid move, i don't know why it's now the braincells start to kick in.

that kills the vibe, though, so she gets another guy to take his place and things escalate.

mulder pulls in at a restaurant called ra. nice! the sun god! and he is... through a window, witnessing some more slurping action. he seems to want to intervene and save this poor soul being feasted upon...

but the poor soul is no poor soul at all! he comes out and decks mulder, and delivers this line with stunning conviction: "i don't know who you are, freak, but we're two consenting adults" and with this, he is forced to flee.

and yeah. it made me laugh. my expectations for the genre were subverted. he signed up for that shit! what he did not sign up for, however, was the next part, where he was killed by the other vampires.

cut to investigating the crime scene. mulder has brought along a forensic dentist, which is a job i had no idea you could go into. he needs to see about those bites, which are very human.

next they go to vampire woman's house. it's a very nice place. mulder... opens her oven. and sees a loaf of bread in there. and i'm thinking, man, i hope this doesn't go where i think it's going. baked goods... ovens... i never want a vampire pregnancy arc. but he cracks open the loaf and something red spills out and somehow, this to him means that she is gone and isn't coming back. he can read the signs of the bread. so add that to his resume. what did the bread tell you, my liege?

he seems to have stayed in her house, however, because he's there when she's back, and says he knows she was using the bread as a charm to ward off evil. because apparently that's an eastern european thing, blood bread to warn off evil. sound off if any eastern europeans in the chat wanna confirm or deny.

anyway. he's IN this woman he thinks is a vampire's HOUSE? what the hell. mulder seriously i need you to stop and think. like you should have stopped and done some thinking a while ago. honestly i'm not mad i'm just disappointed. and he's like "i want to save you come with me before they kill you" ohhh big tough man needs to save her huh. make him feel good inside. huh. certainly no ulterior motive here...

she's monologing about her horrible childhood and how sweet blood tastes. um girl. don't lie to him like that. i have busted my lip open before that stuff does NOT taste sweet and dangerous. it's like a penny with rust that you found in a parking lot.

it seems her vampiric origin story, if to be believed, is that things simply got too kinky. which is a new take on the genre.

(it's also about being caught in an abusive relationship and the damage that inflicts, but it seems abusive boyfriend came into vampirism at his kinky parties and things escalated from there. which. well. it blew the eyebrows clean off my head, to be fair)

at this point we see that he is WEARING SCULLY'S NECKLACE? he says something like "it's from someone i lost" and she says that she "hopes he finds her"

i did not like the undertones here and certainly not the overtones. because i knew where this was going. he was shaving in her bathroom. and let me tell you something: there is only ever a shaving scene in media because the writer needs a way to get some blood out of someone's body and into the real world. and man. i knew it was coming.

but what i didn't see coming was her SHAVING HIM??? girl. i am uncomfy. and she does, of course, cut him, and then they kiss. aggressively. terribly aggressively. can anyone answer what was going on in a satisfactory manner?

but the gag is: the original vampire- who burnt to a crisp in the jail cell, and was the abusive ex she spoke of- HE'S WATCHING THEM THROUGH THE WINDOW!

he breaks in and taunts the vampire woman about how he had to "wait for her to finish" and i was like cool. thank you SO much for that mental image i'm super happy with it. i definitely don't feel like i need a shower. but then he's going on about how he can't be killed.

here, at the tail end of the episode, we learn the rules of vampirism in this world: a vampire cannot be killed by a non-vampire. and a non-vampire BECOMES a vampire by consuming the blood of a believer and also taking a life. it is only here we realize that this woman is not an actual vampire yet, she just appropriates their culture by drinking blood unnecessarily.

mulder's still sleeping in her bed and she's like "you need to leave" and she stabs the wall to make her evil ex think she's killing him. but when they go to break out, mulder ties him up quite handily and he gets in the car to escape with vampire woman. until ANOTHER vampire woman jumps on the hood of their car. and main vampire woman knocks her out for a bit by running into her with said car, which is super effective.

mulder's leaving the place in shambles, his shirt still unbuttoned, wandering down the side of the hill. back at the house, now that we know the vampire rules, main vampire woman says she can finally kill the evil vampire ex. and he's like how!! you haven't had the blood of a believer or taken a life. so. she licks the blood off her hands (unclear if it's hers or mulders tbh) and says she'll take her own life. and drops a match after pouring gasoline.

so. that brings that to an end. and shabby looking mulder sits on a hill as he learns all four in the house died.

the episode ends with him playing with scully's necklace. which i don't even sort of feel like unpacking right now but maybe another time.

probably not, though, because i just didn't like this episode. and yeah, a lot of it comes down to me not wanting to see mulder hook up with people who aren't scully. can you blame me? is it so wrong to have preferences in this world?

but also, narrative wise- do you honestly see the guy fucking off to cali while scully's still missing to deal with an unrelated problem instead of devoting every hour of his life to finding her, like we saw him do in the last episode? you expect me to think he just puts it off for a lil while? the guy who, just last episode, pulled his gun on the ski lift operator to get to the top where she might be a little faster, and then choked his one and only suspect out of fury? you're thinking this is the guy that's gonna go soak up some west coast rays?

and yeah, he was obviously not himself through the episode- very cold and analytical- but c'mon. we all want to bang a vampire. he's not special. i just personally wouldn't do that if my friend were gone. like how is that gonna help the situation. be so for real. time and place!

and also the whole only learning the rules of being a vampire about 5 minutes before they need it to be plot relevant. that annoyed me too.

overall, mulder, like i said, i'm not mad, just disappointed.

let me know what you thought on this episode- i try to not be a hater, but i also understand that hating in small doses can be good for the soul. if it's a widely beloathed episode i'll feel better in my judgement as i join a long tradition of haters who have come before me.

[blue-devil-of-the-lord]

I want to know your most random headcanons for Kurt Wagner.

Alright, I'm a bit busy at the moment, but I wanted to answer it anyway, so forgive me if it's not that much:

He's an amazing artist. Like, really good. And not really limited to any art style, he's just pretty good at all of them. Kurt is also capable of painting with his tail. It took him a while to master it and while he prefers to do it with his hands, he sometimes goes with the tail and it still looks amazing.

However, he's not very musical. Like, he ha a tone range of about four notes before it starts to sound wrong. And the only instrument he really actually likes to play, or tried to, is the drums, because most instruments are meant for people with five fingers on each hand. Besides he really has no feeling for rythem, yet only regarding making music. Kurt is a master on the dance floor though.

Kurt does not really have a preference for one genre (in movies and books). He takes it all. Yet he has a soft spot for romcom and romance stuff, being the charmer he is. And true-crime. Please don't ask why

Kurt loves sweet stuff and would die/kill for chocolate. Don't let him go near it. There was this one time him and Gambit had to go on a mission. A chocolate fountain was included. None of them ever talked about it, however came back in brown spots. Make with this information what you want.

When he's really tired/ confused he sometimes accidentally switches to German. His friends started learning German for this exact reason, though they're not really good at it. Except Logan, he somehow manages it

Kurt enjoys poetry a lot. Sometimes he even writes some. It may not be really good, but he still likes it a lot.

Like I said not much, but I thought better than nothing :)

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 3 Transcript

00:00 John: Heyyy there, I’m,uh, I’m, uh, back in your ears! Heh. Uh, thanks for inviting me in. Um, I-I just wanted to add a chunk on before this Q and A just to give you an update on all things Gloria Scott. Uh, thanks so much for the kind words, first off. Uh I-I-I did warn about its angst. Um, and I appreciate i-it’s not always a fun ride when, when those kinds of things happen. Um. But hey! I’m glad you all enjoyed it. Um, glad the masterful sound design was appreciated.

00:32 John: Uhm, yeah I thought I’d, I’d check in now and give you a rundown of it all. Post match interview sort of stuff. Uh, Lionel did recover from the stroke. He is out of hospital, but he will be going back to Australia. Um. He’s-he's obviously cooperating with the government, um, down there. It’s not an easy situation, but he’s handling it with remarkable grace and dignity. Um. Victor is, as well. Can’t quite get the read on things with him at the moment. He’s obviously very, very torn. Uh, we solved the case for him, but, y’know, yeah. H-he’s in a much worse place then he was before. Um. *pause* Such is life. Uh, such is a very complicated life, I should say. He’s helping his dad, with the inquiries. Uh, m-my gut says there’ll be prison time. *sucks teeth* Um, y’know, c-cooperation and evidence and the, yeah, t-the mitigating circumstances might be helpful to Lionel and all, but, uh… *deep breath* ultimately lives were lost. He was complicit. Y’know this is the world we live in.

01:49 John: *sucks teeth* Victor has paused the job search, but uh I-I do believe he’ll be coming back to the UK once, y’know, whatever happens, happens. But, uh, yeah. Tough stuff. Um, glad you all enjoyed Mariana joining in on the adventure. Um, don’t know if she enjoyed it all that much. So far she’s watched corpses get pulled out of the canal and now she’s watched an elderly stroke victim get extradited for murder. So, uh, y’know. *chuckles lightly* Welcome to the world of true crime, Ametxazurra!

02:23 John:Um, Sherlock asked me to apologize, also, actually. Um, yes, to apologize that he wasn’t technically correct in his solving of the case. Um, uh, Hunter did reveal the actual truth. I, I told him people wouldn’t really mind. He got me to apologize anyway, so, uh, yeah. There you go. Um, so he’s been a right mopey bastard, as you can imagine. *clears throat* So, to cheer him up, I carted him off to…an indoor theme park! Heh, yeah, you heard that right. Theme park. But indoors. Well, theme park’s a bit strong to be honest. I-I-It’s like an arcade with an indoor roller coaster. But yeah! Y’know! Uhm, back to Camden, but for a much more enjoyable experience.

03:05 John: These questions were asked, um, before The Gloria Scott episode aired. T-two that I ask Sherlock right at the end are eerily prescient. Um, that’s the right word, I think? Uh, I hope. Welp, you’ll see what I mean. Enjoy!

03:19-3:49 *Intro Music*

03:47 *Arcade Sounds Fade In, we can hear Sherlock exerting himself*

03:50 John: Yoooo, wassup guys! Welcome to the John Watson channel where we talk all things John Watson all the time! Ehh, that’s my impression of a youtuber or real podcaster, hope you enjoyed it. Ah, right, Sherlock, tell the members where we are.

04:01 Sherlock: Indoor theme park! Augh! *through gritted teeth* You little alien bastard! Get back here!

04:09 John: Sherlock is doing some whack-a-mole, ah, or they’re aliens in this place, not moles. Could be alien moles. Who knows. Ah, it’s an indoor theme park in *in a very exaggerated North London accent (genuinely he sounds like an ass here)* North London. That’s North London, sorry. Bit excited. Had about a kilogram of sugar. Haha, I’m looking at all sorts here. Arcade machines, carousels, basketball hoop game thingy, air hockey, bumper cars -dodge’ems, call’em what you will-, and an indoor roller coaster! Hahahaa! It’s wild stuff. Okay, let’s get to some questions over a casual game of air hockey.

04:40 *Audio Cut, sounds of air hockey being played*

04:41 Sherlock: Have that! *puck hit sound* And that!

04:44 John: ‘Have that and that’? What are you, a musketeer? Hahahaaaa! *sound of a puck entering the goal* First point Watson! Heyheyheeeey, ahhhh. And now for the first question. Uh, Tonkster aka Resetoaster asks, “To John and Sherlock, if you go to Subway -the fast food I should clarify- what do you usually order?”

05:03 Sherlock: *with exertion* You’re *sound of the puck being hit* distracting me! Ah!

05:06 John: Ah, you wouldn’t be saying that if you were winning.

05:07 Sherlock: I’m not winning *puck hit sound* precisely because of it.

05:11 John: Alright, fine. I’ll answer. Uh, I like the turkey club. Is that-Ow! That hit my finger. *hisses in pain*- I think there’s a turkey one. Um, I like that one on plain-ish bread. I don’t think their fancy breads are all that good. Uh, and then I’ll have a southwest sauce- Wham! Haha! *sound of puck entering goal*

05:23 Sherlock: Oh, bugger.

05:26 John: Subway order?

05:26 Sherlock: Never been.

05:27 John: Great.

05:27 *audio cuts. Sounds of automatic rifle fire going off*

05:29 John: Reloading. Cover me!

05:29 Sherlock: Covering.

05:30 John: Incoming at your two o’clock.

05:31 Sherlock: On it!

05:32 *sounds of two loud gunshots*

05:33 John: Yesss, Sherlock. Right, through the lobby. Okay, let’s see how this goes. Bellaxbear01 asks “If you guys want another pet, what animal would it be? Another dog, another cat, or maybe a fish?”

05:47 Sherlock: I like fish. *sound of gunshots* Very much. Reloading.

05:50 John: *pleased* Oh, hahah! I like fish too!

05:52 Sherlock: Really?

05:53 John: Yeah! Tropical?

05:54 Sherlock: Tropical or temperate.

05:56 John: Well that’s good to know. Yeah, worth maybe one day looking into that? Oo! Getting shot at here. Uh, Amelie5 asks “Do you have a favorite case you’ve solved so far?

06:05 *sounds of a big gun being fired*

06:07 Sherlock: A good question at bloody last. Die you bastards! *big boom*

06:12 John: Oh wowhaowhaooow! *sounds of I guess dirt falling, maybe bodies???* *with a smile in his voice* Oh, you made him blow up! Ha! Ahh, I know the feeling. Poor sod.

06:18 Sherlock: I rather enjoyed the Red Headed League.

06:22 John: Yep, that was a good’un. -Oh, duck down! That’s a machine gun.- Did you like the Red Headed League because of the case or because it proved me wrong about it being boring?

06:27 Sherlock: Mmm, both.

06:28 John: Great, well-oh I’m dead. *sound of man yelling, presumably John’s character dying in the game* Balls.

06:31 *audio cut. Ambient arcade sounds with something fizzing at the forefront*

06:34 John: What is that?

06:35 Sherlock: *struggling to speak* opp ing andy.

06:37 John: Opping Andy?

06:38 Sherlock: *still struggling to speak, but clearly annoyed* Op-opping. Andy.

06:41 John: Ohhhh, popping candy. Right. Well, RangerPip asks any specific reason you started smoking a pipe?

06:49 Sherlock: *unintellible gargling and consonant sounds*

06:54 John: Right, well, if you understood that RangerPip, well done you, haheh. *pause* *in a considering tone* Hunnh. He may or may not be choking.

07:03 *audio cut, loud music and bumper car sounds*

07:04 John: Ah!

07:04 Sherlock: Ahahaha!

07:05 John: Hahahah, left! Left! Left!

07:08 Both: Ah! *sound of impact*

07:09 John: Oh my god, my ribs! Argh, right! Let’s get up some more speed and smash into these kids-uh, I mean! These, um, big burly blokes.

07:17 Sherlock: Here we go.

07:20 John: Yesss, Sherlock, we are at some speed now, baby! Hahahah, right! Question from Raylein, “Does Archie get human food? And if he does, who feeds it to him?”

07:30 John: Ah yeah I do feed him, I-

07:30 Sherlock: Yes.

07:33 John: Wait.

07:34 Sherlock: What?

07:35 John: You’re feeding him as well?

07:36 Sherlock: I am, yes!

07:38 John: Well, that explains a lot. Uh, yeah Raylein, I don’t really like animal products going to waste so I just, um, I chuck him all sorts. Ope, here we go. Come here you little shits.

07:44 Sherlock: Ahhhhhhhh!

07:45 John: *sound of impact* Ah hahah!

07:48 *audio cut, it’s much quieter now, but they’re still at the arcade*

07:49 John: *remorsefully* I just didn’t think they’d cry and tell their mums is all.

07:51 Sherlock: That’s what children do. *accusingly* You told me to smash into them.

07:55 John: I did not say that.

07:57 Sherlock: Can I get the SD card out of your microphone and check?

08:00 John: No.

08:01 Sherlock: See.

08:02 John: Andrew says, “Question for Sherlock: Do you have any piercings? And, if you don’t, do you want any? And, if you do, which ones do you want?”

08:10 Sherlock: *sucks in a deep breath* Ear piercing. I haven’t used it for some time.

08:14 John: Why not?

08:15 Sherlock: Was that asked in the Discord?

08:17 John: What?

08:18 Sherlock: That. Just then.  The ‘Why not?’

08:21 John: …No.

08:22 Sherlock: *takes a breath* Well then. I needn’t answer it. This is a time for members.

08:26 John: Right. Great. Lovely. Ok, MushPit says “Your deductive skills, was it talent you were born with or a skill that you developed and perfected over time?”

08:34 Sherlock: I assume MushPit is asking me, not you?

08:37 John: Ah ha ha, very funny.

08:40 Sherlock: My senses have always been, um-

08:43 John: Overcalibrated?

08:44 Sherlock: Yes, quite. Sooo, I’ve always observed a lot. When I found it difficult to tune out of my surroundings, I decided to analyze them. Then it became rather addictive. Yes, it became a skill, but I feel it much stronger then a skill. It feels like a byproduct of my very existence. I cannot unlearn it. IIII cannot wind it down or soften it. It occupies me as much as I do it. I fear that I  cannot stop it. Even if it kills me. Even if it drains everything from me and I can never truly find it to know myself, to know my surroundings without the necessity…uh, no, the-the requisite to my very self. To t-try to understand everything-

09:33 John: The rollercoaster’s ready.

09:34 Sherlock: Oh.

09:35 John: Uh, we- we can finish if you want? Uh, y’know we can go on it later?

09:40 *audio cut, we can hear the roller coaster going and John and Sherlock on it. John keeps saying ‘Woohoo! Wheee!’ and Sherlock is saying joyfully ‘Bloody fantastic! Absolutely bloody fantastic!’ Both of them also keep laughing in between their exclamations*

09:48 *audio cut. We’re outside. London traffic can be heard.*

09:53 John: Oh that was good! Wasn’t it?

09:54 Sherlock: *pleased* Superb.

09:56 John: Not a bad idea, is it? A theme park, indoors? I mean we were a little old for it, but hey, y’know, there’s no age limit on enjoyment! Well, I mean you can’t go jumping into a soft play or anything like that, but yeah. Yeah. Now we are walking near Chalk Farm. Not actually a farm of chalk, of course. It’s just a nice place between Bellsides Park and the Northern end of Camden town. How’s that q and a session for you, mate?

10:16 Sherlock: Is that question on the Discord?

10:17 John: Right, ok. This is not a thing. You can still have normal chats with me inbetween members questions.

10:25 Sherlock: Noted.

10:26 John: Well it’s a question for me now anyway. Um, has your mother finally listened to the podcast? And if yes, what does she think of it? Uh, yes, has she listened? She has! She didn’t like the sound of my bomb. That makes two of us, there. Eheh. Uh, and she sent me further messages about Mariana. And! She will occasionally point out when I’ve been rude to people on the show. *clicks tongue* She also asked me if the Austrian man’s face was okay, so she has at least, definitely finished one adventure. And, no. His face is not. Ok. Mum. Uhh, so- hunh, this is weird.

10:59 Sherlock: What’s that?

11:01 John: Two questions here, next to each other. Uh, I-I’m not making this up. First one, Ramt or-or Ramtonk, “t-the flowers on my orchids are gone, but the plants themselves are thriving. Uhh, they’re watered as they should be and get optimal sunlight. Will the flowers ever come back?”

11:19 Sherlock: *pleasantly surprised* Hhha!

11:20 John: Right? Yeah and the second one from Batonks the Graveyard Ghost says, “Question for John, do you have any funny memories from your childhood that you’d like to share with us?”

11:30 Sherlock: Yes, that is quite remarkable.

11:32 John: Well! I’ll let the adventure of The Gloria Scott answer those questions! So, ah, everybody, thanks so much for these. I hope you enjoyed the answers. Sorry it’s been so short, but I’ve just noticed that that’s our bus!! We’re gonna miss it! Go! Go! Go!

11:46 Sherlock: *frustrated sigh* For goodness sake!

11:47-12:17 *Outro Music Plays*

[chlorinatedpopsicle]

https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-023-02717-0

In an online survey of 1124 heterosexual British men using a modified CDC National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey, 71% of men experienced some form of sexual victimization by a woman at least once during their lifetime.

If men would like male sexual victimization to be taken more seriously, maybe they should start by not responding to news about instances of male sexual victimization with jokes and/or "he's so lucky!!" comments. I'm sure you already know what I'm talking about, but here's a small example:

I don't know about you, but I never see women making “I got raped by a priest” jokes, “don't drop the soap” jokes, or “fellas, how would you react if you found her? [picture of unconscious or dead woman]” jokes, etc. I only ever see men and boys doing that, strangely enough. Until men and boys stop doing that all the fucking time, I'm gonna find it hard to sympathize with their plight.

The study examines how men may feel discouraged from speaking out about instances of sexual victimization because – as a result of male socialization and male gender expectations – they are afraid of showing any emotional weakness / vulnerability; men may see any display of emotional distress as emasculating. This is true. However, one has to ask: who are the ones who perpetuate these male gender expectations in the first place? Who are the ones pushing these ideas of masculine stoicism; the idea that men mustn't show weakness? In case you've been living under a rock, liberal women have been encouraging men to show more emotional vulnerability for decades now. Liberal women push the “men's mental health matters!!! male SA victims are valid!!!” stuff harder than anyone, even MRAs. Just as men are the ones making the rape jokes, these masculine gender expectations are taught and upheld almost entirely by men. They created the stigma all on their own.

Anyway, let's address the elephant in the room: 71% is a big number! I have to wonder, though, how many of the reported sexual victimization incidents were rape, and how many were things like unwanted sexual comments, groping, and leering. Those things are definitely distressing and even psychologically damaging, but nobody should deny that they are not on the same level as sexual assault – something experienced by a staggeringly high number of women and girls. Anyway, here it is:

As I expected, forced penetration (what I would consider rape) doesn't make up a whole lot of that percentage. If you want, you can scroll through some of the tags on my blog to see how statistics for female SA victims differ. Well, probably. Tumblr's tagging system is finicky.

I'm sorry, but I'd rather focus my concern on the things that men are doing. Like mass-scale sex trafficking and prostitution. And violent pornography. And spycam terrorism / voyeuristic porn / deepfake porn. And forced child marriage and bride kidnapping. And barring girls from going to school. And female genital mutilation. And forcing women to wear head-coverings and then brutally assaulting and arresting them if they don't comply. And constant femicides. And "honor" killings. And incestuous rape and sexual abuse at horrifying rates. And brutal domestic violence. And every war in the history of humanity (and all the violence that war entails). And committing over 90% of violent crimes. And raping the female patients in their care. And raping babies and corpses and animals like it's nobody's business. And other quirky male activities. Thanks for the ask!

[schmergo]

If I had a podcast-- which I don't think I could ever do because people say I have a strange and off-puttingly untraceable accent and vocal quality that would probably distract from any audio content I'd put out-- but IF I had a podcast, I'd slowly start slipping weird stuff into that boring little stretch in the beginning where the hosts greet one another before talking about that week's content.

Like, I know the audience is only ever half listening to that part anyway. I know I am. I don't really care about if one of the hosts is "wearing a super cute new sweater she got from the TikTok store" or if another one is planning a hiking trip with her fiance. I want to hear about some small Appalachian town's niche cryptid legend or whatever.

So first I'd slowly start slipping in mildly contradicting information to test the waters. "Oh yeah, we're going on a beach trip next month, so I might be recording from this beach house. I'm excited because I haven't been to the beach in years." And slip that in for like 3 months in a row (but not every week) and see if anyone notices.

Then start making up pets. Then change the pet's name. Change it again. Add another pet that I've had since college.

Then briefly reference my nice next door neighbor Brian who watches the pets when I go to the beach house next month.

Change the pet's name again and this time casually mention my daughter. My daughter loves the beach. She's so excited to go to the beach house next month. She's never been to the beach.

Next episode I mention I'm looking for a good petsitter for my upcoming trip. Mine fell through.

Next episode, I just throw in there, "Yeah, I'm just busy stocking up for the beach trip. Sunscreen, new towels, water toys, bug spray, cave sloth spray. Yeah, the beach has a cave sloth problem right now, but they say attacks are really rare."

Next episode (this is a true crime podcast) I mention that this episode hits close to home because there's a missing person case in my neighborhood. My neighbor Brian's daughter went missing. People think the noncustodial parent took her out of state. She's probably safe, but we're all worried about her.

Next episode, I'm leaving for the beach tomorrow. I'm bringing my (only) dog with me. I spent forever cleaning out my car. Took forever getting the bloodstains off the upholstery, you know how it is. How do those even get there?

Next episode I just casually mention, "Spiders don't bother me, but I'm a little squeamish about palmetto bugs. And cave sloths. The thing that creeps me out about them is that when they take you into the pocket dimension in their cave, nobody from your previous life remembers you anymore. Oh, and I don't mind mice, but rats are a big NOPE."

I'd casually refer to myself as a childfree adult in the next episode.

Then I'd talk about how I wish my fellow podcast host could buy the apartment next to me. It's been vacant for years. Nobody has ever lived there since I moved in.

[igetnosleep]

Have I told you lately I'm grateful you're mine

Based on the blurb I wrote a couple of days ago...It's the Chris one *gasp* how'd you know? anyway just fluff y'all just a silly thing those Redfield's deserve to be portrayed as silly little guys. I was thinking about post-re5 Chris for this one

Chris was exhausted, emotionally and physically exhausted, doing the longest shift of his life proved to be the worst. The keys to the house feel heavy in his hand as he steps out of the car. The sun long since set and the porch lights a glowing ember in the February cold. He hated winter. Hated how dark it got at 6 p.m.

Missions went on too long. Too much happening all at once. He was lucky to come back with his team, this time, a rare win. Missed christmas and new years in the fucking process. Head hurting, body hurting worse. He took his shoes off at the door and shuffled inside a heavy sigh leaving him.

A brush against his leg had him look down, an orange tabby you had found outside a dumpster, you named it “Bastard” because it bit your ass while you were minding your own business watching some true crime show he forgot the name of. He still has the video in his phone.

Chris picked up the cat pressing small kisses on its head hearing it purr at his rare affections, he knew he would be teased by you “Oh so what was that about not wanting the cat?” he could only grumble “shut up.” at the mental apparition of your voice, though it carried no weight to it. He wanted to see you.

Chris met you when you were a rookie when he was still working in S.T.A.R.S.. You were a rookie shadowing Wesker so he keeps an eye on you if he was too busy then you’d shadow Chris. You’d mostly do busy work for the rest of the team, coffee runs and reports and files that needed organizing.

Sorry, his files and reports needed organizing. 

You spent nights trying to make sense of his sloppy handwriting while staring at the mess that was his work space. Your eye would twitch and you visibly looked distressed seeing how he would work.

He looks back at those memories with a bittersweet fondness.

It took a while for Chris to actually talk to you. When he was stuck in the office you helped him with reports, then it turned less about work and more about what you did outside of work.

Then Arkley Mountains happened and Wesker tried to kill you more than once. 

Chris shook his head at the memory as he reached the bedroom letting the cat go free as he tried to find you buried under the mountain of blankets only finding your hair sticking out and finding the stuffed animals you had collected over the years spilling over to his side of the bed. The thing that tied it all together was the fact that you still had the fucking fan on.

With a deep breath, Chris could only rub his face after throwing his clothes in the hamper silently mouthing “what the fuck” as he crawled into bed. You, his dear partner, were a mystery to him.

Despite all of it a shiver going through him feeling the cold setting in. blankets pulled aside so he could take his place next to you, too tired to care that he was taking up all of your space and was practically laying on top of you now, that’s the price you pay for having all of your stuff piled into his side, and maybe you should have left him some blankets so now he’s feeling petty. 

You’re sharing now whether you like it or not, he nuzzled his face into your neck. 

Unapologetically too might he add knowing you would wake up in..

3.

2.

“Off.” Chris felt his lip quirk up in a smile that bordered into a shiteating grin when your muffled voice came from underneath him. He held back a laugh instead chuffing against your nape kissing the crook of your neck while rubbing his stubble against your skin.

Now he could get off of you but where would the fun be in that. He could but instead he just wrapped his arms around you while peppering kisses on your nape drawing out a frustrated whine.

“Seriously?” “What’s wrong?” He knew he just wanted to hear you say it “You know what’s wrong you’re too warm get off.”

He hummed in pretend thought you felt his chest rumble on your back. You’d think your big boyfriend would do as you ask, he was a man of action after all, always caring for your needs- “No, I think I’m comfy here.” He punctuated his point by biting your neck leaving indents on your skin. No today he wasn’t keen on getting off of you tonight it was his turn he wanted to get on your nerves just for tonight.

“I have work in the morning.”

“Too bad.”

“What if I need to pee?”

“Hold it.”

“Chriiiisss.”

He whined your name in the same tone causing your eyebrows to furrow at his voice going up a few octaves to mimic your voice.

Chris knew what you were thinking considering defeat but he knew you. Knew you better than you knew yourself and for how long he goes away you’d think he didn’t but he did.

You’re probably thinking of pinching him getting to the mix of muscle and fat on his stomach however he wasn’t letting you. You felt nice. It was like he had his own stuffed animal. 

Either way you always did it to him, you always got on top of him, curled up like a cat and took naps. Why couldn’t he do it? He took your hands and brought them underneath you as he wrapped his arms around you. 

Now you're both waking up with pins and needles in your arms. He rolled off of you and nestled you close to his chest intending on sleeping a few more minutes had the cat not made eye contact with him and was now patting his forehead demanding that he come and feed it. 

He flinched slightly, feeling teeth on his right pec “They’re tits, Redfield.” the mental apparition of your voice cut in like you were telepathically communicating with him “Pecs.” his mind argued, looking down and seeing you glaring at him he could almost compare you to the cat, he sighed running his fingers through your hair, feeling you pull away reluctantly giving him a smug look “How long have you been wanting to do that?” “Too long.”

He chuffed a small smile appearing on his face, you’d always say you missed that smile it reminded you of the pointman you knew back when you were younger. 

You crawled up on top of him kissing him softly “Welcome home.” you whispered, feeling his hands slip under your shirt and rest on your waist, thumbs drawing small circles on your skin calluses present with every touch he smiled, staring at you with fond eyes “I’m home.” 

His hands stroked your back naturally as you’d both leaned into a kiss, chaste soft, the tension on his shoulders were gone momentarily he let himself be lost in the moment of domesticity between you. 

The cat briefly interrupted the moment its paw patted his forehead, staring at him expectantly, “The baby’s mad.” you murmured petting under the orange tabby’s chin “I would be too if some short stack named me ‘Bastard’.” “Shut it Redfield.” “Make me.” you narrowed your eyes playfully as his nose nuzzled yours, he was rewarded with another warm kiss a giggle leaving the both of you as he rolled on top of you again earning a cackle from you as he nipped your neck.

Yeah..he was home.

[oddballwriter]

Lotta True Crime

Summary: A blurb in which Steven comes home from work and finds you watching/listening to a true crime documentary, again. 

Warnings: I don't talk about anyone specific but the Y/N is listening to a docu about a serial killer. There isn't any actual mention of murder in full detail but it is there, so be warned of that. But overall this is actually domestic as hell and wholesome.  

Author’s Snip: I'm a true crime nut and I often wonder what my various fictional boytoys would think about it I sort of fixated on Steven for a while which led to this. I feel like he'd be slightly off-put by it but would get used to it at some point. Also, the idea of him and his true crime-loving partner just info-dumping about their interests is just so funny and cute.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

It sounds a lot like what you would hear a husband back in the 1950s answer if you asked him what his favorite part of the day was. But it was Steven's honest answer. He loved coming home after a long day at work and seeing you preparing dinner. There was something so domestic about it that he absolutely loved. Of course, he'd usually come in and help you make dinner instead of lounging around, just so that you two can have a nice moment as a couple.

There was one thing that always stuck out from the whole coming home to the partner cooking dinner daydream though.

The stuff you usually had playing in the background.

"-I mean. It was complete madness. All these people started digging at this dumping ground and they found so many bodies in different stages of decay. It took a few days simply because of how many they were finding, you know? You would be digging up one you just found and then you find a part from another and then you'd have to dig up that one, and so on." the voice on the TV explained as Steven locked the flat's door behind him and hung up all his things.

"What made it worse was that there were more. His accomplice said that he had admitted that he had more victims at another dumping site but he never said where that was before he died. So there are more somewhere out there and we don't know where they are." the voice added.

Steven wants to be surprised that there's a true crime documentary playing on the TV while you were happily cooking dinner, and yeah sure the details are especially gruesome from what he's hearing, but this isn't the first time. This is a normal occurrence, actually, and Steven's just learned to roll with it. Even if one time he came home and the TV had an episode of a show that talked about murders in relationships that talked about how a wife poisoned her husband via lacing his food with something, and you were making one of Steven's favorite meals.

He crosses the flat to you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around you from behind and looking over what you were doing. "It looks like it's coming along nicely." he comments before he kisses you on the cheek. "Thanks," you replay, "I found it in a little recipe note and wanted to test it out." you explain. "Do you want any help?" Steven asks drawing away a little.

"No. I've got everything covered so far. Some stuff needs to sit for a bit. Maybe then I'll need some help." you tell him while also turning your head towards him.

A soft stare ensues between the two of you. You both bask in the nice feeling of being close to each other and having a sweet and domestic moment.

"It was believed that this body found drifting in the river was actually a victim, whose body was washed out of its grave from the heavy storms and rainwater that flooded the bank, since the accomplice said that the old dumping site was along the river. However, no one knows how far the body floated downstream, so they wouldn't know exactly where the site was along the river." a narrating voice said from the TV, soiling the moment.

You blush at the interruption, "You can change that if you want. I've heard of this case before anyway.".

Steven chuckles a little bit. "I don't really mind, love," he says. "You did overhear that one time I was watching a documentary and it went into heavy detail about the Egyptian embalming process." he recalls. "So what if I hear about some old killer's body count and possible dumping spots." Steven concludes.

"It's your version of what Egypt is to me. So how am I to judge." Steven adds.

[malereader-inserts]

Forget Me

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Male!Reader Summary: To the one who got away Word Count: 584

"Get over it, Draco, he's forgotten about you!"

That stabbed Draco in the heart, he wasn't prepared to hear those words from his friends. He knows it's true, as he looks over at you with your friends and he can tell that you have completely erased your history with him.

Days ache and nights are long, two years and still you're not gone. He guesses that he's still holding on. He feels pathetic, he doesn't understand why he couldn't let you go and the memories of you. It's the last thing he has of you. Happy, caring memories that he holds dear to his heart.

He still thinks of you as an angel sent from the above, even if you did the most heinous crime - he would love you all the same.

"I can't," He mumbles out to his friends, who sigh at him, "It's (y/n)."

"Did you forget what happened when you broke up? He wished you death! Said you did everything wrong and the words he said? God, they were absolutely vile."

"He's not perfect nor am I, Theo, I said stuff that was just as bad as him."

Theo rolled his eyes, not knowing what was so enchanting about you. No one in Draco's friend group really understands the attraction to you, especially the argument after the two of you broke up, which occurred in front of the whole school during the evening meal.

"It's been two years, Draco," Blaise patted his friend on the shoulder, "You have to move on."

Draco sighed because he was not ready to find out you know how to forget him. He'd rather hear how much you regret him and pray to God that you never met him than forget him.

"I mean, you made him cry," Theo snorted when he reminded Draco, who glared at him, "Hey, it was your actions, not mine."

"Are we seriously talking about (Y/n), again?" Pansy asked, walking up to the table, and joining her friend for dinner, "This is such a monthly occurrence, can we not?"

"Try convincing sad boy here, he's huffing and sighing wistfully as he longly stares at (Y/n)," Blaise teased, as the glare was now directed to him.

"It's getting pathetic."

"I am aware of that!" Draco snaps, before stabbing his food, "When you get your heart broken don't come running to me when you're feeling like I am now."

They leave Draco be, as he looks down at his plate, he's lost his appetite. He wants to pull his head up to look over at you, but he can't. He can't be caught staring at you by you, that was just embarrassing. He huffed slightly, playing with his food.

It was so stupid to him, he knows exactly it's been two years since you were his, and he just can't get over it. Perhaps it was because you were truly his first love, the person who looked past all his flaws and loved him all the same.

But, now, when he sees you, you're happily conversing with your friends in your house. You look so much happier without him, looking so carefree, it makes him wonder if he was dragging you down in the relationship.

He wishes he could rewind him, make everything better, do stuff differently and maybe you would still be his boyfriend. There's no hope now, anyway, you'll continue with your life without a thought of him and he will always remember the lover that got away.

[fkinavocado]

Imagine they are at a friends Halloween party and as the party starts dying down and rest of the guests leave only Harry, Y/n, the friend, their partner, Niall and some other close friends are left, they decide to play truth and dare, Harry is really not into late night party stuff anymore so he asks her to leave with him but she begs him to stay because she is actually having a lot of fun and he gives in because he loves seeing her happy and then one of Harry's friend gets the dare of giving the person sitting on their right a hickey, Harry realises that it's y/n...

🍟

fhsds i love how you weasel niall in everytime ahahaha love that truly lmao HOWEVER for the sake of not overcomplicating things (and you’ll eventually see why) i’ll exclude him from this lil get together this once 👀

Daddy issues- Masterlist, Author’s Note & Warnings

extra / alternatively, read on wattpad

It's us (word count: 5k)

*this was originally slightly different, i switched up a few things so that it could fit in the narrative after they get back together!

*timeline: somewhere after the main story

Harry was tired. It'd been a long week. He'd finished a project that had been a major pain in his ass and he was more than glad to be finally done with it, and all he wanted was to stay in with his lovie and watch some true crime docuseries splayed on his couch, his head in her lap while she carded her fingers through his curls and scratched at his scalp- it put him right to sleep. See, he wasn't a fan of watching eerie stuff before bed but Y/N was and he was humouring her watching these shows with her, but if he could fall asleep before he saw something that would make him double-check the locks, he was glad for it.

Unfortunately, Y/N had some other plans in store for them that weekend. Well, in actuality, it just so happened that it was Halloween that Friday and when he saw her dressed up as a sexy kitten he felt conflicted. First of all, she wasn't really wearing a costume- so the "sexy" bit was his personal interpretation of it cause he found her sexy anyway. She'd just put on a headband that made two kitten ears point out of her luscious head of hair, she did a dramatic winged eyeliner and drew on whiskers on her cheeks complete with coloring the tip of her nose a cute pink.

It was... doing things to him. He wanted nothing more but to keep her inside and make her... purr.

But when she insisted they went out to their friends' that had invited them over for the occasion, he felt inadequate. "I don't have a costume!"

"I don't either! This isn't exactly a costume!" She pointed at her kitten ears she'd gotten from the Chinese discount shop.

"Yeah but it's something. I'll probably be the only one not wearing anything..."

Y/N pouted. "You can just be the hot DILF. C'mon baby... We talked about this...."

Harry couldn't fight the grin off his face. "The what? Come here, you..."

She dodged him. "Nuh-huh. We'll never leave the house if we get started and you know it!" She couldn't keep the smile off her face either as she was circling around the dining table trying to not let him get to her.

"I don't need any more convincing to stay in, darling," he smirked.

"Oh, shush! C'mon Harry! I really wanna go! Please? We won't stay long if you don't want to, but we've been cooked up in the house for the past 2 weeks, I wanna get out for a few hours at least," she bit her lower lip and looked at him from under her eyelashes. "I'll make it up to you. What say?"

Harry squinted at her. "Oh. You can bet on it"

*

Harry was nervous. 

She'd met some of his friends before, after they'd ran into Mitch and Sarah and their, then, newborn baby.  Y/N had fit in perfectly. It wasn't surprising to him that she did, but he'd been apprehensive about his friends' attitude towards her for the longest time- what with her being 16 years younger than him (and most of them) and whatnot. But turns out he should've had more faith in his friends. They knew Harry well enough to know he wouldn't bring just about anyone as a date anywhere if he wasn't serious about them. And they were mature enough not to judge a book by its cover.

In the meanwhile though, he'd been pretty absent. 

None of his friends except for Mitch and Niall had known about his struggles for the 17 months him and Y/N had been apart for. At least, he hoped they didn't know... he'd been MIA for that whole entire time, and this was the first time he'd be seeing the extended group, let alone get acquainted to the new additions.

Mitch had reassured him that nobody would ask any uncomfortable questions, and that they all just knew he'd been through a rough time, but that all was well now and they all were excited to have him back.

That's why he'd been postponing meeting them for so long. He felt like he would be scrutinized. He feared they'd been gossiping about him, wondering what had happened, and now they'd try and pry it out of him.

Y/N knew he'd alienated himself from his friends that whole entire time, but she'd been the one to talk him to it. This was the perfect time for a casual way to reintegrate themselves into his group of friends. 

"Baby. Don't be nervous. It's just your friends in there. They'll be happy to see you. I promise."

Harry was really only closer to Mitch and a couple others, and their respective partners, but there were other people invited to this little get together, people he hadn't met before. He hadn't been expecting this. Mitch made it out like it was just gonna be their usual group. A friend of Sarah's was hosting and she'd invited other people too, apparently.

But Y/N had been right about the costumes. Only a few were costumed, hardly so, and most of them were just wearing whatever. Part of him was glad she hadn't been the only one putting something together, even if only those cute little ears. He wouldn't have wanted her to feel out of place. In fact, Mitch was apparently a vampire for this. He'd put on a whole lot of powder and a deep burgundy lipstick and it did the trick, fangs or no fangs. The long hair helped too along with his usual aloof demeanor.

"I'm not a vampire," he grimaced.

"Oh?" Y/N gave Harry a look as if asking him to save her.

"I'm Brad Pitt. I just so happen to be Brad Pitt in 'Interview with a vampire'."

Harry rolled his eyes while Y/N chuckled but he knew she was doing it to save face. "Stop being a dickhead."

Mitch just smirked to himself going to get a refill of his rum punch and they proceeded to mingle with the rest, Sarah introducing them to those they weren't already acquainted with.

His closest friends really did seem to be genuinely happy to have him back, Y/N too. He felt a bit silly for having postponed doing this for so long. He'd really missed them too.

Hours went by however, and Harry was getting antsy. Not only was he genuinely growing tired, but he really wanted to love on Y/N. She was just too darn cute slash sexy slash adorable with that pink button nose of hers and he wanted nothing more than to have her wear nothing else than those kitten ears and her heels for a couple of hours before they went to bed.

"Darling, let's leave. Please?" He hummed into her ear. He'd been so worked up about seeing his friends again,  all that stress and anxiety getting to him, plus his social batteries had drained already, not being used to doing this in so long.

"Just a little longer," she pouted. "I'm having fun."

He eyed her glass. "Hm. I can see that."

She furrowed her brows, deadpanning. "What?"

He smiled at her, "nothing. You're getting a bit tipsy. I just don't want you to get sloshed, though. You got to make it up to me, remember?" He whispered that last bit into her ear once more and that had her giggling more than she would have normally.

"Ok," she placed her glass on the coffee table in front of them. "I'll be good, daddy."

Harry's eyes widened dramatically while shushing her simultaneously, going in for a kiss to make sure he silenced her more effectively. "You're in so much trouble," he mumbled smilingly against her lips.

She was looking at him all dreamy eyed. Maybe she was more far gone than he'd realized. The fact was, Y/N was a cute drunk. She never drank till she blacked out, definitely not enough to embarrass herself in any way, ever, but she was a cute, horny mess.

She whispered looking right into his eyes, their lips still touching slightly. "Let's go find a bathroom."

Harry bit his lower lip and pinched her thigh making her yelp far more loudly than was necessary, throwing her into another giggle fit. "Shhhh," he shushed her again. "You little minx. That costume of yours isn't that far off. We're going home. C'mon," he stood up and offered her a hand but immediately one of the other women cut in.

"Hey! You two, what's with all the commotion?" She laughed, "c'mon. Pay attention. We're playing truth or dare."

"Seriously?" Harry furrowed his brows smilingly but Y/N pouted at him and he eventually dropped his hand and went to pour himself another coke. 

He normally would've needed a drink to find this even remotely entertaining. He was sober now, though, had been since they'd gotten back together. No exceptions.

He did however insist Y/N have a drink whenever she felt like it. She shouldn't have to suffer the repercussions of his own actions. This was a decision he'd taken for himself and he was fine with it. It was, however, the first time he was in a setting with such heavy drinking all around him. It was the social habit that was hardest to break, and that indeed prove to be quite difficult althrough the evening. 

But these were grown ass adults playing truth or dare, for god's sake. How did it even get to this? Was this how silly they'd always acted when a bit tipsy, and only now that he was seeing it all clear-headed he found it a bit too funny.

He spotted a group chatting to the side and joined them, keeping his eyes on his lovie from afar.

She was so beautiful. He couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing her so carefree and giggly. Made him feel all warm inside, and it made this whole evening worth it, with all the anxiety and stress that came along with it for him. He was paying attention to the conversation the group he'd joined was having, trying to keep himself occupied but when he heard a lot of oohs and aahs he turned to look at the group playing truth or dare once more.

Dean, was it?- had apparently agreed to a dare. Lizz, the woman to his left squinted at him playfully, plotting for an appropriate one. Harry realized they were all a bit tipsy, not just his Y/N. Actually, he may as well have been the only sober one there. It was well into the night by now. Past 11pm. And apart from being fairly bored he was getting quite tired. He would wait for her to play a round as to not come off as rude and then they would take their leave. "I dare you... to give the person on your right a hickey," Lizz's eyes glistened and Harry straightened up at that immediately, turning his back to the group he'd joined.

This Dean guy turned towards Y/N and raised his eyebrows at her suggestively and Harry was seeing this all unfold in front of his eyes as if in slow motion. Y/N just looked at the man, dumbfounded and then scanned the group seeing everyone eagerly awaiting for it to happen, so she just extended her neck towards him, gathering all her hair to the side, granting him access, and squeezing her eyes shut, smilingly.

Was she... enjoying this?

The second the man's lips touched her skin he turned away, rushing to get away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

He found a bathroom and locked himself inside, panting heavily. He wasn't feeling well. He could see red in front of him, that's how out of it he felt. He downed the coke he had in his glass and then placed it on the bathroom counter a little bit too forcefully by the sound it made, but he was hearing it all muffled. He looked at himself in the mirror and he almost couldn't recognize himself. Turning the faucet on, he splashed cold water and slapped his face lightly, shaking his head.

What was happening? It felt like he was having a panic attack.

He hadn't felt like this since...

He shook his head again. No. This wasn't happening again. He wouldn't allow himself to go in that dark place again.

He held the edge of the counter to stop his hands from shaking, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grasp. He needed to get it together. Because all he could think of was rushing back in there and knocking out that son of a bitch in one swift motion.

And her smile... that was the worst of it. He squeezed his eyes shut. Why did she smile like that?

He needed a drink so badly.

"Harry?" He snapped his eyes open, unaware of how long he'd been in there. Then he heard her voice again, more softly. "Baby, are you in there? Are you ok?"

"Y-yeah. Be right out," he cleared his throat. He wasn't ready to get out of that bathroom, he didn't trust himself. But he had to, he couldn't hide in there forever. He splashed some more water on his face, took a few deep breaths and then emerged only to see her waiting for him propped against the wall outside the bathroom.

"Harry, oh no... you look so pale. What's wrong?"

"I'm just... not feeling too well. Can we leave, please?" She tried getting closer to him but he closed his eyes taking a halfstep back.

It took her aback, he noticed, but she didn't say anything. "Ok. I'll just get my purse."

"I'll get the car started."

She turned back to give him a worried look. "Aren't you gonna say goodbye?"

"I'd rather we just left... I'm not up for it," he mumbled, looking away.

She wanted to say something, he could tell, but she decided against it and went to get her things as he rushed for the front door, making a run for it almost. The moment he stepped foot outside he gasped for fresh air.

Good. He was out of there. Nobody got hurt. He could do this.

God. He needed a drink so badly.

He avoided eye contact when Y/N finally got into the car and he drove right off. She didn't ask him anything, didn't try to talk to him.

Was she feeling guilty?

The scene kept replaying in his head, that jerk's mouth closing in on the delicate skin of her neck. And her smilingly offering the side of her neck up to him.

He glanced over to her and could actually see the hickey. The car swerved and Y/N yelped in shock "Harry!"

He pulled himself together enough to drive them home safely, but he was losing it.

After they got inside the house Y/N remained by the door watching him pace around, trying to busy himself. He was visibly shaking and he was trying to hide it but before he could head for the bedroom to undress and jump into the shower he caught his hand in hers and stopped him in his tracks "Harry. Talk to me. What's going on?"

He couldn't look at her. He knew he was overreacting. That much he was aware of. It was just a silly party game. It didn't mean anything. But it was incredibly triggering to him. And he couldn't help the visceral reaction he was having to it.

"I'm not well, Y/N," he said, his voice small. "I'm trying to get my shit together... but I just can't."

"You're shaking," she pointed out whisperingly. "You're worrying me. Please talk to me... Tell me what's wrong."

He finally looked into her eyes and what she saw appeared to have sobered her up completely. "Baby," she got closer but was still mindful of his personal space, still holding his hand with both of hers. "What's happening? You're scaring me... please."

He exhaled shakily and looked away again; after a beat he finally reached over to her hair and pulled it all to one side, mimicking her gesture from earlier, exposing the hickey. His eyes darkened looking at it unobscured now.

Her breath caught, "Harry... Wait. Wait, you saw that?... I looked for you as soon as it was over and you... you weren't there... and I realized how that must've looked to you and I was so relieved when I saw you weren't there and I just... I didn't know how to react... I didn't want to be a party pooper, I didn't think it through--"

"You smiled."

She blinked at him confusedly. "Huh?"

"When he was doing it. You smiled," his voice was coming off as if strangled, he didn't recognize it coming out of his mouth.

"Baby, no. What? I was just playing along! What are you saying?"

He just looked at her and smiled a humourless smile. "I know it's silly. It's just a game, right? I know all that. It's just a hickey on a dare at a stupid party with tipsy people having a bit of harmless fun. But it did something to me, and I can't help it. I had to run away before I jumped the guy. I wanted to... God." He squeezed his eyes shut, "I haven't felt like this in so long. And I thought it was all behind me."

Y/N's eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "No! No, baby, no. It's ok! It's ok! You're just jealous, alright? It's who you are. You're possessive. Doesn't mean anything!"

"Yes it does," he grimaced. "And you know it." He pulled his hand out of her grasp and took a step back. "I'll never get better." He could feel his own tears welling up.

"No..."

He shook his head and could feel tears blurring his vision completely so he just let them drop heavily on their own accord. "I'll never get better. This is who I am."

"Stop!"

He kept shaking his head walking backwards away from her until his back hit a wall when he was forced to stop and she rushed toward him, cupping his face in between her palms. "No! Listen to me! That's not who you are! It's not! Because you didn't do anything! You hear me?" She tried searching his eyes but he wouldn't make eye contact "You ran into that bathroom and you snapped yourself out of it and you were in control of the situation! You didn't let it get the best of you! You're in control, Harry!"

"I wanted a drink" he cut her off, shaking his head as she tried keeping him still. "I wanted a drink so desperately..." he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling more tears fall down his cheeks and she thumbed them away lovingly, cooing him and shushing him.

"You're fine. You made it. It's alright."

"It's just that... it was so triggering..."

"I know, baby, I know," she pulled him into her arms and he slumped against her, crying in earnest now/ "You're safe now. It's all behind you. You did it, you were in control. You did so good, baby." she pulled back a bit and kissed all over his face, kissed his silent tears away and stroked the back of his head until he stopped shaking. "I would never do anything to upset you, nothing to make you jealous. You know that, right? I love you."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she wondered if he purposely chose her right side, the untainted side. "I know," he mumbled. "Rationally.. I know. But the way you smiled kept repeating in my head, on a loop..."

"I was just..."

"I know!" He squeezed her to his chest, possessively, "I know. But still... I couldn't help how jealous it made me feel. How possessive. I can't stand it. Him touching you... anyone touching you..."

"It'll never happen again. No matter the circumstances. I promise," she carefully snaked her hands around his neck and tried her luck for a kiss. He didn't fight it. In fact, he urgented the kiss immediately.

"I need you," he told her in between frantic kisses and she nodded her head, their mouths desperate for one another.

"Have me, Harry. I'm yours. Never doubt that."

He groaned, turning on his heels and pressing her against the wall instead. "Mine. Mine. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he managed in between kisses.

"I'm the one who's sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was just--"

"Shh. Enough talking. I was on edge the whole evening. Never wanted to leave in the first place," he pulled away and looked at her, taking in her Halloween makeup and letting his lips quirk up a bit but then when he reached her eyes his own saddened again seeing how her winged eyeliner had gotten smudged with tears. "Did I ruin our evening completely? Should we not? I don't want to do anything if--"

"No! Please. This is us, Harry. This is how we communicate too, alright? I need this just as much as you do. I'm yours. I want to show it to you. Let me show it to you. Ok? Can I? Can I, daddy?"

"Fuck," he cursed, closing his eyes and going back in for a searing kiss. "Yes. Yes. It's us."

"Want you to show me who I belong to," she reached a hand in between the two of them and pressed it against his crotch, happy to find him ready and wanting. "God, I need you," she mewled. "Please, daddy."

She meant to get on her knees but he stopped her. He couldn't wait to get inside her, he wasn't in the mood for teasing. He unbuckled his belt, freeing himself rapidly and pushed her skirt up past her waist. Her heels would aid his access and he kicked her legs apart, pulling the crotch of her panties to the side and feeling her up. "Fuck. Always so ready for me, aren't you sweetheart?"

He grabbed one of her thighs bringing her leg over his hipbone, she grabbed his cock lining it up with her entrance and he sunk into her without preamble. It was a very tight fit, and it sent painful shockwaves through her core. Wet as she was, he was still large and she always needed to be properly warmed up by him before actual penetration. There would be none of that tonight though. After a few deliberate thrusts, her pain rapidly turned into pleasure and she moaned loudly, throwing her head back and bumping it a bit too harshly against the wall behind her.

"Yes, yes! Oh God!"

He brought his other hand to her neck then, squeezing tightly at the sides, his thumb pressing into the tender spot inhabited by the hickey and she gasped in pain. "Say you're mine. Tell me you love me."

"Yours, always. Only you. I love you, daddy. So much," her voice grew fainter, his fingers pushing into her throat more and more and then he kissed her harshly, pushing his tongue inside of her mouth and making sure he stole all of her breath away. By the time he pulled back she was sufficiently light headed to slump against him and he pulled out, turning them around again and throwing her over the edge of the sofa near them. He pushed her front further down into the cushion and propped her ass up, her waist snug against the armrest, and impaled her again, making her groan.

His pace was punishing. He didn't know where he summoned the energy from, but he was relentless. She felt so good around him, her words had been so reassuring. He felt safe. He felt like he was in control, like she'd said. He could reign it in. He could fight his primal tendencies. He still wanted to punch that fucking bastard, but he recognized that he could control his actions even if he couldn't control his feelings of jealousy and possessiveness. He loved her. She was his. He couldn't stand the thought of another man touching her like that. Where did being human stop and where did his violent streak begin? He didn't know, but she was right. He'd been in control.

And he was in control now. She let him be in control. She gave this to him, trusted him, always put herself in his palms like putty trusting him to take care of her, to push her to the brink and then catch her when she fell.

"So good. So good for me, sweetheart," he pulled away and kneeled in between her thighs, pushing them further apart and burrowing his face against her wet cunt.

"Oh god!"

He held her by her thighs, pulling her flush against his face, eating her out like a man starved. He needed her to come, needed her to let go. He'd been so close, he had to reign it in.

"That's it," he slapped her ass soundly. "Drench me, baby, want you coming all over my face. And then I'll have you coming all over my cock," he slapped her ass again and again and kneaded her cheeks in his palms as he pushed his tongue inside her, throwing her off the edge.

When she came down from her high he kicked his pants off along with his briefs and sat on the sofa, and he fully intended to grab her from underneath her arms and scoop her into his lap but she was quicker. Still propped over the armrest, she grabbed a hold of his painfully hard cock and got her mouth on him. He humoured her for a bit but finally tugged her hair and yanked her off of him. "Fuck baby, you're too good. I want to finish inside you. Get up here."

On shaky legs, she straddled him on the couch and he sank into the backrest, letting her move over him and love on him the way she wanted. He enjoyed her slower pace, the deep kisses, enjoyed mouthing at her breasts and her tugging at his hair but soon he was on edge again, and he'd promised her he'd make her come again. "Touch yourself, darling. Come on. Show daddy how you rub that pussy."

She moaned, throwing her head back and doing as instructed and his eyes darkened again seeing her bruised flesh. He groaned, grabbing her hips and slamming into her, getting impossibly deep inside her. "Oh my god! Oh god, oh god! Fuck! Daddy, don't stop!"

"Never!" He gritted his teeth. "Want you to feel me for days, never forget whose you are."

"Yours," she mewled, her kitten ears having fallen off her head at one point, her drawn on whiskers smudged. She was perfect. And she was his.

"Mine. All mine. Come for daddy, baby. Show me what a good girl you are."

"Yes! Please! Fuck!"

As soon as he felt her clenching around him he let go, pressing her against his groin and letting her milk him for all he was worth. "God, I love you."

She slumped against him, pushing him into the backrest, both panting heavily. "I love you too, so much. Never doubt it again. Alright?" She lazily pulled back a bit to look him in the eye.

He nodded solemnly, "I never did. I just... want to be worthy of your love. Never want to disappoint you again..."

"I never want to disappoint you again, either," she searched his eyes. "But this is the only way we can do it. Together. Talking. Communicating. Loving eachother. Ok? Never try to hide from me. It's us."

He kissed her, squeezing her flush against him. "It's us."

Daddy issues- Masterlist

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[gothicprep]

so, apparently marvel is in disarray. ahead of the marvels coming out this weekend, variety dropped a bomb on the studio's somewhat dire state of affairs, as the franchise has hit its first real rough patch since the release of iron man 15 years ago. among the issues: jonathan majors, whose domestic violence arrest continues to hang over marvel's plans to make his character the thanos-like heavy for the next sequence of movies, the weak box office projections for the marvels (which some have said is tracking lower than recent bombs like the flash), the unending flood of hashtag content on disney plus which is overwhelming audiences who are finding it harder to keep up with the interlocking stories that have served marvel so well over the years, shoddy visual effects, spiraling budgets such as the reported $25mil an episode for she-hulk, a show that looked terrible because of the shoddy effects work aforementioned, behind the scenes chaos as kevin feige works to slash budgets and kill projects that aren't coming together. one movie at risk is the forthcoming blade reboot with mahershala ali, which has gone through rewrite after rewrite including reportedly one draft in which blade was the fourth lead in, quote, "a narrative led by women and filled with life lessons".

that last line has provided a lot of laughs for people like jay gothicprep, and critics who insist that marvel's efforts to diversify the lineup have led to much of this disaster, indicative of disney's overall failure with things like indiana jones and the dial of destiny or animated projects like strange world or lightyear. while this is potentially true (i guess, it's possible) it doesn't seem true because this certainly wasn't the case when black panther and captain marvel were both cracking the billion dollar mark a few years ago. rather it just seems, more simply, that marvel has run its course. marvel was hit by a double-whammy of endings. the thanos storyline that'd dominated the first ten or so years of the project came to an end. at the same time, the pandemic began and disney plus started flooding the zone with content, creating a natural break point for audiences that had no desire to watch hours of tv to understand 1.5 plot points in whatever the next movie that's coming out is.

this preamble is getting kind of long, and i have a lot more to say, so i'm going to continue to thought dump about this under a cut.

first of all, i'm still laughing like a week later at the women led life lessons description. no one has disputed that it happened. that description is the funniest thing i've ever read in a trade industry report possibly ever. what in the hell, my friends. did a writer even talk to a producer about what blade was? it's a movie about a guy with a sword who kills vampires! it's pretty straighforward! that sounds like something i want to see! there were three of them already, and two of them were pretty good!

anyway, i think you can take that incredibly ridiculous description of a draft that maybe wasn't the main draft – this movie has been through tons of writers and directors – and see some of the real problems with marvel's creative direction, which is that they've stopped making movies that highlight the core concepts of their characters. there are other problems as well, but when's the last time they put out a movie that was like, "iron man. he's a guy in a metal suit and he fights a bad guy." or "spider man. it's a guy in a spider suit with spider powers. he's got girlfriend problems and he fights crime around manhattan and maybe there's dr octopus." they don't do that. their recent stretch of movies have all been these impenetrable multiverse stuff with ties to tv series that you haven't seen and maybe won't ever see. there was a whole 25 minute section in black panther 2 that was setting up armor wars and ironheart. and like. who needs that sequence, which was boring and looked like total garbage? and now armor wars is being redeveloped lol. they've just departed from a lot of the core concepts that powered their earlier films.

they have some other problems. they've leaned into a slate of characters that is not all that well-known or inherently super popular, even for marvel being able to deliver on making billion dollar films out of guardians of the galaxy and such. maybe with the exception of spider man, which they don't get a full cut from because sony owns the actual movie rights. then there's the fact that the streaming series, by all accounts, aren't great but you *feel* like you need to have seen them. they're all real big problems. marvel needs to go back to making movies that are named after a character who's a superhero with a clear concept. guy with spider powers fights crime in his neighborhood. even though those movies got kind of repetitive, they did well enough because they didn't stray too far from the character concept.

i think, too, as a viewer, when you have a studio churning out so much stuff that's not good, you get the impression that the superhero industry feels entitled to your time and entitled to your money while not delivering.

this summer also represents an interesting counterpoint to what's happened with marvel and dc. the sheer amount of stuff that you devote every waking minute to keeping track of the damn things got exhausting and made movies stop feeling like events. this summer we've had barbenheimer and the eras tour, and those have been both big events and felt exciting. barbie was a chance to be campy, oppenheimer was a chance to see something serious and cinematic, the eras tour was exciting for fans of taylor swift who couldn't afford to spend $3k on taylor swift. and they felt this way because they were all unlike anything you'd seen at the movies in recent years. they had a high standard of quality, and going, it genuinely felt like people were there because they wanted to be, not because they were being force marched by a cultural behemoth to be there. you can't summon that same kind of energy for a marvel movie when it both feels obligatory and you expect it to be bad.

it also feels like there's a certain contempt for the audience where it concerns quality problems. i mean, i don't think that this is the intention. marvel isn't saying "we can deliver this stuff that's garbage and people will see it anyway". but one of the things i thought was the most damning about that variety story was the fact that, on some of the marvel tv shows, the final effects were inserted after the shows were released. so if you watched the show on opening night, you probably didn't see the final effects work. the arrogance involved in that is insane. it speaks to a total vanished pride in putting out a good product.

even some of marvel's better regarded films were heavily edited and heavily worked on right until the end, in part because kevin feige would come in and fix things, so stuff would have to get reworked. that's why effects deadlines were super tight and people were always crunching at the very end of this. there was that incredible quote from sam raimi from a couple months before the second doctor strange came out where he was like, "i think it's done but i'm not sure. marvel, they work on their movies until the very end." the director didn't even know if his own movie was locked or not because he clearly wasn't the one making the decisions about what the final print would look like.

that can work if you're making two movies a year and have a supervisor that comes in during the process and says, "i need you to redo this, in this way". but when you stretch that out to three movies a year, plus god knows how many episodes of television, there's no way to do that and make it a high quality product.

an instructive lesson comes from the book "disneywar", which chronicles michael eisner's time at disney. and one of the things in this book was the development and deployment of "who wants to be a millionaire" in america. bob iger is head of abc at this time. the guys making this show do it for a week. audiences love it. it's putting up huge numbers. everybody is excited. it's crushing it in the ratings. and the people who made it wanted to keep doing special week or two week long engagements that people would show up for. and iger was like, "no. i want this every week, three times a week, forever." and audiences got burnt out on it quickly, because it was something that only really worked as a special that ran for a week and disappeared for a few months. that's what the disney plus strategy feels like with marvel.

[raccoonfallsharder]

hii! i just wanted to say i love your blog sm. your fics are amazing and your fanart as well😩 your work has such a good emotional depth that’s so nice to read/see. you have a way like the movies did of showing the attention to detail with their worlds and other worldly cultures and shit it’s so interesting to read <3. i didn’t know if your taking requests but this was just a random thought that would be so cool to see you write. no pressure ofc but i thought it’d be so cool to see rocket more introduced to like more music/Terran pop culture references😭. i feel like rocket would like goth music like the cure and shit and tbh lady gaga i feel like also😭😭. it’s so cute to think of him getting shown like classic horror and stuff, he’d probably think a lot of them as comedies or shit😭. i jsut had these thoughts to share lol. your writing has me daydreaming i swear <3. i hope you are having a good day <33 : D

you are absolutely the sweetest little bundle of love nonnie. cups of tea, midnight bonfires, and golden autumn leaves. that's you. thank you so much for the kind words. they truly made my last two weeks. and i'm so sorry for the delay - the start of the schoolyear has been kicking my ass to knowhere and back, and then this… got away from me. it’s really unforgivably fucken long for mostly just being a list ~

but i hope you enjoy it anyway ♡♡

oh btw i linked some related headcanons that might interest you at the end!

to be honest i don't think i go through a single commute to or from work without thinking about how rocket would respond to the latest bit of terran culture you're showing him. when he was spending time on terra during the snap, he noticed steve’s little pocket-journal checklist of movies and books and shows to get caught up on. well, he didn’t just notice it — he might’ve maybe possibly swiped it — and once he trusted you enough to know you weren’t gonna fuckin narc on him, he decided to show it to you. he asks questions about the various titles, and steve’s notes scrawled in the margins. the two of you started there.

rocket isn’t quite as prejudiced against actors as many of his fellow guardians, but he does approach the idea of movies and tv with a healthy dose of skepticism. you probably start out with some documentaries, and he loves those. he’s enthralled by the ones about outer space — appreciating what they’ve gotten right and snickering about what they got wrong, getting a little weepy when the narrator makes some poignant philosophical observation. he stares at the screen with something that wrenches at your heart when you turn on the nature docs, those cut-ruby eyes turning into something soft and molten, silvered over with a yearning you’re sure he doesn’t even recognize inside himself.

you might think he’d be a fan of true crime, but no — not unless it’s someone scamming a big corporation or stealing from some hubristic rich bastard, or maybe the occasional murderer who accidentally confesses his crimes on a hot mic. the truth is that rocket’s already personally familiar with some of the worst true crime in the galaxy and he just sort of assumes that’s how things operate at large. why’s he need to watch people talk about?

it’s this kind of thinking that impacts the kind of fictional shows and movies he ends up liking, too — once you finally convince him that acting is more about storytelling, and less about lying or trying to wear someone else’s skin. you’d think he’d be super-into horror but he’s very — selective about it. murderers, slashers, and body horror (especially of the medical variety) are not in his wheelhouse. he gets anxious in the worst sort of way: impatiently twitching on the couch next to you, chewing on his claws. he rolls his eyes but his shoulders stay tense and his tail is puffs up three times it’s normal size. he might occasionally snort and scoff at how fake things look but again, that’s only because he knows.

and he wishes he didn’t.

supernatural horror is much more palatable to him, and alien-based horror is usually hilarious as far as he’s concerned. space dramas and adventures have an unpredictable impact. he says star wars is too dramatic (wild coming from someone who has since decided he loves reality dating shows) and gets weirdly emotional about star trek. and you have to repeatedly remind him that neither the aliens franchise nor killer clowns from outer space are documentary series (he has some weird hang-ups about terran clowns and will dryly tell you that he’s pretty sure they’ve tried to kill him in another life). he’s extremely and overly fascinated by some of the weirder terran horror and horror-adjacent media: cult classics from the 80s and 90s, Tales from the Crypt, Twilight Zone — some of those weird old fantasy movies too, like the labyrinth and company of wolves. you always indulge him, trying to remind him of what’s fiction and what’s not, and what loosely straddles the line of being based on a true story (even though sometimes you have to fight with the urge to roll your eyes when he points at the screen and says, no, that’s real, i been to a planet like that!).

you learn he has an uncanny eye for CGI. looks weird, he grunts every time something rendered crosses the screen. very into practical effects, though. he spent an inordinate amount of time trying to make a claymation sequence of the collapse of ego — the living planet, that is; not some great philosophical metaphor — and took over your kitchen for two months to do it. you’d expected him to get bored of it quickly, but you’d misunderstood just how fixated he’d been. he’d stopped taking pete’s comms for the entire last three weeks and had barely slept at all till it had been done.

he’s equally selective about games. classic shooters bore him — why bother when you can go do the real thing with any despot-of-the-week? — but he kind of loves cozy games. he enjoys horror games as long as they follow his horror movie rules, too — minimal lifeform-on-lifeform torture, heavy on the supernatural or other weirdness. poppy’s playtime is a current fave. he loves dnd, of course. once he figures out the mechanics he always wants to dm because he’s got more control issues than a freighter full of ravagers, but you haven’t missed the fact that that he’s got a recurring favorite character that he pulls out regardless of which side of the dm screen he’s on — a shockingly wise and kind aquatic sorceress named lylla, with the gentlest healing vibes. it rattles you the first time he plays her — so at odds with his normal snark — but you decide it’s just his way of letting his soft side shine through when he normally tries to hide it under prickly defensiveness.

it might surprise you (or maybe not), but he’s far less picky about music, to be honest. sure, he’s got preferences — certain songs he’ll play on repeat, or jam out to, or weep over. but he’s just as excited to clone a taylor swift record as he is to get his hands on some iron maiden. he’s got something surprisingly positive to say about every single song you ask after.

that one’s real catchy, he’ll say, bopping along to dolly’s 9 to 5 — only to then croon his way through the lingering notes of jolene. then the next time you see him he’s asking how he can secure more tupac albums.

he gets all teary-eyed over the sweeping strings of sometime around midnight, then later tilts his head, ears flickering, to drink in the light starlit notes of single acoustic guitars and lonely pianos. he’s as greedy for 90s grunge as he is for screamo and post-rock. sometimes he steals your phone and it’s usually just to download a nirvana album you once had him listen to, but just last week you realize he’d blown a sizable portion of your grocery budget by buying the entire babymetal discography.

he explains it to you one late autumn evening when you’re in your room with him, introducing him to seventeen seconds. the two of you are just chilling. he’s traded in his jumpsuit for the kids’ sweatpants and the hoodie you bought him — the one with the ears — and of course you very wisely don’t tell him how stupidly cute it is. the sun’s going down and the room is slanting and pooling with blue-and-gold shadows slowly deepening into purple, and you’ve lit a couple caramel-apple candles for the vibe. maybe you’ve got mugs of warm spiced apple cider or cocoa or something. he’s sprawled on the rug on your floor and you’re leaning over the edge of the bed, with the entire musical archive of the cure, woven liberally with a random joy division album, some merciful nuns, and other collections from your personal library of favorites.

he’s super-into it, of course.

this sound is somethin’ else, he tells you as he stares up at the shadows. The candlelight is reflecting off some unknown surface in your room, casting flecks of fractured light across the deepening dark of the ceiling. his blunted claws tap a steady rhythm on the floor beside him.

you say that about every song, you tell him drily, and he shrugs.

but i mean it, he tells you in the gold-flickering darkness. there’s a long silence, and you think he’s just listening to the music — but halfway through dope, he suddenly breaks his silence.

i ain’t exactly the most emotionalistically-intelligent, he says quietly into the room. don’t trust myself to know when someone’s good or bad. there was a guy, when i was a kid — well. anyway. it’s frickin hard to trust anybody, myself most of all.

you wait to see if he’ll go on — but he doesn’t. at least not till you say, i get that. there’s good people out there, but the worst are usually so good at tricking us. and then it’s easy to second-guess ourselves — forever.

from the corner of your eye, you see him nod emphatically.

not in music, though, he says quietly. you hear him swallow — painfully hard. i think — music’s when people tell you most about what they are. even when it’s hard to understand at first. when there ain’t any words.

you tilt your head, allowing him the privacy of not looking directly at him. instead, you study the flickering candlelight and shadow, painting amber and dark-velvet patterns on the ceiling. that’s why you like every song? you ask at last.

that swallow again, hard as a rock in his throat. i dunno. maybe it means something, when someone gives a part of ‘emselves like that. to you — a stranger. just — serve themselves up like a gift for your judgement.

ah, you think. the vulnerability.

as if he’d heard you, he snorts. me personally? i’d never risk it.

even now, you can feel him watching you uneasily from the corner of his eye — waiting for you to mock him, maybe. but you only hum an agreeable note.

i never thought of it that way, you admit, but it’s true. you smile at the ceiling. and you said you weren’t emotionally intelligent.

he huffs, but the sound is more relieved than annoyed. i ain’t, he snipes. and then — more tentatively — maybe that’s part of it too.

you feel your eyebrows raise, but you still don’t look his way — cradling the back of your head with your hands while the music continues in around you, and smell of warm caramel apples fills the soft shadows between you. what do you mean?

softer now — almost nervous — he confesses to the darkness and the gold light and the sound of lady gaga’s voice. every time i listen to a new song, s’like I find something in myself i didn’t have before. or didn’t know i had before. or that i thought had died.

your heart stills in your chest and your breath catches, and everything in you suddenly aches. before you can say a word — before you can think — he spits a scoff into the air.

never mind. i was kidding. that’s fuckin’ stupid—

no, you interrupt quickly, and it takes everything in you not to turn over and catch his eyes and hold them. not to reach out and hold his hands, because you know he’s not willing to accept that level of comfort.

not yet. but soon.

so instead, you make your voice into the softest thing you’ve ever imagined. no sharp edges, no corners to cut himself on. just downy well-worn blankets and soft crumpled love-notes, happy welcome homes and the warm caramel of autumn apples. you will it go wrap around him and give him all the comfort he won’t let himself accept any other way.

no, you repeat. i get that.

i get that.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

related headcanons: rocket's movie & television tastes ✶ what if rocket finds the mcu movies? ✶ music and rocket & adam, pete & jason ✶ rocket & coloring ✶ rocket & origami ✶ rocket & lava lamps ✶ rocket & sudoku, crosswords & word-searches ✶ rocket & hanayama puzzles ✶ rocket sings

raccoon & star dividers by @/thecutestgrotto support banners by @/saradika-graphics

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Common Grounds / Chapter 11

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Derrick the Asshole Ex (needs his own warning), case stuff (any inaccuracies about how the FBI works is my own lack of research), two GODDAMN ADORABLE IDIOTS in love, unprotected PIV sex, feelings feelings FEELINGS FEELINGS FEELIGNSGS

Summary: Derrick does his damndest to ruin your night, but it turns out that one asshole can't stand in the way of....... love.

A/N: IDK it's 10:30 and I'm sleepy thanks everyone for encouraging me to finish this goofball of a fic but especially @littlebirdsbookshelf who is the loveliest of humans and beta read *most* of this chapter before I yeeted it out LOL. There will be an epilogue to follow!!! Thank you everyone for reading!

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“This is quite the change for you,” your ex says condescendingly, looking around the gallery with an expression of disdain. “How the hell did you go from shilling your crap online to booking the nicest event space in the area?”

“Derrick, stop—”

“Oh, wait—I think I’ve figured it out,” the man sneers. “I like to do my research on who my ex-fiancée thinks she should fuck. Special Agent Pike, was it? Art Crimes, right? What a coincidence!”

Your heart seems to stop beating. Marcus’s head snaps toward the two of you, his eyes dark and full of warning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell Derrick icily.

“She’s using you, you know,” Derrick continues, looking at your boyfriend with a glint in his eye. “It’s what she does. She can’t make it on her own, so she picks men who will bankroll her little hobby and then leaves them in the dust after she bleeds you dry.”

“That’s not true,” you say through clenched teeth. “You don’t know anything about me. Or him. Or us.”

“Don’t I?” he retorts. “What if I were to, say, make a scene right now? Start yelling that this entire place is swarming with cops? Would that be a problem?”

You panic, eyes shooting to Marcus in horror. It looks as though he’s about to say something, but he pauses, blinking rapidly a few times—listening intently. Shit.

Derrick laughs. “Oh, isn’t that rich? You’re perfect for each other. You’re using him to get a leg up, and he’s using you for his little sting operation.”

Your ex’s volume is getting louder and louder. Heads are starting to turn. You scan the gallery frantically—a large number of waitstaff is starting to converge on the same area off to your right. Marcus looks conflicted. Desperately, his eyes flick between you and Derrick, even as he takes a few halting steps away from you. Maybe Derrick was right—but maybe it’s you who needs to cause a scene. Time seems to slow down; suddenly, everything seems crystal clear. You give Marcus a small, reassuring smile before turning your back on him and starting down your ex.

“You can’t just come here and try to ruin the life I’ve built!” you exclaim, speaking loud enough for the surrounding patrons to hear. As predicted, most people’s attention is now turned to the unfolding drama rather than the quick footsteps of Marcus, surrounded by several waiters, heading toward the back of the gallery.

“It’s over, Derrick! You can try to goad me all you want, but the truth is, I’ve found all I need without you. And you’re wrong—I’m not using him at all. I love him!”

The last words are damn-near shouted. They seem to echo in the crowded gallery.

Marcus stops in his tracks, whirling around on the spot to stare at you, open-mouthed.

“I love him!” you call out, looking right at Marcus as you say it again. “I love him.”

Even from across the room, you can see his lower lip tremble. But then—he turns away, looking as though doing so causes him unimaginable pain.

Attention starts to turn to Marcus, rather than the apparent row between two ex-lovers. Shit. You need to escalate this, and fast.

“Anyway, you couldn’t please a woman if you tried!” you hurl the out-of-the-blue accusation at Derrick, who looks murderous. “Like, even if your dick wasn’t that small, the real problem is that you don’t seem to have any idea how to use it!”

The crowd titters, and you keep going, feeling emboldened.

“Yeah, turns out orgasms are the one thing you can’t buy,” you quip. “Or at least, you can’t. I can buy them just fine—got myself a vibrator the day I walked out and left that awful engagement ring on the counter.”

A large, meaty hand lands on your shoulder, and you startle slightly. Agent Bear, as you’ve begun calling him in your head, who looks rather comical in his waiter’s tuxedo, leans down the foot and a half it takes for him to murmur in your ear.

“That’s enough. C’mon.”

“I—I was trying to—”

“I know exactly what you were trying to do. You did good, kid. Boss wants you out of the building for this next part.”

You let the behemoth of a man escort you through the kitchen and out through the dock entrance, leaving Derrick, sputtering and red-faced, behind you.

“I can’t believe I just yelled about my ex’s dick size at my first art exhibition,” you murmur to yourself as you follow the man toward the surveillance van around the corner.

“As distractions go, it was certainly creative,” the agent offers placatingly.

“What’s going on?” you ask when you reach the SUV. “Is Marcus okay? Is the guy in custody?”

“Everything is going as expected,” the agent tells you, which isn’t the most detailed explanation, and you sigh in frustration.

“So why am I being escorted out of the building?”

“This was always the plan,” he explains. “Marcus didn’t want you anywhere near the op until the building was cleared again, safe or not.”

“Why?”

The large man gives you a funny look. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

He purses his lips thoughtfully, as though trying to find a way to choose his next words carefully. “I haven’t known the boss for that long, mind you, but I know this—he’s stubborn, loyal, and goddamn fucking protective about the people he cares about. And he spared no expense once you agreed to come on board—bought a bunch’a new equipment because he couldn’t run the risk of any blip in communication. Hell, he’s been putting the whole fucking team through dry runs at the venue for the past month and keeping us late at the shooting range to make sure we were all sharp. This whole damn thing has been planned out to the letter, and he made it pretty fucking clear what would happen if a single hair on your head even came close to being harmed. I dunno what your feelings are for the man, but I thought you had to know already—he’s head over heels crazy for you.”

“…Oh.”

“You yelling you loved him across the damn room—that wasn’t part of your little scene-stealing strategy?”

You shake your head solemnly. “Of course not.”

“Good.” The agent nods, his jaw set. “Good. That’s good.”

“What happens to the show?” you ask quietly. “Is it just… over now? Everyone goes home?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, you can go back in once the team clears out. Pike didn’t want this to cause too much disruption. Said this was your first exhibition, that right?”

You nod. “Yup.”

“He didn’t want to sell you short. Made sure that the event would be able to continue after all the Feds leave,” the agent says with a wry grin.

“Is it safe?” you ask warily.

“Oh yeah,” he nods. “But I’m your assigned security detail for the rest of the night anyway.”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “Sorry you have to play babysitter to the boss’s girlfriend.”

“Nah, my pleasure. It’s because of you we were able to put this whole thing on in the first place.” He pauses, looking off to the side and nodding imperceptibly. When he speaks again, it’s clear he’s not addressing you anymore. “Copy. I’ll take her back in.” Standing, he holds out one giant palm to help you up. “Your time to shine, kid.”

“Is Marcus okay?” you ask again.

The agent snorts. “‘Course he’s fine. Suspect is under arrest and the team is headed back to HQ to finish up and get the perp booked. Said he’d come back as soon as he could.”

You nod, walking back through the now-empty kitchen. Guess you had to get here early if you wanted snacks, you think with a wry smile. There are fewer patrons milling around now, but that only means you can have longer, more meaningful conversations about your pieces with people who are genuinely interested. Checking your phone for any messages from Marcus, you realize you have hundreds of new notifications on your Instagram page, and a handful of online sales. It really was a success. Staged or not, maybe this exhibition is going to be the break you need.

The gallery finally starts to empty as the hour draws late. Pretty soon, the lights are being turned off and the doors locked—and Marcus still isn’t here.

“I can drive you home,” your security detail suggests. “Pike can meet you there, instead.”

“He said he’d be here,” you say in a small voice.

The man holds up his hands. “Up to you.”

You wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally, you hear quick footsteps echoing in the large hall, and you look up from the not-so-rousing game of Solitaire on your phone—which you insisted on playing, even with your battery at 20%.

Marcus.

You jump to your feet, heart in your throat. Agent Bear mumbles a goodbye and exits out one of the side doors, but you hardly notice. You can only stare at the man at the other side of the room.

He stares back.

Both of you seem to move at the same time. Marcus crosses the gallery in several long strides and you rush forward to meet him. You collide in the middle, lips bruising and hands gripping hard. He crushes your body against his, one hand around your back to press you closer and the other holding your jaw firm as he kisses you—deep and passionate and so full of emotion you feel as though you might burst.

When the heat subsides and the movement of your lips naturally begins to change–slowing, gentling–Marcus’s breath is shaky on your face as he carefully brings both hands up to cradle your cheeks. His eyes bright and shining full of moisture, his thumbs gently trace the curve of your cheekbones.

“I love you, too,” he whispers ardently. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeat back. A tear slips down your cheek; Marcus catches it with his thumb.

“I love you,” he says again. “Baby, that might have been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do—turn my back on you like that.” “I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t hold it in anymore, not when Derrick was saying all those awful things. I just needed you to know that none of it was true.”

“Couldn’t hold it in anymore?” Marcus repeats, searching your face with a growing smile.

“ I—I’ve never felt this was about anyone. I can’t help but think it whenever I look at you.”

Marcus brings his mouth to yours in another passionate, electrifying kiss. Your cheeks are damp, and you can’t tell whether the cause is you or him. You’re hardly able to take notice anyway, the way his kiss consumes you. It’s everything; he’s everything, and you love each other, and everything is finally going to be okay.

“I love you,” he whispers again. “You were amazing tonight; I was so proud of you.”

“It went really well,” you say, smiling. “I got more sales than I expected, plus a ton of hits online. And I got to say some really cathartic shit to Derrick as a bonus.”

Marcus chuckles. “Wish I could have seen that.”

“I told basically the entire gallery that he couldn’t please a woman.”

“That’s my girl.” He smiles, fondly, and presses one last kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry I’m so late coming back. Are you ready to go?”

You thread your hands together and nod. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Doesn’t matter, just want to be in private as soon as possible.”

Marcus’s eyes darken; his smile turns mischievous. “In that case, my place is closer.”

“That settles it.”

Despite the proximity of Marcus’s apartment, he might have broken at least five traffic laws on the way in his haste to get you alone. You nearly run down the hall to get to his door, and when it bangs open, you’re both reaching for each other with similar fervor.

Your back hits the wall with a soft thunk as Marcus pushes you backward, not so much kissing you as devouring you. Your hands thread into his hair in an attempt to ground yourself, nails scraping against his scalp until he groans brokenly. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he rasps. His hands are hasty in their actions–getting access to as much of your skin as possible in as little time–and you both moan together as he roughly pulls your blouse from being tucked neatly into your slacks and his warm palms slide up the bare skin of your sides.

You frantically join him, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt and trying to pull his pants down without actually undoing them.

Marcus laughs giddily without breaking the kiss, trying to unbutton them at the same time you’re already shoving them down his hips. He finally manages to kick them off, along with his underwear, with his lips still stubbornly fused to yours. Your pants receive the same treatment, both of you too lost in the moment to be methodical in your actions as fabric is shoved haphazardly out of the way. 

When your legs are likewise bare, one leg automatically hooks around Marcus’s hip in an attempt to get him closer, closer, closer, and he obliges enthusiastically–pressing into your core with a soft grunt. 

It’s not enough, not nearly enough, you need him in you, and he must feel the same, because with a little growl of frustration, he reaches around to pull your other leg around him as he lifts you off of the floor and presses you up against the wall to finally be able to sheathe himself within you in one fluid motion.

Your head thunks against the wall as you draw a ragged gasp of breath into your lungs. Marcus’s lips automatically attach to your bared neck, his teeth scraping gently against your skin as he starts to frantically pound you into the wall. The sound is obscene–the slap of your bodies, the frantic, blissed-out noises of pleasure you’re both making, and the loud, rhythmic thunk of your bodies as they hit the wall over and over and over…

…You hope, for Marcus’s neighbors’ sake, that this is an outside wall.

He drills into you–deep, impossibly deep and your back arches to meet his thrusts, but each movement causes your spine to rub painfully into the wall, your core is already burning as you try to stay in place, and despite how fucking good he’s fucking you right now, your orgasm remains elusive.

Marcus suddenly lets out a rather undignified noise, his face contorting into discomfort rather than pleasure, and before you know it, the mood has changed and the two of you are laughing yourselves breathless at the awkwardness of the position.

“F-Fuck, my back,” he manages to gasp out in between giggles. You tip your head back as your chest heaves with peals of laughter, and you feel yourself sliding slowly down the wall as Marcus’s strength gives out and the two of you collapse into a still-laughing, undignified heap on his entryway floor.

“Always looks so hot in videos,” you say, voice still wavering with mirth.

“Bit harder in real life,” Marcus chuckles, finding your lips again and giving you several soft, smiling kisses.

“Got a better idea,” you murmur against his lips. 

“Bed?”

“Too far,” you argue. “Sit up. I’m gonna–”

Marcus scrambles into a seated position against the wall, and you follow him immediately–climbing onto his lap and sinking down onto his cock with a soft whimper at the stretch of him.

“Baby,” he whispers, soothing the little wrinkle of discomfort on your forehead with his thumb as his eyes flick over your face, cataloging your reactions. 

“‘S’okay,” you reassure him breathlessly. “I’m okay.”

When you start to rock your hips, grinding yourself on Marcus’s cock, your mouth falls open with overwhelming pleasure.

“Fucking love you,” you murmur, and he responds by trying to pull you closer even though there hardly seems to be any space between you already.

“Never gonna get tired of hearing you say that,” Marcus says, voice rough with pleasure or emotion–you aren’t sure which.

“I love you,” you tell him again, and his eyes slip closed with what could either be agony or euphoria. And perhaps it’s both, really. You’d understand. The emotion burns so strongly within you that the reality of it almost hurts. Your heart aches with it. 

Your movements increase in intensity as you chase the feeling building deep inside you. It’s not simply arousal, and really, it never has been with Marcus. It’s a deep sense of joy, satisfaction, and safety. Maybe you’ve always known it–Marcus is it for you. The realization almost makes you lose track of the moment–you’re not with your body, you’re elsewhere, looking down on the two of you, desperately entwined on the floor not two feet from the front door.

“Wanna feel you come for me,” Marcus murmurs, one hand leaving your hip to rub little circles on your clit. “Baby, please.”

The action causes arousal to surge within you; you feel yourself getting even wetter, and Marcus can feel it too, because he makes a low noise in his throat as he watches you ride him.

“Never gonna get tired of this either,” he rasps. “The way you look when you’re about to come undone–fucking divine. That look you get, like you can’t believe you can feel this good… fuck, the fact that it’s me that makes you look like that–” He cuts off with a broken sound, his grip on your hip bruising as he loses himself in the moment.

“It’s you,” you say shakily, nodding frantically as you chase your release. “Only you. You’re the only one who could ever make me feel like this.”

You don’t just mean the waves of pleasure building within you, and Marcus seems to understand, because his eyebrows turn upward in awe, his lips parting as he gazes up at you with nothing short of reverence. 

“Show me,” he says quietly, his lips barely moving. “Let go. Come for me.”

A few more halting, violent rocks of your hips is all it takes before you slump onto Marcus’s chest, unable to hold yourself upright as the feeling sweeps throughout your entire body. He holds you close, taking over the motions and fucking up into you as you convulse with aftershocks. You’re hardly aware of how loud you’re being, crying out and whimpering and sobbing into his shoulder as he fucks you through it, but as you come down, you can hear his soft, lilting voice in your ear.

“So good for me, honey–fuck, you feel so good. Look so beautiful when you come, my pretty girl. So fucking beautiful all the time, I can hardly believe you’re mine.”

You whimper softly and tighten your hold around him as you nod into his shoulder. “I need–” you start, not entirely sure where the sentence was going, but Marcus nods anyway.

“I know, baby, I know.”

He surges forward, gently depositing you on your back on the floor before covering your body with his and fucking into you with abandon.

“F-fuck, mine,” he rasps. “Mine.”

“Yes,” you gasp–each thrust punching the air out of your lungs as Marcus chases his release. “Yes, yes, yes, yes–”

It doesn’t take long before he stills, burying himself deep inside you with a low groan of your name. For a few moments, the only sound is your labored breathing as you both come back to yourselves. Marcus gently touches his forehead to yours, his soft exhales shaky and wavering against your cheeks.

The air is thick with something–emotion, tension, or maybe the opposite: relief. The moment itself feels like an exhale, like your shoulder muscles can start to ease downward. Like if you needed support–or anything–you know there's someone you can depend on. 

And he, you. 

“...Are you?” Marcus asks–quietly and hesitantly, as though he’s ashamed to say the words out loud. “Are you mine?”

You bring your palm to his cheek and watch his eyelashes flutter at the soft touch. 

"Depends… are you mine as well?"

He pulls back, pure sincerity in his gaze as he looks in your eyes. 

"I think I was waiting for you this whole time," he intones quietly. "I'm yours. Of course I’m yours. Completely, and unequivocally."

You smile and bring his face back down towards yours for a kiss.

“How’s the back?”

“Hurts.”

“Wanna get off the floor?”

Marcus looks sheepish. “I didn’t want to say anything, but… yeah, oh my God, I need to lie down.” 

You giggle–breath hitching in the middle as his softening cock slips from you. With twin smiles, the two of you gingerly get up, grabbing your discarded layers of clothing and heading toward Marcus’s bedroom. He collapses on the bed with a loud sigh and scrubs his hands over his face.

“I think I aged five years during this op,” he grumbles as you plop down beside him.

“I thought everything went according to plan,” you offer, frowning in confusion.

“Oh, it did. I haven’t had any single mission in my career go better, but… Fuck, there’s a reason for that. I’ve been running the whole damn team ragged for a month, doing drills and–”

“–keeping them late at the shooting range?” 

Marcus frowns. “How did you know that?”

“My security detail told me about the pains you took to keep me safe. Or rather, how you ‘made it pretty fucking clear what would happen if a single hair on my head even came close to being harmed.’”

“I–I can explain–”

“He said you were ‘head over heels crazy’ for me,” you say, raising one eyebrow coyly.

“Well,” Marcus drops his gaze and grins widely, showing his teeth. “That’s certainly accurate.”

“Why did you ask for my help, if you spent the last month stressed out of your mind?”

He bites his lip as he seemingly gathers his thoughts. “To be completely honest, I said what I said that first time in the moment, without really thinking about it,” he explains. “But once Pandora’s box was opened, so to speak, it was hard to just… put it all away. The more I thought about it, the more it was perfect. Not only does the team get an ideal setup to catch a long-time art thief, but you get an opportunity that precious few artists are ever awarded. I couldn’t… it couldn’t not be you.”

You frown slightly as disparate, confused thoughts swirl around your brain. “I never asked to be a charity case–”

“No,” Marcus interrupts. “Oh, God, no–it was just—Well, we had to ask someone to put on a fake art show, and all things being equal, I wanted it to be you.”

“Why?”

Marcus’s gaze softens. “Because I love you, silly. Head over heels, remember? You’ve given me so much, and I just wanted to give you this.”

Your breath hitches at the devotion in his words. His eyes are so full of love, you don’t even know what to say. In the past, you’ve been so used to “gifts” being double-sided and deceitful. You don’t know what to do with Marcus, who simply… gives you things. Because he wants to. 

“Thank you,” you finally whisper. 

He smiles slowly, eyes brimming with emotion. “I was so proud of you. You know that, right? Every time I would turn and look at you, I just–” he cuts off, shaking his head and looking down. “Baby, I was in awe of you. I just need you to know that.”

“I know that.”

You risk a glance at the clock, and wince. 

“Oh, my God. It’s two am.”

Marcus grimaces. “Guess we get to sleep in tomorrow.”

“I’ve got an opening shift.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Of course you do,” he groans.

“I’ll be quiet,” you promise.

“Don’t you dare. I’ll get up and make you coffee.”

“You… you don’t have to do that,” you tell him hesitantly.

“I want to,” Marcus corrects. “I’m here with you. We’re doing this–everything–together, right?”

You reach over to turn off the bedside lamp, and then settle back against his warm side.

“Right.”