#but then that combined with thinning them god damn

[cinnabeat]

i was preparing celery earlier and it took me like almost two hours and i swear to god im having like visions in my head of me repeatedly peeling and cutting and everything like what the hell

[evilminji]

Ooooh~ Drink mix up? >.>

Because! Wes DID, in fact, get that dream job. HAS learned... after many, many hours of "beat about the head and shoulders with an ethics pamphlet by his great aunt", to keep his mouth shut! Family curse of Sight? WHAT family curse?

He doesn't see shit! Mind your business.

What're you? A cop?

Look, he sent Fenton a gift basket. He was a shitty, shitty "I have to be RIGHT and nothing else matters!" Stubborn lil asshole of a kid. He got better. Grew up. No one is there best Self during puberty. He DOES, in fact, regret it.

Which is WHY, he is deliberately ignoring Kent's terrible, awful, paper-thin, "who meee~?" Aw shucks BULLSHIT excuse of a disguise, like it isn't blatantly obvious he's Superman. Yep. Nothing to see here! Nothing but us chickens! Mmmmm, morning coffee! Delicious.

But see, here's the THING.

The Itty, bitty, teeny lil PROBLEM...

Wes grew up in Amity "Totally Not Supernatural Hotspot For Centuries" Park. He is... to put it mildly, genetically? A freak. His biology is ALL fucked up. Everyone's is. And it WAS NOT made better by the Fenton's playing fast and loose with their hell basement. The Ectoplasmic NUKE that was that portal.

There is a REASON his morning coffee? Is COVERED. Contained. Fenton brand, LEAD LINED, specialty cups. The sort that can't be EATEN from the inside out. Eroded after a few uses. They're ugly as sin, but they work. He even ordered a few covers from Star's etsy shop. (Apparently he wasn't the only one who hated how ugly they looked. Good for her though, he heard it was doing well.)

He SAYS this? 'Cause his morning brew is less... straight COFFEE... and more... how to put this? A blend? Brew? Potion, really. Like an energy drink. From hell. Or, partially at least, the Zone. It's the combination of roots, seeds, and a few dried berries. Kinda like a tea, actually!

Tasty. Adds this nice fruity, warmth. A zing. Goes GREAT with the coffee. And it really perks you up... if you are Limnal. If you AREN'T? It'll desolve your esophagus like swallowing straight acid. And that's not TOUCHING the... witch-y, more Seer specific bit of the blend.

That stuff is medicinal. You know, "calm the mind" and "mental clarity". That sorta thing. With a good ol helping of "don't blurt out everyone's secrets, you spacey bitch! For the love of God, those are our INSIDE THOUGHTS!". Which? Really helpful! Infinitely less likely to get decked. It's a family staple.

Poisonous, though.

They're fine cause they've basically developed an immunity to that part, but like? Wouldn't recommend. It's why he NEVER shares his drinks. Food? On occasion. If he PLANS it and knows not to add and interesting spices. But DRINKS? Never. Weston family brews are basically NEVER safe.

Which? Begs the Very Important Question ™!

Who's Coffee Is This?

Cause it SURE AS FUCK AINT HIS!

You never realize quite how fast you can go from "completely calm and kinda sleepy" to "bomb strapped to my chest, primal panic AWAKE" until it happens to you. His coffee was ON HIS DESK. People have passed by. He talked to them. Cups put down and picked up. Lazy early morning. He doesn't even register, really, as his chair crashes to the ground.

He's shouting.

People confused. They don't realize yet. His head whips around, looking for that distinct cover. Before it's too late. Before someone takes that fatal sip. He spots it. Bolting from his desk. Crashing through coworkers, over desks. Chaos and outrage. "It's 'just' coffee!" They cry.

Kent turns, confused. Pretending. Raises his (HIS! Oh god!) cup to his lips, unknowing. Wes SCREAMS a warning. But he doesn't listen. "It's 'just' coffee" They never listen. Curse of Cassandra. God's damn it. This is why his family fucking CONVERTED!

He TACKLES the man of steel.

RIPS his cup away from him, knows his eyes are frantic. How much have you had?! Spit it out! Wes voice ECHOES in the sudden silence. I'm a META, Kent! It could KILL YOU!

And oh, Oh NOW they get it. Or perhaps it is the burn in his mouth that finally registers. He rolls, spits oil slick nebulae that eat away the floor. There is blood mixed within it. It took mere moments. Superman stares, transfixed and horrified, as Wes shakes. He... he should probably get off of him.

He'll move in a moment.

When his legs no longer feel weak from terror.

The news room is in chaos. Lane kneeling by her husband, Perry trying to do damage control. He... he's probably gonna lose his job, isn't he? Wes wants to cry. Protection laws only go so far, after all. And warning his boss about his dietary needs means jack shit, after an incident like this. Beloved as Kent is. Not that anyone likely believed him.

They never do.

And now he's nearly killed Superman.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @dcxdpdabbles

[usedpidemo]

Plaid (Newjeans Hanni)

Hanni Pham is just about the perfect student: consistently top of the class, perennial dean’s lister, well liked among her teachers and peers, an active participant for every co-curricular and extracurricular activity, and overall just a good person to be around.

And you? You’re the exact opposite. Slow, lazy, constantly in self-isolation—always cutting classes whenever you can, struggling with just about everything. You’re surprised you’re still even attending this university as is, despite the countless talks with your professors.

Which is why when she greets you a good morning as soon as you run into each other in the hallway, the books you’ve been carrying crumble like Jenga blocks. 

She immediately jumps into action, picking up your dropped books in record fashion to hand them back to you. The cute, irresistible smile etched on her lips is icing on the cake. 

“Here you go!”

Admittedly, you feel some type of way about Hanni. It’s conflicting, constantly changing. A little bit of jealousy because she’s the student you wished you were, but also a bit of allure because of how surprisingly attractive she is. You’ve never felt any kind of attraction towards anyone in college besides her. And she turns out to be an exchange student, and you’ve never seen anyone with the combination of cuteness and beauty before she came along.

You take a moment to look into her eyes. Those gentle, warm irises perfectly capture the kindness emanating from her—God, why is she so damn irresistible. It isn’t that you’ve been giving her the cold shoulder, but you’re merely apathetic and neutral with her. Outside of the same brief rote exchanges—good morning, what’s your lunch, what are you doing after class later—you and Hanni have been, for the most part, worlds apart. 

The universe is doing its part to bring you two together, because you can feel it. Tension so thin, you can cut it with a knife. 

She never lets up. 

She wants to know you.

“I-uh, thanks,” you say, suddenly averting her gaze to your locker instead as you snatch your books back, then in the other direction. Anywhere but her eyes. 

Fuck. She keeps staring, leaning her head forward with a lively smile, her hands behind her back, waiting for you to continue. She talks with childlike passion and energy, “We have an exam in accounting later, did you study for it?”

“N-no,” you say, almost stuttering through the simplest of responses, as though your tongue is wrapped up in itself. It should be embarrassing for you to act this awkwardly in front of a sweet girl like Hanni. Mentally punching yourself to be better. It never happens. “Not exactly, I kinda forgot.”

More like you willingly neglected your studies for a nightlong gaming session. It’s an addiction.

Her eyes widen with amusement, as if she sees through the lie. Does she? You don’t know. Maybe she does. There’s so many layers to her that you never bothered to uncover. That’s the price for your negligence and decision to be a lone-wolf. 

Hanni reaches her hand into the pocket of her dress shirt and presents a folded up sheet of paper. “Then this with you. Just make sure to hide it underneath the test paper, got it?”

From bewilderment to amazement—your face goes through every emotion, unsure of what would perfectly suit the situation. She doesn’t know you well enough to casually entrust you with a cheat sheet, yet she’s perfectly fine handing it to you over her presumed friends, which includes members of the student council. 

Initially, you hesitate, but she’s steadfast in her position, as if you receiving this paper is doing her a favor. You ultimately fold and accept it from her. She grins as you tuck the sheet away in your coat.

“See you later!” she says, before walking past you to her next class. You slowly turn around, watch her leave and rejoin with her friends, one of whom is the student council head. Alone with nothing but your thoughts, you put the strange encounter aside and get moving again.

—————

The next time you see Hanni again is during world history class, right before lunch. Your rather senile professor, who doesn’t give a shit that half the class is either fast asleep, on the verge of, or doing everything else apart from listening to his monotonous lecture, drones on about Napoleon’s European conquest for the second week in a row. Even the patient student that you are, you’ve grown tiresome of it, especially with the dreadful pacing. You’re way behind schedule. At the very least, he seems to be paid well, so there’s a little silver lining.

Looking at her, you wonder if the gods were in a good mood on the day they made her. She’s as enthusiastic about the topic as if it's her first time hearing it. Listening to every single word intently, taking down notes furiously, taking pictures of the presentation even though she has it projected on her laptop because why the fuck not—she was born to be the teacher’s pet. Compare that to half of the class: even the supposed top student in the class is barely struggling to stay awake, clinging to the edges of her seat out of fear she could collapse from sheer boredom. It’s a miracle, really, that there’s at least one student showing this much interest.

The notion creeps up in your mind: Hanni’s right over there, without a care except for the lecture at hand. Your phone rests on the edge of your chair. Her smile, her shine—you want to keep more than just a mental image of her. Something to actively remind you that someone like her exists. It’s creepy, but it doesn’t matter when no one’s looking, especially not her. Only you. 

Little by little your hand crawls toward the phone. Then the moral compass inside you resists. You don’t know this girl—not in the slightest. Just because of a simple kind act doesn’t mean you’re completely smitten over her. Most importantly, you remember one important point about Hanni: she’s not from here. She’s an exchange student with a one year contract set to expire in—wait for it—two weeks. The semester ends before then, and it’s reasonable to assume she’ll be gone from your life just as quickly as she entered it once the page turns.

Right as the inner conflict inside your head reaches a fever pitch, the bell rings. On one side, you’re celebrating this moral victory; on the other, you’re punching a mental wall for not pulling the trigger. Before the professor even realizes the alarm already sounded off, all the students have filed out of the room in quick succession. 

You briefly consider searching for Hanni in the sea of students making their way around the halls, but seeing that she’s disappeared into the crowd, you decide to let her go. Perhaps the logical side of your brain might be telling you the truth: that she will be a mere afterthought to you after today.

But then there’s the unshakeable, unceasing part of you that refuses to give in. Even as you eat lunch at the corner of the cafeteria, you’re still trying to single out Hanni to no avail. A hopeless situation gradually growing worse with each passing hour. 

A not so subtle tap on your shoulder. Look to your side and there’s your angel, appearing at your hour of need. Hanni.

“Hey! Still have the cheat sheet I gave you earlier?” she asks. A few meters behind her is the student council president, Minji, and her secretary, Danielle, engaged in their own conversation, presumably accompanying their friend.

You scramble to find the folded piece of paper somewhere in your bag, forgetting that you’ve tucked the sheet away deep in your coat. Panicked, you jump from your seat to search within your clothes, still unable to detect its tiny presence hiding in your jacket. “Shit—”

“I can give you another copy if you lost it—”

“I’m sure it’s in here somewhere!” you interject, tonally desperate, repeatedly swiping your fingers on the same pockets with no success. 

Eventually, you frisk the deepest pockets of your coat, feeling something rough on the edge of your fingertips. Reeling it out, you present a folded piece of paper in front of her. It should be a small win, but it’s an embarrassing loss, especially right in front of Hanni.

“Good to know you still have it!” she says, grinning from ear to ear. You’re certain she was trying to suppress her chuckle the entire time, and based on her toothy smile, it’s not very difficult to jump to that conclusion. “Even if you didn’t lose it, I still would have given you another copy if you wanted it.”

“Hanni.” You turn to face her, a complete juxtaposition from her jolly, outgoing personality. Your expression looks stern in searching for answers. “Why are you like this? We barely know each other.”

Surprised by your sudden change in attitude, she takes a step back, pausing to contemplate her answer. Her usually bright demeanor gradually changes to reflect yours. Her smile remains, except it's hiding a little gloom, a little concern. “I just wanted to be kind to you. I saw you were struggling in some of the classes we shared and thought you needed some help. It’s only right to do the right thing, you know?”

In that moment, you regret showing a bit of attitude. Hand to your chest, as guilt occupies your heart and mind. “Oh.” You pause, stare back into those wanting eyes. “I-I guess you were really being kind to me, huh?”

“I don’t make fake answer sheets, let alone give them to people I dislike.” She leans forward, causing you to stagger back, bumping your thighs against the cafeteria stool. “And I like you.”

Your mouth gradually opens, trying to figure out what to say, how to react. Only air and silent noises come out. You genuinely have no idea how to respond to this sudden revelation. It’s not like you’re a popular name among the student body, let alone the ladies; if anything, you were mostly a ghost, only coming into light when needed—and in most cases, when the professors would ask you questions about the topic at hand. 

Blinking rapidly, you needed to do a double take. “Say that again?”

“I like you.” She repeats it for you. Twice. With increasing emphasis on those three words to drive the statement home. “I. Like. You.”

Let that sink in. You still don’t know what to say. “I—”

“We can talk about this later in the afternoon. Meet me at Room 204, okay? I’m in a rush and I just wanted to briefly check on you.” You watch her tone revert back to its beaming, bubbly self with each sentence. Before you even have an opportunity to say anything back, she rejoins her friends and walks away again, waving at you while shouting, “Remember what I told you about the cheat sheet!”

—————

Aside from accounting, where you followed Hanni’s advice down to the letter, the rest of the afternoon kept your thoughts mostly preoccupied with Hanni’s departing words. The two classes you shared with her during that period were opportunities to stare at her, watch her from a distance. Three simple words, and yet there’s layers upon layers to uncover. What did she mean when she said them? You barely interacted for most of the semester, yet she still considers you likable. During those long, painful hours of waiting, your curiosity and anticipation slowly built up.

And then, the bell rings at the top of the seventeenth hour. Time to find out.

While students file out in every direction, celebrating their regained freedom, you make your way through Room 204. Peeking from the outside, you see no one inside, not even Hanni. It looks about the same as when you left it—messy. You’re anxious, hesitant, cautious. There’s a part of you that believes she’s merely playing you in front of her friends, and that she might stand you up as a joke. And you have no reason to believe she genuinely likes you, apart from that one simple act of kindness from earlier.  

For the next few minutes, in those crucial moments of waiting, all your thoughts and presumptions begin waging war inside your head. You have one foot on the door, with the other looking to go home. It’s not the first time you’ve been stood up; you can write an entire thesis report going over each terrible experience and the feeling of bitterness and pining that followed. At the very least, should push come to shove, this wouldn’t be the worst of them—not even bottom five.

So you pace back and forth in front of the designated room, look at your phone, followed by your watch. Again and again. Minutes, stretching to hours, into days, into a slow eternity. You’re starting to lose hope.

Which is why when she comes across you in the hallway, you feel like a kid finding love for the first time all over again. You’re not even trying to hide your excitement. The stunned and relieved expression etched on your lips, the growing shade of red across your face, the hitch in your arms as they reach out to her because you couldn’t believe she would follow through on her word—

And when she flashes her toothy smile, her mouth speaking words you end up missing—you just want to take her by the hand and run away with her.

She ends up calling your name. Twice, thrice, a dozen times—you’re not exactly sure, but you can definitely lose yourself to the sight of Hanni’s presence over and over. With a hand held on the door, she’s telling you to join her inside, saying she has something important to share with you. At least that’s the very gist of it.

At her request, you leave your bag on one of the vacant seats; you end up sharing the same chair. The tension is palpable. Hanni paces back and forth in front of the desk, quietly ruminating, hiding her concerned look away from your eyes. A wakeup call for you that this is a serious matter. You have a lot of unanswered questions, but seeing the gravity of the moment, you conclude that it’s better to keep them to yourself a little while longer—at least once all the heavy air has been cleared. You stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to make the first move.

“I just want to say,” she suddenly says, still turned away from you, long streaks of dark hair covering her eyes. What they can’t hide is the frown on her lips. “I’m going to miss this place. All the profs, all the activities, but most importantly, all the people. Including you.”

“Me?” You’re not surprised at that statement; you’ve assumed she wasn’t going to be here for the long haul, considering she’s an exchange student. What does confuse you, is how she specifically singled you out from everyone else. You barely know each other. At best, you only teamed up for two group projects, which she mostly did the carrying for. For you, the bar has been set very, very low. “How come me?”

Hanni finally faces you, using everything in her willpower not to cry. Her usually lively eyes twinkle with tears waiting to be shed, but she refuses. Not even the warmest of her smiles can hide the somber and pained expression she has looking at you. “Most of the boys here are—excuse my language—a bunch of fucking jackasses and perverts.”

Not exactly wrong; if you weren’t part of an athletics club or hanging out at bars after class, you were likely to be one of their victims. You know this because you are numb to their asshole behavior. The girls would usually retreat in a subtle manner once they knew their presence, which wasn’t difficult to pinpoint.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “You’re right. I hate their guts too—”

“But you’ve been kind to me from the moment I introduced myself, you know?” Hanni begins to walk toward you, rendering you even more frozen in place. “Even our brief good mornings meant quite a lot. It made me feel welcome.”

You didn’t really think much of it, unaware that it would have this profound of an impact in someone else’s life. And why would you—it’s a habit you’ve been taught since when you were seven. For a moment, you’d think she was being very melodramatic, as if she were practicing theater.

“And—” she pauses, takes a deep breath, “Let’s be honest; I know you like me too.”

When she drops those final words, your eyes pop. Wide. Enough to stretch through your forehead and fly up. It leaves you completely paralyzed. A whole truth bomb dropped just like that. She cusps your hands with hers; you freely allow her. Whether it's from utter shock or the desire to hold her like this for so long, you don’t know, but you definitely want to let this moment linger.

“I-I—” 

You can feel her hot breath against yours, her face inching closer, your bodies almost entangling into something passionate and warm. There’s nothing stopping you both from finally bridging the gap that’s been separating you for the longest time. Hanni, the charming, popular girl that everyone either wants to be friends with or to be her, seemingly knows you like a book read from left to right. More importantly, she likes you. Tells it straight to your face. 

Her arms snake around your neck, leaving you even more suffocated. No longer in her grasp, you find your hands pressed around tiny, fit waist. Her glinting eyes encourage you to let those innermost desires run wild. The suppressed thoughts you’ve been hiding slowly pull you under their influence. You shouldn’t be doing this, yet they’re right there: those sweet, puckery, inviting lips, waiting to be marked, yours and yours alone.

Instead, you end up in a tight embrace. It’s not as romantic as you envisioned. If anything, it’s bittersweet. Deep down, this is her way of saying goodbye, and you’re only realizing what this is really all about. An opportunity to bid farewell on amicable terms. It’s almost cruel that your first substantial interaction outside of school-related activities has to be like this.

You hold on to her tighter. She does the same. You’re unwilling to let go. She doesn’t want to, either.

Resting her head on your shoulder, Hanni whispers in your ear the most calming and soothing tone, “I’m going to miss you.” 

You don’t believe you’ve earned the right to say those words back. So the only thing you can do is hold on to her the best you can—for dear life.

Outside, the setting sun is gradually fading away, and so does the natural light it brings. You can stay here, from dusk to dawn, comfortable in this position if she wants to. 

She opens her mouth again, and she continues to hum and speak melodies in your ear. “I have one thing I want to do before saying goodbye. Can you help me?”

Without an ounce of hesitation, you nod, saying, “Anything for you.”

Hanni breaks the bear hug then leads you along with her to the desk. With the other hand, she lifts it back to her waist, placing herself in a new and unexpected position: her back arched against the table, with one knee bent beside yours. Her eyes glinting with utter desire, she couldn’t be any more obvious. 

Before the realization fully dawns on you, she does the unthinkable. 

A simple irresistible kiss, pulling you down by the collar of your coat. Next thing you know, you have Hanni’s back crooked further against the edge of the desk, your lip-lock turning more and more passionate. Nothing overly dramatic and sentimental—only passionate love making.

She wants it. Deep down, you want it too.

“I can’t—” you mutter, drawing your breath, pulling your lips away. But not your hands. It’s in Hanni’s custody now. Your coat halfway down your arms, she sneakily tosses it aside. “Not here.”

Surprised by your sudden change of heart, she leans forward, her fingers now pulling at the hem of your sleeves. “What’s wrong?”

“I mean—look around, Hanni. We’re in a goddamn classroom.” 

If only you could throw your arms around in protest to prove a point, but even that wouldn’t save you now.

“This is what I wanted from the start.” Hanni pulls you back in, her eyes hypnotic and irresistible, shining like gold. “You wanted this, too. Don’t play.”

“Hanni—”

She stops you right in your tracks with an impulsive peck on the lips. Curling them through the kiss to form a smile, she murmurs, “Don’t think, just do.”

And you do just that. Kiss her, make out with her as if your life depended on it.

Hanni’s lips taste like they’re meant for you. Sweet like honey. Divine. Heavenly. If it were possible, you’d want to choke on your own breath holding onto them for dear life. Not to mention the hums coming out of her mouth, those subdued mewls that she releases whenever you bite on her bottom lip—you can’t help but sink back in whenever you consider the thought of letting go.

There’s no reason not to; you have this pretty little thing, Hanni Pham, all to yourself. Even your body knows how rare of an opportunity this is. With one hand quietly slipping between her pencil skirt, you navigate your way to the depths of her heat without breaking the kiss. In a flash, she throws her head back, snapping her mouth wide at the new sensation. All that cool, calm expression, gone in an instant.

“Fuck—”

“God, Hanni. You’re so wet.” 

She grabs your wrist—that mischievous hand newly buried in her pussy—and urges you further, “Keep doing that. That felt so good.”

And God, does everything about finger fucking her feel incredible. The satisfying squelch of her cunt as your digits press against her warmth, the continuous twisting of her features as she crumbles from the pleasure, leaving her neck exposed for your lips to newly conquer, adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing all over Hanni’s body. Seeing her, this usually larger than life figure, fall under your spell pushes you even further. 

Like Hanni, you’re still young; there’s only pleasure and the thrill of moving too fast and reckless. One day you’ll end up regretting this, ruminating over memories that could ultimately end you before you even started, but you’d rather take this memento than leave with nothing at all. 

You’re both already past the point of no return. Hanni’s underwear hangs casually between her ankles while they’re wrapped around your waist, her neck filled with bite marks and deep shades of red that no piece of fabric can hide. Her dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing a white camisole desperately seeking to be removed, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s made the crucial decision not to wear a bra today.

Fuck, that bulging ache in your pants is so agitating—both physically and mentally. 

“Wait,” you say, suddenly turning around and locking the door quickly, letting her panties fall freely to the floor. It proves to be a little struggle when you unknowingly use your slick-coated hand over your dry one. 

“Should have done that first,” she playfully chides, chuckling at you.

Returning to her with your drenched fingers pointed in the direction of her pussy, you respond, “Should have chosen anywhere but the classroom.”

“You’re saying you’d rather do this during our Christmas party?” Hanni lifts an eyebrow, taunting.

“Only if they allowed it.”

“And all those cheat sheets I handed you, all that for nothing?”

“Shut up. Didn’t need them, anyway.”

Hanni can’t help but burst into boisterous laughter. There’s no use locking that door now.

Even with the little time spent together, there’s clearly magic between you, the signs of what should have been a beautiful relationship. If only you both knew that. But now’s not the time to go over what ifs—only what’s next.

She stops you right as you ready yourself, grabbing the top button of your shirt. Using only her expressive eyes for approval, you steadily watch on till they’re completely undone. You’re left with the job of removing your undershirt and helping her toss your clothes aside. On the other hand, you’re in no rush to undress her completely; she’s a perfect mess as is with her unbuttoned uniform, her panties somewhere between your feet, and her taut nipples poking through the fabric. 

And Hanni wants it that way. You’ve barely entertained the idea of running your fingers through her skirt when she interrupts your train of thought. 

“You haven’t done it yet,” she says looking at your greedy, grubby hands, directing them with hers underneath her garment. “Make me cum. Please.”

As if you had any other intention. Maybe with something better, but that’s usually saved later—and for good reason.

You’re trying so hard not to curse through gritted teeth. Fuck. This. Damned. Skirt. Admittedly, it’s cute and perfectly suits Hanni; it adds to the appeal of seeing this usually meek, well behaved student asking for something more than naughty—it’s downright criminal—but you need to see what makes her really tick. Hanni’s clicking her tongue, growing more frustrated by the second than you are, anxiously waiting for you to come through. Carefully, you push a finger into her, then another, moving in delicate and systemic motion.

Then, it all clicks in perfect harmony:

She releases this pent-up moan from the depths of her chest, as though it were a heave of relief. The initial plunge from earlier makes plunging between her slick folds so much easier. You take a moment to let the satisfying sound sink in: the wet slop of her cunt as it reflexes against your fingers, unable to keep yourself from moaning with delight before you slowly draw back, then in again. 

From there, everything takes care of itself.

Hanni dissolves into a whimpering mess, under the hypnotic spell of your fingers fucking her pussy in tempered, intricate strokes, effortlessly and handily. Body shaking, desk quivering under the pressure of her weight, her hands struggling to find reprieve from the overwhelming sensations thundering all over her. She can barely breathe, let alone find the words to speak. Only quick curses. Each and every word so gratifying to hear.

“Fuck—fuck—its—its—so—good—more—”

You don’t give her any breathing room. In the brief moments when you lax, with your fingers either motionless deep within her cunt or pull back, leaving marks on her inner thighs with her own slick, you’re all over her, gently fondling her and kissing her. Half her uniform’s sleeve has fallen down her shoulder, giving you more of her body for you to claim as your own. With every little touch and thing you do, you continue to set her nerves ablaze with nothing to quench her lust.

It’s no wonder she’s such a teacher’s pet; she loves to follow along without any resistance or objection. A fact proven when you lift her undershirt to expose her taut nipples, and your free hand impulsively takes them. You give her left tit a twist, and from her needy lips comes a sharp whine. 

“Do it again,” she says, panting, nodding her head wildly, visibly overwhelmed. She doesn’t know what hit her, but it feels fucking amazing.

Of course, you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity, even if she hadn’t asked. Hanni’s body, all yours for the taking. Not everyone can say they fucked the top girl in the class in the classroom of all places.

And you let your body do all the talking. No amount of words nor their depth can adequately describe the sensation of tasting and feeling her figure. First your free fingers, then your tongue—they make their mark on her chest while your other digits crawl to a lazy pace inside her cunt. Not that she minds—she’s too engrossed in the blissful sensation to remotely care. Her hands find their way around your neck and back, scratching and digging away at your skin in an attempt to pull you even closer.

It aches—but not as much as the ache in Hanni’s core. As you inch her closer to climax, you can feel her tremble, propping her head on your shoulder now as her outlet, whimpering, crying, mewling. “Almost—” she mumbles, before she’s caught up again in the sea of her own pleasure. Knowing this, the rest of your body moves like it’s second nature. Faster and deeper, you continue your endless assault on her body, until—

Suddenly, Hanni freezes up, moans over your ear as a moment of silent calm follows. In the succeeding moments, you both remain clung together as her orgasm hits. And by god, it hits her like lightning. Sharp and brutal. Fingers stuck deep in her core as she gushes, quivers all over them. It lingers, leaves you both incapacitated.

Minutes that could easily stretch into hours, stuck on a desk, basking in the afterglow of unadulterated bliss. Eventually, she lifts up her head and lets out a deep breath of relief. Her hands remain entangled with your hair as she pulls herself back. A scope down gives you a short but telling extent of the damage: copious amounts of slick dripping on the edge of the table, down to the floor. You’re a little terrified of what your fingers will look like.

Through half-lidded eyes, Hanni flashes you a smile as she slowly realizes the mess she has become. Cheeks flustered with embarrassment, she quickly pushes down her undershirt, but they can’t hide her nipples’ rigidness. You’re both grinning at each other like mischievous pranksters. Something tells you that despite everything, it’s not enough. The fire in her eyes and the confidence in her laugh says it all: she’s looking for more trouble, and one way or another, you’re gonna be her accomplice.

Before you can even utter a word, you both hear a knock on the door. Through the casted silhouette, you recognize that it’s a janitor. Spent energy be damned, you’re brought back to reality. You quickly turn to Hanni in a state of alarm, “Shit. I told you not told to do this in the classroom—”

Reaching out her hand, she replies, “It’s gonna be fine! Give me my bag and I’ll get us out of this.” 

You immediately rush Hanni her bag, and while you hastily put yourself back in one piece, she grabs a pack of tissues to clear all evidence of your little escapade. In no time, you’ve somehow returned the place in nearly the same position you found it. Only one difference: her panties are left on the floor, and she hasn’t bothered to pick them up.

“Wait, your underwear—” you tell her as you pick them off the floor. She’s already on the edge of the classroom, opening up one of the windows to escape. It’s not a suicide jump; only someone with brittle bones could possibly break their legs doing the drop, and there’s really no other choice: run away with her or find yourself at the dean’s office on your first day back after the holidays.

“Keep it if you want.” Hanni shoots you a playful wink and a cheeky grin as she lifts one leg over the open window. “We don’t have much time, so unless you wanna explain yourself to the profs—”

“I’m already in trouble regardless,” you reply as you join her on the way out. You didn’t need to think about what to do. “Got eight missed phone calls from my fam. I’m fucked regardless. Might as well make the most of our time while we’re here.”

—————

A/N: Happy new year! I never thought I’d write something for NewJeans, but never say never. Hanni was easily the scene stealer for me at the Asia Artist Awards, she and the other members constantly waved at us from beginning to end, and they were killer performers! I can see why she’s so adored; she’s both talented and adorable. It’s been difficult getting back into writing after one month away, so this definitely is a feel-out attempt, but I hope it’s still good anyway. Here’s to the coming year and hopefully more to come. Thanks for reading!

P.S. I sincerely want to take this moment to apologize for my slow production. As previously mentioned, I got hit with a severe case of the flu, which kept me down for almost two weeks. Since recovering, I’ve been experiencing weird cases of brain fog, where sometimes my mind ‘isn’t there’ and it feels like my body’s been moving on autopilot. I’ve been getting healthier since then, but the so-called absentmindedness still remains. I’ve tried writing a few times since then, and it honestly feels like I’ve forgotten how to write. Hell, this fic was supposed to be out on Christmas day and I’ve struggled to put it together! It’s been very rough. I don’t wanna make promises because I’ll just end up breaking them, so I’ll just say that I’m trying my damned hardest to get back to that level I had been moving before my momentum stalled. I always want to deliver the best possible fic for you to enjoy. Thank you so much for being patient with me as always <3

[idiopath-fic-smile]

more Singin' in the Rain ot3, now on the honeymoon boat

part one

part two

The ship was a grand one. Cosmo, whose nautical knowledge began and ended with that Douglas Fairbanks picture about pirates, could tell that much. There was a majestic dining room and a wide, clean promenade and state-of-the-art engines that would get them to Europe in just a few days. The dining room even featured a four-piece band, who were a little stiff but not half bad.

His room, his island of privacy away from Don and Kathy and their combined magnetic pull, was bigger than he expected, well-appointed. It went a little overboard embracing an Egyptian theme, although the decorators had tastefully stopped short of including an actual mummy in a giant stone sarcophagus. He was grateful for that. The piano, as promised, sat in the place of where a desk might normally be, keys gleaming invitingly.

There was just one problem.

“How,” said Cosmo, dropping onto the bed, “did you manage to accidentally book us two adjoining rooms?”

“I’m sorry,” said Don, crossing his arms. “There must’ve been a mix-up at the offices.”

“Maybe the travel agent heard wrong on the telephone,” said Kathy. She rubbed Don’s back consolingly. Don shot her a grateful look. It was all very sweet, probably.

“How?” said Cosmo again. “Nothing sounds like ‘adjoining.’ It doesn’t even have a rhyme.”

“Are you certain?” said Kathy.

Cosmo nodded; he’d already run through the alphabet, twice. “The closest I can get to is ‘disappointing.’” Don was leaning into Kathy’s back rub like a cat, but his face was full of uncatlike guilt. “Don,” said Cosmo, “look, pal, I appreciate the free ticket, but please tell me you’ll fix this.”

“I already talked to the cruise director and there aren’t other rooms,” said Don. “We’re out in the ocean, what do you want me to do, alert the coast guard?”

“Alert the coast guard,” said Cosmo, “flag down a passing mermaid, strike a bargain with Poseidon himself!” 

“Who?” said Don.

“The Greek god of the sea,” said Kathy, like that was the important part.

“I don’t speak any Greek,” Don replied, “do you?”

“I will swim to shore,” Cosmo said, to nobody in particular.

“We can swap over to a different ship when we get to port if we need to,” said Don, shoulders slumping uncharacteristically. He must’ve felt worse about his screw-up than he let on. “In the meantime, the door locks from both sides, so—”

“I’m not—worried that you’ll barge in at all hours pestering me for a cup of sugar,” Cosmo broke in.

Don blinked. Kathy went very still beside him.

Out loud, it sounded more suggestive than he’d meant. Why had he picked sugar, the sauciest ingredient of the baking world?

“Or flour,” he amended.

“Then what’s the trouble?”

“I.” Cosmo sighed. “Why am I the only person in this room who seems to know what a honeymoon is for?”

“Why,” said Don, wide-eyed, “what’s it for?”

“D’you think, if I jumped in the sea and started paddling now—” said Cosmo.

“Don’t worry,” said Kathy. “Don and I can be very quiet.”

And the trouble was, this was worse. The prospect of hearing them from the other side of a single thin door was one thing, and honestly it was plenty bad—Cosmo had played a role during several key moments of their courtship but at least he could say he didn’t know what they sounded like in the throes of passion—but for reasons that Cosmo did not feel like examining, the thought of them stifling themselves in the act, the thought of them naked in bed together, touching each other, biting down on a giggle or a moan, and whispering, ‘Shh, don’t wake Cosmo,’ made him feel like his whole stomach was a sore tooth.

“Don’t put yourselves out on my account,” he told them. Belatedly, he realized that was maybe the worst thing he could’ve said. He blushed, and then he stood, face still flaming—Damn his Irish complexion—nodded to them both, and fled to the promenade.

.

The ocean stretched in all directions as far as Cosmo could see. It was dizzying, and also strangely calming. He stared out at the waves and reminded himself, hardly for the first time, that it wasn’t Don’s fault how Cosmo felt about him. It wasn’t Don’s fault, and it wasn’t Kathy’s fault that she was maybe the most charming woman he’d ever met. You could certainly blame Don for booking the rooms, for not double-checking over the telephone, but there was no malice to it. They were both, at the end of the day, wonderful people who had decided to open this trip up to him for whatever reason, and besides, his bed was piled with any number of pillows he could jam over his head if they did make noise at night.

He stood there holding onto the railing for a long time. Eventually, he heard footsteps behind him. 

“Feeling better?” said Don quietly, almost lost under the roar of the water. Without really trying to, Cosmo turned to look at him. Under his coat, Don was wearing a nicer suit than before, and the color had returned to his face. He looked—well, he looked like a handsome movie star married to a gorgeous starlet. Don took a few steps and rested his hands next to Cosmo’s on the rail.

“It’s the salt air, I think,” said Cosmo, nodding. “Feels like I could do anything. Why, I might write another musical, wear my trousers baggy, become a pirate.”

“Your trousers are fine as is,” said Don.

Cosmo shrugged. “A little change can be good.”

“Sure, unless it isn’t.” Don sighed. It was an awfully sad sigh to be having about the fit of a guy’s pants, Cosmo thought, but then Don turned to him and added, “You know, we really have missed you.”

“Don,” said Cosmo patiently. “I was at your house this Thursday. I stayed for three hours. I drank all your gin.”

Don didn’t make a crack about the gin, which was probably a bad sign. “And before that?” 

Before that, it had been a while. Cosmo winced inwardly. “I’ve been busy,” he said, “you’ve been busy, Kathy’s been busy—”

“We invited you over, four different times,” Don interjected. “If I’ve done something, if we’ve done something, I wish you would just tell us.”

In front of them, the sea rolled and rolled. Cosmo thought about deflection, about twisting the moment into a joke, a sword duel where cold steel met only an outstretched rubber chicken: squeak.

He let out a long breath. “Why the Hell did you bring me along on your honeymoon?”

“We brought you along because we wanted you along,” said Don. “Whenever you’re not there, we wish you were. It doesn’t need to be any harder than that.”

“So it isn’t…” Cosmo started.

“What?” “You and Kathy aren’t having problems? Hoping for a buffer, or a distraction?” It was a very new theory on Cosmo’s part, and once the words had left his mouth, he realized how badly they fit the facts at hand.

Don smiled a private little smile. “Me and Kathy are doing just marvelously.”

“That’s splendid,” said Cosmo, because he had to say something, apparently. Marvelous didn’t bode well for Cosmo’s sanity at night, but it beat his friends being sad. “Lovely.” He let his cadences drift into a so-so British accent. “Capital show, old sport. Tip-top. Simpy spiffing.” Not his best work. 

Don lay a hand on Cosmo’s coat sleeve, at the elbow. “Do you want to come to dinner with us?” he said. “It’s meant to be a formal affair but you’ve still got time to change.”

Whenever you’re not here, we wish you were. Obviously, Don didn’t mean “whenever” in the strictest sense—Cosmo got the feeling he was not present in Don’s mind, say, when Don was in bed with his beautiful wife—but the thought now made him feel warmer than the gin had. It would be enough. It had to be.

“Sure,” said Cosmo, “why not,” and Don thumped him encouragingly on the back.

“Cosmo,” said Don as they headed back into the body of the boat, “piracy, really?” Cosmo grinned. “Don’t blame me, blame that salt air. Makes a man feel like anything’s possible.”

.

Kathy and Don looked enchanting at dinner, and Cosmo cleaned up alright too, if he didn’t say so himself.

The food was good—salmon with hollandaise sauce and French beans, braised duckling with apple sauce, some fancy beef thing, salad Dumas and ice cream for dessert—and the band had relaxed a smidge and was playing something from this century, which was nice.

Over dessert, Kathy told them about how, one night several months before meeting Don, she’d been at a speakeasy during what turned out to be a police raid.

“What were you doing in a speakeasy?” Cosmo asked before he could stop to think about it.

“Why, drinking milk and reading Austen, of course,” she replied, a picture of guilelessness. Don snickered, and she grinned.

“I walked full-speed into that one,” said Cosmo.

“Buddy, you ran,” said Don.

“I was drinking,” Kathy acknowledged, nodding, “but really that’s where the best dancing is. The best music, too.”

Cosmo, who lately only drank at parties or at home because it was easier and safer, nodded thoughtfully.

“Hot jazz?”

“The hottest, at least in Los Angeles. Once we’re back, we should all go!”

“I could always stand to take in more culture,” said Cosmo.

“Oh no,” said Don, “don’t let her pull you into her sordid past. Did you forget the end of the story is ‘and then the police came?’”

“That’s more the middle,” said Kathy. “Well, middle-end.”

“So how’d you escape the reaching arm of the law?�� Cosmo asked.

Kathy swallowed her ice cream. “I saw the police were all rushing in through the front door, and I dashed to the back and through the performers’ dressing room. I’d done makeup for some of my school plays, so I fought my way up to the mirror, grabbed a grease pencil—a few lines here, a few lines there—borrowed an old coat of the back of a chair, ran maybe half a block, and pretended to be an old lady.”

“Really,” said Cosmo.

“It’s mostly in the walk and the posture,” she said. “And it helps that a few of the street lights were out.”

“And the cops were fooled?”

“One of them asked me if I’d seen any young people running that way,” said Kathy.

Cosmo clapped his hands together with glee. “Don, you married a criminal mastermind! Never make her angry.”

Don wrapped an arm around her shoulders and flashed her a besotted look. “I don’t intend to.”

Kathy nestled into the half-embrace. “Tell me more about—was it Coyoteville? With the ventriloquist.”

“Dead Man’s Fang,” said Cosmo. “And your wish is my command, but I don’t know what else there is to say. We came, we saw, we lost our sleeping arrangements to a puppet.”

“He tucked it in that night, remember?” said Don suddenly.

“He did!” said Cosmo, delighted.

Sometimes when Don started in on the official line about how they’d studied at the conservatory and the rest of that baloney, Cosmo worried that some part of Don believed it, that it was Cosmo’s job alone to remember how long they’d traveled that strange, bumpy, often farcical road together towards some measure of success and respectability in Hollywood. But Cosmo had completely forgotten that particular detail. He had burned it from his mind.

“After he fell asleep, one of you might have moved the dummy and claimed that bed,” Kathy pointed out.

“He left it with the head turned facing us, eyes open,” said Don. “Neither of us were touching that thing.”

“So instead, Cosmo had to put up with Don all night,” said Kathy solemnly.

“So instead, I had to put up with Don all night.”

He could still recall the potent mix of resignation, terror, and guilty excitement he’d felt, huddling up on that mattress together. Their act at the time had involved being in close quarters a lot—at one point, the choreography had Cosmo leap onto Don’s back and then immediately continue playing the fiddle—so it wasn’t like touching Don was a novelty, back then. But doing it offstage, out of costume, away from any onlookers except for Esther Quill the ventriloquist dummy, it had felt like an entirely different proposition. 

Don had been a real champ about it, though. When Cosmo had started shaking with withheld hilarity that this was his life, the punchline of all punchlines and nobody to share it with, not just Don’s best friend but his literal bedwarmer, Don had clearly assumed it was a simple case of the shivers, and so he’d bundled Cosmo close, tucked Cosmo’s head under his chin, and wrapped his arms around him, muttering warm in his ear about how if Cosmo dropped dead, Don was out a dance partner “and that whole routine wouldn’t work as a solo number, it’d go over like a brick.”

“Just imagine what barnyard animal they’d have you opening for then,” Cosmo had whispered back, because Oatmeal, Nebraska had already happened to them. “A pig who juggles. A cow acrobat. A chicken magician. Just a little sleight of wing, folks, nothing up my feathers.”

And Don had laughed, and held Cosmo tighter, and the ventriloquist had shushed them, which had made them both crack up again. It had been a long night, and not one Cosmo would forget in a hurry.

“Who runs hot as a Holland furnace, let me tell you,” he added now, in case his tone had shifted a few shades too close to dreamy.

“Oh, I know,” said Kathy, smiling.

Don raised an accusing finger at him. “Well, you were shaking like a leaf! You’re lucky I was there, especially when we didn’t have so much as a sheet of our own!”

“Wait, why didn’t you have any blankets?” asked Kathy.

“The blankets,” said Don airily, “were for the puppet.”

.

And so dinner had been a joy, and after that, Don and Kathy invited him back to their room for a drink or two, because they’d had the common sense to bring alcohol, which was of course not offered by the cruise. The three of them sat on Don and Kathy’s bed (much bigger than Cosmo’s—not that he was jealous, he didn’t need the space, but the sheer expanse of mattress really did rival a small country, and Cosmo was determined not to picture in any detail how the two newlyweds might make use of that) and passed a flask around and had some more laughs and when Cosmo next got a glimpse of his watch, it was three in the morning.

“I should go,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” said Kathy. She’d shucked off her heels at some point and now her stocking feet were in Cosmo’s lap. Don sat on her other side, head on her shoulder. He’d loosened his tie early on, and his suitcoat was draped over one of the bedposts. While they were drinking, it had all felt very natural. Looking at them now, Cosmo had the sense he was intruding on something private, something intimate.

Granted, they weren’t exactly trying to kick him out, but Kathy was drunk, or tired, or else she was both drunk and tired, and it was up to Cosmo not to outstay his welcome. They had a whole two weeks together, after all, and their rooms were barely a wall apart.

“My regrets, Cinderella,” said Cosmo, “but I can feel myself turning back into a pumpkin.” 

He made as if to stand, but her feet were in the way. Very gently, he picked up her ankles, lifted them off his legs, stood, turned her like they were doing some sort of a dance move, and deposited her feet in Don’s lap instead.

“There,” he said to no one. 

A long pause followed. Don and Kathy blinked up at him. He sorely regretted moving her. It had seemed like the most elegant solution. Probably he should’ve found one that didn’t involve taking hold of her legs, skin warm through the thin layer of nylon–

Kathy’s brow furrowed. “What makes you the carriage?” she said at last.

“What?” said Cosmo, who really did need to make an exit. 

“Cinderella,” said Don, apparently reading her mind, which was swell for them.

“Better that than the mouse footman,” Cosmo told her. “Or the lizard coachman. Or the horse.” Or—who else? There were a lot of characters in Cinderella, he realized.

“There’s a prince in that story, Cosmo,” said Kathy. “A human prince.”

“Yes,” said Cosmo, patiently, “and you’re married to him, your highness,” He sketched a little bow but Don and Kathy weren’t looking at him. They were having one of those silent couple conversations, with mostly their eyes and eyebrows. A career in movies before the advent of sound had probably given Don a real advantage in that department, Cosmo thought, although Kathy seemed to be holding her own.

“It’s a made-up fairytale,” Kathy said at last. “Why, it can go any way you want it to.”

“The lady’s got a point,” said Don.

Cosmo blinked. He knew how it sounded, knew that to the untrained ear, it certainly—there were overtones, or undertones, or just plain tones that vibrated with suggestion. Cosmo had grown up in Vaudeville and now he lived in Hollywood; these things happened every now and then. These things did not happen to Cosmo. He was good for a dance or a laugh, and nine times out of ten, that was enough for him, but he wasn’t exactly fending off amorous advances—not like Don, and probably not like Kathy, either.

Also, Don liked women. Don only liked women, as far as Cosmo knew, and they had lived out of each other’s pockets for years.

The fact that a late-night ménage à trois rendezvous was increasingly the only explanation that held water in his head—it said more about Cosmo’s fragile mental state than it did about Don and Kathy’s true motives, he decided.

Don and Kathy who were still sitting on the bed, waiting for some sort of response.

“I wouldn’t, uh,” Cosmo started, and then realized with a stab of panic that for once, he didn’t have a joke in the wings, waiting to go. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said.

“You said earlier today you might become a pirate,” Don offered. Kathy cuddled up close against his side, watching with bright, intent eyes. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Enter pirate, stage left.”

“I said I was thinking about it,” said Cosmo, trying not to sound affected and missing by a mile. “A fella can think about all kinds of things he wouldn’t do.”

Case in point: Cosmo was not about to climb back into bed with them, no matter how cozy that bed was, no matter how warm and inviting and beautiful the two of them looked together.

His hands were starting to shake, he realized, and if Don saw that, and past experience was any judge, Cosmo might spend the night being cuddled for warmth again. What was Cosmo’s life? He didn’t go in for horoscopes, but maybe he should’ve, maybe that was the key to understanding the whole puzzle: Cosmo Brown, born under the one constellation that resembled clown shoes. He swallowed back a hysterical laugh and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Why not?” said Kathy quietly.

Because he didn’t want to ruin his oldest friendship and his most promising new one, all in a single go. Because he hated rejection, and the thought of two no’s that close together made his head spin unpleasantly. Because then there would be no more innocent touches and smiles and nightcaps in Don and Kathy’s room. 

That wasn’t what she’d asked, though. Mentally, he shook himself.

“If everyone who thought about being a pirate became one, the whole US of A would fall apart,” Cosmo informed them. “Nobody would work, or pay taxes, or go to see films. Not to mention the national parrot shortage—just try to get ahold of birdseed anymore! There’d be a run on eyepatches and tri-corner hats, and the price of a simple pirate earring would shoot through the roof, in fact—”

“It’d cost a buccaneer,” Don filled in. He sounded almost sad, which was a mystery because that bit was evergreen.

“That’s right,” said Cosmo. He rocked back onto his heels, at a loss for a moment. He’d really been counting on that joke to clear the air.

“Cosmo,” said Kathy. “Do you want to go, or do you want to want to go?”

Cosmo struggled to make sense of that. He struggled to parse it in a way that worked outside his own feverish imagination. His entire mind came up short. That was where it got you, going on the road with only an eighth grade education, he thought. His was a cautionary tale. 

Maybe ninth grade was where they taught you how not to twist a moment in your head to the point where it really did seem like maybe Cosmo could’ve kissed either of them, could’ve kissed both of them, and it would’ve been fine, or even more than fine. Maybe it was that, and Dickens, and Geography; Cosmo still could not locate Siam on a map. Or Paris. Come to think of it, ménage à trois and rendezvous were the only French he knew besides bonjour. This time, he did laugh. It was that or scream.

“I am both too drunk, and not drunk enough for this talk,” he said, turning for the door that led directly back to his room.

“If you’d rather stay—” said Don.

“Of course I’d rather stay, Don,” Cosmo snapped, sharper than he’d meant to. “But leave me enough dignity to fill half a shotglass, at least.” Don and Kathy said nothing. When he got to the door, he sighed. “Sorry, that was—I’m sorry. See you at breakfast.” “Goodnight,” said Kathy.

Alone in his room, Cosmo closed the door and ran his hands through his hair. Pirates in Cinderella, he thought. Offers to stay, with his room not 30 paces away, at three hours past midnight. Maybe it would all make sense in the morning.

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie Munson was having the kind of high where your hands were as floaty as your thoughts.

World tinged with a droopy-eyed vignette, he watched smoke loop lazily towards his window, twirling opaque in beams of light.

A knock sounded on his door, and Eddie simply stared at, unwilling to move.

His thick thoughts had him almost convinced he'd imagined it when it came again, a little louder and a touch more frantic.

'I should get up,' Eddie thought, with zero intention of following through.

The bed was too comfortable, his limbs velcroed in.

Someone started cursing, just barely heard through the thin trailer walls.

Eddie tracked it as it moved, circling around, a thread of concern wormed its way through the soft, engulfing fog.

It sharpened to a needle point when his window was thrust up with a bang. Seconds later a puff of hair climbed through, followed by broad shoulders and a build that could only belong to a grizzly--or Steve Harrington.

Grizzly Steve struggled trying to dodge all the shit flung around the room-unfamiliar with the path Eddie had taught himself and his bandmates.

He’d long found that a room covered in items made a pretty combination alarm system and booby trap, a fact he told Wayne repeatedly.

"Jesus I thought you were a bear." Eddie said jolting back in delayed action as Steve stood with a huff, hands on his hips.

"If you could answer your damn,--a bear?" Steve narrowed his eyes huffing dramatically. "You thought I was a bear!?"

Eddie managed to sit up on his elbows. "Sorry man. You were just kinda." He tilted his head. "Beary."

"Whaa-- tha' hell" Gareth announced his presence with a mutter, sitting up besides Eddie with his hair looking like an entire birds nest. It obscured his view, and he sleepily lifted a hand to comb through it.

It did absolutely nothing, as his curls immediately flopped back down into his eyes.

Steve froze.

"Ah." He said, looking between Eddie and the lump of blankets making up Gareth.

Steve's voice abruptly pitched itself adorably high. "Ahhh--"

The blush that spread across his face was an equal delight and Eddie knew it was a bad idea to drink it in, aim a dopey little grin Steve's way, but figured he could blame any backlash on the weed.

At least that's what said weed told him would work, and he was happy to comply.

"Harrington?" Blanket-Gareth asked, like he wasn't sure he was awake.

Which collected Eddie's wandering consciousness enough for a couple of cohesive thoughts. "Hey, mon cher," he hummed, rolling a hand out to Steve. "Bad night?"

"I--yeah, uh, no, I mean--shit. Sorry." He cast a panicked look towards the door. "I'll get out of your hair."

Eddie made a tutting noise. "After all the effort you just went through to get in here? Stick around, man. Take a load off."

He tossed him what he hoped was a confident, dazzling gleam and not something half psychotic.

It was always a 50/50 chance when you were that high.

"What is happening right now? Do you guys do this often?" Gareth was waking up at speeds entirely too fast for Eddie so he flapped his free hand at him, in what he hoped conveyed 'stop it you shit before Steve bolts like a deer.'

The younger man's eyes were certainly wide enough, his whole body tense. "I don't wanna disturb you guys. I um," Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "--didn't know you had company, sorry Eddie."

Then, in a painfully awkward voice that made him want to take Steve and tuck him against his chest, added "Sorry Gareth."

"What are you apologizing to me for--oh my God do you think I'm boning this moron?" Gareth had finally shed the blankets, face shifting so quickly through emotions that Eddie couldn't help the giggle that escaped him.

"Be nice, Gary, god." He chided, through snickers, as if Gareth was teasing them and not asking a legitimate question. "Stevie, go grab that blunt I have on my dresser and come lay down."

"You are literally holding a lit blunt right now." Steve pointed out, cheeks fully inflamed with embarrassment and eyes stubbornly not looking at Gareth.

Who groaned and flopped face-first back down on the bed, apparently over this entire situation.

Eddie look down at his hand in mild surprise. "So I am!"

He put the blunt he found in-between his fingers to his lips, inhaling a lung full of smoke.

Held the blunt out, wiggling it at Steve when he just stood staring until Eddie exhaled.

Something in Steve's eyes changed, a glimpse of that painful, living wound of a secret he was hiding inside himself surfacing and Eddie automatically knew what caused it

"Gareth doesn't care that you're here, he's just not a morning person." Eddie explained gently, still holding out the joint.

Smiled encouragingly when Steve still looked unsure.

"Promise. You can chill here if you need too, Pop Culture. Neither of us will bite" Eddie made a come here gesture and was happy to watch as Steve hesitantly approached. "Well, at least we won't until you ask really nicely."

Then he winked because apparently shooting himself in the foot continued to be his default reaction to Steve Harrington.

Gareth said into his pillow; "No we fucking won't, you muppet."

It was muffled, so Eddie ignored it.

"If you're sure--" Steve muttered lowly, and they both ignored how clearly relieved he was.

Took the blunt with fingers that trembled ever so slightly.

Slowly, they passed the blunt back and forth a few times, Steve standing over Eddie.

Who enjoyed the way the younger man relaxed, inch by inch. Like the anxiety and stress was being exorcised out of him.

Couldn't see anything physically wrong for once, but knowing Steve Eddie wasn't at all positive he wasn't hiding some random, ridiculous wound on his torso somewhere.

Graciously, he gave Steve the last puff of the joint, waiting until Steve had stubbed it out and down in his ashtray before carefully touching his arm (above the wrist, with his hand clasping comically slow around his skin.)

Started tugging just as slowly when Steve figured out what he was doing.

Eddie grinned at the snort he got, as Steve gave in and reluctantly got into the bed, Eddie shoving Gareth practically into the wall to make room.

A loud, incomprehensible grumble erupted, but Gareth otherwise made no complaints as Steve tucked in.

The bed wasn't built for two people let alone three, meaning they all ended up practically on top of each other, but Eddie didn't mind.

Steve clearly didn't either, with how fast he dropped off to sleep, his body curling even further into Eddie's than it had before.

Best friend cuddling his back and Steve tucked against his front, Eddie happily nodded off, warm and content.

[inoreuct]

sleepy zosan cuddles please? maybe sanji crashing zoro’s catnap 🤭

this was IMMENSELY fun to write. i couldn’t resist adding in a flipped scenario with zoro crashing sanji’s bed,,, enjoy 😽

Sanji poked his head into the men’s quarters, biting his lip against a smirk. The night was still young; Nami and Usopp were outside, ensnared in some inane drinking game while Luffy egged them on. He, however, had much better things to do with his free time. 

Such as bothering the one man currently asleep on the ship.

The wind whistled before he shut the door. It was going to get chilly, which was why he’d had the foresight to be here; Zoro put out heat like a bloody furnace.

The swordsman was belly-down on his bunk, arms splayed out, his broad back rising and falling in time with his breaths. Sanji was really banking on Zoro subconsciously recognising him here in order to not get run through with a katana, but better safe than sorry, he supposed.

He crept across the room in the soft lamplight, planted his feet, and announced “Marimo!” like he was summoning the man— before jumping and face-planting between Zoro’s shoulder blades. 

Evidently he’d been expected, because the swordsman didn’t so much as startle even as the bunk swayed under their combined weight. “What,” he deadpanned, sighing into his pillow. 

Sanji could feel it under his cheek, hear the soft whoosh of breath out of Zoro’s lungs. “It’s winding up to be a chilly night,” he sing-songed, stacking his hands to prop his chin on top. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Zoro groaned irritably, scrubbing both hands over the back of his head and clearly grouchy at being woken. up. 

Sleeping constantly, horrible sense of direction, grumpy all the time— “God, chéri, you’re such an old man,” Sanji complained, absentmindedly tracing patterns into Zoro’s shirt and watching the loose linen gather and twist beneath his finger. “And for someone with so much muscle, you’re not a very comfortable pil— Hey!”

“Up,” Zoro grumbled, uncoordinated and sleep-heavy as he pushed himself up and toppled Sanji off to the side.

“What’re you— Have of my efforts in trying to make you a gentleman been absolutely—” The cook squeaked as he was grabbed, muscled arms tight around his chest and waist as Zoro picked him up and rolled them over.

“Y’talk too damn much,” he muttered, the words pressed into Sanji’s hair as he adjusted, thumb rubbing up and down Sanji’s upper arm over his sleep shirt.

The motion was repetitive. Soothing. Sanji went quiet as bony ankles tangled with his; with his back pressed to Zoro’s chest, he could feel every breath the swordsman took, deep and ever-steady. Every single beat of his heart, clear against Sanji’s shoulder blades. 

The cook slid a hand over the one around his waist like he always did and laced their fingers. He’d lied about Zoro not being a comfortable bedmate; Sanji never slept better than when he was with him, and on top of that— If there was one thing better than a comfortable bedmate, it was a comfortable boyfriend. 

He had the vague awareness of a kiss being pressed to his crown before his eyes fluttered shut, sinking boneless into the thin mattress with a contented hum. Zoro didn’t sleep with a blanket, but honestly? 

Sanji never really minded.

*

His bunk creaked, dipping under the weight of a new person, and Sanji jerked awake with a soft “wha?”

“S’just me,” Zoro muttered, sliding into the blankets behind him and kicking them away after a split second of consideration, pressing the line of his body to Sanji’s back. “It’s too fuckin’ hot.” 

“You’re sticky,” Sanji whined, awake enough to protest against the feeling of damp skin and swat half-heartedly at the arm winding around his waist.

“Because I just took a shower, idiot,” Zoro hissed, which, ah. Explained why he was shirtless. 

“It’s too hot. Which is why you’re choosing to share a bed. And body heat. Okay,” Sanji yawned, his sleep-addled brain mollified as he settled back in, and Zoro huffed through his nose.

“You’re cold, it’s nice.”

“Hm.” The cook peered blearily over his shoulder before rolling over, tossing a leg over Zoro’s hip and shoving his head beneath his chin. “That’s the only reason you’re in my bed, huh?”

“Go to sleep, cook,” Zoro grumbled, something wry in his tone, “before I give you a reason to stay up.”

Sanji kicked him in the shin and fought down a sleepy grin. “Not so loud, they’ll hear you!”

“I’ve been awake this whole time, guys.” Usopp’s voice came floating from the darkness somewhere to the right, sounding a little traumatised, and Sanji sank his teeth into Zoro’s shoulder to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Sorry, buddy,” he stage-whispered, still trying to control his residual chuckles. He could tell Zoro was laughing quietly from the rumbling beneath his cheek.

“S’fine. Just no funny business or I’ll get Nami… to…”

Their crewmate started snoring, and Sanji squinted up at Zoro’s face in the darkness. “Get Nami to what?”

“Can’t be anything good when that witch is involved,” Zoro sighed, shifting his arm up onto the pillow so Sanji could rest his head on his bicep. “Night, cook.”

“G’night. Don’t blame me when your arm falls asleep,” Sanji murmured, snuggling in with a shiver.

“Shut up.”

“Mhm. Love you.”

“…Yeah, whatever.”

“Marimo. You have to say it back.”

“Yes, okay, I love you, now please go to sleep.”

Sanji scoffed quietly. “You’re the one who woke me up.”

Zoro craned his neck to glare down at him. “I swear I will fuck off back to my own bunk.”

“…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Pissy asshole,” Sanji muttered into his shoulder, small enough that Zoro didn’t hear.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face anyway.

fin.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

random thoughts... saul fingering you while hes on call with someone ... placing his hand tightly over your mouth to shut you up ... dhdjhejshrntg..f..g.. getting bent over that damn desk and him taking his tie off to choke you with it ...

>:333

combining w/ these

anatomical terms:

"We're sorry we missed you! Saul Goodman and Associates is out to lunch. Leave your name and phone number at the tone, and we will return your call before the end of the business day. Thank you!"

If anyone were to contact the office between 1-2PM, Monday-Friday, that's the message they would be greeted with. Guaranteed. That was when Saul took his lunch break. During that time, he'd eat out and get whatever he was craving: burgers, Mexican, Thai, you. That last one was his favorite.

You were laying down flat against his desk, legs dangling over the edge, with Saul nestled between them as he ate you out. Your hand grasped at strands of his thinning hair and guided his movements. He appreciated the help, but he didn't need it. He knew what he was doing, and what he was doing was a great job.

Hs firm hands and thin lips brought you up to the precipice of an orgasm. You begged for release in the soundproof office. "Saul... Saul, please... so... so close... God, fuck, please... Please!"

Surprisingly, the next thing you heard was not your own voice shrieking in ecstasy, but that of a telephone screeching for attention. You both froze in place, your climax shot down and reduced to rubble.

Saul pulled off of you and groaned, his mouth quite literally dripping wet. "Son of a bitch..." He stood up, brushed himself off, and leaned over you to hit the intercom button. "Francesca! What time is it?"

A flat, no-nonsense voice came through the other side. "2:04" was all it had to say.

"Oops! Sorry, lost track of time there. Thanks HT!"

"Don't call me tha-"

Click.

Saul silenced her dissent by releasing the button. He sat back in his chair and grabbed the ringing phone, one of many piled up in his drawer. Holding the cell in one hand, he beckoned you over and slapped his thigh with the other. A silent cue for you to take your seat.

You slid off the desk and propped yourself on his lap. He flipped the phone open and finagled it between his shoulder and his ear to keep both of his hands free. "Thank you for calling Saul Goodman! What can I do for ya?" He answered with perfect poise and nonchalance as he wrapped his arms around you and groped your chest.

The voice on the other end was frantic, low, and gravelly. You didn't hear specific words, just tone. Saul rolled his eyes as it spoke, lazily dragging one of his hands lower and lower, until it rested between your legs. "I see... That sounds very troubling." He answered with mock sympathy as he pressed his fingers inside you again.

You threw your head back and moaned, probably for a fraction of a second before Saul slapped his hand over your mouth. "Quiet. You just sit back, relax, and let me handle this, okay? I don't need your input."

The party on the other line must have heard something, because Saul's response was more anxious. "Oh! Nothing, nothing, don't worry. Now, let me check my schedule and I'll see where I can fit you in." He twisted and turned his fingers inside you, stretching you out, probably making sure you could fit him in. "Hm... looks like it's gonna be a tight squeeze..." He emphasized those words by pushing up into your g-spot and making your legs tremble, "...buuut I can get you in tomorrow at 4. Would that work for you, Walt?"

His voice stopped for a moment to let "Walt" speak; his fingers didn't do the same. Regardless of who "Walt" was and what he needed, it wasn't as important as this. At least, to you two it wasn't. "Walt" was shouting into the phone like he might burst a blood vessel.

Saul replied incredulously at the mysterious figure's behavior. "What?! Absolutely not! I have a waiting room packed full of clients who need to see me just as much as you do! I'm not your little callboy!" He leaned in close to whisper in your ear. "You on the other hand..."

He turned his attention back to the petulant voice shouting in his ear. "Y'know what? I'm done talking about this. Mr. White, I'll see you at 4PM tomorrow and not a moment sooner." He took his hand off your mouth to snap the flip phone shut.

"Sorry about that, sweetheart, now..." He pumped his fingers even faster, priming you for another release. "Let's get back to the task at hand."

[wanderingwomanwondering]

OH. MY. GOD. Choices were made people! Um okay let me find an undestroyed braincell real quick. hold on *breathe* So jlh’s friggin beautiful cover of islands in the stream plays for basically the whole wedding scene.

FUN FACT: The part of the song quoted below begins to play as buck leaves the ceremony to passionately kiss tommy in the hospital lobby and continues to play through the kiss:

I can't live without you if the love was gone

Everything is nothing if you got no one

And you did walk in the night

Incredibly interesting choice, Weewoo Show Friends, because then the kissing scene transitions away from buck and tommy specifically towards eddie and chris enjoying madney wedding cake as this line plays:

Slowly losing sight of the real thing

They were not subtle folks! Tommy is awesome and also he’s here for a good time not a long time. Buck is still on the hamster wheel, lost in the night having lost sight of eddie…the real thing!!!

Then!!! As buck and tommy join the festivities together they splice the song jumping to this part:

No one in between

How can we be wrong?

Sail away with me

To another world

And we rely on each other, ah ha

From one lover to another, ah ha

This choice was wild because eddie is definitely symbolically between buck and tommy even if one or more of them doesn’t know it. By moving buck and tommy back into the festivities at this point in the song, i think it sends to message that while bucktommy look made for each other on the surface, there is someone between them. That someone is obviously eddie. The song stuff compliments the bachelor party scenes with eddie physically positioned between buck and tommy. The song is about pursuing and fully embracing a true love through thick and thin. I love tommy but the song is clearly not about him and buck. It’s about buck and eddie.

Combine these song shenanigans with eddie’s teasing bachelor party comment to buck about buck making chim’s wedding about himself and we have a clear narrative line of connection between buddie and madney. Madney is a parallel and a promise for where buddie are headed. It’s like a damn bouquet toss but with music and scene transitions! We all probably knew that already but it’s sweet af when identifiable choices mark the spot.

Oh we’re really in it now yall! *screaming* Somebody hold my beer, gotta go yeet myself into the fucking sun!

[luvsellie]

Omg! hi can you do a shuri blurb/one shot with the prompt “come over here and make me." I love your writing :)

— pairing shuri x fem!reader | wc 0.3k | prompts "come over here and make me." & "shut up before i kiss you." | note i'm glad you enjoy my writing, that means a lot <333 also i combined two prompts for this blurb :)

06:38 pm

your apartment smelled strongly of pumpkin. and there was nothing wrong with that, you supposed. after all, you were making pumpkin muffins.

but shuri seemed to have thought that the timing was all wrong. “it’s the middle of december; why aren’t you making something, like, peppermint muffins?” she said, her nose scrunching as she tried to understand your reasoning.

“because,” you told her, “i’m craving pumpkin, not peppermint. plus i think that sounds kind of gross.”

shuri sent a pointed look your way as she leaned against the granite counter, her arms crossed against her chest. she ignored your jab at her suggestion and watched you wash the last of the used dishes.

“you’ll like the muffins,” you continued thoughtfully, placing the last ceramic bowl on the drying rack. “they’re really good. they taste similar to the pumpkin chocolate chip cookies i made awhile back that, need i remind you, you loved and begged me to bake again like a week later.”

your girlfriend scoffed from her spot against the counter. “would you believe me if i said i only liked them so you wouldn’t be upset?”

you looked at her sharply, eyes narrowing in on her relaxed person. “no, i wouldn’t believe you. now shut your mouth about not enjoying the damn muffins, shuri.”

“come over here and make me,” she retorted quickly, her lips pulling into a canny smile, tight curls falling over her brow line as her head cocked to the side.

breathing out slowly, you dried your hands on a nearby towel, your side profile turned to her. “shuri, you are absolutely-”

“charming? i really do try my best,” the woman said, cutting off your would-be insult. the way she was always so sly and provocative about everything made your heart leap to your throat. your mouth pressed into a thin line as you approached her, reaching to cup her face. looking up at her you said smoothly, “shut up before i kiss you, god dammit.”

© luvsellie 2022 | do not repost, republish, steal, or translate !!

[amrv-5]

oh god 6 or 18 for the cuddle meme would destroy me

AH HELLO PRAX HAPPY THURSDAY!!! and THANK YOU -- I hope it's alright I combined 18 with @bbjkrss-blog request for 35 (and THANK YOU for the prompt, also!!!!!), they fit really well together!! Anyway -- lovvved writing this one it was so so soft:

18. 'just a short hug' turning into 'just one more second' turning into 'but I just can't let go of you'

+

35. cuddles to keep the other from leaving the bed (from this prompt)

Hawkeye lost his grip on the edge of the mattress. “Beej,” he complained, laughing, as BJ dragged him back under the duvet, holding Hawkeye to his chest. 

“I can’t have a hug?” BJ asked, kissing the back of his neck. He resettled the blankets so Hawkeye was tucked in up to his chin.

“Of course you can.” Hawkeye turned in his arms. BJ tossed a leg over his hip and drew him in tighter, nosing into the hollow of his throat. “But just for a second. I don’t want to jog to the bakery again.”

“Mm,” BJ said, breath warm against Hawkeye’s neck. He slid a hand up the back of Hawkeye’s thin sleeping shirt. It wasn’t a bid for anything more, unless a nap counted as an ulterior motive. 

“They’re going to run out of the good baguettes,” Hawkeye said. It was a reminder to himself, too; the blankets were still sleep-warmed and cozy. BJ’s arm was comfortably heavy over his waist. It was more tempting every second to stay in bed. 

“So get the less-good ones,” BJ murmured, rubbing his face against Hawkeye’s chest. “I don’t mind the sesame.”

“I mind the sesame,” Hawkeye tried to convince himself. It seemed a weak argument, comparatively, when BJ was rubbing circles into his lower back. The touch was warming him through, and he pushed himself more tightly against BJ, despite his determination to get out of bed soon. “One more minute,” he brokered, glancing at BJ’s watch on the nightstand. 

“One more minute,” BJ agreed. 

Hawkeye relaxed against him, curling into the blankets, closing his eyes against the midmorning light. He grasped BJ’s upper arm where it rested across his waist, and held it. BJ kissed his collarbone. Hawkeye realized it was almost impossible to open his eyes. It was far easier, and more comfortable, to melt against BJ. 

BJ’s breath slowed, and his hand stilled under Hawkeye’s shirt. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” Hawkeye warned them both, though he was certain he’d allowed the one-minute mark to come and go. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes to check. Sleep was holding onto him even more determinedly than BJ. “We’re getting up. Any minute now we’re getting up.”

BJ sighed, more than half asleep. He rolled over, pinning Hawkeye under his weight, a full-body press that threatened to snuff out the last, weak flicker of Hawkeye’s willpower. 

It felt phenomenal. Hawkeye sighed, basking in the totality of the contact, BJ’s warm presence soothing something deep within him. “Damn. I can’t let go of you,” he confessed, rubbing their faces together. 

“It's a mutual problem.” BJ inhaled deeply, pressing Hawkeye flatter against the mattress.

Hawkeye hummed happily and held on. Maybe he’d have to learn how to make baguettes at home. It couldn’t be too hard, really—no harder than leaving bed on a Saturday morning.

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Bitten’

Dr Strange x fem! reader!

this is my fave fic ive ever written. nuff said.

ik all my fics are like essentially the same but this ones lowkey more vulgar even tho the plot is so overdone in fics 😭

Stephen Strange was a man of arrogance and a thin string of patience. You had a knack for testing that patience, willing to cut the barbed wire with bolt cutters at every interaction just for fun. Your irrational and impulsive nature was a joy to deal with.

'What? You can't come?' He was equal parts surprised and furious but this cocktail of a combination was potent and heady and it was taking all of his might not to lash out.

You were darting around your room whilst Stephen was dumbfounded at the door. Fluffing up your pillows and fixing up your duvet just the right amount in hopes of getting lucky tonight. Sexual freedom you were not feeling, sexual frustration was right on the money. You were so damn horny all the time and your own fingers or a vibrating piece of rubber plastic would not relieve any of that angst. Natasha set you up on a date with a SHIELD Agent in enlightened hopes that he would still the ache inside of you. However, Stephen was trying to put a wrench in those plans.

'I have a date this evening Stephen, I can't be there with you and Wong. Why can't you just do this with him?' Your voice came out exasperated as you opened your closet and tossed a few dresses, lingerie sets and a scattering assortment of shoes.

'He's preoccupied too, I can't fix up the relic alone.’ He countered and it just seemed to annoy you that much more.

'Can't? Never heard that word from you before.' You smirked.

'Date? I thought you didn't do dates.' He reminded you and it was like you were as clear as day to see through, you felt uncomfortable under his amplified scruntity.

It peeved Stephen that it wasn't really the fact you couldn't help him fix a timless, ancient relic that vexed him but it was the fact that you were going on...a date. You were free and single, he had no right to feel such a way for you, more specifically the person you were seeing this evening but he couldn't help it. His mood soured instantly. The voices piping up in his head were just pleading at him to stop you but he didn't know why he should even stop you in the first place; he didn't know what his feelings were labelled as.

'Stephen, go with grace. I can't, you're more than capable of repairing it yourself. You don't need a baby sitter.’ It was as if you were talking to a five year old, his arrogance wasn't piquing as much as it ought to and it made you nervous, it was as if he was self conscious or insecure.

Stephen Strange? Insecure? It could make you laugh, he was...attrac-decent looking and a magic weilding sorcerer with the nectar of the god's flowing through his feet. Who would?

'Fine. Have fun.' He muttered sarcastically as he left your room.

You sighed at his childishness and the. pondered what to wear.

——

You were flipping like a switch, unsure of which lingerie set to choose from, one or the other. It was a mantra carved into the echoey walls of your brain. It was a mantra carved into the echoey walls of your brain. You could barely trust yourself with your own skewed judgement and bias, so you flipped to your second best option: a second opinion from Natasha.

She was busy at a meeting or a recon but you could barely find it in yourself to care; your problems were going to be her problems tonight.

You shimmied on the first black lacy lingerie set and snapped a photo, bare faced and beautiful. You did the same with the other set. Too encompassed in the task of doing your makeup and dusting your apples with blush, you turned a blind eye to concentrating on your phone and absent mindedly sent the photos to..

FUCK. Oh fuck.

Shit. Your heart latched onto your throat when you read over the name.

Stephen Strange.

You panicked, immediately attempting to delete and unsend them before he got a chance to peer at the explicity of your text. He had never ever seen you in this light before and you were scared that he would never look at you the same way again. Of course you wanted to sleep with him, no matter how much you denied it but this wasn't the way to go about it. It was practically cheating.

Stephen was about to wind down as he threw himself on his bed, no matter in fixing the ancient relic now since you weren't here. Only clothed with a bare chest and sweatpants, he felt the left side of his sweatpants pocket buzz. It was a text...from you.

He was hoping you were about to change your mind and come over...come over to him where after some...activities may persue. He sent the thought flying out of his mind as he opened your text. He felt his soul whisper out of his body when he laid eyes on you.

There you were, posing all pretty and sweet in such finely crafted, extremely revealing lingerie. Curves on display and your tits provided such an engaging view. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you and your plump lips and your volitile and constant fuck me eyes. He really shouldn't be thinking, let alone looking at you in such a way, you were coworkers that's all. But Jesus Christ it was like God took a lifetime creating you, details and all to make you look perfect. His attentive blue eyes flickered from feature to feature- it looked like your body would meld perfectly into his. Though, you've made your distaste extremely clear for him. He wondered if you were meant to send these to him.

Too tired and anxious to even comprehend how to delete and unsend the photo, you gave in and caved into the worst case scenario imaginable. You winced as the pads of your fingertips texted back.

--Oh shit Stephen. I'm sorry that was for Nat, I didn't mean for you to see those, I'm trying to figure out how to unsend or delete them but I can't.

He could easily delete it for you but he let his eyes wander. He bit the bullet.

-- No, no it's fine.

You let out a sigh of relief but awkwardness still clouded you. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you bit at your fingernails.

-- First one. Go for the first one. I like the red details. Cute.

Your eyes widened at the same pace as the thump of your heart. You bit your lip, unsure of how to even begin to respond

--Matches the cloak.

You knew what you needed to do now, your impulse was as harrowing as it was a character flaw but you felt drawn. You felt like a magnet and you just needed to hear that click, Stephen made you feel that click and it wasn't even in real life it was by text, if he could make you feel wet by just a text then God knows what he'd be able to do in real life...in bed. He was strong and intimidating and vastly powerful. You'd let him face fuck you till morning's end.

Stephen quirked an eyebrow and adjusted his jaw at your reply, his tongue glazing over his lip to conceal his smug smirk.

-- You'd look prettier in nothing but my cloak.

Your heels were clacking against the marble of the Avengers Compound, silk sitting just above your thigh as you made your way down the staircase into your car. You weren't even rushing, you were like lightning on your toes the way you needed to be near him. Your need for sexual gratification from him was a major switch up from your annoyance towards him earlier. Your date could get fucked.

Stephen's phone was ringing in his hands and it was you, he hesitated before he answered. You revved your engine of your car and sped your way down to the Sanctum, your skill obviously being portrayed in the process as you swerved past the ongoing cars with your phone nestled to your ear. The stars twinkled in the mist, the night illuminated by laser beams.

Before Stephen could speak you cut him off.

'I'm coming. Stay where you are.' You stated all deadpan and serious before ultimately hanging up. His face contorted into confusion but then turning into excitement. Stephen had always wondered what was under your suit, the skin you lived in. It was always just a passing thought but now it was all his mind was on. He was hungry to get you naked and mark you up as his. Again, fuck your date.

Parking outside, you hurried your way to the door of the Sanctum. Unaware and uncaring to if there was anyone else but Stephen dotted around, you opened the door and let yourself in. Stephen was at the top of the staircase at the main entrance and there you were. Dressed up as if he wasn't going to tear the clothes off of you with his teeth. It was adorable and endearing. He stepped down the stairs and you were rushing at him like a raging bull; your lips connected before vour bodies collided at the foot of the stairs. He palmed at your ass and squeezed once he got his hands on you.

Your fingers scraped at his hair and tugged on it to make him open his mouth that much more for you to sink into. Stephen was growing impatient, he forced you to angle your head so he could delve his tongue into your blossoming mouth and lick away at the embarrassment and shame you felt today. God your lips were soft and sweet, so supple; he couldn't help but sink his teeth into your lips. A broken moan fell away at your mouth and into his and that just made his head reel. He needed to let you breathe out the erratic breaths you had pent up so you wouldn't suffocate, with both of your eyes screwed shut you pressed foreheads.

"Can I make you feel better?' He breathed into your skin.

'Please Stephen, I'm desperate. I can't take the waiting.'' You whined against him.

He tugged you by the arm up the staircase and took you breathlessly to his room. It wasn't slow and tender, it was firey hot and passionate and it was over in flashes. You were in his room. Alone. You had the chance to remark upon Stephen's toned physique, you were damn near salivating over this man and it was pathetic but you couldn't care, not when he was right next to you willing to give you the good hard fucking you've been desperate for. It was like you were possessed by the lust he was offering you and you were inclined to take more. For fucks sake you were already arching into him when you both crashed lips again.

'God, Stephen. I want- I.' You breathlessly tried to get a wandering point across but you didn't even know what you were trying to say.

'I fucking love hearing you beg.' He growled as he grasped you by the hair and pushed you down onto his regal looking bed. You felt so glamourous being bedded on an antique, the Gods and spirits would probably judge you both harshly but you thought it was some kind of magical christening. And holy hell the way he was fawning over you like you were his made your cunt throb.

'You're mine to fuck and use, got it?' He stared down at you coldly, no warmth or mercy in his cereulan irises and it made your body litter with goosebumps, by just the tones of his voice.

You nodded your head furiously at his offer.

He fiddled with the fabric at the edge of your dress as if to taunt you, softly cooing as his eyes flit from your face to the bottom of your dress.

'Cute.' He muttered, a small smile playing on his lips.

His oogling didn't last long as he tore off your dress in one swift motion, you could barely contain your moan at such a thing. Stephen made you feel so desired and wanted, he was practically frothing at the mouth to get you naked, like a rabid mad dog and you revelled in every moment of it. Stephen realised you wore the set he liked most. He bit his lip softly.

'You liked this one, didn't you?' You relentless tease was in aim to provoke him, you were an archer ready to hit that bullseye to let all hell break loose and let him take his anger out on you. "Took you long enough to spit it out, I hope I'm not wasting my time.’’

'Stop pretending to be smarter than you really are sweetheart.'’ Stephen reprimanded and it made a low chuckle flow out of you.

He ripped off your lingerie and shimmied it down your smooth legs.

'So conceited.' You pouted at the fact you spent a lot of money on that set.

'So fucking stupid.'

Without warning he flipped you around so you were on all fours and spanked at your ass, your skin flushed a warm shade of red as his unforgiving palm spanked the attitude out of you. He fondled and squeezed at the flesh of your ass. You tried to stay on all fours but Stephen grasped at your hair and made your torso meet the bed, the side of your face digging into the sheets. Your ass was all that he could see, you offered it up to him so freely; how could he say no to all of that? Stephen bent down and bit harshly at your skin there, deep teeth marks being left in his wake. The high pitched pornographic moan you let out at his actions was the only thing that was able to be heard, bouncing across the walls relentlessly like it was his own personal brand of music.

Stephen pistoned two thick fingers inside of your cunt with no remorse or pause, God you were so sticky with your own arousal and it made him beam up. He reached depths that no one else had ever had before, feeling into you in a way that made you realize that you've been waiting to be treated like this for so long. You convinced yourself you were content with vanilla sex but God this was exactly what you wanted, needed. It was like a drug, a Stephen Strange tasting drug that you knew you wouldn't be able to quit no matter how hard you tried.

‘'So wet, so pretty and all for me. God you're so fuckable, it's like you've made it your personal goal to taunt me. I've waited long enough for you, wanting you, tasting you, the idea that you could be mine-body, mind, soul. Jesus Christ-'’ He groaned lowly, he couldn't finish as he saw your wetness run down your thighs at his words. He could talk like this for a lifetime if he got you this wet everytime.

You were stunned. Body, soul and mind? He wanted you in all ways? Not just your body? These questions ran a marathon in your mind, your eyebrows knitting in tense pleasure and confusion. You thought that you were reading into it and let it go no matter how much it irked you.

'Stephen, fuck. Fuck me, I'm yours.’ You screamed at him.

With one hand he grasped at your hair again to hang your head up for a moment and with the other he retracted his fingers out of you and shoved them in your mouth.

'Go on. Suck.' He demanded through a whisper and you didn't need to be told twice, you suckled on his scarred fingers and you could taste yourself off of him. Mm, salty and sweet at the same time. He pushed his fingers down further to the base of your throat, you were gagging and choking on him and Stephen could've finished right then and there. Tears started to prick at your eyes, they soon began to meander down your red hot clammy cheeks.

He pushed you back down with no care of being gentle. He'll be gentle with you later, he just needed to fuck you until all you could think, feel and hear was his name. Stephen's palm met your backside again but before you could even moan he rammed his cock into you. He let out a gutteral moan at the feel of being inside of you, he glanced down and viewed that your back was arching into his bed perfectly and that small beads of sweat was gliding off of your back. He pumped himself in and out of you with ease, your already ample wetness making him slide into you effortlessly. Your cries and screams of his name muffled by the pillow made his mind melt, although he has a photographic mind...he wished he could retain this sound in his ears forever and play it back whenever he was desperate for his fix of you. What spurred him on even more was the bite mark he left on your ass, he felt like an animal but you were fucking loving it. He had to make sure you finished first or he wouldnt live it down. He kicked off his boxers and sweats.

Stephen bent down and bit at your shoulder blade, you felt so full to the point you were overflowing with pleasure. He knew exactly what he was doing.

'Stephen!' You breathed and groaned. You repeated his name over and over again, unsure of what you were even saying his name or begging for. It was like a mantra, a holy bible scripture that was etched in stone in your head.

You felt like you were about to burst. Your toes curled and your thighs were shaking, you knew that you were about to cum on him. White hot streaks of unfiltered pleasure shingled down your thighs and your lungs were expanding at an exponetial rate, you felt like your throat was collapsing in on itself your voice was so hoarse. You screamed out his name again as your wetness gushed onto him. His cock twitched inside of you, Stephen's arousal met yours in thick ropes.

He collapsed ontop of you before rolling over, panting like a complete idiot. He felt the presence of you consume his lungs and as he turned to face you, you were already gawking at him. Stephen's hair was dishevelled and strands were glued to his forehead.

'You're date's calling you.' He stated deapan. You didn't even hear the ringing that was coming from the bedside table.

Laying on your back, you grasped at your phone and answered.

'Hey.' You greeted, trying to contain your breathless pants.

'Hey. I was just wondering where you were.' He said.

Stephen didn't like the interaction that was happening, a tense look was etched over his features and he could feel irrational jealousy radiating off of him even though you made it clear that you wanted him. While you were still chatting on, his mind wasn't up to pace with his actions the way he inched closer and closer to you. As he placed his head on your chest with your phone against your ear, Stephen began suckling on your nipples. You let out a short surprise exhale.

'Y/N, you okay?' Your date asked.

'Yeah, yeah I'm just feeling a bit...preoccupied. I've been napping all day, I think I've come down with something. Like something's bitten me’

Once Stephen heard the word bite, he clamped his teeth down con your nipple. You bit your lip to conceal your moan and your eyes widened in worry that your date would know something was up.

'Yeah I've been waiting for an hour, I wish you'd told me.' Your date sounded disappointed and you felt bad that you didn't care.

'I'm sorry I've been sleeping for ages, I can't seem to get out of bed. Rain check?' You apologized as sweetly and profusely as you could, Stephen's ministrations were proving difficult to act normal. His eyes never wavered off of you, his skilled tongue and lips marking your tits up as if to prove you were his and only his. The possessiveness was so alluring, your soft pants were barely audible to your date, thank God, but Stephen wanted to test your endurance.

"Yeah sure. I hope you're doing okay, I'll see you.’’

'Bye.' You stated quickly and hung up and Stephen let go with a pop.

'Masochist.' You comment with a sly smile on your face.

'You love it.' He fired back.

'I'm all sticky.’’ You winced.

All he could do was raise an eyebrow, he lept up put his sweats on and sauntered off to his en suit bathroom to grab a towel to clean you both up. He was in and out quickly but when he got back to you, he dropped his towel where he stood. Stephen drank you in and you looked like a wet dream. His mouth was agape like a dumbfounded idiot. You were stood at the foot of Stephen's bed, naked. His cloak around your neck flowing down the expanse of your back and the air surrounding it, floating about but you were still planted to the floor. Your arms folded behind your back and one of your legs perched up and one straight...you looked magnificent. An angel. And cute since his cloak was absolutely massive on you. You were waiting for him, lik a cute little present for him to unwrap, a sweet smile plastered on your blushing face.

'Fuckkkkk, you're ruthless.' He breathed.

—-

i think im gonna continue a smutty one shot of stephen finding ya naked in his cloak as the main plot cause jesus the idea got me tingling fr 🫣🫣

[infinite-orangepeel]

🦅 STEVE CH. 2 WIP EXCERPT

Consubstantiation calls upon the divine.

Steve Harrington is, notably, not divine, but he is determined to commune with those who are. The moral. The just. The virtuous. His neighbors and ‘friends’ dressed in fine silks, button down linens, dry-cleaned slacks, and ridiculous floral hats to be placed beside them in the pews.

On Sundays, he joins them to consume divinity in tiny neat parcels. Follows the line forward in a herd of merciful ducklings. Mindless and desperate to be told what to do, how to believe, why there are miracles and mysteries.

He’s never understood, but he follows.

He follows and bends at the knee to pay his respects and tries to ignore the ache in his soul that protests the nauseating idea that he contains an odious and unforgivable sin. One, even Christ, himself, would name too heinous, too damning.

The women smile, nod, wave titillating hands with newborn babies perched upon their hips. Fulfilling God’s will to inherit the Earth with the constant creation of miniature disciples. Tin soldiers in a post-modern war. Against blasphemy, exposed shoulders, parties that last until the early hours of the morning.

The men lead, speak louder than they should in anticipation of Monday night football, scold their daughters for skirts that ride up over their knees.

It’ll be a beating at home. A bloodbath. It’s for their own good. Lust kills. Worse than cigarettes and dunk driving combined. The casualties begin at the age of ten or eleven and, from then on, it's a lazy, redundant crime—

Eddie was naked.

Eddie was a boy who looked a whole lot like a girl.

Curls brushing past the midpoint of his spine like they aimed to meet the dirt and claim roots underground—build him a place to rule and laugh and talk in that liquifying tone.

Cool smile. Sharp grin. Cutting edge. Delicately encompassed by those poetic lines of black ink.

Rings that sting and leave little bite marks of the devil. Reminders that he’s here to stay.

Steve’s stomach flips and there’s that familiar warm pull in his gut.

It can’t happen here.

Not with his father solemnly praying over the Lord’s precious gifts. Consecrating and holding his gaze through the crowd like a warning.

Not with the growing lump in his throat that seems like it could only be resolved by Eddie’s fingers splaying out around it. Squeezing and taunting and humiliating his contrition until it dissipates. Swallowed into the black of his eyes. The midnight haze.

Venomous.

Steve makes every conscious effort not to choke on his own spit. Not to bite off his own lip in the midst of the choir’s screeching crescendo.

He’s sweaty and awkward and grasping at his shirt collar, because the air is decidedly too thin and everyone’s going to be dead on the floor in less than a minute if they don’t open a window.

Eddie Munson touched that man like he wanted to punish him—

Eddie Munson recited spells that transformed insults into terms of undying affection—

Eddie Munson made the birds sing for him and whistled a tune like he had every right to make a home in the middle of the woods—

He’s next in line. His father’s looking down at him in judgment. His father knows—can smell it on him, can see it bubbling up beneath the vulnerable layer of his skin. His mouth twitches in dissatisfaction and Steve prepares to lose.

And, there’s no surviving a fate like that, so Steve blinds himself.

Closes his eyes, whispers a few ancient words—a holy and devout enchantment, and opens his mouth for the moment of communion.

Receives the sacrament and pretends it’s going to work. Pretends it can slay the beast and leave him whole. Pretends he can win at the game. Have his cake and eat it, too—lick the pretty mess off his frosting coated fingers. Sprinkle candied confetti over the carnage and somehow, not dissolve into guilty ruin.

When Steve’s father places it between his teeth, he stifles a scream. Quiets the addiction, the obsession, the infestation striking nutrient rich gold in the labyrinth of his fear. Clambering against his ribs to get free.

It’s a thing of nightmares. A thing of dreams.

One startled heartbeat later and the blessed flesh makes contact with his tongue. Melts into a sticky, gummy mess. He sticks to the routine. Swallows a subsequent quick swig of burgundy wine, almost black where it sloshes in the ornate chalice.

Made for a King.

The King of Kings.

It's lukewarm and languid in his throat. Tastes bitter and bloodied and it vaguely chills his bones to think that every pair of lips in the congregation—children and expectant mothers excluded—will press themselves along that seam like an audience of succubus monsters.

There’s a split second, fragmented into crooked shards, in which he considers the fact that the son of God is really and truly inside him. Filling his core. Turning him belly up and meek. Renouncing Satan. Finding the cracks in his tainted purity, in his poisoned humanity.

[cherryc1nnam0n]

Hello wanted to make a request Loki x plus!size reader. The reader is the enemy and the avengers capture her she threatens to kill the avengers and they agree that Loki has to try and confidence her to join the avengers but while convincing her Loki falls in love with her she feels the same so when the reader joins the avengers and on a mission Loki is sort of protective of her because he doesn't want her to get hurt or lose her cause she is his hole world and maybe she gets burnt and when they get back Loki notices and he turns into his frost Giant form to heal her and he is expecting her to leave him but instead she kisses him and confesses her love for him and he does the same "OMG IT'S SO LONG Sorry"

Hi! Thanks for the request! I'll be giving the reader some powers so it'll be spicier and this will be probably long so don't worry! I love full and long concepts!

Sleeping with the enemy | Plus Size, Villain!Reader x Avenger!Loki

Summary: You're a wanted villain, and who else better than Loki to help you "surrender", in other ways

Cw: Smut (yes finally), violence, reader has powers, seduction, lots of magic, mild injury

"Okay everyone listen up, Thor stop eating pop tarts!" Tony said as they all gathered in the common area "We have a new mission, potential new villain with amazing abilities" some huge TV's showed footage of the potential bioweapon that was this new person

The footage in question was you, using your amazing abilities at magic, dark magic to be precise, using telekinesis to rob weapons from Hydra, maybe for a darker purpose?

"We need to stop her, we don't know what she's doing with those weapons but what we do know is that, she's not good" Cap showed a photo of you and your criminal records "There are no traces of her from 2010 back, it's like she appeared out of thin air, so we got an expert in magic to help us out"

An orange ring opened, Dr. Strange coming out of it, waving awkwardly at everyone

"Her name is Y/n, no last name since she was born 1468, dotted herself with the elixir of life and sold her soul to the devil to become the most powerful witch in history, knowing as The Dark Eye" pictures of your depictions through the years were shown, some accurate some definitely not

Loki was paying attention to it all, he had read of you in a book about witchcraft and all that, he never knew you were still alive

"We need to stop her right now" Tony informed "We know where she's hiding and have her surrounded as we speak, she's extremely dangerous, she has killed at least a million people"

They all made quick trip to your hideout, surrounding the place in case of an outburst or literally any move, but it was so risky, you could just think about them all dying and it would happen

So that's why, they sent someone to distract you

Someone, with a silver tongue

"Alright Loki's in" Cap informed Tony through their earpiece

Entering the room where you were, a huge protection star was drawn on the floor were you hovered above, black candles lit, their flames adverting you of Loki in there, dark magic instantly surrounded him, leaving him at your mercy

"Loki of Asgard, God of Lies and Mischief" you spoke slowly, turning around to face him, multiple eyes in your face blinked at the same time as your normal two eyes "It is nice to finally meet you..." You made him come closer to you "But I see you're here under other circumstances" you took his earpiece out, crushing it "Much more privacy"

"Damn it, we lost connection with Loki" Cap said to Natasha next to him

Thor was ready to burst in when Cap stopped him

"It's too risky to go in, she could kill us all if she thinks about it"

He retreated back, he was worried for his brother, this woman was way more powerful than him, his brother and even Odin combined

"So tell me, Prince Loki, why are you here? You're not the typical hero that wears a cape and saves the day, so why join these so called 'heroes'?" You said looking at him, finally releasing his mouth

"Well you see dear, I had to do it, or else I would rot in a cell forever" he licked his lips "A god can't be spending the rest of his days like that, it's humiliating" you hummed "That's why I'm here, but you... You're special"

That made you quirk an eyebrow "How so?"

"You, you're The Dark Eye, the most powerful witch in history, have lived for centuries, fooling people that hunted you into thinking you were a normal pure woman, so stupid of them" you huffed a laugh

"Yeah, I did pretty good at that"

"That's why I think, we could make a deal" he offered

"Go on..."

"You, give us the weapons and everything you stole and, join the team"

You furrowed your brows "What? You're absolutely insane" you mocked a laugh

"If you don't, then there's far worse fates than death"

"I don't fear death, I am death!" You yelled at him, crushing him with your magic "Maybe I should just kill you, kill everyone and then make my own universe, that sounds nice doesn't it?"

As Loki was losing oxygen he could see in the corner of his eyes how Hawkeye shot a tranquilizer arrow at you, but you held it on your hand, looking back at him

"Really? Couldn't do better than that?"

With that distraction Loki was able to free his hand and induce you on a sleep spell, your body fell but he caught you before you hit the hardwood floor

Soon the rest of the team bursted in, you were being held on Loki's arms, looking defenseless and powerless

"Great job Loki" Cap said to him

"Yeah good one Bambi"

He rolled his eyes at them

"Let's just go"

Some hours later...

You were woken up abruptly, you tried to sit up but something was holding you down

"I wouldn't move too much if I were you..." It was Loki next to you "If you use your magic you'll get shocked and will pass out, so I wouldn't do anything funny"

"You damned god! I knew you would trick me! I will kill you so slowly and painfully you'll wish you were never born!" You yelled trying to get free from your restrains

He just blinked at you "I've heard worse"

He growled at him, hopelessly falling back down on the bed, at least it was comfortable

"So what, now I'm a prisoner of you clowns? Ridiculous"

"Not a prisoner, just for the mean time, you have to be restrained" he said calmly "The offer is still up"

"Yeah right, I would never join you bunch of ridicule, tight suit wearing assholes!"

Loki almost laughed at that comment, but he composed himself

This was gonna be long...

Months went by, you and Loki got to know each other more, he would spend hours in your cell with you, telling.you about his life and his doings, you opened up to him slowly, telling you about your life back in the witch hunting era, how you fooled the people for decades into thinking you were pure, how the rumors of you selling your soul to the devil was all lies you yourself made up

"There's no such thing as selling your soul, I just made that one up, to get magical abilities you have to do a lot of research and manifesting, also some basic spells"

You told him about how your family died, they all were killed on a fire, that you survived because you were out of town, it was horrible

"I swore I would never die... I have, a fear of death... Ironic isn't it?"

He snorted a laugh "That day you said the contrary"

"Yeah well I was just intimidating you..." You bit your lip nervously "I prayed to you... A lot..."

"I know... I heard you"

"And you answered" you smiled at him "Do you think I'm a good person...? Even after everything I did?"

He nodded "These people have convinced me that, everyone has good on them... You just gotta look deep in them..."

He had taken off the collar that shocks you a few weeks back, trusting you completely into not killing everyone

A few moments of silence was enough to drive you two into a make out session, in between kisses, clothes were taken off by magic, soon enough Loki was making love to you

"L-Loki..." You moaned as he filled you up, he was big, really big

"It's okay darling, I got you..."

His hips moved at a pace that had you seeing stars, it was all too perfect and romantic, your legs wrapped around his waist to make him go deeper in you, hot sloppy kisses and nibbles at your neck while he railed you were making you crazy

"I'm so close Loki"

"I'm close too, fuck I'm going to cum in you" he moaned

You moaned his name again as your climax came barreling down on you, you had never felt something like that, soon enough his hips haltered and he was spilling inside you, hot cum filling your insides

Wrapped in a blanket while you traced lazy patterns on his chest he spoke "Is this you officially joining the team?" He kissed your hand

You thought for a moment, giving in, he had you under a spell you couldn't rid yourself off, not that you wanted to

"Yes... I'll be in the team"

What you didn't know, is that he was under a spell too, called love, for you...

Months later...

After your special encounter with Loki and officially joining The Avengers, a mission where you were needed came

Destroying a Hydra nest seemed easy when you had a bioweapon in the form a human, so they sent you in to do most of the work, Loki had stayed at the tower, he wasn't needed in the mission

"Okay, I have everything secured" you gave your report through comms "Now I just need to-AAAH!" You were cut off by an explosion

"Y/n!"

Hours later...

"She'll be okay, it's just a really bad burn" Bruce informed Loki who was anxiously waiting outside your room "You can go and see her"

He nodded walking in, your right arm was wrapped in a bandaging, you smiled at him

"Hey..."

"Hi darling" he said sitting next to you "How do you feel?"

"I'm okay, it doesn't hurt"

"That's good..." He grabbed your hand "I thought I lost you for a second... I... I can't lose you, you're my world..."

You felt tears threatening to spill out but held them in

"I'm okay Lokes... I promise"

He nodded, having an idea, looking into your eyes he spoke again

"I can heal you... But promise me you won't hate me after it..."

"I could never"

His pale skin started turning blue, ridges and marks all over it, his emerald eyes turned a deep ruby and he sighed

"Loki..."

"Just, don't speak for now..."

He placed his hand on your bandage, making the burn fade off and new skin reappeared on it

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner darling I just... I hate this part of me..."

You placed your hand on his cheek, staring lovingly at him

"I knew it all along honey... And thank you for telling me... I love you..." You finally said

He couldn't smile wider, he just kissed you so passionately you felt your heart melt for him

"I love you too..."

"Oh guys I forgot to tell you" Bruce came in, interrupting the moment "You were lucky, your baby is in perfect state and shape, it's developing nicely, congratulations!"

You two stared at him in disbelief

A new life was forming inside you... How better could life get?

[wildbornsiren]

Coffee and Wintergreen || Jake "Hangman" Seresin/Javy "Coyote" Machado

Wintergreen and Coffee. Summary: Talking about leave leads to other possibilities. 719 words Jake 'Hangman' Seresin/Javy 'Coyote' Machado [Slash] Warning: kissing. Awkward boys. Notes: Takes place before the mission, sometime while they're stationed together. Thank you to the ever lovely @writercole for poking me about this. Comments and sharing fuel my writing, likes are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading, it is so appreciated and means the most. **Tag list is done. Please follow and turn on notifs for @wbslibrary **

Jake plops onto the leather couch, wincing as it groans in protest. The sofa was older than both of them, but it was well loved. Many people had sat on this couch, had conversations, slept, read, wept, God knows many times fluids had been exchanged on the damn thing. Javy looks up from the magazine on his lap, bumping his shoulder against Jake’s. “Going home for the break?” Jake asks. Javy’s grin is wide and easy, contagious. “Yeah, grandmomma’s already told me she’s making gumbo.” He says, “Etouffee, jambalaya and the whole kit.”

“You sure I can’t come home with you?” “I’ve told you man, there’s always a spot at the table for you. Grandmomma loves you—almost as much as she loves me, and she don’t love nobody.” “I’m catnip for grandmommas and mommas.” Jake grins. “It’s a heavy burden, but one all Seresin men carry.” “You’re so full of shit.” Javy laughs, his face lighting up even more as his shoulders shake, leaning heavily against Jake. There’s a spark under his skin from where his and Javy’s body connects, and once more he tries, he tries so hard to shove that back down, back into the proper hiding places. “I also know your momma’s fixing up a right spread for you too.” “She does. She’s also been blowing my phone up with all sorts of details about the party she’s throwing.” Jake says, settling back against the couch more. Javy’s arm is slung against the back, and it brings him closer to Javy’s body. Jake takes a steadying breath. Another mistake. Javy smells like cedarwood and orange, and if Jake closes his eyes, he can almost taste the orange on his tongue from Javy’s cologne. He can feel the warm vibration in the other man’s chest when Javy says his name. Jake blinks, realizing he’s been staring at Javy’s profile for the last five minutes. “You alright?” “Yeah, just thinkin’ I’m gonna miss you.” Javy chuckles, head tipping back against the couch. “Jake, it’s a couple weeks of leave. Then we’ll be shipped out somewhere, and you’ll be tired of me.” “I can’t get tired of you Machado.” Jake says. “You’re my best friend man.” There’s a twinge in his chest when he says that last bit. A small part of him, the one that he keeps buried in the dark, deep down inside dies a little bit at the title of friend. He can’t, he won’t. There’s too much riding on a very thin line. A thin line that’s becoming harder and harder not to cross. “Jake,” Javy’s voice curls against his ear. He swallows hard, turning to see Javy only millimeters away from him. Jake’s heart is in his throat, there’s a dull roaring his ears, an ache in his chest. There’s a warmth on his skin, Javy’s hand on his cheek, fingers bringing Jake closer, the distance closing between them in what feels like eons. The first brush of lips against his, isn’t enough. “Please,” Jake whispers. “Like you mean it Javy, if you mean it.” Javy’s fingers slide into Jake’s hair, a soft sigh emanating from one, both, who knows. There’s thirty seconds of a clock ticking away desperately, Javy’s mouth slotting over Jake’s. No more hesitation, nothing but the feeling of Javy’s lips against his. He tastes like stale coffee and wintergreen gum, and it’s a combination that Jake knows he’s going to crave for months to come. The worn leather of the couch squeaks, when Javy leans over him, their chests crushed together. Jake’s hands frame Javy’s face, tongue swiping against Javy’s lower lip, a soft sound coming from him when he’s granted access to Javy’s mouth. “Tell you what,” Javy murmurs. Calloused thumb brushing over Jake’s lower lip. They’re both panting, Jake knows he’s flushed, a bit starry eyed. “You go home for the first week, let your momma fuss over you. Then you come see me.” “So, your grandmomma can fuss over me?” Jake asks, smile easy and playful. “That, and so I can fuss over you proper like.” “I’d like that.” Jake says. “I’d definitely like that.” Javy’s lips are warm and soft when they press against Jake’s cheek. “I’ll make sure that grandmomma knows the white boy from Texas is coming. She does love to feed you.” /end

[turkeyinnovember]

glitch curt 👍

combining soup's glitch curt with this oneshot ive wanted to write since the multiverse episode but it's pretty short so

-------

They knew it was bad for him, but they didn’t know how bad it was until Curt started shaking out of nowhere. 

“Curt?” Den was the first to notice. A change from his previous relaxed position, he stared with focus less eyes, hands balled into fists and sitting rigid by his side. He met her eye upon her call, but there was mostly panic with a blend of confusion and emptiness in there. 

“You good, bro?” Ivan frowned, setting his glass to the side. 

“I-” Curt blinked, suddenly jolting up from his seat, “I can’t- I, feel…?” 

When Den took a step closer, she was met with wide, frantic eyes that made her nervous too. “What’s wrong?” She quickly backtracked, leaving him with space to avoid crowding him. 

He winced again at something before he glitched. 

A couple of bewildered glances exchanged told that they all saw the same thing. 

Curt was honestly confused more than anything. Putting aside the headache from managing that absolute shit show of a battle they fought, he felt okay. Well, for a bit, at least. And then everything started to hurt. Wounds from being slammed into the ground, scratched by Ao’s claws, and the places that she hurt. 

He didn’t actually know what the others saw, unaware of glitches that increased with his hasted breathing. 

I need to… what? 

Curt reached a hand to clutch his throat, but paused halfway in the air and instead, he just booked it for the bathroom. 

Den reacted the fastest, following close after him and kneeling by his side. She winced sympathetically, patting his back soothingly as he trembled over the toilet, knuckles turning pale with the strength he used to grip. Ivan and Kristine tailed the two, asking questions frantically.  

Christian trailed further behind, he approached the seemingly innocent plushie and squinted, looking down at her. He held back the urge to punch and instead simply turned it around to face the wall. 

Instead of cramming all 5 of them inside of their little bathroom, he decided that the better idea was to get the guy a glass of water for when he’s got whatever was in his system out. As he poured, he let his mind run over and process what had just occurred. 

He met the rest of them at the bathroom just in time to witness Curt collapse, thankfully caught by Den before his head could hit the floor. Ivan damn near scampered out of the room while Kristine climbed on top of the sink to clear way, as Den carried Curt out. 

Catching Christian’s concerned eyes, Den explained briefly, “He just kept on glitching, there were these cracks that appeared on his skin, and then he passed out without a word.” 

“I did see him fall,” Christian nodded, watching as she dropped him on the couch. He picked up Curt’s right arm and examined the thin cracks Den mentioned. 

“They look familiar,” He spoke pointedly. 

As she made the connection, she glanced back quickly at the plushie. But, before she could answer, Kristine piped in, “They look like that girl’s!” 

“Holy shit,” Ivan exclaimed, “You’re right, Kristine!” 

“His glitches are actually,” Den added, pausing a second to gather her thoughts, “Similar too.” 

“Wait, what does this mean?” Kristine tilted her head. 

“Is Curt becoming one with the anime girl?” Ivan suggested. 

“Ivan, what?” Christian shook his head at their absurdity. He walked back to the plushie, who had somehow turned herself back around. His hunch was right. That bitch was still alive in here in some shape or form. He bared his teeth slightly in annoyance, making no attempts to hide the hostility in his voice, “You’re one creepy little shit.” 

He squatted to be eye-level with the plushie, her fabric eyes showed no signs of intelligence but he still asked, almost rhetorically, “What did you even do to him?”

Christian grinded his back teeth together before he suddenly reached out and threw her to the floor, followed by a heavy stomp on her head. 

Fucking bitch, he thought, as he kicked it hard, sending it flying towards the wall. 

He stared after the blue figure as it collided with the wall and dropped to the floor, bouncing a bit almost as if it was truly a normal plushie. He didn’t put much intention into hitting this plush form of the god, really, only wishing that even in this soft, lifeless form she could still experience pain.

-------

[thomasisaslut]

Amorentia || Severus Snape x F!Hufflepuff Reader

Chapter Five || Detention

Word Count: 1356

Includes: Wet Dream, Sex scene/Smut, Desk sex

Rushing to your second class of the day—Study of Ancient Runes—so you don't miss it you arrive just a minute late, Professor Bathsheda Babbling speaks.

"Late." She snaps, she had a reputation of being the second rudest teacher, second to no other than the man you were late for.

You quickly take your seat and begin to catch up with the rest of the class. Finally you manage to but your handwriting was practically chicken-scratch. The lecture continues, Professor Bathsheda Babbling really was a blabber mouth. But today's class was actually interesting and was able to combine with Muggle studies—you were learning about the history of runes with muggles. Specifically how Norse mythology worked with them. One of the runes caught your interest—the one for Loki. You remember him from the muggle Marvel movies and you can't help but think he reminds you of a certain somebody. You grin and chuckle at the though of it. He really was a lot like the Norse god of mischief.

"Ms. [Last Name]." You hear Professor Bathsheda Babbling speak to you harshly, you're instantly snapped out of your thoughts about your other Professor in comparison to the god.

"Detention." She snaps.

You say nothing more and nod before going back to work, but your thoughts are still polluted by your damn potions master.

Finally that horrid class ends and you groan as you're stuck behind, your detention lasting throughout your lunch period. Eventually you get your work done and hand it in to Professor Bathsheda Babbling.

"I will not tolerate any more behavior like this, Ms. [Last Name]." She says, then sighs.

"Do not be late again and learn to focus." She takes the work from your hand.

"It'll be graded by tomorrow, go." She waves her hand dismissively.

You nod then leave the room, you push open the door then bump into a broad—oddly muscular chest—there lies no other than the man who distracts your thoughts, who pollutes your mind—Professor Severus Snape. You look up at him and feel the same feeling building in your core.

"Apologizes, Professor.." You mumble as you look back towards the floor, the events from an hour ago engulfing your brain. How you moaned his first name during a masturbation session.

"What were you in there for?"

"Detention, sir." You reply.

"Detention? Why?" He asks, his eyebrow slightly raised, a Hufflepuff getting a detention was quite rare.

You tense a bit, would you flat out tell him? No. Of course not.

"I was zoned out during class and a minute late, Professor Snape."

He gives no reply but nods.

"Stay out of trouble." He says then walks away, you think it was one of the most civil actions you have ever had with him.

However.

The second he leaves you alone in the hallway you feel a pang of rage and envy cross you.

That love potion must've been stronger than you thought.

—

After you finish your classes of the day you return the Hufflepuff dormitory, drained from all of the activities in the day. Especially the encounters with the potions master. Earlier today in potions class you couldn't take your eyes off him, not to mention you finished your work early in class so you had much more time to be distracted by him.

Resting your head down on the pillow of your bed you finally manage to fall asleep, the thoughts about the day fading from your mind as you drift off into slumber. That is until your dream appears.

You're now bent over the potions masters desk, his slender and rough fingers caressing your behind as you tremble, the cold air in the dungeons making your nipples poke through your thin white blouse.

"Cold? I can fix that." The husky voice says from behind you, his front now touching your backside, his hands sliding up your back, under your shirt, until he reaches the clasp of your bra, it slips from your breasts, he then takes it out and flips you over. Your back is now laid against the wooden teachers desk. When you look up you see him—Severus Snape. He has your bra in his hand, his eyes looking you up and down, he pauses as he sees your hard nubs. He smirks then moves his hands to your chest.

"Tell me how I feel." He begins to rub your nipples, toying and teasing them. He then lets his right hand undo your blouse buttons, revealing your perky tits.

"Beautiful." He mutters then goes back to fumbling with your nubs, pulling and nipping at them before placing his tongue on it. Instantly a sense of pleasure rushes over you, a loud pornographic moan passes your lips as he nibbles on your breast. He then releases your tit from his mouth with a small 'pop'.

"Do you want more? I know you do." He smirks then traces his hands down your body, highlighting your curves with his touch.

"You're perfect." His hands stay on your hips as his clothed cock rubs against your front. You whimper, clearly wanting more—you're desperate, eager. He then pulls down your panties, throwing them off of your legs completely, flipping up your skirt he pushes against you again. You moan.

"Such good sounds.." He pulls the zipper down on his pants, revealing his erect member. He lines it up with your cunt before...

You awake; It's now sometime around 4 am, your wounds are throbbing with pain. Glancing down at your forearm and lower wrists you see the stitches have reopened. Panicked you stand and then run out of the dorms, when rushing to the infirmary you bump into someone again—the same broad muscular chest as before. Severus Snape is in front of you, his wand emitting light in the dim hallway.

"What are you doing out, Ms. [Last Name]?" His tone sounds more demanding the genuine.

You flush as the dream comes to your mind but you shake your head, you can't get distracted now.

"My stitches sir, they've been reopened... I do not know how." You inform him.

His face shifts from his usual grouchy demeanor to one of concern, he lifts your arm with his free hand and brings it up so he can see it better, his wand hovering over the now reopened wounds.

"Merlin child.." He sighs.

"Let's go to the infirmary wing now." He drags you to the nurses office, once inside Madame P approaches you.

"Oh sweetie, I'm glad you got here before it got infected." She smiles at you then looks to Snape.

"Severus, thank you for bringing her here-"

"Help her already." He snaps.

Madame P chuckles then nod, "Come, Ms. [Last Name]." She leads you to a medical cot, you sit down. She exits the small area then returns later with a small vial in her hand, a medical kit in her other.

"Tell me, sweetie, have the..." She glances at Severus who is looming beside you. "The effects increased?" She asks.

You nod, "Yes.. I had.. a dream, Madame."

She sighs and nods back. "Alright, I'm guessing it's about a person, try to stay away from this student until the effects are completely gone, okay?"

'If only I could tell you it wasn't a student, it's someone I can't avoid Madame!' You say to yourself in your head. But you nod at her nonetheless.

"Yes Madame, I understand.."

She smiles then begins to pour the vials contents into your cuts, they start to close almost fully, the last little cuts she stitches up.

"Try not to be to fast with your movements, sweetie, and you'll be alright."

You nod again then stand, "Thank you." You then glance back to Professor Snape.

"Thank you as well, sir.." You smile at him.

He grunts then nods. "Let's get you back to your dorm, Ms. [Last Name]." 

Soon enough you return to your dorm, but before you head back in you wave back at Professor Snape.

"Goodnight, Sir"

He says nothing more and walks off, probably back to his dungeon.

'If only I could tell him.'

Chapter Six: