#from mock the week if anyones bugged

[reidmania]

opposites attract | s. reid

summary; spencer would give the world to be your person, even after you argue that you two are too different.

warnings; fem reader, pining!spencer, lowkey pining!reader, bombshell!reader, rejection, reader is described as confident and more of a black cat, insecurities, doubting, a bad date mentioned, happy ending, spencer lowkey gets frustrated, reader has tattoos.

an; messy and switches perspectives whoopsies. Idk how many words, a lot. Too many.

Two years. That was how long Spencer had been a complete and utter mess. Two years since his brain didn’t quite function the same, he remained intelligent, sure, but god so incomplete. Two years since you started at the BAU, two years since he met you.

You were out of his league. He had decided it the moment he laid eyes on you. You were stunning, absolutely perfect in anyones gaze. You were everything he could ever want and more, not just physically. Your laugh, your voice, the way you spoke to everyone around you, gentle, warm. The way you sat quietly in the corner most days, not because you felt out of place, nor shy, not because you didn’t enjoy being there, but just because no matter where in a room you were, your presence was known. Especially to Spencer.

He tried to pretend that he didn’t fall completely in love with you the first time the two of you ever had a conversation and you spoke to him with a smile, listened to him, he tried to pretend the scent of your perfume didn’t make him lightheaded, and the sight of your tattoo that he only saw on occasion’s didn’t make him wonder if you had more, what made you get it, was there meaning?

Spencer wanted to know everything about you, he wanted to live in your brain and know your every like and dislike, what made you smile a little wider, what made you unable to stop laughing, what your favourite drink was, what colour you liked the most, where your family was from, your middle name.

Spencer would stop the world to know you.

That was impossible to hide, even two years later. He tried, so many times to get your attention, to be the subject of your fascination. It didn’t help that every-time you looked in his direction his skin grew ten temperatures too warm and his head spun.

He tried asking you out, twice. Sort of.

The first time was too subtle, too rambling and hidden in the mix of stutters and hot cheeks, fidgeting hands. Because you were looking at him, with a gaze so intense and caring, patient.

How was he ever suppose to talk when you were looking at him like that? Like there was something that made him worth the gravity the warmth in your eyes held.

“Would you date me?” It was blurted out on a Tuesday afternoon, you were standing beside him as the buzz of the bullpen had calmed down, your gaze was focused on reorganising the files on his desk, his gaze was on you. You were reorganising because you didn’t like the way he had done it, and it had been ‘bugging’ you for weeks.

Spencer loved the way his files were organised, but he loved you more.

It was stupid, he didn’t even mean to say it. It was out of place leaving his lips and he knew it the moment your head turned towards him and a sweet laugh left your lips, not mocking him, god you would never. It was a laugh of shock, confusion, maybe even surprise.

“Are you asking me out?” You asked, raising your eyebrow slightly as you met his eyes. His cheeks heated before he could help it, eyes went wide because he had no idea what he was doing.

“What- I- no.” His voice was an octave higher, a tell sign he was nervous, if you needed any more tell signs between the fidgeting of his hands, his bright pink cheeks and his avoidant gaze. You smiled as you shook your head, looking back at the files on his desk, he watched your hand as your ran your finger along them once they were organised neatly, anyone else he might’ve cringed at the sight, but it was you.

“I don’t think so” You had mumbled in response and Spencer felt the world shift into an imbalance. You said it so casually. He didn’t know if his heart was beating too fast or if it was breaking. You turned your head back to look at him, a frown on your lips when you saw the frown that had snuck its way onto his features before he could even realise.

“Not because you aren’t great. Or attractive. You are — You definitely are. I just think we are too different.” You said. His eyebrows knitted together as he met your eyes. He hated the fact you were frowning, he hated the fact he was frowning. He hated what you had just said, god he loved you.

“Right” he didn’t know what to say.

“Spence” You spoke through a warm huff of laughter, shaking your head as you twisted your body to face him fully, your hip leaning against the desk as you crossed your arms over your chest. He watched your hair fall down the sides of your face, over your shoulders. He wondered if you had changed your shampoo since the last time, the only time you had hugged him a few weeks ago, when he had gotten the chance to breath it in, and then it was all he thought about for weeks.

You smiled at him and it was contagious, despite the ache in his chest and overwhelming sense of illness in his stomach, you were smiling. “I think you’re amazing, i always have” you started and his cheeks warmed more. “But we are complete opposite’s.”

He wanted to argue you. Say that he could change and be more like you, more like the guys he had seen pick you up after work, he could be whatever you wanted. He could be someone. Someone to you.

But he didn’t.

That was the last time Spencer had attempted to ask you out, you never bought it up. You never questioned it again, you didn’t push you ask why he wanted to know. Spencer remained sickeningly in love with everything about you, you remained pretending to not notice.

Why were you here? You couldn’t quite remember or find the time to think about it properly between the noise surrounding the fancy restaurant you were in and the sickening long rant the boy in front of you was going on. Something about a business, something about saving it, something egotistical and sickeningly boring.

The date starts out fine. It’s all small talk at first—work, hobbies, the usual pleasantries. But soon, you realize that Mark has a lot to say. About himself. A lot.

“And then I closed the deal,” he says, recounting some work story about how he single-handedly saved his company from financial ruin. He leans back in his chair, smiling like he’s just told you the most fascinating thing in the world. You nod politely, but your mind starts to wander. His voice fades into the background as you think about something else, someone else.

Spencer.

You wonder what he’s doing right now. Probably at home, curled up with a book, or maybe he’s watching a documentary. You can almost picture him, pacing around his apartment, muttering facts to himself about some obscure topic that no one but him finds interesting. But you love that about him. He’s so passionate about everything, even the things that most people would overlook. And he’s never trying to show off. He just loves sharing what he knows.

You try to pay attention to the guy in front of you, you really really do. But god he is so boring. You wonder how quickly you could get one of your friends to come save you from this horror of a date. You wonder how long you would have to hide in the bathroom for before he disappeared.

Mark’s voice pulls you back to reality. “So, what do you think?” he asks.

“Hmm?” You blink, realizing you’ve missed the last five minutes of whatever he was talking about.

“I was saying,” he repeats, a little slower this time, “I just think it’s amazing how people like me can juggle so many things at once. Don’t you think?”

You smile, but it’s strained. “Sure, that’s impressive.”

As the date drags on, you start to notice little things. Like the way Mark talks to the waiter, snapping his fingers for attention, barely looking up from his phone when the waiter brings the food. He doesn’t say thank you. Not once. It’s subtle, but it grates on you. You find yourself cringing, wondering if anyone else notices.

He was much more interesting when he asked you out a few nights ago at a bar, when you were drunk. Why had you agreed? Maybe drunk you saw something sober you didn’t. Or maybe drunk you just saw a male who was conventionally attractive and made you laugh. You wondered how low the bar was

You didn’t have a lot of time to wonder before you heard your name from behind you, your head spun and you almost cried with gratefulness when you saw Penelope standing there, a wide grin on her face, and then Spencer standing beside her, he offered you a gentle shy wave that made your heart warm.

“Oh my gosh! Do you guys want to come sit?” You asked, praying they said yes, praying that Penelope noticed the wide urgent look in your eyes and understood that you were begging. You were genuinely begging for a conversation about anything other than Mark’s biggest accomplishments.

“Oh- We don’t want to interrupt.” Spencer mumbled, looking between you and Mark, the two of you sitting opposite sides of the booth you were in. You noticed the look in Spencer’s eye, you knew what it was. He didn’t want to sit there while you were on a date with someone else. Clearly he misread the urgency in your gaze.

“No! Mark doesn’t mind? Do you mind Mark?” You asked, spinning your head around to face Mark who was confused on the two people and why they were talking to you. Why they had interrupted him. You had to hold back the urge to roll your eyes.

“Uh..” he started, you cut him off. “He doesn’t mind. Come sit.” You shuffled over to make room for the two.

Penelope slides into the booth beside you, while Spencer takes the seat across from you, next to Mark. He looks nervous, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table, but he offers you a small, shy smile.

“What are you guys doing here?” you ask, trying to suppress the excitement bubbling up inside you.

“Oh, we were just nearby, and I figured we’d grab something to eat,” Penelope says.

Spencer fidgets with his napkin, glancing at you, then back at the table. “I-I was telling Penelope about this, uh, documentary I watched the other night. It’s about the history of the subway system in New York. I think you’d really like it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nods, his eyes lighting up as he starts to explain. “Yeah, it’s fascinating, actually. They had to navigate all these geological challenges, and the engineering behind it is incredible. I know you mentioned once that you’re interested in architecture, and I thought you might appreciate how they designed the stations.”

You stare at him for a moment, surprised. You don’t even remember telling him that you liked architecture, but he did. And now, here he is, rambling about a documentary he thinks you’d enjoy, not because he’s trying to impress you, but because he genuinely thought you’d find it interesting.

Meanwhile, Mark is looking more and more uncomfortable, clearly not enjoying the conversation. He cuts in, talking over Spencer to launch into another story about himself, but you’re barely listening anymore. Instead, you’re watching Spencer, noticing how different he is from Mark. Spencer, who’s always so considerate, who listens more than he talks, who looks at you like you’re the most important person in the room, even when he’s nervous.

And then there’s Mark, who hasn’t asked you a single question all night, who’s rude to the waiter, and who’s more interested in hearing himself talk than getting to know you.

“I think I might head off..” Mark muttered, clearly annoyed at the fact you had not only been interrupted on your date, but also frustrated that you were paying more attention to Spencer than him. You couldn’t care less.

“Oh okay! Have a good night” You smiled, sickeningly nice as he shuffled his way past Spencer to leave the table. He glanced at you once, not saying anything before he walked away.

“He was an asshole!!” Penelope bursts out into laughter the minute Mark was out of earshot, you immediately joined her laughter while Spencer remained quiet, shuffling around on the now empty side of the booth.

“Those are the type of guys you go out with?” He asked, his voice was quiet, almost offended. You wish you understood why when you stopped laughing at met his gaze. You opened your mouth to talk as the tension around the table grew.

“Hey! Don’t judge!” She gasped out, pointing her finger dramatically at Spencer, clearly not noticing his underlying feelings and why he had even said anything, you did. “It’s slim pickings out here!!”

Spencer hummed, tapping his fingers against the table as he avoided meeting your gaze. You frowned slightly. Soon enough the conversation fell back into rhythm, flowing like it did any other time. They ate, you paid since it was your date. Then Penelope left.

You stood outside of the restaurant, looking around the busy streets. “How are you getting home?” Spencer asked, his gaze meeting yours as you tilted your head upwards to look at him, you couldn’t not smile. It was impossible not to smile around Spencer.

“Uh- Walking. I walked. It’s really not far.” You nodded to support your words as you buried your hands inside the warmth of your pockets. You had been in a state since Spencer had gotten there, a state you couldn’t quite explain. Silently lost in thought, a state of confusion? Maybe realisation.

“I’ll walk you home. Its late.” He said it like it was a no brainer. Like it was the most obvious thing for him to do. No date you had ever been on had offered you walk you home.

Every time Spencer speaks, you feel yourself softening, smiling without even realizing it. His nervous energy, the way he fumbles over his words, it’s all so endearing. He’s not trying to prove anything to you. He just wants to share the things he loves with you, and it’s the sweetest thing.

“Okay.” You breathe out the silent agreement before your feet find rhythm next to Spencer’s as you walk down the street, the post lights causing an orange glow across the ground, across his face.

“Theres a study.” Spencer started, his breathe coming out warm against the cold air causing a fog of steam to follow his breath, you watched it for an moment before your eyes flickered to the side of his face, you’re still walking, his gaze doesn’t meet yours.

“That uh— Shows that opposites attract, it’s more of a theory, since scientifically it doesn’t actually work like that — although negatives are attracted to positives if you’re looking at electricity — but uh- People believe that a lot of people are attracted to people opposite them, because each person offers something the other lacks, making the relationship feel more complete.. Majority of relationships that are built off of opposites work better than people who are too similar because theres more of a balance.. its chaotic but, it uh — it works.”

He was nervous. You could tell. Your breath hitched slightly as he spoke, as he brought it up again. Your mind tried to process the overload of information he had mumbled out. You tried to process it.

“So scientifically we wouldn’t work.” You huffed out. He laughed. Genuinely laugh, it was breathy and quiet but genuine and it made your heart warm.

“Technically— but theoretically—”

You cut him off, a rare occurrence, “I thought you were a science guy.” You mumbled.

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “I think I am just a you guy.”

You didn’t know what to say. It was sweet in a way that your brain couldn’t process. He was going against everything he believed to be correct because he wanted you?

“I thought data and statistics are the most reliable source of information.” You mumbled the response, words he had said, probably months ago. Why were you fighting him on this? Why were you fighting yourself on this? You weren’t sure.

“Sure; most of the time. But they are subjective. Especially when talking about psychologically. Each couple, each set of people — they’re different.” He said, his gaze didn’t meet yours. You pulled your eyes away to focus on the street in front of you. You were getting closer to your house, yet part of you wanted to stay right here.

“You think we could work?” You asked. It was a whisper.

He paused, you could see him nod in your peripheral. “I do. I’d make it work, i’d do anything.” Maybe it came out more desperate than he had intended, you found it sweet.

You found him sweet.

“Spencer” you paused your movements and his stopped with yours. His body turned to face you as you looked up at him. His eyes were pleading, desperate, hoping. It almost made your heart ache at the slight fear in them, that you were going to maybe reject him again.

But you found him sweet.

“Id date you.” You answered the question he had asked maybe months ago now, you didn’t realise until now that you had conveniently stopped outside your house. You turned your head to look at the front door before back at Spencer.

“Can i- uh- Will you- I-“ He stuttered and your heart warmed at his nervous attempt to ask you out.

“Yes.” You answered gently, saving him the hassle. Maybe being different was a good thing. Maybe you could beat the statistics that proved otherwise.

Maybe opposites did attract.

[uwurakax]

˖ ˳·˖ 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂, 𝓲'𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓽 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

♡ 𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼 a surprise pregnancy throws you in for a loop when your rising star boyfriend starts to kick off his career. not wanting to hold him back, you leave without saying a word. six years later, fate brings you back together again, but with still sour feelings, how will you navigate keeping things civil all while all eyes are on him?

+ 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓈𝑜 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒾

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You stared at the two pink lines on the white plastic pregnancy test settled in your hands. A cheap thing for half price at the pharmacy on the corner a few train stations away from your local one. A detour from your regular commute home, you didn't want anyone who knew you to see your teenage contraband. Seventeen year olds shouldn't be buying things like this, the cultural and societal expectations looked down on these kinds of instances. A taboo subject, you didn't miss the way the cashier looked at you. The judgemental stare within their eyes said everything, and the large hoodie you wore, curtesy of your boyfriend leaving a few in your room after one of your nightly escapades, couldn't completely hide your school uniform skirt.

You're sure the way you snatched the paper bag and gave a dirty look didn't help with their impression of you, but honestly who the fuck cared at that point. This stranger didn't know you and they had the gall to look at you like that.

Well, fuck them too.

You scrunched up the bag, stuffing the item in your pocket. You were entirely grateful the hoodies front pocket was large, the box obscured from any passersby. Hidden in plain sight.

You made your way home quickly, knowing your mum would be home soon, and your impromptu trip to a store out of the way ate into the small window of time you had left. Luckily the train back didn't take long, and on autopilot you sped walked home, not caring for rushing nor pushing past any commuters that straggled. You were on a time crunch already, and the anxiety building within you was about to explode.

All week you had been feeling sick, a bucket nearby just in case you couldn't make it to the bathroom in time. It wasn't normal, why you were feeling the way you did, and you all but begged your parents not to take you to the doctors, convincing them that you just caught a bug and it would go away on its own. The more days you were sick, the more reluctant they became.

You were praying you ate something bad, or managed to get some flu from somewhere. Anything but this. You had an inkling though, even though you were just over half a week late. Something nagging in the back of your head to take the test.

You and Atsumu had been together for two years, and even if you were young in the eyes of the world, you did what teenage couples do and, well, explored things. It was only natural. First date, first kiss, first boyfriend. In a world of firsts with him, it only made sense, and so you did.

You had been dating for just over a year when it first happened. The night of your sixteenth birthday, your parents let you have a small gathering of your friends at home, trusting you to not let the house be a wreck as they visited your aunt 10 minutes away. They gave your space while still being a phone call away and could get home if you needed.

You remember having a lot of fun that night, watching movies, telling stories and hanging out in your lounge-room, stuffing your face full of the junk food your parents parted you with. Fast forward to 1am, and the last of your friends had gone home. All except Atsumu.

You weren't sure what it was, but something felt like it had shifted that night. Whether it was the way he looked around you, the way he held you, or kissed you, you didn't know, but one thing led to another and waking up next to him felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Now over a year and a half later you're here, sat on your tiled floor bathroom as the positive pregnancy test almost mocks you with the bright lines staring back at you. You tried to think about how this could happen, but it wasn't like this was a brain teaser. You weren't having the second coming of Christ himself, and of course things could happen. Even contraceptives weren't 100% effective against things like this but...

Why the fuck did this have to happen to you?!

Although you willed them not to, tears began to form in your eyes, stinging slightly. What were you going to do? How would you finish school? Your peers, your friends... Atsumu... They would blame you and it was your fault. How would you ever finish high school? Atsumu would surely break up with you. And, oh God, your parents. You didn't even know where to untangle that web. How disappointed they'd be in you, what they'd say and do. Your life was practically over before it even began. You started sobbing uncontrollably, clutching the test as if it was a saving grace, pleading to the universe that this wasn't real. That this was a bad dream.

Please...

Your thoughts were broken by the faint jingle and click of house keys. Your mum was home. You stood up, quickly glancing at the bathroom mirror. You looked like shit. Fuck.

You stuffed the test back in the hoodie as you heard your mum enter. Thinking quickly, you locked the bathroom door and turned the knob of the shower. You could hear her calling out to you as the rattle of her keys echoed. Her footsteps made their way towards the bathroom before stopping outside the door. Her gentle knocking contrasting against the harsh stream of water from the shower head, the steam fogging up the small space.

"Y-yeah mum, I'm in here just taking a shower." You prayed that the sound of the running water would disguise your wavering tone. She seemed to buy it, saying that she was going to make your favourite soup and to put your dirty clothes in the hamper.

After a moment of thought, you decided an actual shower wouldn't be the worst idea, and could hopefully clear your head from the nuclear bomb that had just exploded. You fiddled with the temperature, adjusting it until it was a tad hotter than what you would call comfortable and stood under the flow of the water.

You didn't know what you were going to do, but one thing for certain was that you at least had to tell Atsumu.

♡ masterlist || next

♡ 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ( link here if you want to be added )

@snail-squasher @Maria_elizabeth21 @nocturne-cloud @bub-ss @bandolls @taeluvbott @zukki33 @nicerthanu @Tired_Entity @moonlightlexie @ushygushybaby @haikyuusunsalad @yyxy27 @jaynawayna @omb-lnn @angee444 @mrs-kodzuken @madi-8097 @mysteriousballer1na @from-mae @lilsebnem @itsdragonius @cosmicbreathe

[lil-quinnie]

part I part III part IV

LIVE VIDEO

modern!gamer!eddie x  f!reader

warnings: 18+ cussing, dirty talk, grinding, soft!dom eddie, daddy kink, slightly non con, anal play, thigh riding, filming without permission, exhibitionism, let me know if i forgot something.

word count 1576

You are being a brat the whole day, talking back and snapping at anything Eddie would tell you. He and his fucking computer, you swear he likes the game more than he likes you, and today you were not buying it.

"Eddie, i swear to god if you don't turn this shit off and go shower i gonna go to the party without you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, fingers clicking into the keyboard "Bug, you have said 30 minutes, it's not passed even 15 minutes, what got you so worked up today? Jesus"

Eddie's new vice of the week. make live videos on twitch and brag about how good his games skill was, it was not bad, actually you were proud of him, he helps anyone who messaged, mostly his friends but, yeah! it was important to him, and because of that, today you wanna ruin it.

While he rambled something in front of the camera, you were walking from behind him all the time, just in a towel while humming some melody that just distracted your mind. 

"Baby, C'mon, this view” he points up and down to your body “is just for me, not for any weirdo who is watching this shit, go put some clothes on princess, please".

You froze to his comment and sighing mid phrase “At least someone'll"

 "what did you say?" he snapped back at you.

The weight of your bratness through the long of the day starting to get through his skin, you recognized the look on his face, the little lit pupil behind the brown ocean eyes, you don't know what was passing in your head before you did what you did.

"I said" you cross your arms through your chest, pinching the ending of the towel, Eddie could read your next movements like one of his campaign,

"AT.LEAST.SOMEONE.WILL" 

Before you could unwrap the towel from your body Eddie pulled the plug, shutting the whole set off.

you started to chuckle when the towel dropped on the floor, a tiny black sleeveless dress was under it, Eddie's face got red, nostrils blowing hot air to your face, you never saw him stand up so fast, his hands on your wrists tugging you to his bare chest.

"You wanna act like a brat? you are gonna be treated like a brat" 

he bends you over his lap, pushing your head down and your ass up, he still could hear the sound of your laugh, mocking him, driving him crazy.

"Acting like a child the whole fucking day, FINE! i'm gonna punish you like the fucking kid you are"

Your dress pulled up through your waist, letting your softs cheeks all on display for him, he let a little moan escape from his lips from the sight of your underwear, tracing his fingertips on the lacy's patterns. 

The first slap was not hard, is almost for test the water, on the third slap you started to hiss "So fierce snapping at me all day"

slap

"but can't take 3 fucking slaps?"

slap

"where is your big girl's word babe?" he grabbed the fat of your ass, slapping one more time

"what? cat got your tongue?"

you let a loud moan escape from your lips when he ripped another pair of your expensive underwear, he open your ass, letting your holes exposed for him "so fucking wet and i don't even touch you, such a needy little whore" he traced his finger lighter than he never touched you before, ghosting over your thigh little asshole.

"Eddie, what…what are you doing?" you clench around nothing, when you feel his saliva dripping through your hole.

slap

he pulled you up, hands on you hair, lips on the lap of your ear whispering so smoothless causing goosebumps

"Brats don't get to talk, honey" he stuffed your mouth with your ripped panties. 

Head pinned to the dirty carpet from his room, Eddie give slaps on each of your cheeks,until hear your soft crying

"What was that slut? Ready to apologize to daddy?" his finger circling around your greedy hole, making your throbbing cunt hurt with the negletting feeling.

You are overwhelmed with the pressure he is applying at your asshole, you didn't see when the monitor turns on, you didn't notice the red light from the camera, you didn't feel when Eddie pushed the chair backwards leaving only his bare chest and your sore pinkish ass on the grid of his webcam.

"I'm not listen baby, daddy need your answers" 

he sunk the fingertip of his thumb on your asshole, making you cry

"i'm sorry daddy, 'm so sorry, please stop, please please please, 'm gonna be good again, i will be good" 

He had that familiar smirk on his lips, he knew he had cracked you already, now you are just a whimper little baby and he is your daddy.

"Let me explain how this is going to work, baby doll" he separated your butt cheeks, spitting at your hole, getting all slick and wet

"i'm gonna use this pretty hole as much as i want, and maybe if you ask real nice, i can let you cum, understand?" 

"Yes daddy" you answered through the small moans leaving the back of your throat while his thumb stretched your little tight hole with his whole thumb.

"That's it babe, such a jealous bitch, feeling jealous about a fucking computer, huh?" he spit again against your hole, making you clench around his finger, eddie growl and slapped you buttcheek, bringing tears to your eyes.

"Y-yes daddy, i'm a jealous slut" you was squirming under his touch "more, please please please, gimme more daddy, i'll be a good girl, please", he was teasing your hole with another finger, sinking slowly and deep, fucking you painfully slowly, slapping your ass harder as he increse his finger's pace on your asshole.

"Daddy, I need to cum, please please make me cum" you cry into the feeling of eddie's finger working at your sore hole, in and out harder and harder at the sound of your pleading. His voice was low but you could hear the smirk through it

"i'm not gonna touch you doll, not gonna touch your neddy, pretty little pussy angel" he deepened his fingers into your asshole

"Make yourself cum, angel, ride my thigh while i fuck your puckered hole" you do as you was told, starting to grind your neglected pussy into eddie's tight, your back arching at the pressure at your clit, letting pornograph moans slip through your lips, waking something feral at eddie's chest.

"That's it, such a good girl, a good good girl for me" he was abusing your hole, 3 fingers stuck deep while his free hand deepening your hips at his bare tigh, the sound of your wet slit made eddie twitch inside his pants, you kept rubbing your sore clit while eddie fucked your ass with his fingers, fast and hard enough for you to know that sitting down it was gonna hurt for a few days.

"Daddy, i'm gonna, oh!fuck, please, daddy, let me cum, please please, i need to cum, let me please, so full, you fuck my ass so good daddy, please please, OH MY GOD, PLEASE BABY"

Eddie twirls his fingers in your thigh hole, stuffing you full so good with his fat fingers. The known warmth building into the lower of your belly, your hips bucking sloppy at his thigh. Eddie still fucking you through your orgasm

"That's it, such a good girl for daddy" he pulled you from your previous position, now chest to chest, your head resting on his shoulder while he petted your hair "you are perfect baby, took everything i gave to you, made yourself cum like a big girl, don't you?

you sign, voice muffled by his neck "yes daddy, but i..i...never mind"

"What was that love? tell daddy what do you need" he demanded "i want you to fuck me, please, i was a good girl"

``'m tell you what, sweetheart. You made a huge mess at my thigh, got daddy all wet and slick" he said at your ear while rocking your body at his thigh "get on your knees and clean daddy's up, ok?, use this pretty little mouth of yours to do something that works, and maybe, if you do a good job, daddy let you have his cock deep at your pretty pussy, deal?

"mhm, yes daddy, anything for you" you got at your knees and start to lick and suck at eddie's thigh, so focus on doing a good job but you did notice his body shuffle, you did hear the clicks and before you could stand up, eddie guided your head to his balls, making you worship them.

He fast type at the chat of his twitch chat

"that is how to tease a woman the right way, fuckers, you are VERY fucking welcoming."

Eddie grins at the sign of 750 viewers at his almost unwatchable channel.

"Can we fuck right now Teddie? i really need you" you said, looking at him with big pleading eyes, the ripped pantie now in your hands, he caress you cheeks with his thumb and kiss the top of your head before whisper "of course, my love, anything for you"

Eddie took you off the ground and shut the computer off, before walking with you to his bed, still with the shit ass grin on his face. “I love you princess”

[prahelika]

Arya Stark Appreciation Week: Day 3

Overlooked Traits : Emotional Intelligence

Game of Thrones massacred Arya's character so badly that to someone who watched the show first (mostly), she appeared downright emotionless.

Safe to say that her emotional intelligence is a criminally underrated trait.

One of Sansa's first mentions of Arya goes like this.

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher's boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block.

- Sansa I, AGOT

She makes friends with anybody. While she doesn't fit in with the highborn ladies of Winterfell, she is universally adored by the smallfolk there.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was.

- Arya II, AGOT

The show portrayed Arya as someone who loses her softness and sweetness as her life gets progressively darker. This couldn't be further from the truth. In ACOK, where her father has just died and she is in hiding among the men of the Watch, even then, she tries her best not to take it out on anyone else. When Hot Pie bullies her for Needle, she remains non-confrontational. He instigates both verbally and physically.

Arya slid her practice sword from her belt. "You can have this one," she told Hot Pie, not wanting to fight. "That's just some stick." He rode nearer and tried to reach over for Needle's hilt.

- Arya I, ACOK

Something else worth noticing is that she stays in hiding in various dangerous places skillfully, in both ACOK and ASOS. No one suspects her of being Arya Stark (excluding Jaqen H'ghar). She even serves as cupbearer to Roose Bolton, and manages not to draw his ire.

She filled Roose Bolton's cup, and did not spill a drop.

- Arya IX, ACOK

This, by the way, isn't just a byproduct of the trauma she endured. All the way back in the first book:

It was the scariest thing she'd ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry.

- Arya IV, AGOT

Something else of note is her kindness even when she's suffering. The way she takes care of Weasel even when she's starved or scared.

"You leave Weasel alone, she's just scared and hungry is all." Arya glanced back, but the girl was not following for once.

- Arya V, ACOK

This is what she does - she takes care of people, even when she needs taking care of herself. In Braavos:

"He has no coin," mocked the fair-haired bravo. His dark-haired friend grinned and said something in Braavosi. "My friend Terro is chilly. Be our good fat friend and give him your cloak." "Don't do that either," said the barrow girl, "or else they'll ask for your boots next, and before long you'll be naked." "Little cats who howl too loud get drowned in the canals," warned the fair-haired bravo. "Not if they have claws." And suddenly there was a knife in the girl's left hand, a blade as skinny as she was. The one called Terro said something to his fair-haired friend and the two of them moved off, chuckling at one another. "Thank you," Sam told the girl when they were gone.

- Samwell III, AFFC

There's one last point: apologies. This may not seem very important, but sometimes I see discussions where people claim that Arya is a selfish girl, does not take accountability for her mistakes etc. (usually in the context of Sansa). This is, as most anti-Arya sentiments, blatantly untrue.

Arya raised her eyes. "I'm sorry, Father. I was wrong and I beg my sweet sister's forgiveness."

Sansa was so startled that for a moment she was speechless. Finally she found her voice. "What about my dress?"

"Maybe … I could wash it," Arya said doubtfully.

"Washing won't do any good," Sansa said. "Not if you scrubbed all day and all night. The silk is ruined."

"Then I'll … make you a new one," Arya said.

Sansa threw back her head in disdain. "You? You couldn't sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties."

- Sansa III, AGOT

Arya offers a genuine apology here, even after her sister says horrible things. She even speaks perfectly here, remembering her courtesies. (Keep in mind, this is also after Sansa and Jeyne have told Arya that Mycah's death was her fault. She would be well within her rights to demand an apology from Sansa first.)

The last words they exchange here are:

"It won't be so bad, Sansa," Arya said. "We're going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we'll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest." She touched her on the arm.

"Hodor!" Sansa yelled. "You ought to marry Hodor, you're just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!" She wrenched away from her sister's hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her.

- Sansa III, AGOT

This is self-explanatory, really. Also, she apologises to Lady Smallwood for the torn dress.

Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, belt, and tunic to wear, and a brown doeskin jerkin dotted with iron studs. "They were my son's things," she said. "He died when he was seven."

"I'm sorry, my lady." Arya suddenly felt bad for her, and ashamed. "I'm sorry I tore the acorn dress too. It was pretty."

"Yes, child. And so are you. Be brave."

- Arya IV, ASOS

(Unimportant sidenote: I love how kind Lady Smallwood is to Arya here. She really needed this.)

Basically, Arya of House Stark is one of the most emotionally intelligent characters in ASOIAF and I will not hear otherwise.

[ghoul-slime]

Mushy May Day 5 - Animals (Aether/Dew)

Day 5! Honestly shocked I made it this far. As always, thanks to @forlorn-crows for organizing this and to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers!

Day 5 - Animals (Aether/Dew), no warnings, 1093 words

Aether is wrapping up his shift in the infirmary when he gets the text, mood lifting the moment he sees Dew’s name pop up in the notification. It had only been a few days since the band went back out on tour, and Aether was already missing his little fire ghoul something fierce.

When he opens the message, he’s greeted with a photo of Dew dressed in full costume, holding up a tiny orange kitten in his hands. Dew has sent a handful of other photos, all of the same kitten. Eating treats out of his hand, playing with a little catnip mouse, curled up and asleep in his lap. In the background he can see the rest of the pack sprawled out on the carpet of the green room with a tiny army of kittens and puppies.

Papa must have arranged for an animal rescue to visit the venue that day. Those were always some of their favorite days on tour, Aether thinks nostalgically. It was a great way for them all to de-stress after weeks on the road cooped up in the tour bus or boring hotel rooms. Getting to spend the day with playful little puppies and curious kittens did wonders for everyone’s morale. Dew especially. He was always the last ghoul to give up whatever animal he’d been cuddling with for the duration of the visit. 

Aether’s phone dings, and with it another handful of kitten pictures, along with a message from Dew.

His name is Chicken Nugget!!!

Aether smiles to himself. Three whole exclamation points? Dew must be having a good time with the animal rescue’s visit. He can’t wait to hear about it during their nightly call.

Aether texts back and tells him so.

Dew answers with another picture of himself holding Chicken Nugget up to his face, the tiny little kitten mid cheek-rub against the edge of one of Dew’s bug-eyed helmet goggles. 

Aether sets the photo as his phone wallpaper immediately.

That night when they talk, Dew can’t stop gushing about the kitten.

“Aether, I’m in love,” Dew says dramatically.

Aether gasps in mock outrage. “Wow, should I be jealous?” he answers.

Dew snorts. “Yes actually. I wanted to take him home so bad, but Papa said absolutely no way, no pets on the tour bus. I guess he has a point though,” Dew concedes, sounding more than a little bit sad about it.

“We bonded though, Aeth!” Dew exclaims, excited again. “He picked me over everyone else and he looked so sad when I had to give him back. I felt like I was abandoning him...” Aether can just hear the sad little frown on Dew’s face through the tone of his voice.

He listens to Dew talk about Chicken Nugget for the rest of their call. The fire ghoul has always been a little animal lover, but this is the first time Aether has seen him get so attached. It’s completely adorable, Aether thinks, though he’s sure that Dew will have moved on from it in a day or so once they get back out on the road. 

He’s completely wrong. Dew brings up the kitten every night during their calls for weeks. Worrying about what will happen if he doesn’t get adopted. Worrying about what will happen if he does get adopted, that he couldn’t trust just anyone with his little Chicken Nugget. 

Another month passes and Aether can hear the exhaustion in Dew’s voice building each day. It’s the first time since they’d been summoned that they’d been apart for so long.

“Lonely out here sometimes,” Dew says one night as he dozes off in his bunk on the phone with Aether. “Miss you…” he trails off. 

Aether’s heart aches. There’s still months of touring left. It’ll be nearly winter before he and Dew are reunited. That night, Aether makes a decision.

In the morning, he’s convinced himself he knows what to do. First things first, he has to make a few phone calls. He takes out his cell phone and dials.

Papa? Dew’s not around you right now, is he? Good. Can we talk?

An agonizing two months later and Aether finds himself standing anxiously outside the abbey, waiting for the tour bus to finally come rumbling down the road. To deliver his precious pack and beloved mate back into his waiting arms.

Dew is the first one off the bus, and he flies into Aether, nearly knocking him down in the process. He takes Dew’s bags in one hand and Dew’s hand in the other and leads him into the abbey, listening to him talk about the long flight and the even longer bus ride back home.

Once they’re inside, Dew makes a beeline toward the kitchen. But before he can escape, Aether tugs him back gently by the hand.

“Come here, I want to show you something first,” Aether says softly.

“Aeth, can’t it wait, I’m freaking starving,” Dew answers, rubbing his stomach to emphasize his point.

“Nope, can’t wait.” Aether takes Dew by the shoulders and steers him down the hall towards their shared bedroom. “Come with me.” 

Dew looks back at him suspiciously, but lets Aether guide him toward their closed bedroom door. When they get there, Dew turns the knob and opens the door slowly, unsure of what he’s going to find there waiting for him.

And then he sees it. A tiny little orange ball of fluff curled up in the middle of their nest. Dew gasps, immediately covering his mouth with his hand when the sound wakes the kitten from his nap. Chicken Nugget takes one look at Dew, stretches out his tiny paws, and lets out an excited little mewl.

Dew rushes over to the bed, scoops up the kitten, and cradles him to his chest before turning to back Aether with wide, glassy eyes. “How did you?” Dew’s voice cracks just a little bit.

Oh Satan, if Dew cries, he is definitely going to cry too, Aether thinks to himself in a panic.

“Don’t ask, it was a giant pain in the ass though,” he laughs, wiping a stray tear threatening to spill from his eyes. He pulls Dew in, careful not to squish the little purring kitten between them, and kisses his forehead. “He’s here now though. He was waiting for you. Both of us were waiting for you.”

Dew lets out a sob, and that’s it, Aether is crying too. Chicken Nugget, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier, purring away and kneading Dew's sweatshirt with tiny little claws.

[ttulipwritezz]

Rules huh? pt.2

Sirius Black x James's sister reader

warnings: James being oblivious, date, the nickname "love", not revised very well.

tysm for over a hundred likes on the last part skkdhskjd

pt1 ,pt3

Synopsis: you fell for your brother's best friend...what happens next in this situation?

"well...if it isn't Miss Potter"

"What do you want black" You had more matters to attend to than the raven-haired boy beside you, despite how badly you wanted to humor him for the moment and simultaneously piss off your brother.

"Ouch, last name basis are we?"

"You called me Potter" you half asked-half stated with an amused expression

"Miss Potter"

You laughed. A small scoff-like one but a laugh nonetheless. Truth be told it's not like his "joke" was funny at all, far from it even. It's just that Sirius had this charm, this capability to make anyone and everyone smile the moment he entered their vision.

"Isn't that worse? Also, aren't you afraid my brother's gonna give you another lecture? I assume he didn't spare you the last one, you know when he saw you blow me a kiss during dinner.?"

"Oh my, I am offended that you think that way of me, potter! And for the record, I did receive a lecture"

He said with a hand clasped over his chest in mock offense

"Besides, James is at quidditch practice right now love"

Oh, how your stomach flipped at the nickname.

Love

It almost made you consider giving in to the black charm

if it weren't for your brother's little-

"Ahem"

Sirius jumped back startled, you almost laughed out loud at that, though saving it just in time for your brother to ask for an explanation.

"Padfoot? Care to explain why you're around my sister and not at practice?"

James's tone wasn't pleased in the least.

However, it seemed as though Sirius had met with the same fate not too long ago, and he handled it with ease.

"I was just going to ask miss potter where you were, prongs, I was gonna inform you about me not being at practice.'

"And why were you not at it?"

"Uhhh....-"

"-he had potions homework and didn't want to suffer another lecture from Slughorn so I found him in the library"

Luckily potions was not a class the two fifth years shared.

"And how do you know that"

... sometimes James lacks common sense...

"I asked James...asked. Didn't I just tell you I bumped into him at the library?"

Luckily your brother's words were Always predictable to you.

"Whatever Padfoot don't be missing practice for homework next time," He said almost shuddering at the word homework.

~~~~~~

Over the next few weeks, it seemed as though things had changed with Sirius.

You didn't feel normal, your heart thumped against your chest every moment he came around, and worst of all he was forbidden.

It felt wrong to feel this way... God y/n he's your brother's best friend for Merlin's sake. But why do I keep thinking about how he called me love. Does he call anyone else that?

The weeks had been nothing but filled with wholesome exchanges, James had been kind of oblivious to this subtle change in both your demeanors, being too engrossed with Lily at the moment.

He failed to see the way Sirius smiled subconsciously when you were around, the trips to the Library might have stopped but he'd still always catch a glimpse of you in the halls, still staring at you during dinner and still staying the same old flirt.

In fact, His feelings may have been stronger than he had intended.

~~~~~

"You know black you're quite the unwelcome bug I see lingering around all the time."

You were sitting in the common room reading a book when you felt the couch beside you dip and lo and behold the raven-haired boy was back.

"You know love, I happen to..."

He takes a second to pause and look at your book title

"-love that book .. it's one of my favorites"

"Right....and I suppose you know what this book is about then?"

Defeated he didn't argue any further...

" Ok alright, I do not... But-" he started

"What do you want black?" You said remembering how upset your brother was earlier in the halls, though it gave you a bitter feeling to talk to him this way.

"Hogsmeade....me and you?"

That was kind of all he managed to get out but fortunately, you got the memo

"You're asking me out?...you do know James would be furious?"

"I simply do not care, give me a chance y/n...I promise I will make sure your brother approves of me. He's my best friend and hurting him would be the last thing I'd do. Trust me."

"Alright...see you the day after tomorrow at noon."

Curtly nodding you left without much.

But the tiny little "yess" followed by a fist in the air was enough to form a small smile on your face.

A/n: oh god this is awful and so rushed sjdkashjs, tysm for over a hundred notes in the last part!

Should there be a part three with James's reaction and the actual relationship dynamic between the two?

[deandoesthingstome]

Hall Pass - Chapter 2

Paring: Henry Cavill x Reader (RPF)

Series Summary: You run into Henry Cavill at the start of a two-week house-sitting vacation. You had some previous plans. Some were ruined by your now ex-boyfriend. Some were made better. Guess by whom?

Series Warnings: I’ll be honest, this whole thing is just self-indulgent smutty fluff. Here’s what I offer: meeting, making out, and having sex with Henry Cavill (rpf). I’m probably NOT going to be adding chapter warnings unless I get a bug to re-write and something worms it’s way into the story that I wasn’t expecting.

A/N: I started this story shortly after the fiasco of The Witcher and Superman announcements. I thought about how great it would be to try and cheer him up a little. For the purposes of this story, he is single. No hate to anyone in his life right now, in whatever way you imagine that to be. I also understand if you do not read rpf. Feel free to scroll on by. I don’t need to hear about it.

This was going to be a looooong one-shot, but solicited feedback prompted me to break it up for you. 

Playlist: I will add to Spotify with each chapter.

Word Count: 3.8K

Chapter 1

 

In the morning, the smell of freshly brewed coffee forced your eyes open. You hoped you had enough time to shower before heading out to say goodbye to Henry. Plus you needed to tame the lingering fantasy from your dreams the night before. Somehow while reaching for the bottle of body wash on the floor of the tight shower cubicle you almost slipped and fell out, cursing loudly and grabbing on to the shower curtain, praying it held while you found your balance again. You heard a sharp knock at the bedroom door.

“Everything alright in there?” Henry called.

“It’s fine! I’m fine. I’ll be right out,” you hollered back from the bathroom.

You tried to hurry while still taking your time to keep your footing. One more quick rinse, then a dry off with a fluffy towel and you were back in the room slipping into fleece-lined leggings and a comfy oversized sweater.

He had another fire roaring in the great room and was sitting next to two mugs of coffee at the breakfast bar.

“Good morning! I heard a shout when I came to see how you took your coffee. Everything okay?”

“Oh, just clumsy me. I’m fine. And black is fine, thank you very much.” You glanced at your watch. So little time left.

“Yeah, I should probably get going soon. The store said 10 and I recall it was about 30 minutes out?” You nodded in response to his query. “Yeah, so a quick cup and then I should run.”

You hoped your face hadn’t fallen too low. Could you fake a need in town so you could head in with him? Ooh, go back for the honey! No, too desperate.

“Henry?” Might as well try, desperate or not.

“Yes?”

“Do you… where you’re staying… Is there any reason…Would you want to…I mean, there’s a table that gets good natural light you could take over and work on your model…oh, but Kal…shoot, nevermind.”

“Were you offering this farm as my hiatus home?”

“Yes? I mean, you could take up more space than a table. Plus the grounds are inspiring to wander around. And the goats. You barely had time to meet them while you were making out with the horses yesterday.”

Henry gave a hearty chuckle. “That’s really sweet of you. Very kind. But I’ve got…”

“Yeah, right, of course. Ignore me. Please. This must be so weird for you. A total stranger offering you a room in a home that isn’t even hers.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call you a total stranger and I’ve often found that Henrys make the best friends, but yes, I do have Kal and my assistant to think about.”

“Yeah, of course. No worries.”

You offered to jot down the directions back to town while you finished your coffee with Henry. He asked you to text him the details instead, reciting his cell number for you.

“I can trust you won't just go handing this out now, right?”

“Never!” You clutched your chest in mock dismay.

Too few moments later, you waved down the drive with a bittersweet smile on your face as you watched him go, then turned to re-enter the house and settle into your non-anniversay day. It had started out so lovely, but now that you were alone…

Oh, but not! You shifted gears and headed into the barn, where Caleb was mucking stalls.

“Did you have a visitor last night?” the old man greeted you with a cheerful smile.

“Sort of? The strangest thing…”

“And where’s your better half this morning?” He watched your face fall and tried to recover. “Everything okay?”

“It will be.” You paused for a moment. “We’re done. He just couldn’t tear himself away from work, not even for our anniversary.”

“That stinks. I’m so sorry. Was that him I heard leaving just now?”

“Not exactly…” you hedged as Caleb laughed at your reticence.

“Okay, well, keep your secrets then,” he winked. “Want to help out here?”

You jumped at the chance to get a little more familiar with the care and handling of the horses. Caleb helped you lead Mikka and Sadie into the field. You asked if you could have Butterscotch saddled for a ride in a little bit, which meant Telly would stick nearby. He never went far without her. Caleb recommended waiting to saddle the horse until the work was done so she wasn’t uncomfortable for the duration. The manual labor kept your mind off both Henry and your ex for the time being. As soon as the stalls were done, you headed back inside to pack some provisions for the afternoon. When you headed back out to the barn, you turned your attention to the goats who were ready for mid-morning nibbles.

Caleb was just about to saddle Butterscotch when a familiar vehicle wound its way up the drive.

“Holy shit,” you whispered under your breath.

“Any idea who this is now? Wait, isn’t that the SUV I saw on my way in?”

“Sure is,” you were almost beaming. Henry Cavill was driving back up the road to you with what looked like a large bear in the passenger seat.

Henry parked and stepped out of the car, making his way toward you and offering a hand to Caleb in greeting.

“Good afternoon! I’m Henry. You must be the horse master?”

“Sure am. Name’s Caleb. Nice to meet you.”

“Henry, what on earth are you doing back here?” you asked.

“Well, I got to thinking. First of all, we forgot to grab some photos for your hosts. And second, why would I spend my hiatus in a fancy hotel in the city, when I could just as easily enjoy this beautiful country-side? If the offer still stands, that is.”

“You a photographer or something?” Caleb asked, and it was all you could do not to laugh at the older gentleman. 

“Uh, no. Nope. Not a photographer,” Henry smiled. 

“Caleb, Henry forgot to give you his last name. Seems that’s his schtick. This is Henry Cavill, he’s an actor. Plays Superman,” you offered, thinking it would be the easiest character for Caleb to identify with.

“Well, played, yes,” Henry countered and you almost fainted from embarrassment. Of course! He’d just had some terrible news about that role. And after leaving The Witcher, no less. Poor guy was having a hard time of it lately. 

“Oh, yeah. Think I knew that. Well, what’s a big Hollywood celebrity doing all the way out here?” Caleb asked.

“I was picking up some items from a store nearby when I got sidetracked and wound up at this wonderful farm last night. And now I’m hoping I can impose for a little while longer.” He smiled at you with a genuine sincerity and you couldn’t stop grinning back. Suddenly a sharp bark sounded from the SUV.

“Oh, yes, and Kal! Caleb, are the horses good with strange dogs? I’d love to let him run free, but happy to keep him inside if it’s a problem?” Henry asked.

“As long as he’s good with horses, they’re good with him. Sadie and MIkka are out in the pasture right now, but Telly and Butterscotch can show him around.”

While Henry retrieved Kal from the car and introduced him to you and Caleb, an idea began to form and before you knew it you were giving it voice.

“Caleb, would it be too much trouble to saddle Telly as well? If Henry’s up for it, I’d love to take him for a ride this afternoon,” you gave a questioning glance toward Henry, hiding your panic that he might think you were once again insinuating a different kind of activity altogether.

“Oh, well if it’s not too much trouble for Caleb, that would be a wonderful treat.” If he did notice the double entendre, he wasn’t showing it.

“Sure. Happy to saddle ‘em up for you. Think you can get ‘em untacked when you're back?”

You nodded, noticing Henry did as well, and Caleb proceeded to get the horses ready for you while you led Henry back into the house.

“Oh, and here, for you” Henry handed you a small brown paper bag. You opened it and peered in to find two jars of honey. “I wasn’t sure which flavor you preferred, so I just asked Josh if I could have one of each.”

“Well, thank you!” You put the honey in the kitchen and continued down the hall to drop Henry’s bags in his guest room. While he used the bathroom, you took the time to gather a few more items to add to the bag you’d already packed to take with you on your ride, then led Henry back out to the barn.

“Alright, you two. I’ll be back this evening to gather the other two and get them all in the barn for the night. See you later!”

You waved as Caleb took off, then headed into the barn to grab a helmet. Henry followed.

“Do you think I could borrow a helmet as well?”

“Oh, I didn’t even think. I usually wear one because, you know,” you gestured to yourself, “clumsy. But I didn’t want to assume, since you ride so often.”

“Well, it’s always a good idea to take precautions, I think. Maybe just to stay on the safe side,” he winked at you. Or tried to.

Once you were settled in the saddles, Henry asked where to.

“There are a few different paths around the property. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take an easy ride through the pasture and around the woods.”

“Sounds just fine.”

Henry and Telly fell in line with you as you led Butterscotch down the lane and into the field at a slow pace. Kal ran ahead and returned every so often to make sure he was headed in the same direction you were. You asked Henry how he managed to switch up his plans.

“I just felt so welcome and unbothered here last night, I really didn’t want our time to end. I called my assistant and had her bring Kal to meet me in town. Gave her the rest of the hiatus off and hoped for the best. I just texted her while I was settling my things in the guest room to go ahead and cancel the suite as well, since it seems I have another lodging option now.”

A warmth spread from the tip of your head to your toes. Henry Cavill wanted to spend more time with you. It seemed you wanted the same. You let your sincere smile speak for itself and enjoyed the rest of the ride in a serene quiet, listening for the sounds of nature instead. Every so often, you snuck a glance to see if the videos you'd watched online did any justice to the way this man sat in the saddle.

They did not.

Soon, you turned Butterscotch to enter a small copse of trees and Telly followed suit, barely requiring a nudge from Henry’s reins. A short distance in, you pulled to a stop and turned to see how Henry was reacting to the landscape in front of him.

“What in the world…?” he marveled.

“It’s a small natural hot spring. The next town over is famous for them. There’s a hotel, spa, roman bath house, the whole works. It’s their tourist draw. My friends were lucky enough to find this small pocket on their land. They set the flagstones surrounding the pool and even created some stone seats once you step in.” You paused, realizing Henry had just told you how unbothered he felt here and now it seemed you were making a play to see him practically naked. “If you want to, that is, no pressure at all.”

“Well I don’t know if I’m prepared…”

“I snagged a pair of swim trunks while you were settling in,” you admitted, sheepishly. “I was already packed and getting ready to head out here when you showed up. I really hope you don’t mind.”

“How could I mind? And the water’s safe?”

“Absolutely. They test it just about every week, but it stays consistently warm and without bacteria. It’s really a wonder!”

“Well alright then. Let’s do it!” Henry smiled wide and dismounted with such ease you were almost embarrassed to get down in front of him.

It honestly felt like you were flopping yourself to the ground every time you got off a horse. But once you were on solid ground, Henry approached to help you unpack the saddle bags. You let the horses saunter around the clearing, trusting Butterscotch to keep Telly close.

“There doesn’t seem to be a changing room out here,” he joked, making a show of looking around.

“Yes, well. I thought you could just step behind that rather large pine over there and change while I get in. There’s no one around for miles, I swear it.”

Henry accepted the trunks and towel you offered, then marched off to the makeshift dressing room. You set the food and drink you’d packed on the side of the spring, then peeled off your clothes down to your bathing suit and stepped in, sitting quickly to fend off the brisk, wintery air, keeping your back towards Henry, lest he actually be too big to fit behind the tree as well.

In a moment, you heard a rustle and footsteps heading your way, so you turned and almost lost your breath. He was striding toward you, jeans and sweater in hand, towel draped around his neck, and looking just fine in the borrowed swim shorts. They fit him snuggly and it may have been the best idea you’d ever had, short of actually inviting him to stay with you at the farm.

As he got closer, you moved to the far side of the spring to give him room to enter. He sat and released the same satisfied sigh you had when you first entered the warm water.

“I didn’t realize how chilly the air had gotten until you had me strip naked behind a tree. But this is just phenomenal.”

You laughed and apologized, but he waved it off. 

“I’m glad you suggested this. It’s a welcome treat. And I see you have champagne?”

“Yes, well. My plan was to come out here and drown my sorrows alone…”

“Oh, right! Ah, today’s the actual day, is it?”

“Was. Yes. So would you care to toast the demise of my most recent blunder with me?”

“Absolutely. And his loss, by the way. Absolutely.”

You ducked with a sudden shyness and took a sip of the champagne.

“Did you also bring strawberries for this? That’s a pretty standard anniversary thing, isn’t it?” Henry teased with a wink.

“I would have if they didn’t wreck my insides. I can’t stomach the tiny seeds. But here,” you turned and grabbed a small container to open and hand over. “Have some grapes?”

Henry thanked you and grabbed a few, then apologized if his strawberry joke was in poor taste.

“You had no idea. How could it be?” you assured him.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?”

“For not treating me like a celebrity. With kid gloves and as if the whole world revolves around me. It’s been refreshing from the moment you bumped into me. You’ve listened to my ramblings about my hobbies and haven’t asked once about that Witcher fiasco. Or Superman for that matter. It made it very easy for me to accept your offer of a few weeks of quiet country time and I really appreciate it.”

“Confession?”

“Yours or mine?” he asked.

“Mine.”

“Ok, go.”

“You’re my Hall Pass.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Hall Pass. It’s like…”

“Yes, I think I’m aware, but you aren’t in a relationship anymore, right. Not since the very minute we met, if I’m not mistaken. Do you need a pass now?”

“No. No I suppose I don’t.”

“Good. Because I really wouldn’t want this to ruin anything you’ve got going.”

You blinked your eyes with confusion. “This?” you asked, not sure if you were afraid he would give you the answer you assumed he’d give, which was something along the lines of anything that hinted he had no real interest in you. Or if you were afraid he’d give you the answer you hoped for and that he meant he had the same undeniable attraction to you as you had to him.

He licked his lips, tilted his head, and furrowed his brow ever so slightly. You could see the way his mind sought the right words.

“I suppose it’s my turn to apologize and hope I’m not being terribly forward when I say that I don’t mind saying I’d like to kiss you.”

You blinked again trying to decipher the words that sounded like a jumble and yet also appeared to mean exactly what you wanted them to when combined with the sexy drop in his voice and the way he leaned in ever so slightly.

Don’t shake your head to clear the cobwebs, you idiot. But do something soon so he doesn’t regret what he’s just said.

“I think I’d like that, too,” you managed to whisper, afraid of the tremble you were sure would accompany the regular volume of your voice as he inched closer.

“Is now okay?” and he waited just long enough to see you nod before he bent his head left and captured your lips between his.

It was sweet and warm, a tender, gentle touch. At first. But the groan that escaped his throat as you swiped your tongue across his bottom lip when you very much couldn’t hold back sent shivers down your spine and a heat wave through your core. Henry placed a hand against your neck to hold you firmly in place as he tilted your head back and answered your silent ask with his own deepening of the kiss, tongue swirling into you.

The various ways you imagined kissing Henry Cavill could go each time you pressed play on one of his movies or shows did absolutely no justice to the real thing. And maybe you were naive, but this didn’t feel like an “acting kiss.” No, this was real, at least for you. Every tingle, every spark, every butterfly struggling for release. And yours wasn’t the only body reacting.

Henry pressed closer, pushed you gently against the side of the small pool, one hand behind your back to cushion you against the stones. You felt his knee wedge between your thighs and when your hand touched his side to hold him close you could swear you felt goosebumps. But that must just be the cold air.

Suddenly he pulled you away from the wall, backing himself up to the other side and dragging his hands down your back before lifting you onto his lap and coaxing your legs to either side of his thighs. He never once let go of your mouth, so you had no choice but to moan wantonly into his as you could now feel what else this kiss was doing to him.

His hands roamed your body, fingers pressing and squeezing gently before settling on the small of your back so he could shift you closer into the grind of his hips. After a few moments of even more passionate kissing with heads tilting back and forth in a carefully choreographed dance of lips and tongue, you felt him pull back and reluctantly let go.

“If we don’t stop, I’ll likely come right in these borrowed pants and I wouldn’t want to mess with the pH of the hot spring,” Henry confessed with a little sadness in his voice. “I’m sorry, I know I started that.”

“Please stop apologizing to me,” you answered kindly, attempting to retreat to the opposite side of the spring. “If nothing else, on my darkest days I can at least remind myself of a hot tub makeout session with Henry Cavill.”  

Henry didn’t let go.

“Oh, well, I was hoping…I mean, is it presumptuous of me to imagine there could be something else, more than … well.” The way he simply stood up as he shifted your legs to wrap around his waist and turned to set you on the ledge. “Is the air too cold for this?”

“I have a feeling you can take care of that,” you grinned, accepting his arms around your shoulders as he bent for another taste of your lips. All his residual body heat was keeping you warm and even if it wasn’t, your mind was decidedly on other things for the entire time his mouth was on yours. 

Suddenly, your phone’s alarm sounded and you jumped, knocking your head against his once again.

“Shit! Sorry! That caught me by surprise,” you apologized.

“That phone seems to cause you more trouble than it’s worth,” he teased, letting you free so you could stand up and grab your cell from the bag.

“Oh, I'd rather say this phone has provided me a unique experience," you replied before glancing down to silence the alarm. "Oh…fuck,” you tried to keep your flash of concern to a whisper but Henry heard.

“Everything alright?” he asked, already slipped back into the warm water where you also wished you could be at the moment.

“Uh, yeah. It’s…oh, god. I swear. You are going to think I am just trying to take all kinds of advantage of you,” you offered, while wrapping yourself in a towel to stay warm.

“I mean, I’m not exactly protesting here, am I?”

“No, I suppose not. But this whole day is just..okay, well it was supposed to be an anniversary date, if you recall. So what’s happening now is that we need to pack up and head back to the house because in sixty minutes I have a massage booked.” You grimmaced, hoping it didn’t sound like just another excuse to be next-to-naked next to Henry Cavill. “I could just cancel, eat the fee, it’s not a big deal…”

“Absolutely not. Unless that’s what you want to do. This is your day, right?” He watched you nod. “And do you want to have a massage?”

What you wanted was to continue your time with Henry in a hot spring, but you had also shelled out some major bucks to schedule two in-home 90-minute massages for you and your dolt of an ex. Canceling now would mean losing the entire fee. And Henry was here for another two weeks. There’d be plenty of time to get back here, literally and figuratively, if that’s where things were really going to head.

Plus, the stress of everything over the last several months left you longing for the sensation of palms and knuckles and fingers kneading into deep tissue to release stubborn tension. You could send one of them home, maybe. Eat that cost. Unless…

“Would you be interested in one as well?”

Henry paused for a moment. “There might be some things to consider with that…ah, fuck it. Why not?”

Chapter 3

Tags: Please let me know if you want on or off or moved.

@littlegreenplasticsoldier - you opened this floodgate. Sorry.

Anything: @mayloma @fvckinghenrycavill @geralts-yenn @sillyrabbit81 @kittenofdoomage @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @aireraume @kebabgirl67 @marantha @sweetdreamsofgelato @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @dedicated-to-mr-cavill @alexakeyloveloki @feelmyroarrrr @raccoon-eyed-rebel @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @kingliam2019 @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka

Hall Pass: (askers and likers, though if you liked the teaser post and you aren’t here, Tumblr won’t let me tag you)  @crymeariversworld @tess-lecter-blog @codykosuckmytoe @casadutti @fefa-la-printcessa @kaylamontaniz @kemillyfreitas​ @urmom3sposts​ @alicasalime​ @florxdexcerezo​ @lothbrokcore​ @straightforwardly @fuzzyugly-blog @livesinfantasyland @thereisa8ella @coldmooninthedark @12dilucswife @ms-angiealsina @7eamfan7asy @band-of-brothers-memes @ms-betsy-fangirl @cavillsslut

[solaneceae]

float like a feather, sting like sharp talons

Philza drops by Étoiles' brand new dojo for a friendly sparring session, and ends up getting quite a lot more. Namely existential dread, the thrill of a good hunt, and the comfort of shared trust. @apthotiosis this is a commissioned fic! read on ao3

He whistles, eyes lingering along the thick, wooden support beams and rice paper walls surrounding him. It’s a surprising sight, tucked away in a corner of what he can only describe as a mess of a base, mostly empty, the walls still a rough (and frankly ugly) mix of dirt and cobblestone that hasn’t been cleared out even after six months. “So. That is your dojo.”

Étoiles nods at his side, a big stupid grin on his face. “Do you like it, Phil?” he asks, eager as a pup as little Pomme zooms around the cave in an improv game of tag with Tallulah — ever mindful of how her lag (sorry, asthma) sometimes stalls her in her tracks. He glances at them fondly, silly, eggs, babies. “I do,” he hums, because it is pretty. Especially if you ignore the rest of the cave outside because God, it’s fugly as shit and Étoiles knows it. The plant hybrid smiles, all teeth and gums, and squints with star-filled eyes that always seem to glow despite not working like they used to. Phil still doesn’t get why what was originally a completely harmless veggie plant has evolved to bear such predatory teeth, but he can’t say it doesn’t suit his friend. “He likes it! Let’s gooo, big win for me, big win. I can die happy now.”

“Oh my god, stop. Kristin’s married, you know.”

Étoiles gives him a mock-shove that is more of a real one, because Étoiles never holds back, especially not with Phil. “Oh! Oh, so I can’t be nice to Lady Death? I can’t just visit her because she’s cool and she likes me also? I am married to the grind, Phil, you know me!”

Phil shakes his head, exasperated and fond. “You’re a nerd is what you are. Did you know she calls you her tech support?” Étoiles makes a confused noise. Tallulah peeps in the background, mimicked by Pomme, a chorus of play and yesyes, because all the eggs have picked up on that one by now. (Mimicry is a powerful thing, and the eggs are highly social creatures who thrive on it.)

Phil elaborates, circling the build to assess its structure better. “Because of the sweeping edge bug thing, and Richas’ cancelled death last week. You find the kinks and loopholes in death mechanics better than anyone she knows.”

Étoile beams at that. “That’s so cool. I’m Death tech support!”

“You certainly are. Do you think it’s because you picked Death? In the entity rooms?”

The green-skinned man shrugs, then gasps and takes off running after Pomme to stop her from setting up waterframes everywhere to display obscure anime edits for Tallulah because her internet, her lag Pomme, you’re going to make her void! Phil glances at them (safe, no danger, good) then back at the dojo, running his palm down a beam to feel its grain. It’s smooth, recently stripped of its bark. “Huh,” he says.

He doesn’t understand why his friend chose to build this underground when dojos are usually suited for wind-swept plains or mysterious forests. Then again, Étoiles has never been much for coherent aesthetics. That, and he probably thought it would be more mysterious to hide it under the ground, knowing him. “It’s. Well, very dojo-like,” he walks through dark support beams and onto clean, recently-oiled planks, coming to poke at one of the wooden sticks idly rotating above an altar to send it spinning in the opposite direction. Étoiles trots back to him with an egg under each arm (Play, dad, Pomme warbles. Play, silly, Tallulah beeps from within her cracked shell.) and lets out a guttural noise, visibly bothered by the sticks being out of sync, and it makes Phil snort. Silly. Silly. “Did you build it all by yourself?”

“Yeeaaaah.”

“You’re lying.”

A dramatic gasp. The warrior puts both eggs down to throw his hands in the air. “I’m not lying! Pomme, ma légende, dis-lui.”

Bomp. [me and richas did it. papa helped, very much :DDD]

Étoiles comes to brush his fingers against the red sign, letting the device tucked into his ear translate the written words into spoken ones. He whines, puts a hand over his heart as his ears droop. “Ahhh, trahison. Disgrâce. Tu m’détestes en fait Pomme, c’est ça ? You want me to dig down to bedrock and die forever? Or it’s because I can’t see, so you think I’m shit?”

Bomp. [papa…] Bomp. [t’a pas besoin d’être aveugle pour avoir des goûts douteux en déco :X]

“Okay, okay. I go die in fire then, goodnight.” Then Étoiles pours lava into the cobble floor and stands in it with a huge smile. His body catches on fire immediately, skin quickly shrivelling up and blackening under the heat. Pomme peeps at him loudly and hits him with her scythe, then douses him in water and healing potions — which immediately prompts Étoiles into sparring mode, laughing and hyping his egg up with a string of ‘oh she knows, she knows the play’ and ‘strafing, comboing, keep at it’ as his body heals up. Philza watches the display for a few seconds before getting bored, choosing to walk past the layer of light wood circling the dojo to take a look inside.

It’s even prettier than the outside, with all the paper lanterns and little fountains and bamboo shoots. His geta clack against the wood, then go silent on the woven straw flooring at the center. “Why’re all the posters in Japanese?” he remarks when his friend comes back from his little mock-tantrum with his daughter in tow, squinting at a crude montage explaining the belts system. Philza can gather that it’s based on how much HP the dojo master has left after a duel, because Étoiles has been yapping about making a dojo with that exact system for months now. (Is that a jar of mayo at the top? The hell?) Guess the eggs returning has been the push in motivation he needed to actually commit to that build, despite his insistence that he is very much a builder now, thank you very much, look at all the wool I have.

Étoiles perks up, grins in a way that lets Phil know he’s about to do a bit. “Oh, you don’t know? You don’t know that I’m literally Japanese, Philza?” he chirps, picking up one of the sticks on display before running circles around the other man, poking at his legs playfully. His boots are off, Phil notices. “Speaking of! Shoes off Phil, come on, come on!”

“You literally told me you grew in a field, mate,” Phil laughs, airy and wheezy and light as he evades the attacks. “The little legume who could! In rural France! Where does Japan come into play here?”

“Aaaah, Philza, Philza,” the warrior shakes his head, hitting the other on the shoulder to push him back out and onto the cold cobble floor. “Shoes off I said, it’s a rule. I don’t want shit on my tatami, I already had to clean it up sooo many times with the whole server fucking around in it yesterday. And Japan lives in my warrior’s soul. It’s all that matters.”

“F’course it does,” Phil complies regardless, shimming out of his geta before walking to the little shoe rack in the corner to tuck them inside. “There. Happy?”

“Very. Also, trivia time, culture time: did you know that cucumbers aren’t legumes? They are fruits, Phil! And vegetables don’t actually exist, they’re all either fruits or roots or leaves or flowers...”

Phil stares at him. “...You don’t get to stand there and tell me my avocados are fruits, Étoiles. What the fuck.”

“Umm, they are berries, actually—”

“Oh fuck off and come kill me already.”

“With pleasure, my bro.”

 

Armors come off next, quickly magicked back into inventories. Phil walks up to the altars to pick up his own stick (unenchanted, as plain as it gets) and spots Étoiles off to the side, rolling up his sleeve to check on his insulin levels before rolling it back down. “We eat one gapple each, yes? My sugar is low,” he explains as they both get into position on both ends of the tatami.

“Sounds good. You got yours?”

Étoiles laughs, summoning a golden fruit from his inventory and spinning it over his finger like the insufferable showoff he is. “Always. Autofeed off Phil, no cheating.”

“Alright, you little shit,” Phil summons his own gapple and bites into it with purpose, feeling the warm tingle of magic-saturation in his stomach as the rest of the apple vanishes into thin air with a few golden sparkles. He turns to the eggs, settled on top of diamond blocks they’ve just placed. “Tallulah, do a countdown for us please?”

Signs are placed, one by one, as Pomme hypes them up with Megalovania, perfectly timed with the Pigstep now blasting out of a music box. Bomp, three. Bomp, two. Bomp, one…

Bomp. [GO PAPA PHIL :D]

Étoiles shoots off towards him as soon as the letters show up on the wood, jumping up and swinging his stick down for a crit. Phil dashes to the side, the blow just grazing his shoulder. “Nice cock, Phil!” Étoiles gasps, all sharp teeth and waggling eyebrows, and it takes the avian back enough for the other to get a few hits in. “Motherfucker!” Phil laughs, breaking the combo and pushing the cucumber back with a few crits of his own, adrenaline starting to flood his brain and paint the world in sharp edges and colors. “You little shit! Stop doing that!”

“Do what, Philza? I’m just bantering, just chilling.”

Étoiles’ combat style hasn’t changed despite the blindness, Phil finds — he’s insanely precise and quick on his feet, which is a problem. He decides he won’t be able to outrun or out-speed him, so he elects to block most of his strikes with his own stick instead, relying more on instinct than observation. “He’s blocking, he’s blocking,” the warrior’s voice chants through the flurry of swings and the clack of wood against wood. “Strafing, strafing, he’s the best, he’s the GOAT. Hit me, Phil! Don’t just defend, hit me!”

And dammit, Phil tries pretty hard — but Étoiles is insane and he’s just a little too fast even without speedbridging, just a little too smart with his feints. Phil goes down after two minutes, the last hit clocking him across the temple and sending him to the (thankfully a little soft) floor, ears ringing and white stars dancing across his darkening vision. He wonders if it’s a little like how Étoiles sees the world now. Probably not. “Four hearts, Phil,” Étoiles announces, laying his hands on Phil’s side — the pain fades, the world comes back into focus, and his brain rattles with the doom-doom of revival. He hears fireworks going off, probably Pomme’s. “That’s good, very good. That’s a brown belt! I think you can kill me soon, easy. Again?” the cucumber chirps, offering his hand, and Phil thinks that if Étoiles had his tail it would probably be wagging right now.

He groans in agreement, grasps his friend’s hand and is pulled back on his feet. “Yes. Again.”

Round two goes similarly. “Again.” So does round three. “One more.” After his fourth consequential victory, Étoiles looks pensive, and Phil is getting a tad frustrated — he’s muted his comm for this, as he often does, but he can usher a guess at what Global chat looks like, spammed with his half-death messages and maybe a brief bout of concern from whoever else is online at the moment. “Fuck, man,” he rubs at his neck where a particularly vicious strike has left the skin an angry red, molted with purple. He’ll feel that in the morning, if he doesn’t get a respawn. “I don’t think I can do it. No black belt for me.”

“No, no, you can,” Étoiles insists, circling him — dull, greyed out eyes scanning for something. “I think…”

“Looking for something, king? How’s nebula-me looking?”

“Like the GOAT, you know that. But since you ask, you’re more blue today. With some red.”

“Cool. Wish I could see like you do, for a day.”

“You don’t. It’s pretty, but annoying. It’s harder to make out details inside the, ah…” he mumbles something in barely-legible French. “Je sais pas comment on dit. Les contours. The lines at the limits of a drawing.”

“Outlines?”

“Yes. I see the outlines well, but everything inside is messy. To me everything is just, shapes. And the bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it. Eggs are easy, because they are small and simple. People are harder.” He waves towards Phil. “Like, I can’t know if you’re smiling or frowning, I have to listen to how your voice sounds.”

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

Étoiles hums, stops at his side. Cocks his head like an attentive dog. “Ah. You should take your backpack off, Phil. It’s slowing you down.”

Oh. Philza shifts, hesitant. “I wear it all the time, it doesn’t nerf me that much.”

“No, I think it can make a difference. Let’s try it?”

Mh. He hadn’t planned on doing this today. Showing his kids had felt right, natural. Showing Fit had required a few deep breaths, but not much else. Étoiles… is a trickier case.

He does want to show him — the french warrior is one of his most trusted friends, and someone he knows he can rely on in a pinch. The guy is loyal to a fault, always looking at Phil like all it would take for him to lay down his life before him was a single word. It’s a bit scary, in a way, and always makes his hindbrain buzz pleasantly. But Phil held things like mutual trust in high regard, and Étoiles had broken that on the first day of Purgatory.

They had talked since then, and it’s clear to Phil now that it had been an honest mistake, a temporary lapse in judgement. Plus, it’s not as if Phil hadn’t lost his own mind within the first twenty-four hours in that red hellscape. Still, even though he has forgiven Étoiles, the cracks don’t feel completely healed just yet. “I don’t know, mate,” he pulls at one of the straps of his backpack self-consciously, feeling its weight pressing his wings tightly against his back. “I can’t get you under four hearts, I doubt taking it off will give me that much more.”

“Phil. Phiiiiil. Trust me?”

Tall order, Phil almost jokes, but refrains. “I do trust you.”

“Then trust what I’m saying. I know my shit, you’re being slowed down, you can’t spin as fast or jump as high with this thing, it’s basic physics. I want you to have all the chance on your side.”

Philza purses his lips, glances to where Tallulah sits off to the side. She jumps to her little feet and places down a sign, while Pomme rummages through her backpack next to her. He can’t help but coo when the bright ‘<3’ shows up in stark white against the magenta wood. “Right. Okay.”

Étoiles can’t see, not normally. So maybe he won’t be able to make them out, bound tightly against his back as they are. And if he does, then that is fine. No need to make a fuss of it. So Philza walks up to Tallulah and drops the black pack next to her, giving her a little headpat in passing. “Watch over that for me, okay?” he smiles at her, and she peeps at him with purpose, jumping on top of it and doing the egg equivalent of puffing up her chest. Pomme is in her own red backpack now, little legs kicking the air as she reaches as deep as she can. silly, egg, baby, egg, he croons. “I’ll be right back. Got a green ass to kick.”

 

“He is back,” Étoiles whoops when he steps onto the tatami. “Oh, he is ready, so ready. Are you full hearts?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We go on three, one, two, th—”

Phil takes off at the first syllable, and oh, yeah, the lack of weight on his back means he can lean forward more without gravity winning, and that means he reaches Étoiles right as he reaches the end of his three. He thrusts his stick forward, the blunt tip digging itself right into the other’s abdomen with enough force to make him stumble back, winded and sputtering. “Argh—”

Phil doesn’t let him recover, getting a few good hits in before his opponent parries and attempts an upward swing that he barely evades by sending his body backwards, dangerously far. The weapon grazes his chin, and his wings try to open to regain balance but they’re still bound against him. “Shit—” he steps back quickly, arms pinwheeling, and it looks a little silly but it works, and he does not crash onto his back like an idiot.

Étoiles stares at him from the other side, breathing hard, eyes wide, a palm against his diaphragm. Then he smiles. “Oh. Ohohooo. Okay, now we’re talking. Let’s go.”

Moving more freely doesn’t make the fight easier, not by a long shot, because Étoiles adapts quickly — but it does make it more fun, and that’s already an improvement in Phil’s eyes. He gets less crits in, because jumping up leaves him too exposed to revenge strikes, but he gets more light hits in between sidesteps and mad dashes. “He is so fast!” Étoiles cheers, ducking to dodge a vicious strike to the head. “Oh, he is so good, go Phil go!”

Run, dodge, strike, strafe, dash. Every muscle in Phil’s body strains to keep up as he pushes it past its limits, arm aching from the repeated shocks against the stick, but he barely feels it thanks to the adrenaline flooding his system. A hit to the back of his knee makes him stumble, but he recovers into a roll and trips Étoiles with his stick in retaliation. The cucumber groans, scrambles to get up, and Phil sees an opening right there on his foes’ unprotected throat. He zeroes in on it, takes the first step, raises his weapon and—

 

There’s a jagged shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He falters. Tries not to look at it, tries to keep his eyes on target, target that’s about to get back up, quick, quick, do it. 

 

There’s a purple shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He fails. Sharp angles and eerie glow, that shade he’s come to dread. The amethyst crystals hum out their ethereal song, taunting him. He doesn’t see Étoiles anymore, and his world is drowning in high-pitched static.

 

Purple. Purple everywhere. The room is too dark, too dark, darker yet darker.

Time slows down. No. The edges of his vision are fraying, dark tendrils creeping in. He feels himself falter, adrenaline making way for cortisol and making his hindbrain, no, fly, fly, run, nonono. He’s losing his footing, his grip around the stick growing slack, palms getting clammy. No, no, not now, please. His breathing picks up, faster than it’s been at any point of this duel. The amethysts glow an eerie violet, jagged shapes growing out of the thick, wooden beams around him, and he swears the room has gotten even darker. “Tallu—” He doesn’t make it to the end of the name, because then something smacks him in the back with unrestrained force.

Right on his left ulnare, the wingbone left exposed with no fat or muscle to cushion the blow.

Pain explodes throughout his left wing, the shock propagating all the way into his back and making him yell out, a gasp-screech that is very not human. Tallulah peeps loudly somewhere at the edge of his awareness, papa, no, bad! as he falls to his hands and knees, panic spiking, bad, bad, hurts, getoutgetout—

“Oh merde! Phil, ça va ?” He hears glass breaking, smells melon and gunpowder and something both earthy and spicy — Nether wart. Étoiles is healing him, putting a stop to their duel, and the realisation drags him out of that weird fugue state. “You never made that sound before, I think it’s bad. Are you okay?”

“Amethyst,” the older man growls between clenched teeth, letting the potion effects refill his health bar — fuck. Pain signals were always limited during PvP, but this had somehow broken through the server’s capping function. Étoiles makes a noise of incomprehension, his hands just hovering over Phil’s shoulder, not quite touching. “What?” he says, and Phil hears the patter of little feet rapidly coming closer. Pomme and Lullah.

“Please, just... Can you see the amethyst?”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course his friend can’t see it, because that shit isn’t real. Or at least not to anyone but him. Through the haze he can feel Tallulah’s warm shell bump against his arm, hear her little worried chitters. He doesn’t trust himself to tell her he’s fine.

But then, Étoiles raises an eyebrow and turns his head towards the wall, blinks. A frustrated noise. “Euuuh Pomme, je t’adore hein, mais ça va pas trop avec le reste en fait. Tu peux les retirer steuplait ?” Pomme crouches, one-two, then summons a pickaxe and walks towards the crystals, and proceeds to casually break all of them.

Oh. Her backpack, all her rummaging. She’d been trying to decorate the dojo while they were busy sparring. 

Philza lets out an uneven breath, runs a hand through his hair — his forehead is damp with cold sweat, and it sucks. Okay. Okay. Real, then. Just a really, really bad coincidence. Bad timing. Bad everything. He lets out a breath, the tight coil in his chest slowly loosening. “I’m sorry Pomme,” he gives the little egg a smile that he hopes to the Gods isn’t shaky. “Got distracted by the shiny, you know how it goes. Crow brain go brrrrr.”

Pomme falls dramatically on the floor at that, places a red sign that reads [sorry ;_;] “You’re good, you’re good, don’t worry.” Tallulah places a flower next to Pomme, bomp, [RIP manzanita]. Phil chuckles at their antics, heartbeat slowing down to a more normal pace. Jesus Christ. “You like shiny things, Phil?” Étoiles asks. “Did not know that.” He looks around, scans the dojo for any stray shine. “Mmmh. All good, I think. Sorry about Pomme, she likes amethyst stuff.” Then, quieter, “I think it reminds her of Baghera. She has an amethyst farm in her castle.”

Oh. Phil glances at Pomme, who thankfully seems fully absorbed in a sign-based conversation with Tallulah. “That makes sense. She must miss her a lot.”

(Dad, are you proud of me? I just killed a silverfish.)

“Can I see your wings, Phil?”

And, there it is. The other shoe. Phil lets out a heavy sigh, wincing when the movement makes his joint twinge in lingering pain — he’s pretty sure nothing’s actually broken or sprained, at least not any worse than before, but it still hurts. “So you saw them.”

“No no, I can’t. But I know they are there, somewhere. I’m sorry I hit them, I can’t tell where they are if you don’t have them out. Told you it was annoying.”

Ah. That makes more sense. He doubts Étoiles would voluntarily target them. Still… “How do you know about them? And, why?

“Philza, you need to understand something. And the thing is, I’m really dumb. I want to see them because maybe I can help, if I hurt them. I fix.”

“No you’re not, stop that. And you didn’t do any permanent damage, you’re fine.”

“No, wait. I’m stupid with lore, but I have eyes and ears. Jaiden showed she had wings, pretty sure Baghera has some but she hides them, I assumed you were the same.” Ah. Fair enough. Phil hasn’t been as subtle lately, and the crow jokes could only go for so long before people started to pick up on how literal they were. “Also, Kristin told me.”

Wait, what. “Wait, what?”

“Ye ye. First day of Purgatory, I died a lot.  She said she wanted to exchange fofoca, so I told her about things, and she told me about you because she likes me. Did you know, I asked her if I could get wings too? It made her laugh. I guess tech support is not a high enough position to get flying benefits, sad times for me.”

Mother fucker. It’s hard to be upset when everything that spews out of Étoiles’ chattermouth is so consistently funny. “Well. I would’ve told you sooner than later, anyway. S’fine.”

“So you let me help.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll let you take a look, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

“Let’s goooo, we got trust. Sit down please?”

Phil snorts and complies. He spots Tallulah running back towards him to climb onto his lap with a quiet warbe. good? Phil warbles back, good, yesyes, and rests his chin on top of his egg’s soft locks of hair. He hears Pomme hitting her dad behind him. “Ouais Pomme ?” Bomp, a short silence. “Badboy est là ? Ah ouaaais. Il veut encore t’exploiter pour ses boutons de l’enfer là ? POV, tu aides le fou du QSMP avec son escape game pour pas qu’il te tue.” More hits, Pomme’s little click-chirps. Étoiles laughs. “Okay, okay, t’inquiètes. Va l’aider, moi et Phil on va parler de trucs chiants de toute façon. Je te vois plus tard ?” The sound of a warpstone going off. “Saluuut.”

“Is Pomme leaving?”

“Yeah, she wants to build stuff with Badboy.”

“Oh god. Please tell me it’s not another find-the-button map.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna spend ten hours finding those fucking things again soon, let’s gooooo. So your wings, who else knows? I bet Fit knows. And your eggs.” Tallulah nods in Phil’s hold.

Étoiles’ lack of big reaction feels nice, but he supposes he should have expected it — the guy never makes a big deal out of anything. Except when it’s about banned materials. Or the Nether. And finding buttons, new trigger unlocked. “Add in pretty much everyone in the original Bolas, king,” he huffs as Étoiles settles behind him. His unseen presence makes a brief shiver of danger, danger go up Phil’s spine. It’s fine. It’s fine, he soothes himself, idly rubbing at the scar at the center of his chest through his robe. “I lost my shit with them around. Stopped caring as much. They saw them on day one.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Half the people on this shit island are like, creatures. Not humans. Nobody cares. I’m literally a fruit, Phil.”

Phil chokes on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how funny what you just said was.” Tallulah chirps and wiggles in his hold, places a sign. [*side-eyes u*] it says, and that’s somehow even funnier than if she had actual eyes to side-eye people with instead of the blank expanse of her brown-spotted shell.

Étoiles blinks. He cocks his head to the side, in that specific way he does whenever he’s listening to what he calls the ‘voices of the stars’. (Something akin to his crows, from what the older man has been able to gather.) “Oooh. Oh, is it a gay joke Phil? That doesn’t work man, we are on Gay Island, everyone is gay here, or they don’t date at all. And you are incorrect, because I am in the second group, héhé.”

“Didn’t Antoine call you his boyfriend once?”

“He calls me a lot of things.” Étoiles shrugs. ”He’s also an asshole and my DJ partner and my friend and I love him very much, but no, it’s not like that. And I am married to dark metal and dungeons anyway. Now I’m going to unbind your wings and move them around, okay?”

“Mh. Go for it, king.”

To his credit, Étoiles is methodic in his approach — unknotting the binds and carefully tracing the upper edges of his left wing while the other spreads out with difficulty, a few black feathers coming loose. Étoiles lets out a surprised oh, gently grabs the other to help it unfurl, and Phil feels him poking at the bottom of his regrowing primaries — right where the white ones, usually hidden beneath the outer layer unless he spreads them wide, grow in diamond-like spots. “I know this pattern, right there. You have Elytrian code too, Phil? I thought it was just crow.”

“Ah, so Kristin didn’t tell you everything then.”

“No. And she didn’t like, out you, you know. She only told me because she knew I knew, she only confirmed it. People with wings have like, a way they move? I can’t explain it, I just see it.”

“Body language expert Étoiles, ey? Have you known a lot of avians before?”

Étoiles stays quiet for a second. When he speaks again, he sounds perplexed. “Huh. I don’t know. I guess I knew Baghera? Memory stuff, it’s annoying.”

Phil frowns. Right. “You told me a little about your childhood, though. The village, the farmers?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing that came back quickly after the crash. But everything after that, I don’t remember.”

“Man, fuck this island. I’m sorry.”

Étoiles hums. His fingers start combing through his bottom feathers, lingering among the white ones. “I think. I think I went to the End before, Phil.” His voice has gone softer, airy, like he’s not quite anchored in the present. “I think… maybe, I’ve seen Elytrians before.”

“You have?”

“Mmh. I think I killed one. Yeah. And I took its elytra. It was a good fight.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him — Elytrian hunting is a common activity for those who reach the End, and elytras are a highly sought-after item in most worlds. (Philza would know.) “Were you a hunter? Before the island.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t like hunters.” And Phil can’t see Étoile’s face from his position on the floor, but his words are dripping with contempt. “Hunting for yourself is one thing. Making money off it, it feels wrong. And they don’t even fight, they make traps. I don’t like that. If you’re too shit at fighting to win fairly against something, you don’t deserve the loot. Bâtards de merde.”

And Phil laughs, because this he understands. “Ever the honorable warrior, aren’t you Étoiles.”

“Dude, I have so much honor. I told you, I’m literally Japanese.”

“Right.”

“And like I said, I am your arms. I am your sword, Philza Minecraft.”

Phil’s wings fluff up slightly, a croon of ownership-claim threatening to spill out of his chest. Mine. “Étoiles…”

“I am, it’s not a bad thing! Purgatory sucked. I didn’t like it. But it was better at the end, when you were telling me what to do. Who to kill for you.”

Phil croons, leaning back into Étoiles’ careful hands. “I see. You never called me dad though.”

“Fuck that!” Étoiles laughs, bark-like and airy. “That cult leader shit was weird. You’re Philza.” And there’s a quality to the way he says it, something that feels both casual and reverent. “First of his name, GOAT of PvP, Avoider of Lore, greatest man alive—”

“Woah there—”

“—husband and Angel of Lady Death, and father of dragon eggs. You’re not my dad. Why everyone has daddy issues on this shit island?”

Phil snorts. “I don’t know, mate. But I won’t judge. I think it’s fine if seeing me as a father figure brought them comfort. It was literally hell out there.”

Étoiles hums. “Maybe. Also, you didn’t answer my question.” Phil lets out a confused huh. “Earlier, when I asked why you were hiding that you had wings.”

…Shit. Curse Étoiles’ one-track mind, his deflection tactic had been foiled. “It’s not— shit like prejudice I was afraid of, Étoiles,” he admits, quiet and somber. The other man stops his ministrations, fingers dug deep in his primary coverts. “I know this island is a goddamn circus show. Mousey screams she’s a demon to whoever will listen and nobody gives two shits, I don’t know why Bad even bothers pretending he’s not. That’s not the problem. It’s just…” He sighs. ”The Federation has eyes everywhere, man. I feel like if I show them off too much, they’ll fuck them up again. Maybe even worse than last time.”

Étoiles is silent. His motions resume, slower, more careful and deliberate. “The first time, you say,” he eventually hums. There’s something dangerous in his voice. “So it’s because of them, that they are like this? Your wings.”

“Pretty much. Woke up on the train, boom, clipped. No more flying for me. I don’t know why they didn’t do the same to Jaiden, she said she didn’t want to fly, or didn’t know how? I can’t remember too well, but maybe that’s why. Less of a threat. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t do it to her. She’s family now.” Even though her loyalties are a point of concern, he couldn’t help it. She is Bolas, she is flock. And he had held her as she screamed out the temporary loss of her shiny blue wings, that first night in Purgatory. “No avian deserves that shit.”

“You don’t either, Phil.”

“I know that.”

“I’m just saying it because you have the voice! The one you use when you think bad things.”

A wry smile. “How dare you call yourself dumb, man. How fucking dare you.”

“It’s what I do! I kill things, I see people’s true souls, and I shit on myself.”

They stay quiet after that. Étoiles stretches out his wings, flexing the joints one at a time, muttering quick apologies when Phil hisses a little too loud. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re good. Keep going.” So he does, until Phil no longer feels the pins and needles of blood flooding back into his wings, until the joints no longer feel like rusted cogs. He even gets a little preening in, dislodging matted down and crooked secondaries, and it feels nice. Tallulah is dozing off in his hold, warm and safe. His egg, his baby, his hatchling. “Thanks mate,” Phil hums, a little out of it by the end, hindbrain thrumming pleasantly. Flock, good, yesyes. “You’ve done that before, I can tell.”

“If I have, I don’t remember. Okay, now stand— sorry Tallulah, were you sleeping? Sorry, your dad has to stand so we can see. Yes, nice. Now try them.”

Phil chitters quietly, furling and unfurling his wings experimentally — the constant pain is still there, but minimal, very bearable, and they do feel less stuffy. Lighter. “It actually does, yeah.” Tallulah does a little dance at his side, twirling and playing a few cheery notes on her flute. “Good job, seriously.”

“No probleeeem, Phil, my bro. Last round?”

This guy, I swear. “I’m a little tired,” Phil groans, cracking his neck as he stands, stretches his wings out as far as he can — it still aches, but feels miles better. “But okay. I’m going to put Tallulah to bed real quick, she’s eepy.” Tallulah nods in confirmation, takes out her warpstone right as her papa does. “Then let’s fight, one more time. After that I’m going home and conking the fuck out.”

Étoiles makes a sound that probably means something like ‘holy shit say less king’. “Okay!”

Five minutes later, and he’s warping back to Étoiles’ cave like a man on a mission. And in a way, he is. “Welcome back, worthy challenger,” the cucumber greets him, crossed-legged in the middle of the dojo, and Phil snorts because the music box is blasting Smash Bros music now. “You’re such a fucking nerd, oh my God.”

“It gives me strength, Phil. It’s my final form.” Étoiles gets up, stick already in hand, bouncing on his heels with anticipation. “Autofeed still off?”

“Yup. How’s your sugar?” Étoiles checks his monitor quickly, gives a thumbs up. “Good. No holding back?”

“I never hold back, Phil. Let’s go.”

There is no countdown this time — both opponents slip into quiet assessment, circling each other slowly, slowly. Étoiles does a strange head-tilt, ears flicking to track Phil’s footsteps, the sounds of feathers ruffling. Phil’s eyes do not stray from him, hardened and focused, picking up on the change in the air. Étoiles wants him to go all out. So he will. And he has a plan.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

Time to put that to the test, then.

Étoiles charges first this time, quick-footed, swerving at random moments to keep himself a hard-to-track target. Phil almost bursts into incredulous laughter because holy shit, he’s Naruto-running, what the fuck— but manages to keep his focus, waiting until the very last moment to thrust his wings downward with enough force to send him soaring abovehis opponent. Then, right as his feet touch the tatami and right as Étoiles screeches to a stop to spin back towards him

he spreads his wings

wide, wider

casting huge shadows on the four walls of the dojo

and lets his powers roll off of him like a dark mist, sparking with magic and wither-decay.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

It’s a gamble, a costly one that saps his Feds-capped magic like crazy — but it pays off, because Étoiles staggers back, confusion etched across his features. His head subtly snaps in all directions, like he doesn’t know where to look, his ears swivelling to try and pinpoint him. Bingo. Phil has made his nebula-self big, toobig for Étoiles, rendering the warrior effectively blind. Well, double-blind.

Phil doesn’t wait for the other to find a counter to this, curls his wings forward then snaps them back — they launch him forward at breakneck speed and create a gust of wind that makes the paper lanterns swing on their hooks, and then Phil is slamming into Étoiles like a literal hurricane.

The plant hybrid gasps, fingers slackening from the sheer strength of the impact — his weapon slips out of his grasp to clatter against the ground and roll out of bounds. His body describes a perfect curve and hits the wooden floor with a loud thud. He barely has the time to blink the dizziness away before something presses against the side of his neck, and he freezes completely. “Gotcha,” Phil preens, looming above him. The end of his stick is right against Étoiles’ pulse point, the threat crystal clear, and he’s a writhing mass of burning stars and cosmic fury.

The energy rolling off of him washes over Étoiles in waves, makes his skin tingle, and he recognizes it as withering. Withering coming from Philza himself, whose outlines are impossible to pinpoint, lost in the cloud of magic and giant Angel wings.

...Okay, this is sick as hell, Étoiles thinks, and he can feel somethingwithin him grow, a presence rejoicing in the back of his mind. Ink bleeds into his eyes, then under it, twin lines of darkness going down his cheeks and neck. (Flashes of a white spiral on a dark expanse, of whispers and stolen Time.) He feels cold, but he feels good about it, and he’s not scared at all — this is fine, more than fine. Withering is harmless for Death-touched things. Things like him and Phil. He laughs, loud and ecstatic, this is fun, so fun! “Aaah. Clever bird, clever Phil, I like. Okay.”

Then something wraps around Phil’s ankle and pulls it forward, breaking his balance and making him hit the ground ass-first with a startled caw. He grits his teeth, shoots a glare towards his leg to see—

—blinks at the sight of a green vine wrapped around his ankle. His eyes trace along its length. He’s seen this before, but only once, months ago. Right after harvesting a freshly-regrown Étoiles out of the ground, a week after his Code-related demise. “Oh,” Philza says, and Étoiles smirks in return.

His tail is long, as long as he is tall, and covered in large, healthy green leaves. It swishes against the tatami in a serpentine motion, the leaves rustling quietly, and Phil notices a half-star-shaped kink at the end of it. It’s... well, it’s pretty adorable actually, but something tells him Étoiles wouldn’t like that descriptor. “You kept it,” he says instead, fight-darkened eyes sparkling with something like kinship-euphoria. “You grew it out.”

“I did, I listened to you. I keep it wrapped around my waist, it works.”

“Told you it could come in handy.”

“You did. You’re always right about things, Philza.” Étoiles steps into a fighting stance, hands curled into fists, tail lashing left and right like a whip. Phil understands, lets out a quiet chuckle as he sends his own weapon flying out of the arena. So they’re doing it this way, huh. More than fine with him. “Nothing’s off the table then,” he hums, hands curling like claws at his sides, sharpening talons glinting ominously in the light of paper lanterns. His friend hums approvingly, and it’s all Phil needs to pounce.

They no longer try to evade, instead crashing into each other to cause as much damage as quickly as possible. Étoiles throws a jab, Phil retaliates with a smack of his wing to destabilise the other before slashing at his chest, tearing at his shirt and drawing the first blood. Because yes, Étoiles bleeds, deep cuts marring his dark green skin, chlorophyll sticking to Phil’s hands. Étoiles hisses, gets behind him and wraps his tail around Phil’s throat to choke him. Phil gasps, coughs, briefly flails before smacking the other with his wings until the tail goes slack. Phil rips it off him and whirls around to pull at it sharply — Étoiles falls, but not before grabbing onto Phil’s robes to pull him down with him.

Things get messy after that — a flurry of feathers and leaves and punches and kicks, one that clocks Phil in the jaw and makes him taste blood, one at the side of his head that makes him see stars. He hisses, screeches, swipes, again and again, and Étoiles blocks some of them with his arms, arms that gain more and more tiger-stripe cuts, but many go through and eat at his health, heart after heart. The warrior retaliates with a headbutt that makes the Angel’s world darken for a second, burning blood getting into his eyes and half-blinding him. Maybe it’s more fair this way, not that it slows him down at all.

They punch, claw, snap their teeth at each other like rabid dogs — chipping at each other’s health with no care, no limits. Dark red and greenish white smear against the straw tatami, but that’s fine, that’s okay, they are playing, they are having fun, and Philza feels alive, alive, alive!

(The whole time, Étoiles never touches his wings. Which goes against the whole ‘nothing off the table’ thing, yet Philza is grateful for it. He’s also grateful none of the eggs are here to see this.)

Philza has no idea how long this lasts, lost in the thrill of a fight the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in decades. But eventually the doom of someone getting downed makes every muscle in his body lock up, and he’s still standing. Or, kneeling over Étoiles with his talons right above his jugular, the other hand pinning the warrior’s hands above his head to keep him from hitting back. Semantics.

Étoiles has gone limp, heaving, his body a canvas of bruises and bloody cuts. “I win,” Phil realizes, wings quivering, all fluffed up in a show of victory. “I… won.”

“Well played, well played,” his warrior wheezes out in response, and Phil’s never seen anyone so happy about getting their shit kicked. Except maybe one person. But he won, Phil won, Étoiles is down and he himself still has… yes, two hearts to spare. He has won. They can stop. Right here. Right now.

But then. Étoiles, stupid and crazy and wonderful Étoiles, tilts his head back to offer him his throat, his binary-scarred face twisted in a feral grin. Philza gasps and leans back a little, eyes wide “Take your win, my bro,” he chirps, happy as can be, tail thumping against the tatami like an overpet cat. Tap, tap, tap, the countdown to his demise if Phil doesn’t up him soon. “Do it. You won’t. No balls, no bolas.”

And those words are the last push Phil needs for his Elytrian code to take over. He bares his teeth, eyes darkening to a pitch black that eats up his entire sclera, until the white of Étoiles’ teeth gets reflected back at him — not that he can see it. 

Phil’s wings spread out behind him, huge and dark and awe-inspiring even in their frayed state, and the withering aura that exudes from them paints Étoiles’ eternal night in bursts of star-speckled purples and reds and blues.

It’s beautiful. And it’s terrifying. Étoiles is about to get killed by an Angel of Death, and he’s never been so goddamn scared and excited in his life.

 

Phil feels insane. He’s going feral, going sicko mode, or whatever other colloquialism that means his mind is drowning in the thrill of hunt, hunt, prey, yesyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Étoiles scared before, but there’s no mistaking those too-wide eyes, that subtle tremor in his friend’s wrists as Phil’s hand tightens around them. He can smell it too, like cut grass left to decay in the hot sun, and it’s making the End’s superpredator in him go zoomies inside his skull.

He growls, low and bone-deep and dangerous, his talons pushing harder against the paling, sweat-damp skin of Étoiles’ neck. prey? flock. prey. prey? kill, eat, yesyes. Étoiles isn’t human, but he has something close to a heart, and he bleeds like one — greenish white chlorophyll that smells strong and tastes awful, bitter.

(Phil knows that, because Purgatory happened. More specifically, Bolas happened, gas masks and ritual sacrifices and fresh blood always lingering at the corner of their mouths. He misses his flock — misses all the ones that are still gone, carving cookie-cutter negative shapes in his heart — everything else about that hellscape, not so much anymore. Maybe he’s healing, just a little.)

 

His talons are just a hair away from perforating Étoiles’ jugular, so close to making not-quite-blood pour out like a fountain. But then he freezes, going silent, because the part of him that is still sane recognizes that this is a terrible idea.

It’s a terrible idea because Étoiles is bad at knowing when to stop, bad at spotting the line between what challenges him and what hurts him. And Philza understands that this, this is a bad. The cucumber hybrid is a creature of instants — fugue moments, rash decisions, the kind you would look back on later and go oh, yeah, that was dumb and maybe not worth it. Hence Philza has to be the responsible one, has to ignore his base instincts screeching at him to hunt, kill, kill, lest this ends badly. Like Étoiles getting mauled to death by what is supposed to be his most trusted friend. Again. (They don’t talk about that time. Just like they don’t talk about Étoiles’ betrayal, neither want to reminisce over Phil’s teeth tearing his throat out in the middle of a Hunger disaster. Not-so-fun fact: Étoiles doesn’t taste like cucumber at all.)

“Enabler,” the avian warbles, talons slowly lifting off the hollow of Étoiles’ throat. “M’not killing you.” And Étoiles, like the little shit that he is, has the gallto pout at him. “Why not?”

“Because then I’ll have to regrow your ass in my potato field for a week, you twat.” Also I think it’s not good for you, and my sanity is at an all-time low so I don’t need cold-blooded murder to push me over the edge, he adds in petto.

Étoiles blinks. Huffs out a laugh, something a little unhinged, but also a little relieved. “Ah, yeah! I forgot, because I respawned normally in Purgatory. Okay, you win.” The warrior’s smile softens to something more like him,  and just like that, the tension vanishes, the buzz of fear and aggression replaced by something light and playful. Étoiles baps his hands against his chest, grabbing at his robe to tug him down into a hug.

And Philza’s hindbrain floods the rest of him with happy, happy, yesyes, because Étoiles isn’t really a touchy-feely person and neither is Phil, but this feels right. “GGs,” the crow says back, warbling and chirping like crazy, the black in his eyes receding. yesyes, mine, mine, yesyes, yesyes! And to his surprise, Étoiles responds, not with a crude imitation of his own bird sounds, but with something… different. And Phil’s not sure any word in his vocab could ever describe it accurately — but something deep within him knows that if starlight was a sound, this would certainly be it. “Oh, oh, he is so good. The GOAT, the actual GOAT, best man on the planet Philza Minecraft,” Étoiles mock-sobs against him. “He wakes up in the morning casually being the best, and he takes care of two eggs and says fuck to the president’s office from the wall, and he finally beats me. My legend, Felipe, Felipe!”

Phil shakes from the force of his hilarity — a regular occurrence whenever he hangs around his favourite pickle man for long enough. silly, he warbles between fits of belly-aching, hiccup-inducing laughter, and he leans down to nuzzle against his friend’s mess of dark green hair (leaves?). silly. silly. flock. “I do see Forever wave at me from his office sometimes,” he hums, once he’s calmed down enough to speak again. “He makes kissy faces at me through the glass, so I flip him off.”

Étoiles hums in acceptance, finally pushes Phil back to shimmy out from under him with a small héhé to lay on his back, starfish-style. Phil rolls onto his own back, and they both stare at the interlacing wooden beams of the dojo roof for a little while, basking in the fuzz of a fading adrenaline rush.

(Phil hasn’t seen his favourite Brazilian as much lately. Silly, sun, friend-protector. He probably has his hands full, what with returning to his political duties after so long. Still, Philza worries — he thinks of black tar clinging to sun-kissed skin and tired sienna eyes, above a smile that just doesn’t shine as bright as it used to.) “I kinda like it, though. It’s like our good morning. Never tell him I said that.”

“I wooooon’t, I promise.”

“Thank you. For the fights.” Philza closes his eyes. He is here, he is real, everything about this moment is so real. It’s comforting, a balm on his fraying psyche. “It was fun.”

“It was so fun. Please fight with me again like this sometime, no sticks, yes? You have to come back so I give you your black belt anyway.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“I can hear you smiling, Phil. You want to, I knowww.”

“M’not smiling at all, dumbass.”

Étoiles does that high-pitched hum of his that means he’s not buying it, reaches towards his friend — his leader, his wielder, his death-touched Angel. Cool fingers, untouched by code, playfully trace over each of Philza’s features, feeling out the dimples and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes — pun very much intended. “You’re so bad at lying, Philza,” he sing-songs, playful and content. “I know you too well. Maybe I can’t see you, but I can see you.”

And goddammit, Philza actually does feel seen in this moment, anxieties melting away for now. How does he do it. How does this reckless, thrill-seeking cucumber man with a limited (albeit pretty good, and improving) grasp on English so consistently drop the most gut-punching lines in this entire server. Étoiles is something else. “...Yeah. I see you too, mate,” Phil breathes out, and the rough texture of the tatami is starting to dig criss-cross patterns into his back, but he wants to stay like this. Just a little longer.

 

(Philza is damaged goods. But so is Étoiles, and so is everyone he knows. But maybe they can both pretend, for a little while.)

[carefulfears]

And my girl Scully figured out that Diana and Phoebe were abusive to him and that’s why she was ready to disintegrate them with whenever they breathed Mulder’s air iktr. (Also to me that’s part of the reason Mulder was oblivious and defended them, people who are in abusive relationships are not always aware of it)

YUPP you’re literally dead right, anon, in my opinion. it really bugs me when people talk shit about mulder for “trusting” both phoebe and diana, as though that’s not like…the only thing he’s been taught to do.

i’ve been thinking a lot about the difference between scully’s reactions to phoebe vs. diana. when phoebe showed up, scully had only known mulder for a few weeks. and still she knew almost instantly that something wasn’t right.

i didn’t notice until i rewatched fire the way that she never leaves him alone with her. if mulder and phoebe are working on something, you can see scully. against the wall, peeking around the door, pacing in the hallway. he tells her that she’s “off the hook,” that he’s not going to “put her through this” with “phoebe’s little mind games,” and she takes it upon herself to investigate phoebe’s case herself, until she solves it and phoebe can go the fuck home.

girlbosses catch serial murderers singlehandedly to get their best friend’s shitty ex away from them.

when phoebe was around, scully is passive aggressive as hell. constantly hanging around and making little quips and mocking her accent.

when diana shows up? five years later? she’s just aggressive.

she said nah, we aren’t doing this again 😭😭

(one of my favorite scully moments is when she snaps “and not just because i think that woman is a….well, you know what i think that woman is” and mulder is just like “no you hide your feelings sooo well” lmfao)

i really do think meeting phoebe so early in their partnership informs a lot about the way scully reacts to his exposure and relationship to other people throughout the series. she really doesn’t trust a soul around him.

i always think of this line from madness by kittenscully (a post-syzygy fic, addressing the detective white incident):

“A surge of righteous indignation at the notion makes her sit up straighter, and she bites her tongue to avoid a very unpleasant comment from slipping out. As always, she thinks of Phoebe, of his wide, trusting eyes.”

diana was scary levels of manipulative and violating. but diana loved mulder, scully knew that and used that to plead with her in the end.

phoebe didn’t care about anything but playing with fire. she got off on scaring him, crossed state lines just to fuck with his head and hurt him, just like in their relationship a decade earlier. mulder knew this, he knew from the start what she was doing and what she wanted, and he helped her anyway. he praised her anyway. he connected with her and invested in her anyway.

y’all know i’m always thinking about the script note about phoebe’s coldness “eliciting some old need in him to have her affection.”

by the time diana came back around, scully had sat on the floor of a hotel and watched phoebe smile and shake hands with bureaucrats while mulder couldn’t breathe.

scully had stood in the next room when his questions to his mother got him little more than a slap to the face.

it’s different with diana because there’s a lot more history and connection there, and because at that point there is heartbreak and jealousy on scully’s side (when phoebe was in town, she hung around in doorways. when diana reaches for mulder’s hand, she turns around and holds back tears in the car.)

it’s a difficult position for both of them. he doesn’t know how to do anything but appease and trust and be loyal, to help whoever asks. he doesn’t care if it hurts him, he’s been groomed his whole life for that, to feel like he deserves it.

it makes scully crazy. he’s her best friend. she can’t believe anyone would look at that kind of softhearted hope and want to exploit it or crush it, rather than look up to it, follow it, nurture it.

and it hurts!! it hurts to watch him fall back into these traps, and especially with diana, it hurts to feel that your input and relationship doesn’t matter enough to have influence. to not be listened to, to feel like you’re not being chosen.

she doesn’t know that he went to search diana’s apartment after she told him not to trust her. she just heard, “i know her. you don’t. scully, you’re reaching.” and watched him leave.

it’s just this perfect crossroads of each of their most vulnerable spots. scully wants to protect him, always, and she also wants to be chosen.

mulder has to stand by his allegiances, to seek ‘affection’ in cruelty, to play his role in the larger scheme. this is what CSM knew when he recruited diana into the conspiracy, and he knows because he “created” it.

you can’t judge either of them, they’re both following their natures, and furthering the narrative they were chosen for.

(until scully stands in front of diana and begs, “i just want you to think…stand there in front of me, look me in the eye”…and breaks the whole thing down.)

[inchling-prince]

So y’all remember how I said I had thoughts about Krux having a cat? I may have actually FINALLY written that. It’s about 1400 words long so I put most of it under a cut. So, presenting this under the working title of Operation: Give Krux a Kitty

There was that sound again. Every evening that week near his front door Krux could hear it. Barely more than a squeak. He assumed it was some kind of animal. It wasn’t uncommon for him to run across one, he didn’t live in Ninjago City proper, just the outskirts, but he wasn’t sure what kind would be making that particular sound. He was only vaguely curious, he wasn’t about to take time out to go looking for it, but he found his answer anyway when a kitten came tumbling out of a nearby bush, chased by an angry mocking bird.

It was extremely small, and extremely filthy, and much to Krux’s displeasure, making a bee line for him and forcing him to duck the mocking bird as the kitten tried to weave between his feet.

“Oh for… look out you furry little menace,” he snapped, barely avoiding stepping it while trying to wave the bird away without much success. In fact the only thing he managed to do was to convince it to dive bomb him for a while instead of the cat. It must have a nest nearby to be so aggressive. He gave up any semblance of dignity and ran the last short distance between himself and the door, slamming it behind him once inside.

The next morning as he left he spotted the kitten again, out in the open. It looked to be eating a large locust. Krux huffed a laugh at the sight. Some mighty hunter it was, chased around by a bird and reduced to eating bugs. He briefly considered going back inside for something to feed it, he thought he had some canned tuna, but suppressed the impulse. If he fed the damn thing, it would never leave. It hissed at him as he walked past, much to his amusement. “I won’t take your bug, you’re safe from me cat.”

He didn’t see the cat again that afternoon, but the next morning just as he stepped outside a tiny paw snuck out from beneath a broad leafed plant and slapped at his foot making him jump. Not that he would admit to anyone that he’d been frightened by an animal.

“Now see here cat, this won’t do,” he said leaning to move the leaves aside, revealing the kitten. “You get me attacked by birds, you leave grasshopper legs on my sidewalk, and now you attack my innocent foot on its way out of the house.” Krux fought to keep from cracking a smile as the kitten fluffed itself up as large as it could go. He hadn’t actually meant to scare it, it was just feisty. Looked like it was a long haired cat, just based on how huge its tail puffed up. He thought it might actually be white under all the grime. It hissed and spat at him as he reached for it, which he ignored until it took another swipe at him, this time drawing blood on his hand.

“Ouch. Like to fight do you?” he asked it, grabbing hold of it by the scruff and pulling it up and out of its hiding spot. It was clearly furious, twisting and turning in his grasp, trying exceedingly hard to bite him. He couldn’t help but smile at it as he tucked it into his elbow where it couldn’t claw him again, although it sank its little teeth into his sleeve.

“You certainly are a little menace,” he told it, petting its head with one finger. “You kind of remind me of someone. He loved to fight too.”

Krux gingerly sat down on his front step, still holding the kitten in his arms. It had given up biting him and was instead maintaining a low growl. “I might have referred to him as a menace once or twice too. I miss him every day,” he said softly, rubbing behind the kitten’s ears. He was rewarded with a break in the growling. “Aha, found the good spot, did I?” he asked, before heaving a sigh. “As nice as it’s been, cat, aside from the bleeding, I have to go to work.”

He slowly loosened his grip on the kitten and it was off like a shot into the bushes again. “Well, some gratitude for the ear scratches that was, kitty.” Krux pushed himself up off the step and decided that maybe he would stop and buy some cat food on the way home. Maybe.

The kitten was nowhere to be found that evening, or the next morning. Even the familiar squeaking sound was missing. When it failed to appear the following evening, Krux assumed it had moved on and told himself that he wasn’t disappointed. He tucked the cat food into the very back of the cabinet just in case.

It was another two days before it reappeared with a brand new bloody notch in its ear looking filthier than ever. “Oh, there you are!” Krux said as he stepped out. The cat made a token effort to pounce at his foot before Krux snatched it up to examine its ear. It was mostly scabbed over but looked like it had broken open again at least once. “Tch. You’re too young for cat fights already no matter how feisty you are, what got you?”

The kitten growled as Krux touched the injured ear and swatted ineffectively at his hand, seemingly resigned to being manhandled. He figured it was a good sign that it was still ready to smack him. The injury didn’t really look too bad all things considered. He thought that it felt skinnier than a few days ago though.

“You’re in rough shape, little one.” Krux looked around once to check if anyone could see him. Taking in a stray kitten might look good in the Dr. Saunders persona, but he was still somewhat embarrassed about it. Satisfied that his few neighbors were minding their own business, he brought the kitten inside.

“I think we’re going straight to the sink. You won’t like it much, but you can’t be in my home as filthy as you are.”

True to his word, the kitten did not like it much, during its bath it managed to tear a good three or four scratches into Krux’s forearms, and he was as soggy as the cat by the end of its bath, but it was at least done. And Krux had been correct, under the filth, there was a snowy white kitten.

“There. Don’t you feel better now that you’re clean?” he asked it. It mewled pathetically as though it could understand and Krux laughed. “Alright, let’s get you fed. Don’t tell anyone.”

Over the next week or so, the cat made itself at home with only a few minor hiccups. Krux had to lock it in the bathroom while he hurried to buy a litter box, and more than once he tripped when it had run between his feet. A set of curtains was clawed up before he figured out that it needed a scratching post, and his hands took a beating before he figured out that the cat needed some kind of enrichment and he sheepishly went out to buy a few cat toys. A trip to the vet revealed that the kitten was male and only about 7 weeks old, and he had been extremely lucky that Krux took him in. But it wasn’t long before it started coming to him at night to curl up on his chest and sleep. Krux assumed it needed the warmth because it was still so small. He complained about it just for show, but was perfectly content to pet it during the night.

The week turned to a month and the month turned to six months and the kitten grew into a beautiful cat with the fluffiest tail Krux had ever seen. Which if you asked him, the cat used entirely for evil, having made a habit of tickling Krux’s face while he was trying to work. And he STILL liked to attack Krux’s feet in the middle of the night. He never did learn to meow that loudly, mostly sticking to squeaks and slaps to communicate, but he was a good listener most of the time. Krux’s closest and only confidant with his brother still trapped in a temporal vortex. And Krux definitely would take the secret to his grave, but he was a little bit less lonely.

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (151-152)

In which the blanket bet is born.

If you'd like to read along, the series page is here.

151. Dignity

Surely Jared will comport himself with dignity in this part, as implied by the title, right?

“I’ll bring you in later this week,” Jared says. “You can say hi to everyone, cheer on the boys.”

“I’m not a mascot,” Bryce mutters, but he looks a little cheered up nonetheless.

No dignity from Bryce either!

Jared swears, the first thing out of everyone’s mouth after they greet him is ‘how’s Bullet?’.

That or it’s ‘is Bullet doing okay?’, or ‘Bullet coming in at all this week?’, and even one hopeful ‘where’s Bullet at?’, like Gavin expected Bryce to somehow be ready for training camp against all odds and surgery timelines. Jared would mock him, but it’d feel a little hypocritical, considering.

Jared’s too touched to mock.

He has to bite down the smile that keeps trying to take over his face. He doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression and assume he’s someone who enjoys training camp. Or worse: that he’s someone who routinely smiles.

“I missed you Mathematics,” Dmitry coos, wrapping both arms around him from behind, and a scowl effortlessly takes over.

Dima always there to help his lineys achieve their goals.

“You saw me five days ago,” Jared says. He got crawled all over by hyper children shrieking at him in a mix of English and Russian and what Oksana assured him was a fake language they made up, which sounded uncannily how Jared assumes pterodactyls would sound if they weren’t extinct.

Jared would simply refer to it as screeching, but Oksana has started to get an ear for it. eeE-e means 'we're plotting, so mama better get here quick or trouble is coming'.

Dmitry’s children are — well, what you’d expect Dmitry’s children to be like. Bryce, of course, adores them. Jared’s still exhausted from the experience almost a week later. He dearly hopes that’s a ‘Kurmazov kids’ thing and not an ‘all kids’ thing.

Good luck with that one, babe.

Dmitry smacks a noisy kiss to his temple and lets go, leaving Jared ruffled and irritated. The typical Dmitry Kurmazov experience.

“He does it because it bugs you,” Gabe says mildly from his spot as bystander who didn’t help Jared at all. Traitor.

Why would he interrupt free entertainment?

“He’s making faces at me right now, isn’t he,” Jared says.

“He is,” Gabe says.

“You’re in your thirties!” Jared says without turning around.

“Fun has no age!” Dmitry calls back, and, Jared assumes, continues to make faces at him, judging by the little smile curling on Gabe’s face.

Dmitry has no dignity either, but that’s entirely on purpose. Dignity is boring.

Jared notices Bryce seems significantly less sulky about missing training camp over breakfast with Jared early the next morning. Jared might even describe him as smug.

“I’m not smug,” Bryce protests. “This is just my face.”

How dare Bryce not look like death warmed over.

“Is it?” Jared asks, and Bryce gets up to stare at the toaster. Jared wonders if he’s taking a minute to remind himself he loves Jared, and that training camp too shall pass or something.

“Just my face,” Bryce says with a nod.

Or examining his reflection in the toaster to make sure his face wasn’t smug.

I love you so much, Bryce Marcus.

“I forgot that you’re kind of a bitch during training camp,” Bryce says affectionately.

Jared is mentally debating whether ‘no, you’ is too immature when Bryce presses a kiss to his temple and announces he’s going to take a shower. You can’t call someone who just gently kissed your head a bitch. Well, you can, but not with any credibility.

Only credible accusations of bitchiness are acceptable. Jared has minimum standards for his 'no you'.

“You sound almost as glum as Erin,” his mom says. “Which I didn’t think was possible.”

Jared’s too tired to tell her that he’s not sad, just annoyed and absolutely wiped. Also —

“Mom,” Jared says. “I told you.”

“I’m not going to stop mentioning my other child to you until you decide you’re no longer mad at her,” his mom says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

‘No Erin mentions allowed’ has been vetoed by Susan on the basis 'Jared, seriously?'

“It’s not ridiculous,” Jared mutters. “Why’s Erin glum?”

“I thought we weren’t talking about her,” mom asks.

“We aren’t,” Jared says.

“Okay,” his mom says.

“But why’s Erin glum?” Jared says.

Also vetoed by Jared on the basis of him wanting to hear gossip.

Jared texts her as much after he gets off the phone with his mom.

I hope you’re enjoying training camp just as much as you always do!!! Erin replies.

Speaking of bitches…

“Look,” Jared says over dinner, giving Bryce his phone. “Look what I have to deal with.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so sad if you hadn’t stolen my linemate. Just a thought,” Bryce reads.

“No, read her reply,” Jared says.

Bryce looks at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jared says.

First he’s smug, now he’s disappointed. Jared thinks this is unfair.

sry I’m extra mean lately because I hate training camp

Bryce sent that, not me.

I’m not even a little sorry.

It’s so cute how your husband’s your conscience. Erin replies.

It’s so cute how between you and Julius no one has a conscience.

Hobgoblin slap fight.

Despite the fact that Bryce is a phone stealer who sleeps in, and apologised on Jared’s behalf when he wasn’t even sorry, and continues to give Jared these looks like ‘you can be better’, though even if Jared can do better, he doesn’t want to, Jared lets Bryce tag along with him after the first round of cuts.

Admirable of you considering Bryce’s truly hideous behaviour.

Because he promised. And also he told some of the guys he might come by when they asked after him, and now they keep asking Jared about it, which is supremely annoying, and he needs it to stop.

People keep talking to Jared and that’s unacceptable.

“Gentle!” Jared says. “Jesus, Hammer, are you trying to force him into early retirement?”

“Just happy to see this beautiful face,” Hammer cooes, then squishes said beautiful face between his hands.

If anyone on this team tried to do that to Jared, Bryce included, they’d be liable to lose those hands, but Bryce just looks pleased. Also squished. It’s profoundly undignified. Even Bryce isn’t hot enough to pull off a fish face.

Jared turns to his locker so no one will catch him smiling. It really wouldn’t do to give new Canucks the impression he’s someone who smiles.

People are pleased to see Bryce! They missed him!!

“You’re not going to say hi to me?” Bryce asks, and Jared catches a sliver of a smile, Bryce pleased with himself.

“I am not,” Jared says. Even if Bryce sort of flirting with him in public is something that would have been unfathomable a year ago, and is still a little shocking now, Jared sat in the same car on the way in, ate breakfast at the same table, and woke up in the same bed as Bryce. He will not be humouring him by saying hello. That is ridiculous.

But look how cute he is, Jared. You know you want to flirt with him.

“Everyone needs to stop telling me when I’m smiling!” Jared says. “I know when I’m smiling, I don’t need to be informed!”

Such dignity on display.

Gabe holds both hands up, a smile on his own face, and Jared resigns himself to Stephen giving him copious shit about this the next time Jared sees him.

“Your boyfriend is intolerable,” Jared says. “And you aid and abet him.”

It’s a damn good thing Gabe is a patient man, considering his linemates. And his Stephen.

“Is he usually like this?” Jared hears someone ask. He doesn’t recognise the voice, which makes sense, because anyone whose voice he would recognise would presumably know what he’s usually like.

“Only when he’s in a good mood,” Bryce says, and he sounds so cheerful Jared almost doesn’t have the heart to argue that he is not, actually, in a good mood, he is in a bad mood, because everyone around him is terrible.

What’s your face doing right now, Jared? Is it beaming at your locker again?

152. Sharing is Caring

Jared makes it through training camp in one piece, which is always an achievement. This year, however, the transition from training camp to the preseason presents an additional wrinkle, since they have to tell the newbies and rookies that have managed to stick around about their relationship. Even if the majority won’t necessarily be in the roster on opening night, chances are they’ll be called up at least a handful of times. It’s better to let them all know now than individually on an as needed basis, especially since they may feel slighted if they think they’ve been kept out of the loop, and there’s no point asking for locker room drama.

That sounds quite savvy about locker room politics and unusually considerate of others’ feelings.

At least, that’s what Stephen said.

Oop, there it is.

And one of the reasons Jared finds Stephen so irritating is because he’s usually just as right as he thinks he is. When he isn’t, Gabe quietly pokes holes in his logic, and since he concurred with Stephen, that means it’s almost certainly the best thing to do.

Gabe functioning here as a sort of good idea detector, as he does in many situations. Stephen likes to bounce things off him to see what makes his eye twitch.

Well, actually, the ‘my brother’s gay, and single, but — I guess you don’t want me to set you up, eh?’ might be seen as good allyship, albeit a little interfering. Also massively inappropriate, considering Jared’s married.

This moment will haunt Callum for years. Decades. Possibly to his death bed. He’ll be going toward the light, then suddenly sit up and groan ‘I can’t believe I said that’.

“You’re just failing on every level with this matchmaking thing, huh,” Jared says.

“Don’t tell Bryce Marcus I tried to set up his husband with my brother,” Callum says. “I’ll die.”

To the GRAVE it haunts him.

“Liney lunch after, so I can’t drive you home,” Jared says, straightening up.

Liney lunch is liney only, no exceptions, otherwise Bryce would obviously be invited.

He still can’t believe he regularly spends time with Dmitry when he doesn’t have to, but that’s the power Gabriel Markson has. And admittedly those lunches are good from a strategy standpoint: they all view the game slightly differently, and coordinating those viewpoints is the key on harmony. On the ice, at least. Dmitry shows no sign of being interested in harmony off the ice.

This implies that he’s the only one, which is clearly untrue. Nobody cares about harmony but poor Gabe.

“You don’t want me to come?” Bryce asks in a very small voice, and then Jared blinks and they’re at the practice facility and Bryce is unbuckling his seatbelt and practically trotting inside.

Jared sighs and follows. There’s no hurry. The opposite — they’re twenty-five minutes early, because Jared had planned on dropping off dry cleaning and grabbing a coffee on the way. But Bryce stridently vetoed that because he didn’t want to be late, and Jared considered pointing out that Bryce couldn’t be late if he wasn’t even expected, but decided he didn’t want to hear the sad Bryce voice again.

You’re weak, Matheson.

Jared watches him for a minute from the tunnel, Bryce doing such elite level pining Jared finds himself slightly jealous of a sheet of frozen water.

Big ‘but my true love is the sea’ energy from Bryce.

“You as a rookie is not something anyone should aspire to,” Jared says.

“Definitely not,” Bryce says, still cheerful, then takes Jared’s hand and kisses the back of it.

“You’re getting worse,” Jared says. It’s like the more people who know, the more romantic Bryce becomes. At a certain point Jared assumes he can’t get more romantic, but they haven’t hit that point yet.

“Yup,” Bryce says, unrepentant, then turns Jared’s hand over, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

I should note ‘you’re getting worse’ was an observation, not a complaint. Sure, Jared may pretend it was the latter, but as we know, he lies.

“What did you do,” Jared says, utterly appalled, as he looks around Julius’ place.

Julius blinks mildly at him, which is Halla for confusion.

“It’s — there’s stuff,” Jared says.

“Oh,” Julius says. “Yes.”

“You have stuff,” Jared says, prowling around the living room. There’s a lamp that definitely wasn’t there before, and pillows on the couch, and it is weird and wrong.

How dare there be a visual representation of how you have changed without Jared noticing it.

And that’s before he notices a throw blanket that looks suspiciously familiar.

Jared snatches it up and holds it to his chest. “This blanket is mine.”

It begins.

Twitter —> Blanket (we are here)

“This is Flames red!” Jared says. It was his blanket for Flames games — his dad has control issues with the thermostat, and if Jared complained was cold, the answer was ‘put on a sweater’ or ‘this is Alberta’, depending. His father did, however, approve the purchase of a Flames red blanket for hockey watching purposes, possibly just so Jared would quit whining while he was trying to watch the game. Erin did not have a Flames red blanket, because Erin did not watch Flames games, which means there has been theft.

I feel like when you count ‘the last time I used this’ in years rather than days or weeks or months, it becomes a little less your blanket. Especially since it’s basically just ‘living room throw if someone’s cold’. Jared was cold more often, but he was not the sole user of the blanket even back then. It is a family blanket.

Your father and I bought that blanket, not you., she’s sent, because apparently Erin’s a snitch. You can afford your own blankets. Give it back to Julius.

Julius can also afford his own. Jared replies.

Susan is so over her children snitching on each other to her, but also: Jared give that 20 dollar blanket from Costco back, this is not a hill to die on.

You haven’t used that blanket once since you were a teenager. his mom replies. Do not make me tell Elaine about this: you know I’d be happy to.

Nuclear option, how dare she.

“What’s with the blanket?” Gabe asks on the bus to Rogers Place for pre-game.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jared says.

This is not the way to get people to stop asking, Jared.

“Don’t mention this to Stephen,” Jared says.

“Okay,” Gabe says, smiling out the window, looking innocent as can be.

“I mean it,” Jared says.

“Jared,” Gabe says, looking over at him. “Do you want me to mention this to Stephen?”

“No!” Jared says. “I just told you not to!”

“And I said okay,” Gabe says. “Okay?”

Unless they’re Gabe.

“Nice blanket, Matheson,” Coach says as Jared steps off the bus.

Jared blinks at him. Coach blinks back.

“Thank you,” Jared says, and goes to navigate his way to the Oilers dressing room so he can get rid of the damn thing before someone else he’s not allowed to snap at compliments his blanket.

Good work, Jared’s survival instincts.

Jared shoves the blanket under one arm and texts Julius when he gets near the Oilers’ locker room. The last thing he wants is dudes who weren’t with the team when he was there thinking he’s intruding on their turf. Or worse, dudes who were on the roster when Jared was there, and think Jared’s come to catch up.

The only thing scarier than antagonism is small talk.

“This is Erin’s brother,” Julius says.

“My bad, dude,” Oiler says, putting his hands up. Jared generously presumes it’s because of the former linemate thing.

“Why does your teammate know Erin’s name,” Jared says.

“Why does my teammate know my girlfriend’s name,” Julius says.

How dare the Oilers know of Erin's existence, Jared didn’t approve this.

“Give it back,” Jared says.

“No,” Julius says.

“Aww,” Oilers goon says. “This is just like me and my brothers.”

“Nobody asked you, Oilers goon!” Jared says, as Julius throws a withering look over his shoulder.

“I’m not a goon,” Oilers goon says. “I’m just not a bean pole.”

Jared and Julius unite in the withering look this time, and the Oilers goon finally takes the damn hint and disappears into the Oilers’ locker room.

Poor Oilers Not-Goon. There's a full on family resemblance, not because they look alike, but because they have the exact same bitch face, and they're both aiming it at him.

“We’re forgetting about the blanket!” Jared snaps, which of course means everyone starts asking about it.

Oh Jared, not everyone is Gabe.

The Oilers pull out an irritating come from behind win on the back of Julius’ line, and Julius wears the blanket across his shoulders like a fucking Gatorade towel in a postgame interview.

I love that Julius and Jared bring out peak pettiness in one another.

“Good to be home, eh Math?” Matthew asks, presumably trying for a Math and Calgary solidarity thing, even though he’s disqualified because ‘Matth’ isn’t a word, and Strathmore isn’t Calgary. It isn’t even a suburb of Calgary. Jared refuses his solidarity.

Jared’s poor teammates. Also, Jared, you can't just gatekeep math and Calgary.

“Wonderful,” Jared grits out, though, because he did promise Bryce he’d be friendlier with ‘the boys’.

His poor, poor teammates.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Hey since @dark-elf-writes got me thinking of Astoria I was reminded of an old AU where the MC was a selkie.

Here’s a short I wrote for it, couple with adding OCs because it’s an office setting and we needed coworkers. The premise is that Selkies can enter an ‘arrangement’ where if they give and then receive their skin back but don’t do the hanky-panky with the one who gave back their skin they are safe for a while from having their skin stolen. It doesn’t ‘count’.

Giving away the skin

The first time Melody and Alex had done the exchange it had been after three weeks of debate and seven reassurances from both sides. However, in the end it was the safest option. Alex taking her skin and giving it back made her safe. It made it impossible for anyone to control her. Sure, every five months they had to do it again, but it was better than someone getting it and using it against her.

It was a very important affair that took place in Alex’s office, the younger of the two handing her boss her skin- which took the form of a lovely jacket- and Alex taking it and then handing it back solemnly.

The next time was much the same.

The third time was in a crisis point for the office where Melody just chucked her skin at Alex and Alex chucked it back before running off.

That got looks.

“Are you and Cyprin dating?” Suzan asked, wrinkling her nose after the crisis was done. She voice was a little judgemental and Melody flashed her a scowl the taller woman returned.

“No. We do a temporary bond to keep me from having my skin stolen and being forced to bond with people.” answered Melody flatly. Suzan blinked but then gave a nod and that was all from her. Which was weird given she usually poked and prodded at Melody to get reactions from her. However it seemed like she was aware it was an important subject and simply did not wish to bug her about it.

The teasing started the fourth time when Alex simply picked the jacket off the back of Melody’s chair and handed it to her.

“C’mon Cyprin!” Jeff called out, his British accent very thick given his lack of sleep over the last few days of translating something for one of the heroes. “Give your wife a better show!”

“Shut up Jeff.” his wife told him, Candice smacking his shoulder and going back to her own work.

That did set the tone for the next time. Mandy had burst out into fake sobs and said, in a very mocking tone,

“It’s so beautiful, so touching. So magical.”

Melody wasn’t sure who brought the cake the sixth time. It was good cake. But she could do without the wedding figures on top of it.

The seventh time, Alex had been dared to do it in a very dramatic fashion after a night of drinks with the rest of the office. They had done so, dropping to one knee and dramatically offering Melody her skin.

She in return had taken it and acted like a fainting damsel.

She was pretty sure it was May and Mandy who threw the rice.

It really set the mood for the rest of the times. Melody didn’t mind. It made it a fun occasion rather than a nerve-wracking one. And well… the cake was always nice.

[moonlight-tmd]

sorry bout the confusion with your head canon with bee and au! it's a really nice head canon that Imma take lmao /hj

I can imagine that he doesn't like singing in front of others cause of what happened back in boot camp, where he softly sang to himself and wasp or Ironhide mocked him for it for a solid week. so now he just gets reminded of that whenever the topic of his singing voice comes up, which just makes him anxious and scared.

but that's just my take lol, it's funny how this whole thing started out with sari convincing him to play that karaoke game with her. and she bugs him about it for a few minutes before dropping it in favor of another game to play (while also slightly noticing he's kinda uncomfortable with that specific topic).

and tbh, because of your head canon whenever I hear lullabies I think of bee softly singing a lullaby to sari when her dad first disappeared to calm her down, not too loud for others to hear but loud enough to lure sari to sleeo

Hah, feel free to adopt it!

Tbh this one branches out from the headcanon that Bee was raised in a bad orphanage on Cybertron. (see this post but exclude the 2nd part)

Since he was branded the bad child by the much abusive and strict manager at that time, he' would'd often spend time alone in time out. Since he was the oldest in the facility, other sparklings picked on him and mocked him, which resulted in him being excluded from socializing.

He was pretty artistic at that time, he'd use some leftover crayons to use the walls of the room he spend the time out in as a diary. He often talked to himself, the drawings and the one plush toy he managed to snatch and hide. He played with the trash laying around and found comfort in singing. Whenever he was feeling really bad he'd quietly sing to himself, but then some kid overheard and made fun of him so he never sang unless he was alone.

Bee doesn't remember why he's was anxious about singing but he does remember Ironhide mocking him about it the one time he was humming to himself while working.

Sari, being a 10 year old kid, would be persistent of course, but she'd eventually give up after trying to convince Bee for 10 minutes straight. She heard him sing once and she wants to hear it again.

When her dad disappeared she basically moved in with the Autobots- after they got a renovation crew to go fix some of the human-sized rooms for her to live in. She was crying almost every night, one time she had a nightmare and Bee was the one to watch over her that night because the others were doing something out in town; he comforted her and sang her a lullaby.

She didn't care about the fact she won and Bee was singing, she just laid there listening as Bee's soothing voice and a servo rubbing her back lulled her to sleep. If the others came back at that time and overheard him, they didn't mention it.

Also i'm glad you do! X3 Ever since i thought about that this could be a thing, everytime i hear a song by Ed Sheeran or Shawn Mendes or anyone with a voice similar to them i think Bee is singing it.

[sednonamoris]

life ain’t fair and the world is mean

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: Arthur’s decision after meeting with Mary Linton again leaves you caught between a rock and a hard place.

Warnings: Angst, so much dialogue, complicated love squares (?), sibling dynamics

Word count: 1,383

A/N: Felt absolutely deranged writing this ily all pls enjoy <3

Series masterlist • AO3

—

Everyone at camp knows Arthur got a letter from that Mary Linton.

As much as he swears up and down that whatever was between them is long over, you can tell the heartache hasn’t faded the moment his eyes land on the familiar cursive. He mouths along like he can taste her on the words she’s written.

You look away to give him his privacy and grimace something close to sympathy. Whatever it is she’s asking for after all this time, he’ll give it to her - at the very least he’ll go to her.

Poor bastard.

Almost-loves last longer and hurt more than real ones. You ought to know.

He rides off when early morning mist still clings to the lowest parts of the land with dewdrop fingerprints. Abigail watches him go with a pinched look on her face. John watches her watch him with a frown. You pretend not to notice any of it. 

Hosea does the opposite, actually seeking John out. John looks over at you helplessly, and you tip your hat with a faint smile just to watch his eyes widen with betrayal. You listen long enough to hear the beginnings of that wheezing cough you’ve worried over for weeks and a far be it from me interfering in your business before snagging an unmanned rifle and heading off on guard duty. Maybe Hosea will have better luck than you and Dutch and Arthur and Abigail and everyone else knocking some sense into him. 

It’s a pleasant spring day, warm with enough of a cool breeze to keep the worst of the heat and the bugs at bay. You find a spot to stand midway up the path and settle in against the bark of one of the taller maples. Sunlight filters through the canopy of leaves above and leaves everything dappled gold. You breathe in deep and sigh out springtime. Almost summer, now. 

Horseshoe Overlook has been good for the gang. Valentine is just big enough and just used enough to seasonal workers that you pass off fine, even despite Arthur’s determination to fight half the town. Strauss has him collecting debts already, and Dutch has asked that he see about Micah’s predicament over in Strawberry. You can’t say you miss having that one around, but loyalty is loyalty. Dutch would surely ask him to rescue any one of you if the situation were reversed.

In the meantime the girls have been sniffing out leads, and the boys have been robbing just about everyone they come across. For your part, you’ve been scoping out local homesteads and farms looking for anyone who seems to be sitting on decent animals or piles of cash. So far it doesn’t look like you’ll be lucky enough to find both. Guthrie Farms was your destination yesterday, and you think you’ll pay them another visit one of these nights to relieve them of some choice cattle. There’s a buyer up near Three Sisters in the market. 

In the back of your mind the concern about Cornwall and those bonds lingers, but so far it seems he’s been content to live and let live. Hopefully that lasts. You let the thought fade and settle in for a morning of boredom and birdsong. 

—

Your watch is almost up when someone rustles through the brush, approaching at a steady trot. 

“Who goes there?” you call out, and stand a little straighter with your gun. 

“Arthur, you dumbass!”

It’s only just afternoon - somehow you expected he’d be gone for the day at least.

“Such manners,” you mock, but pause once he’s close enough for you to see the look on his face.

He’s been crying, those cornflower eyes even sadder than normal. There’s a resigned stoop to his shoulders. A pinch between his brows. You wonder just what exactly Mary had to say after all this time.

He ducks his head and murmurs a halfhearted sorry.

“S’fine,” you dismiss with as kind a look you can manage. You tilt your head up at him when he lingers, looking like a deer caught out in the open.  

“Do you have a minute to talk, actually?” He can’t quite meet your eyes. 

“‘Course. Let me swap with Karen and I’ll meet you.”

He nods gratefully and rides up to the nearest hitching post while you do just that, a quick handoff with a look that begs her not to ask too many questions. Karen glances over to Arthur, then back to you, about as solemn as she gets. She nods you on your way before making her way into the treeline.

He’s waiting for you on the outskirts of camp, just past the chickens and partially hidden by a copse of half-grown saplings. 

“The hell did that Linton woman do to you?” you ask, hands on your hips. 

Arthur huffs a sarcastic laugh. “More what I did to her. She wanted my help - somethin’ to do with her brother. I told her it’s best we never speak again.”

You puff out a breath. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Arthur shifts in place, and you can tell there’s more to it. If he doesn’t know how to say it you doubt you’ll know how to answer, but you guess friends aren’t always for saying the right thing.

“Before I left she gave me back the ring I proposed with. I want, well,” he fumbles, “I been thinkin’ someone ought to do right by Jack and Abigail for a while now. Make sure they’re taken care of, since Marston won’t.”

Of all the things he might’ve said, you can’t decide if you should be more or less shocked that it’s this. Longing looks and stolen dances are one thing, but everyone knows Abigail and John are together, even when they’re not - especially when they’re not. 

“Jesus, is that why you told Mary you won’t see her anymore?”

“No! I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Why are you telling me?” The question is desperate, even to your ears. 

“Dutch an’ Hosea are too close to this, and everyone else is too far off. Guess I was hoping you’d be able to make more sense of it all than me.”

You laugh a terse, bitter laugh. “I ain’t too close? Really? All these years, Arthur, you been like a brother to me, but John— You know this ain’t fair.”

“Most things ain’t.” His eyes are pleading. Sad. Sorry. Damn him. “Just tell me if you think I’m bein’ a fool and I’ll leave it alone.”

And there you have to pause. Because is it really so foolish to want to give Abigail the partner she needs, and Jack the father figure he deserves? The way he looks at them is not lost on you. When he lost that young woman and little boy all those years ago he was inconsolable. In a lot of ways you think he still is, though he hides it everywhere but his eyes. More than anything you want him to be happy. You know that if Abigail will have him, he will be.

But you need John to be happy, too. 

And you feel like the worst person alive, because he isn’t happy with Abigail and he’s not happy without her, either. Mostly he just seems determined to be miserable and make it everyone else’s fault but his own. How the hell are you supposed to help Arthur without hurting John when every choice feels either selfish or spiteful or wrong. The love harbored deep in your bones marks you a traitor.

Because if you were any kind of friend you wouldn't say: “You’re always a fool, Arthur Morgan, but not ‘cause of this.”

But you do.

“Really?” he asks.

“Really.”

He smiles, a little bit of heartbreak and a little bit of hope. 

“After— Well, you know,” he cuts himself off, unable to say their names even after so long. “Feels like it could be a second chance, is all.”

“You believe in those?”

He sighs. “Not really.”

You try to smile, to reassure him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He clasps your shoulder in unspoken thanks before leaving you alone on the edge of camp with nothing but your thoughts and a sick feeling in your stomach.

—

When John comes around later that evening you can’t look him in the eye. 

[andydrysdalerogers]

Following Team Orders - Mexico City

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Olivia Williams

Summary: Olivia Williams is Formula One royalty. Her father is a racing legend and all Liv wants is to be one of only six women in the world to have raced in the most elite racing division in the world. When she finally gets the chance, she has to not only take on a male dominated sport, but her past, her teammate and a life beyond the track that she was not ready for. She just has to follow team orders but what happens when one man challenges her on and off the racing line...

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: A-N-G-S-T!!! eventual smut, slow burn, enemies to lovers, love triangle (if you squint) misogamy, fluff, racing accidents, an asshole Steve Rogers (you'll see what i mean); parental death

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series MasterList - Main Masterlist

Wednesday  

I did not sign up for this.  

Why did I sign up for this? 

I’m a racer, not a model.  

Except my boyfriend is a racer who looks like a model.  

God, he’s gorgeous. 

Hmm, wonder if he’ll model his underwear for me? 

Or maybe naked... 

“OLIVIA!” 

Liv snaps her head over to Andy who is standing with hands on hips and a rather grumpy face. “Sorry Andy.”  

“Where are you Bug?” 

Liv sighed in her chair as the prep team touched up her hair and makeup. The last two weeks had been nothing but interviews, press events and photo shoots.  Her win was a big deal in the racing world.  Since she was the only woman in history to win in Formula One.  The governing body and the team wanted to take advantage of that. “I’m here Andy, just tired. I thought I was going to have a day off.”  

“I know Bug, I’m sorry.”  

“How am I supposed to race if I’m not rested?” Andy could hear the whine coming and knew he needed to nip it in the bud. 

“Let’s just finish this and then I will see what I can do for tomorrow. 

Steve walks in just as Andy goes over the schedule.  “Can’t handle the press, princess?” 

Liv narrowed her eyes at him.  “I can handle it, Rogers, but I can’t race if I don’t sleep.”  

“Aww, the new queen of racing a wittle bit swepy?” Steve play mocked.  

“Rogers, that’s enough,” Andy snaps before Liv can launch herself at him for the beating he knew was coming.  “The next few interviews are with both of you so please for the love of God, play nice.”  He turned and walked out as Nat walked in.  

“You’re already in trouble?” She asked Liv.  

“Not yet.  I just have to be nice to Stevie here, so his feelings don’t get hurt.”  

“Hey, my feelings are fine,” he pouted, getting a laugh from his girl and her best friend.  Nat turns to the craft services table for a snack.  

“Hey punk, do you know where my notebook is?” Bucky asked looking through his bag. “Had it in your room...” he looked up and stopped.  

“Bucky, you ok?” Liv asked.  She followed his line of sight to Natasha, who was popping a grape in her mouth.  She smirked and cleared her throat. “Bucky, you have some drool, just right there...” she pointed to the corner of his mouth.  

Bucky wipes his mouth, “shut up.” 

Liv giggles, “hey Nat! I need you!” 

As Natasha walks towards her best friend, she sees the brunette and smiles.  “Hi, I’m Nat.”  

“Buck, James, Bucky,” he shakes his head as he continues to stare.  

Steve sniggers behind him.  “Bucky, you ok?” 

“I’m fine.” He throws a murderous look at Steve before going back to Natasha.  “Sorry.  Hi, Bucky,” he offers his hand.  

“It’s nice to finally meet you.  Liv said only nice things about you.” 

“She mentioned her best friend but failed to mention how beautiful you looked,” he replied with a wink and his trademark smile.  Liv watched as her best friend swooned and she rolled her eyes.  

“Great, best friends meet and everything.  Rogers and I have an interview so…” she pulled Steve away as Bucky and Nat continued to talk.  “That was unexpected.”  

“Do you mind?” Steve asked, concern laced in it.  

“Not at all,” she flashed a smile at her man.  “I got the one I wanted.”  She looked around to see if anyone was around and pushed Steve into a corner before sliding her hands around his neck.  His hands immediately went to her waist. “I got the man I’ve been dreaming about for a while.”  She got on her tip toes to give him a soft kiss.  

“Damn right you did, and I’m never letting go.” 

“We have to tell Bucky.”  

“Why?” 

“Because he can help us.  We have to decide if and when we are going public and stuff.”  

Steve rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  Let’s go to dinner tomorrow.  The four of us and they can help us decide. And then maybe,” he pecked her lips, “I can take you to my bed.”  

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Thursday 

“Nat, please?” 

“Why?” 

“Because no one knows, and we have to tell him, and he will need a distraction and what better distraction than my sex walking best friend?” Liv smiled and blinked rapidly at Natasha.  

“I can’t believe you just said that.” Natasha shook her head.  “Fine. Fine, I will go with you guys to dinner and I will distract the sexy driver.”  

“You’re the best!” Liv squealed.  “Ok, so dinner is in three hours. How about a margarita then prep?” 

“Now you are speaking my language.”  

As Steve finished getting ready, Bucky was complaining about how he had to wear a dress shirt to dinner.  “You just had to pick a fancy restaurant.  Couldn’t have just gone to a taqueria and had tacos in the room.”  

“We’re celebrating Liv’s win.  As her teammate and her crew chief, we should be encouraging her to continue.”  

“I understand that’s my job, but I swear the girl would have been happy with tacos and a couple of margaritas.  Maybe a burrito and some churros.”  

“I swear this is why you are single, jerk.”  Steve slipped on his navy sport coat and grabbed his wallet.  “It is a nice surprise for her.”  

“Fine, whatever.  You’re getting me tacos later then,” Bucky grumbled as he followed Steve out the door.  They went to Liv’s room and knocked.  She opened the door and Steve was floored.  She was in a strapless black dress with flowers on the border.  Sky high heels adorned her feet and she had pulled her beautiful long hair to one side, exposing that delectable neck to him.  He swallowed, lost for words.  

“Hey Bug, you clean up good,” Bucky said, not really noticing Steve’s reaction.  “If we hurry, we can hit happy… happy…” he stops and his mouth hangs open. 

Liv smirked as she knew Natasha was behind her in an amazing red dress.  “You remember my friend Nat.” 

Steve elbowed Bucky, bringing him back from his shock and awe and getting an answer.  “Hi Nat.”  

“Bucky, nice to see you again,” she smirked at him.  “So, we headed somewhere?” 

The group headed to a sit-down restaurant a couple of blocks away.  Bucky was entranced with Nat, who was besotted by the attention.  Why Liv never thought to set them up was beyond her but here they were.  

“So Buck, I have something to tell you,” Steve started.  

“Is it that you and Liv are hooking up?” Bucky smirked at his driver and his best friend.  

Liv froze. “How – how did you know?” 

“I didn’t.” Bucky shrugged with a smile as Steve groaned.  “But I knew this idiot would talk to you eventually.  You’ve been too nice to each other.” Liv lower her head towards Steve, covering her face.  “It’s ok, Bug.  I’m happy for you.” 

“You are?” 

“I know that he would do anything for you.  He almost knocked me out because I was dating you.”  Steve groaned but Bucky ignored him. “You two are good for each other.” 

“Thank you, Bucky.” Liv smiled as Steve squeezed her hand under the table.  

“So, this is what this dinner is about?  Telling me you two are sleeping together?” 

“Not just, jerk,” Steve replied, rolling his eyes.  “I’m with her.  We’re in love with each other.  We plan on announcing after the season, but we didn’t want to lie to you.  She’s telling Frank before practice tomorrow.”  

Bucky smiled. “That’s good.  Keep it under wraps.”  

Friday 

Liv was putting on her gloves, chewing her lip as Frank got her helmet ready.  “Frankie, have you ever been in love?” 

“Once, a long time ago.”  Frank absentmindedly fiddled with a screwdriver.  “Didn’t work out with my traveling so much but yeah.  Why do you ask?” 

“Just wondering.  I’m hoping that I can keep that.” 

“Keep it?  Bug, what are you…” He watches as Liv gives him a shy smile.  “Rogers?”  She nodded.  “When?” 

“Singapore.” She shrugged.  “We yelled, he kissed me and,” she sighed, “it was perfect, Frankie.  Just perfect.”  

Frank smiled.  His best friend was finally happy.  

After practice, Steve looked around before knocking on Liv’s trailer.  “Who is it?” 

“Steve Rogers,” he replied with a smile.  

“Never heard of him.”  

He smirked.  “He’s the one who did that thing where his tongue…” the door flew open and he saw his girl, standing in cutoff shorts and crop top, showing off her toned stomach.  She scanned the area before letting him in. “So, you do remember me.” 

“A little,” she said with a bite to her lip.  “I remember all the dirty things you do to me.” She ran her hands of his polo, earning herself a groan from him.  

“Doll, you have to stop touching me like that,” he said softly in her ear as he kissed her neck.  “I may have to take you right here right now.” 

“Don’t tease me with a good time, Rogers.”  

“Then stop doing that.”  He stepped back and held her hands to his chest.  “Andy is taking the team to dinner.  Think you could behave long enough to get through it, and I’ll reward you like the good little girl I know you are.”  

The tone of his voice cause Liv to close her legs slightly, a familiar heat flashing in her abdomen. “O-okay,” she replied with a shaky tone.  She swallowed as she looked at his eyes darken slightly.  

Steve could tell he had gotten to her.  He pulled her close, pinning her arms to his chest as he placed on hand on her hip and the other on the apex of her thighs.  He felt her shudder at his touch.  “Behave, kitten,” as he gently rubbed though her jeans.  “I can tell you are already wet for me.  Think you can keep it going until after dinner?”  She nodded and he chuckled. “Go get dressed, love.  I’ll wait for you outside.”  

Liv thought she would be set on fire as he walked away, her legs wobbling as she walked to get some nicer clothes on.  

Steve Rogers was trying to kill her.  

Saturday 

Liv woke with kisses being pressed her to neck and back as warm hands traced her naked flesh. She sighed as Steve continued his gentle assault on her, kneading her flesh softly, kisses that tickled her neck.  “Stevie,” she sighed 

“My beautiful Livie,” he whispered in between kisses.  He softly turned her onto her back and laid on top of her to continue his affections.  He lowered himself further and further until he just barely touched her clit with the tip of his tongue and heard what he was looking for.  

“Stevie, please…” 

Steve could never deny his girl. He lapped her up gently, relishing at her taste and softness.  They had time; he wanted to take his time.  He slowly slid in two fingers, and she groaned at the feeling. “You ok?” 

“I… I need you. Please don’t make me beg,” she whimpered.  

“No, no begging today.”  He wanted to love on his girl. With a final kiss, Steve nipped and sucked his way up her body. He slotted himself between her legs, dipping his swollen tip in her folds. He looked into her eyes, “keep them open beautiful,” as he pushes slowly in. She gasped and her head tilted up as her body accepted him.  After a moment, Steve rutted into her, enjoying her warmth.  

Liv was lost in the fullness of him in her. He fit perfectly and his thrust was not aggressive at all. He made love to her.  The tightness in her belly began to grow. She whimpered and Steve stopped.  “Sweetheart?” 

“No! Don’t stop!” She moaned.  

He got the message.  He grasped a thigh to hook around his hip to allow him in further.  He was getting close and now he could tell so was she. “C’mon baby.”  

“Stevie,” she moaned.  

“That’s it, my love bug, feel me inside, squeezing me tight.  So gorgeous.” He was almost there but she needed to go first. He snapped his hips harder and hard.  Her needs were more important. “Livie, cum for me.”  

That was it. Liv let out a silent scream as her eyes closed, the colors dancing in the darkness as she lost herself in pleasure.  Steve was absolutely positive that her face as she orgasmed was the most beautiful thing in the world.  She had a vice grip on his cock, making it almost impossible for him to move.  It took him a couple of more snaps and he too was lost to the world.  

As they laid together post session, Liv’s head on Steve’s chest, his hands running through her hair, Steve cleared his throat.  “Doll, I should get to my room.” 

“No, I’m comfy.”  She snuggled deeper into his chest as he chuckled. 

“I know, love bug.  I am too but everyone will be up soon.”  He leaned over to kiss her head.  “If we want to keep it a secret…” 

“I hate this,” she pouted.  

“Me too.  But soon, baby, it will all be out in the open.  Hopefully, you’ll have a ride with another team, and we can be together during the season.” 

Liv sat up and looked at Steve.  “You want us to be racing rivals?” 

“My favorite part of the weekend is racing against you. It makes me so horny watching you handle that car.” He smiled a lopsided smile as she blushed a delicate pink.  “C’mere, pretty girl,” he pulled her to him and kissed her softly. “It’s you and me against the world.”  

“You and me,” she whispered back. She squealed as he flipped her over and kissed her one more time, distracting her enough so he could get up.  He put his boxers and sweats back on, looking around for his t-shirt. 

“Looking for this?” He turned around and saw his shirt on Liv’s body. He’s mouth dropped as she walked towards him, a sway in her hips. 

“Fuck Livie, I love you in my clothes. But I need this back.” He grasped the hem and pulled it off. 

She pouted at him in all of her naked glory. He grabbed the robe and pulled it around her. “I want your shirt.” 

“I’ll leave one for you next time. I gotta go.”  He slipped on his shoes and went for the door.  “See you later, love bug.”  

“Wait!”  She grabbed him by the shirt and gave him a heated kiss.  “Until tonight,” she whispered. 

Steve walked away, a big smile on his face.  His girl was fantastic. 

Sunday 

Pulling into the 3rd place spot, Liv smiled, looking over at Steve who won the race.  Ransom had managed second, which sucked but Liv had needed just a couple of more laps to beat him.  And next race is another race.  

As she shook out her hair from the fire resistive cap, Steve came over and picked her up and swung her around.  “Great job Liv!” 

“Thank you, Steve! Nice win!”  He set her down and then went to his pit crew to celebrate.  Liv headed over to her crew and saw Bucky with a big smile.  “So boss, whatcha think?” 

“I think for a girl, meh, you were ok,” he said with a smirk.  He reached over and gave her a big hug.  “Good job proving all the doubters wrong,” he whispered to her. She smiled as Andy came over to congratulate her.  

The podium ceremony was ok, Ransom was acting odd for Ransom but Liv let it slide.  She was ready to head to her hotel after the press conference and have a relaxing night with Steve.  She showered and changed into her Red Bull polo, doing her hair so she could wear her hat and headed out into the press area.  She was smiling and waving to the crowd when Andy stopped her. “Liv, I need to talk to you.”  He pulled her away from the press area and back towards the Red Bull garage.  

Steve, Bucky, Frank, and Sam were waiting for them in the garage. Liv looked around.  “What’s going on?” 

“Since when have you and Rogers been together?” 

Steve’s head snapped up as Liv’s face blanched.  “What do you mean?” 

“I mean this,” Andy slapped a photo down on the work bench.  It was of Steve and Liv from the morning before as Steve was leaving her room.  Steve swallowed as he watched for Liv’s reaction.  

“Where did you get this?” Steve asked.  

“The press has it.  And they are having a field day.  So, I’ll ask again, how long?” 

Liv was frozen starting at the photo.  Steve cleared his throat.  “Since Singapore.”  

Andy started to pace, running his hands through his hair.  “Singapore.  Perfect.  I gave you one direction Rogers and that was to stay away from her.  This,” he picks up the photo, “this is the reason why. The FIA is gonna want to investigate to make sure you two aren’t cheating. They are going to investigate the team to see if you are giving orders to your girlfriend to win this championship. Un-fucking-believable.”  

Steve watched as a single tear fell from Liv’s eye.  He had enough, He pulled her to his chest so she could cry. “Andy, we love each other.  We didn’t do any of that, we promise.  She won on her own.”  

Andy looked at Livie, watching her as she hid herself away.  “Liv, is it true?” 

Red rimmed eyes looked back at him.  “I love him, Andy.” 

Andy stared at her.  “Then I’m gonna do my best to protect you both.”  

As they headed out of the garage, they are swarmed by the press. Liv and Steve make it to the car that was waiting for them.  Steve held his girl, unsure of what to do next. 

Taglist:

@patzammit @jennmurawski13-writes @texmexdarling @slutforchrisjamalevans @firephotogrl74. @tinkerbelle67

[staticl0ve]

The Pig and the Fox - Ch.2 (Connor/AFAB!Reader)

The gif isn’t gender neutral, but I dig the vibes.

Pairings: Connor/AFAB!Reader (no pronouns used) Rating: Mature/Explicit/NSFW 18+ Link (AO3): Read it Here Chapters: [ Ch. 1 ] [Chap 2] [ Ch. 3 ] [ Ch. 4 ] [ Ch. 5 ] / 6 Words: 2.8k Warnings: implied drug use (supporting character), so much swearing, reader does wear feminine attire Summary: When a thief meets a cop, they’re on the opposite sides of the law, two flips of a coin. However, there’s more to life than things being black and white. In a post android revolution, not much has changed for the common citizen. The rich get richer and the poor, well, they work. They adapt. They sacrifice. You straddled that fine line, one toe in the light and one in the dark. So does Connor, but you don’t quite see that yet. Notes: It’s been fun making this Cinnabun spicier than he should be.

Chapter Two - Duality

This was not ideal, coming home with a glitchy arm, sleeping it off and waking up to find it miraculously fixed. Although, “fixed” was putting it lightly. The sparkly tingle that crept up your fingertips faded but the cybernetics were still making a light-show on your arm. It took all of the weekend perusing debug logs, only to learn nothing new. Then a whole week before you managed to toss your laptop off the side of your bed.

Even stranger were the settings of your dreams. You saw places you had never been to before: an old yellow home with chipped paint, rain pouring down windows and a doorbell, rung twice. One night, you were seated on a boat, watching rose petals drift in the wind when a man’s voice called to you from a bridge. He demanded to know who you were and what business you had roaming around his garden. 

You didn’t have a chance to turn around before waking up and trying to cling to what you could before the details were lost, consumed by a fleeting thought like, “it’s morning already?” None of it made sense. At least the glowing managed to disappear by the end of the week. Back in its rightful home, your laptop rested on your desk, mocking you with a black terminal filled by blocks of red text.

“Yeah, I get it. There’s a bug, thanks,” you complained.

Besides staring at a computer all day, your phone was buzzing nonstop. A majority of the alerts were from a group chat between friends. Tonight was Markus’ big reveal for his year long collection of work and people were hyped to see what the former deviant leader had to share.

Your cab was set to arrive soon, so you set aside debugging for now. Before you headed out, you brought up your contacts list, scrolling through names until the alphabets landed in the middle. You weren’t sure what possessed you to call Leo, but his sickly face kept popping back up whenever you had a quiet moment to yourself.

He wasn’t a bad guy, just a typical spoiled brat unable to process his emotions in a healthy way. On his good days he could crack a few good jokes…and when the laughter died down, he’d give you pause with an introspective question. People were multifaceted, existing on a spectrum. Leo didn’t have many close friends, at least ones that haven’t dumped him for the kind of man he had become. No one had the time or the patience left to check in on him. With the economy as it was, it was a surprise anyone had time for anything really.

It helped, being Fox, feeling like someone else. The disconnect meant you didn’t have to drag the weight of your nightly activities into the light of day. Cybernetics was a fast growing field with lots of cash flow. But it didn’t hold a candle to those who flew in private jets on a daily basis. You were comfortable enough to have recreational time to dedicate to a second life. Leo wasn’t your problem when he couldn’t be found and you didn’t bother him. You knew he’d spring back up when the money dried out. He was persistent, a parasite to his friends and family but you tolerated him, saw the gray area in an ocean of black.

Were you aware of the irony that you were less than kind to anyone in a police uniform? Obviously. And there were hundreds, if not thousands of books on American history documenting all the reasons why you felt the way you felt. In fewer words: it was complicated.

But back to Leo: a week was a long time between his usual annoying form of communication of animated images and funny captions. You should have gotten a dumb text with a joke you wouldn’t understand.

“Huh.” You clicked your tongue, worrying the flesh of your cheek between your teeth.

Voicemail.

—

The gallery was packed from room to room, filled with a variety of characters dressed to impress. The location was a quiet one, away from the neon lights of downtown. A few streetlights lit the empty roads and the small gallery was flanked by smaller boutiques and cafes which were closed for the night. It stood out as a bright square with floor to ceiling windows, showcasing all the contents within.

This wasn’t your average grandparents’ art show. Markus brought new energy to a scene that his father had dominated. At the entrance was a large white wall and boxes of paint markers with an instruction mounted on a plaque: express yourself. There were rooms lined with paintings and in each one, a blank canvas was in the center, accompanied with different prompts. It seemed the goal tonight was to encourage cooperation and creativity. People milled around, scribbling innocent visuals or laughing as someone added eggplants to one corner of the wall.

Beverages were served for all guests, ranging from fancy sodas and alcohol to holographic drinks. The new tech drink had a chip on the bottom of each glass, allowing androids and those with cybernetics to feel a buzz without the calories. Plus, one could customize the look of the contents, chug the stars of a Milky Way or drink a glittery rainbow.

You arrived fashionably late, at a point where the energy of the party was at its peak. An irresistible beat dominated the music, driving people to sway or dance while contemplating artworks. Since your arrival, a few people you knew had dragged you from one conversation to the next. When you spotted North, sandwiched between her main crew, she raised a glass in your direction. Two men to her side were crowded around a painting, busy waving their arms in a heated discussion.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said as you settled to her left. To her right, Josh and Simon started laughing, they seemed too distracted to notice you.

“You’re late,” North added when you innocently hummed and pretended to be way too into some paint strokes.

“Oh…It’s what…only been an hour since opening?” you replied, tilting your head and batting your lashes. North had played a major role in planning the event, arranging caterers and vendors. She wanted her closer circle there for an opening photo session and you agreed to it in the group chat.

Alright, so you lost track of time. But…but! This wasn’t her first rodeo. She’d thrown dozens of fundraisers in the past year. Although, from the nervous fidgeting of her fingers and her gaze shifting between the mob of people, this event meant a lot to her.

She let out a good natured scoff. “What do you think so far?”

“The party is amazing! You’ve outdone yourself. Where else could I find such brilliant art? Just—” You turned away to wave a hand at the entrance. “—look at all the colorful dicks on the wall.”

Her eyes rolled before she laughed. “After how far we’ve come, I really thought my faith in humanity was restoring…until today.”

“Can’t trust anyone with a marker and a blank wall these days,” you agreed.

From over her shoulder, you caught sight of a man in a tan suit. Smiling to yourself, you recognized his silhouette instantly as Markus. You placed a reassuring hand on North’s arm before excusing yourself.

Weaving between other attendees, you got close enough to notice that the deviant leader was talking to another man. A man who’s brown slicked hair and pale freckled face looked all too familiar.

It was like being dunked into a cold pool, your breath lodging in your chest, head swimming with a thousand thoughts—all of it screaming the same thing: Oh shit.

You wanted to spin around, maybe say hello to Josh and Simon instead. But Markus spotted you and that was more than enough for Connor to look up from their conversation.

“Hey, Markus!” you said, greeting the RK200 with an arm out. He immediately went in for a warm hug, breathing out your name in a soft voice. His arms easily engulfed you, adding a distinct bonus squeeze to the embrace—a thing he did with close friends.

“I haven’t seen you in a while. Have you been busy?” he asked.

You tried your best not to side-eye Connor’s reaction when you answered Markus.

“Yeah, between the weather and traffic, work’s been a real drag. But!” You cut him off before he could comment. “I am so excited to be here for your first show.”

“It’s all thanks to North and all of my supporters,” Markus replied. He brought a hand to Connor’s arm, pulling the RK800 into the conversation. “Speaking of supporters…have you met Connor?”

If you were waiting for the brunette to recognize you, the moment never came. Connor merely offered you the bare minimum of a polite smile, his lips pressed firmly together.

“Hello,” he said.

Despite what you thought of Connor’s profession, your public image was well curated to appear polite and friendly. You had half a second to decide on how to proceed and the voice that left your throat was more starstruck than you meant for it to be.

Well, whatever works right?

“Wait,” you gasped, feigning surprise. “I know you! You’re the uhm, the uhm.” You snapped your fingers and watched his smile fall slightly. “Uhm…some video called you the Terminator?”

“The former deviant hunter,” he said, shifting on his toes. The title alone made him shrink on the spot. His arm wrapped around the front of his torso, head falling slightly. You didn’t see the change as you were too wrapped up in delivering your excitement believably.

“Yes! I’ve seen you on TV! Saved a little girl and freed a bunch of androids—wow.”

“Connor has made huge strides for our cause,” Markus said. You wanted to ask how since you’ve never seen him around New Jericho, at least, not when you were there. It wasn’t like you were very involved with android politics, but surely, you would have heard something about him from North.

“Markus…” A flash of guilt washed over the younger android’s face. There was an exchange you didn’t catch as Connor’s indicator flickered.

“Our history is complicated but it’s all behind us now,” Markus reassured.

You held out your holodrink to toast his efforts.

“To new beginnings. And…” You gave Connor your name in a quick introduction. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Connor answered, lips spreading slowly in a smile.

With a gallery as full as tonight, it was impossible to hold Markus’ attention for long. A patron was excited to discuss purchasing one of his paintings and the RK200 hardly had time to say a quick goodbye. Connor remained, out of consideration or curiosity, you weren’t quite sure. Hell, you weren’t even sure where to look: back at Connor for what you imagined would be terrible smalltalk or in the direction of the bathroom so you could make up some excuse about needing it.

As you pondered, the universe decided for you.

A guest brushed into you, the unexpected pressure at your side knocking you forward. Your palm found Connor’s chest, fingers spreading over the smooth texture of his shirt. You could feel his Thirium pump buzzing beneath his undershirt and the subtle divots of strong abdominal muscles. He was so ready to play the hero, his arm automatically raising to wrap around your elbow.

It took a lot of self control to not grimace, your contempt for him consuming all rational thought. Fortunately for you, Connor was easy on the eyes. His features tugged inward in concern and you had to bury a fleeting thought about how endearing it made him look. You were beginning to see it, a way out of this scenario undetected by doubling down on your starstruck persona.

“Sorry. I can be such a klutz,” you joked. “It’s like I have two left feet.”

“That’s alright.” While he stepped back to give you an inch of space, his hand remained like a leech that found its mark. A tingle prickled down your spine and you had a funny feeling you were scanned.“Your shirt…was the choice intentional?”

Your blouse was loose, billowy around the sleeves with bright, bold sets of squares outlined by thick black lines. A splash of Piet Mondrian in your wardrobe seemed fitting for attending an art show. You smiled, standing more upright to showcase the full extent of the pattern.

“What do you think?” you asked.

Connor took his time answering, enjoying the fluttery movement of your eyes as you waited. His face was inches from yours, dipped lower to listen to you better in the crowd. Although, you knew enough about androids to know he could hear you just fine if he stood straight. You squirmed under his syrupy sweet smile. In your ears, a faint twang grew, like the swell of a violin finding its highest note. His smile widened, angled gallery lighting casting long, dramatic shadows over his face and sharpening the edges of his teeth.

“I think it looks good,” he answered, his tone easily skirting the line over friendly territory, like he was too shy or sensible to add: “I think it’d be better, off.” His actions indicated otherwise, innocently removing his hand and stepping away.

You meant to mirror his civility, but you couldn’t find anything interesting to say while looking at him. Compared to a gallery full of eccentric guests dressed in fantastical fashions, Connor was as exciting as milk toast. His crisp white shirt and pressed gray slacks were the definition of vanilla and safe. All he needed was a boring striped tie to complete the image of a man going door to door with a black book in hand. In fact, the most adventurous part of him was his slightly loosened collar, baring his pale throat in the same way a 19th century woman might flash her ankles.

“If I may ask…have you had a chance to browse the gallery?” Connor inquired.

“Not yet.”

“Neither have I. Would you like some company?”

You, enjoying the company of a pig? Absolutely not. Your body language said differently, wrist twisting to point at a room with your virtual drink swirling between the glass.

“After you.”

All things considered, being around Connor was…tolerable. He kept his distance when he could but the rooms were small and crowded. When he wanted to guide your attention to a painting, his hand found it’s way to ghost over your shoulder. The contact was too short and faint to cross any boundaries but it unnerved you all the same.

Those hands nearly had you.

Talking about art was one thing, but you couldn’t get a good read on him. Everything Connor said was laced with an eager to please demeanor that was at odds with his sharp gaze and looming figure. He was worse than a pond with no ripples, a mirror surface hiding the jaws of a monster. It irked you that you couldn’t take a dip and make some waves. When there wasn’t much else to discuss, you found yourself relying on much dreaded smalltalk.

“So…what do you do for a living?” you asked as if you didn’t already know.

“I’m a detective.”

“Like Sherlock Holmes!” You winked and lowered the volume of your voice. “Any cool cases? Or…are you not allowed to talk about them?”

“I specialize in homicide.” His head tilted to the right, concealing his LED from your angle. “There was a case that reached my desk recently. A beginner thief set off some alarms in a wealthy neighborhood, but it’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Ah.” You used your disappointment to mask the flare of irritation that made you grip your drink harder than necessary. “Well, with you around, Detroit feels safer already.”

He shook his head, eyes twinkling proudly.

“I do what I can, I’m no hero.”

Connor was infuriatingly humble. You wanted to roll your eyes. A buzzing in your pant pocket demanded your attention instead.

“Sorry, I gotta take this,” you said, bringing out a phone.

“Of course.”

“Nice meeting you, Connor.”

He held his hand up in a small, awkward wave that you didn’t see. His gaze lingered on the sway of your hips as your legs carried you out of the gallery and into the cold streets of Detroit. Your spine was hunched over to one side, leaning into your phone in some archaic habit of making the call sound clearer. Night swallowed your silhouette and you were gone faster than a fairytale beauty swept away by a clock’s chime.

When Connor went to gather his things, he noticed your coat in a hanger near his. He knew it was yours from a quick scan of a few stray hairs. His thumb brushed over the collar and he made his decision to take it off the rack.

It was cold. You could freeze out there. Surely, you wouldn’t want to be without your coat?

He couldn’t hold back a smug grin. “Nice meeting you too, Fox.”

—

“A fox had never seen a lion before, so when she happened to meet the lion for the first time she all but died of fright. The second time she saw him, she was still afraid, but not as much as before. The third time, the fox was bold enough to go right up to the lion and speak to him.”

The Fox and the Lion (Aesop’s Fables)