fanciegirl

[starsxinxthexbluexsky]

Happy 26th Birthday Wang Yibo

Happy birthday to the biggest baby. May your year improve and may you have more time to rest and do your favorite things. Thank you for the masterpieces that you give us and for your effort every day.

[ghelgheli]

In contrast with professional drag queens, who were only playing at being women onstage, [Esther] Newton learned that the very bottom of the gay social hierarchy was the province of street queens. In almost total contrast to professional queens, street queens were "the underclass of the gay world." Although they embraced effeminacy, too, they did so in the wrong place and for the wrong reason: in public and outside of professional work. As a result, Newton explained, the street queens "are never off stage. Their way of life is collective, illegal, and immediate." Because they didn't get paid to be feminine and were locked out of even the most menial of nightlife jobs, Newton observed that their lives were perceived to revolve around "confrontation, prostitution, and drug 'highs'." Even in a gay underworld where everyone was marked as deviant, it was the sincere street queens who tried to live as women who were punished most for what was celebrated-and paid-as an act onstage. When stage queens lost their jobs, they were often socially excluded like trans women. Newton explained that when she returned to Kansas City one night during her fieldwork, she learned that two poor queens she had met had recently lost their jobs as impersonators. Since then, they had become "indistinguishable from street fairies," growing out their hair long and wearing makeup in public-even "passing" as girls in certain situations," in addition to earning a reputation for taking pills. They were now treated harshly by everyone in the local scene. Most people wouldn't even speak to them in public. Professional drag queens who didn't live as women still had to avoid being seen as too "transy" in their style and demeanor. One professional queen that Newton interviewed explained why: it was dangerous to be transy because it reinforced the stigma of effeminacy without the safety of being onstage. "I think what you do in your bed is your business," he told Newton, echoing a middle-class understanding of gay privacy, "[but] what you do on the street is everybody's business."

The first street queen who appears in Mother Camp is named Lola, a young Black trans girl who is "becoming a woman,' as they say'." Newton met Lola at her dingy Kansas City apartment, where she lived with Tiger, a young gay man, and Godiva, a somewhat more respectable queen. What made Godiva more respectable than Lola wasn't just a lack of hormonal transition. It was that Godiva could work as a female impersonator because she wasn't trying to sincerely live as a woman. Lola, on the other hand, was permanently out of work because being Black and trans made her unhireable, including in female impersonation. When Newton entered their apartment, which had virtually no furniture, she found Lola lying on "a rumpled-up mattress on the floor" and entertaining three "very rough-looking young men." These kinds of apartments, wrote Newton, "are not 'homes.' They are places to come in off the street." The extremely poor trans women who lived as street queens, like Lola, "literally live outside the law," Newton explained. Violence and assault were their everyday experiences, drugs were omnipresent, and sex work was about the only work they could do. Even if they didn't have "homes," street queens "do live in the police system."

As a result of being policed and ostracized by their own gay peers, Newton felt that street queens were "dedicated to "staying out of it" as a way of life. "From their perspective, all of respectable society seems square, distant, and hypocritical. From their 'place' at the very bottom of the moral and status structure, they are in a strategic position to experience the numerous discrepancies between the ideals of American culture and the realities." Yet, however withdrawn or strung out they were perceived to be, the street queens were hardly afraid to act. On the contrary, they were regarded by many as the bravest and most combative in the gay world. In the summer of 1966, street queens in San Francisco fought back at Compton's Cafeteria, an all-night venue popular with sex workers and other poor gay people. After management had called the police on a table that was hanging out for hours ordering nothing but coffee, an officer grabbed the arm of one street queen. As the historian Susan Stryker recounts, that queen threw her coffee in the police officer's face, "and a melee erupted." As the queens led the patrons in throwing everything on their tables at the cops-who called for backup-a full-blown riot erupted onto the street. The queens beat the police with their purses "and kicked them with their high-heeled shoes." A similar incident was documented in 1959, when drag queens fought back against the police at Cooper's Donuts in Los Angeles by throwing donuts-and punches. How many more, unrecorded, times street queens fought back is anyone's guess. The most famous event came in 1969, when street queens led the Stonewall rebellion in New York City. Newton shares in Mother Camp that she wasn't surprised to learn it was the street queens who carried Stonewall. "Street fairies," she wrote, "have nothing to lose."

Jules Gill-Peterson, A Short History of Trans Misogyny

[incidentallysunny]

I Was Never There.

Death Island Leon x Reader

Real!Dad Leon

Dead dove warning.

13k word count. Proof read 3 times until I got to around 11k then I stopped worrying and just skimmed. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I’d like to appear in the tagz pls so here’s a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing f*cked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don’t be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, daddy-issues, age-gap, overall disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, mentions of oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, any probably some other irrelevant shit I’m forgetting my b.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it’s a long one.

The drive from your college town to where your home had been all your life was as expected. Nostalgia and homesickness being mixed in your gut like a can of paint in one of those weird machines at the hardware store that your dad would take you to. Speaking of dad, you hardly remember him. He was present for a short while, your mom always excusing his absence with work this and work that. He really did get busy, though. Almost dying several times. You still remember your moms panicked phone calls, her countless prescription drugs for the same problems you now suffer from, and her late-night bathroom breakdowns. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this job though. Some real fucked up government shit he was tied to, your mom explained. All you know about him is that he saved the president’s daughter. Whatever.

So yeah- a perfect life with a perfect set of parents. One being mentally driven through the dirt and the other that you haven’t seen in 8 years or maybe more. You can’t seem to remember if the last few times you saw your dad were daisied dreams or reality. Bastard has never FaceTimed or video called you, either. Dunno if he even had a phone capable of that. Either way, it must be for the better, because your grades had been sufficient without stressors on your mind. And we all know a low-effort dad would definitely be one. But perhaps he’d rather just be there in person. Older people are like that.

You grunted, trying to drag your over-packed suitcase up the steep suburban driveway before sighing and standing in place. Sure, you didn’t need to bring so much shit home, but would you really want to risk some bitch at college stealing anything from your quad-dorm?

Before you could think and figure out how you’d even get the plastic luggage up the pristine, hand-painted porch steps and inside (without scratching them up and having your parents on your ass about their perfect house having a flaw) a voice called out to you. Unrecognized and not ringing any of the bells in your head. (If there were any left)

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s been a while, huh?”

You turned to see a middle-aged man, similar to the last memory of your dad that had been printing-pressed into your mind for safe keeping. He was just emerging from the front door, broad chest accentuated by a well-fitted T-shirt. You immediately felt angry that his tits were bigger than yours. Would probably look better with a bra, too.

You didn’t answer.

Fuck- nerves were getting the better of you. Your palms were slick with sweat and you didn’t know if it was from the building summer humidity or anxiety. Was this normal? No the fuck it wasn’t.

“Uhh.. dad?” You queried- almost certain the gorgeous man at the door was just a hotter, older version of your dad and not actually him. The fuck is wrong with you? You’re getting this worked up over your father? Did college drinking really rewire your brain to be this fucked or is it all of the anxiety meds? Maybe both. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Maybe it’s because you rarely saw him and have zero attachment.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your old man. Missed you, kiddo.” There’s a pause for a moment- because you’re not sure why he’s talking so casually as if you see each other every weekend- like it hasn’t been years and years since you’ve seen him.

“Don’t remember me,huh?” He laughs satirically- like you’re supposed to be so sure. It makes you slightly furious and the feeling of anger bubbles up again- replacing any strange thoughts you were having moments ago.

No, my apologies dearest dad. I totally recognize you despite having met you enough times to count on almost two hands.

But the better part of you that managed to exist underneath the scores of problems you had just replied in jest- like someone without said scores of problems. It was best to keep the peace for now.

“You look a little different… sorry.” Is that all you can manage? It’s pitiful the state that your sullied mind is in.

He chuckles, though, like he knows your’re right. The sound is more pleasant and striking when it’s genuine. Makes you feel damp in other areas than just your armpits (thank you, heatwave).

“I suppose there’s truth to that. But It’s alright, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long time. People change, right?” His eyes scan you in an undecided way.

“But you, shit. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. College treating you well?” His words sound a little huffed then, he’s clearly beating around the bigger issue with a stick. But him calling you beautiful and being all fucking sappy makes your face feel hot and sticky like it’ll melt off. Got you wanting to rip the hair from your scalp to hear him say it again.

“Please?” You called out gently- gesturing to the suitcase and ignoring any other question. You were very much overstimulated- having overexerted muscles in your arms by being a weak bitch about a crammed carry-on. Just get your ass out here and help your daughter, thanks.

He shook his head- again laughing hotly while looking down as he stepped off the porch- his brown bangs were peppered with greys and they brushed his face on one side, his hair somehow pornographic on its own. Christ. He looked like one of those men you saw on Viagra commercials that obviously didn’t actually need it. Even the sight of your perfectly trimmed lawn and faux-looking home completed the scene. Where was the camera?

He walked over to you- there was a slight stiff in his stride; like he had a bad back or something. Maybe he did. Almost dying was the likely cause for that. Serves him right for leaving you with issues on top of issues. Maybe you should stop being mean, you’re the one getting hot over your own father. Again- because of him. Circle back to square one.

Leon towered over your frame as he hinged at the hips, picking up the suitcase with ease- the muscles in his arm flexed with each small movement. His face was a tinge of smug with a mix of something else…satisfaction? Maybe he was just pleased he was able to lift it without rupturing a hernia. Jesus Christ, his veins. You wonder if he has them anywhere else. No- maybe you should be wondering about taking your ass to an inpatient facility immediately. A few screws are loose and you don’t exactly have the tools to tighten them.

“I guess college did treat you well. You’re here in one piece.” He says- cutting you thickly from your thoughts and answering his own question from earlier. His blue eyes are sweet and gently lined with signs of aging. Which only makes him hotter- just like the fiery pits of hell that await you.

You scoff.

“Well, it’s not like I went to war or something.”

“Still. It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.” The word rolls off his tongue again. Your insides are trapezing around in their own miniature, fleshy circus- you’re wishing you could stab yourself in the stomach to stop the swarm of butterflies that don’t even feel metaphorical anymore. You’re sure they’re real now.

He continues, though.

“I know I haven’t been around much in your life- this fucking job and-“ You stare up at him- glossy doe-eyes and stupid look on your face. An apology- or even an explanation from your daddy might be part of what your scrambled brain needs.

“Work kept me away, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. Shit… What I mean to say, is- things will be different. I’ve retired. Your mother wanted me to tell you over dinner later but I figured you’d be happy to know. I’m not the best at keeping secrets.” He jokes at the end, but how is that true in the slightest? He’s kept his job a secret for your entire life, so he clearly can’t be that horrible at it.

“Oh.” Leaves your lips quietly, ghosting over Leon and leaving him wondering if he said something wrong. But then he realizes it’s probably just overwhelming for you. The worst part of him thinks you hate him. A feeling overcomes you though, and you rush in to wrap your arms around his waist- hugging him tightly. You now wonder why he didn’t hug you to begin with. Maybe he wasn’t an affectionate guy.

He says nothing at first- he’s even more awkward than you are if it’s possible. But he’s trying. He sets down your suitcase before returning your hold. One arm comes around the back of you and the other is overlapped on top- a hand nestling on the back of your head. Seems he’s getting a bit emotional, too. The attention from him is nice, though.

When you make a small grunt as to wanting to end the hug, his hands linger on your shoulders and he smiles at you. You actually return to, not feeling anything horrid become of your thoughts right now. Whether it be anger or incestual lust.

—

Your dad pushes the front door open with one of his large hands encased on the knob. Hands you immediately find attractive, wondering if they’d feel nice scissoring your cunt open. You now begin to understand why your mom was getting suicidal over him possibly not returning home. You’d kill yourself over him too. But that’s too morbid- especially after the moment you just shared.

That’s already lost to you.

He shut the door firmly, sighing, then gestures to the stairs.

You went up first, self conscious about your backside being right in front of his view but he was your dad. Wouldn’t be looking at you that way. You’re just brain-rotted and have an ill opinion of men.

Your old bedroom still looked the same, basically. Just emptier and more hollow without your things. But the walls were still painted a babydoll-pink and lined with the few girlish decorations you left on the wall. No way you would have been caught dead with those in your dorm. Not unless you wanted to endure torment and bullying that’d lead you to jumping off the dormitory roof.

He sets your luggage down and takes a seat on your bed. A groan escapes him as he puts a hand on his lower back for a moment.

“I see this room hasn’t changed much, has it?” he muses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your mom and I had a blast putting it together for you when she was pregnant.”

Yikes. You almost feel guilt for both the incestuous thoughts and the fact you may have ruined your parents' marriage. Maybe that’s not true. It was his work- not you. After all, he’s insinuating how happy they were to have you brought into this world. Plus- they were fine. Never argued or anything.

“I’m sorry. I dont- I don’t know what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, throwing your hands slightly up by your side.

His face doesn’t drop, though. It seems he understands perfectly fine.

“It’s okay. We can start from scratch. Not talk about… your room or childhood stuff. I know it’s a sore spot for you, sweetheart.”

Wrong. It’s more like a festering wound with the rusted knife still wedged in it. The knife being Leon and the wound your daddy issues, by the way. And having no attachment to him as a father figure makes the attraction worse. Notably when he calls you any term of endearment. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

What the fuck. Was he sculpted by Satan himself as some kind of hell-on-earth punishment? Is this purgatory? Everything he did now was driving you up the wall like a roach- every movement and small flex showing a vein or bulge of muscle. And his arm hair didn’t help. Fucking Christ- shave it off or something. You don’t know how you’ll be able to stand it.

“Okay…. How does that work?” You cocked your head to the side a little, shifting your weight onto one leg. A nervous habit.

“Well- what do most parents do with their kids? We could go out for dinner, catch a movie, just… hang out. I’d like to spend time with my daughter, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he did care. That’s a start.

“Uh… all three?” You questioned, an eyebrow lifting along with the infliction of your voice towards the end of your sentence. You’re indecisive like your mom.

He smiled, lines and the corners of his mouth pressed. Happy. Something you heard wasn’t common for him, anyways.

“Of course. We can go out tomorrow, honey. Your mom just wants us to all have dinner together when she gets home. She missed you- not as much as I did, I bet.” He does that stupid fucking wink again. It makes you switch emotions and want to throw something at his head. Maybe your lamp. You feel bad, It’s not his fault you’re acting like a mental freak about him. You don’t even bother to fixate on the fact you’ll have to have dinner with your cunt of a mom. Okay, maybe that’s harsh.

“Okay.” You breathe out, looking around your room. Leon takes that as a cue to stand up from your old bed- the thing creaking from his weight and leaving an indent on your comforter.

“It’s a date, then. I’m going to start dinner. As much as I love your mother, she can be…scary.” He says, still rocking that pressed-in-cheek smile and cracking your door closed behind him. By the way, what he really meant was probably ‘bitchy’- not scary. But dad seems too kind to say that. He loves your mom.

You can breathe again without his presence. It was smothering, like you had to overperform. You find yourself rushing to your dresser mirror to check how you looked. Hair looks great, face too- though a little tired from college over-studying and then driving 4 hours home with no break.

You might as well write ‘whore’ on your mirror with lipstick. Or a marker- since that’s a more permanent reminder with the way you’re acting. But part of you wanted to know what he thought of you- how he perceived you. For now though, it doesn’t matter. Had barely been 15 minutes since you arrived. You turn your attention to your suitcase and push it over flat, unzipping it before the teeth give out and some of your things spill from inside.

You had less than a sufficient amount of energy to care about it being broken now- so you just put your things away quickly before plopping onto the bed and indulging your senses with the smell of the floral detergent your mom always used on your sheets.

—

It’s some time later when you’re abruptly awoken by your moms manicured hand shaking you awake by the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping when you could be spending time with your father. He was excited for you to be home.”

‘Way to wake me up.’ You thought. She was always having a stick up her ass about this kind of thing. Or anything, really..

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, we’re going out tomorrow to do a bunch of stuff.” You argue sleepily, sitting up as your back aches with your vision still adjusting. She cuts on the lamp, sizzling your retinas.

Her face perks up but is pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, okay..” silence.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just a long day at work and I’m just over-the-moon for you two to finally have some daddy-daughter time.”

You wrinkle your face in disgust, but not fully disgust since you were just fawning over your hot dad earlier. Maybe daddy doesn’t sound so bad.

“Ew- mom. He’s just my dad. I’m not five.” She laughs, waving her hand off at you.

“Well anyhow- come down for dinner, will you? He put in a lot of effort to cook something for us.”

You cursed under your breath and straighten out your shirt- hoping she wouldn’t bitch about it being slightly wrinkled from you sleeping in it. You seat yourself at the table- adjacent from your mother sitting at the end. She’s already changed out of her office clothes and sure enough, here comes your daddy dad from the kitchen with utensils.

“Sorry ladies- almost forgot these.” He laughs, placing down everyone’s set before seating himself next to you. Fuck.

“You know- your father has only been home a few months and he’s already shown the extent of his memory loss.” She jokes, giving him a loving yet teasing look that makes you want to vomit. And yet jealousy curls up like a cat in your lap, wanting to be lavished with attention from you. The metaphorical jealousy pounces off your lap as you’re met with your dad’s hand on your denim-clad thigh. It’s an innocent gesture but you want to his hand to go further than just sitting politely.

“She’s right, but I can be useful otherwise.” He’s bantering back with her- and you realize he’s making an innuendo when you look over at his face. But it’s weird that he’s saying it while his digits cradle your thigh so gently.

“Gross.” You take a bite of your food- momentarily shocked that a dad of any sort could make such a pleasant meal, especially when he’s spent such little time doing domestic duties.

“Oh honey- you’re grown. We’re just teasing each other.” Your mom nods to Leon, taking a bite off of her fork. His hand slides off of your thigh and he grabs his whiskey glass to take a proper sip.

Jeez, he drinks that shit like its water. No grimacing. No face was made when he swallowed it. Just a guy thing you suppose.

Dinner drags on- the both of them forcing you to talk about your less-than-thrilling college experience. No mom, no boyfriend. No dad, I’m not failing. No you two, I’m not having unprotected sex- fuck off.

After that eventful meal and conversation where your parents basically eye-fucked each other over dinner, you’re left to clean up the mess while your mom gets ready for bed. She has to leave for work early in the morning- as usual. Guess she’s going to take your dad’s spot for the absent parent now that you’re grown and traumatized full and proper.

-

Sleep came and went- leaving you to trudge out of bed and do your morning routine. It felt out of place trying to do it back at home- but it was also a sentimental feeling to be doing just that.

Leon is already in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking. Seems impractical, but holy fuck. You’d gorilla glue your eyelids open just to not miss a single second of what you’re seeing. Maybe that wasn’t needed- because you've been staring long enough that your eyes prick with tears. You remind yourself to blink and you seat yourself at the high-top, the stool swiveling slightly when your bottom meets the material.

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His traps are distracting you. You want to chew your fingernails past the nail bed- bite a finger off too. You can’t stand it. For a moment- the way he talks to you- you’re pretending you’re not his daughter. And then a moment later, you’re not being delusional anymore.

“Mhm.” You mumble sleepily- wishing you’d have stayed in bed longer. But piercing morning light, lack of blackout curtains, and the chirping of birds outside made that idea inconceivable. Leon chuckled to himself- turned away from you.

You decide to scroll through your phone for a moment’s time before he slides a plate to you from across the island.

“Breakfast a la Leon.” He says- clearly being silly. Corny as fuck, anyways.

“You’re old.” You snort, setting aside your phone and grabbing a fork to pick at your food until he turns away again. You didn’t enjoy the idea of having a hot, shirtless man watching you eat.

He shakes his head, sitting down next to you at the island.

Christ. Fucking go away. It’s actually enraging now.

You want to scream at him- it’s irrational and crazy- but you do. Screaming at him and being sent away to a ward sounds more appealing than the anxiety crawling up your spine like a horde of fire ants. Potentially- just like the butterflies- they’re real too.

He seems undisturbed as he settles- taking a bite. You do the same- trying to ignore the fact he's so close you can nearly feel his arm hair touching you every second or so. He breaks the silence after a moment.

“So- after this, I’ve got a whole day planned out. Mall, movies, and dinner. Sound good?” You nod, a soft ‘mhm’ reverberating on the roof of your mouth.

He finishes before you and makes his way upstairs- the occasional pain in his back unmistakeable every few steps. And yet he wants to take you to the mall to walk around? You didn’t even know how to feel about a day with your dad. What’s a dad? What’s daddy-daughter bonding? That’s lost to you- well- more like it was never even discovered. Not even Columbus could have ventured out and conquered it.

Since he’s no longer in the room, you hastily eat the rest of your breakfast before you discard the plate and fork into the way-too-elaborate dishwasher your mom had installed (you totally didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to turn it on).

Back in your room, you settle on a simple, totally not underlyingly slutty outfit. Shorts and a crop top. Can never go wrong with that. It’s just soft/core prom enough for an outing with your dad. When you leave your room- Leon is just headed down the stairs. He turns to look at you, his smile is as jovial as it has been since you’ve seen him. For a moment though, you think you catch his eyes landing on your exposed legs- but you know you’re just crazy. You’re the one lusting after him, not the other way around. Your dad isn’t abnormal like you. His head is on correctly- even if it’s been battered and spun on his shoulders throughout the years.

“Ready?” He asks, stopping in place to wait for you. You nod stupidly, breaking from your trance to follow him in a descent down the stairs.

He’s dressed similar to how he was yesterday- jeans and a t-shirt that should be considered indecent. If you were your mom, you’d beg him to wear something that doesn’t highlight every curve and dip of his chest. Hell, if you were your mom, you’d never let him go outside. Too risky. But you’re not your mom. You’re just unusual.

As a perfect man does, he opens the door for you. Then opens the SUV door, allowing you in before shutting it behind. You’re sure you've never met a guy that does that in real life, but maybe it was a ‘you’ problem and not the guy. Who knows.

When he gets in, he cranks the vehicle only for rock music to start playing from the radio- making the corners of his mouth dimple with a pleased look. Really are the simple things for him. As for you, you’re suffocated in a Hellish torment by both his presence and the expensive scent of cologne and leather seats combo.

The ride isn’t long, nor bad. Albeit you two only talk here and there so he can focus on the road- and so you can focus on not dying (he’s not a perfect driver, but not terrible either). Just enough to keep your nerves teetering between a light anxiety attack and full blown panic.

You’re relieved to get there alive. Maybe not. Your thoughts have you thinking suicide may be your only option for now disgusting they are. And it only gets worse when he helps you down from the step up of the SUV- a hand on your exposed waist and the other on your shoulder. It’s harmless. Just a dad being gentlemanly. He was shaped and carved out in that perfect, chivalrous image with only a mallet and hammer. No reason to make it weird.

Inside the mall is a tad busy- the perfect amount to be comforting. You feel a bit more at ease in a public setting since you can now focus on anything but your dad’s chest. As long as he doesn’t require eye contact or talk to you, that is.

He looks around, arms crossed. It’s almost whorish. He has to know his arms look good. Or that his everything looks good. The fuck.

“So…” He cranes his head to the side, bangs brushing over his nose for a moment. The way he looks around makes his Adam’s apple and neck muscles a little more prominent. A perfect, stubbled spot to attack with your lips.

“What do you feel like doing first, kiddo?”

You. Is what you want to say.

He looks back to you, smiling down amused. He seems genuinely happy to be able to take you out. But really- his face is making you nauseous. Obviously not because it’s bad. But because it’s good-bad. Too good it’s bad.

“Uhh… “ you look away from him, scanning the entrance area and looking at any signs. Almost like an escape.

“How about new clothes maybe? Seems like something got ahold to the other half of your pants anyways.” He nudges you with an elbow, gesturing to your shorts with his head.

So he probably did look at your legs earlier. Maybe not in the way you think, though.

You glare at him.

“Seriously?”

Leon puts his hands up in defense. He’s always on the defense in life anyways.

“Joking, joking. You’re…grown.” His forehead lines crease when he raises his brows. You did get rather annoyed at his comment, however.

“I could always buy some even shorter.” You spit sarcastically.

“Yes- because every father wants to walk around with their daughter who has her ass out.” He’s quick to remark, this time he seems grumpier when he talks. Sorta like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Or that he’s mad.

“Sorry my legs make you so uncomfortable. I guess I should’ve left them at home.” The back and forth here could go on forever between you two but he catches you off guard.

“Shit- no. It’s not that- ‘s just you’ve got nice legs. Can’t have these…shitheads eying down my little girl. I may be old, but I can fight when I need to.”

You know he meant his words innocently enough, but the fact that he said nice legs has you giddy inside. Same feeling when your crush calls you pretty. Yeah- that sorta feeling. And his little girl. It has a ring to it. Could even legally change your name to it so that he can call you by it more often. Maybe he’ll even let you jump on his dick right away.

Your face is pure rose-shaded. A perfect, neutral shade to make your embarrassment pop on your skin. You’re sure it’s visible to him, too. Your mom always teased you about how blotchy it would get when you were humiliated. Particularly when she would tell awkward stories about you at family dinners. Bitch.

“What’s wrong? Don’t be pissed at me, sweetheart. I was just teasin-“

“It’s not that.” You interrupt- heart thumping into your rib cage. If it doesn’t stop, or you don’t stop your word-vomit, it might crack a rib or four. Probably more. Better have hospital bill and therapy money ready, dad.

“Then what’s the matter? I just want us to have a good time together. I’m not trying to upset y-“

“You said I have nice legs.” You’re quick to cut him off again.

“And…?” He trails off, cocking his head to the side like he’s confused. Because he is confused. You stare off to the side- eyes glued to the fountain. Maybe you could go drown yourself in the penny-flavored water that you guarantee hasn’t been changed out since you were still the unlucky sperm in your dad’s ball-sack.

“I like that. You saying that.” You speak a little lower now- afraid someone will hear. Or because the tinnitus is so loud in your ears. What you’re getting at is almost clear now. Or at least clear enough.

Leon’s expression is taken aback but still confused to an extent because he’s not even certain what you’re saying. Though, he has an idea.

“Oh- uh. Okay. Sweethea-“

“Holy fuck- stop calling me that. You’re not making this easy. Wanting to fuck you. I know- I sound mental.” You spill it out, guts on the floor and the sword still in hand. Holy shit. Just told your dad you want to fuck him. You could have backtracked- fucking dumbass. You won’t be shocked if he packs his bags and leaves off again tomorrow.

He’s silent for a moment.

“Okay- clearly I wasn’t around enough. I get that. But I mean- fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around. Probably thinking the same thing about the fountain that you did. Still- he looked hot while having a crisis and contemplating immediate suicide. He paces while your nerves are being electrocuted in your body. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Just- sweetheart, no. None of that’s.. I can’t.” He starts, turning back to you. It seems he can look you in the eyes now. So maybe he’s not entirely disgusted by you. His face isn’t contorted with disgust, so there’s a chance. Yeah, you’re off your rocker now. You know.

“Look- let’s not talk about this. C’mon. Let’s go catch a movie like I promised.” He starts walking- leaving you standing in a puddle of shame and embarrassment for a moment before stopping to let you catch up.

Luckily- the theater is joined to the mall. It’ll be a short walk.

—

Leon is lax on the couch until he hears the crunchy sound of tires on concrete. You’re home. Despite his shitty back, he's huffing as he gets up fast and is already opening the door. The air is hot as it greets his skin and he watches you struggle with your suitcase through the heat-haze that spans over the distance.

He calls out to you- making your head snap in his direction. Your face is that of awe and confusion. You don’t seem to immediately recognize him- okay. He gets it. It’s been a while. Nevertheless, you’re beautiful. He’d seen pictures of you from your mother, but he’s in awe just as you are. Though, he doesn’t think that highly of himself so he often wonders if you’re even his kid. Couldn’t have made something that perfect, in his mind. He helps you with your bag and follows you to your room. But your demeanor around him is noticeably mousey. At first, it doesn't seem like much. You’re just getting used to him.

Plus, Leon knows he can come off intimidating. Sometimes. But for him, he’s got a good eye and his job has led him to being able to read even the tiniest bits of body language. Doesn’t take him long to see how you’re worming around shyly- subconsciously smoothing your hair down and biting at your lip. Same way your mom acted around him before they started dating. But again- maybe it’s just in his head. Leon’s been wrong a time or two.

A better man would have left it alone. Leon gets that. But an innocent thigh squeeze at dinner can help him test his theory. A thigh squeeze that’s under the guise of friendly, fatherly touch. You tense- he can hear your small, sucked in breaths as long as his hand is there, along with heat radiating off your body like a wildfire. If wildfires could be horny college-aged daughters with daddy issues, that is.

The idea disgusts him. Because he should feel disgusted and just kill himself. Where did these thoughts come from? He even has the urge to let his hand wander other places. Bets that you have a cute pussy. No matter what it does or doesn’t look like, it’s yours and he knows it's cute. He’d give you two thick digits in your hole (three if you allow him) and have his tongue kitten-lick your clit.

“There we go. Good girl.” Is what he envisions saying before diving back in for a mouth full of you. Girls like you love being praised. Especially by their estranged father-figure or a middle aged man. It’s all the same. He’d pry the daddy issues right out of you with his dick. It’s long and fat enough, and solves all of his matters properly. Your mom is in a bad mood? His dick will fix that. He can’t sleep? His dick will fix that. His daughter is a horny freak and begging for it? His dick will fix that, too- obviously.

It’s only when your mom makes some stupid fucking joke about his memory loss that he snaps back into reality and he loses the momentum he had going for an erection. Which is good. Maybe thinking about fucking your mom will make him normal again. So he drops a quip right back- something about… being useful. Yeah. Again, his cock is useful. Your mom bites at his words, but you’re annoyed and disgusted with his comment- especially with his hand on you while he says it.

Trust me, baby. Much rather be splitting you open than having performative, mandatory spousal sex. It’s like a switch flipped. He’s not interested in your mom. Should’ve had that realization years ago, even. Technically he did. He’s just now saying it in his head finally. Mostly he was exhausted because she had nothing to do with Leon even when he was home (unless it was for dick). Too bad he was a golden retriever following after her every step like a good doggy. Marriage did that to a guy. He just did what he was supposed to. Kept the lights on, blew out her back occasionally, listened to her complain, and took care of the lawn when he could. Easy enough. That’s what men do, right? He doesn’t really know what being a man is, honestly. Thanks, Major Krauser. Anyhow- he chokes down his food with a smile. The need to upchuck after everything he just thought up is a given.

He takes the liberty to fuck your mom later that night as promised per (faux) flirting over dinner. He has her face down-ass up, though. For… imagination’s sake. At least fucking a pussy and imagining you is better than his hand and imagining you. Or so he tells himself. Call it killing two birds with one stone, satisfying your mom and quelling his own desires. And it’s not hard to imagine any of it, because you look so much like your mother. He lies awake for a short while after- contemplating his existence and fucked up thoughts. He’s still holding back vomit and the urge to grab his gun from the nightstand and off himself all over the wallpaper, while in the process, traumatizing your mom. After an hour of this- he figures it’s fine, men think of perverted or weird shit sometimes. Jerk off to weird shit too. He hasn’t technically done anything morally wrong… sort of. It’s denial. At least he’s good at playing the part of a genuine, loving father. Because he is! He loves his family. Always has!

Spending time with you would make you happy, him happy, your mom happy. He loves you dearly. All is great. He’s swearing that his brain won’t be smoothied in his skull by tomorrow. It’ll be normal and function rationally.

But Leon wakes up with the thoughts being real as ever while he stretches an arm out to feel around for your mother- bed empty since she leaves at the ass crack of dawn. Leon had just missed her leave, he’s still getting used to sleeping in ever since he retired.

He gets up and heads downstairs- immediately starting breakfast to take his mind off his…mind. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day, it makes him feel better to indulge in it right now. Though, he doesn’t bother putting a shirt on at any point- just rocking those generic, green and blue tartan patterned pajama pants. Cooking shirtless is weird- but he’s hungry and part of him wonders if he’ll get to see your priceless face when you walk into the kitchen. He shakes his head- telling himself that he just had this talk with himself last night. None of that shit.

He was right about one thing. God, he could make a killing in betting. He sees your reflection behind him in the small window above the counter but you didn’t know that. Just stood, gawking. It’s okay. He’s observative, you’re not. You’re his dumb little girl. Dumb in the way you shift in your stool next to him when he sits down, dumb how you hold your breath when he’s near, dumb how you can’t even eat next to him, and dumb how your thighs seem to wriggle when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushes yours. Oh, he’s definitely not wrong.

Still- he knows when to back off. He hounds down his food, before you even make a dent in your plate, and heads upstairs to shower. He’s analyzing every detail of himself, contemplating how he can get under your skin the most- his knuckles gripping the sink with distaste for himself. Because it’s wrong. He’s acting like a teenager. This is a date with his daughter, not his highschool girlfriend.

Leon skips over shaving his face. Likes to keep it a little grown out but not too much so. Just in case he gets the chance to eat (your) pussy or kiss (your) a neck. Then comes the Dior ‘Sauvage’ body wash he never failed to keep with him. He takes pride in smelling good if anything. And this particularly expensive wash, plus the cologne, was his lifeline for that. When he traveled for work- the D.S.O. better have god damned had some sent to his room as courtesy. Ever since Raccoon City- he’s adamant about not smelling less than great. He swears he can still smell the sewer on himself sometimes, even if it’s not really there.

His hair routine was even more extensive and involved a weekly hair mask. Hey- it wasn’t wrong for a guy to have nice hair. It paid off.

Heat protectant, blow dry, hot-comb to get any cow licks or fly-aways he might have- though it’s unlikely- and a little spritz of biotin spray to keep it healthy and shiny. All of that in reasonable time, too. And no- it's not weird for him to spend longer on his hair than your mom does.

Besides, you seem to appreciate the way he looks when you come out of your bedroom- watching him descend the stairs. Leon looks back at you- eyes on your legs momentarily then coming back up. He knows it was a quick look- quick enough to make you question it. You do. Very much. Still, taking you out in public wearing those shorts is less than ideal for him, but he’s the one who needs to be watched closely. Aforementioned, Leon’s great at pretending. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to not have ulterior motives. Pretending to not want your legs on his shoulders as he-

“All ready?” He interrupts himself here. Can’t let his thoughts keep going too far. Even if he does want to rest a hand on your leg while he drives. Or veer off the road and into a tree so that he can’t continue to be disgusting. He’d die with the image of being a good, wholesome dad in everyone’s mind. And if you did or didn’t die too, at least you would have died not having been fucked silly by your old man. He manages to not kill you both, though. He wasn’t planning to- his driving is just ass. He knows whiskey with his breakfast isn’t ideal but when you’re a recovering alcoholic plus post traumatic stressed failure of a father, it helps.

Can’t complain though since he gets to put his hands on you while helping you out of the vehicle.

Now you’re both in the mall- Leon questioning what exactly he’s supposed to do now. He hasn’t been to one since… he doesn’t have enough fingers for that. But you’re seemingly calm. Until he makes a stupid joke about your shorts. Sure. As much as he’s thinking about ripping a hole in the crotch to fuck you cause he’s impatient and stupid- he said it out of genuine concern.

He still has fatherly instinct. Some sick bastard could get a glimpse of your exposed legs and go jerk off to it or take a photo. Ironic coming from him right now. The call is coming from inside the house but the dad is too busy fiending after his own daughter to answer.

You’re royally pissed. He knows it. Women don’t like having it insinuated that they’re dressed like a whore. Big whoop, though. Someone has to say it. Then you blindside him. Big, needy eyes and saying you like it when he tells you your legs are nice. Then something about how you want to fuck him. Christ. What the fuck. He’s not sure if this is some kind of screwy set-up or you’re actually just so slutty that the only dick you’ll accept is your dad’s. He’s rocking a semi now. Would be a full hard-on if he weren’t in public but his head spins cause all the blood went to his loins too fast.

Leon doesn’t accept the advances yet. Not now, anyways. He’s mortified. He really thought he had himself going in delusion about how you were behaving- but he was actually right. And now being confronted with it… he’s fucking scared - that’s for sure. Hmm. Be a morally acceptable human or fuck your needy, whore daughter silly? He shakes his head and lets out an exhale.

That question needs some thought. No, it doesn’t. He knows better than to do any of that shit, right? He takes a moment to start walking while you follow along shamefully- the two of you headed to the theater. A movie is perfect. Don’t have to talk or anything. No interacting, really. But how the fuck is he just going to forget what you said? Sure, he’s been having questionable thoughts but they’re just thoughts. Your words, however, spoke it into existence. Like a fucked up, frankenstein’s monster of father-daughter reality.

Don’t mind us, everyone. Daughter’s got it real bad for me but I’m just going to take her to the movies and pretend it’s normal. Reality was distorted for him ever since the existence of zombies and BOWs anyway.

He lets you pick the movie- telling the attendant that he needs two tickets. It’s a horror movie. Of course. Something to trigger his PTSD, maybe. Then he could say anything he did after that was just accidental. A mental slip. He goes to fork over the $60 for tickets and popcorn- god, when did shit get so expensive? As he’s pulling out the cash, he sees you give him a look like you want to say something. His mind is racing looking at you- it makes him nervous.

“Uh.. what about candy?” You ask, looking away from him and at the display.

“What? Sour worms?” He questions you, laughing. Not in a mean way- but because it’s your favorite. So insignificant but he remembers. You were still a kid when he and your mom took you to see some milked out children’s movie that was a part of an entirely too long series. He bought you two boxes of sour worms then. You were a weird kid, though. The worms were split into two colors, and you’d always bite them down the middle and make him eat the side you didn’t like. But he’d do it. Gladly.

You nod, a little befuddled that he’d remember something like that. Cute. Too bad your weird ass just told him you wanted to fuck him about 15 minutes ago. So not entirely a cute moment.

“Oh- and two boxes of Sour Worms, please.” He adds, now pulling out a little more cash.

You both respectively grab your own drinks- Leon with popcorn in tow and you, your worms and cherry soda. His hands are full but he manages to flash the movie ticket between his index and middle finger to the usher, who then ripped it in half and pointed to the left end of the hallway.

You both don’t say anything, but you immediately race to the very top row like a child once inside the screening. Leon swears under his breath as he follows you like a geriatric snail. If a snail could have lumbar issues. He’s able to make it up the stairs to you quite some time after and takes the seat next to you that’s closest to the aisle. Safety and all that jazz.

Previews are already playing so it gives him peace of mind to not address the awkwardness between the two of you. Your soda is in the cup holder that’s separating you both, but you lean over to take a sip, cheeks hollowed out while you drink. Of course Leon looks over, fuck.

Pretty little lips wrapped around the straw until you pull off of it with a satisfied sigh. Cause you were thirsty from anxiety- like someone shoved gauze and cotton into your mouth.

He shifts in his seat and looks back at the screen. He doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not, however. He’s just a perverted dickhead.

Time passes and not a single soul has come into this screening. It’s Monday at 11am, after all. Who the hell would come watch a horror movie at this time? No one except two fucking weirdos. It’s making Leon’s nails dig into the armrest with the other set scratching at his jeans.

The movie doesn’t start off bad, to Leon’s shock. He’s actually enjoying it and you seem just as entranced, pulling open the box of Sour Worms without looking down. You do wind up looking down, however, to bite one in half because it just so happened to be a blue and orange combo, and you hated the orange side.

“Here.” Leon turns to look at you- your eyes coming up to meet his blue ones that are oddly blue enough to the point that any light from the screen makes them pop. Pretty.

“The orange half. I know you don’t like them.” His voice is husky and low since the speakers are blaring some generic string-quartet horror piece. He nods down to the half chewed candy in your palm.

You pinch it between your fingers, bringing it to his mouth as your cunt throbs. He was expecting you to hand it to him, but the way you confidentially yet instinctively brought it to his lips isn’t entirely unwelcome. The emptiness of the theater makes it that way. Allows room for incest of whatever. He opens his mouth for you, and you go to place the sour treat on his tongue. His lips gently close around it, before he grabs your wrist to hold your arm in place. A hold gentle enough to tell you that if you want to snatch your hand away- feel free to do so. But you don’t. And you won’t. He knows.

Candy in cheek, he brings your fingers to his lips and nurses your knuckles with a kiss before puppeteering your hand with his larger one, working each digit so that he can equally suck each one clean. You’re amazed, aroused, and alarmed all at the same time. Amazed because he looks so gorgeous sucking on your fingers. Aroused for the obvious reason. Alarmed because duh, he’s your father and things can only go further from here.

Leon places your hand back onto the arm rest between you, chewing the halved sour worm now. As if he didn’t just give you the most visually appealing form of sexual affection in the history of womankind. The dryness of your mouth returns and you take another sip of your Cherry soda. Maybe you can drown yourself in it. No, stupid. That’s what the public bathroom toilets are for.

Right before you set the plastic cup into the cupholder again, Leon speaks.

“Ah, ah. Put it over there.” You don’t even hesitate to listen. Record timing for you doing anything. You don’t even know why you followed his instructions so quick.

“Good girl.” His words send lightning of excitement down your nerves and straight to your clit as he pushes the armrest between you upwards and out of the way. Because that’s a thing, for some reason. It’s like theaters want people to fuck, give head, and spread their diseases everywhere. And why does he know they move? You don’t even want to question it. Maybe he’s just a knowledgeable guy.

“Come here, honey. Let daddy kiss that pretty mouth.” Fucking Christ. This can’t be real. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause again, there’s zero hesitation on your part. Leon likes that. A woman that can follow orders. He’s so used to taking them, not giving them. And your mom isn’t one to listen to other people. Either way, if this goes south, Leon can always just off himself. He wasn’t around much so what difference would it make if he was permanently gone? The reassurance of being able to log out forever gives him courage here. It’s rational.

You scoot over since you’re free from any barriers or restrictions, and he puts an arm over you. You swear you almost hear your skin sizzle from the contact. You’re not a witch- and as far as you know, he’s not water. Even if he gets you wet. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and swipe a thumb over your bottom lip- teasing you.

“D-dad.” You stutter a protest- cringing that you sounded the way you did just now. Maybe you shouldn’t be embarrassed ‘cause he’s your dad- but you are embarrassed ‘cause he’s hot. You can’t even figure out why you wanna back out suddenly. Probably because the idea was better than betraying your mom and knowing yourself as someone who fucks their dad. Anywho- didn’t he say something about kissing you? Cause he’s not even doing as promised.

Your dad leans in, his free hand is now on your neck and angling it just to show you how easy he can manhandle your body. He plants a kiss on your earlobe before saying anything.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t go giving daddy blue-balls now. It’s not polite to start things you don’t wanna finish.”

Leon’s words simultaneously gross you out and turn you on in a self-deprecating, disgusting kind of way. Not to mention he’s literally contradicting himself since he would gladly eat the half of the sour worms you didn’t want to finish- therefore entirely enabling you to start things you couldn’t finish. Hm. That must explain a large portion of your life, then. And besides all do that, doesn’t the know blue-balls is some kinda stupid myth or whatever?

His thumb falls down your lip and traces your jawline with intentional slowness while his eyes look over your face appreciatively- but it also seems as if he’s looking for or at something specific.

You get the courage to speak, air sucked fully into your lungs.

“Sorry, daddy.” The fuck is wrong with you? You could have said anything but that. It’ll only spur him on. But you want that, obviously.

He smirks, lips pressed together as the corners of his mouth do that same, pitted thing they do that you like so much. Must go hand in hand with how his chin is also dimpled. It’s sexy. But little do you know, it’s one of the reasons he keeps his stubble. Doesn’t feel like having his butt chin on display to the world- even if every woman that’s ever laid eye on him sees it and wants it buried in their cunt.

“That’s my girl. Didn’t even have to be around much to teach you that, did I?” Leon queries, grabbing your chin to crane your head just so that he can plant his lips onto your neck. His other hand is on your knee, unmoving. You want it to move, though. God- you’re sure whatever higher power is in the great sky is throwing up right now, moments away from pressing the reset button. The same higher power will make a new rule on humanity.

No free will and absolutely no incest. Yeah. Probably should have written that into the books ages ago, one fears.

You fidget as he kisses your neck, stubble scratching your epidermis yet tickling all the same.

“Not gonna answer me, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your throat, the neck kiss he gives it uses a bit of tongue- making your body jolt. “I know your mother taught you manners.”’

You mumble something pathetically apologetic, hands gripping the fabric over his shoulders. Hopefully your mom won’t notice his shirt being stretched out there- cause she notices everything.

“N-no, daddy. I knew it on my own.” You huff, that hand you wanted him to move is slowly doing so- fingers dragging along your inner thigh as if everything he’s doing to you is purposefully meant to be some kind of forewarning. But for what, exactly?

“Such a smart girl. Get that from daddy, you know it?” Ok, cocky…

Leon kisses his way back up your neck, jawbone, and then your cheek. It’s sweet- if being lavished with saccharine, sexual and inappropriate attention from your dad could be sweet.

You nod, feeling his grip loosen from your chin and now sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, threading it. He’s slow and deliberate- part of you wishes he’d not give you time to think about your actions. Not that you can really think anyways. Your heartbeat is muddled in your ears and the movie is still rumbling through the speakers while someone gets murdered on screen. Lucky them.

The hand on your thigh presses firmer into the skin just below the edge of your shorts, a silent telling for you to keep your attention on him.

“Sorry baby, daddy got distracted. Just so pretty.” He must be able to tell you’re impatient because he kisses your cheek (with an oddly dark undertone to it) before slimming the distance between your lips. He pauses right when they touch and you’re breathing in the taste-turned-scent of the sour worm you fed him earlier. Sugar and that weird orange flavor that is only specific to orange candy. You’re obviously not a fan, but it suits him.

You don’t get any time left to process before it’s a full on kiss- well, make out, actually. It’s slow. You can’t recall being kissed like this, ever. Normally it’s straight to tongue with guys, and not in, like, the good way. The ‘having an eel invading your oral cavity’ kind of way. Eugh.

But your dad’s tongue does brush yours, tastefully. You can actually feel the texture and it’s easy to tell there’s an erection fueling his actions- but not so much so that it takes over the whole kiss.

He uses your hair to pull you closer, teeth clashing momentarily. Not exactly the best feeling but everything else envelops your senses to the point that it’s only a flash of a moment. Your thigh is neglected by his touch, hand moving up and around onto your backside. He gives a squeeze to the fat of your ass and groans against your mouth before pulling you into his lap- legs folded on either side of his thighs.

You break the kiss, looking over your shoulder and to where the entrance is- the exit sign casting a nearby glow that gives you anxiety..

“Can’t- we’ll get caught.” You pant, that weird feeling that’s the grotesque love child of nervousness and excitement is swimming in your gut like a parasite before settling. The severity and realness of the situation sinks in.

Leon laughs low and mean, retracting his hand from your hair and moving to run it through the top of your scalp to push it back. He juts his hips upwards to prod his denimed erection into the cunt of your shorts. You mewl quietly, or maybe it was loud. The movie is just too deafening to distinguish which.

“Suppose you’re right, baby.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, leaning in to give you a light peck on the lips. “Told you you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Can’t let me go around thinking with my dick, huh?”

His hand pats your thigh as if to tell you to get off.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Up.” He commands you with a huffed voice- not because he’s annoyed but because he’s a middle-aged man. Moving is hard. You ignominiously climb off of his lap, putting your bottom back onto the seat next to him. He’s looking at you, meandering a hand back onto your thigh just to rest in place.

You stare at the screen- but you can’t even register it because you’re too disassociated from what just happened. You almost want to beg him to fuck you right here- plead for forgiveness that you suggested stopping in the first place. And you can still taste that damned orange sour worm in your mouth.

Leon behaves, though. He’s good about that. Respectful. In the way of consent- not in the way of not tongue fucking his daughter in a public space. When the movie ends, he gestures for you to stand and you walk past him, carrying your empty cup and boxes of sour worms while the uncomfortable feeling of your slick clinging the gusset of your panties to your cunt. You look back at your father, the sight of him in the palely lit theater is a bit intimidating. He’s adjusting his pants for obvious reasons. You look away quickly and keep walking- a giddy feeling of satisfaction overcoming you. Shortly enough, you’re both back in the main area of the mall. You brush your shirt out and fix your hair- the thought occurs to you that maybe you look a little mussed and should have straightened up sooner.

But the daylight beaming through the sky roof brings you back to your senses.

“Hmm. What does my sweet girl want to get up to now?” Leon asks, intersecting his arms as he looks over you.

You think, mind fizzling as it short circuits. You almost smell smoke emanating from your head, too. How can you look him in the face right now?

“Uhh..” You really don’t know what to say. What can you focus on doing after everything that’s happened today?

“How about this? We can go home a little early and I’ll cook something up for lunch. The drive will give us time to work up an appetite.” He says, nonchalant. Right back to his same fatherly tone from earlier today instead of the ‘I want to split you open with my dick’ tone he had moments ago. Maybe he’s just being sweet and you’re overthinking.

You’re befuddled that he’s not saying anything else about… that. How can he so easily go from publicly groping you to acting cheery and normal? It’s frustrating. Disturbing even. Leon can see the disappointment on your face- but you don’t know that. You assume it’s well hidden, just like the fact you kissed your own father. He thinks it’s cute though. You’re just cock dumb for him. On the other hand, this whole situation is something he has to deal with.

“Got it.” You manage to say, walking a little faster than he does. This is the second time you’ve walked off from your dad, and it does irritate him because he can’t keep up like he used to. Displaced disc in his spine or whatever. Plus, he thinks you’re pissed. Which is worrying. Should have known better than to mess around with his own daughter, he supposes.

The drive back is silent and less terrifying than the previous, part of you thankful. Maybe he was only a bad driver in the morning. Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe it was the fact that he drank whiskey with his breakfast. Hm. ‘Responsible’ in hindsight.

It’s still early in the afternoon when you arrive back home. The concrete is sizzling from the heat and the sun beats down way too uncomfortably for even a walk from the driveway to the front door.

Leon side-steps you to unlock the house before he urges you in. He may be morally reprehensible but he still didn’t want to let any cool air out- AC’s expensive. You plop down on the couch and he locks the door, walking past you and straight to the kitchen.

The tension is thick for you- but for Leon- not at all. You watch him disappear through the doorway as he goes to prep food. Why is it so hard to read his emotions? He’s like a fucking light switch. You’re annoyed- leaning back on the couch, until he calls for you. You’re quick to get up, scrambling into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. What is it?” You faintly cock your head to the side.

Leon looks to the side- directly at you. You’re cute when you’re confused. He can tell that all you’re thinking about is continuing where you two left off earlier. Shit, you’re no better than your mother. ‘S just that you’re not crabby and sour all the time like she is.

“Can you grab the saucepan from the bottom cabinet. Your old dad can’t exactly bend over too well.” He laughs- shaking his head. Yes, dad. I get it. I know you have a bad back.

You walk over to the cabinet where he’s leaned onto one hand which is rested on the marbled countertop. You feel a bit apprehensive to be close to him again. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not jump his bones, but Leon’s already ahead of you. As soon as you bend over, he pulls you back by the hips so that your ass is flush with his groin.

You’re taken aback but definitely not surprised. He’s a dirty old man, as you’ve learned.

“Gonna let daddy fuck this pussy now, or are you getting flaky on me?” He coos against your ear while he runs his hands up your sides and down again- creeping his hands to your front and over the buttons of your shorts- unhooking them through the slits.

“Yes.. want it.” You breathe in quick- the word coming out on its own. If god could hear you right now, he’d set your house ablaze with lightning.

“Need you to loosen up if I’m going to. You’re way too stiff.” Your shorts are the opposite of you, loose and unfastened fully so they fall to your ankles, and Leon nudges your feet apart with his boot. You realize he’s got a point as you feel his calloused hand glide down your hip and yank you in place. The other hand is spreading your pussy lips apart before finding that fleshy bud between them. A moan rumbles in your throat as your legs almost give out below you. He mutters a curse under his breath, and you realize his cock is now out while he rubs up against your ass- getting off on not only playing with your pussy but from dry humping you.

“Fucking christ. Got the prettiest ass, baby. Think daddy needs to see it bouncing on his cock.” You can practically feel that stupid, smug look as he grabs his dick- slapping it on your ass. It makes you cringe a little, but maybe you should be cringing at the fact your dad is the one doing it. You figure it’s just something he saw in porn, so it doesn’t leave your expectations high at the moment. Great. Leon adjusted himself back into his pants, for now.

His finger continues circling that bundle of nerves, your legs shaky as you’re being pressed into the counter, a hand is on your lower back to keep you down so he can do what he wants. You sound stupid- tears welling in your eyes as you babble nonsensically about wanting to cum. He moves his hand off of your back and sinks to his knees to be face level with you (even if it makes his back hurt a little), sliding his fingers up your inner thigh until there’s a digit prodding your hole, slowly pushing in.

He watches your cunt swallow his finger, barely able to fit it inside.

“Fucking shit, baby. Gonna have to stretch this pussy out if I want my cock in you, huh? Think you can let daddy do that?” He asks, breathy and sounding like he’s trying not to bust all over himself.

You eagerly shake your head.

“Yes, daddy. Need you to get me loose.” The words spill like a hot cup of tea from your lips, scalding Leon with desire.

“God damned. Such a polite fucking girl I’ve got. Might have to eat your mother out later to thank her for making you so respectful.”

You scrunch your face in disgust.

“That’s fucking gross.” You moan, Leon slipping a second finger into you, which should technically feel like four with how worn and big his hands are.

He tuts, planting a kiss to your asscheek.

“Now, didn’t daddy just compliment you? Could be a bit more grateful since he’s trying to make you cum” He grits, sounding a bit (terrifyingly) stern.

You apologize again.

“Sorry, daddy. Just don’t wanna hear about you and mom. Makes me jealous.” You admit, briefly thinking about their dinner conversation last night. Then about how fucking weird you are. You’re really hoping you get the courage to bash your head on the marble countertop and get amnesia.

Leon laughs, but in a way that makes you think he’s amused more than actually laughing.

“God. Want me to stop fucking my own wife just ‘cause you’ve got a needy pussy?” A third finger slips in, making an almost unbearable stretch as you feel a slight ache, but the previous two fingers already did enough work that it’s not completely unbearable.

“Maybe you’re not that grateful. Giving you three fingers here and she’s still too tight.” He twists his hand, letting the inside of you feel every inch of his knuckles and calluses. Your knuckles, however, are ghost-white as you grip at nothing.

“Maybe your fingers are just too small.” You say- mostly from built up tension and annoyance that you didn’t get to let out yet. But you regret the words.

He’s silent- which scares you. He pulls his fingers out of you- the stark contrast in emptiness is clear and the cool air stings you.

Leon groans as he stands up, kicking off his boots before yanking you by the arms to stand straight. He leans into your ear.

“C’mon. You’re gonna come sit on daddy’s dick, since you’re too fucking picky.” Goosebumps form all over you as he leads you to the couch. Leon leaves you standing there so he can get comfortable and discard his clothing, lying back with his hands behind his head. You make a mental note of how his biceps look with his arms bent in this position, even if you kinda feel like it’s lazy. But holy fuck, his toned stomach is perfect- sprinkled with a happy trail that will definitely lead you somewhere that will make you happy. Speaking of, his dick is nice. Fat. Not sure how big it is since you have not much to compare to, but you’d imagine taking it would be a bit of a proper challenge.

You step a little closer- crawling awkwardly over his lap- ass faced towards him so that you settle on his waist. It’s hard not to feel self conscious about your backside in this position, even considering the fact that he was just fingering you from the back moments ago. You’re mostly just upset you can’t gawk at his tits or stomach.

You grab him by the base, shifting yourself to hover directly over him, letting the tip graze your wet hole before slowly sinking down- a drawn out moan escaping you.

“Fuckkk. That’s it. Sit down on it. Take all of daddy.” You glance over your shoulder as you bottom him out; his eyes are half-lidded. Well, at least he’s got a pretty face while you’re fucking him. You almost failed to realize his hands moved from behind his head to your ass- gliding up your back and down again.

You take a moment to adjust, breathing shakily ‘cause his dick is so fat you think you might die. Or maybe you’re having a heart attack at your ripe age.

“Didn’t tell you to take any breaks, did I baby?” You’re annoyed at his pushiness, but you did have a bit of a sour attitude earlier. So you can only blame yourself.

You’re not sure how to entirely do this, but you move yourself up and down. Not at a fast pace, yet. Just that savoring your dad’s dick seems like a reasonable ordeal.

He doesn’t shut up, though. You’re learning just how much he likes to talk- as if he just wants to hear himself. Is he even getting off on you or the sound of his own voice? It makes you roll your eyes even if you do like hearing him say dirty shit.

"That’s my girl. So fucking good. Ride it nice and slow... Work that sweet pussy on daddy's cock.” You just might fall over dead hearing him say any of it- it’s disgusting but sweet Jesus are you eating it up. He must know it too because of how you clench around him involuntarily when he talks like that.

“You like when daddy praises you? Yeah, you love me telling you how good you are.” His words are husky and yet pleased with the previous tidbit of information.

“See how nice I am? Letting you sit on my cock after you made me wait earlier. Wasn’t very nice of you, now was it, baby?” His words have an underlyingly mocking tone, but you’d do anything to make him change it.

“No, daddy. Was really mean of me.” You whine pitifully, bouncing yourself on his dick like it’s your major in college and you’re trying to pass with flying colors.

“I know, baby. But daddy forgives you.” He murmurs, sitting up with you still on top of him. He’s flush against your back now- reaching in front of you to make those same tight circles on your clit. You both exchange your pitchy moans and his grunting and groaning- working up to a good point in both of your impending orgasms.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, got it? Daddy doesn’t like to pull out.”

You scramble a bit, squirming on his lap.

“Fuck, dad! You can’t do that!” You whine as his other arm holds you onto him- wrapped around your stomach. Your nails dig into his forearms, hopefully not leaving noticeable scratches.

“I think I can, baby. You’re squeezing me at the idea- I’m not fucking stupid.” He’s quick to be mean again, but you’d be a liar to say you’d don’t want him to cum in you. And you’re not a liar, that’s just deplorable- coming from someone who is literally fucking their dad with enough energy to power a small village for a month. And yet, you don’t stop riding him.

And your silence tells it all.

“Yeah- my baby wants a nice creampie.” He sounds more strained now, letting go of his hold on your stomach and using his hand to now guide you to roll your hips on him.

Sweat beads down Leon’s forehead, bangs sticking to his face as he watches your ass grinding against his lap.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna cream this tight fucking pussy. Want that, don’t you? ‘Cause daddy’s gonna give it to you whether you want it or not.”

You should be a little more upset or concerned in any regard right now, but the last two days have made you into a proper whore to the point that you don’t even give a shit. Self respect crawled itself into a space shuttle and launched off of the planet, probably to never be seen again. Stuck in orbit, if you will.

You’re sucked out of the motions when Leon speaks again.

“Stop, stop.” He pats your bottom.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see your face. Wanna kiss those lips while you’re on my dick.” Your stomach flutters with nervousness and a sickly sweet feeling. You lifted yourself from him with a trail of arousal to follow and maneuvered to turn around- this time he was holding his cock ready for you. Moments went by of you staring, getting a proper look of him since everything had been a quick blur so far.

“Come on, baby. Need you to mount daddy’s cock again. Told you I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I?” He exhaled, sounding a bit pent up. Jeez- seconds without pussy and he’s getting upset. Maybe he needs a therapist and anger management, not his college-aged daughter spearing herself on him.

You replied, yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you wait, daddy.

You dropped yourself down onto him once more- only this time it was easier since you were able to get accustomed to his dick.

“Start moving sweetheart, make daddy cum.” He instructed, leaning in to take you in a kiss. It was more dirty than the last kiss, somehow. His tongue slipped between your lips- Leon lifted you with his hands on your waist before jutting his hips up to slam his cock snugly into your heat, groaning against your mouth delightfully.

His teeth nipped your lower lip- giving you a little further taste of just what kind of lover he is. Or maybe this is just the version you get. Either way, you can’t complain in any area. You feel lucky to receive even a sliver of it.

The familiar roughness of his thumb returns to your already throbbing bud- circling at the same pace he’s now moving at. Despite his age, he seems awfully enthusiastic to do strenuous work involving his hips. Bad back, my ass. Or maybe he’s able to put that on the back burner to please you. Probably worried if he doesn’t give you good dick then you’ll go tattle on him.

Leon didn’t break the kiss whatsoever while he pounded into you ruthlessly, he swallowed up every moan and noise you made like it was alcohol. ‘Cause that was his favorite, obviously.

When he pulled his mouth off of yours, a trail of saliva lingered- stretching out while you giggled on top of him. Something about you laughing almost made him nut immediately, but he held out just to prolong this and let it engrain into his mind for certain.

“Got the prettiest baby- look so good on my cock like this. Want daddy to bust in that pretty pussy?” He asked, looking for your approval.

“Uh-huh. Need daddy to knock me up.” The words came from god knows where, making even your eyes look bewildered for a second.

Leon laughed darkly at you.

“God, baby. Daddy’s so fucking close.” He muttered stupidly, almost like he was drunk. At least this could be an ego boost for you- but the fact it was your dad canceled that out. Dick only counts if it’s from someone that’s not related to you. His eyes did that half-lidded thing from earlier that you found so hot, and he pulled you down onto his cock one last time, spilling thick ropes into your blood-related hole. His dick pulsed as he let out a muted grunt, head lolling back and his adam's apple on full, stubbly display. You could bite it, just like a real apple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned. Jeez. He was a whore, honestly. The way he made noises and didn’t shut the fuck up was honestly… a case that should be studied. Maybe he had been turned out a time or two himself.

His cock didn’t soften though, nor did he not forget about you cumming. He lifted his head back up, looking down at where his thumb was. It was almost like he read your thoughts, not saying a word as he concentrated on making you cum. ‘Cause earlier he had been too eager to get in you and you were too eager to get on him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders (hopefully your mom wouldn’t notice any marks on him when she gets home from work later) and he gently fucked into you while you received proper attention on your aching clit. The combination of his dick keeping you full and the sensation of his digit sent you throbbing through your orgasm around him- low curses and other disgusting things coming out of both your mouths.

‘Cause you’re both disgusting.

[grims-sunshine]

🤍 I've got the Magic Touch 🤍

Summary: Gale catches you reading an erotic novel. While you read it, he takes your pleasure into his own hands.

Pairing: Gale x Tav

Word Count: 1.9k

Content: Established relationship; takes place after the events of the game; f!reader; breast groping; some fingering

Content for the novel: Kinda generic, cliché smut; mostly making out and a blowjob

Note: This is a reupload because the fic wasn't showing in the tags. Usually I dislike doing this, but to be totally honest I put a ton of effort into this fic and was pretty sad when literally only one person saw it because Tumblr is a bully. So here's to hoping it works out this time.

Felix pushed Sylvanna up to the wall, finally taking what he'd been craving for so long and giving her what she'd been waiting for ever since that one night.

"I just can't control myself around you," he whispered, the words hardly more than a deep growl from within his chest.

"Then don't," Sylvanna breathed in response, offering herself to him fully.

"What are you reading there, love?"

Gale's voice abruptly pulls you out of the book you've been reading. Startled by his sudden presence, you snap it shut, praying to whichever god will listen that he didn't take a peek at the pages before making himself known.

You're usually comfortable around Gale, but something about him finding out that you're reading filthy erotica in the middle of the day fills you with embarrassment.

"Oh, it's nothing special. Just some old tome I've picked up from the bookstore earlier," you lie, cursing yourself for the way your voice cracks. You're not a great liar, and Gale knows you too well to be easily fooled.

"Do you need anything?" You add the question, hoping it'll be enough to distract him.

When you lean back head far to look at Gale, looming over you, staring back with an amused expression.

"Why? Can't a wizard just walk into his own reading room anymore?" Gale asks with a chuckle, holding up his hands. He walks around the small couch in the middle of the room to sit next to you. You notice him prying at the book, so you promptly cover it with your hands.

"No, no, I'm just asking," you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Gale's cheek. "It's your home, of course you're always welcome here."

"Well, you've been spending a lot of time in here. I'd almost consider it your personal space by now," Gale says with a fond smile.

He's not wrong. This has quickly become one of your favorite spots in the whole tower, ever since you moved back to Waterdeep with him. It's comfortable, cozy, and perfect for rainy and cold days when you don't want to sit outside while reading.

Not to mention, the couch is big enough to fit the both of you on it. This has led to many evenings spent in here, doing things far more interesting than reading books with each other, which certainly adds to this being your favourite space.

"So, what's your book about?" Gale continues. "You seemed rather… Engrossed by it just now." You should've known he wouldn't just drop it. On the surface it seems like an innocent enough question. You often tell each other about your latest reads, discussing what's happening at great length. But this time, there's something else hidden under the innocent act, that you can't quite pin down. Maybe it's the slight smile tugging at his lips, or the glint in his eyes when he looks at you.

You shrug. "Just some cheesy, run of the mill romance. You'd probably find it rather boring." You try to sound as casual as you can, but even you can tell it's failing terribly. Gale isn't stupid, after all.

"Romance, huh?" Gale nods, giving you a look that says he doesn't believe a word you're saying. "So, which part of the romance has you squirming and pressing your thighs together?" He gives you a smirk.

You feel the heat rush to your face in an instant and Gale laughs upon seeing your expression, pulling you into a hug. "I'm not judging you. I was genuinely curious about what you're reading. It really did seem like you were enjoying yourself, so I wanted to know what got you so… worked up." He says it with a sincerity that makes your embarrassment melt away.

You uncover the book that you'd been hiding under your hands up until now and hand it to Gale.

The cover alone would probably be enough for anyone to tell what the book's contents are: A woman in a silky robe that barely covers her body, leaning against a faceless male figure, posessively holding her in his arms.

Gale inspects the cover, then turns his attention back to you. "What's it about?"

You sigh. "Well, it's this woman… Who becomes the apprentice of a powerful wizard… And she lives in his tower and they… You know."

You feel another rush of embarrassment as Gale nods, raising his eyebrows. "Interesting."

You sigh, feeling the way your cheeks flush. "I'm not just reading it because you're a wizard and I'm fantasizing about you or anything like that. It's just… Well, the smut scenes are pretty good," you admit, averting your eyes.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking that. Although I certainly wouldn't mind you fantasizing about me," Gale assures you, chuckling a little. "But I am intrigued now. Is it really that good?"

You nod. "Yes, it's pretty good. You can read it once I'm done, if you'd like." This isn't Gale's usual taste in books, but he seems interested enough.

Gale thinks for a moment, shakes his head. "Actually, I've got a much better idea." He leans against the back of the couch, half lying down, and pats the space between his legs. "Come here," he says. He looks up at you with a warm smile.

You can guess what he has in mind already. This is how you usually sit when you're reading a book together. It seems like a good enough solution -- You can continue reading, and perhaps Gale's curiosity will be sated as well.

You lie down with your back against Gale's chest. He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss to your temple before comfortably resting his head on your shoulder.

You're nestled in Gale's embrace, surrounded by his warmth. It's your favourite feeling in the world, being comfortable and safe in his arms.

He hands your book back to you and you open it where you last left off, beginning to read once again.

Felix didn't waste any time giving in to his desires. He pulled Sylvanna into a passionate kiss, their bodies practically melting together.

Sylvanna felt how hard he was, pressing up against her. She cupped him with her hand and began to slowly stroke him, earning her a low moan from him.

Your attention drifts from the words on the page to the sensation of Gale's lips, soft against your neck, followed by the subtle scratching of his beard over your skin as he leaves a trail of kisses there. Your breath hitches and you let your head sink back to grant him more access. To your surprise, Gale stops almost immediately and you feel him smile against your skin, almost smug.

"Keep reading," he says, his voice a little lower than usual, before continuing his trail of kisses. You can sense a hint of amusement in his voice -- He's enjoying this.

So this was his plan. You decide to go along with it, turning your focus back on the book once more.

Sylvanna dropped to her knees, fumbling to get Felix's pants off him. She was desperate to taste him, to be the one taking the lead for once.

S he looked up at Felix as she began slowly stroking his cock before licking a stripe up the shaft, teasing the tip with her tongue.

Once again, your reading is interrupted when you feel Gale's hands travel across your body, grasping at your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. You gasp as his touch goes bolder, hiking up your shirt just enough to be able to reach underneath it. His hands find your breasts once again, massaging them and gently tugging at your nipples, rolling them between his fingers.

It makes it all the harder to focus on your book, when all you want is to sink into Gale, close your eyes and let his touch take you to oblivion.

His movements stop again, shattering you bliss. "Try to stay focused, love," Gale whispers, followed by a kiss pressed right underneath your ear. It takes you a moment to catch on, to clear the fog that's been taking over your brain at his touch. The book.

You try to clear your mind and take in the words, but you're far too distracted by Gale to fully make sense of what you're reading. It's more like your eyes absentmindedly skim the pages while your thoughts keep slipping away.

When she finally put him in her mouth, Felix groaned deeply.

As she started sucking him off, he buried his hand in her hair, gently leading her movements.

He cursed under his breath. "Fuck, you're perfect. I should've given in to this desire sooner."

Gale's hands wander down your body, gently pulling your legs apart and stroking your thighs. As one of his hands pushes past the hem of your pants and underwear you feel a rush of excitement. His fingers slowly begin parting your folds and you can't help but let out a small moan.

You can only imagine how wet you must be already from everything. It only gets worse when he begins rubbing slow, deliberate circles around your clit. You let out a small whimper and your hips involuntarily buckle up against him, causing Gale to use his free hand to gently push you back down, holding you in place.

"You haven't turned that page in a while," Gale notes, sounding amused. He doesn't stop what he's doing this time and you thank the gods for it. You're not sure what you'd do if he stopped touching you right now.

You only hum in response, hardly making sense of his words.

One of his fingers finds your hole, pushing a single digit inside and you let out another whimper.

"Well? Won't you keep going?" Gale asks again, although by the tone of his voice, you're sure he knows the answer already.

"Can't… Focus," you finally manage to say, and Gale hums in response. You feel the vibrations in his chest and somehow it only makes you even dizzier.

"I suppose you've gotten far enough," Gale says, grazing your flushed cheek with his lips.

He uses the hand that had been holding you in place to grab the book and set it aside.

"Well, this allows me to move a little better, so I don't mind either." He smirks and pulls you a little closer against him.

You can feel his own arousal pressing against your back, but your attention quickly gets pulled away when Gale fully pushes his first finger inside of you, slowly pumping it in and out. Your hips push against him once again, but he doesn't press them down this time, allowing you to fully embrace the pleasure.

Gale adds a second finger, picking up the pace along with it.

Your head rolls back against his shoulder, somehow finding Gale's lips for a passionate kiss. You squirm in his arms, whimpers growing louder as Gale manages to hit the spot that sends you over the edge.

He continues to pump his fingers while you shake and cry out in pleasure, allowing you to ride out your orgasm.

Your body finally relaxes and you sink back against Gale, feeling lightheaded. Gale holds you close, pressing soft kisses against your temple as he lets you catch your breath.

"That was incredible," you manage to say after a while, finally able to form words again.

"Agreed," Gale says with a smile. "Although I hope you're up for a second round. There's something I could use a little help with."

[marysdonuts]

Strangers in the Night

tourist!Seokmin x local!reader

Synopsis:

Strangers in the night exchanging glances Wondering in the night What were the chances we'd be sharing love Before the night was through

Warnings: fluff, meet cute, man hater reader, sunshine DK, crack

WC: 683

Status: part 1, (ongoing)

a/n: join my taglist to get notified about new chapters - here

擦肩而过 literally means “to brush shoulders and pass by”. To come into close contact with someone or something, but then barely miss it

You were walking in the historical center of your town, in country where people don't share glances - god forbid smiles.

Vintage sunglasses resting on your nose, shades offering a chance to sneak a peek at people passing by. Ready to judge their fashion choices or roll eyes at couples attached by the hip

Now, It was not unusual to catch men looking at you - dressed to impress, girly but with hint of elegance you looked like a doll. If it was not for your typical RBF you'd have many suitors. Didn't matter how happy or sad you felt, the expression on your face remained unshaken. Even after meeting their curious gaze men never approached you. Maybe because there was always unspoken challenge in your eyes and hint of contempt? None of them had balls big enough to try their luck

And to be honest? You didn't really care. Having unrealistically high standards the only men you were interested in were fictional. Two kingdoms to their name, chambers filled with gold, riding white stallion. The rest? Made you sick to the stomach.

That was the exact reason why he caught you off guard

Crossing the street towards alluring neon lights of Rolex store in neighbourhood you adored the most. Bustling with tourists, nice cars parked by the sidewalk, well maintained buildings offering luxuries of all kind. One eye on store window filled with watches out of your tax bracket, other eye on the cobblestones in front of you.

You almost missed him.

//

Lee Seokmin was strutting in opposite direction enjoying his first vacation in a long time.

Feet infected with happy virus tapping on the stoney ground. Taking in all the history around him. As he held up his camera to snap a photo, like an angel descending from heaven you manifested in middle of the frame. A quick click was all he managed. Your impenetrable aura blinding him. Immediately starstruck.

Click, click, click. The Leica worked overtime.

Didn't know if it was the way your hips swayed in such enchanting rhythm or the beautiful but unimpressed face... There was something that left him peeking in your direction. A glimpse lasting longer than is considered polite. If you noticed the way he was devouring all the parts of your body.. he could hardly excuse it as accidental.

//

Once you saw him looking, glance becoming a stare, making you forget all the Rolex bling. Something in his eyes was so inviting. Something in his smile was so exciting. Holding your breath at how handsome he was.

Like a beam of light entering the bitterly cold cathedral of your heart, Seokmin flashed you the most beautiful 100watt smile.

Ai, mi corazón. You didn't speak Spanish. Kokoro no doki doki. Nor Japanese. But almost folding in half right then and there, hand shooting to the chest trying to prevent cardiac arrest, somehow you managed to keep composure.

Surprised at your uncharacteristical reaction, passing by brushing shoulders, you returned his smile - unsure if he had time to witness it. Caught up in this k-drama interaction you kept moving forward, cheeks red, giggling uncontrollably

Laughing to yourself like a fool for at least thirty minutes, coming to your senses much later - fuck why didn't I stop and said hi? Now is too late to go look for him. It's funny how something small as a smile can have an impact on person.

//

Oh but he did catch that smile. Leaving him with such an adrenaline rush he took off running. You couldn't get him if you tried. Galloping like a race horse at Kentucky Derby, it took about ten kilometres before he finally stopped.

"I got so excited I forgot to even ask for her number..!" He gasped out loud, tearing up at the missed opportunity

Trying to get some kind of comfort in the unfortunate situation, he went over the photos he took of you. Biggest smile forming on his face Seokmin sent silent prayer above.

God, If you are real, let us meet again.

To be continued..

[milogreer]

touched on this in my top ten list, but i wanted to expand on it separately because i've been thinking about morgan and the seer obscura a lot lately 💭

so. "time is a song." morgan kinda blew up after its release, i feel like, and it's with good reason; the atmosphere of that audio is calm and sleepy but also, like… to me there's this longing for connection throughout the whole thing, ykwim?

like. we already know that the seer obscura is sort of at odds with their powers, given how they waited so long to go to the department, how they suppress their sight, and how they go radio silent after their first meeting with morgan. the seer obscura is clearly uncertain about all of this - morgan even calls them standoffish in "consulting with a seer." but they keep going back to him. being the only two known seer obscuras is naturally going to pull them together; the seer obscura is struggling to live with their unique type of sight after the inversion, and morgan is the only one who understands what they're going through.

(and he's gotta kinda pry them open because the seer obscura is notably a reserved person, but he's very gentle about it, he's understanding and patient and does his best to explain their shared sight even though he's never had to before because a) normal seers don't wanna hear it and b) he never thought there would be another seer obscura in his lifetime (much less one his own age) to talk to about it. and then giving them his own personal view of time when the typical water allegory doesn't work is just further building that connection between them.)

anyway, given the end of "learning about your magical abilities" and the fact that there's a year between its release and "time is a song," i'm sure they've gotten together at least a handful of times to work on the seer obscura's control. morgan to this point has consistently been open about wanting to help any way he can, but you can still kinda tell in "time is a song" that they aren't exactly friends yet, and that's why this one really gets me.

the setting for "time is a song" is so intimate - it's his home, in the middle of the night, with not a lot of time to make things presentable before someone he hardly knows outside of work comes over. the seer obscura needed help and comfort and even when they tried to backtrack out of asking for that, morgan invites them over anyway. he says he specifically focused on tidying up the apartment rather than himself, which means he’s looking like he just out rolled out of bed because he literally did. and that's just such a vulnerable thing to me, and it allows the rest of the audio to settle into this quiet, comfortable space that the seer obscura needs.

"when i said you can call anytime, i meant that." "another seer obscura like me[.]" "then there's you and me." "but you've got me. i'm here." "i want to know you." "it takes two to tango; you asked, and i said 'let's dance.'" like it's all just. i feel like i'm going to cry right now just thinking about this LMAO the seer obscura feels so lonely to me and morgan is constantly reassuring them that they aren't alone in this anymore, and i think that means a great deal to them.

to me this entire audio is thick with tension, but it really ramps up when they move out onto the balcony and morgan starts listing things he likes, because it's a shift from obscura lore dump to a personal heart-to-heart. he opened up his home to them and now he's opening himself up too. he gets a little silly! and then he drops the "i want to know you. you won't know that unless i tell you, so i'm telling you. [...] we can just be people with one another, too." and it is genuinely one of the most insane things i've heard in the entirety of the redactedverse. the period of silence after his laughter trails off where you can feel him gearing up to say something, the sincerity with which he says it, the relaxed atmosphere, the mental image of the only two seer obscuras on earth standing together on a balcony in the early morning hours...

(there's more to be said wrt the seer obscura backpedaling in the beginning and later apologizing for "wasting" morgan's time after he's already told them he wants to get to know them, but this post is long enough without me theorizing about that. i'm really interested to see if it gets touched on again; i'd like to know more about them.)

um. anyway. i'm driven insane by the audio every single time. all of the insane lore gained from all three audios so far aside (<- refusing to think about how morgan brought having your threads cut into the prime timeline instead of leaving it in cataclysm), the relationship these two have already is just captivating. the end

[pastel-peach-writes]

Caitvi x reader who's basically a dumb blonde (and very clumsy) at points but is smart in a few specific things you wouldn't expect (you choose what they are^^) they're kinda like Elle woods from legally blonde if yknow what I mean,! Thanks for doing caitvi requests they hardly exist!^^

Hi! This request is no problem and of course! I started making these caitvi posts because they barely exist and i was DYING for content. love to hear that you're enjoying them!

"How Do You Know That?" | CaitVi x Reader

╰┈➤ PLOT: Headcanons of Caitlyn and Vi with a clumsy, ditzy, yet smart in unique ways partner <3

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Cursing, Clumsy Ass Reader, A Lot Of F-Bombs(Vi), Cute Ass Reader, Sleepy Vi, Hard-Worker Caitlyn, Not Proofread, No Y/N

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

– okay, caitvi would never call you dumb. never.

– they like to think of you as, maybe a bit ditzy and a klutz. most definitely a klutz.

– you can't even make a pot of coffee without spilling the coffee ground everywhere.

– and don't get them started on how many times they found a sticky counter and had to clean it after you poured juice into a cup.

– they didn't mind your clumsiness though.

– it was cute and endearing and you were their klutz. (and the audience awhs.)

– anyways

– the only time they may get upset at your clumsiness is when you three are on stealth missions.

– for vi, it was like working with powder again.

– she had to make sure you were okay and preferred to walk behind you. however, she hated when you walked too far.

– "hey, be careful. you never know who or what's out there." "I'll literally be fine. you worry too much--" and there you go almost falling into a manhole.

– thank god for vi's fast ass reflexes.

– while it reminds vi of simpler times, (working with you on stealth missions), it reminds caitlyn of the painful days when she had to train trainees.

– most were incompetent, clumsy, and downright scaredy cats.

– no judgment to you if you're any of those things.

– it was different with you of course. but the slip-ups often reminded her of a trainee who made the same slip-up you did and suddenly she turned away trying to maintain her composure.

– anyways, your ditziness

– i personally believe everyone has their dumb blonde moments. some just have more than others.

– you have yours over the most basic things

– like almost taking a hot pan out of the oven or letting a plastic utensil sit dangerously close to an open flame.

– if caitlyn wasn't in the kitchen working, she was sure you'd burn the house down.

– another ditzy moment would be drinking a water bottle upside down, going to eat a random piece of pie because a man gave it to you, and running headfirst into a room full of mirrors.

– yeah. that shit hurt.

– adding onto your clumsiness, you'd trip and fall on your own two feet

– though your ditziness often shows in your actions and not your words, caitlyn and vi found themselves shocked on a random tuesday night at three am when you're asking them questions only a 7-year-old would think of.

-

"do you think dinosaurs poop? what color would it be?" you asked. you were in the middle of the bed with vi on your right and caitlyn on your left.

vi was resting on her side, seemingly knocked out cold. caitlyn was reading a book with her personal book lamp on. she made sure it was on dim so she wouldn't disrupt your sleep. you can imagine her startle when you spoke out of the blue.

"wh-what?" caitlyn stammered. she glanced over to you. maybe you were sleep-talking. sure, that's a weird ass phrase to say while asleep, but every sleep talker says dumb shit sometimes.

you glanced back at her, eyes wide open and dazzling with curiosity. "i mean, each dino species had a different diet and habitat. do you think based off their diets and habitats, their poop would smell different and have different colors?"

caitlyn couldn't even fathom an answer. her mind literally went blank. luckily for her, vi chipped in on the opposite side of the bed. her voice raspy and low. she was obviously asleep, but the quiet chatter woke her up. "babe, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"dinos!" you exclaimed. vi shushed you as she turned over to face you.

"why the fuck are we talking about dinos?" she squinted in your direction. even though caitlyn's light wasn't bright in the slightest, it was like the fucking sun compared to the darkness that was previously behind vi's eyes.

"and why do you know so much about their habitats and diets?" caitlyn chimed. she closed her book, but kept a hold of her light. she loved seeing how your eyes sparkled with wonder and how the corner of your lips upturned as you spoke about your random dinosaur inquiry.

"um, because it's common knowledge."

"no, the fuck it's not." "who said that?"

you blinked. all your life you knew just about everything about dinosaurs. you knew their DNA buildup, and bone structure, which dinos had more genetic tissue than the other. you were asking them a simple question and they didn't know?

sat up, your eyes shift between them. Vi is on the urge of falling back asleep and caitlyn is patiently waiting on the answer to her question. with a giggle, you shook your head. "you guys are so funny. anyways, i think the herbivores' poop is more green than the others because of their plant-based diet-"

"ugh, just go to sleep!" vi wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled down. with your back now on the mattress and giggles escaping from you once again, violet puts her head on your chest. "you talk too much. it's sleepy time and caitlyn, turn off that light for the love of god."

not phased by her sleepy crankiness because she's in love with her, caitlyn turned off the light with a slight chuckle. she's finally snuggled under the covers and joined the cuddle pile.

-

– since then, caitlyn and vi discovered you know a lot about some random shit

– (and that your interesting factoids were attractive as hell)

– the random shit includes space (most specifically black holes and speed of light), color theory, engineering but with the most unethical supplies, and murder mysteries (real and fake).

– you always surprise them with your random thoughts.

– sometimes you're trying to share knowledge and other times you're asking questions to see if they have the answer.

– no matter the question, no matter the topic, they're amazed you know all of this crap.

– this person who falls up the stairs, chokes on mouthwash, and literally wore their pants backward for a full day is asking their partners if they know about the space-time continuum.

– in vi's words, "um, what the fuck?"

– that being said, they love that big clumsy, ditzy brain of yours with random facts.

– vi call your their "fun fact calendar" because every day, you have a new fact about your selected topics.

– i've said this before and i'll say it again, they absolutely adore you and your wackiness

– it even helps when finding jinx.

– "yeah, it was easy because she used these colors, and while this means one thing in color theory, in color psychology it actually means--"

– "-- wait, wait. when did you pick up color psychology?"

– "last week! :D"

– both, in perfect unison: "you never fail to amaze me."

WC: 1,126

[lundenloves]

couples counselling II

Did someone say angst? Gimme an A, gimme an N— no? Okay. Listen I never claimed to be happy, and this is further proof. Welcome new readers, *leans on doorframe alluringly* I love writing character demise. Happy reading, kids.

↳ angst, angst and angst | 2.1k

part one | masterlist

javier being dismissive and nonchalant again. everyone calm down and stay together, this is a guided tour, follow the red flag i’m holding as we explore the peña mind.

The first seven days: in a word, torture. Well, not quite but it certainly came close by the amplified scoffs, sighs and arguments. Javier hadn’t managed to let go of the fact this whole thing was Aleta’s actual idea, a poor one at that, mumbling profanities to himself the moment he had stepped out the door. She followed behind him, refusing to walk by his side when he was being such an ignorant fuck about the whole thing.

“You want this to work?” He stopped, turning to face her in the middle of the parking lot — palms faced up in question. The sun had caught his glare, somehow injecting it with an extra dose of inconvenience just to add salt to the wound. “Huh, pateadora?”

Aleta cringed at the derogatory nickname he had used. Kicker. He’d coined it in El Paso following an onslaught of kicks to his shin under tables for inappropriate conversations, and he couldn't resist but stamp the name onto her. Like a medal to an athlete. She fucking hated it. “Get off the fucking road, pendejo.”

“Then walk with me.” His eyes followed her, condescendingly shaking his head when she’d pushed him from his stoppage. “Hardly asking for salvation, here.” Aleta groaned frustratedly at his mutter, rounding the car to enter the passenger side.

“No. You’re asking for death.”

Javier leaned his head against the steering wheel, finding his shoulders vibrating in laughter. This really was fucking ridiculous. He hit the dash with a thud, sitting back in his seat and pushing arms across his broad chest.

“This won’t work, you know.” He said, eyes fixed onto the near empty parking lot ahead of them.

Aleta studied his features, sighing at the familiar crease by his eyes and the way it loosened when he’d momentarily lifted his brow. The finger that traced across his bottom lip, then down to his jaw, smoothing over his cheek in visible stress.

“That’s only because you don’t want it to work.”

He’d snorted at that. “I’m paying two-hundred an hour for it, Aleta.”

“Fucking show interest then.” She berated loudly.

And to be fair, they’d tried. They really had tried on the task given to them. But staring at someone who literally boils your blood with a snap of his fingers was hard to do, Javier likewise, finding anything a better option than conceding to the request.

And admittedly, he’d been ducking out of it a bit. Purposely staying later at the office and tiptoeing around the house so as to not wake her when he had eventually gotten home late. He knew it would result in a chewing next Sunday at the session. He just didn’t care.

So one night when he had come home to find her sitting in the kitchen, it was endgame.

“Shit.” He dropped his jacket to the kitchen table, clutching a hand to his chest. “What the fuck are you doing?” A deep frown set across his brow, opening the fridge for a bottle of water before turning to look at her over his shoulder.

“Sit.” She near ordered, pushing out a chair for him with her foot.

He turned around. “Why.” Eyes cast downward to the floor with a sharp exhale before placing his hands on his hips purposefully. “It’s late.”

“Puto, sientas.”

Javier stared at her for a moment, his eyes twitching at her energy. He kicked the chair further wide of her leg, sitting down with his hand centre on the table. She locked eyes with him and he let out a long sigh, dropping his head to hang between his shoulders.

“You’re not trying. She asked us to try.” Aleta leaned forward onto the table, watching as he swiped his hand back toward himself.

“And you’re pushing mountains?” He quipped, sitting back and planting his feet a far distance from one another. “This isn’t a one way thing.”

“That’s what i’m fuckin’ saying, pendejo.”

Javier rubbed his face, dragging his skin down in fatigue before turning to her. “Well then let her deal with it.” An accusatory palm had been gestured toward the door, as if the Doctor was standing outside. “I don’t know why you're so insistent on us. We can’t even fucking look at eachother.” His arms thrown ahead of himself to emphasise the point.

“Fuck you.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong.” The side of his lip tugged upward at her lack of reaction, both of his hands landing flat on the table. And for a moment, a slight moment — Aleta had thought that was it for them.

And it would've been if she couldn't read Javier well, the minute flaring of his nostrils and the way he inwardly sighed, his features softening and passing as eerie hostility to anyone but the woman opposite him.

He was scared of it all.

And that’s exactly what the Doctor had clocked onto in that session come Sunday. Her notes were pointedly placed by her chair instead of her lap. It was the first thing Javier had noticed when walking in, failing to hide the crease between his brows.

“Mr and Mrs Peña.” She nodded with a stiff smile.

Javier sat back on the deep sofa, maintaining the same distance to his wife as before and looking up to the ceiling in anticipation of more headaches. The muscles in his arms flexed when his hands had been pushed through his hair, joining at his nape. “Mornin’.” He grumbled.

The Doctor took a moment before clearing her throat. “How did you get on with what we discussed?”

“We tried.”

“No we didn’t. Not really.” Javier spoke, receiving a lengthy glare from his wife.

“We did.” She bit back, wasting no time. “He’s just scared of it all.” Her words came like a dagger to Javi’s masculinity, like she’d just clawed it back and shoved him in front of a crowd. He returned his eyes to the scene before him, looking at her like a kicked dog. The Doctor tilted her head at Aleta’s words before looking to Javier.

“Does loss scare you?” Her soft tone angered him.

“No.” He replied dryly, shifting in his seat.

The Doctor allowed for his denial, her eyes flitting to Aleta who had subtly nodded as if to confirm he was lying. “He picked up extra hours. Again.”

“I already had those hours.” His arms crossed tight over his chest again in self-preservation. “I told you, I don’t know why we’re still trying. This is fucking stupid.”

Aleta bit on her lip, a projecting smile forming. “You’re the one who's paying.” Her attempt to mask the brewing anger was not working. Javier sat forward, looking toward the Doctor to ignore his wife.

“I’m paying because all you do is fucking complain.”

“And you believe the love isn’t there anymore, Javier?” There came an interception from Aleta’s pending bite, flicking a few pages deeper in her notes before looking up to him.

“No, it’s gone.” He cleared his throat while resting his elbows on his knees, looking to the floor over joined hands.

“Is that what you want?”

Javier's jaw ticked, rubbing the back of his neck before shrugging silently. His face remaining stiff, eyes stuck to the vinyl flooring as if a certain death would occur upon his looking up. “I don’t really care.” The nonchalance in his voice was expected.

“That’s bullshit.” Aleta interrupted strongly. “You fuckin’ know it is, Javi.”

He looked back at her. “Is it?” A hand ran up his neck and over his hair with a grin, her sudden reaction setting him off. “Or is that what you want? You want this whole thing to blow over?”

“That’s not what we’re here for.”

“No, we're here to waste time.” He silenced her, shaking his head before looking back to the Doctor who gave a weak smile.

“This won’t work if both parties aren’t cooperating.” She only added salt to Aleta’s wounds, the pressing of her lips rounding the words off like a fucking punch to the gut.

Javier clapped his hands once, dropping them to his thighs. “That’ll be us then.” He said, digging into his pockets to source a cigarette.

“Will it shit.”

His wife’s tone was brash, her pupils blown in impatience as he caught eyes with her. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip before sticking the cigarette to it, “I can smoke in here, right?”

The white coat opposite him nodded, shifting a few papers across her lap and back to the table. Shaking her head, she asked, “What’s the ideal outcome for you two.”

“To not kill each other.” Javier mused like this whole thing was a joke, tapping the heel of his boot on the floor. A long trail of smoke danced above his cigarette, absorbing Aleta’s attention more than his remark.

“Aleta?”

“For him to stop lying.”

She hadn’t blinked, still in a daze for the smoke.

Javier only looked at her, his eyes squinting before taking a slow drag in thought. Knee once again betraying him for the way it bounced up and down, and the quietness of her voice tightening his jaw.

“I think you two need to talk. With no avoidance.”

He snorted.

“Here. You’ll talk here.” She clicked her pen on a notebook that had been opened to a fresh page. “Javier, tell Aleta something you like about her.”

The instruction made him sigh, sitting back on the sofa and looking up in contemplation for a little too long. “Her lips.”

“Vice versa.”

“I like his eyes.”

“Who loved first?”

“Me.” Javier answered shortly, his eyes shifting toward hers for a split second.

“Recall it.”

Aleta figured out what was going on pretty quickly. It was a solemn attempt to reignite the memories in Javi’s head, maybe create a spark for a flame of their marriage to continue on.

He puffed out a breath, dropping his shoulders and looking back up toward the ceiling. “She didn’t like me, kept pushing me away.” The smoke of his cigarette came with the words, exhalation pushing them up to cloud. “But I was persistent. I wanted her.”

“Why did you want her?”

He sat forward, almost laughing with a tilt of his head. “She made me nervous.”

Aleta’s eyes averted to the floor.

“No one made me feel like that.”

The room fell quiet and for the first time, it was allowed. The white coat encouraged the way they stared at one another. Javier rubbed at his temple, leaning forward but looking back to his wife who stared down at him.

He was a stoic person.

And the breakdown of their marriage forced him to close back up. The feeling of losing that primal safety contributing to the resurface of nonchalance and disinterest.

He knew that she was aware of it.

Which only pushed him further off that cliff.

“Why did you give him a chance?”

Aleta laughed. “I don’t know.” Her smile slowly faded into a shadow, nostrils flaring in evidence to her upset.

No one had asked that before.

“How about we wrap this one up…” A smile came empathetically, closing her notebook and the matching folder titled Peña. “I just want you two to talk. That’s all.”

Javier stubbed his cigarette out in the provided ashtray, rubbing his face. “Alright.” He answered for his wife.

“And what I asked last week too. Maybe try that again.” Aleta nodded absently, unfreezing from her trance and standing up to follow Javi who held the door open. “See you next Sunday.”

Fuck. This.

It felt like Deja Vu by the time they had reached the parking lot again. Javier stood in the middle of it once more, a cigarette clung to his lip while looking back at Aleta. The long inhale he took felt futile by the way it was instantly sighed out, hand placed on his hip.

“I told you, it’s not going to work.”

“Ten years. Javier. Fucking ten years.”

His eyes looked black from where she was standing. And the calmness of his movements was telling against her building rage for every passing day, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want her.

“You really don’t want this?”

One side of his lip turned downward for the nod he gave, as if this is what he was trying to say all along. He shook his head, “No. I don’t.” Arms dropping to his sides in defeat.

He just wasn’t scared enough.

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! i’ll sit in a hole if no one pats me on the head every now and then.

taglist? fill out this form.

[bitchsister]

i've been picturing this for quite some time - bucky and gale casually having a convo over work/random stuff, bucky ignoring curt who's desperately humping his thigh and whining like a cat in heat? they've been arguing over stuff (mostly it's curt's being a brat as always) and ignoring each other (with gale stuck in the middle of it) for almost a week? but of course curt couldn't bear any longer without bucky's touch, feeling so empty not having bucky's cock in him so he jumped on bucky every chance he got pitifully lol. maybe bucky winning the idgaf war for the first few tries 😈 and eventually curt won and bucky give it to him HARD

I literally took this and rrraaaaaaannnnn with it.

I’m sorry (not).

Once again, I went insane.

If you’re not locked in for this shit, do not read: Desperation, Bucky has some unsavory coping mechanisms when it comes to his anger, lowkey watersports that lasts two seconds (oop), Eiffel Tower ish, more butt plug action

I HAVE to start making these a little shorter lmaoooo

I hardly proof read this. Pls love me.

💘

It was torture.

Curt had royally fucked up, and he knew it but had been doing everything under the sun besides apologizing to get Bucky back in his good graces while Gale sat quietly in the middle and watched it all unfold.

A bad driver, yes, but worse after a joint and a bong rip.

Bucky let him borrow the Range Rover to run errands across town while he and Gale stayed back to work on their docket and finalize their defense — it was crunch time for them and things had become beyond stressful, John’s usual laid back demeanor becoming far more ridged and on edge.

“At least it ain’t totaled!” Curt threw his arms up once Bucky had scooped him from the auto shop in his Jeep, his nostrils flared as he drove and bit his tongue. He had too much to think about, too much on his mind. Curt and his antics had to take a backseat until he and Gale could tie up their loose ends.

Curtis couldn’t give in though, feeling like a puppy with its tail between its legs. There was no scolding, but the silence was almost worse. “C’mon..” he scurried after Bucky who neglected to open Curt’s door for him, or kiss him like he usually did when they pulled into the driveway.

“It’s hardly a dent!”

The entire fender had fallen off.

With no choice but to let it rest, Curt moped around. He listened to music in his usual spot, he draped himself over a flamingo float in the pool, naked as the day he was born with a pink sunburn on his ass. He sunbathed bare, he sat by the window in only his underwear, he sucked on popsicles that stained his lips red.

He’d caught Gale’s glance a couple times, but not Bucky’s.

Don’t you dare look at him, Gale.

He’s just — he’s so —

He’s a fuckin’ brat is what he is. He’s cost me ten grand because he’s a fucking stoner who can’t drive. We have work to do.

At night, Curt would fall asleep before Bucky would ever get into bed. Some nights he’d even fallen asleep on the couch in his study once Gale managed to wake himself up enough to drive home, unable to ignore the texts Curt had eventually sent to him after three days of it.

Please tell him to talk to me.

Does he hate me?

Should I leave?

Yes, Bucky was pissed off but it was something he simply needed to get out of his system, and that couldn’t happen when all they’d been doing was discussing risk assessments and trial evidence.

He’ll come around, Curt.

Just wait until Friday. By then we’ll be all wrapped up with everything.

He’s just stressed. I promise.

Curt had been practically clawing at the walls come the weeks end, plopping himself over Bucky’s knee who had given him the slight satisfaction of pressing his hand against Curt’s belly to steady him there. “Almost done?” He chirped, but got no response.

“Did you color code the sections, Gale? Are they all in order?” Bucky’s gaze had stuck on the man across the desk from him, a pen in his mouth as he nodded.

“Yes — you’re worrying will only make —“

“And what about the evidence slides?”

Their back and forth droned on and Curt could feel himself losing grip more and more. Bucky had hardly looked at him for a week, and Gale just the same. He felt like he was right back at the beginning again, wondering when the next text would come by and he’d get that familiar hit of dopamine.

Wyd?

You up?

Wanna come over?

Can I come get you?

“I think we’ve got it all figured out, B.” Curt’s tone was gentle, apprehensive. Bucky could curse him out if he wanted — he wouldn’t be wrong for it.

He ground his ass into Bucky’s knee, huffing softly at the sensation. Without John to pay him attention with his tongue, some fingers or with his and Gale’s cock, he was left to his own devices.

It was hardly as fun.

Bucky wasn’t budging though, holding Curt still by his belly but not moving his hand, not one single bit of attention truly paid to Curt as he fussed on and on about the organization of their defense binders.

“Bucky,” Curt whimpered, leaning his back against his chest as his hands, much smaller than Bucky’s, grasped onto the one that rested over his stomach. “It’s Friday — it’s late. C’mon.”

Gale blinked at the two, his fingers idly scrambling to show each section of the binder Bucky anxiously asked to see without missing a beat or becoming too distracted by a panting and so desperate looking Curtis who spread himself out over Bucky’s lap, a pout visible.

It looked like he could get himself off that way, writhing and whining against Bucky’s body like the friction would be enough to set him over the edge.

“It’s all right here, Bucky. We have this down, buddy.” Gales eyes went soft, his tone assuring. “You’re the best lawyer I’ve ever seen work cases like this.” He was rounding third and headed for home — they were painfully close to the weekend, so far away from Monday morning court rooms.

C’mon, Galey.

“Being diligent never hurt.” Bucky went monotone, turning the binder again to flip through it himself. “It’s horseshoes and hand grenades — close isn’t good enough, Gale.”

One of Gale’s habits was diagnosing the people in his life, whether they knew it or not.

Bucky over time had acquired a wide range of diagnosis, though Gale couldn’t really nail down a few of them unless he put him through some testing, which he was unsure he was legally allowed to ask of him.

And Curt.

Christ.

He was a whole other story.

So imagine the line he towed, the way he held his tongue. Curtis had been open minded to his grounding techniques which he’d been getting better at implementing — in fact, Gale was astonished Curt had gone an entire week without lashing out at anyone.

He would count to ten instead. He’d remind himself Bucky still loved him, because the opposite was a silly thought, and he’d occupy his time with things that he enjoyed, rather than ways to get Bucky back under his wing.

He’d tried so hard.

He buried his face in the pillow on Bucky’s side of the bed and willed himself to make do with what he was given, but he failed time and time again. He felt so desperate, so hopeless. He’d fall asleep with the pillow that was losing his scent tucked against his chest.

Too much time had passed now, though.

It was becoming cruel torture.

Hips rocking against Bucky’s knee, he had totally lost all sense of self — his dignity taking a ding, no less. It hardly mattered anymore. No embarrassment could be felt on his part in front of two men who have picked him apart and fucked every piece.

“Curtis,” Bucky murmured, his brows furrowed at the little body that rut against him like a tiny dog who’d never been fixed, claiming its territory the only way it knew how. “You’re being fucking ridiculous.”

Curt gripped onto the side of Bucky’s desk, panting as he ground his ass stuffed with the only thing that’s kept him sane the past week — his first plug, the one Bucky had bought him under the pretense that Curt would wear it to class.

Of course wearing it to class had turned into wearing it to dinner, to the movies, in the passenger seat of Bucky’s now bruised up Range Rover.

“No, you are.” Curtis huffed, his eyes half lidded.

The siren.

Gale had made direct eye contact and had practically turned to stone, eyes wider than he’d like them to be as he watched intently with his hands frozen over the desk, picking idly at Bucky’s filled-to-the-brim calendar beneath his forearms. “Bucky..” his voice was strained, but his eyes had shown some sort of remorse.

Curt’s eyes had looked puffy lately, his shoulders sulked when he passed the study and neglected his spot near the window for a spot in the garden alone, instead.

“Gale.” Bucky mumbled, sights narrowed in his direction that time — he didn’t seem to be letting up, headstrong in whatever philosophy he felt he was upholding.

Gale had recently told Bucky he needed to be a little more firm in his expressions. Always a maybe, hardly ever a yes or no.

It seems he’d taken that to heart.

“Look at him.” Gales voice was still deep and quiet, trailing off near the tail end whilst Curt squirmed atop Bucky with red cheeks and messy hair as he moaned into his hands. “It’s been a whole week.”

“Gale, he wrecked my car.” Bucky pressed his hand firmly into Curt’s chest to still him but it was hardly any use.

“I get it — “ Gale mumbled back, “it’s pocket change, Johnny. Look how much he’s missed you.” He rose to his feet and bent over the desk, unable to leave poor Curt to writhe alone that way while his hands cupped the pink cheeks that’d become damp with desperate tears. “Poor baby.”

Curt’s black lashes fluttered in a haze, his lips parted where little puffs of determined breaths escaped while he rest his arms over the desk to assist his efforts in violating Bucky’s knee.

“I’m sorry, Curtie.” Gale continued softly, more kisses peppering Curt’s cheeks as the sound of his desperate efforts filled the study and seeped through the open windows into the garden.

Completely undone. So close, but so far. “Need it,” Curt whimpered, not daring to reach for Bucky’s cock because being shoved away would send him into a spiral. “Please — I — I’ll be so good,” hardly intelligible, barely a squeak once he’d gotten the words out.

“Ohh,” Gale cooed, his features softening again at the sight. He kissed away Curt’s tears again, swiping the rest away with his thumbs. “You’re asking nice, hm? Maybe just a little nicer,” he stifled his own moan at the sight, Curt crumbling in his hands. “You know how he likes his good boy, don’t you? Show him how good you can be, baby.”

Curt hiccuped as he inhaled, filling his lungs with the breath he’d been holding. “I fuckin’ have been!” His tone morphed into that of utter frustration through a clenched jaw that had began to ache, just like the rest of him.

It was an accident, the pressure built up inside of him pushing itself out — before he had truly noticed what he’d done, it was too late.

Bucky’s knee grew warmer and at first he’d hardly paid it any attention until it hadn’t gone away. “You didn’t-“ he grabbed Curt’s hips forcefully to move him aside and eyed the damp little spot left over his knee, “Curtis — you did fucking not just—“

“I’m so — I’m sorry. I’msorryI’msorry,”

Oh, the tears had tripled.

Gale still held his face and shushed him, a thought in the back of his mind had pondered the idea that Bucky deserved it, in some way.

Until Curt was shoved over the desk, the binder Bucky’d been fussing for hours over thudding onto the floor in a heap, now long forgotten and replaced by a pair of dickies that needed washing now, a far too sympathetic Gale and a Curtis whose wet cheek muddied the ink written in the tiny boxes of Bucky’s work calendar.

“Bucky, it was an accident,” Gale whispered, watching John yank Curt’s damp jeans off of him and toe them away carefully, an open palm slapped against perky, sunburnt cheeks that had been spending too much time outside with too little sunscreen. “He didn’t mean to, did you, baby?”

“No, I didn’t - I didn’t mean to,” Curt was reeling at the feeling of cool air tickling over his prickly skin. “I promise — I’m so-so-“ he’d been cut off by another open handed clap against his skin, a moan chasing after the whine forced out of him.

His body wiggled over the desk he stayed draped over, his wrists held behind his back with Bucky’s left hand, the other pressing a middle and index finger against the base of Curt’s plug to push it a little deeper into him.

His thighs trembled, damp and spreading apart further for Bucky whose hands were rough and unforgiving.

For the first time in a long time, he felt shame.

Desperation at its finest — so long were any ideals he previously philosophized. He was suddenly becoming nothing without them, the reaper of what he sowed.

And, so be it.

Bucky hardly gave him any spit, shoving his hips forward into Curt who gasped over the desktop, his eyes half lidded and staring at Gale who crouched before him, their lips locking for sporadic durations of sloppy and uncoordinated exchanges.

Cherry. Curt always tasted like cherry. “Oh,” Gale hummed, voice deep and living somewhere in his chest. “Look at you — just made for taking it. Our good boy.”

Curt was so pliant in Gale’s hands, jaw clenched in his palm as he held him in place; so soft and flushed a gentle pink, black lashes fluttering over damp, puffy cheeks.

Bucky was a mess of floppy brown curls falling into his eyes once his hips had developed a ruthless rhythm, Curt’s body beneath him malleable and so willing to please, each breath he took a stuttered choke on his blathering. “Right—right— there” he hiccuped through strangled breathes, “Fucking — fuck me— please”

Beneath him, Bucky’s handwriting muddied more into the pages of his calendar with the evidence of his so called punishment. “You like that, don’t you?” His hips had slowed so abruptly, neither Curt nor Gale could register it. “You’re far from deserving.”

Curt twisted himself to lie on his back instead, sprawled over the desk with his head hanging over the side, his legs spread and his mouth opening pliantly as he looked to Gale again who deserved a little loving, too.

“Oh, good boy.” Bucky cooed, palms flattening against the inside of Curt’s thighs to spread them wider as he watched Gale waste no time undressing himself, his leaking cock taken obediently into Curt’s warm, wet throat. “Make me take it back immediately, huh? No surprise.”

“You’re so fucking — god,” Gale couldn’t see his face anymore, just the mouth that his hips sputtered into but he knew Curt still looked like an angel, even despite the angle he was at. “Don’t care the brat you can be. You’re so good at makin’ up for it.”

Curt’s throat vibrated with a happy little hum, body wracked with shivers and tingles once Bucky began to fuck into him, hooking a hand around Gales neck to pull him closer and kiss him — hot, wet, hurried. As if he just needed anything to occupy his mouth. “Come with me, Gale.” He whispered against Gales lips who bit back a moan. “Make him swallow it.”

Each of their rendezvous had sent him farther and farther into his descent.

What are we?

What is this?

Do I love two men?

Do they love me?

Gale finished first, choking Curt on his cock and then the ribbons and ribbons of white hot pleasure that trickled hot and wet down his throat that he swallowed without hardly wasting a drop despite his belly that tensed as he gagged — this angle was tough, but Gale liked watching Curt struggle a little.

Once Gale backed away, the mouth he’d fucked was kissed by Bucky who licked into it, tasting Gale, swapping spit, biting tongues and lips and chins like animals in a deadly heat.

Curt’s belly grew warmer with a familiar sensation, little body spent atop the desk where his thighs shook and tensed together, his orgasm falling from the sky and straight onto him like some sort of atomic bomb.

His body lay spent and sprawled over Bucky’s table, their once organized files turned into heaps of now disordered mess and chaos. “Happy now, aren’t you?” Bucky tapped an open hand over Curt’s thigh, watching him grin and nod his head, unable to use his voice.

His throat was raw, his body still shuddered with the aftermath of his orgasm, “Told you he’d come back around.” Gale bent down to kiss Curt’s damp forehead, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

(Do you like the extra spaces between paragraphs? Is it easier to read?????? Anyway… lmk…..)

[fandom-smut-shots]

I'm Sorry Kiss - Katsuki Bakugo

A/N: Based on a dream I had where I got into a fight with Bakugo and ended up in the hospital. I know that Bakugo rejecting someone because he wants to focus on being a hero is kinda overdone but it was the first thing I thought of and I tried to embellish it. Also, I know that Dynamight is his official hero name, but I refuse because I like Ground Zero better. Gender neutral!reader. PS, I generally suck at fight scenes, and I’ve never written for any of the pros before, so I apologize if anything seems off. Words: 3,410

“Bakugo… I like you.”

Bakugo Katsuki stared at the confession in his hands. The letter was long, nearly three pages front-to-back, and the paper was beginning to wrinkle from the intensity of his grip.

How did this happen?

You’d insisted upon befriending Bakugo during first year, despite having been placed in class 1-B and therefore hardly getting to spend time with the blond. You found ways around that; sparring sessions, homework nights, even the occasional movie night in the 1-A common room. You’d spent so much time around Bakugo that they’d adopted you as an honorary classmate, and they were ready to crown you royalty when you’d shown up for one particular game night with the explosive blond in tow. You’d become friends – close friends. Bakugo supposed he hadn’t minded that. But now, here you stood, two years later, presenting him with a letter of your true feelings.

“Uh… Bakugo?”

How could you let that happen? How could he?

“I’m going to be the number one hero,” he murmured gruffly, refusing to meet your eyes. The spark of hope that sat in your chest flickered weakly in response to his tone. You’d spend enough time around Bakugo to know his moods from a single grunt, and right now, he didn’t sound particularly enthused.

“I’m going to be number one,” he repeated. “I can’t do that if I let extras like you weigh me down.”

The flame in your chest was extinguished in an instant, suffocated by the stomp of Ground Zero’s boot. “Bakugo, I-“

“I don’t want to hear it,” he grumbled. His voice was low, nearly unrecognizable. It was a tone you’d never heard from him.

“Just go,” he growled, turning away from you. All you could do was stare at his back as he stalked down the hallway, footsteps heavy with anger. Tears bubbled in your lash line, blurring your vision, but you choked them back, standing pathetically in the middle of the hall.

The rest of the school year blurred into one muddled block of time. Your visits to the 3-A dorm had ceased nearly immediately upon Bakugo’s rejection of your feelings. You passed your friends in the hallway every now and then, and you didn’t shy away from a sparring match during mixed training days, but you kept your distance from Ground Zero and avoided discussing what had happened to your friendship. Mina and Kirishima had known the cause of the rift as soon as you stopped coming around, and they offered sympathetic glances and attempted words of encouragement whenever your classes trained together.

Graduation sneaked up on you before you’d even realized the school year had ended. You walked through the ceremony in a haze, barely tuning into the speeches and announcements. Friends, classmates, and pro heroes congratulated you on your success, as well as your impending position at Fatgum’s agency. You could only hope that Bakugo had accepted a job literally anywhere else, preferably at an agency that rarely interacted with Fatgum.

You weren’t working at the agency long before you were called to join Fatgum on patrol. Your heart hammered inside your chest as you strolled beside the BMI hero down the streets of Esuha City, keeping your eyes out for any lurking danger. This was your first patrol as a fully-fledged hero, and you were determined to make a good impression.

“So, (hero/n),” Fatgum beamed beside you, “what made you choose my agency? Word around the hero ranks is that you had quite a few offers by the time you graduated!”

“Oh!” you fumbled in surprise, heat rising to your cheeks. “Well, I’ve always admired you, Mr. Fatgum, sir. The way you always keep such a positive attitude even in the midst of a dangerous battle is inspiring. A lot of pro heroes are really intimidating, but you’re more genuine than that.”

“Aw, thanks kid! You’re making me blush!” the hero let out a laugh. “But please, just call me Fatgum! No need for that ‘Mr’ nonsense. You’re working with me, after all!”

“Not to be pedantic,” you countered, lifting a hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of your neck, “but technically I work for you.”

Fatgum shook his head. “I know a lot of pros see it that way; they like having subordinates to boss around. But you’ve seen how I interact with Suneater, haven’t you? I like to think of you guys as colleagues rather than employees.”

“I appreciate that si- Fatgum,” you replied with a soft smile. “That’s another reason I chose your agency. You respect all heroes, regardless of their rank or experience.”

Before he could respond, a scream sliced through the otherwise quiet afternoon. You shared a look with the BMI hero before you both took off towards the sound, the local citizens parting the way as you approached. The source of the scream was revealed to be a young woman, maybe a few years older than you, cowering on the pavement beneath a much larger man. Your footsteps alerted him to your presence, and he spun on his heel to face you and Fatgum. His mouth was open, his large tongue hanging down to the ground, tapered at the tip and barbed all the way down. His face appeared disfigured, his eyes pitch black and his jaw unhinged.

“He looks like something out of a sci-fi movie,” you commented, grounding your feet and preparing to activate your quirk.

“Keep your distance,” Fatgum warned. “That tongue looks like a long-range attack, and I don’t think those spikes would be too comfy.”

You nodded in agreement as the man, if he could even be called such, screeched at you, the sound akin to a pterodactyl. Looking lower, you found long claws taking place of his fingers, and a thick reptilian tail extended from his backside. Fatgum stood tall and firm as the mutated villain lunged forward, tongue extending to wrap around the hero’s frame. Once he collided with the hero’s belly, he bounced backwards, landing roughly on the ground. You dashed to the side, out of the villain’s sight, to check on the woman whose scream had caught your attention.

“Are you hurt?” you asked her quietly, checking for any obvious injuries.

“I’m okay,” she insisted. “You two came just in time. I think he was about to eat me!”

You took her hands in yours, helping her stand. “Get as far away from here as you can. We’ll take care of this guy.”

She nodded and bowed her head in thanks before running down the street, blending into the crowd. Just as you turned around, the mutated man turned his attention towards you, having lost interest in his one-sided fight against Fatgum. You could see tears in Fatgum’s costume, evidence that the reptilian villain had attempted quite a bit of damage. But now his focus was on you, and you barely had time to jump out of the way before his barbed tongue lashed towards you. You activated your quirk, but before you could charge in with a single attack, the villain spun around, his tail sweeping the ground where you stood, knocking you off your feet.

Fatgum charged forward, enveloping the villain with his fat and restricting his movements. The villain screeched again, leading you to weakly cover your ears before a flapping sound echoed through the air. Your gaze lifted to find what appeared to be another mutated man in the sky, flying with large, leathery wings. Upon spotting his restrained comrade, he dove down towards Fatgum, his sharp beak-like face stabbing into the hero’s shoulder. Fatgum grunted, stumbling backwards from the impact.

You rose to your feet, ready to rush to his aid when something wrapped around your torso. Looking down, you found what appeared to be scaled fingers as long and thick as your leg secured around your body. Struggling against its grasp, you turned your head to look behind you, coming face-to-face with a third disfigured villain.

Lunchtime found Ground Zero and Red Riot sitting on the roof of their shared apartment building, bento boxes packed by one Bakugo Katsuki in hand.

“What happened between you and (y/n), man?” Kirishima inquired suddenly and with all the subtlety of a stampeding elephant.

Bakugo fixed his garnet gaze on the sky above them. “We’re not friends anymore.”

The redhead huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I know that. I want to know why. You two used to be tight; tighter than you and me, and that’s saying something.”

The blond remained silent.

Kirishima watched his friend, coworker, and roommate for a moment. “What? Did they confess to you, or something?”

Bakugo’s gaze fell to the food he no longer had any desire to eat.

Kirishima’s own eyes widened. “Shit, man. Isn’t that a good thing? You’ve been in love with them since that first movie night they convinced you to join.”

The blond quickly turned towards his friend, brows furrowed as though he hadn’t been obviously pining over you for three years.

The redhead laughed, loud and genuine. “Did you think us extras didn’t notice? You never joined movie night for anyone, not even me. Plus, you let them sit on your lap, and you were practically vibrating when they fell asleep on you. Everyone knew how you felt about them, except for them. And maybe you.”

Bakugo’s expression turned sorrowful and his eyes fell back to his lap. “I know how I feel about them,” he murmured, his voice lacking its usual gravelly edge. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I know.”

“Then why didn’t you accept their confession?” his friend questioned lightly. When Bakugo didn’t respond, Kirishima exhaled a sigh. “You gave them the ‘number one hero’ speech, didn’t you?”

The explosive hero flinched. That was all the response Kirishima needed.

“When are you going to stop using that bullshit excuse to push people away?” he demanded. When Bakugo faced him with wide, surprised eyes, he continued. “You’re going to be number one hero. Everyone knows that. Why can’t you be number one while having a loving partner at your side? (y/n) has always supported you, even back before you were social. They understand how important this is to you. And I know how much you care about them. Why push them away?”

“That’s not why,” came Bakugo’s soft response. “That’s what I told them, but that’s not why I rejected them.”

Kirishima waited, quietly and patiently, for his friend to continue, knowing that encouraging him would only make him shut down.

The blond inhaled deeply before speaking again. “I’m going to be the number one hero,” he reiterated, and the hardening hero knew that it wasn’t just his ego talking now. “What if they get hurt? Being close to me means that villains can use them as leverage, or worse. And it’s like you said - they were there before I was social, when I thought everyone was just in my way. They don’t deserve that. They deserve to be with someone nice, someone like Deku maybe, someone who doesn’t treat them the way I did.”

Only Kirishima ever saw this side of Bakugo - vulnerable, honest, insecure. He knew there was always more to Bakugo’s emotions than the explosive, sandpaper surface.

“That’s exactly why they deserve you, and you deserve them,” he responded softly, earnestly. “You’ve never cared this much about how you treat anyone. You’ve grown so much since our first year at UA, man. You’re a mature hero now, and when you become number one, you’ll have the power and resources to protect people like (y/n). Do you think they would have confessed to you if you were still that antisocial asshat from first year? They’ve watched you grow as a person, grow closer to them. And then you just ripped all of that away.”

Bakugo flinched again. He knew that rejecting your confession must have gutted you, if how miserable he felt about it was anything to go by. But before he could fathom a response, a distress call came in through their earpieces.

“All nearby heroes summoned to Esuha City,” came Fatgum’s staticy voice, and Bakugo’s heart raced in his chest. “(hero/n) and I were attacked, and when the villains realized they couldn’t hurt me, they all launched at (hero/n). I need someone to take them to the hospital while the rest of us take these villains down.”

Bakugo’s heart dropped to his stomach. You were hurt. He jumped to his feet, Kirishima following suit, leaving their bento boxes unopened on the rooftop as they sped to your location.

The steady beep of your heartrate monitor echoed in the otherwise silent hospital room. Ground Zero sat, still in his hero costume, in an uncomfortable chair beside your bed. His elbows rested on his knees as he hunched forward, holding his forehead in his hands. He’d refused to leave the hospital after reluctantly handing you over to the staff so that they could tend to your injuries, demanding an update on your progress every half hour. Were he not a newly popular hero, security would have escorted him away. Thankfully, Red Riot stayed close by to keep the explosive hero grounded while they waited for the doctors to finish patching you up.

As soon as you’d been assigned a room, Bakugo had stationed himself at your bedside and refused to leave. Friends and colleagues had come and gone to check on you as well as Bakugo, knowing that he was irrationally blaming himself for your current state.

“You need to talk to them,” was Deku’s first response upon seeing the blond in your hospital room. Once the villains had been neutralized and Fatgum had been checked over, green hero had made his way as quickly as possible to the hospital to ensure that you had survived your injuries.

“I know,” Bakugo grumbled in response, refusing to look his childhood friend in the eye. He lifted his head from his hands and gazed sorrowfully at your sleeping face, littered with scrapes and bruises. His garnet eyes traveled down your form, taking in the number of bandages and casts wrapped around various parts of your body. He couldn’t help but think if only he’d been there-

“This wasn’t your fault,” Deku commented, his gaze darting between Bakugo’s self-loathing and your peaceful face. “There was nothing you could have done. (y/n) is a capable hero; there were just too many villains. You did exactly what they needed by bringing them here to get help.”

The blond exhaled a deep sigh, as though he’d been holding his breath. “I know.”

A soft gasp sounded in the nearly silent room, and two sets of eyes turned towards you. Your lips were parted and your eyes began to flutter, and Deku took it as his cue to leave. He closed the door behind him, offering the two of you some much-needed privacy.

Bakugo jumped to his feet, but his legs suddenly turned to lead as he attempted to approach your bed. He watched as your eyes opened and you blinked wearily at your surroundings. Hesitation gripped every bone in his body and all he could do was stare helplessly.

Your head turned, catching sight of the blond at your side, and your eyes widened. “Bakugo?” you whispered, your voice raspy. “What are you doing here?”

The sound of your voice was enough for the blond to push himself forward, walking closer until he stood directly beside your bed. His hands gripped at the railing as he looked at you, brows furrowed and mouth agape, his brain struggling to form words.

“I’m sorry.”

Well, shit. He wasn’t planning to jump into an apology. He was hoping to prepare himself a little more first.

Your brow furrowed as you gazed at your former classmate and long-time crush. “Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

“Everything,” he exhaled, dropping to his knees as gazing into your tired eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were hurt; when you needed me. I’m sorry I pushed you away when you confessed to me. I’m sorry I just threw away everything we had.”

Your face turned stoic, and Bakugo’s heart pounded in his chest.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you murmured softly, your gaze drifting away from the blond. “You didn’t return my feelings. You wanted to focus on being a hero. I understood that; I never blamed you for it.”

Bakugo shook his head. “I lied,” he admitted, and his chest fluttered. “That wasn’t why I rejected you, I was just too afraid to be honest with myself, or with you.”

You turned back to face the explosive hero, eyes widened with surprise and the smallest sliver of hope. “Why... Why did you reject me, then?”

He inhaled deeply, steeling his nerves before holding your gaze. He reached up with one hand, gingerly placing it atop yours, squeezing gently when you didn’t pull away.

“If I’m going to become the number one hero, I’m gonna make a lot of enemies,” he explained, his thumb rubbing across the back of your bandaged hand. “With my personality, the media would be all over any kind of relationship I had. They’d find out everything they could about you, and villains would use that to their advantage. They could hurt you to get to me, and I refuse to let that happen.”

“Bakugo...” you breathed, your heart breaking as you considered how he must have been carrying this weight with him since the day you confessed. You squeezed his hand in return to the best of your ability, drawing his attention.

“Bakugo, you forget that I’m a hero too,” you smiled softly. “I’m already in danger, and dating a pro hero is much safer than dating a civilian. We’d be able to protect each other, and I knew when I confessed to you back at UA that being number one was your only goal, and that it would be a dangerous lifestyle. I still loved you then, Bakugo Katsuki, and I do now.”

“It wasn’t my only goal,” the blond murmured, his gaze dropping down to your joined hands. “My main goal, yeah, but I had another.”

You waited patiently for him to continue, teeth gnawing at your lower lip.

“I always wanted to make you happy,” Bakugo admitted, refusing to meet your eyes. “When I let you drag me to those stupid movie nights, or sit on my lap, or snuggle into my chest. The smile on your face was more than worth dealing with my classmates and their stupid stares.”

He rose to his feet, standing before leaning over your figure. Your eyes followed his every move, your free hand lifting to gently brush his cheek. He inhaled shakily at your touch, his hand coming to cradle your face. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over yours, and your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured before finally closing the gap and capturing your lips. A hum sounded in his throat as the feeling of finally kissing you washed over him. You hummed in return, your hand drifting down to tug at the collar of his hero costume.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, and you chased his words with another kiss.

“I love you too,” you responded before opening your eyes and gazing up into his garnet eyes.

“How about I go home and change-“

Bakugo was cut off by your grip tightening on his shirt, your head shaking adamantly. His brow furrowed as he waited for a verbal response.

“You’re not allowed to leave me anymore,” you murmured softly, and he deflated at the expression on your face.

“Okay,” he smiled softly. “I promise.” He took a step back in order to remove his boots. His gauntlets, mask, headpiece, and neck piece had already been discarded during the hours he waited for you to wake up. His boots soon joined the collection on the floor before he turned back to you and watched as you shifted to make room for him in your hospital bed. He crawled in as gently as possible, outstretching an arm for you to lay on. You curled into his chest, careful not to apply pressure to any of your wounds. His arms wrapped securely, protectively around you, and the next time one of your pro hero friends came to check on you, they’d find the two of you fast asleep and wrapped up in each other.

Writer's Block Masterlist

Writer's Block Fandoms and Characters

[piggledy-higgledy]

As anyone who’s been looking at my page semi-frequently will have noticed, I am a big Richard Armitage fan. Mostly in love with his portrayal of Gisborne in BBC’s Robin Hood, but I also enjoy most of his other work and consider him a very talented actor (and a very sweet person from what we can tell.)

There has been a lot of furore lately about his latest project, “Obsession” (a series unfortunately promoted as an erotic thriller by Netflix), which is a remake of 1992 film “Damage” (with Jeremy Irons and Juliette Binoche) and based on the book by Josephine Hart. He portrays William Farrow, a married, middle aged, successful surgeon, who has an affair with his son’s fiancé, Anna (Charlie Murphy) -an affair so obsessive that it costs him everything: his career, his family, his son’s life, even his own self (more on that later.) The series features a lot of sex scenes, very light BDSM elements, and a LOT of nudity from RA on a level most fans never thought we’d see (RA being famously private and modest.) The fandom has been divided over this, with some looking forward to it and some being sure it’s not for them at all. From what I can tell (and I might be wrong) most people were put off by either the copious amounts of sex (and the trailer leaned very heavily on that) or the unsavoury morals of the main characters. Which is fair, if it’s not your cup of tea, don’t watch it.

I *did* watch it, and because opinions have been so strong, I wanted to share my thoughts. No disrespect if you prefer to pass. I hope it might be helpful for anyone on the fence and still making up their mind whether to watch or not. Happy to chat more about it if anyone likes! There WILL be spoilers.

Before watching it

I have personally felt very intrigued about this series and I was excited about watching it. Not so much because of the nudity or explicit scenes -or, rather, because of them, but not in the way you might think. Richard Armitage has played very, very few roles where he was primarily the romantic lead, and none later in his career. He tends to be cast in active roles, a lot of dark, violent characters, tense action. When there is romance it’s not the main aspect being explored. And he has NEVER (with the notable exception of Between the Sheets, which was so early in his career I doubt he necessarily had much choice to turn down work) done anything close to this level of sexual screen time. Why now? What made this different? I really wanted to know.

There was another reason I really wanted to watch Obsession. What Richard Armitage does best, in my opinion, is give characters depth (even characters that were clearly not written that way *cough* *Guy* *cough*). He is an incredibly detailed actor and uses his face and eyes to a stunning degree to convey things that go far beyond the dialogue. He has spoken about how he creates complete backstories for all his characters. This project is literally made for his type of acting. There is hardly any action, and leagues of unspoken material. RA called it “one of the most fulfilling pieces of work he’s ever done”. I needed to see why.

After watching it

I binged all 4 episodes in one night. And then again the next morning. And again today. I finished the first episode and thought “Yes, I understand why he wanted to do this.” (He also said in an interview that there was a moment in one scene that he’d never achieved before on film. Having watched this, I believe him.) Is this the kind of series I’d normally gravitate to? No. But I’m glad I watched it. Every single actor was incredible. The filming was beautiful. I just… don’t know where to start.

The story:

In my opinion “Obsession” is not about infidelity or sexual exploration -it’s about William and Anna’s experience with obsession and addiction. Anna isn’t just having an affair. She is addicted to being in control and to using sex as a means of asserting that control. (We learn that she had a brother who sexually abused her for years and committed suicide when she finally put a stop to it. And throughout the series, she reacts to strong emotions by initiating sex. Charlie Murphy described the character as a “dominant submissive” and that’s spot on, not just in the way that she sets the rules and boundaries of their sexual relationship, but in the way that, having been abused, asserts her control on the situation she had to submit to as a young girl by controlling when and how she submitted). William is not just having an affair. He is obsessed and addicted to Anna to the point that it completely deconstructs him as a person. He is the counterpoint to Anna’s character, in that he has no control. He doesn’t initiate, he doesn’t resist, he can’t or won’t control his reactions or his impulses and he completely loses control of his life as a result of his actions. In the final episode Jay, the son, discovers the affair and in shock, falls off a railing to his death. There is a scene where William faces his wife after everything is revealed and watching Richard Armitage convey all those emotions without saying a word is some of the best acting I’ve seen in my life. I don’t know what part of himself RA drew from to act the guilt and grief and absolute devastation in that scene but it was… amazing and heartbreaking. Even then, the obsession wins. When Jay dies, we see Anna walking away while William cradles the body of his son, paying her very little attention. I completely believe that he is broken in the scenes that follow. But after a few days the addiction takes over and he still seeks out Anna, convinced they can now be together (“there’s no version of this with just you,” she’d told him earlier on, but he clearly thinks otherwise). And we get the following:

W: … I let uncertainty in. (NB: What is uncertainty but lack of control?)

A: And look what happened. I don’t think… we can ever separate who we are from what we’ve done.

W: But… we can’t let it all be for nothing either (NB: William’s voice breaks here. He’s lost everything he ever cared about, she’s the only thing left. Does this phrase mean he thinks there was depth in their affair? Or does it mean that he is looking for meaning and depth so that he can cope with the fact that he sacrificed everything for an obsession and an addiction?)

A: Jay died because of us.

W: Still I wouldn’t change it (TNB: THIS! This phrase upset so many viewers! And of course it did, it was supposed to. The acting is, again, amazing. This isn’t said to Anna, this is introspection. William is looking inside himself, realises he wouldn’t change it, realises how much of himself he’s lost.)

A: You don’t regret it?

W: How can I?

A: We caused so much pain

W: But it’s done now.

A: I am so sorry for what happened. But I wish we’d never met. (She walks away, leaving William sobbing. Because there. is. nothing. left.)

The sex:

I hate that this was marketed as a sexy series because it created all sorts of hype and expectations that were misplaced imo. The story was never about the sex. Morgan Lloyd Malcolm said a couple of days ago on Twitter that it’s about “sitting in the discomfort of human behaviours” and that is spot on. Like I said above, this is a story of addiction. Anna is not addicted to the sex -she is addicted to using sex for control. That’s why Anna and William never kiss (she is the one controlling their physical interactions. William leans in to kiss her in many scenes, she never lets him.) That’s why the music is so jarring in all the sex scenes. That’s why there’s no foreplay, that’s why William never lasts long. That’s why they only ever have sex on the floor or in public, never in a safe, comfortable place like a bed. They are not comfortable. This is not a comfortable situation. We, as viewers, are supposed to be uncomfortable. The infamous hotel pillow scene was meant to demonstrate the turning point in William’s addiction, the complete loss of control, I think. It was never supposed to be funny or sexy -it was meant to disturb us because this intelligent, cultured, previously collected man becomes completely animalistic. Which is why he sobs afterwards -I think this is the point when William realises that (as Ingrid puts it later) “he is lost to her”. William’s face after their first sexual encounter is the face of a man under the influence. When she gets up to leave he makes this movement with his fingers like he is trying to hold on to her, but only grabs air. It’s just a twitch -but it’s Richard Armitage and we know how detailed he is in his acting, and I am sure it was a gesture with meaning.

The intimate scenes in Obsession are sometimes sensual, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes genuinely hard to watch but never gratuitous.

Why a fan of Richard Armitage or anyone writing for his characters should watch it:

Again, you do you, but hear me out: This series is a veritable treasure trove of body language, voice/cadence, facial expressions that you can then apply to your favourite RA character. The longing. The conflict. The loss of control. The vulnerability. The eye contact. The fact that the lover’s name is Anna, which is also my name. Also, I’m being completely serious when I say that this is some of the best acting I’ve seen him do *ever*. If you can only bring yourself to watch parts of it, do that. There were some scenes that genuinely made me tear up. Look after yourself, respect your boundaries, but sample what you can because it’s a veritable banquet.

PS: I am focusing on Richard Armitage for this review because I came to Obsession from that fandom. But every single actor gives an amazing performance. I especially adored Charlie Murphy as Anna, Indira Varma being astounding as Ingrid and the criminally underrated Marion Bailey as Anna’s mother, Elizabeth, who packs SO MUCH into so few scenes.

[fallingforunrealisticromance]

The men you meet - Sherlock x reader

A/N: I'm thinking of making this a series or at least a couple parts but i'm not sure so i figured i'd post this and see what people think. Sorry if theres any mistakes, its literally 6;30am, ive been writing all night. I'm tired.

Warnings; swearing, mentions of a knife??

Word count: 5.4k

Masterlist

****= time skip

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Living in 221b there was never a dull moment. Whether it was sherlock shooting the walls at stupid o clock in the morning because he was, quote-on-quote “BORED”, or john ranting about how sherlock needed to stop using the fridge as a place to store body parts. Every so often you would walk in to find a rather bloody, beaten body on the floor which more often than not was paired with a dishevelled looking Sherlock. You supposed you should be afraid of him, considering the things he was capable of, but you weren’t. In fact you were utterly enamoured by him. Not that you would ever admit that out loud. But it’s true, everything about the raven-haired detective enticed you. His voice, his dry wit, his intelligence – the whole lot. That didn’t stop him getting on every one of your last nerves. Maybe that’s how you ended up in this position.

****

“Sherlock, your phone keeps going off for god’s sake would you answer it?” You groaned, your head falling back against the sofa as the detective’s text notification went off for tenth time that hour.

“I’m busy” He replied plainly, his eyes fixated on the microscope in front of him.

“One of these days I am going to throw that phone down the toilet.” You grumbled standing up to read his messages. “It’s from Greg, says he has a homicide he wants you to check out.”

“Greg?” The detective stopped what he was doing for a moment, his brow furrowed.

“Lestrade you idiot.” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh. Not important then.” Sherlock resumed his work.

“Did you not hear me? He has a homicide he wants you to check out. That’s right up your street.” You said walking over to him.

“Clearly not important enough otherwise he wouldn’t have texted me” Sherlock replied flatly, not looking at you as you rested against the desk next to him.

“Explain.”

“If it was that major, Lestrade would’ve called or barged through the door demanding for my help. You know what he’s like for theatrics. Seeing as he’s done neither of those things, it’s hardly worth my time.” Sherlock ranted with a wave of his hand.

You scoffed. “He’s one for theatrics? Jesus have you looked in the mirror recently.” Your tone caught sherlocks attention.

“What’s wrong with you today?” He asked, looking away from his work.

You shuffled slightly. “Nothing. It’s just- I don’t know.” You sighed looking down at your feet.

You did know. Your feelings for sherlock were causing more issues for you as the days went on. You were beginning to care about him, too much. Everything he did was causing you to fall more in love with him. And it hurt. Not only because you knew he wouldn’t love you back, but because he didn’t care about himself. Every day he would put his life on the line, throwing himself right into the middle of a warzone whether it be with terrorists or serial killers or whatever else, he had no regard for his own life. Whether he lived or died, it didn’t matter to him as long as he was right. But it mattered to you. Loving him resulted in a constant life of worry. The thought of him dying, it hurt your heart more than you cared to admit. As much as the detective meant to you, life before you were in love with him was a lot simpler.

“You’re lying.” Sherlock replied, snapping you from your train of thought.

“Oh well”

“It’s obvious you’re lying. The way you’re standing gives it away almost immediately. By the way you’re fidgeting with your hands I’m guessing it’s to do with someone you care about, someone you love. A friend, family member, a significant other potentially-“

“Sherlock would you just shut up?” You snapped at him.

He looked slightly shocked by your tone. Not at the fact you’d shouted, no he’d heard that plenty of times, but it was never directed at him.

“You know sometimes people like to keep things to themselves. If I wanted you to know I would’ve told you. What the hell gives you the right to deduce me and find something out I never wanted you to know. I thought as my friend you’d have a little bit more respect for my privacy.” You ranted as you grabbed your coat.

“What? y/n where are you going?” Sherlock stood up, confused by your reaction.

“Out. I need some air. Go help Lestrade.” You replied, before slamming the door.

******

You ran your fingers through your hair as you took a seat in the far corner of your favourite coffee shop, thoughts of sherlock whirling round your head. You needed to move past this silly little crush you had. It was already starting to cause tension between the pair of you and you knew if it continued either your friendship would fall apart all together, or sherlock would find out and reject you. Either way ended in you losing him. You needed a distraction, someone to take him off of your mind. But who? John was like your brother so that was off the table, Mycroft rather repulsed you instead of attract you. The thought of asking Greg out had crossed your mind, sure he was attractive enough, but you were too close as friends. Plus you knew your heart wouldn’t be in it. No you needed someone new, someone to sweep you up in a whole new world of emotion. It didn’t necessarily have to be true love, just something to occupy your mind. Slowly you started to realise how hopeless you truly were. You had no time to meet anyone new and all the men in your life weren’t enough. You sighed, looking down at your coffee.

“Excuse me? Is this seat taken?” A smooth Irish voice filled your ears.

You looked up to see a rather attractive man with slicked back black hair and a grey suit jacket on standing in front of you. You felt your stomach flutter as he smiled at you expectantly. His eyes were beautiful. He cleared his throat, still waiting for an answer. You shook your head slightly, chuckling to yourself.

“Um sorry, no its not.” You replied.

“Mind if I sit? It's pretty busy in here and they told me it would be about a half an hour wait.” He said, chuckling.

“By all means” You smiled gesturing to the seat in front of you.

He thanked you and sat down. The two of you sat in silence for a moment. He was looking towards the counter which allowed you to take in his features a little better. His jaw line was magnificently chiselled, line with a short layer of stubble. His arms looked well defined, even under the jacket. He gave off a familiar vibe even though you were certain you had never seen this man before in your life. But something about him felt, comfortable, almost.

“I’ve just realised.” His voice came, breaking you from your thoughts. “Here I am intruding on you and your coffee, and I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m James.” He said holding his hand out to you.

“Hi James, I’m y/n. And you’re not intruding at all, I’ve just been sitting here wallowing in my thoughts.” You joked, internally cringing at yourself.

 However, James didn’t seem weirded out by your statement.

“Something bothering you?” He asked, looking genuinely interested.

You questioned whether or not to say anything, you had just met. In the end you figured – what’s the worst that can happen.

“I think I’m in love with my best friend. And it sucks.” You confessed with a weak smile.

James nodded, smiling slightly. “Okay. Do they not feel the same?” He asked.

“Well I haven’t told him, but no. Relationships, feelings that whole lot – not really his thing. But that’s not even the worst part.” You sighed.

James watched you, staying silent allowing you to continue.

“His job, it’s not the safest. But he helps people, which is good, but he has no regard for his life. I guess it’s just an occupational hazard to him, but watching the man I love almost die like every day of my life is fucking draining. And every time I even try to explain it to him he just gets all stroppy about how I shouldn’t care about what happens to him and that it’s his life and I can’t stop him, which I don’t want to do because I know if he stopped working that a lot of people would suffer. That doesn’t stop him infuriating me on a daily basis.” You ranted, running your fingers through your hair.

“That’s why I am here. He was just getting too much for me.” You concluded leaning back in your chair.

“That sounds really intense.” James replied.

“Yeah his job is a bit mental but like I said he helps-“

“-no no I meant you. The fact that you care so deeply about this man is honestly beautiful, but him seemingly not caring about how his actions effect you – that is intense. And in no way fair to you.” He said, looking you in the eyes.

You were slightly shocked; no one you’d talked about this had ever taken the time to see it from your perspective. But here you were sat with some random bloke in a coffee shop, feeling more seen than ever before.

“Oh…yeah I guess.” Was your response.

You mentally face palmed, what sort of response was that?!

“Americano for J M. J M?” Someone shouted over the sea of people.

James’ head whipped round as he stood to grab his drink. Part of you was sad he was leaving so soon, even if you had just met him.

“Well, I best be off. Told my colleague I’d only be gone a few minutes.” He chuckled, a warm smile spreading over him.

“I’m sorry to have kept you. It was nice meeting you James.” You replied, smiling back.

“Don’t be sorry, it was nice to meet you to y/n. See you around.”

And with that he left. A sigh escaped your lips as you rested your chin against the palm of your hand. He could’ve been just the distraction you were hoping for, but you scared him off with an overload of emotions. Whatever, you’d just need to go out to a bar or something. Even something as simple as a one-night stand would be great right about now. Just as you started to pack up your stuff to leave, the same man appeared at the edge of the table once again.

“James? Did you forget something?” You asked looking around the table.

“Um yes. Well no not exactly. I just wanted to- I know you’re into your friend- we just met so- oh god I’m making a right mess out of this.” He chuckled looking down at his hand which was still grasping the cup from earlier.

“Would you like to go to dinner?” He spat out.

You were once again rendered speechless for a moment.

“I know you said you’re in love with your friend so if you don’t want to or think it would be weird because you hardly know me then that’s fine I just think your beautiful and deserve someone who can treat you well. Not that I’m saying that has to be me but-“

“James?” You cut him off from his ramble.

He looked hopefully at you.

“I’d love to go to dinner.” You said smiling at him.

He left out a sigh of relief. “Okay, brilliant. Do you want to take my number and text me? Or I could take yours?”

“Here” You handed him your phone. “You put your number in there and I’ll take this” You said reaching for his phone. “And put mine in. That way we both can contact the other.”

You typed your number in and handed it back. You took your phone from him, laughing at the contact name

“Mr Americano?” You said glancing up at him.

“You can’t tell me it’s not accurate.” He said laughing.

“Well I’ll be looking forward to your text.” You spoke.

“I’ll see you soon y/n.” He said as he waved goodbye walking out the door.

*****

You returned to 221b in a much better mood. James had texted on the walk home and you’d arranged to go for dinner the next day at 7. You told him you’d meet him there although he did try to convince you to let him pick you up, but you didn’t want sherlock to grill him.

“y/n? Is that you?” The detectives voice called out.

You sighed before replying, preparing yourself for the inevitable conversation to come. “Yeah hi sherlock.”

He came round the corner as you slumped onto the sofa.

“Are you okay?” He asked standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Yeah I’m fine. I’m sorry about earlier, I was just tired and in a bad mood. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” You apologized.

“Don’t be. It’s me who should be sorry.”

Your head snapped up at his words. It wasn’t like Sherlock to say sorry.

“I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that. You’re my friend and I never want to make you uncomfortable. And I did. So you had every right to be angry at me.” He explained, taking a seat in his chair.

You smiled at him softly. “Thank you Sher, that means a lot. But I’m not angry anymore.” You said genuinely.

“You do appear to be in a better mood. Coffee shop must have worked its magic.” He said glancing at the to go cup still in your hand.

“Something like that.” You muttered, feeling your cheeks blush as you looked at the ground.

“You met someone?” Sherlock stated. Well it was more of a question.

You sighed. There was no point denying it, he could clearly read it in you.

“Yeah. I did. We’re going out tomorrow night.” You replied happily.

“Who’s going out tomorrow night?” John asked as he entered, taking a seat in his chair opposite sherlock.

“I am. I met someone at the coffee shop. He sat at my table, and we started talking. He asked me out and I said yes.” You had the biggest grin on your face, but you were excited.

Excited that someone asked you out, and that you actually felt some type of attraction to him. This could be more than just a distraction. You shook your head slightly at the thought. You’d just met him, there was no reason to be dreaming of a future already. Johns’ eyebrows raised at you.

“Wow.” He glanced at sherlock, who hadn’t said anything. “That’s great y/n. Will we meet him?”

You laughed. “No.”

This caught sherlocks attention. “Why not?” The boys said in unison.

You gestured at the two of them. “Have you met the pair of you? I love you both, but I really don’t need you scaring off the one guy who actually wants to take me on a date.” You picked your stuff up and headed to your room. “I’m going to sleep. See you both in the morning.”

“It’s only 8 o clock” John yelled.

“Well I’m exhausted. Goodnight” You called before closing your bedroom door.

*the next evening*

“Why can’t you come over? It would be a lot easier.” You groaned over the video call.

“Because Tom is over, and I don’t want to leave him.” Molly replied smiling.

You smiled for her. Even if her new boyfriend looked almost identical to Sherlock, you were glad she had someone.

“Okay well what do you think?” You tried to show her the whole dress but trying to fit yourself in the frame was rather awkward.

“I don’t know, dresses aren’t normally your thing are they?” She asked.

“Well no, but I haven’t been on a date in a while, so I wanted to make an effort.” You replied, straightening the skirt.

“Where’s he taking you?”

“Just a little Italian place. Never been there before but it’s near the river. I’ve walked past it like a hundred times.”

“I think you should wear the black dress.” Molly suggested. “The one you showed me at Christmas that you never wore?”

You looked at her, unsure. “Really? Do you know think it’s a bit, I don’t know, flashy?”

“Not at all. It’s perfect. Go on, put it on.” Molly beamed at you hopefully.

You thought about it for a second. “Okay fine, give me a second.” You said, earning a little clap from the screen.

You pulled the blue dress off and found the black one. You pulled it out, admiring it for a moment. It truly was a beautiful dress. It was a soft flowy material, the front falling just above the knees while the back trailed a couple inches further down. The top was in a crossed over, v line neck with two flowy straps going round the neck like a halter top. The back was open which just added to the beauty. It was scattered with sparkles that caught in the light in the most elegant way. In all honesty, you’d been looking for an excuse to wear this for a while. You slipped it on, paired with a pair of chunky black heels as well as your black dahlia necklace. You returned to your phone, so molly was able to see my outfit.

“Well?” You asked nervously.

“Oh my god!! You look gorgeous” Molly squealed.

You laughed slightly but had to agree with her. For the first time in a while, you felt truly beautiful.

“I was thinking of bringing my little black clutch and maybe doing my hair in a messy bun?” You suggested, scooping your hair up.

“Do not touch your hair.” Molly practically yelled.

You blinked, eyes wide, as you dropped your hair. “Why not?”

“Y/n your natural hair is perfect. It looks so much nicer if you leave it down.” She explained.

“But will it not look really messy?” You very rarely wore your hair down due to the fact it was naturally very curly. You always thought it looked quite shabby.

“No trust me. It looks amazing.” You sighed. You trusted her opinion, so you left it. Just then a notification popped up on your phone.

“On my way, be there in about 20 minutes. J x”

“Oh shit, I’ve got to go. He’s on his way there. Okay, thank you for everything Molls. I’ll talk to you later.” You grabbed your things before hanging up the phone.

You rushed out of your room, not even noticing the boys in the front room.

“Wow.” John’s voice came from in front of you.

Your head snapped up, finally clocking they were there. John was sat at the desk with his laptop as stood staring the wall with a bunch of newspaper clippings all over it.

“Y/n you look…wow.” John repeated, looking you up and down.

“uh thank you?” You chuckled nervously as you double checked the contents of my bag.

“I mean that in a good way of course.” He reassured.

You nodded. “Good to know.”

You pulled your jacket on and double checked your makeup in the mirror.

“Right boys, I’m off. No idea what time I’ll be home so don’t wait up.” You turned to walk out the door but walked straight into a certain detective’s chest.

“Jesus sherlock.” He stared down at you, his eyes raking over your body.

“I have to go Sher I’ll be late.” You said, hoping he’d move.

“You are utterly divine.” He muttered. Your heart jumped for a moment.

“What?” You whispered.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head slightly as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He moved to the side, letting you move past.

“Have a nice time. Call if you need anything.” He said, turning his back to you.

You stood there, momentarily stunned before you snapped back into reality. You walked towards the door.

“Right. Um yeah, I’ll see you later.” And with that you left the flat, still processing what Sherlock had said.

****

The date was wonderful. James was an absolute gentleman, and if you were being totally honest with yourself – you were falling for him. Since the restaurant the two of you had been out on a good few dates, each one of them making you fall further and further for him. Sherlock wasn’t pleased. You were never around anymore. Well that isn’t strictly true, considering he lives with you, and you help him on cases but in his mind you weren’t there. He felt like he never got a moment to just be with you, without the stress of a mass murderer or a kidnapping on his mind. John had noticed the change in the detective’s behaviour, which just amused him.

“Y/n, we need to go to Cornwall this weekend for a case. It’s a big one, we think Moriarty is behind it.” Sherlock said, striding into the room with john following shortly behind you.

“Hello to you too” You mumbled, adjusting your position on the sofa.

“We are leaving early tomorrow so be ready.” Sherlock continued, ignoring your comment.

“I can’t come, I have plans.” You replied casually.

“Going out with your coffee man again? That’s what like 3 times this week?” John asked, sitting down next to you.

“Yep, he’s got a whole weekend planned for us.” You smiled.

The detective froze, his back to you. The excitement in your voice was evident and Sherlock felt an intense wave of anger wash over him. He didn’t like this side of himself, and he had no idea why you being happy was provoking this reaction from him. He usually loved nothing more then when you were smiling or laughing. But he wanted to be the one making you feel that way.

“Did you not hear what I said? This case has got Moriarty written all over it. You can’t just decide not to come because of some random idiot you met at a coffee shop.” Sherlock seethed.

You frowned at him, standing to face him. “He’s not some random idiot Sherlock. He means a lot to me.” You argued.

“Well then maybe you’re an idiot too. Look cancel your plans; we need you with us.”

You laughed in his face. “I am not an idiot for falling for someone who actually gives two shits about me and treats me well. I’m sorry you don’t know what it feels like to have someone want to be around you but I’m not cancelling my plans to help you with some bullshit case so you can insult me more.” You raged.

You hadn’t meant to sound quite so harsh, but he was really winding you up. Ever since you’d started dating James he took any opportunity he could to make you feel bad about being happy and you were sick of it. You were finally getting over him and he chooses to be an arse about it. Sherlock blinked back at you, momentarily shocked by your words. The tension in the air was thick before he decided to speak again.

“Y/n, we need you. I need you there. Please” He asked, his tone a lot softer.

You sighed, looking at the floor. “I’m sorry Sherlock. I hope it goes well.” You replied before leaving the flat.

Sherlock watched as you left, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened.

“Well…that was…something.” John commented.

*****

The next day when you woke up, the boys had already left. You felt bad because you hadn’t spoken to Sherlock since the argument and now you weren’t going to see him for two days. Thoughts of him getting hurt, or something worse began to flash through your mind. You couldn’t let yesterday be the last thing you said to him. You scrambled to get your phone, finding his contact before shooting him a message. Down in Cornwall, Sherlocks phone buzzed as he was examining a body.

“John.” He instructed.

John sighed “yeah I know, give me a second”

John grabbed the phone from the detective’s coat before pulling up the message. “

Its from y/n” John said.

Sherlocks head snapped up, grabbing the phone from john.

“I didn’t mean what I said. You just know how to push every single one of my buttons Mr Holmes. Stay safe and catch me a killer. y/n xx” Sherlock grinned at the message before promptly putting the phone back in his pocket.

After a while you decided you should probably et up and start getting ready for you’re weekend away. James had told you he’d be round to collect you and 2pm and you still hadn’t packed. It was exciting that he wanted to surprise you, but without knowing where you were going – you didn’t have a clue what to pack. You stared at the wardrobe in front of you, hands on your hips as you wracked your brain on what the best choice was here. However, before you could continue our mental debate much longer your phone started ringing. Deciding to come back to your clothes later, you grabbed your phone and headed to the kitchen.

“Hey, you” You answered happily.

“Hey y/n, how are you?” James asked over the phone.

“I’m good, definitely not packing last minute I don’t know why you would even suggest that” You reply with a light chuckle.

James laughed nervously, making your brow furrow in confusion.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…well actually no. Look I’m really sorry, but I can’t actually take you where I’d planned this weekend” He replied.

Your heart sunk a little as you placed the cup of tea you’d been making on the counter in front of you.

“Oh.” Was all you could think to say.

You had been really excited to get away with him.

“I am so sorry. But something came up at work which means I actually have to stay in London.”

You felt a twinge of annoyance at that. You’d turned down a work opportunity for him, but he couldn’t do the same for you? Not that he knew you done that but that wasn’t the point.

“But I still want to see you. I was just thinking we could do something else instead. I’d offer to let you stay over at mine, but my roommates are pretty annoying and-“

“Stay at mine” You blurted out, not really thinking.

James still was yet to meet John and Sherlock, let alone visit your shared flat. But them being in a way for the weekend presented you with a window of opportunity.

“Really?” He sounded surprised at your suggestion.

“Yeah, I mean that way you don’t have to leave London and we still get to spend the weekend together.”

“But your roommates-“

“Are away for work. They won’t be back till Monday evening at the earliest. We can have the whole place to ourselves” You said, smiling.

“Well that could not be more perfect.” He replied.

“Brilliant, ill text you the address and you can head over for 12ish if that still works?” You suggested as you headed back to your room.

“Sounds good, I have a few work calls to make but I should be done with those in time and then I’ll head straight over.”

“Okay, ill see you soon James” You said goodbye, a grin on your face.

It hadn’t been the weekend you were expecting, but it was good enough for you. It also solved your packing issue. You shoved your suitcase back in your cupboard as you began to tidy the flat, the nerves of him seeing your place for the first time finally setting in. It’ll be fine You thought. A weekend in with eh guy you were falling for, what more could you ask for?

****

It was midday Sunday when the boys were finally back in London, making their way back to their flat. Neither one had bothered to tell you they were on their way home, assuming you were out with your mystery guy.

"john I’m telling you, there was no way Moriarty wasn’t leading us astray. That whole case was way too simple. He’s misdirecting us and we were stupid enough to fall for it.” Sherlock ranted as he unlocked the door.

“That may be true Sherlock but that doesn’t get us any closer to finding out what he’s got planned. You heard what Mycroft said, nothing else has happened while we’ve been away. He may have sent us on what was essentially a wild goose chase, but he hasn’t done anything else so what now?” John replied as they made there way up the stairs.

Sherlock was about to reply as he pushed the door to his flat open, but the sight before him made the words die in his throat.

“Sherlock?” John noticed how tense his friend had become. “What’s wrong-“ He stepped around the detective to look into the apartment, his face dropping in shock.

You heard the door swing open, your head snapping round to see Sherlock staring intently at you.

“What the fuck” You muttered scrambling to get off of James’s lap. You’d been enjoying a rather heavy make out session moments before. Your face flushed red as john also caught sight of you in the compromising position.

“Why are you guys’ home already?” You asked rather frustratedly.

James didn’t say anything, but you noticed his grip on you hadn’t loosened.

“Y/n, come here.” Sherlocks voice was low, almost scarily so.

His eyes burned into you as he glared at you. You noticed the lack of colour in John’s face. Why were they being so weird?

“What? No! What the hell is wrong with the pair of you? You’re acting like you’ve never seen someone kiss before” You scoffed.

“Y/n seriously, listen to him.” John said, a hint of nerves laced in his tone.

You stared at the two of them, feeling increasingly more annoyed. Why were they being so ridiculous?

“No!! John what the hell-“

“Get over here. Now” Sherlock demanded once more.

You were about to reply when you heard a small chuckle from behind you.

“I’m not going to hurt her if that’s what you think” James said from behind you.

You noticed now the boys weren’t glaring at you, but rather him. You turned to face him, utterly lost. His face had changed, he didn’t look as kind as he had moments before. He wore a sinister smirk on his lips, his eyes gleaming with an emotion you couldn’t quite place but it unsettled you to no end.

“James? What are you talking about?”

“Let go of her wrist then” Sherlock replied, talking to him as if you weren’t even in the room.

His words made you realise just how tight James was holding onto you. You tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you. Your heart was racing, a bad feeling sinking into your bones.

“James, let go” You tried to keep your voice steady, but he noticed the way it wavered.

He chuckled ominously, meeting your slightly panicked gaze. “Would you look at that” He leant forward, so close you could feel his breath on your face.

He reached up a hand to brush some hair from your face, causing you to flinch. “She’s scared. Poor thing. Rather pathetic actually, considering how you had your tongue down my throat not too long ago” He said, his words laced with venom.

Your face flushed red in embarrassment.

“Why are you being like this James?” You asked, your voice just higher than a whisper.

“You know that’s such a boring name. James” He grimaced as he said it. “No I much prefer Jim. Or the name your little friends over there know me by. Any guesses as to what it might be pet?” He asked you with a smirk.

You sat staring at him in silence. Nothing about this situation made sense.

“Moriarty” Sherlock’s voice answered for you.

Your blood ran cold. It felt like your heart had stopped beating as you stared at the man in front of you. The man you had developed feelings for. Your reality came crashing down around you. Fear swept through you as you sat there, frozen.

He grinned wickedly at you. “Hiya love.”

Suddenly you felt the cool metal of a blade against your stomach. You heard the boys tense from behind you. Your breath caught in your throat as Moriarty just laughed.

“Now what are we going to do with you?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thoughts?? Part two??

[mouthfullofmunson]

Pest Eddie x pest reader :)

Eddie is obviously a pest, like we’ve talked about before

But y/n on the other hand

Well, basically Eddie’s twin

Poking at his ass while he lays next to her, making little jokes about pegging him and he just turns to look at her with wide eyes “stay away from my ass”

But he of course does appreciate a little slap to his ass though

Slow motion punching him in the face when he does something stupid

Barging in on him when he’s peeing and walking up to him “can I hold it?”

“Get out?!”

Y/n calls him in the middle of the night, wakes him up in a panic “Eddie! Eddie! Oh my god!”

“What?! are you dying?!”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/n! I was sleeping! I was sleeping good, too!”

“I don’t care.”

“What do you want?”

“I said I couldn’t sleep! Are you not coming over?!”

“No!”

“Why?!”

“Because it’s late!”

“Whatever. Don’t bother coming over this weekend then.”

“Oh fine but I fucking hate you.”

He will just walk into her room absolutely uninvited and start jumping on her bed “come on! I’m bored! Come out with me! We can rent a movie or something? Come smoke a joint with me.”

And when they are smoking together y/n blows the smoke in his face just to annoy him since he’s playing his guitar

And if he annoys her too much he will take the joint away from her and not pass it back to her

Omg

Anytime her head is even close to his lap he’s instantly moaning loudly and extremely dramatically

He’ll do it randomly when they are having a movie night and she gets sleep so she rests her head in his lap but all of a sudden he’s moaning

Then she grabs a newspaper and swats him in the head with it

And sometimes she babies him, and he actually hates it, because she can hardly ever be serious about it

Cradling his head to her chest “my little baby you’re so cute.” Kissing his head and pinching his cheeks “I’m literally older than you you’re so stupid leave me alone 🙄”

“Well, if you would’ve graduated on time!”

“What does that have to do with anything?!”

“Well, we would’ve never met and I wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

And she steals his clothes 24/7

He calls her anytime anything is missing because he knows Y/n had to have taken it

“Do you have my pair of boxers?”

“Be more specific shitface. What pair?”

“My green and blue plaid ones, idiot. Why are you taking my damn boxers?”

“Cause they are comfortable.”

“Give then back”

“No”

“Give then back!”

“You can go commando.”

“You go commando”

“Don’t ever say that to a lady”

“Come on y/n give me my boxers”

“Fine! I won’t wash them either so you can sniff them or whatever you do in your free time you creep”

And sometimes when she comes back home from a shift at work or school bc Eddie skipped that day she walks in to see him nosing in all of her clothes, one of her shirt on, one of her pairs of nice panties over his jeans, putting some of her hair products in his while he lathers on her lotions and such

She just stands there so confused “how the fuck did you even get in my room Eddie?”

“I climbed through your kitchen window”

He calls her kid just to annoy her

“I’m two years younger than you don’t act like in your little sister or something”

“I wouldn’t be sleeping with my sister”

“Why would you even say that…”

And when they are all lovey dovey of course one of them has to get annoying

If they are cuddling Eddie has to slip his ice cold hands down her bra to hear her shriek

And if they are kissing y/n bites his tongue and he pulls away with a yelp “what the fuck would you do that for?!”

“My thoughts took over and I couldn’t stop it. It all happened so fast!”

And when y/n is riding him sometimes he just lets out a very long yell

Like it’s obviously forced and nothing that sounds pretty

It’s just “ahhhhhh!” And then he’s back into it like nothing happened

“Don’t ever do that again or we’re never having sex ever again”

He of course does it again

Or some stupid shit “yeah! Get it baby!” absolutely so unserious

When y/n gives him blowjobs she always jokingly fake bites his dick just to make him nervous

And he will come out of his room where she is sat on the couch just to be wearing her panties on his head as if it was some fashionable headband

Or if he needs to tie his hair up he used her panties

Before he eats her out he grabs her panties from the floor and ties up his hair with it “got to make sure it doesn’t get in the way”

Or before he eats her out he grabs one of the random fast food napkins from a leftover bag he had sitting on the floor, tucks it in the collar of his shirt and mumble “dinner is served”

Eddie would act like he’s going to press a kiss to her cheek or nibble at her ear and he just opens his mouth and puts her whole ear in his mouth

He does the same with her nose

She does that with his fingers, acting like she’s going to suck his fingers

And of course he gets a little excited because he’s thinking it will lead to something else but she just bites down on them

“Oh my god?! Are you fucking hungry or something?! There’s cereal in the kitchen.”

And they fake fight allllll the time

Either fake fighting each other with softly punching each other

Or just arguing

Saying the most random stupid shit

“Oh shut up your the reason I haven’t graduated”

“Well this is like your tenth try!”

“I’m going to kill you, asshole”

“I’d like to see you try idiot. You can’t even walk five feet without tripping over your on big ass feet”

“Well you know what they say about big feet!”

But when they aren’t annoying the shit out of each other they are disgusting

It doesn’t matter who they are with if they are in a group they are in the corner of the room sucking face

So that couple that has to sit on the same side of the booth just so they can cuddle into each other

If they are talking to each other and someone tires to talk to both of them or either of them they are too sucked in to each other to hear anyone else

Okay my brain is kind of mush so that’s all the thoughts I have

Let me know yours

:)

[honeybunniii333]

somethin gay

(Hello, sorry I've been gone. I died of ailment and still am, though I'm a lot better now. So back to work! I was really in the mood for Ed angst. And naturally, I made it gay too.)

"Are you okay?..."

The question caught him off guard, and he wasn't sure exactly how to answer it. Because no one ever really asked him that. Aside from Blue, no one ever seemed to worry over him. Not that Edward blamed them. Why would they worry? He was Edward Quinton, school king! He was always okay. Nothing bad ever happened to him. He was perfect. He wanted it to look that way. He didn't want anyone to worry for him, so he took no offense when no one did. But he was tired, he was drained and overwhelmed. His schedule was far too packed, and he barely had time to think anymore. With sports, school, family issues, friend issues, his status, and all the supernatural stuff he had lately, he was starting to crack.

It would appear he'd slipped up somewhere in his little act because now Isaac was looking at him with that look, that look that said he knew something was wrong with him and God did Ed hate it. He hadn't gotten that look since middle school. Sitting alone in the office covered in bruises cause kids were mean. Adults and children alike looking at him as if he were a poor pathetic stray puppy kicked to the curb.

"I'm fine." it came out harsher than he meant for it to. He hadn't meant to sound so snippy, but it was an instinctual reaction he hadn't yet figured out how to stop. Isaac didn't seem to take offense fortunately, unfortunately, though he didn't seem to buy into his answer either.

"Are you sure..? You look really tired. When's the last time you slept?" The blonde pressed further. He couldn't really remember. He hadn't slept hardly at all this week. He wasn't sure what exactly was causing it, but he just couldn't seem to sleep at night. And it appeared that his prolonged silence had answered whatever questions Isaac had. The little shit had clearly come to his own conclusion, so Ed didn't bother to try answering. There was a long moment of quiet before Ed felt hands on his chest. "Lay down."

"Huh..? why?.." his face scrunched up a bit, but he let his boyfriend push him down and let out a soft oof sound as the smaller boy draped himself over Ed, tucking his face into the crook of his neck and sighing. "You need to sleep, so we're taking a nap." Edward could shove him off if he wanted. He was stronger, and Isaac weighed the equivalent of nothing to him. He was heavy against his chest but not unbearably so... actually, it felt kinda nice. The weight was grounding... in a way he hadn't realized he'd needed until now.

He felt the tension draining out of him as his face flushed, and he wormed his arms out from under Isaac to wrap them around him. "Fine..." he grumbled. He didn't have it in him to fight, and it felt so nice to be close. A hand in his hair, fuzzy blankets pulled up over them. He felt warm, both literally and metaphorically. It was a cheesy thing to think about, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Isaac just did that to him... He let out a soft sigh, his eyes drifting shut as he held the other closer and felt sleep taking him at last. He was supposed to be okay, but he supposed this once he'd allow himself the leisure of vulnerability...

[theblueeyedfirebender]

🍓🌿 and also 🌸 because I love hearing about pets if you have any :)

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

Sorry in advance this is a bit of a sob story. 🙃

When I was a kid - as young as elementary school - my family would occasionally have movie nights. Afterwards, I would often lie awake for hours, staring at my bedroom ceiling, and create my own stories about the movie characters. There were times I would wake up in the morning and actually look forward to going to bed that night so I could dive back into those imaginary worlds.

Sooner or later, I started writing things down. I didn't know the term "fanfiction" until sometime in middle school, but by then I'd been creating it for years. My taste for stories had expanded beyond that of the movies my family chose, and I was getting deep into the rich worlds of Star Wars and Avatar: The Last Airbender. But my parents - who are very religious and conservative - strongly disapproved of fantasy, so I hid my notebooks and didn't share my stories with hardly anyone. As a result, writing what I loved became a source of tremendous guilt and shame for me. I felt like I was sinning. I was told I was sinning when my parents inevitably found what I was writing and forced me to get rid of it (and it wasn't, mind you, anything inappropriate for a child).

Eventually, I just shut down that creative side of my brain. Used my skills for essays and emails and nothing more.

I'm in my late twenties now, and have only recently begun to fully embrace and nurture my creative gifts. This is thanks to my wonderful, encouraging (and super nerdy) husband, the incredible world of Fullmetal Alchemist, and all of you - on here and on AO3 - who have cheered me on. 💕 Thankful doesn't even begin to cover it.

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

Firstly, remember that it's ok to take a break from a project when you don't feel inspired. A few things that have helped me get back in the groove: take a walk, read, listen to music (cinematic scores seem to work best imo), or create something else (i.e. make that new recipe you've been wanting to try).

🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them

Yes! We have two cats.

This is Clover. She is a sleek, elusive princess who will bless you with her presence only if you are deemed worthy.

And this is Tux. Tux is a chonky bastard man whose origin story involves being discovered in a pile of literal garbage.

And yes, he really does sit like that.

Writer's Truth or Dare Ask Game

[moorishflower]

Hob Gadling vs. The Devil (Dreamling, rated E)

in coming to the conclusion that I'm physically incapable of writing "a drabble," here, have a Husbands "drabble" where Hob metaphorically sucker-punches the devil

"Tell me again why I'm doing this?" Hob asks, he thinks for the third or fourth time, and Dream, to his great credit, doesn't roll his eyes. He only puts his hands on Hob's shoulders, steers him gently towards the bedroom. Hob can't delay any longer -- he's brushed his teeth, he's showered, he's done all his normal nightly ablutions, and now there's just. The sleeping.

The Dreaming, just beyond it.

"Because you are my husband," Dream says, "my consort. You share the heart of the Dreaming. To not be seen at an event such as this would reflect poorly upon us both."

"I didn't pick a fight with the devil." Hob's voice has gone a bit spare and reedy at the end there, which he thinks is a perfectly reasonable response to one's husband telling you that 'by the way, the important work function I've mentioned that I need you to attend, it's going to be full of demons and also literal Satan.' The throb of his anxiety sits like a humming bowstring between them, anchored from Hob's chest to somewhere deep and distant inside Dream. Yet Hob knows he could reach out and stroke that far-flung place, if he wanted -- for him, the distance hardly matters.

Dream's hand on his shoulder gentles; the bed is so close, yet he stops, and turns Hob towards him.

"You are afraid."

And this is perhaps one of the stupidest things Dream has ever said to him, and Hob includes his final words before his disappearance a century ago, what boiled down to 'be right back love, just going to pop around to the shops' and then a solid nothing after that. "Yes," he says slowly, "I'm afraid. I've only. You've only just gotten out. Of that place. A human did that to you. A stupid old man with a book and too much money. This is Satan we're talking about. How much worse can they do?"

"There are rules." Dream sounds like he's trying to soothe an anxious dog, barking at a thunderstorm. Perhaps to him it's as simple as that, but Hob still remembers a time when he feared for his immortal soul. Remembers too keenly the path he walked to return a spark of power to Dream, held for a century underground. It's been two months. Two months. He thinks he's entitled to worry.

But Dream pulls him towards the bed, and he's no longer budging Hob along, but gently beckoning, and Hob feels that humming tether between them grow looser, grow liquid with wanting. Dream, pouring into him what comfort he's able to provide.

(Like a Vulcan mind meld? Hob had asked, hand resting over the dense knot of scar tissue, still scraped-raw from fang and mouth. Dream, skeptical, had demanded access to all of Hob's dreams of Vulcans and their abilities, but had eventually concluded that the comparison, while crude, was not inaccurate.)

"Come," Dream says, "to sleep. You will come to no harm in my realm."

"It's not me I'm worried about. Can't die, remember? I assume that means in my sleep, too."

Dream tugs him down onto the bed, languidly indulgent; he's taken to wearing Hob's clothes when they spend the night together, regardless of whether it's sleeping or visiting the Dreaming. He's purloined an ancient T. Rex shirt this time around, stretched and worn so thin it falls like water to the middle of Dream's thighs. He's not wearing anything underneath it. This is a significantly better incentive for Hob to come to bed than the idea of going to meet actual Lucifer at a party.

Dream stretches out first, lets Hob climb down beside him before he tangles them together, like snakes, like strands of silk. He sighs when Hob tucks his thigh between his legs.

"Sleep," he says, "or we shall be late."

"No quickie for your anxious husband?"

Dream purses his lips, and Hob is initially hopeful it's for a kiss. In retrospect, the sand should probably have been his first guess.

+++

The Dreaming is a wild bustle, but Hob's not allowed the pleasure of experiencing the party from the ground floor. There are rules, Dream had said, and those rules apparently include Hob getting kitted up in the most elaborate finery he's ever seen and then standing at attention next to Dream while a series of truly nightmare-inducing creatures file through the Palace's gates.

("Your raiments suit you," Dream says. His fingers fold in origami complexity along Hob's throat, where the collar of his outfit cuts an odd angle against his skin. It's something like armor, and something like the robes of a priest, all in spun cloth-of-gold and bloody crimson, accents of saintly white, amber that drips down the length of his neck and from each ear but never completes its fall.

"I ought to be wearing your colors," he says, and Dream hums softly, and kisses him.

"Later," he promises, "you will wear me and nothing else.")

He holds this memory tightly to him as the creatures pass him by, some ignoring him completely (his preference, honestly), some pausing in their journey to stare, to snap their teeth in his direction, to laugh. He wonders what he looks like, here -- some human who bullied his way into loving the Dreamlord, dressed like a peacock next to Dream, who looks so effortless, so divine.

"Be wary, husband," Dream murmurs, and Hob's attention snaps to the door. "The Morningstar approaches."

And indeed, there's a hush that's fallen over the great hall, a billion candles snuffing at once, a silence that eats at the edges of the space until it seems smaller than before. As if there's fewer places to hide. The doors to the palace are already wide open, but they seem to loom ever wider, as the shadow of two massive, leathered wings proceeds the creature that now enters the Dreamlord's domain.

Lucifer, who was the Morningstar, brightest and most beautiful of God's angels, looks nothing like the pictures. There's no horns, for one, no forked tail, no split tongue. They're beautiful. Cherubic in the face, a cascade of golden curls over eyes blue as glaciers, the swan-shapeliness of their neck, and arching over all of it their wings, like dragon's wings, scaled and leathery and so massive that the sight of them threatens to steal Hob's breath. Wings that are meant for destroying, not for flight. Wings that could propel a hurricane.

"Lord Morpheus," the Devil says, and their voice is like birdsong at the bottom of a mineshaft, like a voice under anesthesia saying that doesn't look right, like a hundred different things that are commonplace but also wrong, somehow. It's joy that's been inverted and turned upon its head. It's what yearning sounds like, when there will never be relief.

"Lord Lucifer," Dream says, and bows. Hob follows his lead, keeps the depth of his plunge precisely as low as Dream's, and no further. This is a show of solidarity as much as it is an appeasement. "Welcome to the Dreaming. May you enter in peace and leave in harmony."

"Hm." Lucifer's hum is an atonal murmuration, a wordless we shall see. "You have recovered the other tools of your office." Their eyes flick to Hob. "And crafted new ones."

Hob bristles, and then stills when Dream's hand lights on his forearm. "My husband," Dream says, "Robert Gadling."

"Mm. Will you not greet me yourself, Robert Gadling?" Lucifer's perfect, pink mouth is a cupid's bow of delight. Hob can so easily imagine it bloody. "I find human lovers...too timid for my tastes. But perhaps he suits you, Lord Morpheus."

This time it's Dream's hand that clenches. They're a united front still, but Christ, he's never wanted to punch a creature so much as he now wants to throw fists at the Devil. He's absolutely ruddy terrified, but annoyance is a powerful motivator.

"I'd greet you as humans do," Hob says, and ignores how Dream's hand momentarily refuses to leave his arm. He tries to find that holding thread between them, that vibration, tries to wrap into it all his love and support and his righteous indignation, that Dream is a king, this is his kingdom, that suddenly it doesn't matter that this is the Devil, and Hob is only a man. There's something that's been tripped in his brain, some long-buried and long-unused notion of how chivalry ought to work, and it churns through him like a marching army.

He holds out his hand, his wrists and fingers dripping in gold and amber, pauldron and rerebrace and vambrace in all the brilliant shining of a sunrise. Fifteen minutes ago he felt like a turkey stuffed for Michaelmas, but anger fills his bones with light.

"Won't you shake a poor sinner's hand?" he asks, and Lucifer's mouth twists into a delicate, beautiful snarl.

They take his hand.

It's like holding onto a live serpent. It's like touching a coal fresh from the hearth. It burns like fire, like acid, and Hob can feel Lucifer's nails digging into his wrist like the bite of a rabid dog. His skin bubbles and melts and sloughs away, his bones are glass, and he feels a whistle of air past him -- doesn't hear, feels -- that he knows, with terrified instinct, is that last, great Fall.

He holds on. He squeezes.

"My king likes my timidity just fine," he says. When he smiles, it feels like his cheeks are tearing, like his mouth is long and sharp, like there's a wolf in him. That huge and monstrous wolf that Desire showed him, golden and splendid and stark raving mad. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Lord Lucifer."

The nails in his wrist dig deeper; the bite of an adder, the creeping malaise of poison. And then, all at once, the nails let go.

Hob doesn't.

Lucifer tries to pull back their hand, and Hob holds on, vicious, his smile a baring of teeth. His own hand is on fire; his own hand is agony. "Ah," he says, "forgot this part," and brings Lucifer's tight and resisting hand to his mouth. To his bone-white teeth, to the memory of the maw that took his heart.

When his lips touch the back of their pale, beautiful hand, Lucifer hisses like they've been burned. Perhaps it's to their credit that they don't pull away, that they let Hob release them, that when they take their hand back they do not shake it as if stung.

He can feel Dream's eyes on him, measuring, focused.

"I hope you enjoy your stay," Hob says, and Lucifer blinks at him, a slow, sideways thing like a resting serpent.

"Yes," Lucifer says. "I look forward to...getting to know you better. Robert Gadling. In my own realm, perhaps."

"I'm afraid you'll be waiting a while." He glances sidelong at Dream. Dream, who is, yes, staring at him, his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide fields of stars in endless black velvet twilight. "You see, I've decided I'm not going to die."

"My husband is full of wonders," Dream murmurs. He blinks, and finally looks back to Lucifer. "Please. Avail yourself of my hospitality, before we commence negotiations. I am eager to restore peace between our realms."

"As am I." There's a bitterness to those words, and even Hob can smell the lie in them. But Lucifer inclines their head towards them, and some snarling, slavering thing in Hob is gratified to note how they give him a slightly wider berth than before.

Hob lets Dream lead him away. He feels the fingers on his arm, is aware that it's there, but most of his attention is now on his hand, which feels like it's been flayed, dipped in acid, salted, burned. It looks fine, no wounds, not even a divot from where Lucifer's nails had dug into his wrist, but he feels it still, something down in the marrow, something in the soul.

They wind their way through the crowds of dreams and demons and nightmares, and the Dreaming shapes itself around them, providing a shadowed nook behind a broad statue of a pegasus, its wings extended, a shelter.

"Ow," Hob says, as Dream yanks his arm upwards, examining his hand with critical detail. "Ow, ow, ow."

"Foolish," Dream murmurs, "they could hurt you, they could -- "

"Not any more than they could hurt you." Dream's eyes snap to his, and Hob meets them easily. The white-hot light in their center is a solar flare, so bright it threatens sight itself, but Hob does not look away. And Dream...

Dream brings Hob's hand to his mouth. Lays a kiss to the center of his palm, and from that pinprick sensation spreads a marvelous, numbing coolness. A soothing balm.

"I'm not going to let my husband be disrespected in his own fucking castle," he says, and Dream's eyes go heavy-lidded, banking the hot ember within, shadowing it as Dream, Christ help him, as Dream pops Hob's ring finger in his mouth and presses his tongue there, cool as a winter's morning.

"Ah," he says. "That was. You liked that?"

Dream draws back from his finger, a wet drag of lips and teeth, and says, "Did I like my husband. Asserting his dominance over the Morningstar. Defending my honor. My husband in righteous fury. How your skin shone like a sun in its prime."

"I don't know if it was that --"

Dream drops to his knees. It's an all-at-once motion, fluidly graceful, and his robes of office puddle around him in flames and starlight. Hob is, abruptly, no longer aware of his hand's discomfort.

"Hush," Dream says, and his hands are clever, his hands are pale and narrow and beautiful as they delve into the complicated mess of Hob's robes. Not complicated, apparently, for the will that manifested them, because Hob feels them part like silk beneath a knife, and then Dream's long and gorgeous fingers are wrapped around his prick.

"Oh my god," Hob says, and Dream looks up at him, draws his cock free from gold and woven sunlight and puddled amber-bronze; his eyes flare like supernovas, his mouth is the sweetest, pinkest thing Hob has ever seen. "Dream, there are, there are demons..."

"Let them see." Dream strokes downward, a long slide from tip to root, rucking down Hob's foreskin over the head growing ruddy and damp. "If a word is said against you, I will rip them asunder. I would be had by you in front of Lucifer themself. And feel no shame."

And that, that does something to Hob's brain, some old and animal part of him that still thrills with excitement when Dream opens his body to him, a savageness that glories in the taking, and the having. Christ, he loves when Dream fucks him, likes the feel of Dream's cock in his mouth, he wouldn't trade it for the world. This, though -- Dream on his knees, Dream sat in Hob's lap, Dream letting Hob touch and kiss and lick all of the soft-bellied parts of him, this is still new.

"All right," Hob says, and he cups the back of Dream's skull, his downy hair threaded through with moonlight, and this, too, is a balm to his aching hand. Dream holds him, manipulates him where he wants Hob to be, and maybe it says something about him, but the casualness of the touch is as much a turn-on as the sight of Dream sticking out his petal-pink tongue and licking, one long stripe from the curl of his own fingers to the head of Hob's prick, where a bead of spend has already gathered.

"Tell me what you would do," Dream says softly, "in my name."

And then he takes Hob's prick into his mouth, so cool it loops again to warmth, the soft undulating pressure of his tongue, and Hob slams his other hand against his mouth so hard it makes his teeth click. He's sure someone must hear him cry out, but there's a huge and grinding movement out of the corner of his eye -- the massive wings of the pegasus flexing. Let them see, Dream had said, but perhaps he'd meant Let them hear.

He speaks muffled into his own fist, desperate not to rock into that beautiful, waiting throat. "I'd raise armies," he says, his brain a spin of stories, old and new, and Dream there, knelt in front of him, his mouth stretched sweetly around the girth of Hob's cock, his lips so pink. "I'd, Christ, I'd sink fleets. I'll punch any god that tries to, to speak ill of you, I'll, Dream, right, right there, please."

Dream twists his wrist, and Hob is so hard, so hard he can feel it like a vibration in him, a buzzing lightness in his abdomen. Dream's hair is so wonderfully soft in his hand, and he marvels that he's allowed to do this, that he is allowed to grip a handful of that feathered ink, tugging just hard enough that Dream's head tips back, his mouth pulling off of Hob's cock with a wet and filthy pop.

"More," he says. His next stroke is eased by the slickness of his own spit, and Hob cries out again into his palm. Helpless, wanting.

"I'd walk through Hell for you." Dream blinks lazily, bends his head back down and licks at the head of Hob's prick like a sweet. "I'd give you my heart, again and again. I'm, I'm going to make you a place to come home to, I'm going to make you dinner and take you out to the movies, I'm going to love you. I love you, fucking, Christ, you impossible creature."

His words end on a strangled moan, as Dream, appeased at last, takes Hob's cock back into his mouth, and down his throat, his slender, cool throat, and swallows.

When he peaks, it's an almost out of body experience; he's keenly aware of his hand in Dream's hair, of the pulse of his prick and the way Dream swallows around him, humming in pleasure at the taste, and he's also aware of the nearby throng of the party, the chattering of voices. He can picture, in his mind's eye, Lucifer standing before the Dreaming Throne, their mouth a moue of discontent, their stung hand flexing and clenching.

Hob rather hopes they hear the noise he makes when he comes. He hopes he gets to look them in the eye later, before they leave. This is mine, he'll think, of Dream, of this palace, these subjects, my husband, my realm, my love, not yours, and you can never have them.

He comes back to himself with a wet and startled moan, Dream licking him, over and over, obsessively cleaning. Hob has to pull him by the hair to get him to leave off, and the noise he makes when he goes is yearning. His mouth is bitten-red, and there's a dozy, lazy look to his eyes that Hob associates with the well and truly fucked.

"Did you...?" he asks, and Dream licks his lips, contemplatively.

"No," he says. "I wish to save myself for you. For later."

"Ah," Hob says. Dream gently tucks him away, back into the impossible folds of his robes, and when he stands it's the same smooth and gliding motion. This time, though, when his mouth covers Hob's, he can taste the salt-bitterness of himself.

"This party needs to end as fast as reasonably possible," he says, and Dream nods vaguely.

"Mm. Then come, my husband. Let us pay our respects to the Morningstar. And speed this along."

He holds out his hand. The thing between them, that stretched and brightly vibrating thing, is athrum with heady music.

Hob takes his hand, and the grand statue folds back its wings, allowing in a wash of searing light as they rejoin the party.