#probably just bcs i keep putting off cutting my hair so she is influenced

[skitskatdacat63]

Portrait of wifey <3

[noxianwilled]

so, to continue. if katarina retaliates there will be a feud of sorts. katarina might have her fanbase, but so does her mother. after an internet argument the latter can be seen live on facebook ('cause she's a boomer) doing Q&A's all dolled up; french manicure, wearing an offwhite silk shirt, bvlgari on her wrist, hair straightened within an inch of its life, botox'd up in places, freshly whitened teeth bc her insecurities were further amplified by fame. answering the fan's questions on her feud with katarina from the wine cellar or smth bc the sound's better there. the chat is an echo chamber of mostly middle-aged women who hype her up, console her, or talk about their own rebellious children and how this generation is "spoiled," "superficial," "ungrateful" and such. you KNOW she can and will play the victim card if katarina blocks her. she's probably a socialite-turned-manager who manages cassiopeia's influencer career. great business sense, still not a good mother. i wonder if she was katarina's manager to start? / @matrilinear, but of course it's me 😝

— @matrilinear

OH ADA I LOVE ALL THIS SO MUCH

makes sense to me that the family as a whole would be very famous, katarina being raised under the pressure of living up to her parents' success. as a child/teen, she likely would've followed their rules despite the rebellious impulses, most of the time, at least — specially if soreana was her manager initially, i can definitely picture it becoming a really controlling relationship where she'd want to have some say in everything katarina did or said (and, of course, that only makes katarina more rebellious when she does start to rebel)

their audiences are certainly very different, but i just adore the idea of soreana all dolled up to livestream on fb ksdjnfkjadn i don't think kat herself is as open to discuss anything personal with fans, but she certainly is prone to tweeting jabs directed at her mother (that soreana will hear of, even if through cass or her own fans pointing out katarina's entitlement and disrespect).

in a parallel to canon, i think kat was raised very strictly to be shaped in what her parents wanted her to be (more so both of them than marcus alone, in modern, perhaps?). the impossible standards, strict routine, as well as little room for kindness and rest are all things i'd picture as remaining the same, and worsening as her fame grew and so did the scrutiny she was placed under. the fights were likely common (an varied in seriousness; though i imagine some got bad), though moderate initially because kat would hold back. eventually, though, a particularly nasty clash came and she outright ran away afterwards (and i'm interested to hear how you think sore would've handled that particular crisis, specially considering marcus probably made the public aspect worse by cutting off katarina completely).

but yeah, after she does break away from her family, she's not very interested in keeping up the appearances, and even subtle criticism might be enough for her to start feuding with them online. if she does block soreana, and her mom tries to make herself the victim, you can be sure she's not deescalating things (whoever her current manager is, bless them for putting up with her). if anything, she'll make it worse and start sharing stories to highlight how soreana wasn't a good mother - and make sure she remains blocked

at worse, who knows, if she's really really feeling angry and vengeful, she might reach out to draven to be like hey want an exclusive interview where i'll talk candidly about how fucked up my family was but tbh i don't think she likes to expose herself as much as that would demand, she likes to keep her private life private, it'd take a lot for her to be that pissed off

[fandom-monium]

i finished for the holidays and i just *chefs kiss* beautiful talented amazing sajkgdkj no words i love that romance wasnt even the main point 🥺💘 anyway i love how you write reader and i wondered between her and spencer who gets jealous???

Unrivaled

Summary: In which you seem pretty close with the new intern, and Spencer is not happy about it. (ft. one of my fave white bois) “Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

WC: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, Jealous!Spencer bc id like to see that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, the lightest implication of smut ever, points to yall who can guess who the intern is before reading the end or the tags 😉

—

Spencer is not jealous. He’s not.

Why would he be? 

He has no reason to be jealous, Spencer chants to himself as he sits at his desk. Even from across the bullpen he still manages to hear your voice, and while normally it’s music to his ears, even better than Mozart, now it just feels like nails against a chalkboard. Grating his eardrums, making him wince.

Because you’re laughing. Not with Spencer though. Not at his obscure references or lame jokes.

With the new intern.

Why did Emily have to put you in charge of him? She could’ve chosen anyone on the team to have him shadow, but it had to be you! Not that you’re incapable or unqualified; you’re experienced, talented, and the best person he knows. 

… Okay, he can see why she picked you.

Why do they even have interns? Unnecessary, really, when the BAU has you and him and he guesses the other teams too (it’s weird, he’s never actually interacted with them but whatever). Maybe it’s time to start making budget cuts. He’ll discuss this with Emily when he gets the chance. He’s got some influence, working at the BAU as long as he has.

But he’s not jealous. 

Logically, jealousy (like an intern) is unnecessary. The green-eyed monster (like an intern) is ugly and contributes nothing productive, and if Spencer’s being honest, the world (like an intern) would be much better off without it.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he downs his coffee like a shot of whiskey, trying to quell the squirming beast in him. Despite 90% of it being sugar, it still tastes bitter. He sets his mug down with a thud, and it’s loud enough to make Luke, Garcia, and JJ turn their heads, exchanging concerned glances when he slumps back in his chair.

Spencer doesn’t care. The world’s ending; you’re apparently into younger guys, with neat dark hair and forearms that can probably snap someone’s neck, and he can’t do anything about it. What does it matter if his best friends catch him in a sour mood, right?

“Hey, Spence,” JJ's tone is soft as they slink over, Garcia and Luke leaning against the edge of his desk and JJ flanking the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer gazes past them, his eyes never leaving you. He deflates; your stance is relaxed, completely open as you nod at whatever Intern is saying, his hands gesturing spastically. It must be interesting, the way you listen with rapt attention and respond just as enthusiastic.

Spencer scoffs. Not like that’s anything special. You do the same for him. And the rest of the team.

...What the hell are you guys talking about? 

“Well, you look like you’re about to throw your mug across the room. Or at an intern.”

Spencer blinks, finally breaking away from you long enough to eye the ceramic octopus. “That’s a good idea actually.”

“Don’t,” Garcia and JJ both shoot him a warning and he huffs, resting his chin in his hand. Garcia looks horrified, betrayed even while JJ has that expression on, the one she gives when she scolds Henry and Michael.

Whatever. It’s not like he’d ever sacrifice Mildred. Garcia entrusted her to him, after all. 

Unless...?

No, he couldn’t… Maybe.

“You know, Reid, if you’re jealous—”

Spencer snaps his head to Garcia, eyes wide and darting to you like you have super-hearing, “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Not me.” He cringes, his voice octaves higher and cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Garcia snorts, “Okay, sure. But if you are jealous, I was going to say you have no reason to be. You wanna know why?” Spencer raises an eyebrow at her and she continues, “Sure the guy’s smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship at GWU, and he’s top of his class at the academy—”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

"And he’s one of the most good looking guys I've ever met—”

"How is that relevant—"

Luke frowns at her. "And have you met me?"

“My point is,” Garcia’s red lipstick curls into the most reassuring smile, “that you have nothing to worry about because (Your Name) loves you. A lot.” 

Spencer perks up. “You really think so?”

“I know so. I see the way they look at you, and if that’s not love I don’t know what is," She shrugs, "And just because they’re talking doesn’t mean they’re into him.”

There's a collective nod of agreement and Spencer sags in relief. Of course they're right. He knows they are. 

If you think about it, technically, he's got the advantage. You've known each other longer, bonded and shared experiences together good and bad, and you’re emotionally and even physically intimate with each other (something he's especially proud of, considering how long it takes you both to warm up to others).

And who knows? This is probably temporary! Whatever this is, the connection you seem to instantly make with Intern (faster than when you two had met, he realizes with a needle to his heart) is short-term at best. It'll peter out eventually, like most friendships do.

It’s sad, but a cruel fact of life.

(Is this selfish, wishful thinking? Nah.)

They’re right, there is no need to worry, Spencer thinks as a weight lifts off his chest, finally able to breathe. You love him and he loves you and eventually, everything will go back to normal. 

There’s nothing to worry about.

—

The world’s ending.

“It’s really not.”

Yes, it is.

“Doc, come on.”

“Do not ‘Doc’ me,” Spencer grumbles, lifting his head from the comfort of his arms. He grimaces at Luke. “You didn’t see the way they looked at him. The way they talk about him.”

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since you’ve taken Intern under your wing, and he’s had enough. If Hell is real, this is it. For days, he’s tried to resume some form of normalcy, and he was never one to be bold but desperate times call for desperate measures as he asks you out for lunch or invites you out on dates, even stuff he wouldn’t normally do because they’re more your thing. Something, anything to get you away from Intern. But...

At work: “Hey Spence, I'm teaching Intern (menial task that a 4 year old could do). Would you like to help—”

During break: “I’m taking Intern out for lunch. He’s still new to town, and I thought he could use a tour—”

In bed: “Did you know Intern’s a huge fan of Star Wars—”

Snap, and there went his patience.

Intern this, Intern that. 

Spencer could tolerate this at work. At least he’s saving lives, being productive, getting paid. But under his roof? In his bed? 

That was the last straw.

Spencer's not one to wish ill on another, he's not like that. But if something happened to the guy, say, get injured in the field, perhaps from a "stray" bullet, he'd be intern-ally grateful. Heh. 

"Hey, you good?"

Spencer sighs, swiping a hand over his face and turning back to Luke. "Yeah, why?"

Luke waves a hand at his face, eyebrow raised, "For a second there, you kind of had a scary look on your face."

"Did I? Weird."

"Right," Clearly unconvinced, Luke brushes it off, deciding to get to the root of the matter. "As I was saying, I still think you have nothing to worry about. Although, I do think it's a little weird that (Your Name) is talking about Intern as much as you say they are." He offers Spencer a little smile, his hand falling heavy on his shoulder. It's the most comforting touch he's had in two weeks. "I'm not one to talk, but I suggest you speak to them. I'd also be uncomfortable if my partner were talking up someone else."

Spencer blinks, squints at Luke, before gripping his hand and standing up. "Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

"You can stand to mention it more often," Luke shrugs, eyes crinkling with amusement as Spencer lets go and heads for the door. 

"Noted."

—

Spencer nearly goes feral when he finds you.

Of course you're with him.

He searched the floor like a bloodhound, discovering you've been on your feet almost the entire day, running around the office, up and down the elevators, finishing your work and helping around. You must be exhausted. It's because of this he tracks you to your favorite break room, mostly quiet save for the buzzing drip of the old coffeemaker. He knows you need to be alone sometimes, recharge those social batteries.

So when he bursts into the room like he would hunting an unsub, eyes quickly scanning the immediate space, he expects nothing less but you. What he did not anticipate was to find you, just as soft and pretty as ever under the fluorescent lighting, leaning against the counter and sipping daintily at your favorite mug. 

With Intern standing a little too close to his liking.

“Hey, Spencer,” You chirp as you lower your coffee mug, lips glossy from your drink. Spencer's quick to shake his stupor―he can’t afford to be distracted, but it’s difficult when you’re beaming at him, clearly excited. You nod at the home-wrecker, “Me and Intern here were just talking about demonology and he’s got this interesting theory on werewolves―" Lycanthropy? Are you fucking kidding him right now? 

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the guy any more.

"CanItalktoyou?" It comes out rushed as Spencer gasps between breaths, leaving no room to second guess himself.

"Sure," You blink at his urgent tone.

For a second, you watch him expectantly, and Spencer's gaze darts between you and Intern. "Alone?"

"Oh! Okay. Be gone," You wave Intern off, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, Spencer sees red. Or green in this case.

Intern doesn't resist, but the noise Spencer releases is animalistic because the guy can’t seem to read the room, questioning you as you gently shove him towards the door. "What about the thing―"

"We'll talk about that later."

"But you still need to show me how to―"

"Don't worry, Intern. Just wait for me, I'll show you once the adults are done talking."

"You know at some point you're gonna have to call me by my name." 

"Nah. If we get to call Luke a newbie, we get to call you Intern. Also I do not know how to say your first name."

 "You could just call me St―"

Enough of this. Spencer closes the last stretch of distance, batting your hand away from Intern’s shoulders as he kicks him out himself, slamming the door in his face. Spencer turns on his heel to face you, caging you both. “You―” He pants, chest heaving for air.

“Me?”

“You-him-we―”

You’re unfazed, simply nodding at him and his odd behavior. If anything, you’re enjoying this as your lips twitch in a poor attempt to withhold your amusement, trying to cover it with a slurp of your cup. Then again, it’s not everyday you get to see Spencer, face flushed from exertion, speechless as he gasps for breath.

(At least not at work… In the break room specifically.)

It takes a minute as Spencer swallows a few times, but his heart’s erratic and it’s not just from running through the entire building. When he’s got enough air, he blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Your brow shoots up. “What?”

“Did I forget something important? Upset you in some way?”

“No? I don’t think so?” You frown at him, your answers more like questions. 

It only spurs him on, and though his tone is frantic and his eyes just as wild as his hair, you’re more intrigued than frightened. Definitely confused.

“Okay, but you know I love you, right?”

“Yes and I love you too but Spence, what’s this about?" Setting down your mug, you look at him like he's grown another head.

Spencer sighs, "I just… you…" He frowns, glancing between you, the floor, and the empty space between you. 

Spencer Reid is a man of words. Many, many words, according to all his friends and his coworkers. Mainly knowledge―he's never been great with feelings―but as you gaze at him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, he wants to melt into the floor. There's not a hint of annoyance on your features, your eyes warm and inviting. 

He's so in love with you.

Then like scripture the words come, natural without much stuttering or hesitancy. He recounts the last two weeks. The internship so far, the times you've left Spencer behind for him, the times you just talked about him, like the guy (practically a stranger) is your new best friend. Usually, pretty people make him tongue-tied and you do―god, you do―but at the same time only you make it so easy. Talking, expressing without fear of―

"Pfft―"

―Judgement. Pausing mid-sentence, Spencer gawks as your nose twitches and your blink rate increases. You purse your lips, a hand slapped over your mouth as it threatens to break out into a grin.

"Are you-are you laughing right now?" When he just poured his feelings out to you? 

That does it. You keel over, peels of laughter coming like a tsunami, crashing into him and Spencer loves your laugh but not when it's at him. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," you wheeze, gripping your stomach. Spencer pouts. There's even tears in your eyes. "But you're telling me this is all because you're jealous?"

He stutters, "Well-I-no-It’s just…" He wants to say ‘you're mine’, but as your eyes crinkle he knows there’s no need.

"That's kinda hot."

"Wha-really?" Wide-eyed, Spencer squeaks as you step closer to him, backing him into the door. His hands come up to his chest in a kitten-like manner yet at the same time protective―you'd never hurt him and you both know that―but you admit your initial reaction was poor when he laid his feelings bare. 

“Ahhhh Babe, you know there’s no one else for me but you.” Spencer blushes and you chuckle, taking his hands in yours. He let's you. “Also, as adorable as Intern is, one, I think I’d be able to tell if he was hitting on me, and two, he’s not really my type.”

Spencer swallows, “And what exactly is your type?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Looking him up and down, you step closer, enough that your breath puffs against his chin. You smell like cheap coffee. “Tall, handsome doctors with messy, brown hair―” You lightly tug at one of his stray curls and he bites back a smile. 

“―and a cute nose―” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, bringing him down to peck the tip of his nose. It scrunches as Spencer breaks out into giggles. 

“―Who can recite classic literature. Who can bake like he belongs on The Great British Baking Show but can’t cook for shi―”

“Okay! Thank you, I get it,” Spencer says, almost completely relaxed now.

“Good,” You nod with finality. “And for your information, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous."

He raises an eyebrow. "So you just abandoned me and talked about another guy for the hell of it?"

Spencer's tone is casual, joking even but you know better. There's underlying bitterness and hurt and your heart squeezes because you did that. "No, of course not. There is a reason behind all that.“

“What could possibly excuse you going above and beyond your job as a mentor―”

“I was trying to set you guys up.”

Spencer deadpans. “Set me up? With him?” Oh god, he knows you’re weird, but he’s never considered you to be outright insane (is it weird he still loves you?).

As if reading his thoughts, you roll your eyes, “Spencer, how many friends do you have outside the team?”

“Not a lot.” No hesitation, but he accepted the fact a long time ago. 

“Yeah and that’s okay. But if you’d talk to Intern, you’ll find you two have a lot in common. I know he’s younger than us, but he’s a good kid, real smart,” You give him a meaningful look and shrug, “Not like IQ 187 smart but he could definitely hold a conversation with you.”

Spencer murmurs, pulling you in so you're chest to chest, “This entire time, you were really trying to make us friends?”

You nod, your expression a mix of giddiness and hope that makes whatever feelings he felt before, the confusion and―yes, fine―the jealousy, dissolve like sugar in water. Spencer sinks into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your soap. Of course you had good intentions. Of course you wanted to do something nice for him.

Fuck, he loves you.

“So… we good?”

Spencer huffs, “I hope you realize how much I suffered the past few weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then yes, we’re good,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

“And?”

His brow furrows and he pulls back, meeting your eyes. “And what?”

“Will you try to be friends?” You look at him expectantly.

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, a definitive no on his tongue, but then you’re giving him puppy-dog eyes and before he realizes it, “Okay.”

Wait, no. That is not what he meant to say.

“Yeah!” You throw your arms around him, and Spencer can’t stop you, grunting as you basically swing him around like a rag doll. But he finds he doesn’t care when you set him back down because you’re happy, happy for him, grinning ear to ear as you babble, “I can already tell you two are gonna be the best of friends! You guys have so much to talk about, all that nerdy stuff. Maybe even debate! And we could play chess and―”

There’s a knock and you both turn, a voice muffled by the door, “Hey, guys? I don’t want to interrupt in case you’re boning, but you didn’t exactly tell me where to wait for you? God, I hope you guys aren’t boning. Please tell me you’re not boning right now.”

You groan, “No Intern, we’re not boning! Right-uh-go ahead and meet me back at the office, I’ll be right with you.” You turn back to Spencer, sending him an apologetic look. “I will see you later, okay? And since you’ve been such a patient and understanding partner,” You plant him one last kiss before patting his cheek, and his eyes widen as your voice lowers in the way you know drives him crazy, your eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll make it up to once we get home. Bye, love you!”

Before Spencer can fully register your words, you're out the door, cackling as you leave him to compose himself, his face beet red from running the possibilities. By the time he emerges from the break room, you’re long gone.

“Hi, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer almost snarls, cursing under his breath. Just when he thought the day was getting better. He turns back. 

Intern stands tall, relaxed and shoulders back, black tie loose and cheap white-collar button up slightly wrinkled. No doubt from working hard and following your instructions throughout the day. Spencer respects the work ethic at least. Meanwhile, the younger man eyes him, and he’s certain it’s not from intimidation but with curiosity.

Spencer doesn’t linger on that. He’s used to it, not being intimidating to others.

He continues, “It’s nice to finally talk to you, one on one I mean. I’m a fan of your work. Seven degrees, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says curtly. Recalling the earlier conversation with you, he stamps down his irritation and tries to extend an olive branch. “How did you know?”

“It’s the internet, sir,” Intern raises an eyebrow, offering an innocent smile. 

“Right,” Spencer returns it with an awkward one of his own, “Hey, sorry for... literally kicking you out before. That was completely unprofessional.”

Intern waves him off, “No, it’s cool. I totally get it. I’m flattered, by the way.”

Spencer frowns. “Flattered?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you find out your superior’s jealous of you.”

Spencer blinks, and it takes all his experience as a profiler to mask his embarrassment. “You heard that.”

“The FBI’s got thin walls,” Intern shrugs and steps towards him. “Although I have to say, Agent (Your Last Name) is wrong about one thing.” Stopping short in front of him, for the first time Spencer is close enough to note the moles dotting his face. “They can’t tell that I’m flirting with them.” 

He starts down the hall after you, and Spencer’s eyes trail after him as his brow furrows, until realization slams into him and his jaw drops. “Wait, you...”

“Oh and since (Your Last Name) wants us to be friends, I think we could be on a first-name basis,” He pauses to look back at Spencer, watching with a crooked smile as the older man sputters. 

“So, you can call me Stiles, sir.”

Then once again, Spencer is left behind, frozen in the hallway as he processes what just happened.

And the next time he finds you and Special Agent Stilinski in the same room, whether it’s crowded or not, Spencer does not hesitate to cling to your side, putting as much distance between the intern and you as he can. Spencer’s grateful you don’t question it.

There may not be anyone else for you, but that doesn’t mean no one will try.

―

AN: ahhhhh thanks anon!! There was a similar request then i saw this tiktok (and listened to this tiktok the entire time) and i combined them. Id also like to emphasize that my version of reader is neutral across the board, race, gender, etc.

Yes, i have a type. No, i will not be taking criticism. 

Been hella overwhelmed with classes and work so here’s my way of destressing. Also suggest checking those tiktoks if you wanna understand me :))) also you mean to tell me i have to write the threesome myself?? Bs tbh 😔

watched 15x4 and i was so sad when Spencer addressed Luke as his coworker like no bitch hes your new bro stfu

and i have no doubt that stiles and spencer would be one of the best crossover duos given the chance 

[assaily]

PLEASE give me ur five headcanons of the siblings looking after him i’m so desperate for some whumpy fluff and my brain is DRY

now the fun thing about Five is that he's a total hard ass that has no idea what to do with affection. He also wouldn't always fully understand why his siblings would want to care for him beyond a basic use capacity. Like if his use to them is jeopardized, he would understand them trying to administer medical care to him and would logically accept it. He understands they would try to save his life in most scenarios.

Beyond that it becomes a guessing game for Five, but also depends on the kind of care. There's domestic support care and whump aftermath care. I'm just gonna talk about domestic support stuff because whump aftermath care is less headcanon for me and more fic scenario territory (feel free to poke me about that, too, for another long winded post about my dumb fic ideas).

Domestic, day to day support care would need to be done on the down-low bc if Five found out his siblings were going out of their way to do that sort of stuff for him, he'd a) be embarrassed he's not self-sufficient enough to not need them and Old Man Pride won't stand for that, and b) have no idea how to repay them.

Support things are keeping certain foods around for him and stocked, both as quiet encouragement to make sure he's eating and also for his general peace of mind. Having bottled water stored and general emergency supplies make Five's apocalypse brain feel slightly less paranoid.

Making sure he isn't accidentally left alone for too long. Five doesn't have too much social stamina, but things that essentially boil down to parallel play are important for him. Five does his own thing, and he follows his own schedules, but he appreciates his siblings sharing space with him. Every interaction is important.

For a few more specific interactions, i can't imagine Five trusting too many people with sharp instruments near or around his head, certainly not strangers. So who else would cut his hair but Allison, as she probably wouldn't let him do it himself. She would absolutely take this rare and precious opportunity to give him a head scratch, insisting on washing his hair and giving him the whole spa treatment (or at least as much as Five is willing to put up with). Allison would also be the one making sure Five had other things besides his uniform and pilfered siblings clothes to wear.

Five and Klaus are Bad Day Buddies. Occasionally drinking buddies, but they both try to be the Better Influence, which ends up helping them both out by keeping them mutually accountable. More than that, they both get that sometimes the PTSD just shows up and there's nothing you can do about it. Five hangs out with Klaus during fireworks season, trying to keep him busy and his mind off the (bombs) noises. Klaus keeps Five inside when it snows, makes sure to stick with him during bad storms when Five's paranoia spikes, and the thunder makes Klaus's anxiety sharp like barbed wire. When the nightmares are bad, Five lets Klaus share the bed with him. Cuddling is minimal bc Five doesn't like being clung to in his sleep, but even he has to admit the general closeness of another person helps.

Vanya is only willing to consider picking up the violin again because Five laments that he misses hearing her play. When her confidence in her ability and control is strong enough for to return to it, she starts by playing only for Five, because he asked. He likes to read while she practices. Sometimes, he just sits nearby with his eyes closed, letting the music flow over him.

Oh, and they would absolutely get him a dog.

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

Living up to my URL (jk)

thanks to this post by @rohirra i have been INSPIRED! so here’s all my eldritch Luthien headcanons bc she deserves it.

First off I should clarify that I have some very specific headcanons re: Luthien and Daeron’s half-maia nature and relationship to Arda. I wrote some of them down here but because it’s long and also not really about that the short story is that a maia’s spirit is most attached to the world but is very “large”, then an elf’s (also probably dwarves are around here), then a human’s (+ hobbits) which is actually roughly the “size” of a maia’s (my reasoning/headcanon is complicated and too long for here, hmu if you wanna see it)(yes this is ask-bait, no im not ashamed). Elven parents use some of their fea to make their kids, but for Luthien Melian way over-shot it, so Luthien has a body and spirit that want to be incarnate, but her spirit is way too big to fit as an elf (but not for a human ;) so she has to keep a pretty tight hold on it so that she doesn’t more or less explode into a flaming crown of wings and eyes and other monstrosities. Anyway this means that typically she looks normal-adjacent, with only nice, pretty eldritch additions (though admittedly my definition of pretty is a little skewed. Beren and Thingol are in good company). BUT! If she gets especially emotional for whatever reason her control on that starts to slip. (see, my icon)

And another clarification (and more ask bait, please please please ask me to explain/elaborate) : I hc that maiar each have several “domains”, some of them very small and specific (a river and the stones nearby/happy thoughts caused by kittens) others much less so (all rivers/most happy thoughts) that can overlap. So I like to think of Melian’s domains (and thus her descendants’ too) as being: Doriath, first and formost (which does end up increasing her influence over forests in general, but really it’s just Doriath. She saw it and was like “!!! It’s ME! DIBS!”), passerine (perching birds, usually songbirds but can be birds of prey) in general but especially nightingales, the dusk/twilight/evening, forest wildflowers and prey animals, foresight (which is based on the stars), and then the Big ones because she studied under Este and Vana: healing (este), the entropy stopping thing (vana), and protection as being a combination of them both (also fits w/ my next headcanon bc metal makes armor).

Putting everything else under the cut bc Hoo Boy I Cannot Stop Talking

Ok so lets start off with the basics: Jirt himself described Luthien’s skin as being like silver. I’m just going with what the man himself said! So uh. Yeah her skin looks like metal with a skin-colored stocking or other thin, stretchy cloth stretched over it, so it’s a little more matte than just. metal. but it gives her some very interesting undertones (i also imagine it as being more silvery at places where the skin is tighter, as if her skin is transparent and there’s just metal underneath it.) I think she gets a little shinier when she’s happy. I’ve seen a lot of artists making her blue which is also cool!

Her ears are shaped a little differently than normal elves because Melian has those cool wing “ears”, so hers are a little flatter and have some scallops on the edges, and her earlobe is more pronounced. They end up looking a little like butterfly wings.

she is Very Tall. Thingol is one of the elves who is described as being the tallest elf ever, and Melian is an eldritch abomination my beloved, so Luthien is probably even taller than her dad. No idea on an actual height besides >8ft/2.4m

“and light of stars was in her hair” “her hair like shadows following” I could interpret this how he undoubtedly meant, and say she has lovely shiny black hair. orrrrr I could direct you to the amazing and talented Kokiri85 on AO3 and Instagram because that’s where I got this headcanon from. Specifically see: here, here, and here (and check out the rest of their stuff it’s REALLY GOOD)(I also got a bunch of inspiration for my Melian design there too) if you don’t want to bother to check it out, then basically her hair is definitely not really like actual hair, and is instead a very very swirly starry chunk of space, more or less. I like to think that it’s perpetually flowing a little, like it’s underwater, and that it’s actually depicting a chunk of space that sometimes switches with her mood, so it might typically be “set” to the edges of a nebula, but if she’s bored it might switch to a blank piece of space. I’m just gonna stick a disclaimer here that with basically any of these headcanons you can assume it gets “more” whatever when she’s more emotional so I don’t have to repeat myself.

TEEF! My girl has fangs because I am weak. Also talons, though usually they just manifest as slightly long and sharp fingernails (this is one of the things she has the best control over, so it’s easy to make them more “normal”)

purple eyes purple eyes purple eyes purple eyes purple eyes purple ey-

If I ever actually bother to draw her normally/in a neutral state I would probably give her a natural grey-blue-purple, like the color of an evening sky, just to be Jirt-accurate. But I don’t, so GLOWY NEON PURPLE EYES FOR HER! My elves all have tapetum lucidum, so Luthien gets that from her dad and her literal glow to them from her mom. (I also really like the idea of her pupils working a lot like a cat’s, and then getting weirder (cross shaped anyone?) as her control slips)

Actually that gives me another idea! Luthien is crepuscular, ie. active mostly at dusk and dawn. She’s associated with evening and morning a lot anyways.

I honestly can’t decide if she gets horns/antlers or not. Like on one hand- yes. Vibes are Off The Charts. On the other- it doesn’t entirely vibe with my domains for Melian so. IDK.

WINGS MY BELOVED! They usually only come out as an unconscious intimidation tactic when she’s mad or scared, but she does choose to have them sometimes. They start out as a very spectral outline and glow, but become more and more present the angrier she gets, until she has like a pair of huge bright sparkly purple neon signs floating behind her. They’re only tangible (and thus able to make her fly) when either her control is near-completely gone and her spirit is crawling out of her skin to the point where it’s actively dangerous for her, or if she’s consciously making them like that (only possible when she’s calm/relaxed/happy). When they’re like that they look like really big nightingale wings but a little shinier and slightly iridescent. She absolutely takes Beren flying once or twice and loves getting them preened even if she doesn’t have to. It’s the same feeling as having someone comb through your hair without running into knots, absolutely melt-worthy.

Haloooos. This is admittedly mostly for Art PurposesTM, but it only happens when she’s especially emotional, though not only negative ones. It starts off as a glow around her head, then a ring behind it, then a disc, and continues getting more elaborate. Fun fact: The three interlocking halos above her in my icon were originally designed to look like an atom because I was doing it during chemistry and got Inspired.

And now an incomplete list of things I associate her with when writing the Spookies.

petrified wood. literally its so good it’s like rainbow gemstones made out of ancient forests why are so many people sleeping on this for fae type creatures? Also easy “death turned into something beautiful” symbol.

amethyst. from google: “the gem's purple colors represented... the chastening and purifying effects of suffering... were used to aid the healing of wounds.” Ohhh great Maaandos, high among Valarrr~

Voids, a classic, but specifically starry ones, to contrast the blank Void the Feanorions swore to vs the metaphorical “void” where humans in the legendarium go post-death, which is presumably something/somewhere.

Mercury, I often call it “quicksilver” for the Vibes. It’s silver, drippy (like blood!) and now associated with madness and poison. For the OG Eldritch Flavor.

Eagles, in the context of their talons, bc it was the eagles that snatched her and Beren from Angband, but mostly Luthien who saves them over and over. I use it especially in the context of Luthien “cutting her spirit loose” to go to Mandos and sing to him bc of the fun parallels.

Nightingales, which sounds obvious, but really think about it. Historically kept in “golden cages” for their singing, but never domesticated so they’re still wild birds. Like the symbolism practically writes itself. I use the specific phrase “Nightingales are wild birds” as often as I can when I’m writing about her, and especially her relationship to Doriath/Menegroth/her parents because it is very golden cagey, and gives her a lot more character and weight to her choice to be with Beren beyond love at first second sight.

Cheating a little here but wolves for Beren. I like to think that even after she became mortal Luthien still was pretty eldritch, but Beren got some too because being resurrected is Like That Sometimes. So it’s fun because they’re both human, but with “elven grace” and some more maiarin/eldritch traits and habits. Also it’s fun because wolves are predators but the “Nightingale” is the more dangerous/scary of the two.

Lightning and ozone for her glow. Another classic.

There’s probably more that I just can’t think of right not, but those are the main ones

Dang now I want to write a self-indulgent purple-prose fic about Thingol admiring how eldritch Melian is. This is gonna be like. my Thing.

[pocketramblr]

I've noticed after a while (and many posts) that you include Fuyumi-trying-not-to-resemble-her-mother in many of your tags, and I really want to hear your thoughts on that whole character dynamic. Or how you headcannon Fuyumi in general, I'd just like to know more and I haven't seen a lot of people delve into her character. It's always one of the brothers.

*vibrates at a totally normal speed* I would love to talk about Fuyumi yes

Warning: the following headcanons contain a decent bit of projecting. Is it me being a teacher? An eldest daughter? My complicated relationship with the idea of a "traditional family"? Probably all of it

First, if you don't mind a plug, I wrote a oneshot that has like 90 percent of all my fuyumi headcanons in it, The Walls Are Thin, and so. Obvious my headcanon that she's Touya's younger twin has been disproven but I like it a lot so,,, I don't care

So, there are some things about Fuyumi that didn't make it into the anime- manga!Yumi has blue eyes like Enji and Touya, and her arm was also bandaged in the flashback soccer scene when Shoto is talking about their abusive childhood which is very interesting to me.

Now, as for Fuyumi and Rei- I don't think Fuyumi hates her mother. I don't even think she hates her mother but is ok with full reconciliation like she is with her father. But I do think they have a very complicated relationship. Rei was institutionalized when Fuyumi was eleven, and from that moment on Fuyumi basically had to take over the raising of her brothers. Fuyumi lost her mother at eleven and then had to become one herself, because Rei burned her littlest brother.

Fuyumi was a child- and here's the thing. Rei's breakdown was sudden, but not surprising. She looked bad in the flashback right before it, she was begging her own mother for help. She looked sleep deprived and skittish. So even before Rei was sent away, I don't know how much she was actually mothering Fuyumi. Shoto can't really tell us that, and Fuyumi... Doesn't seem to want to think much on her past or give flashbacks to the two of them. So when Fuyumi is eleven, is ten, is nine- she's seeing this happen to her mother as a process. Rei is fading away, and Fuyumi is right at the age to actually begin to sort of understand it and be scared.

Shoto is aware that the marriage was motivated primarily to get a quirk like his. I see no reason that Fuyumi would be unaware of this ether, even when she was younger.

A lot of mental health problems can be hereditary- I remember my mother talking to me about her health history and her own mom's health history bc there's a looooot of problems there lol but Fuyumi didnt get that. She got to see her mother stuck in a hospital for a decade for a breakdown. She got to learn in school that those kinds of things can be passed down to children just like quirks. I'd bet anything that Fuyumi is terrified of having a breakdown like that. Of being like her mother- someone who cared for children that she couldn't protect from Enji for ten years or so, then being locked away when she finally snapped.

There's also her status as only daughter- besides the fact that all the wifely duties were put on her, there are still more expectations. Touya is dead, Natsuo is so ignored he didn't need to be disowned, Shoto is primed only to be one thing: the number one hero. Fuyumi, who has been mothering since she was eleven, would be looked to first for grandchildren.

This isn't to say that Enji ever expressed a single care about that- I doubt he did. But Fuyumi's grandmother was seen in some early flashbacks. I'm not sure if that was Rei or Enji's mother, but either way... Well, she'd certainly talk about how pretty she was. How sweet. How good to her brothers now that her poor mother is away. How obedient a daughter. And even if this grandmother doesn't talk about a quirk marriage explicitly, Fuyumi knows that she either raised a man who looked for one by the age of twenty, or was wholly complicit in her daughter getting one.

Even if, logically, Fuyumi knows her father wouldn't arrange her one- either because she's more useful at the house, or he doesn't pay enough attention, or he's going through a post Kamino character development- there's the fact that she also knows It's Not Impossible. She knows that if her family is as high up as it is and utterly rotten inside, there could be lots of people like that in their social circles. There could be someone who has that sort of interest in her.

Anyway, all that gives Fuyumi some very, very complicated feelings on motherhood and marriage. I don't think she wants either. Ever. She's a teacher, so she likes to work with kids- but we know a part of that is to make up for not being able to help her little brothers. She's full of guilt. I don't think she'd ever be interested in romance or anything else with a man, after seeing how it turned on and utterly broke Rei. And while I do sometimes have Fuyumi as lesbian, I also really think she might be aroace. This adds fun spice where she asks herself things like "wait is this just my trauma or my actual identity" and haha same I'm sorry I project on her a lot anyway sorry Fuyumi,,, you deserve a happy life. A normal life. But you don't get one ♥️

And the normal life thing- that's because Fuyumi is tired. She's tired of being a mother to her brothers. She's tired of having the responsibility of parenting without any of the power or control. She wants to be treated like a normal daughter and sister. And that can't happen if her brothers, esp Natsuo who she saw even more, keeps fully crediting his raising to her. Even if it's the truth, and even if Natsuo loves their mother and had no problem with her- he certainly wouldn't claim Rei influenced him more than Fuyumi did. That's why she's so desperate specifically for him to reconcile.

And she did see Natsuo more- but I think Fuyumi is also very close to Shoto. Closer than he thinks. Not just because her first two appearances are just her trying to protect Shoto by warning him when Enji is pissed off or when he will be, though that certainly helps- she's rather attuned to that stuff, and at least sorta used to Shoto sometimes listening to her about that kind of advice. But Shoto is being shaped deliberately to basically be Enji 2.0 . He has no choice but to be a hero. He has no choice but to train hard and get strong. He's supposed to beat All Might in a rivalry. All that stuff. Fuyumi, likewise, is shaped to be Rei 2.0. Take care of the children. Be soft. Not cut out for heroics. Not able to stop Enji from doing anything. Support Shoto. Cook. Clean. Take over when the housekeeper leaves, because why hire another one when there's a fourteen, fifteen, sixteen year old who can do it? Don't go to anyone for help, because no one who can help you will believe you or want to help you.

Shoto is supposed to succeed where Endeavor failed against All Might.

Fuyumi is supposed to succeed where Rei failed in going against Enji.

And all this, in a house where "like Rei" is an insult that her father shouts- to have her mother's constitution is a terrible thing. It's why her first two brothers were failures. Being "like Rei" means you are weak, and useless, and going to break down, going to be sent away.

And Fuyumi is supposed to be "like Rei", but without any of those bad parts.

Anyway wow this is such a long post.

That's why I think Fuyumi has a complicated relationship with her mother and with her appearance! If Fuyumi had been a boy, there always would have been a housekeeper there. She could have been a big brother- a big brother overly relied on, yes, but not a father. Fuyumi is not a boy. She is "like Rei." She is like Rei, who poured boiling water on a child because he had red hair, and a blue eyes.

So I think Fuyumi looks in the mirror, and sees red lines in her hair, and blue eyes behind glasses that neither of her parents need. And I think she keeps her hair shorter than Rei, and doesn't let it hang long like her mother prefers. And I think Fuyumi looks in the mirror, and sees that she's not just exactly like one or the other of her parents- and I think she says "thank God"

[spidersbane]

Hello! Can I get MCU, The Hobbit, and The Man From U.N.C.L.E. ship? 💚

Appearance: She/her. 179,5cm tall, rectangle body shape. Fair skin complexion with quite a few birthmarks. Dyed brown with honey-red highlights, shoulder-length, straight hair with bangs. The left eye is a mix of two colors – a smaller portion of (darker) greyish-blue and a larger portion of hazel; while the right eye is just a (lighter) greyish-blue. Heptagon face shape with two dimples on the left cheek and one on the right cheek (only visible while smiling). A gap between the upper front teeth.

Personality (good and bad traits): Ever since I was a kid, I was always quite mature for my age – I identify myself as an old soul. I come off as polite and well-mannered to strangers, yet I tend to keep it to myself by being reserved. But, that’s because I have social anxiety and I’m nervous and shy when meeting/talking to people. The only people I’m comfortable with being with my inner circle – closest friends and family. I am usually more “open” with my friends than with my family. With my friends I can be my “truest-self” – I smile more, I laugh more, I feel more accepted and understood. I am the mom and the fashionista of the group. Don’t get me wrong, I am fiercely protective of my family, especially of my mother and younger sister. But, lately, I’ve been feeling like the “black sheep” of the family, Cinderella who’s been taken advantage of. I express my affection for the people I care about in little, but practical, ways. I can be a little stiff when it comes to open, gushy displays of affection. Others turn to me for help and advice. I’m kind-hearted and generous, always ready to help a person in need. Always have been motherly towards children. Very awkward at keeping small talk (usually with people that I’m not that close with). Absolutely, hate speaking in front of a public, and if I do, because of my nervousness, I tend to mess up my words and/or I practice whatever I’m about to say in my head at first. I appreciate the simplicity and am often most comfortable when I’m not getting too much attention from the world. I am sensitive – both to criticism and to others’ feelings (I sponge up the feelings and moods of people and the environment around me). Have a hard time saying no or expressing my true thoughts, feelings. I get influenced by other people’s opinions/thoughts quite hard (I take everything to the heart), that is why I tend to keep a lot to myself (may come off as a little bit tense, secretive, mysterious). I avoid the harsh reality by daydreaming (almost every day) – imagining myself in situations far from my current circumstances. Sort of like a self-escape. I worry a lot and overthink almost everything. I am easily distracted and my attention span can be quite short. I have an internal struggle between my needs and wants. I can lack focus and be indecisive as a result – when I decide on one route, I am pulled in another direction at the same time (“But what if…”, “on the other hand...”). That is why I’m having a bit of a struggle with deciding what I want to do in the future (career-wise). I am easily overwhelmed by pressure and stress. There is a self-destructive side to me (self-critical, lack of self-confidence) that I’m working on by confronting my fears (coming out of my shell). Don’t like taking pictures, or other people taking pictures of me. I feel most content when I’ve straightened out all the details of everyday life. I have a routine, that I follow by mostly every day, and if something small changes in that routine, I start to have a small internal anxiety attack. Also, I like to do things my own way, like, when it comes to cleaning the house or organizing stuff, etc. I get triggered even if people don’t do the laundry the way I do. I guess you could describe me as a perfectionist, clean/control freak. In triggering situations I can be impulsive, spontaneous, quick to act. Quick flare-ups of anger/annoyance when being provoked on my patience. Even when I’m feeling low, I manage to find humor in life and have fun with whatever I do have. Although I tend to bottle things up, I am an emotional person and my emotions are genuine – I love and care deeply and passionately and wish no ill will upon anyone, yet it hards for me to imagine someone falling in love with me or just liking me.

Hobbies, likes: My hobbies are cleaning, writing (re-writing song lyrics, making small notes, writing stories), listening to any type of music, catching up on my favorite films and TV shows, hanging out with friends, going to the cinema, or the club, being out in nature, reading, traveling. I like history, cooking, fashion magazines (or fashion in general), road trips, spirituality, mythology, books, orange juice, previous decades, cottage-core, dark academia.

Overall: Hufflepuff. INFP-T. Bi-sexual. Pisces-Aries cusp sign. “Looks like could kill you, but is actually a cinnamon roll.” A feminist, support LGBTQ+ community. That’s it, thank you!

hey @pataim ! thanks so much for sending in your request, and thank you so much for your honesty about yourself. like it takes a lot to air yourself out like that, and I admire your strength for it. but also fINALLY a 'Man from U.N.C.L.E' ship! I love that movie and attempt Illya's accent all the time, so this will be fun :)

For the MCU/Marvel - I ship you with Steve Rogers/Captain America ! 

no one can tell me that Steve doesn’t have a set routine honestly, so let me just get that out there 

he seems intimidating at first, esp as a public figure and Avenger, but Steve is nothing but passionate about what he does. so it may clash w your lack of direction, but I could honestly see him envying that a lil bit, like it’s not that you don’t have direction, it’s the fact that you still have a choice in the matter. 

your love of history put you in a museum, here you bumped into Steve in a horrible disguise. he struck up the conversation first, and once you got past the whole “holy crap that’s Captain America”, you could actually engage with him in the material and boi was he smitten 

he would love to join you when your rewatched your fave things, bc not only is he catching up on more media he missed out on, he’s also getting to know your interests in a way that’s comfortable with you. it avoids all the small talk, but leaves room for discussion after the film/show ! 

since you tend to sponge up a lot of what other people believe, it’s totally Steve who actually tries to question what you think and what you feel about things. he’s someone who encourages you to have your own opinions and to stay true to those thoughts. so while with him, you can rely on him to learn about yourself, you also gain skills for independence

overall, Steve is super patient, and despite his chaotic job as Cap, he takes comfort in his routine, and would find comfort incorporating a partner’s routine into his life. and as you grow in a relationship with him, he’s patient about teaching you how to be your own person, and helping you learn more about yourself. and while it’s uncomfortable, you grow stronger throughout being with him :) 

For The Hobbit - I ship you with Bilbo Baggins !

Bilbo is the definition of introvert, and you're right there with him

not that introversion is ever a bad thing, bc it isn't. but Bilbo is quite content to sit in his little hobbit hole and vibe. like Gandalf had to come find him, ya know. dude disappeared from his own bday.

but anyways. it's not that Bilbo lacks purpose, it's just that he's more content with a quieter life. and it seems like his quiet life would balance you out well! like the Shire is so so chill, and there doesn't really seem to be a lot of pressure on the hobbits to pick a profession. like they just genuinely do what needs to get done.

similarly, Bilbo is the type who seems a little bothered by mushy displays of affection. exhibit a: disappearing from his own bday. like he's much more the type to refill your tea when y'all are reading by the fireplace, which he would totally do w you

it will probs take you a little while to warm up to each, given just how introverted you both are. but when he explains that he has set ways of doing things, then if they're compatible w your ways of doing things, then it doesn't take you long to open up to him

like it'll be a little jarring, but he takes comfort in his routines too. and it'll be an event trying to incorporate both of your ways of life together, but he's willing to do it

overall, yours is a very quaint partnership, built on deep respect for one another. neither of you are going to push the other to do things you aren't into. and y'all just live your best lives together tbh :)

For The Man From U.N.C.L.E - I ship you with Illya Kuryakin !

I love my big Russian spy so much, so this is fun for me

so Illya is the epitome of reserved and generally quiet, so it might take a while to really break down his walls and talk to him. and he's not quite sure what to do with you once you join the team

but, he's playing his game of chess alone, and when you sit down and ask to play with him, he opens up a little more after that

if you're one who get sent out on mission with the team, get ready, bc sometimes those missions require a lot of improvising. but you'd probably be at whatever 'base' was, helping run operations from a more secure place. but Illya and Napoleon improvise a lot, leading to a lot of headaches for you and Waverly

Illya has small bursts of anger, but similar to Gaby, most times, you can intervene and he doesn't get violent. or when he does, he tries to make sure it isn't in front of you. but bc you care so deeply for him, you're there for him in the aftermath. and that's how you show your love for him.

by patching him up if he gets cut, by talking him down when he's angry. and just generally trying to take care of him. and he totally does the same for you, especially if you get sent out into the field

and much to Illya's dismay, Solo doesn't refrain form making jokes about you. but if you can take them in stride, then Solo welcomes you into the team just as well :)

[finnoky]

AU where Quirin takes and raises Eugene after the DK falls

•| Send me a potential AU and I’ll tell you five fun facts |•

Oh you have no idea how much this enables me - I stand by Quirin raising Eugene until the end of time bc it’s what they BOTH deserve

1) Oki so, here we see Eugene taken away as a baby without disclosing an EXACT location — that will not stop Quirin though, who had a stance against cutting him off completely despite it being Edmunds orders [It made sense to send the boy away but to send him to an ORPHANAGE was another story] Quirin finds Eugene a month or so after they get separated, during that time he found a house and a stable farm to raise a kid on [Gotta have an income] and then promptly goes to the orphanage and adopts Eugene.

By then, Eugene’s name has already been changed and frankly... Quirin thinks it suits him, though he occasionally slips up and calls him Horace. He feels a duty to raise the Prince but also kinda has a “My son now” mentality! Disagrees with Edmunds choices + decides... His kingdom is doomed, so he’s gonna ensure Eugene gets a stable upbringing with KNOWLEDGE of the Dark Kingdom without necessarily telling him “Oh BTW you’re the prince”. Being a father is hard and he struggles a lot, esp in early days, it’s a whole new challenge from being a knight but... Not one he really regrets?

Cue some fluff! Knight-dad trying to raise a baby and establish a life in a new country — Over time he grows and becomes Village Leader + Develops a bond with the monarchs based on his knowledge and previous high-rank in society from being a knight! Gets offered a guard position but turns it down in favour of spending time with his toddler son. Eugenes first word is Dada and Quirins never felt so content. Baby fluff of Eugenes milestones — Quirin has Eugene helping on the fields as soon as he can toddle without tripping (tho it’s mostly Eugene playing and running around while Quirin works) Toddler Eugene is a little darling and knows exactly how to use his cuteness to get praise and sweets

2) Eugene starts thievery / acting out soon after Quirin dates and marries Ulla, though it soon become a hobby he usually indulges in with his friend Arnie [though they take on the names of the coolest book characters Flynn Rider and Lance Strongbow!] Quirin thinks it’s just a phase and leans into the whole calling Eugene ‘Flynn’ because... He really loves the books, that’s not too odd? Though he doesn’t know of crimes + just thinks they go out to play a lot. Eugene ignored Ulla for the first few weeks because he doesn’t like the idea of someone new staying around — He doesn’t hate her, it just raises a lot of questions about his mum that Quirin doesn’t know how to answer... He resolved on the explaination that she was very sick and couldn’t take care of him anymore, though loved him dearly — it’s enough to placate him.

Eugene doubles down on stealing when he’s 10 and suddenly there’s gonna be a new baby in the house. [He doesn’t WANT a sibling + worries Quirin will love the baby more than him since he knows he’s adopted & all that though is too scared to ask] Eugene grows an attitude and Quirin finds himself exhausted and constantly caught in petty bickers as Eugene keeps running away + acting up, especially to his wife (Who loves Eugene very much, of course) ‘Flynn’ declares he wants to travel the world and be far away from step-mums and nasty babies, uhhh Domestic fall out stuff?

Things change when baby gets here and suddenly Eugene is a big brother and Quirin is MORE distracted, sometimes they forget to even read him a story and he can’t stand the squirmy little creature... All it does is cry and take what little attention his misbehaviour had earned him... So naturally, petty crime continues + Eugene starts caring less about getting caught, so it becomes more risky. He and Lance befriend some bad influences and start taking Big Kid Crime. It’s fun! Until Eugene is brought home by a guard and Quirin gives him the silent treatment for the next week. Quirin... He loves his sons, both of them, but he just isn’t sure how to handle a distressed 11 year old and a baby, it feels like there’s not enough hours in the day and Eugene is SET on making life harder for everyone.

Eugene stays against ‘Varian’, frequently makes the baby the villain in his games and makes him cry on several occasions. It gets even worse when he starts crawling bc now he can’t get anytime alone, it’s just frustrating! The solution probably comes when Varians starting to talk and he says ‘Oo-gee’ as one of his first words — ‘Lisa’s first word’ style — and Quirin and Ulla admit that Varian is obsessed with Eugene. It’s sorta a wake up call for Eugene to start trying to get along with the kid, and it works! He finds it fun to teach him things & have someone to talk to (even if he just babbles back) By the time Eugene is 12 he’s calling Ulla mum and love spending time with his little brother

3) Right! When Eugene is about 18 he picks up theiving again, mostly because he isn’t suited to the farm life and it’s easy money (Plus how else is he gonna achieve his dream of financial independence?) He moves out the farm under the guise of finding a new life with his best friend, though they quickly realise it’s not amazing when they get tangled up with the Baron + his antics. Eugene visits home every so often and claims everything is fine, it’s going great, he doesn’t need any extra help + his life is just dandy. His dishonesty mostly bc he doesn’t wanna worry Quirin and there’s been a bit of a strain since Ulla passed away.

Life keeps on like this. Eugene ages, steals alchemy supplies for Varian and hides his true income source because he wants to make Quirin and Varian proud! Varian grows up to be more headstrong in what he wants because he has someone standing up for him and telling him he’s proud, though the longer Eugene spends away the harder it gets? He loves it when Eugenes here! But the house feels empty without him, and Quirin is so busy + stressed from Varians experiments that there’s still that desire to do more, prove himself.

4) Movie diverts a bit! Eugene finds out about the hair glow and thinks... If one person knows about this then it’s him, and takes Rapunzel to Old Corona over night rather than a campfire. Varian is ecstatic to see him though gets confused by a random girl Eugene claims to have just found — He’s about to ask questions when Eugene asks if Varian could do his magic thing to find out about her hair. Varian insists it’s alchemy and agrees, dragging Raps down into the lab! Boop gothel talks to her when Varians gathering all the equipment and talks her ear off about how cool Eugene is and asks how they found each other since the story is weird... Experiements start!

Meanwhile Eugene is talking to Quirin, when Quirin pulls out a wanted poster and puts it on the table. He finally found out about how bad Eugenes crimes are and wants answers. Now. Eugene sits and tries to explain its not what it looks like, but Quirin doesn’t wanna hear it. The disappointment is evident and Quirin criticises “I thought you grew out of this, what role model is this for Varian?” Eugene doesn’t have an answer but argues his case that it was to be reliant — and he doesn’t wanna do it anymore anyway! Quirin accuses him of using the girl, while Eugene insists her name is Rapunzel and he’s just helping her, get the crown, be set for life and never have to bother him again.

Their argument is cut short by a Varian coming back upstairs looking frazzled, says there’s something about the magic that’s familiar but he can’t place it — sure is strong tho, and continues gushing and asking Eugene for all the details of what he’s been up to. Eugene... Explains, his usual light-hearted rendition of a great quest, while Quirin leaves and stays upstairs the rest of the night.

Varian sees them off in the morning! Hours after they’re gone Vari is still looking into the magic thing — that’s when he remembers the old legend about a sundrop... about how it saved the Queen... About the Princess. Varian sneaks out the house and heads up to the lantern festival to tell Eugene and Rapunzel his revelation, but he gets there just as Eugene is being lead away by guards. Varian finds Max and tells him how they need to free Eugene + basically... Helps him escape with fewer pub thugs and more alchemy. When they get to the tower Eugene tells Varian to stay on the floor and climbs up to help Raps - Varian stays at the bottom of the tower for approx 10 minutes before finding the back entrance and climbing up. Figure he gets there just as Gothel deages, it’s suddenly and before anyone knows it Varian is the one pushing her out the window bc he saw a stabbed Eugene and put two and two together. Then! Cue New Dream scene, except Varian is sitting on the floor in shock a distance away... After New Dream hug Eugene looks at him and Varian admits that “Ok, magic isn’t that bad”

5) Oh god the series! First off — Raps is closer with Varian in this (that’s becoming a theme...) so doesn’t just throw him out into the blizzard when he comes asking for help. Instead he and Eugene go back to Old Corona together after the storm, Varian isolates himself from guilt + has a tough time dealing with what happened, but he lives in the castle as Eugene starts getting angrier with the king and wants answers for what happened. He’s the one that finds Dark Kingdom stuff and he and Varian work on it together... Eugene has a suspicion he came from the Dark Kingdom so when the rocks start pointing there he’s like dope!

No villain Varian joins them on the trek to the Dark Kingdom + it’s all fun and games, Eugene tries to get more answers from Adira as they travel but she says it’s not her place to say... All he needs to know is the kingdom fell, and everyone was evacuated... She’s almost annoyed as she explains it, then Hector is treble annoyed when he finds out Eugene was raised by QUIRIN since that went against the direct orders... Though Adira defends it and says he was doing his duty of keeping Eugene safe, it’s basically a rift between them that’s confusing until they get to the DK and the revelation happens.

I feel... Moongene could be a thing in this AU? but since I’m running out of points I’ll leave it with Cass taking her canon role! I will point out! when Quirin is freed initially only Varian runs into his arms... Eugene hadn’t really spoken to Quirin properly since their movie fallout & he’s not sure he belongs... Until Quirin holds and arm out to him and pulls him into the hug too (PARALLLELS) and we get a happy reunited family (tho with some issues to work out regarding somethings... they need to rebuild trust, but work on it slowly. Edmund stays ‘Edmund’ to Eugene. He sees Quirin as his father & doesn’t push as much to reconnect with Edmund... Though that makes it easier in a way. There’s less pressure once Edmund understands and they form a friendship, but Quirin is Dad 100% (Sometimes Edmund gets called Dad 2))

[cyclogenesis]

i have to tell you that the second i saw cal and ash on that mountain getaway a couple weeks ago, i thought about how desperately i would love a sequel to your turks & caicos fic set during that trip. (this is not a request, i promise, i just wanted to tell you bc that is one of my fav fics of all time)

Aw anon!! 🥺 Gosh I hadn't even thought about that when I was in my feelings about the mountain getaway pictures, which is wild because I am just remembering now that I started a fic after the honeymoon comment initially happened (like, very soon after, because @elliebirdthings was at that show and told me about it and we were freaking out haha), before we knew that they went to Turks & Caicos, and I had them taking that trip to a cabin in Maine.

Just for kicks, because this message made me smile and I love you for that, here's the beginning of that fic. It's unfinished obviously (not even any kissing!), but there's some nice stuff in there I think. This fic was going to be titled A whole fucking lifetime of this after the American Pleasure Club album which was a title I should have kept, goddammit. Also randomly in here I have them driving to the cabin while listening to My Bloody Valentine, who Ashton later called out as one of his main influences for Superbloom.

1600 words of unfinished Cashton under the cut! 😘

The day after the last meeting about the promo schedule the dressing room conversation turns, as it does, to plans for the break. It’s a month out, but they’ve to a man developed a fetish for planning their free time carefully as soon as the schedule’s set. Planning things makes Ashton feel like a grown-up. He likes renting cars. Sometimes he scrolls through AirBnB for hours just to see what’s out there.

“I’m going straight back, we got Dodgers tickets,” Michael says.

“I remember when you used to say ‘we’ and it meant you and me,” Calum says. He wiggles a little from where he’s snuggled against Michael on the couch like he wants to get away, but of course Michael doesn’t let him. Ashton thinks he probably wasn’t really trying.

“Aw, you’ll always be my first love,” Michael tells him, squeezing Calum to him more tightly. “You wanna make out just for old times sake?”

“I do not,” says Calum, but he lets Michael give him a big kiss on the forehead, his face squinching up happily.

“I just wanna get away for a bit, no work or social media or anything,” says Ashton, ignoring their tomfoolery. “A little cabin by a lake somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?” Luke says. “Where are you and Cal going this time?”

“Maine,” Calum says, at the same time as Ashton says, “Why would you assume we’re going somewhere together?”

A small silence falls over the room.

With dignity, Ashton says, “Calum and I are going to Maine.”

“Just get out in front of it this time,” Michael advises. “Let everyone know it’s another honeymoon. Take control of the narrative.”

“How many times can you go on a honeymoon before you have to acknowledge that you’re married?” Luke asks nobody in particular.

“It’s a bro trip,” Ashton says firmly. “For bros.”

“It’s very bromantic,” Luke says. “It’s okay, I’m not hurt I wasn’t invited. I love going back to LA and jerking off alone.”

“It’s nice that we’ve all got plans,” Calum says. He’s settled peacefully back against Michael, Michael absently petting his hair.

“It’s not a honeymoon,” Ashton insists.

*

Whatever, Ashton called it what he called it, okay? Might as well control the narrative.

Over drinks at the bar after their last show Calum asks, “Where would you want to go on your honeymoon, anyway? Somewhere new?”

Ashton pokes at the ice in his cocktail with his straw. Aren’t they supposed to not be using straws anymore because of the ocean or whatever? Ashton loves the ocean, it’s very important to him. Also this cocktail sucks. “Can I try your drink?” he asks. “I don’t love mine.” Calum has something with ginger in it, and bubbles. Calum slides his obligingly over, and Ashton passes his own over to be fair.

“I like yours better,” Calum says after a sip. “You wanna trade?”

Sometimes Ashton does believe in soulmates. “Yes, thank you.” He takes a long drink. “It would be nice to spend more time in Italy. Not one of the tourist-y parts though, somewhere quiet. Up north, maybe, one of the smaller towns.” He tries to picture what it would be like: olive groves, blue skies, stone churches. An old villa with lemon trees and a view of the hills. He’s so used to traveling with the band or just with Calum that it’s hard to picture anyone else there with him. They’re all as prone as anyone to get swept up with girls to the exclusion of most everything else, but Ashton can’t really imagine a future without seeing Calum all the time, without talking to him every day. Maybe he and Calum could just get married around the same time and they could all go on a honeymoon together.

“Yeah, that’d be pretty nice,” Calum says, looking wistful. Ashton wants to take a picture of him, capture the way a curl rests against his temple, how the blue neon lights behind the bar hit the glitter he let Ashton smear on his cheekbones before the show. They made a no social media pledge for this trip but Ashton’s bringing his camera anyway. He has to keep in practice, doesn’t he? Anyway, it’s important to capture these memories.

“Maybe we should just go,” Ashton tells him. “Why not? Who knows how long it could take for me to fool someone into living with this forever?” He sucks down the last of his drink, feeling sorry for himself now. What if he falls in love and she moves in and Calum stops coming over in the morning to walk to their favorite coffee shop together, and stops picking Ashton up so they can go hike Runyon, and stops bringing Duke over like he owns the damn place and doesn’t care about the dog hair that Ashton has to hoover off his couch pillows? That would be terrible. Worst of all, what if it was Ashton that suddenly wanted those things to stop?

“I’ll live with you forever,” Calum says, too busy flagging down the bartender to intuit Ashton’s emotional crisis. He gestures to Ashton’s empty drink. “Another one of those, right?” His own is still half full. Maybe he didn’t really like Ashton’s better after all.

“Yeah, thanks man,” Ashton sighs.

Calum bumps his knee against Ashton’s, the barstool squeaking beneath him. “Ash, you’re gonna find somebody if that’s what you want. Anyone would be the luckiest person alive to be with you. Maybe we could do Italy after the tour wraps, we’ll finish in Spain so it won’t be far.”

The thought cheers Ashton a bit; that’s a decent amount of time to get on AirBnB and see what he can find that’s available. It’ll be nice to have something to look forward to, Italian sunshine and limoncello and the quiet.

“Mike and Luke will definitely give us shit though about planning another honeymoon while we’re still on this one,” Calum says.

“Let ‘em,” says Ashton.

*

It’s not a long flight but it’s a bit of a drive from there to get to the cabin. But Calum said he wanted something remote and quiet, so it’s worth the wait, the drive in the dark. There’s moonlight, anyway, and Calum took the wheel, getting them the rest of the way there in their little silver Prius rental. He puts on My Bloody Valentine and sings along, low and comforting to listen to after so many days straight of playing, of promo. Halfway through the trip Ashton thinks he sees a shooting star, maybe thought he dreamed it until he felt Calum’s soft nudge of knuckles against his arm, heard his quiet, “You see that, bro?”

The way gets bumpy, thick with trees, dark and hard to navigate once they turn off the main road. At the end of it all there’s the cabin, looming in the dark, lights left on for them and the key exactly where it’s supposed to be. It’s past one a.m. but they still give the place a wander, stopping at the largest bedroom facing the lake. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows Ashton sees trees, darkness, the black glitter of water under starlight. Calum asks, “You want this one?”

Ashton looks further and just sees more darkness. “It’s kind of unnerving at night,” he says. “Anyone could be out there.” The other bedroom has smaller windows, but the point stands. “Do you wanna just watch TV or something in here and then decide?”

“If we get axe murdered here I hope our ghosts come back and leave a one star review,” Calum says, but he’s already shrugging his duffel off his shoulders and kicking off his shoes.

The host left them a bottle of pinot grigio so Ashton pours up a few glasses while Calum strips down to his boxers and gets in bed. The boxers have cartoon pugs all over them. “I can’t believe that’s the lingerie you’re wearing for our honeymoon,” Ashton says, handing him a glass. “I also can’t believe those boxers even exist.”

Calum raises it to him in a salute and takes a sip. “These boxers are fantastic, but I guess if you want me to take them off…” he trails off, eyebrow raised, thumb hooked in the waistband pushing them down past his hipbone, then further until Ashton can see the crease of his thigh.

“No, no,” Ashton says hurriedly, “I’m just saying, what’s wrong with a nice pair of footie pajamas? Keeps you warm. Keeps you modest.” Nevertheless he shucks his own clothes except for his own (very grown-up, perfectly normal, in a flattering shade of dark green) boxers and joins Calum in bed. Calum’s already stopped paying attention to him, too busy trying to figure out how to work the remote. He finally gets the screen to flash on, and Ashton stays quiet, sipping his wine while Calum flips channels, finally landing on something in black and white. Cary Grant comes on screen but Ashton still isn’t sure what movie it is; Calum seems interested enough, setting the remote down between them, so he doesn’t complain. The wine goes down easy and Ashton does too after not too long.

He rolls onto his side and sees that Calum’s eyes are already closed. It doesn’t look like he’s asleep yet; it always takes him a bit, leaving him in a dozy stage for about ten minutes during which he might respond crankily to any communication or with adorable mumbling affection. Ashton turns the sound down and says, as quietly as he can, “TV off?” Calum’s eyes don’t open, but he nods a little. “Okay. You want me to go sleep in the other room?”

Calum moves then, a sleepy shift of his body, fumbling a hand up and blindly patting the sheet until he makes contact with Ashton’s hand on the remote and squeezes it, links their fingers together like he can’t quite figure out how to make it work. It feels nice. “’S’okay,” he murmurs. “Stay here.”

Ashton didn’t feel like getting up anyway.

[skipppppy]

4, 6, and 8 for Aria plz

Sure! I love talking about my girl and these are some really interesting questions 👀

The answers ran long and are also kinda heavy (tw for mentions of both abuse and suicide!) so I’m keeping them under the cut so I don’t flood the tl with my ramblings 🥲

4: What is their least favourite childhood memory?

Ooh, she had a LOT of these. (There’s one in particular but I put it as the answer to question 8 bc it fit that question more tbh)

One of her worst memories was from the first time she went to Princess Prom. She was invited as a plus one to Entrapta, and being a young teenager with a head full of romantic fairytales and fantasies she was SO EXCITED. A royal ball filled with handsome Princes and Princesses? It was the perfect place for her to finally meet her one true love! Alas, her childlike naivety was only bound to get her hurt. After a few hours at the ball the slow dance began (her plus one was off performing social experiments), and like everyone else she rushed to the dance floor to find a partner...only to be completely sidelined. Anyone she approached would brush her off or turn to someone else. As the music started and everyone began to waltz back and forth, she just stood there, alone, surrounded by everyone paired up and ignoring her.

Disillusioned and heartbroken, she fled the ballroom in tears and spent the rest of the night hiding and crying her eyes out. After that her self esteem totally shattered. She believed that she was unlovable, worthless, and that she’d be lucky if anyone at all even cared about her romantically. After that she had a habit of falling into toxic relationships, since since she was so afraid of being alone that she would settle for anyone, even if they treated her like garbage. It’s why she has so many terrible exes 😔

6: What is the hardest thing they’ve ever had to do?

Swallowing her grief over losing Horde Prime by a LONGSHOT. His death utterly destroyed her, but the part that hurt the most was that she wasn’t allowed to mourn him.

The moment he was gone she had to turn her attention to all the Clones, lost and afraid without a leader. She had to bottle up all her anger over being sold out by the rebellion, imprisoned and enslaved by the Horde, and being betrayed by some of the most important people in her life. She had to plaster on a happy face and play dignitary to the people who had caused her lifelong trauma in order to help a kingdom she was unprepared to rule alone and it broke her. She had to nod and smile as they spoke ill of her dead husband to her face (I know he had it coming but right in front of his widow??? Fr???) and let them walk all over her in order to keep the peace. Keeping up the illusion genuinely destroyed her, physically and mentally. It got to the point that she made several attempts on her own life because the burden was just too much to bear.

Honestly her downward spiral into villainy was probably the healthiest thing she ever did, because she finally got the chance to unleash all her pent up rage and anger against the people who caused it, and even after whatever attempts at destruction she made failed miserably, she FULLY broke down and was able to properly mourn what she had lost. One the Velvet Glove was fixed and they left Etheria, she stepped down as Empress for a while so she could finally start to heal. It was in that time she also found Horde Prime’s original vessel, still intact, and was able to get some much needed closure and move onto probably the first healthy relationship she’d ever had in her life. (I also like to imagine that she somehow found a way to hold the alliance accountable for their actions, but that’s another story for another day :p)

8: What do you think had the biggest impact on them growing up?

By far? The way she was her mother treated her as a child. One event in particular had a HUGE influence on her as a person but I haven’t really talked about it until now.

Her mother always treated her terribly, being the eldest daughter Aria was either neglected in favour of her younger brothers or being forced to look after them so that she could relax (and laze about on the couch drinking wine). Being about 5 years old she wasn’t particularly happy about this and one day she had the absolute audacity to ask her mom to stop neglecting her. She did NOT take that question well and flew into a drunken rage. Screaming, shouting, throwing things, but it all came to a head when she picked up an empty wine bottle and smashed it against her infant daughter’s face. Thankfully the magic connected to Aria was starting to develop and she was able to heal herself, but she wasn’t strong enough to fix everything, and that’s how she ended up with the scar underneath her eye.

The incident naturally messed Aria up for life, but it also informed a lot of her personality as an adult. After that she became afraid to voice her opinion in fear of punishment, causing her to repress her feelings to an unhealthy degree. Her desire to nurture and care for others didn’t just stem from any natural kindheartedness but also as a stress response; she needed to take responsibility to ease the constant sense of dread her mother’s abuse instilled in her, and she wanted to make sure that no one ever had to suffer the way she did. It was also the reason she wears her hair the way she does. Whenever she had her scar on display people would get curious and ask, and she would have to relive it all over again. After meeting Prime she finally started keeping her hair out of her eyes, as she finally learnt to stop bottling up her trauma.

[stxphxn-strange]

nalgenes and french toast

a/n: Tony angst for my college au ft. sweet ThorBruce/Odinson family moments just bc, and Stephen doing the most bc he loves tony more than anything

Anthony was honestly amazed at how well he could hold back his anguish. He woke up from one of the worst dreams of his life, just barely suppressing a cry that should have woken up Stephen beside him and Wong across the room. To his credit, Wong was a reasonably heavy sleeper and was less likely to be disturbed/woken up. On the other hand Stephen had a sixth sense for when Anthony was upset and could tell, even in his sleep, when he had nightmares. Anthony found it both incredible and pathetic that he managed to wake up and slip out of the room without waking up his boyfriend.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want Stephen to comfort him, he did. More than almost anything, Anthony wanted to be lulled by sweet nothings and comforting words until he fell asleep again, but that could come after he dealt with his emotional outburst. He just woke up from a dream where his beloved mother did a 180, caring for/about him as much (or as little) as Howard Stark did, and the thought of that ever happening was devastating. Maria was always warm and loving even when Anthony was at his worst, and she was his biggest supporter next to Stephen, so of course he was scared to relive that dream or lose her love in the waking world.

Anthony knew he could call his mother and talk to her, and she’d comfort him as soon as she realized he was upset. But what if she didn’t?What if someday she did stop loving him? What if the few people in his life who genuinely cared just decided that they were done dealing with him, and his sensitivity wasn’t a strength, but a reason to leave him? He wouldn’t even be worth it to associate with, not even because of his name and subsequent influence. Anthony didn’t think he was good for much besides being available for people to leech off of anyway, he was just a worthless, crying mess in the living room. He was just a coward.

He buried his head and curled up into a little ball, trying not to wake up Stephen or any of the others. What would they think if they saw him like this? Stephen had seen Anthony cry before, and he wasn’t likely to judge. Anthony never judged his boyfriend when he cried, but he didn’t want to be seen in this state. They could all change their minds about him if they saw how upset he was from a stupid nightmare.

There was too much at stake. Crying alone was safer.

++++

It always annoyed Stephen when he woke up in the middle of the night and realized he was thirsty. If he woke up at a certain time of night, it was damn near impossible to go back to sleep. Luckily it was only 2:16. He’d probably be able to fall back asleep before 3:00, even after going to the kitchen and filling up his Nalgene.

He slid out of bed, putting his socks back on when he realized that Anthony wasn’t beside him. Stephen wasn’t too worried, figuring he was just in the bathroom or enjoying a 2am snack. The living room lights were on, further leading Stephen to believe that Anthony was secretly eating one of his snacks (which he never minded, Anthony often forgot to eat and Stephen was used to his boyfriend taking food from him). But he didn’t find anything wholesome like Anthony eating Pretzel Goldfish, he instead stumbled into something heart-wrenching. Anthony was crying on the loveseat, wrapped in a blanket and still wearing the shirt he’d taken from Stephen that night.

Honestly, it went beyond just silent crying. Anthony’s entire body shook with powerful sobs, and even from the kitchen Stephen could see the effort it was taking him not to scream. What was wrong? Why would Anthony suddenly cry alone when he usually confided in him?

Stephen cleared his throat. “Hey, Ant?”

Anthony started, realizing that he wasn’t alone. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Stephen replied, setting his water bottle down and sitting beside his boyfriend. “I didn’t mean to scare you. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I...” Anthony shook his head, burying his face in his hands as he fought back another sob.

“Do you want a hug?” Stephen asked.

Anthony nodded desperately. “Please, I can’t do this on my own anymore, I can’t—”

Stephen pulled Anthony close, wrapping the blanket around the both of them and softly stroking his boyfriend’s back. “You don’t have to deal with anything alone, Anthony. I promise.”

Anthony nodded again, pressing himself closer to Stephen. “I do, or else everyone will leave me. Everyone will change their minds about wanting me around, and why wouldn’t you?”

“Hey, look at me,” Stephen said, gently cupping Anthony’s face and gazing into his teary brown eyes. “I won’t ever change my mind about you, and you’ll always have me.”

“I’m not good enough,” Anthony muttered. “For you to stay, I mean. And hasn’t it been insufferable, knowing me for all this time?”

“What? No, of course not love,” Stephen replied. “Never. There’s legitimately no one I would have rather had by my side growing up and going through life with. Everyday I get closer to you and I want that forever. There won’t ever be a day where I don’t want you in my life, as my significant other and as my best friend. You’re my everything, Anthony Stark, everything.”

Anthony did sob then, clutching fistfuls of Stephen’s shirt and holding him tightly as his emotions took the wheel.

“It’s okay,” Stephen soothed, hugging him even tighter. “I’ve got you, I’m never letting go. I’ll always be here, I swear.”

Anthony didn’t respond, he couldn’t. He was crying too hard to speak, worked up from Stephen’s words. They cut down his fears like an axe to a tree, but did he deserve such unconditional love? Why did Stephen still bother with him?

Stephen kissed his head softly, humming a relaxing tune to try and calm him down. It didn’t take long, it was still quite late and Anthony’s exhaustion was starting to take over.

He yawned. “Sorry for keeping you up.”

“Don’t apologize. I’d never ignore you crying, no matter how tired I was, and I wouldn’t go to sleep without knowing you’re okay,” Stephen replied. “What happened?”

“Hm?” Anthony was a little zoned out, listening to Stephen’s heartbeat in his ear.

“Why you come out here anyway?” Stephen asked gently, kissing him again.

“I woke up from a bad nightmare and felt really shaken. I knew I was upset the minute I woke up, and I didn’t want to wake you up over something that stupid,” Anthony confessed. “But I don’t have it in me to talk about it right now, Steph.”

“You don’t have to,” Stephen said. “Do you think you’d be able to go back to sleep?”

Anthony shrugged. “Maybe. I’m tired.”

“Hold on a minute. I have an idea,” Stephen said. He stood up, booping his boyfriend’s nose. “Wait here.”

Anthony rested his head on his arms while he waited, his eyelids growing heavier by the second. He was fighting to keep them open the entire time Stephen was gone (and he wasn’t even gone for that long), his eyes almost closed when Stephen returned. He didn’t pay much attention to what Stephen was doing, almost asleep when Stephen turned the lights off.

“Okay, c’mere,” Stephen said, inviting Anthony to cuddle again.

The engineering student moved clumsily into his boyfriend’s waiting arms, faintly registering something soft underneath them where the floor should have been. He hummed in question, snuggling closer to Stephen.

“You know how we sometimes slept on the cushions when I visited family in Italy with you?” Stephen asked. “A few years ago, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Anthony murmured, wrapping his arms around Stephen’s neck and resting his head on his shoulder. “We fell asleep on the deck the first night, watching the stars. I think Natasha has a photo either for our wedding or for blackmail purposes. Maybe both.”

Stephen smiled at the memory and at the thought of someday marrying him. “I wanted to recreate those nights, hence the couch cushions and all the blankets, to try and make you smile.”

Anthony hugged him tighter. “I love it. And I love you.”

“I love you so, so much,” Stephen replied, beginning to stroke Anthony’s back again. “And you know you can talk to me about anything. I’ll never judge you, I’m here for you no matter what.”

“I know, sometimes it just still doesn’t click that people actually want me in their lives,” Anthony said.

Stephen’s heart broke at the admission. “Believe me when I say this: I’ll always want you.”

Anthony didn’t respond verbally, hugging Stephen closer and finally allowing himself to relax. “I’m really tired,” he mumbled later, shifting slightly into another comfortable sleeping/cuddling position.

“Get some sleep,” Stephen encouraged him, kissing his hair.

“You’ll stay with me?” Anthony asked.

Stephen was overcome with love for Anthony, but also by a feral desire to protect him from anyone who ever tried to hurt him again. “Of course I will, and I don’t just mean tonight. I love you.”

Anthony yawned. “Love you most.”

Stephen hushed him softly, rolling his eyes at how argumentative Anthony could be even when he was this exhausted. “Goodnight, dumbass.”

++++

++++

Stephen was the first to wake up, rudely awakened by the sound of the door slamming.

“Was anyone going to tell me that Thor is in love with me?” Bruce asked.

“How could you not know?” Wong asked.

“To be fair, the first time I told Anthony I loved him he thought I meant it platonically,” Stephen replied, looking fondly at his still-sleeping boyfriend. “I did have to clarify for him. But Bruce, it’s clear as day. What prescription are your glasses?”

Bruce flipped Stephen off from across the room.

“How is it that our two (2) smartest friends are also complete idiots?” Hela asked. “No offense Bruce, and I’d again like to welcome you to the family.”

“He basically already lives with us,” Loki muttered in mock complaint. He really didn’t have anything against Bruce, but he did have an image to maintain.

Wong cleared his throat. “Are you calling me a complete idiot? Because I’m clearly smarter than the entire group combined.”

“You’re also SHOUTING,” Anthony replied, now awake and glaring sleepily.

“Sorry Ant, but this isn’t the first time I’ve accidentally woken you up,” Wong said. “It probably won’t be the last.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Anthony conceded. He looked over at Stephen. “Kiss?”

Stephen nodded with a smile. He was expecting a sweet, sort of lazy kiss and was not expecting Anthony to grab his shirt and crush their lips together for a mini makeout session. Nevertheless, Stephen couldn’t complain. “Jesus.”

“Good morning,” Anthony said impishly.

“You’re damn right it is,” Stephen replied, laying down again and pillowing his head on Anthony’s shoulder.

“Get a room,” Loki yelled, his mouth full of French toast.

tags: @ah3m @stark-strange-love @grumb-lin @maya-custodios-dionach @chocopiggy @majesticnerdynerd @spooky-n-spunky @ironstrange-chaos @kiwidino

[cakesunflower]

No Need Convincing Me [Tattoo Artist!Calum AU] Part 5

Summary: Elodie Banks hadn’t expected to get so caught up in her best friend’s tattoo artist. But all it took was one meeting with Calum Hood for Elodie to feel herself drawing towards him and the ink on his skin. Maybe once she was rid of a miserable relationship and the insecurities that came with it, she’d allow herself to realize that Calum was just as wrapped up in her.

A/N: i’m not entirely satisfied with the end but like. i just needed it to be done. i definitely finished writing this in my medieval lit class while my professor talked about Chaucer bc fuck Chaucer he’s a lil bitch. ANYWAYS. happy reading!!!!

All Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6

Part 5

“Come on, man, it’s not that hard once you get the hang of it.”

Calum rolled his eyes as he and Michael crossed the street, giving a shake of his head. “Luke likes to play, just ask him.”

Michael let out a scoff, as if Calum’s suggestion was completely unsound. He sniffed, the cold late afternoon air hitting his face as they walked. “Luke dies in, like, the first minute. It’s pretty fucking pathetic,” he added with a patronizing snicker towards his best friend.

Calum huffed out a laugh, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. He almost regretted not wearing his hoodie underneath, remaining in just a shirt, as the cold weather chilled his body, the chain necklace he wore feeling like ice on his skin in addition to the breeze. He and Michael walked side by side, only stepping apart as a family shuffled past right between them before falling into step with one another as Calum said, “I’m down to play any other game with you except Fortnite. Or that weird card game.”

Throwing his head back to let out a pretty dramatic groan, earring dangling and hand flying up to the top of his head to keep his hat in place, Michael complained, “Magic: The Gathering isn’t a weird card game if you just gave it a shot!”

Calum merely smirked lazily, figuring that one day he’d give into Michael’s request and play the card game. For now he’d just let Michael sweat it out. So Calum shot his friend a look and challenged, “I’ll play the damn game when you decide to start filling in your bands—you work at a tattoo shop, for fuck’s sake.” Michael sputtered, glancing down at his tattooed arm, forgetting in that moment that he had a sweatshirt on. Calum shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t—”

He cut off right as a store door opened in his path—where was the sidewalk store etiquette of having doors open into the store?—and Calum wondered if this was some kind of universal joke as Nathan, of all of the people in this populated city, strolled out. He paused, green eyes meeting Calum’s dark brown as he fixed his damn cuff links, lips curling automatically into a sneer as he took in the sight of Calum.

And Calum couldn’t help it, he stopped as well—mostly because he had to as a way of avoiding getting hit by the door—and let out an unamused breath through his nose as he realized they were in front of the high tux shop a couple of blocks from their parlor, before his gaze returned to Nathan. He looked just as crisp and clean cut as usual as Calum eyed him, expression bemused and the corner of his lips just barely lifting into a condescending smirk. His unimpressed stare remained on Nathan while he drawled to Michael, “This fuckin’ guy.”

He heard Michael let out a displeased scoff of his own while Nathan merely smirked as he mused, “Tell me—is the tattoo profession truly that slow since you and your employee here can afford walking around the city during business hours? Seems like I only ever see you out of your shop, pal.”

Nathan was obviously goading him, or at least trying to, a not-so-subtle dig at Calum’s choice of career. Not that Nathan trying to paint himself as the more successful of them had any effect on Calum; the tattoo artist knew his business was doing better than great, and he was pretty damn happy and content with his life. Nothing a bitter, petty, and asshole of a man could say would make any of that less true.

“Funny, I was just gonna say I’ve been seein’ a bit too much of you,” Calum responded, his tone flat and sounding just as uninterested as he was.

It was also meant to be the last thing Calum was going to say to Nathan, exchanging a bored look with Michael just as the words left his lips before the two of them went to side step him and continued on their way. They were just about to merge back into the sidewalk traffic when Nathan spoke up once more, “That’ll happen if you glue yourself to Elodie. How much longer are you planning on doing that, by the way? Being so codependent isn’t healthy, you know.”

A soft yet disbelieving breath escaped Calum’s lips at Nathan’s words, eyes rolling skywards as he wondered if the mad bastard really just uttered that statement. Calum would’ve laughed at Nathan’s hypocricy in regards to healthy relationships—who the fuck was he, of all people, to try and give advice on those?—if it weren’t for the irritation so quickly beginning to burn his blood. Was this guy really so blind to think that what he did to Elodie was normal? It concerned Calum if that was true; the reminder of what she had to endure in a relationship with someone like Nathan twisted Calum’s stomach in uneasy anger. No one deserved to be treated the way Nathan treated Elodie, and knowing that someone Calum was so quickly coming to care about had to go through that only further pissed him off. And to think that Nathan thought that Calum being with Elodie was something that had an expiration date on it, he was sorely mistaken. Calum didn’t plan on it, and he could only hope, though he may kind of know, that Elodie didn’t, either.

Calum could’ve easily been the bigger man and continued walking, ignoring Nathan and his taunts that didn’t effect Calum. But he also didn’t want Nathan walking away thinking his behavior and words were so easily done without him being put in his place. Calum wasn’t too keen on being given the responsibility of being the one to do so, but then Elodie’s face flashed in his mind; her brown eyes and soft hair and gentle smile and the kind tone she spoke in, and Calum didn’t mind anymore. He found himself realizing, as a smile threatened to quirk at his lips for no reason other than just thinking about Elodie, that he’d probably do anything for her already. He was fine with that.

Calum and Elodie weren’t codependent, not by a long shot; they were just getting to know each other, a journey they were both enjoying and didn’t want to end. So he wasn’t even going to acknowledge that part of Nathan’s empty taunt. Instead, he just turned around, catching Michael’s semi-amused huff, and tilted his chin at Nathan. “At least I’m not a controlling bastard like you.” With a cock of his head, Calum pushed smugly, “Isn’t that why your unhealthy relationship died?” Calum clicked his tongue in mock empathy. “Must be shit to not have control over someone and lose ’em.”

He saw the effect his words had on Nathan, who had proven to not being as good as Calum in keeping himself in check, as the snide smirk on his lips dissipated as his jaw clenched and gaze hardened, lips twitching into a frown he couldn’t contain. Even so, Calum couldn’t tell if Nathan was more bothered by the comment of him being controlling, or the reminder that Elodie ended their relationship.

Instead of lashing out, Nathan took a step towards Calum, a single click of the heel of his fancy ass dress shoes as Calum felt Michael tense up ever so slightly. But Nathan’s gaze remained on Calum, who kept his gaze on him evenly. Nathan’s green eyes were brimming with a familiar fire and his teeth gritted as he threatened in a low, taut tone, “She’s never going to love someone like you.”

It was almost amusing how Nathan thought that was for him to decide. Calum cared for no one’s opinion but Elodie’s, and he wasn’t going to let a selfish, bitter ex of hers influence his thoughts. Love was some ways away for now—but with Elodie, Calum had a feeling he was on the track, given just how fast and quickly he fell for her. And, shit, did he revel in it. So Calum’s dark eyes narrowed slightly but remained on Nathan’s green, hands that were still in the pockets of his leather jacket forming into tight fists as he returned assertively, just a hint of ridicule, “Are you speaking from experience?”

He was well aware that his words were fuel to an already brimming fire, and Calum picked up on the instant shift of Nathan’s expression, saw the severe temper Calum provoked darken his green eyes and the twitch of his lips threatening into a snarl. But Calum was unapologetic, didn’t care that he was reminding the bastard of how shitty his relationship was despite whatever delusion he’d put himself into. Calum was still unapologetic when Nathan pulled back his hand in one second and slammed the knuckles of his fist into the bone of Calum’s cheek.

There was an instant numbing sting that settled in Calum’s face, forced to stumble only a single step back from the force Nathan put behind the punch. Calum was more surprised by the power behind the hit than the actual hit itself, head turning by the punch as it shocked through his face. He was only barely aware of Michael’s protesting shout, didn’t care for the fact that they were on the sidewalk and a few people had looked over upon the violent action. All Calum could focus on was the sting on one side of his face, his own fury thrumming to life as he clenched his jaw, the action only causing a newfound ache, facing the right as his head had turned upon the punch. There were a couple of middle aged women who’d saw what just happened, completely forgetting that they were going to cross the street and instead watching with wide, incredulous eyes.

Calum’s lips parted, slowly dragging his gaze back to Nathan as he licked the inside of his lower lip in provoked acceptance that this was how it was going to be. He almost smirked when Nathan followed his actions with words unsteady because of barely contained anger, “She was lucky to have me. Now she’ll just go back to being absolutely nothing.”

Almost.

But then Nathan had to bring Elodie’s worth into it, something Calum understood neither he nor Nathan could live up to, and any pain of his cheek disappeared as Calum decided, in that split second, to not hold back.

There was no hope for Calum to remain unaffected by Nathan’s jeer, or his presumptuous attitude of being someone who made Elodie anything but unjustifiably insecure and timid, and he ignored Michael’s attempts of pulling him away. Calum felt his muscles tighten as his fingers curled into a fist, his blunt nails digging into his palms, lips curving into an animalistic snarl as he swung his own fist forward.

The first thing Calum noticed was the sharp pain in his fingers as his knuckles dug right into Nathan’s nose because he’d definitely broken it. The second thing Calum noticed was Michael’s startled, “Jesus, fuck!”. And the third thing Calum noticed as Nathan stumbled backwards, much more than Calum had, and Calum’s hand uncurled was the bit of blood that was now tainting his fingers and rings.

Nathan ended up on the ground, a shout of pain escaping him as he brought his hands up to his face, the crimson color painting his skin and dripping right down to stain his probably expensive suit. Calum stood over him, looking down at the bleeding man as his hand hung beside him, the adrenaline pumping through his veins fueled by a wrath he hadn’t known himself capable of numbing him to the pain he was probably going to feel soon in both his face and hand.

But he was aware of the eyes that were watching them, people minding their own business but observing the scene that had just unfolded, yet Calum kept his fiery gaze on Nathan, feeling Michael’s hand on his shoulder. Not an ounce of regret tainted Calum, the beat of his heart only racing due to the adrenaline stemming from the anger Nathan’s words brought. Calum’s jaw clenched, vaguely aware of the sting on his cheek because of the action, but he didn’t care. No fucking way was he going to let this bastard say shit about Elodie and allow him to walk away without repercussions.

“You fuck—” Nathan sputtered through a thick voice, words muffled and disgruntled by his hands holding his nose and the blood that was pouring from it, his eyes widened in pain and incredulity and infuriation as he looked up at them. Calum felt a swell of satisfaction at the sight of him; on his ass on the sidewalk, expensive looking suit getting stained with blood, and not at all looking as put together as he’d like to. “You broke my fucking nose!”

Calum briefly raised his eyebrows, features set and hardened, hyper aware of the warm blood on his own skin. “It was either that or your arm,” he responded briskly, reminding Nathan of his promise from Dominique’s birthday party, to which the fallen man sputtered out something incoherent. “I would’ve preferred both.”

Nathan pushed himself up, a smear of blood on the pavement as he used one hand to get to his feet. His other hand remained on his nose, the crimson blood visible through his fingers, and blonde hair disheveled from the fall. Green eyes enraged, Nathan demanded, “You think you can get away with putting your han—”

“It was self defense, asshole,” Michael spoke up, his own voice tight once he’d gotten over his brief surprise of how quickly things had escalated. “You punched him first and there are loads of witnesses to attest to that. Fucking try.”

Calum pressed the tip of his tongue against the back of his lower teeth, forcefully as he fought the sneer from curling at his lips again, feeling the muscles in his face subtly twitch in protest. This guy—this motherfucker who hurt Elodie with his words and treatment—deserved any kind of pain Calum may have just inflicted upon him. He deserved to feel any semblance of an ache like he caused Elodie, and Calum was more than willing to be the physical enforcer of it. He was proud of her for sticking up for herself, for getting herself out of the situation, but that didn’t mean Calum couldn’t offer his services.

Sure, he’d known her only for a short time but, shit, he’d do it for her.

Nathan fumbled incoherently once more, stupidly, trying and failing to find words to defend himself, to find the kind of words he’d utter to hurt Elodie and throw them in Calum’s face. Hell, if Nathan even tried, he was a bigger idiot than Calum already thought of him as.

So he left him with a simple and honest warning in a tone that left no room for niceties. “You try to talk shit ’bout Elodie again, and I’ll take a couple-a-teeth out, too.”

*****

The second the door to Calum’s apartment swung open, Elodie’s instinctual reaction was to look down at his dominant hand to visually inspect it. The air had rushed out of her lungs the second she’d received Dominique’s text earlier, praising Calum for punching Nathan so hard that he broke his nose, which was the first time Elodie had even heard about the incident. She’d been in her three hour film lecture, only receiving the texts once she was out of class, and had needed to stop walking to make sure she was reading Dominique’s text correctly.

Calum had punched Nathan. He’d broken his nose. And Elodie wasn’t entirely sure how she should feel that the first thought that popped into her head following the news wasn’t to be afraid of Calum, but was to be worried about his hand.

Because as well as Elodie thought she’d known Nathan for the years they grew up together and the months they were dating, it felt like nothing compared to how she was getting to know Calum. With him, nothing felt off limits, there were no egg shells to walk on, no temper to be uneasy around. If Calum punched Nathan, Elodie instinctively knew it was for a good reason. And it felt crazy to her, how easy it felt with Calum; unrestrained and comfortable and good. Maybe that’s why she wanted to see him right away. Because with Nathan, all she ever wanted to do when his temper flared was to get away.

So when the door opened, Elodie’s gaze flickered down to his hand briefly before her worried brown eyes met Calum’s surprisingly sheepish ones, feeling her chest swell happily at the mere sight of him until she took in the slight discoloration on his left cheek. Elodie’s lips parted at the bruise that bloomed on the swell of his cheek, chest sinking with the sharp breath that escaped her as the words, “Are you okay?” tumbled out of her mouth immediately.

She hadn’t been aware that Nathan had gotten a hit in, too. Not nearly as strong, but still. The sight of the injury twisted Elodie’s stomach—the knowledge of it being caused by her ex only worsened it.

But Calum, quickly becoming a light, only smiled through a breathless chuckle and reassured, “I’m fine, doll,” before ducking his head to press a quick kiss to her lips, Elodie’s mouth automatically puckering to accept the kiss before moving further into the apartment. Paws clattered across the floorboards and Calum smiled, as if he didn’t have a bruise on his face, and nodded, “Duke’s just as excited to see you.”

She picked up the dog just as he reached her, accepting and enjoying the kisses she was greeted with, with a smile on her face, though her concerned gaze remained on Calum as she watched him shut the door. Elodie mumbled a gentle, “Hi, buddy,” to Duke as she ran her fingers through his soft fur, his paws against her chest as her gaze dropped to Calum’s hand once more.

Duke wiggled out of her grasp and Elodie bent down enough for him to easily jump down, and her eyebrows knitted together as Calum tried to move past her but she stopped him, grabbing the material of his hoodie. He skidded to a stop as she maneuvered around him, her hand gently grasping his right wrist so she could lift up his hand and inspect it. Elodie’s throat tightened at the faint bruises formed on his knuckles, the color sticking out more than the glint of his rings, and the familiar uneasiness of guilt crept back into her stomach.

“Don’t worry—I didn’t break anythin’. Just iced it a bunch; the bruising will go away soon enough,” Calum told her, the reassurance ever present in his tone, and Elodie adored that he was trying to make her feel better even though he was the one who was physically injured. It only served as a reminder of how considerate Calum was, and it made falling for him that much lighter.

Elodie held his fingers in hers, her touch light as a feather out of fear of somehow irritating his bruise, and let her thumb run over the skin by his rings as she scoffed gently. “Didn’t break anything except for Nathan’s nose.” Was it wrong to feel a smile tug at her lips? She never wanted to be someone to smile at someone else’s expense, much less their pain. But knowing Calum was okay relieved some of the tension in her shoulders. Lifting her gaze, Elodie met Calum’s eyes and told him with only the tiniest bit of amusement coloring her tone, “I heard you got blood on his favorite Armani suit.”

Calum scoffed, lips quirking briefly as he looked down at Elodie holding his hand, ever so careful of touching his injury. With an almost childlike petulance, Calum countered, “He got blood on my favorite rings.”

Despite wanting to continue standing there and joking around lightheartedly, Elodie still felt the weight lingering on her shoulders, which sank when she let out a sigh and lamented, “I hate that this happened to you because of me.” Her throat worked as she eyed the bruise on his cheek, a reddish-purple color blossoming against the brown of his skin. “Do you need ice?”

“Elodie,” Calum was quick to speak up, removing his hand from her light grasp so he could place both of his hands at the sides of her face, fingers tangling into her brown locks and ducking his head to maintain eye contact. He had a habit of holding her like that, and Elodie adored it. His brown eyes were widened in encouragement, hoping she would hear his words loud and clear as he said, “This didn’t happen because of you. It happened because your ex is a dick and I’ve been known for being unable to keep my mouth shut.” His touch was warm, as always, and his words spread the same comfort his hands did as his thumb stroked her cheek. “And it was completely worth it.”

Still, Elodie found herself nibbling on her lower lip as she gazed at the bruise on his cheek and was hyper aware of his discolored knuckles as well. The heaviness in her chest wasn’t as suffocating, but it was still there as it dried her throat, and Elodie couldn’t bring herself to look Calum in the eyes anymore. Not through any fault of his own—she just had some things to work through as well, things ingrained into her by her selfish ex, and it was those same insecurities that had her whispering out, “Why is it when I’m in a relationship, someone ends up hurt?”

“Baby.” Elodie’s heart lodged itself in her throat as the term of endearment slipped from Calum’s lips, soft and raspy in his desperate voice. He’d never called her that before. She liked it. Calum gently tilted her head—more like gave it a nudge, trying to get her to do it on her own because he didn’t want to force her if she didn’t want to. But Elodie found herself lifting her gaze, lips pressing together as her eyes met Calum’s inviting brown ones. “Don’t mistake Nathan’s actions for your own. What you’ve done has allowed you to be yourself unapologetically. You’re out. You’re—”

“Happier,” Elodie finished quietly, feeling that weight lift from her shoulders with every word Calum spoke, no longer suffocating her. Her eyes remained on his as a smile tugged at her lips, hands slipping into the single front pocket of Calum’s hoodie to keep him close. Almost sheepishly, she decided to add, “Safer.”

Maybe it was too soon, maybe she was taking a leap, but that’s how she felt when she was around Calum—safe. Like being herself wasn’t something she actively had to hold back in worry of bothering him, because he liked who she was. He liked that her coffee order differed depending on the time of day she got it because she liked the inconsistency, he liked that at least one article of clothing she wore had to have some kind of floral design, he liked that she was only active on Instagram once a month to post an aesthetically pleasing picture she’d taken before closing the app until the next month arrived. It was all little things that were probably insignificant, but Calum liked them not out of his own personal preference—but because Elodie liked them in herself. And that meant more than Elodie could comprehend.

He let her be herself without fault in the near two months he’d known her than the six months she’d been with Nathan. Calum came into her life like storm and instead of wrecking it, he somehow managed to help clear a path so Elodie could fix it herself.

Elodie let out a breath, throat working as she said to him earnestly, albeit timidly, “I don’t mean to bring the mood down bringing up these. . . Insecurities.”

“You don’t ever bring the mood down, sweetheart,” came Calum’s genuine response, lips curling into the soft smile he had reserved just for her, the one that sent her heart leaping. “You make it worthwhile. C’mere.”

He pulled her in for a hug then, his embrace just as tender as his words as his arms wrapped around her frame, and Elodie pulled her hands out of Calum’s hoodie’s pocket to wrap them around his waist. She closed her eyes, cheek against the area just below his chest because God knows she can’t reach it, and lost herself in his familiar cologne and touch. Elodie felt Calum’s lips press to the top of her head before he rested his uninjured cheek against it, and she sank into his hug, into him, as his tranquility seeped into her bones.

Calum rubbed his hand up and down her back soothingly, the two of them standing in a tender silence, before he murmured, “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

Elodie smiled as they pulled away, and she shrugged off her coat before following him into the open plan kitchen. It was there where she saw a pot of pasta boiling on the stove, as well as the other ingredients sitting on the counter ready to be cooked. She followed Calum, a smile tugging at her lips when she noted the boneless and skinned chicken breasts, baby spinach, garlic, parmesan, and a bunch of other ingredients waiting to be prepped.

Her heart was thrumming happily in her chest, eyes alight at the sight before her as Calum picked up the bottle of red wine on the counter and poured some for Elodie and himself. “I thought you weren’t much of a wine drinker,” she hummed as she neared him, gladly taking the glass he offered her. She remembered one of the many conversations they had as they got to know each other, found out that he preferred some good whiskey or maybe even a beer to wine.

“I am around you,” he responded with a smirk, and Elodie giggled lightly as he clinked his glass with hers before the two of them took sips of the bittersweet drink. She smiled around the rim of the glass as Calum shot her a wink over his, before lowering his and moving to go back to the other counter where the stove is. “’M making us some Tuscan chicken and spinach pasta.”

“Sounds delicious,” Elodie hummed, glass still in hand as she moved towards him, leaning against the counter but making sure she didn’t get in his way as she asked, “Can I help?”

There wasn’t much he needed for her to do, so Elodie just stood by Calum and sipped her wine as he worked—eventually he cleared some space on the counter so she could hop up, and Elodie crossed her ankles as she watched him make dinner. There was music softly playing throughout the apartment, songs similar to those she heard in the tattoo parlor, and Elodie gently swayed her head to the music and drank her wine and made conversation with the first man to ever actually make her food.

She may have snapped a picture of Calum cooking the seasons chicken, his gaze on the skillet while an amused grin quirked at his lips, aware of what she was doing. But Elodie couldn’t help it—he looked so at ease as he made the food, which had been his idea in the first place. He was the one who’d invited Elodie over to his place, told her he’d make them dinner and they could hang out, and she recalled the way her heart had melted when he offered to cook. The mere fact that he could and liked to cook was enough to have Elodie rushing over. Nevermind the fact that she loved spending time with him anyway.

They made light conversation; she talked about what she was learning in her lectures plus the new charities she brought up to her family for their foundation to support, while he disclosed the tattoos he’d just done plus a few sketches that he drew. It slipped Elodie’s mind that as a tattoo artist, Calum was also an artist, that many of the tattoos he gave his clients were ones they’d picked from his own designs. She wondered if any of the ones he had were of his own making, still wanted to sit down and ask him about every single one of the words and images inking his skin.

“I wish I was good at something,” Elodie sighed after taking another sip of the wine. She was already a glass and a half in, and it was safe to say she was beginning to feel the lightheadedness that came with drinking it. Her skin was beginning to feel warm, a happy flush on her cheeks, as she pouted. Calum had put the pasta in a big bowl and was mixing in the chicken and spinach and everything else. He quirked an eyebrow at the slight drawl her words were adopting. “All I do is go to school and cry.”

Calum knew he shouldn’t laugh, but he couldn’t help the amused chortle escape him as he glanced over at Elodie with raised eyebrows, the fondness he felt for her warming his heart as he continued tossing the pasta. “You know that’s not true, doll,” he told her knowingly. “You’re good at working your family’s foundation. Aren’t you the one that researches and brings in the charities and organizations you guys support?”

“Well, yeah.” Elodie’s eyebrows furrowed almost childishly, a small pout forming on her lips that Calum felt the urge to kiss. He finished with the pasta, hot and ready to eat, as he took the two steps to the other side of the stove where Elodie sat. She looked up at him, and he noticed the slight glaze over her eyes. “But I feel like I could be doing more.”

“You’re already doing more than most,” Calum told her, coming to a stop in front of her and feeling a smirk curve his lips as Elodie automatically unlocked her ankles and spread her legs just enough for him to step into the space they created. Calum braced his hands on the cool marble counter on either side of her thighs, careful of his bruised knuckles, and enjoyed the scent of her floral perfume that briefly overpowered the food he’d cooked. But Calum focused on her, and the hints of doubt seeping into Elodie in regards to her worth, and he was bitterly reminded of what Nathan had said. Calum wasn’t going to let any spiteful thing that bastard said come true in any way, so he quickly derailed that train of thought in Elodie’s mind. “You, my darling, are better than most people I’ve met. That’s a fact.”

Her cheeks pinkened more than they already were, and Elodie felt her heart flutter happily in her chest. Every time Calum complimented her, she felt the air rushing out of her lungs, incredulous that his words made her feel ten times lighter than how awfully Nathan’s words impacted her. Elodie rested her nearly empty wine glass on the counter, hand coming up to cup Calum’s uninjured jaw and feeling his warm skin under her touch as she told him, honestly and genuinely, “You’re too good to me. That’s a fact.”

“Baby,” Calum breathed, raspy and shiver inducing as he brushed his nose against hers. There it was, that sweet little term that had butterflies exploding in her belly. Calum’s gaze was on hers, never afraid to look her in the eye, as he said, “You’re too good for me. That’s a fact.”

Elodie’s heart jumped, eyes dropping to his lips, just inches away from hers. She barely gave a shake of her head. “Nope.” And then closed the gap to capture his lips with hers.

Calum welcomed the kiss wholeheartedly, a throaty hum sounding in his throat as he moved his lips with Elodie’s and briefly gripped her hips before sliding his hands lower to bury them in the back pockets of her jeans. Elodie felt him pull her closer with his new grip, her lips parting when his tongue trailed across her lower lip, deepening the kiss as the taste of wine remained present on both of them. Her heart drummed in her chest as her own hands slid under Calum’s sweatshirt, his lack of shirt underneath allowing her hands to run along his smooth, warm skin, her touch instinctively causing Calum to give her a cheeky squeeze.

There was dinner waiting for them, Elodie knew that, was excited to take a bite of what Calum had made for them, but Elodie was enjoying the feel and taste of Calum’s lips and how warm he felt against her. She couldn’t help the way she dragged her nails down the length of his back, felt an uncharacteristic smirk tilt at her lips against Calum’s when he deepened the kiss with a deep moan that Elodie swore vibrated through her. He sounded as good as he felt.

Calum leaned into her and Elodie’s heart picked up even more, pounding in her ears because this closeness wasn’t enough; she needed more, craved it, wanting nothing in between them as her lips felt electric against his. Everything else began slipping away, her focus only being on the man who was kissing her like it was the last thing he’d get to do, yet still Elodie tried against her better judgement, “The food’ll get cold.”

Her words were mumbled against Calum’s mouth, and he merely grunted as his hands slipped out of her pockets only to grip the backs of her thighs, giving Elodie no warning as he lifted her. She let out a startled gasp, both at the action and the trickle of worry of his injured hand, but Calum’s teeth grazing her lower lip easily distracted her as she locked her ankles at his lower back and wrapped her arms around his neck as Calum said gruffly, “We’ll reheat it.”

Elodie wasn’t entirely sure how, she was too lost in the way her legs were hooked so perfectly around Calum and how he kissed her so fiercely, like he was putting everything into it, but they eventually ended up in a different room. She barely registered the sound of Calum kicking a door shut, eyes closed to completely savor the taste of his lips, kissing off the wine he’d also drank as Calum sank down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Hands returning to the hem of Calum’s sweatshirt, Elodie gripped it and pulled it upwards, the material offending and distancing, their kiss breaking only for a moment as she tugged it over his head and let out a breathless giggle when Calum’s one hand reached the back of it to take it all the way off and dropped it on the floor, lips returning to hers urgently.

Her heart thundered as they kissed, his stubble scratching her deliciously as she ran her hands from his neck down his chest, feeling the smoothness of his warm skin and the brief chill of the necklace that he seemingly never left the house without. The need to feel close to him was desperate, and Elodie was quickly losing herself into Calum as she used her nimble fingers to undo the buttons of her blouse, Calum’s hands gripping her hips as she shrugged off the cotton material. Calum’s hands slid up, feeling her bare warm skin, the kiss breaking to allow them to catch their breaths as his gaze dropped.

Their chests heaved in time with their quickened hearts, foreheads and noses pressed together and lips electric as Calum’s gaze dropped to Elodie’s newly exposed skin, throat drying at the sight of her in just a bra and jeans. The quiet of the room was interrupted only by their heavy breaths, and as Elodie’s right hand placed itself on the back of his neck, fingers playing with the growing dark hair, her other dancing along the necklace resting against his tattooed collarbones, she felt the warmth of his hands spread through her body.

Calum ran his hands up and down the smooth skin of her back, the tips of his fingers grazing the band of her bra, and his voice was hoarse as he whispered, “El, are you sure?”

She felt the corners of her lips quirk up, felt the electricity thrumming her veins and the obvious desire of how badly Calum wanted to keep going as she remained straddling his lap, and Elodie decided she didn’t want to shy away from this. From Calum. He never gave her a reason to, so she wouldn’t.

Elodie brushed her lips against Calum’s kissed ones, cheeks warming when he tilted his chin forward to kiss her properly. “Only if you are.”

And then she grinded her hips down on him, a gesture neither of them had been expecting, and Calum’s grip on her tightened, uncaring of his bruised knuckles, as he cursed through gritted teeth, “Fuck.”

She was killing him, he knew, as she pulled him in for another kiss before breaking away too soon. Calum groaned at the loss, eyes opening as he felt Elodie get off of him. He looked up at her, feeling a haze of adoration as he watched her with her long hair falling over shoulders, a not-so-innocent smile playing at her kiss pinkened lips, eyes on him as her fingers worked on the button and zipper of her jeans. Calum’s throat tightened as she kicked the jeans off, only a pretty lingerie set adorning her body that Calum couldn’t wait to take off.

The pout she sent his way nearly had Calum falling to his knees, her long hair falling around her shoulders as she gestured at him with a finger. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” Elodie said, her voice holding her usual sweet lilt, though Calum wasn’t deaf to the playful glimmer in her dark eyes. She continued to surprise him.

He smirked through a chuckle, pulling his lower lip into his mouth while his gaze remained on his girl, watching her watch him as he took off his sweatpants, the smirk wiping off his face when Elodie settled on her knees in the space between his legs and her gentle touch wrapped around his cock.

Calum’s hooded gaze was watching Elodie, feeling his heart in his throat as she closed her mouth around him, and he was in fucking heaven. His uninjured hand, braced behind him, tightened the bed sheets into a fist while the other easily gathered Elodie’s hair behind her head, his own lips parting at the sight of hers around him. The sensation of her hand working what she couldn’t fit in her warm mouth, nails of the other teasingly dragging along the top of his thigh as she worked him over.

“Shit.” It was all he was capable of breathing out, voice ragged and unsteady, the need to throw his head back and get lost in Elodie’s treatment of him heavy, but Calum didn’t want to take his eyes off of her. His fingers tangled in her soft hair, the blood rushing through his veins and thundering heart accompanying the fire spreading throughout his body.

The sight of Elodie on her knees before him was filthy, gorgeous, unexpected and perfect in every way. Calum could feel just how quickly she was pulling him to the edge, her mouth generous and dizzyingly pleasurable. But as pretty as she was before him, Calum knew he was going to come undone if she continued her ministrations, and he wanted to let go for the first time inside of her—not in her mouth.

“What?” Elodie pouted when Calum pulled her up, the loss of her making him grunt as his hands grasped her hips. She let out a startled sound amidst a giggle as Calum used his grip on her to turn them so she fell back onto the bed, Calum immediately sliding his body on top of hers as his lips pressed against hers urgently. He felt her melt under him, her hands running up the expanse of his back before her fingers found his short hair, keeping him close. Calum’s own hand snuck underneath her to unclasp her bra, ignoring the mild sting of his injured fingers at the action as Elodie lowered her arms briefly to slide off the straps before the offending material was gone.

He felt her breasts press against his chest, soft and supple on his warm skin as he kissed her, losing himself in her. Hastily, though not entirely sure how, Calum reached over to his bedside drawer, blindly pulling it open and rummaging around, lips still moving against Elodie’s, until his fingers finally grasped the foil package he’d been searching for.

There was an overwhelming, breathless desire to have her close to him, closer than she already was; to have her against him in all the right ways because it already felt so natural, so good, to be with her like this. The urgency of his kisses slowed, savoring the taste of her chapstick and the wine dancing on both of their tongues as he committed every bit of her to memory while tearing open the packet, ignoring the twinge in his bruised knuckles at the action. God. The last thing he thought was he’d be doing this with Elodie, finally, with a few bruises painting his skin.

She’d taken her underwear off during the moments of Calum rolling on the condom, hissing slightly at the latex against him, forehead pressed to Elodie’s as their heavy breathing became the soundtrack of their anticipation. His gaze lowered, lining himself up to where she needed him most, and in the midst of their excited breathing and hazy heads, Calum’s eyes met Elodie’s once more.

He looked at her, hovering over her as he took in the pretty flush of her cheeks, the already blissed out look in her eyes and lips pink and kissed. Calum’s heart was erratic within his chest, taking her in as he, in that moment, couldn’t help but think how lucky he was. His disbelief and overwhelm could be heard in his heavy breaths, could see Elodie’s own excitement in the rise and fall of her chest and tension of her neck, the diamond pendant of her necklace settled right between her collarbones. She was breathtaking, and Calum was so fucking lucky.

He couldn’t help himself by pressing his lips to hers once more, a slow and lasting kiss that had Elodie’s grip on the back of his neck tightening, wanting him close. Calum lined himself up to her, about to break the kiss just so he could hear her approval, only to be beaten to the punch as Elodie begged against his lips, “Please.”

His hips thrust forward, the sensation of him burying herself in her leaving both of them gasping for air, Elodie clinging to him and Calum groaning into the crook of her neck, feeling the subtle sting of his bruise, though it barely registered. Elodie wrapped her legs around his hips, and Calum’s hand gripped her thigh, uncaring of the strain on his fingers. Nothing mattered except for Elodie. As if there was anything else on his mind.

He started off slow, pulling out before burying himself to the hilt once more, feeling and hearing Elodie’s breath hitch at the sensation of him filling her up, his free arm next to her to keep himself above her. It was a symphony of his grunts and her breathless moans and skin slapping against skin and utterly losing themselves in one another. His motions were fluid and she received him completely, and Calum couldn’t keep himself from marking up her neck as he felt her nails digging into his back.

He could feel himself quickly reaching his high, but Calum fought himself, refusing to come undone until Elodie did first, no matter how difficult it felt after her mouth had worked him over. Praises fell past his lips, effortless in her worship, everything about her continuing to draw him closer and closer to the edge.

And when they lay in bed after the fact, utterly spent as they tried to catch their breaths with only one of his bedsheets covering them, there was a mutual, silent understanding between them that this was. . . Perfect. That laying in bed, warm bodies bare and pressed together under the sheet, with her head laying on his chest and his arm wrapped around her, was a flawless and blissful image they both had yearned for.

Elodie’s fingers danced with his, gaze on the way she gently turned his hand to look at the mild discoloration of his knuckles. The reminder that he was injured, no matter how insignificant Calum paints it to be, because of someone in her life still ate away at Elodie. But she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a prickle of satisfaction, of adoration, that he wasn’t afraid of standing up for her. He defended her so easily when it took her so long to do so herself, and Elodie liked to think it was her having a wake up call of her own mixed in with a bit of courage from Calum himself that allowed her to be in the position she was in today. She counted herself so lucky that she went to the tattoo parlor with Dominique that day.

“I’m alright, y’know.” Calum’s voice was a low rasp from above her, and Elodie could feel the vibration of him speaking as her head remained against his chest. The way she was caressing his knuckles probably prompted him to speak up. “Doesn’t hurt or anythin’.”

Elodie bit her lower lip, which kind of still tingled from his dizzying kisses. As their fingers gently laced together, she surmised, “You’re just saying that so I won’t feel bad.”

“Hey.” There was a soft disapproving tone in his voice, hand snaking around her to tilt her chin up. Her dark eyes met his after briefly eyeing the bruise on his cheek, and there was a subtle crease between his eyebrows as he said, “I wouldn’t lie to you. And there’s nothing for you to feel bad about. He’s an ass and if I could break his nose again, I would.”

Elodie couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her at Nathan’s expense, the sound quirking up Calum’s lips as well as Elodie looked at him. His lips were as kissed as hers, a pretty flush on his cheeks that she knew was warming her own, and there was a contentment present in her chest that she only ever felt around him. It was enough to push all thoughts of her ex out of her head, irritated with herself for even having a single thought about him. The mere mention of him was a disservice to herself and Calum and the relationship they’d come to have.

So she sat up, pressing the sheet to her chest with one hand, Calum’s arm falling from around her shoulders as he looked at her now seated figure with raised eyebrows. “Come on—” she smiled, grabbing his hand. “I wanna try the pasta.”

Calum chuckled deeply, not one to say no as he followed her off the bed. He put his sweatpants back on as Elodie pulled up her underwear, taking Calum’s hoodie as he offered it to her before following him back into the kitchen. Duke raised his head from where he was on the couch, jumping off as his paws clattered on the floor and followed them as they helped themselves to the dinner Calum had made, needing to heat it up just like he’d said after he poured Duke his food as well.

They ended up on the couch, flickering the TV on with warm plates in their laps with The Office keeping them entertained. And as they watched and ate, Elodie couldn’t help but let her gaze wander to the man sitting on the other end of the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table. Her fork absently played with the pasta on her plate, too distracted by Calum; she felt her heart flutter in her chest, tickling, as she admired the way he laughed at the show, enough to push his cheeks up, uncaring of his bruise, and show off the crinkles by his eyes. He sat shirtless, tattoos on full display, bicep looking a bit too inviting as he held the plate with his left hand above his lap.

Just sitting here brought Elodie a sense of tranquility she’d never felt before, a warmth spreading across her skin as she took in a quiet breath. It was thrilling, how happy he made her, so easily and effortlessly. No wonder she was so willing to accept just how quickly she’d fallen in love with him.

--

tags: @irwinkitten @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @valentinelrh @softforcal @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysidesblog @gorgeouslygrace @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @theagenderwhocriedwolf​ @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @fluffsshawn​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @tea4sykes @lukeinblue​ 

[msiopao]

Nobi with the Members

WORLDWIDE HANDSOME

‘eomma!!!’

one yell from her and jin’s running in with a spatula, ready to beat the kids

thinks a lot of her outfits are revealing but gave up after nobi told him to stop complaining to the stylists

cooking buddies

feeds into jin’s ego at being handsome

‘kim seokjin? no. art? yes.’

babies nobi TOO much

even though she’s literally 24, he still treats her like she’s 12

thinks she can do no wrong and sees her as an angel

but nobi is such a bad influence

‘my hair is bothering my eyes and it makes me want to just cut if off’

*nobi handing him scissors* ‘do it’

constantly telling him that his dancing is perfect bc jin is insecure about the lack of his ability :(

even though he’s a better dancer than most

nobi tries to get him riled up so he talks all weird

the one who is actually genuinely tickled with jin’s jokes

eatjin’s legendary moments always have jin and nobi in it

goes to his hotel room just because he always has food and jin doesn’t have it in him to refuse her

the one who nags nobi the most regarding her eating

just her mom periodt

TONGUE TECHNOLOGY

gets hyper when nobi messes around

incredibly and ridiculously protective of her

helps her go through rough times as her therapist

yoongi mumbles under his breath and nobi is usually the only one who hears and will laugh as he curses someone quietly

nobi’s sense of humor is the closest with his

nap times are their bonding times

also composing

army always amazed bc nobi is the only who gets yoongi on crack mode

nobi always pinches his cheeks and she shrieks when he does that cute awkward smile

nobi absolutely flipped out when yoongi got really sick

always seeks yoongi’s approval so he’s the first one to see her lyrics

doesnt beat around the bush w it

if its bad, needs improvement

if its good, its the BEST LYRICS HES EVER READ

nobi hides her feelings well and he’s the only one who can get her to open up

during bst era, she hit her lowest

yoongi got very concerned and when she did finally talk, his heart just broke in half

she hates the fact that she can’t be the daughter her parents wanted

she hates the fact that she’s weak and breaks down easily

she hates the fact that she’s seen as a whore because she’s surrounded by boys she calls her brothers 24/7

she hates the fact that everything about her is considered wrong

that talk got them really close and yoongi makes it mission everyday to see her genuine and pretty smile

he lives for her happiness

uwu

HOBI

‘WELCOME TO THE HOBI NOBI SHOW!’

puppies

nobi hugs him a lot

whenever he dances, nobi has this look in her eyes that looks like hobi is the stars and the universe

both of them are the ones who keep the group’s mood up and tries to prevent fights

even when they’re tired from practice, they still smile and yells ‘hwaiting!’

while hobi is just a moodmaker in general,

nobi does it bc she hates confrontation and gets uncomfortable so she just blurts it out

nobi’s also a dancer so her and hobi dance ALL THE TIME

vlives w them are always filled with laughter and teasing

‘everyone, nobi just fell after hitting that spin’

‘YAH! NO I DIDNT!’

hobi is known to be a choroegrapher and nobi puts her input here and there and boom!

tbh idk why they even have a professional choreographer in the first place

hobi is a trained singer so nobi asks him to sing for her constantly

hes happy to oblige

armys live for the moments of them in run bts or vlives bc they have this vibe or bond that is just something you wished you had

JOONIE-HYUNG!

‘NOBI WATCH OUT!’

they’re the philosophical duo

nobi loves poetry and literature in general bc she tends to think really deeply 

their bonding time is those deep talks

as their leader, nobi goes to him for confirmation or approval for a lot of things

she’s always having english lessons w him and he tries his best to teach her so she could speak to int-army

bts calls them the clumsiest bc of joon’s usual clumsiness but nobi is always looking out for him so she doesnt pay attention to her surroundings and runs into something too

she loves his studio and hangs out the most even though joon’s always telling her to stay away

props up her feet on that fortune dollar table of his

when he speaks english in interviews, she watches him with a smile on her face

her dad

pats her head when she walks over to him

her and jimin crashes his vlives all the time 

there’s nothing in the world that changes the way she sees joonie

to her, she’ll always be the joonie who welcomed her to their group even though she was a brat at first

thats another story for next time

now she respects him so much and he’s probably the one she looks up to the most

overall, she idolizes him and talks about him like he put the stars in the sky while joon just sits there all flustered

MOCHI

oof look at that beautiful manjfkalj;dlfsjkf

cannot sleep without her chimmy plush

when they first met, he was the first one she got really close to

his cute chubby cheeks were victims of her uwu moments

learns a lot fo ballet videos from youtube and they dance it in vlives all the time

remember when i said she had an eating disorder?

yea, it happened around the time he had his too

nobi was always trying to eat little ever since debut but she stopped eating for days at a time and with jimin doing it too, bts kinda derailed for a hot minute

a long emotional time of sufering until bang pd demanded they stop it immediately

after that, they had an emotional sit down where they just cried and spilled all their insecurities and they had each other’s backs

knowing she was already skinny, jimin disapproved but she also disapproved and again, more tears

nobi always hides snacks in her and kook’s room that kook doesn’t even know about and she always brings the box over to jimin’s room if hobi is out for schedules

when hobi went to america, nobi slept in jimin’s room

kook was real pissed off about it

eyesmiles for days

giggles 24/7

has the picture of one of jimin’s unreleased baby pictures as her home screen

dies a little inside when nobi reaches over to him with sweater paws bc OMG she’s so cute

uwu

jimin really coos and giggles at nobi bc of her small height and her uwu energy

sorry i used uwu a lot

TAETAE

the dumpling accident omg

jimin mentioned it in a vlive earlier and nobi also talked about it a day later in her own vlive

‘tae was very hungry at that time and just wanted to eat it immediately and when he got angry, he curled up to nobi and refused to acknowledge me’

again, nobi hates confrontation so fights between the members always brings her down and so she tries to comfort each member

she bought tae some dumplings after practice and tricked him into meeting jimin so they could meet up

tbh, tae would be a mess without nobi

she helps him clean up his room but gives up w the amount of clothes on the floor

‘honestly, you shouldve just stayed roommates w joonie-hyung. we cant trust you to room by yourself’

she goes to his room sometimes and just lays on his bed bc he has the softest bed in the whole dorm

tae is already known to be very regal and royalty like whenever he steps outside

combine that with graceful queen nobi?

oof armys fanfiction royalty aus pop up everywhere

nobi is still angry that tae isn’t a gucci model w her bc she feels out of place being the only member w a clothing sponsorship

but underneath that stiff and cold facade, they both are seen making faces and goofing off all the time

nobi can only stand being a queen for so long

in one concert, she danced w him in a duet w singularity and lets just say, armys died that night

always stands next to each other and if they cant, always seen giving each other longing stares and smiles

the 2nd most popular ship in the fandom and they know it too so they keep feeding armys for their compilation videos

MUSCLE PIG

the only member who’s younger than her

actually would it be considered if they’re only 10-months apart?

kook refuses to call her noona unless he wants something

initially didnt like her but there was a time she bought him banana milk and it was all good

our boy was crying bc he was hungry and tired and he was trying to control his weight and he just wanted some banana milk

they’re a superior ship

one of the most popular ship in the whole industry

actually the superior couple and kai and jennie can square up

there’s fan edits of them and they both purposely do stuff to help them make au videos in youtube

theyve seen it before so we arent safe bois

the 2nd pair of roommates in the bts dorm

nobi is usually the first one to sleep while kook is watching something in the living room

when he goes to his room, he takes a minute and stands at the doorway and just looks at nobi with love in his eyes

mhm

nobi loves warmth so she gets out of her own bed at like 3 in the morning and just goes into kook’s and cuddles to him

sometimes, they just lay in bed and nobi is holding his hand just inspecting his tattoos

‘should we get a matching tattoo?’

their closet is large and tbh, they share the same clothing anyways

more like nobi wears mostly kook’s stuff

like, really, nobi has pants and a few shirts and thats it

they share everything like family but kook refuses to share her w anyone else but him

[kamikui]

Onmyoji Movie

HI so I watched the Onmyoji Movie based off of the game last night and . . . . that sure was something!

In all honesty despite the weird path they decided to take, I actually enjoyed the movie. The music and detail in the scenery was amazing, I LOVED the costuming for a lot of the background characters esp in the Demon Realm, and a lot of the easter eggs that were hidden were nice. 

BUT. but. As someone heavily invested in the lore of the game (especially concerning Ibaraki) how they decided to deal with the movie was like. really confusing. It genuinely felt as if NE gave the directors a cast of characters and let them do what they wanted from there w/o any prior knowledge of the game.

(spoilers down below)

Before I really pry into that though, I’ll kinda note some of the characters.

Seimei/Qingming was actually my favorite. I think this is sort of an unpopular opinion right now, but his characterization was so nice even if it sorta leans into the basic drama hero type personality. In the game Seimei is supposed to be you/the player, and not everyone is going to have the same interpretation of him-- and that’s what the movie felt like, a different interpretation. I will say I didn’t really like them making him related to their version of Orochi. I believe the snakes name was Xiangliu? I can’t remember, but I didn’t see the reason in that. 

If anything, keeping him a fox and having a version of Tamamo no Mae popping up to offer advice to help with the situation would’ve been nicer, and that’d keep more of Seimei’s backstory kept in tact-- because asides from him becoming an Onmyoji apprentice at a young age we literally do not know shit about him. And legit I wouldn’t necessarily mind bc it’s a movie, you’re not going to get everyone’s backstory within 2 hrs, but we can’t really get attached to him.

Yao Bikuni/Baini was. Hm. I like her as a character in the movie, but I don’t like where she’s placed as a character in the movie. She’s a Seer? in the game and tbh it should’ve stayed that way, like I honestly can’t see her willingly working for one clan. “But how would she--” In game she is also influenced by Seimei pretty heavily, as in the in game chapters she believed he would be able to kill her. Up until she got manipulated by Orochi, she stuck to his side. With the Stone plot in the movie, if it put him in danger she would be there in order to try and help him, OR, try and pull him to join Orochi if they went that route. And they KINDA tried to hint at it when Seimei “died” with Orochi using her image, but like. come on man. Let Yao be evil for a little bit.

That being said I didn’t like the Master & Shikigami bit with those two, or the implied romance they tried to pull with them. Canonically Seimei legit brushes her off and when shes like “ohhh you’ll kill me right” hes like “lol sure” and thats IT. Literally any form of romance that’s tried at Seimei he brushes it off. he’s not into it he’s an amnesiac.

The “Oh if you become my shikigami you won’t become evil” thing was :/ to me as well because again, canonically, even though Seimei is being taunted he can contain the Kitsune part pretty well even when he wasn’t aware he was kitsune. Like I think the part as a kid was a good bit to add since it’s when he’s first being exposed to Onmyoji type stuff, but like. idk idk I couldn’t vibe with that power dynamic while they were trying to hint romance.

Continuing on with Hiromasa/Yuan Boya and Kagura/Shenle, again considering this is a movie, I’m somewhat content with their characters.

I really liked how energetic this Kagura was, and given they weren’t able to do her actual backstory, I liked the one she was given. Her introduction in the movie was really great too-- and compared to Hiromasa I felt they gave her a little more attention? Which like fine, but not so good for Hiro.

They didn’t even. Discuss his archery skills at any point which was disappointing. The most plot relevance he (and honestly Kagura too) had was finding Seimei while trying to arrest him but that’s it. And yes they showed some of his skill while he was fighting Kamaitachi, but that’s the extent of it. AGAIN i’ll consider the fact this was a movie and they didn’t have enough time to fit EVERYTHING in, but since they gave Yao and Seimei so much attention you would think they’d be able to spare some for the other two protagonists in the game. 

Before I leave those two tho I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck happened in the end. Like did hiromasa get promoted in some form? was he given credit for what happened between the demon realm? Why did he separate from Kagura since they got close during the movie? I guess like bc work duties but still. I have no idea tho like i was sitting there not processing a single thing. Regardless I did like Hiro and Kags acting like siblings despite in this canon them not being related (at least it’s never clarified).

Ok so before I dive into the whole mess that is the Cimu/”Ibaraki” character, stuff on side characters.

While I didn’t like the outfits for Sakura(? Momo? Both of them?) or Chocho, I liked the roles that they held as sort of trainers for the rest of Seimeis shikigami. In fact I liked the whole courtyard ordeal in general. I have my own worldbuilding thing that has a similar theme so seeing it being used canonically was pretty nice. I do wish we could’ve seen more SSRs or even SRs though. Like, why couldn’t Aoandon be hanging out in the courtyard to give gossip to Hiro & Kagura? Yamakaze or Shishio hanging out in the forest, or like. bruh even Jikikaeru as the boss in the Showdown considering he runs that in game. 

I did like the fish man! I really did, but literally everything about him could’ve been Jikikaeru, I don’t think it’s that hard to make a frog man. 

Also as mentioned previously it would’ve been nice to see Tamamo make an appearance considering he makes random ones every now and then. The Mujou Brothers could’ve helped the shikigami when they were escaping Seimeis courtyard, Shiranui could’ve been an entertainer while they were traveling through the demon realm, HAKU??? couldve been one of Seimeis shiki?? literally anyone. They have all these misc characters in the background but barely any of them resemble in game characters.

GOD EVEN KOSODENOTE COULDVE BEEN THERE . . . . at the scene where Kagura was messing with jewelry and clothing . . . Koso couldve been the seller. Aobozu could’ve worked at the shrine . . . . I just. Man.

ANYWAYS . . . pulling from that and going into whatever the hell Cimu is. god.

So according to casting, Cimu is supposed to be Ibaraki. But the thing is. There’s only like. 3-4 Elements about Ibaraki that goes into him. Everything else is Shuten which i honestly find pretty funny?? Take away the homophobic jokes and combine the gay coded character into his love interest. Which I mean that’s better than making them brothers but at what cost.

anyways. Cimu previously being an onmyoji but turning evil -> shuten previously being a monk and turning evil. The design of the hand that Cimu uses as transportation -> SP Shutens design where he sits on two hands. Red hair -> shuten. The horns, eye color (minus scleras), arm getting chopped off, and his ambition to grow stronger are really the only parts of Ibaraki that’s in the character-- and even then you could say Shuten has a similar ambition of growing stronger. It’s just so scuffed. 

ALSO IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. literally it doesn’t make sense when you look at the characters.

Why couldn’t they just stick with Kuro Seimei considering the fact that this Ibaraki works with Ootengus and Yuki Onna/The Snow Queen? They could’ve given Seimei a twin brother to work off of this. But like if they really wanted to keep Ibaraki and Shuten, they could’ve made it that Shuten was being manipulated by Orochi and Ibaraki was serving him, because there’s a LOT of shit you could do just with Shuten by himself. Legit no reason to combine the two since they’re BOTH heavily marketed characters. 

Legit like, Shuten being controlled, given Ibaraki’s loyalty to Shuten he would most likely follow him no matter what, and even like. Have a form of Momiji to kind of help out-- probably at a heavy expense of Shuten doing something for her, but still. like i LOVED the snow queen, I loved this interpretation of yuki so I wouldn’t want to get rid of her, but they shouldve went with Seimei 2 instead of “ibaraki”. It’s just so much and it doesn’t make sense. 

Now orochi himself and how that was handled was like. Okay I guess. If anyone was being talked to through their head at the time it should’ve been Yao Bikuni considering she allies with him in canon at one point. but like whatever. I did think the end was neat where Seimei forced him into becoming his shikigami, like I liked that whole process. Otherwise all antagonists were pretty underwhelming.

I also was not fond of the ending where like Seimei just turns away at the broken bridge. Like does this mean the Demon realm is completely cut off now? just fix the bridge. Also does Seimei just fuck off?? I know theres a scene where he’s standing on the roof but. i dont know. 

Regardless the movie was great, I had fun watching it. When ibaraki came in I accidentally paused the movie a couple of times while spamming screenshots. Even tho hes like kinda ugly but that’s ok. There WERE some angles where he was hot as hell but otherwise they did his actor so dirty. The horns were just. God I won’t delve into that bc this post is long as hell BUT. BUT. THE MOVIE WAS GOOD. just not if ure into the lore for the game LMAO.

Ok that’s it for now bye

[peachyteabuck]

eating a heart in a marketplace

summary: "[C]ommunion doesn’t need to be holy. Or even decent." -  THOMAS C. FOSTER 

After one of Tony’s men injures one of yours, he must present a peace offering in order to keep his black market distributor business afloat. 

Good news: you accept the gift. 

Bad news: the gift is Thor.

pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

words: 5,863

trigger warnings: dubcon ig, humiliation, heavy d/s dynamics, mentions of canon-level violence, use of gags, collars, basically kidnapping, dehumanization (sexual and nonsexual)

notes/other: this fic is entirely self-indulgent and i am anticipating sequels bc i .... love it.  enjoy!

sk box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The obnoxiously long, dark oak table lays mostly bare, the only places set are the ones at each end of the exquisitely made piece of furniture.

The pink, sheer robe you’re wearing does nothing to hide the matching baby pink lace lingerie, just as the equally feminine heels donned with a strip of pink puff across the base of the toes would do nothing to protect your perfectly manicured feet from the harm of the eerie storm raging outside. Still, the garments and accessories are not meant to be something that cover you up, keep you warm, help you run from danger; they’re tools, tools you’ll hopefully use to get your way as the final meal of the evening approaches.

The entire event is set up just the way you want, with your makeup setting just as expected; the pig roasted to perfection, the pasta firm to the touch, the carrots and broccoli steamed until palatable, the champagne chilled. Most important, though, was the arrival of your guest. At exactly 6:05, your head butler comes in to notify you of the car pulling in front of your expansive home. With the wave of your hand she’s instructed to let the man come in, allow your rival to step into the palace you’d constructed for yourself when you’d risen to the top of your organization.

Well, maybe “rival” is the wrong word. “Rival” implies an active dislike or struggle, when in reality you two operate in separate spheres of influence.

“Companion,” though, seems too friendly.

As the distinct sounds of footsteps filter through the grand hall and into your study, the man you’ve decided to call “fellow leader” steps into sight. His fine pressed suit, dry as the Sahara desert, smiles as you come into his view.

“Ah, my favorite mob woman.” His eyes seems more sinister than you expected. You attribute it more to the dark tones of the evening rather than actual malice.

“Stark,” you say with a curt nod. You go up to exchange a kiss on each cheek, heart racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, excitement increasing with each step. “Come, we have a wonderful meal prepared for you.”

Anthony doesn’t protest, simply accepts a glass of Scotch a maid hands to him and follows you into the dining room. He chuckles a bit at the display you’ve put on, but doesn’t say anything outright. You two have enough respect for the other not deny their counterpart the joy of a dramatic display. He simply sits, the pig placed in the middle of the table large enough to be an obvious sign of wealth but not too big as to deny the two of you eye contact.

Small talk is exchanged as the meal is served, biscuits placed, and pork cut into thick slabs. Vegetables placed delicately on plates and napkins placed on laps. You ask how Pepper is doing, he asks if the dress you had handmade from some extravagant designer turned out how you wanted. Half your plates are clear before either of you truly start to converse.

You’re the first to break the silence as Anthony begins on his mashed potatoes. “I appreciate your understanding of the deal. I’m not a fan of bloodshed, and the demonstration at the club that night are something I wish to forgive and forget as soon as possible.”

Anthony nods, speaking around a bite of the creamy starch. “I agree. Odinson’s actions were inappropriate, wildly and unpredictably so. In truth, I’ve thought he was a liability since he joined, but I never thought he’d lash out like that.”

As you slice through a particularly thick cut of meat, your fork slips and scraps against the china. Both of your winkles your noses at the grating sound.

“Yes,” You pause to chew. “cutting off Barnes’ arm during a bar fight does seem a little…” The bite of biscuit you had gotten was just perfect, the equal amount of butter and brown sugary, apple flavor from the pork together. God, you really do love a good meal. “Rash.”

Your guest hums in agreement. He then clears his throat, preparing to talk. “To symbolize my apologies, I have brought you the gift we spoke of earlier,” he pauses, raising his left hand just above his elbow and bending his first two fingers forward. You sit up, intrigued.

As the large French doors behind him open, from the dark depths of your hallway comes the man who scarred your oldest friend for life, cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills, and has put your best hitman out of commission. He’s tall, fills the doorway like a key in a lock. His scruff thick and dark, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Something deep in you stirs, and squeezing your thighs together does nothing to stop it.

Thor Odinson is clad in a suit, as most of Stark’s enforcers are. Though, the handcuffs keeping his hands behind his back are new.

“Interesting addition,” you note, staring at his straining arms in the expensive fabric.

Anthony doesn’t give any indication that he hears, let alone cares, about your sarcastic comment. “I’m assuming this” he gestures to the man. “Will put me back in good spirits with you and the rest of your crew?”

Odinson walks to your side, head hung in shame and hair tied in a tight bun as his former employer speaks. He knows what he’s in for now, has been told in so many words he is now something less of a person – and it’s obvious this has put him to shame.

You consider it – think about letting all that happened go with a simple olive branch. Before you can do that, though, you must make sure that the merchandise lives up to the promises on the box.

“Down,” you command. Immediately, he drops to his knees. You smirk, dragging your baby pink nails down his stubbled jaw.

“Oh, yes. This will do just fine, Stark. Just…fine.” The last two words are long, almost forgetting to finish them as your mind travels to all the things you could do with him.

Anthony smirks. “Perfect. I’m assuming business with resume as usual?”

Your fingers stroke at the sides of Thor’s face and trace around the shell of his ear. “Of course. I’ll call the appropriate people later. Everything should be up and running by midnight.”

Suddenly Anthony tenses, his fingers moving to fidget with his tie. “If I may-”

“You may,” you tell him, not meeting his eyes.

Anthony audibly gulps, fidgeting in his seat and with his tie. “That’s quite late, that’s hundreds of millions of dollars that we’ll miss out on if we-”

You hold up your hand flat while your gaze remains locked on your new toy. “That’s the earliest I can assure you. Whether or not it happens before that is,” you stop to try and feed Thor a small bite of carrot from your hand. He hesitates but accepts after a few moments, plucking the orange vegetable with beautiful teeth and a gentle bite. He doesn’t make eye contact like you originally wanted, but this is a good start.  “Not guaranteed.”

Anthony knows that you’re stubborn, much too stubborn to be moved away from your current stance. He’s done all that he can do to sway you, and now whatever income he hopes to make between now and the end of the day depends on Thor.

In short, Anthony Stark Junior (and his bank account) are royally, utterly fucked.

As he leaves your home he can hear you call to your head servant to tell Customs and Border Patrol to let his packages in (an assured start to him not losing a fortune), but he still wrings his hands as he slides into the backseat of his solid black Escalade. As the partition opens to reveal the man at the wheel, the thought of angry text messages from smugglers trying to get their goods into the States flash in front of Stark’s bloodshot eyes.

His driver, Happy, notices the fellow man’s anxiety as he looks at his boss through the rearview mirror.

“You think Odinson is gonna be okay, boss?” He asks, sort-of worried but mostly focused on filling the deafening silence in the expensive car. Money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t fill the awkward spaces in conversation that always come post-transaction.

Tony just laughs, typing something into his watch. “Of course not. That woman is going to chew him up and spit him out by the end of the fiscal year.”

Happy chews at his bottom lip. That’s two weeks from now. “You really think it’s gonna be that quick?”

“Probably,” Tony shrugs. “She’s never been known for mercy.”

The other man nods, quiet as he makes his way to the Stark residence. The quiet, cold night air strikes the mobster as he steps out of the car; the sharp grass smells fills his sense and bloodstream, calming him as he steps into his home. Pepper’s at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She doesn’t turn around when she hears his footsteps, but knows he’s somber nonetheless.

“Hard day at the office?” She asks, giving him a small taste of the homemade alfredo sauce.

Tony snorts, moving to lick at the wooden spoon. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. She’s in one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts, the soft material comforting him. “You could say that.”

You only make good decisions when you’re in a good mood, and right now said mood depends on Thor Odinson - a man so insecure he once got himself tortured just because his captors told him he couldn’t take it. The man is a stubborn, uncontrollable mess with an anger issue to rival that of Lyssa, or a lighting on a field of dried grass.

He was feared within the Nest and by the lower Excidium members, but he didn’t make palms sweat and hands shake and hearts beat faster quite like you do.

No one fucks with you because you’ve very appropriately placed yourself on a pedestal based on madness, control, and desire for power. Thor’s just feared because he’s a dumbass with a short fuse. It’s the difference between a forest fire and a crazy, drunken uncle holding a lighter; one you can try and prevent, coax it into submission and run away if necessary. The other? More unstable than Francium.

(At least you know that thing’s only going to last twenty-two minutes, though. At least it’s predictable in its instability.)

Back inside, you’re more than ecstatic to have a new plaything. You were fully prepared to let the kid’s behavior slide, especially since the Nest brings in a hefty amount of revenue. But if Tony wants to give up a weak link, you’ll gratefully treasure the broken piece of steel you picked up from the gravel.

Thor stays like that, on his knees and eating out of your hand, for so long his legs fall asleep. You spend the rest of the night chatting at nobody, talk to him like he’s an old, deaf cat who just remains in your favor because he’s soft to pet and is cute. You sign some deals, check the language of some proposed treaties, write your to-do list for the next day all at the dinner table. Thor only dares to look at you when you’re too busy conversing with maids or chastising someone who works under you or any time your head is turned enough that he can make out the scar that runs from behind your left ear to the back of your neck.  

Your form, the way you speak, he’s obsessed with his chance finally take it all in.

He hasn’t seen you in person before, just heard rumors and conspiracy theories and whatever else people spend their time making up about you. Thor always passed it off as fiction, simply inflating the higher-ups to pass the time. Everything about you, though, seems exceptionally true. Maybe even underestimations. It’s true you walk around your house in matching lingerie sets, possibly a robe if it’s breezy. The East Coast heat can be unexpectedly warm, but as the sun sets on the July day he can see goosebumps rise across your soft skin and the shivers that sometimes shake your spine. Your house fits all the descriptions he’s heard, too. The decor seems almost welcoming, faded oranges and pastel pinks and dull whites and baby blues and mustard yellows. Plush, velvet furniture the same deep magenta, mirrors trimmed in what Thor can assume is real gold.

It’s like a scene from Mean Chicks or whatever those 2000s teen movies are. If one of those movies took place in the home of an incredibly powerful mobster, it’d look like this.

“What do you think, pet?”

Oh shit. Thor was supposed to be listening, wasn’t he? When he looks up, Bucky Barnes (the man who called him a pussy and “Stark’s whore,” prompting him to grab one of the decorative - but still fully functional - swords from the wall of the bar they were in and just...slice away at his tormentor), Steve Rogers (who looks like the human version of a sugar cookie while specializing in torture) , and Sam Wilson (a sarcastic little shit who knows exactly how to get anything past the feds) are all staring down at him. Barnes’ left arm (stub? It’s mostly just stub now) is still bandaged, but he’s at least walking now. Thor was told he might die from blood loss, but no. Thor Odinson would never be that lucky.

“They never listen, do they?” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you shift to face them. None of the men sit, knowing they won’t be there long. Plus, they get a much better angle of Thor’s tortuous position while standing.

“You don’t think that deserves punishment?” Steve asks, a smile curling at the sides of his mouth that speaks volumes.

You shrug, not looking at him. “Later. Now I want you to donate fifty thousand to the Vermont special elections. I need that entry point into Canada or else there’s no way we can get out shipments into that garbage country in a timely manner. Also,” you turn to Sam, whose eyes are caught staring between Thor’s left upper ribs. “Call CBP. Stark held up his end of the deal, I have to hold up mine.”

All three of them huff, both at the large sum of cash you’re about to give to a twenty-something know-nothing frat guy who knows nothing about politics but everything about being open to bribes and about them not being able to watch the man they hate become the most embarrassed version of himself in front of the man he tried to kill and his two best friends.

Whatever. The trio’s time for revenge will come, you promised them that - promised Bucky when he was in the ICU that you would find the man that did this and would make them pay.

Bucky has never known you to break a promise.

When the three leave you and Thor, you raise your left arm high flick your wrist towards the large doors. Understanding the cue, your maids wordlessly close them to seclude you from whatever responsibilities you were intending on dealing with tonight. Whatever it is, was, can wait until tomorrow, can wait until you’ve begun Thor’s assimilation into your home.

There’s a moment of quiet, of stillness in the house before Thor hears the sounds of several pairs of footsteps – maybe four, he counts – that enter the large dining room with haste. He’s quickly escorted down a long hallway and up a winding set of stairs. Thor can’t see much as he’s rushed away, and the little he can make out is a baby blue wallpaper with gold patterns etched into it, and fine paintings that appear sporadically on the walls. Some are black and white with abstract patterns, others depictions of angels, a few featuring intricate designs that resemble the sky and sea.

It feels like a forever before Thor is slammed down onto the floor of your bedroom, his knees hitting the wood with a painful smack. Despite the earsplitting sound, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t even flinch as his hair is pulled back by one of the maids so he’s forced to look at you. As you gaze upon him he bares his teeth; you can see fire behind his eyes. What a cutie, you muse to yourself.

“Wrists,” you instruct. Another maid moves behind him with dusty pink rope, securing his wrists together behind his back. “Legs,” you tell them next. Thor is easily flipped onto his back, arched at an uncomfortable angle because of his arms. Just as quickly as before, his legs are tied so that his calves and the backs of his thighs meet. When he’s flipped back up, all he can see is you smiling devilishly. “I’ll do the rest myself ladies. Go ahead and take the night off, I want him all to myself.”

“Yes ma’am” they respond in unison, Thor unable to see their hurried steps but understanding that when he hears the door closing behind them, he’s completely and utterly alone.

For a moment you two just stare at each in silence, his nostrils flaring and chest rising from anger and adrenaline. He heaves as you calmly gaze upon him, pissing off your captive even more. All Thor can do is react while you stand there, stationary and speechless.

Within a few moments, he’s lashing out to break the painful quiet. “This fucking sucks,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “That Barnes fucking deserved that shit, you know? He’s a whiny bitch that gets into shit he doesn’t belong in. I bet he’s fucking compensating for something, ya know? He’s not even a big enough man to come at me himself, needs his master to do his bidding ‘n shit. Why the fuck am I ever here anyway, do you go through boytoys so fucking often you just steal them so that you don’t have to pa-“

You roll your eyes, shoving three fingers into his mouth. Thor looks more confused than anything else, but he does immediately stop talking. Good, exactly what you wanted.

You two stay like that, your jaw tightened with one eyebrow raised – daring him to defy you - and him looking up at you like a puppy who’s just pissed on the carpet in defiance. “Listen, you little brat. I used to babysit for twenty dollars an hour. I put myself through grad school twice on money from too-rich white-ass parents who couldn’t control their kids so they pawned them off to underpaid college kids. I got here because I worked for it, dealing with men much more powerful than you acting like children. If you think for a fucking second that I will tolerate this behavior in my house, under my roof, then you are wrong. Very wrong. Do you understand me?”

Thor’s eyes narrow, and though he doesn’t bite, he does press his teeth into the skin of your first knuckle. It’s enough to keep your attention entirely on him, eyes locked on his as you throw your phone onto the bed next to you. You know this game, and you know breaking first would mean he has some sort of holding over you. Unblinking, you stay silent as he swallows around your fingers.

The tension in the air is thick; it’s nothing you can’t handle, nothing you aren’t used to. Thor is the first one to surrender, looking down at your baby pink stilettos. “Good boy,” you huff, moving to open a drawer that conveniently sits just within arm’s reach. You withdraw you hand from his mouth but don’t move to wipe his spit from your fingers. Thor can’t see anything you’re doing, but does hear a smaller (and less used, judging by the squeaking noise it makes as you open it) drawer open, the sound of a little bell, and then the loud scraping of both drawers closing on top of each other and hitting the back of the structure that holds it.

“Head up,” you command. “Look at me.” Thor’s hesitant but ultimately obeys. His eyes widen as he sees the items in your hand. The first is a simple, black ball gag and the other a frilly, pink collar with a small bow and equally tiny bell at the front center. In the back, an adjustable metal clip.

The gag is slipped on first, the uncomfortably large sphere blocking any searing remarks from leaving his lips. As spit pools below his tongue and from the corners of his mouth, all he can do is growl low in his throat.

Despite your long, pointed nails you open the clasp of the collar with ease, flashing it close to your captive’s face like an owner showing a dog his new restraint. Thor may be your pet, and you may be his rightful owner, but the move isn’t one that builds trust. It’s one that makes his insides curl, because it’s a demonstration of how much power you have over him. Look at this thing, the gesture conveys. Do you understand now? You’re mine. Everyone will know that. Everyone will know what you did. This is your retribution.

“Are you gonna shut up now?” Thor doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t make any disgruntled noises. “Good. Now, let me make myself clear, since it appears you do not know the terms of Stark’s and my agreement; Stark settled to give me the man who permanently injured one of my best men in exchange for my forgiveness of the entire event. That means two things. First, Stark gets the money he needs from my business in order to remain powerful. Second, I get to do whatever I want to you. Understand?”

Thor’s eyebrows furrow. What do you want to do to him?

“For now, though, I am going to untie you and go to bed, because I am tired, and it has been an exhausting day. Got it?”

Thor nods.

“Good.”

He flinches as you kneel down to his level and begin to untie him from the complicated binds. Your fingers move with purpose, your nails occasionally scraping across his electrified skin. With his body uninhibited, he flexes his fingers as to examine the indents in his flesh.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “Those will go away by morning.”

Somehow, he doesn’t believe you.

He spends the night on the cold wooden floor, occasionally making a desperate attempt to fit himself on the tiny plush pink carpet that the dresser rests on. Thor doesn’t get much shut-eye, time either spent shivering or trying to plan for survival. He can’t escape, it’s been made very clear that both Excidium and the Nest will both be hunting him down if he so much as pisses where he’s not supposed to. It seems keeping his mouth shut, following orders, and taking whatever it is you want to put him through with whatever tiny amount of dignity he has left.

(As the night progresses, he realizes the last part will be the hardest).

When the world comes alive again, Thor remains mostly ignored. As the sun comes up and you awaken with your alarm, he barely gets so much as a brush of fabric as you pull off your white nightgown and slip into a pale-yellow sundress with a long, white cardigan. It’s much different than what you were wearing last night, but as you readjust the strap of your lacey white bra from its improper place on your shoulder, he guesses that was more show(wo)manship and a reiteration of hierarchies than an honest exchange between business partners.

As the first full day under your whim progresses, he’s left behind as you move to your office. You feel some time apart may be good for his insolence, even if his fierceness amuses you so.

You like a challenge, especially one you know you can win; a little tussle didn’t hurt anybody, has it?

You instruct one of the new recruits to buy you a dog bed – the largest one they can find – and you have it placed on the floor next to your bed so you can keep an easy eye on him throughout the day. Thor’s kept on a leash attached to the collar on his neck; the piece of leather is flimsy at best, but the man still refuses to break out of it for fear of punishment.  

There, on a large, baby pink pet meant for some Doberman or Pitbull or other bigass dog, he waits, ears perking up whenever someone, anyone steps into the room. But, while he craves human contact, the hushed voices of the maids that clean up the dirty clothes and make your bed make the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand in fear.

Natasha, lover, retribution.

Bucky, money, revenge.

Loki, trip, return.

He can’t tell which name fills him more with dread. Barnes is barely healed and full of rage at his injury, desperate for vengeance against the man that hurt him so. Natasha Romanoff is a woman that Thor has never truly met, only seen when Stark and you have business that requires some back up. Even so, the stories of her apathy and brutality need no introduction; once, she cut a dude’s dick off, made a wallet from the foreskin, and sent it to him while he was recovering in the hospital. She carries a switchblade in the inside of her bra. She only has red hair because the blood crusted onto it permanently stains the follicles.

And Loki…

Well, Loki and him have been estranged since they were both late teens. They’ve both had daddy issues since birth, and Loki’s so happened to manifest in a weird mix of picking up mercenary work, becoming a serial sugar baby, and wearing a lot of black. The last thing Thor would expect is for Loki to settle down for someone like you, a woman who requires loyalty of heart, mind, soul.

His thumping heart and terrifying internal monologue are interrupted by a maid, one he hadn’t yet seen, whose face scrunches up when she notices your absence from the room. She then sighs, and beckons two other maids – one pushing a cart filled with a small buffet of food, one carrying a cart with cutlery and dinnerware – through the threshold. The three of them stop at a bone-white desk, fretting about as they set up what Thor can only assume is a late lunch.

As you step into the bedroom – pushed through the doorway by the maid from before – Thor can tell you are less than happy.

You’re annoyed, to say the least. Can’t even tell why, really, can’t find an even barely comprehendible reason for you to be tearing through financial documents as if they were important family heirlooms that were on fire. No reason for you to snap at a recent recruit for misspelling the code name of a spy you had placed in the Nevada Supreme Court three courts back. Some madness bites at your skin as you nibble on small sandwiches and drink a large glass of cold sun tea, and Thor can tell it’s tearing you apart.

Thor can’t see much from the floor, but he can feel the electricity in the air as you scribble in a notebook that he guesses is where you plan all of your mob’s heinous activities. He wonders what your handwriting looks like, how you keep all the people you’re blackmailing straight, what kind of code you use. Stark keeps everything on paper as well, in a locked room inside of a secret room inside of his basement (well, maybe. Thor’s never been there, he’d never gotten high enough in the Nest to warrant being given access to such a space, but he’s heard the rumors).

It's about an hour later when the head butler from before, the one who led him, his (former) boss, and his (former) bosses men through your maze of a home, steps just into view of your tired eyes.

“Miss, you need a break,” she says simply.

You sigh, rubbing at the bridge of your nose and then your temples. Resting your head in one hand, you use the other to grant her permission to grab your paperwork. It’s only when she’s gather your things and left the room that you speak.

“She’s right,” you let out a small chuckle before sauntering over to the white dresser in the far corner of the room. “I do need a stress reliever.”

The man on your floor can’t see what you’re doing, his eyes only widening when you place the thickest, blackest dildo he’s ever seen into his view.

“Wh-“he starts to speak, trying but failing to push himself away from you. “What are you doing to do with that?”

You shrug, eyeing it up and down. “I don’t know. Could fuck myself with it…could fuck you with it…”

Thor’s stubbled face is beet red from embarrassment, even more so than when you made him kneel in the dining room or gagged him with your fingers.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut,” you hiss. When he doesn’t look up at you, you grab his chin and force his head back. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it wouldn’t be fun if he just gave in the second you put the tiniest bit of pressure on his overly-tough facade. “Tell me you love sucking my cock.”

But all Thor does is open his mouth wide as it can go and pushes his flattened tongue as far out of his mouth as it’ll go. He’s got this glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that tells you Thor knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s pushing every button he can think to push.

You’ve danced this routine before, though this time Thor’s much more confident, willing to push further, push harder.

“You want to be a brat?” You ask, begging him to give you a smartass response. “Then take it like one.”

With swift movements of your right leg he’s pushed flat on the ground, his back hitting the hardwood with a low thud. “Flip over,” you tell him. With an unfortunate lack of protest, he does, toned stomach settling onto the floor barely warmed by his back.

You climb over him, leg on each side and core pressed into him as you gather his hair in your first. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you hiss through grit teeth. Thor makes a similar – but more pained noise – as you wretch his head back. “Such a little tease, begging me to put him in his fucking place. If you wanted me to fuck you like you deserve, you should fucking ask for it next time.”

Smack, the deep sound of your callous hand hitting the soft flesh of his ass almost makes him flinch more than the pain. Smacksmack, two more, quicker this time.

“I’ve met little fucking brats before, but never like you,” you pull the rest of his clothes off with minimal protest. “Gotta get you cock drunk before you’ll figure out how arrangement of ours works, don’t I?”

Thor, with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth lax, says nothing in return.

Your hand reaches under him, hips lifting to provide a small space between him and the floor. He’s already hard, aching, leaking, and he moans brokenly when you wrap your hand around him.      

It’s rough, hurts more than it pleasures, but it still feels so, so good all the same. Thor almost wants to say so, too, but can’t make himself push the words from his throat.

“So easy to get you all fucked out isn’t it?” You whisper low in his ear. “So easy to break brats like you, makes me wanna make you cum and then leave you here for the rest of the night…”

The subsequent whine from Thor makes you laugh and push him harder into the floor. “But I won’t do that, can’t leave little things like you all alone, would be like leaving a baby bunny to a bunch of wolves.”

Thor doesn’t disagree, doesn’t try to build his demolished ego back up.

“Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” you purr, hand keeping a slow, torturous pace. “Doesn’t it feel good to be good?”

All Thor can do is squeak and push his face into the floor, trying to hide the deep redness in his cheeks.

For once, you don’t punish him. You want to, want to stop and make him beg for forgiveness for his nonanswer. Maybe tie him up and fuck him with your fingers until he’s ready for your biggest strap, pounding into him.

Oh, Babyboy, you’re being so good taking this whole cock inside of you, aren’t you? So good for your owner. I bet nobody’s ever fucked you this good.

Maybe you’ll tie him up, edge him until he’s sobbing. Wait until he’s just about to cum and pull a vibrator or your hand away – make him whine and tease him as his whole body twitches.

Are you not enjoying yourself, baby? Because it looks to me like you are. Look at those glassy eyes, do I need to slap you to make you pay attention?

Thor screams as he cums all over your floor, whole body tense then completely lax within the span of seconds. His breathing is loud enough to be heard across nations, each exhale laced with a small moan.

He cries, deep and low, when you climb off of him, tries to arch his spine into the nothingness that once held you.

“Shh,” you tell him. “Mommy’ll be back in a second.”

Thor seems to calm with that, heart still racing but head and body slumped.

When you come back, you hold a bit of salmon - small grains of buttery jasmine rice and cranberry sauce stuck to the pink meat. You’ve grasped it with three fingers – thumb, middle, point – and have it nearly pressed to Thor’s plush, pink lips. It’s still warm, dinner having  been served by the maids despite your absence from the dining room.

“C’mon baby,” you tell him. “You gotta eat sometime.”

Thor glares at you but knows you’re right – his already flat stomach howling in pain from lack of sustenance. Reluctantly, meekly, he pulls your fingers between his lips and swallows the soft food.

“Good boy,” you tell him. “See? Following directions isn’t that bad.”

Thor, for the first time in days, says nothing to the contrary.

 //

[grizztomysam]

Put Me Back Together

Grizzam Reunion Fic

Another one...bc there are a good handful of amazing reunion fics from our talented fandom writers.

Disclaimer...it started as one thing and then grew into this monster a crazy thing that’s probably all over the place but c’est la vie...so here it is people. From the depths of my unfinished drafts list to you. I just Thank the Lord it’s one more unfinished work finally finished.

LOWKEY NSFW and some trigger warning for brief suicidal ideation. 

============================

When Grizz returns, it’s to an angry and chaotic New Ham, now under moronic leaders puppeteered by a literal psychopath, Allie and Will in jail, his friends manifested into some modern type gestapo and his relationship with Sam as uncertain as the future of New Ham. 

Threat of burning into ash is strong and imminent.

He longs to march straight to wherever Sam is, start anew from where they had left off that day he decided to put down his hurt and pride and promise Sam he’d return. Wants to steal him away far from everything and into the woods. But he heads instead for the long trek to the other side of town towards his childhood home, empty and unused since New Ham happened.

He ignores how his lips still smart from their last kiss in the clearing by the woods, so sudden and ending too quick. Ignores how he can still feel Sam’s hot breath, hurried and aching against his neck, hear the quiet whimper when he hugged back, tight, that almost made him fuck it all and stay.

Almost.

But he can’t. He won’t. He mustn't.

Eden has arrived and Sam needs to step up to necessary obligations. Put all focus on keeping some semblance of peace and safety for his family. Becca needs him more. More than Grizz believes he does. Because he does not fit into the equation that is Sam’s life now.

Grizz had promised to come back safe, he did, but nothing more.

Perhaps if Campbell wasn’t sitting on the throne, orchestrating their little world to fall into rubbled ruin....

But things are different now then they had been two weeks ago. So much, too much has transpired.

A new born baby, a young mother and the possibility of everything ending in violent dissonance trumps romantic love.

Because it’s love for Grizz. For years, even from afar, it’s always been love.

Others would argue it was infatuation or some concentrated form of obsession for the forbidden. But you don’t ache like Grizz did or know for certain without hesitation you’d step into the line of fire if ever Sam’s life was in question if it wasn’t love. He would have sacrificed everything if it meant Sam would hurt a little less.

And that one night that had been so perfect he had stayed awake, his eyes wet long after Sam fell asleep, happy and sated, his head nestled close into Grizz’s chest. Stayed awake, tracing sonnets onto Sam’s arm in the dark, because he lacked the courage or his own words to say I love you in the light.

Even if the gnawing sting from his chest to his throat does not ebb after his fifth shot from the secret reserve in the bottom drawer of his dad’s home office. Even if the pain that pricks his eyes and makes his nose run wants to rip him in two when his mind clears once again from the haze and he’s left with nothing but a quiet that screams and won’t let him sleep.

And when he does it’s always filled with brilliant blues, freckled skin that tasted of salt and cinnamon, strong limbs tangled with his and a “Come back to me” whispered in his ear.

==========

A couple weeks pass and he’s proud of his resolve.

Though there is a small part that thrums with an ache. Wonders where Sam is, how the baby and Becca are doing. If she has the same brilliant blues of her father’s. Wonders why Sam hasn’t tried to contact him. He is quick to tamp it down and bury it deep with earth and cement. 

He keeps his head low. Stays home if he can help it, only ever venturing into town when summoned by the current counsel to report about there findings. He and the explorers inform with vagueness, a silent understanding and agreement to not divulge everything to the coup government. 

Because something is brewing. It is with lack of words or official declaration, but the air is thick with promised revolution. If Campbell knew this he had yet to act. But it was a matter of time before everything would come to an angry and bloody head. 

And there will be bloodshed. It’s certain when Campbell has an artillery to his disposal of almost half of the town’s confiscated guns. If only Allie had destroyed them all.

But there was a lot of things Allie should have done. 

It would be a matter of time before plans materialize and a new leader defacto arises among the rebels to free Allie and Will and save New Ham.

Matter of time.

But for now he’ll be a coward. He’ll turn from the pointed looks Gwen and even Gordie keep giving him. Refuse to open or read the growing ignored texts from the explorers and the committee for going home after catching them in a huddle one day hearing “Grizz” and “leader” among the heated but hushed exchange. Because for once he wants to be selfish.

Wants to wallow and be miserable and miss Sam and forget everything that has to do with starving to death, trials and killings, and growing up. 

==============

Week three begins and a brief snow storm falls, turning into sleet and icy roads. Activities lessen, tho the garbage piles still grow in heaps across town. The cold giving small mercies as the stench is not as potent if it had been under smoldering heat of summer. Everyone stays inside with the roads becoming dangerous to even walk the small distance from home to the cafeteria.

No one thinks to salt the road. But there’s not much thinking done under the new regime. At least for rational decisions that will benefit and keep the town afloat. 

Grizz is forced to venture into town. His food rations had gone down considerably low and he needs some type of ointment for a stubborn cut he’d acquired from the expedition that has turned into a rash on his forearm.

He laughs, the sound maniacal and foreign. This human thing to want to survive and live, despite the times when he’d flirted with dark thoughts. Skimmed his fingers against the plastic, orange containers in his mother’s vanity cabinet. Solitude can be loud in letting monsters you never knew you had take havoc. Can be frightening in it’s influence. But he could never do that to Sam. 

He’d promise he would come back. Even if he had to stay away.

=============

Its a slow and bitter cold walk as he inched his way to the nearest store, hoping the free for all terms Harry has laid out to the people hasn’t already depleted there food reserves. He’s careful not to slip and bash his head on the iced concrete below, but the harsh wind is a welcome distraction from cabin fever. He also admits to the sudden sharp want that perhaps he might see Sam today.

His head falls down quick onto his chest as he submits to an almost frenzied energy. It’s chanting incoherent nothings, forming into images of Sam’s lips on his. He can almost taste him. 

Fuck it all to hell because he needs to see him. 

As his feet move by some force that’s tethered to the direction of Allie’s, a pained almost animalistic cry cuts through the air and a thud as something or someone falls fast and hard on the icy ground. He thinks he hears a crack on impact.

His head turns so quick towards the fall, he almost snaps his own neck, eyes blurred against the flurries from the sky.

The figure is laying on its side at the bottom of the steps leading to the loading dock of the convenient store. Its unclear who at first, but it’s favoring its right arm, cradling it against their chest, their head curled into itself. 

When he sees the rust red hair against the garish white, curls peeking through a dark green hood, he knows its Sam. He almost takes a fall as he runs with a speed that threatens to pummel his ribs into his lungs, needling cuts into his already cold, dried and split lips.

Please be okay, the thoughts taste acrid and sour.

He skids to a stop and lands on his knees, immediate in taking Sam’s hooded head into his lap. He’s gentle but shaking, trembling hands cup Sams face, thumbs soothing against cheeks frozen and pale. The smaller boy is unusually quiet, no wails of pain. Its more choked and gutteral, broken hitches of breath, his eyes shut tight, jaw tense and clenched.  

“Baby!” he gasps “ I’ve got you--Fuck!” his lips against Sam’s furrowed forehead. One hand moves down the line of Sam’s bent and cradled arm to see if he can feel exposed bone. Sam winces sharp against the pressure but Grizz feels nothing although its hard to be sure against the layers of coat. 

“I’m here now, it’s gonna be okay” he whispers against Sam’s temple. 

It’s futile assurance. But he needs to hear it out loud. 

Then he feels a sticky wetness against his lips.

It’s blood. 

He blanches but swallows his panic, lifting the hood and combs back hair with a finger to see it’s but a small cut. He wipes the red from Sam’s hairline and from the corner of his mouth into the snow by his thigh, then moves one hand to feel into Sam’s hood and the underside of his head. He steels himself but his fingers feel only matted curls. 

He breathes, pressing once again his lips against Sam’s forehead. Sam has yet to open his eyes, but he’s leaning his head into the kiss.

He lets out a pained sigh, “Grizz?” 

And Grizz almost weeps. 

He tighten his grasp on Sam’s face, gives him another kiss, firm and on his cheek and moves himself back on his haunches. 

He squat and his thighs strain as lifts Sam to a sitting position, gripping the underside of Sam’s uninjured arm and holding steady over his bent one. 

He waits against Sam’s back when  Sam breath becomes more labored and heightened. Grizz sooths his fingers against Sam’s waist and can feel Sam’s stomach move in sporadic spasms. 

They need to get to the hospital now, but Grizz realizes that Allie’s house is closer, hoping to God someone will be there, preferably Gordie or Kelly.

Gripping his back and the underside of Sam’s uninjured arm Grizz hauls him up as gently as he can, gritting his teeth to the pained hiss from Sam’s twisted mouth. They stand for a minute, Sam’s back flush against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around his waist. Then he feels Sam nod twice against his chin, a small but brave sign and his heart is so full for this boy.

He maneuvers himself to Sam’s side, tucking with one hand Sam’s head into the crook of his shoulder, the other still wrapped around Sam’s back and holding firm, Sam’s bent arm against his chest. With careful steps he leads them both towards Allie’s.

============

It’s a long walk as he tries his best from moving too quickly as to keep from hurting Sam more, the only sound is the wind that’s grown angry and harsh, whipping the loose strands of his hair from its topknot hold into his stinging eyes, and Sam’s low whimpers he can feel the younger boy is trying to hold back. 

There’s also a small feeling of shame. Perched itself in the corner of his eye, shaking its judgmental finger in his periphery. 

Because it feels entirely too good to hold Sam again.

The panic and the fear of the moment is gone and now he’s drowning because Sam is in his arms and the universe would have to pull tooth and nail to get him to let go. 

He looks down when he feels a movement against his neck. Tears have fallen now, a blue gaze is looking back at him, dull but coherent. 

And he has to summon some unearthly strength from reaching down and touching lips against lips. 

So he faces forward, blinks hard against the telltale pricking of his eyes, tightens his grip on Sam as they walk onward, a hand cradling Sam’s cheek against his chest and tells his heart to fucking stand down as Sam nips at the knuckle of his thumb that has somehow found its way to his lips.  

============

The house is empty as they pass through the foyer and God he had missed this place. It’s warm and looks as it had more than a month ago before the coups and expeditions and heavy things like Sam being a father. 

He brings Sam to sit on the weathered leather couch closest to the living room archway and motions for him to stay. He’s relieved Sam’s breathing has evened and a warm blush has crept on his cheeks as well as a redness to his lips. 

Lips so lush and taunting, he finds himself moving closer and closer for a stuttered minute. 

But he forgets himself.

With Sam he’s come to realize he always will, because the circuits in his brain backfire and synapses no longer synapse and he’s mush. Pathetic gooey mush.

He can’t help it.

Like he even wants to.

So he forces himself to remember. 

Remember Sam is hurting something awful and he needs to prioritize and compartmentalize. Needs to go find the first aid kit and text Gordie or Kelly to get there as soon they can. He knows the basics of splinting a break if there is even one, hoping again to God there is none, but he needs help.

Turns from the flash of disappointment that flits through Sam’s eyes as he heads towards the kitchen. Pays no mind the feel of Sam’s gaze following him, burning into his back through so many layers until it reaches skin that’s grown coal hot, marked with memories of tongues and teeth. He almost moans as he grips the edge of the kitchen counter, willing himself to stop.

Now is not the fucking time.

It’s a quick search when he finds the a large first aid box in the wood framed glass case by the fridge. He grabs it and hurries back.

Hurries back to something so precious he both wants to swoon and go “Awe” with the same lilt he once heard from Bean after she’d found a baby orphaned squirrel near the football bleachers at school.

Sam has laid himself back, clutching his right arm tight, like a cocooned little thing. His shoes are now off, polka dotted socked feet propped up on the coffee table, and his long lashes against freckled cheeks with his mouth in a pout.

Grizz is sure he’s grinning like fucking goon, but he’s feeling all soft from the lightness he hasn’t felt for a long time that wants to swallow him whole and he’s okay with that. 

“Stop standing their like a creeper and come fix my arm..it still fucking hurts”.

Grizz starts, a piece of errant hair falling in front of his brow, and brushes it back, a nervous tick that always seemed to appear whenever Sam’s around. The boy in question is squinting back but there’s a quirk to his lips and the crinkled lines are showing in the corners of his eyes. 

Grizz shuffles forward, with a rolling of his own and slowly helps Sam back up, propping him with several couch pillows as Grizz settles himself on the edge of the coffee table, the first aid kit by his side.

He taps his finger on Sam’s chin when the younger boy’s gaze gets preoccupied in following the movements of his hands and an almost glazed hungry look stares back at him, lips slightly parted.

Lips that almost always looks bitten and swollen and made for kissing.

He’s definitely going to hell at how fast he feels himself go hard. There has to be some hidden commandment. Thou shalt not lust after ye patient.

He blames whatever Sam is feeling to the drunken haze of pain from his arm and busies his focus on telling the younger boy he needs to take off his coat so he can properly see his arm. Its slow work and he’s trying to be careful but he almost jumps up desperate, wanting to find scissors or something sharp and pointed so he can cut Sam from this damn thing because Sam’s breathing is heavy again and his lips have gone pale from the pain. 

And when it’s finally off he tosses it angry across the room, almost clipping the framed picture of some Pressman ancestor from its hang on the wall. 

The muffled chuckle that answers is worth it.

He’d miss Sam’s laugh. Sam’s laugh, which was some addicting thing he felt he was always chasing to get a high from.

He thanks the Lord above, who’s been unusual in his merciful generosity that the shirt underneath is short sleeved. The freckled skin of Sam’s forearm has turned a mottled angry mix of purplish red and there is slight swelling near his wrist, but there is no broken skin or exposed bone. He signs for Sam to move his arm at the elbow, which he does with little difficulty but when Sam moves his wrist it’s with a pained grunt, his eyes shuttering tight. 

Grizz is quick to grab his other hand, squeezing and encouraging to squeeze back, anchoring his thighs to steady Sam’s own that has now come to be between Grizz’s legs. He wants to spout some poetic line of how he’d take on his pain.

Let me be the balm to your hurt. Can I kiss it away?

But instead hes rifles through the kit for gauze and anything else he can fashion into a makeshift splint while they wait for Gordie or Kelly to answer and arrive.

He finishes wrapping the gauze securely around the splints that’s keeping Sam’s arm straight to the wrist and shakes to activate an ice pack from the kit, placing it firm against the gauzed covering. As he keeps the ice pack in place, he keeps his head down focused on Sam’s arm, anywhere but his eyes and lips, a finger trails the edge of his untucked shirt and slips under to skim against skin now pebbled with gooseflesh. 

His breath grows shallow as he looks up to see Sam’s stare, intense and unwavering, his bottom lip between his teeth. The blue in his eyes have gone a midnight hue. 

Grizz almost drops the ice pack. Or punctures it with how tight he’s now clutching the bag.

“You have anything in there for the pain?” Sam slurs, half signing with his left hand, his gaze travel to Grizz’s mouth, eyes fluttering languid and with purpose. 

He can only nod, his tongue grown thick, words having lost meaning or connection, his brain matter having melted into a liquid mess as he turns slight to rip open a small sachet of aspirin. When he attempts to place the pills into Sam’s free hand, Sam pulls away shaking his head. He tips his chin up and opens his mouth.

Grizz swallows the “Fuck” that wants to spill out, his nose flaring as he exhales and proceeds to offer the pills into Sam’s eager lips, his tongue darting out and its tip licking at Grizz’s forefinger. 

Grizz slips and catches himself with his hands on either side of Sam’s hips before he can fall onto Sam’s injured arm, but theirs a smirk on Sam’s lips as he leans forward, cutting the distance between them.

Sam has a fucking pain kink, his heady thoughts conspire. It’s the only explanation how Sam is currently trying to seduce him rather than writhing in pain.

Fucking wrong choice of words because it goes straight to his already hardening groin. And now surely he’s headed for the deepest level of hell.

“My head still hurts...kiss it better?” 

The words pull him from the fog in his head and he’s all too quick to comply. 

Because fuck it all he wants to play too.

He holds himself up, careful not to put any weight onto Sam and shift his head until his lips touch the clotted cut near Sam’s temple. He nips the spot twice then parts his mouth slight, leaving lazy open kisses that travel down until he’s sucking onto the soft pad of Sam’s ear that’s got the younger boy clutching tight onto the collar of his t shirt, his head lolled back, his spine arching and desperate. 

“Kiss me! I want you!” 

The plea is wanton, dripping with sweat and dirt, that the sudden urge to rut and shed his skin to howl at the moon is strong and overwhelms.

Pushes him over the edge as he grabs Sam’s nape with a growl, crashing hungry lips against hungry lips.

And its fire and ocean water salt and a spice he has no name for but heats the tips of his toes to his tingling scalp as he grapples and wrestle between control so he doesn’t crush and hurt Sam and the encompassing desire to devour him.

He is drunk on the mead of Sam tongue against his; wants the taste to become imprinted into the strands of DNA; wants this to go on and on forever. 

Because he doesn’t know if he can stop. 

Until a loud rapping on the wall and a clearing of one’s throat has him jumping back as if scalded, leaving Sam to chase after his lost lips, brows knitted together, eyes still shut.

“Um...I guess Sam’s all better now?” 

Kelly stands outside in the foyer having the decency to act sheepish. 

But Kelly’s always been kind. And Grizz is tired of pretending and running and staying away.

==========================

Hours later, Sam returns back to Allies from the ER, his arm having been xrayed and confirmed to have a minor hair line fracture to the wrist and forearm and his splint reinforced. Kelly is nothing but professional, doesn’t try to wheedle out details he feels others would.

“Becca’s staying over with Gordie at my place to wait out the storm with Eden. She won’t be home until later this week. But I’ll let them know Sam’s ok and wants to stay at Allie’s since its closer to the hospital.” She offers this with a small smile as she hands Grizz a packet of prescription grade painkillers.

Kelly had always been kind.

And now Grizz, has, once again, Sam’s back flush against his chest as they sit up against the cushioned headboard of the guest room Sam has adopted as his own. 

“It got too dangerous, with Campbell and all.” Sam whispers this, trailing a finger down Grizz’s arm wrapped around his waist, his breath steady and calm, lids heavy, the painkillers doing their job well. Whispers it before Grizz can even ask. 

“That’s why I didn’t bother to talk to you. I heard you’d returned. I wanted to see you I really did.” 

Grizz reassures that he believes with a soft kiss into his palm, intertwining their fingers.

“And I know why you had to stay away and didn’t come back to me” Sam lifts up and turns his neck to kiss him. 

There is no need to repent.

It’s a moment he wants bottled and preserved, placed high above some tall shelf that no one can reach. Not even Campbell and his militia and guns and the need to destroy and hurt and kill. 

But he knows he can’t hide forever. Doesn’t want to really anymore. 

Sam is back in his arms, where he belongs and soon he’ll meet Eden who he certain he’ll love fierce, as much as he does Sam.

And it’s fucking time to fight back. Stop being afraid.

Because he has been. 

Stop using reasons of staying away because it’s safer for all against monsters with human skin. when in reality they are invincible together.

I Love You, he signs onto Sam’s chest and he holds him closer, the moonlight twinkles and casts shadows from the filtering light through the window.