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apprenticestanheight · 4 months

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All is Well That Ends Well - Lawrence Gordon x gn! afab! reader - Part IV

Annnnnnnnnd, an hour and eleven minutes later, here's part four!! the next parts will be released on the seventh and fourteenth and then, unless I can manage to get a lot of writing done in not a lot of time, there'll probably be a bit of a delay between the end of The Beginning and the beginning of The Middle (I promise better titles will be created for these sections I am just. I am just terrible at titling and pull stuff out of a hat a lot of the time) but at the latest, the Middle will start in late march-early april.

Fic type - this one is so smutty, but it's also fluffy, so it's fluff that leads up into smut

Warnings - minors,, DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT THANK YOU, oral, cockwarming, edging (kind of??) mentions of the loss of Lawrences foot + prosthetics and pain and itching associated with wearing them too long

A few days pass, and on that Wednesday, after all of your classes were cancelled from a snowstorm, you wake up at eight and make a list with Aurelie over the phone of things you need to grab, organized by room for your own convenience.

For your bedroom you need to get a nightstand, wardrobe, a lamp or two, and better sheets and blankets than the ones you’d had for a decade, which were on their last legs as it were.

For the bathrooms—of which there are two, one in the primary suite and the other across the hall from one of the other two bedrooms—you need shower curtains, bathmats, and small bins to hold random essentials like pads, tampons, Band-Aids and anything else someone might need short notice, as well as trash cans and garbage bags accordingly.

The living and dining rooms are where stuff gets pricey—you need a couch, love seat, rocking chair, coffee table, television and a stand, curtains, maybe a rug and definitely a dining table.

For one of the other two bedrooms, you require an additional bed and curtains so that it can serve as the guest space. For the other of the two bedrooms, you need curtains, bookshelves, a comfy daybed, a desk and a rolling chair so that it can act as a library-slash-office space for studying and reading.

Since you figure Lawrence is working, Aurelie helps you get most of it. A lot of it came from IKEA for the sake of your own convenience but you refused, blatantly, to buy a bed or couch or even so much as a rocking chair from there, so it was a fairly cheap trip.

You grab the bed from the same spot you got the one you’d bought for yourself six months before, when the bed you’d had got lumpy and it became clear just how old it was—a local furniture store that was a twenty minute drive out and did same-day delivery fee at no additional cost.

The rocking chair, couch, coffee table, love seat, wardrobe and daybed were purchased from a furniture store one of your bosses had recommended. It was a forty minute drive from the condo but so worth it as they delivered to your apartment for only an additional $20.

Once the furniture shopping is complete you grab groceries and are home to unload them at half past four, making quick work of it because all you want to do is lie on your couch and make a bad decision or two.

You call Lawrence, exhausted but wanting to test out the couch in more ways than just sitting on the damn thing, at five o’clock on the dot. He answers on the second ring.

“How’d furniture shopping go?” He greets.

You bite your lip to fend off a smile. “Aurelie did it with me—sorry for not calling you, I figured you were working and the places I went to for the bigger things do delivery—and now I’m just sitting, lonely. Kind of want to order take out, honestly, but Aurelie has studying to do and I’m assuming you’re still at work.”

“Just left, actually,” Lawrence says. “I can come over if you’d like? We can talk for a bit and, assuming there are groceries in your fridge today unlike yesterday, I can make dinner. Takeaway is decent but food that takes effort is good, too.”

“I didn’t come close to spending a quarter of the rainy day fund,” you say. “I told myself I’d spend five thousand at most, and I spent close to five thousand, yeah, but still. The way I see it, I have sixty dollars to blow on take out and if you really must cook me dinner, you can do so Friday night. I like things more even and unless you’d prefer that I spent the $60 on weed, I’d really like to see you.”

Lawrence laughs. “I think I’ve realized what you aim to get from me,” he says. “I thought I’d be the one making those types of calls or coming into the condo with my spare key and groping you while you read whichever book you’re reading at that point in time.”

You laugh seductively. “That’ll come up in the next few weeks, I imagine,” you say. “However, right now I am exhausted, need something in my something and this couch is way too big for one person. Grabbed an L shaped one so that I could take a nap on it on a lazier Sunday afternoon but today was not lazy or a Sunday. Today was productive and if I don’t see you in the next thirty minutes, I will drive my ass back to where I vaguely remember your house being and knock on a door, one that I can only I hope is yours so that I can make the first $2000 you’ll give me on whichever day within the next week so worth your while that it hurts.”

“You’ll get it Saturday,” Lawrence says. “The first installment.”

“Get your ass to this condo or so help me God—”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” Lawrence laughs. “Mouthing me off is not recommended.”

“There can’t be too many punishments out there. I like it when pain gets involved. Being thrown and smacked around just gets me wet.”

“There are ways to torture you without being aggressive. Be a good puppy and wait for me, yeah?”

You roll your eyes. One sexual encounter a few days prior and he knows, already, that calling you his puppy is the quickest way to get you to submit.

“Yeah, Lawrence,” you say. “Of course.”

“Good,” he says. “You can wait fifteen minutes without touching yourself, can’t you?”

Without meaning to, you grind helplessly against the hem of your jeans.

“Mhm.”

“Good puppy.”

And then the call is done, and you’re going to your bedroom to swap your day clothes for something more comfortable—a black hoodie you’d owned since you started in the PhD program at 26 that you’d accidentally ordered around six sizes too big—and strip of everything else.

You head back into the living room, clad in nothing but a baggy hoodie. It leaves your clit, folds, and breasts open to the wintery cold updraft, which forces you to grab a throw blanket and toss it over your legs.

The ten minutes to proceed those events are spent reading a romance novel that you’d put on your coffee table for decoration, and when you hear the sound of Lawrences spare key entering the slot on the door, you grin.

He closes the door behind him lightly, grins when he meets your gaze, and you look him over.

He looks good in a way that makes you almost insatiable—navy blue button up shirt, black slacks, white doctors coat hanging loosely off his shoulders. His hair is handsomely unkempt, and he looks like the picture of laidback professionalism.

He takes the white coat off, drapes it over the top of your loveseat.

“You look cute,” he says. “Waited for me on the couch the entire time?”

You nod, standing up without thinking twice about it. “You said to wait. I did.”

He steps towards you, intentionally walking slowly. “Are you wearing anything beneath the hoodie, puppy?”

You shake your head. “I’m not. I always wear the hoodie like this—it’s comfortable for me,” it’s a lie, of course, but you just have to hope it’s not a very obvious one.

“Is it really?” He asks. When you bite your lip, he laughs.

“I don’t like liars,” he says. “If you decided to forgo anything beneath it because of me, you’re allowed to be honest. I find honesty preferable to lies, even if the way that you bite your lip and how fucking good you look makes me want to bend you over the arm of the couch and use you to my preference.”

You nod. “I wore it like this for conveniences sake,” you admit. “Was a bit warm, too, and needed to cool off, even though I regretted that almost instantly because it's the fucking winter. Figured you’d have an easier time touching me if I wore nothing underneath the sweater.”

Lawrence takes another step and is finally within arms reach.

“I’ll buy us dinner,” he says. “You can use the sixty for a nice lingerie set if you want, or maybe a few new books, but I have to get you back for thinking of how to dress in a manner that conveniences me.”

“You’re giving me four thousand dollars this month. I am not letting you buy dinner.”

“New rule, then,” he says. “Rule number four: in addition to the four thousand dollars monthly, I get to buy you dinner and gifts whenever I please.”

“You’re only doing that out of spite,” you say pointedly. “You said four thousand was the max amount you could give me while living within your means.”

“I said it was the amount I could give you, not the max amount,” Lawrence says. “Realistically I could afford close to five thousand, but I figured that spoiling you to some extent would come into play at one point or the next, so I rounded down.”

“Fine,” you nod. “I accept the rule. What’s your favorite color?”

“That’s a tie between dark blue, dark green, and maroon,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

You bite your bottom lip lightly. “While I am privy to owning a decent set to feel confident once in a while, I do want it to look so good that you can’t resist the urge to see what’s underneath. Your favorite color is the place to start in figuring that out, one would think.”

He puts one hand on your hip, a smirk kicking up the corner of his mouth. “I won’t be needed at work until nine tomorrow morning,” he says. “I’m going to make this worth it for us both, mm?”

You nod. All you want him to do is either start rubbing your clit while he kisses you, or for his fingers to be in your mouth again.

“Hows the oral fixation?”

“Still doing it’s thing,” you say, biting your lip again. “Why?”

“Be a good puppy for me and kneel, Y/N.”

You do as he says without having to think twice, becoming eye-level with his half hard cock and almost moaning as you look at it.

“What do you wanna do from where you are?” Your gaze goes to his.

Your tongue pokes out from between your lips, and suddenly thoughts of sucking him off cloud your mind entirely.

“Go on, puppy. Speak.”

“Wanna suck you off,” you whisper. “Wanna—oh my God. Lawrence please—”

“Do as you please, puppy,” he whispers. “I’m not gonna tell you no.”

You lean in, smelling him through his pants before you undo the zipper, button, and pull them and his boxers down, taking his half hard cock into your mouth within seconds.

“Good—holy fuck,” Lawrence moans. “Your mouth is amazing.”

You hum in response, tongue finding the underside of his length and setting a pace that clearly drives Lawrence a little insane. When a hand falls to your hair and he sets a pace of his own, you let him, just enjoying the feeling of his cock in your mouth.

He finishes in your mouth a few minutes later, and you swallow his cum without thinking. It makes him laugh even as he apologises for coming so suddenly, wiping what of it had dribbled to your chin after he’s helped you stand.

He presses his thumb against your bottom lip and you take it into your mouth, getting the cum off of it and grinning slightly when he thanks you for the deed.

He sits down on the long end of the couch, having pulled his boxers and his pants back up.

His gaze meets yours, and he smirks. “C’mere, puppy. Sit on my lap.”

You do as he tells you, sitting on his lap so that your thighs sit on either side of his. His hands find your hips pretty quickly, and all you want to do is kiss him, but you refrain.

“Did Aurelie offer to help, or did you ask?” Lawrence asks.

“I called,” you laugh a bit. “Defeating the hyper independence one phone call at time, I guess. Plus, she wasn’t working and told me to call her if I needed anything. My mind has been pretty fuzzy since last night, when I tried to think of everything I’d need to buy, and I called her to avoid having a breakdown. Without her helping me figure stuff out and then going with me to grab it I would’ve cried a lot more today, to say the least of it.”

“Good,” Lawrence says. “And you called me because you were alone, horny, and needing company?”

You nod. “I know our first—encounter—was the other day, but I just—”

Lawrence nods like he understands, and part of you believes that he does. “Can I kiss you, puppy?”

“Please, Lawrence.”

And then his lips are on yours, and he’s letting you press his back against the couch as your hands cup his face and sit at the bottom end of his neck, and it’s so, so easy to get lost in it.

Lawrences tongue darts out to your bottom lip while one of his hands moves from your hip to your clit, resulting in the sound of a hushed gasp befalling your lips. Lawrence uses it to his advantage, tongue finding its way into your mouth while he rubs excruciatingly slow circles around your clit.

“Lawrence,” you moan, desperately clenching around nothing in order to avoid grinding down onto him. “Oh, Lawrence. Please.”

“Not yet, puppy,” he whispers, pulling away from your lips just enough to talk. “You got a bit mouthy earlier, yeah?”

You bite your lip, nodding slightly.

“Well, I believe I made a point about there being ways to punish you that don’t involve pain?”

“Mm,” you hum. “You’re not going to be needed at work until nine tomorrow, which means—”

“Realistically, I don’t have a need to be home until around one, which means I have you until at least midnight, which is, what? Six and a half hours out?”

“Lawrence—” you whimper. “Please, sir. Please don’t make me wait that long.”

“Aw, you think using an honorific is gonna make me take mercy? Puppy, I love it when you address me as such, but you did this to yourself, yeah? You can’t tell me what to do, sweetness. I’m the one who does the ordering. Be a good puppy for the next thirty minutes and I promise, the punishment stops and the reward begins, okay?”

You clench around air again, nod and let him go back to kissing you.

He kisses you until your head is spinning, and when he pulls away, you find that it’s only been a few minutes. Your head rests on his shoulder as you catch your breath, both of his hands returning to your hips.

“Take my cock out of my boxers for me, yeah?”

“Had you kept the pants and boxers off, it would’ve been easier,” you sass before you can stop yourself.

Lawrences response is a nod, a kiss to the side of your head. “Do as I say, puppy,” he says. “Good puppies get treats, and if you don’t do as I say, you’ll just be punished until midnight, and when I leave, you’ll have gotten a free dinner but sexually? You’ll be dissatisfied for at least another few days.”

“Sorry, Lawrence.” You lift yourself off him and pull his pants and boxers down, waiting for him to do the last of the work before you sit on his lap again, hovering just over his length.

“It’s okay, puppy,” he whispers, kissing your cheekbone. “You’re allowed to stop hovering.”

“If I don’t, then you’ll—I’ll—do you want us to use condoms?”

“I got a vasectomy in October, and Plan B pills are a thing,” he says. “You said you were clear for STIs, so I’m not worried. Go on, Y/N, but only if you’re comfortable.”

You slide yourself onto him, letting yourself be split open by his length, watching the way that he reacts to it.

The way that Lawrence reacts has to be one of the most attractive things you’ve ever seen—he rests his arms on the back of the couch, and as soon as you’ve taken the tip, his head tilts back.

When you’re close to bottoming out, a long, depraved, drawn out “fuck,” falls from his gorgeous lips.

When you do bottom out, you let yourself moan, let your head fall onto Lawrences shoulder.

“Gotta stay still, puppy,” Lawrence says. “No moving, yeah?”

You whimper, biting down onto Lawrences shoulder in order to keep yourself from doing so.

“I know, Y/N. Twenty minutes until six, mm?” He laughs, one hand slipping beneath the sweater you wear. “You can’t react, either. No clenching, no moving, nothing. Biting, moaning, and whimpering are allowed, though. You’re cute when you get needy, so it seems.”

His hand finds your lower stomach and he presses down, and you have to fight every single reactive urge to do as you’ve been told. Instead, you moan lewdly, the pressure of your bite against his clothed shoulder increasing.

“Good puppy,” he praises, his voice a whisper. “Oh, you really are a good listener. You like how this feels?”

“Lawrence,” you moan desperately. “’M sorry about the bite—I’m scared I might’ve bruised.”

You kiss the area of his shoulder you’d bitten while he laughs.

“You’re just doing as I told you, yeah? The pain wasn’t bad compared to the other stuff I’ve been through.”

At that, you remember his foot, or lack thereof, and just how long he's probably been wearing his prosthesis, which just has to hurt by that point. But no, of course you'd completely forgotten about potential discomfort when horny and wanting, though it was something you had taken account for when you'd talked in not-sexually-driven situations.

“Shit!” You curse. “I’m so sorry—I just—”

“I try not to make a huge deal of it,” he says. “It’s really no concern.”

When he finds that you still look a little unsure, he laughs and presses a kiss to your lips. “It’s all right, puppy. I promise, I'm fine. Nothing hurts, aches, or itches as far as my footless leg is concerned, yeah? Just relax for me, mm?”

You nod, still feeling guilty. Lawrence presses a kiss to your forehead and the next twenty minutes are spent with him letting you thrust once or twice every few minutes, his fingers rubbing slow circles around your clit.

When six hits, Lawrence beams. “You’re allowed to move,” he says. “But don’t come yet, yeah? Wanna spread you out on this couch.”

You do as he says, setting a pace that’s just quick enough to make you teeter along the edge within minutes but not enough to come. When Lawrence has had enough, he tells you as much, telling you to get off of him and lie on your back.

You do as he tells you, watching him take off his shirt and tie like it’s a strip show. When finally his lips are on you again, he’s kissing your thighs and making his way to where you need him most.

Once there, he presses a kiss against your clit, then runs his tongue gently through your folds.

“You’re so wet,” he laughs. “You really do get turned on easily, mm?”

Your response comes as a half-laugh, half whimper, and it just eggs Lawrence on. His tongue attaches itself to your clit and you clench around pretty much nothing, one hand finding your nipple beneath the sweater while the other grips the back of the couch like it’s a lifeline.

“Lawrence,” you moan as his lips and tongue move down to your hole. You pinch your nipple between your fingers and Lawence laughs at how desperate you sound for him.

His nose presses against your clit and you grind against him, moaning lewdly. “You're using your fucking nose—ohmygod,” you moan, having a split second wherein you don’t care about how loud you’re being. “Oh, fuck, Lawrence—”

Although he’d only gotten divorced four, maybe five months beforehand, it’s clear that he knows what he’s doing—whether it’s muscle memory from the early days of his marriage or something he’d picked up in the time since his divorce, you’re glad for it.

“Lawrence—ohmyfuckinggod—” you grind against his face and he laughs, nodding slightly.

“Use me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to your clit. “Use my mouth, yeah? Don’t worry about anything, just focus on yourself.”

You do as he says, letting yourself set a pace while Lawrrences hands move up to your stomach.

“Fuck, Lawrence,” you moan, inches away from releasing over his face. “Lawrence—I—”

“Go ahead,” he presses his tongue flat against your clit as you grind against him and that’s basically the final straw—when he buries his face in your cunt again, you cum over his face with your thighs pressing against the sides of it, holding him in place slightly.

He stays with you through the aftershocks and comes up to kiss you once all is said and done, and once again—depraved but so fucking hot because you can taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is intense but also everything you need to relax, and when Lawrence pulls away, you tell him there are wash cloths in the bathroom and that he’s welcome to take a shower if he sees fit, but you’re exhausted and sprawled out over the couch is the way you aim to stay.

He leaves your side and is back twenty minutes later with a damp washcloth, which he runs over your exposed cunt and then himself. He helps you get to standing and leads you to the primary suite, grabbing you a pair of sweatpants and a baggy sweater after locating them easily in your wardrobe. You wobble back to the living room while Lawrence gets dressed again, plopping into the rocking chair you’ve placed in the corner of the room.

Lawrence checks the couch for stains and both of you are surprised to find that there are none, though Lawrence cleans the area anyway before he calls and orders delivery to your apartment.

“I know we said no staying post-coitus,” you murmur. “But—you have until midnight, yeah? Stay for a while.”

Lawrence nods. “I’ll at least stay for a while after dinner,” he says. You stand, sit in the love seat. Lawrence sits down next to you, wraps an arm around your shoulders. “I do want to get to know you more—I feel like we don’t know each other as well as we should.”

You smirk. “I’m entitled to my secrets, and you are to yours.”

“Yes, that is a fair point, but part of me wants to know everything about you that’s not a secret, Y/N.”

“Don’t forget one of the first rules we made—you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

“I wouldn’t hate loving you in the platonic sense of the word,” Lawrence says. “That’s what I aim to do.”

You hum, press a kiss to his shoulder. “’Mkay,” you nod. “Loving me platonically is allowed, says the judge of whatever the fuck this is going to turn into.”

Lawrence laughs.

For a split second, you feel the urge to freeze the moment in time, to treasure the simple domesticity of it.

You want to stay in that pocket of time forever, Lawrences arm wrapped around your shoulders, your cheek pressed just above his chest, so blissful that nothing else in the world matters to you or him, so well hidden away from the rest of the world that nothing can find you or be bothered with looking.

You brush it off quickly—the first rule of the agreement had been that you weren’t allowed to fall in love with each other. You were not going to start falling for a man you could not have, one that would not want you in turn.

#lawrence gordon #lawrence gordon x reader #saw (2004)#saw posting #sawposting

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warriorspork · 5 months

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The post says it all. My job at Home Depot has slashed hours down to almost nothing. I can't afford to pay my bills or buy groceries like this. 8 hours a week will only get me $128/week before taxes. I have several bills I have to pay as well. I'm applying to other jobs as well as attempting to get more hours at HD as they come available.

If you can help, I would be very grateful. Thank you.

#help #help please #rent help #donation

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msfbgraves · 11 months

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Thrifting: a way to help yourself and others when disabled

My mother grew up in a family that was constantly penny pinching and she hated it. My father was so cheap other people made fun of him or complained bitterly (my parents made an interesting couple). My ass is disabled so "just getting a job" was never on the table. Employment has always been an unreliable option - not impossible, but tumultuous. So saving money has always been a keen interest. But doing it right, like. I feel that people use it as an option to shaft someone, even themselves, and I do not hold to that. Also, you cannot thrift yourself out of insufficient funds. You need mo money, you need mo money. But we also know that society loves an excuse to underpay people, deny promotions and fuck you over in a million different ways no matter how hard you work.

Thrifting is work that will always yield results, no matter who you are, and a good skill to have when mf's keep finding excuses to not pay you, or even employ you. It's even better when you're in a position to say, hm, more would be nice, but I'm staying afloat. Again, this is no feckin bootstrap talk. This is getting more bang for your buck.

And especially during Disability Pride this actually makes me proud to be able to do. Without hurting anyone, for one, and actually helping those without the time for it. I can find The Thing for less for them very often.

OK, first things first.

This is not self-denial 101. Fuck off with that. We want more joy maximisers, not fewer.

The Vimes boots theory is 100% correct. But there are plenty of places where $50 boots are sold for $25 or even $20. Yes, in Ankh Mopork too.

Skills are cash money. I should know, I barely have any.

Many people think that thrifty means "cheap" and "no fun". And that's what people do. "Whelp, I have to economise, so I can't have any treats and can only shop at Primark. Bummer! I hate life."

No, you're going to have to put some more time in preparation, and you need to figure out where to look.

It's an activity.

The first thing I would advise people to do is clean their stuff up. Told you this was work. And that may feel terrifying but if you know what you have you find things you thought you needed to buy. That's an immediate savings without pain. C'mon, do you really think you'd get a high from buying oregano? Of course not, and now you don't have to. You've probably slashed off 25% off your grocery bill for the week without going without anything you look forward to buying. King shit.

You probably have a keen sense of what you need to replace and since you're already going to Goodwill, look there. A lot of second hand is higher quality, and even if it's not, it can still be 25 to 80% below dollar store.

All that extra space will come in handy for buying things and storing them until gift giving season arrives, or birthdays and the like.

Gifts are insanely important. Don't skimp on the quality of something you buy for others. Find the place that stunts with that item. Here, time is your friend, too. If you can wait three weeks for it to ship, you can take advantage of a lower price nearly always.

Ask people what you're looking for and spruce the thing up when they offer it to you. Again, here the skills are a lifesaver.

Personalise. Any small thing that actually fits a recipient will be much appreciated. Gift wrap with care, write a kind message. But only do this when you can't find a "normal" gift for a better price. If you can find a steal, still gift wrap with care.

Do treat yourself! But treat it as anything else you want: best quality for the best price. This can also mean adding a top up. For instance: I generally know what the best bang for your buck is when it comes to theatrical shows: the last preview. Saw a show during the last try out, but spent $30 extra on seats. More expensive than just regular seats, vastly better experience. I did find a discount on parking too - who tf likes to pay for parking anyway?

Buy clothing that fits your body shape. That's what makes you look good. Vintage is fine, who cares if you wear something high quality that looks gorgeous?

Learn what stuff is made of. I bought a stick of foot balm that is supposed to prevent blisters. Felt suspiciously like vaseline. Next time I succesfully used vaseline.

Something I never hear but I find very useful: go on and try the hideously expensive option if possible. See what the fuss is about. Incorporate the thing you like most about it in your routine, don't bother with the rest. Other end of the spectrum: do a taste test with store brand. If it's bad, now you know. If it's good, no one will notice.

Loyalty programmes can be your friend, if you don't look at them as the default option. Do sign up, don't get mad if they keep taking away your credit. Every time they give you something for what you would have done anyway is a win.

Shop around for better banking fees. Who the hell wants to pay those anyway.

Try to pay for what you want and only what you want. Review any package deal; they're rarely worth it.

Try something a little bit different, if you have the skill to back it up. Go do things "people like you don't do". Slovenian wine, people.

Be consistently nice, and people will gladly help you with things. Can be a huge savings. Give where and what you can.

Take the bus, geezus. All that nonsense about it being a poor people thing or dangerous when travelling. How do you think locals get home?

Again I am aware this is work and of course, nobody can do all of it all the time. But I know a lot of people who start by slashing the joy, but why would you? Have your latte! Take your trip! Have your avocado and triple organic eggs. Think about where and when you buy things instead, and be a little adventurous.

If you're disabled with limited energy, this is a way you can help out those around you. Maybe you can do it for them. I am proud of all the ways I have saved my friends and family money without compromising on quality at all. I promise you: loyalty discounted organic chicken thighs with store brand cream cheese blanched in leftover white wine sauce with $0.40 worth of pasta are really damn yummy. And those $40 dollars saved on a taxi because I found the right bus on a trip are welcome too.

People mostly don't want to do this work. But if you can, and know how, you can be a great help to those you love.

#thrifting #disability

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thesmokingguns · 2 years

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Love Langauges

Everyone has a love language.

Some people are simple and just need all little things to show that they’re heard. Like when you hate to do the dishes and your partners never leaves a dirty dish for your to repair over or how they fill the coffee maker with water, eliminating one task from your day. Some love language is touch. The feeling of fingers scratching the bad thoughts from your head as you lay on a lay or hands automatically entwining on car rides together. Or maybe you need to feel valued and feel like you’re loved with gifts because no one ever showed you love in that way. Unwrapping perfectly wrapped things ranging from expensive jewelry to a book picked up at a used bookstore elicits the same joy from you.

My love language was integration of life.

The most mundane tasks were what my heart craved. Making dinner for friends for football on Sunday. Talking about what our budget was for the month, life goals together. Going clothing shopping and buying outfits that were coordinated in a way that was different but similar enough that declared we were together.

One of the best days was when I moved in with my fiancé and we decided to build a house for our life together. A day we spent with a designer looking at tile and paint swatches, our fingers brushing together as we stroked ideas for wallpaper. It still gave me butterflies to think about, especially as I walked down hallways stroking the wall paper we had picked out.

“Hey honey, can you come here?” My head perked your from the pillow it rested on, pressing myself away from the bag window, the paperback novel sliding off my lap and onto the bench I had been sitting on.

My bare feet slid onto the cool wood floors, over carpets and finally into the tile of the kitchen. Smirking as I saw slash with a piece of paper and opening the pantry as he looked around, making a list of what we needed.

“Grocery shopping?” I asked, sliding into the breakfast stool and taking a look at the list that he was making.

Slash nodded, shutting the door to the pantry and sitting next to me, his shoulders bumping mine before his hand rested on my lower back, stroking me softly as I nuzzled against him.

“I thought we could have a barbecue. Invite some friends over on Saturday?” My eyes lifted to him, checking to see if he was feeling alright.

As much as I was an extrovert, slash was not. Inviting people into our space, into our home on purpose was not his idea of a good time. Our space was like his safety room and he didn't let even our best friends come inside often.

Football Sundays and the occasional dinner with the McKagans had been the only exception to this.

“A party in three days.” He nodded his head. “How many people did you want to invite?” I was wondering what had gotten into him and the change in our routine stuck out to me.

He was quiet, fingers pressing against my back as they slipped under my shirt. This meant I was missing something. Dates spread through my mind like a Calender and I flipped pages mentally to try and pinpoint what I was missing but all the pages were blank.

“Six years, honey.” My mind stopped with the Calender and slipped back to our first date.

The way he had slipped his leather jacket over my shoulders as I shivered in the cool LA night. I was still getting acclimated to the place I had moved to only a month before. Only a month and I was having this date after a bump in with the older guitarist. His hands itched to touch me, hold my hand and push my hair from my face but he settled on being a gentleman instead. Our first date where we had watched the Tarzan remake but spent more time looking at each other and whispering loudly in the empty theater.

“Six years.” I repeated, my thumb slid under my palm rolling the engagement ring band in my finger, the promise of forever. A pandemic helped us finish all the details on our house but pushed away our wedding until our date was TBD.

“I want to get married to you. I thought we could elope but then I watched you outside this morning. Sitting on the edge of the pool and…” he didn’t want to spill too much information but he didn’t have to.

I knew Slash loved me more than words could even begin to describe. His love for me was always present and true. He put me first in everything and I knew that he wanted me to be his wife and he was thinking of a backyard ceremony with all our friends and family.

“Do you have a menu planned? If not we can make all our favorites. Do a buffet style? We can probably get someone to make us a cake and I already have a dress. Flowers though…” he was weaving his fingers in my hair and tilting my head up, kissing me.

Slash’s love language was being heard and understood. He couldn’t always find the words for things and spoke a lot with hanging thoughts and body language. But the good thing was that I was fluent in his language. I understood him.

“Let’s go to the grocery store. That can be our first stop. Maybe you can send out an email to everyone we know to invite them?” I nodded my head.

Happy to finally be doing this. Happy to finally be his wife. Happy we could plan our wedding as we wandered through a Grocery store.

Taglist: @ayablackwood @rocknrollsoul76 @greeneyezblackheart @lady-jane3 @rocketgrrrl27 @slutforstradlin @theoutsiders25 @fispapercrafter @bbyamberx @brezeblog @samanthasgone @aggressive-slytherin @clover270 @grayxiu @another-obsessed-with-duff @badfvith @bia003 @queenbae18 @axl-roses-rose @d-ahliaa@beebemarie @guns-n-roses-gal @themoonbelongstome @pinksweetgirl18 @cemmia @bieberhoodforever

#slash #slash imagine #slash fan fiction #slash fanfic #slash fan fic #slash fanfiction #slash head canon #slash headcanon #guns n’ roses #gnr headcanon

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annieskawaiiworld · 1 year

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Hi! I'm Joana, aka Mysty, aka a few other names depending on where you know me online! I'm a 32-year-old woman with ADHD and chronic pain, among other things, and I need help.

For almost six years I've worked at the same fast food restaurant, and even during lockdown, I got mostly full-time hours and was able to sustain myself on this job as the minimum wage in my state is higher than average and I have a sister who I live with and split bills with.

Well, back in September, I had a meltdown due to stress. Since then, I've been fighting with the store to actually cut down my hours a little so I could avoid both the extremely stressful dinner shift and being there when my ADHD medication wears off. At first I thought the store manager understood because I got the slightly shorter shifts I had requested. And then they went right back to scheduling me how they were. When I tried to talk about it, the store manager gaslit me, trying to tell me I had never said I wanted the reduced hours as my permanent schedule, even though I had a note on my phone I had written so I would be prepared with what to say when I spoke with her, timestamped for that September.

And now, because I spoke up, they've pretty much slashed both mine and my sister's hours to practically nothing. In this month of January, I've averaged between seven and thirteen hours, and my sister's been about the same. We have bills to pay! We have rent, phone, internet, groceries, everything that an adult is expected to have.

So here's where you can help me. I have a few things to present to you guys.

The first, of course, is if you'd like to make a direct donation to me, you can do so here. I have a Paypal debit card, so any funds put in there I can use right away, meaning I'd be able to pay for groceries and such directly from it without waiting to transfer to my bank account or pay the fee for instant transfer.

The next: I'm a writer! I've been making some money here and there from it. If you'd like to support me and buy my stuff, here's a list.

I'm The Reincarnation of a Water Spirit

I'm The Protagonist of an Otome Dating Sim And I Don't Like Any of My Love Interests!

I Just Want To Play The Game Without Getting Crushed By Giant Tomatoes

These three are serial stories on Kindle Vella! I update them frequently, and on top of royalties from episodes read, the more engagement (likes, faves, reads) I get, the higher my bonus from them is every month. They're stories modeled after anime and light novels, so if that's your thing, great!

Attention to Detail

This is also a Vella serial, under my pen name. This one is more American YA-style (the protagonist has ADHD and is in a relationship with another guy! Neurodivergent and LGBT rep yay!).

SK Online, Volume 1

This one is a novella, another anime-inspired story about an MMORPG. If you like .hack, you'll probably like this.

Sweet Saviors, volume 1, volume 2, volume 3

Sweet Saviors is a novella series about manga artists, starring the cutest manga-ka you'll ever meet.

The links for the novellas lead to the e-book versions, but you can click into the paperback versions if you like!

And finally, I have a merch shop! I like to draw cute things. If you like wearing t-shirts and such with cute animals and anthropomorphized food, I bet you'll love it!

You can find the Annie's Kawaii World shop here at Threadless.

If you're still reading this, I love you forever. Even if you can't donate or buy anything to help out, reblogs to spread this around to those who might be able to are deeply appreciated. Thanks, guys. You're the best.

#help needed #donate if you can #in need #idk i've never done this so i have no idea what other tags people use for these

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davecortel · 3 years

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ECQ

“Good afternoon, sir.” A smiling lady in a white shirt greeted me as soon as I entered this cozy and appealing bookshop. I just stared at the lady for three seconds before greeting her back a good afternoon as I was still stunned that I had actually reached this place. But what's good about this afternoon, when I found myself back at a bookstore where I'm sure I'll spend half of my monthly income again?

As I walked into this particular bookstore, I felt a mixture of feelings. My heart felt so light as I saw the books heaped up shelf by shelf and genre by genre, but my feet were heavy, as if the thought of coming to such a place was a bad omen (maybe they were just concerned about my wallet because I'll be robbing it of its flesh again).

Biblio Bookstore, yup, that's the name, is a lovely and homely books-slash-stationery store that I'd been wishing to visit ever since I saw it in a facebook group for bookworms. I couldn't stop my eyes from turning into whole letters O as I walked along the shelves, still in awe of this amazing artwork. Because my province lacks bookstores and Manila feels like a foreign country during this pandemic, I must make the most of my limited time here by romanticizing every book, sniffing its natural scent, and moaning while stroking the covers till I orgasm.

But advertising Biblio isn't the point of this. I wrote this nonsensical piece of writing to express how impulse buying can really damage your sanity. The reason why I visited this in abrupt was because of the announcement of the Enhanced Community Quarantine which was to be effective from August 6 to 20, 2021. I came to Manila to visit my cousins, little did I know would NCR be placed on ECQ for the third time and presto! I got stranded.

So, how did I land myself half-conscious in this bookstore, as if dragged by some evil gravitational pull? Let's go back in time to one hour before this puzzling occurrence. I was woken up by a phone ring that kept bombarding my eardrums. “goddamnit!” I yelled with so much irritation for I could feel the eye-boogers still glued my eyes and getting up was so much a hassle for a 23-year-old lad who has symptoms of arthritis.

With my eyes partly open, I frantically searched for the ringing phone. I followed the sound to where it was coming from and pressed the answer button as soon as I had a firm grip on it. “Yes?” I said. “It’s confirmed! Manila will be placed on ECQ again, as if it’s a big help to stop this pandemic.” Said the voice on the other line. It was my cousin, Danica who in that time was on a duty, she’s working in a pancake house. Because of surprise, my eyes widened, breaking the jammed dirty eye-boogers.

“What the heck?!” I exclaimed. “What about now? Sure my flight going home will be cancelled, won’t it?”

“Of course not, moron. The ECQ will only last until August 20 and your flight is on 27.”

“What if they will extend it?”

“They won’t extend such a stupid idea unless the administration is 100% run by morons.”

She had a point. “Ok, so why did you call in the middle of my sleep paralysis particularly in the middle of my kissing scene with Calum Scott?” I asked.

“You delusional dumbass. It’s hard lockdown next week, aren’t you worried we might run out of food during the lockdown?”

“So what do you suggest am I going to do?”

I heard a heavy sigh on the other line “Go outside, pretend to be a beggar, beg for money. Of course go buy some grocery!”

#storytime

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lawain-dimensional-heroes · 10 months

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Maroon's Diary (training with Miku, part 2)

Day 8 - I've explained to Soran about Miku's current situation. While he did joke about it, saying that I should've taken that opportunity, he was kind enough to help us out with that. I've actually decided to join in the training as I could see myself making use of that element too.

Miku found out I was a jack of all trades person. I didn't tell her that until now because it didn't seem important to tell her at the time.

Day 9 - Soran continued to help us with her training. She practiced some air slashes which she didn't find too interesting. I on the other hand saw some use for it. I was able to create air slashes by kicking, which felt very natural to me and it can be used when I'm wielding weapons. All and all, it's a simple yet very useful technique. Too bad she felt like it wasn't her style.

Update: Did she just use her ability to control the wind direction to flash right infront of me? I thought she's too shy for such a thing! Well, I guess she's having fun?

Day 10 - Miku was so insistent on learning lightning that I can't say no. So I had to accept her request and then we started with an important training: controlling the output of her powers by seeing if she can light up a few light bulbs without breaking them. Should be easy, right?

Day 11 - IT WASN'T. We're now at the 21st light bulb this week. Well that's money gone to smoke, literally.

Day 12 - We're at the 26th light bulb now. I will have to buy some at the grocery store.

Update: Great, I've got a complaint from the store owner that I'm buying all of their light bulbs. It's not my fault these light bulbs break! Sure I can help her out but I've been working on that for days now!

Day 13 - she broke just one. Hopefully that's going to be the only one that happens.

Day 14 - Finally, not one light bulb has been broken! Now we can all be swell and we can finally move on to the next part of the training.

Update: We now have a hole in our house as her rear quite literally blew open a hole in the wall. We're now getting some people to fix that damage. It wasn't silent, but it certainly was deadly.

#ic #prism dragon | maroon

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sylviareviar · 1 year

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f a i n t e d

Send me ‘ f a i n t e d ‘ for my muse to find yours passed out in the middle of nowhere | Accepting!

Kichijoji, for Sylvia, was the go-to place for any of her grocery shopping, despite it being rather far away from her dorm. The foreign market often had ingredients from various European countries, some of which she actually recognized, because they were surprisingly widespread in the States.

Some of the things they offered were rather unique, of course, and she did sometimes experiment with a few items that looked safe enough for her to eat even if she ended up somewhat disliking them, just to avoid wasting any food. But for the most part, all she needed to grab today, on a Saturday evening, was some powdered bulyon (making it from scratch would require a full kitchen, which she sadly didn't have access to), some Bulgarian feta cheese, a few extra tea boxes, a loaf of German white bread, and some Cheez-its and Doritos. She just couldn't pass those up.

She had been rather satisfied and proud of herself, managing to make it to Kichijoji while successfully not getting overwhelmed by the train noise despite a difficult day at school. She even managed to stay alert to ensure no unseemly strangers would come near her (and thankfully they didn't today).

However, when she returned to the station, which was now decently empty because of how late it was, she noticed something gleaming out of the corner of her eye. Naturally, her instinct drew her eyes toward the shine, but whatever it was had been hidden behind a wall in a tucked-away corner just above the subway tracks. No one else seemed to see it.

Out of curiosity, she walked around the corner to get a glimpse of what was shining. She thought it might've just been the gleam of a fluorescent light against a phone screen at first, that it was just some innocent trick of the light.

But her mouth dropped in horror when she saw what it really was. A signature silver attache case, emblazoned with the Akechi logo, and the only reason she even knew what he looked like was because Shibuya wouldn't stop showing off his likeness everywhere she looked, even with music blasting through her headphones. The teen Detective Prince himself, Goro Akechi, was slumped over a wall, battered and worn with blood and lacerations. Did he just come back from some mission with a murderer?! Was he okay?!

Her heart leapt into her throat.

"A-Akechi-san!" she exclaimed, running and sliding down onto her knees by his side. Her breath quickened, but she tried to slow down and think. What was she meant to do?!

First, she checked his pulse. It was hard to check on his wrist, so she put two fingers to his neck, just under his jaw instead. There was still a heartbeat, thankfully, but measuring it out now would take too much time. She didn't know if it was too slow, but it sort of felt like it.

But at least he's alive.

She checked his body for injuries. Slashes on his arms and chest. Was the attacker using a knife?

"I have alcohol cleaner at home," she mumbled to herself in English, voicing her thoughts aloud. "But that's all the way in Jinbocho. I don't have any of those wrapping bandages either... I should buy gauze. Dammit, should I take him to a doctor? Call the police??" She bit her lip and frantically searched on her phone for a nearby pharmacy, then paused. "I can't leave him. If I leave him here, what if no one else comes to help?"

#🌸 ~ in character ~ 🌸#🌸 ~ persona 5 verse ~ 🌸#🌸 ~ Goro Akechi (unapologeticapaathy) ~ 🌸#sorry it's so long #i hope it's ok <3

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 2 years

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Hi. So. Y’know, I hate doing these things? I hate them. The loathing I feel right now is visceral. I hate asking for help just in general. I really hate sharing my life, just in general. So when I have to share my life and ask for help publicly... honestly I’d prefer to immolate myself but I’ve been informed that’s not allowed so. here we are.

This morning I got some really upsetting news about work that will effectively slash my income into a third of what it was. That’s not enough to pay for rent, never mind groceries or utilities. This is temporary and things should get better for me, if all goes well, in about six months. But in the meantime... yeah.

I’ve spent the day slashing my expenses, from what groceries I buy to canceling subscriptions to my summer plans. I never thought I would be in this position again, where I was facing the possibility of being unable to feed myself or pay rent. My car needs to be taken in. I have people depending on me for financial support. I feel humiliated, blindsided, and frankly my mental health just took a horrible nosedive. Welcome to capitalism!

All this to say - I have a ko-fi, here. It would mean the world to me if I could get a little help. I can’t offer much in response, but I do have the epilogue to the Castle AU, and two hiatus fics I was hoping to write. I can share info about them, and really give those my attention. I originally didn’t know when I’d have time to write them since I was going to be very busy but in light of this I can make them a priority in exchange for some assistance.

Very few people know this but the last month/month and a half has been very upsetting and exhausting for me, both physically and emotionally. I’ve been in a place of severe burnout, and my one comfort was that I didn’t have to worry about money. Now that’s gone.

Those of you who’ve followed me for a long time will know that I’ve been in bad places before and I always made it through. I’ll make it through this. But I would deeply appreciate any help you can offer in the meantime, whether that’s a tiny donation or by reblogging this post. When I lost work because of the pandemic and unemployment took over six months to get back to me and send me money, it was generous, loving donations through my ko-fi that kept me fed and kept the lights on. I’d recently thought, with gratitude, I would never be in such a situation of having to ask for help again. But life likes to fuck me up the ass, so here I am.

I appreciate everyone’s support, in whatever way you can give it. I hope you’re all taking care of yourselves. I’m sorry to take up everyone’s time, and thank you for reading.

#personal #about mads #please don't feel any pressure to give anything or to reblog this

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lipstickbisous · 3 years

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𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

a/n: this is for @celestialbarnes' 4k writing challenge!! the prompt is "you said you loved me." "i lied." it's funny bc with the character and prompts i actually found this super challenging, but i loved writing it!!

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, former!stucky

summary: when the nightmares come, and the memories return, at least he has you there. and when he doesn't, his ghost appears.

warnings: angst central, mentions of financial struggles, implied suicidal thoughts, reader is a dick, mentions of stucky, sad!bucky, smut; sir!kink, bucky speaking russian, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), choking, creampie, slight cockwarming 18+ MINORS DNI

word count: 3.2k

the following work is my own writing. do not plagairise or copy and paste my works onto another platform. message me about credit.

masterlist

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

his iron hand is covered in a felt glove that hits the hem of his jacket sleeve, entirely concealing the vibranium from prying eyes. metallic fingers lift a gathering of plastic bags filled with groceries almost tearing through the bottom like he's lifting air. the weight on his left arm hangs with a force of gravity as he struggles to push in the key to his front door. the ceiling lights of his apartment hallway would've been considered tasteful in 1945, but now he could see the shadow of cobwebs and dust collecting on the tops. it created a filter over the lighting that made the hallway look haunted and abandoned.

when bucky had been pardoned by the government, he didn't see it as a sign of hope. he knew that without steve, there was no one to assure that he'd be given a safe home, he'd be protected. and without steve, life had been duller and gray. there had been a blossoming love for the blue-eyed man that sat inside of his chest, and then, it had started to plant itself deep in the burrows of his heart. seaweed-colored vines found themselves tracing the outline of his skeleton, and each leaf that bloomed was another aching memory of him. moments in brooklyn that had taken place decades ago were still fresh and he dreamed of them every night. how was bucky to cut them out by himself?

when he looked up, he saw the tufts of blonde hair underneath the hallway lights. his lips were parted in shock as his heart shattered again. "i'm sorry," he had whispered, shoving his hands together nervously, picking at his nails and the sleeve of his navy blue jacket. bucky's mind was racing, heart was soaring as he approached him, and he wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

"need help?" a voice echoed through the hallway, and suddenly, the walls didn't seem so haunted anymore. he was gone, but that was for the better because here you were and bucky didn't need anything else. you were light and when his eyes looked up at you, he could've sworn an intake of oxygen forced itself into his 100-year old lungs.

it was an easy answer. bucky didn't need to do it by himself, because just in the moment of his thundering darkness, of the smallest thoughts at would it be like to end it right there, you took a pair of shears and slashed away all the vines. the leaves scattering the insides of his body fell, and the suffocating grip the roots of that toxic love had on his heart were released. bucky could breathe again and steve was forgotten. because here you were.

and god, was he thankful. he only lightly chuckled while a deep red hue took over the skin of his cheeks. you approached him delicately, licking your tongue over your lips for repeated moisture and reached out to take the key from his quivering hand. he stepped to the side with a small smile and allowed you to unlock his door. he'd allowed you so many things, opening so many places he didn't know existed...not even steve could do that. "what'd you buy today?" you asked, grabbing several of the bags he had and set them on his kitchen counter.

he followed your actions and shrugged, "not much," and flipped the switch of his kitchen lights. they were a blaring white-light that made his head hurt if he looked at them for too long. damn it, he thought to himself. new light bulbs were the one thing he'd forgotten while at the store. "just enough to get through the week." he would've offered to cook you dinner, but with the assumption that with this late hour you would've already eaten, he shrugged it off. "what're you here for?"

it was an abrupt question but he didn't mean it with harmful intentions. with a sigh, you crossed your arms and looked to the tile floors. the way he looked at you were if he was a small bird, his wings broken and feathers plucked and you were the only one who could heal him. "i didn't know if you were busy," but the healing was over. he could finally soar again without a limp and you were no longer needed--it hurt to think about for too long. "i didn't want you to be alone."

he could feel his heart swelling to a size ten times larger than what it had been before, locked away in its ivory cage. the only one who had held the key had been him, but you tore it from his hands because he did not deserve it. you did. "i don't want to be a bother to you," he smiled poorly and ineffectively. there was still that small part of james buchanan barnes that doubted everything everyone told him, and you were hoping all the moments in the world spent together could fix that.

"jesus," you mutter with a light breath, one that's small but enough to replenish bucky with life. "you're never a bother to me. i love you." those words would be the death of him. he longed to hear them as he fell from the train, whispered into his ear every time his memory was reset because bucky had never gotten a chance to do something for himself. but this--this relationship, this beautiful thing he had with you--he finally had control. you begin to unpack the groceries he'd gotten, seeing that a carton of black cherry ice-cream was already beginning to melt, but before you get the chance to throw it in his freezer, bucky's ionic arm pulls you by the waist.

the other one grabs your cheek and attaches his lips to yours with an aggressive but desperate kiss that ached with need. he was soft and warm, darting his tongue between the opening to your mouth and letting it meet yours. with the sudden though appreciated action, you let the ice cream carton fall to his kitchen floor, the lid popping off so that white cream and cherry chunks create a puddle near your feet. bucky doesn't dare break the connection of you two as he lifts you by your thighs, hoisting your around his waist and carrying you to his bedroom door.

his lock had been broken when he'd moved into the damp and smelly apartment, so he turned himself around and pushed the door open with his broad back as you peeled the fabric that covered his chest. his shirt was dismantled to the side, left to find sometime in the morning. "james-" you whispered through your kiss because, as he'd told you the one night you had shared dinner, you were the only one allowed to say that name. that small part of him that was still james buchanan barnes wanted to hear it from your lips only.

"sh," he quickly silenced you, placing you underneath him on his mattress like you were a delicate feather, and a touch too rough would turn you to dust. his metallic fingers pulled the ragged jeans you'd chosen that morning, leaving your legs bare to the freezing air of his home. he noticed the way your skin prickled with the cold and immediately engulfed your lower half with him. you were soothed with a loving rush of warmth as he peppered wet kisses around your thighs and waist. the bumps on your skin were gone and you felt whole again. his kisses moved to your stomach as he crawled over you with a look in his eyes you'd seen before.

"please, james," you threw your head back once his lips latched themselves to your neck. one arm wrapped around your torso, supporting your back, and the other was tracing the outline of your body with gentle touches. trailing from your shoulder to your waist, to the place between your legs that ached. cotton panties clothed your bottom and front, but they'd have to do more to get in his way.

he looks away for one moment and freezes. there he is, sitting in the chair bucky had placed in the corner of his room. he wore only a tight pair of black boxers and it clung to his skin like a second layer. his hair, dirty blonde and greasy, hung on his forehead. he had his head propped on his hand, watching intently at you both. but when your hands cupped his cheeks, and pressed him closer to you, he disappeared and the anxiety melted into your touch.

the tip of his finger pressed directly on your clothed clit as soon as he began to suck on your jaw, pushing your head back even more than before. "baby," you immediately clenched around nothing, squeezing your hand around the metal limb and he could've sworn you almost bent it.

his chuckle was deep and rumbled from his chest so that it vibrated your entire body underneath him. "what do you want, honey?" his voice dripped with fox-like slyness and his smirk had you flooding into his head.

"make me feel good..." you trailed off, eyes fluttering shut so you never noticed him move lower down your body. he pulled your panties to the side and pressed his tongue flat against your folds, so your warmer and wetter than before. his spit mixes with your fluids when he rips the cotton into shreds and throws it next to your head. "please, sir," you croak and bucky growls into your core between your legs. you wrap them around his neck and his face only reddens a tiny bit when his primary focus becomes exploring the inside of your heat. his tongue darts past your opening, wet as he pushes through the barrier only slightly stretching you. the muscle is tight and clamps down around him, but he lets the tip of his tongue push up, down, to the sides, and up again.

you released the pressure around his neck mostly because the addition of his finger against your bead was more than enough to handle. "i know you love that, doll," he whispers against your cunt, literally dripping juices from his mouth. it trails down his chin where it sticks to the curve of your ass. "love my fingers toying with your little pussy, edging you so you can cum all over my mouth," his words are filth, but then again, he has his face shoved against your wet lips, his nose bumping that sensitive spot so you moaned even louder with every passing second.

your nods are stuttered with a, "yes, sir," before he pulls away, placing both of his hands by your shoulders and meeting your eyes. you whine and groan, letting your hips rub the air for some sort of friction and bucky only smirked. gone was the thought of him and here was the beautiful presence of you. he began to unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding over the boxers covering his manhood. he held his weight in his hand, giving small strokes so he grew firmer and heavier, rubbing the head through your folds to gather your slick. you moaned, "no, james, let me help-"

his fingers took your chin so your eyes drew from his length and met him. "i just want you," bucky whispers inches away from you and pressed himself against your hole, stretching open your walls so you suffocated him. "so perfect, doll, so fucking tight."

your moan took control of his heart, leaving a clenched fist squeezing the muscle in his chest. you pressed your head into his hand he'd placed underneath you, curving your back so he rutted into a new angle. "m-more, sir," you whispered breathlessly, and it almost came out with a rasp.

"what was that, little girl?" he sneered, smirking into your ear. you could feel hot breath fanning against the side of your head, an addition to the pleasure in between your legs. his fingers trailed down your stomach with a little tickle to wear your clit dragged against his length as he continued to set a brutal pace. his balls met your ass with every pounding thrust, and his fingers harshly pinched your clit. "this good enough for you, baby doll?"

your nods are rapid and desperate, eyes squeezing shut when he hits that spot inside you. he notices it when he does--your mouth twitches and your hand shoots up to the wrist that holds your clit when he begins to rub it. "yes, sir, t-thank you," your voice cracks, words are staggered, and it's exactly how bucky likes to see you. vulnerable because he made you this way. all undone just for him.

the hand underneath your head manages to wrap around your neck, applying a pressure that cuts off your air supply. "fuck, sweetheart, this cunt's wrapped around me so tight," all of the pain, all of the suffering, and all of the dreams of ending it were nonexistent in moments like these. everything that was remnant of him was gone and for once, bucky was okay that. "so fucking perfect," he cried, eyes watering when you clenched down around him. his ghost no longer haunted him in both the shadows and light. it was like you scared him away, arms defensively shielding bucky from any harm that he could possibly cause. and yet, here you were, unraveling like a thread from a sweater simply because he could do it to you.

the pressure on your pearl, his thumb ensuring you couldn't fully breathe, and the way he continuously rammed into your sensitive spot, you were so close. you could already feel yourself just barely letting go around him, and he could too. "not yet, malen'kiy," he grinned, leaning down so his lips dragged over your chest down to where you bud clung to the cold air of his home. his eyes met yours with a playful glance as soon as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, immediately sucking harshly.

"you're evil," you manage to giggle cutting yourself off with an unexpected, pornographic moan when his teeth nipped down around you. he pulls his hand away from your neck to hear what other noises you have to give.

his chuckle was deep once again and this time, it vibrated your entire body. both of your bodies fluidly moved together, pushing and messing up the sheets he'd tightly fitted against his mattress earlier that day. you knew there'd be a puddle of your juices left on the blankets, and like always, you'd offer to wash them for him and bucky would decline. "just cum, doll," he speaks lowly. he's teasing you and he knows it.

"c-can i please cum, sir?" you batted your eyes, innocently pouting for a release. it was close and painful to hold it back any longer, growing more intense with every moment passing.

the smirk played on his lips was threatening and scary. you couldn't even remember all the times he'd denied you of an organism, pushing you over so that your toes dangled off the edge of the cliff only to pull you back. with his lips still wrapped around your bud, his hips still jutting against yours like he was a rabid dog, grunting and groaning, he spoke clearly, "cum."

if bucky could record your moans, cries, sobs, and screams--and maybe he has...--he'd listen to it until the day he died. your thighs shook around his hips, somehow loosening and tightening yourself. as you flooded around him, he could feel the warmth surrounding his length and just as you finished convulsing, clawing his vibranium arm and pulling at his hair, his tip brushed harshly against your cervix.

"fuck!" he groaned, as a shot of white fluid filled you to brim, leaving a heavy weight that spilled out with a tickle when he finally pulled from you. "oh, honey..." he must've stayed inside you for an hour, collapsing so his chest met yours and his kisses stayed on your jaw. and when the emptiness did return, leaving you to miss his cock already, he watched your eyelids fall heavy with sleep. bucky pulled the blanket over you, falling slump next to your body and wrapping his arms around yours.

your light snores and breaths were music that lulled him to sleep. the white noise he needed because the silence was scary now. he'd stayed awake for two hours after you'd fallen asleep, watching the way your chest rose and fell with an inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale pattern. and when his eyes drifted over to the armchair in the corner of his room, his ghost was no longer there to taunt him.

time flew and morning came, like always. and like always, you left without anything to wear underneath your pants and a kiss on the lips from him.

his feet padded throughout his apartment floor, wearing nothing more than black boxers and a cheap cotton t-shirt he'd gotten that barely protected him. he strolled over to his window that overlooked the street, and chuckled when he noticed you discreetly limp to your car. as you drove away, creating a distance between you, that darkness that overtook his soul returned. your presence drifted and no more could he hold you, and now, the vines began to grow.

they grew lethal thorns, bloomed toxic blossoms around his heart. he began to suffocate again, feeling a pain his chest that only you could alleviate. but now you were gone. it was when bucky wandered into his kitchen with sagging shoulders, he stepped into a wet puddle of melted ice cream and black cherries. it covered the ball of his foot with a sticky, gross layer and he collapsed.

he folded, leaning into his lap and holding his head in his hands. tears leaked into his palm, slipping through the cracks of his fingers and onto the floor. his face turned a bright red, only this time it was due to a rush of blood and an oncoming headache. he cried your name, he cried his name, and on the third body-racking sob of a garbled "steve", it was like he had summoned his arrival.

his phantom presence left a chilling feeling in the air. and without even having to look up, bucky knew that this version of steve wasn't even real. this wasn't his ghost. this wasn't him. this wasn't him returning to see bucky because he cared. this was a part of bucky's imagination, a sick and twisted form of therapy because when bucky didn't have you, he had nothing else. "you said you loved me," he had cried, biting down on his knuckles and wrist. when he met his blue eyes with a heartbroken glance, steve's expression didn't budge.

bucky had created this version of steve--this evil and cruel version of him that only made this heartache worse. he brought this torture on himself and now, he could barely handle it.

he stood, towering above him with his fists clenched. his eyes bore a hot hole in bucky's skull and every passing moment was hell. there were flames beginning to engulf bucky's body, burning his skin and leaving him as a pile of dust. after all, that's what he had been for those past five years, leaving him to learn that he didn't really need bucky. and that tore every part of him apart.

"i lied." he muttered, lips tight against his teeth as if it hurt him to say it. but still, he stood above bucky with an emotionless stare.

his cries filled the walls of his home for the rest of the day, waiting for the next chance he got to hold you again.

mutuals: @balenciagabucky @cloudystevie @honeyloverogers @steebsbabygirl @ronimina @honeychicana @fairytaleseb @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @avengersbau @bvckysmoon @sapphireplums @a-little-counter-esperanto @letters-to-esme @capsiclecevans @babyyhoneyydarling @honeysucklesteve

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spooky-nerd · 3 years

Text

I Wrote an MSR Christmas Fic in September, Sorry

Christmas comes but once a year, or so he’s been told. Which means that he has 364 days (at least) to strategize. And yet, he never quite manages to be able to escape it.

He’s come close a small handful of times. A mere brush with victory followed by crushing defeat. In 1971 he was hospitalized with appendicitis on December 24. Unfortunately, the hospital gave out little teddy bears with santa hats that year to all of the children. In 1994, he tried lying low in his apartment, but Mrs. Sanders from across the hall had dropped off a fruitcake wrapped in red and green paper with a ridiculously frilled bow. The fruitcake had tasted horrible, but then that had been comforting, because he has never had a fruitcake that didn’t taste horrible and would find the very idea to be unsettling to say the least.

Twice he has nearly managed to avoid Christmas altogether. An almost impossible feat, and a coveted one amongst those who bemoan the holiday like he does.

He is not a grinch, as some would suspect, and his heart is not withered and cold. He does not have a propensity for stealing presents from under trees, and he has never once uttered the words “bah, humbug!”. He just does not care for Christmas.

This had come as a shock to Scully during their first year of partnership. She had whisked into the office on December 23rd in a cloud of merriment, smelling like peppermint and humming festively. “So, what are your Christmas plans?” she had asked innocently.

“Well, I’ll probably microwave some popcorn and watch Plan 9 From Outer Space,” he had said in complete seriousness. In spite of his delivery, she had laughed. Probably at the absurdity of it, which likely was obvious to outside observers, he had realized then. And yet, his world-weary soul had lacked the energy to care.

“You’re serious?” She had dropped the smile, and in its place was that frown of disappointment that he was rapidly becoming acquainted with. For some reason, he had felt a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, I’ve just never been one for the holidays.”

“But Mulder, it’s Christmas,” she had said, her incredulity ratcheting up impossibly higher.

“Oh I know, Scully. Trust me, I know. 104.9 started playing Christmas music in October. My building super put up tinsel in all the hallways on November 1st. I’ve been visually assaulted by this holiday on every street corner since the day after Black Friday. I know it’s Christmas. I just don’t really care.” He had shrugged, in case the rant came off a little too harsh. Not that Scully was easily intimidated. He was quickly beginning to learn that too.

She had shrugged, already poised to drop the subject. “Alright. Enjoy your popcorn, then.”

He had smiled. “Thanks, Scully.”

She had paused, turned back to him. He had gotten a whiff of peppermint again, and wondered if it was a new holiday perfume, or just the everyday magic of her. “You know, November 1st is a little early for tinsel.”

Looking back, it is possible that he had begun to fall in love with her then.

* * *

In the four years that Scully has been his partner, he has discovered that she has exactly one flaw: she loves Christmas. The music, the food, the gifts, the decorations, she eats them all up with a little festively-adorned spoon. At his request, she had refrained from stringing lights up in the office, but in exchange, he is forced to accept one Christmas gift from her each year.

Of course, he isn’t a monster, so every year, he buys her a present, too. Usually something quite ridiculous and useless. Their second Christmas together, he had bought her a mug depicting the entire cast of General Hospital. “It made me think of you,” he had said, to which she had raised an eyebrow and smiled, sliding her own present across the desk to him with false demureness. He had given her a suspicious look and ripped into the gift with exaggerated zeal, just to make her laugh. With delight he had pulled out a tie with little green aliens and flying saucers.

“Scully,” he had said, completely smitten. She had smiled and shrugged. He had decided that is was possible he didn’t hate gift exchanges as much as he had previously thought.

* * *

On December 23rd, 1997, he walks into the office and she is not there. It is not a surprise to him, but it is a blow nonetheless. She should be here, bringing him hot chocolate in addition to his morning coffee, placing a gift on his desk wrapped in ribbon so clinquant and overwhelmingly jubilant that it makes his eyes hurt. She should be here, making him dislike the holiday less and less with each passing moment. And if she can’t be here, he should be there with her. He calls Skinner and tells him he is taking a personal day. He does not explain further but he does not need to.

“Okay. Tell her I said Merry Christmas,” Skinner says.

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

* * *

Within an hour, he is at her doorstep with a hazardously overstuffed plastic grocery bag, a six-foot spruce that is growing heavier by the minute, and a gift wrapped in paper that had been sparkly at one time but has now transferred all of its glitter onto his coat.

It takes her a worryingly long time to answer the door. But she does eventually, looking completely drained, a sweater wrapped around her thin frame. She is cold all the time now and she never complains but it has not escaped his notice. She looks exhausted, but it stops his breath how beautiful she is all the same.

She is surprised to see him. Even more shocked by the one-man window display he has become.

“Mulder? What are you doing?” Confusion, but also a smile in her voice that he can see glittering in her eyes, too.

“I thought I’d bring the party to you, Scully.” He is still a little out of breath, but he smiles, and finally she laughs, melodic and joyful. She lets him in.

* * *

With the muted tones of Bing Crosby playing smooth and unobtrusive underneath, he makes them hot chocolate, dons a Santa hat, and gets to work decorating her tree. She sits on the end of her couch nearest him and opens up the little boxes of colorful Christmas ornaments, handing them to him one-by-one with delicate care. He gets tangled more than once in the Christmas lights, each time extricating himself in a flurry of limbs and curses. It’s worth it to hear her laugh. He wants to close his eyes and listen to the sound and pretend everything is okay.

When he is finished, she holds out her hands wordlessly and he helps her stand up. He wraps an arm around her and they lean against one another, admiring the finished tree. He wonders if she knows it means so much more to him than just a nice gesture. Her grip tightens around him in a brief hug.

“Mulder,” she says softly. “I don’t even know what to say. You really didn’t have to do all this.”

They are quiet for a moment. Bing Crosby sings that it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. He finds that he agrees.

“I wanted to, Scully. I wanted to be here. The office doesn’t feel right without you,” he says. “Besides, you would’ve done the same.”

She huffs a small laugh. “You hate Christmas.”

“No I don’t.” She looks up at him and he meets her gaze. “I don’t.”

* * *

Exactly one year later, she is safe and whole and mulling over a file, tapping an absent beat on their desk with her pencil. He bounds into the office, over-laden with a diverse assortment of ridiculous Christmas paraphernalia. He dumps it all on the floor in an unceremonious heap, shakes the snow out of his hair, and tosses her a goofy smile.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, out of breath. “Wanna help me deck the halls?”

When they are finished, the office has never looked more unprofessional. They couldn’t be prouder of themselves. Before she leaves for the night, she gives him his gift and a kiss on the cheek. Also very unprofessional, as is the alarming rate at which his heart is beating. It’s just about the only thing he can think about over the holidays, and that in itself brings clarity.

* * *

Her hand is icy where it settles atop his on the steering wheel. He risks only a brief glance in her direction. ‘It’s really coming down out there,’ he had said obligatorily about thirty minutes earlier, squinting into the critical sliver of light their headlights were slashing through the dark flurries of snow.

“Let’s stop for the night,” she says. He nods and gets off at the next exit without question.

They find a motel down a nearly deserted back road that makes them both touch the concealed weapons at their hips just for comfort. The attendant wordlessly accepts their cash and slides them a key.

“You know what’s messed up?” he says as he flops onto the bed after a cursory inspection for suspicious stains.

“What?” she says, rooting through her bag for their toothbrushes.

“I don’t even know where we are.”

She sighs, a weary sound that he has gotten used to hearing in the months they’ve been on the road. Almost four months now.

“We are somewhere in the southern part of Kentucky. That’s all I know.”

“Scully,” he begins, the word absolutely riddled with guilt.

“Mulder, stop. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” They’ve had this small scrap of conversation several times. He keeps waiting for her response to change but it never does.

Silence except for her continued rummaging. Then, a triumphant “Aha!”

He peeks out from under the arm slung across his face. “What-“ He stops at the sight of her wearing a santa hat and holding a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper and held together with duct tape. She smiles and inclines her head triumphantly. The hat tilts adorably and the little pompom falls in front of her face. He laughs in spite of everything. In the spirit of the season, she joins him.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

He shakes his head, in awe once again. “I love you.”

* * *

In an unremarkable house, in an unremarkable room, in an unremarkable chair sits a man. He is unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He is holding in his hand a two-inch long replica of a Louisville Slugger that has been made into a keychain. A gas station trinket, unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He turns it over in his hands and cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. It takes him back to a motel on a snowy night in southeastern Kentucky, and he has a mind to stay there awhile.

She walks in at that moment, wearing the most hideous sweater he has ever seen. After a moment of stunned silence he lets out a loud gut laugh. She smiles, spreading her hands in a silent ‘ta-da’. The sweater is red and green, and knit into it are alternating rows of Christmas trees, presents, wreaths, some colorful blobs that inexplicably might be potted ferns, and a pair of kissing reindeer, both of which have antlers.

“You look horrible,” he says, still chuckling. “I love it.”

“I found it at a Goodwill.”

“An ironic name for a store that would sell such an act of violence.”

She laughs. “I’m thinking of adding it to my regular rotation. I could get you one, too, and then we could match.”

“Well, people in town already think we’re crazy. Maybe it’s time to start leaning into it.”

She heads to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, and he puts his hand in his pocket for the thousandth time that day, touching the small box like he’s afraid it will disappear. While she putters around the kitchen, he stares at the winking lights of their Christmas tree and gathers his thoughts.

Within minutes she is back with two steaming mugs filled much too full, sloshing dangerously. She sips a little out of both of them, burns her tongue, and hands him his. The mugs are hot. She pulls her sleeves up until only the tips of her fingers are peeking out and holds the mug that way. He watches the entire scene, completely enamored.

She throws herself onto the couch with a sigh and it is a Christmas miracle that she does not spill any of the hot chocolate on that horrendously festive sweater. He settles down next to her and sips gingerly from his mug, contemplating the mystery of those reindeer.

“Is it a misunderstanding of deer anatomy or a political statement, do you think?” she says, clearly reading his mind. He makes a mental note to open up an unofficial investigation into how she keeps being able to do that.

“All I know is it’s my favorite thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Aww. Thanks.”

“I am curious about those potted ferns, though.”

“Is that what they are?”

They wait there together, sipping and talking about everything and nothing until the hour whittles down to nil and the clock strikes midnight, Christmas Day. He puts an arm around her shoulders and marvels at the way her head fits so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.” He whispers it like a treasured secret.

She turns to kiss him. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers back. Then she is up, grabbing his presents. She is eager for him to see one of them, and has been carrying the secret of what it is around with her for weeks. She hands it to him first, and he makes a show of opening it agonizingly slowly. She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently until he picks up the pace.

“Oh wow, Scully,” he says softly when he pulls the tissue paper aside to reveal a vintage restored Polaroid camera. “Thank you. This…wow.” He runs a hand over the glossy surface appreciatively, and then points it at her. “Say cheese.”

Within moments, the photo of her completely unprepared and squinting painfully at the sudden flash develops.

“Ugh,” she giggles.

“I’m keeping it.” He slips it into his pocket before she can snatch it away. His knuckles bump the small box, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He retrieves the gift from under the tree and watches her open it. “Oh, Mulder,” she says, pulling the typewriter out of its box. He’d had to place an anonymous ad in the paper for that one. They had decided at the beginning of their life on the run that they would use only the most basic technology, which meant burner phones and nondigital alternatives. “It’s beautiful.”

It is. It’s an Underwood, glossy white, impeccably maintained. He’d paid a small fortune to a very old man for this one. They had met in a public park. He had paid in cash. The man had brought it in an old shoebox inside a brown paper grocery sack. The whole transaction had felt vaguely illegal. The man had looked at least 100.

“Thank you.” She gives him a hug. She smells like hot chocolate and peppermint. It reminds him of a Christmas many years ago. A conversation about why he didn’t like Christmas. Oh how things have changed.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” he says when she pulls away. She raises an eyebrow. She hates to be outdone, especially on Christmas. Incredulity turns into disbelief when he pulls out the small box.

“Mulder,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with unshed tears when he gets on his knee in front of her, and if he’s going to make it through this, he cannot look at her.

“Scully, I-“ his voice catches immediately. He clears his throat. “I know that the past few years have been…well there’s no words for it. You are the only thing that has gotten me through. You’ve been there Scully, since the beginning you’ve been there and I- I can’t imagine my life without you. I want so much more for you. You deserve so much more, and I…I wish that I could give you more. But this is all I have to offer, Scully. This is everything I have. I want to grow old with you and, and love you and support you and laugh with you until the end of time. I promise to be faithful. I promise to have your back and to be there for you always.” He takes a shaky breath. “Dana Katherine Scully, will you marry me?”

He looks into her eyes, and he sees everything there. The love and devotion that had started small and fragile and had grown into something ineffably strong. He cannot imagine a life without this woman. Bing Crosby’s voice floats quietly over from the record player, singing about having a merry little Christmas. He wants a life with her, a thousand more little Christmases just like this one, filled to the brim with ridiculous, garish holiday cheer. She takes a deep breath, the words that will determine their future poised on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes. Of course I will.”

- - - - - - - -

Note: Btw, I wasn’t lying about that sweater

#txf fic #msr #the x files fanfic #the x files #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #txf fanfic #msr fanfic #christmas fic #x files fanfic #mine

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beatles-slash-fiction · 3 years

Note

I just found your blog and I'm absolutely loving it ❤️ I know this is a bit old but I found it scrolling back through your blog and I'd really love a continuation of it if you're up for it, maybe George admits to the others what's going on and they help him get out or maybe Dhani tells one of them he thinks George is in an abusive relationship and needs their help. I just love seeing the boys be protective of George ❤️

https://beatles-slash-fiction.tumblr.com/post/657713750704537600/can-we-get-an-angsty-polybeatles-one-with-the

WARNING: mentions of forced marriage, abusive relationship, non con

*****

George wakes up on his forty-fifth birthday and just starts crying.

He’s already had so many birthdays like this, and he has so many more to endure.

He manages to compose himself by the time his husband wakes up, and he forces a smile the same way he’s forced a smile every single day of his marriage.

“Happy birthday,” Steve says to George softly. “You grow more beautiful every year.”

George has become an expert at drifting away when they have sex. He lies there and lets Steve fuck him, and in his head he starts going through the grocery list for the week.

When it’s over and they go downstairs, Dhani is waiting with a card and presents for George, and George’s smile becomes genuine. Dhani always buys George different seeds and plants for the garden; it’s as if he knows that’s George’s only form of escape these days.

“I was thinking,” Dhani says to Steve over breakfast, “that I might take mum out for dinner tomorrow? Just him and me. As you’re going to be on the road for work for a few days.”

“That’s a nice idea,” Steve agrees. “A very nice thing to do for your mother.”

George doesn’t sense anything unusual about this. Dhani is always suggesting sweet things like this, and Steve never normally has a problem with the two of them having alone time, especially when he’s working.

George is just looking forward to Steve going away for a few days, and to spending time with his son.

He doesn’t suspect that Dhani has any ulterior motives at all until they turn up at the restaurant the next day and it becomes clear that they’re not dining alone.

John, Paul and Ringo are sitting at the table waiting for them.

“What’s going on?” George asks hesitantly.

His heart always soars every time he sees his former lovers but it’s also bittersweet. He still loves them so much and yet he can’t even tell them.

“They’re here to help,” Dhani says excitedly, guiding George to a seat. “I told them everything-“

George glares at his son.

“I’m sorry, mum! But I couldn’t just...not do anything. Not when you’ve spent the last twenty years being a prisoner.”

Steve is going to kill him. Steve is going to kill them all. George isn’t meant to see the other Beatles unless Steve gives permission or is present.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Paul asks softly, taking George’s hand. “We had no idea. We thought this was what you wanted. We thought you were happy.”

George can’t breathe. This can’t be happening. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Come home with us,” Ringo says. “We can go and pack up your stuff today, and you and Dhani can be gone before he gets back.”

George can’t stop thinking about what Steve will do when he finds out about this.

“Dhani told us what he’s got on you,” John adds. “Fuck those photos and anything else he’s got. Let him go to the press. We don’t care. We just want you safe.”

But this is all too much.

Steve is going to find out and they’re going to regret this.

George blinks away tears as he stands and heads towards the exit, desperate to get some air.

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tea-reads · 3 years

Text

HDM Daemon AU!Pedro Pascal Characters Scenarios (pt. 3)

A/N: I’ve actually got one more part for this lol. It’s just this man is so versatile and I’m having way too much fun ahaha. It’s going to cover three more characters though. I’m also thinking of writing a short series for one of these guys because there’s a lot of potential in all of them. Hope you guys enjoy this one!

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

WARNING: It’s angsty for Max Philipps’s part; Marcus Moreno’s part implies some heavy themes such as loss, insecurity, and weaponisation; no idea what to write for Veracruz’s character because his occupation is not my tempo; honestly MP’s and MM’s are the longest because I got invested in this but not enough for their own series

Marcus Moreno - Sugar Glider

This is exactly why Marcus stayed in headquarters. Whenever he’s out on the field, it puts his dæmon at a much higher risk. Not only that, it was when you and your own dæmon were with him. It just reminded him of...

“I will not be underestimated!” His dæmon cried out.

“I know you have guts-” Marcus withdrew his katanas, “but I need you to stay close to me this time... please.”

His dæmon looked up to meet with eyes full of pain and remorse. The sugar glider’s tail flicked and then she nodded.

“Hey, I’m here... woah.” You and your snow leopard dæmon were shocked by the crowd before you once you arrived.

“Yeah... I know.” Marcus said.

Among them were many dæmons, but they all looked... off. Some idiot found a way to untether the souls in order to control and weaponise them, but the outcome was a disaster. The dæmons became ghastly. They were no longer resembled an average dæmon.

God knows what happened to their counterpart and it was best not to know. However, you and Marcus were assigned to investigate what was happening to the heroes that never returned. But first issue you had to deal with this.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Your dæmon retched, but instantly recovered to protect you from what resembled to be a leopard dæmon that launched itself towards you.

The untethered soul perished to dust.

As if time stopped Marcus watched the moment of you and your dæmon watching the final, proper departure. You two never failed to impress, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty. You can protect him for sure, it wasn’t a problem for you. He didn’t want to feel like a burden because of his dæmon. Sometimes it felt like he constantly needed to pull his own weight out here.

“Hey, I’ll be right here, boss.” The sugar glider assured him once he was settled on Marcus’ shoulder, but her ears perked and she warned him, “three o’clock.”

Without hesitation, Marcus slashed at whatever abomination of a dæmon came at him in one swift movement.

“Wooo! Marcus, I knew you guys still got game.” You cheered as the dæmon perished.

Marcus looked back to his dæmon, almost proud. The sugar glider nuzzled her head against his cheek.

“Told you I won’t be underestimated.”

Zach Wellison - River Otter

Zach, who was casually watching TV on the couch, turned his head when he heard the door openand saw you and your hummingbird dæmon entering the apartment. You came back from buying groceries for the week. He was about to turn off the TV to help you unload and put away the items, but you stopped him.

“It’s okay, Zach, just rest. You need it. Your dæmon needs it too.” You smiled and gestured towards the sleeping otter dæmon curled up in a ball on Zach’s chest. Zach was about to insist, but complied. That gentle gaze of yours had such an effect on him.

“I’ll cook dinner.” Zach said when you asked him what he wanted tonight. You appreciated how he much he wanted to make himself useful. Even though you liked looking after him, it was fair he does the same for you.

You joined him on the couch to cuddle up with him, making sure not to disturb his dæmon. Your dæmon also joined in and snuggled against the otter.

“That’s nice of you, honey,” You kissed his jaw and he let out a low appreciative hum, “thank you.”

“Anytime.” He tapped your nose.

Max Philipps - Bearded Vulture

Oh how you hated being called in by your boss. Just when you were about to leave. Most of the time it was to annoy you by saying “Nothing. Just wanted to say hi” and he had one of the most punchable faces every time it followed up with that stupid innocent grin.

Lo and behold he does it again.

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes and sighing.

“Good night, sir.” You said.

Just as you turned your back to the door, your lioness dæmon hissed at him then followed after you.

‘He is so annoying’ you telepathically said to your dæmon. ‘Tell me about it’ She replied.

Once it was clear, Max grin dropped then slowly leaned back against his chair. There he was again.

All alone.

It wasn’t like this before. His dæmon used to be there for him.

Used to

The problem was that Max was dead. Well... his heart was.

Oh yes he still had one, but that doesn’t change the fact that he severed a sacred bond with what used to be a reflection of his soul.

Ever since Max turned into a vampire, his dæmon was allowed to roam around the edges of the earth without him. Boy did that vulture take off the first few moments Max woke up after turning. His dæmon didn’t even say goodbye nor did the vulture say anything- which was fair enough.

Max sold his soul, so he might as well pay the price for it.

Max didn’t want to admit it, but upon meeting you and your lioness dæmon... he was a little intimidated. You were so composed, strong, and knew how to get the job done. This was reflected by your dæmon as well. You have a lioness as a dæmon for goodness sake. He wasn’t sure why you haven’t killed him yet. Maybe because he hasn’t hurt you. You probably felt sorry for him. Whatever the case was, he was intrigued by the two of you.

Without a doubt, it was a ruthless universal law that if either dæmon or owner experienced physical pain, the other felt the same.

But still...

Max looked out of the window into the night sky.

Nothing was more painful than losing a connection with your own soul.

Commandante Veracruz - Wild Boar

“Hey,” Veracruz called his dæmon, who immediately looked up to him, “I’ve never seen them before. Who are they?” He referred to you. His dæmon was able to lock eyes with your hyena dæmon and was able to speak telepathically.

“Don’t worry about them,” the wild boar began after ending his silent discussion, “they’re just here to do a health check up on the other guys. It looks like they’re going to talk to us as well.” The wild boar informed.

Veracruz continued to watch you, trying to decipher what your real motivation was. Soon he looked back to his dæmon and they nodded to each other.

‘Health check up my ass,’ they thought in unison.

Eddie - Meerkat

Eddie’s dæmon let out an exasperated sigh while she trotted along side her counterpart. Eddie was heading back to his dorm after walking you and your fox dæmon to class.

He was going to ask you out for dinner, but when he had the chance, he backed down.

“You gotta get your act together, man! You ace all of your assignments and exams, but not in asking someone out!”

“I know, it’s just that-”

“No!” She barked and Eddie halted.

That got his attention.

“You are better than this! No more hiding!” The meerkat began to pacing back and forth along the width of the pathway. Eddie watched on, confused as to why his dæmon was being so frantic.

“It’s just so frustrating to see that the moment you go for something-” She startled Eddie by suddenly stopping right in front of him to stand on her hind legs, “you quit!” She resumed pacing frantically.

“It’s just- how could you- GAH! Come on! We’re going back to the drawing board.” She ran off, knowing that Eddie would be right behind her.

#marcus moreno #zach wellison #max philipps #commandante veracruz #eddie #marcus moreno x reader #zach wellison x reader #commandante veracruz x reader #eddie x reader

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