#this all sort of just comes back around to that ‘what is or isn’t canon is entirely different depending on who you ask’

[periprose]

Bedside Manner - Chapter One

The Ghoul x Reader

When it comes to job prospects in the Wasteland, being a nurse isn't all that lucrative. So you're Dom Pedro's assistant, where your nurse skills of administering drugs come in handy with sedating the Ghoul. (Not really following canon, just taking my own spin on stuff)

Genre: fluff, fallout angst (more in future chaps anyways), strangers to accomplices to ambivalent friends to lovers, heated moments of tension, probably eventual smut

Word count: 2.2k

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Holy fuck, does shoveling do a number on your back.

You groan as you roll back your shoulder, and throw the shovel behind you. 

Dom Pedro has been on your ass about this shift. You have to take the Ghoul to Dom’s workshop, where he’ll carve him up, when the sedatives have worn off and the pain will be ever-present and lingering. You figure Dom’s angry about something else– and what better outlet is there than torturing a ghoul?

It’s not something you like to do, carrying this extremely heavy, tall undead-man through Dom Pedro’s house by using a rope system and tugging, and then after Dom Pedro’s had his fun. re-administering drugs that will prevent the feral nature from taking him over, but it’s necessary and it pays well.

Pedro’s a little too elite to do this himself anyways. That’s why he hired you, a former nurse who used to work at a charitable hospital– one that was eventually claimed by the Brotherhood.

You try not to think too much about your former, much more fulfilling career.

The mildly disturbing scent of a living corpse hits you as you open up the casket. The Ghoul isn’t the worst ghoul you’ve ever had to look at, but he’s still a little creepy, and you stare at him as he lies there.

Is he awake? Pretending to be asleep so you’ll be caught off guard, and his gun will fire rapidly, making a bloody mess out of you?

You’re well aware of the risks. You just have to hope that today’s chemical cocktail IVs are correct, and enough is administered inside him so that he’s truly, really, fast asleep.

You carefully tie around his wrists and legs– you feel, somehow, the slightest bit of warmth, something that could suggest a pulse from the veins of his wrists– but you know that’s ridiculous and continue on.

/

Dragging him to the workshop makes you feel a little guilty. His face sometimes smacks onto the wooden floors of this cabin if you’re not careful, and you always whisper a hushed “Sorry!” Even though he’s not human.

You don’t want to be on his bad side, even if he can’t hear you. 

“Why the fuck isn’t there a more moral way to make caps?” You exhale, a common complaint you always have.

You tie him to the torture-chair, wrapping rope around his torso and arms and legs, so he can’t break free, adjusting his hat so it stays on, and because– despite the Ghoul’s reputation as a bounty hunter, you feel like he deserves a little respect with his belongings– and now you’re waiting for Dom Pedro to come and cut him up.

You don’t know why Dom Pedro does this. Is there some sort of use for ghoul skin and blood that you don’t know about? Or is it just purely torture, since Dom Pedro’s kept the Ghoul alive for so long, even giving him the false kindness of anti-feral ghoul drugs so he’ll be entirely aware of every inch Dom Pedro’s knife cuts into him?

You don’t know. And it’s not exactly like you’re important enough to know that information, anyways.  

/

The Ghoul stirs awake. He blinks– he’s back in the workshop, yet again.

He’s only half aware of how he gets here. He knows there’s definitely a woman involved– someone soft, with pliant fingers and hesitant motions that suggest she doesn’t want him to get hurt as she drags him from sleep to being butchered– he only vaguely remembers seeing her back, just once, maybe a few months ago.

He turns to the side, ready for Dom Pedro to be seething in the corner over whatever their beef was and brandishing that scary, rusted axe. 

He’s not there.

Oh. The Ghoul blinks again, his eyes clearing up as he does.

It’s you. You’re the woman, the nurse that Dom Pedro uses to administer all these drugs into him. 

It’s almost a little shocking, a little tantalizing to him to actually see you. Two-hundred years of memories doesn’t exactly give him the most clear of minds, but he knows you’re the one who’s always just hazy, on the edge of his peripheral vision after being tortured, in his dreams after you sedate him.

“Hey, nurse…” He can hardly talk, but you jolt in your spot, and turn to him. 

“Uh–” You stare at him, entirely flabbergasted. “You’re not supposed to be awake!”

“Well, I am. What’re you gonna do about it?” He yawns, still ever so slightly woozy from the drugs. 

The Ghoul notices a knife on the table. He tips his head toward it.

“Cut me free.”

“Are you fucking crazy?!” You shake your head immediately. “Dom Pedro will kill me.”

“Dom Pedro’s a bitch if he’s killing someone willing to do the hard work for what, a couple hundred caps?” The Ghoul raises his non-existent eyebrows, and you swallow. “You don’t know how rare that is nowadays.”

“And I’m supposed to just trust you? The Ghoul, the most terrifying, ruthless, brutal killer I’ve ever known?” You narrow your eyes at him, with every adjective tossed out of your hissing mouth, coming closer and closer to him.   

“I like how you describe me, keep going.” He jokes, looking up at you, but he snarls suddenly and you flinch.

The Ghoul grins in satisfaction, white pearly teeth, very square and rigid in their appearance, something that should look handsome on the right person and instead, is a little unnerving right now.

Still attractive, though, and you question yourself.  

“Let me go, sweetheart, and I promise your death won’t be as half as painful as he could make it.” He drawls, and you swallow but shake your head.

“I’m not interested in being a mercy kill.” You state, and he sucks on his teeth. 

“That’s a mistake.” He leans closer to you, somehow straining against your carefully tied knots to do so. “I’d be doing you a favour.”

“Well, I’m a coward. I’m not all rough and tough and shooting every single person I see, unlike you and Dom Pedro. I’m not gonna die in glorious battle, and I don’t want to die anyways.” You’re glum. “I only took this job because being associated with him protects me.”

The Ghoul is silent for a moment.

“And what if you were associated with me?” He asks, not actually intending anything serious, but he feels an urge to tease you ever so slightly. “That’s protection, isn’t it?”

“What?” You glance back at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Maybe because I’m trying to bargain my way out of here, maybe because you’re the one who’s been kind enough to make sure I’m not chafing with how you tie these fucking ropes– and I’m assuming you drug me, right, sweetheart? You dull the sick pains he gives me.”

“Uh… yeah, I do.” You pause. “Stop trying to sweet talk me, Ghoul.”

“Nah, nurse. It’s funny and I wonder what Dom Pedro will do when he sees you talking to me.” The Ghoul says, another shit-eating grin upon his face.

Oh.

That’s actually quite bad, you think. The Ghoul hasn’t just been trying to coax you with compliments so you’d help him escape– the longer he’s kept you in this conversation, the closer you’ve gotten to his Plan B: Dom Pedro’s wrath.

“I’m guessing a smart lady like you would be more afraid of him.” The Ghoul keeps prodding, and you glare at him. “Rather than me.” 

You know he’s right. Your eyes give away what you’re thinking as you ever so slightly glance to the table.

There’s a syringe of chems there, meant to send him to sleep after Dom Pedro has done his worst. Usually Dom Pedro takes the initiative to do that himself, because as he tells you, he likes being the only one who can send the Ghoul to sleep, the closest Dom Pedro will let him ever get to death. And then you’re stuck with dragging his comatose body back to the grave that awaits him.

Maybe you can just put a stop to the Ghoul’s philandering right now, and get yourself out of here before things get bad. Dom Pedro wouldn’t even notice– the Ghoul would seem as out of it as he was supposed to be at this time.

It’s only a second of you looking over there, but the Ghoul is quick– too quick, immediately understanding what you intend to do– and he somehow pushes his chair forward, at you, aiming his foot to kick at you with what limited motion he has in his restraints.

You get shoved back with a grunt, and you see him edge towards the knife on the table– but you knock him backwards with a shove, and the chair tips back, only stopping on it’s back legs due to the ropes extending from them, tethered to the back wall and through the gear and pulley systems that are ever present in this workshop. 

The Ghoul’s kept his grip around your wrist, though, from where his hands are tied on the armchairs, and you fall back with him, balancing on your tippie toes and your hands on the top of the chair. Your hair brushes against his face as you lean forward, and you attempt to move away, but he won’t let go of you, instead sighing with gratification as he looks up at you from here.

“Huh. This is a compromising position, isn’t it?” The Ghoul licks his teeth as he keeps pulling you towards him, and you hear the wooden floor creak under you as the chair wavers in the air.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, c’mon, cut the bullshit.” He scoffs, still trying to get you to budge into helping him. “You really think Ol’ Dom Pedro won’t think you’re conspiring with me now, after it looks like you’ve taken a lover–”

There’s a sudden sound at the porch of the cabin. You and the Ghoul both turn to look out the window– and it’s definitely one very drunk Dom Pedro struggling to open the door.

You duck, out of fear that he’ll see you through the window, in the delicate moonlight, and the Ghoul tuts as your face comes near his jaw.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” He looks at your trembling face nonchalantly, as you try to make a decision. “Free me, and we’ll escape together. Use the drugs, and you’ll be stuck under Dom Pedro’s grubby fingers making exceedingly meagre wages.”

“How do I know you won’t just abandon me as soon as you want to kill a bounty?” You whisper, and he rolls his eyes. 

“You don’t. But I always repay my debts.” He says, and you don’t really believe him at all, but the more time passes by, the more you know that he won’t even seem appropriately sedated for Dom Pedro’s wishes– so you wordlessly nod.

The Ghoul won’t let go of you, so you’re left careening to the side as his arms hold you to him. He’s keeping such a tight grip to ensure that you scrabble for the knife– and you do.

“No sneaky bullshit.” He spits out, and you, despite being of the Wasteland, had no mind to kill him. No, that would’ve certainly looked bad as well. 

Dom Pedro’s favourite lap dog, dead? His bounty killer, who does it for the love of the game? His favourite ghoul to torture? The one who did something so bad it’s basically unspeakable, and Dom Pedro would be livid if he wasn’t ultimately the one to kill him in the end?

You could say goodbye to your head if you killed the Ghoul. You know your place– even if you get paid to administer drugs to him, you’re no better than a dealer, a sweet face providing a nice bedside manner.  

You make quick work of the ropes restraining him, and the Ghoul stands up before ducking behind a table, putting his finger against his lips, shushing you.

You’re very careful now. Dom Pedro is coming down the hallway, and any second now, he’s going to check to see if you brought the Ghoul here.. Luckily, Dom Pedro’s so drunk, he’s taking his time, stumbling and groaning.

After mulling over it in your mind, you decide to take the full syringe on the table. Less evidence, and you figure maybe Dom Pedro will be so drunk he’ll forget you were supposed to be here anyways.

And after second-guessing it– you think fuck it, and take the entire briefcase of drugs with you.

The Ghoul whistles very slightly at the sight of that. “You’re committing.”

You resist the urge to ask him what other choice you have, since running out on Dom Pedro is a great way to have a bunch of bounty hunters after you– you’re relying on selling some drugs, and bribing the Ghoul with some so he’d have to continue protecting you after he inevitably says he’s completed his debt by helping you escape.

“Let’s go.” You mouth, and he nods.

He’s not one to care about personal space at all, though– and he lifts you up over the ledge of the other window, pushing up on your thighs, away from the hallway where Dom Pedro is finally coming in– and you feel your face turn hot at the close contact, halfway over the ledge into the outside, with his hands on your waist as he hoists you away.

You don’t even have time to think about it as you land lightly on the ground together, because he’s right behind you, hands still on your waist for a moment, and then he lets go, and together you move quickly.

[the-somwthing]

Welcome to my little meta analysis essay called

Why do we misremember Flower Husbands as being “nicer” than it was?

Disclaimer: I’m not here to talk about whether or not FH is “toxic” or anything like that. It’s just a fact that many old fans rewatching FH POV and new fans who are watching it for the first time after seeing fan content tend to be surprised at how they actually behaved in the series compared to how everyone remembered them being back in the day. This will NOT go over whether or not I think FH is unhealthy or whatever and instead just discuss why I believe this phenomenon has happened.

So, if I try to make this a fancy well written essay, I’ll be here all day, so I’ll just get to the point. 3rd Life came out during the DSMP era of mcyt. MCRP has been around for ages, but the DSMP style of RP (which I’ll be calling “smp rp”) was pretty much popularized by DSMP, mostly towards the end of 2020. For reference, 3rd Life started early 2021, so there’s about a half a year between these two events, and DSMP kept going for years so 3rd Life was absolutely happening during the golden era of DSMP.

But what does DSMP have to do with this? Well, it sort of created this idea of “lore” and only specific things being “canon”. You can make fun of me for the way I worded that, but you know what I mean, DSMP was weird about that stuff. I don’t really blame them as it was kind of a new style of RP they accidentally spawned, but still, it was a confusing time for SMPs.

3rd Life was actually less like DSMP and more like the modern SMP RPs, where there’s no (known, lol) scripted events and the fandom itself deciphers what is or isn’t “canon” rather than it being told to them, with mostly everything being considered canon. HOWEVER, I do believe that DSMP’s style did still affect the fandom, specifically with the topic of this essay, Flower Husbands.

But why would it only really affect Flower Husbands? Now we get into a rough topic: shipping discourse. Back in those days, shipping in the mcyt fandom was heavily frowned upon. Moreso than it is today (I know it’s still around, but it was a lot worse the earlier we go lol). I’ve even seen old relics of ppl saying flower husbands should only be portrayed as platonic cuz it’s wrong to ship them, despite their team name literally being husbands. But more importantly, for A LOT of people, flower husbands was the One Ship people felt “allowed” to ship, BECAUSE it was canon. So they would allow FH and shun every other ship.

My point isn’t actually that, with it being the only “acceptable” ship everyone tried to make it more wholesome, though I suppose that could be a contributor. But my ACTUAL point is where all the things I laid out finally close in on each other:

Ships were a Dangerous territory in mcyt fandom, and ships being “canon” was something a lot of people weren’t prepared to deal with. People don’t want to get too close to RPF territory, but back in the day their ideas of c! vs cc! wasn’t as great, so they default to the DSMP Rule of “if it’s stated to be roleplay, then it’s canon to the characters, if not, it’s noncanon and just the CCs hanging out”.

You see where I’m going with this? When trying to follow this rule for a character relationship where they don’t explicitly state what is or isn’t RP, they hear “we’re married” and instantly mark that as canon to the characters since it clearly isn’t true to the CCs, and tend to block out anything else, otherwise you’re risking it not actually being true to the characters. Especially when it’s things like Scott saying something mean about Jimmy; that directly contradicts the “these characters are in love” thing, so it must not be canon, right?

But wouldn’t people still remember that these things happened, or did they actually straight up not process any of it? My answer to that is: of course everyone was paying attention, but with the context that it’s the CCs playing a video game, all of the teasing and other behavior seems WAY less serious. It just looks like average friends playing a hunger games smp together. And as I explained earlier, the fandom was ONLY processing this as a CC thing, so Scott’s treatment of Jimmy never stood out because that’s just how it is playing games.

Back to DSMP, I’m not active in that fandom anymore but I’ll see snippets sometimes, and I’ve seen the claim that beeduo was actually boring in canon and the fandom was the one that made it interesting. I feel like this is exactly what happened with FH. Nobody was actually expecting anyone to go hard into romantic roleplay, so the fans just take whichever pair says they’re getting married and fill in the blanks themselves. And that was normal back then, it wasn’t fans making stuff up for no reason, it was kind of expected of us.

So yeah, I personally believe that this whole confusion about FH is a result of its time. Whether you want to finally look at the actual substance of the relationship rather than following weird rules about what is or isn’t “canon”, or you believe that since FH was from a time where romantic RP was confusing and weird it would make the most sense to take into account the time period it came from and ignore the less appealing bits in favor of the fanon, I don’t really care honestly. But man isn’t this an interesting situation.

[aemondtargaryenonlyfans]

THE CURSE OF CURIOSITY.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader

"While your brother searches the library of the Dragonkeeper Elder for something new to read, you come in contact with some unlabeled fluid. You both learn that it's something meant to aid in the breeding of dragons, however, it also has a unique effect on humans. But lucky for you, your twin is there to help you through the ordeal."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, dub con, sex pollen (rather fluid lol), p in v, breeding kink

WORDS: 4 K

NOTES: Hope you enjoy me having literally zero grasp on English. 🤭

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

“It’s far too late for us to be here,” you huff, almost annoyed, as you watch Aemond graze his fingers along the spines of the several books kept in the currently deserted chambers of the Dragonkeeper Elder. “What are we looking for here anyways?”

The room is barely lit by anything else than just a handful of candles. Your twin holds a lantern of some sort in one hand, using it to make out the writings that are carved on the books backs. 

When there doesn’t immediately come an answer from him, you start to slowly walk around the room, inspecting its decor. “I have exhausted the castle’s libraries, and hope to take something of their collection for my own,” he murmurs, carefully selecting two books. 

You stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. Although you’re just a few moments younger than him, sharing the same attributes with your long, silver hair and lilac eyes, you have a much gentler nature than he does, one that doesn’t lend itself to the same mischief you had pursued together as children anymore. 

“And you couldn’t have just taken Floris with you? You ought to wed, and doing something together would do no harm to your future union. One sparsely sees you two around court,” you note, slightly annoyed your brother chose to wake you instead of his betrothed. 

Knowing all too well that just the mention of the betrothal is going to set him off, you choose to play with fire. If your brother wants your company, he’ll have to put up with your teasing. And just like expected, the notion of being forced into a marriage he doesn’t want to be in irritates him, audible in the sigh he releases. His resentment of the situation has become worse over time as he feels more and more suffocated by the ordeal.

“The girl is as dull as stones. Besides,” he replies with a shrug, “she knows nothing about our family’s history, much less about dragons.” The topic of dragons is something your twin is very passionate about, and you know that the fact that his wife-to-be cares so little about his passion infuriates him. It might be one of the main reasons for his dislike of her. “I have no desire to have Floris at my side any more than she does me.”

His annoyance is palpable, but you don’t feel bad about making it worse. For all the hours he has spent teasing, taunting and annoying you while you grew up together, he gets it back twice and three times over. And although he hasn’t spoken it out loud, you know you’re one of the few people he trusts blindly to be himself around. 

“That aside, it would be foolish to read with Floris,” he continues, your silence coaxing him to speak more, “as all she does is gossip with her friends and prattle on about pointless nonsense. You of all people know best how I feel about this match.”

“Floris isn’t so bad, you know,” you defend with a low voice. “And you’ve barely tried to get to know her. Surely you can find at least one thing to like about her. If you did, you might just see she’s not as terrible as you’ve decided.” If you both have to spend your days withering away in marriages sealed by your father and mother, you at least could find a little solace knowing your twin wasn’t as miserable in his. 

Aemond sighs in frustration. “You sound just like mother,” he comments dryly, finally moving to look at you from over his shoulder. “Can you really say that you like her? She is dull and naive. I am certain I couldn’t find anything to like about her even if I had all night. There is nothing for me to like about her. Nothing at all.”

Finding yourself at somewhat of a loss of words at this, you open and close your mouth without any words leaving it. Part of you wants to disagree with your twin, as Floris hasn’t been entirely unpleasant to spend time with at court, which makes Aemond’s dislike for her appear entirely without reason to you. On the other hand, you’ve known your brother long and well enough to know when he is resolute about something. 

“Just promise me that you won’t be a terrible husband to her. Even if you don’t like her, don’t make your lifes awful,” you finally blurt out. 

As you allow your gaze to trail through the chambers once more, you spot some small vessels standing lined up on the desk in the far corner with books and scrolls littered around them. You don’t wait for Aemond to reply as you make your way over, determined to inspect the small containers. The liquid inside of them resembles milk of the poppy, although it’s slightly more permeable to light when you hold it to one of the candles. 

You hardly think about the dangers coming with it when you open the lid to inhale a whiff of the fluid. Not smelling entirely unpleasant, it still has you scrunching your nose as a slight burning grows prominent in your nose and throat. 

Placing the vessel back down rather quickly, it stands too close to the edge of the desk. You’re not quick enough as it falls to the ground with a clatter, the vessel shattering into pieces and the pale liquid spreading across the floor. 

“By the Seven,” you mumble, sinking to the ground to collect some of the larger shards. 

The sound of breaking glass and your sighing is enough to catch your brother's attention again. Where he has read the spines of the books before, he makes his way over to the source of the commodation now. “You shouldn’t have dropped that,” he comments dryly, which prompts you to shoot him a heated glare. “Oh, you don’t say, mh?” you reply, your voice laced with sarcasm. 

Reaching for another shard, you pull your hand back with a hiss when it cuts your finger. “Ouch!” you exclaim and rise to your feet, soon enough spotting the crimson oozing out of the cut. 

Despite his annoyance at your clumsiness, Aemond’s good eye is drawn to the cut you have given yourself. It’s no deep wound, but even the hint of your blood makes something akin to guilt bubble in his stomach. “What were you doing with that?” he inquires, as he takes your hand to inspect your finger, nodding towards the vessels still standing on the desk. 

You watch him twist and turn your hand to have the perfect look of the wound, the stinging pain suddenly not too bad with his warm skin on yours. “I… I just wanted to see what they keep here. It is unusual for anyone other than the maesters to store unmarked liquids,” you reply, hissing as Aemond pinches the cut finger a tad too tightly. “I shall see Maester Mellos. Mayhaps this needs stitching.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

Aemond fetches the books he has chosen from the collection, holding them under his arm as he brings the other to you to place a hand to the small of your back, guiding you out of the Dragonpit. 

On your request, the cut on your finger is stitched by Maester Mellos, although he has voiced that it wasn’t quite necessary. But something tells you the opposite, especially when you catch him staring at your face and checking your temperature more than once. “Is everything alright, maester?” you ask him with a soft voice, a yawn following. 

Aemond towers over the both of you, carefully watching each move of the needle in the elder’s hands, just waiting for him to make a wrong move that’s meant to hurt you – he’s familiar with being stitched up after all. 

The maester seems to be out of his mind, and only reacts as he hears you say his name. “Maester Mellos?” 

His eyes are wide, but he nods quickly. “Yes… yes, princess. The wound should be able to heal calmly now.” 

He is quick to pack his utensils up again, and even faster to leave your chambers at once. And while Aemond hurries after the old man, trying to catch up on him outside of your chambers, you don’t wait for any of them to return again with sleep coming over you.

The crackling of the fireplace is the only thing audible when you stir awake, a sheen of sweat covering your skin, making your nightgown cling to it uncomfortably. Your body feels as though it’s on fire when you squirm from one side to the other, not finding back to sleep. A tingling spreads in your loins, and each time your thighs squeeze together, it surges up your spine. 

“Gods be good,” you whine, utterly bewildered with the feeling of liquid fire coursing through your veins. 

Aemond not so silently rises from one of the chairs close to the fireplace, and comes closer to the bed, though, careful not to startle or frighten you as you regain your bearings. He has hoped you’d sleep through the entire ordeal and wake up as if nothing has happened, but that hope slowly dissipates with each passing moment. 

“How are you feeling?” your twin asks, concern in his voice. Suddenly, hearing his voice allures you, and doesn’t diminish the burning at the apex of your legs. 

As you clench your thighs together again, it releases some of the tension your body holds, and makes you whine in despair. “Aemond…” you pant, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths. “What are you doing here?”

The thin sheets covering your body do little to conceal what is happening beneath, and your brother just assumes it’s your way of trying to suppress your bodily urges ignited by the pale liquid you came in contact with before. 

“I…” his usual confidence and boldness completely deserts him at the state you’re in, and he can barely find the words to tell you what he’s been told by Maester Mellos. 

As he watches you writhe and writhe about on the bed, he’s unsure of how much longer he can just stand there and do nothing. But his concern and love for you cause him to make the decision to act, approaching you and reaching out to grasp your hands. 

At the contact, the feeling of his warm hands fully engulfing yours, it’s like something overcomes your mind and body, luring you in to move, staring up at him with wide eyes as you sit on your haunches. “Dohaeragon nyke… kostilus,” you whimper, strands of your silver hair clinging to the damp sides of your face. “Ziry ōdrikagon.. sīr bāne. Nyke sepār – dohaeragon nyke, lēkia.” Yet you don’t quite know what exactly you’re begging for. Help me… please. It hurts… so hot. I just – help me, brother. 

In the dim light of the candles, you spot his eye widening as you shift and squirm, looking up at him in such a vulnerable state with your innocent eyes, pleading for him to help you through your ordeal although you have no idea of what’s wrong with you right now. He can’t help but notice how your hair clings to your skin, seeming as if you’ve just bathed, and that your movements seem to contribute to its dampness. 

“Mellos has told me what the fluid is that the Elder keeps in his chambers,” he states, trying to stay calm and not let your state affect him too much. 

But with his proximity, all effort of you to process what he’s saying is fruitless. You pull on his hands, as if you want to encourage him to join you in bed, and when he doesn’t budge, you rise on your knees, and start to fidget with the buttons of his coat – solely driven by your urges. “And that is?” you mumble, not really listening.  

His cheeks run hot when you start to undo the buttons, and his hands capture yours once again to put a stop to it, making you pout. With furrowed brows, his grip finally has you looking up at him. “It’s something used to aid in breeding the dragons,” Aemond states. “He told me it’s also used to increase their stamina and to make them more…” he trails off, his body slowly growing tense as the implication of what he’s going to say settles into his mind. “... receptive to breeding.”

“Mh–Mh,” you hum almost nonchalantly, and watch completely mesmerized as your fingers graze along his, the warmth and softness of his skin only intensifying the tingling in your loins. Aemond is hesitant, unsure whether or not what you’re doing is entirely due to the potion’s effect, or if there is genuinely some desire for him on your part. 

You lick your lips and free your hands from Aemond’s to shrug the opened coat off his shoulders. The fabric of his tunic is pinched between your fingers as you tug on it once again to beg for him to join you. With him taking his sweet time, you find yourself clenching your thighs every now and then to soothe the aching burning at the apex of them.

“He also informed me that ‘tis necessary for someone to… help you through it,” he murmurs quietly, his voice almost sounding shaky as he speaks, “... for it will burn you from the inside out if not.”

Even though you’re fully acting on your body's desires, you do notice the way his widened eye trails down to your thighs, lingering there for a moment before it returns to yours. 

You don’t give a verbal response to his words, and instead, your only reactions are subtle ones. Nodding your head slowly, as if you’ve understood what he is implying, your hands squeeze his tunic further into his chest. He can practically see your body tensing with each movement of your fingers, almost as if you’re trying to hold back. 

With your eyes firmly locked with his now, you slowly trail your hands beneath his tunic, pushing it up to remove that as well from his body to get further access to him – if it wasn’t for him not raising his arms. 

Exhaling a deep breath, you sit back on your haunches. His reluctance does little to quell the fire raging within you, no, it only fuels to make you even more desperate. The lacey hem of your nightgown rides up your thighs as you spread them, and fully exposes your undergarments the moment you bring your hand between your legs. A breathy whimper falls past your lips as your fingers finally make contact with your clothed cunt, and then something akin to mischief flickers in your lilac eyes. 

“And… will you help me, brother? Or shall I ask Jacaerys for help instead? We ought to wed in a moon's turn after all,” your voice is honeyed as you speak, dripping with feigned innocence. “But you don’t want that, do you? That’s why you’ve stayed.”

You spot the exact moment his breath hitches in his throat. He suddenly feels a wave of heat overcoming him, your words triggering something in him that is more than just the usual desire to protect his younger sister, something primal. You sound and look so vulnerable asking for his help, secretly begging for him and him only. 

Intertwining your fingers with his, the intensity of your grip increasing as your senses become more heightened, your twin finally moves as you pull him onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as you watch him come closer, and when he is close enough, you reach and pull him down onto you in a quick motion. You don’t waste a second more and lock your lips with his, your hand slowly traveling down his back. But before you can grab his tunic and pull it over his head, Aemond pushes you back to lie flatly on the bed, pinning your wrists above your head. His eye burns with hunger as he gazes down at you, visible even in the dim light, and it makes you yearn for more. 

“Well, if I chose to leave you here to your own devices, would you crawl to your betrothed for help? I do not think so,” he says, his voice taking over a mocking tone. “No, in fact, I’m certain you would come to my chambers instead.”

When he doesn’t touch you, you try to wrap your legs around his body to grind yourself against him, but Aemond is quick to catch your hip with one hand, keeping your body still as it's pinned to the mattress.

“Sir, dohaeragon nyke,” you beg, voice shaky enough it comes close to a whimper. But when you notice that speaking in the tongue of your ancestors is not having any effect on him at all, you choose to coax him to tend to you in the Common Tongue. “Touch me, Aemond. Help me… please.” Now, help me.

Aemond is silent for a moment, visibly dragging his eye over your squirming frame. One hand still holds your wrists above your head, while the other slowly but surely releases your hip. “I shall take care of you,” he reassures you. “But you will have to let me, do you understand?”

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and slowly nod your head, only for you to pounce on him the moment your wrists are released. The tunic is gone as soon as your body collides with his, causing a strained gasp to leave your twin’s lips. While just the thoughts of his warm skin on yours have incite your mind already, seeing his bare chest sets your body alight. 

His demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, and he has never treated you as roughly as he does when he pushes you off of him. It leaves you dumbfounded for a moment, more so when he moves between your parted legs, towering over you. 

“Look how dull this fluid has made you,” he mocks, the condescending tone of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. Aemond notices that you’re not shying away from him, no, you keen at that. “Just because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“If I help you,” he warns, “no one else, let alone that bastard of a nephew, is ever allowed to touch you again, do you understand?”

It might be the liquid-induced state, or the despair to have him do anything to you already, but you’re far too eager to nod at his words. 

Aemond’s hand wanders below the hem of your nightgown to heartily fist your undergarments and peel them off of you. He can already feel that the linen is soaked with your arousal, but still can’t stop himself from licking his lips as he sees your now exposed cunt glistening in the light of the candles. 

“Now, we do not want you to suffer any longer, hm?” he asks. 

And you nod once again. “Gods, yes, please. I need you, Aemond.”

You don’t have to beg him any longer. He undoes the laces in the front of his breeches and pulls out his throbbing cock, painfully hard and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s slightly curved and thick, and if you have to guess, you’d say that you need both hands to pleasure him, and even then there’d still be a bit of him that would be left abandoned. 

Aemond wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance, pushing into you as you both moan in unison. You don’t expect him to set up a merciless pace almost immediately upon fully bottoming out, but you’re not disappointed either. 

While you’ve been able to talk before, he’s quickly reduced you to a whimpering and whining mess, relishing in the delicious burning of accommodating his sheer size. 

“Does it help?” your twin asks through gritted teeth, desperately trying to keep his sounds of pleasure at bay. But you’ve been fucked into a stupor by him already, not even able to keep your eyes open. “Mh-mh,” you hum. 

Putting some of his weight onto you, Aemond’s hand finds your throat like the most treasured necklace you only take off to sleep, taking up the entirety of your neck and leaving no room for you to shift even the slightest. 

It was subtle at first, but the merciless pace slowly changes into something more determined, his hips rolling with each thrust as if he wants to make sure the tip of his cock really brushes your sweet spot every time. He’s seemingly spurred on by the way you’ve lost all inhibitions, not that the fluid allowed you to have any in the first place, and the wanton moans that spill past your lips. 

One of your hands grabs his wrist, keeping his hand around your throat, while the other finds solace on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your nails dig into his alabaster skin, and you’re sure that crescent shaped marks will bloom there not long after, staking your claim on him. 

“But you need more,” Aemond grunts, and you can’t do more than whimper a pathetic string of yesses. “The only thing that will truly help you is for me to fill you up with my seed, to breed you.”

Your head tips back in plain bliss, and you’re not sparing one thought to the possible repercussions of him putting a child in you. If anything, there is something buried deeply inside of you that has waited for this moment. You have waited for this moment. You grew up thinking you’d marry your twin one day, only for the rising tensions inside of the family to force you to marry your nephew instead as the final straw to mend the chasm. 

Aemond’s stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the way your body reacts to him and his words – not when a renewed wave of your arousal drips from your cunt at the mere thought of you carrying his child. It’s running thin, ready to burst at any given moment, hence he brings a deft finger to your pearl, rubbing it with frantic movements that should bring you to peak just in time with him. 

The pressure brought to your pearl has your body squirming, not anticipating it and the shiver of pleasure that comes with it. You arch your back and moan, yet a tight squeeze of your throat is enough to bring your attention back to him.

“Do you want that?” he pants, dark blown eyes fixed with yours. “Want me to put a babe in you?” It might be his way to ask for your reassurance, and while your body’s reaction should be enough with your walls clenching around him so tightly, he stills wants to hear your voice. 

Your cheeks grow hot as his words finally seem to settle in your hazed mind, a whiny ‘yes’ slipping past your lips. “Fill me up, Aemond… please. I want it,” you all but beg, your voice croaked with him squeezing your throat. 

The confession flips a switch inside of you that allows you to let go, your body shattering beneath Aemond with a pathetic whine. He relishes in the way your walls flutter and spasm all over him, utterly mesmerized as relief etches itself into your features. 

With a groan, the first wanton sound of pleasure you’ve heard of him, Aemond spends himself inside of you. He connects your lips in a heated kiss that has you swallowing down each grunt and groan he unleashes. Working you both through the blissful highs, his hips only stop once he’s sure he’s fucked his seed as deep as possible, determined to put a child in you. 

Aemond topples over into the vacant space next to you, his breeches soaked with your arousal and his chest heaving with his breaths. 

The sudden loss of friction makes you whine at first, but is quickly overshadowed by the feeling of relief. “Thank you,” you whisper through heavy breaths, turning your head to look at him. 

“I won’t leave now,” he says softly, although there is a linger of mischief in his voice. “I would be remiss not to aid my sister in her hour of utmost desperation… so, I shall stay the night just to make sure you really get through it.”

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu @legitalicat

[fumifooms]

I don’t like minimizing the importance and gravity of Laios and Toshiro’s fight into just being a childish squabble, even if to a degree it is framed that way, because to both of them it has a lot of personal significance and emotional weight and runs very deep to their characters… The fight isn’t nothing it’s a LOT, they made up but it’s not something easy to express and to get over for either of them which makes it all the more meaningful! I’m on both sides but there very much are sides, there’s no "they’re both having a ball, Toshiro and Laios hand in hand yay" side to the fight, that comes after

The fight with Toshiro WAS very scary to Laios, almost existentially so, but it’s moreso the "I thought I’d made a friend!!" bit and my god. My god actually

Like it’s not "just" about oh his friend liking him less than he thought, THAT IS SO MUCH. It’s a bond he thought he had being a lie it’s all the time and moments spent together either being a lie from his perspective or marred now looking back. It’s not only being upset at Toshiro for lying but upset at himself that he’s so easy to fool, it’s being upset that there’s something so wrong with you that you can’t even tell if your "close buddy" even actually likes you or not, it’s like. Holding my head. He can’t trust his own vision of events that happened do you see. There’s always this film of distrust that it could be a lie that should be there when he interacts with people there’s always this sense of cloak and dagger to expect backstabs out of nowhere because you CAN’T see it coming you CAN’T you CAN’T there’s something about you which makes it impossible so you CAN’T-

He’s so scared of not being able to read people. He knows it’s a weak spot he has, he’s always known. All of these bits are centered around social expectations and betrayals, the assumption that he doesn’t belong either in society or with other humans.

And Laios’ level of awareness is actually sort of complex to analyze, but it’s there, there’s how out of him and Falin he was the one sensitive to the ~aura of hatred~ he felt from the townspeople, there’s of course his nightmares whispering to him about the mocking looks, and how yeah actually he realizes that his gold stripper coworker was taking advantage of him. There’s of course the Winged Lion speech about his trauma and how he fundamentally mistrusts/dislikes humans to some deep seated degree, this distrust that he still keeps under control always. There’s how pre-canon he often wanted to suggest eating monsters but never worked up the courage to bring it up with the others. There’s how he gets across as stoic when he isn’t being enthusiastic…… We don’t know how aware and wary he is exactly in the moment but we do know he has some anxiety around social stuff, and looking back he does notice and aughh augh, the sense you have to hide yourself to not get hurt and be on your guard and shit and.

When you don’t know what to look out for and when to look out for it, the general ‘common sense’ of not always trusting people or noticing when someone’s messing with you becomes hypervigilance in social settings

"Man they really know what you hate huh". Being socially unaware literally plagues him, he knows, he knows it so well.

It’s so quick that it’s almost hard to digest how literal and blatant Laios summoning his monster to crush all the people who’ve hurt him is. His literal go-to coping mechanism for comfort in his literal monster-induced emotionally intense nightmares, saving him by taking away the upsetting element (the humans)

"Monsters are his coping fantasy, where they can whisk him away from humanity, all the hurt it’s caused him and its arbitrary rules" with the subtlety of a brick. Monsters are his comfort safe zone "because they kill humans" yes but no it’s because he pits them as the guardians against humans who to him are in the role of the agressors. To him they represent freedom from the shackles of what it means to be part of humanity, a fundamentally social species

[sanjisprincesswifey]

jealousy, jealousy ⋆ trafalgar law x reader

summary: eustass helps law realize something

♡: sort of non-canonical wano law content. female reader. 750+ words. sfw content.

law could feel his eye twitch at the sight of you two. it has his stomach twisting in knots and his throat running dry, like some form of horrific torture.

despite being an incredible asset to his team, he was beginning to regret bringing you along on this mission at all.

out of all the people in the country of wano, you had to end up with that red-haired, idiot of a captain. law doesn’t understand how anyone would find interest in that unruly dumbass, but here he was with an arm around you and his face so close to yours that law was sure you could taste his breath.

law never knew exactly what your type was but he wasn’t expecting it to be…that.

“trafalgar, what’re you staring at over there?” the dumbass in question asks, with an obvious smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

you turn at the call of your captain and law bitterly rolls his eyes in response, attempting to act as unbothered as he could right now.

hearing eustass laugh in response, surely making you chuckle too, has an unreasonable, seething jealousy burn in law’s chest. and when he turns back his heart sinks, staring in disbelief as the two of you begin to lean in to each other.

law doesn’t know what comes over him, but his vision grows blurry and time begins to feel like it is slowing down. “y/n-ya, can i see you outside for a moment please,” he strainingly calls. he doesn’t bother to check for a reaction from either of you, but he can assume that one of you isn’t too thrilled to be interrupted.

the moonlight that cascades over wano envelopes your skin in a minute blue-ish tint the moment you step out and law momentarily forgets his distain for a couple of seconds, too engulfed in your beauty to be able to think.

“captain?” you question, pulling his head out of the clouds.

he shifts awkwardly on his feet, scratching the back of his neck. “i, uh—“ he dryly coughs, “i needed to see you for a moment.”

you nod, assuming he would continue and inform you further, but he just stood there averting his gaze between the ground and you. “yes…for what?”

his gray eyes seem more lackluster than normal, which was odd, even for him. law usually was so composed and calm, even in the most dangerous situations, seeing him so on-edge was slightly unnerving.

“captain,” you gently say, reaching over lightly grab his shoulder, “you can talk to me.”

before you can retract your hand, law grabs it to hold in his. “i don’t think you should date eustass,” he blurts out, startling the both of you.

his hand that’s holding yours grows clammy, you were certain even he wasn’t intending to reveal that information.

“i—i mean, he just doesn’t seem like your type…no, wait, fuck—“

your head tilts, brows furrowing as you watch him poorly string a sentence together. in all the time that you’ve known law, you’ve never heard him babble like he is right now before.

“so what is my type?” you question, crossing your arms over your chest.

he thinks about speaking before he actually does, “well…you deserve someone who could treat you, you know, good. someone smart, who knows you and—“

your lips curve into a smile, eyes softening when you realize who he’s describing. “law, that sounds like you,” you interrupt.

law’s entire body freezes, his eyes widen as he looks up at you. he shakily points to himself with a confused, almost humorous, expression on his face. the realization on his face soon sets in, finally taking a deep breath. “…that sounds like me,” he repeats, to himself mostly.

“i didn’t realize you felt that way about me, captain,” you say in a much calmer, almost flirtatious tone as you step closer to him. you reach up to lightly graze the stubble on his chin, bringing his lips closer to yours.

his breath hitches, wanting nothing more than to continue where you and eustass had left off. “wait, wait, wait, as your captain…and future boyfriend, i would like to take you out on a proper date first. it’s the least you deserve,” he blushes, trying his hardest to not give in to the temptation of how soft your lips look.

as disappointed as you are, you have to appreciate his dorky, yet chivalrous, nature (which doesn’t surprise you one bit). “i guess that’s okay, the longer i wait, the more i’ll want you,” you smirk, thumb brushing over his bottom lip as you head back inside.

law stands in awestruck, a small drop of blood descending from his nose.

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! (✿◠‿◠)

[tommykinard6]

Should I be eating and resting? Yes. Am I? No, so come join me for a dissertation on Tommy Kinard being lonely.

Edit to add a note since I saw a reblog about it: Tommy has no canonical age right now and Lou is 39, 40 later this year, so that is my basis for saying he’s 39.

Now when I say lonely, I don’t mean that he has no one whatsoever. I can picture him going for drinks with his team or having some Muay Thai buddies that he could call up if he really was inclined. Maybe an old army buddy or two.

But there’s something about Tommy that’s just achingly lonely, both when he was at the 118 and now at Harbor.

Tommy had a broken home, or some other kind of unstable childhood. Maybe his parents split, maybe he was mistreated, maybe he was in the system or was passed around family members. Maybe he was isolated as a child because he was a little overweight (I think Lou said something along those lines) and was bullied. I think Tommy didn’t really have any friends until high school, when puberty hit and maybe he started working out and probably joined the football team. I don’t know if anyone remembers what teenage boys are like, but I can imagine they were the same as they are today back in the 90s/early 00’s. Because around this time, Tommy might’ve started to realize that something was very different about him.

Now this isn’t a meta about how I think Tommy dealt with his sexuality (maybe I’ll do one of those later) but I think he never would’ve risked his football friends knowing even if he himself could acknowledge it, which I doubt. So he messed around, got in trouble with these guys, hung out with the bros, and pretended to be interested in girl talk.

Of course, eventually, his buddies all got girlfriends and he was always the odd one out again.

He didn’t do college. The army was his next step. And I feel like this might have been the first time in his life he wasn’t lonely. He’d learned to blend in by this point and he worked with some great people. But as he started making real friends for the first time, he also started losing them as the war tore them away.

Tommy left the army and joined the fire department. There was an aching hole where the camaraderie of the army had filled previously and with no education beyond a high school diploma, Tommy thought the fire department would replicate that. Not the police though. He’d had enough of guns.

(And ohhhh now so many ideas on his thoughts during the sniper)

But he ended up at the 118 and quickly realized that his team had maybe more of a DADT stance than the army. He realized that he had to put on an elaborate act to fool his fellow firefighters, who had more time on their hands and more prejudice they were willing to wield to pick apart his life. Tommy, who maybe had only just started to acknowledge he felt differently about guys with less panic than before, had no choice but to backslide. He acted and acted and crafted a person he wasn’t until the day that maybe he was. Sal was his closest buddy at the 118 and Tommy had no doubt that Sal would be one of the first to make his life hell. Gerrard seemed to look at Tommy as some sort of mentee. Boxed in by two notorious bigots, Tommy had never felt more claustrophobically alone.

Chim was the first one to reach out a hand of friendship, or at least the first one that didn’t come with caution tape, but he was also an “other” and Tommy, who was confused and afraid and had just had his captain call his bluff on his fake girlfriend, lashed out. Then he allowed Chim in and Chim wasn’t interested in being besties but he was a great drinking buddy and movie buddy and Tommy felt safest around him.

Then Hen came and Tommy watched her get the same treatment he was afraid of. Not that he had to worry about the racism, and he was aware of the privilege, but Hen didn’t exactly hide herself and he watched them bully his lesbian coworker. He let himself get pulled into it all and hated himself for it, but was too cowardly to break away from it. He wasn’t sure why Hen had forgiven him, but she became the only other person on shift he felt even a little safe around other than Howie. But then Chimney and Hen became best friends and Tommy fell to the wayside. They still included him, sure, but they were always a pair and there was something there that Tommy didn’t know but longed for. A closeness he’d never felt.

A best friend. A juvenile idea to him, but one he’d never truly had.

Then Gerrard was gone and Sal got transferred and the 118 moved forward under Captain Nash, but Tommy felt left behind, even in what was the most united A shift team yet. Because he was over 30 and was starting to be unable to ignore everything that he’d had to hide under Gerrard, as he no longer had a distraction from it.

He’d been a pilot in the army, so he transferred to Harbor. And Harbor was great. He wasn’t best buds with anyone (he was starting to think that was never in the cards for him) but his team didn’t carry the same baggage that the 118 had.

So Tommy started to come to terms with himself. He started to date for the first time and came out to his team. And he had several boyfriends, but most couldn’t handle the job or his baggage or the desperate need he had to be wanted. His most long term partner cheated and the one he fell hardest for couldn’t deal when Tommy was injured on the job. Even within his own relationships, he felt like he was destined to stand alone.

Tommy was 39 years old and alone, as always, when Chimney walked back into his life, dragging an adorable and also extremely hot blonde and a stoic brunette that radiated ex military in a way only ex military could know. And then Hen was there and they were trying to rescue their captain and his wife and they clearly loved each other fiercely and like family.

And as Tommy listened, flying through the remnants of a cat 5 hurricane, he thought to himself that he should’ve never left. Simply just never found himself if only that meant being part of the family the 118 was now. However, he knew deep down that he still would’ve been alone and on the outside.

And they rescued the survivors and Tommy thought that was it but then Eddie wanted to hang out. And they liked the same things and had similar experiences and Tommy couldn’t help the hope. Because the loneliness had grown stifling and now he could breathe a little. And then Evan, the cute blonde, wanted a tour of the hanger and he thought that maybe he was being hit on.

And then at the end of it all, Tommy was left realizing that he’d wedged himself between two best friends and that was what happened when he allowed himself to hope. So he went to Evan to apologize. He would get Evan and Eddie to talk to each other and then would fade into the background.

But then Evan was sweet and apologetic and told him that he was part of the 118 family simply by helping them. Tommy couldn’t help it. Here he was, at 39, with a little boy still waiting inside of him to be soothed. And Evan was hot and sweet and Tommy couldn’t help himself.

And he really liked Evan. Evan was adorable. But their first date didn’t go as planned and Tommy knew he was already whipped. So he removed himself before someone could get hurt. Evan deserved better and so did he, even if the loneliness was stifling again.

But then Evan texted him and looked at him with sparkling blue eyes over too sweet coffee and wanted him. Him. He wanted Tommy and to have something with Tommy and he wanted him to come to his sister’s wedding with him.

And Tommy looked at him and saw someone who could finally fill the ache he’d felt his whole life. He saw a man who he knew he wanted to take a chance with. All he had to do was jump.

And he did.

And it wasn’t solved, not immediately and never fully. Too many wounds were left gaping for too long to ever heal. But for the first time in his life, at 39, with the 118 surrounding him and Buck as the sunshine at his side, Tommy finally felt at peace.

[charliedawn]

Slashers who meet a to-be victim whos just putting glitter on things

A to-be victim who has a room full of posters of serial killers and slashers

Imagine two of Bo's worst nightmares. Glitter. And sparkles. Combine them. Put them in a room and that would be your bedroom. And worst of it all...Posters of him and his brothers in every single corner. He was speechless...

"...What in the—? What is this place ?! Hell ?!"

As soon as he was in, he wanted to leave. Only to discover that the door was locked and he had now glitter on his shoes and his hand. And then, you appeared with a whole bucket of glitter in your hands. And Bo started praying.

Him : "Whatdya think yer gonna do with that exactly ?!"

You *devilish smirk*

Him : "Oh no, you don't ! Get the heck away from me !"

…Bo couldn’t get all the sparkles out of his hair for weeks.

...Wow.

Jason was surprised and impressed. A full room dedicated to him and the slashers. He hadn't expected it. He didn't really mind though. It meant you knew about him and weren’t scared.

Him *smiles* : "Do you want some help ?"

You *handing him a full bucket of glitter* : "Sure ! Put them everywhere. And you can help take pictures of the others for me."

He was more than happy to help and you ended up having a good time playing with glitter and stalking the other slashers. Jason may not really care about glitter and sparkles, but he’d be happy to spend time with you.

The Penny Brothers love glitter. It is something fun and colourful for Penny. He would help you decorate the whole hospital. He’d even be thrilled to meet a fan and see all the posters you have of them. It would mean that you are as crazy as him and you would get along just fine. Penny loves crazy people.

And for Pennywise ? Pennywise sees it as the perfect torture. Those little colourful flakes are impossible to remove from clothes or hair and when people receive them in their eyes…It means atrocious suffering and temporary blindness. So, of course he’d love them.

Brahms was ecstatic when he learned about the new patient who loves glitter and sparkles. He wanted to be your friend before he even met you. He stayed away for a while and only showed himself when he was sure you were what he thought you were. When he saw the huge posters of him, he got flustered. But, he got particularly excited when you showed him your collection of pink and purple items covered in glitter. He immediately felt like he had found someone who understood him.

It wasn’t long before Brahms started walking around proudly with a glitter-covered mask. And he didn’t even care about the others making fun of him for it, because there was you.

Norman knew from the start. He first rent you a room and when he took a look through the peep hole—he was immediately blinded by the brightness in the room. But, he was flattered by the posters.

Let’s just say that Norman found it endearing, but he isn’t a really big fan of glitter and sparkle—especially on him. It means more cleaning. But, on you ? He’d find it adorable and would gladly run the vacuum every day if it meant he got to see you in those very pretty and original outfits of yours.

Norman *smiles* : "Very cute, my little monster. Very cute."

Freddy : "FIRE IN THE HOLE !" *uses a literal canon to make the whole place sparkle*

Freddy loves chaos. You would just give him an idea to cause more trouble and make the whole hospital swim in glitter. Fortunately, the staff and the other slashers are used to it by now.

But, it doesn’t mean they like it all the same.

Random nurse *after she got covered in green glitter* : "…FREDDY ! Y/N ! Come back here !"

You and Freddy *cackling while running away*

Barry LOVES glitter. He lives for it. He wants each of his outfits to have a sparkle to them. And he’d design all sorts of clothes for you.

Barry *screams when you get out of the dressing room* : "YES ! Absolutely nailed it ! Twirl for me, darling. Yes. Thank you. Absolutely gorgeous."

Vincent did take you as an inspiration for his new piece. He took some of your supplies to cover his new wax statue and at the end, he offered it to you. It was a wax statue of yourself and Vince waited anxiously for your opinion.

Vincent *fidgets nervously*

You *smile widely* : "I love it !"

He was really ecstatic and gave you a hug. He really wanted you to like it.

[moonyswritinq]

charles x american!reader? inspo from the song so american by olivia rodrigo? like him just making fun of an american accent lol

so american — charles rowland x gn reader

❝ SO AMERICAN ❞

SYNOPSIS ➢ Headcanons for Charles with an American reader, based on Olivia Rodrigo’s song ‘So American’.

PAIRING ➢ charles rowland x american gender neutral reader

CONTENT WARNING ➢ pining, banter, implicit sex, ish-canon timeline, no use of y/n

WORD COUNT ➢3.3 k

AUTHORS NOTE ➢ I didn’t know if you wanted a one shot or headcanons, but I felt like this would best fit as a mix of the two. I sort of got carried away. thank you for the request and hope you enjoy!

And if you do enjoy, I URGE you to like, reblog AND comment!!! It's so important to me as a writer.

MASTERLIST, TAG LIST

Drivin' on the right-side road He says I'm pretty wearin' his clothes And he's got hands that make Hell seem cold Feet on the dashboard, he's like a poem I wish I wrote I wish I wrote

Charles had a habit of taking everything lightly and making jokes to play off serious situations, something that could bother you at times.

The first time you met, for instance, was one of those times.

You were driving down the road of your little town and had to slam the brakes as to not run over the incredibly handsome, but incredibly stupid, boy that had just tried to cross the road.

You had honked at him and he looked up in surprise before immediately being pulled back by the hands of a red-headed girl. He broke out in a grin as you drove off with a scoff, internally cursing him.

The next time you saw him was only later that same day, surprisingly at your family friend’s, and the local butcher’s, shop.

You had walked in an immediately let out a sigh of annoyance, one of which he heard and turned around with that same grin plastered on his face.

“Well, if it isn’t the boy with a death wish,” you muttered, ignoring him and his friends to go up to the counter. Unluckily for you, Jenny was not there.

The boy scratched his neck bashfully. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Forgot you lot drive on the right side of the road, which is technically the wrong side of the road. Just wasn’t looking.”

An eyebrow raised in his direction. English.

He stepped forward with a hand outstretched. “The name’s Charles. Pleased to meet you.”

You took it as a shiver ran up your spine, weirdly so cold to the touch he felt warm. It was the first time you managed to get a proper look at him, admiring his stylish clothes and sharp features. And his eyes were as warm as his hand was, deep swirling pools of darkness that seemed to emit nothing but light. You smiled back, introducing yourself.

“Pleasure. And this is Edwin, Crystal, and Niko,” he introduced his friends behind him, who all gave you a smile except for the uptight-looking Edwin.

“Well, I’ll let you guys get back to it,” you said, turning back to the counter as Jenny came out. You handed her the keys to the car with a wink. “Thanks for letting me borrow your car, Jenny. Told you I would return it without a scratch.”

She raised a doubtful eyebrow. “That is left to be seen, kiddo.”

You were about to turn around just when you caught the end of the other teenagers’ conversation. “Did you guys just say ‘Point No Point?” you asked and swivelled around to face them.

Niko nodded enthusiastically, briefly glancing at the boys. “Yeah, we’re going there for a—um, to meet someone there.”

“That’ll take ages without a car,” you remarked.

Crystal sighed. “Well, I can’t drive. How are we gonna get there?”

Your lips lifted into the beginning of a smirk as you turned back to Jenny. She heaved a deep sigh and threw back the keys into your hands.

Your smile broke out as you thanked her and motioned for the others to follow you. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

Charles insisted on sitting in the front seat beside you, his feet up on the dashboard, tapping his finger along to the music in the car. You thought it was oddly charming.

You had asked what their whole deal was and Niko had inevitably revealed that they were the Dead Boy Detectives and that Charles was, in fact, dead. Upon hearing it, you almost slammed the breaks again in pure shock but managed to keep driving as if nothing.

And he laughs at all my jokes And he says I'm so American

It also started raining on your way there, making you groan in frustration as you remarked that “all this water is going to get Jenny’s car so muddy.”

“‘Wa-der,’” he had chuckled under his breath.

In an instant, you had turned to him with a harsh glare. “What?”

“Nothing,” came his amused reply. “You’re just so American.”

It wasn’t nothing, though. It was the first of many remarks against your American accent.

You had arrived at the lighthouse and very warily gotten out of the car. Somehow you had gotten roped up in their case and was now there to help them out through the end.

Charles had noticed your shivering in the cold rain and offered you his jacket which, despite ghost physics, was quite heavy and warm. You supposed ghosts couldn’t really get wet by normal rain, as both Edwin and Charles seemed unbothered by it.

You had tried to argue against taking it, claiming that you wouldn’t want to ‘strip him of any of his Britishness’, to which he had only scoffed and heaved the thing onto you while saying, “so American of you to assume my Britishness can be stripped away merely by my coat.”

Charles had then given you an appraising look and, while the others were distracted by the ghosts on the pier, bent down slightly to say, “You look pretty wearing my clothes.”

Your cheeks had warmed immediately and you’d turned away to not give it away, earning a chuckle. It made you smile though.

He learnt quickly that complimenting you would earn him a blush and a soft nudge against his ribcage, which made him do it even more.

That was also when he liked pointing out your accent. It started as a small observation, but eventually evolved into insults and bits.

He did it every chance he got; saying ‘lit-er-ally’ with an over-exaggerated vocal fry; ‘aloominum’; ‘hey, y’all’; and, his absolute favourite of them all, ‘i’m walkin here!’. Half of them made you laugh incessantly and the other half made you drag a hand over your face in frustration.

The worst was when he would parrot you personally, making you half wondering if you should be ashamed of your accent. When you had asked him about it, though, he had been quick to assure you that he loved your accent.

And that was when you started doing it back to him.

It became a game for the two of you, often just imitating each other’s accents.

“Are you ‘schewpid’?” you asked, turning to him.

He chuckled dryly, cocking his head in your direction. “Yeah, yeah, while you’re throwing insults at me I am just going to go grab a ‘kawfee’.”

You scoffed. “You’re a ghost, Charles. You can’t have coffee.”

“I can, but it just tastes disgusting.”

“Okay, well, while you’re at it, ‘kan I please ‘ave a cupa wa’a’?” you said, meeting his defiant gaze before he  burst out in laughter. It made your insides warm knowing you were the cause of that laugh.

“Would you two please stop it?” came Crystal’s irritated reply. Edwin only rolled his eyes at your antics but you knew he agreed with Crystal’s discontent. You caught Charles’ gaze and broke out in a smile.

“I don’t know,” said Niko, fiddling with her fingers, “I think it’s cute when they do that.”

And just like that, you both fell silent and turned away from each other.

Oh, God, it's just not fair of him To make me feel this much I'd go anywhere he goes

You knew you liked him, a lot. But you hadn’t dared admit anything to him or anyone else and tried your best to hide it—not that you were doing a very good job.

The only thing that knew what you felt were the thrown-away poems you had written on a whim, his beaming face starkly imprinted in your mind.

You didn’t think it was fair for him to make you feel that much, enough to actually write poems about him. God, you were whipped (Charles would have definitely made fun of your using that word if he heard it).

You came with the Dead Boy Detectives on all their cases, now an honorary member in their Detective Agency. You enjoyed a lot of detective stories, like Sherlock Holmes and so seemingly had absorbed some of it, because you were quite good at figuring out clues.

It was all practically worth it to see Charles' smile directed at you after you had discovered something.

God, I'm so boring, and I'm so rude Can't have a conversation if it's not all about you The way you dress, and the books you read

And despite it all, you didn’t feel quite enough for him. He was a charismatic and vibrant person, while you thought of yourself as quite rude and boring.

Sometimes you wondered if you were too harsh in your remarks at Charles’ britishness, but then remembered his always-present smile that met your gaze and your worries fell away.

Nothing had happened up until that point, but it became increasingly more difficult denying anything being between you two.

Even Edwin started catching on and asking if something was between you two, which lead to some very awkward silences where Charles would drag Edwin away with an apologetic smile thrown your way.

Until finally it got too difficult to deny.

Niko would ask you something about a case and somehow you would end up talking about Charles’ smile, his eyes, the way he dressed and what he was interested in. She finally got so sick of it and decided to just call you out on it.

“You like Charles.”

You opened your mouth to protest but she put a finger against your lips, causing you to be too stunned to speak.

“And don’t say that you don’t, because it’s obvious,” she said, removing her finger.

“It’s not that obvious, is it?” you asked. You refused to meet her gaze and instead tried to look anywhere but her.

“Yes, it is.” She sighed, bringing her hands up to clasp your shoulders. “We all know it. Even Charles. But he won’t admit it either, so please go talk to him before we all die.”

You rolled your eyes, but felt a small smile start to form on your lips. “OK, just a little dramatic there?”

Niko shook her head with a serious expression on her face. “No. Now go find him.”

She had shooed you away after that, making sure that both Edwin and Crystal were distracted enough so that you could slip out to talk to Charles privately.

You found him in the other room, rooting through his backpack to find something ridiculously large, no wonder.

And he says I'm so American Oh, God, I'm gonna marry him If he keeps this shit up I might just be in lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-, lo-lo-lo-lo-love

He seemed to have heard your footsteps as you were coming in because he tilted his head in your directing, flashing his trademark smile.

The sight of it made you swoon and you had to take a deep breath in order to collect your thoughts. When he finally asked what was up, your words came out jumbled and very much not like you had planned them to come out.

“Hey, hey,” he said, taking ahold of your shoulders and meeting your nervous gaze with his steady one. “Take a deep breath. C’mon, breathe with me.”

You did as he said, breathing with him, trying and failing to ignore the shivers that spread along with his touch. When you had collected yourself, he smiled and let go, much to your disappointment.

“That’s it. Now, what’s on your mind?” he asked.

You strode past him, opting to face the window instead of seeing his face. It only made it harder to get out any coherent sentences. “Why’d you think anything was on my mind?”

“Well,” remarked Charles, strolling after you, “it’s not everyday you storm in here as if the world is ending and then end up babbling like a stroke patient.”

You stared at him in horror before rolling your eyes. “Stop being so British, Charles.”

“Sorry, no can do, love.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” you muttered to yourself.

“What?” he asked immediately, striding right in front of you so he could look you in the eyes.

“Look,” you started, refusing to meet his eye and instead looking anywhere else. Although, you could feel his  gaze burning into your skull. “I might have developed some… feelings for you.”

Charles’ eyes widened at your words and you tried to turn again but he grabbed your shoulder to hold you in place. You sighed and finally met his gaze. His eyes were the same mysterious pools of darkness that you were used to, but you might have fooled yourself to imagine something else in them—something hopeful.

You decided to continue your confession because you were far past the point of redemption and might as well get it all out in one go.

“And the problem is, Charles, that however hard I try not to, I keep developing feelings for you. Even your annoying habits and antics cause me to fall for you. And, I swear to God, that if you keep this shit up I’m going to be properly gone for you.”

You waited a breath for his reaction, but when nothing came you were forced to ask him again. “Charles?”

“Uh, yeah,” he stammered out, his voice suddenly dry and cracked. “Sorry, I—uh, I was not prepared for that.”

You shrugged. “That’s alright. We’ll just go back to being friends. Nothing needs to change.”

He shook his head violently. “That’s absolutely not OK.”

You had but a moment to be surprised before he went in for the best kiss you had had yet in your short life. He held you like he had never touched anything before in his life and kissed you like he was a dying man and you were the cure. You weren't sure how much of it he could feel, but the psychological effect was immediate and mind blowing.

He may be dead but he had never felt more alive than in that moment.

I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he's with me When he's with me

Your relationship escalated quickly after that first kiss. You didn’t define it as anything, but it made you happier just knowing he was there by your side—and you could all him yours.

And you wasted no time in physically progressing your relationship—AKA you did not get much sleeping done.

It was a different kind of vulnerable, allowing yourself to give your soul and body to Charles, and him trusting you with himself.

Because of his being a ghost, it felt like so much more an emotional and psychological experience which only made you appreaciate it, and him, more.

By the looks of it, he enjoyed it as well—more than enjoyed it. He couldn’t stop smiling at you afterwards, while he laid on the bed beside you and gazed at you with half-dazed eyes.

Charles let himself curl around you, embracing you. You weren’t sure if ghosts could get tired, but nonetheless he whispered out a, “I’m knackered.”

You had nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “You’re so British.”

He kissed your forehead softly, and you felt it more than you had ever felt him before. “And you’re so American.”

You only chuckled and let yourself drift off to sleep in his arms holding you close.

You never wanted to get out of bed or leave him, and he utilised that fact to his every advantage.

He did everything he could to keep you in bed with him, even though he probably didn’t sleep much, just wanting to hold you close.

It wasn’t fair how easy he made your heart melt.

I apologize if it's a little too much, just a little too soon But if the conversation ever were to come up I don't wanna assume this stuff But ain't it love? I think I'm in love

It didn’t take long for you to know that it wasn’t merely affection you felt for Charles, but something much deeper.

You didn’t want to presume Charles felt anything close to what you felt, though.

So you continued acting like whatever the two of you were—kissing and hooking up—not quite a couple but not quite friends with benefits, but something in between that went deep between you two.

Without any real definition for what you two were, it frightened you out of saying anything to him.

So you kept going with the featherlight kisses, the quiet giggles after one of you said a joke and were trying to cover it up as to not disturb the rest of the group, and the endless nights where you could be in his arms and have not a care in the world.

But it was on your mind, constantly.

Oh, how you just wished to say those three words to him, to just have it out in the open. So he could have you with the truth staring into his face and do with you what he pleased.

You wanted to splay yourself open for him, vulnerable and unafraid, show him yourself and let him love you back with the same ferocity with which you loved.

And finally, it became too much.

He was on his way out for one of the cases, one of which you chose not to go with them to. He had just collected all his belongings in that backpack of his and went in for a goodbye kiss.

“Be careful,” you whispered between parted lips, leaving the ghost of your words on his mouth. He smiled through it and pulled away.

“Always am,” came his cheeky reply, winking at you before turning to the door. “Bye.”

“Bye,” you called, and then, without thinking, “Love you.”

It took a mere moment for his brain to register your words before he halted and slowly turned in his step.

“What?”

Your own eyes widened in surprise of yourself and you were quick to come up with a way to play it off as a mistake or a stumble upon your words. But he crossed the distance between you with long strides, dropping his backpack and bringing his hands up to hold your cheeks tenderly.

“What did you just say?” he whispered, eyes shifting back and forth between yours trying to find the truth in your words. Your mouth fell agape, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him again, so close now so that you could feel his short breaths of air on your skin. “Please,” he said again, voice so soft you had to strain to hear him.

“I mean, it might be a little too much, too soon, and I don’t want to assume anything, but..” Your voice trailed off, breaking. Your lips fought to form the words that so desperately wanted to make their way out of you. “But I—I love you, Charles.”

He breathed out huge sigh of relief and captured your lips with his. “I love you too,” he whispered between breaths, barely audible.

Your smile could not be hindered as he kissed you back, fiercely and passionately. He kept pressing kisses on your mouth, on the corner of your lips, trailing to your cheeks, to your neck, down to your shoulders and your chest. All the while he kept repeating those same three words, “I love you,” over and over again, pressing them into your skin. Into your soul, essentially.

Your hands were grasped in his hair, fingers curling around his locks as you felt every touch of his lips that brought forth a shiver down your spine. Not from the coldness, though, but from the feeling of his soul connecting to yours.

He kept pressing featherlight kisses to you with small ‘I love you’s, and you couldn’t fight the laugh that escaped its way through you.

“Okay, stop it” you whispered, pulling his head away to grasp his face in your hands. You met his eyes with a smile and his beaming grin made your insides melt. “I love you so much, Charles.”

He laughed, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I love you too.”

“Now, come on, you got a case to solve.”

Charles let himself be lead away to the others, refusing to let go of your hand. He even pressed kisses to the back of it every chance he got, and you were roped into going to the case with the rest of them, if only not to leave Charles’ side.

Tag list: @a-gay-dumbass @eunxhan @loverclear @shobolanya @edit-me-prettyplease @bookholichany @heartsfromcoco @scriblezz

[magentasdoodles]

So in @novalizinpeace’s poppy playtime au, specifically in the cartoon portion, the critters have these magic pendants that give them certain abilities. This isn’t limited to the gang, and all sorts of different pendants exist for different characters, but there’s a catch.

In this post, they talk about how if the magic in the pendant overwhelms a critter, it can transform them into a myth, a magical, monstrous being with incredible power, but can sometimes be incredibly dangerous to the people around them.

So I decided to take the 8 main critters and turn them into horrible little beasties for my amusement, and now I wish to show you guys the fruits of my labor.

tw for mild body horror and psychological horror under the cut

Dogday - Sol

This is the only ‘canon’ myth critter that exists in the au. Every time Dogday is pushed past his limit and gets too angry with something he transforms into sol, who is a mindless flaming warrior with no logic or regard for their surroundings. This leads to them being pretty dangerous to be around, but Sol isn’t evil, they just want to protect their user from any harm, and if left to their own devices, would probably self-isolate to protect themselves (and others) from harm.

2. Hoppy Hopscotch - Notus

The first of my original designs. Notus is the transformed version of Hoppy, and has the same weather manipulation powers, just to a much larger degree. Although she mostly uses it to make her storms larger. Notus’s mental state is much more stable than Sol (relatively), specifically in that she can remember her past life, but not specific people, so friends and even family are hardly whispers in her mind, if even that. She is quite competitive, viewing her storms as a contest to see how big she can make them, and will never back down from a challenge, doing everything in her power to win, but she is also a graceful loser, and hates cheaters. Her name comes from the Greek god of south winds, who is associated with wetness and the coming of rains.

3. Bubba bubbaphant - Ganesha

This guy’s name comes from the Hindu deity of new beginnings and the patron of the sciences and arts, who is also represented by a man with an elephant’s head and four arms. His mental state is similar to that of Notus, in that he can remember specific events from his past, but not people. He has become incredibly intelligent, being able to solve complex equations and understand lots of different subjects, but his already prevalent neuroticism has been turned up to eleven, with even the slightest infraction driving him to a rage, which can make him incredibly dangerous to deal with, but also rewarding, as his intellect allows him to answer many questions. He can also spin webs, because spider.

4. Bobby Bearhug - Callisto

Callisto is a little different from the other myths. She can remember her name, and her past, and the people around her, but only sometimes. You see, her pendant’s natural power is to absorb the excess emotion around her, and it still does that, but if she absorbs to much, then it leads to her transformation into a massive bear like monster with one goal, to make the excess stop by any means necessary. This has led to her voluntary exile in order to stop herself from hurting the people around her, which causes Bobby a great deal of pain, but it’s better than letting herself hurt the people she cares about the most. Her name comes from a nymph who was transformed into (what else) a bear by a furious Hera.

5. Pickypiggy - Limos

Unlike most of the others, Limos can hardly remember who she once was, much less the people in her life or what they mean to her. Instead she is driven by her one deepest instinct: to care and provide for the people around her. She works tirelessly to cook and prepare extravagant meals for anyone who might need it, leading to her neglecting her own health and her living environment. She also has to deal with a ravenous hunger that pains her every moment, and often leads her to devouring her dishes as soon as she finished, causing even further distress. Her name comes from the Greek goddess of starvation, which i don’t think is a very good comparison, but I can’t think of anything better, so eh.

6. KickinChicken - The Roc

Kickin’s transformed state is probably the least actively dangerous to be around. He’s a large, powerful bird capable of flying incredibly fast, as well as being incredibly loud and aggressive, but never actively harmful. His mental state is kind of the opposite of Notus and Ganesha, in that he can remember specific people and places, but not his past nor his name, and goes out of his way to try and help others. The key word being ‘try’, as his loud and aggressive demeanor often end up causing more damage than assistance. His name comes from an Arabian creature that is described as a bird of prey large enough to carry an elephant, which I thought was a good choice, and I couldn’t find any mythological chickens that really fit him.

7. Craftycorn - Apophis

Her name comes from an Egyptian monster that is said to be the embodiment of chaos and disorder, although Crafty is significantly less malevolent than her mythological counterpart. The main effect of her presence is the chaotic shifting of her environment, colors swapping and shapes changing into maelstrom of chaos around her, with the effect getting stronger the closer you get towards her, and any critter who does so has the very real risk of being torn apart. Apophis herself isn’t doing much better, with her entire body constantly melting into multicolored goop that has a consistency similar to that of candle wax. Not much is known about her mental state, as no one is brave enough to get close to her for risk of being killed, but there has to be something left of her as her maelstrom very much has the capacity to expand over the entire world and destroy it, the only reason it hasn’t is because Crafty appears to be holding it back through sheer force of willpower.

8. Catnap - Ouranos

Ouranos is probably the one who’s the most ‘in there’, besides Callisto in her non murder mode. He can remember his past life quite clearly and the people in them. In fact the only difference between him and normal Catnap is that Ouranos is slightly more apathetic towards outside events. He’s floated off into space and now observes to world from the heavens, watching as everything drifts by, because he can’t exactly leave. He can, however, see his friends suffering, and wishes he had the capability to help them in any way he could.

Once again thanks to @novalizinpeace for the au and all concepts belong to her.

[steviewashere]

Sugar Lips

Rating: Teen and Up CW: None Apply! Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has an Oral Fixation, Suckers as Both a Plot Point and a Character, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington's Mouth, Spit Kink, (I'm Like 99% Sure That's Half of What This Is), Eddie Munson is a Cringe Fail, Eddie Munson is Good at Flirting (Sort of), First Kiss, Innuendos, Steve Harrington is a Tease, Neurodivergent Eddie Munson (Implied), Neurodivergent Steve Harrington (Implied)

🍭—————🍭

Steve has this little thing he does and Eddie isn’t sure he realizes what it is. Or that he’s doing it. Or that it’s driving him absolutely insane.

Now, Eddie’s no stranger to fidgeting. That is definitely something he engages in as constantly as possible. He often shifts the guitar pick on his necklace. And he absentmindedly picks the threads on his jeans or he’ll plunge his finger back and forth in the button holes of his vest. Sometimes, he’ll use his index finger to trace the zipper teeth on the sleeves of his leather jacket. He’s just a texture guy, likes being able to feel things constantly. Shift them around. Give his fingers something to do in a moment of much needed distraction.

It’s just how his brain works. And he’s ninety-nine percent sure that Steve’s brain works similarly.

He puts things in his mouth. Yup. That’s what Steve does. That’s his thing. Sometimes it’s just his fingers. Nibbling away at his fingernails or tearing at hangnails, which can’t ever feel good. If he gets sauce on his fingers, he licks it off instead of using a napkin. (That one in particular has made Eddie flee to the bathroom several times. Can you blame a guy?)

The thing that’s going to kill Eddie, though, is this stupid cotton candy flavored Dum-Dum sucker Steve packed with his lunch. He’d come in to find a movie for him and Wayne to watch later that night, wanted to invite Steve over and that’s when he saw it. The sucker.

It began normally. “Hey, Stevie!” He had greeted. The door chimed above him. And Steve gave him a half-hearted wave from behind the counter. He was sitting on a metal stool, back towards the door, face down at the counter, sketching out things on the inventory list. A wobbling stack of—what appeared to be—horror tapes beside him. Fresh from delivery, most likely. Eddie paid no mind. Waltzed towards the westerns, standing idle in front of the movies momentarily as his eyes took in the sheer amount of Chuck Norris films, and found one he hoped Wayne hadn’t seen before. (Which, now that he thinks about it, is highly unlikely. He wouldn’t be surprised if Wayne went to him one day to say he was gay for Chuck Norris. He’s like an absent husband at the Munson’s.)

He rang the little service bell to get Steve’s help checking out. And nearly buckled at the knees. Steve’s lips were spit slick and lightly stained pink. It popped from out of his mouth, his lips a perfect ‘O’ shape. And his tongue was also a delicious bright pink. Eddie was so distracted by the whole display, he didn’t even realize that Steve was actually speaking. That his spit was more interesting than whatever bullshit Family Video regime he was mumbling.

“Huh?” Eddie dumbly said while blinking back to existence.

Steve chuckled. “I asked if that was all you needed today, Eds.”

I could think of something else, Eddie thought, still staring at Steve’s mouth. He shook his head, curls whipping about, hopefully covering the embarrassing flush on his cheeks. “No—I—This—Wayne wanted to kiss—I mean watch—“ Eddie stopped himself with a heaving sigh. “Yeah, this is all I need.”

He swallowed down the rest of what he wanted to say. Tried to cover for himself. But he was weak in the knees once more. The sucker went back into Steve’s mouth, lolling over his teeth, clinking. His tongue was probably doing gymnastics trying to savor the flavor of that stupid thing. Probably suckling around it. Mouth pooling with spit. Eddie forced himself to lean against the counter, palms spread and flat against the surface, head dipped down so that he couldn’t see his demise anymore. But that still didn’t stop his mind from wandering. Thinking about what Steve’s mouth probably tastes like, sugar sweet and oddly fruity. Didn’t stop the sudden flashes of make out sessions they could be having, hiding behind the ‘Adults Only’ curtain, pinned up against—

“Dude!” Steve suddenly shouted. And Eddie found his eyes back on Steve’s face, dipping low to his lips. That sucker was still in his mouth. And he was right, there’s so much spit. He wishes that was his tongue in—“Eddie, are you alright, man? Why do you keep looking at me like that?” He sounded nervous. Even a little…embarrassed.

Fuck, that’s not how he wants Steve to feel around him. He scolds himself mentally, again. Stop being a perv, he tells himself. But his musings are futile.

He sighed once more. “I’m fine,” he muttered, “tired, that’s all.” Gave his best smile, but completely shattered once more when Steve pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. A thin string of saliva connecting it to his lips. His tongue darting out to break it. He couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop himself from yearning. Couldn’t help the way he leaned further over the counter, completely in Steve’s warm orbit, nearly nose to nose.

Steve nervously giggled, but he didn’t step away. In fact, he licked his lips, darted his eyes, and for some odd reason…his cheeks grew bright pink. “I—Eds, you’re really—“

“Why are you so pretty?” Bursted from Eddie. He groaned. “It’s really not fair. And you’re single? What the fuck is wrong with people?”

“Eddie, what are you—“

“You fucking lick a stupid sucker and now I’m losing my mind. What the hell,” Eddie murmured. “Like I just wanna—“ He quickly looked over his shoulder, the parking lot desolate through the windows, the aisles completely clean, and turned his gaze back at Steve. His hands jumped up from on the counter, grabbed the lapels of Steve’s stupidly cute pink polo, and pulled him in. “I’m gonna kiss you,” he whispered, “and you can kill me later for it.”

As Steve began to nod, Eddie surged forward. It wasn’t a pretty kiss. And it wasn’t a neat one, either. Steve’s lips were moist, sticky with sugar, and stupidly soft. He slipped his tongue out, licking between his lips, tasting cotton candy. And was slightly shocked when Steve let him in. Letting him taste inside his mouth. Trace his teeth, connect their spit, share that sucker.

When he pulled back, popping off of Steve’s bottom lip, he immediately dropped his hands. Horrible realization dawned on him. His eyes widened. Mouth dropping open. Cheeks flushing. “Fuck,” he spat. “I’m sorry, I don’t—That was—You’re my friend, I shouldn’t have done that.”

But as their eyes met, he let himself relax slightly. Steve’s eyes were wide, but glistening. Something soft about them. He was smiling, teeth, spit, pink stains and all. “I have been waiting months for you to do that,” he said simply.

“What,” Eddie could only muster, his voice distant with disbelief.

“I have been waiting months for you to do that,” Steve repeated. “You’re not a very subtle looker. But that was—Jesus Christ, I could like taste your yearning.” Eddie began to crumple. This was a bad idea, he briefly thought. Though Steve whispered, flirtatiously and in awe, “That was so fucking hot.”

Eddie hummed. He relaxed completely. Placing his hands back on the lapels of Steve’s shirt. Thumbs rubbing in circles over the fabric. It was scratchy under his fingertips, it felt good. He sighed through his nose. Smirked something teasing. “I was going to invite you over tonight for that movie,” Eddie began, voice low and husky. “But maybe we could leave Wayne to it and…I’ve got some room in my van. Go out to the quarry. Show me what else your mouth can do.”

For how much of a ladies man Steve Harrington supposedly is, he’s too easy to fluster. Going warm and bright red under Eddie’s gaze. Melting positively into the slight hold Eddie still has on him. “Okay,” he murmured, “What time?”

“As soon as your shift is over, come to mine. Bring yourself, this cute little polo, and your pretty mouth. I’ve got plans with you, sugar.”

Kissing Steve Harrington’s sucker sweet mouth is probably Eddie’s new favorite way of fidgeting. And he finds, much much later, that it fulfills needs for the both of them.

🍭—————🍭

[ohnococo]

the opening of a shell / the shell that hides a pearl | Geto x F!Reader

Suguru supports you in all that you do, builds you up whenever he can, especially when he’s got you in his bed and hanging on his every word.

❥ WC: 2.5k

❥ Notes: a request for geto + praise, set in a canon-divergent AU where Geto didn’t defect and reader is a sorcerer with newly awakened powers - but as usual is 95% pwp

❥ Warning: fem bodied reader, praise, established relationship, geto is sort of a mentor to reader due to his experience, pet names (pretty girl, good girl, sweetheart, my girl, perfect girl), kissing, hickeys/marking, vaginal sex, creampie

minors/ageless blogs get blocked on sight

It’s hard to not be intimidated by your boyfriend. Even the knowledge that you and you alone are the one that gets to refer to him as that—your boyfriend—is enough to have you flustered sometimes.

Not flustered exactly… that isn’t quite the right word… and you do always struggle with coming up with the right words to describe your feelings around Suguru, because it’s too soon to use the first word that comes to mind.

Maybe it leaves you proud, or unsure, or even just dazzled that you have such an impressive boyfriend, and that he considers you to be the same. Impressive.

It’s strange how he manages to act as a mentor without making you feel as though you’re beneath him, guiding you and praising you for your skill as a sorcerer even though your experience—the largest division between you two—pales in comparison to his. You suppose he just has those innate leadership skills though, and feel lucky that he sees your potential.

He does his all to make sure you see it too, in every facet of your life. What you lack in cursed energy can be made up for with a carefully honed technique. What you lack in experience can be helped by the knowledge gained through experiences of his own. What you lack in confidence, even if that uncertainty forms for only a moment, can be built with your steadily building skill and Suguru’s mouth, in more ways than one.

It’s something he does with as much ease as anything else. When you doubt if you’re really suited for work you’ve been sent on. When you’re debating what to wear, or looking at yourself unkindly. When you look at him, so lost in his gorgeous appearance that you might have forgotten that there’s just as much beauty in your own. He’s quick to quell any doubts. And even in the absence of those creeping negative feelings, he’s quick to add yet another building block of confidence to what is already there.

Reminding you of the feats you’d managed to accomplish in the short time since your powers had awakened. Reminding you that he’s with you for a reason.

Or, like right now, by lying you back onto your bed quietly, spreading your legs in wait for his touch, kissing your neck and smiling at every noise you make, all while lilting out comments about how perfect you are for him until you’ve lost track of time completely, nevermind any lingering doubts.

“You don’t have to say all of that, Suguru…”

“I know,” he looks up at you through the few stray hairs falling down into his face, “but it needs to be said…”

He brings his mouth back to your skin, pressing kisses between your breasts, lips rubbing gently across the goosebumps forming from his attention. “Until you remember.”

Words from his lips fall with such a playful ease that it’s hard not to read into them. It almost muddies the waters for when he is being genuinely loving and affectionate like this - although maybe he was always being that way with you? Gentle guidance with a heart behind his hand as he helps you find the way to be your very best.

It’s a kind of confusion you find exciting, one you’re sure you’ll look back on fondly when you finally reach that point in your relationship where you can reveal your own hand to him fully. Though you’d be surprised if he couldn’t already see it. From the knowing smile you get with his sideways glance down at you as you steady your breathing under his praise. When you look to him before anyone else when dealing with a cursed spirit. When you clench and swell for him when he’s hardly even touched you, because his words are touch enough.

“Your skin is so soft…”

The first time he’d said it, before you’d even started dating, is when he grabbed your hand to help you up after getting thrown onto your back in training. You’d waved off the feeling it had built in you with an off handed comment about your moisturizer of choice—he’d found that cute the first time. Every time since, though, it’s said with a little more authority behind it. Suguru is stating a fact, that happens to be a compliment, and you’re going to take it for him.

You reach down to grab at his hand and he intertwines your fingers, squeezing in a way that you almost think telegraphs that he knows exactly the memory you’re thinking of.

“I’m talking to you pretty girl, look at me.”

It’s the least you can do, with the way he had your pussy drooling for him, and the way he was undoubtedly going to take care of that for you. Once your eyes have locked onto his, his face flashes from observing to adoring, soft smile tugging at his lips as he trails a hand down your stomach.

“Like I was saying, so soft.” His fingers make their way between your legs, pressing at your puffy lips through your panties, “Especially here.”

His smile widens in time with your brows furrowing at how intense such a small touch was after so much teasing and talking from Suguru. He presses into you again, this time with his finger settled between your lips, and he lets out an impressed hiss of breath at how your clit throbs for him, a breath you take in with the gasp his actions pull from you. Then, the pressure is gone, replaced with him softly gliding the pad of his finger upwards, petting so gentle it would have hardly been felt if you weren’t so desperate for more.

You tense, want to arch your hips upward, to get him to rub a little harder, and he chuckles like he knows, nose brushing at yours. It’s a move that sends your mind into a frenzied debate over whether to close the distance between your mouths, or to angle your hips up in search of the friction that you need. In the end, you do neither, because your focus is brought back to Suguru’s words: you want to hear them too much to kiss him. And once you’ve heard them you want to live up to them too much to chase your high.

“You know what you want, don’t you? But you’re so patient for me. Waiting until I’m ready to give it to you.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek, bringing his mouth lower to whisper into your ear, and you’re grateful to have him close enough to be heard over the beating of your heart—but you suppose he knows all too well that he works you up into such a frenzy that it’s as if all your senses have dulled just to make sure you can savour every touch you receive from him.

Even now, the feel of his breath tickling at your skin is much more prominent than the words floating through the haze of lust surrounding you, though they’re always able to slip into the cracks of your mind.

“Want me to kiss it?”

You shake your head, and he leans back to meet your eyes, surprised at your response, before smiling again as he guesses at why you’ve declined. “You want it already? My needy girl… I love it.”

Hearing that word from him, even when it isn’t followed by that crucial ’you’, has a happiness bubbling up in your chest with such ferocity that you let out a little laugh, matched by Suguru and followed by a hungry kiss. It’s different from the small pecks or languid kisses you’ve gotten so far tonight. His kiss is sudden, hungry, something separate from his usual cool composure, and it pushes you to reach up to him. You slide your hands up the back of his neck, fingers dipping into his thick hair and running along his scalp.

He gives you the reins for that moment, letting you taste his lips, run your fingers through his hair, pull him so close he has to move his hands to either side of you on the bed to keep his full weight off of you. But you want just that, so you wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him further into your embrace until he’s settled between your thighs, grinding into you gently. You enjoy your momentary detour, relishing in the feel of his tongue against yours, before you start to feel that lack of what it is you want most right now—his soft words.

Your kisses move to the corners of his mouth, along his jaw, and settle on his neck. When he lets out a groan, and his adam’s apple bobs against your lips, you’re emboldened to suck and lick at his skin there, letting whatever marks may form happen.

Without words, or without your words, Suguru knows exactly what you’re doing and exactly what you need, picking up where he left off.

“Trying to leave a mark?” If it weren’t said so playfully, it would have given you pause. “Good girl, let everyone know I’m yours.”

It makes his movements difficult, but he can’t pull away from your kisses, so instead he props himself up above you on one elbow while he works his pants down with the other, freeing his cock and letting it press against you as he stops for a moment to let the intensity of your mouth’s work against his skin wash over him. You make a move yourself, pulling your hand from his hair to pull your panties to the side, keeping them held aside as he groans at the feel of the underside of his cock finally being able to press against your wetness.

He stays like this, thrusting gently against your folds, giving you the slightest friction with wet, sensitive skin against skin, until he gives you the final say.

“Let me hear your pretty voice.”

You do it gladly, “I need it, Suguru.”

“No, sweetheart,” He finally pulls back, rubbing his nose against yours and tracing his tongue along your parted lips as he lines himself up with your entrance. “You deserve it.”

He swirls the head of his cock around your entrance, dipping in until just the tip is kissed by your warmth. “For being so strong,” he pushes in, just so the ridge of his thick head catches at your tightness as you clench around him with the anticipation of him sliding deep and fucking you as well as he always does.

“For being so open, so eager for me,” he gives you shallow thrusts, pausing his praise for just a moment to groan at the sticky sounds of him stirring up your pussy.

“For taking everything I-“ he presses deep, one thrust right to the hilt, that leaves him groaning as his eyes roll for a moment and you moan out his name in your own form of praise.

“For taking everything I have to give you in stride, and turning it into something more than I could have imagined.”

You want him to move, you need him to move, though not as much as you need him to continue on. So you curl your toes and hold your breath, trying your very hardest not to rock your hips into his, or clench around him, or do anything that would interrupt his words further until he’s ready to give you what you need—what you deserve.

“For opening me up, and letting-“ his jaw clenches and he lets out a huff, returning to shallow thrusts that slowly pick up in intensity as he speaks, until his voice is hitching just to get the rest of it out before your pussy draws him in too deep to keep his carefully crafted composure, “letting me spill myself into you.”

“You’re so good to me, so so good.” And that’s that, with his next words his pace is set, long and deep with hips rocking up just right to have you making noises you didn’t know could come from your lips, “My good girl.”

The sound of your bodies in motion replaces any words Suguru might have formed: hips slapping together, stomachs sliding against one another, heat squelching as you clench at him every time he’s buried deep. He moans every time your bodies are flush against one another, pressing more firmly each time as though he could find a way further into you. Instead, it slides you slowly up the bed, until your hands are pressing at the headboard, only intensifying the sound of it hitting the wall behind it, but neither of you are concerned. Not when you’re both so desperate to see the other break, to feel the other coming undone.

You get there first, Suguru always makes sure of it. When your back arches and your thighs start to tense, he kisses at your jaw, flicking the tip of his tongue at your earlobe before speaking low. “Don’t tense, don’t tense…”

You listen, as much as your body screams to do otherwise, and as you relax into the steady movement of his thrusts you feel like your whole body is pulsing with every slap of his abdomen against your clit.

“That’s my girl, just like that.”

It feels endless, like you’ll cum until there’s no more air to fill your lungs. As the waves peak and sweep you up, Suguru’s movements stutter, ever so slightly—enough to have you begging in the only way your body can manage as you let out a little whine.

“Ah?” He repeats it, stilted and playful even in his frenzy, and when your rolling eyes meet his he’s looking at you with warmth, devotion, something not entirely unlike the way you catch yourself looking at him. Then it’s like he’s heard your thoughts somehow, just by looking at you, but he wants them said aloud.

“Please?”

You nod, receiving the words he could see in your eyes and repeating them back now that he had formed them for you, “Please.”

He gives you what you’ve asked for, reaching his peak on the tail end of yours as he fills you with his cum, pouring it into you in throbbing waves as his thrusts turn to staggered, rough snapping of his hips until he’s letting his weight fall onto you completely. Your hands find their way back into his hair, running through it, sweat be damned, as he sighs gently.

He lets you hold him, kissing gently at your neck, before he decides he needs more air than he’ll get with his head buried there. He pulls out, slowly, rubbing at your waist to soothe the little shiver that goes through you at his absence, before he’s settling his weight back on top of you and resting his head on your chest. He presses a kiss there between your breasts, smiling to himself as he whispers.

“My perfect girl…”

banners by @//cafekitsune

[therainscene]

It’s funny that Bylers are so often accused of being delusional, because I was at my most delusional when I was anti-Byler.

I spent most of S4 refusing to acknowledge that Will had romantic feelings for Mike, despite knowing damn well what all that love triangle imagery and sad gay pining was implying. I convinced myself it was just bros before hoes drama; that perhaps Will wanted to come out to his best friend but felt nervous after six months of radio silence following “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

The van scene forced me to accept that he really was in love, and it pissed me off because what was even the point of making him fall for a straight boy?

Mike’s bizarre “no homo” behaviour was clearly a symptom of growing up in a conservative 80s household, and witnessing Will’s sacrificial act of love in the van was the shitty lesson he needed to get over his homophobia.

I saw a typical straight male protagonist in an 80s coming-of-age film getting to coast his way to self-actualization on the back of queer suffering; a cruel and homophobic trope I thought we’d moved past by the year 2022.

But then the NINA reunion scene rolled around--

--and I immediately picked up on the heavy parallels between Mike and Will in how they greeted El. The realization hit me like a tonne of bricks: Mike feels the same way about her as Will does.

I thought, “wait, does this mean I was wrong about...? Oh my god. No way.

No fucking way.

Will was in love with El this whole time?? What the fuck, he’s been gay since S1 and she’s his sister this is BULLSHIT I will personally strangle the Duffers--”

Heteronormativity is a hell of a drug, kids.

Let this be a lesson to those of you who think media illiteracy is to blame for Byler denial -- how well someone understands the mechanics of storytelling is irrelevant if they insist on treating Mike’s supposed heterosexuality as an axiom instead of an evidence-based conclusion. The issue lies with bias, not literacy.

I was stubbornly anti-Byler because I knew I’d immediately fall in love with this ship if I allowed myself to have hope it could be canon, and the general state of queer rep in mainstream media meant I was all but guaranteed to get hurt if I was so stupid as to have hope. But in my desperation to cling to the “safe” heteronormative outcome, I only ended up hurting myself with my own silly assumptions.

We’ve seen both canonically gay characters in the show make exactly this mistake, needlessly hurting themselves with their silly but self-defensive assumptions about their love interests.

Stranger Things absolutely nails its depiction of the subtler ways internalized homophobia can manifest -- Will may feel like a mistake and be prone to beating himself up, but he isn’t some pitiful self-loathing queer who wishes he was straight, either. He’s just so crushed by heteronormativity that he accepts it as an inescapable fact of life and lets it guide his beliefs and actions.

Don’t get me wrong: Will, like Robin, is very sensible for being cautious in such a horrifically bigoted environment -- trying to openly defy that level of homophobia by yourself, especially when you’re young, is a bad idea.

But unlike Robin, he clearly struggles to accept that he has the right to chase his same-sex love interest. He's no longer simply exercising caution, but conforming to homophobic standards -- much in the same way I thought I was sensibly refusing to be queerbaited, when really I was just agreeing with the heteronormative status quo.

I realize now that this is the real reason Will was written into a homophobic 80s trope: not to teach Mike an outdated lesson in acceptance, but to maneuver Will into position for the lesson he’s going to learn in S5 about resisting conformity.

Will needs to learn that castrating himself to make straight people comfortable is a bad idea too. Not only is that a miserable way to live his life, but what sort of world is he leaving for the next generation of queer kids if he never questions these homophobic standards?

It’s just the cycle of abuse scaled up to the societal level.

This is what gives me confidence in Byler endgame. Queerness isn’t just an incidental element of Will’s personal arc, but suffuses the show to its very core -- it’s in its themes, its allegory, its characters.

So Will getting the boy isn’t just nice fan-service for Byler shippers, but a necessary ending if the show’s most important lesson is to land:

That it’s rewarding to make the difficult choice of standing up to bigotry in the face of forced conformity. Of choosing love.

Could it be the case that I was right the first time, and Stranger Things is going to turn out to be yet another heteronormative mainstream show that doesn’t commit to its own themes? Sure, maybe. But that wouldn’t invalidate the valuable lessons this show has already -- and apparently accidentally lol -- taught me.

Anyone who calls us deluded for hoping a mainstream show is going to have a gay pairing as its main couple just doesn’t realize -- or doesn’t care -- that they’re contributing to the very problem they’re describing.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - chapter two

you know you never stood a chance series

two: call on me

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

qz!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: an injury leaves you struggling to make ends meet. you do what you swore you'd never do and take Joel Miller up on his offer.

Warnings: Sex as payment, technically prostitution, power imbalance, dub-con, canon-typical violence, canon-typical descriptions of injuries, breath control, oral (m receiving), masturbation (f-self)

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 17: blowjob/breath control, from prompts by @absurdthirst

also on ao3

You stand outside the door long enough that you become intimately familiar with the striations in its sickly ocean blue, eyes focusing and unfocusing until the steel peeking beneath becomes crests of the stormy sea. Your eyes flicked up to the rusty brass 414, as if it might have changed and become someone else’s apartment. But no, the second four still dangling by the singular nail jutting from the top corner. 

In the seasons that have passed since you fucked him for ration cards in a shitty motel room, you’d seen Joel a few times. Sort of. Usually the back of him, going down the stairs a few flights below you, or a fleeting glance if he entered the building while you were exiting. You had developed a sort of Joel Miller Alert System, enough to duck under the stairs or become really interested in tying your shoe any time you were within sight of him.

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t say anything to you, at all, even in the horrible moments when you’d pass each other on the stairs or the one really awkward time he held the door open for you and you couldn’t decide if you should speed up so you got in faster or pretend to turn and go another way so he stopped looking at you. 

You settled on half-hustling with poorly executed casuallness that ended with you brushing against his jacket when you tried to slip through the door and mumbling “cool” instead of “thank you.” 

Suffice to say, you don’t really want to be here. You could just go back to the brothel. He probably wouldn’t know. Except you’re still not sure how he knew the first time either. 

The evening breeze through the busted hallway window isn’t as bad down here, you think. Another perk to having a lower-floor apartment. Y’know. Besides not having to deal with all the fucking stairs. 

A spider crawls across the door frame, which is the most interesting thing to happen since you walked down here twenty minutes ago.

The door opens and you jump. “Fuck!” 

“Just get in here,” Joel says.

“If you’re leaving, I’ll just come back later, or never,” you turn to flee, but he catches you with a broad hand around your bicep.

“Wasn’t leaving, just tired of you lurk—” he stops and lets go when he’s turned you around. “What happened?” 

“Uh, nothing,” you scratch the back of your head with your good arm. Well. Your temporary good arm, given that your left arm is hanging bent in the makeshift sling your sister made from an old shirt. The long sleeves were knotted around your neck and your wrist was wrapped against a wood shim with a dish towel, cut into strips and tied tight. 

He pinches his forehead between two fingers. “Hurry up.” 

You shuffle in and hover just inside his living room, rocking back and forth on your heels. You’ve never seen Joel’s apartment before, obviously, but it’s just as sparse and shitty as every other flat in the building. Filled with broken, improvised furniture, filthy carpet over the rotting floorboards. 

He stalks off through a large archway to what you’d wager is the kitchen. You hear the pop of the fridge and wonder if you could slip back out the door while he’s distracted. 

“You comin’ or what?” Joel calls and you sigh. 

Resigned to your self-inflicted fate, you move to hover awkwardly in Joel’s kitchen, instead. He rolls his eyes and indicates the spindly wooden chairs around the oval table.  When you’re seated, he comes around the table, and you jump again, not expecting to find him so close when you look up.

He sets a glass of water on the table and pulls a chair up close, too close, caging you in with his thick thighs. He reaches out and you flinch.

He freezes. “M’not gonna hurt you.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t ask any questions, to your great relief. He just reaches out again, slower this time, and unwraps the sling. His hands are so gentle you can’t reconcile the touch with the man in front of you. He unties the splint and shakes his head at your shoddy workmanship.

His finger ghosts over the bruises. The nastiest of the purple and yellow blossoms are on your inner wrist, but a good two inch radius is dusky purple and angry, extending up the pad of your palm toward your thumb. You bite your tongue. It’s tender, but there’s no way you’re going to show it. 

“Um, I don’t want to be rude, but—”

“So don’t be,” Joel says, pulling a cloth bundle over and setting it on the worst of the swelling. He cradles it there, hands cupped around yours to keep it in place, and the cold burns through the thin rag. 

“It’s just, um,” and you hiss through your teeth as a particularly sensitive nerve makes contact, “I didn’t come here lookin’ for a nurse—”

“Didn’t ya see the big ole’ red cross out front? Why else would you come here?” 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but he doesn’t let you get in a retort.

“I know why you came here. But you’ll take what I give you. Drink your water.” 

The glass shakes in your hand, water sloshing. Your face heats, trying to just take a drink and put it down, and you pray he ignores it.

“Don’t move,” he stands up, chair screeching across the linoleum. He takes your right hand and puts it over the ice pack before pulling his hand out. 

He disappears again, and you stare at the peeling pear-patterned wallpaper, wondering if after you fainted at work, you woke up in a bizarre alternate universe where the apocalypse still happened but you were dumb enough to go to Joel Miller’s apartment.

Actually, you think, that makes sense without the alternate universe nonsense. You must have taken a bit of damage when you hit your head against the counter on the way down. 

Best not to mention that, you decide. 

When he comes back, he sets two oblong white pills on the table next to the water.

Maybe the alternate universe thing is still a possibility. 

“What’s that?” you ask. 

“Tylenol,” he says, sitting back down. He puts his hand back on the ice pack so you can remove yours. “It’ll take the edge off.” 

“I didn’t come looking for pills—”

He doesn’t interrupt this time, but he does fix you with such a withering stare that you trail off. 

“Right. Take what you give me. That’s, uh,” you give a little nervous laugh, “that’s funny, ‘cus you’re tellin’ me to take these and also your…” 

He raises an eyebrow and you hurriedly pop both pills in your mouth before going back for the water. Anything to shut yourself up. 

You sit in silence until he decides you’re done with the ice. He sets the melting cubes and washcloth in the sink and digs around in a drawer before coming back to the chair.

He has a large, wide serving spoon, which he fits to your palm, and carefully lines your wrist up with the handle. Using the fabric you had on before, he wraps and ties it tightly. 

“Holy shit,” you say, rotating your arm carefully to look at it. It still hurts like a motherfucker, but the difference in support from the shim is incredible. 

“How much did they cut you by?” he says, voice quiet. He’s leaning back in the chair now, arm sprawled on the table. The delicate curl of his fingers splayed against the faded yellow wood, nails scrubbed clean of the filth from the work day. 

“Half,” you mumble. “And nothin’ for today, I had to leave.” 

“Looks a couple days old.”

You nod. 

“Did you work yesterday?”

“Yeah. And the day before, when it happened. It makes me slow, so.”

“So why’d you have to leave today?”

Whoops. Fuck. “Oh, um.”

“S’it got anything to do with the dried blood in your hair?” 

“Shit,” your hand flies up to your head. Not that you thought he was making it up, but when you feel the hard globules stuck to your scalp, you groan. “I didn’t know it bled.” 

He opens his mouth to say something, but shakes his head instead, exhaling hard through his nose.

“Well, I didn’t! I was trying not to touch it.” 

“Gonna tell me what happened?”

“I fell. Twice. Two days ago and then today.” 

He narrows his eyes, scowling. “How’d you make it this long without gettin’ yourself killed?” 

It’s not a real question, but you answer anyway. “I didn’t used to be clumsy. I ran track in high school. And I only left today because they made me, I’m not going to slack off. I just. You said…” 

“They made you leave?” FEDRA usually didn’t care if people worked while sick or hurt. 

“Yeah, Carrie said I was gonna put someone out of commission if I keep faintin’ with a knife in my hand.” Irony of ironies, you worked prep in the fucking kitchens most days, butchering meat for proper portioning. 

“You said you fell.”

“I did!” 

“When you fainted.”

“Well, yeah.”

He stands up abruptly. “Go home.” 

“What?”

“You heard me. Go home. You’re not up for this today.”

You sit for a second, mouth agape. The rejection stings but it quickly boils over. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I could have been home from the fuckin’ brothel by now. S’past curfew.”

“Yep.” 

“Oh, fuck you, Miller.” You get up to leave, grabbing your jacket where you left it on the couch. You don’t even bother trying to struggle getting it over your useless shoulder, just tucking it under your arm and reaching for the doorknob.

He catches you by your good wrist. “Be back at 8 tomorrow.” 

You don’t notice the expired protein bar or little baggie of pills in your coat pocket until you toss it onto your bed and they hit the floor. 

That absolute asshole.

You want to be obstinate, but the earlier dose did help, and maybe if you take these in the morning, you’ll be able to get through the day.

The only perk to your job is that the closest distribution stand is right outside the building. Some people are always lined up already, but you hop in right at 5 when they open up and only have to wait fifteen or so minutes to get your food.  

You get home by 6:15 but with no free hands and unsteady balance, it takes you a long time to get up the stairs to your empty apartment, your sister sleeping over at her boyfriend’s again. By 7, you’ve flopped into bed fully dressed and you’re asleep by 7:03. 

Loud pounding on the door wakes you up at 9. Your head is throbbing in time with whoever has the damn nerve and you don’t remember to check the peephole before throwing open the door to yell at whatever poor soul is on the other side.

Joel takes one look at you and sighs. “C’mon.”

“Sorry,” you say while haphazardly shoving your bare feet into boots. “I didn’t mean to, I fell asleep.”

He snorts, but you can’t tell if it’s with derision or if he’s laughing at you. “You fall asleep or did you faint again?”

“I’ll have you know I have not fainted once since.” 

“Congratulations,” he drawls. 

You’ve reached the stairwell and you do a decent job keeping up, since you don’t have anything to carry. By the time you’ve toed off your boots, it’s fully dark outside. You should have been getting home by now, not just getting here. 

“Go sit,” he says, jerking his head to the kitchen. 

“We’re not doing this again,” you say on your way to take your seat. 

How was this your life? You were racking up enough debt to Joel Miller that you’d be paying him back for months. And everyone knew what would happen if you didn’t pay up in time. He hadn’t earned his reputation by being forgiving.

He comes into the kitchen and sets another pair of pills down before pouring you a glass of water. You take them without protest, even though it means another mark against you. But truth be told, you’d do anything right now to ease the pain. 

He doesn’t get out the ice pack again. Worse, he ladles a heap of boiled, unidentifiable meat and potatoes into a chipped ceramic bowl and places it in front of you.

You look at him but there’s no fight in you. Instead, you stare with sickening, desperate gratitude. He leaves the room while you eat but returns in time to pluck the bowl from your hands when you go to wash it. 

“I can do plenty of things with one hand,” you snap.

“I know.” He’s got you cornered against the cabinet, and his voice is low and quiet. The room shifts immediately and your breath sticks in your throat. He sets the bowl down on the counter and cups your chin, brushing his thumb over your lips. “Gonna have you do more than that, though.” 

When he pulls away, you follow him like a magnet. Not thinking about it, just tugged along in his thrall. He sits down on the couch and you notice there’s a cushion between his feet. You purse your lips and then try to relax them, which takes a lot more effort than you think it should. 

“You waitin’ for an invitation?”

You shake your head and drop to your knees onto the cushion. You put your shaky but unbroken hand on the eternally stained knee of his jeans. 

He doesn’t make you wait any longer, reaching down and unzipping his pants to pull his cock out. He shifts the jeans and underwear down his thighs.

Your mouth waters. He’s not fully hard yet but it’s still a beautiful cock. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and he huffs a laugh.

“Here I was, thinkin’ you were scared. Thought you said you’ve never done this before.”

“I haven’t. Never had a chance to try.”

“None of the boys you been with wanted a blowjob? I don’t buy that.”

“Well. It, um. It was just boy and it was kind of over before it really started.”

He’s rubbing his temple again before you’re done speaking, shaking his head. “You told me—”

“I told you it wasn’t my first time. It wasn’t.” 

He throws a hand up. “Whatever. Well, get to it then.” 

His eyes have darkened, pupils wide. He’s got one arm sprawled across the back of the couch and the other on his leg. 

His legs are spread wide enough for you to comfortably situate yourself. You lean forward, careful to keep your injured wrist out of the way. You take a deep breath and press a soft, hesitant kiss against the tip. It twitches, which startles you back for a second, and Joel huffs another breath.

You pause to glare at him. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Wasn’t laughin’. Keep going.” 

You don’t believe him, and it makes you bolder. Irritated. You’re not some little girl fumbling between football-dotted sheets with her scrawny, geeky boyfriend. You can do this. 

You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock and lick a stripe up to the top. 

He groans and you swear, repeating the motion. “That’s it,” he croons, “you like that, huh?”

It’s your turn to moan, catching the tip between your lips and licking in lieu of a response. He gives you a while to explore, encouraging you with wicked words that get you wet. 

“Good girl,” he moans when you take more of his cock into your mouth, and it just about does you in. 

At some point, though, he decides he’s done letting you play around. “Alright, that’s enough teasing. Get it down your throat.” 

You pull back, and he catches you by the back of the head and holds onto a fistfull of your hair. 

“It’s too big. I’ll throw up.”

“You’re not going to throw up.”

“But what if I do?”

“You won’t. I got you.” 

You don’t understand how exactly he can prevent it, but the words spread something warm and electric through your body. “Okay,” and you bring your mouth back around him.

He loosens his grip on your hair, but keeps his hand there, feeling you start to bob your head. It’s sloppy, but you’re trying, and when he hits the soft palate at the back of your mouth on a slipup, you moan. 

He takes the opportunity to push your head down, filling you until you gag. He pulls you off and lets you sputter for a few seconds, blinking tears away. 

“That was good, try again.” As if he gives you a choice, hand pushing you down onto his cock again.

But you gag again. And again. And again. You get frustrated and the sharp prick of humiliation brings you closer to crying than choking on his cock had. 

“S’ok, darlin’, I know. It’s a lot.”

Your lip trembles. “I want to take it.”

His neglected cock twitches. “Then take it.”

This time, when you hit the point just halfway down where you’re struggling, he pinches your nose and holds your head down.

You struggle harder, and he moves his leg away from your hurt wrist so you don’t fuck it up more, but you do slide further down his cock with all your brain’s attention on getting air. 

He lets go and you pull off, coughing and clutching at your chest. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

“Worked, didn’t it?” He wipes away one of the tears freed by your efforts. 

Your shoulders are heaving and you look away. For a moment, he thinks maybe he did go too far. But then you square them off and look up at him with gritted teeth and steely eyes. 

“Yeah, see, you’re tough,” he says, working his hand back into your hair as you take him back in your mouth. He doesn’t try it again yet, just lets you lick and suck and try to work your throat open on your own. “Bein’ so good for me.” 

He’s noted the way you shudder a little when he praises you. He wouldn’t be this talkative if he hadn’t. 

You get more of him down, grim determination fueling you, and try to tense against yourself when you hit your limit. 

He pinches your nose again and you jerk, the soft walls of your throat clenching around him and he groans. You moan around him in response and he pushes into you a little more.

You’re not going to be able to take the whole thing. At least not yet. He knows that. So when you’ve gotten used to nearly three quarters of it stuffed down your throat, he eases up just a little so you aren’t at risk of throwing up.

Your jaw aches when he begins fucking up into your mouth. You can taste him, the way he leaks in you. The velvety heft of his cock is divine. 

“Relax,” he rubs a thumb against the hinge of your jaw. “Just take it now. Just keep that mouth open for me and take what I’m givin’ you.” He picks up the pace, still not forcing in any deeper, but rutting himself inside all the same.

Your eyes roll back and you realize you might cum from this. He watches you slide a hand down the front of your leggings, leaving his fist in your hair as your only support, and swears. 

“You touchin’ your pretty little pussy for me? Fuck, that’s a good girl, keep rubbin’.” 

You do, not quite because he tells you, but because you think you’d have to cut off your hand in order to stop. Your throat flexes around him as you whimper little desperate moans.

“Oh fuck. Hey,” he says, and waits for you to peer up at him. “Try and swallow it, okay?” 

Your eyes go wide but you don’t try to pull off. Your hand picks up pace against your clit, two fingers dipping into your soaked cunt. 

You startle when he actually starts to come, but try to hold still and drink him down. Your hand slows, losing focus.

“Fucking cum with my cock down your thoat.” It comes out in a choked snarl and pushes you over the edge. 

Your throat closes up around him and you forget about trying to swallow. He grabs his cock and tugs furiously, the rest of his spend decorating your face. 

“That’s a good look for ya,” he says with a smirk.

You rest your cheek against his thigh, and he lets you, stroking a hand through your hair for a moment. Too soon, though, he gives your face a tap so you lift it up and he stands, stepping to the side around you.

He brings back a wet washcloth, and you gratefully scrub your face with it. You reach up, and he takes your hand in his, pulling you up as your knees crack in protest. 

He reaches into his pocket and presses a little bag with two more Tylenol into your hand. “Now get goin’, and tomorrow, don’t make me come lookin’ for you.” 

You clutch the little baggie and shove your boots back on. You hesitate in front of the door for a moment, turning to look back at him, but you leave without another word. 

next chapter

[adriennebarnes]

Don Refri

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N has been the police records clerk for a few months. He’s known as Detective Grumpy to everyone in the district, but she’s the only one who calls him Don Refri. Walter gets jealous when there is a new detective around.

A/N: Walter Marshall is probably my favorite Henry Cavill character to read about, I need more content of him. I’ve also been watching a telenovela and the way Alexander has been acting with Lola when they were fighting, I thought “what if Walter was like this?” So here it is. Also, LATIN PRESENTATION FOR HENRY CAVILL!

For all intent and purposes, this one shot is very humorous, sort of like a sitcom, Walter doesn’t follow canon AT ALL, but I did try to “research” what happens in a precinct.

Y/N was entering the district with a thermos in hand, all bundled up.

“Ay, hace un pinche frío, why the fuck did I move to Minnesota, it’s so cold.” Y/N said as she took off her coat and Matthew started laughing. “Don’t laugh like that, I’m not meant for cold weather.”

“Just start working on something before detective grumpy comes in and starts yelling.” Matthew said, taking Y/N’s coat, folding it.

“I’m not scared of Don Refri, but I will start working because i have to make the case files of whatever criminal is out now so Don Refri and detective Dickerman Can catch them as soon as possible.” Y/N said and she started sipping hot chocolate from her thermos. As she was working, Walter came in. “Good morning, Don Refri.” Walter rolled his eyes at her.

“Morning, Y/N.” Walter mumbled and went to his office. Matthew, Glasgow, and Rachel stared at Y/N. Y/N looked at them.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“You call him Don Refri to his face and he does nothing, but we almost get written up when he overheard us reference him as Detective Grumpy. How is that possible?” Glasgow asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m happy about it, not gonna lie.” Y/N said. She began working on the computer, smiling to herself. No one but her bestie knows about her crush on the grumpy detective.

“I think he has a soft spot for you, what do you think?” Rachel asks.

“Maybe he does.” Y/N replied.

A few moments after creating the case files, Y/N heard Walter yell “Fuck” from his office.

“I wonder what’s got him worked up. Y/N, go check on him.” Matthew said.

“Fine. Now I know how my brother felt when I sent him to ask our mom something.” Y/N said. She got up from her desk and went to Walter’s office, saw that he threw his stuff off his desk and is now running his hand through his hair, exasperated.

“What do you want, Y/N?” Walter asked.

“What’s got you in such a bad mood, Don Refri?” Y/N asked.

“First; you keep calling me that.” Walter started and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I told you, start being open about your feelings and then I’ll stop calling you don refri, Don Refri.” Y/N replied and Walter rolled his eyes. “What’s the other thing that got you in a bad mood?”

“They’re transferring another detective here.” Walter massaged his temples.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Y/N asked.

“Not if the detective is a fucking pain in the ass. He hits on anything with skirt.” Walter commented. “He has a womanizer, player kind of reputation and I don’t want that guy in this district.”

“Why is he getting transferred?” Y/N asked.

“Don’t know. Hopefully I have time before this fucker gets here.” Walter starts picking up the stuff he threw and Y/N helped him until they heard a voice.

“Isn’t anyone going to welcome me?” The man sounded arrogant.

“Too late. Let’s go.” Walter said, after putting everything back on his desk and him and Y/N went to the front of the district, Y/N went back to her desk. “Team, this is…what’s your name again?” Walter asked.

“Ha ha, nice to see you haven’t changed. I’m Detective Tyler Delgado, I just transferred here.” Tyler introduced himself.

“Well this is my team, Matthew and Glasgow are technicians, Rachel is a profiler and psychologist, and Y/N here is our records clerk.” Walter introduced them to Tyler.

“Nice to meet you guys.” Tyler said, “Especially you.” Tyler said, looking at Y/N before winking.

“Well, Let’s get back to work.” Walter said, leaving with Tyler.

The day went on Walter and Y/N were the only ones left in the district, she was finishing up the police logs.

“Ugh, i can’t wait to sleep.” Y/N said.

“What did you think of Delgado?” Walter asked.

“I Don’t have much of an opinion of him, he doesn’t look like a fuckboy though.” Y/N commented.

“I never said he was a fuckboy, I said he had the reputation of one, big difference.” Walter said.

“Yeah, whatever. If you’re worried about Rachel going out with him, I don’t think she would fall for any of his ‘tricks’ because of her psychology background.” Y/N commented as she took a sip of soda.

“It’s not Rachel I’m worried about.” Walter replied, looking at Y/N. Y/N looked at Walter with wide eyes and she put her soda down.

“Me? You’re worried about me? Why are you worried?” Y/N asked, please say it’s because you like me she said in her head.

“I just don’t want you to get taken advantage of.” Walter said.

“Do I look easy to you, Walter? I know I’m a few years younger than you but I’m not naive, I know when someone has other intentions, there’s a reason why I wanted to be an FBI profiler.” Y/N said.

“I’m just saying, I saw you and Delgado flirting when he was giving you some files.” Walter said.

“I was being friendly! Por Dios, uno ya no puede ser amable o que?” Y/N said, crossing her arms.

“What does that mean?” Walter asked.

“It means I can’t be nice to someone without being accused of trying to sleep with them.” Y/N said in a huff, packing her bag.

“When did I accuse you that?” Walter asked while raising his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, don refri, I finished, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Y/N said and she left without kissing Walter on the cheek or hugging him.

The next day, Walter was running late because he was talking to Angie about Faye. When he entered the district, he saw Y/N and Tyler talking, as he got closer, he heard part of their conversation.

“It’s a date, I’ll pick you up tonight at 8.” Tyler said, winking at Y/N and walked away. Y/N smiled slightly until she heard Walter.

“What was that about?” Walter asked behind Y/N, scaring her and she put her hand in her chest.

“No me asustes así!” Y/N exclaimed as she hit his arm. Of course it didn’t hurt since Walter works out a lot, but he still winces because that’s how he is with Y/N.

“You’re going out with Delgado? After telling me I shouldn’t worry about you? Are you kidding me, Y/N?” Walter questioned.

“Sabes algo, Don Refri? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” Y/N said. Hold up, is he jealous? That HAS to mean he likes me, oh please don’t be such a don refri and tell me you like me, PLEASE! Y/N thought to herself

“I’m looking out for you just like I would look out for Faye and Rachel, I am protective over the women who are close to me, especially with this job. I’ll talk to you later.” Walter said and walked away.

Y/N sat at her desk, very confused over what just happened with the grumpy detective.

A week went by and Walter observed Y/N and Tyler. Whenever they would be together during their lunch break or just together in general, Walter scowled. But one day he was walking by Tyler’s office and he heard something suspicious.

“I’m still at work…yes, I’m going to be late again…I’m sorry, the captain is tougher than at the last precinct…I’ll see you at home, love you, baby.” And Tyler hung up the phone. Walter walked in his office.

“Who were you on the phone with, Delgado?” Walter asked.

“My niece, it’s her birthday today.” Tyler lied, Walter could tell. This wasn’t the first time Walter heard a suspicious phone call like this but it’s the first he confronted Tyler.

“Well then, see you later.” Walter said as he walked out of Tyler’s office. He grabbed his lunch from the fridge, heated it up, and walked back to his office where he would do a background check on Tyler Delgado. “I’m not jealous, Y/N is like a sister to me, I just want to make sure she’s safe.” Walter said to himself as he was checking all the information that he managed to pull up about Tyler.

For what seemed like an eternity to Walter, he found out that Tyler Delgado is married! He took a photo of what he found on the computer, he went into the break room to look for Y/N and he found Tyler leaning in to kiss Y/N so he did what any man would do when they see a married man try to kiss their crush, I mean, their “friend”, and punch them in the face. Walter punched Tyler so hard that Tyler got knocked out and was on the floor, out cold.

Y/N was in shock. “Are you insane?!? Que te pasa?!?” Y/N yelled. “You killed him, you fucking killed him.”

“Oh please, how am i going to kill a man with a single punch, Y/N? Seriously, think.” Walter said.

“Well I don’t know, you work out a lot, you clearly have a lot more muscle than Tyler, you probably killed him.” Y/N said.

“You look at my muscles a lot?” Walter said with a little smirk.

“Don’t change the subject.” Y/N said firmly. Rachel was entering the break room with a box,

“Hey, Matthew brought doughnuts, you guys want some? What the fuck happened here?” Rachel asked when she saw Tyler on the floor and she place the box on the table, closing the break room door.

“Oh well what happened was Don Refri here came in and just punched Tyler for no fucking reason. You’re a psychologist, is this an act of jealousy?” Y/N asked.

“First of all, it wasn’t for no fucking reason, he’s scum, did you know that he’s married?” Walter yelled.

“What?” Both Y/N and Rachel asked,

“Yeah, He’s married, and He’s been married for 4 years.” Walter said

“Ugh, stop lying, Don Refri, and just admit that killed him because you’re jealous and that’s it!” Y/N yelled.

“Jealous? You think I’m jealous, really? Of course I’m not jealous.” Walter said, stepping closer to Y/N, resulting in getting closer to Tyler’s unconscious body.

“Careful, you’re gonna kill him again.” Y/N said.

“How am I gonna kill him again if he’s already dead?” Walter teased Y/N.

“Well, He’s not dead, he’s still breathing.” Rachel said, looking a Tyler, seeing his chest rise and fall.

“Whatever, Rachel, why would you think I’m jealous? Do you really think I’m jealous, Y/N? Please.” Walter asked.

“Mm hmm, sure, and your fits just has a mind of its own? Ah! I cant even speak, I’m so mad, your fist, fist!” Y/N shouted the last part of her sentence.

“I can’t understand what you’re trying to say, speak clearly.” Walter said in a fed up tone.

“I am speaking clearly! Fist, fist, fist! You know what? Say whatever the hell you want, to me, this was a crime of passion, you can’t tell me different.” Y/N said and Rachel just observed their argument while eating a doughnut and drinking her coffee thinking to herself that these two people totally love each other, are at the very least shave feelings for each other.

“Y/N, you can’t possibly be acting this way?” Walter questioned.

“Acting what way, hm?” Y/N asked.

“Like this!” Walter said, gesturing to her with his hands. That’s when Tyler started to come to and he sat up.

“What happened?” Tyler said groggily.

“Shut up!” Walter said, punching him AGAIN. Rachel’s eyes were wide as plates, and so were Y/N’s.

“What’s wrong with you?!?” Both women yelled.

“What? I Don’t like being interrupted while I’m speaking.” Walter stated

“Oh my god, You’re crazy, i need to get out of here.” Y/N said. She left the break room with Walter following her. Walter grabbed her wrist and they walked to an empty interrogation room. “What are you doing, Don Refri?”

“Fuck it.” Walter whispered before kissing Y/N passionately in the interrogation room, only lasting when they were out of breath. Y/N pulled away first.

“What was that, Walter?” Y/N asked. The first time she called him by his first name.

“You wanted me to admit I was jealous, right? Well, here I am admitting that I was jealous of you and Tyler. But i am not lying about him having a wife, I did a background check on him before knocking him out, look.” Walter said, showing Y/N his phone. Y/N grabbed his phone, seeing it was true. “I’ve had feelings for you since you started working here but I am very bad of expressing my feelings, as you point out to me daily.” Walter admitted.

“I have liked you since I started working here too. Does this mean we’re together now?” Y/N asked. Walter chuckled, taking Y/N’s hands in his.

“It means I’m going to take you on a date after our shift is over. Hopefully Tyler doesn’t report me.” Walter said and Y/N laughed.

“You’re probably going to be suspended but you can worry about that later, i have reports to write up.” Y/N said and Walter opened the door for her so they could leave the interrogation room. The first time since becoming a detective, Walter had a smile on his face. It was small, but it was there.

The End

Thank you for reading my very first Walter Marshall fanfic, hope you liked it

[zionworkzs]

Okay, but I need to talk about Good Omens and The Sound of Music.

First of all, I’m genuinely obsessed with it being explicitly canon that The Sound of Music exists in the GO universe and is, for some reason, God’s favorite movie. Neil says here that Heaven misses the point of the movie/musical, but I find it incredibly fascinating that Aziraphale outwardly despises it. 

Brief summary of The Sound of Music incoming as well as some really interesting parallels:

So we've got Julie Andrews playing Maria, who is studying to become a nun in an abbey in Salzburg. Problem is, she isn't the best nun, and is often late to chapel and just isn't the shining beacon of holiness that the rest of the nuns expect her to be.

In response to this, the Reverend Mother of the abbey decides to send Maria to live with sexy widower Georg von Trapp, a navy captain who desperately needs help with his seven children. The Captain is a bit of a hard-ass since the death of his wife, and has been treating his kids like little soldiers as well as banning music from the house.

The 7 kids are rambunctious and make things difficult for Maria at first. But one night, a thunderstorm scares them, and they run to Maria for comfort. The kids realize that Maria is really fun, and then later, when their dad is off to Vienna, the kids and Maria end up running around Salzburg singing, dancing, climbing trees, and having a blast.

When the Captain comes home and hears about this, he sends Maria away. But then he overhears the children singing a song Maria taught them and he gets all emo and remembers how much music meant to him and his late wife. He asks Maria to stay after hearing the song, telling her she's brought joy back to their house.

And oops, Maria and the Captain are falling for each other, but the Captain is sort of kind of dating this blonde bombshell.

There's a big fuck-off party, and the Captain and Maria dance together.

But, oh, no, Blondie saw them and can clearly tell they're in love. She tells Maria what she's seen and Maria is freaking out cause she's just realized she's in love.

Mentally, my girl Maria is going through a lot. She thinks she’s disappointed God by falling in love when she was supposed to be doing a job. She feels scared by the depth of her feelings and because of all these emotions, she runs away. Back to the Abbey. Back to presumed safety.

Mother Superior figures out what happened real quick and tells Maria that she isn’t wrong for falling in love. She sends her back to the Von Trapps, and it's such a great scene. If you wanna watch, I included a link below.

Maria goes back, and the kids are elated and she and the Captain confess their feelings (and oh my god, don't even get me started on the lyrics to the song they sing to each other while confessing, Something Good).

(I’m unwell.)

So that's the Sound of Music. There's a subplot going on with WW2 and the Captain being pressured to join the Nazi regime (which he is very against). King, we love him.

I pointed out some obvious parallels, but I'd also like to pull some random thoughts together here:

Mother Superior (God) is the one that sends Maria (Aziraphale) to help the Von Trapps (humans) in the first place.

Maria (Aziraphale) extends grace and patience with the children (humans) and refuses to give up on them, even going so far as to disobey their father by letting them fuck around and be kids (going against God's wishes and giving humans the flaming sword).

Mother Superior (God) also sends Maria (Aziraphale) back to the Von Trapps after realizing that Maria (Aziraphale) is in love with the Captain (Crowley).

Here's to hoping we see God telling Azi that loving a demon is chill and he should go back to earth in S3.

Overall, it's incredibly amusing to me that Aziraphale, our Aziraphale, doesn't like The Sound of Music, with the main plot being about a woman who choses love over religious obligations and a man who rejects an authoritarian regime so that he might make his own way in the world.

Maybe Aziraphale recognizes the parallels and is in denial. Or maybe he just prefers Sondheim...

[ant1quarian]

Dust Sans Headcanons

Both x Reader and just general headcanons. ( Dust Sans belongs to Ask-Dusttale! )

To me, Dust is a very… quiet, aloof character– but he’s also incredibly intelligent and observant

Fanonically, in my mind, he does feel emotions, he just feels them through a kind of static. One thing he is incapable of feeling, though, is guilt.

I also headcanon that he has “hypervigilance”– a constant state of awareness, where he’s constantly assessing potential threats around him.

This also mean he does not sleep. He can’t remember the last time he slept, and in my mind, this also means that Visage ( His Papyrus ) is both a hallucination from going insane… and sleep deprivation. (Though, I do like to think as Visage being a literal ghost, instead of a hallucination as he is canonically– I think )

I also headcanon that Dust’s hood over his head acts as a sort of security blanket? It provides him a sense of calmness, at least.

Signs that he likes you

Because Dust doesn’t talk a massive amount, he’ll often just turn up and… sit beside you. Or he’ll randomly come up to you, grab you by the hand, and take you on a walk ( or just bring you somewhere )

It’s not obvious he’s starting to fall for you if you don’t pay attention to the subtle things.

How he slightly turns to you when you enter the room. How he slightly shuffles over on the couch in order to make room for you, even if he’s mid-conversation with someone else and doesn’t even spare a glance at you.

Unless Killer or Axe is there to point it out, you likely won’t notice– unless he’s been an absolute asshole to you in the past.

I like the thought of Dust beginning to pun more around you (because he does enjoy them!) just to see you either groan, smile, or giggle.

He may initiate small amounts of physical contact. Brushing your hand with his when he wants your attention, or is just walking next to you. Sometimes when you’re both sitting down, he’ll rest his knee on yours.

I… honestly can’t see Dust being a massive fan of PDA? Like he doesn’t… exactly… care that much, but he prefers it in small amounts?

I feel like he’s the type to take comfort in the slightest of touches, and I feel like hugging you and being that close to your SOUL can overwhelm him sometimes.

( This stems from my headcanon that will be put at the end of this )

But when he gets more used to you having such a powerful SOUL (in comparison to his own SOUL), he’ll be much happier with long times of physical contact.

When he finally fully trusts you and knows you won’t run away, he’ll start putting his hood down when he’s around you. At this point, he is fully smitten with you, and couldn’t possibly put the amount of adoration he has for you into words.

It just means he feels safe around you

Also, once he loves you, you’ll be able to catch him off-guard. Like you toss a thing at him, and instead of dodging, it sorta just slaps him in the face and leaves him very confused because he dIdN’T DODGE??

I feel like Dust is also prone to… bouts of violence. And lets be real here, it’s not going to be a “everyone but you” thing, because you can most definitely get caught up in it by accident

That being said, he’d never intentionally hurt you, and if he did hurt you, it’d probably be the first time you ever saw him tear up. ( Not that he’d let you see for long– tugging his hood back over his head and furiously wiping his sockets. )

Just because he can’t feel guilt, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know when he’s in the wrong, and it also doesn’t mean he can’t feel sad because of what he did.

He truly does love you, even if it’s hard for people to pick up on sometimes, and they tell you that it’s a very “toxic, one-sided relationship.”

Because it isn’t. He has a fuck ton of trauma, the inability to sleep, LOVE 20, and a weird… under-the-surface fear of humans. But he loves you, despite it all, and you love him, too.

The Headcanon

Those with LV are very sensitive to intent. Not physically, of course, because they get more DEF and ATK when their LV climbs higher, but rather... emotionally?

They can tell what you're feeling more acutely, and so it can become overwhelming for them.