#BEFORE YOU SAY IT I'M NOT THINKING ABOUT GHOSTS

[radiance1]

Danny phased through the wall, which normally he wouldn't do but fuck it he's just had the best moment of his life, walked over to the couch and pivoted before falling back onto it.

"Girlfriend, you would not believe the absolute hunk of a man I've just met tonight." He says, a dramatically dreamy sigh leaving his lips as he slipped his eyes shut.

"And you would not believe the dreamboat of a woman I've just met tonight either." Sam, fully matching his energy, pushed away from the counter and threw herself onto the back of the couch, hands resting over it and placing her head on it as she sighed in the exact same way he did.

Tucker took a sip of his concoction of various monster energies before letting out an acknowledging hum. "Who would've thought, the key to defeating a ghost and a witch would be masked bat vigilantes."

"Oh, Tucker." Sam tilted her head back, looking at him through half lidded eyes. "You just had to be there, such beauty. Such grace. And that suit? You should have seen how it made her body look!"

"Mhm." Tucker hummed lightly, more amused than anything.

"And those muscles?" Danny let out a whistle. "Goodness gracious. He lifted me up so easily-"

"Well, granted. You aren't that heavy." Tucker pointed out.

"Oh hush," Danny huffed. "What I would do to meet him again..."

"Oh, I cannot help but agree." Sam said, laying her head back on the couch.

They both out a completely smitten sigh at the exact same time, in the exact same way.

Tucker took another sip of his unholy concoction and leaned on the counter. Honestly, he loves these two, he isn't going to lie, but man are they simps.

Knowing Danny's luck, though? He would probably meet his masked vigilante again, or at least someone associated. Sam... Well. The least said about her own methods the better.

Tucker snapped a quick photo of the two, tilted it with "losers got a crush on the bats." before sending it to a certain librarian he's made friends with.

Oh, he just had an idea.

"Honestly, I'm hurt." Tucker said, the corners of his lips twitching as he placed down his cup and put his phone back into his pocket. "To think you two would replace me for two masked vigilantes."

The way the snapped to attention would be a moment Tucker would remember and lord over them for the rest of their lives.

----

"Well, that's rather interesting." Barbara mused idly, looking at the photo that was just sent to her. Not exactly what she thought she would have seen today.

But. Well.

"Two civilians have crushes on two of you." She sent in the group chat.

Then placed her phone on silent and ignored it for the rest of the evening.

[firewasabeast]

prompt.

In dire need of some fluff and donesticity.they both living together. Exchanging I love yous as they leave for their shift. Cuddling in sofa while watching bad tv.

They get a little horny. Sorry if that's not your thing. It's nothing explicit though!

Buck was leaning back against Tommy's chest as they snuggled on the couch. One of Tommy's hands rested over Buck's thigh, while the other gently massaged his head.

“This show sucks,” Buck sighed, leaning further into Tommy's touch.

“You're the one who put it on.”

Buck lifted his head to smile up at Tommy. “I didn't think we'd be watching it.”

“You trying to Netflix and chill me, Evan?”

“I'm trying to get in your pants, Thomas.”

Tommy huffed out a laugh. “Well, calling me Thomas is a sure fire way to not get in my pants.”

“Oh, really?” Buck asked cheekily. He started to turn, pressing a hand against Tommy's chest as he straddled his thighs. He leaned in, ghosting his lips over Tommy's. “You sure about that?”

Tommy smiled. He dragged his hands up to Buck's hips and squeezed. “Absolutely not.”

Buck had sent a silent thank you to Joey at the local Furniture SuperPlus every single day since he sold them an extra long, extra wide couch. It was the one thing they splurged on when Buck moved into Tommy's place. Not a single regret was ever had on that purchase.

Buck gave Tommy a chaste kiss. “You're soft on me, Mr. Kinard.”

“You're just figuring that out? I must not be doing my job right.”

“Oh, trust me,” Buck reassured him. “You're doing your job perfectly.” He kissed him again, deeper this time. Tongues tangling together as their hands wandered. Buck groaned as he broke away from Tommy, peppering kisses along his jaw before working down his neck.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?” Buck hummed against Tommy's skin.

“I- I'm in love with you.”

Buck smiled against him, then licked against his pulse point. “I love you too.”

“No, I- uh,” Tommy's head lolled back as Buck sucked at his collarbone. “Evan, I- I love you too, but I'm in love with you.”

Buck froze. He sat back against Tommy's legs, staring at him. “You- You're telling me this while I'm grinding against you?”

“Is that... bad?” Tommy asked, face falling slightly.

“No, no! It's just... We can't tell that to our kids.”

Tommy grinned. “Our kids?”

“Well, yeah! One day they're gonna ask about the time we told each other we were in love, and we cannot tell them it was when we were dry humping on the couch!”

“Technically, only I've said I'm in love with you,” Tommy replied, emphasizing the point by pressing a finger to Buck's pec.

Buck brought his hands to Tommy's face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “I am so, incredibly in love with you, Tommy.”

Tommy took a deep breath. “Yeah?”

Buck nodded. “Yeah.”

“Because you don't have to-”

Buck silenced him with a kiss, tongue swiping against Tommy's lips until he opened his mouth and let Buck inside.

Tommy moaned into the kiss, eventually pulling away for air. He pressed his forehead against Buck's. “We definitely can't tell the kids that part.”

Buck shrugged. “We'll make something up. Stick to the 'I love you' story. That one's pretty PG.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting what we did on your kitchen counter afterward?”

“Okay, so we'll cut the story short," Buck whined. “Can we please have sex now?”

Tommy lifted his hips to grind up against Buck, watching as he closed his eyes and his lips parted with a happy sigh. “You know I can't say no to you.”

Buck kissed Tommy's lips, then his cheek, his jaw, his temple, before leaning toward his ear. In a whisper, he asked, “Even if I call you Thomas again?”

Tommy groaned, chills running down his spine. “You can call me whatever the hell you want,” he decided, wrapping his arms around Buck's waist and flipping them over.

[the-kr8tor]

Can I please have Cardamom and ❣️??

So basically Hobie brown and reader are spider people, and they haven’t seen each other for like a looot of time. So then, Hobie decides to sneak in and he’s just so smitten by reader that he’s just a lovesick puppy for her

So yeah, thank you!!!

Thank you for requesting! I was giggling while writing this lol

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw injury, established relationship, spider person! Reader, lovestruck! Hobie. Fluff

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

When Hobie heard through the grapevine full of gossiping spider people that you've finally come back after a month-long mission in a dimension where the only difference is that garlic didn't exist, he half sprinted all the way from the other side of the society towards the infirmary. He can already sense your presence through the door as he practically rips it from its hinges.

With the back of the door banging on the wall, doctor spider groans audibly, eyes rolling when he hears Hobie's roaring voice echo throughout the busy clinic as he calls for you.

“Your lover boy's here.” Doctor spider says monotonously while he rips away the bp machine from your arm before you launch yourself at Hobie. “Doesn't he know that he's not allowed inside yet?”

“Hobs!” You sit up, ignoring a certain doctor. Clutching your side but despite the throbbing ache, you make grabby hands at the very happy Spider-Man bounding towards you.

“Love!” He weaves around fellow spider people expertly, dodging their hands, and their yells telling him that he's not allowed inside the busy clinic just yet. His eyes are glued on you while you sit on the cot; warm hands already upon his own the second he reaches you. “Fuckin' ‘ell, who did this to you?” His smile falters as he sees the various gashes on you, some are still fresh and angry on your precious skin.

“I'm fine,” you flex your battered fingers around his palm, thumbs rubbing along his life line. “Nothing I can't handle.”

He tips your face to the side gently with his index, wincing when he sees stitches just below your ear. “What happened ‘ere?”

“Got too close to Doc's arms. Don't worry, he looks way worse than I do.” You take his wrist, flipping and placing it atop your thigh while you flip away at the hem of his glove to massage along his tensed muscle. His concerned eyes continue to scan you for injuries, frown deepening with every bandage and bruise. Sighing, you reach for his cheeks, poking each of them playfully. “Hobie, I'm good, and I'm home in one piece. C’mon, you must have stories to tell that I've missed while I was gone.”

His soft smile returns, arms reaching for your waist, rhythmically tapping your hip carefully; a nervous tick of his. With a chuckle, you let him in your space, half hugging you as he rests in the middle of your legs, back half bent, and forehead pressed atop your shoulder as he breaths you in. Soot and all.

“We found out that Gwen's allergic to peanuts in the worst way.” He finally says after a moment of languishing in your presence.

“Oh shit, is she okay?” Rubbing his back, you can see that doctor spider has had enough from Hobie's ‘intrusion’, he walks towards you, clipboard and stethoscope in hand. You wonder if he's about to use it as a weapon.

“Yeah—” he senses the doctor stalking behind him. Before he could get a word in and kick Hobie out, in one swift movement, Hobie pulls the curtains closed around your cot. “Where were we?” You can hear the disgruntled doctor huffing behind the curtains.

Chuckling, you cradle his face in your hands, thumb ghosting over his lip piercing. “I think we were about to be on doctor spider's shit list because you were about to ask me to come home with you.” You smugly say with a scrunch of your nose.

Hobie grins lopsidedly, lips reaching for the pads of your thumb to press a quick kiss on it. God, you've missed that. You missed him. “I didn't know you were clairvoyant, lovie.” He lifts you up carefully, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he carries you at his front. His arms are tucked around you, careful of your injuries. “I've been growin’ garlic for you in the garden.”

You sigh longingly, eyes focused on him and not the angry Miguel silhouette behind the curtains. “I love you.”

“You're about to love me more.”

With a peck just below your jaw, Hobie opens the portal to home and jumps in before Miguel could even finish yelling his name.

[captain-mj]

I can see who your favorite character is, my love. This post ain't even about him.

Before I get started, just want to say that the characters are multi-dimensional and can therefore be seen in multiple ways. Anyway! To explain my points!!

Yes, GhostGaz is lust. Absolutely. Gaz is one of the few characters that show genuine desire and want for things throughout the series. He smokes, he chats about things casually and also gets excited in Recon by Fire when he has multiple targets that he can snipe. Ghost is inhuman, lone wolf, desiring something he denies himself. Gaz is the most human (Soap stans argue with the wall) of most of the characters, being in my opinion one of the most well fleshed out ones.

They have complimentary personalities and aspects that I believe not only would have them fucking nasty, but also have them drawing towards each other constantly, wanting to be in each other's orbits, touching, etc. Lust also isn't just sex, lust is wanting something tangible in a way that defies God. Something I think the two of them already do very often.

SoapGhost as Greed. NOW HERE ME OUT. Y'all got listen for this one. Do they not get greedy over each other? Alejandro literally says he couldn't imagine calling Ghost Simon and what happened?? Yeah, he was told only Johnny could do it.

More seriously, the two of them constantly try to take more. Soap spend an entire mission trying to get more info out of Ghost about himself for no discernable reason. Ghost teases him, but he also encourages it so they can continue talking, rather than forcibly changing the subject. Soap also wants things. He wants medals, he wants to know more, he wants and wants and Soap is one of the few people that Ghost does show a want to hang out with. He also asks him questions and talks casually with him and presumably sits with him on rides so they can have each other's attention.

PriceGhost as Pride. You see, what I started this conversation, my idea was that I feel Price and Ghost, together, would be more prideful than the other ships. I don't mean this as to say they themselves are prideful, though my wife's explanation of Ghost being a victim of self-glorifying and self-justification (I'm not sure I agree on self-devoting, though that may be because I don't believe Ghost actually talks about his issues that much, even if I use it for plot purposes).

To look deeper at it though, the two of them are some of the highest ranking (though not THE highest ranking) out of the ships. I think Ghost would have a hard time separating Price the Captain from Price the Boyfriend. He wouldn't want to look weak in front of the Captain of his force. For Price, I have similar arguments. It's why I never quite liked PriceGaz, cause I just don't see Price as being able to truly be himself around his inferiors. The two of them wouldn't be able to truly be themselves around each other until they got over their pride. For them, this is more in the fact that Pride is the folly of their relationship. Idk, I just have a lot of thoughts.

You covered AleGhost in more depth than I can but I would argue going after Valeria the way he did was done more in Wrath than Pride, though I understand that with the sins, they intrinsically affect each other and honestly these two (characters and the win itself) parallel each other so much most sins could be put here. But both of them are such angry people at times. I feel like this is one of the few relationships in the list where issues are brought up, rather than allowed to fester.

Ghost ships but they’re themed as the seven deadly sins (PriceGhost is pride)

[stupidlittlespirit]

Rating: SFW Type: Longford, multi-chapter, Ford Pines x reader Word count: 7339  Tags: Fluff (lots), no pronouns used, Ford being silly, housekeeper!Reader My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3! Ch.1 here In which a simple expedition with Ford goes increasingly sideways and you learn more than enough about thermodynamics to last you a lifetime.

This chapter: Ford shows off in the woods and you get to muse lyrical about him while you tag along.

“Just for the record,” Ford says as he leads you along a narrow path into the treeline. “My brother is right.”

Stepping carefully over a fallen log, you glance up at him and frown, confused at his meaning. “How so?”

Ford watches you from the corner of his eye as he walks, a tiny smirk ghosting across his mouth. “Technically, I am experimenting on you….”

Oh shit. Your stomach somersaults nervously. Just how much of that conversation did he overhear….?

“He was just kidding around,” you hurry to clarify, attempting to brush Ford’s comments off with a weak laugh. “I'm not-!”

“Oh, so you don't enjoy being my test subject?” Ford asks, and much to your surprise, he seems to be fighting a teasing grin. “You wound me.”

You’re so taken off guard by his unexpected ribbing that you almost trip over your own feet.

Though Ford has his own wicked, dry sense of humour hidden underneath his many layers, it isn’t often that he dares to be so outright playful with you.

You’ve had your moments with one another, no matter how rare, and though you’re not the strangers you had been at the beginning of your job, it’s still always a surprise when he acts so impish around you.

From the moment you’d come on board, it had been crystal clear that Stan was the social butterfly out of the two. Even with his occasionally grumpy demeanour, the man is capable of bantering over absolutely anything, of spinning a yarn about the stupidest of things on the spot like it’s the easiest thing in the world for him. He’s joked with you plenty of times before that he’d been the twin to soak up all the charisma in the womb while Ford had gotten everything else and for the most part, he isn’t entirely wrong.

In areas of a more extroverted nature, you’ve noticed that Ford lacks his brother’s (sterling) silver tongue, for the most part.

Not necessarily because he can’t don it himself but more because, although you think it would pain him to admit his shortcomings, he seems to struggle with such things.

Ford is stiff around people he isn’t accustomed to and the best of his communication skills generally extend to a very specific set of circumstances. He isn’t completely incapable of interacting with other people outside of his own bubble. He just…. Isn’t the best at it.

You often overhear him laughing and messing around with the kids or, when they’re not bickering, his brother. Their conversations flow easily and, although Stan has suggested that might not have always been the case, Ford is naturally more relaxed around them. He can let his guard down.

It’s understandable. They’re his family and his safety net. For Ford, interacting with them is much easier than interacting with a stranger and he knows his audience when he talks to them. He knows what to expect and he can comfortably risk being more open with them.

But, in Stan’s words, Ford is still adjusting to returning home, both physically and socially, and he struggles to extend that grace to others.

Your initial meeting with him had been…. Tumultuous, to say the least.

Your second week on the job, you’d wandered into Ford’s study in order to clean it, only to find yourself shoved face-first into the wall barely seconds later, your body forced flat against the panelling and one arm twisted painfully up behind your back while Ford had barked orders to his family about ‘dealing with intruders’ and ‘fetching the crossbow’.

It hadn't been until Stan had come careening down the hallway, shouting his head off at his brother and swiftly negotiated your release, that Ford had seen fit to let you go.

To his credit, Ford had offered several apologies (though only after he had chastised you for entering without knocking) and so far, it's never happened since.

But from that point onwards, getting more than a single word out of Ford had been downright impossible for the first couple of months in your time with the Pines.

Elusive, severe and not particularly interested in being any less of either when it came to you, Ford had avoided you like the plague. Whether out of embarrassment or pride at your less-than-stellar introduction, or something else entirely, he hadn’t made much of an effort to try again and so you’d barely had the opportunity to say a word to him to rectify it.

Where the kids were desperate to interrogate you about your life or your time in town, and where Stan was pleased to have someone new to pick on, Ford had oscillated between staying hidden within the confines of his own private space, blinkered to your existence, and behaving like his own miniature storm, sweeping in and out of the house with the purpose of a man possessed.

And when he had shown his face, on the rare occasion he chose to step foot outside of his study or his lab, he’d been brusque and far too caught up in his tasks to deign you, the newcomer, with any sort of acknowledgement.

Admittedly, you’d been left disappointed.

Ford had caught your attention immediately (how could he not?) and his lack of reciprocity had only served to increase your interest. Yet any tiny moment you’d seized to see if things might change, be it passing one another in the hallway or being roped into joining the kid’s games, had only gone down like a lead balloon.

When the two of you had been left alone, Ford had been even worse: Switching from his severity to being skittish or dismissive each time you’d attempted to strike up polite conversation and even so much as a simple 'hello' had been enough to make him freeze up.

Right up until he’d almost burnt the skin clean off of his hand one dull Tuesday evening, that is.

On silent feet, he’d flown through the kitchen doorway at the exact same time you’d been passing through it yourself, colliding solidly with you and sending the lukewarm mug of coffee in your hands flying, its contents tumbling to the floor.

The mug had been flung halfway across the room, shattering on the stone tiles underfoot, and the only reason you hadn’t joined it on the floor had been thanks to an artful dodge Ford had thrown in at the last second in order to avoid knocking you flat on your ass.

Before you’d had the chance to say anything, he had dashed for the sink, swearing profusely and clutching his right forearm, and after a few moments of watching him flap about, your brain had recovered in its shock and you’d sprung into action to help him.

As it had turned out, Ford had apparently been doing some spring cleaning that evening and while carrying what he presumed to be an empty jar, a small amount of liquid (which you’d later learned to be aged sulphuric acid) had seeped through a crack in its glass and immediately eaten into the thin skin of his palm.

With him lacking in dexterity, you had slapped on the cold tap and forced his hand underneath it immediately, instructing him to stay still until told differently while you’d wracked your brains to remember your high school science safety classes.

“You didn’t spill it anywhere else, did you?” You’d asked, alarmed.

“What am I, an idiot?” Ford had scoffed.

“Says the man moving chemicals without gloves,” had been your curt reply, and Ford had quietened down a little after that.

The burn hadn’t been too bad, thankfully. Nothing more than a pink, dime sized mark had been left by the time you’d let him take his hand out from underneath the stream and even though he’d protested that he’d be perfectly fine with just a band-aid, you’d forced him to sit at the kitchen table and allow you to give him some actual first aid.

Half an hour and a roll of bandages later, and Ford had managed to hold his first proper conversation with you.

Granted, most of it had been on the topics of various sciences and such, but it had been a conversation all the same and you’d been secretly thrilled to have it.

He had even helped you to clean up the mess on the floor, too.

The next time he’d seen you in passing, Ford had offered you a curt nod and a small, wary smile. A miniscule improvement upon being ignored or run away from, and just enough to raise your hopes that he might not entirely hate your existence.

And, like the erosion of his own epidermis, a new part of Ford had been exposed to you over time.

Ford had (very, very slowly) come around to the idea of having you in the house, and with each passing day, he’d warmed up to you some more.

Passing nods turned into stiff little 'hellos' in response to your own greetings, and those 'hellos' into 'how are you’s', and before your eyes, the impenetrable ice around him had melted away to expose someone much more human and something far less enigmatic than the front he’d put forward to begin with.

The revelation of his genuine personality had only served to change your natural curiosity over him into something closer to a childish crush and from that point on, you’d been toast. Hopelessly smitten toast.

And although he still struggles depending on his mood, the six months in particular have seen real growth: Ford has been more amenable to chatting with you about his work and even though he keeps you at arms length from the depths of his scientific endeavours, even though he’s still hard to get a read on some days, he’s far less aloof for the most part and every now and then he’ll take a cheeky shot at you when you least expect it.

It always knocks you off balance.

When you’ve recovered from your shock and your brain catches up to your mouth, you find a lame comeback to throw his way:

“I’m not a mouse, you know,” you tell him, primly.

“Of course not,” replies Ford, rather fondly. “Mice are rarely such good company.”

You meet his eyes in surprise and for a second, you share a look with him that you’re not quite sure how to decipher. There’s something warm in his gaze. It’s not unwelcome.

The moment is fleeting and almost instantly, Ford looks away and clears his throat. His strides extend until he’s practically power-walking ahead of you along the forest’s path, his back to you and his voice hardened again as he slips back into the familiar, commanding personality you’re much more accustomed to.

“Dipper tells me you’ve never been into the forests properly before, correct?” He asks, hands clasped behind his back as he walks briskly.

You trot along to catch up with him a little, shaking off the odd feeling. “Correct.”

Ford nods. “Then allow me to give you a run down of how things work out here,” he says, and abruptly, you realise you’re about to witness one of the first special circumstances in which Ford’s communication skills make a rare appearance:

When he takes charge.

Ford snatches control of the reins during any situation that (in his opinion) requires a clear leader and it’s as intimidating a trait as it is admirable.

According to Stan, he’s gotten better at being slightly less militant around the kids, but old habits die hard and you’ve seen him turn on this persona plenty of times before.

Part of you often wonders if it’s a symptom of his time in the portal. If he’d been all alone, thrust head first into (what you can only imagine to be) exceptionally dangerous situations, he’s probably learnt to lean on it for survival.

The other part of you knows full well that Ford is a smart guy anyway. Of course he takes charge when he’s the authority on the subject.

Sometimes, however, you have a suspicion it might be reactive: You’ve noticed that he has a tendency to smother his awkwardness with that bossiness at times. He tries to hide it and make the change seem casual, but it’s obvious when you look a little closer that he’s attempting to claw back his footing and come out on top again. A defence mechanism of sorts.

Telling others what to do comes naturally to him and he can often rely on it a little too heavily sometimes. It can make him come off as a bit of an asshole (see: very much like an asshole) and it’s taken some time to get used to, but you do your best not to take it too personally.

Unless he’s being particularly obnoxious, it’s easier to let him get on with it than it is to fight him. You’ve tried before and it hasn’t gone well.

“Rule number one,” says Ford, holding back a low hanging branch to allow you room to duck underneath it. “Stay close to me and don’t wander off. There are things out here that are much worse than your average predator and they’re not fond of disturbances, trust me.”

Ford’s tone holds gravity; undoubtedly he’s speaking from a place of practised experience with that exact scenario.

“Rule number two: You do what I say, without question. Don’t hesitate. If I tell you to run, you move like there’s fire at your heels. If I tell you to stay still, you turn to stone. Understood?”

“Understood,” you assure him.

Though you should be annoyed by how overbearing he is, you find yourself quite taken by seeing him out in the field like this.

It’s a new environment in every way for you and for all that you’ve heard about his adventuring and disciplined nature from Dipper, it’s quite something to behold.

“And rule number three,” he says, shooting you a coy grin over his shoulder. “Is to have fun. This is your fledgling expedition after all and the first time is always the most exhilarating. Don’t forget to enjoy yourself.”

His smile is contagious.

Ford's initial assurance that the trip to the mushroom patch would take you both little more than an hour dies an early death.

He's comfortably confident, as he so often is, that the weather will hold out long enough to allow you both some time to sightsee on the way and despite your anxiety about getting lost or dry drowning before you can even reach the place, you find yourself unable to talk him out of it.

Not because if you put your foot down he'd ignore your wishes, but because it is just so damn hard not to be charmed by Ford's demeanour when he gets all excited about adventuring.

He’s clearly delighted to have an opportunity to put on a display for someone other than Dipper, no matter how much he refutes his brother’s claims of doing so, and you’re more than willing to give him the floor to do it.

Wariness aside, it’s not like you’re not curious about all of the things lurking in these woods. The concept of cryptids and monsters being real is as thrilling as it is terrifying and you’d be lying if you said you haven’t at least hoped Ford might take you out with him one day.

Stanley had informed you that his brother was a scientist with particularly unique specialisms right at the start of your employment, that his areas of interest weren’t exactly what most would consider ‘normal’, and you’d been intrigued by it immediately.

You know that Ford has an extensive lab beneath the lodge and although you’re rarely granted access, he’s allowed you to deliver him coffee once or twice since he’s become a little more comfortable with your presence.

The place is huge, but Ford is a private person and even when you’ve expressed interest in touring it to see his work in more detail, he’s always assured you of its dangers and kept you (quite disappointingly) at arm’s length from the practical aspect of it all.

Which makes today a dream come true.

As he strides through the chilly, grey forest with you in tow, Ford sheds some of his sharper, more authoritarian attitude as soon as he starts to pick out things he thinks you might find interesting.

One of the other ways in which Ford can communicate well, and by far your favourite, is when he's excited. Usually it's about science; perhaps something special shows up in his test results or maybe he discovers a new species of creature, but whatever it is, it's enough to blow the lid off of his usually stoic self and expose the big, curious kid that he carries close to his heart.

He can’t resist the urge to go into detail about his finds and to flex his disgustingly impressive intelligence on those around him.

Stan insists it’s simply because his brother is a geek who likes to show that off to anyone who will listen, and while that isn’t entirely untrue, Ford is absolutely a clever clogs with tendency to be pompous about it, it’s still exceptionally endearing to watch him get so eager about things.

Ford will get a familiar glint in his eye, shove his glasses up his strong nose, and then launch into a spiel about some of the most complex topics you've never even heard of, talking a mile a minute and waving his hands around all of the place as he explains all of it to anyone who will listen.

You're no mathematician, nor a high IQ scientist, and everything he talks about is well above your intelligence level, but when Ford gets like that you just can't look away from him.

Having been prohibited from his lab (and sometimes even his study, for reasons he never clarifies), you’re always ecstatic to hear about what he’s found or whatever he’s spent his week working on, and being privy to his joy offers a rush that not even the most potent of drugs could beat.

The first forty minutes of your walk together is mostly made up of you watching Ford dart on and off the path, scraping things from trees and narrating his work.

The sun’s rays are dull and watery, reduced to a shitty grey by the time it sneaks its way down through the clouds and canopy over your heads, but even its miserable tint can’t take away the shine that Ford gives off.

As you progress through the woods, Ford fills you in on every piece of flora that the two of you pass, pointing out their colours and attributes, and informing you which flowers make nice bouquets and which ones will kill every member of your household when they bloom.

He explains the discrepancies between moss and lichen on the trees, and goes into detail about his favourite types of each one. It’s so sweet that it makes your teeth ache and admittedly you’re not paying much attention to whatever it is that he’s showcasing for you, despite your polite displays of pretending to.

You’re too busy watching him, taking in the way his eyes light up and his silvery hair glitters each time a glimpse of sunlight makes it down to the forest floor. The way his lopsided grin makes his crow’s feet crinkle more on one side and his dimples pronounce amongst his slight stubble.

He’s truly a sight to behold.

Being as unfit as you are, however, it’s challenging enough to keep up with him physically, let alone mentally. Every time he pauses to point at something, you just about reach his side before he darts off again, always moving a step ahead to ensure he maximises his time in the outdoors.

Rule number one might be stay close, but he’s not too fussed about making that easy for you.

Every now and then, though, Ford slows down just enough to return to you, reappearing with something clasped between his big hands like an overenthusiastically happy dog bringing you a stick in its mouth. The first couple of times had been to show you some different types of plant life or tree bark, but this time is different.

This time, he waits for you to catch up to his side before he nods to a large, plum coloured bush that rises up above your head a little way. Its leaves are long and slender, and they almost look like hearts.

Their faces are marred with silvery, chevron-shaped markings that curve over and reach down to the tips of each one, and the leaves are so dense that you can't see inside no matter how to crane your neck.

You look up at Ford, who is practically puffed out with how much he's enjoying himself, and he puts a finger to his lips before leaning down closer to you.

“This is a form of persicaria microcephala, sometimes referred to as Red Dragon.” Ford says, voice hushed. “They’re not native to this country, you’ll find them primarily in China or Britain, but we’ve got a few bushels dotted about around here.”

Unsure as to why he feels the need to whisper the fact to you, you simply nod.

“But,” Ford continues, clearly picking up on your silent confusion. “Ours is more literal than the stuff you’ll find abroad or in cheap garden centres….”

Careful not to be too rough, Ford slowly pries open an area of the bush with a practised touch and nods for you to peer inside.

You're a little wary at first; you're not in the habit of sticking your nose into wild things in a town like this, yet you know Ford isn't going to set you up to land in harm's way on purpose. You trust him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Cautiously, you lean up to peer into the small clearing he's made and feel your mouth drop open.

On the thin stems inside the plant, there are at least a dozen little creatures nesting. They're all about as long as your pinky finger and initially, you assume them to be lizards.

Each one is a varying shade of purpley-red, some darker, some closer to a pinkish hue, and they're so well camouflaged against their setting that it’s a bit difficult to make them out at first.

That is, until one of them stands up from its perch and stretches, cat-like, with a yawn. It unfurls gossamer wings that flutter like a bee’s and hops from one branch to another, aided by them, before settling back down again.

They’re dragons. Teeny little honest-to-god fucking dragons.

You look back at Ford, aware that your expression suggests that your eyes appear are about to fall out of your head, and whisper as loudly as you dare: “Are you serious?”

Ford, who looks exceptionally pleased with himself, nods again. “We call them Dragon Flies, for obvious reasons. Dipper coined the name. Lovely, aren’t they?”

They really are. Dragons are up there at the top of your list of Really Fucking Cool Stuff as far as you’re concerned, and for all the weirdness in Gravity Falls, you can’t say you thought such creatures to be among it. The notion seems too fantastical. Yet, here they are, tiny and utterly adorable in all their glory.

It’s enough to take your breath away.

“I love dragons,” you whisper, grinning through the leaves at them. “They’re my favourites.”

“I know,” says Ford, and in your surprise, you whip your head back around to meet his eye.

He seems a little taken aback by his own words too, like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud, and a redness blooms on the tops of his cheekbones.

“That is,” he clears his throat softly. “I overheard you talking to the children earlier this week about them and I remembered on the way that we’d pass by here, so I just…. Thought you might like to see.”

You can only barely remember the conversation yourself. Dipper had been sitting at the dinner table, sketching furiously in his notebook whilst Mabel had given random, rapid fire requests to help him practise his speed for field work illustrations, and Dipper had offered you an opportunity to try one when you’d passed through to fetch some water.

Obviously, your answer had been 'dragon' and Dipper had scratched out a shockingly good diagram of one in under thirty seconds. It had been incredibly impressive and he had even given you the sketch. It’s still folded up in your bag at home.

You don’t recall seeing Ford during it, though….. Damn his alley-cat footing.

Still, that means he remembers your off-hand comment from so long ago despite not even being part of the conversation, and it makes your chest burn with appreciation that he’d put two and two together like this, just to show you something you might find fun.

You laugh softly under your breath, restraining the happiness that surges through you so that you don’t frighten the Dragon Flies, and Ford’s nervous expression melts into a lopsided smile of his own once he realises you’re happy with his offering.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, with as much meaning as you can heap into two words.

Ford shrugs one shoulder, his attempted nonchalance overwritten by delight. “You’re welcome,” he says softly. “They’re quite friendly, too. I was a little concerned they might be a risk for forest fires in the summer months but they don’t appear to actually breathe fire. The most I’ve seen them do is burp a few sparks and even then that’s rare. Fairly even-tempered creatures, it seems.”

One of the Dragon Flies turns to glance at you over its shoulder, giving you a disinterested, lazy look as though to illustrate Ford’s point, and your smile grows even more.

After a few more moments of silent, avid observation, Ford carefully lowers the leaves again. “I’m afraid we’ll have to keep moving if we want to avoid the rain today,” he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But I’d be happy to bring you back another time. I can even help you handle one, if you’d like.”

As much as you’d love to stay, you know he’s right. You’re already behind schedule. Plus, a second opportunity to hang out means more time to spend alone with him and if today is anything to go by so far, you’ll be thrilled to do it all again.

“That would be incredible, Doctor Pines, thank you.” You smile, stepping away to follow his lead. “If you wouldn’t mind then I’d love to.”

Ford chuckles as he starts off again down the path with you in tow. “My dear, it would be my pleasure.”

Quite suddenly, the forest doesn’t feel as chilly as it has done for most of your walk. Ford’s words warm you up from toe to tip and you’re very grateful that he’s too busy marching along to look at you. If he turned to face you, he would undoubtedly catch the big, stupid grin that’s eating up half your face.

My dear.

My dear.

You’ve heard him call Mabel the same thing plenty of times before. Ford isn’t one for terms of endearment except when it comes to the kids and although you’ve heard him refer to her with several, he’s only ever referred to you by your name.

Up until now, that is.

He’s probably just being nice and playing along with the excitement, yet it rolls off his tongue so casually that it makes your stomach flip-flop.

If accompanying him on a miniature quest is going to result in things like this then you wonder if maybe the next time you cook, you ought to leave your ingredients out overnight for Waddles to pick at as he sees fit…..

The rest of the walk to the patch is amicably quiet, bar Ford's occasional quips about some more interesting things he spots. You’re both content to simply absorb one another’s presence as you move through the forest floor together.

It isn’t long after you leave the Dragon Flies that the wind begins to pick up.

It forces its way through the canopy of fir trees overhead and makes their branches ripple and thrash as it chases through them, tearing out fresh leaves and strewing them across the damp mud under your feet.

The grey clouds above aren't as easily pushed aside, though. If anything, they knit together as if to defend the sky from the gales and their density, combined with the thick trees, only makes it even darker.

Visibility in the forest becomes less and less, and by the time you make it to the patch, Ford swings the heavy pack off of his shoulder and fishes two camping flashlights out from within. He flicks both of them on and hands one to you.

“Just to be safe,” he says. “I don’t want you to trip.”

You thank him and swing the beam around to illuminate the tiny clusters of mushrooms sticking up through the dirt. The clearing they sit in isn't much more than ten feet by ten, the edges lined with bushes and a few gnarly old trees whose roots leech out through the grass in search of sustenance. It’s a quaint little break from the dense trees.

Under any other circumstances, it would look pretty. The place is picturesque and you can imagine sitting down here to eat a picnic and enjoy the view, but right now all you want to do is dig up your dinner and get home to safety.

The weather is ticking quickly over from ominous to outright worrying.

“Let's start there,” Ford says, voice slightly raised so that you can hear him over a sudden, particularly strong gust of wind.

He flicks his torch beam across yours and settles the light on where you're already looking.

“The last batch I picked were from this area so it'll be safest to start here,” he says, coming to your side and dropping into a squat to inspect the scattering of fungi that dot the ground.

Ford lays his torch by his left foot before dumping the backpack beside it. He rifles through the bag until he pulls out a small plastic tub, popping off the lid and putting it beside his other foot.

Keeping your torch as steady as you can so that you can both see what you’re doing, you kneel in the grass beside him and watch as he gently digs his fingers into the cool, damp soil, and breaks off a single mushroom.

The stem is thick and long, and it curves upward until it blooms outward like a tiny, flowery trumpet. The lip of the cap curls underneath just slightly and it has a rich, jewel-pink hue that fades halfway down the trunk to an off-white.

When Ford turns it over in the beam of your light, it glitters slightly, as though it has some form of iridescent quality.

“It’s almost too pretty to eat,” you say, admiring it with quiet awe. “I feel bad for just disturbing it, let alone putting it in a pie.”

Ford chuckles, dropping it into the container. “Don’t worry, plenty more where this one came from. Ready to get your hands dirty?”

“Always, Doctor Pines.” You grin.

Ford matches your expression and you find a suitable angle with your light before you begin to help him unearth more of the things. They don’t appear to go very deep into the ground and the earth is moist enough that it barely takes much effort to get ahold of their stems.

The two of you work in silence. You're sure Ford would be happy to chat but the wind is making such a racket as it passes through the trees that it would be hard to have a conversation at a normal level, and it feels rude to shout at one another in a place as peaceful as this.

The whole place is silent whenever the gusts die down, almost unnervingly so, and you're sure you'll only disturb whatever wildlife is hanging around if you invite Ford into another lecturing session.

You're almost done excavating the mushrooms when you feel the first fat, freezing droplet of rain hit the base of your exposed neck. You've been expecting the rain, of course, but the coldness takes you by surprise and instinctively, you snap a hand up to where it lands, sitting back on your knees and breaking your focus on the dirt to look at your surroundings again.

It's then that your gaze lands on a shadowy figure, standing just at the edge of the clearing and off to the side of a tree.

The appearance is so unexpected that it instantly makes you jump.

For a terrifying few seconds, you forget Ford's presence at your side and your heart feels like it's about to burst through your chest. What if it’s a monster? What if it’s one of the horrible beasts the kids always talk about and now it’s going to tear you to pieces and eat you alive and-

Instinctively, you snap your torch beam up and shine it across the clearing to illuminate the newcomer.

The light lands on the form of a big, broad, red stag.

He's got to be at least four feet tall at the shoulder and the impressive set of antlers on his head must boost that height to nearly six. His body is covered in thick, mahogany coloured fur that's matted at the ends and slowly darkening under the drops of fresh rain.

Definitely not a monster.

You let out a sigh of relief.

Strangely, he doesn't flee when your light hits his face. He stands stock still and blinks back at you with black eyes, nostrils flaring as he puffs out a cloud of foggy breath.

Ford huffs at the loss of light and looks toward you. “I can't see anythi-!”

You shush him, pointing forwards to the deer, and although he seems annoyed at being told to be quiet, he looks at where you direct his attention.

The deer doesn't move.

Ford laughs under his breath. “Cervus elaphus, “ he says quietly. “Just a red deer. Now, if you wouldn't mind putting the light back so I can-”

“It's just staring at us…..” You say, interrupting him again.

The stag still hasn't broken eye contact with you and a feeling of unease settles in your stomach.

Deer are easily frightened, even a flash of bright light would normally be enough to send one running. It's not even close to rutting season, when you might expect to encounter one in a bad mood, and yet this one doesn't even turn its head away.

“Yes, well,” says Ford. “They do tend to do that.”

You know he wants to go back to nabbing the last of the mushrooms. There's an edge in his voice that only ever comes on when he gets a little pissed off about something. You've heard it enough times to recognise it, and yet….. You don't want to do what he's asking. Not yet, anyway.

The stag blinks and huffs another hot breath. Its shoulder shudders reflexively, likely out of irritation from the rain drops that are starting to fall readily now, and he stomps his hoof into the dirt with a wet thump!

You flick the torch further along him to check out his entire body and as expected, he really is just a regular deer, if a very beautiful one. It's not often that you get to see something so majestic up close and having moved here from the city, it's a pleasure to witness. Just like with the Dragon Flies, nature has a way of taking your breath away whether out of admirable wonder or sudden panic.

“He's beautiful,” you mutter.

Even after so long in this town, it’s still a pleasure to see a sight like this. There are no deer in the cities and moving out here has brought with it not just a plethora of new, supernatural creatures, but also an opportunity to reconnect with the old, natural ones, too.

The stag lowers his head until he nearly looks like he's bowing and then flicks it away. Raindrops fly off each point of his antlers as he does it once and then again, each time punctuated by a stomp of his foot.

Is he….. Shooing you off?

It snorts again, moving as if to step closer, and Ford sighs.

“Not the brightest of creatures and hardly the most interesting thing in a place like this. They're ten a penny out here,” he says, clambering to his feet with a groan. Under his breath, you catch him mutter: “Unlike, say, the literal dragons I showed you.”

He sounds a little peeved that you’re admiring such a simple creature in comparison to his own unique reveal and you have to bite down on a smile to hide your amusement.

He seems borderline jealous that your interest has wandered to something so…. Normal.

“Off you go now!” He claps his hands once, hoping to dissuade it from moving further into the clearing but the stag motions again with its head, ignoring Ford's rejection.

Ford frowns. He seems confused by its refusal and again he attempts to encourage it to move on, this time by stepping closer, but the stag remains resolute.

It holds its head up high and refuses to budge, its eyes never drifting from Ford.

Something feels off. Like he’s trying to communicate with you both, playing charades with horns instead of hands.

“I… Think he wants us to leave,” you say quietly.

His presence has gone from being peacefully pretty to setting your teeth on edge.

Gathering up the plastic tub full of mushrooms and keeping your movements slow and cautious so as not to spook the stag into panicking, you pack away your things.

You've collected more than enough fungi for both cooking and experimentation now, and the rain is falling steadily now. You'll both be soaked before long and you're about ready to get out of here anyway. The stag is just an easy excuse.

Ford glances down at you, brow raised. “I didn't know you spoke deer.”

Quite chivalrously, he offers you a hand to help you to your feet and you take it. His touch is warm, if a little gritty with dirt, and his palms are rough from the callouses that come with his hard-labour lifestyle.

You try not to notice how nice his hand feels in yours.

“You've no idea how far my talents extend, Doctor Pines,” you say dryly, ignoring the way your knees scream with effort after spending so long glued to the cold ground. “I’ll have you know that I'm fluent in Cervus quidvis.”

“Quodvis,” Ford corrects automatically.

“I’m fluent in know-it-all, too,” you add, rolling your eyes. “Now get the rucksack and let’s do what he says before we get any more drenched.”

Ford looks down at you, caught somewhere between being affronted and laughing at your quip. “I’d have thought twice about bringing you along if I knew you were going to be this bossy,” He smirks, half-serious.

“Takes one to know one,” you retort, struggling to stifle a smile of your own.

You give the stag a small wave (which does make Ford laugh) and lower your light so that you can tuck the tub into a side pocket of the rucksack.

“Sorry for bothering you, buddy,” you tell the stag, who doesn’t even blink.

You can feel Ford’s eyes on you and although you know he probably thinks you’re mad for trying to converse with the thing, you feel compelled to let it know that you mean it no harm.

Maybe it’s paranoia or maybe you really are going insane, but it feels important to do. The uneasy feeling still hasn’t passed and if talking to the local wildlife makes you feel better then you’re not afraid to be judged for it.

It seems to be appeased by your reaction, whether it's the apology that does it or the fact that you're clearly moving on, and the stag gives one last snort before it launches off into the bushes again.

The sound of its galloping hoofbeats is swallowed by more wind and you wince against the chill it brings with it. Alone it’s bad enough but being even the slightest bit damp only enhances the feeling.

You suppress a shiver.

Before you leave, once he has the backpack over his shoulder again, Ford reaches into his back pocket and procures a little bag of what look to be shiny stones. They glint, even in the dark, and he empties them out onto the dirt where the mushrooms had been.

“Thank you!” He says aloud to nobody in particular, and then he pockets the bag again.

It’s your turn to look at him like he’s lost his mind and Ford catches the expression.

“For the fairies. They like shiny things,” he explains, like it’s obvious. It probably is to him. “If you take something from the forest, you always give something back. Otherwise the next time you come back they’ll make your life a nightmare, trust me.”

“You’re talking to fairies but I’m weird for talking to the deer?” You scoff, following after him as he starts back towards the way you came in.

“I never said you were weird,” Ford says, checking what looks to be his wristwatch before he guides you back towards the correct path out of the clearing. “I said I didn’t know that you could speak to them.”

‘Didn’t know’? That implies it is, in fact, a possibility to communicate with deer, doesn’t it?

“Wait…. Are you being serious?” You ask, curiosity piqued. “Is that possible?”

If the existence of all the creepy, beyond-natural things Ford has warned you about are real, and you know that they are, then is it really that much of a stretch to consider there might be some weird, hidden language the common deer speaks? Or perhaps some kind of thing that might allow you to do that?

If that is the case then you absolutely must know how to do it. It might not come in useful in everyday life but it would certainly be novel. Deer are privy to all sorts of secret goings on in the forest and you’re sure they’d be a great source of gossip.

Ford shrugs one shoulder as he walks beside you, smirking enigmatically.

Excitement surges through your gut.

“No way, are you serious?” you say earnestly, trotting alongside him. “Will you teach me? You have to teach me. Imagine all the stuff I could ask….”

Ford raises a brow. “Such as….?”

“God, I don't know….. I mean for one thing, what's it like being a deer? What kind of stuff have you seen? What's the-” You cut yourself off abruptly when you catch the look on Ford's face that he's been trying to hide in the collar of his trenchcoat.

He's very blatantly fighting laughter.

You deflate instantly.

“Oh, you asshole,” you huff, swatting at his arm. “There's no such thing, is there?”

Ford breaks finally, laughing the same deep, gravelly laugh that you've grown so fond of over the past year.

“I'm sorry,” he says, breathless with mirth. “Forgive me, you just seemed so invested, I couldn’t help myself.”

You can’t stop yourself from laughing along. You want to be more annoyed at his teasing, but if you’re honest it’s really quite nice to be teased by him. He’s clearly in a playful mood today and you’re elated that you get to be the main recipient of his prodding. You suppose it's fair game for him to give as good as he gets.

“I am serious about the fairies, though,” Ford adds after a moment. “They've quite the set of teeth on them.”

Teeth?

“Noted.”

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[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate Chapter 21

Trigger Warnings: Smut, orgasm, cunnilingus, oral play, reader squirts, threesome, trichophilia, salirophilia

"You are such an annoying shit!" Y/N growled as she smacked the wolf with the towel. "Did you have to call him out?" "Hey. Hey. Stop. Omega." Seungmin growled as he tried to catch the towel that was repeatedly smacking him. "I'm sure you're not the best pleaser anyway. Minho might be better." The wolf growled, baring her teeth at the beta. Seungmin smirked and grabbed the towel, dragging her body towards his so he could grab her legs. The female squealed in shock as he grabbed her and pushed her body against the backdoor, his hands resting underneath her ass. "Shall we find out little puppy?" Seungmin taunted. "If you were so desperate for my attention you could have asked." Y/N mimicked his tone, testing the wolf's patience. Seungmin chuckled at her attitude before kissing her harshly. His teeth smacked against hers as he shoved his tongue into her mouth. Seungmin was relentless as he kissed up her neck, biting every so often he fancied before returning to her lips. Y/N could feel her arousal creeping up on her and she knew Seungmin could smell it. It was almost hard not to feel the way she did. His mouth was hot and wet. His fangs were sharp they made her shiver in delight. "Hold on to me. I'm not taking you to the garden. I'm not that cruel." Seungmin breathed out as he opened the door to take her to the living room. "Are you not?" Y/N challenged and Seungmin gave her a wink before throwing her onto the sofa with a growl.

Seungmin pulled her down with another growl before he leaned to kiss her, yet he didn't. His lips ghosted over hers, making her whine out in frustration, but Seungmin ignored her. Instead, he grabbed the hem of Minho's jogging bottoms and ripped them. Not caring about the item of clothing in front of him. "What? I'm an impatient man." Seungmin answered with a grin. As soon as the bottoms were desgarded he snapped the band of her underwear clean off before quickly spreading her legs, not wasting any time to prove he could definitely please her. To her surprise Seungmin was slow and attentive as he licked through her folds to her clit. The padding of his tongue laid flat against her. His rhythm started off slow as he built her up, carefully he flicked over clit. Occasionally he would suck before he came back down to her opening, teasing her entrance with his tongue. Her soft little breathy moans hardened Seungmins cock but he did not care. He wanted her to cum. He wanted to see her release. Seungmin sped up and paid extra detail to her hardened bud, edging her closer and closer until she came. "I mean. You tried." Y/N breathed out causing the wolf to glare at her, ready to start again when Felix walked passed. Y/N threw the wolf off and wrapped the blanket around her so she could mostly check on the wolf. "Felix. Felix." Y/N called out.

Felix turned around and looked at the sweaty female wolf curiously. He could see the frustrated beta behind him. "Are you okay?" Y/N breathed out. "I am alright. Come here." Felix pulled her hand and took her to the kitchen so she was away from Seungmins glares. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I wanted to talk to you but I didn't know what to say to you. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and I didn't want you to blame yourself. Honestly, I never wanted to kill anyone. I don't like fighting. I mean I don't like it when Chan argues with me so killing someone was hard. I felt sick and it made me hate myself. I hated myself more when I saw your face. Wooyoung was your alpha and you loved him and then I killed him. I didn't even know what to say because despite being angry at you, I never wanted you to ever think it was your fault or feel bad. I am sorry. I will always talk to you about anything baby, but this was hard." Felix's confession made Y/N's head swell. She appreciated his honesty and recognised how valid his feelings were. No one was meant to like killing. It should always be a last resort or an impossible resort. "I wasn't angry at you, ever. It was hard because I watched the person who abused me die. It was weird. I felt felt relief, but sadness, but I never held it against you. Your feelings are valid. No one is supposed to kill. But anyway it's fine. I want us to be fine." Felix appreciated her words. He was grateful for her being so understanding. "Come here, my love," Felix whispered as he pulled her closer, careful of her blanket as he kissed her softly. Felix's mouth was salty. She could taste the sweat on his tongue as she pushed harder, causing Felix to grip the towel. "Did Seungmin not please you," Felix murmured as he pulled her head back to deepen his tongue. "Need Lixie to make it better," Y/N whined. Felix smirked and put Y/N onto the counter, dismissing the blanket that was wrapped around her. "Mmm. Lixie make it better baby." Felix whispered as he planted his forehead against her, his fingers teasing her opening, while his thumb massages her clit. "Felix is sorry baby. Felix loves you so much. Gonna make you cum baby." Felix whispered as he teased her opening before sliding two fingers into her wet hole, causing her to gasp. Felix slowly slid in and out of her causing her to whine, her hips thrusting forward. "Can I taste you, baby? Hmm, let me taste you?" Felix whined, his soft pouty face aroused her. He was teasing her. She knew he had another face but he wasn't showing it. "Baby?" He cooed. "Yes. Yes." Y/N answered and gasped when she felt his mouth on her clit. His rough sucks sent a wave of emotions causing her to cum all over Minho's counter, but Felix didn't stop. Felix brought his head up to watch her as he slowly entered a third. "You gonna cum for me again baby?" Felix teased as he pressed harder into her, causing her to let out a panicked groan as he pulled out slowly only to slam into her harder. "Felix." Y/N gasped as he watched her, flicking his wrist slowly but harsher before thrusting faster into her. The sound of her wet pussy being fucked by Felix's hand sounded dirty. Her slick was seeping out as slid down Felix's hand. "Such a pretty wolf, aren't you." Felix cooed as he nuzzled her face. "Has your Felix been forgiven?" "Yes. Yes." Y/N reached out to pull the wolf towards her, her hands pulling Felix's hair as she kissed him. Felix growled at her actions, it was turning him on.

"Can I have her back now." Seungmin called out, causing Y/N to glare at the wall. "Go on before he gets grumpy. I'll clean up." Felix answered as he kissed her lips, before she headed into the living room to see a dangerous Seungmin who patted his lap. Y/N rolled her eyes and sat on his lap with her arms crossed. "Such a sulky puppy." Seungmin chided. "Such a sulky puppy." Y/N mimicked sticking out her tongue for him to catch, his nails digging into her tongue, causing the female wolf to look dumbfounded. Seungmin smirked and spat on her tongue, his saliva sliding down the side of her mouth. "Does puppy like being spat on?" Seungmin growled, letting go of her tongue before flipping them over, his hands pushing her into the sofa with a glare. Seungmin winked at her, his amber eyes glowed and his fangs appeared, making her nervous at his animalistic presence. Seungmin lowered his head down to her wet glistening pussy that was already leaking her silky slick all over again. Seungmin gave her one flick of his tongue before grazing her sensitive bud with his fangs causing her to grip the sofa. She had never experienced anything so primal in her life. She was scared but so excited at the same time. Seungmin growled and flicked her clit with his fang again causing her to whimper. He had her right where he wanted her. The wolf grazed his mouth harshly over her pussy before he meticulously fucked her with his tongue. His sharp fangs scraped away at her causing her to let out an orgasmic scream. Her panicked scream caused Felix to burst through the door in worry as he heard her. He was unsure if she was enjoying it or petrified at Seungmin's wolf, but seeing her flushed skin and blurry eyes, she seemed fine, until he stopped. She was so close to the edge and he stopped.

Seungmin laughed at her, as he patted her wet pussy. He could see she was annoyed. Her blue eyes glared at him. She was so undeniably desperate. "What is it puppy? Hmm. Do you need to release it? Too bad." Seungmin answered. "You're so mean. Let her come." Felix stated as he walked over to kiss the sweaty female wolf. The female wolf grabbed and pulled him down to her, desperately latching on to his mouth. Felix obliged, kissing her softly as his hands reached under Minho's jumper to play with her hardened breast. "Why don't you order him to make you come," Felix whispered. "He has to listen. Alpha Hyunjin ordered him to." "Seungmin. Don't be so mean. You have to let me come. Please." Y/N whined as she watched the wolf's hardened eyes. "Alright puppy, but only because I have to. Once tomorrow hits I'm gonna punish you." Seungmin warned as he dived into her pussy, his fangs almost piercing her skin. Felix lifted her jumper so he could suck on her breasts. The sensation of both betas hand sent her into an overdrive causing her to pull at their hair. Felix didn't seem to mind and almost orgasmed every time she yanked him but Seungmin seemed to get more pissed off, that every time she did it, he would nip her thighs.

Seungmin and Felix continued to please her all afternoon, sending her into several orgasms, one after the other, each taking it in turns. They expected her to stop so they could cuddle and eat but her drive kept going and going to the point the two betas got worried. They had made her orgasm seven times and she still begged and cried, to the point she wanted them in here. They had her on the sofa, over their laps, at the coffee table even in the kitchen. It would not stop. They were afraid they might have triggered her heat accidentally, which was a good thing, but they needed Chan back. Technically they didn't need him, she could have anyone of the wolves she felt comfortable with but it was mainly the fact that Seungmin was getting tired. The obnoxious male had started to regret antagonising her and his hand was beginning to ache. He even joked about getting a dildo from the shop to help since they were not allowed to fuck her yet but Felix warned it was still a bad idea because she was healing, even though they both had slammed their fingers into her. Still, she was still begging and crying at the beta's for more release and Felix couldn't even get hold of one wolf. Felix tried Chan but his phone was off. He called Hyunjin twenty-four times but it went to answer machine. Seungmin in the end had to send an SOS message to their group chat in hopes one of them would see it: "HELP! I think Y/N's gone into heat! We need backup." Felix even responded with a light-hearted message in case the wolves panicked, "We can do it but I think our little wolf may need an alpha because Seungmin hasn't gotten the alpha stamina." And yet the two beta's had no response. They were left all alone with an incredibly feral female.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

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[ridingtorohan]

Armin, Jean, Eren and Mikasa overhearing

their crush saying "why would I tell them that I like them? I can't compete with (Annie/Mikasa/Eren)".

-> Masterlist - Join the taglist! <-

Content Warning: Self-loathing under Armin's section.

Armin's brain completely stutters to a stop the moment he overhears it, his ribs feeling like they might concave at the slightest moment. He's overwhelmed and flustered, unable to look you in the eyes for the days to come, regardless if you knew he overheard or not. Stewing in it comes easy; talking to you about it is another.

Ever since the Scouts reclaimed Shiganshina, he's been plagued with self doubt. With feeling inadequate and so much self loathing that it's hard to put the pieces back together. Talking to Annie wasn't anything important to him- not like you were.

He was visiting Annie's crystal because he felt flawed, a mistake. A part of him ached to be needed, to satisfy that part of him that wanted to justify what they did to her. That thought: if Annie could be salvaged, couldn't he? That he wasn't a monster because of what happened.

With you it was different; he could express his fears and vulnerabilities. No one else had seen this side to him; the drive to be better, who saw him at his lowest and drove him to excel. Annie was an ideal, a ghost that he couldn't chase.

You? You were real. You, who fought alongside him, helped him to his feet, metaphorically and possibly physically. The way you held yourself, interacted with him. How could he not admire you? Like you?

What did he do to make you think this way? That you weren't so utterly important to him?

Armin tends to be more withdrawn with you around since he overheard that comment, trying to find the right words to say. Bravery comes not from the brain, as they say.

"I like you too!" He exclaims one day, red-faced and stumbling over his words as he tries to make them come out. Strategy planning is easy; risking people is a burden he can handle. But risking you?

Armin stampers through a confession that he heard you that day. But he's earnest, heart on his sleeve because it's only ever belonged to you.

"I didn't like her that way at all! I've only liked you, and, if you're - wanting to, we could-" He stammers through his sentences, getting utterly redfaced and earnest as he tries to find the right words to say. Later, it'll be easier when he's not pouring his heart out, but he knows you deserve to know. That maybe he deserves this too.

Him? You like Jean? Those overheard words don't really process through Jean's mind quickly enough as he passes by the room you're in.

It's a lot to unpack, mostly because you didn't want to tell him.

His words simmer in his throat. He thinks he can push this down; smother it like he's done so many other things. A part of him thinks it should die like that - after all, you didn't plan to say anything. Didn't think he was worth it, to share that secret with.

But he lives with regrets - Marco - not shooting -- but also not living up to the life that he wants. That he knows he deserves.

It's sprung on you, later, when the two of you are filling up gas cylinders.

"I'm not in love with Mikasa." They're heavy words met with silence but he means them, eyes downcast as his hands idle. The silence is damning but you're worth it. By the Walls, you've always been worth it. "And I never have been. I liked her before, but." He gives a slight roll of his shoulders, trying to find the right words.

But he isn't a coward and he doesn't want to waste time, especially knowing that you feel the same way. Looking up, his eyes dart from you, to the wall and back again. "You can't compare to her." And, that sounds so much worse when he says it so he grabs tightly onto your arm, forcing your eyes to meet. "Fuck, I mean, you're not competing with her. Alright?"

He makes a sound, torn between a sigh and a groan as he runs his hands through his hair. "I heard what you said, before, about - You're not her, and I don't want you to be. I'd never choose her over you. I love you." It's not quite what he meant to say but the words fall easily, readily. "And dammit, I really wish you'd choose me too."

Mikasa is, unfortunately, standing behind you when those words leave your lips. When you inevitably turn to face her, there's no hint of what she's thinking visible on her face. Her cool eyes never leave you even when one of the captains walk in to deliver another mission.

Outwardly, everything she does seems to come off as a rejection; she doesn't talk to you about it, doesn't treat you differently. If one considers less and less talk as 'not any different'.

Not talking to you though... it feels like a small candle sputtering out - and her hands burn beneath the wax.

She's... not sure how to process any of that at all. She'd always been so concerned with Eren, with Armin and helping them accomplish their lifelong dreams. She never really took a moment to dwell in her own thoughts.

Her thoughts on Eren were chaotic at best; clouded by their game of tug-of-war, always trying to mother him, protect him. Getting shunned for it. She never had to do that with you - not to the same extent, anyway.

Hearing you say those words - "I like her" -- it's putting a name to the face she'd seen in her mind. Like. Affection. A warmth in her chest whenever she saw you, accompanied with a low and simmering trust. How easy it was, for once, to look at someone and have them look right back, and see her for who she is.

She only mentions it, much later, when you're both assigned to a practice mission. Where only time and the sun overhead is your company, forced to wait idle until a new command is issued.

"I want to talk about what you said," is how she begins. "About liking me." Her hands move to her scarf, something raw wedged in her chest that makes her feel so vulnerable with her face bared. Instead, her fingers loosen and it remains still around her neck. She wants you to see her as she is, what she's offering you.

"Eren is... like family to me. I would do anything for him." It's a brutal, almost cold way that she says those words. She means it, and you mean a lot to her, so she doesn't want any confusion.

"But you are not Eren. You are not family to me and I don't want you to be. You're important to me too. I don't want you to see me as your sister or protector." Her grey eyes search yours, searching for any kind of sign. "I like you too."

Eren has the most physical reaction. Shoulders locking, back straightening and all but sprinting as he rushes up to you. "What!" His mouth is running hot and fast, not able to get the words out fast enough.

Eren is a man of action; thinking things through wasn't his strong suit, nor did it ever have to be. But Mikasa? Mikasa!? Out of everyone? The girl who he grew up with, routinely tried to shield him from everything? Frustration rises hot in his throat as he thinks - didn't you know him at all?

How could he ever like Mikasa when there was you? You who defended him, humoured his ideals, cheered him on during his training, didn't see him for the monster he thought he was.

Weaving between cadets, racing as fast as he can to you, he knows he has to put his foot down. He's tired of all the secrets and lies, and he certainly doesn't want any between the two of you. Not when it's something like this.

"I don't like her!" Each word is punctuated loud and fast, trying to squash that idea as quickly as it came. Why did everybody always think that? He's gestulating, trying to get you to look at him, ignoring how your confidants stare at him. "Mikasa is -" His face scrunches up, harsh words on his tongue, resentful but not towards you. You've never treated him as fragile or incapable. How could he ever think of her that way when you filled that spot?

"We're not like that at all!" He adds, promising himself that he'll explain it in a calmer discussion later. "I wanted you!"

[skiitter]

Ellana looked for Solas everywhere, in every shadow and alleyway of Thedas, at every ephemeral border of her dreams. She hunted him through time, through the annals of her own ancestral history, down through the last long decade of her too short life. She searched for even the echo of his presence in places too old and too broken to be named. And in every corner, through every door, across every dusty room, she found nothing. He was a ghost of a memory, something she stole and kept pressed to the edge of her ribs, just painful enough to remind her it happened.

As the years and the emptiness of her life shuffled on, Ellana's loneliness blossomed outward, consuming the gentler parts of her, until all that was left was bitter and ugly, the refuse of all her wasted hope. And so, for the sake of what life she had life, she set aside that aching desire, and refocused her grim determination on solving problems that he created. If Solas would not have her now, just as he did not keep her then, then so be it. He broke her heart, but she would not let him break the world.

She never expected to see him again, not in this life anyway, and most certainly not in the face of a stranger, in a tavern far, far away.

"This," Morrigan said, "is Rook."

Afterwards, her hand shook for want of something to cling too. The wolf statue she'd given to Thedas's newest champion was all she'd brought on her journey, and so it was to her own miserable shock she was forced to clutch.

"So, what did you think of her?" Morrigan asked upon their return to the south.

'I hate her' was the very first thought in her head, but Ellana pushed it aside for something appropriate, something fair. "She's so young."

Morrigan nodded. "Tis true, she is. But so was the Warden Amell, so was Varric's beloved Hawke," she paused. "So were you."

Ellana felt every second of her 36 years hit her all at once and she failed to keep the grimace from her face. "She's not Dalish, despite her name. I was expecting her to be more..." She could hear the word 'elfy' in Sera's voice as clear as day. "It must drive him mad."

"Oh, I'm sure many things about her do. She's quite obstinate, I'm told." Dorian stepped through the Eluvian after them, brushing imaginary fade-dust from his tailored robes. "Harding says she reminds her of you, all spitfire and stubborness."

It wounded like nothing had in a decade. It was a feeling so far removed from her repertoire of emotions, she didn't dare name it until safely alone in a room, far from prying eyes and clever sight.

Jealousy.

It's so base, so sincere in its immaturity, Ellana smiled despite the revelation. Jealousy, now, at the end of the world. How small it felt before the onslaught of things sure to come, how useless. But it was felt all the same. What a ruin the last decade had made of her pride, the irony of which she was unable to ignore. It would be better, she knew, if she did not love him. It would be easier, she knew, if she hated him. And yet.

And yet.

"El, darling, I've brought you some very expensive and fancy wine that you will pretend to enjoy and I--" Dorian trailed off at the sight of her hunched over in bed, sobbing quietly into her hands. "Oh, Ellana." He did not ask, no one ever did anymore. Instead, he sat down and drew her to him.

"It's not fair," she said into the crook of his neck. "It's not bloody fair."

"Love never is."

"It should be me, sifting through his fractured thoughts, demanding answers and receiving none. A decade of my life, Dorian. A decade. And it's just some--some girl instead." Ellana scoffed in disgust at her own fallible heart. "Her people, they live in his--his home--they--they are sat among his things. They--" She scrubbed at her face, pulling away. "I am so sick of missing him, of wanting answers to a question I asked years ago."

"I know."

"Does this make me foolish? All these years, and I'm still so heartbroken. I'm responsible for the safety of a thousand people and one man, one stupid and prideful man, has weakened me so utterly I cannot help but hate what I've become." Ellana looked at him. "I hate that I hate her. I hate that she was able to succeed where I failed."

"She's only where she's at because of Varric--"

"I spent years thinking of ways to make him stop, for just moment, to just listen to me. And now, she's got him trapped. Trapped and unable to run and I cannot even demand an audience after all this--this searching. He's just as unreachable to me now as he's ever been."

Dorian was at a loss for words, as nearly everyone was when presented with the ugly wound of her heartache. She did not begrudge him such things, nor did she push away his attempts to comfort. Instead, she cried for a while more, just for the posterity of feeling.

"Sorry," she scrubbed at her face after some time. "It's been a long day."

"It's been a long decade," he said gently. "Would you like some company or is this a 'wallow in your own loneliness' sort of evening?"

In response, she grabbed the bottle from him and took a heavy swig. It was impressively dry, like all Tevinter wine. With a grimace, she handed it back. "Company, definitely."

Several cups and not enough food later, the two of them sat before the small fireplace, having lapsed into companionable silence. He had just finished telling her of his recent run in with Vivienne and at the mention of their old friend, her thoughts were inevitably cast back in time to the Dread Wolf.

"I can see him in her," she said softly. "I see Solas in her expression, in the way she carries herself. It's...it's agonizing."

Dorian reached out and took her hand.

"She's so young and the weight of the entire world is on her shoulders. I know that feeling, I know how hard it is going to get," Ellana sighed. "I cannot begrudge her for things wholly out of her control."

"It is okay to hate her, even if it is only a little bit," he replied. "I won't tell."

"I know." She gave him a sad smile. "Maybe at the end of this, on the other side of all this carnage, I can ask her to tell him that I..." There was no word to properly encapsulate the sumtotal of everything she felt for Solas. "That I miss him, even now. And that if he ever wanted to talk, I will always be here to listen."

"He doesn't deserve your heart, Ellana, he never has."

"I know, but it's his anyway."

[criscura]

Mm.... I'm used to having dreams where I'm the audience and sometimes stuff will talk directly to me, I'm used to having dreams where people walk into my room and then it feels like they're still there when i wake up, I'm used to telling myself something is a dream and i have to just redo the bad thing that happened until it's not bad anymore. Tonight, though, i think it was the first time I realized it was a dream, told myself it was a dream, actively tried to fix it in the dream the way I always have and thought I was doing it, only to realize that I hadn't and I was trapped there.

It was short, and I was just having trouble breathing through my blanket because it fell on my face but... At first I imagined someone snuck into our room, then a hand clamped over my mouth and started pushing my head into the bed until I pulled it off, and then I started taking off a mask that I was mysteriously wearing over and over again because it kept on phasing back onto my face. I knew I was dreaming then, but instead of making myself wake up from the nightmare like I always have, I just sat up in my bed in the dream knowing that something was making it hard for me to breathe in the real world, but I was stuck there for and couldn't see what it was to get rid of it. It was only a few moments, but there was a DEFINITE spike of panic when the full realization of what was going on set in.

Not great. Not ideal >< It was super mundane--my nose got really stuffy out of nowhere and my mouth was totally covered by my blankets, so I WAS having trouble breathing--but I don't remember the last time I was fully conscious in my dreams as myself, IN myself, and incapable of waking up the exact second I wanted to. I've had nightmares and anxiety dreams as far back as I can remember, and it's a skill I taught myself when I was really little..... I don't know why I got stuck this time •____•

[natelia-aldelliz]

More ghost! Roach - Accidental Necromancer Soap AU : little moments

141 in the middle of a briefing, when suddenly Soap gasps, interrupting Price. Everyone turns to look at him and he looks back like a deer in headlights, apologises with a stammered excuse, something like he saw a spider or something, and the meeting continues with dubious looks.

"You're so bad at that," Roach giggles from where he's floating around above the table. "It wasn't even that big of a news, they were flirting for months! I have way worse, you know one of the Corporals under your command, the redhead one? She's been secretely married for years to the medic lady that stitched you up last week! Stop gaping at me, where's your pokerface oh my god-"

And then Soap uses all that information to win bets against Gaz.

Or also, Roach telling jokes while there's people around Soap. "Don't laugh," he taunts him. "Don't even smile or they'll know you're crazier than they think."

And then he tells the worst joke ever and Soap can't help the snort that escapes him and again, everyone turns to look at him.

"I can't believe you're laughing in a room full of explosives tied to people," Roach gasps, knowing full well that's exactly the result he wanted.

Soap rolls his eyes at him quickly and focuses back on defusing. He'll get him back when they're alone and he doesn't look weird talking to the air.

"He knows you find him hot, he's neither blind nor stupid," Roach says, peeking above Ghost's shoulder. "If you want him to blush you need to call him 'pretty'. Worked every time..."

And he's right. When Soap tells Ghost he's a bonnie lad, explains what it means, it's very obvious how flustered he becomes, and the visible part of the bridge of his nose gets very red.

"Be ready to be grabbed at every opportunity, his love language is physical touch but he'd rather die than admit it."

Roach has a bit of a poltergeist moment when he finds out he can touch things again. Cups go flying into walls, chairs move around, shoes disappear. Roach is very overwhelmed and gets non verbal, which is a bit hard because Soap only knows the basics of BSL and has to ask Ghost to translate by copying live what Roach is saying. (Ghost, who has seen the ghost of his dead lover save his life just a day before objects started flying, recognising in the back of his mind the quirks of Roach's way of signing being reproduced by Soap, but not willing to believe yet)

It lasts a few days and the whole base is convinced they're haunted by a ghost. They're not wrong, Soap wants to say. And not only one, but the others are far more apathetic, barely there.

Then Roach calms down, all at once, when he realises that maybe... maybe he can touch people too. He's very nervous. It's been years since he touched someone, years of his hand going through Ghost's arm as he tried to make him see him. Years of not feeling the warmth of a living being.

That scares him. What if he can touch Soap, but he doesn't feel anything? What if it feels the same as the glasses he's been trying to juggle for days?

So he waits until Soap is asleep and he holds out his finger, slowly, hands trembling, and presses it softly to Soap's forehead. He's... He's warm, he realises with a gasp. He's warm!

Soap wakes up to sobbing and soft fingers on his cheeks and in his hair. He gets reassured very quickly that it's happy sobbing and Roach kisses him.

Ghost, after learning about the ghosts existence, starts having really bad nightmares every night. Has to be reassured that no, he's not actually a ghost. He hasn't actually died in that grave, he's here, he's warm and he's alive and loved.

[silkjade]

i haven’t been here much recently, and i’m sorry i’ve only been negative on the off chance i’ve been online, but let me just say one last piece before the end of this month, so that maybe the next might be better….

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[junonreactor]

just did all the party sidequests. that was really cute

[medicinemane]

Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy

You have... very very very very very very very very smart people you know, and they're say something that not only isn't true, but literally is as opposite of the truth as it's possible to be... and you'll... gently inform them "hey, it's actually a bit more like this" and then they just kinda... go on saying literally the exact same thing

I'm not sure if it's just that... I often feel like I must be very bad at communicating, or people must just not notice/ignore a lot of what I say, but... I don't know

Like dearest friend, you've said something as absurd as... I don't know, it's hard to say without saying it, but honest to god about as absurd as saying the United States was a part of the USSR, that level of completely getting it backwards

...and it just doesn't seem to matter when I try to explain it... I legit don't even know if you read what I said

Really end up feeling like I'm going nuts sometimes

[bumblingbabooshka]

Watching episode one of Voyager is like watching the first act of a horror movie

[eclarinet]

same soup... different day