#Blue and Black Bins

[wickedzeevyln]

Gifts in the Storage

We hold on to things thinking that they are worth saving and we believe they are there waiting for the right time to find their use. But sometimes these things take up space in our storage until they outlive their so-called usefulness and they end up in the blue and black bins. Perhaps it’s sensible considering handing them out as gifts to those in dire need of them. These things are analogous…

[thirsty-4-ghouls]

Want to make it look like your grandma's scrap drawer blew up in a dragon's face? Here are some ideas

blackberry

amethyst

storm

all with arcane button eyes and dark lace, the exact shade of lace isn’t super important, I just prefer some sort of dark black lace

[hagarsays]

I know this is an OLD Vid of KIM WOOBIN but DAMN you are so fine

[somedaytakethetime]

*muffled sounds**clears throat* Content from yesterday 👁👁

[grunge-mermaid]

Me: what is this feature for?

Google: BUY SHIT NOW! BUY EVERYTHING!!!

Me: but you haven’t answered my question???

google: YOU MUST CONSUME!

[fixomnia-scribble]

Scientists are very serious.

This is a post about science. And soup.

Dr. Elinne Becket, a microbiologist from Cal State University, is in the middle of one of those Fridge Experiments that happens to us all - except in this case, she is uniquely placed to unravel the science down to the microbial level.

While cleaning out her fridge, Dr. Becket found that a tub of family-recipe beef vegetable soup had turned bright blue. “Ok I'm outing myself here,” she tweeted, “but there was forgotten beef soup in our fridge we just cleaned it out and it was BLUE?!?!? Wtf contam would make it blue??? Like BRIGHT blue!!  Even w/ all my years in micro I'm not handling this well.“

Read on for a breathless and ongoing saga of Soup and Science, and the wonderful international community that is Academic Twitter.

Academic Twitter quickly reminded her of her Responsibilities to Scientific Inquiry. (Cue the chanting from around the world of “CLONE THE SOUP! CLONE THE SOUP!”)

“I can’t believe y’all talked me into going back into the trash.” she tweeted in response, over a photo of a puddle of beautiful Mediterranean-sea blue soup in the trash bin, with bits of veg and noodles arising from the depths.

Scientists being scientists, Dr. Becket agreed to take a sample and send it to colleagues for cloning and microbial analysis.This involved getting arms-deep into the trash bin of Old Soup. “I’m never forviging @ATinyGreenCell (genomic biologist Sebastian Cocioba) for this.” Dr. Becket tweeted, with a photo of a properly dipped and snipped and VERY blue q-tip in a small clear plastic tub.

Diving into decomposing soup was not the only hazard. She writes: “My mom (who made the soup for my birthday) came across this thread and now 1) I have to answer for letting her soup spoil and 2) she's worried @ATinyGreenCell will figure out her secret recipe.“

Dr. Becket and Sebastian were able to culture the Blue Goo!

Becket posted a photo of three petri plates of streaked beef bouillon agar at 72 hours incubation, at 37C, room temp and 4C. She writes: “Left the plates where they were for another 2 days, except the 37°C one was brought to RT, which then grew white stuff over the yellow stuff and stinks to high heaven. RT looked the same. 4°C had impressive growth. Restreaked them all onto TECH agar, awaiting results!”

Sebastian, from his lab, tweeted a photo of three more covered petri dishes, with early results: “Great progress on isolating the glowy microbe from our #BlueSoup! It's so fluorescent the streak is GREEN. Still needs another restreak as it seems there is a straggler but should clear up in the next plate. Exciting!”

Then yesterday, Sebastian tweeted out an updated photo of his plates under daylight and blacklight. “Whatever grew on the #BlueSoup colony plates overnight glows under UV, but only on King's Agar B! That particular media is used to tease out fluorescein expression in pseudomonads. What are the chances that the same cell line expresses fluorescent AND blue pigments?“

“Looking closer, there definitely is a handful of different microbes showing distinct phenotypes. Could be that the blue producer and the fluorescent microbes are totally different microbes!”

At which point, Professor Cynthia Whitchurch of Norwich, England, responded: “Consistent with P. fluorescens being at least part of the #BlueSoup community. The fluorescence is due to production of the siderophore pyoverdine which is up-regulated when iron availability is limited. P. aeruginosa produced this too but my guess is you have blue Pf.”

And Australian agricultural researcher @WAJWebster helpfully tweeted a petri dish of ALL KINDS of colourful bacterial colonies from white to yellow to orange to stark black, with a cheerful: “You need bact-o--colours? I got you, fam.”

The best part is that as of today, March 9, 2023, THE BLUE SOUP MYSTERY CONTINUES. WE ARE WATCHING SCIENCE HAPPENING!

A paper is being written. And Dr. Becket’s mum is getting an author credit as the proprietary owner of the #BlueSoup recipe.

Dr. Becket’s Twitter is here: https://twitter.com/bielleogy

Sebastian Cocioba’s Twitter is here: https://twitter.com/ATinyGreenCell

Fun IFLS story is here: https://www.iflscience.com/microbiologist-investigates-after-her-beef-soup-turned-blue-in-the-freezer-67894?fbclid=IwAR0H27KqVZhzzrosnjzzKkxuKASZ-0L0Lt6hGwCRDJK8xvFbbSlyS4JvwlM

[xgosiax]

Image of a medium-sized, minimalist wine cellar with racks for storage

[lunarmoves]

who i see, looking back at me (ch1)

pairing: sebastian solace x reader

mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, ooc sebastian probably, i took creative liberties with his mom and siblings, check masterlist for fic summary

a/n: this is something i decided to write after scouring ao3 and tumblr for anything like it and finding nothing. i was just- (thanos voice) "fine i'll do it myself." hope you guys enjoy! i cant believe im simping for a roblox fish man in the year 2024, literally who am i.

word count: 9.5k+

masterlist

ao3 link

When your husband was executed for a crime he did not commit, you decided to move out to the seaside. 

It was a way to just… get away from everything. Start fresh. His face was plastered all over the news after his death sentence. Everywhere you went, it felt as though people were staring at you. Judging you. Hushed whispers followed you just as much as the haunted look on Sebastian’s face when he’d taken his mugshot. It was—unbearable. You needed to get out and away from all the people who only saw you as the partner to a murderer.

His presence lingered everywhere, back at your tiny apartment in the city. From the framed pictures on the wall, to the green toothbrush next to yours, and the faint smell of cinnamon attached to your bedsheets. It was—overwhelming, in more ways than one. You itched and itched with the urge to get out. You stayed only as long as you needed to after his death to go through the process of moving out. It took a couple of weeks. The you from the future would applaud you for lasting longer than a few days, you were certain. 

You didn’t know what to do with all of his things. You sold his expensive belongings unclaimed by his family, like his laptop, electric guitar, and gaming system. The more materialistic items were packed into bins to donate to charity—his old textbooks, binders of sheet music, clothes he seldom wore. The rest you separated into two boxes. One had some things you figured would be appreciated by his mother. The album of his family he kept tucked away in his desk. A small teddy bear he’d had since he was a toddler. Some of his favorite shirts and jewelry he’d been gifted from his siblings. 

The other had things you could not bring yourself to part with. 

You spent a while hovered over that box, tracing the worn edges of a red and black flannel that he always wore around your apartment. There was a small panda plushie that you won at an amusement park on one of your dates and decided to give to him when he said it was ugly-looking. A sketchbook he doodled in from time to time that you didn’t have the heart to open, but knew you would regret giving away. A crumpled piece of paper with hastily scribbled vows on them. Each and every item in the box held some amount of sentimental value—you wondered if it would ever haunt you, keeping them. Part of you already knew the answer.

When you dropped off Sebastian’s things at his mother’s house, you couldn’t help the way your heart sank deep into your chest when she opened the door. Maria was a beautiful woman, and you saw traces of Sebastian in her every time you saw her. The warm honey of her skin, the crinkle of her blue eyes, even the way she smiled. It made your eyes sting and ache with something fierce. Agonizing, even now. Especially now.

She looked at you with a sad smile, gratefully accepting the small box you offered her. “Gracias, sweetie,” she said, hands tightening on the edges of the cardboard. “I appreciate you coming out all this way.” 

“It was no problem,” you told her, shifting slightly on your feet. You hadn’t seen her since—well… You cleared your throat, doing your best to ignore a pang of guilt and this ever so tightening feeling in your chest. “How are you doing?” 

She hummed, a weary thing that matched the dark circles under her eyes and the new streaks of gray in her hair. She looked down at the box. “No muy bien,” she murmured, “but who would after losing a child so wrongfully? I can only hope it gets better to handle with time.” Her gaze lifted up to meet your own. “What about you, hm? Almost done packing?” 

Blue eyes the same shade as his. You looked away, staring down at your shoes and her slippered feet. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Just gotta put a few more boxes into the car.”

“I do not blame you for wanting to get away,” she chuckled. “I would too, if I could.”

As though on cue, there was the sound of a crash somewhere behind her, immediately followed by raised voices. Sebastian’s siblings causing havoc, no doubt. Maria whipped around to shout into her house. “Isidora! Lucas! ¡Comportense!” After she got two distant apologies, she turned back to give you a look. “See what I mean?”

You could only manage a stiff nod, not quite trusting your voice. That feeling in your chest was growing by the second, and you were not sure how long you would last. Maria didn’t deserve this, but you couldn’t help it. You felt like you were being stifled under a large, unforgiving pillow.

You could feel the way she watched you—that same probing stare that Sebastian often wore when he could sense you weren’t feeling well. You continued to stare resolutely at the ground, not wanting her to crack you open like a book to see the way you just couldn’t stand being here right now. She sighed, and you had to suppress a wince.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she finally said, turning slightly to head back inside. “No eres una desconocida, you hear? You are always welcome here.” 

“Right,” you whispered, and when you finally managed to pull your gaze back up to her face, she only gave you a small, melancholy smile before gently closing the door. You stood there for a moment more, heart beating in your throat as you cursed yourself for being a coward.

The drive down to the seaside was only a few hours. It was relaxing, in its own way, as you passed by concrete buildings that slowly melted away into wide, open fields. Rolling hills and staggering cliffs. You could almost taste the change in the air the closer you got. The stale, musty scent of the city was replaced by a fresh, salty breeze. If you listened close enough, you could hear the distant roar of the ocean as its waves crashed against rock. And once you arrived at what would be your new home for a long, long time, you took a moment to just stand outside and breathe. 

One breath in, one breath out. The seaside air felt cool on your heated face. Out here, you felt like everything could be put behind you. A breath of fresh air to chase away the way you hurt inside. You could finally shed the layer of muddled emotions and thoughts that had surrounded you for weeks. 

If only it was that easy. Still… Baby steps, you reminded yourself.

The cottage you were moving into was a quaint thing, with just enough space for you to live comfortably on your own. It was more than a steal, and you were thankful that you’d managed to snatch it up before anyone else could—and at a reasonable price, too. It sat near the top of a small cove, overlooking miles and miles of open water. If you walked down to the shore—away from the cove—there was a small dock that jutted out into the sea like a pirate’s plank. It was old, though, covered in mold and made of rotting wood that creaked ominously in the breeze. You didn’t dare risk venturing out on it. 

It took you most of the rest of the day to bring all your belongings inside and unpack everything. You stood in what would be your living room, a mess of boxes scattered all around you, and felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Your eyes landed on that small box of Sebastian’s things, and you turned away with this twisting sensation worsening in your gut. 

Getting properly settled in and starting your new job in the nearby town’s clinic took up most of your time. Your energy and thoughts. But at night, when it was just you laying in a too small bed in a too small room, your mind wandered. The moon peering through the small, curtained window into your bedroom bore witness to the way you stared and stared and stared—unblinking at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. Always twisting the gold band that remained on your finger in absentmindedness. 

There was a gnawing ache in your chest that waxed and waned, but it never truly disappeared.

You thought about those final days a lot. They didn’t let you see him. All you got was a single phone call, sometime before his scheduled execution. The contents of that call would follow you no matter how far you tried to run from them. How hard you tried to forget. 

(The phone felt locked in your grip—your fingers tight and stiff. There was a silence that was broken by your name spoken on the tailend of a choked breath. Your teeth clenched so hard you felt a muscle spasm in your jaw.

“I-I didn’t—” Sebastian’s voice stuttered thickly, hushed into the microphone. Something sank down to the soles of your feet, then continued on in an endless spiral. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.” 

There was something so devastatingly helpless about talking to him like this. Divided across miles and miles, nothing but a thin connection between you and him. Your words his only comfort.

“I know, baby,” you told him miserably, raising a hand to palm at your wet eyes. “I know.”) 

You couldn’t even host a proper funeral for him. His body was never released to his family—for what reason, you were unsure. It felt as though you never had any proper closure. You could scream and cry about the injustice of it all, but… no one would listen. It was done. It was over. There was no getting him back. It was a grim thought that you grappled with on the daily, always present at the back of your mind. At the front of your mind. Suffocated you in gallons and gallons of grief. You did your best to work through it all over time, but sometimes it felt like your best just wasn’t enough.

And then… a couple of years after his death… you got a call. 

You were lounging around in your little living room after a long shift at work, a book splayed out on your lap as you relaxed. Your phone was sitting right by your legs, just out of sight. So when it buzzed with an incoming call, you did not bother to glance at the screen before you answered it.

It was Maria.

The tremble of her voice made you instantly freeze. 

You couldn’t understand what she was saying—so rushed and stifled through choked sobs. You sat up, both your hands gripping at your phone. 

“Maria— wh-what—” you stuttered out, a sinking feeling slowly making itself present in your gut. You stood up, barely registering your book falling off your lap and onto the floor. “What’s—” 

“They— they were wrong,” she hiccuped out, breathless and hysterical. “We knew they were and they— they—” 

“What are you—” You tried to make sense of her words, but she quickly dissolved into more incoherent crying. You swallowed thickly, a cold sweat erupting along your back.

It took you a few minutes to calm her down enough so that she could strangle out a “Check the news.” Your eyes snapped to the darkened television sitting against the wall across from you.

Your throat felt drier than a desert. The remote was wedged between the cushions on your couch, and you fumbled around for it before finally managing to press the power button. Channel twenty-one, the news. You punched it into the remote. 

There was a picture of Sebastian on the screen. His mugshot, actually—black hair messily scattered across honeyed skin, dark eyes that glistened in the dim lighting, thin lips downturned into an unsteady frown. A ringing sound erupted deep within your ears, drowning out all else as your gaze narrowed in on the bold headline. 

Innocent man wrongfully convicted for murder of nine. 

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped from your lips. This was how you found out? They didn’t bother to contact you first? You almost couldn’t believe it. Two years after he’d already been imprisoned. Two years after they’d decided he should die via electric chair. You laughed again, and your phone slipped right from your fingers as you dropped onto your knees. You barely felt the impact—barely heard Maria’s questioning sniffle above the racing of your heart.

You laughed and you laughed and you laughed and you laughed because wasn’t that just the funniest fucking thing? They found out the truth after what had been done to him could never be taken back. After you and his family had fought so desperately to prove his innocence. 

Funny! It was funny!

You bit at your bottom lip to suppress the way it violently quivered. 

Years passed and you continued to live on without Sebastian.

You thought time would help you heal—would dull the ache you experienced at every waking moment of the day and night. But there were times where you just felt infinitely worse. It was awful. It was so utterly miserable, and you were tired. You were just… tired. You couldn’t think about him for too long before you’d feel that familiar sting to your eyes. So you tried not to think about him at all. 

It didn’t work. 

You were plagued by him. Awake or asleep—it did not matter. 

“You’re still up,” he murmured into your ear at night as you laid curled up on your side. Like this, you could face the window of your room—where the moonlight filtered gently through your thin curtains to brush against the walls like the hand of a ghost.

You hummed in response, face partially buried in your pillow. You tried in vain to ignore the presence you felt at your back. Making the hairs prickle on your nape. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel light breaths against the side of your face. 

“You’ve got work in a few hours, you know,” he said, matter-of-fact. His voice lowered, gentle and calm. “What’s bothering you?” 

There was a pause. Distantly, you could hear the waves of the ocean as the tide rose and fell along the shore. A constant source of white noise. 

“Nothing,” you eventually whispered back, closing your eyes momentarily to breathe in the faint smell of cinnamon. “Nothing at all.”

It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Over and over and over again. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t.

He didn’t stop there. 

He sat across from you at your little dining table in the kitchen, grinning at you as you forked spoonfuls of pitiful dinner after dinner into your mouth. He was in the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet as you showered or brushed your teeth. He was in the living room, sprawled across the floor in front of you as he gazed at you with his face propped atop his palm. 

He accompanied you to work, a pair of blue eyes staring at you in the rearview mirror of your car as you drove. He lingered over your shoulder as you pushed paperwork or chatted to other nurses. Close enough to touch, yet never crossing that line. Always present. Sometimes silent, sometimes not. You weren’t sure which was better.

He was haunting you, and you could do nothing about it. 

The only place where you seemed to have any kind of reprieve was down by the little cove or the shore. You liked taking walks along it—when the walls of your cottage seemed to loom too close for comfort. It was refreshing, being able to just… breathe in the sea air and take in the rolling waves from the sand. A healing balm for your enervated soul. It became a habit no matter the weather, every evening after work. Soaking in the sun, basking in the mist, watching dark clouds grow closer on the horizon. You were oftentimes alone, but occasionally you’d pass a few people also enjoying the fresh air. They never bothered you, so you never bothered them. 

Once you returned home, however, he would be waiting for you at the door—all warm smiles and crinkled eyes that made your insides ache like they never have before.

You contemplated going to grief counseling many times. But something held you back. You just… didn’t have the energy to pick yourself up and go. Didn’t want to come to proper terms with it all, you supposed. Or maybe you were desperately holding on—afraid of letting go completely when you could look in a mirror and see him standing somewhere behind you. It hurt. It soothed. It was a push and pull that you learned to deal with as time went on. 

You often caught yourself staring at the tiny closet in your room—where you’d buried that small box of Sebastian’s things so deeply, it would never see the light of day again. Most of the time, you could drag yourself away from it, pushing it to the back of your mind once more. But one night… you couldn’t help yourself. You caved. You just… needed to.

You pulled the box out from the depths of your closet and sat on the floor, eyeing it warily as you clutched a pair of scissors in your hand. It was just as you’d left it—flaps tightly sealed with packing tape. You hadn’t bothered to label it. You knew what was in there and that was enough. 

You took in a deep breath and stabbed the point of the scissors into the box’s top to pry it open. Then, you stared down at its insides. 

It simultaneously felt like you’d packed his things away in this box just yesterday and a hundred years ago. In any case, the tender ache at seeing it all still persisted.

The panda plushie, which you picked up gingerly and ran your fingers over its short fuzz before setting it off to your side. It used to sit on a shelf, back at your shared apartment, picked up only occasionally when he wanted to throw it at you to bother you. 

(“Sebastian!” you shouted, startled out of your focus on your book when that goddamn panda nailed you directly on your face. You glared at him, setting your book to the side to snatch up the plushie when he laughed hard enough that he doubled over. 

“Oh my god, your face!” he wheezed, swiping a finger under his eyes to wipe away an imaginary tear. “Come on, you didn’t see that coming? You’re losing your game here, babe.”

“Shut up, you ass! I was reading!” you fumed and stood up to pelt the plushie at him. It smacked him right on the arm, and he only laughed even harder.)

The sketchbook, rarely ever seen by your eyes because he was so protective over it. Abashed, more like, you came to realize a while ago. And for a good reason, you supposed, your lips twitching as you flipped open the thick cover. 

There were some landscape drawings at the start—places you recognized at your old university. The café near the library, the statue at the center of the main quad. A few students walking around or sitting outside on benches. Some components from his engineering projects—designs with their associated dimensions, fluid mechanics calculations, free-body diagrams. You saw a handful of drawings of Lucas and Isidora, either fighting or sleeping against each other—gaping mouths and all. 

And then… once you hit a certain point in the book, there were drawings of you. 

He’d been so embarrassed when you caught him sketching you one day, though he’d tried to play it off. It was before he’d asked you out, you remembered. You’d thought it was flattering—at least what you could glimpse on the open pages. He’d slammed the book shut pretty quickly once he’d realized you were peeking over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until years later that he’d finally let you flip through the sketchbook properly. 

Doodles of you sitting around campus, doing homework or looking at your phone. A sketch of you walking down the street or staring out a window. Upper body shots of you smiling, or laughing, or talking to one of your friends. The level of detail always blew you away—he managed to capture details about you that you never quite paid attention to yourself. The crinkle of your eyes or the pull of your lips. 

You gently brushed a finger over a rough doodle of you and him—sitting back-to-back as you did your respective work—then closed the sketchbook to set down next to your legs. 

Next was the crumpled, smudged paper of his vows—that you lingered over for a moment, reading it briefly with a small smile. 

There were the silly ones, where he promised to be the best pain in the ass you could ever ask for. To make fun of you for being shorter than him or annoy you to smithereens everyday because he loved the face you made when you were mad.

Then there were the sincere ones, promising to always love you unconditionally. To take care of you whenever you were sick, or encourage you to be the best version of yourself you could possibly be. To hold your hand whenever you were scared. To always be by your side, no matter what. 

You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling slightly, and let the piece of paper flutter down to the ground.

And finally… you picked up the flannel. 

Even after all this time, the material was still soft in your hold. You squeezed it between your fingers, tracing over the lines where patches of black met patches of red. If you closed your eyes and imagined hard enough, you could almost feel a warmth coming from it—like it had just been shucked off a warm body. Raising it up to your face to take a deep breath, you could faintly smell that familiar cinnamon. A comfort. A heartache. 

“You know,” Sebastian started, and you lifted your gaze briefly to glance up at him standing a ways in front of you. “I’ve always liked how you looked in my clothes.” He wore a sharp grin that made his cheek dimple on his right. He winked down at you. “Always liked how you looked outta them too, but that’s neither here nor there. Go on, put it on.” 

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself complying anyway. You stood up and slipped the flannel over your arms, fixing it properly over your shirt. Closing your eyes, you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

You could almost imagine him embracing you. Something in your stomach twinged.

“There you go,” he whispered, a breath of air just barely out of reach in the fragile twilight of your room. “Just look at you.” 

You only smiled sadly at the ground and hugged yourself tighter.

In recent years, the small dock by the shore was stripped down and built anew. 

You saw them doing construction from your cottage’s window when the project was first launched and spent many nights fantasizing about dipping your feet into the water from the dock’s edge. And once it was finally complete—after months and months of waiting and watching—you did just that. 

Your evenings were kept mostly the same with your walks along the shore or within the cove. But now you could trudge out onto the now sturdy dock and embrace the ocean in its entirety. You could let the tips of your shoes protrude off the far end of the dock as you breathed in and out. Salty air. The hint of rain in the distance. The spray of water against your face as the waves ebbed to and fro. It was refreshing. The perfect way to let the incessant buzz of your mind die down in preparation for a quiet night.  

The dock, from what you could see whenever you were at home, was mostly used during the bright hours of day. A couple of fishermen during the afternoon. Teens from the town who wanted to jump off and swim to the shore. Either way, by the time the hush of evening fell as people prepared for bed, the dock was empty and perfect for some alone time. 

It was nice, being able to sit down and soak your feet in the cool water when the weather was warmer. You liked watching the sun as it sank beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of burnt mandarin and dusty magenta. The last vestiges of gold light would make way for inky darkness that sparkled with hundreds and hundreds of stars. You were never able to appreciate the night sky in the city—so you took every chance you could to sit and stare up at it. Trying your best to identify constellations or just admiring it all until you got too cold to stay out for much longer. 

Sometimes you ate your dinner out on the dock while you chatted with Isidora or Maria on the phone. Sometimes you brought along a book or sketchpad. You missed listening to Sebastian strum away at his electric guitar at times—always filling your apartment with music—so you impulse bought a ukulele and sat by the sea plucking awkwardly at its strings. The dock became a place to pass time. It became a habit that you stuck to for many years. 

You were familiar with it all after spending evening after evening after evening out on its wooden platform. You could count the number of planks it was made of, the number of nails you could feel under your hands. You learned how to read the sea—when it hinted at an oncoming storm or calm night. In a way, it became a safe space for you, away from the stifling walls of your cottage. 

So naturally, when something disrupted it, you noticed almost immediately. 

You were sitting on the dock, half a sandwich on your lap that you’d scrounged up for a late dinner. Your feet idly swished through the water, cool against your heated skin. The dock was high enough that it only submerged your feet up to your ankles, but you did not mind.

You took another bite of your sandwich, then felt an odd prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Pausing, you noticed the hairs on your arms were standing straight up. It… felt like you were being watched. You glanced around—at the wide ocean before you, then the sandy shore behind you. There were a few stragglers in the distance, but they were far enough that you were sure they were not the cause for your sudden unease. 

You swallowed your bite and decided it was probably nothing. 

The following evening, however, it happened again. Then the next evening. And the next. 

Like clockwork, almost, every time you sat down on the dock to relax after your shifts at work. It did not matter what you were doing, or how late you were there. Even for how long. You would always feel that prickle along your nape, and it would not leave until you walked back down the dock to make your way home. Sometimes it followed you up until you shut the door to your cottage. 

You tried testing to see if you would still feel this way walking along the shore, or lounging on the sand of the cove. But even if you completely avoided the dock, you would still feel that familiar prickle of your hairs standing on end. It was… stupefying. You wondered if you were being paranoid. Or maybe you were losing it, just a little. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Sebastian said one night, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you both sat at your tiny kitchen table. “You might have already lost it, sweetheart.” He only grinned at you when you told him to shut up. 

After weeks of enduring this strange sensation, you decided it was best to just pretend it wasn’t there. You could ignore a little unease if it meant your routine would remain undisrupted. So you sat at the dock and minded your own business. Stared out at the rolling waves, read a book, laid back to stargaze. You were able to find peace again. 

Then, one night, you noticed something. 

It was by chance, really. You were staring out at the sea, watching as the waves crashed against an outcropping of rocks in the far distance. It was dark, the only lighting coming from the moon and the stars. It caused the waters to turn black—void-like, almost, if not for the gentle moonlight. Maybe that was what had ultimately allowed you to see it. 

There, just behind the rocks jutting up from the sea like a jagged line of teeth, was this teal glow above the water. 

It hugged along the wall of rock, barely visible from your vantage point. You paused and found yourself squinting at it, trying to make out what the hell it could possibly be. The moment you stared at it for a second too long, however, it ducked under the water before disappearing out of sight. 

You were confused, yes, but you brushed it off as some sort of reflection. Maybe even a marine animal or bioluminescent plant of sorts, though you weren’t sure what. 

You saw it again some nights later, this time just under the surface of the calm waters by the outcropping. It was oddly hypnotizing, in a way, even muted under the deep, navy waves. A constant presence, throughout the entirety of your time on the dock. You could even see it from your cottage window if you squinted. 

The underwater glow became another upset in your routine that puzzled you to no end. You tried to ignore it like you ignored the prickle along your nape, but it was almost impossible to do so when it was so blatantly present in the water. No matter where you looked, the glow always lingered in your periphery. And it wasn’t like it stayed in the same place either. Some nights, it stayed near the rocks. During others, it seemed to draw closer. Farther. Closer. Closer. Farther. 

Definitely not a plant, you concluded one night as you warily eyed the teal glow as it lingered several meters away. A trick of light? You cast a glance up at the vantablack sky dusted with twinkling white. But no, that would be impossible. It showed up no matter if the night sky was clear or cloudy. 

Maybe you were imagining it after being on your own for so long. You grimaced as you thought about your cottage and the inhabitant waiting for you to return to it. Him. As real as your mind could make him. 

In any case, the glow was not a priority. Not with the way the days cycled on—a twisting, gnawing feeling soon growing in your chest that you were well acquainted with by now. Though you wished desperately that you weren’t. 

You woke up tired. 

Not atypical for you, by any means. But this was a different kind of tired—that lingered deep within your muscles and tissue, even your very soul. It made every single motion feel as though you were lugging along hundred pound weights. You were slow in getting out of bed for this reason, taking a few moments to blink wearily up at your ceiling and rub at your temples in a vain attempt to ease the headache you could feel trying to manifest. Already you were not off to a good start.

Steadily, you sat up and immediately spotted Sebastian looming in the far corner of your room. Smiling at you with his hands shoved into his pockets. He opened his mouth to say something, but you lifted up a hand to stop him. Your throat felt like it was lined with cotton.

“Not today,” you told him, voice barely over a whisper. You closed your eyes, then reopened them to give him a weary look. “Just… Not today.” 

He only closed his mouth and continued to smile at you.   

Once you picked yourself up and trudged over to your bathroom, you took a second to regard your reflection in the small mirror. Dark circles that lined the area under your eyes. A small wrinkle between your creased eyebrows. A dullness to your complexion and a hollowness to your cheeks. You rubbed an eye and sighed, a deep thing that didn’t make you feel any better. The day must go on, as much as you didn’t want it to. 

Your coworkers knew not to pester you too much once they saw you arrive at the clinic, so you were granted the relief of a somewhat quiet day. But that did not make things any easier for you—forcing you to be with the overwhelming spiral of your thoughts. You kept yourself busy with work around the clinic, but by the end of your shift, you somehow felt even worse than you had before. 

On the drive home, you stopped by a store to pick up a couple of groceries you needed. And once you returned home and unpacked everything into their proper places, you whipped up a quick dinner and spent some time sitting at your little table poking at it sluggishly. You weren’t all that hungry, despite only having some crackers and water earlier. Your stomach churned, your chest ached. You feared if you ate too much, you would just end up throwing it all up. 

It was quiet. You took your time to clean up and shower. Procrastinating, you registered faintly at the back of your mind. You slipped on some comfy clothes, then snagged Sebastian’s flannel that you’d never had the heart to pack away back into the box with the rest of his things. It hung on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, next to your towel. Forever a haunting presence in the corner of your world that you grew accustomed to with time. You slipped it on, the sleeves lolling past your hands.

Making your way back to the kitchen, you glanced out the window over your sink at the steadily approaching sunset. You’d gotten home slightly later than usual, but it was fine. You shuffled over to your fridge to grab a small, two-pack container of cupcakes and pried it open to take one out. You rummaged around in a nearby drawer for a few things, then slipped out your front door to make your way down to the dock.

It was a bit colder today, especially with the sun dipping closer down to the horizon to make way for night. You took a moment to stand at the edge of the dock and breathe. The fresh air helped, if only a little. The swell of the waves eased some of the tension lining your shoulders. You sat down, crossing your legs, and set the cupcake atop the small space in front of you. 

Leaning back onto your palms, you watched as dusk bled across the sky until it was overtaken completely by night. The moon painted the waves in a milky glow that highlighted their crests and shadowed their troughs. You could faintly register an ache behind your eyes that worsened bit by bit every time you blinked. You leaned forward and rubbed your cold hands along your upper arms before deciding it was time.

From your pockets, you pulled out a single candle and a lighter. You stuck the candle into the top of the cupcake, then—with a flick of your finger—used the lighter to set it aflame. The tiny, orange bud of fire flickered in the gentle wind and washed its soft glow along your hands and legs. Your wedding ring glinted in its light. You stuffed the lighter back into your pocket and sank into a slouch as you stared at the cupcake. 

Faintly, you could smell cinnamon. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes stung, unblinking as they were. You swallowed and it was like choking down a bucket full of thorns.

He would have been thirty-three today, you thought miserably to yourself as you stared and stared and stared. The fact settled over you like a particularly suffocating blanket. That fatigue you'd felt earlier came back full force, accompanied by a wrenching feeling in the pit of your gut.

Thirty-three. Your face felt hot and cold all at once. You rubbed at your cheek and your fingers came away wet. You exhaled a shuddering breath.

All those years of missed opportunities and moments. No waking up to his slumbering face or to his gentle kisses on your eyelids. No playful teasing or hugs that stole the breath right out of your lungs with how tightly he squeezed. No midnight dances in your little kitchen, swaying back and forth to an imaginary tune. No being loved by him. 

Your heart ached.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you whispered out into the still air, closing your eyes momentarily as your jaw trembled. “I miss you. So, so much.” 

You leaned forward and blew out the candle. 

Then, you buried your face in your palms. And you cried.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, hiccuping into your hands. It hurt, god, it hurt so much. It always did. You were sure even years down the line, you’d find yourself trapped in the same wallowing pit of despair. The pain dulled, yes, but ever so sharp and present when the time lined up perfectly—as much as you dreaded it. Your chest hurt with the way you suppressed your pain.

When you finally managed to pull the shaking pieces of yourself together, everything felt numb with cold. Your head was stuffy, your eyes were bleary. You sniffed and had to choke back another sob. It truly never got easier, even after all this time. You needed some painkillers and a long, long rest.

Sighing, you plucked the cold candle from the cupcake along with its paper wrapping to toss into your trash later. You stood up and hugged yourself, giving the lone dessert another long glance before turning on your heel to head back into the warmth of your cottage. Come morning, the birds will have eradicated all traces of the cupcake from the dock, as they tended to do.

As you walked, the back of your neck prickled all the way up to your door.

In the following days, you noticed the teal glow you’d been seeing underwater was growing closer and closer—even moreso than it had been before. 

This would not have alarmed you too heavily—after all, it wasn’t like it hadn’t been going back and forth in terms of distance for a while—but it was getting to the point where it was only a few meters away. You could slip into the water and swim over easily, you mused, as you warily eyed the glow. Just in case, you decided to avoid sticking your feet into the water for now. 

You couldn’t kid yourself anymore. It was weird—really weird. Pair up the glow with the ever present prickle along your nape and Sebastian’s haunting presence at home, and you had a recipe spelling out… well… mental disaster. It was all you could do to hang on. There really wasn’t much you could do about it anyways, you figured. These days you were just too tired to care.

Currently, you were sitting cross-legged in your usual spot on the dock, aimlessly scrolling through your phone’s notifications as you enjoyed the night air. You had a couple of messages from Maria to respond to—you’d been trying to get better at maintaining contact with her every so often. It was a work in progress, but at least texts were easier for you to deal with than phone calls.  

You thumbed through the rest of your notifications. Lucas had sent you a meme around one in the morning last night that you’d missed. He was in his last year in university, you mulled. How time has flown. You remembered when he was still an annoying preteen, bugging Sebastian to use his no doubtfully expensive guitar. It was difficult to get Sebastian to ever part with it. The thought made you smile slightly to yourself, then you sobered upon remembering you’d had to sell it. In hindsight, Lucas’ guitar phase hadn’t lasted all too long—or maybe he hadn’t wanted something that reminded him of his older brother so much. Sweet memories turned sour after the execution. You sighed and sent him a meme back after liking the one he’d sent. Something about weird-looking cats. 

Oh, one of your coworkers wanted to grab dinner in a couple of days. Hmm. You checked your calendar, then sent off a response text in agreement. The distance you were from the nearby town was not large by any means, but it was enough that you rarely sought exchanges outside of work. You really needed to get out more. Most of your other interactions were online, especially after moving from the city and away from everyone and everything. It certainly was not doing you any favors. 

As you typed up a comment on one of your older friend’s social media posts, you noticed something. 

Just over the top of your phone screen—reflected in the dark water of the ocean. You paused and lowered your phone to stare at it. 

It was the teal glow, brighter and closer than it had ever been before. You eyed it for a moment, apprehension taking root in the pit of your stomach. But there was also this sense of tentative curiosity. You leaned forward just enough to peer down at it beyond the dock’s edge, submerged as it was beneath the gentle waves. It was almost underneath you, oddly hypnotizing as you tilted your head at it. You felt as though you could be sucked right into it, lulled into a trance as the glow encompassed all that you were. 

Brighter and brighter the glow grew. There was the distant thought in the back of your mind that maybe you should be more wary—maybe you should lean back or stand up to gain some distance. But all you could hear were your steady breaths, feel the way your grip tightened on your phone. Maybe you could see if what you were seeing was really an animal of sorts or just some figment of—

There was a head. Sticking out of the water.

You froze immediately, breath caught in your lungs. 

For a moment, you couldn’t process what exactly you were looking at. But then you realized you were staring at a gray-blue face framed by raven hair stuck to its sides. A rather large face, in fact, nowhere near the size of a regular human’s. A… mermaid? You weren’t entirely certain, and even then, there was a lot to unpack with this realization that you were in no way prepared to do. 

There was some sort of lure attached to the top of the creature’s head that drooped down into the water in front of it. Two—no, three, you noticed—eyes were trained intently in your direction, pupils indiscernible in a way that made it difficult to tell where precisely it was looking at. The back of your neck prickled.

Ah, you thought faintly as teal light gently washed across the nearly black surface of the water from the creature’s eyes. That’s what that was. 

You weren’t sure how long you and the… mermaid… stayed there, staring at each other, but eventually something had to give. You were just surprised it wasn’t you first.

The mermaid’s jaw seemed to tense. It regarded you with an unreadable gaze that you could feel flicking over your face. Then, it parted thin lips to say a quiet “Hey.” 

It was like getting punched in the gut—harsh and utterly unforgiving. 

It sounded— It sounded just like Sebastian. Raspier, maybe. A little lower in timbre. But unequivocally him. It was unmistakable—his voice so deeply cemented into your mind when you lived day by day listening to him speak over your shoulder. You felt like you couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t force the air you so desperately needed into your lungs. 

He seemed to take in your silence, appraising you for a moment before speaking again. 

“I know this has gotta be… weird as shit…” he said slowly, voice stiff and slightly stilted. “But I”—he swallowed thickly—“I can explain.” 

You weren’t sure what expression you were making, but you saw the way the skin above his eyes seemed to crease together. You wanted to force yourself to spit out something, anything, but you could not hear yourself think over the rapid ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump of your heart in your ears. The vice-like grip on your insides with how much this mermaid sounded like Sebastian. How it made you hurt. How it made you ache. 

What the hell was going on right now?

“You—” you eventually choked out, your eyes taking in what was before you. A membranous fin at the side of his head flicked slightly at the sound of your voice. “You— I—”

He said your name quietly, and it was like another vicious twist of your gut. The sounds of the sea became white noise, distant and weak. “It’s me. Sebastian. You know? Love of your life?” His face scrunched up, sharp mouth turning into a strained grin as he stared at you with wide, imploring eyes. “Come on babe, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” 

Just like him. He talked just like him.

But that couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be right. He was dead. He was—

Something suddenly clicked in the far recesses of your mind. 

“Ah.” The syllable dropped from your lips like a rock from a high place. You slumped like you’d been cut from a few taut strings struggling to hold you up. “I get it now.” You exhaled deeply, willing yourself to gain control of your mind and your heart. You knew exactly what was going on here. 

No need to panic. You were in control.

“...Do you really?” he asked warily after a minute or two. You ignored him to focus on yourself.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You released the tight hold you had on your phone—line etched into your palm from the pressure—and shoved it into your pocket so you could lift your hands up to rub at your temples. 

You were tired. Of this, of everything. 

“I thought this was supposed to be a safe space,” you grumbled under your breath, your eyes closing in a vain attempt to stave off the building headache you were experiencing. “You had to follow me out here too?” 

Sebastian made a sound—a questioning, confused little thing that made you open your eyes to gaze down at him. He looked hurt, almost. “I— What?” 

Your hands dropped from your temples, and you leaned back onto your palms so you could look out at the calm sea. A few clouds passed over the moon from above, temporarily casting a shadow over you and him. You eyed him after a moment of letting yourself relax from the previous adrenaline spike.  

“You’ve never looked like this before,” you eventually mused as your eyes traced over the shadowed line of his nonexistent nose. The way his skin glistened in the dim lighting. “Did something change from yesterday?” You didn’t think you were capable of imagining him like this. Inhuman. No honeyed skin or rough scar bridging his nose. You wondered why it was happening now, of all times. If maybe it was the result of staying by the sea for so long, alone to deal with everything that had happened.

He opened his mouth as though to respond. But then he closed it and just… stared at you. Observing you. Analyzing you for something you were not privy to. A probing gaze that made something under your skin itch. You watched him back, then found you could not hold his gaze for much longer. You looked away and cleared your throat. 

“I’m thinking pasta for dinner,” you remarked casually to fill the silence, eyes shifting skywards in thought. “The alfredo we made last week was pretty good. I got the sauce on sale at the grocery store.” 

Another pause. Another moment where your skin prickled with the sensation of being picked apart, piece by piece.

And when he spoke, his voice was barely over a murmur—a grim realization to his tone. “You… You’ve really lost it after all this time, huh?” 

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t be mean. I’m— well…” You gave him a smile, something melancholy lining your lips. “Doing just fine.” The words were bitter across your tongue. He only gave you a look like he didn’t quite believe you, something indecipherable in his gaze. 

“Right,” he snorted. “Like I’m gonna believe that after whatever the hell you just said.” A hand lifted from the water to gesture at you, gray-blue just like his face. 

Rolling your eyes, you shifted on your feet and stood up, brushing off your pants as you shoved your hands into your pockets. You hadn’t realized, but there was this twinge building in your stomach with every minute that ticked by. You needed to sleep this off… whatever this was. You sighed, long and weary. “I should not be entertaining you.” But it was so hard to resist—has been, for years now. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Sebastian muttered to himself, pinching at the bridge of his nonexistent nose with two large fingers. When you only raised an eyebrow at him and took a step in the direction of your cottage, intending to head back to get started on dinner, he lurched forwards in the water. “Wait. Where are you going? Y-You’re leaving?” 

You didn’t intend on answering him, so accustomed to ignoring him in your cottage whenever he spoke into the air. But when this Sebastian snapped out your name in a warning tone, you gave him a look. “I’m not leaving, silly. I’ll see you inside, won’t I?” 

���God, do you even hear yourself right now?” he rasped out, voice betraying a certain incredulity as he lifted himself up in the water just enough that you could see what looked like a waterlogged scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. “Listen to me. I’m here. I’m real.”

Real, huh? 

You closed your eyes and thought about a figure standing in the corner of your living room, watching you with a small grin. You thought about the endless nights of him standing near your bed or hovering just beyond your shoulder, whispering at you to close your eyes and sleep. You thought about a lot. You thought about nothing.  

And so you hummed, a distant thing that you did not quite register as you started to turn away, unwilling as you were to continue this. But before you could make it even a couple of steps back down the dock, Sebastian made a noise—ragged and disbelieving. There was the sound of rushing water directly behind you. The roar of a small waterfall, almost. It made you turn back and blink in surprise as your head craned back.

The wood beneath you creaked and groaned in an ominous manner. 

“We are not done talking,” Sebastian growled as he loomed over you. Like this, you could take him in his entirety—from the brown jacket covering his torso that was dark with seawater, to the three arms he had that held himself up atop the dock’s surface. The shirt he had on was translucent enough to appear gray in color. If you looked close enough at the sliver of his unclothed body before it disappeared beneath the dock’s edge, you could just barely make out the shine of scales. 

This was—like nothing you have ever seen before.

Your lips parted when a drop of water landed on your cheek, startling you for a moment. A glance up at the sky showed clear skies above you. Maybe you’d imagined it. You shook your head slightly and focused back on Sebastian.

Water continued to run down his body, each drop soaking into the wooden planks of the dock, before it eventually eased into a trickle.  

“What is there to talk about?” you asked lightly after contemplating his words. 

His grip tightened on the dock, enough that you could almost hear something splinter. “Much, in case you were not aware.” He surveyed your open face with narrowed eyes, a soft teal glow dusting across your features. It was like you were being held open like a book, all of your innards exposed for him to analyze. You weren’t sure what he found there, but it made him suddenly soften like butter atop a warm stove. 

“I just…” He sighed, something long-suffering that came from deep within his chest. “This wasn’t how I’d imagined things would go, believe it or not.” 

You cocked your head at him and watched him slouch from his rigid position. Still dripping water. Still with that raven hair plastered to his face. There was a sort of exhaustion to him that you’d never noticed before. It made something pang in your chest—caused you to clench your hands into fists in a vain attempt to focus on anything else. 

There was the pungent smell of fish, raw and metallic.

Not real. This was not real.

Sebastian shifted, and the hand attached to his torso—smaller in size and covered sloppily in stained bandages—raised as though it was going to reach towards you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat at the motion. But then he stopped, staring down at his palm. Big and gray and consisting of four thick fingers with sharp ends. There was the glint of something gold around his fourth finger. Your own hand twitched inside your pocket. 

Always just out of reach. Never crossing a line. 

His hand clenched into a fist, and he lowered it back to the dock with a quiet thud.

He said your name. “I know this is difficult to hear, but… It’s me,” he whispered, voice strained like it was on the precipice of breaking. “It’s really, really me.” 

You swallowed heavily, feeling as though the world was unraveling by the seams beneath your feet. 

This was not him. It couldn’t be. 

Why would you ever imagine him like this? 

“No, it’s not,” you eventually said bitterly, breaking eye contact so you could glance back at your cottage. You closed your eyes, then reopened them as you turned your back to him. And when you spoke again, your voice teetered like you were one step away from falling into a never ending pit. “You’re dead.” 

And then you walked away.

Each step you took felt like eternity, something heavy weighing you down. He called out your name. First so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, a tinge of something fragile to it. Then again with frustration lining his voice—louder and aggrieved. There was a sharp crack of something behind you, but you were determined in your march back home. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your jaw clenched to suppress the tremble you could feel working its way throughout your body. You refused to look behind you, and you succeeded right up until you stood before the door to your cottage. With one hand on the metal knob, you twisted around to look back at the shore—the dock you could see a ways behind you. 

It was vacant, not a soul in sight. 

Your lips pursed together, and you opened the door to slip inside with a heavy, grim feeling taking root in your stomach. 

Sebastian was waiting for you already, sprawled atop your couch as he grinned at you wide enough that you saw each and every one of his white teeth. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said amusedly, one of his hands raking through the wavy mess of hair on his head. His voice lowered, gentle and sincere. “Maybe take a break from the dock, yeah?”

You only slowly shook your head and moved past him, suddenly feeling queasy and lightheaded and so frazzled that you couldn’t bear being awake for much longer.

Your thoughts lingered on the shore. Teal eyes and the sound of breaking wood that felt so real in that instance. You forced yourself to breathe.

It was fine. It was fine. 

You would deal with it as you always have.

part two

[latenightdaydreams]

I'm thinking how Konig would react when his wife call him with full him in an argument (about culture bc I'm Asian ehe), like it's a sign of seriousness.

It's the same in my culture! I love thinking about giant König just freezing knowing he went too far😶

Laundry Day (fem)

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, argument, fluff

.

.

König has recently retired so that means that he is home constantly now. It means that you both get to spend a lot of time together and you love it, but sometimes he talks to you as Colonel König instead of just your Kö. Today was one of those days.

König comes into the laundry room wearing a towel around his waist as he has just gotten out of the shower. He is holding black workout shorts in his hand with an annoyed look on his face.

“Y/n, you didn’t wash my gym clothes?”

“No, today I only washed bed sheets and towels so far, I’ll get to them.”

“Nien, I told you to wash them last night.” He snaps back quickly.

At this point König is becoming very demanding and his voice has become stern, as if you’re his subordinate. You continue to fold towels and place them into the laundry basket. Trying to remain calm to not make König explode further. After a lifetime in the military, he has remaining traumas and it causes him to act out. You try to not take it so personally, but it’s hard.

“I know, but I wasn’t aware you needed them for today.”

“Of course I would, I work out every day!” He raises his voice slightly.

You take a deep breath, placing the towel down and turning to him. “Yes, but I wasn’t aware that you had no more clean-”

“Why would I ask you if I had clean clothes!” He cuts you off and yells this time.

You tighten your jaw and glare at him. You might be smaller than him, but you aren’t going to just let him walk all over you.

“Maybe next time you should inform me of your schedule and I-”

“Ich bin dein Ehemann! You do what I say, when I ask!” König’s pale face turns bright red as he yells at you, holding up his shorts in a bit of blind rage directed at you.

You’ve had enough, he knows better than to speak to you this way. You toss the basket of clean towels on the floor and turn towards him. The look in your eyes puts fear in the giant man’s heart.

“Alexander Jan König! You DO NOT speak to me that way!” Your voice is loud and stern.

König looks at you with wide eyes and a slack jaw. He is stunned, he isn’t used to people speaking to him like that; especially not his sweet wife. He doesn’t say anything. His face softens and his shoulders drop. His pale blue eyes glued to you, he’s still too scared to move or say anything.

“Do you understand?!”

“Ja-y-yes.” He stumbles over his words as he stands up straight.

“Good!” you walk past him out of the laundry room and he just watches you go before looking back down at the towels on the floor. He listens to you stomp away and slam the bedroom door. He is terrified, but also slightly aroused. 

He quickly bends down and begins to clean up the towels on the floor. He begins to start the washer to clean them again for you, he also plans on drying and folding. He goes back to the bathroom and grabs his own gym clothes and gets them ready to be washed next. 

Going into the kitchen, he saw dishes in the sink and began to wash them for you. He looks at the clock once he is done and only twenty minutes have passed, but he is still in his towel from the shower so he tries to go up into the bedroom to see if you’re okay.

As you sit on the bed with your arms crossed, still angry, you hear a light knock at the bedroom door.

“Liebling?” König’s voice is gentle as if he’s talking to a child.

“What?”

König opens the door slightly and pokes his head in. His eyes meet yours and he smiles at you timidly.

“Hallo mein Herz, can I come in?”

“Sure.”

König walks in like a dog with his tail between his legs. Your eyes travel over his attractive body as he makes his way to the bed and sits at the edge.

“I-I’m sorry…” the words struggle to leave his lips. Not because he doesn’t feel bad, but because his ego is so fucking big. “I’m sorry I snapped.”

You continue to just sit there and look at him as his head is dropped and his gaze is to the floor, “And what else?”

He turns his head to the side to look at you but quickly looks back away when he sees how mad you still are.

“And I’ll never do it again.”

“And?”

“I’ll take you out tonight for dinner, I can buy you whatever you want.”

You just look at him, up and down. A small smile comes up across your lips. You love to see this behemoth war criminal melt at your feet like this.

“Good. I also want a massage.”

“Absolutely.” König nods while he looks at you. “I’m very sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

König looks at you with a genuine sympathetic look in his eyes. You're the one person in this world that understands him, he never meant to hurt or lash out at you.

“Thank you for apologizing Kö.”

He reaches his hand out for yours with a small smile on his lips. You reach out and intertwin your fingers with his. König can feel himself begin to relax as he squeezes your hand.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 3: Please Remember to Take Your Happy Pills

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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Despite your insistences for Ben to just go away, he walked with you to “Please Don’t Die,” the plant shop that you’d been working at since you moved to New York, all the while complaining about the fact that you didn’t have a car.

You wondered if he'd ever had friends that didn't have as much money as he did or if he just lived in the asshole rich dude bubble.

You never hated walking. Something about walking through Central Park invigorated you, being surrounded by all the plants made you feel grounded  and more in the moment. It made you feel alive. Not to mention you liked walking past all the flower shops and perking up the bouquets of flowers wrapped in plastic and placed in black bins as you walked. And even though you were late, you figured that you always had time to use your powers just to make everything a little bit greener.

Maybe it was cliché, but you hated seeing dead plants and dead flowers. Whenever you went home you always spent time in your grandmother's garden making sure that everything was growing as it should and even the plants in your home never seemed to wilt.

Which probably meant that you were working in the right place.

The shop you work at is the same as it’s always been. Outside the brick was painted a cheerful white, with black trim that frames the large glass windows and a black glass door the proclaims the name of the shop in strong block letters. Each window display was changed every other day and were both currently crowded with multicolored plants that stretched towards the warm sunlight on the street while the glass skull planters your boss, Jake, had placed artfully inside glittered black.

When you open the door, the smell of soil, earth, and water greet you, wafting out to envelop your body in a layer of comfort.

You feel your body physically relax as you step over the threshold. The thrum of your abilities reaching out, flowing through the branches, stems, and leaves of the plants, soaking through your bones to connect you to them. You could feel every twig, every small push of roots in the soil, every unfurling of new leaves from each plant in the shop. It was impossible to see beyond the rows and displays of potted plants that trailed languidly on the clean concrete floors. Wooden shelves were bolted to the walls covered in layers of green foliage so dense you couldn’t see the red brick behind. Displays of bouquets sprouted dark purple, deep red, vivid blue,  and warm orange, sat wrapped in plastic and ready to be purchased on the left wall, next to coolers filled with even larger bouquets in ornate glass vases.

Herbs crowded the front of the register at the back of the room, sending the sharp scent of mint, the spicy scent of chives, and the soothing smell of rosemary into the air. Vines wove above your head hanging from the ceiling to cover the plastic squares that lined the roof making it seem as if you had entered under the dark canopy in the jungle. The rest of the shop was hidden behind rows and rows of potted plants, on long wooden shelves and tall potted plants that reached up to the ceiling, giving the illusion that as soon as you entered the shop, it was like you entered another world, cut off from the rest of New York.

It honestly felt like home, felt just like your apartment as you stood there in the humid air, the sound of the misters turning on and off echoing the deeper you went into the store.

Plants were easier than people. You learned that early on.

It didn’t matter where you were, plants always called out to you, from the smallest seedling to the mightiest oak, you were connected with them. When you were away from them it was almost painful. As a kid whenever your parents took you on a plane, you had to carry seed packets in your pockets, nursing small seedlings as you left the earth behind and took to the sky. When Annie had a weekend off from her patrol back home, she had suggested that the two of you go on a cruise. Neither of you had seen the ocean and it had seemed like a good idea up until you stepped foot on the ship.

At first you thought that you were seasick, the dizziness and the puking that followed seemed to be due to the boat rocking back and forth, but the only way you were able to get out of bed and avoid puking your guts out was when Annie brought you some grapes from the buffet and you covered your entire cabin in grape vines to make you feel better. And the rest of the trip you had woven vines in your hair to stay just a little more grounded to the world you left behind when you stepped foot on the ship.

“Y/n is that you?” You hear your boss, Jake, call from somewhere inside.

“Yeah I’m sorry I’m late!” You shout back. He was still hidden by the dense displays of plants that stood like silent watchmen just at the front of the shop.

“It’s fine.” He replies.

You turn to glare at Ben. “You can go now.”

He’s not paying attention to you, he’s surveying the room, surprised by how green it is.

He’s going to have to get used to that if he’s going to force himself into my life.

Jake pushes through the wall of plants in front of you, holding a giant Monstera in a gallon bucket. The leaves were easily as big as your head and you’re surprised that Jake can move it, given that he wasn't a supe. He stumbles slightly under the weight and you rush forward to take it from him.

But just as you take it from Jake, your own super strength buckling slightly under the weight, Ben pulls it from your arms and holds it in one hand. You were only slightly stronger than the average person, enough to hold your own, but not enough to lift a car over your head.

“Where do you want it?” He says looking from you to Jake.

Jake is… Jake. He’s taller than you, with sandy blonde hair that curls slightly behind his ears and hangs long and shaggy on top of his head. His bright blue eyes are hidden behind tortoiseshell glasses. Today he’s wearing his usual flannel pushed up to his elbows that reveals tanned, freckled, and muscular arms, not as muscular as Ben, but enough to notice, and a pair of blue jeans.

They were his favorite pair, worn in just right at the knees. You gathered that by how often he wore them. Not to mention you appreciated how he filled them out.

In the way that Ben was tall, dark, and handsome, Jake was tall, bright, and beautiful. He always smiled when he saw you, always tried his hardest to make you laugh on a day that never seemed to end, and he always seemed to have the best advice when everything seemed hopeless. He was a good friend. A good friend that you had kept separate from the supe world. He didn’t know what you could do and you wanted to keep it that way at least for now.

Your record with non-supe friends was dismal and you didn't want to ruin your friendship with him.

“Whoa um-" Jake clears his throat. "Just over by the calatheas.” Jake's eyes widen seeing how easily Ben holds the gallon sized barrel in one hand, hefting the monstera easily.

“The what?” Ben frowns rudely.

“The striped plants over there.” You point at the collection of lemon lime prayer plants that sit prettily on a circular wooden table in one of the front displays.

Ben walks away still toting the monstera like it weighs nothing in his right hand.

“Do you know him?” Jake watches Ben curiously.

“Unfortunately.” You frown, but shake it off when you look at Jake. It was easy to smile at him. “How are you?”

“Good. Got here early. The shipment of Christmas cactus came in. Needed to start breaking down one of the displays to find a place to put them.” Jake returns your smile. “You doin' okay? You look a little frazzled.” His southern twang slips into his honeyed voice.

Jake like you, wasn’t from the city, he was from the south and moved to New York to go to get a degree in environmental law, but when he got certified he opened “Please Don’t Die” and the rest was history.

You glance over at Ben who is now walking back towards the two of you, still frowning. “I didn’t have my coffee today.” It was the truth, but you didn't want to say that the reason why you looked so 'frazzled' was that you were spending time with the bane of your existence.

“I figured. Which is why I grabbed you one. It’s on the register.” Jake nods back in the direction of the antique bar top turned desk where a cup of coffee sits slightly steaming in the humid air.

“You’re officially the best part about today.”

“That’s what I say about you every day.” He winks making you flush. “Oh wait you’ve got an eyelash.”

Ben stiffens beside you as Jake steps forward into your space and gently brushes his index finger under your right cheek. Pins and needles trace behind the movement and you can feel your heartbeat stutter. “There you go.” Jake wipes his hand on his flannel.

Ben huffs and mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch.

Jake looks up at him, because Ben was about three inches taller. “Hey I’m Jake.” He extends his hand towards Ben.

Ben eyes it. “Ben.” He grunts not taking Jake's hand and deepening his frown.

Jake's smile falters a little.

“Please ignore Gramps, he forgot to take his happy pills this morning.” You nudge Ben with your elbow. "Be nice." You whisper low enough for only Ben to hear.

“I think he took them for me sweetheart.” Ben mutters back. "It's nice to meet you." Ben says tightly, in a way that doesn't seem like it's nice to meet Jake at all.

“Gramps?” Jake looks confused as he retracts his hand.

“Nickname for sunshine.” You gesture with your thumb to where Ben glowers at the mention of the nickname. “But he was just leaving.”

“Oh. Well if you need me I’m going to be over by the hydrangeas. Do you think you can start working on the plants in the back? They need a little TLC.” Jake rubs the back of his neck. "I know you're better at that kind of thing."

“Of course. It’s what I’m here for.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you darlin'.” Jake laughs and walks off towards the blue and pink flowering plants in sleek silver pots towards the door.

Ben eyes your boss up and down, watching how he turns away from the two of you but stays within earshot. “He wants to fuck you.” Ben says a little too loudly.

“What?” You whisper yell, dragging Ben away into the dense foliage on the other side of the shop. “Shut up he can hear you! And we’re just friends.”

“You’ve never heard about friends fucking? I mean if you and I started to-"

“Not going to happen. And we’re not friends!” You frown at him.

“I mean, I am living with you.” Ben crosses his hands over his chest and shrugs.

“You’re not living with me. How many times do I have to say that?” 

“As many times as you want. I love the sound of your voice. I bet you could say some pretty kinky-“

Your eyes shift to a dangerous bright green, the entire room vibrating with energy as the plants begin to bend to your will.

“I know you think that using your powers is supposed to scare me, but I think it’s sexy when you do that.” Ben smirks. “Your eyes turn that gorgeous shade of green.”

“Please go away.”

“Fine. But he does want to fuck you.”  Ben smirks. He cocks his head to the side examining you for a moment. "You want him to, don’t you Petals?”

"No I don't!”

I mean I could do a lot worse than Jake.

He was exactly what you were looking for. Someone sweet, who  understood what love was, and actually cared for other people. He was smart and funny, and he loved plants almost as much as you did. He understood how important they were and how to take care of them. Not to mention he actually had feelings and knew how to express them, unlike the toddler standing in front of you.

You grab on to Ben’s arm and drag him further into the shop away from your boss to make sure that you’re no longer within earshot. “Contrary to whatever belief you have, not everyone is focused on sex all the time-“

“They are.”

“No they’re not. There are other things-“

“Like what?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Um.”

You honestly couldn’t think when Ben was standing so close to you, towering over you, staring at you with those bright green eyes that always seemed to consume you. Your eyes slide to a cork board filled with seed packets on the wall above his head.

 “Like watermelon and blueberries and-“ You begin to say, reading the names.

“You’re just listing fruit sweetheart.” Ben chuckles under his breath. “You know what I think?”

“No and I don’t care.”

“I think you think about having sex with me.”

“What?” You shout louder than you should

“Mhmm." Ben traces his hand along your cheek, but you swat it away. "This morning you were awfully red when you bumped into me in the hallway. Not to mention in the kitchen when you were against the counter. Your heart was beating so fast. And I could practically smell how w-“

“Finish that sentence and lose your tongue.” You snarl grabbing the front of his shirt tightly in your hand.

“Doll I don’t think you want to rip my tongue out. Not with what I could do to you with it.”

You groan and withdraw your hand, fighting the urge to punch him. “Can you please leave? Don’t you have anyone else to sexually harass? Like Hughie maybe?”

“Hughie’s a guy?” Ben looks confused at your mention of Annie’s boyfriend.

“So? I kinda think you’re overcompensating for something by sleeping with that many women.”

Ben only laughs. "If you slept with me I'm sure that you'd see what all the fuss is about." He looks over through the walls of green leaves to where Jake is standing, watering a display of hydrangeas. Every few moments Jake would look over in your direction over his shoulder as if to check if you were okay. “How long have you worked here?”

"What does that have to do with anything?" You cross your arms over your chest confused.

Why does he care about that?

"Just answer the question doll-face."

"Two years."

"And you've liked him this whole time?" He cocks his eyebrow.

"No."

"You're worse than Mike doll."

"I am not."

"Mhmm."

"And I don't want him to sleep with me."

"Sure."

"Again, not everyone is focused on sex. And maybe you think that's the most important thing, but I'd rather have a relationship with someone." You turn to busy yourself with straightening the seed packets on the cork board, wishing that you weren't about to have this conversation with Soldier Boy of all people.

"So no sex?" Ben taunts.

You bite the inside of your cheek, transferring a packet of potato seeds back to the correct peg and reach for a packet of watermelon seeds to avoid eye contact.

I can't believe that I'm about to say this.

"I think that sex is better when you have a deep emotional connection with someone.  Someone who cares about you, who sees every part of you, even the bad things and they don't care. I wouldn't expect you to give a fuck about any of that."

"I don't." He breezes and you can imagine just how carefree he looks. You could feel his breath on your neck reminding you of your position earlier today.

"Exactly." You roll your eyes. But deep down you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed with his confession and you hated that you were disappointed.

What? Did you think that he was going to change? That he was going to suddenly be the kind of guy you wanted after he practically forced his way onto your couch?

“You’re serious about him though? Looks like the kind of guy who would cry when he fucks you. You really want him instead of me?” Ben leans into the space next to you, trying to catch your eye, which you successfully avoid. "I mean, come on Petals, he's not even a supe."

"What?"

"He's-not-a-supe." Ben says it again, slowly like you're an idiot.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh please, you think that guy is the one? The one you've been waiting for? I've seen you in a fight and there's no way he could handle you. He couldn't even carry that fucking plant! If he tried to fuck you, you'd snap him in half."

Your cheeks flare an angry red that creeps back into your neck, and up your ears. "That is none of your business."

"It would be if you'd just let me fuck you. Show you what you've been missing." He cocks an eyebrow.

You fight the urge to slap the look off his face. “I can’t do this with you right now. I haven’t had my coffee.”

"He brought you some." Ben sing-songs, but you ignore him. "Fine. I’ve got to go anyway. Butcher wants me to meet him at some park in fucking Jersey.”

“You need me to write it down for you? Using your newfangled doohickey probably might be too much huh?” You turn and shake your phone for emphasis at him.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I think I’m capable of finding it.” He turns to go but stops glancing over his shoulder at you. “Are you gonna be at the apartment tonight?”

“What apartment? My apartment? The apartment that you're squatting in like a hobo?"

“No Butcher’s.” Ben glowers.

“I mean maybe?” You shrug. “I’ve still got to make a list of auto shops to visit this week. Butcher wants me to try to go to at least a dozen to see if I can get any leads on this guy.”

Ben nods once.

“Why?”

Why does he care?

“No reason. I’ll see you later Petals.” Ben smirks when he uses the nickname again, before turns once more and vanishes into the foliage that leads to the front of the shop. It was very difficult not to make the closet branch smack him in the back of the head as he did so. You hated that nickname about as much as he hated Gramps, but you knew that asking him not to call you that wouldn't do any good.

You make your way to the register at the back of the shop, feeling like you could finally breathe again. You hated how Ben wound you up so much, how angry and annoyed he made you. You hadn't met anyone else in your life that could do that to you and you liked to think that you were an easy going person, but not around him. He always knew exactly how to push all your buttons.

The memory of him pinning you to the counter earlier surfaces from the events of the morning, how his body seemed so strong above you, how he seemed to curve it protectively around you as he stood there waiting for you to tell him that it was okay for him to take the next step. The kiss from last night follows, how wonderful it was to lose yourself in him, how he tasted just a little bit like whiskey-

The hibiscus plant to the right of the register poofs into bloom, the bright red flowers unfurling and shining like beacons.

Shit. No. Get it together. Ben literally just said that he didn't think that emotions were important.

You glare at the plant until the flowers wilt back into submission, hoping that Jake couldn't see from where he was watering the hydrangeas.

That's the last conversation that you wanted to have today with your boss.

The coffee he got you is just how you like it and you’re reminded again that you deserve a relationship like that. Someone who remembers the little things, someone who cared about you, someone who was willing to hold your hair back when you threw up, not someone who annoyed you without end and the only emotions he ever expressed was anger or arousal.

“Your friend leave?” Jake asks. His clothes were flecked with water, hands just a little dirty, hair tousled just the right way to make him look like he'd just woken up.

It hit you again how different he was than Ben. Where Ben was ruggedly handsome, Jake was boyishly handsome and he had a younger less angry quality that made him seem lighter. You supposed that was because Ben had spent the last forty years in a Russian lab, but sometimes you liked that about him, not that he had been tortured obviously, but that he seemed real. He didn’t sugar coat things, he told it to you straight. Sometimes Jake was too happy.

No no no. I am not going to compare Ben to Jake, that's not going to happen.

“He’s not really my friend. He’s more of an annoyance.” You smile tightly, flicking your thumb against the cardboard coffee collar on the outside of the cup.

“Oh. I kinda thought he was your boyfriend.”

You spit out the coffee in your mouth. “What?”

“Well the way he was looking at you. And the way you guys were talking." Jake clears his throat embarrassed. "Sorry I didn't mean to assume that."

"It's alright. I'm sorry that he was rude to you. He's rude to everyone honestly."

It was the truth, Ben was always rude to everyone, though you didn't understand why he was rude to Jake. All Jake had done was try to shake his hand.

"How did you meet him?"

"Butcher."

Jake didn't know much about what you did for Butcher, only that you had another job on the side and he was your boss. Butcher had picked you up once from work to go on a case and Jake had caught a glimpse of him and had been confused as to why you knew someone like him.

"Ah." David nods in understanding. "He looks like Butcher's kind of guy."

"Yeah." You take another sip of coffee, shifting from foot to foot. "Thanks again for the coffee. I kinda needed it to deal with him."

"He was bothering you?"

"Only a little." You wave your free hand as if brushing away the thought.

"You should have said something, I could have thrown him out of the shop." Jake grins wide, leaning against the register.

The image of Jake trying to drag Ben out of the store was ridiculous. You doubted that Ben would go willingly, he hated backing down and you suspected that he would rather die than let another man throw him around. And the last thing you wanted to do was have to pull Ben off of Jake.

"It wasn't anything I couldn't handle. He's more bark than bite." You walk around the back of the desk to look at a box of lavender plants. They were in relatively good shape, a few brown spots, but nothing you couldn't fix when David wasn't looking.

"Sure." He is still leaning on the counter watching your fingertips stroke along the purple flowers. "Hey y/n?"

"Mhmm?" You sigh, inhaling the soothing smell.

"Um-" He bites the inside of his cheek. "Never mind. I'm gonna go start the Christmas Cactus display."

"Okay. I'll be in the back if you need me." You shrug, picking up the coffee Jake bought you and walking through the dark curtains that covered the doorway that lead into the back of the shop.

Your thoughts shift to how Ben acted around Jake, how he seemed to be an even bigger jerk, how Ben seemed to hate the idea of you and Jake together, and how Ben kept watching Jake like he wasn't sure about him.

Was he… jealous?

You gently touch the browning leaf of an African violet, feeling the fuzzy outer covering beneath your fingertip.

As if.

And as you stood there gazing at the plants that needed a little extra care, something else began to stir, something that you couldn't put your finger on, something that you felt when you were only around Ben, but you shake it off and clear your mind with the earthy smell of soil and the soft green leaves that needed your care.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

“I can’t believe you let Soldier Boy sleep on your couch!” Annie exclaims before taking a bite of her sesame seed bagel.

The coffee shop was crowded for a Thursday afternoon, and although most came to Calamity Coffee Co for the Rocky Top frozen choco-molten mocha swirl , Annie had settled for a oat milk latte and watched you eat your Rocky Top with a spoon. It was making you feel better after the night you'd had.

 People sat with their laptops along the long table that lined the front windows writing emails or the next Hunger Games, others lounged on the purple velvet sofa and high backed green armchairs by the decorative fire place chatting about a new movie in theaters that you'd seen a commercial for, and a man and a woman sat at the glass topped wrought iron table looking at their phones and not speaking.

I love what romance has come to these days.

“It was a moment of weakness.” You spoon another bite of the chocolatey frozen treat into your mouth still trying to forget exactly what happened last night when Ben kissed you in the hallway.

As if you were going to tell her that.

The rest of your shift at the shop had been uneventful. You fixed up most of the plants in the back and helped Jake make the new displays of cactus in the front while making small talk. He was going to a plant show this weekend and had invited you along, but you had declined, told him you had to work.

You did. Butcher had this crazy idea about sending you to different auto shops around the area where the supe had been jacking cars, to see if anyone knew anything about him.

It was getting harder to track him down, it would be easier if y'all could put a name to the face, but no one had seen him. Not even when he tried to fry you two days ago. He always wore a hoodie and pulled a dark scarf over the bottom of his face.

“So you did sleep with him!” Annie accuses.

“No I didn’t. He just slept on the couch and I slept with my door locked.” You reply, touching the vase of wildflowers in the center of the table to perk up the colorful blooms.

Annie's smile drops. “You thought he would try something?” It was something that she didn't joke about and she had reason not to.

When you found out what the Deep had done to her, she had to hold you back from marching up to Vought tower and implanting a watermelon in the Deep's stomach until he exploded. Something that you'd thought about trying with Ben when he really annoyed you.

“No not really.” You press your lips together. “Ben doesn’t really seem the type-“

“Oh so it’s Ben now.” She flutters her eyelashes and you kick her shin under the table.

“Shut up. It’s his name-“

“You never called him that before! You always just call him Gramps or the Bane of your existence.”

“He is the bane of my existence." You roll your eyes at her, leaning back in your chair. 

He really is.

“Well the bane of your existence is kind of hot. You know for an older guy.” Annie shrugs.

“I can’t believe you’re saying that. You literally were gung ho for locking him away for all eternity or whatever.”

“I mean yeah he’s done some shitty things.” She takes a sip of her almond milk latte. “But it would have been a waste.”

She’s not lying.

You don't answer her, instead your mind shifts to how good Ben looked in a towel this morning, slightly damp from his shower. And then inevitably begins to dip back into the waterfall fantasy.

When Annie had told you that Soldier Boy was back, you had done the research, watched his movies, commercials, and music videos, read his file, and gazed at older pictures of him. Yes he was handsome, but something about the Ben who existed in the 21st century was better looking than all the rest. You didn't know why, just that you were crazy not to admit how good looking he was.

Maybe I've got issues and I'm attracted to the wrong type of man.

“Come on so you locked your door.” Annie nudges your leg under the table.

“Yep.” You avoid her eyes, because you knew as soon as you did you might let it fly that you wanted to sleep with him or rather that he'd kissed you so hard that you'd seen stars and it had only lasted eleven seconds.

Why do I know how long the kiss lasted?

“Why are you making that face?”

“This is my face Annie.”

“No no no. You’re making your suffer in silence face!”

“That’s not a thing.”

“What? Did you lock your door so you wouldn’t go out there?” She jokes with a snort.

You take another sip of your coffee.

“HOLY SHIT Y/N!” Annie's smile is almost too wide, as if she's discovered a new kind of chocolate that you can eat and never gain any weight.

I'd invest in that.

“What?”

“You wanted to sleep with him!”

She shouts it so loud that the people staring at their phones glance over to the two of you. Even a few of the writers on the long table under the window look back over their shoulders at you.

“Keep your voice down." You shush her. "Just because my body wants to doesn’t mean my mind does!”

It does. Who am I kidding?

“Uh-huh sure.”

You slump further in your chair, avoiding the gaze of the couples at the other tables looking at you. “Annie come on. You’ve known me since we were four.  You almost blinded me when I took away your my little pony doll-“

She purses her lips. “I recall you making a tree rain acorns down on my head.”

“It was my doll.”

“It was mine! And I said that I wanted it back. You didn't have to have a tree do a reenactment of the ten plagues garden edition."

You hold up your hands in surrender not wanting to get into this fight again. “Whatever the case. You know me. You know that I always think stuff like this through-“

“Maybe you’re just thinking too much.” She sing songs.

“I can’t believe you’re for this. I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“Why not? You obviously want to.” Annie shrugs. "I mean I guess I'm not his number one fan, but maybe it will help get you out of a slump."

"What slump?"

"You haven't really been with a guy since Newton-" Annie begins to say, referencing your ex-boyfriend that you locked in a tree in high school. Because he deserved it.

"Because I never meet anyone that I'd want to sleep with. And yeah maybe I want to sleep with Ben, but he really just pushes my buttons and makes me crazy and-" You stop for a second considering your next words. “I don’t want that kind of relationship with someone. I want a relationship that means something. And I don’t think that sleeping with him is going to do that for me. He doesn’t want more than one night and I’m worth more and I want more.”

"You are worth more sweetie." Annie's hand covers yours where it rests on the table. "You just need to find someone who understands that."

"The only other single man in my life is Butcher and trust me I'm not going down that road." You bite the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. "I mean he is pretty hot in a rugged sort of way-"

"No." Annie squeezes your hand. "If God put me in your life to prevent you from dating William Fucking Butcher then so be it."

"Fine." You roll your eyes at her.

"And what are you talking about? What about Jake? He's cute and he likes you."

"He does not. We're just friends. And I don't know if I want to drag him into all this supe shit. It's not exactly easy."

Being with Jake will just complicate everything. He's my boss and he's not a supe. What if I accidentally killed him during sex? I don't think that I'd ever be able to get over that.

"Yeah. But maybe he'd be okay with it-"

"Like Newton was okay with it?" You raise an eyebrow, saying the name of your high school boyfriend for the first time since you'd locked him in a tree.

"He was an asshole. Not all non-supes are assholes."

"Just because you struck gold with Hughie does not mean that all non-supes are like that."

"You just have to broaden your horizons a little bit. Maybe you could try online dating."

"What like Tinder?"

"Fuck no." Annie groans. She raises the sesame seed bagel with a perfectly manicured hand to her mouth, reminding you that you probably should get your nails done. You hadn't done them since high school, because sometimes you thought it was a waste of money given how much time you spent with your hands thrust into potting soil.

"Because Ben seems to really  like it. Has no problems working that app, I'll tell you that." You roll your eyes thinking about him again.

It was one of the first apps that he had downloaded on his phone by himself and one that he did not have any trouble navigating, given the parade of women that came through Butcher's apartment and the amount of nights Ben spent going on "dates." For a guy born so long ago, you noticed that he really didn't have any old fashioned values.

"You sure are focused on him."

"I am not." You glance down at your phone noting the time. "And are you going to spend our date mocking me about Ben the whole time?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re going to fuck him or not.”

“I’m not so let’s move on.” You sigh loudly, moving your hand as if ushering in the next topic.

“Well if things don’t work out with Mr. Blast From The Past, then you can always date Mike.” She sniggers.

“Oh I don’t think he’s going to be a problem-“ It slips before you meant it to.

Shit.

“What do you mean?” Annie perks up when you say that.

“Nothing.”

She punches you hard on the shoulder.

“Ow. Annie-“

“Tell me!” She punches you again.

“What are you the mob? You’re gonna keep punching me til I tell you?”

“Exactly.” Her small fist hits your shoulder one more time.

“Fine!” You avoid her next swing. “Mike came out of his apartment last night when Ben and I got in and Ben he-“ You bite the inside of your cheek to try and phrase it in a way that isn’t going to make Annie freak out.

Yeah there’s really no easy way to say this.

“He pretended to be my boyfriend.”

“He what?” Annie squeals.

“And he kissed me.” You mutter into your drink.

“He kissed you!?”

“Say it a little louder, I don’t think they heard you in Canada.”

She punches your shoulder.

“Ow, Annie! I told you what happened!” You rub your hand over your sore shoulder, which given Annie's enhanced strength was sure to have a bruise.

“That was for not mentioning it earlier! Because What the fuck?! You KISSED!?” You could practically see Annie mentally kicking her feet and giggling.

“Yes.”

“Was it good?!”

You pause. Fuck yeah it was.

You were trying to forget that. Forget how he held you, like you weren’t close enough, forget how he deepened the kiss as if he wanted to swallow you whole, forget how everything else in the world seemed to fade into shades of gray and kissing him was the only thing in color.

Damn it. This isn't going to end well.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

A/N: Honestly thank you for all the love and support on this series. I know it's kinda slow going at the beginning, but I promise I have a plan for this one! :)

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd liked to be added to the Taglist please let me know :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

[analog-mothman]

May Queen; or, Nine Hairs from Crusader Kings 3

binned and familied; 1024x1024 textures with RGB normal maps; six natural colors, two grey swatches for elders binned to red; smooth bones where applicable; compressed and tooltipped

Download Everything: SFS | MF Pick & Choose: SFS | MF

I return from "hiatus" bearing clay from an entirely different franchise. These were a massive learning curve, but I think I'm pretty happy with the end result. There will be more CK3 conversions in the future if I don't get distracted again... But, more information below the cut!

Unedited Lineup

Hyacinthe V2 is repo'd to and requires V1, and there are 5 ribbon recolors: red, blue, purple, green and white. The textures for the ribbons are in the mesh file.

One big, I guess very important note is that these hairs use full RGB normal maps (as opposed to black and white bump maps TS2 clothes use).

This means if you have normal maps turned off in your game, the hairs might look noticeably different, because the CK3 hair meshes are kind of a beautiful mess under the hood.

The texture for the normal maps is in the mesh files; TS2 saves them in RAW24Bit so they're slightly chunky, hence repo'ing all of the recolors to one mormal map texture. My game ran fine with them, but I guess just a vague all games run different warning.

I'm like positive I'm forgetting something, so this will probably be updated. It's been a while since I've written one of these...

Credits to Paradox for Crusaders Kings 3 and the original hair meshes!

[stargirlygirl]

Rut Suppressants pt.1

Alpha!Shoto x Omega!Fem!Reader

Summary: You find out that Shoto's been taking rut suppressants ever since you've been together. You take them off him and get to see a new side of your husband.

Word count: 5.2k

A/n: This is PART 1 of 2. Part 2 is hyperlinked. The second part ties up all the little plot points touched on here.

🚨Warnings: Smut, 18+, NSFW, p in v, masturbation, oral sex

------------₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊------------

You were typing away at your computer, responding to some dry work emails about tomorrow’s presentation. You had been working in a small team to design a new marketing strategy for your company’s latest hero gadgets. Of course, you had been pulling the weight of the team, you little hard worker. Or maybe your HR team didn’t hire the right candidates, you decide. It was easy enough though. The hard part was just getting your colleagues to look like they knew what they were doing by 10am tomorrow.

After responding to another email of “What does this mean?”, you heard the front door click open, grocery bags scraping against it. Ah, your mate is home. Finally, you smile. You set your desktop to sleep before leaving the study. As you walk down the hallway, half-white half-red hair comes into view. He’s got his back to you. Black shirt clinging to his sweaty muscles. Must of been to the gym too, you thought. You rest your shoulder against the fridge, arms crossed underneath your chest, taking in the sight of you husband. He’s going through the bags, rummaging through them restlessly, clearly on the hunt for something.

“Need some help?” You smirk.

He turns around, blue-grey eyes wide. His expression visibly eases, slightly opened mouth forming a closed smile. “No, I’m fine. How was work?” He returns to his scavenger hunt in the bag right at his feet.

“Fine. I’ve got it under control for tomorrow’s meeting.” You push off of the fridge and come up behind him, hand on the edge of the island bench. You look over his shoulder, curious about what he could possibly be looking for. Shoto always gave you a kiss whenever he came home, regardless of what had happened during patrol or of what you were doing. For him to neglect you like this was rather odd.

“You didn’t do all the work again, did you?” His voice had an edge to it… Interesting.

“You know how it is—”

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” he almost growled, “You should all be doing it, not just you.” He cussed under his breath.

Okay, this was getting weird. Agitated over you working hard? I mean yea but, he usually reins it it, accepts that this job is just that for you, a job. One that you’ve talked to him about leaving. Swearing? Not Shoto. Only when y’all are… you know.

“Shoto, babe, what’s up?” Standing directly behind him, you run your hand through his locks. He hums.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, “you whine.

You watch as he starts going through the fourth bag, pulling out a small box with the label “Rut suppressants. Take as needed. Maximum dosage: five per day."

This little fucker. You snatch it out of his hands immediately, sprinting from the scene into the back of your apartment.

“[Y/n]! [Y/n] stop!” You can hear him coming after you, the sound of his feet hitting the floorboards. “Give that to me now!”

You’re running frantically, heart pounding in your chest, hands getting sweaty around the evil cardboard box. You dash into your shared bedroom, slamming the door shut. Fuck! Where should I hide it? You look around, [e/c] eyes settling on the dresser. You race over to it, emptying the contents of the box into the first draw, beneath your bras and panties.

“[Y/n]!”

Shit, he’s close to the door. You slam the drawer shut and run-stumble into the ensuite. Leaning against the door, you lock it. Okay okay, think! Think! The door knob rattles.

“Y/n! Open this door right now or I swear—” The silver handle is shaking now.

The toilet! You open the lid and crush the box in your hands; it makes those crinkling noises before you toss it into the trash bin and flush the toilet. At that moment, the door bursts open.

Shoto’s chest is heaving. His eyes are unfocused, frenzied. He’s panting… with anger you decide as there’s no way that lil sprint could of worked up the number 3 pro hero that much. He stalks towards you, grabbing your wrists and leaning down to meet your eyes.

“What did you do with it?” His tone shocks you. His voice is so low now… and hoarse. It throws you off. “With-with what?” You breath out. You’re pretty puffed. “Don’t play dumb. You didn’t actually flush ‘em down the toilet, did you?”

His face is now inches from yours. You remain defiant, eyes staring back into his. The heat radiating from his left tickles your skin. “Um… well yea, yea I did. They’re um, yea, they’re down the toilet.” He laughs. More like barks. His breath hits your face. All you can smell is his sweat interlaced with his fresh scent.

“You’re so bad at lying, you know that?” He smirks, straightening back up. His muscles pull taut as he runs pale fingers through that snowy, silky hair. You watch as he looks around the bathroom. “Where’d you really put ‘em?” He looks back down at you, scrutinising you beneath his gaze. Your ragged breaths now hitch. “I don’t—”

“Don’t deny it!” He shouts. You shrink back instinctively.

You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always so controlled. Even when you’re in heat, he’s always got it together. Always able to draw back or change the pace when you need him to. That’s why you took the pills off him in the first place. You’ve been getting suspicious for months now since the two of you got married that he’s been on rut suppressants. It just didn’t add up. After your first heat together, you had actually asked him about his ruts so you knew when you had to return the favour.

“I don’t really rut, babe.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, heterochromatic eyes averting from yours.

You laughed in response. “You don’t rut?” Your eyebrows raised. “Should I be concerned or…”

“No,” he said shyly, “it’s not like that.”

You waited for him to continue, watching as his eyes fluttered from object to object.

“I don’t get very intense ruts.”

Your brow was still quirked. “You don’t get ‘very intense ruts’? Like, you don’t get super aggressive and horny when you rut.”

His muscles relaxed upon hearing that. He looked back at you now. “Yea, it’s a minor annoyance. Nothing to worry about.”

You relaxed too, seeing that he was more comfortable now. “Trust me.” He took your hands in his larger ones. The temperature difference of both something you weren’t used to yet. “You don’t ever have to worry about control with me.” He gave you a sweet reassuring smile.

“Are you sure? I mean—”

“Trust me.” He squeezed your hands and leaned over, planting a small kiss on your lips. You grinned as he pulled back, trusting his word, however odd it seemed.

Had he lied to you? When you had announced to your friends that you and Shoto were (finally) getting married, they had warned you about that post-wedding baby fever. The endless marathon sex you two would be having once your cycles synced up. You had been waiting your entire relationship for that to happen and it hadn’t. So, once you two tied the knot wink, you had been hoping that the talk of ‘pups’ would come up, but it just hadn’t. That’s when you had begun to think something was off. Even if he didn’t have “intense ruts”, he would still be feeling the urge to breed you, wouldn’t he? Or maybe he just didn’t—

“Where did you put my suppressants?” He stared you down, thin brows furrowed. “Babe…” You can see that he’s getting really agitated. His hands are trembling at his sides. Maybe you should try something else. Something else that’s gonna get you the result you want.

“Make me.”

At this, he frowns even more. “Make you what?”

“Make me tell you.” You take a step forward, feigning confidence, coming close to him again and tilting your head to the side, challenging him.

He scoffs. Those beautiful eyes, like solar eclipses, flickering away from you for a moment. “Make you…” He says quietly. He stares at you even more intensely now as he’s thinks it over.

It’s time to get cocky. “Yea, make me.” You stretch up towards him, arms wrapping around his neck. “I want you,” you move to whisper in his ear, your lips brushing his earlobe. “My sexy Alpha,” you run both of your hands through his hair now. He groans right back into your neck, large hands palming your lower back. “To make me submit to you.”

In an instant, your over his shoulder, his palm smacking your right cheek. He’s carrying you out of the ensuite. You’ve done it now hehe.

As he crosses the threshold, you notice the door knob was coated in ice, hanging there, limp. Looks like you’ve gotta add fixing that to your to-do list tomorrow. He throws you like a stuffed toy onto your plush bed. His shirt’s already coming off, rippling contours all for your pleasure. Yea, make that ‘to-do next week’. Large hands already besides your head. Lean arms, meaty thighs, delicious toned frame caging you in. You’re forced to stare into those mismatched eyes. Not like you’d want to do anything else anyways.

Your breaths intermingle, just like your scents. He just stares at you, pupils dilated. Afternoon light from the adjacent windows making your figures glow. You love the way it streaks through his hair, and he loves the way it catches on your full lips. He thumbs your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal your teeth. You lower your chin, taking his thumb into your mouth. You circle your tongue over top of thumb before tasting the pad of it. It’s cold, like a popsicle you suck on in summer. You can think of another ‘popsicle’ you’d rather be sucking on right—

“I… I-I don’t…” His brows are knitted together once more. Pupils wavering between dilated and contracted, showing off those blue and grey hues you love so much. You stop what you’re doing with your tongue, opting to place both of your hands on his cheeks. His thumb leaves your mouth but rests on your chin.

“I don’t know if… if this s-safe.” You can’t stop yourself from giggling a little. What a cutie. “Pookie, of course this is safe. I was made for you. You know that, right?” You smirk. You’re a feelin’ like a cocky little shit today btw if you didn’t get that. This man’s shyness inflating your big dick ego.

“Of course I do but…” He averts his gaze, looking at your ear instead. “But?” You continue. However, he doesn’t respond. He just moves his hand from your chin and tucks a strand of [h/c] behind your ear which has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.

“You don’t wanna hurt me? You do wanna hurt me but don’t wanna admit it?” You tease. “No! No, of course I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyes shift back to yours. “Shoto.” You squeeze his cheeks gently. “I’m your omega. If you hurt me then you can just make it better.” You bring his face closer to yours. “You can make it better, can’t you?” You whisper.

He gulps, his adam’s apply bobbing up and down with the motion. “Y-yea,” he replies, voice low, “I can.” That last part coming out with more confidence. “Good, then don’t make me dom you, Alpha. That’s kinda embarrassing for you.” You giggle whilst leaning up to him and finally, kiss him.

You both moan into it, feeling the relief washing through you two. But quickly, it’s not enough. It’s far from enough. He growls into your lips, changing his tilt. You follow his lead. You like that. His tongue grazing your bottom lip and your lips parting immediately for him. The tangle that ensues is soul-gripping, bone-shaking, mind-blanking, breath-taking… Your fingers are gripping his locks. His fingers are gripping the hem of your thin white tank top. Saliva, don’t know don’t care whose, if dripping from the corners of your mouth. His exhale is your inhale and vice versa. He catches your lower lip between his teeth. This sharp canines sending tingles throughout your entire being. There’s nothing that gets you slicked up like a lip bite from your Alpha.

He pulls away, you two panting. Not that the reprieve is sufficient or long-lived. Soon his lips are sucking and nipping your earlobe and that sensitive spot beneath your ear. You whimper out his name. “Shoto”, “Alpha”, “Daddy”, maybe “Babe” or “Honey”… yea, those, they’ll be the only words you know for the next week. He nips at your mating mark, the beautiful white scar just above your left collarbone. He continues biting it, almost re-piercing the scar. You can’t help the moan-mumbles that tumble out of your mouth. Already, your wetness is soaking your blue lace panties and beginning to slide down your inner thighs. “Fuck,” Shoto breathes out into your other ear. You shudder at the word, one hand sliding down to his shoulder.

He continues at it, licking and sucking and kissing and biting at your neck. Soon, his fingers are tearing through your top. You mewl at the sensation of him ripping the torn, flimsy fabric off your body. His hands reach for your bare breasts, cupping them completely. Those long fingers begin pinching at the sensitive flesh. Your body responds instinctively, moaning, tiny hands (cause you’re small af obvs) grasping his wrists, breaths catching in your chest and throat. He fingers your nipples before bringing his mouth down to you, lips ghosting the hard peaks between his fingertips. He takes one into his mouth, eliciting a whimper. His warm tongue circling your nipple as you did to his thumb, but just so much better.

You’ve barely gotten started and yet, you know never get enough of this. No matter how many times he’s done and will do this to you, and so much more, you’ll never be forever satiated. You just can’t be.

He moves to the other, keeping your now wet left breast covered by his cool palm. Fuck, you love that. More moans spill from your mouth as he continues his ministrations. That slick is at your knees, probably. You can’t really tell cause it just feels like a wet, sticky mess down there at this point.

“Shoto,” you whine. He groans in response. “Hurryyyyy up,” you drag out that ‘y’ as you mewl. You shudder as he chuckles against your tender skin. Tender from his bites and sucking, of course. “You want me to go faster?” He pulls away from your breast, face coming back close to yours. You whine and nod your affirmation.

“But if I go faster,” he strokes your cheek softly with the back of his index finger, “you’ll miss out on all the fun.” His finger trails down to your chin, gripping it tightly but playfully with his other fingers. Damn, you’re getting wetter by the second. He’s doesn’t usually tease you during your intimacy.

He just smirks at you before moving back to his painstakingly slow kisses and sucks on your breast. He only moves down to your ribs once he’s satisfied and you’ve probably soaked the bed sheets with how much he’s turning you on. It’s driving you insane. Shoto’s hands wrap around your ribs, feeling their rise and fall, and their ridges. “Beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing each rung. He keeps those eyes on you. All cocky. He knows what he’s doing to you and he likes how pathetic it makes you for him. And you can’t help but like it too.

After thoroughly kissing and touching every part of your torso, your arms, your everything really, he’s finally fingering your low waistband. You sigh relief and begin wriggling, trying to get those pants off as fast as possible, but your Alpha is still having none of it.

“Be patient,” he growls as he squeezes your inner thigh, your flesh perking up between his fingers. “But Alpha—”

“I said,” he stares you down, this dark look in his eyes, “be patient.” You whine, “Yes Alpha.”

Hearing your compliance, he loosens his grip on your thigh and begins kissing your hip bones and skin just above the band. Fuck, he’s really killing you this time. I thought alphas were all, “Let’s bang. Now. Hard.” when they’re rutting but, I guess not. Maybe, Shoto didn’t completely lie to you by hinting at that his ruts were different to other alphas. Or maybe, he just wants to tease you for once.

You’re brought back to reality when you gasp reflexively to him biting into your inner thigh through your wet pants. Wet as in soaked and clinging to your hot skin.

“You’re not focusing on me.” Shoto’s voice is low, raspy. Fuck, you love it when he talks like that. Especially just after he’s woken up and you two have some fun together before getting up—

“And you’re not even focusing on me right now.” He bites even harder into your thigh, breaking through the fabric and pulling little red dots to the surface of your now red, marked flesh. “I,” you breath out, so it sounds like ‘hi’ and not ‘I’, “I thought you wanted me to be patient.”

“I want you to do both. Can you manage that? Or is that too much for my little girl?” He’s got a shit-eating grin across face. Since when was your husband such a tease, and such a good fucking one at that? It’s the years of pills, you decide.

“N-no, I can’t manage. Help me m-manage.” You imagine that you must look like some blubbering, whimpering mess right now, and you’re not even naked yet. And he’s not even naked yet. “Okay,” his grin widens.

Licking those glorious lips, those lips that you want on yours and not the ones on your face if you know what I mean wink wink, he pulls away from your thighs. He gets up from the bed, taking off his grey sweatpants and briefs. And fuck, you’re not ready for what meets you. For real. Swollen, hard, precum dripping down the shaft.

He smirks at you as he grabs his cock with his hand, moaning on impact. His other hand comes up to his face, finger pointing to the side of his mouth. At this point, your sitting up, thighs to calves, legs spread wide, dragging your [e/c] up and down his body.

“You’re drooling.”

I would say that you blushed at hearing this, but you’re already red as fuck in the face with how hot he’s been making you. You’re embarrassed and laugh it off, hand coming to wipe that spit from the side of your mouth. Yea, that was definitely yours and not his from earlier. That had already dried. “W-well, how can I not when,” you take a deep breath in and look back up at him, “when my husband looks this good.”

“Have I got your attention now?” That rasp. That will be the end of you. Or the end of these bed sheets, whichever comes first. You nod feverishly. “Good girl.”

Ah fuck. He’s praising you. Fuck. That’s it. If that dick isn’t in you within the next three minutes, who knows what will happen next. You start shuffling over toward him when he stops you.

“No. You stay there. I want you to watch.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles, amused by your reaction as you realise what’s going on. Is this how this twisted fucker wants you to help you be patient? By not letting you touch him? And by not touching you?

“I can’t. No. Babe. No please.” You’re shaking your head vigorously, already raising from the bed when his hands find your shoulders and push you back to sit down on the edge. “Watch.” His voice is commanding, absolute.

You’re forced to obey your alpha and sit there helplessly as he pumps his veiny cock with those veiny hands. The precum now all over his dick with even more leaking from the tip. His dick that should be in you right now. His eyes are trained on you, observing every stuttered breath you take in, every time you bite the side of your lip, how focused you are on how he’s pleasuring himself. That feels even better than his hands ever could. Fucking hell.

“Can I—” You start.

“No. Just watch.”

“Not you but my—”

“No. Watch.” His tone is stern. His voice strained.

Fuck. If your hands were bound then this would be so much easier, but no, you’re forced to hold back from touching yourself by your alpha’s command and your own self-discipline. You doubt that you’re even allowed to rock your hips right now.

You watch as his movements get faster and now he’s panting. His eyes half-lidded and tongue darting out across his lower lip every so often. You can see the sweat beading on his chest. You start whining, wanting to be the one touching him like that. What you wouldn’t give to just… just have him right now.

“Please,” you begin. Which becomes a slew of please daddy, please, please let me touch you, please, I’m sorry that I took your suppressants, I’m sorry okay, I’m sorry Alpha, I’m sorry that I wasn’t being patient or f-focusing on you, please Alpha, please let me touch you, please, please, please, please… You don’t stop. You can’t stop. All you can do is sit there, slick drenching the sheets below you even though you’re lower half is still clothed, and plead for your alpha to fuck you.

His pale hips jerk forward and you can tell he’s really close. Would he even let you swallow it? But he stops. He stops and comes over to you, collapsing onto you, arms around your shoulders and neck. “Shoto,” you squeak, but it’s muffled by his weight falling onto you. He huffs into your ear and you just rub his back.

“Tired already,” you jest, but he’s not in the mood to play you anymore. “Enough. I can’t cuddle my wife?” He mumbles grumpily into your shoulder before taking the flesh between his teeth. You hum, “You can always cuddle your wife, but I’d like it more if you fucked me.” He chuckles low, right below your ear. You feel it vibrating through his throat. “Yea, I bet you would.”

He holds you a little longer before pulling back, peeling his sweaty body off yours.

“Alright, I’ll give you your reward,” he smiles lazily, even showing off one side of this pearly whites. You squeal with delight. “Finally!” “Oi, settle,” he says as positions you so that he’s between your legs, spread wide, slowly pulling both pants and panties off you. Oi? “So, you’ve been on patrol with Dynamight—”

“Don’t mention him,” Shoto growls. He’s been doin’ a lotta that today and you like it. A lot. “Or anyone else right now. It’s just you and me.” You nod submissively. You really should stop riling him up sometimes. But you can’t help it. You’re a cheeky little shit after all.

The relief that engulfs you once those dreadful clothes are off brings out a sigh of pleasure from you. He doesn’t make you wait any longer. He’s already at the source of your heat, lapping up your slick like it’s the elixir of life. To him, it is. You whimper and mewl as his tongue makes its’ way between your folds. It feels so warm and wet, perfect against your swollen lips. You relish in the feeling on what he’s doing to you. Shoto eats you out like he’s been starved. Greedily, hungrily, in a frenzy. Without a break for air, he keeps going. That tongue, those long digits curling inside of you, his lips, all making you shake and mew. The whimpers and words leaving your mouth are unholy and impure, some real nasty shit. Only he can get you like this. Only he can have you saying shit like, “Fuck me however you want, daddy.” Or, “Knot in me, alpha! Breed your little omega!”

Once he’s had his fill, he moves away from your core, grabbing your hips and flipping you over, onto your stomach. His fingers are back at your folds, playing with your clit and teasing your entrance, drawing more filthy moans from you. You feel him move on top of you, straddling you. He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with what you’ve been craving for this entire time. You moan loudly as he fills you up, completely, inch-by-inch. He groans as you draw him in, tight walls clenching around his girth. He stays still for a few moments, allowing you to get comfortable, before he sets a brutal pace. You hands are by your shoulders, gripping the sheets as he fucks you. You’re body is shaking, contorting to his every rough thrust in and out. It’s got your mind absolutely filled with how your mate can do this to you. You can’t even form a sentence. You mewl, over and over, to the sound of your skin slapping harshly together. Your mingled groans and moans all that dirty shit dripping from your mouths fill the room. It’s humid. Sweat coating your bodies. Your hair is stuck to your forehead. Your favourite part — besides from how tight he’s gripping your hips, likely (and hopefully) leaving bruises on your soft skin — is how deep he gets. His tip reaches that perfect spot, making you curl your toes and bend your knees, before he draws back out, and he does it again and again.

“Sh huff sho huff shot huff to,” you moan. He grunts out in response. “Sho huff sho huff I huff.” Fuck, you can’t even get the sentence out. That’s how brain fucked, how body fucked, this man’s got you. “What?” He growls. He’s breathing hard, you can hear it, it makes you drip even more and he can feel it. “Use your words, baby. Moan What is it?”

The filthy sounds of him pounding you fills your ears. The squelching of your juices around his length. You can’t even remember what you were trying to say. Oh! That’s right! “I-I whimper Shoto whimper Sho fuck moan I’m moan I-I’m gonna,” your voice is quiet and breathy, but he still hears you clearly.

He can feel your thighs beginning to shake, the way your pussy tightens and then releases, and he knows what you mean. “I know,” he grunts in response. You continue to moan, feeling your climax coming in hard n’ fast. You gotta know if— “Just hold on for me, alright. Just huff just hold on.” You whimper in response. Not cum yet? You don’t know if you can do that. “I’ll try—”

“You will wait for me.”

Your moans and mewls get louder as you get closer, as does his growls and grunts. Even if you can’t wait for him , it doesn’t really matter, you still benefit, whether he punishes you or not. Not that he’s ever punished you, but this rut seems to be bringing out a side of him you’ve never seen before. And you’re living for it.

He picks up the pace. You never even realised he had this kinda stamina. But, you should of known. He is THE pro hero ‘Shoto’. It feels impossibly more pleasurable. It’s like he’s surrounding you. Every thrust is godsent. You couldn’t escape the pleasure of this moment, even if you tried. Your orgasm is building and building, threatening to drown you any second now.

“Shoto!” You cry out. You’ve got tears in your eyes. Your shaking, trembling, convulsing as you climax. You squeeze around him hard, sending him over the edge with you. You’re sobbing and screaming at this point, as you feel his knot swell and plunge into you. Thick, white, hot ropes spilling into you. Filling you completely with his seed. Fuck. You ride out the high together, him rocking into you and you rocking as much as you can manage back into him. Breathing out, he leans down, pulling you back and laying you two on your sides. You groan at the movement, still experiencing those last minute tremors from your orgasm. His legs intertwine with yours, arms wrapping around you. He strokes your head, drawing you close into him as you both calm down. You sniffle and he takes this opportunity wipe the tears from your tears.

You giggle, “Thanks, honey.” The words dampened by your sudden emotional outburst. “Anything for you, love.” He kisses the side of your forehead and moves to grab the blankets and pull them over you two, up to your chin. You snuggle back into him, hands grasping his forearms, a mindless smile spreading across your face. “You’re not done with me yet, are you?”

He remains silent for a few seconds, before groaning into your hair. It still smells like fresh cut strawberries in the midst of all the scents filling the room. “Only if you tell me where you hid my suppressants.”

“Than I’m never telling you!” You squeal. There ain’t no way you’re gonna give up this side of your alpha just yet. “Hey, that’s not what you should be saying.” His voice is low, bordering on a growl. “Sorry for not following your script.” And now you’re the one wearing a shit-eating grin.

“You know,” he shifts, now leaning over you and narrowing his doe eyes at you, “if you insist on acting up, then maybe I will just have to fuck you through this rut of mine.” “I hope you do,” you smirk even wider. “’Course you do,” he grumbles, laying back down again, nose buried in your hair.

You two lay in silence until his knot goes down, and he can finally pull out. He turn you back onto your stomach and pulls the blankets back, drawing out slowly, making you moan. His cum gushes out, further drawing moans from you. You can feel it dripping down your the back of your thigh. Shoto watches, enjoying the sight. Though, before he’s realise it, he’s got his fingers inside of you, finger-fucking that cum back into you. You can’t help but start whimpering and moaning even louder as you feel him fingering you.

“Shoto…”

He draws his fingers back out, letting the cum drip out again. He’s tempted to slide them back into you so that no more escapes, but he refrains from doing so, knowing that you two need to talk a bit more about kids than just “Do you want kids? Yea, I want kids. Do you? Yea, sounds good.”

He clears his throat, “I hope you’re ready, baby.” He wraps his hand around your waist and turns you over, onto your back. Your eyes find each other. The sun’s setting, illuminating how wet and dewy and bruised your soft flesh is. You breathe out, smiling happily.

“I’m ready.”

[silent-stories]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie's father didn't react well when Eddie accidentally dropped a bottle on the ground and years later, he still expects a violent reaction to an incident like this.

Warnings: violence (eddie gets beaten by his dad), blood, angst, fluff.

Eddie slowly opened his bedroom door, careful not to make too much noise and looked around, trying to identify the figure of the man who had returned home about an hour before, around three in the morning.

Probably, it was not a suitable time for a father of a seven-year-old boy and husband of a dying woman in hospital to come back home, even Eddie understood that.

He used to come back home late and drunk when his mother was still with them and he didn't stop doing it even when she got sick.

The blue socks on Eddie's feet cushioned the few steps he took forward, in the dark. His sleepy gaze, due to the late hour, scanned the room as he brushed aside a curl that had fallen over his eyes with his small, thin fingers.

His hair was getting too long again, he knew his father would soon order him to cut it.

The man's snores were guttural, punctuated by occasional coughs that rattled the room. The bottle lay discarded on the floor, its contents drained, a silent witness to the nightly ritual.

The television flickered in the corner, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Eddie’s mother’s favorite show played—a distraction from the harsh reality outside. But she wasn’t there to watch it anymore.

Eddie knew that when his father woke up in the morning, he wouldn't remember the bottle of whiskey left at his feet and would most likely drop it when he got up.

Only a few weeks earlier it had happened and Al had blamed it on the boy, saying that when he saw the bottle, the kid should have picked it up and thrown it in the trash when he was sleeping.

Eddie walked over to the couch where his father lay and grabbed the bottle in his hands. It was sticky and had a smell that the boy had found nauseating at the time.

He headed towards the kitchen, thinking whether he should leave it on the table, throw it in the bin with the remnants of the reheated pizza he had eaten for dinner, or go out and throw it in the rubbish bin on the street in front of the house.

The TV program came to an end and the screen went black for a few seconds, plunging the room into total darkness.

Eddie was sure that chair was a few steps ahead, he could have sworn it.

Probably, he should have waited for the light on the screen to return before taking any more steps.

His body hit the chair. The bottle slipped from his hands.

The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, emitting a deafening sound in the silence of the night and the man who was previously sleeping thoughtfully woke up with a start.

"What the hell..."

The child's eyes filled with tears even before his father reached him, staggering.

"What the hell did you do!?" The man barked, his deep voice seeming capable of shaking all the doors in the house.

"I'm sorry! I just wanted to throw away the bottle and I didn't-"

The man's fist came in contact with Eddie's face before he could finish his sentence.

The boy stumbled back, leaning against the wall behind him to keep himself from falling on the ground.

A terrible pain spread across one side of his face and he felt something warm dripping from his nose, the blood mixed with tears that he couldn't hold back.

“You never do anythin' right.” His father spat out.

Eddie sniffed, his lower lip trembling as he spoke. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up!" Al shouted from a few inches away from the child's tear-stained face.

Eddie closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for a second shot that didn't come. A sob escaped his lips and the fear that another punch would come soon didn't go away.

“Look at you,” Al chuckled, “weepin' like a girl.”

"I-I'm sorry-"

“You keep fucking sayin' that but you're doing nothin' to fix your mess!” The father shouted, grabbing the kid by the shoulder, with a grip too firm that would surely have left a bruise, pushing him towards the place where the bottle had fallen.

"Clean up." Al ordered.

Eddie nodded, knowing his voice wouldn't come out the way he wanted it to.

The silence received in response only further angered the man who, after reaching the child again, grabbed his face with one hand, squeezing it between his fingers.

"What is wrong with you? I said fucking clean up."

"Yes- sir." The boy sobbed.

Al released him with one last push, gave him one last look before heading towards his bedroom while the boy tried not to step on the pieces of glass around the room, which would easily pierce his old socks.

"Useless, fucking useless" Eddie heard his father say, "He can never do anything fucking right."

Finally, he closed the door of his room behind him and, only after Eddie heard the sound of his snoring reaching all the way to the kitchen, he started sobbing like he had never done in his life.

He spent the last hours of the night and early morning cleaning the pieces of bottles from the floor- cutting his hands two or three times in the process- and wiping away the drops of blood that his nose had left there.

He went to bed when the sun was already up, his hands had been bandaged as best he could and his nose had finally stopped bleeding.

The sound of the bottle shattering and his father's shouts seemed to haunt him even during his sleep.

That was the case for several days.

The memory of that night has never been erased. Not even thirteen years later.

"Eddie, we didn't buy any basil!" You exclaimed, looking up from the open recipe book on the table. “I knew we forgot something!”

The kitchen was warm, the aroma of simmering tomato sauce filling the air as Eddie stood by the counter, his hands dicing onions.

You were surprised that he hadn't cut any of his fingers yet and that he seemed to be putting all his effort into the task you assigned him.

"I have all kinds at home, if you really wanna add some... herbs."

You threw a rag at his head, making him laugh under the fabric.

"Hey!" He complained.

"What does "hey" mean? You wanted to put fucking drugs in my sauce!"

"“I thought that was our sauce.” He smirked.

You laughed at the way he said it, as if he was actually offended and hadn't spent the last hour laughing even though he was chopping onions.

“It depends, are you done with those?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. "All yours, my lady."

When he turned around, his elbow accidentally hit the glass bottle of olive oil, making it crash onto the tiled floor.

You never do anything right

Shards scattered like stars, reflecting the dim light.

After the sudden deafening noise caused by the bottle, the room seemed almost too quiet. He felt your gaze on him, but he didn't dare meet your eyes.

His heart raced, memories of that childhood night flooding back. His father’s rage, the jagged edges of broken glass, and the fear that had etched itself into his soul. Eddie clenched his fists, berating himself for his clumsiness.

His hands shook, the tremors echoing the chaos within. The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing against him. He suddenly felt like couldn’t breathe.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, "I'm sorry."

You keep fucking saying that but you're doing nothing to fix your mess.

He knew you weren't like him, not even remotely. He knew that he was no longer with him, that he was far away, that he couldn't hurt him.

What is wrong with you?

Despite this, he held his breath for a moment without even realizing it, as if he expected you to yell at him, to insult him, to tell him that he was no good at anything.

Useless, fucking useless.

"Shit, I have to clean up." He breathed, ducking ready to grab the pieces of glass with his hands.

He didn't even notice when you knelt in front of him, almost without making any noise.

Your touch was gentle as your hand met his, preventing him from grabbing the glass pieces.

"Hey. You're gonna cut yourself."

Your voice was calm and sweet, your tone almost sounded like one someone would use with a scared animal.

You weren't mad at him. You knew something was wrong with his reaction, and you weren't mad at him.

"But-"

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “Just a bottle.”

Your thumb ran over the back of his hand, drawing a couple of circles.

Eddie thought he might burst into tears right there in the middle of the kitchen covered in bottle pieces.

He expected anger, frustration, maybe even a shout. Instead, you reached for a dustpan, your hand never leaving his. Together, you swept up some of the shards, the silence broken only by the soft clink of glass. Eddie’s breaths steadied, and he realized that maybe, it was going to be okay.

His words stuttered when he spoke, still caught between vulnerability and fear. “You’re not mad?” he asked, his voice raw.

“No,” you replied, you gaze steady, still soft as ever. “I’m not mad and I have no reason to be. I don't know what was going through your head and I'll be here if you ever want to tell me, but really, it's just a bottle for me. It's okay. We’ll clean this up together.”

Your smile has always been one of the most beautiful sights for Eddie and in that situation even more so, if possible.

He couldn't help but gently push you against him and leave a light kiss on your forehead, without saying a single word. Now he knew you understood him even without them.

In your small kitchen covered in broken glass, Eddie realized that it was impossible to erase certain bad memories but that, if you gave him the opportunity, he would spend the rest of his life creating new ones with you.

When you finished cleaning and the sun went down, neither of you really cared that you hadn't finished cooking.

When you went to bed, Eddie held you a little tighter than usual.

His dad was no longer part of his life.

You were. And you loved him.

Eddie didn't need anything else.

A "thank you" was whispered during the night.

Tags: @jacklesbrainworms @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon @flawiette @needylilgal022 @bubsonnobx @yujyujj @findmeincorneliastreet @kennedy-brooke @witchwolflea

[your-highnessmarvel]

Tattoos

Requested by Anonymous: Hello, could you write Bucky Barnes x fem reader? I have multiple tattoos (upper leg, rib and back) that can be easily hidden with my clothes. Could you write Bucky dating with reader but she forgets to disclose the tattoos and somehow he discover them? How could he react? If you are comfortable with smut go ahed, if not, is fine just fluff and angst. KUDOS!!

AN: SPRUCING UP MY BUCKY LIST YASSS

Warnings: SMUT, blowjob, language

*gif not mine

Enjoyed this and want more? Send in your requests!

Request Guidelines

MASTERLIST

Dating Bucky Barnes in the twenty-first century was like trying to tame an outdoor cat. One day, he could be extremely cuddly and responsive to your touches. Another day, for some reason unknown to everyone but him, he could be as closed off as a vault door - impenetrable, inconsolable.

But you'd gotten to know what made him feel more comfortable, and like taming an outdoor cat, Bucky came to prefer your presence and your home more than the dark, unpredictable outside world.

But there was still one step you hadn't taken with him yet - intimacy.

Due to a past drenched in horror and brainwashing, Bucky wasn't fond of... "losing control". He liked to do things he knew would keep his emotions in check. But sex? He hadn't a clue how he'd control himself and his strength, so he preferred to keep that on the list. For now.

But you, a woman with feelings and desires of her own, had to battle against your instincts every time you made out with your boyfriend and he'd place a hand on your shoulder and pull back. Shake his head. Or when you straddled him and felt him hard against your thigh, you had to resist a whimper when he pulled back from your kiss and kept both hands at his sides.

You'd never want to push any of his limits.

But maybe, all it took for him to open up was to take things very, very slowly.

Bucky had never seen you naked. So when he got back from his evening run, a run that kept him from going insane as he waited for you to get back to your apartment from work, he was surprised to see you standing by the kitchen table.

"Doll?" he asked, panting as he closed the door.

You smiled. "You're all sweaty," you said, taking a few steps towards him. You'd kept your work attire on but chucked your shoes by the door.

Bucky locked the door and sighed, hands on his hips. He was in a soaked grey t-shirt and jogging shorts. "I did a ten kilometre just now."

"Wow," you answered, impressed. You walked into the bathroom door, hand lingering on the frame, and you looked back at him over your shoulder. "We should get you cleaned up?" you asked, suggestively.

His mouth clamped shut and you could see the war raging behind his eyes; the desire, like any man, to follow their girlfriend into the shower and this stubborn fear of hurting you.

"Y/N," he said calmly, swallowing hard.

"It's just a shower, Bucky," you reassured. "We've never... seen each other naked. I promise we won't do more than what you're comfortable with."

It took a second for him to digest the information, to calculate the risk, and then he nodded, teeth clenched so hard that you could see a muscle in his jaw tick.

And then he was following you into the bathroom, with tentative footsteps and as he took his shoes off at the threshold, you slowly bent over to open the shower.

You heard the gasp he took a second before the sound of the gushing water silenced it.

"What should I take off first?" you asked.

He bit the inside of his lip and looked you over. "Take your pants off," he said, and somewhere along the lines of nervousness, you could hear that command.

You kept steady eye contact with his dark blue eyes as you took your jeans off, chucking your socks into the bin.

Bucky frowned when he spotted your upper right leg, an intricate design etched in black ink covering the skin there. Then he took a step forward, cocking his head to get a better look.

You smirked. "I have another if you want to see?" you asked.

He nodded.

You took your long-sleeve shirt off slowly, watching as his eyes raked down your almost-naked form, drinking in the sight of yet another inked tattoo on your ribcage.

His eyes widened briefly, brows skirting up his forehead. "They're so... pretty," he mumbled. His metal fingers flexed and caught the light of the bathroom bulb. He wanted to touch.

You turned to the side slowly, not to frighten him. He got a better look at the rest of the rib and thigh tattoos, where he slowly, oh so very slowly, reached out with his metal hand to caress the soft flesh of your ribs.

You flinched as his cold metal fingers skimmed the sensitive skin. His eyes immediately found yours, brows pulled in sadness almost. "I'm fine," you reassured. "Just cold."

He examined the ink there, marveling at the goosebumps pebbling your flesh, the dark swirls of ink following every movement of your skin.

His metal fingers flattened on your ribcage and he got closer, closer until you could smell him, and he reached down slowly to give you a chaste kiss.

You smiled when he pulled back.

"What else should I take off?" you asked, looking up into his eyes.

He gulped. "I can do the rest," he murmured, caressing both hands down your arms, until his metal thumb was hooked into the hem of your underwear. He looked down briefly, examining the skin available to him there, as he pulled them down your thighs.

He got to his knees to help your ankles through your knickers, and he placed a soft, gentle kiss on your thigh tattoo. "So soft," he whispered. "So beautiful."

You could tell by the trembling in his voice that he was giving in to the temptation.

"What else, Bucky?" you whispered, seeing steam rise from the shower in the mirror, and when Bucky came back into your line of vision, his cheeks were a slight tinge of pink.

He looked down at your breasts, covered by a black lace bra. "You only have this left," he answered.

You turned slowly, dragging your hair to the side so he could untie your bra - and see the tattoo at the very top of your spine. He hummed when he saw it, pressing flesh fingers to your ink. "You never stop surprising me," he said, and he kissed your tattoo there too, kissed down to your shoulder, up to your neck and when he pressed up against you, you could feel him hard at your back, poking your bum.

His kisses turned wet and hot, open-mouthed pecks down the other side of your neck.

"Get me naked, Bucky," you asked, and a second later, your bra hit the marble floor.

He turned you around this time, grasping you by the shoulders, eyes eager to see the prize he'd won. He softly and gently knead your tits, pulling at your nipples until a whimper, a half moan left your lips and his eyes darted to yours.

"Your turn," you said.

You pressed your warmed fingers under his sweat-soaked shirt and slowly pulled it over his head. His brown hair got ruffled as you threw the shirt into the corner, and it made you smile at just how achingly beautiful this man was.

He watched you with eager, hungry eyes, a look you'd rarely seen, as you got to your knees before him. You looked up and he moaned so lowly, eyes glazing.

You gently pulled down his shorts, his boxers, chucking them to the same corner his dirty shirt waited.

He was so painfully hard, tip red and leaking, length engorged with blood. He was big, as you'd assumed by the few times you'd felt him against your thigh. And he was beautiful.

"Fuck," he breathed, putting his flesh fingers through your hair. "You're so beautiful."

"Funny," you said lowly. "I was thinking the same thing." You looked up at him through your lashes and gave his tip a soft kiss, licking up the precum languidly.

His head fell back, eyes closing. "Shit, y/n, I won't - "

"You won't hurt me," you whispered, licking along his length. He breathed out so loudly, muscled abs straining against their skin cage.

You wrapped your hand around his length and took him passed your lips, engulfing his tip in warmth, wetting him with your tongue.

"Oh, God," he whispered, flesh hand gripping your hair at the roots, pulling you further onto him.

You took him beyond that, sliding him against your tongue, hollowing in your cheeks, until tears pricked your eyes and he touched the back of your throat. A small, silent gag was engulfed by the sound of the shower.

"So good, doll," he whispered.

You wanted to smile. You slid him back out and took a breath, watching him wet and hard.

You took him into your mouth again, without hands, and let the rhythm of his stuttering hips, his hand against your hair, guide you. He started slow, fucking your mouth in long, slow thrusts, until his pleasure filled him like acid and he started going faster.

Shallow thrusts, pushing his tip against your wet tongue, both hands in your hair.

You were starting to gag and dribble every time he hit the back of your throat, eyes red with tears, but you were loving the sight above you. Bucky, with his head thrown back, eyes closed, cheeks red, and chest heaving.

"Taking me so good, doll," he purred, metal fingers pushing you further onto his cock, impaling himself in your mouth as if he forgot he wasn't in your cunt.

Every gag you made was like fire washing through his veins. "Such a good girl," he praised.

And every time, each thrust, he'd go faster, harsher, fucking your mouth until his own lips opened at the sight of your teary eyes, your wet, red lips wrapped around him so snuggly, your tongue sliding along his shaft - that it took a second before he buried his dick in your mouth, shooting hot cum onto your tongue.

He stayed there for a second, groaning, emptying himself in your mouth, until he pulled out and quickly got to his knees. It surprised you, the way he gripped your jaw, holding your eyes with his. "Swallow every drop," he whispered, ordered, eyes so dark blue.

You gulped down his seed and smiled, showing your teeth and all.

"That's my good girl," he whispered, capturing your mouth in a hard, wet kiss.

He kissed you until your head was spinning from lack of air and then he helped you into the shower, letting the hot spray wash away the day. He kept pressing his flesh fingers against your ink, marveling at the design, kissing every swirl of black.

It's like you'd washed away the old you, the old him, and when you got out the shower, it was like stepping into a new phase of your relationship.

[ectologia]

EXPRESS

TOMURA SHIGARAKI + FEMALE READER

WARNING: DUBCON/NONCON, PROFANITY, DRUNK READER, PUSSY WEDGIE, EXHIBITIONISM, PUBLIC TRAIN MASTURBATION, FOOT HUMPING, HUMILIATION

Your feet drag along the raised concrete, you can barely take a step without tipping head first into the nearest wall or inconveniently placed bin. It’s unfortunate nobody took it upon themselves to actually walk you home, you’re fucked out of your mind — who let you drink this much anyway?

The clusters of people gathered in the station only glare at your clumsy stumbling, shuffling and shifting away into themselves once they see your staggering form sway towards them.

Your requests to borrow somebody’s phone are denied or out-right ignored instantly, left clinging to the rim of the greasy bin for some kind of stability.

“Escuse m’.. Uhm.. ‘s this m’ train..”

Trimmed brows furrow at your mumbling, their eyes drifting around uncomfortably before you can finally muster up a proper sentence. “Uhm.. Yeah. That’s your train.” You nod along dumbly, following their finger as they point to the still train currently boarding.

You’re sure you’ve stepped over eight peoples toes already, but you don’t really care when all you’re focused on is not puking your guts out. A fist curls around one of the grab-handles for support, giggling and squealing like a child as the train bumps to a start. Your limp body is practically thrown onto the floor of the train, left to hug and lean on the vacant seats.

Your clouded eyes blink down at the pair of tattered, red sneakers crossed by your feet. A hoarse growl grabs your attention, tilting your chin up to squint your swivelling eyes at the hooded figure. His face is overcast with a dim shadow, what’s not concealed by his hoodie is curtained by thin, static tresses of alice blue.

The grim line that makes up his lips quirks upwards at your dopey expression and disheveled appearance. On instinct, you smile back, mistaking his fiendish smirk for something akin to friendliness you can’t help but shuffle closer on your bum, reaching your arms out to hug his leg.

Your fellow passengers grimace at the display, pivoting their heads to look out the window, clutching their belongings closer.

If you were any other dumb, drunk bitch, you’d be a pile of dust by now. But he’s had a long day, so he decides to indulge you’re intoxicated idiocy. He opens his knees, man-spreading across the fortunately empty seats either side of him, he doesn’t blame the rest of the pathetic lot on the train for not wanting to sit next to the creepy man dressed in all-black.

His foot shimmies itself in between your spread thighs, opting to have you sit on it for him. You cock your head once you feel the ridges of his shoe circle the chubby mound hidden in your panties.

“Hump it.” Shigaraki hunches, bending down to whisper into your ear.

You suck on your bottom lip, wiping your face into the denim of his jeans before propping your chin on-top of his knee, purring. Your stupid little brain clearly isn’t comprehending what he’s saying at the moment, so he helps you out. You let out a breathy giggle as the metal rings and harsh material of his sneakers grind beneath you, bumping into your hooded clit with every jerk.

You don’t understand what’s happening, but you can’t find it in yourself to stop when your hips begin to move on their own, wanting to bounce your horny cunny on some random man, in public no less.

A sizeable portion of the passengers shuffle out of the cart with disgusted frowns, while other on-lookers distract themselves with their phones or reading books, glancing at your perverted antics every so often.

Shigaraki smiles down at you, slipping his tongue out to wet his lips as he watches you hump his leg like a dog. He’s no longer moving his foot along with you, letting you fuck yourself on his dirty sneakers at your own pace. You’ve latched onto his leg now, cuddling into him while your tongue lolls out of your mouth, leaving a dark, wet patch of drool to seep onto his thigh while you’re sloppy, dribbling pussy leaves it’s own trail of fluid along his shoe.

Your ears perk at the sound of a shutter, looking up to see a shiny phone being shoved into your face. Your movements halt as you squint at the white light.

“Hey.” Shigaraki lifts his foot up, giving your puffy cunt a little kick. “Keep humping girlie.”

You’re bounced a few times before you’re able to get the ball rolling again. You continue to grind your clothed pussy down onto his shoe, shaking your ass as you desperately try to get to your orgasm.

He rasps a laugh at your fucked out expression, zooming in on your sloppy face before bending down to lift your dress up, getting a nice shot of you masturbating your horny pussy on his foot. Two fingers dip down to tug at the cotton of your panties, pulling the crotch nice and tight against your hard clit while your fat pussy lips spill out the sides. Your contorted slit is given a few harsh smacks before he sits back up.

He’s hard as a fucking rock but he doesn’t really feel like getting his massive cock out right now. Might scare the on-lookers. He lets you have your fun, cumming your little heart out while you fuck yourself on the floor. He takes a few purposeful glances at you before turning his attention back to his phone, thumbing the screen.

5 IMAGES

2 VIDEOS

TOMURA: train slut lmao

DABI: holy shit

DABI: look how wet her fucking pussy is

DABI: why’s she humping ur shit on the fucking train lmao

TOMURA: dirty twat

You’re propelled backwards onto the ground once the train stops, blinking up at Shigaraki’s tall stature as he stands, swiping at the linoleum floor with the slicked up rubber of his shoe.

You half expect him to bid you some kind of goodbye or atleast acknowledge you as he steps over your panting, crumpled form. You stare at him almost longingly as he makes his way to the exit, only pivoting his head to look back at you with a lecherous grin before dispersing into the crowd of people gathered by the doors.

Your face burns red and warm once you realise how many people on the train are staring at your wet little pussy.

[writemekpop]

Birthday Blues (Part 1) | Na Jaemin

Summary: When Jaemin thinks you’ve forgotten his birthday, you have the biggest argument you've ever had.

Genre: Boyfriend!Jaemin, angst

Word Count: 1k

Jaemin was furious. It was his birthday today, and you, his girlfriend of three years, had forgotten about it.

When he woke up this morning, he could barely contain his excitement. He was expecting to see you in something red and lacey, get breakfast in bed, and have some delicious morning loving.

But to his disappointment, he woke up to you, moody, sweaty, and hurling into the bin. You were hungover from your girls’ night out the previous evening.

Soon, it was 7PM, and you still hadn’t mentioned Jaemin’s birthday.

“Could we stop by Yuta’s bar before we go home?” You asked. “They’re having a special offer. Five cocktails for five pounds! I heard they make your vomit look all rainbow-y.”

Jaemin scoffed. “That sounds just fantastic. But two nights in a row? Are you sure this drinking thing isn’t becoming a problem? Plus…” He scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly. “Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing… especially today?”

“What’s so special about today?” you said, shaking your head. “Come on, it’s only a mile away. Do you have money for an Uber? I left my wallet at home.”

“You’re so freaking forgetful,” Jaemin snapped.

You raised your hands in surrender. “Alright, jeez! It’s just a wallet.”

“It’s not just that! What about my cat? You forgot to feed Sushi all week while I was in Morocco. She nearly starved to death! Or what about when you forgot where you parked my BMW, and I had to miss Jeno’s leaving party to search for it! And what about my bir-“

Jaemin stopped mid-sentence when he realised that you weren’t listening to him. You were busy typing away on your iPhone.

Jaemin yanked the phone out of your manicured fingers and threw it onto the floor. The screen cracked.

You gasped. Putting your smashed phone into your pocket, you turned to your boyfriend.

“Can we just… go inside?” You pointed at the bar. “I promise, everything will be-“

“Oh my god,” Jaemin said, cutting you off. “Why are you so desperate to go inside? If you really want to see your friends so much then, let’s go.”

Jaemin grabbed your arm tightly and pulled you through the door.

The inside of the bar was pitch black.

“Would you look at that?” Jaemin spat. “It’s empty. Did you forget what time you were supposed to meet up? God, why are you so dumb?”

“Jaem-“ You waved frantically at him, but he wouldn’t stop.

“You’re so disorganised… and- you’re lazy! It’s my birthday and all you’ve done is whine about your own stupid life. Why do you have to be so fucking selfish? We are done, you… you bitch!”

You and Jaemin stared at each other in stony silence. Jaemin was panting, and you were fighting back tears.

Just then, the lights flickered on.

“S-surprise,” came a bunch of unsure voices.

Jaemin turned around to see the shocked and disapproving faces of everyone he loved staring back at him.

A live band in the corner started to play ‘Happy Birthday’, but someone told them to shut up.

The room was filled with fifty of his friends, parents, cousins, colleagues… Haechan was standing in the middle of the crowd, holding a huge three-tier chocolate cake. A big banner saying Happy Birthday, Jaemin hung from the wall.

Jaemin turned to you. “You… did all this?”

Your face was wet with tears. You pushed past Jaemin and ran out of the door.

“Wait!” Jaemin shouted, but it was too late.

“Way to go, buddy,” Renjun said, slapping him a little too hard on his back. “It’s called a surprise party… ever heard of it? Y/n spent weeks organising it.”

Jaemin tugged a hand through his hair, throat dry. “I’ve really messed things up, haven’t I?”

Renjun rolled his eyes. “Welcome back to Singles Night, bud. We missed you.”

---

Jaemin ran all the way home. When he saw you in the bedroom, his heart surged. You hadn’t left!

You were facing away, standing by the open wardrobe.

“What are you doing?” Jaemin asked, frowning.

You spun around at the sound of his voice. “Packing. You said it yourself, J, we’re done.”

Jaemin ran towards you and pulled the bag from your hands. “I didn’t mean any of that! I was just… angry. I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You shook your head, taking the bag back. “Jaemin… you called me a bitch. Do you not respect me at all? How can you expect me to stay with you after that?”

Jaemin crumpled onto the bed, tears threatening to spill. He hugged his knees tight. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

You sat beside him on the bed, shoulders drooping.

“I’m sorry, too,” you whispered. “You deserve someone… better.”

“No!” Jaemin shook his head. “Please don’t leave me.” He leant his head against your shoulder, crying.

You sat in silence for a moment. Then you sucked in a deep breath and stood up.

“I have to,” you said. “Goodbye, Jaemin.”

You walked out of the room. A few moments later, Jaemin heard the thud of the front door.

Jaemin stood up. He looked at the picture frame on the bedside table, it was of you and him, laughing whilst sharing an ice cream.

He picked it up and threw it against the wall, screaming. The glass shattered.

He ran into the living room, head spinning. That’s when he saw it.

There was a small box on the coffee table, wrapped with a purple bow, and a message that said ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAEMIN’. He opened the box, fingers trembling.

Inside was a sleek brass ring. He picked it up and read the inscription on the ring.

“Y/n and Nana forever.”

What a fool he was.

Part 2 coming soon...

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